my desire to not be stabbed to my death by Maeres Allus or one of his enforcers. The giant Norseman could bludgeon me a way out of debt altogether if I managed to secure his services and make the right wagers. Hell, if people saw what I saw in the man and wouldn’t give me good odds then I could just slip him some bonewort and bet against him.
At the far end of the stables hall two Corinthian pillars supported ancient vines, or vice versa. Either way a good, or desperate, climber could make his way to ground there. I slid the last ten foot, bruised my heel, bit my tongue, and ran off toward the Battle Gate spitting blood.
I arrived there winded and had to bend double, palms on thighs, heaving in great lungfuls of air before I could assess the situation.
Two guards watched me with undisguised curiosity. An old soak commonly known as Double, and a youngster I didn’t recognize.
‘Double!’ I straightened up and raised a hand in greeting. ‘What dungeon are the queen’s prisoners being taken to?’ It would be the war cells up in the Marsail keep. They might be slaves but you wouldn’t put the Norseman in with common stock. I asked anyway. It’s always good to open with an easy question to put your man at ease.
‘Ain’t no cells for them lot.’ Double made to spit then thought better of it and swallowed noisily.
‘Wh—?’ She couldn’t be having them killed! It would be a criminal waste.
‘They’s going free. Tha’s what I heard.’ Double shook his head at the badness of the business, jowls wobbling. ‘Contaph’s coming up to process them.’ He nodded out across the plaza and sure enough there was Contaph, layered in his official robes and beetling toward us with the sort of self-importance that only minor functionaries can muster. From the high latticed windows above the Battle Gate I could hear the distant clank of chains, drawing nearer.
‘Damn it.’ I glanced from door to sub-chamberlain and back again. ‘Hold them here, Double,’ I told him. ‘Don’t tell them anything. Not a thing. I’ll see you right. Your friend too.’ And with that I hurried off to intercept Ameral Contaph of House Mecer.
We met in the middle of the plaza where an ancient sundial spelled out the time with morning shadows. Already the flagstones were beginning to heat up and the day’s promise simmered above the rooftops. ‘Ameral!’ I threw my hands wide as though he were an old friend.
‘Prince Jalan.’ He ducked his head as if seeking to take me from his sight. I could forgive him his suspicions, as a child I used to hide scorpions in his pockets.
‘Those slaves that put on this morning’s entertainment in the throne room … what’s to become of them, Ameral?’ I moved to intercept him while he tried to circumnavigate me, his order-scroll clutched tight in one pudgy fist.
‘I’m to set them on a caravan for Port Ismuth with papers dissolving any indenture.’ He stopped trying to get past me and sighed. ‘What is it that you want, Prince Jalan?’
‘Only the Norseman.’ I gave him a smile and a wink. ‘He’s too dangerous to just set free. That should have been obvious to everyone. In any event Grandmother sent me to take charge of him.’
Contaph looked up at me, eyes narrow with distrust. ‘I’ve had no such instructions.’
I have, I must confess, a very honest face. Bluff and courageous it’s been called. I’m easy to mistake for a hero and with a little effort I can convince even the most cynical stranger of my sincerity. With people who know me that trick becomes more difficult. Much more difficult.
‘Walk with me.’ I set a hand to his shoulder and steered him toward the Battle Gate. It’s good to steer a man in the direction they intended to go. It blurs the line between what he wants and what you want.
‘In truth the Red Queen gave me a scroll with the order. A hasty scrawl on a scrap of parchment really. And to my shame I’ve let it drop in my rush to get here.’ I took my hand from his shoulder and unfastened the gold chain from around my wrist, a thing of heavy links set with a small ruby on both clasps. ‘It would be deeply embarrassing for me to have to return and admit the loss to my grandmother. A friend would understand such things.’ I took to steering him again as if my only desire were for him to reach his destination safely. The chain I dangled before him. ‘You are my friend aren’t you, Ameral?’ Rather than drop the chain into a pocket of his robe and risk reminding him of scorpions I pressed it into the midst of his sweaty palm and risked him realizing it was red glass and gold plated over lead, and thinly at that. Anything of true value I’d long since pawned against the interest on my debts.
‘You’ll retrace your steps and find this document?’ Contaph asked, pausing to stare at the chain in his hand. ‘And bring it for filing before sunset.’
‘Assuredly.’ I oozed sincerity. Any more and it would be dripping from me.
‘He is dangerous, this Norseman.’ Contaph nodded as if persuading himself. ‘A heathen with false gods. I was surprised, I must admit, to see freedom set against his name.’
‘An oversight.’ I nodded. ‘Now corrected.’ Ahead of us Double appeared to be engaged in heated conversation through the view grille set into the Battle Gate’s sub-door. ‘You may allow the prisoners out,’ I called to him. ‘We’re ready for them now!’
‘You’re looking uncommonly pleased with yourself.’ Darin strolled into the High Hall, a dining gallery named for its elevation rather than the height of its ceiling. I like to eat there for the view it offers, both out across the palace compound and, via slit windows, into the great entrance hall of my father’s house.
‘Pheasant, pickled trout, hen’s eggs.’ I gestured at the silver plates set before me on the long trestle. ‘What’s not to be pleased about? Help yourself.’ Darin is self-righteous and overly curious about my doings, but not the royal pain in the arse that Martus is, so by dint of not being Martus he carries the title of ‘favourite brother’.
‘The domo reports dishes keep going missing from the kitchens of late.’ Darin took an egg and sat at the far end of the table with it.
‘Curious.’ That would be Jula, our sharp-eyed head cook, telling tales to the house domo, though how such whispers came to Darin’s ear … ‘I’d have a few of the scullions beaten. Soon put a stop to it.’
‘On what evidence?’ He salted the egg and bit deep.
‘Evidence be damned! Bloody up a few of the menials, put the fear into the lot of them. That’ll put an end to it. That’s what Grandmother would do. Light fingers get broken, she’d say.’ I went for honest outrage, using my own discomfort to colour my reactions. No more selling off the family silver for Jal then … that line of credit had come to an end. Still, I had the Norseman safely stowed away in the Marsail keep. I could see the keep from where I sat, a slouching edifice of stone more ancient than any part of the palace, scarred and disfigured but stubbornly resisting the plans of a dozen former kings to tear it down. A ring of tiny windows, heavily barred, ran around its girth like a belt. Snorri ver Snagason would be looking up at one of those from the floor of his cell. I’d told them to give him red meat, rare and bloody. Fighters thrive on blood.
For the longest time I stared out the window, watching the keep and the vast landscape of the heavens behind it, a sky of white and blue, all in motion so that the keep seemed to move and the clouds stay still, making a ship of all that stone, ploughing on through white waves.
‘What
