few eager travellers had tucked their tents alongside the wall, like plush barnacles, no doubt wanting to be the first to take advantage of Rochant’s return. None of them were flying Tanzanite flags but that was no surprise. Wherever Pari’s man was, he’d be trying to keep a low profile.
She could not escape the feeling that she was being watched, and began to worry that more assassins had been placed outside.
It’s what I would have done.
After discounting the first tent because it was too grand, and the second because it was crammed full of people, Chandni came to one discreetly pitched next to a wagon. A five-legged Dogkin, white-furred and almost as big as the wagon itself, slept alongside.
Though the tent’s occupant had not come out to meet her, she could make out his tensed silhouette against the fabric. Here is a man ready to take action.
She looked over her shoulder, sure that someone would be there, but the courtyard was empty, save for the slow-turning shadows of the wall.
Chandni turned back to the tent and whispered, ‘Varg?’
The flap opened almost immediately and a man’s face appeared, broad and bearded, with a high, weathered forehead. He took a long look at her and the baby, his lips paling as he mashed them together. One arm held open the tent flap but the other was kept out of sight and she was in no doubt that he was armed.
‘My name is Honoured Mother Chandni of House Sapphire,’ she said carefully, watching for any hint of malice, ‘and this is my son, Satyendra. Lady Pari sent us. We need you to get us to safety, urgently.’
‘Piss off,’ said the man, vanishing back into the tent.
Chandni crouched down, unsteadily, and slid Pari’s earring under the entrance flap.
There was a pause. Then, from within: ‘Fuck.’
Seconds later he was scrambling out of the tent and throwing a pre-packed bag into the back of the wagon. ‘I’m Varg,’ he confirmed as he bent down to grab the edge of the tent, pulling until the under-suckers came free of the stone with a loud pop. ‘Where’s Pari?’
‘She’s not coming.’
‘Fuck.’
‘Varg, if we are going to travel together you will need to broaden your vocabulary.’
He was halfway through hauling the tent onto the back of the wagon when her words sunk in. ‘Doesn’t bother Pari, and she’s a lady.’
If things weren’t so desperate Chandni would have laughed. ‘That’s a debate for another time. What can I do to speed things up?’
‘Start waking Glider. But watch out, she’s a biter.’
She went straight over to the Dogkin, taking a large floppy ear and shaking it, while calling Glider’s name. Satyendra leaned forward in her arms, trying in vain to make contact with the glossy coat.
Eyelids slowly lifted, revealing a dark eye, hostile, and a second lighter eye, glassy, unseeing, human. One legend had it that Dogkin were the reincarnated souls of children who had wandered so long between lives they’d forgotten what they were. Another, that Dogkin were descended from people cursed by the old gods during the Unbroken Age.
Chandni preferred the first legend as it came with the promise that if a Dogkin could remember its true nature, it would be reborn as a human child in the next life. She liked to think that there was always a way to make things better.
‘It’s time to get up,’ said Chandni.
Glider growled meaningfully and then shut her eyes.
Refusing to be ignored by an animal, Chandni tried again. This time Glider’s growl was louder and her teeth snapped in the air, coming awfully close to Satyendra’s reaching hands.
Rather than intimidate, the animal’s behaviour converted all of her pent up worry into anger, and Chandni slapped the Dogkin across the muzzle so hard that a lance of pain shot through her bandaged hand.
Glider looked up in surprise, before opening her mouth to snap again.
‘No!’ said Chandni, pitching her voice as deep as it would go, and slapping the Dogkin’s mouth a second time.
Glider whined pitifully and lowered her head but Chandni resisted the sudden urge to cuddle her, and kept her expression stern.
‘Better. Now get up.’
Glider stood up.
‘Good.’ She reached into the left hand pockets of the cook’s cloak, searching, and found one that contained some dried sausage. She held it up in front of Glider. ‘If you run fast and without complaint, I have more.’
Glider’s mouth opened and Chandni threw the sausage in. The little chunk of meat vanished, like a coin into a well. Glider’s mouth remained open however.
‘No more until you’ve earned it.’
The Dogkin made to lick the grease from Chandni’s fingers but she pulled back her hand. ‘No more I said, not even a sniff.’
With another noise of disgruntlement, Glider padded over to the front of the wagon, where Varg stood staring at Chandni in astonishment.
‘Well don’t just stand there,’ she said, ‘help us up.’
She placed Satyendra within the wagon but was forced to rely heavily on Varg’s strength to climb on – her own was fading fast.
‘You don’t look right,’ he muttered. ‘Are you sick?’
‘No. Just tired.’
Varg didn’t look like he believed her but gave no argument, fitting a harness over Glider’s head and untangling the reins.
Chandni looked back to the castle. The great doors remained shut, and all appeared far too peaceful. On a normal day the early risers would already be up, preparing for business, and Chandni was always one of them. It forced the staff to match her example and made sure things started when they were supposed to.
She didn’t believe that people were inherently lazy, but it was better to take away the temptation just in case.
How many of the castle’s inhabitants would be rising early today? she wondered. How many would not be rising at all?
Varg leapt up alongside her on the seat, bumping against her as he settled into position. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.
She glared, about to reprimand him, when she realized she’d naturally sat dead centre of the driver’s block. He’d been forced to squeeze onto the end, one of his buttocks hanging, precarious, from the side.
Not quite willing to apologize, she made a noise that she hoped sounded sympathetic and slid away from him.
It only took one shake of the reins and Glider was off, pulling them bumping across the courtyard.
‘You certainly
