by Craig Askham
Nine
Caspillo’s soldiers turned as they entered, and it immediately became clear that they weren’t all going to fit inside the modest-sized room. They were a mix of men and women, three of the former and two of the latter. All were dressed the same as their leader, in the grey leather armour with buckles and studs. Caspillo nodded in their direction, and they nodded back in unison.
“Found them,” he said, to nobody in particular. “Is everything ready?”
“We’re good to go, Cas.” The speaker was a short man, with no neck and a grey-speckled covering of hair on his cheeks that was somewhere in between stubble and a beard. He scratched his chin whilst making a face that suggested the length of the growth was annoying him. “These are the richest people in the world?”
“Just be grateful none of them are in their nineties,” said Caspillo. “They wouldn’t survive what’s coming next.”
As the soldiers shared a knowing chuckle, Ben took a look around as much of the room as he could see from the doorway. Caspillo had slipped seamlessly in to join his men, Lee hot on his tail, and of course Sorin and Talia tried to squeeze in after them as well. Ben was happy enough to hang back with Vantalon and Vykron. He could piece together from his quick glances that the room was as he’d expected; unprotected wooden floorboards, horsehair-plastered walls needing a lick or two of paint, and visible beams slanting to a point that confirmed their journey had brought them to the very top of the academy. The wall to their right was adorned with weapons of all shapes and descriptions, all mounted so perfectly level that the job could only have been carried out by someone with mild Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Directly opposite the doorway, the gable wall was mostly window that showed nothing but the reflections of those inside the room. No. Not windows. Two doors that opened up onto what Ben could only guess was a balcony, which seemed strange for an attic. The only light in the room came from a wrought iron chandelier that hung from a wooden beam by sturdy-looking chains.
“Let’s not forget we’re keeping you in a job, ladies and gentlemen.” It was Sorin, of course. He was standing in front of Ben so he couldn’t see his face, but he could imagine his features were red and bristling at the mere possibility of being the butt of a joke. He literally couldn’t help himself, and it made Ben grin. In a moment of clarity, he realised that some people thought of him like that, as well. He made a mental note to be less like Sorin Costache in future, and then grinned wider as more arrogant nonsense spewed from his fellow trillionaire’s mouth. “You know, putting food on your table and clothes on your backs. Stuff like that. Perhaps a little more respect might be in order?”
The soldiers all laughed at that, especially Caspillo. He reached over and clamped a hand down on Sorin’s shoulder so hard that he whimpered, and then took a menacing step closer.
“Now you mention it, I was a little short this month.” He held his free hand out expectantly. “Care to settle up now, boss?”
His team laughed all the louder. Beside him, both Vantalon and Vykron were shaking their heads in embarrassment. Even Talia had shuffled a few small steps to her right in order to disassociate herself from her big-mouthed boyfriend.
Sufficiently chastised, Sorin cleared his throat and gently patted the hand that Caspillo was still gripping his shoulder with.
“Point taken, of course.” He would have sounded genuine, if not for the words being forced out through gritted teeth. “Might I respectfully suggest that we move quickly on to the next phase of our journey, perhaps?”
More laughter, and Ben was somewhat surprised to realise that more than a little of it was emanating from his own lips; lips that he could have sworn were clamped shut against just such a possibility. Talia twisted her head to fix him with a beseeching look, and for some reason it worked. Remember, be less like Sorin Costache. That’s your mantra from now on. Get it tattooed on the back of your hand, if you have to.
“Right then.” Everyone turned to look at Lee. Ben realised he’d already completely forgotten their guide’s existence. Where was his voice even coming from? Five seconds later, he managed to pick him out near the two glass-paned doors leading out onto the maybe-balcony. Ben had no idea how he’d managed to worm his way all the way over there, but he was impressed at the shorter man’s ninja skills. He watched as the flame-haired guide turned one of the handles, only to realise the door was locked. “Shall we…er…get moving?”
“You might want to turn the key first, Mr. Copperhead,” Caspillo suggested. “It’s right there in front of you, poking out of the lock. There’s a good fellow.”
Lee didn’t respond, just reached for the key and turned it. His cheeks were no doubt burning the colour of his hair. With a flourish that may just have been an angry shove, he pushed both doors open and stepped immediately out into the darkness. Ben half expected to hear fading screams as the spirited cockney plummeted to the lawn and perhaps landed on top of a stone birdbath. Thankfully, it didn’t happen. Instead, the two female guards turned and followed him, closely followed by two of the male guards. Caspillo and the rude one with the half-beard held back, the former clearing his throat and nodding his head pointedly in the direction of the weapons wall. Sorin and Talia, who’d been about to follow the two guards outside, took the hint straight away and rushed over to the wall like children charging at the presents underneath a Christmas tree.
“Can we take whatever we want?” Talia’s excitement showed in her somewhat shrill tone.
“Within reason,” Caspillo replied, and her greedy hands shot upwards towards a fine looking ash bow hanging just above her head. The quiver was next, plucked with one hand and then transferred to the one holding the bow, so that she was able to go back for more. A sheathed short sword joined them, even though Ben knew she was more likely to stab herself with the pointy end than any dragon she might encounter. Sorin didn’t wait for her to finish, almost shoving her aside to reach an identical pair of short swords. A longer sword swiftly followed, and then a large hunting knife with a serrated edge.
“Done,” he said.
“Off you go, then.” Caspillo gestured towards the open doors. “Don’t lose those weapons, though. They’re leaving gaps on this wall that’s going to give the master-at-arms a heart attack when he sees.”
Sorin and Talia didn’t need to be told twice. They departed after Lee and the guards, finally clearing the room for the three stragglers at the door to cross over the threshold. Ben stepped forward at the same time as Vantalon, and then stepped back with a grin before they had a coming together.
“After you.”
“Politest trillionaire I’ve ever met,” he replied, and accepted the offer. Ben followed him, and heard Vykron bringing up the rear. All three stopped in front of the wall, and regarded the selection on offer. There was everything from broadswords to scimitars, from battleaxes to quarterstaffs, from cudgels to throwing stars. Vantalon reached almost greedily for a crossbow and its accompanying bolts, then stuffed his free hand with the wooden hilt of a plain, functional long sword before heading out through the doors. Vykron simply grabbed a broadsword that looked way too cumbersome to be of any use, and didn’t bother with anything else. Ben watched him leave, undecided as to which weapon to choose. Truth be told, he wasn’t particularly adept with any of them. He liked the idea of a bow and arrow, but had experimented with them on numerous occasions and made a fool of himself each and every time. He was better with crossbows, but was too impatient to take the time to wind it up again after each shot. An average swordsman at the best of times, Talia often joked that it was a small miracle he was even still alive. She might not have been any better herself, but at least she had skills with the bow and arrow that more than made up for it. She’d competed at Olympic level with the carbon version, and liked to remind him of it constantly. No medals, thankfully, otherwise she’d have been insufferable.
“You take your time, Akelius.” Once again, Caspillo sounded bored. Ben glanced over his shoulder to offer his apologi
es, and saw him look at his left wrist for a watch that wasn’t there. “No rush whatsoever, chap. We’re here at your leisure.”
“Sorry.” It came out as a mumble, the unexpected pressure forcing him into a snap decision to try something he’d never tried before. Seconds later, he was hefting a double-bladed battleaxe and hoping to all the gods of this world that he wouldn’t be called upon to use it. He didn’t bother with anything else, being of the sudden opinion that he’d already bitten off more than he could chew. There was movement behind him, and then Caspillo’s hand was on his shoulder.
“I don’t think so,” he said. There was cold amusement in his eyes. “I don’t think you’re ready for that.” He reached for a long, curved Seghiri blade that reminded Ben of a Japanese katana. “This is more your style. Remember what I said about these weapons just being for show. If there’s any actual fighting to be done, I suggest you just leave it to us and run like there’s a bloody great dragon breathing fire up your arse. Sound fair?”
Feeling just about as emasculated as he ever had before in his life, Ben nodded and accepted the blade. As soon as it was in his hands, it felt right. Perfectly balanced, even sheathed, and with a harness that looked easy enough to attach to his back. Something he might actually be able to do some damage with. He still felt like a child in the presence of a not very nice adult, though.
“Sounds fair,” he agreed, reluctantly and with more than a hint of petulance. “Thanks for not making me feel stupid.”
“You’re very welcome, young man.” For good measure, and to compound his embarrassment, Caspillo ruffled his hair before giving him a gentle shove towards the open doors. Taking the hint, Ben stepped outside, his thoughts as bitter as the cold night air.
Ten
“I don’t understand.” Ben looked around to make sure, but he was definitely alone on the balcony. He walked over to the wooden balustrade and rested his elbows on it, peering over the edge as if his companions had simply vaulted over the side. The academy was four or five stories tall, and he was right at the top of it; the fall would lead to life-changing injuries, without doubt. He heard what he thought was a shriek, and somehow managed to duck and look up in fright at the same time. The lawns were one huge, impenetrable shadow that stretched a good few hundred feet into the distance until they reached the cliff top, and beyond that was nothing but sky and the sound of waves crashing against rock far, far below. The moon hung low, too pale to cast decent light but very pretty nonetheless. He worked out that a sliver of the planet’s second moon was sticking out from behind it, shining brighter than its bolder sibling but too modest to come out and steal the show. As he watched, a couple of silhouettes flew in front of the first moon; birds of prey, by the look of them, on the hunt for God only knew what. They were there and then they were gone again, and when he played back the shriek in his head he supposed it could have belonged to one of them. Swinging his gaze right and slowly straightening up, he took in the black skyline of spires and turrets that formed the nearby palace, marvelling at how they didn’t look more out of place amongst the shorter, squatter and more functional towers that rose haphazardly across the rest of the city. Where the hell had everybody gone? He had surely only been a matter of seconds behind Vantalon and Vykron.
“Have you been sent here specifically to slow us down?” It was Caspillo again, and this time he sounded more annoyed than bored. Ben spun around to face him, holding up his hands and splaying his fingers in the dark to indicate that his uselessness was merely down to him being an idiot, and that there was no malicious ulterior motive. Just as he was about to embarrass himself by admitting he’d lost the rest of his group, he noticed movement on top of the roof above the balcony. Of course! Leaning his head ever so slightly to the right so that he could see around the Stillwater agent, he noticed a small ladder attached to the wall next to the open balcony doors. Following its path upwards with his eyes, he noted the top of the roof looked wide enough for walking on.
“I…heard a noise. Sounded like a bird.”
“Oh yeah?” Caspillo raised a dark eyebrow that was at odds with his pale hair. “You like birds, Akelius?”
Ben nodded, wondering where this conversation was headed. Caspillo stood aside, and turned to gesture towards the ladder. Ben took the hint, and started walking.
“Hadn’t really thought about it,” he replied as he went. “I guess I don’t not like them.”
“Great.” Caspillo was right behind him, breathing down his neck. “It bodes well that you like birds.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll see.”
He reached the ladder and paused in front of it long enough to slide into the sword harness and buckle it up at the chest. There were only twenty or so rungs to clamber up, but all of a sudden it felt like he was balancing precariously on top of the whole world. Big, black sky was all around him, stars so close he could have touched them if he dared take a hand away from the rung he was clinging onto for dear life. The ocean suddenly sounded louder, something he might fall into if he lost his balance. Not wanting to appear weak in front of the aggressive Caspillo, whose face was now mere inches away from his backside as he climbed behind him, Ben scaled the ladder with what he hoped was the confidence of a sailor heading up for a long night keeping watch in the crow’s nest of a ship. Where the wall met the slant of the deceptively shallow tiles, he swung a leg over and rested one knee on a slate rectangle before hauling himself to his feet. There you go. Nothing to it.
Not daring to stop moving for fear of more accusations of being slow, Ben clambered uneasily up the roof. If he’d known one, he would have whispered a prayer of thanks to the mischievous god, Chikwirio, for bestowing upon him sturdy boots with plenty of grip. As he didn’t know one, though, and couldn’t even confirm such a prayer should be directed at that specific deity, he made do with just managing not to look down. He heard Caspillo’s soft breathing behind him, and the heavier breathing of the bearded soldier just behind that. Looking ahead to possible routes his climb might be taking him, he saw that he hadn’t quite reached the very top of the academy yet. Over to his right, another stone wall juxtaposed with the slate tiles, rising more than double his height and stretching away into the darkness. He could see this addition to the building had a flat roof as opposed to a pitched one, and probably couldn’t even be seen from anywhere down on the ground. A secret room, perhaps?
Ben spotted movement up ahead, and slowly his eyes started to make out two figures. One was already climbing the ladder, whilst the other waited his turn at the bottom. Vantalon and Vykron, no doubt. He moved a little faster, hoping to catch them up. When he reached the bottom rung, Vantalon had disappeared from view and Vykron had just started his own ascent. Not knowing what to say, he simply waited and watched, hoping it didn’t look like he was staring at the other man’s backside. Caspillo and the other soldier appeared next to him.
“You looking at his arse?” The bearded soldier wondered, following Ben’s gaze and shaking his head in mock disgust.
“Leave him be, Meryt,” Caspillo chided, gently. Ben was immediately suspicious, as the blonde man hadn’t shown himself thus far to be capable of anything other than mockery and tellings-off. “If a man wants to stare at another man’s backside in a country renowned for its intolerance to that sort of thing, then who are we to stand in his way? Fifty lashes is nothing to a man of his calibre.” Ah, yes. That was more like it. Ben turned and offered both men a smile, determined not to rise to the bait.
“It’s worth the risk,” he told them, completely straight-faced. “You know what I’m talking about.”
Although both men laughed quietly, the otherwise quiet night made it sound more like a cacophony of alarm bells. Caspillo reined it in immediately, and placed a warning hand on Meryt’s shoulder. His subordinate’s laughter gently faded away to nothing.
“He’s not as bad as I thought,” he whispered to Caspillo, who screwed up his face as if he hadn’t made his mind u
p yet.
“Your turn,” he said, looking at Ben and pointing at the ladder. Ben looked up, and saw that Vykron had disappeared. He reached up and started climbing, hoping he’d redeemed himself somewhat in the eyes of the two Stillwater agents. Somehow, he doubted it.
Eleven
As it turned out, the flat-roofed addition to the top of the academy building was not so much an extra room as it was a shelter. The side facing the front of the building was enclosed, as were the two side elevations, but the side facing the lawns was left completely open to the elements. The rest of the group were huddled inside when Ben arrived, taking respite from the cruel wind that whipped in from the ocean. The floor was made of sturdy wood, constructed on a platform that countered the slope of the roof beneath them. The first thing he noticed, somewhat worryingly, was that large patches of this wooden floor were covered in haphazard splodges of white paint, as if a child had been let loose with a giant paintbrush and had set about flicking emulsion everywhere. It took him a good few moments to realise it wasn’t paint, but faeces. Bird faeces, to be more exact. A few things started to click into place inside his head.
The second thing Ben noticed, eventually, was that their group seemed to have increased in number by one. He must have looked at the new addition at least three times before belatedly realising he’d never seen her before in his life. She wasn’t dressed appropriately to be a guard, and yet she congregated amongst them as if they were old friends. Her hair was so dark it seemed to be black, but that could just have been a trick of the light, or lack of it. Neither long nor short, it was scraped unnecessarily back into a ponytail so short it was actually nothing more than a little tuft of hair sprouting from the top of her head. She seemed tall at first, but closer inspection suggested she only seemed that way because she stood ramrod straight, with the kind of regal posture a princess trained for hours to achieve. Her smooth skin suggested she was in her late twenties, and the way she carried herself suggested late thirties. The pale light of the moon cast them all in a forgiving light so, if he had to choose one or the other, he guessed that late thirties was closer to the truth. Not that he’d ever say that to her face, of course; his mother had taught him well, and sometimes he even remembered what she’d taught.
