Sometimes, he had been able to watch Lucrezia working in the garden while she was unconscious of being watched, and whenever she chanced to look up it seemed easy enough to look away and reign total unconsciousness of her presence but he could never be quite sure that his attention had gone unnoticed, and he had no way to judge how unwelcome it might be if it had not. Whenever she was absorbed in contemplation of two particularly remarkable plants one of which bore an uncanny resemblance to a human torso, the other to the head and forepaws
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of a dog- she seemed utterly oblivious of
all else, but he knew that the appearance might be deceptive. For a moment, during his first tour, he had almost been convinced that the strange plants actually were a human being and a dog, half-buried in the dark soil, but the green shoots sprouting out of them had convinced him that he had been fooled by some trick of perspective.
The bright starlight allowed him to see that the larger of the two plants had gone. Only the one resembling a dog remained. Jacom wondered whether Lucrezia would now be less inclined to linger in the garden during her waking hours.
He had heard, of course, that the roof-garden was reputed to be full of poisonous plants, kept by the witch-wife Ereleth - who was often seen in the company of Princess Lucrezia -- and he had also heard that the princess was a mass-murderess perennially in the market for broken-down slaves of either sex, but he had sense enough to know that such rum ours meant nothing. He knew how easily such preposterous tales could be cooked up, and how their fantastic and horrific elements tended to be amplified as they spread like wildfire within the citadel walls.
Jacom was jerked out of his reverie by the sound of a challenge emanating from the roadway far below him, echoing eerily from the wall of the Inner Sanctum. The challenge evidently went unanswered, for it was followed almost immediately by a cry of alarm. Jacom turned on his heel and raced back to the steps which he had ascended a few minutes before. He ran full tilt, reckless of the danger involved. It was as though his feet, so long constrained to move with unnatural slowness, were intent on making the most of their sudden freedom.
It took him three minutes to get down to the roadway. By that time four or five guardsmen were running this way and that, peering into shadowy coverts in search of the fugitive. Jacom turned round, then turned again, trying to judge which way the fugitive might have gone.
He saw nothing at all until one of the men suddenly shouted: "Look out, sir!"
He turned for a third time to find a dark sihouette hurtling out of the shadowed cloister which extended from the groom's quarters behind the big stables to the side door of the main kitchen. Convinced that he was under attack, Jacom reached for the 59
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sword that was sheathed at his belt, but
the man jinked around him, seemingly intent on scuttling into an alleyway which could take him clear of the men lumbering in his wake. Jacom immediately let go of the hilt of his weapon and hurled himself sideways.
His aim was to tackle the man about the knees, but he had underestimated the effect of the breastplate he wore, and his grasping fingers closed instead about the falling man's left ankle.
Had the captain's desire to complete the capture been compromised by the slightest irresolution the fugitive would probably have pulled away, but Jacom clung on desperately, and his armoured body was far too heavy to be dragged. Thus anchored, the man's momentum carried him forward to a crashing fall, which his cartwheeling arms could not soften. By the time his other pursuers arrived he was groaning in pain, all further thought of flight having been rudely driven out.
Jacom came to his feet, feeling very pleased with himself in spite of the fact that he'd been severely shaken up in the encounter. He noticed that he had skinned both his knees on the hard flagstones.
His midriff and ribs felt as if he had run full tilt into a five-barred gate.
Two guardsmen grabbed thfe recumbent man's arms and hauled him upright.
"What did he do?" Jacom risked, looking around for whoever had issued the first challenge.
"Nothing!" complained the^ victim, while a third guardsman conducted a thorough search of his clothing He wore no belt and had no pouch of any kind.
He was carrying no weapon. There was, however, a piece of parchment tucked inside his shirt. It was a pass to enter the citadel. The guardsman identified the signature as that of the senior kitchen steward, and pointed out that it was only valid until curfew.
The man had long overstayed his licence to be on the premises. "Why didn't you answer the challenge?" Jacom demanded of him. "Because he warn't supposed to be 'ere," answered Kim, the guardsman who had conducted the search.
"Came in b' day, hid when the gates closed, then came out thievin'. Poor fool!
"Adn't got so much as a kitchen scrap 'fore we 'ad 'im."
The guardsman seemed as pleased with the capture as Jacom file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Brian%20Stableford%20-%20Serpents%20Blood.TXT (64 of 495) [11/1/2004 12:26:19 AM]
had been, although
it did occur toJacom that it might have been better had they caught the man in possession of stolen goods. "It was a mistake!" the prisoner objected.
"I didn't mean to get shut in. I was just trying to clear out quietly, so as not to trouble anyone."
"Horseshit!" said Kim. It seemed an apt comment. "What's your name and station?" Jacom asked.
"Sart," the prisoner replied, promptly enough.
"Zadok Sart, bone-man."
"You appear to have left your bone-bag behind," Jacom observed.
"Not to mention your cart. Still- you've five hours of the midnight left to think of a good excuse, before you see the magistrate. Shackle him in the guardroom by the City Gate, for now."
"Yes sir," Kim replied, with a zest which made it clear that he too was fully appreciative of a welcome break in the normal routine.
"We c'n get the truth out of 'im if'n you want us to, sir."
"That's not our business," Jacom said loftily.
"We're the king's guard. Our business is keeping order, not thief-taking.
We can leave the sordid stuff to the constables."
"Yes, sir," the guardsmen chorused.
Jacom felt a thrill of pleasure at having demonstrated that he had learned the ropes as quickly as anyone could have expected. He tried not to limp as he strode away to resume his tour, but when he came to the stairway he decided that he'd seen quite enough of the battlements for one midnight, and went back to the guardroom instead, to inspect his cuts and bruises.
Well, he thought philosophically, as he dabbed his bloody knee with a handkerchief, he might not he guilty of anything much, hut he's definitely guilty. That's an improvement. Next time, perhaps we can arrest someone worth arresting. After that. . . who knows what possibilities the future might hold^ 61
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a ndris leaned on the wall of his cell and watched a spider patiently spinning a web across the pane of the window. It was a good place to have a web because any flies which got into the gloomy cell- and somehow they did, although the possible routes of ingress were blocked most of the time- naturally headed for the beam of light the window let in.
There had, of course, been a web there before, but Andris had thoughtlessly swept it away on more than one occasion in order to peer out into the courtyard. To the spider, each such clearance must have been a catastrophe, but the creature had set about the work of reconstruction with infinite patience and care, and Andris had resolved to be more respectful in future.
In fact, he had come to the conclusion that the spider was a useful resource in a situation which offered relatively few
wards against boredom. He had decided to name it Belin'so that every time he looked at it he could be offering up a silent and subtle insult to the king of Xandria. ' "I won't do it again," Andris assured the' spider
"It isn't as if there's anything out there worth looking at.-In all the time I've been here not a single person has been brought to the scaffold, or even to the whipping-post, and the traffic which passes in and out of the Inner Sanctum is no more interesting, seen from this height, than the comings and goings around the mint. The level of entertainment which this places provides is simply not up to scratch. I was once in a jail where my cell had a view of a crocolid pool, and I saw one poor wretch thrown in. I hadn't really believed in the logic of deterrents before that day, but I've believed in it since. I was very polite to the jail keepers after that, even though they were complete bastards who never wasted an opportunity to wind the prisoners up.
That was a busy jail, not like this one at all
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but they didn't make people
pay to be in it. I was innocent then, too. "
The spider didn't answer, but Andris didn't mind.
"It doesn't in the least matter that you don't understand a word of what I'm saying, Belin," he informed the indefatigable arachnid, with all due seriousness.
"I've been travelling for a long time now, always a foreigner. You get used to not being understood, or even listened to. It isn't just that I'm an amber among gold ens perennially mistaken for a dark lander It's something deeper than that--something so deep that even when my skin colour blends in nicely my foreignness still stands out and marks me as a man apart. That's strange, isn't it? I mean, given that all human beings speak the same language and are heirs to the same lore, you'd think we'd all treat one another pretty much alike, but we don't. Not everywhere's as bad as Xandria, of course. Oddly enough, the places where people pride themselves as being civilised tend to be the places where foreigners get the worst treatment.
There's something about the frame of mind which treats anyone unlike oneself as a barbarian which is profoundly distasteful- and I say that knowing perfectly well that I come from just such a place myself. I've learned from my experiences, you see."
Belin continued to build bridges between the strands of his web- or possibly her web- neatly and cleverly. Somewhere in his travels Andris had heard a tale about an imprisoned king who watched a spider making attempt after attempt to climb up a sheer wall, undeterred by constant failure. This good example had allegedly boosted the king's own morale to the point where, once released, he set about winning backAis lost kingdom. It was one of those tales which was said to be very ancient which probably meant that it had been invented no more than a couple of generations ago.
"In any case," Andris told the spider,
"I have no plans to go home. A man has to have some pride. You can't let the world grind you down, no matter how often you get thrown in jail. Maybe that's what you're trying to teach me, by spinning that wonderfully intricate web. Maybe you're trying to tell me that it's cleverness and not morale that finally turns the tide of fortune. Maybe you're trying to tell me that there's a way to wealth and position, however mazy, in the Princess Lucrezia's offer to take me into her service if 63
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and when she can gffyour
august namesake to agree. Maybe . . ." He fell silent and spun around as the beam covering the spy-hole in the cell door was withdrawn.
' "Mother visitor," called the laconic jailer.
"Never knew a man so popular . . ."
Andris didn't consider two visitors in three days to be evidence of great popularity, but he was grateful to receive any attention at all. By the time he had crossed to the spy-hole the jailer was gone.
In full daylight it was easy enough to make out the features of the person who stood in the corridor. It was not, as he had half expected the princess's servant Monalen, nor could it possibly be Theo Zabio. It was a middle-aged and bearded golden, tall for a Xandrian, grizzled without being in the least decrepit. His brown eyes were bright but oddly melancholy.
Andris could see little of the man's costume, but the cloth of his coat was of very good quality and was showing not the slightest sign of deterioration about the collar or shoulders. In Xandria, where cotton-cleaners and other linen-hungry pests were exceptionally voracious, that was telling evidence of wealth. Andris was uncomfortably aware of the fact that his own clothing was practically falling apart.
"My name is Carus Fraxinust," the visitor said, without waiting to be asked.
"I'm a merchant. I've heard that you're a mapmaker from the far north. If that's so, I might be able to offer you employment rather more congenial than rebuilding houses and repairing The city wall." , "I thought that the people of Xandria considered the Arts Geographical to be a joke, utterly useless in navigating the Slithery Sea and the lands about its shores,"
Andris said warily. "They do,"
Fraxinus said.
"That's why the city hasn't any map makers of its own .
. but there's always a price to pay for the sin of forgetfulness, however venial it may seem. Is there, among the maps you memorised, one which includes a region called the Navel of the World? "
"Yes there is," Andris said promptly. Can I remember it after all these years. he wondered silently. Can I still draw and colour it, given that I haven't been required to practise for seven years and more? Better not let on that there's any doubt, though.
"Do you have any idea whereabouts that region might be located?" (he merchant asked innocently.
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Andris knew a test when he faced one.
"Yes I do," he said, and pointedly neglected to continue.
"You don't have to give away any secrets," Fraxinus assured him.
"Just tell me where the region lies in relation to the Forest of Absolute Night, if you can."
Andris closed his eyes, and tried to call the requisite image to mind. He imagined himself back in the schoolroom, labouring under the eyes of his stern mentors, drawing and drawing and drawing until his wrist cramped, dotting and stippling and colouring and labelling, driven all the while by such endlessly quoted homilies as
"There is no sin but forgetfulness' and
"A man without Art is a man without worth'.
"South," he said eventually.
"A long way south, beyond the Soursweet Marshes. The keys to the map are the five-pointed star, the bowshot and the nest of the phoenix." He was so glad to have been able to remember the mnemonic devices that he spilled it all out before pausing to wonder whether he might have given away something saleable.
"Can you draw the map," Fraxinus asked, 'if I supply the requisite inks and parchment? "
"Of course," Andris said.
"I can interpret it too, to the extent that the interpretation is part of the lore. Are you thinking of going to the Navel of the World?"
"Yes I am," Fraxinus said frankly.
"It's long been held to be an impossible journey, but I have reason to think that it's no longer impossible. I'm trying to muster an expedition. A map would be useful -- provided, of course, that it were accurate."
"It's my belief," Andris said, 'that the maps I was trained to draw of the Slithery Sea were accurate enough in their day- but the lore comes to us from an unimaginable antiquity, and the sea in question must have been so named because it is indeed inclined to slither. Its shores have changed over time, and so has the distribution of its lands. The map which includes the Navel of the World includes marshlands, but no sea. If my experiences in the north are any guide, it's likely to be accurate. I can offer no absolute guarantees, but for what the map m
ay be worth, I can draw it. Would it be worth a thousand crowns to you? "
"That's a very high price," the merchant said.
"I'd want much more than a map for a sum like that."
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"How much more?," Andris asked. He was not disheartened because he had not imagined for a moment that anyone would pay so much for a mere map.
"You're a fighting man too, I think, and a much travelled one. I might see my way to clearing your entire debt, if I could have the strength of your arms as well as the knowledge in your head. Would you be prepared to join us on this adventure, as my employee?" The merchant seemed quite relaxed, as if he expected Andris to jump at the offer. Andris rather liked the man, but couldn't help taking a certain delight in upsetting his assumption.
"I've already had an offer which might secure my release," he said amiably.
"I've promised to accept it, if it comes to fruition."
Fraxinus seemed both astonished and perturbed.
"Who from?" he asked with revealing bluntness.
"Princess Lucrezia," said Andris proudly.
"She's offered to take me into her service, if the king will give his permission. I understand that she has already submitted her petition, but that these things take time."
"Why in the world would Princess Lucrezia want to take you into her service?"
the merchant' asked maintaining a polite tone in spite of the implied insult. , "Perhaps she wants a mapmaker," Andris retorted sarcastically.
Fraxinus's brow was deeply furrowed, and Andris realised that he was actually considering this hypothesis seriously.
"What has Keshvara started?" the merchant muttered into his beard, as he tugged at it reflexively with the fingers of his left hand. But then he looked up again and said: "I can't believe that.-' Neither can I, Andris thought- and belatedly realised that there really was a mystery here. Why did the princess want to petition for his pardon, when she could easily obtain the services of any of a thousand Xandrian men? He began to regret not having made enquiries.
Serpent's Blood Page 8
