by C. M. Gray
Loras stood just a few steps away, smiling happily. Tarent walked cautiously over and stood next to him.
'You want to explain this Loras,' he whispered.
'You don't have to whisper, they can't hear you,' said Loras grinning from ear to ear. 'It worked Tarent. I wasn't totally convinced that it would, but it did!'
Tarent took a deep breath. 'Please don't mention that you had any doubts to the others, Loras. It may not go down too well.'
Loras pointed up to where the ball of clay had hit the cliff-side, to where the outline of a carved blue griffin stood proud to the rock-face. 'That's going to be visible from both sides, but only someone who isn't carrying a weapon will be able to see through or pass through. I've decided it's more of a curtain than a wall, it just can't be seen. Good idea though, eh Tarent?'
Tarent looked at his small friend's happy face, dusted with fallen snow. 'Yeah, good idea Loras, good idea; so what are they seeing?' He nodded towards the band of Barbarian warriors that were milling about in confusion, some had noticed the blue griffin carved into the rock and were pointing up to it. The big female that had been about to kill him was still out cold on the floor alongside several others.
'All they see is the Bolt, a clear path ahead. If one of them were to drop all his weapons, he would see us and be able to come through after us. But the chance of a Barbarian warrior walking about unarmed is fairly slim, eh?'
Tarent shook his head in wonder as Loras walked off with Magician Falk to inspect the blue griffin. With a last look at the Barbarians who were now involved in a heated debate, Tarent turned back to the wagon to where the cook had already begun preparing a brew with Bartholomew offering advice and suggestions on a small snack.
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Chapter 14
The Sweep's Apprentice
The night had long thrown its inky cloak across the city, and the rain had all but ceased its relentless, greasy downpour. The atmosphere surrounding the pit was thick and fetid with cold sweat, anticipation and a lust for death. Flickering yellow light cast from hundreds of burning torches lit terraces filled to capacity with the populace of the twin cities, thousands of eager excited faces screaming at the macabre spectacle playing out below them. Mahra could see most of what was happening on the floor of the pit from where she perched on the head of a stone gargoyle, the heat generated by the thousands of bodies as it rose in a heavy stench washing up over her, seeming to drive the weather back and form a seal against the encroaching night.
Casting her gaze from the pit, Mahra studied the crowd seeking out the Warrior Queen, finally spotting her in a slightly raised area on the northern terrace.
Morgasta was dressed in her customary black. A full-length dress, black and filmy, floated about her, rising in a high stiff collar to frame her pale neck, the white of her skin making her face luminescent in the dancing torchlight. The deep crimson blush of her painted lips and long scarlet gloves worn, so Mahra guessed, as a sign of her position, were the Warrior Queen's only concession to colour. With a few honoured guests, she was enjoying the spectacle in relative comfort, her private pavilion covered from the elements by a large black awning was set some distance apart from the common people in the terraces around her.
Scattered about the floor of the pit in the main arena, small bands of fighters sought each other in a deadly game. Some were the Queen's Barbarian warriors out to prove their fighting abilities while others appeared to be less enthusiastic fighters, prisoners taken from other conquered races. Mahra watched in growing horror as the Queen stood and slowly slid one finger across her white throat to indicate her permission for a death to take place. The collective voices of the multitude screamed in a lust for blood as a warrior in the arena below thrust his sword into his struggling victim. The mob roared its approval in near hysterical delight and the warrior raised his bloody blade into the air in salute, ecstatic in his victory, before casting about for another victim amidst the madness around him.
Mahra noticed three tall, grey-skinned individuals standing firm as a group close to the eastern wall of the enclosure. They fought defensively, taking little risk unless directly attacked and were mostly being ignored in favour of easier victims by the better-armed Barbarians. She watched for a moment, wondering from where they came.
The shrieking of the crowd rose again, and Mahra's attention was drawn to large iron gates opening below where the Queen's party sat. Another batch of about ten prisoners were pushed and shoved through, an assortment of weapons hastily thrown in after them, and then the gate slammed shut with a clang and the new group stood gawking about them in terror, clearly appalled at the violence taking place around them. Mahra noticed that only a few in their number thought to pick up a weapon, these were no warriors.
Screaming taunts from the crowd were the first thing to assault them, drawing several Barbarian hunters who were eager to find fresh meat for their butchery. As the Barbarians advanced, one of the prisoners screamed and turned to run back and beat on the gate, begging to be let out. Mahra felt a shudder of pity and fear run through her, and then a huge axe came spinning through the air and caught the man square in the back with an audible thump, abruptly cutting off his pleas and ending his ordeal. His corpse, pinned against the cold iron by the great axe head, twitched as what was left of his life ebbed away, the spectators roaring their approval once more and the Barbarians rushed in to dance in an orgy of bloodletting amongst the rest of the new group.
Mahra turned away in disgust and flew back in search of Pardigan and Quint. The Queen, it appeared, would be occupied for some time. This may be their best opportunity to look around the palace.
When Mahra walked in, she found the boys eager to be away. Both had slept for a while but the feeling of despair that filled the city had also filled their dreams. Quint had been able to update Tarent about where they were by writing messages in the 'Book of Challenges' and had received the welcome news that Loras had somehow managed to block the Bolt.
'Morgasta will be stuck this side of the mountains, we have to get the news back to King Hugo somehow,' said Quint. 'The others are going to try and make their way back to the ship.' He pulled on his boots and got to his feet.
Their clothes were dry enough that they were almost comfortable, and the sleep, although troubled, had been enough of a rest. While they were gathering their things, Mahra told them what she had witnessed in the Queen's fighting pit.
'I suppose it's why they're called Barbarians,' said Quint when she had finished. 'This does sound as if it's the best time to search the palace. Did you see anyone else on the streets?' Mahra shook her head and they stood waiting as Pardigan pulled on his cloak.
'There are a few patrols out, but they're carrying torches so we should be able to spot them. I just don't know the best way into the palace. I can fly in, but I don't know about you two.' Pardigan and Quint looked at each other and grinned.
'Don't worry, we'll find a way in,' said Pardigan picking his way across the uneven floor to the door. 'It's something I have a knack for.'
When they had navigated their way through the derelict building and out onto the street, they found it dark and gloomy, the street lamps still unlit. The rain had stopped, and the clouds had parted enough to let a thin reflection from the moon shine its feeble light into the city. The cobblestones of the street appeared clad in silver as moonlight reflected from each individual stone, belying the fact that the stones were coated in the black slime of the city. It was a temporary illusion, but it was the first thing of beauty they had seen since arriving.
Mahra flew ahead, leading the way, scouting for patrols as she directed them to the palace. When they were close, she came back and landed beside them, and they huddled in a dark doorway to plan their next move.
'The palace is around the next bend,' Mahra explained. 'There's a small square in front and three entrance doors, the largest in the centre. I can't see any guards, which is a bit odd, but the easier this is the better, I suppose. I'm going
to check from the top floor and work my way down. If you manage to get in, try to find a treasure room or Morgasta's bedroom or anyplace else that may possibly have the skulls. We just have to hope that they're displayed and not hidden away'
Pardigan shook his head. 'If we try and search the whole palace we're going to be here for weeks, maybe we should just ask someone?' Mahra looked at Pardigan and then at Quint.
'Quint, please look after him, and if he goes asking people questions, make sure you're not both dragged off to that pit. From what I saw, I don't really think you'd enjoy it very much.'
Quint smiled. 'Don't worry; we'll be all right. You go, and we'll meet up with you here in roughly two turns of the glass. If not, then we'll keep coming back every turn or so, all right?' Mahra nodded, fell forward into the street, shimmered into the shape of an owl, and flew silently around the corner.
'Pardigan, you just say a thing like that to upset her, don't you…' He shook his head in resignation as Pardigan grinned. 'Come on, let's go see what this palace looks like. The quicker we get in, the quicker we can get out.' After a glance up and down the street, he stepped out of the doorway.
Once at the corner, they peered into the square. Across the dark expanse of wet cobbles, a huge intimidating structure loomed up into the gloom. A large central entranceway appeared dark and deserted, thrown into shadow by two flickering torches mounted to each side. They had almost burnt out or had been dampened enough by the rain that they appeared to be on the edge of extinction. About ten paces to either side of the main door were two smaller unlit entrances. There were no windows on the ground level. Looking up, they could see the palace rose for at least eight floors with towers and attics ascending even higher, it was indeed a daunting prospect.
'Looks a bit grim,' muttered Pardigan casting a professional eye over the front of the building. 'I suppose we could climb it, but in this wet weather…' His attention returned once again to the three doors. 'We can either circle the building or try one of those doors. I can probably pick the lock on one of the smaller ones; the big door would need heavier tools than I've got with me. Anyway, the front door isn't the best way to enter a building uninvited.' He gazed up through the darkness, trying to see the upper levels. 'Can't see any lamps or candles burning, maybe everyone really is at the pit. Come on, let's get a closer look at the doors.' Quint nodded and they moved across the square with their footsteps sounding loud in their ears. They felt exposed and vulnerable, and glanced around nervously in case someone could hear them and was about to emerge and offer a challenge. Once across, they stopped in front of the closer of the two smaller doors, glad to be back in the shadows.
Applying a steady pressure to the handle, Pardigan gently pushed. 'It's locked,' he whispered, and crouched down to study the mechanism for a moment before fishing into his cloak for his small pack of tools. His senses were so alive he could feel Quint's anxiety behind him as he glanced up and down the building then out across the square to the streets and buildings opposite. Ignoring him as best he could, Pardigan worked the lock with two bits of metal. After a moment, he gave up and shook his head. 'Let's try the other one, I think the key is on the inside of this one, I can't turn the mechanism.' They crept off towards the other door, pulling their cloaks up over their heads as the rain started to fall again and thunder rumbled in the distance. Almost at the other door, the sound of a voice from out of the darkness brought them up short.
'Oy! Why didn't yer knock proper like? Scratchin' away like a pair o' little mice. Tis a wonder I 'eard yer.' The figure of an old, rather stout woman stood in the shadow of the first door they had tried, a lamp held out illuminating a scrunched face as she searched for some detail of them in the darkness. 'We been waitin' ages for yer. Now get in 'ere. Tis a bloomin' 'orrible night, and that's not a mistake.'
Pardigan and Quint glanced at each other and then back as the woman beckoned irritably to them. Quint shrugged, and they moved towards her.
'Urry up won't yer! I got bread a baking and the sweep 'as been screaming for yer fer ages. Come… come on, move it, bloomin' kids.' The boys shot past her into the palace, each of them receiving a thump on the head as they passed for keeping her waiting.
The room they entered was large and hung with all kinds of vegetables, herbs and meats. Boxes, crates and barrels, were stacked to the sides with a cutting table at the centre. It smelt wonderful, and both boys felt their stomachs rumble. The stout woman strode past them wiping her hands on her apron then disappeared through another door at the far end, the boys followed, each grabbing up a piece of cheese and a hunk of bread from the table as they passed.
The next room they entered was a large, smoky kitchen with a whole bunch of people stirring, kneading and preparing food at different tables, it was hot and steamy and didn't smell very good. Stewed cabbages thought Pardigan as he glanced into a pot and wrinkled his nose. The stout woman stopped long enough to clout a boy around the head who wasn't stirring a large bubbling saucepan fast enough for her liking, her voice rising to a screech of indignation.
'Yer'll burn it yer dozey muffin, stay awake, why can't yer?' satisfied at his renewed efforts, she continued on her way, snatching up a candle to light the corridor as Pardigan and Quint followed behind, trying to keep up as they gazed around the darkened rooms and unlit passageways that they passed through.
After a giddy tour of passages, rooms and hallways, she eventually burst through a set of double doors, sending them crashing back against the wall then stopped in front of a small skinny man who appeared even blacker than the average citizen of Bedlam.
'Ere yer go then, Mr Tod. Yer brush boys is 'ere, so no more of yer dallying.' She reached back, grabbed a handful of Pardigan and Quint and pushed them towards the skinny man who rose up on his toes and eyed them suspiciously.
Mr Tod did not look happy. 'Old on there, one moment, if you please!' He grabbed Pardigan by the ear and, after a quick appraisal, pulled him behind him. “E' will do, but 'im…' he jabbed at Quint with a black stubby finger. 'E's far too big to go up a chimney. Why the orphanage would send a great oversized lump like, 'im I 'ave no idea. I shall 'ave words with them I will, and they shan't be pleasant words neither, so they shan't!'
The stout lady harrumphed and spun on her heels. 'Just get on with yer. Yer got ten chimneys ter clean before 'er Majesty gets back, so send 'em up. Ye can tie a rope to 'is feet,' she gestured at Quint, 'an if 'e gets stuck yer can just yank on the rope an' pull 'im down! An if that don't work 'e'll just have to starve a bit then come out when e's skinnier.' With a nod of approval at the intelligence of her own words, she turned on her heels and the doors slammed behind her, leaving Quint and Pardigan alone with Mr Tod the sweep.
'Right lads, just you look sharp and get up that chimney,' he handed a small stiff brush to both boys. 'Ten chimneys ter clean before daylight, cook says, and then yer can bugger off back ter the orphanage, now get!' He landed another clout to the side of Pardigan's head and appeared surprised when Pardigan kicked him hard in the shin and slapped his face hard.'
'Aaaahhhh,' he hopped about going red in the face. 'You little…!' but he didn't have time to finish as Quint brought a vase down on his head and he fell to the floor unconscious. Pardigan stood rubbing the side of his head, much to Quint's amusement.
'Shhhh, they'll hear us,' said Quint as he saw Pardigan about to protest loudly. 'Come on, help me tie him up.' He took a swipe at Pardigan's head but Pardigan ducked.
'Come off it, Quint. I've already got a huge bruise; it isn't funny. I bet boys in Bedlam grow up with odd shaped heads!' They dragged the sweep to his pile of dirty sheets and after gagging him, tied him up. They tried stuffing him up the chimney, but after a few tries they realised he was too heavy and settled on hiding him behind a large wooden cabinet. Satisfied he wouldn't be found easily and couldn't get free if he woke, they each took up a candle and left the room to explore.
They had already seen most of the floor they were on, it was devoted to the kitch
ens and staff quarters, and the room where they'd left the sweep didn't look like one Morgasta would use either. The corridor outside the room was tiled with large slabs of stone. They guessed it was a servant's passage as there weren't any pictures or decoration and a strange damp musty smell filled the air. They hurried along towards the end, found a narrow stone staircase, and made their way up.
This floor was completely different. Woven matting with faded patterns ran down the centre of the hallway covering heavy wood floorboards, there were even a few paintings on the walls. It was nowhere near as grand as the King's palace in Deniah, but then the Barbarians were nothing like people back in the Realm.
The building was mostly silent with just the occasional sounds coming from distant rooms. As they made their way on they only had to hide once as someone passed by.
The palace was barely occupied, as room after empty room confirmed. Some were filled to overflowing with crates and boxes holding nothing of any obvious value, certainly not crystal skulls, whilst others were bare of any furnishing at all.
They began to feel a little more positive when, on the third floor, they entered the largest room they had found so far. It was obviously Morgasta's throne room. High windows that made up one wall were draped to either side with heavy black curtains. Pardigan gazed out at the dark city, and down to the river, the glow of the arena the only bright light within the city and the city of Mayhem appeared to be equally dark beyond on the far bank. He turned back to where Quint was studying the weapons that covered the opposite wall, the one through which they had entered. It was an astonishing sight, a collection of every conceivable type and style of weapon. Swords, spears, knives, pikes, bows and crossbows were the identifiable ones, but they found many more that were completely baffling.
'Come on, let's look at the throne,' said Pardigan approaching the large ornate chair at the far end of the room. 'She likes skulls anyhow, but these aren't made of crystal, they're real.' He sat down and ran his hand over the grinning human skulls that made up the armrests to either side.
