by Karen Miller
Asher stared. ‘In the guardhouse?’
‘Captain Orrick is an honourable man and an excellent officer,’ Gar said carefully. ‘But feelings will be running high. I want it made clear to him and his subordinates that regardless of personal outrage and the severity of the accused’s crime, we mustn’t run ahead of the verdict.’
Slumping again, Asher swallowed a groan. ‘You want me to go right now?’
‘Yes.’ Gar reached across the desk and pulled paper and pen towards him. As he scrawled a quick note he said, ‘I can’t go myself, for obvious reasons. As my assistant, however, you’ll be speaking with my full authority.’ Finished with his writing, he folded the note and held it out. ‘Give this to Orrick. It’ll ensure his complete cooperation.’
Asher took the note and studied it. ‘Only if he believes it’s come from you. What if he accuses me of makin’ it up or somethin’? Decides I’m in cahoots with this Timon Spake? He might, seein’ as how he’s so diligent and he don’t know me from a hole in the ground. I mean, he knows someone called Asher’s your new assistant, but he don’t know for sure that’s me.’
Gar frowned, took the note back again and headed for the door. Asher scrambled after him and they hurried downstairs to Darran’s office.
‘Your Highness?’ the ole crow squawked as they marched in. ‘Is something wrong?’
As Gar sealed the note with crimson wax and pressed his house ring into it he said to Darran, ‘You’ll need to send messengers out at once cancelling all my appointments for tomorrow.’
‘Yes, Your Highness,’ Darran said faintly. ‘May I ask, Your Highness, what reason I should—’
‘No,’ said Gar. Ignoring Darran’s offended shock and Willer’s fish-faced goggling, he handed the sealed note to Asher. ‘Be thorough but don’t linger. Report to me the minute you return to the Tower.’
‘Aye, sir,’ said Asher, and tucked the note into his pocket. ‘What d’you want me to do if I find—’
‘Whatever you deem appropriate,’ said Gar. ‘Bearing in mind I shall have to answer for it to the Privy Council.’
‘Aye, sir,’ said Asher, glumly, and withdrew. Not even the look on ole Darran’s face had the power to cheer him up. Damn. If this was what bein’ Assistant Olken Administrator were all about, then he was definitely underpaid.
The last person Dathne expected to see come riding down the High Street from the direction of the palace was Asher. But there he was, scowling and unimpressed on top of his precious silver Cygnet, making his way through the crowd in the City’s central square. When he saw the milling, muttering Olken as they bumped and gathered around Supplicant’s Fountain and stared across the square at the guardhouse entrance, his scowl melted into dismay, then returned more ferociously than ever. She saw his lips move and imagined the cursing.
She didn’t blame him; she felt like cursing, too.
Pushing her way through the bodies she called his name and waved. ‘Asher! Asher!’
Startled, he drew rein and stared down at her as she reached him. ‘Dathne? What are you doin’ out here?’
‘I could ask you the same thing,’ she said.
He nudged his horse sideways until they were pressed flank and knee against the Golden Cockerel Hotel’s front wall. ‘Official business. Now what’s all this rabble-rousin’ about?’ He leaned over Cygnet’s wither as she crowded close and lowered his voice. ‘You got any idea what’s amiss?’
She nodded, one hand steady against the grey colt’s warm, sleek shoulder. ‘I know exactly what’s amiss. And so does everybody else here. With or without an official announcement from the palace, by this time tomorrow I expect every man, woman and child in the City will know.’
‘That some fool’s got caught messin’ about with—’ Stiff-faced with angry surprise, Asher glanced at the mob and reconsidered. ‘How did you find out? The king only got word this mornin’.’
‘And Timon Spake was taken yesterday afternoon,’ she replied, shrugging. ‘Enough people here have family in Basingdown, Asher. The dressmaker two doors down from my shop has a sister there. Are you forgetting messenger pigeons? It only takes one or two, and after that it’s running feet and gabbling tongues. Did you really think you’d keep something like this a secret?’
Asher frowned. ‘The king did.’
‘The king was wrong then, wasn’t he?’ She glanced over her shoulder. Moment by moment the crowd was growing, and as it grew the muttering swelled to an ominous rumble. ‘I don’t like the look of this.’
‘You and me both,’ said Asher with another worried look at the gathered Olken. ‘What are they all doin’ here? What do they want?’
She shrugged. ‘Reassurance. Revenge. The last time this happened a lot of innocent people were hurt. That’s not been forgotten. I think the Olken of Doranen want to make it perfectly clear from the outset where their loyalties lie.’ She shivered. ‘I’d say if Spake walked out here now they’d tear him limb from limb.’ Another shiver. ‘This is going to get ugly.’
Even as she spoke, a stream of guards flowed out of the guardhouse, each one armed with a long pike and a short truncheon. They took up positions along the front of the guardhouse railings and planted the butts of their pikes beside them. Their faces were grim. All around the square and along the City streets glimfire flickered into life inside the public lanterns that sat atop light-poles, dangled from gates and shopfronts and hung suspended from wires over street corners. The light threw long shadows, painting the world with danger.
Asher was staring at the thickening crowd. ‘Wonder if the king knows about this?’
‘If he doesn’t, he soon will,’ she said. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’
‘Gar sent me. He be worried about this man Spake. Wants to make sure he ain’t gettin’ treated unfairly in there.’ He nodded at the guardhouse. ‘Reckon he wants to be more worried about this mob out here. Dath, I got to get goin’. You should go too, back home. Might not be safe out here much longer if these folk take it into their heads to get rambunctious.’
Dathne nodded, her mind racing. Asher was going into the guardhouse? To see Spake? Perfect. Here was a gift unlooked for. A way to salvage this sorry situation. To save her life’s work and a kingdom besides from the folly of one heedless idiot. She put her hand on his knee. ‘Asher, let me go with you.’
Dragging his frowning gaze away from the crowd, he laughed. ‘Don’t be daft.’
‘I mean it. I need to get in there. I must see this Timon Spake.’
‘Why?’
Because I have to stop his mouth before he talks or there won’t be enough empty cells in all of Dorana to hold the victims of his arrogance. ‘Because he’s by way of being family,’ she said with all the wide-eyed sincerity she could summon. ‘Only indirectly, a cousin of a cousin of a cousin. You know how it goes. I’ve never actually met him, but no matter how distant the connection he’s still family. If I could just see him, make sure he’s—’
‘No, I said!’ snapped Asher. ‘I’ll tell you how he is, and you can tell whoever asks. But you ain’t comin’ into the guardhouse with me. If Gar—’
‘I’m sure the prince wouldn’t mind. He knows me. And I won’t be a nuisance. I won’t even speak, I promise. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.’ She tried a winning, winsome smile. ‘Please, Asher? You wouldn’t even have this job if it wasn’t for me. A favour for a favour.’
‘Dathne!’
Clearly her winning, winsome smile needed some work. ‘Look, you say you’re here to make sure this Spake is all right? Well, I can promise you he’s not. He’s in that guardhouse, locked in a cell, probably terrified. Probably being fed on pig slops because he’ll have no friends in there. After what he’s done he’s got no friends anywhere. I could run back to my place, it won’t take long. I’ve sweet cakelets I baked just this morning. He’s welcome to them. And a book to take his mind off things. I’m sure the prince would approve of that, showing mercy to a condemned man. It’s why he’s sent you, is
n’t it? I’d just be helping. Who could object?’
Asher let out an angry huff of air. Chewed at his lip and banged his fist on his thigh, thinking. ‘Run fast then,’ he said at last, grudgingly. ‘Ten minutes I’ll wait, and after that I’ll be goin’ in there without you.’
She bolted. The cakelets were on the kitchen windowsill; after setting three onto the benchtop she rummaged in the back of a cupboard. Found the small glass vial she was after and the thin hollow straw she needed. The sickly-sweet smell of tinctured draconis root made her blink. With the straw she cautiously sucked the poison out of the bottle, then dripped it with immense care into the heart of each cakelet.
It wasn’t murder. He was going to die anyway, so you couldn’t call it murder. And his silence, ensured, would save the lives of hundreds. Maybe thousands. Maybe everyone alive in the kingdom. Veira would be angry, but so long as the old woman was angry after the fact that didn’t matter. As Jervale’s Heir she had a duty to ensure the smooth passage of Prophecy … and she would do whatever she had to, no matter the cost.
She felt a brief, burning hatred for the man who was making her do this. Forcing her hand to take his life. Who had sworn the same oath she had, to silence, to the Circle, to death before betrayal …
The bastard should have killed himself.
When it was done she wrapped the cakelets in a clean tea towel, put them and a book into her string bag and bolted all the way back to Asher.
‘Just in bloody time,’ he muttered, eyeing the packed square uneasily. ‘Stick close now. I reckon this mob’s goin’ to start a riot any second.’
Fingers wrapped tight around his stirrup leather, holding hard against Cygnet’s trembling side, she pushed with him through the surging crowd. The air was thick with ugliness, with fear and fury. Looking around her she couldn’t see a single fair head anywhere, only dark ones. Only Olken. The press of bodies parted reluctantly, complaining, and they continued forward until a guard standing at the entrance to the guardhouse lowered his pike point-first and challenged them.
‘Let me pass,’ said Asher curtly. ‘I’m Asher, the Assistant Olken Administrator. I’ve come on the prince’s business.’
Dathne watched the guard’s tense gaze flicker over the expensive horse, its rider’s expensive clothes and lastly his face. The pike’s point dropped, fractionally. ‘The woman?’
‘Is with me. Now stand aside.’ Asher touched his spurs to Cygnet’s flanks. The horse snorted, ears pinned back, and danced a little.
‘Pass,’ said the guard, and stepped sideways.
Asher eased his hand on the reins and Cygnet jumped forward. ‘Easy, you ole fool.’ He glanced down. ‘You be all right there, Dathne?’
She took a deep breath. Her heart was booming and her mouth was dry. She could still smell the draconis. ‘I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with, shall we?’
‘Aye. Let’s,’ said Asher, and together they walked through the gates of the Dorana City guardhouse.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Captain Orrick of the City Guard was a lean, hatchet-faced man of middle years who wore his plain crimson uniform like a second skin. His dark, silver-threaded hair was clipped even closer than Matt’s and his grey eyes were cool and calculating. He stood in front of the guardhouse lobby desk and twice read the note Asher handed him. Then he looked up.
‘I’d heard someone was appointed His Highness’s Assistant Administrator.’
‘Aye, well, that someone’d be me,’ said Asher.
‘So you say.’ Orrick considered him. ‘But we’ve not been formally introduced.’
Asher shrugged. ‘It only just happened. Reckon His Highness’ll get around to officially tellin’ you it’s me in his own good time. Mayhap he’s been too busy trimmin’ his toenails to think of it.’
Orrick’s thin lips tightened. If they hadn’t been surrounded by the captain’s nervous subordinates, all looking out of the windows and muttering about the gathered crowd outside, Dathne would have trodden on Asher’s toes, hard. Pellen Orrick was the last man in Dorana to be amused by an eccentric sense of humour.
‘His Majesty has charged me straight to keep the prisoner isolated,’ Orrick said. ‘Do I understand you expect me to disobey a lawful order from the king?’
‘Look,’ said Asher, sighing. ‘I don’t know nowt about that. All I know is Prince Gar sent me hotfootin’ it down here to have a quick gander at this Spake from Basingdown. You be holdin’ his note of authority in your hand. If you want to get in a brangle between the prince and his da, that be your business. Mine’s doin’ as I’m told by the man payin’ me a fat sum of trins every week not to stand around arguin’ about every little thing. Right?’
Orrick’s chill gaze shifted. ‘You’re not mentioned in His Highness’s letter of authority, Mistress Dathne.’
‘No, but I am,’ said Asher. ‘And she’s with me. Brought a mite of comfort for the prisoner. You sayin’ you ain’t goin’ to let a condemned man have a mite of comfort in his last days? That’s hard, that is.’
Unprompted, Dathne held out the string bag. Orrick took it from her and inspected the contents. ‘It’s not much,’ she said. ‘But a little is better than nothing.’
‘You know what crime it is this man stands accused of?’ said Orrick, handing back the bag.
‘Yes, Captain. Word’s got about, it seems.’
Orrick’s face tightened. ‘And knowing it, still you’d bring him comfort? This blasphemous traitor?’
‘As you say, Captain, he is but accused,’ she said, keeping her gaze discreetly lowered. ‘And Barl believed in mercy as well as swift retribution. If guilt is proven he’ll be punished soon enough.’
Orrick made a disgusted, impatient sound. ‘Very well. You have five minutes to satisfy your prince’s concerns, Meister Asher.’ Turning to one of his guards he snapped his fingers. ‘Bunder. Take the prince’s assistant and Mistress Dathne here along to see the prisoner Spake. Stay with them while they count his fingers and toes and bring them back smartly thereafter.’
Bunder saluted, then took the brass ring of keys Orrick handed him. ‘Yes, Captain!’
Dathne favoured Orrick with her best smile. ‘Thank you so much, Captain. I’m sure His Highness will be well pleased, won’t he, Asher?’ When Asher scowled she did tread on his toes.
‘Oy!’ he said, annoyed, then took the hint. ‘Aye, he’ll be tickled pink.’ He glanced out of the nearest window, then looked back at Orrick. His expression softened. ‘Reckon you got a bit on your plate tonight as it is, Captain. We’ll be out of your hair directly.’
Orrick’s eyes lost a little of their chill. ‘I would appreciate it. Bunder?’
There was a stout wooden door to one side of the main desk. The guardsman opened it for them, let them pass, then closed it and led them along a corridor towards the rear of the building. The cells on either side of the passageway were empty. Dathne wasn’t surprised; the guardhouse tended to fill up only at the end of the working week, when an excess of cheer and ale and lost bets on the horses caused trouble. As she followed Bunder’s stiff spine and squared shoulders, the string bag bouncing on her shoulder, Dathne felt her heartbeat booming louder, faster.
It was a terrible thing she planned to do, terrible and dangerous. Draconis was not an obvious poison. It acted slowly, weakening the blood vessels in the brain. Some hours after consumption it induced violent seizures, mimicking the natural effects of a stroke. After suffering a series of convulsions, the victim lapsed into a stupor from which he could not be roused, then faded away over two or three days. Twice to her knowledge it had been used in other, equally dire circumstances and in neither case had the Olken healers or Doranen pothers summoned for aid detected its presence. Like so many other things, the knowledge of draconis root had slipped into darkness.
Still, she was taking a dreadful risk. Captain Orrick was a diligent man, jealous of his authority and jurisdiction. There was a chance he might on principle suspect foul play, even thou
gh she knew it most likely the brainstorm would be blamed on an Olken’s tampering with magic. If the stakes hadn’t been so high she never would have contemplated such a dangerous act. But if this fool Spake’s nerve failed and he attempted to save himself by implicating others …
She felt vilely sick, with nerves and revulsion for what she was about to do. As poisons went draconis was relatively painless, but even so … Jervale forgive me, I have no choice. Either I soil my hands a little now, or see them soaked in blood later.
At the end of the corridor there was another door. Bunder selected a key from the ring he carried and unlocked it. Swinging the door open, he ushered them through.
The room beyond was small and windowless. Most of it was a cell, partitioned from the small front section by floor-to-ceiling metal bars in which a narrow door had been set. It was heavy with padlocks. The cell contained a bench, a bucket and a man. Its floor was strewn with fresh straw. Two small barred vents high up on the rear wall allowed fresh air to flow into the restricted space, but it wasn’t enough to mask the stench of recent vomiting.
Hearing the door open, the prisoner looked up from his hunched squat over the bucket. The first thing Dathne thought on seeing him was: Veira! Why didn’t you tell me he was so young?
Young, slight of body and plain with it. His face was unremarkable, his chin a trifle weak, his eyes mud brown and his black hair cut unbecomingly above his ears, which stuck out ever so slightly. There were freckles on his nose. It was hard to imagine him shaving. Harder still to imagine him whispering the words of forbidden magics.
She glanced at Asher, solid and silent by her side. His expression was smooth, unflustered; she was beginning to learn that it meant some deep consternation. Behind them Bunder closed the door and stood before it, feet wide and arms crossed over his chest. Fingers tight around the neck of the string bag, Dathne took a deep breath to calm her roiling stomach and waited.
‘Is Hervy coming? Hervy Wynton?’ Timon Spake asked uncertainly. He had a pleasant voice, deep for a young man, and it shook only a little. ‘He’s a family friend. He said he was coming.’
