by Tim Stead
A woman bustled in with a tray holding her soup, bread and cheese and another glass of wine. “Here you are,” the woman said. She was twice Felice’s age, and dressed in a brown, sack like dress. She was twice her size as well, and red faced.
“The wine…”
“On the house, Ima.”
“Thank you.”
The woman went away again, which made her glad, She did not like the way that the older woman had looked at her. It was a sort of resentful, despising look. It was possible that the tradesmen did not like the people from the school, despite relying on them for their livelihood.
She sipped the wine and found it excellent – far better than the glass she had paid for. She was going to have to remember every detail about the landlord of the Black Sword to be worthy of such generosity. Haken had been his name. He had seemed kind, friendly, interested in her.
She ate. The soup was good, and the cheese was the familiar hard yellow stuff that everyone ate here in the north. The bread was fresh, still warm, and she dipped it in the soup. As she ate she felt warm and comfortable. The buzz of the crowd and the hot food, the rich wine, all conspired to make her sleepy. She finished the food and let her head rest on the back of the chair. The landlord would not mind, she thought, if she rested her eyes, or even dozed a bit. She had every right to be tired after what she had been through. It was odd, though. She had slept well last night, and she had not felt in the least bit tired this morning. She tried to lift her hand to pick up her cup of wine again, but her arm was very heavy, and it was easier just to relax. She saw a face at the door, the one that led into the kitchen.
“Are you all right?” a voice said.
She tried to speak, but she was just too tired. She closed her eyes. She needed sleep.
25. The Back Sword
Carn finished his ale and sat for a while picking at the crumbs of bread that were left on his plate. He felt like another drink, but knew that he had work to do in the afternoon. Delf was busy up at the school, something to do with Serhan, and he knew that he was relied upon to be efficient, to get things done. He watched the people in the square and soaked up their mood. They were relieved, even celebratory. Yesterday the whole place had been sombre and afraid, but the killer had been caught, caught and killed, Serhan had said, so they were safe again.
Carn himself was a candidate, as well as serving the lawmaster as a clerk. Delf had insisted that he put his name down. You’ll never know if you don’t try, he had said, and so he had. He had no idea if he had done well. They had been kind to him, and seemed approving of his efforts, but then they all knew that he was Delf’s protégé, and they all liked the lawmaster.
He looked back at his empty plate. It was not the ale that was keeping him here, he admitted. It was the girl. She was pretty, but not in the northern way he had imagined. She was dark and small, green eyed, aloof. He had pictured someone fair, as most northerners were, bigger and stronger. It made her story even more remarkable. He’d heard that story from Delf just a few days ago, and it sounded like something made up, a fiction devised by singer to amuse a tavern full of drunks. His master had laid his scepticism to rest by invoking no lesser and authority than the Mage Lord himself.
He stood and went into the tavern. There were many people here that he knew, villagers, town dwellers – it was a distinction that he appreciated, but many of the other candidates did not – and of course the candidates. He nodded to them as he passed, and pushed his way through the crowd in the tavern’s great room, looking at every face, but he could not find her. He stopped next to a man he recognised. The man was called Beron. He was a candidate, but seemed more interested in chasing women than magic. He was just what Carn was looking for.
“Beron,” he said. “Have you been here long?”
“Long enough,” the man answered smiling. There was a girl on his arm, pleasant faced, a little rounded, but that was how Beron liked them. “Shouldn’t you be back behind a desk or something?”
Carn ignored the question. “I’m looking for someone,” he said. “A girl.”
Beron gestured around the tavern with a sweeping arm. “Plenty to chose from,” he said.
“A particular girl. Short, dark hair, quite pretty. She would have come in about fifteen minutes ago, maybe twenty.”
“You’re getting fussy now?” The girl on Beron’s arm giggled. They were both a little drunk, he suspected.
“That’s right,” he said. “Did you see her?”
“You’re kidding. There must be three hundred people in here.”
“You would have noticed her,” Carn said.
“Oh,” Beron grinned. “That one.” His girl looked a little put out. “Who is she? Some eastern princess?”
“Felice Caledon,” Carn replied, and was pleased to see Beron’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Really?” It wasn’t often that Beron let himself be impressed.
“Did you see where she went?”
“Of course. She went to the bar and spoke to the landlord. Then she went into the back room.”
“The back room?”
“Yes. You don’t gamble, do you? It’s where the merchants play cards. A lot of money changes hands in those games. You could get rich.”
He thanked Beron and pushed his way back across the room. The door to the card room was shut, but there was no lock on it and he opened it and walked in.
For a moment he was confused by what he saw. A man and a woman were carrying something through another door, one that led into the back of the tavern, where the kitchens and store rooms were. Whatever they were carrying was covered by a blanket, and looked heavy by the way they were carrying it, or at least awkward. Then he saw a boot, a black boot like the one Felice Caledon had been wearing, sticking out from under the blanket.
He reached for his short sword.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
They stared at him, unmoving, like some realistic but sinister tapestry, and then there was a small sound behind him. He started to turn, but something very heavy came down on the back of his head and the world plunged into darkness.
26. Prisoners
Noise came back first. There were voices, not familiar ones; a man and a woman. At first she only knew that they were voices, but after a while she could hear the words.
“…Are you sure? You could have used too much. Look at her size.” The woman’s voice. Anxious.
“Don’t worry.” The man. Calm, commanding, swollen with the kind of ignorant confidence that scared her. “The Shan said it was no danger. We made sure it was telling the truth. No amount is fatal.”
“But she’s been out for hours!”
“Just leave her. If we stay too long people will begin to wonder. I’ll have Jarrow check every five minutes. They won’t cause any trouble.”
The voices faded, a door closed. She could hear something else, but it was hard to know what it was; some kind of friction, irregular, like a saw blade, but not as harsh. She opened her eyes and found herself looking at a ceiling, white, plastered. There was a small, barred window that allowed light in. She lifted her head.
“You’re still alive, then.”
She looked to her right and saw a man trussed up like a cow for slaughter. It was he who had been making the noise. She could see where the ropes had chafed his wrists, and his face was red from the struggle. It was the man from outside the tavern. Carn: that was his name. She tried to move and found that she, too, was bound. Ropes embraced her wrists and ankles very firmly, and a further rope tethered ankles and wrists together. Her head was still swimming. It was like being in a dream, and no matter how hard she tried she could not bring the world into focus.
“What…?”
“You were drugged. I followed you. They hit me on the head. You’ve been out for hours.” He made it sound like she was late for dinner, but very late.
“Why…?
“I have no idea, but they don’t know who you are. If you want m
y advice don’t tell them.”
“Why?” Her head was beginning to clear. The food, or the wine, must have been drugged, and had she heard that? The drug was provided by a Shan? She’d heard somebody say that.
“Just better that way,” Carn said. He started worrying at the ropes that bound him again, trying to rub them against the corner of a crate. “I wish they hadn’t tied these so tight.”
“They have a Shan working for them,” she said.
“Not really,” Carn replied. “It’s just behind you.”
She twisted again. She was propped up on some sacks that felt like they were filled with grain, and she managed to turn around enough so that she could see. It was hard to tell if it was a Shan. She had never seen one. All she knew about them, physically, was that they were smaller than men. What she saw was smaller than a man, but it could just have easily been a child. She could see very little of it because it was wrapped in blankets and ropes.
“How do you know it’s a Shan?” she asked.
“It told me.”
“Keshte Moru,” a voice said. “I have been waiting for you.” So the Shan was awake.
“You’ve mistaken me for someone else,” she said. “My name is Felice Caledon.”
“One of your names,” the voice said. She couldn’t see its eyes or its mouth, so conversation seemed awkward. It was like talking to someone with their back turned.
“I only have one that I know of,” she said. “How long have you been here?”
“A week, perhaps eight days,” the Shan replied. “You may call me Seer Yanno,” it added.
“You seem very calm, Seer Yanno,” she said. She was beginning to feel less calm herself as the effects of the drug wore off and she became fully awake. She was in trouble again, and she had no idea what kind or with who.
“I have been waiting for you,” the Shan said. She decided that she didn’t have time to make sense of what the creature was saying, so she turned back to Carn.
“How long have you been awake?”
“Hard to tell,” Carn said. “A couple of hours at least.”
“What do they want? Why are they doing this?”
“Don’t ask me,” he said. “It’s you they’re after. Apparently you gave them some sort of signal.”
“No I didn’t.”
“It’s what they said. My ears work just fine. You said something that told them to kidnap you. I just stumbled in on it, and the Shan’s nothing to do with it.”
She closed her eyes and tried to remember. She’d gone to the bar, spoken with the landlord. After that she’d just named some dishes that were on the menu, exchanged a word or two with the serving woman, but that was when she brought the food, and the drug must have already been in the food by then, so it was something she said to the landlord.
All she could remember was the message from his brother at White Rock, but he had seemed surprised on hearing it, as though he didn’t have a brother, or not one at White Rock, or not one that would send him greetings by a stranger. If that was the reason, then it meant that Haken had sent the message, using her as the courier. If that was how it had been done it was very clever, if a little hit and miss. She could have decided not to speak to the landlord here.
If she was right then the landlords were not brothers, at least not in the family sense, but they were linked in some way, belonged to the same organisation or conspiracy. The real question was: why? What possible reason could they have for drugging her and tying her up? It was a circle, she realised. If she knew who they were, what their goals were, then she would have an idea what they wanted, and vice versa.
Did they even know who she was? Carn had said not, but again that made no sense. Why kidnap someone you don’t know?
Haken had not known her name, but he had seen her several times. He had known that she was from the Castle, or been staying there. He had seen her with Alder a couple of times. He had known that she was coming to Woodside. She could get nothing out of that. Nothing added up. Something to do with White Rock? With the Ekloi?
“What are they going to do with us?” she asked.
“They’re waiting for someone,” Carn replied. “I don’t know what they’ll do with you, but I think they plan to kill me.” He seemed remarkably calm; annoyed, but calm.
“Kill you?”
“Too high profile,” he said. She could see that he was still chaffing at the ropes, trying to rub them against the corner of a box, but it didn’t seem to be doing any good. “I’d be missed. People would look for me. If my body is found in the right place people might draw the wrong conclusions.”
“But I’m…”
“Exactly,” Carn interrupted. “So don’t tell them who you are.”
If Carn would be missed what would happen if she disappeared? Serhan would want to know what had happened. She was under his protection, and she was sure that he would turn the town upside down looking for her. Perhaps literally. As soon as that started they would realise their mistake and kill her too, and probably the Shan, so they were all going to die because of her. It was something she could not allow to happen. How she could stop it she didn’t know.
“Is there anything in here we can use as a weapon?” she asked.
“Your hands are tied,” he reminded her. “My hands are tied.”
She tested the ropes, and they were tight. Whoever had tied them had not worried about her comfort. “We have to get free somehow.” She said.
Carn grimaced and shook his head. “What exactly do you think I’ve been doing while you slept?” he asked.
“I apologise.” She wasn’t thinking, She knew that Carn had been trying to escape. She knew that they were bound, but she had opened her mouth and spoken what was in her head. She had to try harder, think more clearly. She looked around the room for something that would give her an idea.
The door opened again and three people stepped through it. One was the landlord, another was the woman who had served her, and the third was the one they had been waiting for. It was a guess, but she was quite sure of it. Nobody else, she reasoned, would feel the need to hide their face under a hood. It was a man. She could see enough of him to tell that, but he was not very tall – certainly half a head shorter than the landlord. The hooded figure leaned close to the landlord and whispered something in his ear. So he was hiding his voice as well. She did not know what that might mean, but filed the information away in case it should prove valuable.
“What do you want with me?” Felice demanded.
The landlord looked at her, but said nothing. He bent his ear to the shorter man again.
“You’d better let me go at once,” she said. “I have many important friends.”
“Shut up,” the landlord snapped, but the hooded man pulled on his shoulder and whispered again. The landlord translated the whisper: “Who? Who are your important friends?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” she said. “They’ll come looking for me.”
The whispering went on again.
“You’re nobody. A trader from the north. Nobody here knows you or cares what happens to you.”
“That’s not true.”
They ignored her after that. She tried a couple more times, but she was certain they were convinced by their own cleverness. Because she had blustered, and because she had named nobody they assumed she knew nobody of influence. That suited her. It was what she had intended. She hoped that it would cause them to relax their guard, be less watchful of comings and goings around the tavern.
It was all a question of time. She would not have been missed, not yet. It was still light outside. Somewhere in the great school the candidates would be staring to think about their evening meal. Cooks would be filling pots with water and lighting fires. Others would be washing salt off the preserved meats; knives would be sharpened, instructions given. She could imagine every detail.
It was at the evening meal that she would first be missed. How long after that would guardsmen begin to search
the town? An hour? Two? Whatever happened it had to happen in the next three hours, but the ropes were tight, the door appeared to be guarded, and they had no weapons. It didn’t look hopeful. In spite of what Carn thought it would all come to a head before they planned to kill him. There had to be a way to get free, to somehow hold their captors at bay long enough for a rescue.
The room was a simple space. There were two doors. One, the one that the three had come through a while ago, went into the tavern, probably via the kitchen. It was a door without a lock, made of simple planks and cross beams. It had a latch, but could not be locked, so their captors must be confident about that direction. No escape that way. The other door was a different matter. It was much more solid, and two bars were dropped into cradles across it, making it almost impossible to break it down from the other side. There was a keyhole as well, so it locked, and probably was locked. That door, she guessed, opened onto the outside, onto the night where they would be free to run, and that was the way to safety.
There were many sacks in the room, and quite a few crates filled with bottles. Glass would be something they could use. If she could break a bottle then the sharp edge would be of some use. She began to struggle over towards one of the crates. Carn stopped doing what he was doing and watched her for a while. She sensed him staring and stopped half way across to the crates.
“What?” she said.
“You must think I’m pretty stupid,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“The bottles. I tried them an hour ago – all wired in, solid as a rock. The only way to break anything would be to throw the crate against the wall.”
“I see.” Carn was beginning to annoy her, but she had to admit that he had a point. “What else have you tried?”
“Just about anything you can think of,” he said.
“If we sit back to back can you untie my hands?” she asked.
“Everything except that,” Carn said, allowing himself a wry grin. “Move over here and I’ll try.”
