Dragon Call (The Throne of the Dragon Queen Book 2)

by Clare Smith

  He supposed they had to be some sort of precious metal like the veins of silver that some people dug out of the ground. That made him wonder if Tutacaraph intended to sell him as a slave to work in the mines. The thought made him shudder with dread. He hated dark, confined spaces where he couldn’t move freely or see the stars, and could feel the weight of the stones above pressing down on him.

  Being confined to the dim shadows beneath a rowing bench was nearly as bad, but at least he had two brief trips along the length of the ship each day. Unfortunately with a sack over his head it didn’t give him much idea of where he was going, but he knew the moment the ship turned into the great port. It wasn’t just that the sea became as smooth as silk and the constant rolling of the ship disappeared, but everything around him was suddenly different.

  As the ship changed direction, there was a furnace-like blast of heat, and he could hear the men on the benches gasp as the air scorched their throats. Carried on the breeze was the smell of land, but so different to anything he’d known before. There was an intense dryness to the air, as if it had come from a baker’s oven, and amongst it was the smell of stale sweat, dirt and excrement.

  The air was also thick with the greasy smell of animals and the pungent smell of their droppings, and over the top of it all, the exotic smell of pepper and spice. As the ship glided towards the dock the noise increased to a deafening roar that stung his ears. Sigmonson had the loudest voice he’d ever heard, but by the time the ship bumped against the landing, it was lost amongst the shouting of hundreds of people, the rumble of wheels across stone and the loud baying of animals.

  He’d expected to be kept where he was under the bench, whilst Tutacaraph and Sigmonson went off to make arrangements to collect their cargo. However, the ship had hardly settled against the dock’s wooden side when he was pulled from beneath the bench and Tutacaraph, grinning like a fool, pulled the sack off his head. For a moment the brilliant light dazzled him, so he could barely see where he was going as his master dragged him across the side of the ship and onto firm ground.

  He looked up and rapidly blinked in the dazzling light, until he could see without squinting and his eyes stopped watering. Then he couldn’t believe his eyes, and stood there with his mouth open, trying to make sense at what he was seeing. Tutacaraph laughed at his look of astonishment.

  “This is Cacaphia’s homeland and where my other business partners trade, but this is only a small part of it, and very different from where we will be going. I expect it is very different from where you come from too.”

  That was an understatement. In his long march from his homeland, when the Roman’s had taken him as a slave, he’d camped outside great cities and had been amazed at their size and the number of people. He’d also been part of the triumphal entry into Rome when the crowds had lined the streets cheering the returning heroes, but that was nothing like this. That had been orderly with the road being kept clear to let the procession pass, but this was chaos.

  People were everywhere, pushing and shoving and shouting at each other, so it was impossible to see if there was a roadway beneath their feet. It wasn’t just the size of the crowd and the noise they made which astonished him, but the difference in the people. Most of them had skin darker than that of the Romans, and either wore long robes which covered them from neck to toe, or nothing but a loin cloth and sandals.

  In amongst them were other men with skin the colour of burnt wood and jet black hair which looked like newly shorn fleece. There were slaves too, loading and unloading ships, or being driven along in a line tied together by ropes around their necks. They were guarded by men who wore short tunics edged with blue, metal skull-caps with a leather flange to protect their necks and shoulders, and carried spears which they used to beat a passageway through the crowds.

  In amongst the crowds there were animals pulling carts and carrying sacks and boxes across their backs, or just being driven from some place to another. There were animals that he’d never even seen before, like the small horses with long, tufted ears which carried people so that the rider’s legs almost dangled to the ground. Other beasts moved within the crowd which were huge and carried people or baggage high above the ground on wooden saddles that were precariously balanced on the top of a single, hairy hump.

  He could have stayed there just staring at the crowd all day, but Tutacaraph was impatient to leave and took him by the arm. “Come, and stay close by my side, this is not a good place in which to become lost.”

  “What about Sigmonson and the crew, aren’t they coming too?”

  “No, there are too many thieving taxmen in this port for them to stay, but they will be back when we need them to take us away again.”

  Banniff glanced over his shoulder and could see that the ship had already pulled away from the dockside. Their departure shouldn’t have worried him, but it did. This was such a strange land and so different from anything he’d ever known that the ship was like a refuge, a small island of sanity in a mad world which was just about to swallow him up.

  With the ship gone he was totally reliant on Tutacaraph who had already started to walk away so he hurried after him, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the small man’s back as he pushed through the crowd. The man might have been small but he seemed completely at home in this place. Banniff watched as his master deftly used his elbows to make space for himself and shouted insults at anyone who blocked his way, so he followed his example.

  Tutacaraph also seemed to know where he was going, as after a few minutes of working their way through the crowd, they emerged into a quieter area. Here the narrow streets ran between low, square buildings made of coarse, crumbling brick and the cobbles gave way to hard pressed earth. It was cooler here with the buildings sheltering them from the sun, but the smell, which seemed to be trapped in the alleyways, was far worse and he had to cover his mouth and nose to stop himself from gagging.

  Things also moved under his feet, some of which were squishy and putrid, and others which scuttled away as he passed, so he was relieved when they turned left through an archway and entered another world completely. This was a dark, shady area with stalls lining both sides of a covered walkway that twisted and turned, whilst other narrower passageways branched off at odd intervals. It was noisier here with traders calling out their wares, but at least there seemed to be some order to the place.

  He followed behind his master in a daze as they turned off the main walkway and climbed steadily up hill. In the narrow passageway he couldn’t take his eyes off the strange goods for sale, or the vibrant colours of the drapes which decorated each stall, and the heavy aroma of a hundred different spices almost overwhelmed him. As this seemed to be some sort of market, he guessed this was the place Tutacaraph would conduct his trade with his business partners and tried to imagine what the goods would be.

  From the things he’d seen for sale around him it could have been anything, but he thought it had to be the glittering jewellery that abounded, or the precious spice which could be sold in any land for a fortune. When Tutacaraph finally stopped at a stall he was disappointed to find that it contained nothing but rather dull mats, woven baskets and an assortment of poor quality trinkets. Whilst he looked at the uninteresting goods, Tutacaraph spoke to the store holder and then waived him over.

  The man looked him up and down, said something so fast that he couldn’t catch what he was saying, and then ushered them through an opening in the drapes into a back room. Tutacaraph was obviously used to this, as he took a seat on some cushions whilst the man disappeared through some more drapes at the rear. He wasn’t certain what he was meant to do, but as Tutacaraph looked reasonably comfortable and his feet were aching from the long walk, he lowered himself onto the cushions too.

  Almost immediately a woman entered, or at least he thought she was a woman. She was completely covered in something which looked like a death shroud with a small opening for her eyes. She carried a round, metal tray with two small cups on it, and as his
master took one, he took the other. He had no idea what was in it, but the liquid was clear like water and didn’t smell of anything, and as he was very thirsty after his walk he swallowed it back in one go.

  If he could have spat it out he would have done, but he’d already swallowed it when his mouth started to burn, his eyes water and his head reel. He could feel it burning all the way down until it hit his stomach, which felt as if it was trying to tie itself in knots. Tutacaraph must have thought it was funny and laughed whilst he coughed and spluttered and wiped the tears from his eyes.

  “It is a local brew made by my friend Abda and is meant to be sipped. You must learn these things if you are going to survive in this land, which is full of dangers for those who are naive and lack caution.”

  He nodded, accepting the good advice. “What do we do now, Master?”

  “We rest here until Abda returns with suitable clothing for us both, and when the sun is lower, we will go and meet my business partners. After that we will travel to where my trading goods can be found, and you will retrieve them for me so that we may return to Rome and civilisation. For now though we sleep.”

  Tutacaraph closed his eyes and he did the same. He was relieved that his master intended them both to return to Rome, and wasn’t going to leave him in this strange land or sell him as a slave to work in the mines. Despite that he was still worried what the trading goods were going to be and how he was meant to retrieve them. Still, he supposed he would find out tomorrow at their journey’s end.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Intruder

  England

  Tobrin stared at the ceiling and felt sick. It wasn’t the kind of sickness he had when he’d eaten something unpleasant, or the one and only time he’d become drunk on a bottle of port and couldn’t see straight. This was the sort of sickness that sat in the pit of your stomach and no amount of sticking your fingers down your throat would shift it.

  He’d only ever felt like this once before, and that was on the morning he’d started his new school after they had moved from London. He hadn’t wanted to get out of bed that morning, and he didn’t want to get out of bed now. What he wanted to do was stay where he was, close his eyes and let the world carry on without him.

  Most of all he didn’t want to talk to Richard, not after the argument they’d had the previous night. That had been about him making an appointment to see the doctor, and they had ended up shouting at each other until it had made his mother cry and he’d gone to bed. They both thought he was sick, and in a way he supposed he was, but he was only sick of other people expecting him to be more than he was.

  Richard expected him to be the bread winner, and his mother expected him to continue his studies and work at the same time. Even Jim Carter, who he thought was his friend, expected him to do the impossible and keep to his stupid schedule. They were at him all the time, making demands of him when all he wanted was to be left alone.

  There was the other one as well who followed him down the lane, whispering words he couldn’t catch and never showing himself. He’d been there for a week now, following him when he walked up the lane to Charnel House and then waiting for him when he returned home. Last night the stalker had almost caught him, and if it hadn’t been for the post van passing by with its headlights full on, he would probably be lying in the ditch with his throat cut by now.

  The thought made him shudder, so he pulled the duvet up over his head, closed his eyes and pretended he wasn’t there. If he wasn’t there, no one would expect him to do things he couldn’t do, and the man in the shadows who whispered his name would go away and find someone else to torment. He curled into a tight ball and tried to disappear, but it was impossible with someone pounding on the door only feet away from him and forcing him to move out of the safety of his cocoon.

  “Tobrin, it’s time to get up.”

  The voice was muffled but he knew it was Richard. “Go away.”

  “Tobrin, you’re going to be late for work.”

  “I’m not going. Go away.”

  Immediately there was silence, and he lay there with the sick feeling gnawing at his stomach, until there was a click and Richard pushed the door open and stepped into his room. For a moment he felt a flash of anger that his privacy had been invaded, and then he just felt empty, as if the anger had scoured him through and left nothing behind.

  He turned his face away. “Go away.”

  Richard frowned; this wasn’t like Tobrin at all. “Is there something wrong, son?”

  “No.”

  “Are you feeling ill?”

  He was but he wasn’t going to tell his step-father that. “No.”

  “Come on, son. You’ve got to go to work.”

  “I told you, I’m not going.”

  Richard shook his head and sighed. The doctor had told him that if the boy was acting strangely he could be under stress, and it would be best not to make demands of him, but he couldn’t just let Tobrin lie there without trying to do something to help him.

  “All right, if that’s what you want, but if you’re feeling ill you need to go and see the doctor today.”

  “I’m not ill.” He turned over and pulled the duvet higher around him, almost covering his head.

  “I’ll give Jim Carter a ring and tell him you won’t be coming in today.”

  “No, don’t do that.” Jim was his friend and he didn’t want him thinking there was something wrong with him as well.

  “I have to unless you tell me what’s wrong.”

  He just wished that Richard would go away and leave him alone but he knew he wouldn’t. “I’m being stalked.”

  “Stalked?”

  “Yeh, there’s someone following me to and from work.”

  “How long has this been going on for?”

  “About a week.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  Tobrin shrugged. “I thought you would tell the police.”

  “You’re damned well right I would, and that’s just what I’m going to do right now.”

  “Please don’t,” said Tobrin, stopping him before he could leave the room. “I haven’t actually seen any one, I’ve only heard them walking behind me and whispering my name.”

  Richard thought about it for a moment. With what had gone on in the past, he’d no desire to have any contact with the police, but he wasn’t going to have any one stalk his son either. “Okay, get dressed and I’ll run you up to work in the van and let’s see if we can spot this bugger.”

  “What about tonight?”

  “I’ll pick you up if needs be, but I don’t think that will be necessary because I intend to catch this bloke and scare the shit out of him.”

  Richard turned and strode out of the room and Tobrin watched him go without saying anything. He still didn’t want to go to work in that dark, creepy house but he had no choice. With a sigh he climbed out of bed and started to get dressed.

  *

  The van stopped outside the tall, iron gates and they both sat there looking down the driveway at the old house and the empty area in front of it. They had driven slowly up the lane with Richard stopping the van every now and then so that he could step out and search along the hedge looking for the stalker. He wasn’t there, and as far as Richard could see, none of the hedges had been disturbed, and none of the nettles along the verge had been flattened. If there had been someone there stalking his son, which he was beginning to doubt, then he had to be very clever indeed.

  “This stalker of yours,” said Richard, breaking the silence between them. “Does he follow you down the driveway?” Tobrin shook his head. “That’s good, off you go then and I’ll pick you up tonight at five thirty.”

  He expected the boy to move, but instead he just sat there staring at the house. Looking at the place he could understand the boy’s apprehension, the old house gave him the creeps. “Come on, Tobrin. You’ve got to go and I’ve got to get back and see to the livestock. Anyway, Joe will b
e along soon and then you’ll have some company.”

  “It’s Friday and Joe’s in Basingstoke today.”

  “That’s a pity, but you’ve been on your own before and have been okay. I’ll tell you what we’ll do.” He fished around in his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone and handed it to Tobrin. “You take this with you and keep it close by and I’ll give you a call at lunch time to make sure you’re all right. If you need me, I’ll come and pick you up, but as long as you lock the door behind you so no one can get in you’ll be safe enough.”

  Tobrin turned the phone around in his hands, his feelings of resentment growing rapidly and turning to anger. When they had lived in London he’d had his own mobile, but that had gone when the money ran out. Now Richard had the only phone and sat at home all day whilst he had to work in this silent mausoleum. Without bothering to say goodbye, he stepped out of the van and slammed the door behind him feeling some satisfaction as the old wreck rattled noisily.

  He didn’t look back but quickly walked the length of the drive, let himself in through the front door and locked it behind him. Inside the dark hallway he stood with his back to the door and his eyes closed listening to see if he was alone or if the person who had followed him the previous night had changed his routine and was waiting in the house for him. The house was old and the floorboards creaked when anyone walked on them, but for the moment the place was silent, except for the whispering noise where the wind blew through a cracked tile and the rattle of a badly fitting window frame.

  After a minute or two, when he’d convinced himself he was alone, he opened his eyes again and turned on the lights. The mobile lights that Joe had set up filled the hallway with a bright, white light, just leaving the spaces between the remaining crates in deep shadow. He hurried across the area giving the javelin, which still lay on the floor, a wide berth, reached the office door and then hesitated.

  If the stalker was going to attack him, this is where they would do it and he was certain he’d heard a noise inside. Slowly he backed off, being careful where he put his feet so that he didn’t make the floorboards creak and give himself away. He edged along the wall where the floor was solid, ran past the turning to the first room, which was in deep shadow where the light didn’t penetrate, and found the second room.