“I know.” She smiled. “Fate, yes?”
Varro’s brow lowered further and Catilina laughed.
“Sorry, my dear, but I won’t be able to keep quiet about your absence.” She unpinned her hair and threw her head back, shaking the black curls out. “Because I’ll be with you.”
Varro shook his head.
“Not this time,” Varro stated flatly. “Your father will…”
“What?” she interrupted. “Kill you? Don’t be naïve, Varro. I’m coming with you and the quicker you accept that, the quicker we can be gone.”
Varro sighed. He looked round at Salonius and was surprised to see the young man’s vicious expression had slid back into its habitual good natured smile. “You too?”
“The lady has her mind made up, Varro.”
Another sigh, and Varro smiled at her.
“Alright. Salonius, you get those corpses; can you manage both of them?”
Salonius nodded.
“Catilina: you get your things. I’ll pick a few things, get the horses ready, and meet you in the stable in about fifteen minutes.
With a last deep breath, the three of them split up in the corridor junction and went their separate ways.
Salonius wandered along the corridor. His analytical mind gave him an edge, he thought, that the over-emotional sometimes lacked, particularly when combined with his alertness which led to him needing only five hours sleep a night, give or take, and remaining fully functional. While the others had slept or bathed for the six hours last night before everything went to hell, Salonius had spent time exploring the palace. Combined with his part in the search this morning and further explorations while Varro had slumbered, he had put together a surprisingly complete mental map of the complex.
He had accompanied captain Iasus to the cellars when the seven traitors had been incarcerated. On the way there he noted that they passed a subterranean chapel to the Goddess of the hearth. Lying on the stone benches in this dark and cool place had been the bodies of Petrus and Corda, safe from wandering folk down here in the cellars beyond locked doors and now black clad guards.
He smiled at the guard by the heavy oak door. It was the very same guard that had been placed on the door three hours ago when he’d been here with the captain. The guard, not much older than Salonius, saluted. He continued to smile, raised his arm to salute, and at the last moment, brought it round in a hammering blow to the man’s temple.
The man collapsed in a black heap without a sound. Salonius crouched over him.
“Sorry about that. You’ll have a hell of a headache, and I suspect you’ll be cleaning latrines for a few weeks, but you’ll live.”
Carefully, he retrieved the black tunic with its white raven and wolf emblem and slipped it over the top of his own green one. He grunted as the tunic split beneath the arm. Sadly there would be few guardsmen that matched his own large frame. Still, he mused, no one would have time to examine his armpit. With a smile, he threw the black cloak over his back and, scrabbling around, found the man’s helmet. That was no good, No way would that go over his head. Oh well, the thought as he retrieved the key ring from the guard’s belt. He stood, brushing down and straightening his stolen uniform.
Unlocking the door with the heavy iron key, he pulled it open and stepped through, locking it behind him. He would have to be careful down here. He’d seen some of this massive complex of tunnels, but apart from the chapel and the cellars, there were also the dungeons, some store houses and, presumably at least one guard room somewhere. With a deep breath, he strode off into the dark, dank tunnels, lit only by occasional tiny skylights high in the outer wall.
Holding his breath, he reached the bottom of the first flight of stairs and turned right, deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels.
As he turned the corner at the next junction, the tunnels now lit by guttering oil lamps, he almost walked straight into a servant carrying a sack of something over his shoulder. He stepped aside and the servant made very apologetic sounds and sidled round him before rushing off. Salonius took another deep breath and walked on. Two more corners and the shorter flight of stairs. Ahead he could see the corner he didn’t want to get to. Light flickered around the bend and there would be at least a couple of men, if not more, guarding the outer door to the prison area. But before then, just ahead, the doorway to the right led into the small chapel. Hurrying now, he ducked aside. He could clearly hear the voices of the guards round the corner and was glad, for the hundredth time, that he had worn soft leather boots and not the hob-nailed standard military fare he usually wore.
The chapel was lit by a flame on the altar at the far end. A barrel-vaulted room, it was not much larger than one of the guest rooms in the palace above. The walls and curved ceiling were of plain grey stone, with just a touch of nitre glistening. The far end wall was decorated with a mural of the gods of house and family, with the Goddess of the hearth, protector of the home, at the centre. Her altar burned forever with a single flame. It was said that nothing was required to fuel the flame on her altar. Salonius had surreptitiously checked the one at Crow Hill and had discovered that the priests filled a recess in the altar with oil every few hours and a clever spring-loaded mechanism kept the oil at the top of the container to burn visibly.
Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the task at hand.
As if to facilitate their retrieval, the thoughtful priest who’d prepared them on the stone benches had removed all of their armour and accoutrements, leaving them in only tunic and breeches. With only a slight grunt, he lifted Corda from the bench and tested the weight. The sergeant had been a wiry man. Tough, but far from large. Damn. The man’s leg was tangled in the black cloak. With another grunt, he dropped the body back to the stone and removed the cloak, casting it away to the side of the chapel.
Stepping to the other block, he tested the weight of Petrus. Just as he’d thought, a decade of deprivation had left the veteran with a spindly light frame and very little muscle. Sheer determination had been driving him where muscle couldn’t. He could have carried five Petrus’.
Making sure the scarred body was securely in position on his left shoulder, he stepped sideways and lifted Corda with his massive muscled arms, hauling the man onto his shoulder. Bending his knees a couple of times, he tested the weight and how securely they were held.
Satisfied, he stepped slowly and carefully to the entrance of the chapel and peered around the wall. The laughter continued to issue from the lit area further on, but the corridor was empty. Taking another deep breath, he stepped out and turned the other way, carefully and slowly making his way up the first, short flight of stairs.
Under his breath, he continued to mutter prayers to Cernus and any other God that he could name that he make it to the stables unobserved. In retrospect, he should have asked Varro to come with him. The captain couldn’t have carried anything, but he could have acted as lookout.
He reached the top step and turned, peering carefully around the corner. Nothing. He stopped and listened. The now-distant sound of laughter behind him down the stairs. Somewhere up ahead was the sound of tramping military boots. Two pairs by the sound of it. Well he couldn’t stay in the stairs. He’d just have to hope they were in some other side tunnel.
He stepped out into the corridor and moved along it as fast as he could, his footfalls soft and delicate for a man his size. For a moment, he uttered a quiet curse, as Corda’s body slipped on his shoulder and almost fell. He jerked his shoulder to reposition it and changed his grip on the corpse’s wrist.
The corridor seemed to go one forever, but finally, the next junction came into sight. As he approached it, he paused for a moment and listened. Those heavy footsteps were now worryingly close; coming from the other branch to the one he needed, but too close for comfort. He held his breath and sank against the wall of the tunnel in as much shadow as he could manage, given the bulk on his shoulders.
A few moments passed and he let his breath escape with a q
uiet hiss. The steps were going the other way, disappearing off down the corridor.
He shook his head in amazement. Just over a week ago the most exciting thing he’d ever done was oversee the assembly of a giant bolt thrower while scores of enemy stood on the opposite ridge. Now here he was stealing corpses from the dungeons of the greatest Imperial fortress in the north. Astounding. How the hell had he got himself involved in this?
With another deep breath, he settled the two figures draped over his shoulders and stepped out into the next corridor. Ahead, he could see the pale grey glow of natural light. He was getting close to the stairs. Just one more corner.
Slowly, with breath held, he approached that corner, feeling the seconds pass like hours. There was no sound from ahead, but his heart took no notice of the fact and continued to race, regardless.
He turned the corner.
Nothing there. Just dank stairs leading up into the gloom.
Slowly, he climbed the stairs, pausing every now and then to take a breath. The two bodies may be light, but even so, their weight was beginning to make his sore and short of breath. Finally he reached the top and paused again to listen. Distant sounds; from beyond the door, out in the palace proper. Damn it!
As quietly as he could, he padded along the corridor until he was only around ten paces from the door. Very, very slowly and quietly, he lowered the two corpses to the floor and approached the door. He listened.
Just one man. He was down by the bottom of the door, speaking softly. Salonius retrieved the key from his pocket as he strained to hear.
“I’ll have to go report it!”
“Not yet. Let’s go find him. If I get another black mark, I’ll be sent to a frontier post! It’s only one man and we’ve got the jump on him now.”
“No, Marco, I’ve got to report it!”
“Listen: imagine how good we’ll look when we bring him in!”
Salonius smiled as he inserted the key into the lock with incredible slowness and began to turn it, waiting for each new line in the argument to help mask the sound of the key turning. He felt the pressure release as the lock completely opened. With a wide grin, he pictured the scene beyond the door and very slowly turned the handle. As the latch slid free, he almost laughed out loud. Stepping back a few paces, he turned his shoulder toward the door and ran.
The impact made his shoulder feel as though it had exploded, but the effect was much as he’d hoped. The door burst open into the room beyond, hitting the guard crouched behind it with tremendous force and a loud crack. As he sailed on through, Salonius brought himself to a halt as sharply as he could. The new guard had been hit in the forehead by the door and thrown back. The guard who was still recovering from Salonius’ entry five or six minutes ago was by the wall behind the door, which had come to a stop as it thumped into his shoulder. Salonius turned the second guard over with his foot. The huge red welt and wound on his forehead suggested he would be out for some time.
The other guard was mouthing things with a frightened look on his face. Salonius gave him a grin that he hoped was as feral as the one he kept seeing on Varro. The guard quailed.
“I’m a little concerned that I’ve done a bit too much damage to your friend here. So we’re going to make a deal, yes?”
The guard nodded, wide eyed and terrified.
“Good,” Salonius continued. “I’m not going to knock you out because you need to help your friend. I’m going to collect my things and walk slowly and quietly out of here. You’re going to wait at least ten minutes after I’ve gone, during which time you can do your best to stop his wound bleeding. Once ten minutes is up, you can shout for help, run, or whatever it is you want to do. Just not until I’m away from here. And if I hear anything as I leave, I will come back here and leave you in… let’s just say a ‘worse’ condition, eh?”
The guard gave another frightened nod and from somewhere within found a tiny voice.
“Why are you doing this? You’re one of the marshal’s men.”
Salonius smiled.
“Not quite. I’m under the marshal’s command, but I’m one of Varro’s men. Not stay quiet.”
Biting his lip, hoping he’d done the right thing, Salonius stood and returned to the corridor beyond the portal. There he spent a moment collecting the two corpses and settling them as comfortably as possible on his shoulders. It was not easy. His left shoulder ached painfully. It was possible he’d chipped the bone on the door. There’ll be a hell of a bruise.
‘Ah well’, he thought, as he carried the two bodies through the door and stopped for a moment. He turned to the seated guard and put his finger to his lips.
“Shhhh.”
The guard gave another nod, staring with wide eyes at the hulking brute and his grisly burden. Salonius gave the grin again and walked off.
Catilina stopped a few steps from the junction in the corridor. She watched Varro limp off slowly toward the guest quarters and Salonius striding off into the depths of the palace. Putting her finger to her mouth, she tapped her elegantly manicured nail on her ruby lip, deep in thought.
After a moment a smile slowly spread across her face, ending in a broad grin.
Changing her direction, she padded off along the corridor that Salonius had taken, then selected a side-corridor and stepped into it. A few more turns and junctions that she’d known well since childhood, and she arrived at the offices of the garrison clerks. She’d played here often as a girl, since the clerks always had plenty of materials to draw with. Many happy hours had been spent sitting at the desk in these four offices and drawing pictures of animals and cloudy skies. She smiled and glanced up and down the corridor at the four offices. There were four chief clerks of the fortress, each in charge of one aspect of administration, and several lesser clerks beneath them. Each office housed desks for six people, but they were rarely occupied by more than one or two at a time, their duties often taking them elsewhere in the fortress or into the civilian town.
Smiling, she peered at the office doors that stood open or ajar. Two were brightly lit, one with a low light and one dark. Sadly, the empty, dark office was the only one that would be of no use to her. The office at the far left, however, was clearly lit by only one guttering oil lamp. That meant only one occupant. She squared her shoulders and strode along the corridor and boldly through the door.
The young clerk busy at his desk looked up as the figure came through the door. The paperwork he was involved in was suddenly forgotten as he scrambled to his feet and stood straight as a javelin.
“My lady?”
Catilina smiled at him.
“At ease, man. You must be new. Is Tarsus around?”
“Er, no, ma’am” the young man replied. “He’s in the town with the council. Can I help, ma’am?”
Catilina shook her head.
“Just here for some supplies. Just ignore me. I’ll be out of your hair in just a minute.”
The young man continued to stand, torn between two courses of action.
“Er…”
“What?” Catilina asked pleasantly.
“It’s rules, ma’am. No one can just help themselves. We’ve got to keep charge.”
Catilina laughed a carefree laugh.
“Oh don’t be so silly. I’ve been taking things out of here since I was four. Just get on with your work. My father’s waiting for me, so I have to hurry.”
The young man struggled for a moment longer and then gave up and visibly deflated slightly.
“Very well, ma’am. But please leave everything the way you found it, or master Tarsus will hoist me for it.”
Catilina nodded and crouched by one of the large wooden cabinets at the back of the office. Unlocking the door with the key that sat jutting out, she scanned the contents. Damn it. Someone had reorganised the office. Closing and locking the door, she moved on to the next large cupboard and opened that. A quick scan and she saw what she was looking for. At the back, a pile of very neat, official looking papers.
She smiled and fished two out. She was about to close the cupboard again when another thought struck her and she had another glance around the interior. With a smile, she fished out a different paper, several sheets of meaningless bureaucratic paperwork and, closing the door, stood straight. As subtly as she could manage, she tucked her four prizes in among the unimportant paper. Smiling, she noted that the young man was going about his work, deliberately not looking in her direction.
Almost laugh, she collected a charcoal stick, a seal-stamp, hammer, lead discs and wax from the rear-most desk and slid them into a pocket in her skirts. With a warm smile she crossed the room and stopped at the door to look back at the clerk.
“Thank you, kind sir. Perhaps I’ll be back for more supplies later. I’ll be sure to tell Tarsus how accommodating you were.”
The clerk gave her a nervous smile and, as she left the room, Catilina felt a little cruel. The lad would probably lose his position for this. Still, he shouldn’t have let her have free reign among the office paperwork, should he?
Almost skipping along the corridor, she took three more side turnings and arrived at another door. This door, however, was dark and solid, locked and protected by a guard who stood to attention and almost strained something trying to stand even further to attention as the most important lady in Vengen appeared in front of him. These were ordinary soldiers of the garrison, not the veteran black-clad marshal’s guard.
She smiled.
“For Gods’ sake man, at ease. You’ll rupture something.”
The guard gave a brief smile and then fell serious again.
“If you would be so good, I need to retrieve something for my father.”
Ironroot (Tales of the Empire) Page 26
