“I love you,” he said. “Like I’ve never loved anybody, like I don’t love myself. I’ve loved you since I first saw you dancing in that shitty little tavern, with those grabby sailors flipping ten-penny pieces trying to get them down your top, and you flicking them with the hem of your dress so you could snatch them out of midair, and… I’ve only ever come back for you, Keth. No matter where I’ve gone, it’s always been away, because coming back to you was coming back, even when…” He ran down, and hung his head. It didn’t matter. Words were not what she had ever needed. He was too good with words. They cost him too little to give away. “Even when I was failing you.”
“Oh, gods.” She tilted her head back. Marius could see the twin streaks down her face, tiny rivulets against the grey of her skin. He cursed the dead man’s sight that let him see everywhere, but washed the meaning out of everything he saw. “And it would all make sense to you, wouldn’t it?” She wiped the heels of her hand across her cheeks, smearing the bright tracks of her tears over her face. “You always make so much sense,” she said, sniffing. “I wish I didn’t understand you when you did that.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
“I know. I always know.” She took a deep breath, held it, then slowly let it out. “I’m not going to forgive you,” she said. “I don’t want to. It’s just… one too many steps, this time.”
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded, more to herself than him. “Okay,” she said. “Now, what do you want me for?”
“Well,” Marius nudged Gerd, who made a great show of coming back to the conversation from his advanced doctorate-of-dirt studies. “We need to get into the Radican, into the palace. I have to persuade the King to keep the eastern gate closed, and let us take up the battle with Scorbus. Gerd can get us inside. There are tunnels right up to the base of the royal bedchamber.” He smiled. “Some kings aren’t as fussy as others when it comes to where they dump their bodies. But once we get in…”
“Yes?”
He shrugged. “The King is a child, Keth. What do you think he’s going to do if I come looming up out of the darkness demanding he stand down his army or everyone will diiiiieeeee…?” He gave Keth his best scary-ghost voice, and waved his arms above his head like a father playing bogeyman.
“So you need me to, what? Come looming up out of the darkness and demand he stand down his army or everyone will die, but give him a pretty smile and flash my boobs while I’m at it?”
Gerd almost got a word out. Marius casually drove the heel of his foot down the inside of his young friend’s shin, and smiled as he said, “No. I need you to show a young, terrified, overwhelmed kid who has the world crashing down around his shoulders, and a whole lot of angry adults screaming at him every time he turns around, that the scary-looking dead guy in the corner is here to help him. I need you to be the soft voice I bet he wants more than anything in the world right now.”
“To con him into following you, then.”
“To help him get past this,” Marius snapped, stabbing a finger at his face, “and actually listen to me instead of running screaming for his mum the moment I turn up, thus killing the whole fucking city.” He stopped, bit back his frustration and self-disgust. Keth watched him for long seconds, then nodded.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Meet the King, eh?” She smiled wryly. “How do I look?”
“Wonderful.” Marius gaze at her: dirt-stained, sweaty, her hair a tangle and her simple dress almost worn through from days of underground travel. “You’ve always looked wonderful.”
“Not enough,” she replied, and turned to Gerd. “Shall we go?”
Gerd risked a glance at Marius, and moved towards her. Marius faced away, down the tunnel that ran under the city walls towards the Radican, and led the way, leaving the others to walk behind him so he could feel, just for a moment, alone.
TWENTY-NINE
The palace was shrouded in silence. All light and sound had been extinguished as if those inside hoped to hide beneath some giant blanket until the bogeyman passed them by. Marius and Keth stood in deep shadows in the far corner of the King’s bedchamber, and observed him sleeping, swallowed by the vast depths of his richly appointed bed. The King looked frightened and vulnerable. He twitched and murmured, gripping the edge of his sheets with trembling fingers.
“He looks small.”
“Of course he looks small. He’s a child, Marius.”
“He’s a king.”
“He can be both, you know.”
Marius shook his head. “No, he can’t. Not right now.”
She sighed and left him, moving quietly across the room and crouching next to the sleeping boy. “Your Majesty,” she whispered, and when he didn’t respond, again, “Your Majesty.”
Marius stayed in the shadows and watched as she leaned in close and ran a hand across the young boy’s head, smoothing wet hair away from his eyes with a tenderness that made him frown. There was real gentleness in her movements, in her tone of voice. He hissed.
“Quickly.”
She shot him an irritated glance, and gave the King a gentle shake. “Your Majesty. You need to wake up.”
The King muttered and tried to shake her off. Then realisation dawned, and his eyes shot open. He opened his mouth to scream, but Keth placed her hand over it.
“We are friends, Your Majesty. We’re not here to hurt you. We’ve not harmed you, and we’ve had half an hour to do so if we wanted.” A small lie: they had been in the room for no more than a few minutes, but that would have been time enough. Keth held her touch lightly, and gave the King plenty of time to see her. Marius saw him relax as he took in her tall, willowy frame, her soft skin and long hair. Even after so long spent marching underground, they had an effect on the boy. He relaxed in her grip just as Marius had hoped. “I promise you,” she whispered, “we only want to keep you safe.”
Slowly, she drew her hand an inch or so from his mouth. The King made no sound, and Marius relaxed slightly.
“How did you get in?” the boy asked. “How did you get past Mother?”
Marius glanced at the floor behind him, where Gerd waited at the bottom of a deep hole. Gillen Goncoy, leader of the Tyrant Triumvirate, had claimed this room during the Kingless Decade. Goncoy’s murderous taste in chambermaids had kept him satisfied for seven years, and provided a route straight into the room for Marius and his companion.
“I have a friend,” Keth whispered. “He needs to speak with you, and I need you to be unafraid. Can you do that for me?”
The King stared up at her, gave her a quick but uncertain nod.
“Good boy.” She smiled, and turned towards the shadows. “Marius?”
Slowly, he emerged from the darkness. He saw the King’s eyes widen, and a look of terror cross his features. The boy drew breath to scream and Keth jammed her hand across his mouth once. He struggled, beating at her arm. Keth bore down on him, forcing him back onto the pillow.
“Friend!” he hissed. “He’s a friend.”
“Billinor?” A raised voice from the next room. “Billinor, my… Majesty? Are you all right?”
The room froze. Marius stood still, arms behind his back, ready to bolt. He and Keth shared shocked glances, before she leaned into the young King.
“One minute, Billinor. That’s all we want. Please.” She turned his face so their eyes met. “For me?”
He stared at her for long seconds, then, finally, a small nod. Keth gently sat up.
“Billinor?”
He licked his lips. “I’m fine, Mother.” Staring into Keth’s encouraging smile. “A bad dream.”
“Are you… of course, Your Majesty.”
Keth exhaled. She and Marius looked at each other.
“Thank you.” She took her hands away from the King. For a moment, he looked as if he regretted it. Then he remembered Marius, and turned fearfully towards him, pulling the bedclothes up to his chest.
“Who are
you? You’re one of…” He looked towards the window at the far end of the room, and seemed to shrink into his bed. “…them. Aren’t you?”
Marius knew what he meant. He could feel Scorbus’ army waiting outside the city walls as a pressure in the back of his mind, threatening to break through his mental defences and bombard him with their sounds of war.
“They are my people. At least, they should be,” he admitted. “My name is Marius don Hellespont. I’m supposed to be their King.”
“You don’t look like a king.”
“And you do?”
To his credit, the boy raised himself up so that he sat upright. He did his best to assume an air of regality. “I am Billinor, son of Tanspar. I am the King of Scorby.”
“Tanspar.” Marius smiled sadly. “Yes, I’ve… met your father.”
“You have?”
“He was a brave man, even though he was very scared.”
“He was? Why was he scared?”
Whatever he had been in life, death had terrified Tanspar. Marius had met him post-death, when he had become a whining slave to fear. It had taken Scorbus, Marius grudgingly recalled, to reinstate any sense of dignity to the man. “He was scared for you, and your family,” Marius replied. “He wanted to know you were safe.”
The young King stared into his own memories for long seconds. “I don’t think we are,” he said, softly.
“You can be.” Marius came all the way to the bed and perched on the end. “It all depends on what you do.”
Billinor looked miserable for a moment. “Mother says to do whatever Denia tells me to.”
“And who is Denia?”
“The Chancellor. He’s very old.” This in a whisper, and a sly smile to Keth. She smiled back.
“I bet he smells of tobacco and old sweat.”
The King nodded, and they both giggled.
“Tell me,” Marius interrupted. “If you stood on the royal balcony, in your crown and robes, and Denia stood next to you, who would the people acclaim? Who would they believe?”
“I…” Billinor stared at him. “Do you really think…”
“History remembers kings for a reason,” Marius replied. “Not advisors. It is the King who makes the decisions. The subjects follow their monarch, not those who would manipulate them.” He paused, seeing Drenthe’s grinning face loom large in his mind. “Your Majesty.”
Billinor stared up at him, eyes wide. “What should I do?”
Marius sighed. For all his bravado, this was a ten year-old child he was dealing with, no matter how he might dress up in finery and sit on a high-backed throne. He was just about to issue orders when Keth leaned forward and took the small hand in hers.
“Billinor, sweetheart.” She captured his gaze. “There is an army outside your city walls – no, don’t look away, just listen to me. Your people are scared, and panicking. They want you to lead them. You, sweetheart, not your advisor or even your mother. Just you, their King.”
“But what do I do?”
Marius’ tch of impatience was loud, and ignored. “You can do two things, Billinor. You can send your armies out to fight–”
“That’s what Daddy… what my father did, isn’t it?”
“It is, sweetheart, yes.”
“And he died.”
“I’m sorry, he did. Not all kings fall in battle, Billinor. But if you send them out against the dead, then anybody who goes out there will join them.”
“But what else can I do?”
“There is another thing. But you have to be very brave, and make sure your mother and your advisors don’t bully you and force you to change your mind. And you have to be strong enough that all your soldiers and all your commanders and all the people who look up to you and believe you – and believe in you – will know that what you are telling them is the right thing to do, even though it sounds like the opposite.”
“What is it?”
Keth glanced at Marius. He nodded.
“You can’t fight this battle,” she said. “You can’t win it. Stand your troops down, Billinor. Send them back to their homes. Let us fight for you.”
“But…” He looked from one face to the other. “What do I tell them?”
“Tell them that friends are here; friends who once lived amongst them, who once held their hands, and soothed their ills, who looked after them when they were sick and dressed them and walked side by side with them through their days. Tell them…” She faltered, and Marius took up the reins.
“Tell them,” he said, “that the dead remember. And the dead will defend them.”
“But it’s the dead who are attacking us.”
“Not all,” Marius pointed to his own chest. “Not their King.”
“But–”
Marius leaned into Billinor’s face, and captured the young King’s stare. “If your people believe in you because you’re their King, if they follow you, if they think they can do anything because you tell them they can, who told you it was so?”
“Y… you did.”
“And how do you think I know?”
Light dawned behind the child’s eyes. He nodded, and smiled. Marius winked. Keth took Marius’s hand, and they stood.
“Do you think you can be that strong, Billinor?” she asked. “Can you hold all of those people in your heart, and make them trust you?”
Marius watched the young boy stare into Keth’s eyes, and saw him drown in them as he had done on so many occasions. He suddenly knew, with absolute certainty, that Billinor would always remember this as the moment he first fell in love. The King sat up perfectly straight, and Marius caught a glimpse of the monarch he might grow up to be.
“I can.”
“Good.” Keth smiled. Marius felt a pang of something he didn’t think he could identify. “Get dressed while I tell you what we’re going to do…”
The routes of a king through his palace are predetermined, mapped, and known to all. But there is no secret passage or shortcut in the world that a ten year-old boy cannot discover half a day after coming into proximity with it. Billinor knew every secret byway the Radican had assembled in the last three hundred years. Marius had broken into the palace on seven occasions over the last two decades, and even he did not recognise many of the corridors the young King led them down. It took them ten minutes to sneak past the sleeping form of the Dowager Mother in the antechamber outside the King’s bedchamber, through corridors within the walls that dipped and turned until neither adult could tell if they were coming or going, and down to an exit at street level that Marius had never seen before. From there they climbed the slope of the main avenue towards the square in front of the Bone Cathedral. And stopped.
“Who are they?”
The great square at the top of the Radican could easily swallow ten thousand soldiers, but the people gathered below the royal balcony were not soldiers. There were perhaps only five thousand, yet they covered the length and breadth of the open area, clustered together in groups around small fires for comfort and reassurance. Marius eyed them sadly.
“Nobody,” he said. “They’re nobody. Just normal people.”
“What are they doing here?” The King looked up at him in confusion. Marius stared over the fires, watching families huddled under blankets, seeing bindles and trunks at their backs.
“The Radican has always been a refuge of last resort,” he said, and then guided the young King away from the safety of the wall, down a short alley on the other side of the main avenue, its end open to the city below. “Look down there.”
“It’s the city.”
“Not quite.” Marius pointed to a nearby ring of roads. “See there? The Doge’s Walk? See how it follows the shape of the Radican, like a ring?”
“It does.” The King jumped up and down. “It does. I can see it!”
“And beyond it, there? The Avenue of Advocates, turning into Silk Alley?”
“It’s the same.”
“It is. And out again, down there, hidden beh
ind those buildings–”
“The same?”
“Probably, yeah. It’s kind of hard to tell from here.”
“What are those streets called?”
Marius looked at him askance. “Those are the type of streets that don’t have names.”
“Why not?”
Marius could have curled up in pain at the innocence in the King’s eyes. Instead, he put an arm around his shoulders. “Once you get that close to the outer wall, you’re more worried about whether you’re going to eat today or not, than whether the silk importer knows where to deliver your order.”
“Oh.” Billinor looked downcast for a moment, then stared back over his city as if seeing it or the first time. “I really don’t know very much about stuff,” he said.
“Make it your business to learn. You’re King. You’re responsible for everything that happens. Don’t just accept what your advisors tell you. Find out things for yourself. Don’t worry about the big, important, clever stuff. Everyone has an opinion about that, especially if they think you’ll pat them on the head for it. Find out about the useless things that nobody else around you cares about, the unimportant things that nobody up here,” he jerked a thumb at the buildings behind them, “thinks is worth their time. Then put them all together and make them useful.”
“Like you do?”
“Don’t do anything like I do.” He pointed back across the city. “So, your city. Three great rings inside the walls. What does that tell you?”
Billinor concentrated, for long enough that Marius knew before the boy did that he had no idea. He sat down, draping his legs over the edge of the cliff, and the young King followed his example. Marius stared out across the city.
“Three times in the last six hundred years, the walls of Scorby City have been breached by an invading army. Every time, the guard has used these ring roads as fallback positions. The whole city is built around them. You can see the way they step up towards the top of the hill, see?”
“I see them.”
“Right. So, what do you do if the walls are breached?”
The Marching Dead Page 25
