“Do you know who wrote the poem?”
Agmar grinned more broadly. “Only that he has great talent and taste, in women as well as verse.”
“A lot of guards stand around the theatre and pit.”
“Five hundred, I hear.”
“A minor noble has an armed retinue of five hundred?”
“No. He only has two hundred, the ones in that red and bronze livery out front of the brothel. The queen lends him men, as well as some puritan lords.”
“Damn!”
“Yes. I’d just finished penning a brilliant revenge tragedy. It would have drawn the crowds. The actors had been rehearsing it. But never mind, you’ll get to see it soon. Roberto says he knows another playhouse. More intimate. My lines might work better in such a setting. He’s very secretive about its location though.”
“I wasn’t talking about the play.”
Agmar put on his most injured look. “Ah, struck to the heart by my friend. I will return to the west and die fighting in heroic battle.”
“Or tell tales about your bravery until in legend you become a god. But I wasn’t saying I don’t want to see your play. I’ll see it without paying soon enough.”
“Thief!”
Corin bowed. “My problem is, I need to get in there.” He pointed across the square. “I can’t get in with all those men-at-arms about.”
“Why attend an empty theatre?”
“Not the theatre. Ilsa’s Inn.”
“The tavern? I thought you were avoiding the thieves’ guild.”
“Not now.”
“Joining up?”
“Not likely. They have something of theirs. I want to make it mine.”
“Ah, business not pleasure then.”
“Precisely. How am I going to get in there?”
“This ‘something of theirs’ is in the tavern?”
“No, in the tunnels of the guild hall.”
“The secret tunnels? I’ve heard of them, but I don’t know anyone who’s ever seen them.”
“Now you know one.”
“Well done. Tell me more.”
Corin told him of following the Lord of Law and passing through the portal and finding where the tunnels led. “They have the pommel stone of this sword.” He patted the sheath of Blood-spate. “The Labyrinth says I have to find the stone…”
“The Labyrinth says?”
“Um, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Are you saying the Labyrinth is sentient?”
“You see? Ridiculous, isn’t it?”
“No more ridiculous than a sentient sword.” He pointed to the sword at Corin’s side. “Or a bard whose song is magic.” He pointed a finger at himself. “I know a thing or two about sorcerous matters. You’ll have to tell me all about this talkative library some time.”
“I will, but in the meantime, the Labyrinth tells me I have to find the stone. The Heart of Fire he called it.”
“The Heart of Fire?” the bard whistled and his eyes grew wide.
“It’s the pommel stone of this sword.”
Agmar’s eyes opened even wider. “Then the sword is Blood-spate. The sword of kings. I would have thought the sword of kings would be bigger. It hardly looks like a longsword.”
“It’s long enough for me.”
“Well, yes, but then, you’re such a little fellow.”
“Not where it counts.”
“So Rose tells me. Can I have another look at it.”
Corin made as if to undo his codpiece.
“Not that, you little pervert. The sword.”
Corin grinned and unsheathed the sword. Agmar examined it again. Then, to his amazement, he said, “Look!”
“What?”
“It’s size.” He turned it over and over, and swung and thrust and parried the air. “It’s now the perfect length for me. If I preferred a longsword.” It was true. The sword had now grown to be a longsword for its holder. “But I prefer a true sword,” Agmar said mockingly. The sword murmured, and without any transition being observed it was the length of Agmar’s own two handed sword. “Now that’s a sword. He fenced with it in broad strokes and long thrusts. It makes you think,” he said, handing it back to Corin.
In Corin’s hand it was once again a longsword, but slightly shorter, as if perfectly forged for a man of his height. “What?”
“Well, if you gave it to a tiny gnome, would it shrink even further? If you could find a two inch warrior, would it shrink to little more than an inch? An amusing conundrum, no?”
Corin shrugged. “None of this solves my problem.”
“How to get into the tavern? Well, I could create a distraction for you. But you wouldn’t find it easy to sneak past with all that light.”
“What if I dressed in the same livery.”
Agmar looked him up and down and raised an eyebrow. “You’re a bit small for a man-at-arms.”
“There must be some small men-at-arms.”
“True, but you’d be a rarity. They’ll look at you more carefully than they would otherwise. Even if they weren’t alerted by that, they’re the men of a minor noble. They all know each other.”
“But you said there are other soldiers there.”
“True. But the queen’s men are all big burly lads. No chance of your being mistaken for one of them. If only I had some help, someone theatrical.”
“Like Roberto?” Corin pointed to the wall against which Roberto was leaning, listening to their conversation. “You know, Roberto, if I didn’t know you better I’d think you were spying on us.”
Grey laughing eyes glittered in the darkness. “Of course I’m spying on you. On Agmar anyway. I’m thinking of turning him in for a massive reward.” Roberto stepped out of the shadows and joined them. Rose and Sandy were also returning down the street to watch what the men-at-arms were going to do.
“And it’s been such a roaring trade recently,” Sandy said, “now I’ll have to turn tricks in the city till this nonsense is over. I do wish anonymous poets would have the sense not to name the noble ladies they fuck.” She looked with mock sternness at the bard.
“Ah, Sandy, high born ladies deserve some infamy too, do they not?”
“That’s right, Sandy,” Rose quipped, her eyes flashing green, “we can’t keep all dishonour to ourselves.”
“But what else do we whores have? It’s so unjust for virtuous ladies to steal our impropriety.”
“Now,” said Agmar with an appraising eye, “with two such talented actresses and a ham actor like Roberto…”
“Ham actor! Ham actor! You impugn my honour. Defend yourself, Sir.” Roberto’s hand went to his side; the opposite side to where he wore his sword. He made to draw, looked at his empty hand, and looked about as if confused, then “discovered” his sword and put his hand to the hilt, lifting his chin proudly.
“Good Sir.” Agmar raised his hands in supplication. “Your fearsome reputation precedes you. Allow me to withdraw my false asseveration.”
“False what?” Corin asked.
“Solemn declaration,” Rose said.
“Ah! Well, are you bunch of scoundrels going to help this lonely rogue?” Corin pointed to himself.
“Help my small dark and handsome steal from the guild that takes more than half my earnings? What sort of whore do you take me for?” Rose said, putting a hand to his codpiece and kissing him lasciviously. Her long artificial lashes fluttered as the kiss turned sincere and he breathed in the scent of her hair and tasted the ripe cherry gloss on her lips.
“We’ll require some costumes,” Sandy said.
“I think I see what you intend,” Agmar said, “but even with a distraction, Corin will have to get past the guards, and with all that light…”
“Hmm,” Corin said, and placed his hand on the hilt of Blood-spate. His expression became distant, as if listening to a voice. “I think that’s a problem I can solve. But where are you going to get costumes with the theatre closed?”
“That should be obvious,” Roberto said.
“Of course,” Corin said, slapping his head, and the whores nodded their agreement.
Agmar raised a querying eyebrow.
Roberto signalled them to follow. They climbed through the streets of North Bank, crossed North Bank Bridge, reaching Upper Plateau, and approached the outer gatehouse of Thedra Bridge.
“Halt, citizen,” said a guard holding up a hand.
Roberto bowed with a flourish. “We are part of a special performance for His Grace, the duke Relyan. Without us the play can’t proceed.”
The guard eyed them with disapproval. “You should’ve entered before sundown. The gates are closed for a reason.”
“Well, we could wait until sunup. His Grace might wait that long. Perhaps he’ll patiently sleep, until we turn up. Or perhaps the company will perform without us. It would be a travesty of the thespian art to so impoverish a play written expressly for The Duke’s delectation, with our own parts so central to the action. But…,” he sighed theatrically, “I suppose you know best. I suppose you know His Grace’s will and only seek to ensure his greater satisfaction.”
The guard answered querulously, “I answer to the king.”
“Ah, yes. The king. And His Grace does not have His Majesty’s ear. You’re right. You do not serve The Duke.”
The guard shifted uncomfortably, then turned and unlocked the small postern door and let them through, yelling after them to another guard at the far end of the passage, “Servants of The Duke on urgent business to the Abbey.”
Roberto turned back before the postern door closed, and said, “Good man. I’ll be sure to pass on to His Grace word of your service.”
When they had passed through the far postern he turned to Agmar. “Ham actor?”
“Well, you can fool a foolish guard. Could you fool me?”
“Ah! Let’s find out.”
“Maybe some other time.”
“You won’t see it coming.”
Corin interrupted them, “Regardless, it would have been easy enough to bribe him with a few coppers.”
“Ah, little Corin,” the contortionist knife throwing actor remarked, “No style. You have yet to learn the rewards of art. The beauty of the thespian arts is a treasure in itself.”
“If I can’t steal it, I’m not interested.”
Rose jabbed him in the ribs, her eyes flashing green beneath her trimmed, charcoal lined brows.
“Unless,” he amended, “it’s warm and sweet smelling and entirely without morals.”
“Oh, I do love the way you flatter.”
Sandy said, “Stop titillating her, Corin, or she’ll make you pay for it.”
“She always does.”
Rose linked her arm with his, her eyes amused while her painted lips were prim and serious. Then they twitched and smiled as she said, “And you’re such a good provider.”
“For your embraces I’d steal the world.”
She nibbled his earlobe affectionately.
Halfway along the bridge they came to a house. It was unusually long, extending lengthwise along the bridge, but narrow the other way, to allow traffic to pass. No windows faced the bridge street. They stepped into a short alley between the house and a neighbouring guild hall, and entered. Inside was a small vestibule, and beyond it a spacious area with rows of comfortable seats with cushions. An aging man dressed in women’s clothes, with heavy makeup, looked up from behind a short counter on which were piled playbills and behind which was a large ceramic bowl filled with silver pieces. “No show until late…ah, Roberto. Corin. Ladies, what a pleasure. Still stealing the thief’s heart, my dear? And who is this handsome giant?”
“This is Agmar, of Seltica.”
“The Agmar of Seltica?” His eyes grew round. “Not the poet of the comedy, Cheaters of Hearts?”
“The same,” Roberto said.
“What is this place?” Agmar asked.
The usher swept his arm proudly towards the stage at the far end, licking his painted lips and looking Agmar up and down as if he would have him served up to eat. Open windows lined the wall away from the street, overlooking the caldera lake. “This is the Abbey of Anarchy.”
Roberto added, “It’s still the domain of the King of Misrule, but the company of actors here have the patronage of The Duke. They may have closed the main theatre, but The Duke’s influence is too great for them to dare close this. During the day they mostly perform plays with child actors. It goes down very well with the more affluent merchants and their wives. Looking for a bit of culture to dress up their grubby reputations as grasping traders.”
“And who doesn’t need to dress up on occasion?” the usher remarked, smiling so broadly that the paint on his lips could be seen to have stained his teeth.
“Which is precisely why we’re here, Maria.”
Maria clapped his hands, and rubbed them together eagerly. “And you need my help?”
“Who else could so perfectly attire such poor wandering souls as proud aristocrats?”
“Follow me.” He led them along the aisle between seats and up a short stairway at the side of the stage, to a narrow stairway behind. At the top was the company of actors, some lazing about, others trying to memorise their parts, a pair alternately fencing and throwing bombast at each other. Maria said to a lady with heavily rouged cheeks, “Head downstairs, Alcuin, and watch the door. We shouldn’t have any customers while I’m up here, but some customers are so enthusiastic they can be unpredictable. And why not, with such worlds to imagine, such lords and ladies, ambushes and battles? Such comic errors seen of knights in their lords’ beds? Such ladies satisfied with thick lances on the battlefields of love? So many pictures of life arrayed on a single small stage that all the wide world could not surpass it?”
The lady rushed towards the stairs they had come up, but not before Agmar noticed she was actually a young boy made up. As Alcuin passed him Roberto grabbed him by the groin, halting his progress, and whispered something in his ear. Alcuin winced at the too tight grip, stopped to listen, and accepted the gold coin pressed into his palm, nodded and hurried on. “The pleasures of boys are the dreams of men,” Roberto said by way of explanation to an incurious Corin. Corin had seen too much of the world to be shocked, though he was surprised, since Roberto had never groped him, and many of the pederasts in the Guild of Misrule had at least tried, even if their hands had never been quick enough to catch the nimble thief.
Maria led them further in, to a huge storeroom, filled with props and costumes. Within half an hour two lords and their ladies stepped into the street. Maria had almost wept at not being allowed to dress up and make up Corin as well, commenting with approval on the slim musculature of his body, so suitable for elegant dresses, and the fine lines and dusky complexion of his face that only a true mistress of the art of makeup could properly emphasise. But the plan required of Corin his stealth, not a performance, so he resisted Maria’s blandishments and welling eyes. Maria responded to his refusals with histrionic petulance, but eventually sighed, accepting defeat, and turned his attention fully and admiringly to Agmar.
Alcuin wasn’t at his post downstairs, drawing curses from Maria. Outside they passed him, hurrying back along the bridge street to the Abbey of Anarchy. As the door of the theatre opened they heard Maria screeching angrily at the boy. The screeching faded as the door closed. Within another half hour they were approaching the square in front of the House of Delights.
“So,” said Agmar, “what’s your plan for the lights, Corin.”
Corin touched the hilt of his sword, then said, “Start with your performance.”
Agmar shrugged. “Ready ladies?”
Agmar and Roberto accompanied the ladies into the square. Several guards rushed forward to stop them, but Roberto and Agmar played their parts so well that soon the guards were apologising for the closure of the precinct. The group moved away from the tavern and brothel entrance, with the guards following them, and other guards a
pproaching to see what was going on.
Corin pulled out Blood-spate.
“Now,” said Seltien, “drive me into the stones.”
“Just as well the earth’s no blushing maiden,” Corin whispered as he drove the blade down into the stones. It slid in without resistance, without making a sound. “You’d better hurry. They won’t be able to sustain the act all night long.”
“Patience.”
Corin looked down to the ground, and noticing nothing, asked, “What, for the cock’s crow? For the end of the world?”
“Patience, little thief.”
Corin strained his eyes. “I don’t see anything.”
The sword was silent. And then Corin heard it. A drip. He looked at the bone hued sword blade, and along its length moisture was beading. It ran down the blade, pooling between the cobblestones. It wasn’t a large amount of water, but it trickled through the spaces between cobblestones like a slender dark thread. Still the sword dripped, and the thread of water extended out into the square that fronted the House of Delights. It flowed towards the centre of the long wall. When it reached the wall it flowed up, directly beneath a torch. Halfway to the torch bracket the thread branched into three. One thread of water continued up, the others extended left and right. Below each torch the water branched again. The water reached the bottom of the first torch bracket. It twined in a spiral along the torch and flowed into the flame. The flame hissed, then went out. Along the wall several more torches hissed and went out.
“There,” Blood-spate said in a smug tone.
“Well, I won’t deny it was useful, but I could piss out that much water, after drinking a few mugs of sack and holding on to it for a bit. Didn’t you say you could rule the river?”
“I am the river. I can be the fiery earth’s flaming fury.”
“You’re a little bit of the river god, if I recall the legend right. A little bit of his horn, or his pointy dick, or something.”
“I am not whole,” Blood-spate agreed sadly.
“That’s what I was saying.”
“No. You don’t understand. Find the heart. Make me whole. I am the raging river. I am the fiery fury of the shaking mountain. I am the power of one god bound by another. You do not know my power.”
Bloodspate: A Song of Agmar Tale Page 14
