by Bell, Hilari
For Jiaan’s later, tentative, plans for escape, the swirling, chaotic crowd was perfect—but right now it made being a Hrum decimaster escorting a prisoner a nerve-wracking experience. He was almost relieved to see the palace gate looming before him.
“Today,” he said, nodding briskly to the guard who saluted in return.
“Good evening, sir,” said the guard, standing aside to let them pass.
Jiaan decided to risk some simple words. “Not out here, it isn’t.”
The guard looked out at the crowd with a practiced eye. “I can see that. I’ll vressa you’re glad to be coming in.”
“Yes,” said Jiaan in Hrum, trying to control the quiver in the pit of his stomach. He walked briskly toward the palace, trying to duplicate the Hrum’s straight military posture and succeeding, he thought, fairly well. Some of the men who followed him could mimic the Hrum better than he could, but Jiaan spoke it best—and they all, hopefully, understood enough to obey simple commands.
So far their only duty had been to follow Jiaan and look like soldiers, and they seemed to be doing that well. At least no one had pointed at them and either laughed or sounded an alarm.
Jiaan thought there were fewer guards patrolling than there had been that afternoon.
“Are they all at the square?” he murmured to Soraya in Faran, after a quick glance to be certain there were no Hrum nearby.
“I don’t know, but it looks … curse it!”
They rounded a bend in the path and came into sight of the building that stood above the prisoners cells, just as the kitchen, according to Hama’s drawing, was perched over the vault and wine cellar. The guards patrolling the grounds might have been thinned, but the cordon surrounding the palace, the armory, and the building where the senators lodged had been redoubled and perhaps redoubled again.
The lady’s steps slowed and she stumbled. Jiaan caught her arm to set her upright. It gave him a reason to slow as well.
“We’ve got two more passwords,” he reassured both himself and her.
“Yes, but they look awfully alert. Suppose they ask for more than passwords? Suppose they ask you to state your business in a way that can’t be answered by I’m taking this prisoner to the cells’?”
Sunset lit the bronze decorations on the breastplates of dozens of men scattered through the guard cordon—decorations that denoted officers. They might have been placed there to ask questions, Jiaan realized. Someone had tightened security.
“The kitchen,” he said. “Well take you in through the wine cellar.”
Soraya snorted. “Why would you take a prisoner to the cells through the wine cellar instead of straight through the armory?”
“To prevent the committee from seeing you,” Jiaan improvised. “Orders from Garren himself.”
He turned crisply, taking a path that would lead them to the back of the palace where the kitchen was. Jiaan had spent a large part of the afternoon memorizing Hamas drawing, and now he was glad of it. The guards who surrounded the palace and armory were too distant to have gotten a good look at them … he hoped.
“Why wouldn’t Garren want the committee to see me?” Soraya asked. He wasn’t sure if she meant it, or was asking because she thought the Hrum guards would ask him that, but either way the answer was the same.
“How would I know? I have my orders and I’m obeying them.”
Sometimes Hrum discipline was a wonderful thing. “How do I say all that in Hrum?”
The lesson kept him busy until they reached the modest building that housed the kitchen. Jiaan could have used more time to master the proper intonations of “I’m taking this prisoner to the cells through the wine cellar; the committee isn’t supposed to see her,” but he could shrug and say “orders” as well as any Hrum soldier alive.
When they first entered the kitchen, all that preparation seemed unnecessary; only a handful of men and women remained in the long, echoing room, scrubbing a small mountain of pots and pans. The cooks had probably gone to serve at the feast, which was good. The bad news was that if there was a tunnel leading to the wine cellar, Jiaan couldn’t see it. He looked at the lady Soraya, who shrugged.
No help for it—he had to try. Jiaan walked up to a woman who was carrying a towering stack of clean pots toward a storage rack.
“I’m taking this prisoner to the cells through the wine cellar,” he said stiffly. “The committee isn’t supposed to see her. Where is the wine cellar?”
He knew how clumsy it sounded, but he didn’t know the Hrum word for ‘entrance.’
The woman didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. “Over there,” she said, motioning with her head toward a far corner. Her next comments were too fast for Jiaan to follow, though he caught the words for “stairs” and “turn.” Thank Azura he had a translator.
He nodded his thanks and marched himself, his men, and his prisoner briskly in the direction she had indicated. There it was, in the shadow behind the pillars—a stairway leading down, and a guard standing beside it.
“Password,” said the man, saluting casually as he ran curious eyes over the lady Soraya. She glared at him.
“Salute,” said Jiaan. “I’m taking this prisoner to the cells through the wine cellar. Orders.”
“Why not just take her through the netalirium?” the guard asked, though he was already stepping aside.
“The committee isn’t supposed to see her,” said Jiaan.
“But the committees all off watching the garanial” said the guard.
Jiaan shrugged. “I obey orders.”
“And liassa as usual,” the man sighed, looking at Soraya. “Too bad. She’s aurin varet.”
Soraya recoiled against Jiaan, turning him away. “Look stern and say, ‘Discipline, soldier,’” she whispered in Faran.
Two Hrum words she knew Jiaan knew. “Discipline, soldier!” he snapped in Hrum. The accent might be faked, but the tone of command was real. The guard stiffened. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
Jiaan nodded and herded his troops down the stairs and into the tunnel. It was paved and lined in plain stone, and so narrow that only two could go abreast. The small oil lamps barely produced enough light to see the floor. He felt safer here than he had at any time since they’d crept out of the laundry’s back door. He waited until they’d passed several turns before he bent toward Soraya.
“What did he say?”
“He said I was a pretty slut,” said Soraya coldly. “Or words to that effect. I hope his kind are never set to guard the slaves.”
Not all Hrum were like Patrius.
Soraya took a deep breath and let it go. Some of her angry tension seemed to go with it. “The kitchen maid said that to reach the wine cellar we have to go down the stairs, follow the tunnel to the fork, and then go left. She said the right fork leads to a portal to the sewers.”
Jiaan frowned. “There was no fork in the tunnel in Hama’s drawing.” It hadn’t turned as much as this one, either.
Soraya shrugged.
They went on in silence for a time. Jiaan began to wonder if the woman had gotten her directions confused, if they might be following the aqueduct out from under the palace. But eventually they passed around another bend and saw two new guards, stationed half a dozen yards apart so if anything happened to one the other could sound the whistle tucked into his belt.
They both looked bored, but they straightened up when they saw Jiaan and his party. Behind the second guard was a thick wooden door. The wine cellar?
Jiaan marched up to the first guard. “Mile,” he said, as the guard saluted crisply. The second guard had already turned to unlock the door. Jiaan’s shoulders started to sag with relief, but he caught himself and stiffened. The first guard looked curiously at Soraya.
“Ah, if you don’t mind my asking, sir … this is the wine cellar.”
“I know,” said Jiaan in his best Hrum. “I’m taking the prisoner to the cells through …” The guard had just told Jiaan it was the wine cellar. “Through here. Sh
e isn’t supposed to be seen by the committee. Governor Garren’s orders.”
The guard frowned, then shrugged. Jiaan blessed Hrum discipline yet again and led his small troop though the door and into the cellar. It was a vast, dark cavern of a room, full of barrels, casks, bottles, and even some cloth-shrouded furniture—which had been stored there for some time, judging by the dust—but it was empty of people.
The wooden door swung closed behind them, shutting out the guard. Jiaan’s knees wobbled with the relief of not being watched. He heard the men behind him all draw breath at once, their armor clinking softly as they relaxed. He turned and gestured urgently for silence—they’d been about to start talking, every one of them.
“They might be able to hear us through the door,” he whispered in Faran. “Loud sounds, at least. Keep your voices down.”
They had fallen out of formation with the sudden release of tension, but they all nodded. The lady Soraya pulled her wrists free of the loose rope and rubbed her face with both hands.
“It’s not over,” she said. “We still have to reach the vault, and the peddler in the cells, and then get out of here. It’s not over at all.”
But they still took a few moments to relax in the dim cellar, locating casks of the right size to float down the aqueduct, exploring the room, and enjoying a moment of respite.
It was with reluctance that Jiaan waved them back into formation and donned his heavy helmet.
The lady worked her wrists into the rope without assistance. It looked tight—Nadi had tied the knots, for she had been the one who insisted that Soraya needed to be able to free herself. Looking at the girl’s taut face, Jiaan wondered if that had been because the laundress feared Soraya might need to free her wrists swiftly, or if she simply wanted to give the girl some measure of control.
Jiaan opened the unobtrusive, ironbound door at the far end of the cellar; according to Hama’s drawing, it led to the tunnel that led to the vault. This tunnel was narrower than the one from the kitchen to the wine cellar: Two could barely walk abreast, so Jiaan signaled his men to stagger their ranks. And since the vault was somewhere between the wine cellar and the cells, this tunnel was much shorter.
Jiaan was almost startled when they came around a bend and saw the bronze-sheathed door to the vault … with one guard standing before it and the other half a dozen yards farther down the tunnel. Curse Hrum discipline.
Jiaan marched toward the first guard without slowing, but his mind raced faster than his pounding heart. Would the third password work on these men? Probably not. The vault was far more important than the wine cellar.
This was the point where he’d told Nadi he’d think of something. At the time, safe in the laundry’s warm darkness, Jiaan had imagined himself sweeping forward in a burst of action, taking out the farther of the surprised guards while his men leaped to subdue the other. But the tunnel was too narrow for him to pass the first guard without alerting the second, and both guards were as well armed as Jiaan, and proba bly better trained. As he drew nearer, Jiaan saw another of the side tunnels that led off toward the sewer, almost between the two guards, but he couldn’t think of any way to use it.
It was too late to go back; he had to try. Maybe if he told—
“Halt and state the password,” said the first of the two guards. He was frowning, clearly wondering why anyone would bring a prisoner through the vault.
So tell him. “We’re taking the prisoner to the cells through the wine cellar.” Jiaan slowed his pace, though he didn’t actually halt. He had to get both himself and his men nearer to the guards if they were to accomplish anything. His pulse thundered in his ears. He was ready for action, ready for violence—but the moment they attacked, the alarm would sound!
“Halt,” said the guard again. “Why would you take a prisoner through the vault instead of through the armory? That doesn’t make sense.”
Jiaan paused for a moment. “I know that,” he said, wishing his Hrum were fluent enough to sound casual. “Governor Garren doesn’t want the committee to see her.”
A puzzled scowl crossed the guard’s face, but the hand that rested on his sword hilt relaxed a bit. Had he been about to draw it?
“Why does he care if the committee sees her? She’s just a slave who came into the regios to spy.”
Jiaan was so startled, he almost stopped walking. But of course Soraya might be recognized. She’d been held prisoner by the Hrum before—it was probably sheer luck, and the fact that all the experienced staff were helping with the feast, that she had passed through the kitchen without seeing anyone who knew her.
“I don’t know why,” said Jiaan. “I have my orders.” He strolled nearer, slow and casual, almost there, almost within reach. He could feel the tension, the readiness, of the men moving quietly behind him.
“She was made prisoner today,” he said, as the guard opened his mouth to ask for the password again. “In Setesafon. I don’t know what she does there.”
The clumsy, simple speech had tweaked the guard’s suspicions. “Password,” he demanded. “And halt there.”
Jiaan stopped—still not close enough. “Mi-”
The lady Soraya slipped past him and bolted toward the guard. He made a grab for her, his hands closing on the strong silk of her overrobe-but she must have unfastened it as they walked, for she slid out of it like an eel and raced down the corridor toward the other guard.
“Stop her!” Jiaan yelled, leaping past the guard after his quickwitted prisoner. The guard swore, cast the heavy robe aside, and joined Jiaan in the chase.
The second guard moved forward to trap her, but she still ran toward him, seemingly oblivious to his outstretched arms … until she reached the side passage and darted into it.
“Get her!” Jiaan commanded. “If she reaches sewer she can escape!”
Even Hrum discipline wasn’t proof against a prisoner escaping right under his nose. The second guard followed her into the narrow passage, Jiaan and the Farsalans on his heels. The first guard was right in their midst now, and could surely be taken as soon as—
Jiaan hooked a foot around the first guard’s ankle—easier in this narrow tunnel than it would have been in the open, for here only one could pass at a time, and the rough floor slanted down.
The guard fell forward with a startled cry. Jiaan reached down, pulled off his helmet and struck the man’s temple with his dagger hilt, in the exact place his father’s arms master had shown him only a few years ago, though it seemed like another lifetime.
He didn’t strike hard enough to knock the man unconscious, but he was sufficiently stunned for Jiaan to bind his wrists and gag him. Jiaan heard the commotion as the other guard was overpowered, but after one quick glance he left that to his men. He’d almost finished binding his prisoner when Soraya returned.
“Bring them this way,” she said. “There’s a wider place ahead where they won’t be found.”
“That was brilliant,” Jiaan told her sincerely. “Brilliant, and brave, and wonderful enough—”
“I don’t want to be their prisoner again,” said Soraya, though she smiled at his praise. Perhaps it was as well that she cut him off before he finished, though the words echoed in his mind: wonderful enough to make me proud that you’re my sister.
“Bring them along,” said Jiaan, and followed the lady Soraya down the passage. Away from the main tunnel there were no lamps, and he had to grope his way forward, but when they reached the sewer they found that someone had placed a dimly glowing lamp in one of the niches—probably to stop people from walking out of the passage and into the water.
It flowed swiftly down the stone canal just a few paces from the end of the passage. It didn’t smell as bad as Jiaan had expected, perhaps because the current was so fast, and, as far as he could tell, the water was deep.
“Over here,” said Soraya, gesturing toward a place where the ledge that bordered the flowing water had been widened. “You can tie them to that pillar. Even if they make some
noise, it shouldn’t carry too far—not if they can’t shout.”
“Especially,” said Jiaan, “if we take these.” Reaching down he pulled the whistles from the guards’ belts. Both of them were at least semiconscious, but they appeared to be too battered to care what he did—in fact, Jiaan wasn’t sure the second guard even noticed.
Jiaan handed the whistles to two of his men who spoke better Hrum than the rest. “Go back to the corridor,” he told them. “Take the guards’ places.” He hoped no one would approach them, but even if someone did come down to the cellar, it didn’t take much Hrum to say, “Halt. Password.”
“What now?” the girl asked.
Jiaan grinned. “Now the gold.”
It took time to get back to the great bronze door, realize they needed a key, go back and search the second guard’s clothing, and get into the vault itself.
There were, Azura be praised, no guards inside. Understandable, since not all the treasures were locked up in chests. That carved lion with the emerald eyes, that graceful gazelle with the gold-plated—solid gold?—horns … both had surely graced the gahn’s palace. Jiaan was surprised they hadn’t been shipped west with the rest of Farsala’s wealth—perhaps Garren intended to bring them out when he was lord here. The small chests that contained Garren’s bribe were highly visible among the larger chests and crates stored in the vault. Small because their contents were so heavy that a man could barely carry one. The girl, for all her strength, couldn’t lift any of them.
It took even more time to bring the gold back to the sewer outlet, to bring in the wine casks and empty the wine. Time to break the locks on the chests, to figure out how much gold a cask could carry and still float without rising to the surface.
By the time they finally had the weight right, Jiaan and several of his men were thoroughly soaked. The sewer water was cleaner than he’d expected, but it still smelled. Once they knew the correct measure of gold to a cask, the work went more quickly.
