Lessek_s Key e-2

by Rob Scott

  ‘A book business, eh? Well, that’s illegal, but you know that. And what about the root?’

  Garec shrugged, affecting a sheepish child caught with one hand in the pastry drawer. ‘We do a bit of a fennaroot business as well, yes sir.’

  ‘And you, Southie? You’re pretty far north, eh, Southie? Books and fennaroot pay your way, did they?’

  ‘Don’t call me that,’ Mark was lying in the snow, his eyes closed, fading in and out of consciousness, ‘fat Irish flatfoot.’

  ‘What’s that then?’ The sergeant stepped over to him. ‘I didn’t hear you, but from your tone, Southie, I’d guess you just disparaged my parents, eh?’ He kicked Mark solidly in the ribs. ‘Eh, Southie?’

  Mark groaned, and gurgled something unintelligible.

  ‘Raskin!’

  ‘Sergeant?’

  ‘This one needs surgery.’

  A young soldier, lean and wiry, shouldered her bow and stepped forward. ‘Field surgery, Sergeant or tavern surgery?’

  He pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers and closed his eyes. ‘Rutting headaches, um, make it tavern surgery. We don’t have all day to play at party games out here.’

  ‘Right,’ The soldier, Raskin, motioned for two others to join her. ‘Mox, Denny, hold him down.’ One broad-shouldered young man lay across Mark’s upper body, pinning his arms to the ground; another gripped his lower legs in a powerful hug, bending his knee to expose the arrow for Raskin. She removed a scarf from her neck and tied it around Mark’s thigh, tightening it with a piece of whittled wood she took from her belt, then she gripped the arrow with one hand.

  ‘One surgical procedure, tavern method, ready to go, sir,’ she announced. ‘Hang on boys,’ she said, looking at the two soldiers holding Mark fast, and drew the arrow with a tremendous wrenching pull. Mark, who was not strong enough to resist, screamed long and shrilly, and then fell silent.

  The sergeant gave the trio an approving grin. ‘Well done, Raskin. Now, bind that up, quickly, mind.’

  ‘Right away, Sergeant,’ the woman said, removing the makeshift tourniquet and exposing the wound. Someone handed her a wad of cloth dampened with water from a canteen and she cleaned it, pressing too far into the flesh for Garec’s comfort, then bound it snugly with a length of gauze someone else had ready.

  ‘Does he need querlis?’ Garec asked.

  The woman glanced up at her sergeant, who nodded. ‘He might need it later,’ she said. ‘It’s bleeding now, but I’ll check it after the blood has clotted. If it looks like it could become infected, I’ll give him some then.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Garec’s vision blurred again and he flushed. His stomach knotted, but he managed to quell the rush of nausea by pressing his face into the snow to cool the rush of blood and quiet his raging system. He croaked, ‘If you don’t mind, I think I prefer field surgery to tavern surgery.’ The last thing he heard as he passed out was the sergeant bellowing a hearty laugh, a grandfather’s laugh; nothing dangerous in it. Garec felt confident as he drifted away that he and Mark would live.

  He didn’t wake, nor did he feel any pain when Raskin extracted the arrows from his hip and leg.

  ‘So it’s just a minor change in plans, that’s all.’ Hannah dried her tears and laughed. ‘Look at me, will you? I’m a mess.’

  Alen’s heart wrenched. He hadn’t mentioned the far portal, but he had told Hannah that Steven and Mark were on their way to Traver’s Notch and that it was just a matter of time – and a significant dose of good luck – before they were reunited and returned safely to Colorado. She had flung her arms around his neck and squeezed him harder than anyone had in nearly a thousand Twinmoons. When she finally released him, her face was already tearstained.

  ‘We can steal the far portal, right? It’s not too large? If it’s like the one in Steven and Mark’s house, it’s a rug. We can roll it up and carry it between us, that shouldn’t be a problem. We can take a ship to Orindale, and you can contact Gilmour again – if it isn’t too hard to do. Is it? I mean, it doesn’t hurt, does it?’

  ‘No, I just get a bit-’

  ‘Oh, good then, because if it was painful, we could find some other way to locate them, but if you contact Gilmour from Orindale, or maybe from the ship on the way over – ships are a nice place to sleep, what with all that rocking – and then we can find them, and we can go home. Oh, Alen, thank you, thank you, thank you. I can’t tell you what this means.’ Hannah was almost incoherent, and the others left her to carry on until she was finished. She had come a long way, through many stressful and unfamiliar challenges, desperately praying someone would tell her that Steven Taylor was alive and that they could go home together. No one interrupted her as she veered wildly between laughter and tears until she stopped to catch her breath.

  Calming finally, she said, ‘But we still have to go inside the palace to steal the portal. That’s still dangerous, and I don’t want to get my hopes too high, because that could still kill one or more, or damn – sorry – all of us. But I don’t want to think that way; I want to believe we can do it. We can get in the palace, can’t we? We can get inside and find the portal – I suppose we have to leave that to you, Alen – and then we can take it with us. If we get in, we can get out. And we can take the portal to Falkan with us, and Steven and Mark and I can go home.’

  Then her eyes widened; she smiled as an idea took shape in her mind. ‘And you all can come with us. You should think about it, really, it’s wonderful there, especially in Colorado, there are so many places to visit, things to see and enjoy – and it’s so much safer than it is here. You could find happiness there. I know you could.’

  Hoyt reached across the table and took her hand. He laughed and said, ‘Hannah, gods keep you this happy for ever, I mean it, but you are not going into that castle.’

  ‘Why not?’ Hannah asked. ‘We’ve come so far.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Hoyt made Alen’s argument for him, ‘and if we don’t need to send you home from the palace, there is no need for you to go inside.’

  ‘Well, how are we going to-?’

  ‘I’ll go get it.’

  ‘Not by yourself,’ she protested.

  ‘It’s what I do, Hannah. I am one of the best: I can get in there, grab the portal and be out before anyone knows I’m gone.’

  ‘I’ll need to be there too,’ Alen said.

  ‘Not without me,’ Churn signed.

  ‘No and no,’ Hoyt said to each of them. ‘There’s no need to risk everyone’s lives to retrieve this rug. Alone, I can be invisible. If we find a way inside, I can get in, get the portal, and get back out quickly. No one will even see me there. I’ll find Malagon’s chambers, wait for him to step out, even for a moment, and be inside without a sound.’

  Alen shook his head. ‘The prince’s chambers will be sealed with a spell. You need me with you.’

  Churn signed again, ‘Not without me.’

  Finally, Hoyt stood, jouncing the table and nearly upsetting several tankards. ‘Fine, fine. You two can come along, but not Hannah. There’s no reason to endanger her.’

  ‘I agree,’ Alen said.

  Churn nodded.

  ‘But you know what this means, both of you.’ Hoyt was visibly upset. ‘This changes the entire operation. What should have been one person going in quietly now becomes three, and that means we triple the possibility that we will end up fighting our way out – or worse.’

  ‘We don’t have a choice,’ Alen said. He had no intention of Hoyt or Churn going anywhere near the palace. ‘At the very least I have to go in; whether I can unlock all the doors Prince Malagon will have sealed, I don’t know, but I can, to some extent, mask my own movements. Hoyt, I don’t see any reason for you to come along – except that, like your burly companion, you seem determined to be there.’

  ‘I am going in,’ Churn signed.

  Hoyt looked dejectedly down at his beer. ‘Fine. I hate this idea, but fine.’ He sulked another moment, then turned on Churn. ‘A
nd you. What are you thinking? You want to die in there, is that it? He does. Did you know that?’ He gestured over at Alen. ‘He wants to face Prince Malagon and kill the prince and himself at the same time. Is that what you want?’

  ‘I am going in.’ He swallowed half his beer in one massive gulp.

  ‘I hate to interrupt, but what can I be doing while you three are in there stealing the portal?’ Hannah had no desire to enter Welstar Palace. Hoyt and Churn were thieves by profession; she had never stolen more than an extra carton of milk at school. She wasn’t skilled with a bow, a rapier or a short blade, and if she did go along, her safety would be an added burden on her friends.

  ‘I know it makes no sense for me to go inside with you,’ she went on, ‘so I won’t ask to come along, but there must be something I can do to make sure we get away safely.’

  ‘You can build three pyres,’ Hoyt said sarcastically. That’s right. We’re going in there to get this portal so you can go home. The rest of us have nothing to gain in there, and these two don’t plan on coming back out again.

  ‘You’ve known all along,’ Alen interrupted, glaring at the younger man, ‘that you do not have to accompany us on this journey. Hannah and Churn have business here in Malakasia. I have issues to address. You came for the trip, Hoyt. We are all glad you did, but you should feel no obligation to enter Welstar Palace, and certainly not on your own.’

  Hoyt softened. ‘You’re right. Sorry, Hannah.’

  ‘I’ll go in,’ she said. ‘You’ve already done so much for me, and I’ll not ask you to risk your life again, especially for nothing but the chance to cheat death against tremendous odds. I’m not afraid to admit that I don’t want to go in, but I don’t think you want to, either.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it – what kind of freedom fighter would I be if I turned down a chance to deny Prince Malagon one of his favourite toys?’

  ‘And to answer your question, Hannah,’ Alen broke the momentary silence, ‘when we escape the palace, we will either make our way west into the mountains on horseback, or we will move downriver under cover of darkness; whichever we decide, our packs, supplies and horses, or our barge, raft, canoe, whatever it is we use, will need looking after, so you are the only person left to ensure our speedy departure.’

  Hannah was pleased to have something to do; she was still a little embarrassed at Hoyt’s comment. She reminded herself Steven was alive and waiting for her in the east.

  Hoyt rose. ‘I’m going to get a few things we need for the river trip.’

  ‘Nothing to eat?’ Churn asked.

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ he signed back.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No, you eat, you big bear. We need you strong tomorrow morning. We have vegetables to load, and we both know how grumpy you’ll be tonight if you don’t eat.’

  ‘You all right?’ Hannah asked.

  ‘I’m fine.’ He turned to leave.

  ‘Let him go,’ Alen whispered. ‘He has to make a decision; we need to give him some time.’

  ‘But he’s going into the palace for me,’ Hannah insisted. ‘I don’t want that on my shoulders for the rest of my life.’

  ‘Hannah, take it from an exceedingly old man; if it saves your life and allows you to return home with Steven Taylor and Mark Jenkins, then yes, of course you want it on your shoulders for the rest of your life. Don’t try to tell me otherwise, because I am too old for bravery, pride and sacrifice for one’s values, that’s all grettan shit, and I’m not interested in wallowing in it. Hoyt is not going into Welstar Palace for you, he’s going in for everyone: for Churn’s family, for my family, for all the miserable, oppressed people of Eldarn who never had a chance to enjoy freedom or prosperity in their lives, and especially for one very talented thief who would have been a wonderful, caring doctor had he been given a chance. This is all much bigger than you, Hannah. Hoyt knows it; he just needs a little time to realise it.’ And I will have done one final good deed for my friend. Then I will be able to go in. Alone.

  When Garec woke it was nearly dark and he was sweating. It had been cold that morning, when he and Mark set out to load the horses; he remembered the wind swirling clouds of snow about the grounds and the wintry bite of the air. It wasn’t much warmer here. From the slate-grey colour of his surroundings, he guessed he and Mark were under cover of a Malakasian Army tent.

  The woman had treated him with querlis; that’s why he was sweating, and why he had slept the day away. He lifted his head from the damp blankets, enough to see that he and Mark were on cots in an eight-person tent, similar to those Gilmour had pointed out from the ridge south of the border. It was a big square, easily as large as the front room in Garec’s parents’ house, but he and Mark were its only occupants. Near the back was a table piled with bags and bits and pieces, and a tripod brazier, which was currently unused.

  Garec tried to assess the damage to his hip and lower leg. He felt relatively little pain, other than a dull throb pulsing in his side. Mostly, he felt numb. That’s the querlis, he thought. When it wears off you’re going to feel like someone has been shooting arrows into your backside. He was glad to have been unconscious when the soldiers removed the arrows. Although he had requested field surgery, Garec did not fool himself into thinking that he had been treated more gently than Mark. Tavern surgery, he thought. Remind me never to go to that tavern.

  A strong breeze caused the tent flaps to flutter noisily. Outside, the snow looked less deep; maybe they’d been carried downhill from Sandcliff. Garec heard Mark stir from the other side of the shelter and whispered urgently, ‘Mark, wake up.’

  Mark moaned and rolled onto his side, still asleep.

  Garec listened for sounds of the soldiers outside. He thought he could make out two or three voices, but they were muffled by distance and wind; even straining, he was unable to eavesdrop on the conversation. ‘Mark,’ he said sharply, ‘Mark, wake up.’

  Mark shifted again and opened his eyes. ‘Garec?’ He tried to lift his head, but was overcome by dizziness and fell back into the blankets.

  ‘I’m over here.’

  ‘Where are we?’

  ‘In a Malakasian tent; they were a border patrol. How’s your leg?’ Garec pushed himself up on his elbow.

  ‘I feel like I’ve been shot.’

  Garec laughed and a blast of pain ran through his hip. ‘Me too.’

  Without opening his eyes, Mark said, ‘Lovely place, this Gorsk. Remind me to look into the local timeshares; maybe we can go in on one together.’

  Garec asked, ‘Can you walk?’

  ‘Walk?’ Mark was incredulous, ‘Garec, I don’t even know if I can sit up.’

  ‘That’s the querlis – it’s powerful, but you’ll heal very quickly. It does make you drowsy.’

  ‘Drowsy?’ Mark laughed again, a happy drunk. ‘I feel like I’ve been hit over the left-field wall. Sorry, it’s a baseball reference. You wouldn’t know.’

  ‘We’d say you’ve played the ball in a chainball tournament, about the same thing, I guess,’ Garec said. ‘Versen used to say that every time he drank Ronan wine.’

  Mark forced himself to sit up. ‘So how do we get out of here?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Garec answered. ‘There’s less snow here, so I guess we have to assume they brought us down the valley. It looks like it’s getting dark outside, but I don’t know how long we slept.’

  ‘So we don’t know how far we’ve travelled, and we won’t be moving very quickly with these injuries. If we can get to high ground, I’m sure we’ll be able to see enough to find Sandcliff, or at least the village below it.’

  ‘Can you climb?’

  ‘No,’ Mark was honest, ‘probably not, but together, we have two good legs. We might be able to drag ourselves up high enough to get our bearings.’

  ‘That’s not much of a plan.’

  ‘No. Where are our weapons?’

  Garec looked around. ‘Not in here, as far as I can see.’

>   ‘How about our cloaks?’

  ‘Mine’s here.’ Garec peered through the gathering darkness. ‘That might be your coat, bunched up beneath the foot of your cot.’

  ‘All right, so assuming, they don’t come in here and beat us to death, or torture us to give information we don’t have, we might be able to get past a guard late tonight.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Garec said. ‘If they don’t beat us or tie us up, they’ll have that woman-’

  ‘Raskin, he called her; did you see the way she pulled that arrow out of my knee? I’m going to need surgery.’

  ‘Field surgery?’

  ‘Real goddamned Rose-Medical-Center-in-Denver surgery!’

  ‘She’ll treat us again.’

  ‘What, with that queer stuff?’

  ‘Querlis, yes.’

  ‘Great,’ Mark sighed, ‘another beating with the pharmaceutical cudgel. We’ll never get out of here if she keeps us doped up on that.’

  ‘But it’s good for our injuries, the best thing we have in Eldarn,’ Garec insisted.

  ‘Can we get some in a village somewhere?’

  ‘It’s difficult to find, but any significant town will have querlis. Traver’s Notch has healers.’

  ‘Then I’m skipping my next dose,’ Mark said, shifting enough to get his feet onto the ground. He rested his face in his hands.

  ‘You’re not ready to travel, Mark.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he said, ‘but I will be if we can get clear of this camp. Have you been able to see outside?’

  ‘Just that it’s not as snowy.’

  ‘Let’s do that first.’ He braced himself on the cot and pushed up with his arms, trying to stand, but as he did so, the tent flaps opened and the woman came in. Mark allowed himself to fall back into the blankets. ‘Ah, Dr Mengele, lovely to see you,’ he said.