by L J Chappell
‘But don’t eat much,’ Kiergard Slorn warned. ‘And don’t drink alcohol. And don’t try anything unfamiliar in case it causes problems later.’
‘Will we see any of the Imperial family?’ Lanvik asked. He didn’t feel at all hungry, although he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
‘No, the Dukes of Pevensal are barred from setting foot in Tremark.’
‘They might come in disguise, to see the sacrifices or to try the Emerald Crown. Especially if the legends say it’s meant for them. How would anyone in Tremark know?’
‘I’m sure it’s a question of honour,’ Bane shook his head. ‘They’re unlikely to be staying away because of anything that Tremark says. If they wanted to, they could sweep this little nation aside and simply carry the entire Statue off to Emindur.’
‘Why do you want to see the Imperial family?’ Kiergard Slorn asked.
‘I don’t really, but I was wondering what they look like.’
‘I imagine they look exactly the same as us,’ Slorn laughed, ‘except with more expensive clothes, more jewellery and more servants.’
Lanvik went downstairs and found several of the Company eating at a table, but he didn’t want to join them. He was nervous. He had a job to do and a role to play tonight, and the entire Company were relying on him not to mess up. Besides, the others seemed tense: not talking, but distracting themselves with eating – if he joined them, that tension might make him even worse.
So he returned to the room.
‘If you can’t settle, you could pack your bag,’ Magda suggested. ‘We have different rooms booked for tonight, so we should be ready to move.’
‘Different rooms? Why?’
‘Master Pendisson knows that he can find us here,’ she explained, and that would be very inconvenient, assuming that they realise Vander left with us.’
‘Are we taking our packs with us to the compound? Or leaving them here?’
‘We’ll leave them here. We’ve paid for tonight as well, so we have a choice of accommodation. These rooms are more comfortable: if our rescue attempt fails then we’ll stay here.’
Lanvik opened his pack and peered inside. Apart from three or four items of his old clothing and a razor, he had no possessions apart from the pack itself. He took the clothes out and turned them over in his hands, looking at the material and at the pattern as if they might suddenly jog his memories.
Before he was ready, the Company were changing into their bright blue outfits trimmed with white and silver. Far sooner than he had imagined, he was trudging through the white, snow-covered streets of Darkfall with them, towards the Imperial compound.
Some people stared – they were an incongruous sight, in their shiny blue trousers with dull winter jackets covering the matching tops. Most of them were also carrying a pack that held their instruments and change of costume. As befitted his role, Lanvik was carrying two packs: they felt heavy over his shoulders, and he remembered Menska’s injunction that he should get stronger. He assumed that he hadn’t had much need for physical strength in his previous life: perhaps he really had been a mage.
They were stopped by guards at the entrance to the Imperial compound, but security was very relaxed. The pass which Master Pendisson had given them received only a cursory glance, there was no headcount and no-one wrote down any record of their arrival. The first three packs were inspected for weapons, and the guard at the desk asked if anyone was carrying a sword. They replied no, and were waved through.
An official of some sort met them inside, peered at their pass a little more closely and then informed them that they were a few minutes early so they would have to wait until the previous ensemble had completed their performance.
From where they waited, they could hear shouting, one voice after another, together with sound effects and some drums and pipes from inside. The noise built to a crescendo and then stopped: there was a brief ripple of clapping, but not really enough to be “applause”. Their guide waited another minute or two, and then led them along a wide corridor and through wooden double doors to the audience hall.
It was immediately clear that the hall’s primary purpose was not for staged entertainment, since they would be playing at ground level and their small audience were sitting above them, on an elevated platform. About a hundred seats were arranged on this dais, mostly around tables, but there were only around forty people present. A few were standing, yawning, stretching: considering whether to stay for the next act, perhaps, or arranging refreshments.
Two armed guards stood beside a door behind these seats.
There were doors on either side of the main hall as well, just in front of the dais: the door on the left was guarded.
Overall, it was very similar to Bane’s sketch.
Best of all, they saw a number of members of the previous ensemble emerging from that guarded door on the left, so there were clearly areas that performers could access beyond it.
Kiergard Slorn had a quick look from side to side and then told their guide: ‘We normally perform in venues with a backstage space: rooms for changing, and so on. We have costume changes, and props and our bags. Is there somewhere close by that we can store them, and change with some degree of modesty?’
‘Through here,’ their guide led them across to the guarded door and nodded to the bored guard, sitting on a chair against the wall. Behind the door was a corridor, and they could smell the kitchens ahead. Immediately on the left there was a door. ‘This way.’
‘And where are the … em, the facilities?’ Slorn added.
‘The next door. It’s clearly marked. Now, please hurry. You only have five or six minutes in which to prepare.’
From the look of the room, dozens of other groups had used it: it was filled with discarded make-up, scraps of glittering material, and a pervasive stench of cheap perfume mixed with stale sweat. It had been fitted out with old and mismatched furniture and a number of mirrors. They dumped their packs in one corner, in the largest space available.
‘Thank you!’ Slorn told the man. ‘Right!’ he clapped his hands together. ‘Let’s get set up and ready to impress these good people.’ He turned to Lanvik. ‘Quickly, quickly! Get the instruments out.’
As soon as their guide was out the room, the others started pulling their own instrument cases out of their packs. Most had compartments that concealed weapons, and Slorn handed Lanvik a thin knife from inside one of the woodwind cases. ‘Here, take this. In case you need it.’
‘When would I need it?’
‘If we are discovered. Or if Vander of Arrento requires some persuasion.’ He saw Lanvik hesitate and told him: ‘It’s fine. Each of us is carrying a small blade, just in case, but we don’t expect to use them.’
Not feeling particularly reassured, Lanvik took the knife and slipped it into his jacket pocket. After concealing their own weapons, in their pockets, belts or socks, the others checked that their instruments were tuned to each other and jogged back into the audience hall. He walked behind them and stopped at the door, beside the guard, where he leaned against the wall and out of the way.
The Company began to play to an audience that was even smaller than when they had arrived ten minutes earlier. Now that he had more time to study them, Lanvik recognised one of the thirty-odd spectators as the Master of Amusements, Urbold Pendisson. He was presumably duty-bound to attend the acts that he had personally booked, which might have been all of them.
Presentation seemed to be largely Tremano’s role: he introduced the songs and tunes, and gave a brief history of each. The applause after the first couple of songs they played was just as tepid as it had been for the group that performed before them – perhaps even less enthusiastic. From time to time, Lanvik passed through the secure door and back out again, as if he had things to check on or prepare in the dressing room. He nodded at the guard as he did, hopefully establishing that his access was casual and unquestioned. Two minutes into their third tune – an oddly lilting syncopated dance – Lanv
ik went back through the door and the guard didn’t even glance at him.
This time, instead of going through the door on the left into their makeshift dressing room, he walked straight forwards along the corridor. Other corridors and rooms branched away in various directions but according to Bane’s rough map the cell block was ahead of him and to the left, beyond the guard room and the armoury. So at the end of the corridor he turned left.
Very quickly, the corridor became noisy and busy with people: mostly guards, in and out of uniform, and many of them armed. They looked at him suspiciously. ‘Yes?’
‘Hey,’ he raised one hand in a half-wave. ‘They told me the kitchen was this way?’
‘No. Back along there. You should have turned right.’
‘Oh. Thanks.’ He turned round and went back the way he’d just come. If there was a direct route through to the cell block, then it wasn’t one they could use. There were far too many people who were likely to stop and question them. In contrast, he found the kitchen block quiet, almost deserted: a few staff were cleaning dishes and sweeping up. The smells of recently prepared food lingered in the air. It couldn’t have been that long since the main evening meal had been served.
He walked in, confidently.
Somewhere ahead and to the left, there should be a passage that led through to the cell block, so that was the direction he started walking. No-one seemed to be paying him any attention – it was possible he could get there and investigate without even being noticed. But then he saw that one woman was watching him as he walked. He met her eyes, smiled gratefully and changed direction towards her.
‘Hello. I was sent to get water. Do you have any jugs I could use? And somewhere to fill them?’
‘Do you need glasses as well?’
‘Yes. If I could take half a dozen, I’ll bring them back when we’re done.’
‘Tray?’
‘No, that’s alright,’ he assured her. ‘We’re just along there,’ he pointed vaguely, ‘so I can just nip back and get them.’ Any excuse to move around in this area was welcome: and now, if he was stopped, she would corroborate his story.
She shrugged: ‘Come with me. I’ll show you.’
‘That’s great,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’
There were four sinks in a line against one wall: large jugs and glasses were kept in a cupboard nearby. While he started to fill the jugs, the woman went back to cleaning and tidying. So far, everything was going perfectly. He had been left alone, unsupervised but completely trusted, and he had an excuse to return to the kitchen several times. He filled three jugs with water, but carried only two of them back to the room they were using.
He returned a minute or so later, and headed back towards the sink.
No-one even glanced at him, so he walked past the sink and along the near wall. Sure enough, there was a corridor leading left, almost exactly where Bane had drawn it on his map. None of the three or four people in the kitchen could see him from where they were working, so he walked straight along the corridor, past a number of storerooms on either side. He needed to make sure that it led to the cell block, for later.
Halfway along, he came to a wooden door.
Telling himself not to panic, he turned the black metal handle and pushed, but the door didn’t open.
It seemed that not only was there a door, but it was locked.
Their plan had depended on being able to reach the cell block, and now it looked as if they couldn’t, not from either side. Whatever way he tried to look at it, this was a complete disaster.
Chapter Six
The Emerald Crown
1
He stared at the door and turned the handle a second time, in case he was wrong.
Then he turned it again and tried to shoulder the door open at the same time. Perhaps it was only stiff.
Still nothing.
He collected the third jug of water from beside the sink and carried it back to the room.
Now that he had seen the sacrifices, he found it difficult to think of their commission as anything other than a rescue. Whoever Vander of Arrento was and whatever he had done, he didn’t deserve that death. But if they had to alter their plans now, then there wasn’t much time to arrange an alternative: the solstice, and the third day of sacrifice, was tomorrow. He couldn’t even remember what other plans they had discussed – something involving ladders.
Kiergard Slorn needed to know about the door as quickly as possible. But should he try to attract someone’s attention?
He waited until there was a pause in the music. Ethryk, Karuin and Vorrigan joined him in the side room briefly. They were trying to establish a pattern for the benefit of the audience and the guards, in which members of the Company each spent a few minutes not playing: missed one or two numbers. Kiergard Slorn had presented himself as some kind of manager or musical director, which presumably justified him doing less actual playing than any of the others and spending more time out of sight.
‘There’s a door,’ Lanvik explained, ‘between the kitchen and the cell block. And it’s locked.’
‘We’ll let Kiergard know,’ Karuin assured him.
Kiergard Slorn joined him before the next song had even finished and Lanvik explained the situation. Slorn was reassuringly unworried. ‘I’ll tell Magda,’ he said. ‘After another three numbers we’ll start the first costume changes, and that’ll give everyone an excuse to be offstage for a few minutes. Get her to that door: if there’s any way to open it, she’ll be able to find it and we can continue as planned.’
‘And if she can’t?’
‘We’ll worry about that if it happens. Have faith.’ And then he was gone again.
Lanvik followed him out into the audience hall to watch and listen, and once again found himself captivated. The audience, which was now about the same size as when they had arrived, met each number with the same unenthusiastic response.
After a few pieces, Magda, Lisamel, Menska, Thawn and Garran all took a break together: Lanvik escorted them through to their dressing room, where they began pulling off their blue costumes.
‘There’s a door?’ Magda asked, before he had a chance to explain.
‘Yes.’
‘Let’s go, then.’
‘Yes,’ he said.
They’d only half-emptied one of the jugs of water, but he poured the contents of the other two into a drain in one corner of the room, to give them an excuse to go back. He gave Magda two empty jugs to carry and then escorted her to the kitchen. The same handful of staff were still there, but now they were sitting in a corner on uncomfortable chairs and chatting, presumably simply waiting in case anyone felt hungry and ordered something.
He wandered over to them, Magda a couple of steps behind him: ‘Just refilling these,’ he called, waving the empty jug.
‘Yes, fine.’ They looked up, almost irritated that their conversation had been interrupted, and waved him towards the back wall.
Lanvik headed for the sink closest to the corridor with the door. ‘It’s down there,’ he told Magda.
‘I’ll have a look,’ she said, and then slipped silently away.
He turned on the tap, and began rinsing out the jugs before filling them. If he was slow and methodical then he could probably spend four or five minutes here. He made splashing noises from time to time.
Before he had had refilled the first jug, Magda was back. She had been way for less than a minute.
‘Well?’ he asked her.
She nodded and smiled: ‘Unlocked.’
‘Did you see what’s on the other side?’ They still had to check where the corridor led.
‘It opens onto a corridor with three cells, which is great, but now we’ll leave everything for about an hour. We don’t want Vander sitting around for too long, waiting and worrying.’
They carried the fresh water back to the dressing room, together with another couple of glasses. Magda quickly stripped off her blue tunic and pulled on the red instead. Feeling oddly embarra
ssed Lanvik looked away, although he’d seen her dress and undress a number of times over the last few days.
‘How do I look?’ she asked, hands on hips.
‘Everything’s good.’
Over the next few pieces The Queen’s Players gradually changed from their blue to red liveries in twos and threes. Lanvik could see that if any of the others had been needed, that change provided a perfect cover, as it had for Magda.
The pieces they were playing were gradually changing as well. Until now, they had played a mix of quiet mood tunes, odd melodies which ran counter to the beat, and percussive rhythm-based instrumental tunes. Now, they were playing simpler songs dominated by repeating phrases and motifs. Lanvik didn’t recognise any of them, but they were predictable and inoffensive and their tempo was perfect for dancing, or at least tapping feet.
The audience became busier and more enthusiastic as they played. After a few songs, the applause started to sound spontaneous rather than mechanical. The troupe rocked from side to side with the music, some of them dancing while their audience drank and ate and clapped in time to the music. When Lisamel sang, a number of them sang along with her.
Throughout their performance, members of the Company had briefly left for drinks or visits to what Kiergard Slorn had called “the facilities”. So it didn’t seem at all unusual when Kiergard, Magda and Bane left the audience hall together at around half past the tenth hour.
They repeated Lanvik’s earlier excuse of carrying empty water jugs: he distributed some of the glasses as well, so that they all had something to carry. As they walked, they chatted about the performance.
‘… but the acoustics are rubbish: echoes everywhere.’
‘They liked Maid of the Morning.’
‘Yes, well – you can’t really go wrong with Maid of the Morning.’
‘Another couple of reels, or do you think we should end on a ballad …?’
… and so on.
At the kitchen, the staff barely looked up. Lanvik nodded to them, lifting the empty jugs in the air as they passed. Bane took charge at the sink, while Lanvik, Magda and Kiergard Slorn walked straight past and turned left along the short corridor. As they passed the small storerooms on either side, Slorn pulled a narrow sword out from inside his tunic and Magda suddenly had a dagger in one hand. Lanvik rested his fingers uncomfortably on the handle of the knife in his pocket.
