Michael Sullivan - The Crown Tower

A great battle, a war. Dixon is dressed in makeshift armor fighting in the Gentry Quarter near the front gates of the city. He charges a man and-

This was where the stories in the hands diverged.

“Your right hand stops in a battle here in Medford. Your left says you’ll die in a different fight, at a fortress years later.”

“But either way I die fighting?”

“Looks that way, but not for many years.”

“That’s good … I guess. Anything in there about you?” he asked hopefully.

She nodded. “We’ll remain good friends our whole lives.”

“Friends?”

“Friends.”

He sighed.

“Not what you were hoping for?”

“It’s still a good fortune. A damn good one, actually. Better than…”

She was still looking at his palm and stopped hearing him as she saw something new.

Dixon and his cart, a horse pulling it this time, but a different horse. They aren’t in the city-someplace else, maybe a farm. Sheep are bleating and it’s raining, a storm, a terrible storm. Men lying on the ground, facedown in large puddles. “More will be coming. Leave us or they’ll know you helped.”

The voice. It reached out of Dixon’s future. It spoke to her.

“Over here!” An old man waving. “Help them-please. You have to get them out of here. Just dump the wood and hide them in the cart. Take them away.”

Lightning flashes. No longer raining, but dark. The cart is on Wayward Street. One of the men climbs out. Small, weak, he staggers and beats on the door of the livery, calling for help. He is covered in blood.

Dressed in his own blood.

“What’s going on? Gwen, what are you seeing?”

She was shaking. “Have you bought a new horse?”

“No, I … ah…”

“What?”

“I was thinking about it. The money you paid me went to fixing the axle on my wagon, and I was saving up for … There’s this horse this guy up in the Art-Q is selling cheap. A bit on the old side, but-”

“Is it black with one white ear?” she asked, and Dixon looked stunned. “What are you going to do if you get the horse?”

“Well, I was thinking of talking to you about this later, but with this place being near finished, I thought I’d resume my hauling business. I’d still be here most of the time-in case you needed me, you know. But I already got an offer. One of the woodies, he needs a load of lumber taken north, and the guy says the farmer who ordered it has a load of wool for the weaver back here in Medford. In one trip I’d make more than I have since before my other horse died.”

“When are you leaving?” She grabbed him by the shoulders, her voice rising.

“I don’t know that I am.” Dixon looked flustered. “I don’t actually have the money for the horse yet. I was thinking about taking a loan against the money I’d make by delivering the lumber, but that’s dangerous, and I wasn’t sure-”

“Do it.” She almost screamed the words but forced herself to keep in control.

“You think it’s a good idea? What if something goes wrong? I’d be-”

“I’ll cover the loan. I’ll buy the horse outright if necessary.”

“Really?”

“It’s very important that you deliver that lumber.”

“It is?”

“Absolutely.”

“Why?”

“It just is. Get the horse, get the lumber, and leave as soon as you can. Promise me.”

“I will.”

“Thank you.” She took his face in her hands and pushed up on her toes to kiss him. “And, Dixon, when you get there, if it’s raining and you find two men who are hurt, bring them back here, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you so very much.”

She looked back out at the street where the rising wind of a coming storm was whipping the canvas.

He’s coming!

The Crown Tower loomed before them, casting a shadow across the land like a behemoth sundial with Iberton village marking bedtime. Hadrian had watched the dark arm sweep the plains and hillsides, the tower growing larger with each mile. They were closer than before, having passed the turnoff to Iberton, which was already no more than a small cluster of buildings behind and far below. Each step brought them higher on the mounded plain and closer to the giant they were to challenge, but all Hadrian could think about was Pickles.

He could still see the boy’s face, his giant smile, and the happy tone in his voice. You are a great knight, yes? The swords were all he had seen. Pickles had watched everyone exit the ship in Vernes and figured anyone with three swords had to be a wealthy knight, but Hadrian had let him down.

He was going to take me out of here. We were going to go north. We were going to go to a university.

Hadrian would have been kinder to have left him in Vernes. He’d still be chasing bags in the streets along the docks, still dodging the press-gangs, and maybe one day he would have found a real knight-someone who wouldn’t leave him to die.

Hadrian was making a habit of leaving.

He had wanted to see the boy’s body, to say goodbye. He couldn’t even do that. Hadrian also imagined they had disposed of Pickles in a ditch or unmarked common grave. No ceremony would have been wasted on the likes of a poor child from a faraway city.

Hadrian squeezed the reins and glared up at the tower as if it were the source of everything evil. If he hadn’t been here … if he had been back at Sheridan, Pickles would still be alive. The thought was made all the more bitter, considering Hadrian hadn’t done anything on the last trip.

This time the two had traveled mostly by night, keeping their sleep patterns aligned with the job, as well as avoiding the expected return of the Seret Knights, who they imagined would ride by day. Royce turned off the road and cut through brambles and brush to a low, wet area concealed by a briar patch. The center had been cleared, and the remains of a campfire identified it as Royce’s base. The tower was only a few hundred yards away, up a steep slope within a maze of narrow stone streets. At this range it no longer looked like a tower. The base was too wide. Without tilting his head up, Hadrian might have thought it a slightly curved wall.

Royce was the first to break the silence. “Can you cook?” he asked without looking up as he gathered leftover wood and began stacking it for a fire. “This is our last chance to eat. We’ll enter the city as soon as the sun is below the horizon and will begin the climb once the stars appear. After the job, we’ll move fast. No stopping. No eating.” He glanced up. “Well, I won’t be. You can do as you like. In fact, I’d prefer if you went a different way than I do. I’ll likely head east toward Dunmore, so you can pick any other direction.” He returned to his pack for tinder. “It will be a long exhausting climb, even with the harnesses, so a solid meal is important. I wouldn’t chance a fire otherwise. I’m no cook, so if there’s any truth to what Arcadius said about us being opposites, I’m hoping you’re a chef.”

“Pickles is dead,” Hadrian said.

Royce stared at him a second. “What?”

“You heard me-you hear every stupid thing anyone ever says. That’s the most annoying thing about you. Well, not the most -it’s actually really hard to order them. The list is so ridiculously long.”

“Are you talking about that kid at the school?”

“Of course I am. What do you think I’m talking about?”

Royce shrugged. “Since I was asking if you could cook, I thought you were actually talking about, well, pickles.”

“I’m talking about Pickles! He was executed for the crime you committed.”