Stephen Deas: Warlock's shadow

‘Sun-Day then.’

‘They might not be here for another week. Teacher Sterm says they won’t arrive until the month of Storms is out.’ He sighed.

Master Velgian shrugged. ‘Then it must be some other group of monks of the fire-dragon who caused such a fuss in Bedlam’s Crossing yesterday.’

Berren’s mouth fell open. ‘Really? They’re in Bedlam’s Crossing already?’ Bedlam’s Crossing was the last ferry across the river before the east bank turned into swamps and everglades. On a fast horse, that was less than a day’s ride away. ‘Wait — how do you know?’

‘Every imperial messenger who comes into the city has to go to His Highness first. Some daft old law. Not that His Highness cares, but that’s the way of it. Anyone else who happens to be around, they get to hear too.’

‘Then they will arrive tomorrow!’ Berren was hopping from one foot to the other, the feast completely forgotten in his excitement.

‘No, you’re probably right about them waiting until Sun-Day before they enter the temple. Unless they come here first.’ Velgian chuckled.

‘Here?’ Berren squealed, which got him a few glances from some of the other soldiers and the feast guests in the hall. Velgian glared.

‘Quiet, boy! No, probably not. There’s no love at all between the Sapphire Throne and the Autarch of Torpreah. I think letting dragon-monks and His Highness loose into the same city is quite enough cause for worry, never mind putting some of them in the same room. I very much doubt they’ll be coming here.’ He chuckled and put an arm around Berren’s shoulder and walked him out of the hall. ‘Khrozus’ Blood, Berren, I remember you when you came up to my shoulder. You’re as tall as me already. Now go and sleep.’

Berren went back to his room. He tossed and turned, trying to sleep before he was ready, and it was all the worse for having a head filled with fire-dragon monks. He’d never seen one, probably almost no one in Deephaven had, and he couldn’t help but wonder what they’d look like. Eight feet tall with sinewy arms and tree-trunk legs, with fierce and noble faces and wearing red silks, with long curving golden swords and maybe, just maybe, when you looked hard you might see a flicker of flame in their eyes …

He woke up to Master Sy, kneeling beside him with a candle, gently shaking him. Everywhere was suddenly black and silent. He yawned and stretched and rubbed his eyes and reluctantly sat up.

‘Bloody prince gave me the slip,’ murmured the thief-taker as they walked. ‘He’s not here. Keep your eyes open in case, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t come back at all tonight.’

The stairs down into the inner halls were guarded as ever, as were the arches into the moonpool yard and the scent garden. Berren walked through and settled onto his usual bench. There were all sorts of places for sitting in the scent garden. Mostly he moved about to keep boredom at bay, looking for a place where he could comfortably hide from anyone who crept in and still keep a careful watch on the wall with the prince’s window. Not that anyone ever would come creeping in past all the other guards with their swords and their armour. Besides, anyone with any sense would come over the rooftops. That was the second rule. First thing a Shipwrights’ boy learned were the three rules of not getting caught: Go somewhere narrow where big men will be slow. Go somewhere high where heavy men will fall. Go somewhere dark where you can’t be seen.

He couldn’t do narrow and he couldn’t do high, not down here in the garden, but he could at least do dark. He sat on the bench closest to the windows he was watching. He’d grown used to listening to the snores or sometimes the other noises that filtered down. Sometimes he could count how many of the ladies from Reeper Hill the prince had with him.

Master Sy left and then came back again a few minutes later carrying a wooden board piled up with food. ‘I hear the feast was a disaster.’ He laughed and sat down beside Berren. ‘Looks like the food was good enough though. Plenty left over at the end for the likes of us. It’s cold but it’s still the best food we’re likely see for the rest of the year. Enjoy! Velgian and Fennis are practically rolling on the floor, fat as pigs. There’s lots more where that came from if you’re still hungry. Probably doesn’t matter if you slip off for a bit. He’s got his cousin up in his room waiting for him anyway.’

They sat and ate together in silence for a while. Berren picked at the food. It was rich; slabs of meat in heavy sauces and not the sort of thing he was used to at all. In the end, he scraped most of the sauces aside. Meat was a luxury, but what was the point if you ended up making yourself sick over it?

When they were done, Master Sy patted Berren on the shoulder and stood up. ‘They’ll be gone in a few days. You’ll miss this.’

Berren snorted. ‘Miss getting up in the middle of the night? Not likely.’

‘Till the evening then.’ Master Sy left. The scent garden fell still and silent and Berren was alone to count the long dull hours of the night, grain by grain.

An hour had passed, maybe two, when sudden loud voices rang out of the tavern halls. Berren had been dozing. He jumped up and scurried to peer around the archway from the scent garden. The full moon was high overhead and it lit up the yard and the moonpool better than any lanterns could have done. The prince came out into the yard with a lady on each arm. ‘Good feast was it?’ he called. The guards around the doors bowed and murmured something in reply, too quiet for Berren to hear. One of the ladies laughed. The other one was looking nervously about. Berren stayed hidden in his shadows where she couldn’t see. He’d assumed the women with the prince were just another pair of ladies from the houses on Reeper Hill but now he wasn’t sure. They were dressed too well, too properly.

The prince marched on past, across the yard and into the rooms he called his own. Berren sighed. He went back to his place in the scent garden and began to pick at the last cold leftovers on his plate. From the prince’s window overhead, he heard the sound of a door opening and soft laugher. Another hour of moaning and groaning and gasping and sighing to keep him awake — just what he needed!

Another voice broke in, a man’s voice, one he hadn’t heard before. ‘Hello Sharda! I see you’re having fun.’

Berren froze. For a moment he wondered who the other voice could be and whether he should raise the alarm; then he remembered what Master Sy had said. The prince’s cousin was up there. Berren strained his ears. Whatever the prince said next was too quiet.

‘I have news,’ said the first voice.

Another pause, maybe some footsteps. ‘Good news, I hope. How’s …’

‘I have news .’ The voice was laden with some heavy meaning that Berren couldn’t begin to guess. He heard more footsteps; the door opened again, there was another mumbled conversation, this time between the prince and his ladies and then more footsteps and the door closed. Now the prince’s voice changed. The lazy drunken rolling words suddenly were gone, turned sharp and brittle as ice. Berren was half up off his seat. He’d been about to watch the prince’s ladies as they left in case he caught sight of their faces again, but the prince’s tone froze him fast. He sat down again. The talk was too quiet at first, but then came the crash of someone stamping on the floor. ‘Of course. What of it?’

A bark of angry laughter and more words that Berren couldn’t hear.

‘Leave? Why would I do that? They can all get along quite nicely without me. They’ve all made that perfectly clear and I don’t see why I should …’ The prince stopped. The other man’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. Berren stood up, moved closer, tilted his heard trying to hear. They were talking too quietly, though. Even when he stood up on his bench, each rustle of leaves smothered the whispered words. Something about the Emperor and an heir and the prince going back to Varr, that was all he could make out.