T. Church - Return to Canifis

“Just remember, Theodore, Lord Hyett is vulnerable on his left side. His ankle is weak and his vision is apparently blurred in his left eye. In fact, you would do me a favour by humbling him and claiming his armour, as is the victor’s right. He has designs above his station, if you understand what I mean. Intentions. Unwelcome ones.”

Seize the Black Boar’s armour? Theodore was appalled at the thought. The Knights of Falador do not claim the property of others, even in such a contest.

“I will do what I can, Lady Anne.”

Lady Anne smiled innocently, but to Theodore her eyes were anything but.

“But enough of Lord Hyett, Theodore.” Her gaze wandered back to the tapestries on the wall. “I used to come here when I was a young girl,” she said. “I used to imagine participating in the battles, or being the princess in the paintings. My mother used them to teach me the history of Misthalin, for they tell a chronicle from beginning to end. We start with the painting of Avarrocka, the village that would become Varrock. In this gallery, all of Misthalin’s history is illustrated up until the tapestry depicting the battle of the River Salve.”

“I would like to see that,” Theodore said earnestly. He had grown up with tales of the war against Morytania and its climax upon the banks of the sacred river. Lady Anne, enthused by his interest, directed him to a tapestry hung in a prominent position. It was illuminated by the sun’s rays, streaming through a small window near the ceiling, giving it a slightly supernatural aura.

“It’s smaller than I imagined it to be,” he said after a moment.

“It is small, but it is incredibly detailed. See here, the five princes of Varrock who rode to battle.” Lady Anne pointed to the bottom left corner. “Only the youngest returned. King Roald can trace his lineage back to that one, nearly a thousand years ago.”

“How old is the tapestry?” Theodore asked, thoroughly engaged now.

“It’s over nine hundred years old, and was made by those who witnessed the battle itself,” she said. “This is the original. Some say it should be kept elsewhere, to prevent decay.”

“You do not agree?” he asked, knowing by her voice that she didn’t.

“This is real history, Theodore, a link to our past. Every time I see it I feel as if I understand my place in the world a little better. As if I understand what those who came before me had to fight, and of the hardships they endured so that we could enjoy a better future.”

She is absolutely sincere , he thought curiously. I had no idea…

Theodore laughed, and she looked confused.

“Here I thought your only interests were matchmaking and courtly mischief.”

Then it was her turn to smile.

“Well, don’t tell anyone, Theodore,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “I wouldn’t want my reputation to be damaged.”

They examined the tapestry for several minutes, standing close together. When she moved closer still, Theodore made no effort to move away. And when her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled his head down to hers, he made no attempt to resist.

It was only when a servant discovered them that they broke their embrace, and as Theodore left the gallery, alone, his head faint from excitement, he no longer felt he had betrayed Kara.

Pia awoke slowly. Her eyelids were heavy, and slow to open. Her body ached as painfully as she could ever recall and she felt utterly exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to fall back into sleep.

But as she stirred she felt the cloth tied over her eyes, so tightly that her head throbbed with pain, and the rope in her mouth that prevented her from crying out. On her first breath she gagged, an overpowering stench of apples covering her skin and clothing. It was instantly recognisable.

Someone nearby laughed cruelly.

“She’s awake,” another said.

She sat up and tried to move her hands, but found they were bound together at the wrists. Her feet were likewise restrained.

Ropes! Not ropes.

She struggled as hard as she was able, until the cords were burning her skin.

Finally, and to the laughter of her onlookers who were too numerous for her to count accurately, she fell back to the ground, exhausted.

“Straven wanted you dead, you know. He gave you to us.” She heard a man’s voice that she didn’t recognise, yet his words brought back a memory.

For she had only seen Straven that morning, an hour before dawn.

Now I remember. It’s all coming back.

Straven. The thief master of Varrock, in charge of the Phoenix Gang. She had first met him only a week ago, when she and her brother had proposed their plan to him, and he had given his permission for them to carry it out. Then, after making more money than they had ever possessed, they had tried to run. She had been taken within the first hour, and then she had been beaten. But what of her brother?

Jack! Did they capture you, too? Oh, gods…

“It’s true, you do look quite like her,” the man continued. “You could be a younger sister, two or three years maybe. You’re a head shorter than her, though, and little more than a rag doll. Your eyes are different, too. Straven didn’t tell me how much you conned from that crowd at the Flying Donkey, but when he caught you trying to run with his share, he wanted to roll you down a steep hill in a barrel of apples. Apparently that’s one of his ways of dealing with disloyalty. The severity of the treachery determines the height and inclination of the drop. Some are dropped in the River Lum, whereas particularly vile offenders have been sealed in their barrels in his cellar, with apples enough to last them a month.”

She felt someone’s breath on her face. As the man laughed, she felt his spittle on her cheek. She grimaced, and he laughed again.

“I am told that the smell when they are brought out is truly horrendous. I believe only one man has ever survived a full month, and he was mad and so near death that they cut his throat as a mercy.

“I am telling you this so you understand your position. Straven gave you to me after my messenger persuaded him that I could use you. He put you in a half-filled barrel of apples, and you were brought to me in a cart from the city.”

I am not in Varrock, then? Where am I?

“So you have a choice, thief. You are uniquely placed to help me get my revenge.” There was a pause before he continued. “I don’t know how yet, but there will be a way to use you to my advantage.”

She felt hands at the back of her head, untying the knot to the cord in her mouth. It fell loose and she gave a desperate gasp.

But she didn’t try to scream. She knew how pointless that would be.

“Where is my brother?” she said urgently. “Where is Jack? Did Straven take him, too?”

“Your brother? I know nothing of him,” the voice spat. A moment later, it continued. “Keep her ankles and wrists bound for now, and give her a bath. She smells like a rotting orchard.”

She was picked up roughly and carried a short distance. She knew from the sound of footsteps that she was inside a building-a spacious one, though she couldn’t guess any more.

“The water’s cold,” a man taunted as she was dropped into a shallow trough. She gasped as the freezing liquid engulfed her, and water filled her mouth. Her arms beneath her, she fought to push upward and get her mouth above the surface. Finally she succeeded, coughing and retching to the sound of laughter and applause.

“No! Wait! Please!” she shouted as a hand forced her head beneath the water again.

Where it remained. Firm. Unmoving.

This is it. I’m going to drown. At least it’s not from a rope. Never a rope around my neck.