Rob Scott - Lessek_s Key

‘I tend to hang fennaroot runners, and though you didn’t have anything on you today, if I hang you, no one is going to care. Unless you had it stashed there at the university, you’re lying to me, because I know there is no place to sell fennaroot on that hillside – it’s not a popular spot, that hillside, doesn’t draw a lot of visitors, especially not in the winter.’ He looked over at Mark again.

‘I don’t believe you know a way into the palace, because I don’t know a way into the palace, and I’ve been up here since before both of you were even born. If you had any root on you, you’d be dead. If you had any books on you, we might negotiate for a small fee, and you’d be on your way. But you didn’t have any books, and you don’t have hardly any silver at all. So what do I do with you?’

‘I think-’ Garec interrupted.

‘Shut yourself up firm and quick, boy. I am not making a joke with you,’ the sergeant said firmly. ‘I will ruin your life right this moment if you don’t shut your lip right now.’

Garec complied without another word and the sergeant continued, ‘So, boys. There’ve been reports of some strange goings-on up at the palace: clouds that move against the winds, explosions, demon screams late at night. The villagers complain and our captain sends us up here to check on the place. Mind you, our lieutenant didn’t come along with the rest of us, because that would have meant getting up off his delicate little backside, and he doesn’t like to do that during this season. So we make the trip up and find you two, book dealers with no books, root runners with no root. I am a very reasonable man, me, and I didn’t kill you. I actually had my girl treat you with querlis, because I do not, not for one moment, believe anything you have told me.’ He spat onto the frozen ground by Mark’s head.

‘I am not famous for having border runners rush to tell me the truth, and normally I would just hang you boys and be done with this situation. But there are too many coincidences here. First, you aren’t who you say you are; I can see that. Second, you appear at the same time we get reports of odd – some might say magical – goings on up at the palace. And third, we find you two just at the moment our orders from Capehill fade to a trickle. You see, we here on the border receive our orders from a general in Capehill. He doesn’t come up this way too often, because it’s cold and grey and the wine doesn’t travel well out here in the territory. We have received no orders in the past Twinmoon except to come out here and check up on things. Now, rumour has it that Prince Malagon is dead – gone, killed, hiding out in a basement in Orindale, whatever – and I can assure you boys, I don’t care one rutting pinch if he’s on a dairy farm enjoying sexual relations with a heifer. But when I put all these pieces together at the same time, something tells me I need to keep you two alive long enough to satisfy my curiosity that these things are not somehow all related. What do you think?’

Raskin had begun changing the dressing on Garec’s injuries, peeling away the querlis leaves and replacing them with a fresh poultice. So much for escaping during the night. He nodded his thanks when she finished and watched as she moved warily to Mark’s cot.

‘If he so much as twitches, you leave his wound untended, you hear, girl? He can tie it up himself if he’s that tough.’ The sergeant stared down at Mark as he spoke.

‘So, boys, what do you think of my summary? Am I about right?’

Garec had been trying to work out their story. ‘You’re right about much of it, sir, although we truly don’t know anything about any screaming demon or magic clouds. We do know a way into the palace, and we do have a stash, root, a few books and a purse of silver we left inside. We were going to go back for it, after we made a run down into the village for some supplies.’

The sergeant grinned at him. ‘I’ll give you ten points for coming close to the truth, boy, but you missed it, didn’t you? Just by a bit, but you missed the truth.’ With that, he pressed the flat of his palm against Garec’s injured hip and began to lean forward. Pain flared up despite the fresh querlis and Garec groaned, fighting the urge to scream.

‘You want to try again, boy? You two weren’t going into that village for supplies. That village is a day-trip. You two were carrying everything you own, and if you were going in for supplies, you’d have taken more than the few copper Mareks you had on you. You were on your way out of those hills, right?’

‘Yes, yes, all right, all right,’ Garec spoke as quickly as he could between shallow breaths. His leg throbbed with every heartbeat, and his foot began to twitch involuntarily as his body fought the need to pass out. ‘You’re right. We were leaving.’

The sergeant withdrew his hand. Garec rolled onto his back, sweating.

‘We were leaving for a few days. We’d done the first part of our job. The books were there in the library and the root was hidden inside the palace scullery.’ Garec decided to try lying one more time, assuming that if the sergeant pressed against his hip again, he would be unconscious until morning, anyway. ‘Our job was to get the root across the border and to hide it at Sandcliff. Our partner is the one with the connection here in Gorsk. He sells the root, brings the silver back and we return three days later to carry both the coins and the books across the border into Capehill.’

‘Ah, a partner now? This is getting thick, isn’t it?’ The sergeant approached again. ‘And I am quite sure you will be happy to share your partner’s name, will you not?’

Garec prayed the sergeant really had been a border guard as long as he claimed. ‘Rodler Varn of Capehill,’ he said. ‘I’m Garec Haile; I come from Randel, down in Rona, but I live in Capehill now. That’s Mark Jenkins. He’s from the South Coast, obviously, but he lives in Capehill too, at least for the autumn harvest and our winter runs across the border. We get into the palace through a drainage track that runs from the scullery to the gardens. It was a fluke; our partner found it one morning running from a squad of your guards.’

‘Rodler Varn?’ The sergeant glanced at Raskin, who tried to hide her excitement. ‘That name might be familiar… Rodler Varn. Hmmm.’ Garec could see the Malakasian was prevaricating; it was quite clear that young Rodler had been eluding them for some time; he was probably quite a thorn in their sides. ‘And you say he’ll be stopping by the palace in the next three days?’

‘Did I say that?’

‘Don’t play games with me, boy. What you say in the next two breaths may save your life – your Southie friend’s life, too.’

Garec felt a rush of adrenalin; the wind had changed in their favour. Now was his chance to misdirect the greedy border guards. ‘We can take you back. We can get you inside – though not many can fit through the opening. You won’t be able to, and the others we saw this morning, they won’t fit either.’

‘Mox and Denny,’ Mark said quietly.

‘Good memory, boy,’ the sergeant said with a laugh. ‘You were paying attention this morning.’

‘One tends to remember the names of people who have been so helpful.’ He shot Raskin a grim look.

‘Right. Denny and Mox. They won’t be able to fit, but she will.’ Garec indicated Raskin. ‘We could get her inside.’

‘And she could open the doors for the rest of us?’

‘I don’t know,’ Garec answered. ‘We’ve never tried to open them. We figured if anyone – you in particular – was monitoring the palace, you’d know if the main gate had been breached.’

‘Wise of you, young man, very wise.’ He turned to Raskin. ‘You’ll go inside with them.’ It wasn’t a question.