Rob Scott - Lessek_s Key

‘In the future, Sergeant, I would appreciate it if you would not go haring off without checking with me first,’ the young lieutenant said, still irritated. ‘You are responsible for the security of these halls and the feeding of prisoners, not a one-man welcoming committee. Deployment of cells and sentences is my job. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Alen tried to salute smartly, but a dollop of gloop splashed on his boots, ruining the effect.

‘And get those polished before you come upstairs, Sergeant.’

‘Yes sir. Sorry, sir.’

The officer strode down the hall and left without looking back.

Alen breathed again and looked at Tandrek. ‘Thanks,’ he said quietly.

‘No problem, Sergeant – bit of a shock to see him down here this morning. I don’t suppose we’ll see him again for another ten or twelve Twinmoons.’

Alen laughed. ‘Take a break, Tandrek. I’ll deal with this.’

‘Thank you, Sergeant. Sir, Abbott is out for a few days. Boils.’ He winced in sympathy. ‘Should I take care of the deliveries to the lower chambers?’

‘Yes, do. Good thinking,’ Alen said, his close escape leaving him a little distracted.

‘Thank you, Sergeant. All right if I borrow a cart from the scullery? They get real food down there and it’s too much to carry in one journey.’ At Alen’s nod the man saluted and left the hallway.

Alen sighed in relief again and moved off down the dark hallway. He had memorised the path from the scullery hall to Hannah’s cell, down the moss-covered stone ramp and through the old archway to Hoyt’s cell, then across the hall and up two flights of spiral steps to the cruelly small enclosure selected for Churn. At each door he emptied the day’s mush into a pile that was smelling worse each day, left that trencher on the floor and retrieved the previous day’s bowl.

No one had yet questioned why he was making the food run. Tandrek didn’t care why his superior insisted on lugging the trenchers through the dank, humid prison; he was pleased to be relieved of that unpleasant duty and often bragged to his fellow squaddies that he had the easiest post in the platoon.

As he stepped inside Churn’s former cell and dumped the trencher’s contents into the pile in the corner, Alen slipped and nearly fell to his knees.

‘Gods, but this is disgusting. I can’t believe they find anyone to make it, never mind feed it to other…’ His voice trailed off as he looked at the foetid pile and the flies that danced around it.

They get real food down there.

‘Down there,’ he murmured, ‘down where, Tandrek? What lower chambers?’ Alen picked up the old trencher and ran back to the scullery.

‘Tandrek!’ Alen cried. ‘Thanks the gods of the Northern Forest; I was beginning to think I’d rot down here!’

The soldier, a little shocked to find his superior hunting for him in the catacombs, assumed he had committed some grave military offence and snapped immediately to attention. ‘Sir!’

‘Where are we?’ Alen was out of breath, and completely lost in the maze of passageways beneath the old keep. ‘We must be three hundred paces beneath the mountain. This rutting sergeant must-’ He caught himself. ‘I’ve never been down here.’

‘Of course not, Sergeant,’ Tandrek said, surprise on his face. ‘This is Abbott’s job – your predecessor assigned him and you never rescinded or changed the order, sir: if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, you said, sir-’ He broke off, not sure if repeating his sergeant’s words back to him was the right thing to do.

‘Of course, Tandrek, you’re right.’ Alen hit his head lightly and laughed. ‘My rutting memory: can’t remember anything from one day to the next. And Abbott’s sick and you take on his duties when he’s down

…’ He held his torch up to illuminate the young soldier’s face. ‘So where are we?’

Tandrek laughed, then immediately stifled it, ‘Sorry, Sergeant.’

‘No offence, soldier ‘

‘If you don’t mind me asking, Sergeant, what are you doing down here?’

Alen had to cover himself for one more day; that’s all he needed to finish his business here and see his friends safely down the river. ‘I’m trying to familiarise myself with the whole prison,’ he said. ‘I don’t send my men to do jobs I’m not prepared to do myself. I need a better idea of our overall responsibilities if I’m to be an effective leader.’ He knew from the sergeant’s memories he’d not long been assigned to Welstar, but he couldn’t make out how much the man was supposed to know about the various levels. He didn’t want to over-egg the pudding, but he needed Tandrek on his side, even unwittingly.

‘I’m ambitious, Tandrek, and I’m still young: I intend to be an officer, and when I get promoted, I will need effective men under me. Knowledge is the key to that,’ he said.

Tandrek grinned. ‘Well, Sergeant, since it’s just me and you here, I’ll stick my neck out and tell you we all would love to have you as our lieutenant – Willis is a horsecock! Sir!’

Alen chuckled, playing along. And as it’s just between me and you, I didn’t hear that, soldier! Going deaf in my old age!’ He clapped Tandrek on the back and looked around. ‘So where is this chamber?’

‘Right down here, Sergeant.’ Tandrek pointed, and started down the hall. Their torches cast surprisingly bright light in the narrow passage, which looked as if it had been tunnelled through the bedrock on which Welstar Palace was built. It felt like a mineshaft to Alen, the roughly hewn walls making him feel a little claustrophobic. He imagined a cool breeze blowing across his face and shook his head in an effort to clear his thoughts, but it came a second time and he realised it wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him.

‘Tandrek, is that a draught?’

‘Yes, Sergeant. There are fissures in the rock down here, a system of caves in the hillside behind the palace. There’s plenty of air blowing in.’ He stopped, and Alen saw someone had carved a crooked M on the wall. ‘From here, I have to remember it in couplets, sir. Right-left, left-left, right-left,’ he chanted, turning into a new passageway with each instruction until the tunnel widened and ended in a pair of large double doors, not unlike the oak doors lining the halls in the prison wing.

Alen tried the handle and wasn’t surprised to find it locked. ‘I’ve no idea who’s in here,’ Tandrek confided, wiping beads of sweat off his face. ‘I don’t think Abbott knows either; we just bring the food down and take back the empty dishes.’ He indicated the pushcart he’d been dragging, which was stacked with covered plates and bowls, some corked flagons and loaves of fresh bread.

‘I’ll take it from here, Tandrek. Good work, soldier. I won’t forget it.’

‘Thank you, Sergeant, but I don’t think you’re supposed to-’

‘Not to worry. I’ll be fine.’

‘Do you remember the way back out?’ Tandrek asked, wondering what the sergeant was up to.

‘In couplets backwards: left-right, left-left, left-right.’

Tandrek nodded. ‘Most people get it wrong, just going back with the same couplets that brought them down – stupid rutters. Abbott has to come down here every Moon or so to find some other blazing idiot who’s got himself lost, but you’ve got it, Sergeant.’

‘Thanks, Tandrek. You’re a good soldier, and I’ll remember that. Back to the prison wing with you, and keep things together until I get back. I won’t be long.’

Tandrek saluted and started back along the passageway, his torchlight fading as he rounded the first corner.

When he was certain he was alone, Alen sat down beside the cart and uncorked one of the flagons. He sniffed appreciatively at the aroma of hops and barley and helped himself to the beer as he counted to one hundred. Then he called out, ‘Tandrek? Are you there, soldier?’