Authors: J. V. Jones
"The service
entrance. There's no need to force your way in. I'll give you a barrel of ale
with the mark of the local inn upon it." Rovas leaned forward as he told
Jack of his plan. "It's Spring Blessing, so they'll be wanting all the ale
they can get. There'll be all sorts passing through that door tomorrow night:
whores, cooks, musicians. You don't say a word. That accent of yours will give
you away in an instant. Simply turn up at the door with the ale and they'll let
you through. No one will pay the slightest attention to a dumb and unarmed
tavern boy."
"Unarmed?"
"Aye, you'll
be a stranger to them, so they'll search you for sure. Your weapon will be
strapped to the inside of the ale barrel! It'll be a little wet, but deadly
nonetheless." Rovas was looking rather pleased with himself. "O'
course you'll have to find a pick or a bar to get inside the barrel, but that
shouldn't be difficult. At worst you can simply smash it against a wall. If
anyone comes, just pretend you dropped it. Chances are that everyone will be so
drunk that they won't even care."
The plan sounded
feasible, yet Jack found it hard to accept that it would be so easy. On
feastdays at Castle Harvell, the guards who were on duty were strictly
forbidden to drink. "Everyone won't be drinking, though?" he
prompted.
Rovas moved back
and the light from the candle fell from his face. "The only ones who won't
be tippling will be the four pairs of external guards." He looked straight
at Jack from the shadows, challenging him to question his word.
How much could he
believe? Rovas was a practiced liar: anyone who could pass off fish painted
with blood as a fresh catch had to have a tongue that dripped oil. Yet Jack
knew he had no choice but to accept what Rovas said. There was little chance he
was going to catch the man out, and, all things considered, the smuggler
did
want Vanly murdered. So why would he lie about the dangers?
Jack was afraid.
He was playing at being tough, nothing more. What had he ever done in his life
that readied him for this? Oh, he could handle a blade now, but he was still
happier kneading dough than attacking an opponent. Jack smiled despite himself;
that wasn't quite true anymore. It felt right to have a sword in his hand. He'd
learned fast, almost as if it were second nature. Already he was developing the
ability to know what his opponent's next move would be even before he made it.
Rovas had told him to watch the eyes of his opponent if he wanted to see what
they'd try next, but Jack had learned that wasn't quite enough. You had to
watch the line of their muscles to see which were ready to contract, and you
had to memorize all the moves that had gone before: a man was always anxious to
pull something new from his hat.
In many ways
baking had prepared him for fighting: long hours had honed his endurance,
working under Frallit had given him a strong sense of self-discipline, and
kneading dough for six hours a day and hauling sacks of grain from the granary
had given him arms of steel.
Nothing had
prepared him for stealing into a garrison, though. Nothing made him ready to
kill a man in cold blood and then make an escape. Nothing. If it wasn't for
Tarissa, he might not have gone through with it. Melli was dead. Revenge paled
beside that one, irrefutable fact. If anyone was to blame for her death, it was
he,
not Vanly. To kill the man in her name would be as good as a lie. So
he would do it for Tarissa, instead.
"How do I
know the guards will let me into the garrison with the ale? They might just
take it from me." Jack knew his only safeguard with Rovas was to.question
every detail.
"That's easy.
I'll make sure you get a barrel with an Isrotap. No one except tavern-keepers
know how to open them. They'll have to let you in if they want the ale to
flow."
Rovas smiled
charmingly. "And believe me, they'll want the ale to flow. There's nothing
like Isro Amber for putting a fire in the blood."
"Where will
Vanly be?"
Rovas' whole face
lit up at the question; he'd obviously been eagerly awaiting it for some time.
"Aah, well, that's where my inside information comes in. I know for a fact
that a troop of dancing girls are currently on their way from Helch to the
garrison. Now, these dancing girls are little more than whores, and one of them
is said to be so beautiful that men fall to their knees at the very sight of
her. Knowing the good captain as I do, he'll be spending the evening trying to
bed her." Rovas winked merrily. "And knowing the dancing girls of
Helch as I do, he won't have to try very hard."
"So he'll be
alone except for this one girl?"
"I'm almost
certain of it. He'll eat with his men in the mess hall about sundown. He'll get
drunk by downing a few skins of ale, and get randy by watching the Helch girls
dance. Then he'll retire for the evening with the most beautiful girl in the
room on his arm."
"How do I
find his quarters?" asked Jack. They were coming to the most dangerous part;
entering the garrison wouldn't be that difficult, but if he were caught
wandering around the officers' quarters it would mean certain capture. Or
worse.
Rovas spilled a
heap of flour onto the table. He spread it out flat with the palm of his hand
and then proceeded to draw a rough sketch of the garrison in the powder.
"Here," he said, tracing the outline of the south wall, "is the
service entrance. You simply turn to your left, head along the east wall until
you come to a covered arcade." Rovas accompanied each word with a
corresponding line in the flour. "At the end of the arcade is a set of
double doors, pass through these, take the short flight of stairs on your
right, and the first door you come to will be Vanly's sleeping quarters."
Jack was not looking
at the map. He was watching Rovas' face instead, searching for the slightest
sign that what the smuggler said was a lie. He didn't find one. There was one
glaring omission, though: the officers' quarters were bound to be guarded. Jack
didn't believe that Rovas had innocently overlooked that fact. "What about
guards?"
Rovas shrugged.
"There might be a pair of them guarding the double doors. If you wait long
enough, you'll be able to slip by when they change. Who knows, they might be so
drunk that they let you sail past. With that long hair of yours they might even
think you're an officer's friend-if you get my drift. Though you're a little
too tall and muscley for the normal type." Rovas laughed at his own wit.
"Anyway, the point is it's Spring Blessing; wine and women will be on
everyone's mind, and those who aren't thinking about merriment will be worried
about the war in the west. We couldn't pick a better time to make our
move."
It was time for
the most important question of all. "How do I escape?" Jack watched
Rovas like a hawk. Of all the things the man was likely to lie about, this was
the only one that really counted. Jack knew he would be at his most vulnerable
once the deed was done.
Rovas looked Jack
straight in the eye. "There's a tunnel leading from Vanly's quarters all
the way out into the woods."
"Why can't I
use it to get in?" Jack had already heard the answer, but he wanted to
make sure anyway.
"It'll be
bolted on the inside."
"How do you
know about this tunnel?"
"You forget,
Jack. I used to be in business with the man. We used that tunnel all the time
to take goods back and forth." Rovas brushed his hands over the flour,
cleaning the slate for another sketch. "It was built at the same time as
the garrison. It's not unusual to have escape tunnels situated in an officer's
quarters in case of the need for quick escape. If the garrison was ever under
siege, it would be used to smuggle food and supplies through." A fat
finger traced the corner of the garrison. "Look, here's Vanly's quarters.
The entrance to the tunnel is located under the bed. The floorboards are hinged
and underneath is a barred trapdoor. Once you raise the trapdoor, you're
looking at an eight-foot drop, so be careful: don't jump blindly, or you could
break a leg. Lower yourself feet first. It'll be pitch-black in there. You
could take a candy, but it would just slow you down. Best to work in the dark.
There's only one way to go, so you won't get lost."
Rovas traced a
curved line leading out from the garrison. "The tunnel itself is about
four feet high, so it won't be easy going. It's long, too. It doesn't slant
straight to the woods, because a stream cuts through its path, so the tunnel
has to curve to avoid it. When you reach the other end, it's going to take all
your strength to shift the opening. A large rock lies atop the entrance. So
don't be fooled into thinking it's just a case of raising another trapdoor.
There are footholds cut in the timber; hike yourself up and push with all your
might."
Jack found it
difficult to doubt what Rovas was saying. The man seemed to have a lot of
convincing details at his disposal. Still, he pushed to find holes in the man's
story. "I thought you'd be waiting for me."
"I will, just
not in the woods. A patrol comes around about once an hour. It's too much of a
risk for me to wait -I have no way of knowing how long you'll be." Rovas
poked away at the flour, indicating the woods. "See here at the edge,
where the stream grazes the trees, that's where I'll be waiting with a spare
horse."
"Won't a man with
a spare horse look suspicious?"
"Aye, lad,
you might be right. Though I'd hoped to go unnoticed, it's a pretty remote area
by the stream. The guards only patrol the center of the woods, because they
know there's a tunnel there."
"Then they'll
we watching the tunnel entrance?" Somehow, Jack knew Rovas would have a
convincing answer ready. He wasn't disappointed.
"No, lad.
Only the officers know the exact location of the tunnel. It wouldn't do to have
every soldier in the garrison knowing how to sneak in and out whenever they
pleased." Rovas rubbed the stubble on his chin. "Come to think of it,
the guards might not even know there's a tunnel. There's no need to tell them
the real reason why they have to keep an eye on the woods."
Jack searched for
any lack of logic or inconsistencies in Rovas' story, but could find none. But
there was one way to call his bluff. "Take me to the tunnel entrance
tonight."
Rovas didn't
flinch. "Very well, as you wish. We'll have to wait until the small hours,
though. If we were spotted, we'd have to call the whole thing off."
"It's all
right, it doesn't matter." Jack was satisfiedthere was no reason to go
there now. If Rovas had hesitated even for an instant, it would have been a
different story.
Feeling more
relaxed, Jack asked one final question. "How do I know I can trust you,
and that I won't end up getting caught or killed?"
Rovas' light blue
eyes looked straight into his. "Magra and Tarissa would never forgive me
if you didn't come back."
Maybor was waiting
by an open drain just off the butcher's courtyard. Apparently the duke's palace
didn't have need of a middens. All their chamberpots were emptied straight into
the lake. A sorry arrangement if ever there was one. How was a man to conduct a
discreet meeting without a ghastly smell to put off potential eavesdroppers?
There was small consolation to be found in the fact that there was a distinctly
unpleasant odor emanating from the drain. Blood and decomposing entrails might
not smell quite as bad as a middens, but at least they drew the same amount of
flies.
Here was the man
now. Lord Cravin did not look at all pleased to be summoned to such an
inauspicious spot. Still, the man managed to step over the bloody carcasses
with a certain amount of grace. He was wearing rather fine shoes, as well.
Maybor saw Cravin's discomfort as a personal advantage; he had successfully
thrown the man off guard.
"Well met,
Maybor," said Cravin a little testily. "If I'd known you had such a
fondness for carnage, I would have suggested meeting in the sanitarium, that
way you could have watched
people
having their limbs hacked off."
"No, farm
animals will do just fine." Maybor picked up a slice of what looked to be
a pig's ear with the toe of his boot and flipped it into the gutter.
Cravin appeared to
calm himself. "I trust you found the ladies to your liking?"
"More than
adequate, my friend." Maybor was feeling rather superior. "Though the
second girl was a little skinny for my taste. Her hips were like a lentil
grower's feast; pleasant enough, but lacking in meat. As for the first--"
"Enough,"
hissed Cravin. "I did not come here to discuss the female form." He
took a step closer, the right half of his face falling under the shadow cast by
his hooked nose.
"Hear my
piece now, or walk away from this meeting with nothing but the blood on your
boots to show for it."
"I'm
listening."
"How well do
you know Lord Baralis?"
The question took
Maybor by surprise. His first instinct was to be guarded. "I could tell
you a thing or two."
"Then you're
aware that he's a dangerous man with dangerous ambitions?" Cravin's eyes
shone shrewd like a hawk.
Maybor, feeling
uncharacteristically cautious, merely nodded.
"The marriage
between Catherine and Kylock is no spur of the moment affair. Baralis has
planned for it for over a decade-perhaps even longer."
"And how
would you know this?" Maybor had decided his policy: say nothing and let
the lord from Bren spill his guts.
"For ten
years now Baralis has crushed, murdered, or suppressed any party who sought
Kylock's hand in marriage."
Melliandra!
Maybor's thoughts darted toward his daughter. Outwardly, he remained calm.
"Go on."
"Has it never
occurred to you to wonder how a prince of Kylock's standing managed to reach
his eighteenth year without as much as one formal offer of betrothal?"
Cravin didn't wait for an answer. "I'll tell you why, because Baralis, in
his position as king's chancellor, managed to stop any proposals before they
reached the ears of the king."