Authors: J. V. Jones
"And your
daughter?"
Maybor was thrown
off guard for the second time. "My daughter, Your Grace?"
"Yes, you do
have a daughter, don't you?" said the duke. "What's her name,
now?"
"Melliandra."
The duke spun
around. "Aah, so she was probably called Melli as a child?" He didn't
wait for an answer. "I heard that she is a beautiful girl. Do you happen
to have a portrait?"
Stunned, Maybor
nodded.
"Let me see
it, then. If Melliandra attends the wedding, perhaps she can have the honor of
waiting upon Catherine."
Maybor breathed a
sigh of relief: so that was the duke's interest-seeing if his daughter was
comely enough to be a lady-in-waiting to Catherine. Maybor dashed over to his
desk. It would do him no harm to have Melli close to Catherine. In fact, the
whole thing was perfect; when Melli was found she could take residence at the
court of Bren. Not only could she befriend the woman who was destined to rule
the most powerful city in the north, but also she would be a safe distance from
any rumors that might cause her disgrace at Castle Harvell.
Unlocking his
cedar-wood box, Maybor reached inside and pulled out his daughter's likeness.
Carefully he cleaned it against his robe. The miniature was covered in
fingerprints from constant handling: it was all he had to remember her by. He
held it out. "Here is my daughter, Your Grace."
The duke took the
portrait and held it so it caught the light from the window. He seemed pleased
with what he saw. When he spoke it was quietly, more to himself than Maybor.
"Oh, yes, yes," he said. "She is the one."
"So should I
invite her to attend upon Catherine?"
The duke gave
Maybor a shrewd look. "As you wish." He returned the portrait and
then made his way to the door, his sword glinting with every step. "I hope
that you and I can become friends, Lord Maybor," he said, pausing on the
threshold. "I've known for some time that you have been opposed to the
match of Catherine and Kylock, but let me assure you there will be nothing to
worry about when it happens." With that he bowed curtly and left.
Maybor could only
stare at the space that the man had occupied. He didn't have the slightest idea
what the duke meant. In fact the whole visit was nothing short of bizarre: talk
of friendship and families. A total disregard for Kylock's flagrant aggression.
What did it all mean? Maybor poured himself a second cup of wine and sat down
on his bed. Shark came and lay at his feet. Cravin's words from the other day
came back to him. Perhaps the Hawk had come up with a way to neutralize the
marriage.
When it came to
being pests, spiders were second only to horses. Both creatures had an annoying
tendency to leave things about that a man was likely to walk in. Now,
spiderwebs might be less disgusting than horse dung, but they were definitely
more creepy. Especially in the dark, when the only thing you could feel was
their clammy threads brushing against your face, quickly followed by the scurry
of tiny feet as a spider ran down your neck. Even now, Nabber could feel a
handful of the eight-legged creatures busy spidering beneath his tunic.
Unfortunately, nothing short of getting undressed would rid him of the pests,
and he wasn't about to do that. No, sir. No one was going to catch him in his
underwear down a secret passageway. He wasn't one of
those.
The duke's palace
was turning out to be most interesting. It was amazing where a little bit of
reconnaissance could lead. No less amazing was the way people turned a blind
eye to a boy wandering around on his own. Nabber supposed he didn't look like
the dangerous cutthroat sort, which, while being a little disappointing,
certainly came in handy. He simply didn't exist to the world of cooks, ash
maids, and butchers. Guards occasionally gave him the once over, but generally
after a little verbal dilly-dally, they left him well alone.
So here he was,
down in the secret depths of the palace, keeping company with the foundations.
Quite interesting, really, if you didn't count the spiders.
It had all
happened by accident. Two days ago he'd been walking along a harmless-looking
corridor on his way to the nobles' quarters when he was approached by two
guards.
These men had
obviously been drinking and were looking for a little amusement. They
questioned and taunted him, and then began prodding his chest with their
spears. Just before they left, the smaller of the two had punched him hard in
the chin. Nabber went slamming into the wall. As the guards walked away, happy
with the success of their bullying, Nabber became aware that something had
happened to the wall behind him. His shoulder blade had fallen against a tiny
protrusion in the stone. He didn't dare move until the guards were out of
sight. Only when their footsteps had faded into the distance did Nabber feel
safe to lift his weight off the wall. As soon as his shoulder came away from
the wall, a series of near silent clicks sounded within the stone. Nabber was
torn between dual instincts: fear and curiosity. Curiosity won and he stayed
and watched the wall swing open.
Borc, did that
passage smell when the wall moved back! The stench of decaying rodents combined
nicely with the strong reek of mold. It was like being in Swift's hideout all
over again-made him feel quite nostalgic for a moment. Of course, there was
nothing to do but step into the dark. The instant his feet landed on the inside
stones, the wall fell back into place. Nabber had to admit that it was a little
scary to find himself in total darkness. Rorn's alleyways by midnight were
pleasantly shady compared to this. Still, Swift's words gave him comfort.
"There's
nowhere as profitable as the dark,"
he would say as he watched the sun
set over the city of Rorn. And so, with that maxim in mind, Nabber began to
make his way along the tunnel and into the depths of the duke's palace.
The past two days
had proven very illuminating indeed. The possibilities for nefarious looting
were almost unlimited. Swift would have wept with joy. You could never tell
where you'd come out: meat larders, nobles' chambers, armories. There was even
a tunnel that led outside to an open sewer in the city. The whole palace was
practically asking to be robbed!
Nabber quickly
decided on his best course of action. He would stagger along the passages, arms
stretched out, spiders adangling, until he came to places where the light
seeped in through tiny hairline cracks in the stone. Then he would step on all
the surrounding flagstones until one gave way and the wall opened up. He had to
be careful, of course, for there was a chance there would be people on the
other side.
The first time
he'd emerged from the tunnels he'd surprised a rather noble-looking lady
kneeling down to help a guard untie his britches. Nabber had tipped his cap
respectfully and said, "If you're having trouble with those ties, my lady,
I always find that a little pig grease does the trick." Well, the lady had
run away screaming and the guard had just stood there as if he were nailed to
the floor. Nabber was back in the tunnel in no time, lesson well learned:
listen carefully before making an unexpected entrance.
Some of the
tunnels were too narrow for full-grown adults, and even he'd had a little
difficulty squeezing through them. Many of the lower ones were waterlogged and
more than a few were impassable, with water levels reaching high above a man's
head. Nabber supposed it was because the palace was built on the shore of the
great lake, and anything that lay below water level had long since been
flooded. Sometimes Nabber would come across places that were well lit.
Portcullises on the lake side let both light and water in-probably built so
that invaders couldn't swim under the lake and into the castle. Rather clever,
really. One of the portcullises had nasty spikes which jutted out into the
lake: one decent wave and a diver would find himself impaled. Nabber was full
of admiration for the man who'd thought of that particular modification.
He'd been just
about everywhere by now and was wondering whether to share his newfound
knowledge with Tawl. The tunnels would be perfect for slipping in and out of
the palace unnoticed. Of course, the only way he'd found so far was through the
sewers, so a man wouldn't smell too good at the end of it, but the benefits of
a quick escape far outweighed the hazards of a wall of sewage.
Nabber was worried
about Tawl. The knight needed watching in case he did anything irrational. Just
as he seemed to be sobering up and coming to terms with his newly spoken oath,
in stepped the Old Man's cronies. They'd stirred up all the old memories, and
with them the guilt. Trying to get the knight to take a mysterious letter from
the very man whose death had caused all the madness in the first place: Bevlin.
Tawl hadn't mentioned the incident and neither had Nabber. The letter, which
was currently safe from water and sewage in the little room they shared just
off the kitchens, was on his mind constantly. There was no point in opening it;
he could only read a few words, so the message would have no meaning. But it
was more than that which stopped Nabber from breaking the seal.
Somehow it had
become his solemn duty to bear the letter for Tawl until he needed it. Nabber
didn't doubt for an instant that a time would come when Tawl would bitterly
regret discarding the letter. His job was to be there when he did.
Nabber made his
way upward through the tunnels with remarkable ease. He was quite sure by now
that he could see in the dark-and not a single carrot in his life! He was
hoping to get Tawl to agree to move out of the castle. The guest-host
relationship was wearing a bit thin, and Nabber was anxious to do some
prospecting. Never since learning about the importance of contingency had his
been so low. Not one gold piece, not half a weight of silver, not even a brass
ring. A man could get nervous just thinking about it. He needed to be out
there, or rather, back here, with no guest-host obligation to hold back his
hand. Figuratively speaking, it wouldn't be pocketing, it would be thievery,
but he judged himself ready for the promotion. Swift would be proud of him!
Now all he had to
do was get Tawl to go along with his plan. There was no way he would leave the
knight on his own; where the knight went so did he. Therefore, his only hope
was to come up with a good reason why Tawl should move out of the castle.
Nabber hadn't thought of one yet, but he was a great believer in thinking on
his toes and he was quite sure one would come to him as soon as he saw the
knight.
The quality of the
darkness gradually changed and Nabber knew he was close to the entrance. Quite
by accident he'd stumbled on one not far from the kitchens at all in the
chapel. This wasn't the same as the rest of the entrances, as it was hidden
behind a wooden panel. It spiraled upward, ending in a single door. Whoever
built the tunnels must have intended that it be cut off from the other
passages, as it was self-contained with no other entrances. Nabber had gained
access by spotting a likely looking ventilation tunnel and managing to squeeze
himself through it. Tempted by the look of the upper doorway, he followed his
newly learned lesson and crouched down for a while to listen to what was on the
other side. Guards, by the sound of it. Footsteps could be heard pacing back
and forth at regular intervals, which meant that someone or something important
must be on the other side. It didn't take a Silbur scholar to guess that there
was trouble waiting behind the door, so Nabber backed quietly away.
Forcing his
reluctant body through the ventilation tunnel, Nabber found himself right by
the chapel entrance. He placed his ear against the wood. All quiet on the other
side.
One firm push and
the wooden panel swung backward. As predicted, the chapel was empty. Nabber
stepped out, replaced the panel, and took off his cap. If anyone came across
him now he'd be just another boy praying for Borc's guidance.
He slipped out of
the main chapel door and was just about to make a run for freedom when a voice
piped up. "Hey, you, boy! What you doing in the chapel?"
It was a guard,
but not a regular one, judging from his dress and his accent. Nabber smiled a
little sadly and looked down at the floor. "Praying for the souls of my
dearly departed family."
"Hmm,"
said the guard. "I didn't see you go in there. Did you see him go in
there, Bodger?"
"Can't say
that I did, Grift." A second guard emerged from behind a pillar.
"Though I don't think we should bother the boy in his time of grief,
Grift."
"You make me
ashamed of myself, Bodger," said the first guard. "Go on, boy, get
going. Here." He handed Nabber half a skin of ale. "Take this with
you, it might ease your loss."
Nabber took the
skin of ale and bowed to both men. "Thank you, gentlemen," he said.
"My mother, Borc bless her soul, would weep to see such kindness from strangers.
She always said that a man who would give away his ale one day, would give away
his heart the next."
"Well spoken,
my friend," said the older of the guards. "It's nice to see a young
man who respects his mother's memory, ain't it, Bodger?"
The one called
Bodger sniffled loudly. "Right nice, Grift." He blew his nose into
the polishing cloth. "Right nice, indeed."
Nabber patted the
man lightly on the shoulder and took his leave. He liked those two guards; they
were a lot easier to get along with than the others he'd encountered around the
palace. Bodger and Grift, eh? It wouldn't hurt him to befriend those two,
especially as they guarded the nearest tunnel entrance to the kitchens.
A short walk
brought him to the room he and Tawl shared. Not bothering to knock, he walked
straight in. There was no sign of the knight. His weapons were gone.