Prince of the Blood (21 page)

Borric was silent for a moment, at a loss to answer that. Shaking his head in wonder, he asked, “Tell me, in nine days when we are to be sold, then what shall you do?”

With a laugh, the boy said, “By then, gentle lord, I shall be gone.”

“And where shall you go?” asked the Prince, his eyes narrowing.

“Back to the city, young sir. For my transgressions are slight and the Three have much to concern their attentions. Some great issue is being decided now, at the Governor’s palace, or so the rumors in the streets tell. Many officials of the Three as well as Imperial envoys come and go. In any event, after a few days, those who are searching for me will be about other business and I may safely return to my craft.”

Borric shook his head. “Can you get out as easily as you got in?”

The boy shrugged. “Probably. Nothing in life is certain. I expect I shall be able to. If not, it’s the gods’ will.”

Borric gripped the young beggar’s shirt, pulling him close. In whispers, he said, “Then, my philosophical friend, we shall cut a bargain. I helped you in, and you shall help me out.”

The boy’s dark face paled. “Master,” he said, almost hissing between his teeth, “for one as adroit as I, we might contrive a means to release you from your captivity, but you are the size of a mighty warrior, and those manacles upon your wrists confine your movement.”

“Have you the means for my release of these?”

“How could I?” asked the frightened boy.

“You don’t know? What kind of a thief are you?”

The boy shook his head in denial. “A poor one, master, if the truth be known. It is the height of stupidity to steal in Durbin; therefore, I am also a stupid one. My thievery is of the lowest order, the most inconsequential of thefts. Upon the soul of my mother, I so swear, master! Today was my first attempt.”

Shaking his head, Borric said, “Just what I need—an incompetent thief. I could get free myself if I had a pick.” He took a breath, calming himself so as not to frighten the boy more. “I need a hard piece of wire, so long. A thin nail might work.” He showed the boy by holding up thumb and forefinger, two inches of length. The manacle chain made the gesture difficult.

“I can get that, master.”

“Good,” said Borric, releasing the boy. The instant he was released, he turned as if to flee, but anticipating just such a reaction, Borric’s foot went out and tripped the beggar. Before the boy could scramble to his feet, the Prince had him by the shoulder of his garment. “You make a scene,” said the Prince, indicating the guards a short distance away with a nod of his head. “I know what you are going to do, boy. Don’t seek to flee my grasp. If
I’m to be sold at auction in a week’s time, I might as well not go alone. Give me one more excuse to turn you over to the guards and I will. Understand?”

“Yes, master!” whispered the boy, now completely terrified. Borric said, “I know you, boy. I’ve been taught by one who was to you as you are to the fleas who live in your shirt. Do you believe me?” Suli nodded, unwilling to trust his voice. “If you seek to betray me or leave me, I will ensure I don’t go to the block alone. We are in this as one, do you understand?” The boy nodded, and this time Borric saw his agreement wasn’t just to gain his freedom, but to show he believed Borric would indeed turn him over to the guards if he attempted to abandon the Prince. Borric released him, and the boy fell hard upon the ground. This time he didn’t attempt to run, but simply sat upon the hard-packed dirt, a look of fear and hopelessness upon his face. “Oh, Father of Mercies, I pray you, forgive my foolishness. Why, oh, why did you cast me in with this mad lord?”

Borric settled to one knee. “Can you get me the wire, or were you just lying?”

The boy shook his head. “I can get it.” He rose to his feet and motioned Borric to follow.

Borric followed him to the fence. The boy turned his back so the guards would not see his face should they look in his direction. Pointing to the boards, the boy said, “Some of these are warped. Look for what you need.”

Borric turned his back as well, but studied the fencing from the corner of his eye. About three boards down, a warp had bowed the fence outward slightly, pushing a nail out. The Prince leaned against that board and could feel the nailhead poking him in the shoulder.

Borric turned suddenly and pushed the boy against the board. The boy leaned into it and, in one motion, Borric hooked the edge of his metal cuff over the nail.
“Now pray I don’t bend it,” he whispered. Then with a quick yank, the nail was free.

Stooping to pick it up, he moved to hide his prize from any watching eyes. Glancing around, he saw with relief that no one had bothered to take note of his odd behavior.

With little movements, he had one, then the other manacle off. He quickly rubbed his chafed wrists, then put the manacles back on.

“What are you doing?” whispered the young beggar.

“If the guards see me without the bracelets, they’ll come investigate. I just wanted to see how difficult it was going to be to get them off. Obviously, not very.”

“Where has a noble son such as yourself learned such a thing?” asked Suli.

Borric smiled. “One of my instructors had a … colorful childhood. Not all his lessons were standard teaching for—” He had almost said “Princes,” but at the last instant, he said, “noble sons.”

“Ah!” said the boy. “Then you are one of noble birth. I thought as much from your speech.”

“My speech?” asked Borric.

“You speak like one of the commons, most noble lord. Yet your accent is that of one from the highest-born families, even royalty itself.”

Borric considered. “We’re going to have to change that. If we are forced to hide in the city for any length of time, I must pass as a commoner.”

The boy sat. “I can teach you.” Looking down at the manacles, he said, “Why the special confinement, son of a most noble father?”

“They think I’m a magician.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Then why have they not put you to death? Magicians are most troublesome to confine. Even the poor ones can visit boils and hairy warts upon those who displease them.”

Borric smiled. “I’ve almost convinced them I am a poor tutor.”

“Then why have they not removed the chains?”

“I’ve
almost
convinced them.”

The boy smiled. “Where shall we go, master?”

“To the harbor, where I plan to steal a small boat and make for the Kingdom.”

The boy nodded his approval. “That is a fine plan. I shall be your servant, young lord, and your father will reward me richly for helping his son escape this evil den of black-souled murderers.”

Borric had to laugh. “You’re given to a noble turn of phrase yourself, now, aren’t you?”

The boy brightened. “One must be gifted in the use of words to earn one’s living as a beggar, my most glorious lord. To simply ask for alms will bring nothing but kicks and cuffing from all but the kindest of men. But to threaten them with curses of the most elaborate sort will bring gifts.

“If I say, ‘May your wife’s beauty turn to ugliness,’ what merchant would bother to hesitate in his passing. But should I say, ‘May your mistress grow to resemble your wife! And may your daughters do likewise!’ then he’ll pay many coppers for me to remove the curse, lest his daughters grow to look like his wife and he can find no husbands for them, and his mistress grow to look like his wife and he lose his pleasure.”

Borric grinned, genuinely amused. “Have you such powers of cursing that men fear you so?”

The boy laughed. “Who’s to say? But what man would hoard a few coppers against the chance the curse might work?”

Borric sat down. “I shall share my meals with you, as they account the bread and stew. But I must be free of this place before they finally tally for auction.”

“Then they will raise alarm and search for you.”

Borric smiled. “That is what I wish them to do.”

Borric ate his half of his dinner and gave the plate to the boy. Suli wolfed the food down and licked the tin plate to get the last bits.

For seven days they had shared Borric’s rations, and while they both felt hunger, it was sufficient for them; the slavers gave generous portions for those heading toward the auction. No dark circles under eyes, nor hollow cheeks, nor shrunken frames would lower price if a few meals would prevent it.

If any others had noticed the unorthodox manner in which the boy had joined the company in the pen, no one commented upon it. The slaves were quiet, each man lost in his own thoughts, and little attempt was made to converse. Why bother to make friends with those you would most likely never see again?

Whispering so that no one would overhear, Borric said, “We must flee before the morning tally.” The boy nodded, but said, “I don’t understand.” For seven days, he had been hiding behind the assembled slaves, ducking to not be included in the head count. Perhaps he had been seen once or twice, but the guards would not bother to recheck the number if they had one too many heads, simply assuming they had miscounted. If there had been too few, they would have recounted.

“I need as much confusion in their search for us as possible. But I want most of the guards back at the auction the day following. You see?”

The boy made no pretense of understanding. “No, master.”

Borric had spent the last week profitably picking the boy’s brain for every piece of information he could about the city and what lay in the area surrounding the Slavers Guild. “Over that fence is the street to the harbor,” Borric said, and Suli nodded to show he was correct. “Within minutes, dozens of guards will be racing down that street
to find us before we can steal away on a boat for Queg or elsewhere, right?”

The boy nodded. It was the logical assumption. “No one in his right mind would risk the desert, right?”

“Certainly.”

“Then we’re going to head toward the desert.”

“Master! We will die!”

Borric said, “I didn’t say we’d go into the desert, just we’d head that way and find a place to hide.”

“But where, master? There are only the houses of the rich and powerful between here and the desert, and the soldiers’ barracks at the Governor’s house.”

Borric grinned.

The boy’s eyes widened. “Oh, gods preserve us, master, you can’t mean …”

Borric said, “Of course. The one place they’ll never look for two runaway slaves.”

“Oh, kind master. You must be joking to torment your poor servant.”

“Don’t look so crestfallen, Suli,” said Borric, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. “You gave me the idea.”

“I, master? I said nothing about delivering ourselves up to the Governor.”

“No, but if you hadn’t been trying to hide from the slavers in the slave pen, I’d have never thought of this.”

Borric slipped the manacles and motioned for the boy to stand. The guards at the far end of the pen were playing a game of knucklebones and the one delegated to keep watch was dozing. Borric pointed upward and the boy nodded. He stripped his robe, leaving himself unclothed save for his breechcloth, and Borric made a cup with his hands. The boy took one step and Borric half lifted, half threw him up into the overhanging beams of the roof supports. The boy moved agilely along the beams to the
farthest corner from the gambling guards, near where the single guard dozed.

Hesitation and any sort of noise would undo them, so Borric found himself holding his breath while the little beggar scampered to the corner of the pen. There Borric quickly climbed a few feet of fence, and reached up to grip the robe the boy had tied around the beam. Hauling himself over the fence with two pulls, he swung down to where the sleeping guard lay. Suli Abul climbed down to hang almost directly over the sleeping guard.

In a coordinated movement, the boy lifted the guard’s metal helm from his head as Borric swung the manacles. The iron struck the guard on the side of the head with a dull crack, and the man slumped down.

Not waiting to see if they were observed—if one of the other guards noticed they might as well give up now—Borric leaped and grabbed the hanging robe.

Pulling himself up beside the boy, he paused a second to gulp his breath back into his lungs, then motioned. Suli set off in a crouched-over, silent walk, along the beam that ran the length of the roof. Borric followed, though his bulk forced him to move on hands and knees, crawling behind the slight boy.

Over the gambling guards they moved, then into the gloom. At the far end of the compound, they dropped to the top of the last pen, then leaped to the outside wall. Half-falling, half-jumping, they hit the ground and were off in the night, running as if the entire garrison of Durbin was on their heels, heading straight for the home of the city’s Governor.

Borric’s plan had worked as he had thought it would. In the busy house of the Governor of Durbin, there was much confusion and many people moving. A nameless pair of slaves crossing the courtyard to the kitchen elicited no comment.

Within ten minutes, the alarm had been raised, and
many of the city’s watchmen were in the streets, crying that a slave had escaped. By then, Borric and Suli had found a nice attic in the guest wing of the house, vacant and, from the amount of dust on the floor, unused for years.

Suli whispered, “You are certainly a magician, my lord. If not of the sort they thought, of a different kind. No one will think to search the Governor’s home.”

Borric nodded. He held up his finger to indicate silence, then lay back as if to sleep.

The excited boy could hardly believe his eyes when the young man fell into a fitful doze. Suli was too tense and excited—and afraid—to try to sleep. He glanced through the small roof window they had used to enter the attic, one which gave them a clear view of part of the Governor’s courtyard and some of the other wing of the house.

After watching the occasional comings and goings of the household, the beggar turned to inspect the rest of the attic. He could stand easily enough, though Borric would have to stoop. He walked carefully upon the beams of the room, lest any who might happen to be beneath the attic hear movement.

At the far end of the attic, he found a trapdoor. Putting his ear against it, the boy heard nothing. He waited a long time, or at least what he felt was a long time, before prying the door up slightly. The room below was empty and dark. The boy moved the trap carefully, attempting not to cause dust to fall in the room below, and stuck his head through the hole.