than a couple of beggars.'
Marek pointed up ahead as the Palace buildings came into sight, majestic spired towers pointing skyward and looming over the city. The buildings were spread over a large area of the island occupying pride of place in the centre of a large paved piazza. Trees had been planted in regular fashion every twenty feet or so forming a grid across the whole square and the autumn season had been working its magic, turning the leaves from rich green to burning red and gold. The first of them had fallen to the ground and others drifted down on the breeze to join them. Guards patrolled across the square and Rampton realised that even if they had wanted to, they could not have reached the far side without being taken, or at least questioned.
Marek stopped and looked over towards Rampton, pointing in the direction of a wide flight of stone steps that led up to a pair of gilded doors in the front wall of the Palace.
'That's the front entrance,' he said.
'It doesn't look like we're going to get in that way,' Rampton replied. 'It's not a really a Palace, is it. It's more like a fortress.'
'You're not wrong. There may seem to be few guards now, but most of them are stationed just out of sight.' Marek pulled his cloak around him and leaned against the railings of the bridge. 'There's a side entrance though,' he said. 'it might be better to check that out, although the word is that there are just as many guards there as here.'
'Most likely it would be the best way in anyway,' Rampton said. 'It's one of the first rules of siege warfare.'
'What?'
'You can make the front door as big and tough as you like, but the tradesman's entrance is never well defended.'
Marek chuckled. 'That'll be right, but I wouldn't hold your breath if I were you.' He pushed himself off the railings and pointed back the way they had come. 'We'll have to walk around to the other bridge to get to that side.'
Rampton followed Marek as he set off and before long, they had reached the second bridge which led to the flank of the building and the side entrance. Although the doors were not as impressive, they were certainly robust. The paved square stretched out before them, a continuation of that which they had seen from the other bridge. Rampton recognised the same patrol too. It must have circled the entire Palace in the time it had taken for them to reach their current vantage point.
No words passed between the two men as they watched but it seemed to Rampton that it was going to be impossible for them to succeed irrespective of which entrance they chose.
'It's desperate,' he said, finally, 'I am none the wiser.'
'Patience,' Marek said. He pointed towards a group of four figures that were making their way towards the doors. 'Look over there.'
A priest, dressed in a long black robe and three nuns in their grey habits, approached the Palace gates. Each nun carried small wicker baskets.
'I'm told that they come every day,' Marek said. 'Most likely there is food in those carriers. Salve for the prisoners I would expect.' He crossed his arms and continued to watch the small group. 'They don't feed their prisoners here, I pity those with no family.'
The priest continued on, ignored by any guards, right up to the doors, and he raised his fist to thump on the thick wooden surface. After a few seconds the door opened, and a guard stepped out. The two men exchanged words for a moment and the soldier allowed the priest and his retinue to continue on, through the opening. The guard followed back inside and the door slammed behind them.
Marek looked across at Rampton, with a large grin on his face. 'Are you thinking what I'm thinking?' he asked.
oOo
After what seemed like ages, the doors opened again and the priest and his followers stepped back through and out into the square. The door closed behind them and they set off, marching directly towards the bridge on which Rampton and Marek stood waiting. Several minutes passed before the group came near but with each step they drew closer.
Marek beckoned for Rampton to join him, and he walked up to the priest as he crossed the bridge.
'Good day, Father,' he said, 'Ladies.' The nuns eyed him suspiciously as he approached.
The priest smiled at Marek. 'Thank you for the greeting, my son, but if it's a blessing or even salvation you seek, it would be better if you came to see me at the church.'
'It is not salvation, Father, for I fear I am beyond saving.' Marek grinned.
The priest smiled back. 'None are forbidden the blessings of God, my son.'
'Nonetheless, I would not wish to waste your time.'
'And yet you would speak with me?' The priest glanced between the two of them.
'For a moment,' Rampton said. 'If we may.'
'Of course. We are all children of God, even if some of us do not acknowledge ourselves as such.' The priest pressed his hands together as if he was about to pray.
Marek nodded his head towards the priest. 'May I ask your business within the Palace, Father?'
'Why do you ask?' the Priest said.
'We were just curious, Father,' Rampton said. 'We saw you arrive and watched you enter the Palace. We hoped that you might be willing to tell us.'
'It is God's work.'
Rampton sighed. 'We were hoping that you might be more specific than that.' He put his hand into his tunic and drew out a coin. 'Perhaps if I made a contribution to the poor box, then?'
The priest looked between the faces of the two men and took the coin. Then he said with a nod, 'We console the prisoners. It is one of our daily devotions.'
'Even those to be executed?' Marek asked.
The priest's eyes tightened as his piercing gaze stared at him. 'Even the condemned are not lost to God, my child.'
Rampton looked at Marek and then back to the priest. 'Does that include the Queen, Father?'
The priest looked between Marek and Rampton and then frowned. 'Who are you?' he asked. 'What do you really want?'
45
The Eighth Day of the Fall,
Imperial Year 2332
The following morning was bright and new and full of unspoken promises as Rampton walked across the square towards the Palace gates, his heart racing. He looked up ahead at Father Maikel, who had chosen that particular moment to look back at the men. There was a wide smile on the man's face and there was no hiding the amusement that he was clearly feeling.
'It is a good thing that Sister Beatrice is a size or two larger than the average, John,' Father Maikel said, and chuckled, 'or else her habit would not have fitted you so well.'
Rampton felt a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to look back at Marek, his face wrapped in the habit and coif of the nuns that they had first met the previous day. His face was a picture of anguish, and Rampton could not but help to laugh too.
'How do they wear these things?' Marek said. 'The material scratches like nettles. God help me, my skin is on fire.'
His hand reached inside the habit and he rubbed his nails across the latest patch of skin to protest at the touch of the thick garment.
'Sister Elzebeth says that it is part of her penance,' Maikel said, 'she uses the old fabrics. She always tells the other girls that you get used to them after a month or so.'
'A month!' Marek replied. 'Well I don't intend being in this thing for even a day. Or an hour, if I get my way.'
Rampton was amazed that they had even manage to get as far as they had. His eyes darted around the people that were promenading around the square. Emotionless faces were worn by many of the people, and there was no outward sign that any of the men or women were anything other than full of fear as they waited for news of the new king from the Palace. Even he himself could have sworn that it was the lull before the storm, and the people of White Haven seemed to sense it, too.
There were no stares from anyone so far, and none of the guards patrolling the lands around the Royal Island seemed to pay them any heed as they crossed the expanse of the square. Rampton looked up at last at the buildings as they came closer. Before them, the Royal Palaces loomed large and foreboding, their doors shut
tight to everyone.
'Do not speak,' Father Maikel said, 'even if challenged.' He looked back over his shoulder at the two men. 'If that happens, then I will say that our order does not permit the Sisters to speak between the hours of the morning and evening cathedral bells.'
'Good grief,' Marek said, 'how am I supposed to keep quiet when I am being scratched alive?'
'Quiet!' Father Maikel's said. 'We're nearly at the doors.'
The three men carried on, Rampton hoping that no one would take too close a look at the three figures carrying today's baskets as they approached the Palace. The two of them hardly looked feminine as they proceeded, but then, he supposed, it was questionable whether the original owners of the clothes had done either.
Father Maikel approached the doors first and thumped three times with his fist. After a moment, the door opened. A large guard, dressed in the red tunic and black leggings of the Palace Guard stepped out onto the square. Rampton wondered how the man had even managed to squeeze into his uniform, the tunic straining at the buttons, and beneath the jacket there was obviously a large stomach begging to be released.
'Good morning, Father,' the guard said.
He placed his hand on the handle of his sword and looked up and down the three visitors.
Father Maikel nodded. 'My son,' he said.
'Come to offer comfort again?'
'Yes,' Maikel said. 'God's work is never done.'
'Then I best not keep you from it.'
The guard stepped to one side and Father Maikel moved forwards towards the door. The man looked
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