by B. K. Boes
“I need to bathe.”
“Yes, but—”
Moloch closed the door and readied himself for the day. The basin of cold water and the wash cloth wasn’t the sort of bath he was used to, but they got the job done.
Even if I’m only able to overhear or see who the king is speaking with… any information would help me figure out my next steps.
He finished up and pulled open the door into the dim mountain hall of the Pinnacle Fortress. Bram was sitting on the floor, nodding off. He snorted and sat up straight when Moloch closed the door behind him.
“Let’s go, Bram.” Moloch headed toward the innards of the mountain, toward the spiral stair that led to the highest level.
“Not that way,” Bram said. He nodded toward the way that led out into daylight. “We’re allowed to go to the gardens, but we have to go a different way. Apparently, the way up inside the mountain is right in the middle of royal living quarters. Heavily guarded on top and bottom.”
“Then how do we get there?” Moloch asked as he followed Bram out of the cavern. The sunlight hurt his eyes, and he had to squint.
“That thing.” Bram pointed at a platform connected to a system of pulleys and ropes. It had a railing, but that was hardly reassuring.
Moloch blanched as he held his hand up to block the sun so he could see the top where the platform would take them. “That’s really high.”
“Yep.”
“All right then.” Moloch’s heart beat a little faster as he walked up to the guard at the platform. “I’m Lord Moloch Sarrem.”
“Yes, Lord Sarrem. We know who you are. What can we do for you?” The older of the four guards addressed Moloch while the other three stood at attention as if Moloch weren’t even there.
“I’m told there are gardens up there? Do I have access?” He wanted to make sure, in case Bram had misunderstood. No reason to cause a scene.
“Yes, my lord. You and your second-in-command have access to the gardens. But, I must inform you, if you cross the line of red flowers into the part reserved for royalty, you may be split.” He spoke with a straight face, firm lips, no sign of amusement.
“Split?” Bram asked. “What does that mean?”
Moloch couldn’t help but eye the guard’s weapons. “You mean… with an axe?”
“That’s what the expression generally means, sir,” the guard said. “Sorry. Guess it’s an Ergonian term.”
Moloch swallowed a lump in his throat. “This side of the red flowers. Got it.”
The guard gestured for them to step onto the platform. “You may hold onto the railing if it makes you feel more stable. The ride up can be a little slow. And sometimes rough, if the wind is acting up.”
“Good thing the weather’s nice,” Bram whispered.
The platform jerked upward, and both Moloch and Bram grabbed the railing. Moloch’s knuckles turned white as he took in the scene from the rickety contraption. A guard below turned a large wheel as the platform rose, and when he got out of rhythm, Moloch felt it as the wood beneath his feet shook.
To his right, the city ended at a cliff, that steam rising and curling, licking the Ancient Bridge that extended impossibly far over the chasm there. Moloch could barely make out the plateau in the distance where the bridge connected for a brief moment before continuing high above the Mavyem Valley below. The faint smell of sulfer from the acidic valley wrinkled Moloch’s nose.
To his left, the city filled the crevice where the two mountain faces met. For as far as he could see, bridges of rope and stone laced the two mountains together. The city was filled with colorful awnings, cave mouths, doors fitted into stone, and balconies. Crowds traversed the streets winding up and down the mountain sides. And below it all was a black pit. He knew there were nets down there, somewhere, for extra protection, but it didn’t ease his stomach. Moloch felt a little sick as he stepped off the platform and onto the solid ground on top of the mountain.
The gardens were not like any Moloch had ever seen. The ground was nothing but rock, so they had built troughs and filled them with dirt where they planted various flowers. The troughs were built in different patterns, like a low maze. Large stones were flattened on top and situated around the garden as benches. They’d made some kind of iron framework around the entire garden like a dome and stretched canvas across it to break the wind. The top of the dome was left open so sunlight could reach the plants below. A walkway surrounded the outside of the dome, acting as a balcony of sorts. A wall hemmed in the walkway, but it was only chest high.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Moloch said. “The wind’s not too bad.”
Bram sighed and gestured for Moloch to go first. He casually walked the wide path until he was directly across from the king’s throne room. He could see inside through the archways. King Gonnoss was pacing in front of his throne, animated about something.
“Do you think he’s disagreeing with someone?” Moloch asked. “Whoever he’s talking to must be obscured by the pillar.”
“Or he’s talking to himself. People do that.” Bram licked his lips and looked up and down the walkway. “I don’t think the guards would take nicely to finding you peering into the throne room.”
“I want to see who he’s talking to. It could be important.” Moloch walked a little way down the path to try to get a different perspective, but he couldn’t see anyone.
“Moloch—”
“There!” Moloch slapped the stone wall as the king threw his hands up in the air. Gonnoss walked back to his throne and sat down, his body tensed. The man he was arguing with stepped into view from behind the pillar. “It’s Lord Nondrum,” Moloch said. The Duke of Pytar gestured with his hands as he got one more word in, and then stormed out.
“That’s good, right?” Bram said. “Lord Nondrum was against blowing the Bridges.”
“Yes, but the king could have been arguing about anything with his brother. I mean, you know how Waen and I are.” Moloch shrugged.
“You two aren’t normal.”
Moloch sighed in frustration, ignoring Bram’s remark. “We should see if anyone’s inside the dome.” He led the way back to the entrance of the gardens. He veered right, away from the line of red flowers.
“No one’s here,” Bram said.
“I can see that.”
“Maybe you should sit on a bench and collect your thoughts, you know? The sunlight will do you some good.” Bram looked genuinely worried.
“Fine.” Moloch found a bench and sat while Bram stood off to the side. He looked up at the blue sky above. A few clouds drifted by.
What am I doing? What if I can’t convince King Gonnoss? What if I do, and Lord Nondrum hates me even more because of it? Would Junia marry me without her father’s blessing?
Moloch sighed. He patted his tunic, feeling the small wooden tube he kept in the pocket below his hip. He retrieved it, popped open the lid, and pulled out the self-portrait Junia had given him. He stared at it for a moment and tried to remember the feeling of her skin under his fingertips, the sparkle in her green eyes, or the way the light caught her auburn hair. He wasn’t even sure if the Temple would recognize a marriage without the approval of the bride’s patriarch. Junia would be a mistress in the eyes of the world, and Moloch would have no legitimate heirs.
But those are just words, aren’t they? Mistress and wife. Son and bastard. Heir and… well, that one is a little troublesome.
The guards beyond the red line of flowers stood at attention, the blades of their axes catching the sunlight. Moloch rolled the portrait back into its cylinder and slipped it into his pocket.
Someone from the royal family is coming up to the gardens.
He stood from the bench and began to walk between the troughs as if he were simply strolling among the flowers. But he kept one eye on the landing where the guards were waiting. Prince Durand stepped up into the light. Moloch couldn’t believe his luck. He was glad someone had told him about the red flowers though, or he very well might have
gotten himself… split.
I have to wait for him to come to me.
The prince stayed on the other side of the gardens, and he kept glancing at Moloch. He had a handkerchief in his hand, and he kept coughing into it. The young man looked even paler in the bright sunlight, and the tunic he wore revealed how thin he really was. An idea came to mind. Moloch rolled through the list of ailments and cures he had memorized as a child. His mother had hoped he’d become a physician like her, and if it weren’t for the competition with Waen, Moloch would have been.
Chronic cough. Pale skin. Weight loss. Sunken eyes. I need more information. It must be a rare sickness for his condition to remain untreated. They must have tried all the obvious courses of action.
But Moloch had studied the rare diseases. As a child, those were the ones that had seemed most interesting. And he had an excellent memory.
Out of the corner of his eye, Moloch saw the prince head back toward the landing that would take him into the mountain once more.
If I can earn his trust…
“Prince Durand!” Moloch shouted. He jogged toward the line of red flowers. “Wait!”
He came upon the line, and the prince turned toward him. One of the guards popped his smaller axe up, grabbing hold of its handle, positioning himself to attack. Bram was running toward Moloch, too, shouting for him to get back.
“I can help you,” Moloch shouted. He lingered just beyond the line. “With your illness, I mean.”
The prince’s brow furrowed. He raised a hand, and the guard lowered his axe. Prince Durand clasped his hands behind his back as he walked toward the red line, stopping a few paces from it. “I don’t want to talk about destroying the Ancient Bridges,” he said. “This was a brave, foolish attempt for my attention. I wouldn’t do it again.”
“Who said anything about bridges?” Moloch attempted a smile. “Prince Durand, my mother is a renowned physician. I’ve studied under her, and I believe I can help you with your condition.”
“My father’s healer hasn’t been able to do anything about it.” Prince Durand smoothed the front of his tunic and raised his eyebrows. “What makes you think you could help?”
Moloch ticked off the possibilities in his head. “You have extreme exhaustion, right? And the cough doesn’t go away? Dizziness, chest tightness, no appetite? And you are prone to other sicknesses way too often that add to your pain and discomfort?”
The prince opened his mouth, but shut it again, and then shifted from one foot to another. “How did you know all of that?”
“I wanted to be like my mother when I was a child. I studied. A lot. And I remember things.” Moloch said. “I think you have kolinapsis. It’s a rare lung condition. It’s not curable, but it’s treatable.”
“I’ve never heard of this. Are you sure?” Prince Durand didn’t look convinced.
“It’s hard to be absolutely sure, but the treatment is noninvasive. You wouldn’t be harmed if I’m wrong, but if I’m right… you could be a lot more comfortable.”
The prince looked at Moloch for a moment. “Let me guess. You’re holding back the treatment information in exchange for my support? Is that it?” He shook his head, turned around, and began to walk away.
“Sengin root and iklyptus oil is a good place to start,” Moloch called out.
The prince stopped. He turned to face Moloch once more. “And where do I get these things?”
“I always carry a small pack of medicines with me. You’ll have to send someone to Okleria for the oil, but I’ve got some Sengin root. Enough for you to see a bit of a difference. All I have to do is show your cook how to grind it and make tea from it. It’s bitter, but it will soothe the coughing within three days.”
“All right.” The prince offered a small smile. “I’ll allow a trial. If I see a difference, I’ll send for the oil.”
“I’ll take the root down to the kitchens today. The first cup of tea should be ready by nightfall.”
“Thank you,” the prince said.
“Of course, Your Highness.” Moloch bowed and waited for the prince to disappear again beneath the mountaintop.
Well, that’s a step in the right direction.
Moloch wasted no time. He explained everything to Bram on the way back to their rooms. “If I’m right, and I give the prince some relief from his sickness, maybe… just maybe… he’ll lean toward my side.”
“Kindness breeds loyalty.” Bram shook his head. “It might work.”
“Did you come up with that yourself?” Moloch laughed as he dug into his medicinal pack for the root.
“It’s from the Book of Holy Proverbs, you uncivilized buffoon,” Bram said. “You should know these things.”
“I don’t have time for proverbs and stories.”
“Don’t let your mother hear that.” Bram cocked an eyebrow. “Or King Gonnoss for that matter. He seems to highly value old stories.”
“Good point. I’ll watch what I say.” Moloch pointed at Bram. “And you better watch what you say, too. My mother better not hear my uncivilized opinions from anyone.”
Bram put his hands up defensively. “I won’t say anything. I swear.”
“Good.” Moloch pulled out the root. “Now, I just have to show the cook how to prepare it.”
“Do you know where the kitchens are?”
“Ah.” Moloch ran his fingers through his hair and wrinkled his nose. “That would be a good place to start.”
“We can ask one of the maids. If we walk the halls long enough, we’ll find one.” Bram waved for Moloch to come with him. “Come on, Master Physician. Let’s find you a kitchen.”
Bram was right. Before long, they caught a maid going to or from one of her daily duties. “Excuse me, miss.” Moloch stopped her in one of the halls. “I need to find my way to the kitchens.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said. “Which ones?”
Moloch wrinkled his brow. “There are more than one?”
“Yes, my lord. The Royal Kitchens on this floor, and the Common Kitchens one level below.”
“Ah.” Moloch smiled at her. “Then, I need to find the Royal Kitchens.”
She pointed down the hall. “Past the spiral stair, to the west wing. Take the third right, then a left, down a long hall, and you should run right into them.”
Moloch dismissed her, and she curtsied and left.
“Two kitchens,” Bram shook his head. “Even King Shamylle doesn’t have two kitchens. One for the royals and guests, and one for the guards, servants, and whatnot, I’m guessing.”
“Probably left over from better Ergonian days,” Moloch said. “A century ago, this mountain held much more power than it does today.”
Moloch and Bram followed the maid’s directions, though once they took the final turn, they saw no one, not one servant. It was eerily quiet for being so close to the kitchens, which, in Moloch’s experience, was the most bustling center of any palace. Moloch spotted an archway ahead. As he came closer, a savory smell filled the hall. He was about to enter the kitchen when he saw someone he didn’t expect to see.
What is Baron Morrwin doing down here?
“Hold on,” Moloch whispered. He held out an arm and pressed him and Bram to the wall just outside the entrance. Bram put a hand on the hilt of his dagger, but he complied. Hushed voices ensued inside. There seemed to be only the cook and the baron. Where the rest of the staff was Moloch could only guess.
“This is getting too dangerous,” the cook said.
“Just take it, fool,” Baron Morrwin hissed. “Once the prince is out of the way, I’ll be heir to the throne and you’ll get your reward. It can’t be too much longer.”
“We should give him a larger dose. The venom is taking too long.”
“You really are an idiot. It must be subtle. He can’t decline too quickly, or suspicions will be raised.”
Moloch looked at Bram and raised his brows. His companion narrowed his eyes and gripped the hilt of his dagger tighter.
“W
e should go in there,” he whispered. “Take them out.”
Moloch shook his head once. “Our word isn’t proof enough.”
“I’ll be back five days from now with another dose. The fourteenth hour, as usual.”
“If you bought more than one vial at a time, I could store it here. Wouldn’t that be safer? I don’t like clearing all the servants every half a span like this.”
Morrwin scowled. “And have a stash of the stuff just sitting around for some maid to discover? It’s better this way. Do as I say, and we’ll be fine.”
“Fine. The kitchens will be clear,” the cook said. “Just… think about the larger dose. Just a little more to—”
“Don’t question me,” Baron Morrwin snapped. “And don’t bring this up again.”
Moloch motioned toward a curtain against the hallway wall, and he and Bram quickly pulled it back and stepped inside a very small broom closet. “Careful,” Moloch mouthed as Bram nearly lost his balance trying to squeeze into the space without knocking anything over. They both stood still as the baron’s steps echoed down the hall. Moloch moved the curtain aside with one finger so he could see. He waited until the baron turned a corner before relaxing.
“What do we do now?” Bram whispered.
“Get out of the broom closet.” Moloch stepped out and smoothed his tunic. Bram stumbled out from behind him, knocking a mop over. He barely caught it before the handle could clatter against the stone floor.
“Sorry,” he said.
Moloch sighed. He pulled out the root from his pocket. “Let’s go in,” he said. “Everything needs to be as it would if we’d never seen the baron down here. Just one little change of plans.” He pasted a smile on his face and entered the kitchen.
The cook was turned away from Moloch, hunched over a small soup pot on an iron stove. What looked like a type of chimney was carved into overhanging rock above, and much of the steam and smoke snaked its way up the hole.
“Clever design,” Moloch said.
The cook jumped. Moloch pretended not to hear the plop and splash of something small dropping into the soup. The cook looked from Moloch to the soup pot and back again. He cleared his throat.