“What is that noise?”
Once again, Talifus’s voice startled Anya. How long had it been since he had spoken last? An hour? Two hours? She froze, listening, but she heard nothing except her own breathing. What was he talking about?
Then she realized. “Oh. You mean this?” She clicked her knitting needles together.
“Yes.”
Why did he care? Perhaps he was as bored as she had been. Perhaps he had finally decided to make conversation to pass the time. Surely Talifus, of all people, couldn’t actually be trying to be friendly to her, but what harm would it do to talk to him?
“I’m knitting,” she told him. “I’m making a scarf.”
“At least you have something to do,” came his reply. He sounded so dejected that Anya couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, even though she knew he deserved to be locked up here.
“This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be in this part of the dungeon,” Talifus went on, almost to himself. “We’re in the upper level. It’s the lower level prisoners who only get fed twice a day, and no visitors unless someone bribes the guard on duty. There are rules about how to treat prisoners; or there were before the Malornians came.”
“The dungeon has another level?” This was news to Anya.
“At the end of the hall there’s a stairway going down,” Talifus told her. Now that he had finally started talking, he didn’t seem inclined to stop. “The worst criminals get locked up down there. Up here, prisoners are supposed to be given a blanket and three meals a day; and visitors are allowed. And the guards are supposed to take us out every day to earn our keep working in the palace grounds – in chains, of course, but still.” He sighed, and Anya could hear him shifting position against the wall between them. “I’ve heard stories about Malornian dungeons, and this is almost as bad.”
“But at least if Prince Jaymin and the Alasians win the battle, the Malornians will have to go back home,” Anya pointed out, trying to believe it was possible. “When the prince comes back, he’ll probably make sure everyone follows the old rules again.”
Talifus snorted scornfully. “You think I’m wishing for Alasia to win? If the prince comes back, I’ll be executed. Of course, if Malorn wins and Rampus comes back, I get to spend the rest of my life down here except for now and then when he needs some bit of information about the palace. Then eventually when he gets tired of me, I’ll probably be executed anyway. Some alternative.”
Once again Anya felt sorry for him, in spite of the awful things he had done. “Well, if Rampus comes back, I’ll be executed,” she told him soberly. “And if Prince Jaymin returns, my father might be.”
She wasn’t sure why she had brought that up. And yet, though she couldn’t have put it into words, it was as though she and Talifus shared some sort of kinship. They were dungeon partners, in equal but opposite danger. If one of them lived, the other would die; and either way, whoever lived would live with loss. Talifus of his freedom, Anya of her father.
“Your father?” the traitor echoed. “Why would the Alasians execute him?”
It’s none of your business. But what did it matter now? As long as she didn’t tell him who Father actually was, surely there was no way Talifus could use the information to harm him.
“I think he somehow helped the Malornians invade,” Anya confessed, resuming her knitting so her mind would have something else to focus on. “Someone once hinted at that, but I don’t understand what he could have done, or why. He isn’t the kind of person who would betray his kingdom.” Not like you. She didn’t say the words aloud, but they seemed to hang in the air; vibrate through the joint cell wall.
“Not like me, eh?” Talifus had felt them too. “It takes someone pretty awful to do a thing like that, don’t you think?”
Anya didn’t reply. She had long wondered why Talifus had turned traitor, but it didn’t seem right to ask, even now.
“I never meant for things to turn out the way they did,” he told her somberly. “The Malornians promised me all sorts of rewards if I helped them. I had run up some pretty big gambling debts that I was trying to keep secret because palace guards aren’t supposed to gamble; and besides, I never really liked my job here. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to change my circumstances.”
“Why would you work in the palace at all if you don’t like it?” Anya inquired. Since he didn’t seem to mind discussing the matter, she might as well find out what she could.
“My father was captain of the guard here back when I was a boy,” Talifus explained. “The king and I sort of grew up together, but we never got along all that well. Then when we were sixteen, our fathers were both killed in battle, and he was crowned king. He knew I was good with my sword, so he gave me a position on the palace guard. I suppose he thought he owed it to me. I had always wanted to be a soldier, but you can’t really say no when a king bestows a favor like that on you.”
Talifus sighed. “I should have said no anyway. I would have done so much better in the army, where there’s always room for advancement. I did my best as a guard, though, at least most of the time. I worked my way up the ranks over the years, but it only goes up to captain here, as you know. What more is there to aim for when you get to the top? It’s a dead end.”
Anya was puzzled. She would have thought attaining the rank of captain would be an accomplishment to be proud of, but apparently that hadn’t been good enough for Talifus.
“I never meant for things to turn out the way they did, though,” the traitor repeated, and there was pain in his voice now. “When I agreed to help the Malornians, they didn’t tell me they were going to kill so many people. The king and I may not have seen eye to eye about everything, but I never intended for him to end up dead. That part wasn’t my fault! But by the time I realized what they were going to do, it was too late. I was in too deep. They would have killed me too if I’d tried to stop them.”
Anya wasn’t sure what to say. She looked down at the bloodstains on her gown, but it was hard to associate the man who had caused them – who had punched her in the nose and kicked a desk to pieces, who shouted at the captives and collaborated with their enemies – with the prisoner who was speaking this way in the next cell. He sounded so vulnerable; a completely different person.
“Every choice you make is like a step down a path,” the traitor reflected. He seemed almost to be talking to himself now. “When you keep making the same kinds of choices, it gets harder and harder to change paths. Then before you know it you don’t see any other way to go, until you look back and realize you’re not the person you planned on being twenty years ago. But by then it’s too late. You can’t get back on the path you should have been on because you’ve come too far; and nobody on either side trusts you anymore. You hate yourself and what you’ve become, but you don’t know anything else to do except keep on going. Keep on living. Keep on doing anything it takes to stay alive for one more day. And one more.”
He fell silent again, and Anya stared at the wall between them, intrigued at this glimpse into his heart. Is that what I’ve started to do? she wondered. Have I taken the first few steps down a path that could end up turning me into someone like him? She recalled the way she had pleaded with the regent, promising to do anything he wanted if he would spare her life, just as Talifus had. Once again she made up her mind to change the way she did things, to find ways to help Alasia honestly.
“But back to your father,” Talifus continued, breaking into her thoughts. “Is he a merchant?”
Anya was startled. How could the man possibly have known that? “Well, yes,” she admitted, pausing mid-stitch. “He is. Why?”
“Ah, then I can guess what his role was. There were several merchants involved,” Talifus told her. “Merchants travel a lot. They’re usually familiar with a number of routes through the cities where they do business. The Malornians needed to know the best way to navigate Almar on the night of the Invasion: a route where roads were wide enough for hundreds of soldiers to g
et through quickly, but not paved, or their footsteps would have been too loud. Preferably roads on which their troops would pass as few houses as possible, with lots of trees to provide dark shadows. Someone probably paid your father a little visit and asked him to mark out that sort of route on a map of the city.”
It made sense. Father was good with maps and directions. He would certainly have been able to do what Talifus had described. And the crinkly parchment sound she and Arvalon had heard through the study door that evening months ago could have been Dannel unfolding a map for Father to mark on.
“And though he may not have agreed to help them if he’d known what it was for, they probably left him little choice,” Talifus continued. “Had there been times recently when his business was doing poorly and he was in trouble financially?”
Anya thought back. “Yes, actually. He lost several of his biggest customers all at once, and several others cancelled orders. Things kept going wrong with his work, and we hardly had enough to eat for a while. I remember he said the bills were piling up.”
“That probably wasn’t coincidence,” Talifus told her. “Rampus’s agents could easily have gotten ahold of some of his customers and suppliers. Then, let me guess, at your father’s lowest moment someone came along and offered him a large sum of money and perhaps a set of new customers if he would only supply a few facts and make a few marks on a map with no questions asked. How could he possibly refuse?”
Goosebumps ran up and down Anya’s arms. Now it all made sense. “How did you know?” she whispered.
Talifus laughed. “It’s the same old story. That’s how Rampus works. When he wants to use people, he manipulates their lives to get them into a position where there’s practically no way they can say no and every reason to say yes.”
Anya clenched her hands around her knitting needles in anger. It wasn’t fair. Her father had never meant to help the enemy invade. True, he probably shouldn’t have given a stranger such detailed information about Almar without knowing what it was for. But still. It wasn’t fair that Rampus had used him, that Dannel had manipulated him like that. And regardless of the circumstances, he was likely to get in big trouble if the Alasian government ever caught him.
Well, maybe they never would. As long as he stayed in Malorn, Father would probably be all right. Of course, if Anya was ever free again, they would have to move. She would miss her home in Almar, her friends, her school. But moving to Sazellia would be worth it if it meant she and Father and Arvalon could all be together again and safe.
Safe? Well, maybe not completely. Abruptly, Anya recalled that she still owed Dannel a favor. She had no doubt that wherever they moved, he would find a way to track her down. What would she have to do for him? She couldn’t imagine that any task he might require would be pleasant or easy.
Anya began to knit faster. What else could she do?
The scarf was a whole foot longer before Talifus broke the silence again. “Are you going to eat all that food Eleya brought you?”
Anya glanced at the bag. She had been too focused, and before that, too upset, to think of eating. But now she realized she was hungry. It must be past lunch time, maybe almost supper time, and she hadn’t had breakfast.
But Anya had been eating well for the last few weeks, and Talifus hadn’t. He had probably not had a good meal since he’d been locked up. Yes, he had punched her in the nose. Yes, he had nearly had Tonnis and Eleya killed. Yes, he had betrayed his kingdom. But there was something about being close to death herself that made Anya want to be kind to someone else. The fact that Talifus didn’t deserve it seemed to make it all the more appropriate.
“You can have some,” she told him, and just saying the words made her feel a little warmer. Setting her knitting on the floor, she fished the chicken leg out of the bag and took it over to the front right corner of the cell. Stretching her arm through the bars, she managed to reach his hand stretching to the left from the corner of his own cell.
He took the drumstick without a word, and straining her ears, she could hear him eating it. It was not until he had finished that he uttered a quiet, “Thanks.”
“You can have part of my pear too,” she offered in another surge of generosity. Keeping back two slices for herself, she handed the rest to him through the bars. Leaning against their shared wall, she sat on the floor and ate the last two pieces, along with the bread and jam. Traitor Talifus and I are sharing a picnic in the dungeon. Her life had taken a strange turn.
After lunch, or whatever the meal was, she went back to her knitting and finally finished the scarf. Its friendly yellow warmth cheered her up the moment she put it on. Not as good as a hug from a friend, but the next best thing. It was a smile in the dimness; a ray of encouragement in the gloom. Immediately, she made up her mind to make herself a matching hat. And maybe mittens, too, if she had time.
But she knew she probably wouldn’t. Not unless Rampus and his soldiers were delayed on their way back or she didn’t sleep at all. Otherwise, one way or another, she wouldn’t be in the dungeon long enough for that.
After a long time, the door at the top of the stairs opened again and the soldier who had dragged Eleya away came down. He handed Anya and Talifus each a slice of bread and a cup of water through the bars, and waited while they ate and drank.
“What’s going on outside?” Talifus wanted to know.
The man shrugged. “Not much. Sun’s down now. They’re about to serve supper up in the dining hall. We’re staying on high alert tonight.”
“The regent isn’t back yet?”
“Not yet, and we’ve had no word about what happened. It’ll probably be tomorrow before we hear anything. The soldiers wouldn’t have reached the Southern Woods till mid or late afternoon, I’d guess, so win or lose they’ll be staying down there overnight.” The man took the empty cups and disappeared back upstairs, locking the door once more.
Tomorrow. So Anya would be spending the night in the dungeon. In the morning she would find out whether she was to live or die.
She was sure she would never be able to get to sleep, but she hadn’t slept well the night before, and she soon found herself yawning. Eventually she gave up on her goal of finishing the hat that night. She stretched out on the ledge along the right side of her cell, rolled the two and a half remaining balls of yarn up inside her new scarf, and tucked it under her head for a pillow. “Goodnight,” she murmured to her dungeon partner.
After a pause, he replied quietly, “Goodnight.”
Chapter 19
As exhausted as Anya felt, she was too cold and uncomfortable to sleep soundly. She thought longingly of her sofa in Eleya and Tonnis’s sitting room, and her bed back home, as she struggled to find a comfortable position on the hard stone ledge. Even when she finally managed to drop off, she kept waking up to the sound of Talifus’s snoring.
At last the door at the top of the stairs creaked open and a soldier descended to bring them breakfast. Anya struggled to a sitting position, yawning as she ran her hands over her unkempt hair. She felt almost as tired as when she had lain down.
The soldier handed her and Talifus each a slice of bread and a cup of water through the bars. Is that all prisoners ever get? Anya wondered. Nevertheless, she started in hungrily, but after a few bites she remembered that this was the day in which she would either be set free or tortured and killed. Her stomach clenched up in knots and she couldn’t bring herself to finish the scanty meal.
“What’s going on up there this morning, Corporal?” Talifus wanted to know.
The soldier shrugged. “Nothing, really. We had an uneventful night.”
“The regent isn’t back yet?”
“Not yet. Sometime in the next few hours, probably.”
As the corporal mounted the steps again, Anya wrapped her cheerful yellow scarf firmly around her neck and sat down to do some more knitting, determined not to think about anything except the hat she was making. Especially not about what might happen to her in the next
few hours. The hat’s shape made it more challenging than the scarf, so she had to concentrate harder, which was good. It kept her from focusing too much on anything else.
She had nearly finished when Talifus broke the silence a long time later.
“Are you scared of what might happen?”
Anya scowled. That was exactly what she had been trying not to let herself think about. As long as she concentrated only on her knitting, she was fine. But the moment he said the words, she couldn’t help picturing herself being dragged back up to the throne room; tortured painfully until she was forced to tell about everything she had done, every lie she had told; then being dragged outside and having her head sliced off in front of everybody.
She swallowed hard. “No.”
But she had resolved to be honest now. Anya sighed. “Well, yes,” she amended reluctantly. “I suppose I am.”
Talifus didn’t reply, and she had finished the next row in her knitting before it occurred to her to ask him the same question. “What about you?”
He didn’t answer for a long time. Two rows later, her dungeon partner finally spoke up, so quietly that she could hardly hear him.
“No. No.”
But she knew he was lying too.
Anya was nearly done with her hat when the door above the stairs was unexpectedly flung open. She leaped to her feet, heart hammering, and darted to the front of her cell. On the other side of the wall, she could hear Talifus doing the same. A tumult of voices was pouring through the open door, and she heard mingled shouting and laughter, questions and orders.
“What’s happening?” demanded Talifus, but no one besides Anya seemed to hear him. Both prisoners clutched their bars, craning their necks to see, as a disorderly crowd of people shoved their way down the stairs. From among the tangle of voices, Anya could make out snatches of sentences: “Down you get!” “Ow!” “It’s about time!” “Serves you right!” “Who’s got the keys?” “Careful, you’ll trip us all.”
In the Enemy's Service (Annals of Alasia Book 2) Page 28