by Simon Haynes
The last quest of his life, most like, but his valued friends hadn't quite explained that bit and so his mind was untroubled as he laid his head on his arms and tried to sleep.
Chapter 13
Tiera and Thonn shared a bowl of stew and a loaf of bread in her lodgings, a meal which took her last few coins.
"On the morrow, I will find work," declared Thonn. "I will muck stables, fetch and carry … even sell my body to strangers, if necessary."
"Whoa, hold up there," said Tiera. "There will be no selling of bodies, understood?"
"But you have spent the last of your money, and we will be homeless without more."
"Don't worry, Thonn. There is a man who owes me a purse of g—" She almost said 'gold', but caught herself just in time. The lad seemed innocent enough, but she'd only met him that afternoon. "He owes me a few shillings, and tonight I collect."
"A purse of shillings! That is good news indeed," declared Thonn. "I shall come with you to the meet, and defend your life if this man proves difficult."
"That's sweet of you, but I can handle myself."
Thonn looked at her doubtfully. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
"But when we met, you were locked in the cells."
Ouch. "That was a temporary misunderstanding, no more."
Thonn eyed her curiously. "Pardon my curiosity, Tiera, but what is it you do?"
"I, er, sing. People pay me lots for my, er, singing."
"Is that so?" Thonn regarded her with frank admiration. "There was a bard in my village. He was well loved, and they rewarded him well for his songs."
"There you go, then. You know all about it."
"Would you sing for me?"
"What?"
"A heroic song, before you leave. Something about … dragons."
"You want me to sing? Now?"
"Indeed." Thonn coughed pitifully. "It would aid my healing so."
Tiera knew she was being conned, but this was a grave she'd dug for herself. So, dredging up the few fragments of songs she was vaguely familiar with, she began.
This is a tale of the land of old
Where summer was hot and winter was cold
With a sea full of fish and a sky full of birds
and a land filled with cows and a sky … full of … birds.
Into this peace came a wicked old dragon
With fire in his belly, he came seeking a … wagon.
T'was clear from his path that he knew where to go
Because he followed the main road and small roads also.
Tiera paused to see how the song was going down. Not that well, was her conclusion. Still, she soldiered on gamely.
The dragon now, for it was a he
Chased after that wagon with a tee hee hee
He puffed out his cheeks and spat out his flame
And the little red wagon was seen never again.
There was a lengthy pause. "These people," said Thonn at last. "They pay money for that?"
Hurt, Tiera gestured at his lap. "Next time, you can sing and I'll eat all the stew."
Mortified, Thonn looked down at the empty bowl. "My apologies! I did not—"
"Relax, I'll get another serve on my return. Now keep the door shut, and don't answer it to anyone." Tiera hesitated. "Actually, if I'm not back by eleven, you can let the healer in."
"He returns? To what end?"
"I said I'd buy something of his. But I should be back before then. If not, ask him to wait." With that, she slipped away, closing the door behind herself.
Meanwhile, Thonn licked the bowl clean, ate the end of the loaf, and then wondered how he was supposed to know when eleven o'clock rolled around.
— ♦ —
Tiera froze as she heard a noise far below her. She was scaling the drystone wall leading to Minimus Regis's quarters, coincidentally located inside another bell tower. This one was shorter and less impressive than the High Priest's, but then the same could be said about Regis.
The Lord Chancellor could be described as a portly man, if one were being diplomatic about it. She'd only met him the once, when he'd given her the assignment and showed her the ten guineas promised in payment. That time she'd been escorted in through the front door, posing as a courtesan as instructed.
This time, she was going in through the window.
It wasn't that she was fond of scaling high towers with her bare hands. She just knew that Regis would probably have her killed or arrested on sight. Even if it cost him a couple of guineas to cover her murder up afterwards, he'd still be well ahead.
Tiera had no intention of getting murdered, and she'd already been arrested enough for one day.
She glanced down … a long, long way down … and saw a couple of guards at the foot of the tower. One of them faced the wall, and she heard him relieving himself. Meanwhile, her fingers grew tired, and she just knew that a stone would work itself loose and give her away.
Fortunately, the cliche was avoided for once, and the guards continued their patrol without stray chunks of stone dropping on them at exactly the wrong moment.
Tiera gave them a few moments to get clear, then continued her ascent. On the way up, she reminded herself that if all went well, she would leave the tower with a fortune. And, if things don't go well, she'd still leave with a fortune, while Regis would leave this world for the next.
A stiff breeze tore at her clothes, and the chill made it hard to feel for gaps with her fingers. It took another twenty minutes, and two more nerve-wracking periods of clinging to the tower while the guards passed below, but finally, her muscles burning from the effort, Tiera reached the top floor windowsill. She clung to the smooth stone and slowly raised her head to peer inside.
The room was in near-darkness, with no signs of life. There was a fire in the grate, but it had burned down to a bed of coals, lending the merest glimmer of illumination to the large, circular room.
Like a flash, Tiera vaulted over the windowsill and crouched on the stone floor, stiletto at the ready. She could hear snoring, and when she turned towards the bed her elbow knocked a candlestick over. She grabbed the base, but the candle fell out and thumped on the floor. The noise was slight, but the snoring stopped immediately.
"You're late, both of you," said Regis sleepily. "Get your clothes off and join me this instant."
Fat chance, thought Tiera.
"Hurry, girls, for I must work later. I have a sermon to write on the perils of sin and fornication."
Tiera realised the man was only half awake, and she darted over to the bed before Regis realised his supposed whores had entered through the window. She found him on his back, eyes closed, and she put the tip of her stiletto to his double chin. "I did the job, Regis," she whispered. "I'm here to collect."
Fortunately, Regis opened his eyes instead of, say, sitting bolt upright and getting the dagger right through his neck. In the dim, half-light he took in Tiera's set face, then swallowed carefully as he felt the knife at his throat. And then, despite his peril, he thought fit to argue. "Did the job, you say? It was not you who downed my rival, it was the mighty god Zephyr!"
Tiera jabbed his neck, drawing blood.
"You stabbed me!" protested Regis.
"That was only a little prick," said Tiera. "Unlike yours, the next one will be a whole lot bigger."
"All right, all right! I allow that you … assisted … in the effort," said Regis quickly. "Therefore I'm happy to pay two whole guineas as your reward."
"Ten or you're toast."
Regis blinked, but finally set aside his greed. "Ten. Ten it is!"
"Where's the cash?"
"And have you rob me? Never! I will pay you with my own hand."
Tiera withdrew her knife, keeping a sharp eye out for trickery. She didn't see Regis as a man of action, though, and she was relaxed as he hauled his bulk out of bed and padded to an ornate desk. He opened a drawer … and then spun round on the spot with something in his hand.
Tiera didn't
hesitate. She dived to the side, just as Regis fired a bolt from a miniature crossbow. Miniature but lethal, as the bolt was tipped with a rare and deadly poison. She felt the whistle of its passing, and then it struck the stone wall and fell to the bed.
Regis cursed, and, taking out a second dart, he reloaded as quick as he could, almost gibbering with panic. His fingers shook as he got the bolt into position, and then he looked this way and that, seeking his prey. To his surprise, Tiera had vanished.
Too late, he realised she was right behind him.
Tiera drove the knife into Regis's lower back, grimacing with the effort. She gave the stiletto a twist, then yanked it out and stabbed Regis a second time. Without a sound, he slumped to the floor, where he lay still. Sadly for him, the Lord Chancellor wasn't the only one with access to deadly poisons.
Tiera searched the desk, but there was nothing but a few coppers. She looked around the room, then searched a bookcase and a side table before checking under the bed. All the while she kept an ear out for the guards, in case they'd heard anything of the disturbance. The head of the crossbow bolt had made a loud ringing noise as it struck the wall, and the last thing she wanted was a dozen guards pouring in to arrest her.
She checked every likely hiding place, and was just about to give up when there was a knock at the door.
"My Lord, your supper is served!"
Tiera eyed Chancellor Regis, lying on the rug in his nightgown, and realised there was little chance of her moving his body into the bed. It was also unlikely he'd be needing his supper.
Since discovery was inevitable, Tiera gave up on the coins and ran for the window. As she clambered over the sill, her hand encountered a loose stone, and she raised it to see a cavity underneath. Inside there was a small purse, black in the darkness, and as she withdrew it she felt the weight of gold coin inside.
There was no time to spare. Even as she tucked the purse away and lowered herself over the windowsill, the door opened. Seconds later there was a shout of discovery, and Tiera raced down the side of the tower, moving as quickly as possible without actually jumping off.
By the time the Lord Chancellor's guards poured out of the front door, carrying torches and swords, she'd reached the ground. The men were blinded by their lights, and so they didn't see her as she turned tail and vanished into the dark city streets.
Chapter 14
The guards had not only locked Clunk in a cell, along with a rough bed and a patently pointless slops bucket, they'd also chained him to the wall. Clunk tested his manacles, inspecting the poor quality iron with a sinking feeling. If this was the best the Mollisters had to offer, his hopes of finding a suitable forge had just taken a huge blow. He needed advanced metallurgy, not this weak, porous rubbish.
At that moment he realised he was wasting his time with the Mollisters. There was some kind of intrigue going on between Lord Chylde and the queen, the kingdom was bloodthirsty and callous, and the worst thing he could do was to advance their technology so that they might impose their iron rule on others. Fortunately, although he'd made a promise to the queen, he hadn't given her a time frame.
The more Clunk thought about the situation, the more his next move became obvious. He would have to inspect the other three kingdoms first-hand, to see if any of them were worthy of governing the entire continent. If he found a fair and just society, he would help them against the others, and in doing so he'd also be helping himself.
That is, if all of this was real.
It had occurred to Clunk that he might be trapped inside his own mind, locked in a detailed and convincing simulation of some savage, primitive era. However, simulations could be ended by pinching the fingers, whereas he perceived no end to this nightmare. Executions! Sword fights! Permanent death! Why, it was like some fantastic computer game made real.
To prove his theory he tried peeling back the layers of the simulation, attempting to expose the code underneath. However, everything was distressingly real.
His final test would be to find a map of the Old Kingdom. If it showed a small area of detail and 'here be dragons' everywhere else, it might prove he was living in a limited simulation. Otherwise, he'd just have to accept that he'd ended up in a medieval society, with little hope of leaving.
His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps, and he saw a couple of guards peering through the barred window set into his door. They studied him in silence, and he stood still and returned their gaze with one of his own.
"Do you think he will?" said one of the guards, a man with a bushy red beard.
"He wouldn't know how," said the other, a blonde lad with a scar over one eye.
"Half a crown says he does."
"I'll take that," said the younger man.
Clunk heard the door bolt, and then the guards pushed a sobbing young woman into his cell. She was dressed in torn sack cloth, and she took one look at Clunk and tried to bolt. Too late, for the guards had already closed the door.
The woman wasn't much older than sixteen or seventeen, and as she cowered on the floor the guard with the red beard called out encouragement through the window to Clunk. "Go on, my son! You know you want to!"
"Don't touch 'er," said the younger guard. "She's got the pox!"
"You wouldn't know the pox if you saw it," said the older man derisively.
They shouted through the bars for another few minutes, but when they realised Clunk wasn't going to do anything, then got bored and left.
"Why do they treat you like this?" Clunk asked the sobbing girl.
"B-begging your pardon, sir, but I—I stole food."
"I'm not surprised. You look hungry."
Clunk's gentle tone gave the girl hope, and she looked at him, a stray lock of hair over one tear-stained eye. "They s—say you're a m-magical being."
"I'm nothing of the sort, but my technology must seem so to your people."
"They're not my people," said the girl indignantly. "I was travelling with my family when we were set upon by a gang of robbers. I escaped, praise the gods, but when I sought refuge in the city I was turned away again and again. Finally, in desperation, I stole food to survive."
During her lengthy speech, the girl's demeanour had changed considerably. Rather than cowering on the floor, she sat up, and her voice grew stronger as she recounted her sorry tale. She was still shivering though, for the cell was cold and she was only wearing clothes made from grain sacks.
"From where do you hail?" Clunk asked her.
"My home is the kingdom of Bark," said the girl. "I am called Millie."
"I'm Clunk."
"Well met, Clunk. You are by far the kindest person I have met in these parts." Millie eyed his restraints. "For what reason have they jailed you?"
"I believe they fear me."
"I am not surprised, for you have an imposing appearance."
"I have done nothing to earn their displeasure."
"Will they execute you?"
Clunk felt a flash of anger. "I'd like to see them try."
The girl came closer and put her hand out. Gently, she felt his arm. "Why, you are warm and soft! I thought you to be cold, hard metal."
"This material is called plasteel. It's a simulation of human skin, although far stronger."
"I have never seen the like."
"Yes, I'm beginning to realise that." Clunk hesitated. "The Bark kingdom … is it far from here?"
"Several days travel, on foot."
"I should like to visit."
Millie laughed. "Well, when you escape from this dungeon, defeating all the guards along the way, feel free to take me with you."
Clunk smiled at her, then put his head on one side. "Someone is coming."
The laughter was gone in an instant, and Millie looked scared. "The guards?"
"Just one person. Lord Chylde, from the sound of his footwear." Clunk nodded towards the bed. "Get in and cover yourself. He might not realise you're here."
Even as Millie obeyed, the footsteps halted outside
the cell door. "Is he secure?" shouted Lord Chylde.
"Yessir!" said a guard, his voice distant.
"Your life if he gets free on me," said Chylde. His face appeared in the barred window, and he studied Clunk carefully, paying particular attention to the chains. Then, cautiously, he unbolted the door and entered. "Well, my fine metal friend. You and I need to talk."
— ♦ —
"Why have you locked me up?" asked Clunk, as Lord Chylde enter the cell.
Chylde was wearing a dark cloak with a hood, and his face was almost completely in darkness. "Matters of state. I doubt you'd understand." The queen's uncle kept his distance, staying about ten feet from the robot. Fortunately, light in the cell was poor, and the elderly man didn't notice Millie hiding under the blanket on the wooden bed. "Sur Roybot, might we speak frankly?"
"Of course."
Lord Chylde nodded, and after a nervous look over his shoulder, he began. "Sur Loyne has been drinking heavily, and it seems he's carrying deep wounds from today's tournament."
"That is not possible," said Clunk. "I was very careful not to touch him."
"He's not suffering physical wounds. It's his vanity. He seeks revenge for his humiliation before the queen. Why, only ten minutes ago I heard him plotting your demise. He intends to destroy you utterly and completely."
Clunk frowned. It was doubtful Sur Loyne could hurt him, but the human might harm himself in the attempt. "What do you suggest?"
"I will not lose you to the queen's champion. Therefore, you must leave the city under cover of darkness, and travel to the westernmost city of Last Hope. Indeed, you must leave this very night."
This was better than Clunk could have hoped for. "I agree," he said quickly. "But tell me, is there a forge in this new city?"
"Oh yes. A forge. Most definitely." Chylde rubbed his hands together. "You will instruct my man in the ways of your people," he continued. "Your strange metals, the armour and weapons you promised the queen. All of this and more."