A Portion of Dragon and Chips

by Simon Haynes

  Chapter 30

  "I'm sorry, there's no sign of the king. We've searched his favourite haunts, we've dragged the moat, we've checked the cells in case he got himself arrested as a drunk … nothing."

  The chief courtier buried his head in his hands. "This is not happening. Tell me it's not happening." The Three Disputes were waiting to be heard, and for the first time in living memory there was no king to hear them. "Can we delay the ceremony?"

  "Another couple of hours, you mean?" The head priest snorted. "I told you his obsession with metal would—"

  "It was hardly that," interrupted the chief courtier. Starlow was a pragmatic man, and an honest one. The king had tried to modernise the Bark kingdom, to drag it into the dark ages in his own slow, measured fashion, but it hadn't been an obsession. Then he frowned. "What was the name of that … metalworker? The one from yesterday?"

  "Wiltred."

  "The king was interested in his progress. Do you think he might have gone there?"

  "His majesty? In a workshop? Why, he'd never do such a thing." The priest gave him a sidelong glance. "Not unless he was obsessed."

  "Did you search the place?"

  "I would say they've searched everywhere. But, if you wish, you can give the order to check again."

  "I'll send guards." Starlow hesitated. "I know it's premature, but we must consider the subject of succession."

  "Why, the king has only been gone for the night. Are you joking, man?"

  "The king is missing, but the kingdom must still go about its business." Starlow came to a decision. "I will get the chief constable to handle the Three Disputes today. He can tell everyone the king is resting after a—a fall."

  "Is that the best you can do? Why, you might as well announce that he slipped off the privy."

  "Very well, the king is recovering from an early morning hunting accident. Is that better?"

  "It'll do," said the priest gruffly. "I just wish he'd turn up."

  "You and me both."

  After the priest left, Starlow rang a small wooden bell. Actually, it was more of a knocking sound than a ring, but it had the desired effect because a guard entered immediately. "You will inform the chief constable he's to take the Three Disputes today."

  "Yessir."

  Starlow breathed a sigh of relief. Give him a good, solid guard any day. No arguments or protests, just obedience. "Tell me, which of your number saw the king last?"

  "Turlin and Parry, sir. The king spoke with them yesterday afternoon."

  "Have they been interviewed?"

  "No sir. They didn't report for duty this morning."

  Starlow's eyes narrowed. He didn't believe in coincidences, which meant these two must have something to do with the king's disappearing act. Had they been bribed to kidnap him? Or had enemy agents killed them to get at the king? "Find them."

  "Yessir. How many guards should I put onto the task?"

  "None. I want you to get every citizen searching the city. A steelwood sovereign for the man, woman or child who finds either of them."

  The guard pursed his lips. "If you offer a sovereign, all the guards will stop looking for the king and start looking for these two instead." He saw Starlow's expression. "I'm just being honest with you."

  "Yes, yes. Thank you." Starlow thought for a moment. "Make it a sovereign for the king and a shilling for the guards."

  "Er …"

  "What is it now?"

  "Citizens don't know what the king looks like. They've only seen woodcarvings, and … well, you should try carving wood with another piece of wood."

  "Well they can't bloody miss him," snapped Starlow. "He's the one with a crown."

  "Yessir." The guard bowed deeply and left in a hurry.

  Starlow immediately regretted his outburst. Not only had it been uncalled for, but now there'd be a rash of people dragging in anyone wearing any kind of headgear. Or worse, a rash of people making wooden crowns, putting them on other people, and then dragging them in to claim the reward. Money made people do the most stupid things.

  Oh well, he thought. Maybe they'd bring in a close enough likeness, and the palace could use him as a temporary stand-in until the real king was found.

  — ♦ —

  Four guards jogged down the main street to the old kitchens, which had only recently been repaired and converted into a brand new workshop. They'd heard rumours of witchcraft being performed inside the building, but they were more worried about ensuring a fair share of the reward, should they find the king inside.

  "We all agree on an equal split, right?" said one of the guards. "Even if one of us finds him, we all share equally. No bunging a cape over his head and sneaking him away."

  The other guards nodded in agreement, and moments later they arrived at the big doors to the workshop. They didn't bother knocking, they just booted them in and rushed inside. Here they found Tyniwon sweeping the floor vigorously, sending clouds of gritty dust into the air. The older man, Wiltred, was busy shovelling ash from the furnace into a big sack. Both froze as the guards entered.

  "We seek the king!" cried the first guard. "His majesty is missing, and you will stand aside while we search your workshop."

  "Yes, yes, of course." Wiltred tied the sack with a length of twine, his fingers shaking. "Go ahead, take a look around. But I assure you, you will not find the king here."

  Tyniwon coughed as the dust got into his lungs.

  The guards split up, two of them going into the side room where they found a chair and a scattering of white powder. On a table nearby sat several oval bowls, seemingly cast from plaster. The guard peered inside one, and noticed it was styled like a human face. "You! Old man! What is this witchery?" he demanded.

  Wiltred came hurrying in. "My assistant and I were making moulds, nothing more."

  The guard picked up a mould and angled it to the light. The outside was smooth, but the inside was a perfect replica of a human face. Being a negative image, it was impossible to recognise the face, but the blank eyes made his skin crawl. "Creepy," muttered the guard. "What do you use it for?"

  "It is just art, nothing more. A simple carnival mask."

  The guard tossed the mask on the bench, and glanced around the room. There was nowhere for anyone to hide, and it was clear the king wasn't in the workshop. "It's my duty to tell you they're offering a reward to anyone who finds the king. Two guards are missing also, and there's a lesser reward for locating them."

  "Excellent."

  "All citizens are expected to join the search."

  "Yes, of course."

  "Sorry to interrupt your cleaning."

  "Oh, don't worry about it." Wiltred glanced at the sacks of ash. "Finding the king and those guards … that's much more important."

  — ♦ —

  The minute the guards left, Wiltred grabbed a backpack and started packing his spare clothes, money, and anything else that might prove useful on his journey.

  "What are you doing?" demanded Tyniwon. "We're supposed to help find the king."

  "We already know where he is," hissed Wiltred.

  "Yes, but we can pretend to look."

  "No chance. We're leaving before they discover the truth." Wiltred crammed a few more things into his pack, then shrugged it onto his shoulders. "If anyone asks, we're going to visit the diggers at the ore mine."

  "Hey, maybe we could tell them we're looking for the king there!"

  "Are you insane? You heard about the reward, didn't you? If they think there's a chance of finding the king out there, half the city will come with us."

  "Then we'll be two amongst many."

  Wiltred rubbed his chin, for Tyniwon had a point. If a large number of people set off for the mine together, it would be easy to slip away from the group undetected. It would be less suspicious than the pair of them strolling through the main gates with packs and hiking gear. "Very well. We'll go to the tavern and buy supplies for our journey, and when they ask we'll tell them we're going to look for the kin
g at the mine. The rumour will spread like wildfire, and when they all leave we'll blend right in."

  "What should we do about all this ash?"

  "Leave it. They can spread it on the royal gardens for all I care."

  "Do they have such a thing?"

  "If they spread that ash around, they'll be royal all right."

  Five minutes later they were ready, and after leaving the workshop they took side streets and alleyways to reach the tavern. On the way they saw any number of people looking into water troughs, poking around in hay bales and, in one case, tugging on an old man's beard in case it was a disguise.

  The tavern was deserted, what with everyone out trying to find the king. Even the innkeeper had left, and so Wiltred helped himself to a bowl of hard boiled eggs, some of those little skewers with really tasty pieces of meat on them, and a couple of bottles of wine. He left a handful of coins on the bar to pay for their goods, and then, replenished, they left again. Outside, Wiltred approached the first person he saw. "Have you heard the rumour? They say the king might be visiting the ore mine."

  He'd barely finished speaking when the woman hurried off, and after Wiltred repeated the 'rumour' to a few others, there was a noticeable drift towards the city gates. Within minutes a crowd was streaming into the countryside, many guards included, and it was a trivial matter to tag along. "You're a smart lad, Tyniwon." Then he remembered the reason for their flight. "Well, some of the time, anyway. Let's settle on cunning and devious, shall we?"

  Once safely through the gates, they followed the crowd stampeding north towards the distant mine. Nobody paid them the slightest notice, and after a league or two they stepped off the path into the thick forest. Wiltred took a swig of wine, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then glanced up at the sun filtering through the trees. "We'll need to make good progress before nightfall."

  "But where will we go?" asked Tyniwon. "I do not wish to return to Mollister lands."

  "Indeed. And the west is uncouth, and full of large dragons. Worse, the stone people inhabit the lands beyond, and they make your family look like saints." Wiltred thought for a moment. "That leaves north and east."

  "I do not like the cold, and in any case there is little to the north of this place."

  "Then our choice is made for us," said Wiltred. "We travel east, to the land of the elves."

  Tyniwon swallowed. "I'd sooner face the dragons."

  "Nonsense. Elves are wise and knowledgeable, and they will be only too happy to welcome a pair of fellow scholars."

  "I heard they kill humans on sight. In fact, I was once taught a nursery rhyme as a deterrent against their kind. It's called an elf warning for children." Tyniwon cleared his throat, and after a moment or two he began.

  Tommy was a strong boy, healthy and wise,

  With a spring in his step and a clear pair of eyes.

  One day he went to the kingdom of the elves,

  And they killed him.

  Wiltred waited for the rest, but apparently that was it. "I too have a song of the elves. Let me begin."

  Hark, the woodland elf, lo

  See him draw his mighty bow

  And if you to the elven kingdom go

  He will greet you like a long-lost … er… foe.

  With a twang from his string and a whoosh from his arrow

  He'll skewer your neck, shooting you down like a sparrow

  If you still draw breath and are not yet dead

  He'll take out his sword and lop off your head.

  As his voice tailed off, it dawned on Wiltred that the song wasn't very complimentary towards the woodland folk. In fact, there were many more verses which were frankly terrifying.

  "So you agree with me," said Tyniwon. "Elves are vicious and sneaky, and they're not averse to shooting people in the back."

  "But Tyniwon, if they accept us we will be safe from retribution, for no man dares enter the kingdom of the elves bearing arms." Wiltred shrugged. "When all's said and done, it's not like we have any choice in the matter. Plus you killed King Larch, and once we tell them you've been running around snuffing out human royalty it's got to count in our favour."

  "I do wish you'd stop bringing that up," said Tyniwon, but eventually he agreed. "That's assuming they give us the chance to speak before they cut our throats."

  "Or skewer us with arrows," added Wiltred cheerfully.

  Chapter 31

  Runt sat in the boat as it drifted gently down the river, kicking himself for his greed and poor timing. He was certain Tiera was the assassin behind the Lord Chancellor's sudden demise, and he'd heard drunken rumours of a large payment for the High Priest's death as well. It hadn't taken much to connect the dots, and he'd tackled the woman the moment she was alone, unsuspecting, and most important of all … had her back to him.

  He winced. He could still feel the jolt in his arms as the branch connected with Tiera's head. She would not be happy when she came round, and the only saving grace was that he hadn't been able to find her coin purse. Had he laid hands on her savings, he'd have been forced to kill her as she lay unconcious, for fear of retribution.

  As it was, if she did catch up with him, Runt was going to plead mistaken identity. In the darkness and confusion, he'd simply mistaken her for one of the enemy. The fact she'd been talking to him when he struck her was a potential sticking point, but perhaps the blow had induced temporary amnesia.

  The mule fixed him with an accusing glance.

  "I know," muttered Runt. "It wouldn't even fool you, let alone her." He suspected Tiera had left her pouch with Thonn, but the youngster had been nowhere to be seen. She might also have left it with someone in Chatter's Reach, although he doubted it. Assassins kept moving, they did not revisit the scenes of earlier crimes.

  As for the timing, Runt realised he'd been a little premature. He should have waited until they were at the gates of Last Hope before making his move, because until then he could have travelled the road in relative safety, accompanied by Tiera and Thonn. Now, not only was he travelling alone, he also had a vengeful assassin on his tail.

  On the plus side, he had plenty of provisions, and with rising spirits Runt opened the sack and tucked into a hearty breakfast. Then, stuffed to bursting, he lay down in the bottom of the boat for a well-earned nap.

  He woke some time later, unsure how long he'd slept. The boat was moving in a most unpleasant manner, and with each rise and dip, spray blew over the gunwale and hit him in the face. The mule was struggling to stay upright, and as Runt sat up he realised why.

  Gone was the river, with its gentle flow and nearby wooded banks. Gone was the still water, and in its place was a broad estuary. Behind, far behind, was the river he knew so well. And ahead, beyond the choppy, salty waves, was the mighty ocean. Worse, the current was carrying him towards it.

  The mule staggered again, and Runt stood up, pulling at the stiff knots binding the cage to its back. He had no idea whether the animal could swim, but unless he removed the cage he'd never find out, for if the beast went overboard it would sink to the bottom before it had a chance to try.

  As he loosened the rope, the cage slipped down the mule's flank, and Runt's muscles protested as he took the full weight. He managed to stow it in the bows, but before he could return there was a huge splash. When he looked round he saw the mule in the water, swimming strongly for the shore.

  Runt cursed. He didn't know whether the mule had fallen or jumped, but it made no difference. Had he been more alert, he could have leapt onto its back and allowed it to carry him to safety. Instead, he was stranded.

  For there was a good reason Runt detested water of all kinds … he couldn't swim.

  — ♦ —

  "I'll mind the gear while you quiz the innkeep," said Islington.

  Pentonville nodded. They'd ridden all night, leaving the river behind as they rode due west, and at daybreak they'd come across a most welcome sight. The trees had long since thinned out, and ahead, just off the road, was a tavern. I
t was a stone affair with a thatched roof, and it stood on the plain like a welcoming beacon.

  There were several horses tied up outside, with a pair of servants rubbing them down and ensuring they had feed and water. From inside came the sounds of cooking, laughter and drinking.

  "Go softly," said Islington, as Pentonville dismounted. "She might be here already."

  Pentonville nodded, and armed himself with a curved sword. Then he passed the reins to a servant, and strode towards the tavern entrance. Nailed to the wall outside was a crude sign:

  No Weponz.

  Pentonville frowned. As a guard, such instructions did not usually apply to him, but right now he wasn't a guard. If he attempted to enter with his sword, he'd draw attention to himself. On the other hand, if the assassin was inside, he was pretty sure she'd have a knife concealed about her person.

  So, he returned to his horse, where he hung the sword from his saddle by its scabbard. Then he took one of the slim, deadly daggers with its curious grey gem, and tucked it into his belt before covering it with his jerkin. "Listen for me," he told Islington. "If I call for help, bring two swords at the double."

  Then he returned to the tavern. There was a break in the noise as he walked in, but conversations and laughter resumed immediately as the occupants ignored him. He strode to the bar, where a bearded halfling was perched on a stool behind the weathered counter. "What'll it be?" asked the halfling.

  "Two ales."

  "T'is a thirsty road indeed," said the halfling, as he poured. Once the tankards were brimming with ale, he put his hand out. "That'll be sixpence."

  "There's half a crown extra for information."

  "Since when do city guards pay for that?"

  "I am no guard. I am a … a traveller, heading to Last Hope with my companion."