Fantasy

by Rich Horton

  That evening they slipped out of Kandan and made their way toward the base of the cliffs. The fields near the far end of the ridge were scattered with massive boulders, some as large as a house, apparently left over from that ancient rockfall. At times Jayn felt as if he was walking through a forest of fat stone trees, but at least they gave good cover, even though they didn’t yet dare light the lantern Timon had brought. The base of the cliff itself was a jumble of broken stones, scrubby pines, and bramble that made progress both slow and painful. Though Jayn was a little mollified to note that Timon, even though he apparently knew the way, wasn’t doing much better.

  “You’re right,” Jayn said, after plucking a dead bramble cane from the back of his hand and pausing to lick the blood. “I don’t like this.”

  “Then you’re really not going to like it when the going turns nasty,” Timon said, pulling a thorn from his thumb. “But at least we’ll be out of this brush soon. Turn to the left when you reach that rock that looks like a cow pat.”

  Jayn did as he was told and found, if not exactly a path, a lessening of the undergrowth. He followed that with Timon bringing up the rear and came to a place where the stony ground turned to more solid rock, giving the pine and brambles fewer places to take root. The rock surface slanted upwards to reach the base of the cliff face and there Jayn found a gaping hole in the rock about six feet wide and nearly as high. He glanced up and could just barely make out a tower from the castle high above them.

  It can’t be as simple as this…

  Jayn peered into the cave and realized that it was not a cave at all, in the true sense. Rather, it appeared that a boulder had been torn from its matrix during the past collapse; it occurred to Jayn that the landmark rock that looked like a cow pat could have been the original stone, now weathered down and buried in soft earth. The break in the rock wall only went about four feet into the cliff face and abruptly ended.

  “What do we do now? Climb? In the dark? We didn’t even bring a rope!”

  “Actually I did, but we won’t need it until near the end,” Timon said. “Get inside.”

  “This hole in the rock? But it doesn’t go anywhere—”

  Jayn didn’t quite finish, because Timon slipped past him and poked a section of the roof with a stout stick he’d picked up outside, and the stone moved, rocking gently as if precisely balanced. “Shift the stone, and be careful. It should slide to the left.”

  The section of stone looked like all the others. There were cracks visible, but there were cracks visible everywhere. Jayn put his hands against the stone and pushed, gingerly at first but then with more force. A slab of granite just over a foot wide and twice as long lifted off the roof of the fissure. It took a couple of tries, but Jayn managed to push it to the side. Then Timon lit the lantern with a touch of one finger and handed it to Jayn.

  “Set this up in there so we can see, then climb up.”

  Jayn lifted the lantern into the fissure and the almost absolute blackness retreated a bit, to reveal a wider fissure in the rock. It was easy enough to get a grip on either side of the opening and pull himself up. “Do you need a—”

  Again, Jayn didn’t get a chance to finish, for in an instant Timon was standing right next to him. Timon very carefully slid the cover stone back into place and then picked up the lantern and held it high.

  They stood on a shelf of bare rock about six feet across, just a little wider than the cave below. The fissure ended in another blank wall about fifteen paces further into the ridge. To the left was another wall of flat granite that reached further than Jayn could see in the weak light, as did the wall to their right. The difference was, the wall on the right was marked with ledges and broken stones that formed a natural stairway up toward the blackness far above them. The air was close and still, and there was a musty, faintly unpleasant odor that Jayn couldn’t quite identify.

  “Does no one else know about this fissure?” Jayn asked.

  “Keep your voice down, please. Sound tends to travel here,” Timon said in a whisper. “But yes, since it reaches all the way to the surface and the castle is built over it, many people know about it. What they don’t know is that there’s a way in from the cliff base.”

  “I imagine there are people who would pay to know that very important detail. Say…the King of Wylandia? Or Morushe, or Borasur, for that matter.”

  “No doubt,” Timon said, affably.

  “I’m making an implication,” Jayn said, keeping his voice just about the level of a whisper.

  “I know,” Timon said. “The implication being that it might not be in my interest that this information be shared. And so it would therefore be more in my interest that you do not live to tell anyone, including any of the aforementioned Majesties. Or did I misunderstand you?”

  Jayn looked at Timon. “No, I think you pretty much nailed that board to the floor.”

  The magician sighed. “Jayn, by your reasoning it’s in my interest that you disappear after this task but, since you’re carrying a large measure of my gold, we’ve already established that. Stop trying to give me reasons to kill you; they’re irrelevant. I’ll harm you if and only if I want or need to.”

  “That’s not much reassurance.”

  “It’s the best I can do under the circumstances. Now. Climb or die.”

  The smell Jayn had noticed when he first entered the fissure got stronger as they climbed. After about thirty feet or so there was very little doubt.

  “Is that…?”

  Timon’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “Human excrement? Yes.”

  Further up. They came to a broad ledge created by an irregular crack in the stone. There they found a dunghill so regular and ordered that it almost looked as if it had been shoveled up just so. Cave insects and Jayn didn’t want to imagine what else had discovered this lowly food source; the pile was almost writhing with life. Far overhead there was a faint light.

  “As you may have surmised, this leads to the garderobe in the queen’s apartments,” Timon said. “The only reason the smell isn’t worse is that it’s only used by one person usually, her Majesty. Plus, the beetles and worms do a fair job of breaking the royal waste down to compost…not that anything else would grow down here.”

  “But…why turn the fissure into a latrine? They could be contaminating their wells!”

  “There are no wells. They use a system of large-capacity cisterns. Given that, and the fact that this is not a normal cave and therefore has very little water to contaminate, the design makes perfect sense: I fancy the smell at the upper levels is hardly noticeable, and the pit is so large that it never has to be mucked out. In the builder’s place I’d have done the same.”

  Despite Timon’s expressed admiration, they moved more carefully after that. The natural stone steps that allowed them to climb the wall hadn’t gone totally unblemished, and more than once they had to avoid coprolitic deposits of varying ages.

  “After this they’ll likely smell me even if they don’t see me,” Jayn grumbled.

  “It’s a risk we’ll just have to take,” Timon said cheerfully.

  As they approached the top of the wall Timon paused for a few moments and pulled out a parchment map. He found a clean spot on the stones and kneeled down to unfurl the map. Jayn leaned in so he could see.

  “This is the floor plan for the level just above us. And here,” he said, pointing to one end of a cluster of small rooms, “is where you’ll emerge. The queen’s bedchamber itself is here, and the nursery is on the other side. You can also reach the nursery through the hallway, but unlike the queen’s own apartments, there will be guards there. If you can stay within these rooms without being discovered,” he used his finger to draw an imaginary circle around the entire cluster, “you should be fine.”

  “And what if the queen is in her apartments?”

  “I fancy she is, considering the hour. Use stealth,” Timon said, then added pointedly, “and nothing else.”

  Jayn nodded. “Understo
od.”

  Not that he wanted to harm the queen of Wylandia or anyone, come to that, but being a thief meant, whenever possible, keeping your options both open and as plentiful as possible. You never knew when you might need another one.

  There was a light, still, from above. Jayn recognized the distinctive flicker of a candle, shining down through an appropriately-sized hole overhead. They were careful not to get directly below that hole, but when they reached as near to the top as the natural steps in the stone would take them, then were still about ten feet below the garderobe and about as many to the side. Timon reached into the bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out a length of rope and a grappling hook, its tines wrapped with cloth to muffle them. Thick wooden beams supported the rooms, and below those beams heavy braces had been set into either side of the stone. Timon aimed for the brace nearest to the garderobe and, after an expert twirl of the rope overhead, hooked it on the first try.

  “Climb up and do what you came to do,” Timon said. “I’ll wait here until either you return or I know you’ve been caught.”

  “If I’m taken aren’t you worried that I’ll betray you?”

  “No, because I’m certain you would, if you thought it would save your own skin, and why not? I’d do the same. Now go.”

  First Jayn handed his pack to Timon. “You know I can’t climb with this.”

  “Someone more foolish might have tried, though. Don’t worry; I’ll keep it for you.”

  Jayn grinned. “Why should I worry?”

  Jayn tested the rope. It was thinner than he would have preferred but surprisingly strong, and the hook was well placed. Jayn took a good grip and gently pushed away from the stone ledge. He swung drunkenly over empty space for several distinctly uncomfortable seconds before he managed to clamber up the rope and grip the brace. After that, climbing up was easy. He reached a point just under and behind the garderobe seat where he crouched, his feet securely planted in the lee of adjoining braces, and listened for several seconds. He heard nothing.

  Her Majesty’s just left a night light. How practical.

  Jayn traced the edges of the seat. The opening of course was too small, but a slight push told him that the entire slab was simply sitting within the wooden frame, using its own weight to anchor it. He slowly straightened up, lifting the seat as he did. The seat was made of white marble; Jayn only recognized it because he had once stolen a small statue made entirely of the rare stone. It was, also, fairly heavy.

  Nothing’s too good for Her Majesty’s royal butt, apparently. Must be cold, though.

  When he was high enough to see that the garderobe was really empty, he very carefully set the seat aside on a section of bare wood on the bench that made up the frame for the slab and pulled himself up and into the small room. A thick candle burned unattended on a stone table on the left. It gave a weak but adequate light. The only exit was closed by a curtain instead of an actual door, for which Jayn was grateful. Iron hinges tended to squeak, something drapery generally did not do. Jayn carefully set the garderobe seat back in its place before he pulled the curtain aside and stepped into the next room. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  Timon’s been right so far.

  The map had identified the room Jayn stood in as the queen’s changing room. With what Jayn could see now, that appeared to be true. There was a tall linen press for bedding, several large chests for storage, and a fairly large glassed window on the outside wall to take advantage of whatever light might be available.

  That glass must have cost a fortune, not to mention that marble garderobe. The horse trade must be more lucrative than I thought.

  While it was true that Wylandian-bred horses were much in demand, it was only now that Jayn was starting to understand the true wealth of Wylandia. The kings of Wylandia had long held the reputation of being fairly belligerent neighbors, though in truth most disputes tended to end as little more than border skirmishes. Still, there were a lot of them and it was these flare-ups that tended to be what people first thought of when the name “Wylandia” was mentioned, not the relative prosperity he had seen both in the castle and the village at the foot of the mountain.

  Perhaps it is the kingdom’s small size that makes it feisty. Or perhaps it is simply that ill-tempered bastards tend to breed the same.

  Jayn shrugged. Either way, it wasn’t really his concern. He was close to fulfilling his obligation. After that he’d have to worry about Timon’s true intentions, since the only other ways out of the castle were either down the cliff or out through the gate, and neither alternative looked any better than, if necessary, taking his chances with Timon. Jayn crept to the second curtain that separated the changing room from the queen’s bedchamber.

  The queen was not sleeping.

  Jayn peered through the curtain and froze in place. There were two candles burning on a small table, but that wasn’t what worried him; the one in the garderobe suggested that her majesty might be afraid of the dark. He’d seen such often enough before. No, it was the sight of the queen sitting at that small table within that candlelight.

  She’s just a girl…

  On second look he revised his impression a little but not much. She was probably sixteen, maybe seventeen. Marriageable age, especially by royal standards. She had long dark hair bound into one braid that ran down her back. She looked small and alone sitting in the pool of candlelight as her pen scritched on the parchment in front of her.

  Is she…crying?

  Her eyes were red but that just could have been the result of writing in weak light, since the candles were barely augmented by the weak moonlight coming in the window. Every now and then she would use a kerchief to dab at her eyes. Jayn stared at her perhaps a bit more openly than he should have, but all her attention was on the parchment in front of her. She paused, apparently thinking of what to write next, then turned back to her work.

  Jayn watched her with a mixture of fascination and discomfort. He had never been so close to royalty before and certainly not a queen in her own chamber. Forget being a thief, anyone caught in a queen’s chambers who didn’t belong there could count on their head being the part of their bodies that would be chopped off last. Jayn knew this and yet he couldn’t stop staring.

  He frowned. Here, in the depths of leisure and luxury. What bloody right does she have to be unhappy?

  In a moment the answer came to him:

  THE SAME RIGHT AS ANYONE. IT’S NOT ALWAYS SOME­THING YOU EARN.

  Jayn wondered, perhaps, if that thought had really been his own. He decided that it was. After all, it was true enough, even though there certainly were people who deserved unhappiness and more. In his darkest hours, he sometimes thought that, perhaps, he was one of them. He shook his head, slightly, and the curtains fluttered. Fortunately the queen took no notice.

  Do your job and get out, Fool. The problems of one silly girl-queen are not yours.

  He kept still, and waited. After what might have been a few minutes or perhaps longer, the queen seemed satisfied with what she had written. She rolled up the parchment and used one of the candles to drip wax for the seal.

  “Lyassa, come here.”

  The queen only had to repeat the call once before a middle-aged woman emerged from one of the side rooms that had been marked “Lady in Waiting” on Timon’s map. Her eyelids drooped and she carried a small candle of her own. “Yes, Majesty?”

  “I’m ready to retire. I’ve left a scroll on my writing table. In case I don’t rise early enough in the morning I want you to see that it gets to my post rider…and no one else. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Majesty. I’ll take it now for safe—”

  “No!” The queen stopped, then continued in a calmer voice. “No, that’s all right. I might…I might change my mind. If the scroll is still on my table in the morning, please do as I instructed.”

  “Yes, Majesty…would you care for a cup before you retire? There’s still some brandy wine left.”

 
“I’m surprised,” the queen said, but then smiled faintly. “Yes, Lyassa. Thank you.”

  The woman disappeared back into her room for a moment and returned with a small goblet, which the queen drained at one gulp. She made a face and coughed, slightly. “There’s the end of it, and that’s probably best. Good night, Lyassa.”

  “Sleep well, Majesty.”

  The servant woman curtseyed and withdrew. The queen went into the nursery for a while, apparently to reassure herself that the child was well, then returned and snuffed out the candles. Jayn kept still and let his eyes adjust once more to the darkness as the queen removed her outer robe and crawled wearily into her overstuffed bed. Quickly her breathing evened out and Jayn heard a faint snore. Too quickly, in Jayn’s opinion. Clearly some small crisis was in play; the change of plans hinted at this. Had the queen’s servant placed something in her drink, perhaps to help her sleep?

  If so all the better.

  Jayn waited a little longer, then slipped into the room. He glanced at the queen in her bed, and then at the door to the servant’s room, then started across the chamber. When he got to the table, he hesitated.

  Something to prove I was here. That was the bargain.

  The seal was the obvious choice, but a little too obvious. The Queen of Wylandia’s personal seal would be proof to anyone, but only if he were fool enough to let it be known he had such a thing. Then it might be worth more than his life. No, something else. Something less likely to be missed. Like, perhaps, the letter? If the letter was no longer there in the morning, then the servant would assume the queen had changed her mind. If he was right about what had been in that goblet, then the queen would not wake early, and find the letter gone as she had instructed. And if the letter never arrived…well, that wasn’t such an uncommon thing.

  A private letter from the Queen of Wylandia, bearing the impression of her seal?

  Perfect but also risky, since he didn’t even know what was in the letter. Yet, Jayn realized, that was part of the appeal. He wanted to know what was in that letter. Who it was for. What it said. Moreover, he wanted to know why such a person could be so unhappy. It was there. In her face, in her bearing. It was also none of his concern, as he had told himself more than once. And yet, he still wanted to know.