The Edge of the World

by Steven Lochran

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A BRIGHT KINGSDAY MORNING

  THE morning came far too quickly. Waking up late, Joss and the others had to rush to the training yard while still throwing on their riding gear. The only time they slowed down was as they passed Kardos’s door, each of them keeping guard just in case the captain leapt out to hurl more threats and accusations at them.

  But even with the run-ins they’d had the night before and their rushed start to the day, Hero looked far happier than she had since their arrival at Blade’s Edge Acres. She ran with purpose through the fortress passageways, her steps lighter, unburdened.

  ‘Feeling confident today?’ Joss asked her as they neared the training yard, where Sur Blaek and Clockwise were waiting for them with their flight rigs ready to go.

  ‘Always,’ she replied, flashing a rare and toothy grin at him. ‘How about you?’

  ‘As much as I can be,’ Joss shrugged as he cast a wary glance at his rig.

  ‘The more you fret about it, the harder it’ll be,’ she told him. ‘You have to ride with the wind. Not against it.’

  He was still pondering her advice as they came to a halt before Sur Blaek, his attention focused on the pocket watch in his hand.

  ‘Cutting it fine,’ he told them. ‘We’ll have to stay back an hour to make up for it.’

  ‘But we’re not even late,’ Joss said, speaking without thinking.

  ‘Two hours,’ replied Sur Blaek, and snapped his watch shut. Joss said nothing else, just shared a look of dejection with his brethren, at which Sur Blaek only smiled.

  ‘Look at these faces, Clockwise. You’d swear they wouldn’t know I was yanking their tails.’

  ‘Indeed, Sur Blaek,’ the mek intoned, and the prentices swapped their gloom for confusion.

  ‘So … we don’t have to stay back?’ Drake asked warily.

  ‘Not this time,’ said Sur Blaek. ‘But let this serve as a warning; I don’t brook tardiness. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, Sur Blaek!’ the prentices responded, their relief giving added gusto to their reply.

  ‘Very good. Now, if Edgar will fetch the training swords, we’ll begin.’

  And so it was for the rest of that week. Every day Joss and his brethren would arrive in the training yard with time to spare, and Sur Blaek would spend hours running drills with them. They were so busy with their mechanical mounts that they had precious little time for their living ones, with Joss only able to visit Azof in the stables for a few spare minutes every other day despite Sur Blaek’s promises of not keeping them back.

  In fact, their instructor worked them so long and so late that they never once made it in time to sit down in the Great Hall and eat with everyone else. Instead, Edgar would fetch a supper of leftovers from the kitchen, which they would share in their quarters in an exhausted stupor before rising the next morning to start the whole process again.

  Joss learned quickly through all this that Sur Blaek was unlike any paladero he’d known before, with a dry wit that exhibited itself at odd moments. Those moments would often be followed by a word of praise or piece of encouragement, catching Joss off-balance after having grown so used to Sur Verity’s icy demeanour. She would never have been so understanding of how woefully Joss was performing with his flight rig. But Sur Blaek seemed unperturbed by Joss’s struggles, assuring him he would get a handle on it eventually.

  ‘Though maybe a little prayer at tomorrow’s service wouldn’t go astray,’ he said on their final day of training for the week, with Joss nursing a sore wrist from his latest tumble. Tomorrow was Kingsday, the first free day the prentices would have since their arrival, and Joss was clinging to the prospect like a sailor to a life raft.

  ‘Don’t stray too far afield. I expect you all back here bright and early on Regentsday morning,’ Sur Blaek told them as they packed up. ‘No robbing banks or running off with travelling circuses, if you can help it.’

  With that last little gag, he dismissed them. Joss had visions of a night spent feasting in the Great Hall, taking a long and luxurious soak down at the baths, and then sleeping in as late as he could get away with. The most he managed was the same as any other night – a plate of leftovers followed by collapsing into his blankets – before being woken the next day as early as always.

  ‘Good morning,’ Hero called from his open doorway, yanking him from pleasant but bleary dreams. ‘Time to get dressed. We have a big day ahead.’

  Joss groaned. ‘I think I preferred it when you were keeping to yourself,’ he said, but rose and joined the others for breakfast in the den nevertheless. They ate quickly before Hero ushered them out the door.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ asked Joss as he took in the empty yards and abandoned battlements.

  ‘They’ve all gone to the High Chamber in Skyend for the morning’s service,’ Hero replied, marching onward while Joss rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

  ‘Is that why you dragged us out this early?’ he yawned. If he’d known that the morning would involve praying to something he didn’t really believe in, he would have stayed in bed.

  ‘Hardly. The shrine here will suit just fine …’

  Hero led them through a series of winding walkways that grew increasingly narrow, until the blue sky was blotted out entirely by brickwork. At last they came to the entrance of a small chamber at the foundations of the fortress, with a short, rounded entranceway that had no door.

  Hero removed her hat and goggles, then bowed her head as she stepped into the chamber. Drake quickly followed, as did Edgar, leaving only Joss to trail behind. Head held low, he edged into the space. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light of an array of candles dotted around the small domed room, and the single lantern that cast a swirling galaxy pattern across the ceiling.

  The same sort of statues that had led the way to Blade’s Edge Acres lined the walls of the chamber, though these were in far better condition. They practically shone in the candlelight, leading to the central figure that lay lengthways along the far wall.

  He was wrapped in the customary veil that obscured his face and figure, stretched out on a dais with a pillow under his head, only his crown left exposed. The crystal from which the statue had been carved was as pale as ice, and Hero was standing before it with a reverence that was rare to see. Dropping to one knee, she covered her eyes with her right hand and offered silent fealty to the Sleeping King.

  Drake did the same, as did Edgar. That left only Joss to stand awkwardly at the back of the tiny chamber, head lowered in respect if not adoration, witness to the ceremonial show of deference but not a part of it himself – much as he had been all his life. Eventually, Hero rose and walked to one of the many lit candles, then blew it out. Her day’s worship was at an end, and she had offered her wish that His Majesty remain in his slumber. Now they could leave.

  ‘There’s one thing I’ve never understood about a High Chamber,’ Joss said as they emerged into the bright light of day.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Drake.

  ‘The doorways – why do they build them so cussing low?’

  ‘To ensure you come in supplication to the Sleeping King,’ Hero said. ‘Come on. We have a whole day to ourselves. Let me show you around.’

  Much as she had done upon their arrival, Hero took her brethren on a whirlwind tour of her home. But this time she was free of the grim pall of Lord Haven’s wake, giving her an extra hop in her step as she showed them the hatcheries, the sabretooth pens, the rookeries where the pterosaurs were kept, and the barracks where she’d slept as a prentice.

  ‘That’s odd,’ she noted as they passed the Lord’s Keep. ‘They’ve added hexlocks along with the guards.’

  Joss followed her puzzled gaze to the strange locks that had been soldered on to the tower’s windows, gates and doorways. They were much larger than normal, made of a rough black iron that had a red rune glowing at the centre.

  ‘Impossible to break the incantations on those,’ she explained. ‘Not
without the right equipment.’

  ‘But this has to be one of the most secure orders I’ve ever seen,’ Joss said. ‘Why would they need to fortify themselves any further? Especially with the guards they’ve already added?’

  ‘Maybe Rayner’s just the cautious type,’ Drake shrugged.

  ‘Or maybe he has something to hide,’ said Hero.

  ‘Like what?’ asked Joss.

  ‘Like how exactly he came to his newfound position.’

  ‘Are you seriously suggesting –?’ Drake began in an incredulous tone, only for Hero to shoot him an admonishing look. ‘What?’ he asked.

  She didn’t reply. Instead, she returned to staring at the keep, where Captain Kardos emerged from a side door to inspect his guards. Dressed in plated armour, he looked more like a mechanoid than a man, clanking with every step. As he came to the end of the line, he saw Hero glaring at him. The look he responded with was enough to make Joss take a half-step backward.

  ‘Come on,’ Hero said to her brethren, scowling back at the captain of the guard. ‘Let’s keep going.’

  Coming to the southern end of the grounds, they passed the fortress’s library. Joss was interested in this most of all, eager to see if they had any books on black magic or the Shadow God that hadn’t been available at Starlight Fields, but he kept that desire to himself as Hero ushered them past to tour the fortress gardens instead.

  ‘This is one of the places I would come when I wanted some time to myself,’ she explained as she led them through the maze of raised beds, rows of tomato plants and masses of raspberry bushes.

  ‘Other than the roof, you mean?’ asked Joss.

  ‘Other than the roof,’ Hero nodded. ‘I could spend hours here, completely undisturbed.’

  ‘What would you do?’ Drake asked.

  ‘Practice with my zamaraqs. Poach a berry or two …’

  ‘You wouldn’t write or draw?’ Drake asked.

  ‘I gave up on that long before coming here,’ Hero replied. ‘Often I would end up spending time with Rowan – when I didn’t mind having someone to talk to, that is.’

  ‘Shame he left the other day. We could have finally had a proper conversation with him,’ said Drake.

  ‘As a matter of fact, he rode in with the rest of his rescue party late last night. And if I’m not mistaken …’ Hero tilted her ear up. ‘I think that’s him I hear. Over in the Death House.’

  Joss, Drake and Edgar stumbled into each other.

  ‘The Death House?’ they all said as one, and Joss wondered what kind of grim turn this sunny Kingsday was about to take.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A GRUESOME AND PECULIAR CASE

  THE Death House was a great glass hut in the centre of the garden, with an iron skull-and-crossbones soldered onto its bolted gate. Despite its grim facade, the cheery sound of someone humming could be heard from within.

  ‘This is where all the toxic plants are kept. Only Rowan has the key,’ Hero said as she tapped on one of the glass panes. ‘Rowan! Are you there?’

  No answer came beyond the distant humming, which continued uninterrupted.

  ‘Rowan?’ Hero tried again, then drew a deep breath to bellow, ‘ROWAN!’

  There was a clunk and a clatter, then Rowan’s flushed face appeared at the window. ‘Hero girl?’ he said, cracking the window open. ‘Aha, so it is! They finally set yeh free from yer training, I see!’

  Hero offered the old fieldserv a smile. ‘We’ve come for that talk you promised,’ she said, and Rowan grimaced with confusion as he tapped at his hearing device.

  ‘We’ve come to talk!’ she shouted. Rowan’s face blossomed into a big, hardy grin.

  ‘In which case, would yeh fancy some fresh buttered bread with honey? And perhaps a spot of tea to go with it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yesplease!’ Edgar replied breathlessly.

  ‘Well then!’ Rowan chuckled. ‘Why don’t yeh all go make yourselves comfortable in the cottage and I’ll be along in a microraptor’s fart.’

  Following the path, the prentices found what Rowan had referred to as a cottage but turned out to be more of a glorified garden shed. One side was made up entirely of windows, which looked to have been pilfered from various places and nailed together to form a makeshift sunroom with views of the fortress gardens and the Death House beyond.

  Inside, the sunroom connected to the kitchenette, which connected to the parlour, which connected to the washroom, and on and on and on in an interlinking daisy chain of rooms that seemed to have been added to the building as required.

  Junk filled every available space. Broken pots and empty crates were scattered about like keepsakes, accompanied by discarded gloves and stacks of books, all of them on the subject of botany. A threadbare settee and an armchair were arranged before a potbelly fireplace that had an anaemic flame sputtering within it.

  But what truly struck Joss among all the mess was the wind chimes. Big and small and every size in between, they were strung up along the wooden beams overhead, both inside and out, clanging and tinkling at even the smallest breeze. Their tuneless music flung Joss back to the moment he’d stood on the doorstep of what had once been his family’s home in Daheed, now lost forever beneath the waves. Bittersweet longing welled up inside him, which he damped down quickly before it grew out of control.

  The prentices hadn’t been waiting long when Rowan entered, wearing frayed overalls and massive canvas gloves. He was carrying an ungainly plant with thick roots and dark thorny leaves, which he hefted onto the workbench in the sunroom.

  ‘What’s that you’ve got?’ asked Hero, walking over to have a better look.

  ‘Blackglove,’ Rowan said proudly as he wrapped brown string around the roots. ‘Lucky I got back from the ride when I did, or else I may have lost the chance to harvest it.’

  ‘Blackglove?’ Hero repeated with surprise.

  ‘What’s blackglove?’ Drake asked.

  ‘Eh?’ Rowan asked in return.

  ‘What’s blackglove?’ Joss repeated, and Rowan’s smile broadened into an excited grin as he launched into an impromptu botany lesson.

  ‘A miraculous beasty of a plant! Dry it and grind it down, yeh have an odourless and flavourless powder that will knock a full-grown dimetrodon right on its back, dead.’

  ‘Sounds dangerous,’ Joss said, scrutinizing the gnarly looking plant.

  ‘Tis!’ Rowan replied as he held up his gloved hands. ‘Hence the precautions. And why we keep it locked up tight in the Death House. We only use it to keep the grunches from chewing up the livestock fields and all the produce from the gardens. The vermin grow big here in the mountains, I’ll tell yeh what. And there’s been an outbreak of late that’s led to a real demand. I could have sworn I had a whole container of the stuff locked up in my cabinet over there, though when I checked this morning I found it empty. But that’s me all over, that is. I’d leave each limb on the bough of a tree if they weren’t sewn to me shoulders and shadowy places.’

  Rowan strung the plant up on a hook and left it dangling in the sun, then removed his gloves. ‘But enough jabber about work, eh? What say we have that tea and honey?’

  ‘That would be grand!’ Edgar beamed.

  ‘Eh?’ Rowan grunted, and tapped irritably at his hearing device. ‘Yeh’ll have to pardon me, I’m afraid; cursed contraption’s been particularly bothersome of late.’

  ‘I’ve been wondering about that, actually,’ said Drake, reaching towards the device. ‘May I?’

  Rowan threw Hero a questioning look. She nodded.

  ‘Be my guest,’ said the old fieldserv, detaching the device and handing it to Drake, who accepted it eagerly.

  ‘I think it may have to do with the anbaric conduit,’ he said, and dug around in his coat to pull out a tiny screwdriver. Rowan watched with growing apprehension as Drake unscrewed the back of the device, then started digging around in its guts. When he was done, he sealed it tight again and presented it to its owner with a satisfied smile. ‘
Here. Try that.’

  Rowan pressed the copper-plated object to his head, looped it around his ear, then adjusted the angle of its dish. ‘Somebody say something?’ he asked.

  ‘Something,’ said Hero.

  Rowan’s eyes lit up like a jet-cycle’s headlights. ‘By the Sleeping King Hisself!’ he exclaimed. ‘That’s astounding! I haven’t heard something come through so loud and clear in years! Someone say something else.’

  ‘Something else,’ Joss offered, to Rowan’s mounting delight.

  ‘Hah!’ he turned back to Drake, grabbed him by the wrist and pumped it in gratitude. ‘You’re a miracle worker, m’boy! Thank you! From the bottom of me old vine-snarled heart – thank you!’

  ‘It was just a small fix,’ Drake said, blushing.

  ‘A small fix that calls for double portions, I should say!’ Rowan replied, and crossed to the kitchenette to prepare the tea.

  Edgar grinned at Drake. ‘Tidy work, Mister Drake.’

  Rowan invited the prentices to sit in his den while he set about stacking a tray with freshly brewed tea and buttered bread slathered in honey.

  ‘Oh no,’ Rowan said while everyone slurped and chewed on their refreshments.

  ‘What is it, Mr Cloudshadow?’ asked Joss, looking up to see Hero and Drake just as alarmed by their host’s tone.

  ‘In all the commotion, I have a terrible feeling I may have just now discovered what I’ve done with that canister of blackglove,’ he said, staring with grim significance at the can from which he’d brewed the tea. ‘Tell me: yeh haven’t all finished yer drinks. Have yeh?’

  A tense and deathly silence filled the room, broken by the small squeak that escaped Edgar’s throat. Then Rowan bared his teeth in a hearty, if not slightly ferocious grin. ‘Gotcha.’

  ‘Rowan! You fiend!’ Hero said, smacking him on the arm.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I couldn’t resist,’ he laughed. ‘But yeh should have seen yer faces!’ Still chuckling, he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. ‘Jokes aside, Hero girl – it really is good to have yeh back home. There’s been all manner of troubling doings in yer absence.’