The Thief Queen's Daughter
Page 4
“I have to get back into the throne room,” said King Vandemere. “You should return to the garden and wait to be summoned. But just remember everything I’ve said to you in here, Ven, and don’t be offended by anything else you hear from me today. I am doing what is best for you, and for us all. Not even a king can take away your curiosity. Trust that curiosity, and your instincts. They will both serve you well.”
Ven opened his mouth to ask what the king meant, but just then the wall slid open, spilling daylight into the tunnel. The king stepped out and waved for Ven to follow, so he did, moving out of the way just in time as the wall slid shut again.
He found his way out of the maze of hedges and back into the elemental garden, where he waited for an hour or so, enjoying the sunshine, until a guard came and told him the king was ready to see him.
* * *
I followed the guard down the long hallway to the throne room. The hall was lined with rich tapestries and ended in two huge doors, with guards on either side. My escort announced my name, and the guard on the right opened the door for me. That is a very strange feeling, to be sure.
Beyond the door, the immense throne room was full of people. Advisors, ambassadors, and courtiers stood in great lines on either side of the room. I had only been inside the throne room twice before, and each time it was empty. It was very strange to see it now, full of people in court clothes.
We passed the king’s puzzle room, where I had met with him each time before. The door was securely closed. That made me sad—I was hoping to catch a glimpse of the wonderful games and amazing puzzles that the king used to train his mind in puzzling. But there was no time for that. The guard led me up the marble aisle to the dais where the king’s throne stood.
* * *
Galliard, the Royal Vizier, stood next to the throne. He was wearing the same dark blue robes he had on earlier. His expression was solemn.
In the massive chair sat King Vandemere, looking very different from when Ven had seen him in the garden. The king’s hair was neatly combed, and he was wearing a dark blue velvet shirt with a white collar, and crisp black trousers tucked into black leather boots. Around his neck was a heavy segmented necklace set with blue gems that matched the ones in the silver crown he wore. Ven stopped before the throne, nervous. All the eyes in the room seemed to be drilling holes in his back.
“Ven Polypheme, Your Majesty,” the guard said.
The king nodded.
“Thank you for coming, Ven,” he said. “I regret having to bring you here like this, but I must let you know that I made an error in judgment when I appointed you Royal Reporter. It’s an error I must correct now.
“I’m sorry to say this, Ven, but you are fired.”
4
Out of a Job
URK,” SAID VEN.
It was the only sound that would come out of his mouth.
* * *
I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach.
A few moments before, the king had been showing me the secret hiding place of his father’s greatest treasures, the pieces of the magical puzzle he had hired me to find and report back to him about.
And now, suddenly and before the entire court, I was done.
* * *
The king’s blue eyes twinkled, but his face remained solemn.
“I’m sorry if this is a shock, Ven,” he said. “Sometimes a king has to make corrections to his decisions. I hope you understand.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ven said, but he really didn’t.
“I hope you will decide to stay in Serendair for a while in spite of this,” the king continued. “This is a very interesting island, and I’m sure you’ll find many things here worth exploring. If you choose to do so, I will pay your rent at the Crossroads Inn. If you wish to leave, I will pay your passage home. But if you stay, I hope you’ll come by from time to time to chat or for a game of Hounds and Jackals. It would be nice to see you every once in a while.”
The Royal Vizier’s eyebrows arched suddenly.
King Vandemere noticed, and looked his way. “Something wrong, Galliard?” he asked.
Galliard drew himself up taller, clutching his staff. It was made of dark wood on top of which was carved an eye. “I would advise against that, Your Majesty.”
“Really?” said the king. “Why is that?” The Royal Vizier exhaled sharply, but said nothing. “I encourage you to speak your mind freely to me, Galliard. As my acting Vizier, you are a trusted advisor and I value your opinion.”
The man bowed respectfully. “Well, then, Your Majesty, it just seems odd to me that the High King of Serendair feels the need for a—a playmate.”
The young king smiled. “You are probably right, Galliard. I don’t have need of a playmate. But everyone has need of a friend.” He looked pointedly at Ven, who smiled weakly in return, then out at the gathered courtiers. “Let it be known that while he is no longer in my employ, that I consider Ven Polypheme my friend. He is under my protection.”
He looked back at Ven. “The carriage will take you back to the inn, Ven. Good luck in your travels and all your endeavors. I will be most interested to hear how you are faring next time you come for a visit.”
Still numb, Ven bowed, then turned and followed the guards out of the throne room.
They led him back to the courtyard, to the gate, and all the way down the winding, zigzagging flight of stairs carved into the mountain face.
As he was passing the left eye of the Guardian of the Mountain, he saw a sudden flicker of motion behind him.
In that split second, he could have sworn the giant face had winked at him.
He waited for a moment, but saw no further movement in the rocks. The soldiers brought him to the battlements at the base of the mountain, where his carriage was still standing. The second parchment packet of cookies was still on the seat.
The lead soldier held the door for him. Ven started to climb inside, when he heard a sharp cry. He looked up.
Gliding above him, wide and dark, was the massive shadow of a bird.
Ven’s mouth fell open. “The albatross,” he murmured. “What on earth is it doing here, so far inland?”
* * *
That bird has been following me for the longest time. It appeared unexpectedly on the morning of my birthday, several months ago. That would not be strange in and of itself, but when it first appeared to me, we were both thousands of miles from here, in my hometown, the city of Vaarn, on the Great Overward, where I was born. It always seems to appear when I need help, so I was more than a little nervous now, seeing it circling above me at great height.
* * *
Unconsciously, Ven reached up and touched the feather in his cap that the albatross had dropped on him on his fiftieth birthday. As he did, a small flock of ravens, black birds with a blue sheen to their feathers, took wing from the field, giving chase to the enormous bird.
There was something a little frightening in the speed with which the ravens took to the air. Ven wasn’t sure why, but he seemed to sense the malice in their movements, as if their intentions were evil, or at least threatening to the albatross.
The giant bird beat its wings and sailed quickly away, far out of reach of its pursuers, disappearing into the afternoon sun. The black shapes banked on the wind, returning to the fields below the castle, their blue-black feathers glinting in the fading light.
The sun continued to set as the carriage made its way westward. All along the horizon the clouds had turned a bloody shade of red, stretching out across the darkening sky.
Ven fingered the packet of cookies nervously. His stomach had gone so long without food that he was no longer hungry, just feeling vaguely sick. At the bridge he stopped once again to leave cookies for the trolls, feeling much less amused than he did the first time. The first packet was still on the riverbank where he had left it, wrapped in its wax parchment.
Only a slice of sun remained when they reached the crossroads, burning gold at the edge of the horiz
on. Ven stepped down from the carriage, thanked the soldiers, and started for the door of the inn.
Past the crossroads he thought he saw something move. He wheeled quickly around.
“Uh—excuse me,” he called in the direction of the soldiers. But the carriage was rolling away, almost out of sight of the inn.
The mist of evening was beginning to rise from the ground, leaving a low-hanging fog at the crossroads. Ven swallowed hard. When these grounds were haunted, mist had gathered here, too.
Lantern light was beginning to shine in the windows of the inn, and smoke curled from the chimney. That light and smoke, signs of normalcy, gave Ven courage. Instead of going into the inn, he walked instead across the road toward town, to the little family graveyard that stood there.
At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Behind the fence that circled the cemetery, the Snodgrass family gravestones stood in neat rows, carefully tended and adorned with beautiful flowers. Something was not quite right, however. The mist grew thicker, swirling around the gravestones, hanging close to the ground.
Near the newest gravestone, the mist hung especially heavy.
Sitting on top of that gravestone was a black bird.
With a bluish sheen to his wings.
“Get out of there,” Ven said. “Shoo.”
The bird just stared at him, its eyes gleaming in the last light of the sun.
Ven inhaled, making his shoulders spread so that he would look bigger. “Go on,” he said, louder this time. “Get out of here, you filthy sky-rat.”
The raven turned around on top of the gravestone. It bobbed its tail feathers, then turned back, staring at him insolently.
“Why, you dirty prat!” Ven exclaimed angrily. “Did you just moon me?” He picked up a stone from the road and heaved it at the bird. The raven fluttered up from the gravestone long enough to dodge the rock, then settled back on it again.
“Stupid git,” Ven muttered. “Fine. Stay in the graveyard, for all I care. Stay here till you rot.” He turned and started back into the inn.
“Er—Ven?” came a voice from the mist.
Ven froze, then quickly spun around.
Hovering in the air was the faintest image of a young man, hardly more than a boy. Ven had seen him before.
“Gregory?” he asked, coming closer. It was Captain and Mrs. Snodgrass’s son, dead more than fifteen years.
“Indeed,” said the shade of the young man. “Would you mind getting that filthy thing off my gravestone?”
“Not at all,” said Ven. “Be right back.” He jogged to the inn and opened the door.
“Murphy!” he called, ignoring the astonished looks on the faces of his friends and the guests. “Could you lend me a hand out here, please?”
The orange tabby cat stood and stretched. “I could lend a paw,” he said. “But only if there’s a treat involved.”
“Good enough,” said Ven. He waited until the cat had crossed the threshold, then closed the door behind him.
“What do you need?” Murphy asked.
“You were a champion ratter, right?”
The cat nodded. “Caught ’em on three different ships for Captain Snodgrass. Why? Is there one out here?”
“No, but I need to get rid of him,” Ven said, pointing to the raven.
“Oh. Not a problem,” said the cat. He walked over to the cemetery gate, arched his back, and hissed, a world-class sound of threat that made the hairs at the back of Ven’s neck stand up.
The raven just looked at him.
Murphy blinked. Ven had never seen him look so surprised.
Like lightning, the cat launched himself, arms and claws extended, at the bird, letting loose a ferocious snarl that echoed through the night air.
With a flapping flutter, the raven rose off the stone and took to the air, spattering the ground near Ven and the cat with white droppings.
“Ugh!” Ven cried, dodging out of the way just in time to spare his hair.
“Normally I don’t do birds,” Murphy said, turning and heading back to the inn. “That treat better be especially nice.”
Once the cat was back inside the inn, Ven returned to the cemetery.
“You still there, Gregory?” he called into the mist.
“Yes,” Gregory’s voice replied. Ven looked closely, but all he could see was the slightest outline of a head, and two eyes in the fog. “Thank you.”
“You’re more than welcome,” Ven answered. “But if you don’t mind my asking, what are you still doing here? I thought once we buried the Rover’s box, you were going on to the light.”
“I did, mostly,” the ghost said. “But part of me still feels the need to be here, to look out for my mother.”
“Mrs. Snodgrass is fine,” Ven said awkwardly. “I didn’t tell her about you being a—well, still being here. I don’t think she’d understand. She’s much better now. The evil that you said was in the box—well, now that he’s gone, buried, the inn seems to be healthy again.”
The eyes in the fog blinked, and faded away. Gregory Snodgrass’s voice faded with it, leaving his words hanging on the night air.
I never said the evil in that box was a person. And while it may be contained, it’s not gone. It will never be gone.
“Wait!” Ven called. “What do you mean?” He waited for a reply, but heard nothing but the sound of the warm night wind.
WELL, LOOK WHO’S BACK!” MRS. SNODGRASS EXCLAIMED AS SHE came to the door. “You just missed supper.”
Ven sighed. “Of course I did.”
“That’s all right,” the innkeeper said, wiping her hands on the towel at her waist. “I have some hot, freshly baked bread and soup waiting for you.”
“So how was your visit to the king?” Char asked, hurrying out of the kitchen. “What happened? Where is he sending you?”
“Home, if I want to go,” said Ven miserably. “Or at least out of his employ.”
“He fired you?” Char asked. “You’re kiddin’. You didn’t even get a chance to mess up yet.”
“It was very strange.” Ven sat down at the table where Mrs. Snodgrass had put the soup and bread. “He fired me in front of the entire court, when just a little while before he asked me to look into this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the stone the king had given him. It was glowing softly as it had in the vault between the rooms of the first floor of the castle.
Char whistled. “What the heck is that?”
“I’m not sure,” Ven said, handing the stone to Char and reaching for his spoon. “The king thinks it may have something to do with the Gated City.”
Char backed away nervously, putting the stone down on the table. “Oh man,” he whispered. “Get that thing away from me, then.”
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Ven said, his mouth full of warm, tasty bread. “I’m thinking about going to visit there on Market Day, which happens to be tomorrow. The king’s given me enough money to pay for all of us to go in. You can leave everything you own here, so you won’t have to worry about losing it. Whaddaya think? You game to try it?”
“If you’re goin’ in, I’m goin’ in,” Char said. “Captain’s orders. But I sure wish you’d change your mind. All the sailors I ever worked with are afraid of that place. I think you can lose more than your stuff. It’s like they can steal your soul or somethin’.”
“Sailors are a superstitious bunch,” Ven said, tearing his bread into two pieces. “We should ask somebody less nervous about stuff like that—Mrs. Snodgrass?”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever been to the Gated City?”
The innkeeper stopped in her tracks. “I should think not,” she said haughtily. “I’m a respectable woman. Besides, I’ve no time for fancy-dancy shopping and folderol. I have an inn to run. And you have some hinges to fix—but it will have to wait until tomorrow.”
“I don’t mind doing it now,” Ven said, soaking up the last of his soup with the last of the bread.
“Maybe one of the inn’s guests has been inside the city,” Char suggested.
“Maybe,” said Ven. He popped the last piece of bread into his mouth.
“Oh, right,” said Murphy. “Don’t bother to ask the cat. The cat knows nothing.”
“I’m sorry,” said Ven. “Do you know anything about the Gated City, Murphy?”
The cat yawned and extended his front claws.
“Let’s see. Walled city, near the harbor, weekly festival.” He hunched his shoulders and stretched out lazily before the fire. “Lots of rats, I would say. Thankfully, I’m retired.”
Mrs. Snodgrass leaned over and scratched him behind the ears.
“You are such a lazy little beggar,” she said fondly. “’Tis a good thing I take pity and feed you. You’d starve. Famous ratter, indeed.”
The cat rolled over onto his back and looked up at her. “You love me, and you know it.”
“Hmmph.” Mrs. Snodgrass gave his belly a brisk rub, then went back to the kitchen. “Good night, boys. See you in the morning.”
“Good night,” Char and Ven called after her.
Ven stood up and gathered his dishes. He glanced around the inn. Everyone had gone to bed except McLean, and Ven wasn’t certain that McLean ever slept.
“Any thoughts about the market of thieves in the Gated City, McLean?” he asked the Singer, who was putting away his stringed instrument and picking up a tiny silver flute. “Have you heard any tales of it?”
The Singer paused, lost in thought for a moment.
“No tales to tell of,” he said finally. “I imagine it’s a spectacular place, full of bright colors and sweet smells and glorious music. That’s why you must be especially careful, Ven. Outside the Gated City, those things serve to delight the heart. Within its walls, their purpose is to distract the eye. And the mind. Remember that. Don’t be too free with your names, either. Keep your names closely guarded; your name is what makes you what you are, and I suspect there may be people within that place who could steal your name if they knew it. Finally, remember what I said about the things Singers can do. If there’s one in the market of thieves and you need help, at least you know the Singer will not lie to you.”