Never (Prequel to The Amber Isle)

by Ashley Capes

Never stared up into the branches of one of Ashina’s giant oaks, the lawn soft beneath his feet as he waited for transfer to the nearest prison. People detoured around both he and the colourfully-dressed boy – tied together, and ringed by steel. The bullies and their own guard were stationed nearby but had little to say.

  No surprise there.

  Red-breasted robins flitted amongst the branches, their chirping adding to the hushed sounds of awe from visitors gathered around the mighty trunk, its bark gnarled with age. A peace had washed over him, the way it always did when he stood beneath the tree; and it had been a long time – not since he and Zia spoke here last.

  “Thank you, sir, for what you did back there.”

  The boy looked up at him.

  Never offered a brief smile. “Well, I can’t say it’s worked out very well for either of us but at least you’ve got your puppet back.” Now that he was close enough, the ragdoll bore more the look of something crafted. It was a hand-puppet and its face was carven bone, a grinning imp, skin tinted blue.

  “It was my father’s,” he said, round face darkening. “I cannot afford to lose it; it is my livelihood.”

  “You’re a jester?” Jesters were rare – not something the Empress seemed to care for, but the old kings were said to have used them.

  The lad shook his head. “No. And nor will I be, it seems. My father was jester to King Yecapla but now that he has died and the Imperial Minister has taken over, there is no call for someone like me.”

  “Sorry to hear it, lad,” Never said. Yecapla’s dominion was one of several smaller kingdoms once covering Marlosa and the surrounding islands. After being unified, many kings held their titles but became no more than governors bowing to the line of the Empress – Ramakki differed in that when the line of its king died, an Imperial Minister took control.

  “My name is Temilo,” he said. “I thought maybe I could find work as a performer in an inn here but I hadn’t even entered the city when those two started.”

  New guards marched up to their group and Never found himself passed into their hands, and then the new men were dragging them up a street, Temilo stumbling after. Two and three storey buildings – mostly inns or shops, their white stone striped in yellow or red – blocked both the sun and palace, but Never caught glimpses of Pacela’s Spire as they crossed the cobblestones of an intersection.

  Wisely, the guard took them along quieter streets and eventually into one of the smaller jails. Cool within, the building was little more than a squat box with barred windows. There were perhaps a dozen cells in all, most occupied by drunks and youth with the ragged look of pickpockets.

  Two jailors sat at a desk spread with playing stones, the small piles roughly even. They stood when Never was pushed forward.

  “Hold them until morning,” one of the Imperial Guardsmen said.

  “Will do.” The first jailor herded Never and Temilo into one of the empty cells while the second continued to speak with the guard. Never rubbed his neck as the cell clanged shut – how unpleasant that such a sound was familiar.

  Never sat on one of the cots, leaning his head back against the stone.

  His stomach rumbled.

  Temilo, who’d been examining his puppet for damage, glanced over at him from his own cot. Never grinned. He rose and approached the bars. “I don’t suppose you feed us, do you?” he called to the men, who’d resumed their game.

  “No,” one snapped without turning his head.

  Laughter from the other cells.

  Never returned to his cot. Nothing to do except wait for morning. He lay across the bed and stared up at the ceiling; a piece of stone had been repaired in the distant past, the mortar set in the rough shape of a hammer.

  Temilo leant forward on his cot. “Sir, might I ask your name?”

  “It’s Never.”

  “Never? Forgive me for saying, but that’s a strange name.”

  “I agree.”

  “And are you a travelling warrior?”

  Never gave a soft chuckle. “I’m travelling, but I usually try to stay away from fighting.”

  “I’m not sure I understand, but I’m glad you were travelling today.”

  Never sat up again. “Tell me about your puppet. I don’t recognise the design. It doesn’t appear Ramakki.”

  Temilo smiled as he held up the hand puppet. “See the eyebrows, how thin they are? Father said that it is from the old line of Ramakki Kings but the peaked hair comes from the islands north. The blue skin is for the Ramakki God of Truth.”

  “And does he bear a name?”

  “Sorga. It means ‘truth-speaker’ in the Ramakki language.”

  “A risk-laden business, the truth.”

  “It is,” Temilo said softly. He placed the puppet within one of his pouches and took out a piece of string, which he wove into a pattern around his fingers. Temilo fell silent as he worked on the patterns and Never lay back again; no need to bother the lad.

  He dozed until evening, when he woke to a dark cell. Temilo was asleep and when he moved to the bars, new guards sat beneath the lamp. Never called softly. Tomorrow would soon be upon him and it wouldn’t hurt to learn a few things to prepare – one of which was decent accommodation – and now that the empire had generously donated a bed, four walls and a roof, he might be able to afford one of the nicer inns long enough to interrupt Julesa’s heist.

  One of the jailors groaned then hauled himself out of his seat.

  “What is it?” he asked when he came to a halt outside the cell. His eyes held a look of weariness, but he seemed more fit than some of the jailors Never had encountered.

  “What does a room at the Water Petal cost a man nowadays?” Never asked.

  “Think you could afford it?” The jailor said with a raised eyebrow.

  Never palmed a gold coin, then spun it across his knuckles. “Once I’m out of this delightful place I intend to find out. You might be able to save me some time.”

  A grunt. “That’ll only last you two nights.”

  “And that’s all I need, thank you,” Never said, repressing a sigh. Prices had jumped somewhat since he’d last stayed there.

  “You don’t look like the usual sort we get in here,” the guard said, his curiosity apparently stirred. “You don’t even stink of wine.”

  “Not much of a compliment but I’ll take it,” Never said with a grin.

  “So, what’s your story?”

  “I’m trying to set up my nephew with work and I thought the Petal might be looking for entertainment.”

  “The Ramakki boy?” the guard’s expression was sceptical.

  “He’s a jester. And he’s older than he seems.”

  “Then do right by him when we let you out of here,” the man said before turning back for his game.

  Never sought his bed once more and lay back, closing his eyes to the darkness. Getting a decent rest wouldn’t hurt... yet he couldn’t help shifting on the cot. Some uncertainty lay ahead. Would Vento still work at the Petal? It had been years now. The man would remember him – saving someone’s life made that rather a given – but that didn’t mean the innkeeper would necessarily be willing to share the information Never would need.

  After all, his livelihood depended on the thieves patronising his business; he couldn’t simply give up whatever information Never asked. Still, meetings might be arranged.

  But not until tomorrow – and a long tomorrow it would likely be.

  Chapter 4.