‘But… there are no teachings in The Curriculum about this…thread…’
‘Of course there aren’t. They don’t call it the Black Science for nothing girl. Niclas, another round if you’d please.’
Niclas took the saucer to the bar.
‘How can the Academy be so ill-informed? The greatest minds of the rational world and not one has ever written a thing on–’
‘Ill-informed?’ said Balthazar.
‘Well, they can’t possibly know. If this living energy is real, which it must be because I have seen it with my own eyes, then it changes all our understanding of the world. Everything.’
‘Hiccup Yep.’
‘Yep?’
‘Look my dear, sweet, naive, heavily sheltered girl, I’m going to pull the veil from your eyes. You won’t like it.’
‘What?’
‘It will be a hard fact for you to understand that the Academy is not the founder of all knowledge,’ said Balthazar. ‘That it is an organisation, like all before it and all after it, designed primarily to control. It does so by choosing to teach what it believes should be taught. No one dares question its logic because no one dares question the law. Anyone who goes widdershins is dubbed a criminal, convicted of logicide and dealt with as swiftly as an itch.’
‘Widdershins?’
‘It means to go against the grain.’
‘What you’re saying is a travesty: that all our knowledge is taught by liars? That’s the most absurd thing I think I’ve ever heard.’
‘Believe what you’ve been indoctrinated to believe, I’m not trying to convince you otherwise. I’m just telling you how it is. How it really is… Ah, Niclas, excellent.’ Balthazar sunk his head to the freshly filled saucer.
Niclas took a seat.
‘’Sup wiv ’er?’ he asked. The Princess’ face was pale and fixed elsewhere.
‘She’s having a reverie, best not disturb her. Say, boy, you should have a drink too. We should get drunk together. It’s no good drinking on my own. Get yourself an ale or something.’
‘I’m alright, sir. I don’t really touch the stuff.’
‘No? Odd that a slum boy refuses a drink? What’s the matter with you?’
‘I just seen wot it does to people that’s all. No one that ever came lookin’ for gin from Mr K was ’appy ’bout it.’
‘Ah, yes. Probably because they were out of gin! It’s not the drink that makes you sad. It’s the lack of it. Now get yourself a half ale. I insist. Put it on the tab.’
Niclas wavered, but his now milky-nosed master was insistent, so he went and got his ale.
‘I can’t believe it…’ said Cassandra. ‘I just can’t…’
‘Ah, but you’ve seen it. And seeing is believing. You’ve seen more than just a talking cat. You’ve seen it up close. The other side of the coin. The upside down, inside out, the in-between. The widdershins way.’
Niclas returned.
‘Sir, you are talkin’ a bit loud… Probs best to keep it down.’
‘Shush.’
‘Yessir.’
‘Why hasn’t anyone done anything about it? Exposed them for the liars they are?’ said Cassandra.
‘Oh… there’s plenty of those. People are always trying to out the truth. No longer with us, I’m afraid,’ said Balthazar.
‘Well, we have to do something about it.’
‘Do summin ’bout wot?’ said Niclas, feeling he’d missed a key bit of the conversation.
‘No, Princess, there’ll be no doing anything of the sort.’
‘But people should know.’
‘Why?’
‘Because… because it’s the truth.’
‘Ah… truth…’
‘Yes. Truth!’
‘There is no truth in this world, girl, only the truth we choose. And it is better to choose a truth that you can live with, rather than one you can’t.’
‘You’re intoxicated.’
‘Truth is intoxicated.’
‘I will not sit here and watch the two of you get drunk.’
‘Get a drink then.’
‘No. We are going to the Palace. The three of us. Right now. I’m going to show you to my mother, you’re going to explain everything, and then we shall tackle the Academy together.’
Balthazar laughed.
‘Tackle them will we? The Academy is more than a thing like you and I. It is a thought. A truth if you will. It is above the City Watch, beyond Parliament, the Monarchy and the High Court. Every fibre of this city’s fabric is at its most basic level founded on the principles of the Academy. I’m afraid, Princess, there is no stopping the wind from blowing, nor the waves from rolling.’
‘No. You listen here, I’m going to change things in this city. I will be Queen one day, in a position of immense power. If anyone can change things it’s me.’
Balthazar, feeling content with his state of merriment, ruminated on this for a second and had a thought that had not yet presented itself to him before. He entertained it a while.
‘Ok,’ he said at last, ‘then we have to leave Laburnum.’
‘Leave? No, I can’t…’
‘You must. We must all leave the city right now. It’s not safe for you here.’
‘I cannot run away, I have a duty.’
‘Maybe you do, but trust me, the people who go on about having a duty in this world tend to also be the people who die.’
‘I am the Princess.’
‘So? They locked you up, didn’t they?’
‘But…’
‘…Sir, I’m feelin’ a bit funny, sir,’ Niclas added.
‘Keep drinking, boy. We shall go to the docks. Take a ship north. Hide out for a year, until I am able to perform my ritual, then, perhaps, perhaps then, I will help you.’
‘A year! A whole year!’
‘I know. Painful isn’t it.’
‘I’ve never bin outside the city…’ said Niclas.
‘I can’t leave. I have to go home. My mother needs me.’
‘She can’t protect you from them, you know?’
‘But…’
‘If you want my help, Princess, you have to do as I say. Else, the boy and I shall leave you here. And you can go home to your palace, until they come for you with the black, crimson cloth waggons and drag you away to… where was it… the Hall of Atonement? Not a pretty holiday for a pretty girl like yourself. Imagine the worst of all possible worlds. It’s worse than that.’
Niclas was staring into the bottom of his glass. There was a frothy bit of ale left but it was moving around and he couldn’t lock it down. He couldn’t help but think that maybe he’d drank it a bit too quickly.
‘I fink I’m drunk…’ he said.
‘Nonsense. You’ve only had a half,’ said the cat.
‘Why would they send me there?’ said the Princess.
‘Isn’t that obvious? Someone wants to get rid of you.’
‘Who?’
‘Well don’t ask me, I don’t know.’
Cassandra pondered on her list of enemies. She couldn’t think of anyone who would want to do her harm. She was always such a nice person to everyone, who would possibly want to… Unless, she thought, unless it had something to do with Rufus. Maybe there was a connection there, something she couldn’t quite make sense of yet.
‘So? Are you coming with us or staying here?’ asked the cat.
‘You promise to help me if I come with you?’
‘Yes, Princess, I promise to help you if you come with us.’
‘What’s with the change of heart?’
‘Heart?’ said Balthazar. ‘Heart’s got nothing to do with it.’
And so it was decided that they would set off for the docks in hope of finding a ship to take them north. But as they stumbled to the door, the barman called out after them.
‘Hey, who’s fittin’ the bill?’
Niclas patted down his empty pockets, then looked at Balthazar.
Cassandra shrugged and looke
d as well.
And the barman too.
‘Well don’t look at me,’ said Balthazar, ‘I’m just a cat.’
And with that, they walked out the door, leaving behind a tavern of mystified, open-mouthed faces.
They took the Queen’s Road. An artery of Laburnum, it was the widest of roads and ventured deep into the ventricles of the city. At that time of the morning it was crowded with coaches and carts, paperboys and plebeians, people who looked like they were on official business and a handful of people who had gotten lost and were trying to make their way home after a considerably heavy night on the barrel.
The Queen’s Road was always busy, but it was busier than usual. The Watchmen were out in force. They were patrolling up and down in troops of eight, marching in unison, boots thudding as one, rifles held upright against their shoulders. Niclas saw that each of their patrols had a red cloaked inquisitor walking at the helm. But these were not like the inquisitors Niclas had seen before. These were men who wore amongst their crimson robes golden plated armour and carried golden scrolls that were held out in front of them, as if to ward back anyone who stood in their way. Cassandra knew of them, but she had never seen them, not until now. They were the justiciars. The militant men. The soldiers of Logic.
‘They lookin’ for us?’ asked Niclas.
‘Probably,’ said Balthazar. ‘Keep your heads low.’
Niclas had filched a pair of cloaks from a market on the way there, and he and the Princess had their hoods up. It wasn’t the best way to hide, it just made them look suspicious. And by the looks of it, the guards were stopping suspicious people on every corner, asking questions and searching bags.
‘We’re going to be caught,’ said Cassandra.
‘Shhh! If you think it, you make it so,’ said Balthazar.
A little further up the road lay the entrance to the Guard’s Square. It was rammed with people from all classes, beggars to clerks, all vying to get a good spot.
‘What do you suspect is going on?’
‘I don’t know. Some sort of get together by the looks of it. Whatever it is, it is of no concern to us. Now, if my bearings are right the quickest way to the docks is through the square, it’s going to be a tight squeeze so let’s try not lose each other.’
‘Shouldn’t we… maybe… go another way… like a back way?’ said Niclas, ‘I mean, they’re all out lookin’ for us ain’t they?’
‘This way is fine,’ said Balthazar. ‘It’s best to be right under their noses. They don’t have whiskers to tell them what’s right in front of them, and with all this commotion, it’ll make spotting us that much harder.’
They squeezed between shoulders, waists and shins, manoeuvring like worms through wet soil.
People were standing on each other’s toes trying to see over heads. There was whispering and gossiping coming from every mouth, but it was impossible to hear, it all mushed and mashed into a noisy pulp.
Niclas wasn’t concerned with this, he was trying his best to keep an eye on Balthazar as the cat weaved ahead. But Cassandra, the curious one, was trying to listen out for, or see something that would explain it. She’d never seen the Guard’s Square so crowded. Something was going on. Maybe a speech? Could it be something to do with her?
Then she saw it.
It rose from the crowd like a black obelisk as she drew closer; the top of the wooden frame a silhouette against the grey, clouded sky.
A little hoop of frayed rope hung in the air from the oak beam.
The Princess raised her head up and bobbed it left and right. Then, fleetingly, through a gap between two tall gentlemen, she saw something she definitely didn’t want to see. Something she knew she would see. Something that scared her more than anything she had seen in the Narrows.
The prisoner was standing with a black bag over his head, his hands tied behind his back, his feet shackled together in rusty chains.
Then the two men came together to whisper and the viewpoint sealed.
Niclas turned around just in time to see only a glimpse of the Princess’ cloak plunging into the throng.
He looked back.
‘Sir! Sir!’
The cat was gone. Empty faces stared back at him.
‘Sir!’
‘What?’ said Balthazar, appearing by his ankles.
‘She’s…’
‘Blast! What is she doing?’
‘I dunno, sir, she just went off innit.’
‘Well, that’s the end of it. Nothing we can do now.’
‘Wot?’
‘What?’
‘But?’
‘But?’
‘We can’t leave her, sir?’
‘On the contrary, she left us.’
‘But…’
‘Moons!’ cursed Balthazar. ‘See that black lamppost? Wait under it. Wait under it! No running off, no distractions. Just do as you’re told.’
And with that said, Balthazar leapt into the forest of trousers and dresses after the Princess.
Niclas looked across at the lamppost. There was more than one. They lined the square like black coffin nails.
‘Err… lampost?’ he mumbled.
Cassandra pushed her way through the crowd.
Balthazar wasn’t far behind, and was able to weave through the legs and dresses far more easily than the Princess could through shoulders and waists; though, it was certainly more dangerous. One wrongly placed foot could crush him. It was a malodorous place to be too. He hated the fact that feet, especially those of the common folk who were ill acquainted with baths, smelt like cheese. In particular, vintage cheddar. It reminded him of the rats and their obsession with the stuff. Perhaps that’s why they were notorious for biting toes, he thought, a simple mistake any purblind individual might make.
But this wasn’t the place for that sort of thinking. He had to focus. He was nearly at the front and he could see, what could only be Cassandra, apologising to people as she squeezed past them.
A rosy cheeked orator had taken to the gallows like a stage. He was gesticulating and shouting out something about treason, traitors, corruption and justice. The sort of stuff orators are exceptionally good with. And the sort of stuff that woos an audience, making them forget all about decorum, and turning them into a wake of vultures, crying for blood.
The words and cries washed over the Princess. Her eyes were fixed on the prisoner with the black bag over his head.
She was near the front now. City Watchmen were standing in a line with muskets raised to the sky, pushing the crowd back.
‘Pssst, Princess,’ said Balthazar.
Cassandra looked down.
‘It’s Rufus,’ she said.
‘This is a terrible idea, you must come away at once.’
The Princess wasn’t listening. She moved forward.
‘No, not that way.’ Balthazar pounced in front of her.
‘Out of my way. I have to do something. I can stop it.’
‘No!’
‘Out of my way!’
The crowd nearest looked round at the girl in the hood. They’d got there early and had the best standing seats in the square. There was no way a haughty toned girl was going to get them to move.
Balthazar could smell her will. It was strong. Beyond reasoning with. He sprung his claws on his right paw and dug them deep into her ankle. She yelped and pulled her foot away, crossing her eyes with the cat’s.
They washed black.
Come away… you must come away… there is nothing you can do here… come with me… with me… come… follow…
The Princess dithered, shook her head and closed her eyes. She tried to fight it, but she couldn’t escape his voice, and when she looked again, his black orbs poured into her. They grabbed hold of her thread, winding it and twisting it around like cotton in a spindle, pulling her towards them, winding her in, drawing her away.
Turn around… come back… this is not the way… this is the way.
She walked in a dream-like state
, forgetting where she was, who she was, why she needed to do something, or what that was.
The orator had said something grand, a punchline that made the crowd roar.
There was a wooden clunk.
The groaning stretch of rope.
Gasps.
Cheers.
A faint choking sound.
Cassandra nearly regained herself and turned back to look, but Balthazar kept her gaze and lured her away.
Behind, over her shoulder, Rufus’ legs were kicking and convulsing at the knees. His body wriggled like a headless snake.
Then, over to one side, a group of peasants battered like a ram through the line of guards and made it to his flapping legs.
‘The Queen’s Justice!’ they were yelling.
They took hold of each leg and pulled with violent downward jerks. Pulled hard to make his suffering short. By the time the guards had recovered the line and fought the crowd back, it was too late.
Rufus’ spluttering and struggling had been silenced.
He hung there, spinning under the creak of the wooden beam.
He was dead.
Cassandra blindly followed Balthazar through the clamour as it closed after her.
Just a bit further, a little more.
But then something happened the cat hadn’t planned for.
A hand shot from the crowd, grabbed the Princess’ shoulder, moved to her head and pulled down her hood.
The trance shattered.
‘Cassandra! It is you,’ said Mr Eccleston, darting cautious looks left and right. He put her hood back up. ‘It isn’t safe here. You must come with me.’
The Princess looked around confused. She had moments ago been about to do something important. She couldn’t remember what. There was the crowd, the shouting. What was her tutor doing there? And… Rufus.
She turned to look back and shrieked, hand over mouth lest all the city hear her scream.
It was over.
The crowd’s reaction confirmed it. People were starting on the difficult task of leaving the Guard’s Square, complaining about “leg pullers” and “too short a death”.
Widdershins Page 32