Prince Thief

by David Tallerman

  Panchez pressed on through a second doorway, into the central quadrangle that had once been the guard’s training ground. He led the way to a section of building in the northwest corner – or what was left of it, for the fire had struck hard there, leaving little but rubble and charred wood in its wake. I could see how the floor had collapsed, depositing much of the upper room in the cellar below.

  The last time I’d seen this place it had been from the other side and below, looking out through the gap in the hidden subterranean doorway. Holding my lantern high, I thought I could make out where that entrance must be, though it was impossible to say for sure with all the debris piled about it. There was certainly no sign of any princes, dead or otherwise – and I only realised then that I’d been half hoping to find Malekrin here, trapped and whimpering to be let free. No such luck; my mission wasn’t going to be so easy.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve seen anyone leave this way?” I asked Panchez.

  “We haven’t seen anyone at all before you turned up,” he said.

  My heart sank. Could I have been wrong? If Malekrin hadn’t escaped this way then he could only have left through the palace. He might even still be hiding there; if he wasn’t, he could be anywhere in Altapasaeda. Not only had I come here for nothing, the chances of me finding him in the city’s myriad nooks and crannies were beyond non-existent.

  “But,” said Panchez, “we lost a couple of things this morning. A travel cloak and some food. And now that I think, there was some trouble in the stables too. One of the horses kicking up a fuss.”

  “None of them missing though?”

  “I think we’d have noticed a missing horse,” he said.

  So Malekrin had come this way. He’d stolen a fresh cloak, probably as a disguise, taken food for a journey, and he’d tried to take a horse, without success. Luck was on my side there, for if he’d managed it I wouldn’t stand the faintest chance of catching him.

  I guessed that he’d have headed south then, as soon as he’d realised that the city he was so keen to avoid lay to the north. If I was right, he was unlikely to have come across anything more rideable that a goat, for the stretch of land between here and the southern tip of the Castoval was sparsely populated.

  “You think someone came through this way?” asked Panchez, breaking in on my thoughts. “Must be someone important, too, for you to be hunting around on a night like this.”

  I could think of no reason not to tell him. “Prince Malekrin of Shoan has decided to take a tour of the Castovalian countryside. His grandmother, being the fond, maternal sort, is concerned for his wellbeing and would like to see him back.”

  “Phew! Politics, eh? It’ll be the death of all of us,” said Panchez, as though it were a subject he’d given much consideration to.

  “Right now,” I said, “I’m expecting something sharp and pointed to be the death of me, when I have to go back without him.”

  “Why’s that?” he asked. “It shouldn’t be too hard.”

  “Oh no,” I said exasperatedly, “there’s no reason at all that finding one lone boy whose only goal is to stay undiscovered in a vast wilderness should be difficult.”

  “Well, that’s it,” replied Panchez, apparently unconcerned by my outburst. “If he’s sleeping rough, you probably don’t stand a chance. But if he wanted out of this rain and was willing to pay, there’s really only one place he could be.”

  A sarcastic observation regarding Panchez’s expertise in tracking lost princes was halfway to my lips before I realised that he had a point. Malekrin didn’t know this country even slightly and there’d been rain enough by now that his heavy clothes would be soaking. For all he knew, there might be bandits, wolves or three-headed monsters lurking in the wilds. Ignorant of the local geography, he’d have had to rely on asking directions of anyone he met, and they would all have told him the same thing: there was only one inn nearby that he could hope to reach on foot.

  “The tavern at Midendo,” I said.

  “It’s worth a try,” Panchez agreed.

  “If you’re right, I owe you a drink or seven,” I told him.

  “We’ve drink enough in the stores,” Panchez said. “If you want to do me a favour, ask the Hammer to let me in on the fight against those bastards camped outside our gates.”

  I rode south, as fast as the mare, the darkness, the poor state of the road and the need to carry my lantern in one hand would allow me – which wasn’t very fast at all. Still, I was confident that even the trot we managed would be enough to gain on Malekrin. He’d have been weary, confused, unsure of his direction. After our dramatic arrival in the subterranean harbour, the long flight through the tunnels under the mountain and then clambering through the wreckage beneath the barracks, he might even have had to waste a few hours in resting.

  Which reminded me: when had I last slept? Certainly it hadn’t been today, and before that my memories became blurry. Even the events of the morning seemed a great distance away. When, for that matter, had I eaten? I resolved that whatever else I did when I arrived in Midendo, I’d spend a little time addressing my own neglected bodily needs. For what good would it do me, Kalyxis or anyone if I should keel over from exhaustion?

  Now that I was conscious of my tiredness, however, the distant prospect of rest was of little comfort. As the hours wore by, I found myself nodding more and more in the saddle – and on a couple of occasions, even waking with a frightened jolt to find the horse still trotting beneath me. I grew anxious that I’d miss the turning I sought, though there were few enough junctions on the road. But even fretfulness wasn’t enough to keep me fully awake. I could hear the river murmuring a lullaby somewhere to my left, and the blustering rain made the trees sigh and the grass whisper beside me. In desperation, I began to sing to myself, and when the sound became too strange amidst the night-time quiet, to talk to my horse, narrating choice highlights of my recent adventures.

  I was just detailing how I’d almost single-handedly defeated the deadliest assassins of two lands when I realised there was a track winding off from the main road ahead, and a finger post offering directions in black letters seared into the wood. Sure enough, under the lantern light I could read the ill-scrawled word Midendo.

  As I took the turnoff, I wondered what portion of the night I’d ridden through. The moon was lagging in the eastern portion of the sky, as if it too had worn itself out. Though the darkness was thicker than ever beyond the circle of my lamplight, I guessed that dawn might not be too far off.

  It wasn’t long before I crested a ridge and saw Midendo before me, nestled cosily in the cleavage of two hills. Midendo was a nothing of a place; folks thereabout considered it a town, but it was hardly large enough to warrant the description, and far enough off the main road that no one was ever likely to stumble upon it by accident. I supposed it was left over from before the Sabre was built in Altapasaeda, when the only bridge had been the one that crossed the Casto Mara to the south and the highway had seen regular traffic. Now, from what I knew, Midendo served primarily as a hub for the nearby villages, with its small market and of course its tavern, the Nine Lights.

  That was an ironic enough name from my point of view, for the tavern – and indeed the entire village – was sunk in darkness as I drew close. Deciding that I’d sooner not draw attention, I tied the mare off in a thicket beside the dirt road, extinguished my lantern and continued on foot.

  I made it to the Nine Lights without difficulty, seeing no one and confident no one had seen me. I doubted there was anyone around in Midendo at such an hour, and I was certain it had no guard, for what was there here that anyone could possibly want to steal?

  Then again, what I was about to do might well be deemed criminal – for the Nine Lights was locked up for the night, and I was hardly about to start hammering to be let in if there was a chance that Malekrin was asleep inside. A quick inspection revealed a small door at the back in addition to the main entrance; of the two, that seemed best suited to my need
s. I’d hoped it might be unlocked in a place as quiet as Midendo, but a gentle push proved otherwise. Still, it might as well have been for the easy work I made of it with my picks. I had the lock sprung in seconds, and opened the door with a soft shove, slipping in through the gap.

  There was a kitchen beyond, as I’d guessed there might be – and I was in luck. I’d had images of having to break into every room in the place, until I found either Malekrin or someone who could help me; but asleep before the fire, in a great rocking chair that creaked in time with her snores, was a plump, grey-haired woman I took for the tavern’s proprietor.

  There was no time for niceties. I tapped her roughly on the shoulder. Her eyes opened a slit – and then very wide. “Aagh! Thief! Va–”

  I clapped my hand over her mouth and held it there, despite her wriggling and considerable strength. “Calm down,” I hissed, “and listen. I’m not here to hurt you. If I was, wouldn’t I have done it by now? I’m here on behalf of the Altapasaedan City Guard and there’s good coin in it for you if you’ll help me... but I need you to be quiet, all right?”

  After a moment’s thought, she nodded as well as she could; when I removed my hand, however, she gave me the filthiest of scowls. “What kind of guardsman breaks into a woman’s tavern?” she asked, still louder than I’d have liked.

  “Please, keep your voice down. I never said I was a guardsman; I’m just here on their behalf. I’m looking for someone who might be staying here. It’s important, and I can’t have them knowing I’m here.”

  “I’ve only the one guest,” she said, “and he’s a strange one. I can’t think what you’d want with him.”

  My heart throbbed in my chest, as if my ribs had become a closing fist. I hardly dared ask, though I knew I had to. “Strange how, exactly?”

  “In every way you can think of. He’s almost too young to be wandering around on his own, and he hardly seems to know where he is. He’s dressed up in skins and furs like a trapper, and he’s dark enough to have been living outside all his life, but he talks like he’s somebody and he’s got good coin, though even that’s not proper–”

  “All right, all right,” I said, breaking in upon her flow before her volume could escalate any further. “That’s who I’m looking for.” My mind was whirling, as I tried to figure out my next step through a haze of tiredness. I was close, but there was still ample scope for everything to go wrong if I wasn’t careful. “Does his room have a lock?” I asked.

  “Of course. This is a quality establishment. All my rooms have locks,” she said. “To discourage disreputable types,” she added pointedly.

  Quality establishment or no, I didn’t need her to tell me that those locks wouldn’t be anything I could pick; more likely, the rooms would be secured with something as crude as a bolt or bar. Maybe I could kick Malekrin’s door in if I paid her enough in advance, but just then I wasn’t sure I’d have the strength – and if it took me more than a couple of attempts, he’d be out the window and gone.

  No, there’d be no kicking in of doors. I had a better idea. “He’s your only guest, you say? The only one staying upstairs?”

  She nodded.

  “Well then, here’s what we’re going to do...”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I was jolted awake by a vast noise of crashing and rattling – and even though I’d been expecting it, I couldn’t but stare around in confusion for a moment.

  The taproom of the Nine Lights was still lit by the glow from the fireplace at my back, but now there was also a little pale daylight seeping through the narrow windows. At the far end of the room, at the foot of the staircase, Malekrin lay sprawled.

  I rose from the chair where I’d passed the last hours of the night, paced over and offered him my hand. “Prince Malekrin,” I said. “What a surprise to find you here.”

  Ignoring my outstretched palm, Malekrin hopped to his feet and backed away from me, looking somewhat like a startled rabbit. “Surprise?” he spat; his eyes were on the remains of the tripwire I’d set above the third step and the bundle of pans and cups I’d hung from the other end, which were now spread over the tiled floor.

  “All right, you’ve got me,” I admitted. “The truth is I may have been hoping to run into you. And I’d have hated for you to leave without seeing me, after I’d come all this way.”

  Malekrin took another backwards step towards the door, placing a table between him and me. He looked tired and dishevelled; I suspected he’d slept in his clothes, and that they’d still been damp when he’d got into bed. There was less of the cocky bravado I’d come to expect from him in his expression, more a nervousness that he was trying hard to hide. “You’ve come to take me back,” he said. “Well, I’m not going. You can’t make me.”

  “You’re right,” I said, “I’ve come to take you back. Not through choice, mind you. Still... I’m not going to try and force you.”

  “You couldn’t,” he said.

  “You’re probably right,” I agreed – and even as I said it, I fantasised briefly about the other, simpler plan I’d toyed with, the one that involved my cosh and the back of Malekrin’s head. “So there’s no hurry for you to leave, is there? Frankly, you look like a bucket of boiled shit, Mal. Why don’t you join me for breakfast? If you want to keep running, you’d do better on a full stomach.”

  He eyed me suspiciously. “I told you,” he said, “I’m damned if I’m going back.”

  “Yes, you told me,” I agreed, pulling up a chair at the nearest table. “Ho, Marga,” I bellowed, “what are the chances of getting a little service in here?”

  Marga, the innkeeper whose acquaintance I’d made during the night, bustled into the room. It was a safe bet that she’d been woken by my little booby-trap, just as I had, and that she’d been listening at the door ever since. “I can make porridge,” she told me grudgingly.

  With the money I’d given her last night to light the taproom fire and let me misuse her culinary implements, it wouldn’t have been unreasonable to expect a fresh lobster flown in from the coast by a squadron of trained eagles. Still, I had no desire for an argument on two fronts. “Porridge will suffice, so long as it’s hot,” I agreed, “and so long as you warm two cups of good red wine to serve along with it.”

  “This isn’t Altapasaeda,” she said, “I can’t promise you better than mediocre wine,” and she disappeared back into the kitchen.

  Malekrin stayed on his feet until the smell of cooking porridge began to waft in through the doorway; then, grudgingly, he sat, at the farthest corner to me. “I’ll eat with you,” he said. “And then I’ll leave.”

  “Fine, you do that. At least I can tell your grandmother I got a meal inside you. Maybe she’ll give me a blindfold when they chop my head off.”

  He let that one go, and I didn’t press the point. The scanty hours I’d spent asleep before the fire had done nothing but emphasise how exhausted I was, and my stomach was growling as fiercely as any angry mother bear. I couldn’t deny that this plan had as much to do with serving my own bodily needs as it did keeping Malekrin in place.

  So we sat in stubborn silence, neither of us looking at the other, as the odours drifting from the kitchen became almost too much to stand. Just as I was beginning to wonder deliriously if starting breakfast with my own fingers might not be the worst idea I’d ever had, Marga flurried in with a broad platter in her arms and crashed it down upon the table. There were two deep bowls and two brimming cups, each now sitting in its own ruby puddle.

  The final result was a considerable improvement on what I’d been expecting. There was dried apple and raisins in the porridge, and a swirl of honey and milk floating upon its surface. Just then, I thought it was the most enticing thing I’d ever laid eyes on. A glance at Malekrin told me that he was just as captivated, however hard he was trying not to show it; the drool working unnoticed down his jaw was a sure giveaway.

  First things first, though: I caught up my cup and tipped half its contents down my throat,
almost groaning with pleasure as its rousing warmth worked into my veins. Marga had been too hard on the local vintners, the wine was at least decent, and in my present state of mind I was willing to believe it might even be quite good. Slamming my cup down, I nodded to Malekrin, and with some reluctance he picked up his own – reluctance, at least, until the first drops ran into his gullet. When he finally managed to tear the cup from his lips, there was barely a finger’s breadth of fluid left swirling in its base. He gave a trembling sigh. For a moment, I thought he might even smile.

  “Better?” I asked.

  Malekrin frowned. “Your southern wine tastes like horse piss.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I said, “I’ve never drunk horse piss. I hear you wean babies on it up in Shoan?”

  Malekrin leaped to his feet, his face flushing.

  “Sit down,” I said, “and don’t insult your hostess. Manners are manners wherever you go; the wine’s fine and you know it.” I dipped a spoon into my bowl, shovelled a mound of grey sludge into my mouth and chewed. “So’s the porridge,” I added. “You should try it.”

  Reluctantly, Malekrin sat down again. He stared hungrily at his bowl, but although his fingers twitched near his spoon, he didn’t pick it up. “How do I know this isn’t a trap?” he said.

  “A trap?” I asked. “Does it really look like a trap?”

  Malekrin pointedly turned his eyes to the tangle of kitchenware near the base of the stairs.

  “I’ve already explained that,” I reminded him. Then, when he still made no move to claim his spoon, I shoved my bowl across to him and dragged his untouched one to me. “There. If it’s a trap, we’re both in it now.”

  Perhaps that was enough to satisfy him; from the longing in his eyes and the way his jaw had been slowly working at nothing, however, I thought it was more likely that ravenousness had simply won out. He clutched the spoon as if it was a timber thrown a drowning man, and ten quick mouthfuls had vanished before he even paused to breath.