Time's Demon

by D. B. Jackson

  After some time, Lenna said, “You didn’t have to say all that.”

  “I think I did.”

  She faced him. “I keep asking myself why you would have brought Tache to where Droë and I were talking. It hadn’t occurred to me that he wouldn’t have given you any choice. I’m… I’m sorry I blamed you.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not… Listen to me: they’re going to punish you. I don’t know what they’ll do, but it will be bad. Probably embarrassing. They’ll want to make an example of you. But you’ll be all right. You’re a Walker. They can’t make you leave.”

  Her brow creased. “Well, of course not. Neither of us–”

  “I won’t be here tomorrow. I’m expendable. They have no reason to think I’m anything special. I’m a Spanner, and not a particularly good one. My father once thought I could be good at it, but my father… He doesn’t know anything.”

  “You’re speaking nonsense. They won’t make you leave. You’re smart, and you’re getting really good with your sword work.”

  Not long ago, his heart would have sung to hear her say such things.

  “We’re all smart. That’s one of the reasons we’re here. As for my sword work – well, no one paired with me in the lower courtyard has reason to panic.”

  She smiled, drawing a smile to his lips as well. “Still–”

  “I won’t go far,” he said, speaking over her. “I want you to know that. I won’t go home, and I won’t have enough coin to go anywhere else. I’ll try to find a job in town. I’d be honored if you’d still be my friend.”

  “Cresten, you’re not going anywhere. What you said before about our punishments, that was probably true. It’s what they’ll do to both of us. And of course I’m still your friend.”

  He knew better than to argue further, just as he knew better than to share her optimism. She had declared her friendship. That was enough.

  They lapsed into another silence, Lenna at the window, Cresten on a low, upholstered bench near the door. After perhaps a quarter bell, the door to the chancellor’s chamber opened again revealing Albon, gray-faced and somber.

  The last confirmation Cresten needed.

  “Miss Doen, would you join us again? Mister Padkar, we will speak with you when we’re done with her.” That was all. He turned away before either of them could answer.

  Lenna fixed a smile on her lovely face. “It will be all right,” she said. “For both of us. You’ll see.”

  She started away from him.

  “Lenna.”

  She stopped, waited.

  He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, and even if he had been, he wasn’t brave enough to speak his heart. “I- I hope you’re right. Good luck.”

  She left him there. Cresten sat once more.

  Not long after, the door opened and Lenna reemerged from the chamber, clearly shaken. All the blood had fled her cheeks and her breaths were deliberate, as if she sought to slow her heart.

  “Mister Padkar,” Albon called, “we’ll see you now.”

  He stood, but all his attention remained fixed on Lenna.

  “What happened?”

  She halted before him but wouldn’t look him in the eye. She seemed in a daze. “They intend to inform my parents of what happened. I’m under a strict curfew – no time in the courtyards after evening meal. I’m confined to the keep. And for two turns, I’ll be accompanied by a guard everywhere I go. They say that’s for my protection, to keep Droë from hurting me, but I know better. It’s like you said: they wish to make an example of me, to humiliate me.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re stronger than they are, and you’re a Walker. There may be no one in the palace with a future brighter than yours. Remember that.”

  She raised her gaze to his. “Yes. Thank you, I will. I’ll see you later.”

  No, you won’t. “The Two keep you safe,” he said.

  Lenna frowned at this.

  “Mister Padkar,” Albon called again.

  “I have to go. Remember what I said. I won’t go far. If you need me, have someone search the village.”

  The crease in her brow deepened. He didn’t wait for her response, but walked into the chancellor’s chambers, straightbacked, purposeful. If this was the last she would see of him, she would remember him as brave, resolute, confident.

  Albon closed the door as he passed. Cresten reclaimed his chair before Chancellor Samorij.

  “Mister Padkar,” the man began, “thank you for your patience.”

  “Of course.”

  “This is a most difficult situation, as I’m sure you understand. The loss of a novitiate is tragedy enough, but under circumstances such as these…” He gave a solemn shake of his head. “We have, all of us, struggled with our consciences and our judgment. These decisions are… excruciating.”

  “Really?” Cresten said, amazed by his own audacity, by what he had decided to say and do. “It all seems rather simple to me. Lenna is a Walker. You can’t expel her from the palace. She’s worth too much to you. She’ll bring a good deal of gold when she’s finally summoned to a court. In contrast, I’m of little importance.” He almost said, I’m lint. He thought of Wink, and allowed himself the most fleeting of smiles. “I’m a novitiate with little apparent potential, with Traveling talents that are mundane and poorly developed. Blaming me and removing me from the palace is the simplest solution. Isn’t that so?”

  “I resent your implication, Mister Padkar,” the chancellor said, his tone less forceful than his words. “This has nothing to do with gold, and everything–”

  “Please,” Cresten said, cutting him off. “I’m not the naif you think I am.”

  The chancellor bristled, but fell silent.

  Cresten twisted in his chair. “I’m right, aren’t I?” he asked of Albon and Master Denmys. “It’s your intention to send me away.”

  The Walking master refused to look him in the eye, but after the briefest hesitation, Albon nodded.

  Cresten should have been crushed, terrified. Instead, he took satisfaction in having anticipated this. He faced the chancellor again. “I’m willing to go, for Lenna’s sake. And I’ll keep silent, which I know you would prefer.”

  Samorij made no effort to mask his surprise. “You will? That is most… unexpected. You’re doing a great service to this palace and to all your fellow novitiates.”

  “Yes, I am. And I expect a few considerations in return.”

  “Considerations.”

  “That’s right. Some coin, a Bound sextant, and a weapon, preferably a flintlock. A blade would be acceptable.”

  “That is a presumption, Mister Padkar! This is not a negotiation! This is a matter of discipline, of atonement for causing a tragedy. If you believe that we are so desperate to keep you from speaking of this to others that we would buy your silence, you’re gravely mistaken.”

  It was bluster, and nothing more. Cresten was certain of it.

  “Very well,” he said. “Then on second thought, I would rather not leave, and if forced to, I’ll shout the reason why from the hilltops. Everyone will know that a Tirribin slipped past your guards and killed a novitiate, and everyone will know as well that two of us were deemed responsible, but only one of us was expelled. Shall we ask Master Albon whose actions he deems more reckless, Lenna’s or mine?”

  Samorij narrowed his eyes, but shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. We are prepared to offer you transportation back to your home village.”

  “I won’t go to Qesle, but whatever you would have paid a captain to take me there you can give to me instead. That leaves the matter of the sextant and the weapon.”

  “I will not–”

  “I believe we can spare a blade, Lord Chancellor,” Albon said. “We have plenty of old weapons. I wouldn’t feel right sending the lad out into the streets unarmed. There are cutthroats aplenty on this isle, even in Windhome, and we’ve had Belvora here in my memory. The boy has magick; he’d be in danger from that sort of dem
on.”

  Cresten regarded the chancellor and quirked an eyebrow. Samorij’s expression curdled. “Fine.”

  “Why do you want a sextant?” Denmys asked, his voice a rasp. Cresten turned. “Because I intend to train myself to be a Spanner.”

  “You’ll never be sent to a court,” the chancellor said. “No royal between the oceans would summon an exile from this palace, or, for that matter, a self-trained Traveler.”

  “Then you have nothing to fear from giving me what I want.”

  Denmys shook his head. “You can’t train yourself. Only the most arrogant of boys would think otherwise.”

  Cresten opened his hands in what he believed to be a fair imitation of Samorij. “Guilty as charged. I’ve memorized coordinates, learned all I can about sextants. I know I can train myself. But I need a Bound device.”

  “Sextants are quite dear,” the chancellor said. “All Bound objects are.”

  “So is my silence. What you’re doing here is unjust and cynical. But I care about Lenna and I don’t want to see her hurt or humiliated, so I’ll go quietly. You get everything you want. You can blame me for Tache’s death, and you can get all the gold you’ve expected for your lone Walker. Under the circumstances you should count yourselves lucky that I’m not demanding more.”

  The chancellor eyed him, anger in his expression, but also, Cresten thought, grudging respect. “You’ve come a long way from that first morning so many years ago. I can still see your face, bruised from the beating you’d suffered the night before.”

  “From Tache, actually.”

  “Can you get him a sextant without anyone being the wiser?” Samorij asked Denmys. “I hope never to expel another novitiate, but if I do, I don’t want to be subject to this sort of extortion again.”

  “I’ll have one here by midday, Lord Chancellor.”

  “And I’ll have a sword for him,” Albon said.

  “Very well. Captain, if you would accompany Mister Padkar to the Leeward Keep so that he might gather his other possessions–”

  Albon raised a hand, stopping him. “I’ll take him, Lord Chancellor. That way he can choose a weapon to his liking.”

  “Yes, fine. All of you are dismissed.”

  Samorij showed Cresten his back and crossed to his window. Cresten levered himself out of his chair and walked to the door.

  “Mister Padkar,” the chancellor said, stopping him on the threshold.

  Cresten turned.

  “Remember your end of this bargain. Only you, Miss Doen, and the masters present for our conversation know what happened in this chamber today. I can keep the others from speaking of our arrangement, but all I have from you is your word.”

  “That’s all you need, sir,” Cresten said, pride raising his chin. “Very well. Come back here when you’re ready to leave. I’ll have your coin for you.”

  Cresten left the chamber and allowed Albon to lead him out of the keep. They said nothing as they descended the stairway, but once they were in the middle courtyard, the weapons master eyed him sidelong.

  “That was the nerviest thing I’ve seen in some time.”

  Cresten tried to suppress a grin, failed.

  “You care about her that much?”

  “I do. I also care about me. There’s nothing for me in Qesle, and if I’m going to make a life for myself here, I need a weapon and a bit of coin.”

  “And the sextant?”

  “I meant what I said. I’m going to be a Spanner. I can’t train myself without a sextant.”

  The master nodded. “I remember you from that first day as well. The chancellor is right: you’re not the same lad Tache bloodied that night.”

  Cresten halted and proffered a hand to the master. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me. There were times when you were the only person here who I considered a friend. I won’t forget you.”

  Albon gripped his hand. “You’ll find your way, lad. You’ve things to learn yet, but you’ll be fine.”

  They walked on. After a few steps Albon shook his head and chuckled. “Nervy. That’s the word, all right.”

  CHAPTER 13

  13th Day of Sipar’s Waking, Year 618

  The rest of the novitiates were in lessons, so no one saw him pack his meager belongings. He scanned the dormitory, his eyes coming to rest on Vahn’s pallet. He pulled out a scrap of parchment and took a quill and ink from a shelf above another bed.

  Take care of her. –C

  He tucked the parchment under a corner of Vahn’s pillow and left the chamber.

  Albon awaited him at the base of the stairway.

  They went to the armory next. There the weapons master allowed him to choose from an array of swords.

  “Take one you like,” Albon said.

  “I thought you were going to give me something old, useless.”

  The weapons master winked. “As far as the chancellor will know, that’s exactly what I did.”

  Cresten smiled and considered the selection of weapons. After brief consideration, he reached for a short sword, its blade gleaming with sunlight from the open door.

  “A good choice. You’re lanky. You’ve plenty of reach on your own. This will be an easier weapon to master and control.” Albon retrieved a worn leather sheath from the corner of the room. “Take this as well.”

  “My thanks.”

  A bell tolled in the courtyard.

  “It’s time for me to be training your friends. Good luck to you, lad. I hope to see you again sometime.”

  Cresten faltered, tears blurring his vision. It was one thing to speak of leaving the palace. It was another entirely to say farewell to the weapons master. He blinked several times, unwilling to cry in front of Albon.

  The master squeezed his shoulder once more and left him there. Cresten started back toward the middle courtyard and the chancellor’s chamber. Along the way, he tucked the blade and sheath Albon had given him into his sack. He didn’t wish to get the weapons master in trouble.

  This time, the chancellor did not invite him to sit. He handed Cresten a small leather pouch that rang with coins.

  “Ten treys and ten quads,” he said. “I might have given you more, but with the other things you’re taking, I feel that we’ve been more than fair.”

  A golden sextant on the chancellor’s desk drew Cresten’s gaze. Sunlight from the window shimmered on its arc, casting ghostly reflections on an adjacent wall.

  “Ah, yes.” Samorij retrieved the sextant and handed it to him. “Albon gave you a weapon, I trust.”

  “Yes, Lord Chancellor.”

  “Good. Then I will wish you well, and bid you leave this place at once.”

  Cresten thinned a smile. “Yes, sir.” He slipped the sextant into his sack, and left the chamber. Once out of the keep, he crossed through the courtyards near where Albon drilled novitiates in sword work. Cresten followed a path along the far side of the open space, striding toward the lower gate, refusing to look at the others.

  “Cresten!”

  He nearly stumbled at the sound of her voice, but he kept his feet, and didn’t slow.

  “Cresten, wait!”

  He halted, heaved a sigh. Lenna stood in the middle of the courtyard. She gripped a sword in one hand, its tip nearly brushing the ground. A guard stood a few paces behind her, eyeing them both.

  “I told you what would happen,” he called to her. “I have to leave now. Remember all that I said.”

  “This isn’t fair! To you, I mean.”

  He shrugged. “No, it’s not.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Cresten wasn’t sure how to respond. He nodded once, turned from her, and walked to the gate. Lenna didn’t call to him again.

  The guards must have known to expect him. They made no attempt to stop him.

  As he followed the cobbled lane from the palace down toward Windhome, he grew wary. It was midday. Even in the most dangerous parts of the village, he had nothing to fear for several hours. Then again, he had no idea whe
re he would sleep this night, or where he would find food. For the first time in his life, two turns shy of his thirteenth birthday, he was utterly alone.

  Cresten paused on the lane to strap on his blade, believing he would be safer if thieves and cutthroats knew he was armed. Then he walked on, feeling both small and conspicuous. He decided his first task should be to secure lodging for the night. He had no desire to sleep in the streets.

  The first inn he found, the Red Mist, stood not too far from the palace. Cresten eyed the exterior and decided it might be a pleasant place in which to stay. Upon stepping inside he was greeted by scents of warm bread and musty wine. And utter silence. Men and a few women sat at tables. Two serving girls stood in the middle of the great room staring at him, platters held before them.

  “What do you want, lad?” asked a burly man by the bar, his tone guarded. He was dark-skinned and bronze-haired, and he spoke with the accent of the Labyrinth.

  “A- A room. Please.”

  “Where’s your ma and da?”

  Cresten shook his head. “It’s just me.”

  The man stepped out from behind the bar, and approached him. “This ain’t no place for children. Or beggars.”

  “I’m not… I have money.”

  “It’s a trey a night to stay here. The Mist is a place for gentlemen and ladies.”

  A trey a night!

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  The man nodded once, and indicated the door with a jerk of his chin. Cresten left. As he pulled the door closed behind him, he heard laughter.

  Continuing toward the wharves, he passed several inns that appeared from without to be as far beyond his means as the Mist had been. As the lanes grew dirtier and smellier, the establishments changed as well. Women stood outside several of them, dressed in gowns both tattered and alluring. He hurried past them. Eventually, he spotted an inn – the Brazen Hound – that struck him as run-down enough to be affordable, but reputable enough to be safe. Taking a steadying breath, he pushed through the door into the common room.