He wandered over to stand by Neenahwi. She had been silent for hours, other than the regular rustling of paper. She looked up and smiled at her brother as she rubbed her eyes. She was tired from her studies; he was simply tired of losing to the Caretaker.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Good, I think. I reached the stage a while ago where I’m not really reading anymore, just mindlessly transcribing. But I’m basically done. I’ll have to spend some time with all of that,” she said, indicating an imposing pile of written words.
“Did you hear the Caretaker say that his last visitor taught him Tiles?”
Her eyes widened. “Shit. That means someone from Pyrfew. I feared they might be the ones who had found this place.”
“What does it all mean?”
“I don’t know,” she said, frustration in her voice. “I need some time to make some educated guesses. I think we need to go back.”
“Back down to the garrison? Sure, he wins every game anyway.”
“No, I think we need to go back to Kingshold. I have a suspicion that Pyrfew is not interested in Redpool anymore. It’s a diversion. I think they got what they needed a long time ago.” She swept up the papers in to a large leather satchel. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Motega followed them down the stairs, past the rooms with the student’s names etched on the outside (which the Caretaker had not let them inspect, claiming they were private), and down to the ground floor where the old man was pouring hot water into three cups.
“Oh, you’re leaving?” The Caretaker sounded disappointed.
“I’m afraid so. Thank you for your hospitality, sir,” said Neenahwi.
“You’re welcome. Please, do come again. Even if only for another hand.”
“We need to go back to Kingshold,” said Neenahwi earnestly. He and his sister had gone straight to see Uthridge, finding Crews working studiously on a diagram of one of the turtle ships and dragging him along for the meeting too. The Lord Marshall was in the war room, a long open hall with tables adorned with models of the city and the surrounding countryside, as well as another of the whole of the Sapphire Sea. Uncle Uthridge did love his models.
“We still have work to do here. We’ll leave when we are done,” said the Lord Marshall, his bald head facing them as he leaned over to adjust the wooden blocks that indicated where he wanted the trenches to be dug outside the city walls.
“It’s a sham. A diversion. Pyrfew doesn’t want Redpool,” shouted Neenahwi as she leaned over the table. Uthridge looked up with some concern that his model was going to be tossed to the floor. Motega knew that their ‘uncle’ had been on the receiving end of Neenahwi’s rages more than once in the past. “They already have what they want, from the last time when they took the city. I’m certain of it.”
“Certain?” Uthridge raised his eyebrows, or at least where his eyebrows should be.
Neenahwi brought him up to speed. Uthridge listened intently, habitually his hand went to where his mustache should have been and floundered.
“You can stop smirking, lad,” said Uthridge to Motega, who was not aware that his amusement had shown. “You don’t have much room to talk about losing hair, now do you?” He knew his uncle spoke in jest but the words still stung. Uthridge returned his attention back to Neenahwi and continued, “That is a very interesting hypothesis, Neenahwi. But I don’t think you are by any means certain.”
“I know I’m right, Uncle. It’s not just that though. Think about what we’ve learnt about the Pyrfew fleet. We need to get that information back to Kingshold and properly prepare. Don’t you agree, Admiral?” She looked imploringly at the man. Motega couldn’t help think she normally just referred to him as Crews.
Crews paused before speaking. “She does have a point. Those fire ships are a new threat we have not seen before. Our current approach is not going to work, not unless we’re willing to suffer massive losses. We’ll lose the Sapphire Sea.”
Neenahwi smiled, out of happiness at Crews’ agreement or mere relief, Motega couldn’t say.
“That may be true. But it doesn’t avoid the fact that we haven’t completed our objectives. We have been tasked with finding a new governor and ensuring the city is defended.”
“Come on!” exclaimed his sister, the words almost strangled in her throat in frustration. She actually stomped her foot and turned her back on the Lord Marshall.
“But,” added Uthridge, “Folstencroft can do much of the interviews without me. I must see to appointing a successor to Major Chatterwick, increasing our patrols, and giving orders to improve our fortifications, but that should not take too long. Neenahwi, I trust you, and it seems things are moving faster than we thought. We’ll leave Redpool in three days’ time. When we get back home, we can discuss our options with the Lord Protector.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” said Neenahwi, leaning over to kiss his shiny head, tipping the table toward her and sending the models sliding. She turned to leave, as Uthridge tutted and reached to reposition his carefully-positioned tiny defenses, grabbing Motega by the elbow as she swept by. “Come on, let’s go and make sure that Florian will be ready. Then I fancy another one of the Caretaker’s cups of tea.”
Motega saw Crews and Uthridge give him a look a look that was one part concern and another part relief as he was pulled along behind the hurricane that was his sister. He merely shrugged. After all, what was he going to do? It was always best to be in the eye of the storm.
Chapter 8
Family Life (Two)
“Move out of the way, boy” croaked a man, doddering up behind Toad, his footsteps stuttering against the wooden platform. Toad shuffled his seated butt to the edge of the walkway to allow the poor wretch through, his feet dangling in the air as he gripped the splintered wooden boards for purchase. The sun was rising behind him and his new home of Arloth’s Ladder, the collection of enormous towers of hovels that housed the poor of Ioth, and it bathed the city in a golden light. Twinkles of reflected sun lit up the canals snaking through this new home of his, and the golden finger of Arloth gleamed atop the Sanctum.
Dawn. Ioth would soon awaken from her sleep, thousands of people working to eke out their share in life; whether rich merchant or commoner, priest or sailor, the new day smudged the slate clean and it was time to start over again. And he had come to realize that the early Toad catches the fly. It wasn’t enough for him to sit and gaze at the splendors that Arloth had provided, not when he and his sister would go hungry again if he couldn’t provide.
Toad climbed to his feet on the rickety wooden platform that surrounded every floor of Arloth’s Ladder, acting as both passageway and common outdoor space, and opened a nearby door. He looked inside the bare room to check that his sister still slept. Marn lay curled on the floor under the only blanket they had, a dirty thing that had traveled many miles with them. He didn’t wake her. She was only six summers’ old and she needed her sleep. Marn would know where to find him in a few hours’ time.
He closed the door as quietly as he could, even though he could hear the neighbors above and below through the wooden floors, and set off to see what the day might bring him. Maybe today would be the day that Arloth realized that he had made it to Ioth and would finally choose him for some grand purpose? He had the same thought every morning, and he had the same fervent belief that it would happen soon. Toad navigated the wooden highway, waiting his turn to descend the ‘down’ ladder with many of his neighbors that he didn’t know. He had been afraid to talk around them, in case they chased him and Marn away from the room that had been vacant. They had arrived in Ioth with nothing, and the good people of Arloth’s home had been less charitable than he had been expecting.
Down past four similarly constructed floors, he reached the wider raised walkways of the Prom, that twisted between and around the tower buildings that made up Arloth’s Ladder. He wasn’t sure why it was called the Prom; oh, someone had told him it was short for promenade, and he remembered them chu
ckling at the thought, as if it was absurd. Toad didn’t know what promenade meant, but he did know that in an hour or two, the Prom would be lined with people selling their meager wares; spoiled food, trinkets, and even themselves.
As he walked toward the south end of the island on which Arloth’s Ladder rested, to the bridges that begrudgingly allowed the poor occupants to enter the gleaming city of Ioth, he gave thanks to the memory of his mother. She had been a fervent believer in their Lord, and she had done the right thing in bringing up Toad and Marn in a similar way.
The Prom descended down more wooden steps to meet the stone bridge that led away from the Ladder, and there it became a choke point. The people jostled with one another, a mass of humanity of different types. In Carlburg the faces were the same—pale, and everyone’s hair was the color of straw or wood—and so it had been a shock to see the many varieties of people that Arloth saw the grace to shine his favor upon. Toad weaved his way through the press of bodies, unable to see the bridge anymore and simply moving with the direction of the crowd, his elbows out at right angles to jab into any unsuspecting adult’s mid-rift if he thought they were in danger of bumping into him.
Once he was over the stone bridge, the crowd dispersed in different directions, most people heading off purposefully to whatever employment they treasured. Though a few others seemed to wander without intent. Toad did similarly.
He found it very difficult to not be moving these days. His body had become used to walking, hour after hour, day after day, that it couldn’t bear to sit still. That’s why he had trouble sleeping. After his mother had died, life had been even more difficult in Carlburg. He had tried to stay a good boy but it was difficult. Marn had been so hungry that he had been forced to steal to keep her alive. His mother had been buried after a service she would have enjoyed, but then their landlord, of the same congregation no less, had tossed the pair of children out on the street without a second thought. He remembered thinking at the time that didn’t Arloth say ‘blessed are the children’? How could that man say that he believed in Arloth and behave in such a way?
That’s when he decided they would walk the children’s trail. From Redpool to Colvin was a path, paved in some places and little more than a rut in the ground in others, that circled the Sapphire Sea; and children had been walking to Ioth for centuries. For the Saint of the Sanctum was always a child, the spirit of their god moving from one host to another every few years, and many stories were told of famous Saints who had come from rough beginnings. Orphans like Toad and Marn, who had made it to the City of Lights on their own. Why couldn’t it be him, or even Marn, to be the next Saint? They just needed to be close at hand at the time of the next passing.
From Carlburg to Ioth was a long way, and it had taken them nearly three moons to walk that far. Trudging through long days, relying on the charity of strangers and chapels constructed to aid pilgrims to keep going on their long journey. On more than one occasion, they had been tempted by the offer to live at orphanages where other children who tried to make the trip had given up. Marn had cried some days and he didn’t blame her. She wanted to stop walking and to be with other children, but Toad would tell her of the glorious place that awaited them at the end of their journey and that would keep her strong. She was a good girl.
The city had seemed like such a wonder at first. Canals instead of roads! The lamps that burned bright at night throughout most of the city! Though not the Ladder.
Toad found himself standing in Iliana’s square, his feet having wandered in the usual direction, and he thought about that child, Iliana, who had originally found the body of Arloth on this very patch of ground and who had been blessed by his radiance. The Sanctum loomed large in front of him, stretching up to the heavens in spires of gleaming white, arches and buttresses of gold stretching between. Stained glass windows broke the smooth surface of the walls, and great double doors opened for the admittance of the faithful. This was what he imagined heaven to look like.
He sidled closer to the entrance of the Sanctum, waiting for a couple of well-to-do pilgrims to stop craning their necks admiring the outside and head on in. He walked close to them as they swept up the stairs and into the vast entrance chamber. Toad was eager to see inside. To finally see the light shining through the stained glass and the beautiful stories his mother had told him about.
A hand grabbed his shoulder, arresting his progression. “Hey. I’ve told you before. No urchins!” A guard, dressed in pure white, one hand on the pommel of his short sword, gripped his shoulder so tightly that Toad could feel the fingertips in his flesh. The guard twisted his hand, turning Toad to face back out to the square. “Get out!” He gave Toad a push down the stairs, uncaring as he careered down them to fall in a heap at the bottom.
“I’ll be back on Wintertide! You can’t stop me then!” called Toad. His embarrassment seethed inside him as once more he had been stopped from seeing the goal of their long journey, not once having been allowed inside. But on Wintertide things were different. Anyone of Ioth, not just those that could pay alms, were allowed entrance. Were allowed to see the Saint in his glory.
Toad picked himself up and stomped across the square to another bridge where, as he usually did, he would wait until Marn found him. He sat cross legged on the ground, staring up at the Finger of Arloth, and dreamed of what it would be like to be the Saint. To be loved by so many people. To live in such a wondrous house.
A man sat down beside him. “I saw what happened there,” he said to Toad without looking at him.
Toad gave him the once over. He didn’t look dangerous. Old enough to be his father but not his grandfather. The man smiled as he gazed in the same direction that Toad had just been looking.
“It’s not fair, is it?” said the man. “I’m sure you just wanted to worship like all the others.”
Toad nodded his agreement, wary of saying anything that could get him into trouble, but desperate for the approving attention of an adult.
“I’m a believer, too. A true believer. I’m not sure these others are really as devoted.”
“I know!” said Toad eagerly. “Arloth would not be happy.”
“I think you are right. I pray for their souls. It didn’t used to be like this you know. The Sanctum used to welcome all. Now, not so much.”
“I wish I had known that,” mumbled Toad, looking forlornly at his feet.
The man now looked at Toad for the first time. “I do know of another place. Where people are as devoted as you. Would you like to see it?” Toad didn’t reply. He’d learnt not to trust strangers. “There is food,” added the man.
Well, that sealed it. Toad’s stomach growled a reminder that he needed to eat. And if he could take enough for Marn too then that would be great. Toad nodded and stood up expectantly. The man joined him, a kind smile on his lips, and the two of them walked away from the shrine of false piety.
Part II
Kingshold
Chapter 9
The Card Game Cabinet
Mareth hurried through the door into the privy council chamber, Grey, Alana and Petra at his heels. This was a hastily called meeting because The Drake had returned that morning. Crews, Uthridge and Neenahwi already waited within.
“Welcome back,” he said as moved around the table to sit at its head, opposite the door. Grey was talking with Alana and Petra at the doorway as Arkel and Dove squeezed by them and took their seats. He couldn’t see what his Chancellor was saying, but from the look on Petra’s face, she wasn’t too happy about it. Grey finished their conversation, entered the room and closed the door behind her, leaving the two sisters outside. Mareth wasn’t certain what it was about, but he could guess. Grey had been troubled to hear from Dove last week about the rumors of war swirling in the city, and she was livid when reports sourced them back to Alana. This was likely to be a war council, and Grey probably thought it best to keep Alana and Petra out. Mareth was conflicted; everyone made mistakes and he knew that Alana was regretful of
what she had told a few supervisors, but he didn’t want to overrule his Chancellor publicly. He would talk to Petra and Alana later and make sure they knew what was discussed.
“How are you feeling, Lord Marshall?” asked Mareth. A messenger bird had brought word of the attack on his life and the effects on his appearance. The old soldier looked younger without the mustache, and his hair was growing back in a uniform stubble.
“I am fine, my Lord, thank you for your concern.”
“Tell me about this creature.”
Uthridge looked to Neenahwi, prompting her to continue.
“I don’t know what it is,” she conceded. “It took on the form of Major Chatterwick completely. His appearance, voice, he even spoke knowledgably about things only he would have known. We couldn’t tell that the creature who was in our midst was not him. Uthridge was only alone with the creature for a few minutes before we interrupted what I could only describe as its harvesting, but it was already becoming our Lord Marshall. It appeared to be sucking his essence out of his body. When it fled, I think it showed its real form. It had a featureless face, plain white eyes, a mouth full of sharp teeth like a piranha and a snake-like green tongue. I wish we could show you its body but the bastard thing escaped.”
“It was party to your discussion beforehand? It would have heard whatever was said?”
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