Prince of Fools - Mark Lawrence 5 стр.


I felt tired and out of sorts, grumpy that Id had to stand half the morning and more listening to this parade of nonsense. If Id been drunk too I might have given voice to my thoughts. Its probably a good job I wasnt, though the Red Queen could scare me sober with a look.

Grandmother turned and pointed at the Norseman. Well told, Snorri ver Snagason. Let your axe guide you. I blinked at that. Some sort of northern saying, I guessed. Take him away, she said, and her guards led him off, chains clanking.

My fellow princes fell to muttering, and me to yawning. I watched the huge Norseman leave and hoped wed be released soon. Despite the call of my bed I had important plans for Snorri ver Snagason and needed to get hold of him quickly.

Grandmother returned to her throne and held her peace until the doors had closed behind the last prisoner to exit.

Did you know there is a door into death? The Red Queen didnt raise her voice and yet it cut through the princes chatter. An actual door. One you can set your hand against. And behind it, all the lands of death. Her gaze swept across us. Theres an important question you should ask me now.

No one spoke-I hadnt a clue but was tempted to answer anyway just to hurry things along. I decided against it and the silence stretched until Rotus cleared his throat at last and asked, Where?

Wrong. Grandmother cocked her head. The question was, Why? Why is there a door into death? The answer is as important as anything youve heard today. Her stare fell upon me and I quickly turned my attention to the state of my fingernails. There is a door into death because we live in an age of myth. Our ancestors lived in a world of immutable laws. Times have changed. There is a door because there are tales of that door, because myths and legends have grown about it over centuries, because it is set in holy books, and because the stories of that door are told and retold. There is a door because in some way we wanted it, or expected it, or both. This is why. And this is why you must believe the tales that have been told today. The world is changing, moving beneath our feet. We are in a war, children of the Red March, though you may not see it yet, may not feel it. We are in a war against everything you can imagine and armed only with our desire to oppose it.

Nonsense, of course. Red Marchs only recent war was against Scorron, and even that had fallen into an uneasy truce this past year. . Grandmother must have sensed she was losing even the most gullible of her audience and switched tactics.

Rotus asked where, but I know where the door is. And I know that it cannot be opened. She stood from her throne again. And what does a door demand?

A key? Serah, ever eager to please.

Yes. A key. A smile for her protégée. Such a key would be sought by many. A dangerous thing, but better we should own it than our enemies. I will have tasks for you all soon: quests for some, questions for others, new lessons for others still. Be sure to commit yourselves to these labours as to nothing before. In this you will serve me, you will serve yourselves, and most importantly-you will serve the empire.

Exchanged glances, muttering, Where was Red March in all that? Martus perhaps.

Enough! Grandmother clapped her hands, releasing us. Go. Scurry back to your empty luxuries and enjoy them while you can. Or-if my blood runs hot in you-consider these words and act on them. These are the end days. All our lives draw in towards a single point and time, not too many miles or years from this room. A point in history when the emperor will either save us or damn us. All we can do is buy him the time he needs-and the price must be paid in blood.

At last! I hurried out amongst the others, catching up with Serah. Well, that settles it! The old bats cracked. The emperor! I laughed and flashed her my cavalry grin. Even Grandmother isnt old enough to have seen the last emperor.

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At last! I hurried out amongst the others, catching up with Serah. Well, that settles it! The old bats cracked. The emperor! I laughed and flashed her my cavalry grin. Even Grandmother isnt old enough to have seen the last emperor.

Serah fixed me with a look of disgust. Did you listen to anything she said? And off she strode, leaving me standing there, jostled by Martus and Darin as they passed by.

FOUR

From the throne room I sprinted down the grand corridor, turning left where all my family turned right. Armour, statuary, portraits, displays of fanned-out swords, all of them flashed past. My day boots pounded a hundred yards of staggeringly expensive woven rug, luxuriant silks patterned in the Indus style. I turned the corner at the far end, teetering on the edge of control, dodged two maids, and ran flat-out along the central corridor of the guest range, where scores of rooms were laid ready against the possibility of visiting nobility.

Out the fucking way! Some old retainer doddered from a doorway into my path. One of my fathers-Robbin, a grey old cripple always limping about the place getting underfoot. I swerved past him-Lord knows why we keep such hangers-on-and accelerated down the hallway.

Twice guardsmen startled from their alcoves, one even calling a challenge before deciding I was more ass than assassin. Two doors short of the corridors end I stopped and made an entrance to the Green Room, gambling that it would be unoccupied. The room, chambered in rustic style with a four-poster bed carved like spreading oaks, lay empty and shrouded in white linens. I passed the bed, wherein Id once spent several pleasant nights in the company of a dusky contessa from the southernmost reaches of Roma, and threw back the shutters. Through the window, onto the balcony, vault the balustrade, and drop to the peaked roof of the royal stables, an edifice that would put to shame any mansion on the Kings Way.

Now, I know how to fall, but the drop from the stables roof would kill a Chinee acrobat, and so the speed with which I ran along the stone gutter was a careful balance between my desire not to fall to my death and my desire not to be stabbed to my death by Maeres Allus or one of his enforcers. The giant Norseman could bludgeon me a way out of debt altogether if I managed to secure his services and make the right wagers. Hell, if people saw what I saw in the man and wouldnt give me good odds, then I could just slip him some bonewort and bet against him.

At the far end of the stables hall two Corinthian pillars supported ancient vines, or vice versa. Either way a good, or desperate, climber could make his way to ground there. I slid the last ten foot, bruised my heel, bit my tongue, and ran off towards the Battle Gate spitting blood.

I arrived there winded and had to bend double, palms on thighs, heaving in great lungfuls of air before I could assess the situation.

Two guards watched me with undisguised curiosity. An old soak commonly known as Double, and a youngster I didnt recognize.

Double! I straightened up and raised a hand in greeting. What dungeon are the queens prisoners being taken to? It would be the war cells up in the Marsail keep. They might be slaves but you wouldnt put the Norseman in with common stock. I asked anyway. Its always good to open with an easy question to put your man at ease.

Aint no cells for them lot. Double made to spit, then thought better of it and swallowed noisily.

Wh-? She couldnt be having them killed! It would be a criminal waste.

Theys going free. Thas what I heard. Double shook his head at the badness of the business, jowls wobbling. Contaphs coming up to process them. He nodded out across the plaza and sure enough there was Contaph, layered in his official robes and beetling towards us with the sort of self-importance that only minor functionaries can muster. From the high latticed windows above the Battle Gate I could hear the distant clank of chains, drawing nearer.

Damn it. I glanced from door to subchamberlain and back again. Hold them here, Double, I told him. Dont tell them anything. Not a thing. Ill see you right. Your friend too. And with that I hurried off to intercept Ameral Contaph of House Mecer.

We met in the middle of the plaza where an ancient sundial spelled out the time with morning shadows. Already the flagstones were beginning to heat up and the days promise simmered above the rooftops. Ameral! I threw my hands wide as though he were an old friend.

Prince Jalan. He ducked his head as if seeking to take me from his sight. I could forgive him his suspicions; as a child I used to hide scorpions in his pockets.

Those slaves that put on this mornings entertainment in the throne room. . whats to become of them, Ameral? I moved to intercept him while he tried to circumnavigate me, his order-scroll clutched tight in one pudgy fist.

Im to set them on a caravan for Port Ismuth with papers dissolving any indenture. He stopped trying to get past me and sighed. What is it that you want, Prince Jalan?

Only the Norseman. I gave him a smile and a wink. Hes too dangerous to just set free. That should have been obvious to everyone. In any event, Grandmother sent me to take charge of him.

Contaph looked up at me, eyes narrow with distrust. Ive had no such instructions.

I have, I must confess, a very honest face. Bluff and courageous, its been called. Im easy to mistake for a hero, and with a little effort I can convince even the most cynical stranger of my sincerity. With people who know me, that trick becomes more difficult. Much more difficult.

Walk with me. I set a hand to his shoulder and steered him towards the Battle Gate. Its good to steer a man in the direction he intended to go. It blurs the line between what he wants and what you want.

In truth the Red Queen gave me a scroll with the order. A hasty scrawl on a scrap of parchment, really. And to my shame Ive let it drop in my rush to get here. I took my hand from his shoulder and unfastened the gold chain from around my wrist, a thing of heavy links set with a small ruby on both clasps. It would be deeply embarrassing for me to have to return and admit the loss to my grandmother. A friend would understand such things. I took to steering him again as if my only desire were for him to reach his destination safely. The chain I dangled before him. You are my friend, arent you, Ameral? Rather than drop the chain into a pocket of his robe and risk reminding him of scorpions, I pressed it into the midst of his sweaty palm and risked him realizing it was red glass and gold plated over lead, and thinly at that. Anything of true value Id long since pawned against the interest on my debts.

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