The Poison Throne (The Moorehawke Trilogy), Page 27

  The Tidy Plan

  "Stop it," said Christopher wearily.

  "Stop what!" snapped Wynter.

  "Stop looking at me as if I've done something wrong."

  A sharp retort rose in Wynter's throat, but she bit it back when she realised that she had, in fact, been glaring at him with undisguised rage. The realisation caught her by surprise and shamed her. She glanced at her father, who was just dropping his gaze to the floor, and she understood that he, too, must have been silently berating Christopher with his eyes.

  Why? Why were they so angry with Christopher? Why had she suddenly found herself wishing that he'd never been here, that he'd just go away? She sighed. Oh, it's not your fault, Christopher. It's none of it your fault.

  How could Christopher have helped the fact that he'd been bought and sold? Or that it had been Razi who had bought him? Razi, of all people. Razi, who must have understood the consequences of such a foolish action. Wynter raised her head and stared at Christopher again. What on earth had possessed the man? It was such a dangerous, such a stupid thing for a Southlander to do.

  "I've done nothing wrong," Christopher insisted, misinterpreting her stare. His voice was quietly defensive. "And neither has Razi. Though he's uncommonly devoted to his bloody guilt and self-recrimination, so don't be directing those looks at him either."

  Lorcan groaned in frustration and despair, and rolled onto his back, his fingers pressed to his eyes. Wynter, at a loss for what to do or say, wandered to the foot of her father's bed, and sat looking at the floor.

  "I assume he emancipated you," rasped Lorcan.

  "Of course," sighed Christopher. "He gave me my papers the day he bought me. Hired me as his horse doctor that same evening."

  "I assume that's the reason he bought you?" asked Lorcan, still not looking at him, "In order to set you free?"

  Insofar as an ex-slave is ever free, thought Wynter, for they only ever had their own word and some flimsy papers as proof that they'd been released, and they were for ever prey to re-capture and re-sale.

  There was a long silence, and Lorcan and Wynter looked over at Christopher. He was gazing at his hands. "Suffice it to say," he murmured, "I was in an unbearable situation, and Razi saved me from it." He spread his hands, making his usual futile effort to straighten the finger on the left. "'T'ain't his fault things went so wrong. Lorcan?" he asked, his voice breaking, "Will Jonathon kill him?"

  "I don't think so. I think that Razi is right, Jonathon will let you go. I suspect that Razi will arrange for you to send him a message from the Moroccos, letting him know that you are safe. Then he will send you the papers... It's an awful risky deal for you though, Christopher. You'll have to travel unpapered down the goddamn port road, you'll have pass through three separate jurisdictions, and you'll need to voyage to the Moroccos unsupported and evade the check-men there until you get your papers back."

  Christopher sighed into his hands. "It doesn't matter," he said, every syllable weary.

  "Where are you branded?"

  Wynter gasped, and Christopher looked pleadingly up at her father. Don't, Lorcan. Please!

  "Come on, boy!" he demanded. "Where are you branded? If you're challenged, would they have to search to find it?"

  Christopher continued to balk, but Lorcan pressed and eventually the young man sighed. "My arse," he murmured reluctantly. "They branded my arse. It's only the broker-mark, they don't ever want those to show."

  "Oh Chris!" murmured Wynter in sympathy.

  But Lorcan grunted and stared at him, thinking hard. "That's not too bad," he said pragmatically. "You're lucky, had you been sold on, your house-master would have branded your arm or your chest, maybe..."

  "My face," interrupted Chris softly. "The house I was destined for, they would have branded my face."

  Wynter and Lorcan regarded him in frozen silence for a moment. Then Lorcan swallowed and went on, his voice even. It's a lot more work for a check-man to rip off your trousers than it is to pull up your shirt. If you're lucky no one will bother to search you that carefully. You might be all right!" he said and made a strained attempt at a grin, "that is, if you keep your arse covered for once in your life!"

  Christopher gazed bleakly at Wynter. "It doesn't matter," he said again.

  "Yes it does!" she snapped. "Razi is putting everything on the line for you! You'd better care enough to survive!"

  He frowned miserably at her tone and looked away.

  But she was just too frightened to speak gently, and her harsh words hid a deep anxiety for her two friends.

  A runaway slave. Without his papers, that's what Christopher was, a runaway slave. Depending on which jurisdiction he was caught in, he could be subject to mutilation, resale, perhaps even death. And Razi, as long as he was here and had those papers in his possession, he could be tried as a slaver, a purveyor of human flesh. He would be subject to imprisonment and loss of his lands, he would lose his licence to practice and suffer automatic disinheritance. It was one of the most severely punishable crimes in Jonathon's kingdom.

  They were both in so much danger. It hardly seemed worth the risk. But try as she would, Wynter couldn't manage to contrive a neater plan.

  She sighed and put her head in her hands.

  When Razi returned, that is how he found them. Wynter and Christopher on opposite sides of the room, their heads down. Lorcan on his back, his arm over his face.

  Wynter looked up when she noticed him in the door. She had expected Razi to have the papers in his hand, but, of course, they were secreted on his person somewhere. Hidden, like the note she now always carried against her heart.

  He looked at her, trying to read her expression. She smiled sympathetically. It seemed to melt something within him, that smile, and he blinked, relieved and vulnerable for a moment.

  Christopher raised his head, letting his hands dangle between his knees. They locked eyes. Razi gestured with the keys. "I tried not to disturb your things," he said softly.

  "Thanks," said Christopher and held out his hand.

  Razi brought the keys to him and dropped them into his palm. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

  "Would you have broken my father's trunk, Razi?" Razi hesitated and Christopher held up his hand. "Doesn't matter!" he said, quickly averting his eyes. "I don't need to know."

  "When will you tell the King?" asked Lorcan.

  Razi glanced at him. "Tomorrow; I have an appointment in the seventh quarter." He paused, looked Lorcan up and down, tilting his head in concern. "How fare you?" he said. Lorcan grimaced, and waved a hand, but Razi kept staring intently. "The heat in here is barely tolerable, Lorcan. Yet you are cold, are you not?"

  Lorcan frowned and he flicked a glance at Wynter. Her hair was plastered to her head, her face flushed. He looked at Christopher who had loosened the stays on his robe, exposing his chest, and rolled his sleeves to the shoulder. A nervous kind of panic came over Lorcan's face and his eyes darted sideways.

  Razi reached down suddenly and grabbed Lorcan's hand. He palpated the fingers, frowning. He jerked his chin at her, and Wynter slid off the bed. Razi reached under the covers and felt Lorcan's feet. "Wynter," he said, in an aside. "Get a warming-pan for your father's feet."

  She scurried to obey.

  Razi crouched down by the bed. "Well, friend, it seems there aren't enough drugs in the world to keep you asleep. You must have the constitution of a bloody water-horse." They both chuckled, and Razi continued with a fading smile and no small measure of emotion. "Lorcan, I am begging you to stay abed." Lorcan looked at him and Razi took his hand. "I'm begging you, please, to promise me that you will stay abed. Will you do that for me? Will you allow me to rest easy about this one thing? Just this one single thing? Please?"

  "I swear it," said Lorcan softly.

  Razi closed his eyes in thanks, squeezed Lorcan's hand and rose to his feet. He turned to Christopher.

  "Chris. From now on you are to keep all your doors locked. Do not answer a knock, except that you
hear my voice or Wynter's. And do not take any food, other than what I give you, or Wynter does. Do not, I beg you, leave your rooms." They regarded each other solemnly, Christopher almost resentful. "Christopher!" insisted Razi and his friend sighed and turned away, nodding in mute agreement.

  "All right." Razi turned to go, and saw Wynter watching him from the fireplace.

  "And what of you, Razi?" she asked quietly.

  He huffed a breath, and that twisted non-smile returned to his face. "What of me?" he retorted.

  "Who will take care of you?"

  He could make no answer to that.

  "Do you really think Jonathon will agree to your travelling to Padua?" asked Lorcan.

  Razi frowned blankly at him, as though uncertain of his meaning. Christopher watched his confusion for a moment, then sighed dramatically, drawing everyone's eye, and rose stiffly to his feet. He crossed the room slowly, and as he passed Razi, he patted him on the chest.

  "When I'm on my way to the Moroccos," he said softly, meeting Razi's eye. "You will be on your way to Padua. Remember?"

  Razi's face cleared, and he turned his head after Christopher, watching as he hobbled from the room. They heard the panel slide back, and they all listened as Christopher made his slow way down the secret passage and into his own rooms.

  "What will you do in Padua?" asked Wynter, after the strangeness of the moment had passed, "now that everything has changed?"

  Razi shook himself, and breathed deep. "Oh, you know!" he said, with a sarcastic little wave of his hand. "Study. Practise medicine. Dodge assassins. Watch from afar as my father destroys his kingdom. That manner of thing."

  "You are surrendering," said Lorcan evenly.

  Razi glared at him. "What else would you have me do?" he asked bitterly. Lorcan dropped his eyes.

  "What of Alberon?" whispered Wynter.

  Razi turned cold brown eyes on her, his face hard. "What of him?" he said with a challenging look, and then strode to the door and left, passing through the secret passage so that he could be seen exiting from Christopher's suite.

  Wynter stood in the blistering heat, listening to Christopher's hall door open and close. She heard the bolt draw. She waited to see if Christopher would make his way back to them, but Lorcan and herself exchanged a rueful look when they heard the secret panel to Christopher's room slide shut and the locking mechanism click. There would be no card games, or amusing conversations tonight.

  "Wynter."

  She jumped at Lorcan's voice and realised that she'd drifted away. She looked back up into her father's grave face. "We must begin to plan your escape."

  Step One

  The forest was blazing, a blinding inferno surging up into the night sky. Sparks and stars mingled against the darkness. The great logs roared and hissed, the wood splitting explosively in the heat, each loud report making Wynter leap with shock. She was deafened by it. The heat was tremendous. The deep throb of unseen drums reverberated in her chest.

  Big men and tall women moved calmly against the luminous flames.

  Christopher stood beside her. He was naked and filthy, fading yellow bruises like leopard spots all down his body. His bracelets were gone. He was gazing at the sparks as they shot upwards to die amongst the stars. He swayed to the rhythm of the drums, his eyes distant.

  "Christopher!" she shouted, the roar of the fire swallowing her voice.

  He turned to her at once, grinning vacantly.

  "Where's Razi?"

  Christopher raised a hand to the dark trees behind them and she saw Razi stumbling drunkenly towards them. He was staring into the fire, his mouth open, his face streaming with tears.

  "Stop them!" he shouted, stumbling from tree to tree, his voice a desperate thread against the roaring fire. "Stop them!"

  The drums sped up, their stately pulse becoming a wild beating frenzy. Wynter turned instinctively to the flames, filled with dread. There was a deafening, violent rush of air and an enormous dark shape plummeted downwards, crashing into the ground with a huge concussion that bounced her from her feet and flung her into the darkness beyond the firelight.

  She woke with a start and her first thought was, today is the day that Razi tells the King. It was still dark grey pre-dawn, the air cool and damp again with mist. She shook the anxious dream from her, the noise and smoke, the tremendous heat, all sliding away rapidly in the cool morning air. Only Razi's face stayed with her, tear-stained and shocked, begging for them to stop. The dreams don't always come true, she told herself.

  Frowning, she slipped from bed, wrapped herself in her mother's robe and padded quietly in to check on her father.

  Lorcan was sleeping. Wynter could hear his steady breathing in the dark. His shutters were closed, the gloom impenetrable except for the faintest glow from the nearly dead fire in the grate. Moving as quietly as possible, she lit a candle from the embers and began to shovel ash into the waste-bucket.

  Today is the day I tell Marni, she thought.

  She gathered a little pile of still glowing embers in the centre of the hearth, piled tinder on top, and blew gently until it blazed. Slowly she fed in fuel and soon a merry little fire danced and blazed in the grate, filling Lorcan's room with light, and the heat he couldn't seem to get enough of.

  This is day one of our goodbyes.

  Still kneeling by the grate, she turned to look at her father. He looked peaceful and beyond pain; she wished that he could remain like that.

  From this moment, we are beginning to separate, she thought. Christopher, Razi and I. Soon Dad will be all alone. How can I do it? How can I leave him alone?

  How wonderful it would be if Lorcan could wake whole and well again. If he could stretch his powerful arms over his head, grin and leap from bed as he used to when she was a small girl.

  When Wynter was tiny, he used swing her up onto his shoulders and they would walk the meadow before breakfast. She would knot her chubby fists under his chin and the sun would come up and glitter in the dewy grass. It would set fire to Lorcan's hair, and she would rest her chin on his head, surrounded by its luminance. They would breathe the free air together, and watch for foxes and shy deer.

  I love you so much, Dad, she thought, her heart twisting.

  Lorcan sighed and his hands knotted, then relaxed on the covers.

  He deserved so much more than this. He deserved peace and companionship. He deserved a loving circle of friends. He deserved a comfortable well-tended convalescence in his own home. He did not deserve this. This annexed state, isolated and besieged and alone. Constantly vexed and fretted at, so that his body could not heal. Where were his friends? Where was the King, that man who had called him brother, who had loved him so well their entire lives?

  He is not so important to them. He is second always to bigger things. She bowed her head, the light from the fire playing across her hands. "I know my place," Lorcan had always said, and this was it. Second, always second to matters of state. And now... And now I, too, will leave him, she thought. Even I... because there are things that are more important, more important than this lovely man who has given me all he has, who has never failed me.

  She could not bear these thoughts. She couldn't. They would kill her. So she pushed to her feet and crept to her room. She would wash herself and she would dress, she would arrange for breakfast, she would talk to Marni and she would wait for news of Razi. This is what she would do. One thing. Then another thing. Then another. And in that way she would get through this day, hands clenched, teeth gritted, head down. Today and every day to come, she would get through them all, one step at a time.

  She was emptying her washing water out the window when Lorcan called her, his voice strained and panicky, from the next room. She flung the tin basin back onto the washstand and rushed to his door, her heart hammering.

  "What is it, Dad? What...?"

  He was propped half on his elbow, a fist knotted against his belly. He looked at her from under his hair as she crossed the threshold of his door
and ground out, "Get Christopher."

  "It's very early, Dad. He'll be asleep. I was going to wait and invite him to breakfast..."

  "Get him!" he was desperate now, "Just get him, girl! Please!"

  She fled into the secret passage and ran the short distance to Christopher's room. She fought the urge to just hammer on the secret panel and scratched gently instead.

  He'll be asleep, she thought, remembering Razi's insistent and repetitive pounding of the day before. I'll never wake him. To her surprise, she heard a small sound behind the panel and she risked calling softly through the wood.

  "Christopher? It's Wynter. My father has need of you!"

  The door slid to one side, soft candlelight filled the gloom. Christopher was fully dressed, smelling of soap and toothpowder. He was backlit by the candles, a distinctive, lean shadow in the door. "What is it?" he asked in concern, "Is he unwell?"

  "I don't know!" she cried softly, "he wants you!"

  He herded her ahead of him through the passage, his hand on the small of her back. When they got to the bedroom, Lorcan held a hand up to keep Wynter at the door. Christopher crossed quickly and leant over him.

  Lorcan whispered to him, his eyes flicking to Wynter as he spoke. Christopher's face was obscured by the fall of his hair, and he nodded and answered in a low soothing manner. The young man went to straighten, and Lorcan grabbed his wrist and looked up at him. He mumbled something, pained apology on his face.

  Christopher leant down once more, placed his free hand on Lorcan's and squeezed. "Friend," he murmured, "I would have been livid had you not. Think no more on it."

  Then Christopher crossed to Wynter and guided her from the room by her elbow.

  "Does he need Razi?" she asked, panicky and tearful.

  "No, lass," he said gently. "Your father just needs a bit of a hand, a strong arm to lean on." He looked her in the eye as he began to shut the door on her. "Go organise breakfast," he said.

  And then she was outside in the dark, while Christopher gave her father the help that Lorcan would never allow her to provide.