The Black Robe (The Sword and the Spell) (50 page)

He thought his stomach feeling odd was due to the fact that he hadn’t eaten since the midday meal, although he didn’t feel particularly hungry. Swaying slightly he tottered to his bed, pulled off his boots and fell asleep fully clothed. When he woke again, his candle had burnt out and the room was in total darkness. He thought it was a noise which had woken him but he couldn’t be sure, it could have been the pounding of his head, the waves of sickness that were washing over him or the sharp, urgent pain in his bowels. Malingar cursed, slid off his bed and staggered in the direction of his private wash room.

*

In the bathing house in the corner of the city where the tanners worked and lived, Jacks was just starting his morning shift. He didn’t know why it was called the morning shift as the place was as dark as hellden’s pits and it would be a good four candle lengths before the sun lit the sky. The place stank, as it always did, and as always, he muttered under his breath about the folly of providing hot wash water that smelled almost as bad as the people who would be using it at the end of their night’s work. Still, he supposed, if you had spent half the night with your hands up to the elbows in another man’s piss then the smell of the bath house would be like roses, not that he’d ever smelled roses, but his wife had.

At the thought of the old girl he grimaced. When he got home she would nag him again about getting a better job where he didn’t have to leave just as she was going to bed and sleep all day when she was up and about. However, the job suited him; a man doesn’t want to spend too much of his time with his wife, particularly one like her. He chuckled at the thought and lit the lantern with the taper from the small fire box which was never allowed to go out. The light wasn’t very bright, but it was enough to see by so that he could open the dampers to let the fire catch which would heat the wash water. After that, it was just a case of feeding the fire until the first customer arrived.

He always knew when that was by the smell. It was one of the things which made him good at his job; his ability to smell his customers before they arrived so he could be ready and waiting for them. He took a deep, well practiced sniff and almost choked on the stench behind him. Picking up the lantern he turned around and gasped in shock. Jacks would have stepped back if he could but the fire box was behind him and the man who held the knife that was buried in his ribs was in front of him. He tried to tell the man that the water wasn’t ready yet but all he could manage was another gasp as he slid off the knife and bled out on the floor.

The pain in Sharman’s side woke him whilst it was still dark, making him groan and sit up clutching his side. It felt like something was gnawing at his ribs but he wasn’t sure if it was trying to gnaw its way out or burrow further into his protesting flesh. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood unsteadily. What he needed was some Shrezbere essence. That would get rid of whatever was trying to eat him. He cursed the damn physic that had refused to give him any more to hellden’s halls and pulled the stopper off the small skin on the table.

When he went to take a swig the acrid smell made him retch so he put the skin down and replaced the stopper. The only other thing he knew which would numb the pain would be red poppy seed, which the physic had also refused to give him, but red poppy seed was easy enough to come by. In the old days his men always had some stashed away, usually ground and pressed into honeyvine sap in small round cakes which could be chewed without anyone noticing. Most officers he’d come across stamped hard on the practice as it could take the edge off a man’s alertness, but he’d always turned a blind eye. A man needed something to do whilst he stood guard.

He pulled on his breeches and boots, wrapped his thick cloak around him and set off for the lower floors of the palace. The lads would get a shock seeing him there at this time of the night checking up on them and with any luck he would catch one off guard. The culprit would undoubtably offer him a little something in exchange for forgetting that he hadn’t been as watchful as he should have been. It wasn’t the sort of thing he would do if they were on patrol, then he would have had the guard flogged, but guarding a few dark corridors wasn’t the same as being in hostile territory.

Sharman had checked five of the guard posts before he found what he was looking for. It was one of his old troop from Leersland who wasn’t exactly asleep but didn’t hear him coming either. There was a quick admonishment and the guard handed over his small supply of poppy seed cakes. Sharman put one in his pocket for later and chewed the other as he continued on his rounds. It tasted old and mouldy and he guessed it was the last of the stuff that the man had brought with him from Leersland. That was a pity; he didn’t want to take all that the man had, especially if stocks were running low and it would be hard for him to replace. Still thinking about how to import more poppy seed without it being obvious, he turned the corner of the corridor and went down the stone steps to the lowest level where the last two guards were stationed.

The first guard post was empty and he cursed under his breath. His orders had been clear, the men were to stay at their posts and not go gallivanting off chasing squeakers when they got bored. He waited for a short while expecting the man to return, but when he didn’t, he marched off in the direction of where the second guard was posted at the end of a long dark corridor. At least this guard was alert, probably because the place was so cold and draughty that he wouldn’t have been able to sleep even if he’d tried. The guard challenged him as soon as he entered his circle of light and then snapped to attention when he saw who it was.

“Where’s your mate, soldier?”

“He thought he heard something, sir.”

Gone for a piss then and by the smell of the place he wasn’t the only one who had used this corridor to relieve himself. It smelled like a tanner’s yard and something else like rotting flesh; it reminded him of something but he couldn’t think what. Sharman shook his head, this was a rotten duty to pull but that didn’t mean that a man could leave his post. He would have to have words with them both in the morning.

“You stay here and don’t move. When your mate comes back you can tell him to get back to his post and stay there. As soon as your duty is through, I want you both in the guard room with a good reason why I shouldn’t have the pair of you flogged for dereliction of duty.”

He saw the look of alarm on the guard’s face and turned away. The two of them would spend the night pissing themselves with fear, which would probably be punishment enough. He chuckled to himself as he climbed the stairs on his way back to his room; that was the poppy seed talking not the grumpy old man. By the time they had reported to him in the morning the effects of the poppy seed would have worn off and he would be back to his usual grumpy self, but for now he felt mellow and at peace with the world and his warm, comfortable bed was calling.

Malingar crawled across the floor and heaved himself up onto the bed. He desperately needed a drink and something to wash the foul taste out of his mouth but his legs felt too weak to hold him up even though the dresser was only a short distance away. He’d had the flux before but what man hadn’t who had spent their time in a camp with hundreds of other men? Then he’d spent three days fighting for his right to use the stinking waste pit instead of squatting under the nearest hedge or wagon, but this was worse. His sides ached where he’d spent the night trying to heave up the contents of an empty stomach, and the rest of him hurt from straining to empty his bowels of foul-smelling water. On top of that he was shaking with the cold whilst his head, hands and feet were burning with fever. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

*

It was at times like this that Borman missed not having Callabris at his side. It wasn’t that he missed the magician’s words of wisdom, although they had been useful on occasions, but there was nothing like having a magician and his protector present to ensure your visitors behaved themselves. In the absence of Callabris he’d taken to having his Guardcaptain at his side and wouldn’t normally have seen anyone without him being there, but he’d sent Malingar away and the fool hadn’t yet learnt to come creeping back the following day looking contrite.

At least the two men in front of him looked harmless enough in their archaic robes. That was more than could be said for his last visitor, a wild tribesman from Sandstrone, who looked like he was used to cutting people up into small bits. As it turned out his appearance was deceptive and Tozaman had turned out to be a well-educated council leader with a sharp intellect. The man had spoken eloquently about his countrymen’s belief that Borman owed them compensation for the part he’d played in brokering the war between Leersland and Sandstrone and then sending mercenaries to fight on Leersland’s side.

He’d denied it of course, reassuring the man that it had all been a misunderstanding. The meeting had concluded amicably enough, although he was glad that his door guards had searched Tozaman thoroughly before letting him into his presence and had confiscated his formidable array weapons. It was possible that if Tozaman had still been armed, the outcome of the meeting could have been quite different. Still, he would have preferred it if Malingar had been there just in case.

“Your Majesty,” interrupted the taller of the two envoys from Essenland. “We have brought an urgent missive from King Vorgret which is for your eyes only.”

The man held out a small packet bound in leather and sewn together at the edges; the king’s seal was stamped into the leather at the centre. Borman took the packet and turned it over in his hands. He’d sent a similar package to Vorgret objecting to his occupation of Vinmore and warning him that if he didn’t leave at once and return to his own lands, then he would be forced to expel him. It was an idle threat, he still needed to quell unrest in Tarbis before he could turn his attentions to Vinmore, but it did no harm to keep Vorgret jumping. He supposed the packet in his hand was Vorgret’s response, in which case it would be better if he read it in his own time and in private.

“Your Majesty, King Vorgret instructed us to say that the contents of this missive are urgent and will help to foster closer relationships between the kingdoms.”

Now he was intrigued. Perhaps the message wasn’t what he thought it was going to be. Carefully he unpicked the binding and withdrew the sheet of parchment from inside the leather pouch. He read the missive quickly and then read it again more carefully, his eyebrows knitting together in a deep scowl.

“You can prove that the Lady Tarraquin lives and that Guardcaptain Malingar helped her to escape?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The shorter of the two envoys reached inside his robe and pulled out a pendant with the royal seal of Leersland engraved on its end. “My king took it from the lady’s neck when he captured her and she told him everything in exchange for her life and safety.”

Borman stared at the pendant on its gold chain. He remembered seeing it around Tarraquin’s neck when she had first returned from Tarbis and thought that she could still be queen of Leersland but he was sure it was locked safely away in Tarmin along with the rest of Leersland’s crown jewels.

The envoy could see the doubt on Borman’s face. “The lady boasts that she stole that and some other items when she escaped Tarmin although she had very little left, most having been given away as bribes or used to trick others into thinking her dead.”

It was the reference to being tricked that did it. Borman strode across the room, snatched open the door and bellowed to his guards to fetch Malingar immediately.

When the guards entered his rooms Malingar was still sprawled across his bed. He’d heard someone pounding at the outer door but assumed that they would give up and go elsewhere if no one answered but they didn’t. Instead the squad leader did the unthinkable and marched into his commander’s rooms uninvited. It wasn’t what he wanted to do and he knew his career was at an end by doing it but given a direct order from the king he’d had no choice.

By the time he’d crossed the outer room and had reached the Guardcaptain’s sleeping room Malingar had rolled into a sitting position and was trying to glare at him through bleary eyes. The squad leader had never seen his commander drunk and not only drunk but smelling as if he had puked up all over himself. Lord Malingar had always been so strict about not drinking too much that he felt quite indignant; it was typical of those in command to preach sobriety to the ranks and ignore it themselves.

Once he’d delivered the king’s summons he assigned two guards to assist the Guardcaptain to his feet but Malingar growled an obscenity at them and stood without aid on shaking legs. He walked into his work room and poured himself a goblet of cold water from the jug on the dresser, sipping it carefully and trying to focus on the room which moved around him. His eyes might have been blurred but he was certain that before he slept he’d left the flagon and unfinished wine goblet where the water jug now stood.

After three sips of water his stomach roiled in warning so he pulled himself up straight and started towards the open door of his rooms where a small crowd had gathered. He glared at them and they scattered like startled cooley birds which made him feel slightly more in control of the situation. The squad leader brought his men into order forcing him towards the door but as he did he stopped again and studied his weapons rack, certain that both his long knife, the one with his house’s crest, and his sword had been there when he’d returned from the king’s rooms the previous evening. He went to ask the squad leader if he had taken them but didn’t get the chance.

“My Lord, the king is waiting for you.”

Malingar tried to shake the soggy wool from his mind. He must have been mistaken. Why would the squad leader want to take his weapons? At that moment nothing made sense. He followed the squad leader into the corridor and at his signal the squad closed around him. For the first time the seriousness of his position made its way through his fogged brain; no commander was escorted to their king by armed guards unless there was something really wrong. The moment he stepped through the receiving room’s door and saw Borman’s expression he knew he was in real trouble.