The Eyes of a King (16 page)

“Which way is it?” Maria was asking me. “Leo?”

I started. “Oh, sorry. Right.”

“Why don’t we go to that street?” asked Stirling, falling in beside me. “The one that looked over the river. Maria would like to see it.”

I turned to Maria. She shrugged. “Why not? See how the rich people live.” We laughed and turned off to the left so that we would come to the edge of the city further north.

There were a lot of people about. Five soldiers on horseback swept down the street toward us at a brisk rising trot, and we stood to the side to let them pass. The first one raised his hat to us. “Perhaps the war is going well,” Maria remarked. “They are not usually so friendly.”

“They are probably going down to the harbor,” I said, looking back to see which way they turned at the crossroads. “Yes, they are going in that direction. Perhaps they are being stationed over in the west; that is the best place to be at the moment.”

“I wish they would station my father somewhere else,” said Maria.

I had forgotten her father was at the border. “Is he a soldier?” I said.

“No, he just got called up for the Alcyrian war. He was a banker before that. You know the bank by the market square?”

“What—the one that is owned by Zenithar Armaments?”

“Yes. That was his. It used to be—”

“Andros Associates,” I said. “I remember.”

“Why aren’t you rich?” Stirling exclaimed.

She laughed carelessly. “ We used to be.”

We were walking slowly, Maria swinging the basket on her arm, her other arm still linked with mine. Stirling strolled along, his hands in his pockets. Suddenly I heard a voice from somewhere close by: “Is that North—Leo North from school?”

“Yes, it is,” someone answered. “Call him—go on.” Casting my eyes around, I saw two faces leaning out an upstairs window, two boys from my platoon—Seth Blackwood and Isaac Sadler.

“It’s that bastard Leo North!” shouted Seth, grinning and waving to me. Isaac leaned out the window and made to spit on us, but he was not serious.

“Piss off,” I said, laughing in spite of myself, and we hurried out of spitting distance. “Is that his girlfriend?” I heard Isaac whispering. Then more loudly: “North, is that your girl?” I ignored it. “Leonard!” Isaac called louder still.

“Mr. Leonard B. North, Esquire, kindly answer!” shouted Seth. And then he added, “
B
for ‘bastard,’ that is.” Maria turned round and gave them a look. They retreated from the window, Seth hitting his head hard on the window frame. “See you in school on Monday!” he called.

“All right,” I called back.

We turned a corner in the road and were all suddenly laughing. But I was surprised at their comparative friendliness. “Nice boys at your school,” said Maria. Stirling caught her eyes and choked with laughter.

“Do you always talk to each other like that?” Maria demanded. I nodded. “Leonard B. North was priceless,” she said. “That wounded Leo deeply; I could see.”

And we could barely draw breath for laughing until we reached the edge of the city.

“O
h, how lovely!” Maria exclaimed as we came out onto that cobbled street. “I wish that I lived somewhere like this.”

“Me too,” said Stirling. He leaned his chin on his hands, on the top of the wall. “See the hills? That’s where we are going.”

But Maria had her back to the hills. She was looking at the houses. She seemed far away in her thoughts, and she did not reply. “We haven’t been out of the city for ages, have we?” Stirling said, turning to me.

“Not for years,” I said.

Maria stood gazing at those houses. She did not seem to want to go on yet, but it did not matter; we were in no hurry anyway. We stood in silence beside her. I wondered if this street made her think of her old life, when she was a banker’s daughter. I had thought she must have been wealthy before, because of the way she talked. But I had not guessed how wealthy.

“Look who it is!” Stirling exclaimed then, and we both turned. A hired carriage was standing outside a house ahead and someone had just stepped out of it. “It’s Sergeant Markey,” Stirling told Maria.

“So that’s what he looks like,” she said. We stood and watched him.

“He’s helping someone out of the carriage,” said Stirling. Sergeant Markey stooped and lifted a child. She must have been about nine or ten. She clung tightly around Sergeant Markey’s neck and began to wail.

“Shh,” he said. “Papa’s got you.” He stroked her head. Her hair was a fine ice blond, like Stirling’s would have been if he
did not wear it short, and her face was pretty, though it was red from crying now.

“What is it?” Sergeant Markey said. “What’s the matter, angel?” But the way he said it, he didn’t seem to expect her to respond. The girl murmured something, her eyes darting about nervously in her thin face. She buried her head in his shoulder and began to wail again. A lady came after them down the carriage steps—a lady in uniform who looked like a housekeeper or a nurse. She hurried to open the door, and shut it behind them, cutting off the girl’s cries.

There was silence. “Well!” I exclaimed.

“I thought you said he was nasty,” said Maria.

“I thought he was.”

“He looked sweet with his little girl. Not many men can look after children like that.”

“I didn’t even know he had a kid,” I said.

“She looked sick,” Maria said. “Did you see how bony her face was? Probably some sort of illness has left her an invalid.”

“Yes. Something like silent fever, I’ll guess. Poor child.”

“No wonder he is not high up in the army, then,” said Maria.

“What, you mean harboring unacceptables? That’s why he has to teach school?”

“You know what they are like about that,” said Maria. “I’m not saying it’s good, the way the government treats sick people. I think it’s terrible.”

“Yes.”

We gathered ourselves to walk on. “All right, Stirling?” I asked, turning to him. He was leaning heavily on the wall. “What’s wrong?”

“Boys!” It was Sergeant Markey’s voice. I turned to see him coming back down the steps of his house. “What are you doing loitering around here?” he demanded, in his usual manner.

“We can loiter around wherever—” I began, but at that moment Maria exclaimed, “Hey, Stirling!” I turned. Not in time to catch him as he passed out. He smacked down hard on the cobblestones. I fell to my knees beside him, and so did Maria, dropping the basket. He was out cold.

Sergeant Markey knelt down next to me. He turned Stirling over and pressed his hand to his forehead. “He has a high fever,” he said. “You need to get him home quickly. This looks as if it could be something serious.” Then Stirling came to. He stared at Sergeant Markey, whose hand was still pressed down on his head.

“You fainted,” I said.

“Oh …,” he said distantly.

I waited for the color to return to his face. “Can you sit up?” I asked. I put my arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position, Maria supporting his other side. We moved him round so that he could lean on the wall. Then I noticed that Sergeant Markey had gone. Not unlike him, I thought. Typical, in fact.

I felt Stirling’s forehead. The heat was rising off it like steam. “He can’t walk home like this,” said Maria.

“Give him a minute,” I said. “He’ll feel better in a minute.” I turned to him. “Stirling, will you be able to walk home?” He made no answer. “Stirling, can you hear me?” I passed my hand in front of his face. “Stirling?” He did not seem to mark it.

“How is he going to get home?” asked Maria.

“Well, he’s going to have to, somehow,” I said. “I can carry him if it comes to it.”

“All the way?”

“I’m not doing all this weight training in school for nothing.”

“Still, it’s—” Someone touched my shoulder, and I realized it was Sergeant Markey, holding out a glass of water.

“Here, give him this,” he said. So that was where he had gone.

Stirling drank some of the water and seemed to be listening to me when I spoke to him. “Will you be able to walk home?” I asked him.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled after a moment. “Yes … I think.”

“Take my carriage,” said Sergeant Markey.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“He cannot walk like that. Take the carriage. I can wait until the driver gets back.”

“I’m not sure you can get to our street by carriage,” I said, not looking at him.

“He can take you as far as possible, anyway. Where do you live?”

“Citadel Street.”

“Ah,” he said as if I had just told him, “The sewers.” Or perhaps I only imagined it. “If he took you down to the market square, could you come up to it from there?”

I couldn’t think properly. “Maybe,” I said, dabbing the water onto Stirling’s forehead with my jacket sleeve.

“I think you could,” said Sergeant Markey. “The sooner you get him back home, the better.”

He bent and picked Stirling up, then carried him briskly across to the carriage. Stirling’s bandaged hand fell limply
across Sergeant Markey’s back. We hurried after them. “Get in,” said Sergeant Markey, and he laid Stirling on one of the seats.

I smiled at Stirling as we sat down, to try to reassure him. “The young lad’s been taken ill,” said Sergeant Markey to the driver on the front. “Will you take them as near to Citadel Street as you can get? I’ll pay you when you get back.”

“Yes, sir.” The man shook the reins, and the horses moved off.

I had not thought that Sergeant Markey would be paying. I did not want to be indebted to him. But it couldn’t be helped now.

“All right, Stirling?” I asked. He nodded. It looked to be a big effort. “We haven’t been in a carriage before, have we?” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. He shook his head and managed a faint smile.

“We used to have our own carriage,” said Maria. “It was not much use except for going out of the city. I had my own pony as well, but that was a long time ago.” She reached across and took Stirling’s hand. “Nearly home, Stirling.”

His head was jolting against the seat. I swung over onto his side of the carriage. “Here, put your head on my knee,” I told him. Maria helped him up so that he was leaning against me. He began to shiver then. She spread her shawl over him. “I should not have made him come out,” I said. “I didn’t know he was ill.”

“You weren’t to know,” she said. “Anyway, he was better this morning.”

“I still feel guilty.” I touched his shoulder. “All right, Stirling?” He nodded.

“It’s not your fault, Leo,” Maria said. “That’s how it is with illness. You cannot plan for it.”

The streets were crowded, and the people had to stand aside to let the carriage pass. Kalitzstad was not built for carriages; we rarely saw them. We were descending toward the market square, on one of the main roads. We drove close past the church and around the edge of the square, then turned off toward the castle and Citadel Street. “The way we came was quicker,” said Maria.

“Sergeant Markey’s paying anyway,” I said. She laughed, but Stirling didn’t even smile at that. His eyes were closed, and his forehead was still hot when I passed my hand over it. I opened the window, leaned out, and called to the driver, “Can we go any faster, please?” He raised his hands helplessly. The people went on thronging past the carriage doors.

Stirling coughed feverishly. “He’s had that cough for days,” I said. “I thought it was nothing. I should have known he was getting sick.”

“A cough by itself is not serious,” she said. “And you fainted yourself the other week. It often happens.” She paused. “I think a doctor needs to see him, though.”

“What doctor?”

“Father Dunstan, then. He knows about medicine. Your grandmother should ask him to come and see Stirling.”

“Yes, I’ll guess she will. She always does when we’re sick.”

“Just in case it’s something serious. I’m sure it’s not.”

We continued in this uneasy way until the carriage slowed, halfway up Citadel Street. “Sorry, this is as far as I can go,” called the driver, and he opened the door for us. “Need a hand to get the boy out?”

“No, I’m fine,” I said. “Come on, Stirling.” I lifted him over my shoulder.

“Are you sure it’s all right to do that?” Maria said anxiously. “You don’t want to do yourself an injury.”

“I’m fine,” I said. She followed me.

I carried Stirling up the street slowly, so that I would not jolt him too much. Maria went ahead to unlock the door, and held it open, and I maneuvered us through it, trying not to catch the door frame. “I’ll run ahead and tell your grandmother,” said Maria while I was still lifting Stirling up the stairs. “It will give her such a shock if you suddenly burst in like this.”

“Poor baby!” cried Grandmother when I brought Stirling in. “Put him on his bed.” I carried him through the bedroom door and laid him down carefully. “What exactly happened?” she asked, feeling his pulse. “His heart is beating fast! And he has a fever! He was fine this morning.”

“He just suddenly fainted,” I said. “He was fine, and then he fainted.”

“Stirling, can you hear me?” Grandmother said.

“Yes,” he whispered, though his eyes were unfocused.

“Tell me what you feel like. Dizzy? Sick?”

“I can’t see properly. Grandmother?”