The Lascar's Dagger (57 page)

The silence lengthened as Saker fought, biting through his lip until it bled, the blood trickling down his chin. He thought, anguished,
Can’t I even keep my secrets?
He focused on the pain, biting deeper, concentrating. All thought directed away from Sorrel, away from Mathilda … into the stab of fire deep in his lip. He began to shudder with the effort.

And just when he knew he had to spill the words he didn’t want to say, Ardhi capitulated. “Ah. You are right, and I am wrong. Just because one has the power does not mean one should use it. Not the whole story, then. Tell me what you will, and no more. It will go no further than this room.”

He breathed again, his shoulders slumping, and wiped away the blood. “The woman, her name is Sorrel, is a servant to the Regala. I met her in Ardrone. I don’t want to involve her, because it might mean bringing her, or the Regala, into danger.”

“But you would trust her with your life?”

After the barest hesitation, he nodded.

Ardhi leaned towards him, meeting Saker’s gaze with his own burning intensity, his normal good humour banished. “I’m sad you’re caught in the middle of this and I know how unpleasant it is to be forced to do something by Chenderawasi magic. I want a partner, not a slave. I want to talk to this Sorrel woman tomorrow. I’m going to ask her how best we can get to the Regal’s chamber. If we don’t have that information,
we
may die. If I have to impose the coercion on you to help my cause, I will.”

“I don’t like being threatened.”

“And I don’t like bludgeoning you with magic. I want you on my side. I believe it’s your side, too.”

“Won’t the kris
sakti
make sure we succeed anyway?” His sarcasm was deliberate. “We can just rely on it to manipulate our success!”

“The kris has limitations, as well you know. If it were all-powerful, I would have been able to steal the plumes the day we met.” Ardhi threw up his hands, palms outwards, gesturing his own lack of understanding. “Besides, there are things that work against it here, surely you know that. There’s evil in Lowmeer. Don’t you feel the darkness? Can’t you smell it creeping along the streets, lingering in dark corners? You’re a witan; surely you’re aware of bad magic used by evil men. What do you call bad magic in your tongue?”

“Sorcery. But the only sorcerers I’ve ever heard about were in myths. Legends. Stories. Not real.”

“People have died in this city of the horror you call the Horned Death. Sorcery.”

“No. That’s the work of A’Va,” he said. “A’Va is the antithesis of Va. Some call him A’Va the Devil.”

“A sort of back-to-front god?” Ardhi shook his head, disbelieving. “So funny. Never mind. When do I meet this friend of yours?”

Sorrel stood among the trees and watched as Saker came up the hill path to the remains of the shrine. He moved the way she remembered, with cat-like litheness. She’d admired it back in Throssel Palace, and it stirred her now. Useless, though. A man who’d hankered after a woman like Mathilda would never be attracted to Sorrel Redwing.

With a cold determination, she slowed the quickening of her breath and shifted her gaze to his companion. A brown man, stocky, black-haired. He wore the normal Lowmian pantaloons, but without stockings or shoes. His calves were all muscle and sinew, his bare feet trod the rough path with confidence. Fascinated, she studied him. His skin had a deep tan that no amount of warm sun had caused. She’d never met anyone from the Va-forsaken Hemisphere before, but she knew that must have been his origin.

When she glanced back at Saker, it was to notice that he did not look well. There was tension in his frown, and unhappiness in his eyes. Her heart slipped a little in her chest, leaving a sick feeling behind.
Stupid ninnyhead, why should you care, after all he’s said and done?
But she did, still, a little. A lot. It wasn’t so easy to walk away from a man you’d once admired.
Time, it’ll take time,
she told herself.
And every time he hurts you, you’ll take another step on the road to recovery
. She smiled wryly, liking the idea of her attraction being some sort of disease that he was curing. One thing she knew for certain, she didn’t want to go back there, to that vulnerability. He wasn’t worth it.

She stood a little straighter, squared her shoulders. As the two men approached still closer, she raised her chin higher. And the dark man smiled at her.

A skitter of fear ran up her spine. He had some sort of witchery, and he was acknowledging that connection to her. She clasped her hands behind her back in an attempt to steady herself.

“I’m sorry to surprise you with someone else,” Saker said without preamble as they walked up to her. “This is Ardhi. He’s a lascar from an island beyond Pashalin.”

The lascar bowed awkwardly over her hand. “Mistress.”

“He wants to talk to you,” Saker said. “But first, I have the money for you, and the letter.” He took her by the arm and led her away where Ardhi couldn’t hear. “I didn’t name you in the letter; I thought it safer just to say ‘the bearer’. It will open doors for you in Vavala. I’ve also told Witan Shanny to expect you. She’ll have a wet nurse arranged.”

Saker,” she whispered, gesturing unobtrusively back at the lascar, “was this wise?”

“He knows nothing about the baby, don’t worry. He needs your help on another matter. We both do.”

Ardhi had been looking around the shrine while they talked. “This holy place, yes?” he asked. His accent was an odd mix of Lowmian and something else. “Witchery strong, like tide.”

“Yes, a shrine,” Saker replied. “Its keeper died.”

She said, “Saker tells me you want to speak to me, Master Ardhi. How can I help you?”

His eyes twinkled at her, the corner of his lips twitching up, his mouth parting to show the gleam of his white teeth.

She couldn’t help smiling back.
My,
she thought,
he’s a very attractive man.

“Forgive, Ardhi speak your tongue not so good.”

“Better, I imagine, than I speak yours.”

He laughed, but the laughter soon died. “I ask important thing. We want three feathers. Feathers belong to my people. With witchery, big witchery. Wrong person use witchery, very bad for everyone. Bad for Lowmian people, for my people.”

This was about the
feathers
?
“What could I possibly do?”

“We want steal these feathers,” he said simply.

She sank down on to the stone seat, aghast. “I’m not going to do that!” she cried.

“No, no,” he said in alarm. “
We
steal. Saker and me. But we not know house. Castle.”

“You’re mad! You can’t rob the Regal! You’d be caught long before you even
got
to the Keep, let alone entered it. You’d have to cross both the outer and inner bailey to get to the main doors – with every gate guarded.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Saker said drily.

“Very important,” Ardhi said. “Must do, or many people die in my land. Here too. Lady Sorrel help.”

Appalled, she gaped at Saker.

He nodded, acknowledging the truth of Ardhi’s words. “We need a plan of the Regal’s solar, with all the entries and exits and where they lead.”

“But without a glamour witchery, you’ll never get into the Keep in the first place. It’s not possible. It really isn’t.”

“Leave that up to us,” Saker said. “Just tell us what entries there are to Regal Vilmar’s solar.”

She wanted to protest, but his expression was implacable. Reluctantly, she capitulated. “There’s a narrow spiral staircase between the Regal’s bedroom and Lady Mathilda’s, used only by her and the Regal’s servant. Her apartments are on the floor above his, but the door at his end is always locked from his side.”

“We’re not going to involve either you or Regala Mathilda,” Saker said firmly. “What other ways in are there?”

“The main staircase, and the servants’ staircase. Both are accessed via doors at either end of a gallery passage, each door guarded by pikemen who belong to the Castle Wardens. The men who wear that silly uniform with the peculiar-shaped hats.”

“So, we’d have to pass those wardens to get either in or out.”

“Yes. They may look silly, but I see them training in the bailey every day. Those pikes are not ornamental. And those who patrol the walls above have arquebuses.”

“I have a sheet of parchment here. Can you give us a plan that will help us?” He spread the parchment out on the stone seat beside her, and handed her a graphite stick wrapped in twine.

She took it from him with a sigh and began to sketch, describing what she was drawing to them both. When she’d finished, she looked at Saker, wondering if he would notice the fear for him in her eyes. “I still don’t see how you can get away with this. Even if you got in, there’ll always be someone in the Regal’s apartments, no matter what time of the day.”

“When’s the
best
time?”

She thought about that. “I suppose a night when the Regal entertains the city’s notables. The Regal, the courtiers and most of the servants and wardens would be busy on the ground floor, probably until cockcrow.” She straightened up to meet Saker’s gaze. “Do you have to do this?”

He blinked, as if surprised she had bothered to ask. “Yes,” he said. “I do.” He folded her sketch and slipped it inside his tunic. “Thank you for your help, and tell – tell the Lady Mathilda…” He paused. “I hope and pray it will go well for her.”

“Saker…”

“Yes?”

She wanted to scream at him, tell him not to be a fool. Risk his life for a feather fan? Then she remembered all that Mathilda had said about those feathers, and about Kesleer and Vilmar. “Never mind,” she said.

“She’s a brave lady,” Ardhi said in Pashalin as they parted from Sorrel outside the castle gates. “She fears for you.”

Saker looked at him in undisguised astonishment. “You have maggot-pie brains! She can’t stand me. With good reason, I might add.”

“Ah, there is none so blind as a man who has made up his mind. Let us talk of our plans. I think I need to know more about your witchery.”

“I think I need a drink and something to eat. There’s a good pothouse over there.”

Ardhi brightened. “Cheese and a newly baked loaf. We don’t have either of those things back in Pulauan Chenderawasi. So tasty!”

“No
bread
?”

He shook his head as they entered the pothouse. “And no ale, either. We drink rice wine, or cassava wine. Not so good.”

Saker had no idea what cassava was, and had never seen rice, but he didn’t pursue the topic. They ordered bread, cheese and ale, and when it arrived, Ardhi brought up the subject of witchery again. “Is it something that’ll help us inside the castle?” he asked.

“Hardly.” Should he explain? If he didn’t, Ardhi might force him to do so, and he hated the thought of that more.

“We need to work together,” Ardhi reminded him.

He sighed. “I seem to have some weird connection to birds. I know what they are thinking, sort of…” He stopped. Ardhi was staring at him as if he had performed a miracle. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing. It’s just that everything begins to make sense. Why you, I mean, why you and not some other witchery-gifted person. Go on. What about your birds?”

“I didn’t have my witchery when your reeky-damn dagger came sailing across the warehouse at me.” He paused. “Wait – did you just confirm what I’ve been wondering: that your kris had something to do with the choice of this particular giddy-brained witchery of mine?”

Ardhi stared into his tankard, opened his mouth to say something, and closed it again. He shrugged.

Saker took a deep breath. “Others are gifted
sensible
witcheries. Healing. Enhanced talents and perceptions that are
helpful.
Skill with farm animals or crops or fishing. Something of
use.
And what do
I
get? An understanding of empty-headed bird twitter! People don’t talk about bird-brains for nothing, you know!”

“Perhaps if you tell me what you can do with your birds…”

“They’re not
my
birds. They’re
any
birds. I sort of know what they’re thinking. Though they don’t think much at all, really. It’s more – knowing how they feel. Angry, thirsty, scared, wanting to shit or fight or just plain hankering after the drab-feathered birdie in the next tree!”

“Is that all?”

He took a calming breath. “Well, they seem to do things that I want them to do. Sometimes. I don’t know! It’s certainly nothing that will help us enter the Regal’s apartments undetected. No bird is going to tell me that. And if your – your foot-licking kris is to blame for the fact that I have this particular witchery…”

“Well, I don’t know if that’s exactly true,” Ardhi said in a rush, “but I think we might be able to use such a witchery. Just as we can use mine. And the power of my kris, too. Remember those gold pieces in the blade?”

“Hmm. You said they are pieces of Chenderawasi feathers.”

“It’s true. I was there when the kris was made, remember. It will lead you to where the plumes are hidden, if you ask it.”

Saker’s mouth went dry. Va, how he hated things that he didn’t understand. Things he couldn’t control.

Besides, the deeper he became enmeshed in witchery, the closer he felt to the Ways of the Oak and the Flow, and the more remote Va seemed to be.

A
gusting storm wind sweeping up the estuary slanted rain against the stonework of the outer castle wall. The same wind drove icy needles into Saker’s face. Dark, wet, cold. The stones beneath his feet slippery with slime. No moonlight penetrating the cloud cover.

Fitting weather for dicing with death.

The Regal was entertaining an ambassador from one of the Principalities, and a banquet was in full swing in the Great Hall. They’d waited twelve days for such a night, but now, as Saker watched Ardhi begin the climb up the wall on the windward side of the Keep in a blustery gale, he wondered if they’d made a disastrous mistake. The lascar had one end of a knotted rope tied around his waist as he made his way upwards. Impossible, surely. No one could climb a sheer wall in this weather…