The Seven Markets (26 page)

“I expect they’re not, highness. It’s been some time since the widespread use of intersects was employed for Market travel. These days it’s only folk such as ourselves—from the old lands I mean—with the knowing of these places.”

The Prince sighed loudly. The sigh was meant to convey several emotions at once; his impatience with this never-ending march; his boredom with the mundane act of walking, especially when they’d left good, fresh horses back in town; his frustration at having to abandon his current plans and kowtow to the damnable Market-folk, who in their arrogance dared command him to do—well—anything; and worst, his sense of general superiority. It was beneath so august a presence as himself to travel at night, through thick, muddy woods, through an intercept which hadn’t been used in who knows how long, to preside over a Market in a land which had twice in recent memory attempted to do away with him.

In addition, Cutter suspected the brat was hungover.

The woods grew thicker and thicker until Cutter lost all sense of direction. Only the tug of the intercept, a weight in his chest, kept them on course. He and Felwyn hacked their way through the branches as they strained, their trunks bent almost to breaking, to block the path.

“Sir, I do not understand,” Felwyn said. “This path was wide enough to lead a horse through this morning.”

“You don’t understand. Stop thinking about it and listen. The answer will come on its own, I promise.”

They fought their way through the tangle for several more minutes before Cutter heard his squire groan in frustration. “Sir?”

“Annoying, isn’t it?”

“Does he know?”

“Oh yes, son. He knows. Sneak a glance when you feel confident he’s not looking.”

Felwyn ducked his chin and stole a look back as he navigated a particularly insistent branch. Cutter did not need to follow his eyes to see what the youth beheld: the Prince, in all his glory, walking the same path as they, unencumbered by branch or trunk or leaf. The trees withdrew at his approach as if afraid of being immolated by the lightest touch.

“Sir!”

“Now you’re learning. Might be hope for you yet, boy.”

It wasn’t long, once Felwyn understood he only had to clear his own way and not the Prince’s too, before they came again to the intersect. It remained unchanged. The two trees stood as before, branches crossing overhead, the air between them wavering like smoky water.

“Your highness,” Cutter said, bowing low, indicating Felwyn should do the same.

“Ah, here at last, are we? And before daybreak—call it a miracle.”

“Yes, sire.”

“And the time?”

“Well past midnight, sire. You may proceed at your leisure.”

“Very well.” The Prince gathered his cloak behind him and stepped into the space between the trees. There was no flash of light, no thunderclap as the heavens protested the bending of time and space. He simply stepped up, then through, passing from this grove of trees to the faraway land of the humans.

Cutter and Felwyn guided the Prince’s servants, those who’d caught up with them and those who’d been recently hired in town, through the intersect. When at last the two stood alone, Cutter stopped his squire with the palm of his hand.

“You can return the ring and turn back. No one would think the least ill of you.”

“Sir?”

Cutter chuckled, striking a match and lighting his pipe. “Sorry, figured it was worth giving you a final chance. Some decisions, made in haste, should be allowed to be undone.”

“I will stand with you, sir. You have my sword.”

“Good to know, son. Let’s hope I never need it.”

They stepped through the intercept into the Market.

The doorway on the Market side of the intersect was not created by the joining of two trees. It was a great portal, twice as tall as Cutter himself, round in shape and decorated with intricate carvings whose meanings had long been lost to the tides of time. Those carvings had been the topic of much debate; some said they were runes, necessary to the operation of not only the intersect but the Market itself. Others insisted they were decorations. A history, perhaps, of the Market’s original founders, a history of the Market itself.

Neither party, however, was willing to risk being wrong. The portal was guarded and maintained. None who passed this way were permitted to linger.

Cutter and Felwyn found only the guardian there to greet them. The Prince and his servants were already out on the street, attracting a crowd.

“Stay in one place long enough, I knew you’d turn up eventually.”

“Invite me to visit and I’ll turn up quicker,” Cutter said. “How are you, Neesa?”

The guardian was several heads taller than Cutter, with skin the blue of a cloudless sky over a calm sea. She had four arms and six legs and carried enough weapons for three warriors. Cutter thought she was very likely the most dangerous thing young Felwyn had seen in his entire life. Best to throw him right into the deep end, find out if the boy could swim straightaway.

Neesa skittered forward, the sight of her six legs working in tandem always a marvel to Cutter’s eyes. He braced himself for an impact that never came as she threw all four arms around him in an exuberant hug.

“How long has it been, you dog?”

“Too long. We keep missing each other, don’t we?” She noticed Felwyn standing, frozen, by the portal. “And who’s this? One of his royal muckety-muck’s toys?”

“My squire,” Cutter said, bracing for this impact as well.

“A squire? You? By the Empress, I never thought I’d live to see the day.” She disentangled herself from Cutter and offered one of her left hands to Felwyn, then realized her error and exchanged for the correct side. Cutter smiled, reminding himself that Neesa’s people, the Shivari, had never quite gotten the hang of handshakes.

“Go on, son, she won’t bite.”

“No, I reserve biting for special friends only. How do you do?”

Felwyn took her hand. Cutter could see he was fighting to comport himself with dignity. “Ma’am. It is my pleasure.”

Neesa howled with laughter. “Did you hear that, old dog? He called me ‘ma’am.’ It’s been a lifetime, it has. Oooh, I like this one. Tell me, young sir, how has this scurrilous dog coerced you into his service? Return his ring and grace me with your presence a while.”

Felwyn fumbled for an answer before Cutter stopped him. “She’s only joking, son. Neesa is an old friend.”

“The oldest,” she said.

“She wouldn’t dream of stealing you away from me.”

“Absolutely not,” she said. And then, leaning in close, “Unless you tire of his fastidious ways.”

The portal flashed, signifying new arrivals. Cutter pulled Felwyn back and nodded at Neesa. “No glamour? Did you forget where we are?”

“I like to put it off as long as I can. Two legs? Whose bright idea was that?”

“Not mine,” Cutter said.

“Your Prince lit out of here like his heels were on fire. Think I heard him on the street, announcing his arrival.”

“Gods,” Cutter said.

“Better get out there, and muzzle the fool before he attracts the wrong kind of attention.”

“Such language from a lady of your breeding!”

She turned her head up. “He’s no Prince of mine. My Empress would eat him whole, one gulp and gone. May her glory last a thousand lifetimes.”

“A thousand lifetimes,” Cutter said. He bowed, and was pleased to see the boy matching him.

The intersect flashed again and three travelers in cheap glamours stepped out onto the platform, looking confused and disoriented and in need of the Shivari’s assistance.

“Let us leave you, milady, to your business.”

“Sweet talker.” She saw one of the newcomers extending a hand to touch the portal’s carvings. “Hey, hands off the hardware!”

It was early yet. Only one sun had risen, and that only over the edge of the Market’s horizon. Cutter paused to let the boy digest his surroundings.

They’d come out near the center of the Market. He recognized the intersection, though some things had changed since their last visit. The first change he noted was the most pronounced; two more Shivari stood guard outside the arrival center. Each was armed to the teeth and covered in gleaming jet-black armor. The armor was organic, grown rather than worn. A second, tougher skin. From what he knew of Neesa’s people, Cutter judged these two were from the soldier caste, bred for ferocity in battle.

“Guards,” he said. “Never needed guards before.”

The Prince’s inn was at the end of the street. Cutter recognized it as the same inn, but modernized somehow: a different cut to its once familiar lines, a different shape to its windows. Also, he realized, it was taller by three stories.

“That woman,” Felwyn said, keeping his voice low. “She was blue.”

“Aye.”

“And her legs. It hurt my eyes watching her move about.”

“You get used to it, I assure you. If we see her later, she’ll be wearing a glamour to keep from scaring the visiting humans. You probably won’t recognize her.”

Felwyn nodded and did not comment.

They found the Prince out in front of the inn, holding court for all to see.

“You’d think he’d be more careful,” Cutter said.

“Sir?”

“The last time we were here, the humans tried to kill him. He won’t talk about it, but even odds say that’s the real reason he was so resistant to coming. I suppose he expects it’s safe being out like that as it’s so early. Humans never get much of an early start, not if they can help it.”

“I’ve heard they’re savage creatures, sir. Never met one myself.”

Cutter shook his head. “Mostly they’re the same as you and I. Come for the pastries, the fancy clothes, the little clockwork wonders that sing your name when you come into the room. People just like anyone else you’ll meet. Not bad, not good, just people. Come on, let’s gather his highness and get him inside before he attracts too much attention.”

The Prince complained when he learned the inn now went to eight stories instead of its previous five. He’d grown accustomed to having the sixth floor to himself and did not fancy tromping up eight flights of stairs to get to his suite of rooms.

When the innkeeper suggested a corner on the first floor as a likely alternative, the Prince sniffed and asked the man if he’d lost his mind. “The first floor? Only ruffians and paupers accept rooms on the first floor.”

“Of course, your highness, of course. Forgive me for suggesting it.”

“Certainly,” the Prince said, the ice in his tone making clear that he had no intention of doing so.

It was Felwyn who stumbled upon the solution, suggesting they install the Prince’s rooms above the eighth floor—for the view—but place the entrance in its usual spot on the fifth floor.

“That will be tolerable,” the Prince said. He examined the boy as if seeing him for the first time. “Cutter, who is this young man? How long has he been traveling with us?”

“He is my squire, sire. He has only just recently joined our company.”

“Your squire?” The Prince seemed disturbed by this development. What use could his bodyguard have for a squire? He’d never needed one before, had he? “Very well. Dreary work, I imagine. Please try to keep him occupied and out of the way.”

The Prince installed his suite while Cutter directed the servants and settled their affairs with the innkeeper. There was the matter of payment, which the innkeeper tried to refuse, and which Cutter had to force on the man, insisting that royalty or no, it would not do for them to stay for free.
 

Cutter showed Felwyn to their rooms, installing the boy in a bedroom he was sure had not been there previously. Once unpacked, they waited for the Prince and then descended as a group to the common room for breakfast.

The Prince took his usual table at the center of the great room. Cutter directed Felwyn to the fireplace, which was stacked with cords of wood but not lit.

“I’ve always found this spot to have the best view in the house. See the entrance there and the kitchen there? Note the steps down to the cellar and the windows along the far wall. If you pay attention nothing can happen in this room that you will not see coming.”

The squire nodded and practiced, under his master’s direction, observing the ebb and flow of the room. Travelers entered through the front door, selecting tables and ordering breakfast. Cutter explained how far some of them had likely come. “The first day’s crowd is always placid. Tired from long journeys. Still, no reason to let one’s guard down.”

“Yes, sir,” Felwyn said. Cutter noted he’d fallen nicely into the habit of conversing without looking directly at him.

The common room filled up in short order. “I prefer not to dine when the Prince is at his business, as he is now. Food can be a terrible distraction, second only to women and perhaps cards.”

“I never had the knack for cards, sir. Nor women, come to that.”

“Small towns,” Cutter said. “We’ll soon cure you of that. But make sure you’re the master of your habits and not the other way around.”

“Yes sir.”

The morning proved uneventful. The Prince remained at his table through the noon bell. The clientele changed to a mixture of travelers and visitors from the human lands. Cutter sized up each person as they entered, paying extra attention to the humans. More than once he directed Felwyn to watch as he cleared a disruptive sort away from the Prince’s table. “Words will almost always serve better than force. The trick is to make your words forceful without being threatening. Give a man an excuse not to fight and he’ll almost always thank you for it.”

As the common room began emptying out, Cutter knew the Prince would soon be looking to venture out into the Market proper. “There are palms to press, cheeks to kiss. Some of it masks our true purpose in coming. Some of it is his duty to our King.”

“True purpose, sir?”

“I didn’t tell you, did I? Custom demands the Market have a representative of the royal family in attendance whenever it travels. You’ll hear different theories as to why this is, but the one I prefer involves royal blood and the great power of the Market itself.” He paused as two women, one with long blond hair falling like rain around her face, the other with strands of brown hair trailing in her eyes and a long braid down to the middle of her back, entered through the front door. He pointed them out to Felwyn. “Those two, what do you think?”