A covered bucket reeking of urine and feces is the perfect disguise.
“Cursed clumsy brat!” yells one of the men.
“Shut up and keep your mind on the job,” snaps their commander. “Move! Our target should be just ahead.”
They are headed for the Garon balcony.
In a strange and entirely unwanted flash of feeling, I realize I admire Gargaron’s courage in staying behind while the rest of us escape.
Temnos and I scurry on as shouts break out behind us. I have to keep reminding myself to walk at a brisk but not panicked pace. We make our way down from the high terrace by stairs that lead to an area outside the court reserved for a kitchen that serves only the highborn. I’ve not been back here before so we stumble around a bit, getting in people’s way, although I do manage to dump the tray of shrimp. Servants are still cooking in the kitchen while others are peering out at the square where carriages wait.
“What’s going on? Look there! Isn’t that Prince Temnos’s carriage? Is he leaving already, before the last trial?”
A harried woman steps in my path. “Get that stinking bucket out of the kitchen. The latrines are that way!”
Several male servants stumble in from the court. One has a purpling bruise on his right eye from a punch. “There’s a disturbance up in the highborn terraces. I hear a rumor foreign soldiers are loose in the city, maybe some kind of uprising.”
I nudge Temnos along.
Going out the back brings us into an open space with latrines dug on one side and a wall separating this area from the square. With a grunt, Temnos sets down the bucket, shaking from the effort of carrying it all this way.
“Now what, Spider?”
“Hush.”
“What’s going on?”
“Quiet! Get down!”
He’s not quite tall enough to see over the wall but I am.
And I wish I were not.
The square has become a scene of chaotic confusion, people scattering everywhere as men run after the prince’s gaily decorated carriage, surround it, and force its driver to halt. The servants attending the carriages of other lords cower or hide.
The assailants wrench back the curtains. Amid screams, the youth dressed in the prince’s golden jacket and keldi is dragged out of the carriage. His companions leap after him. Unarmed, they throw themselves over his body to protect him. Some are stabbed while others are yanked out of the way as the attackers step in to cut down the helpless Lord Elotas in a flurry of blades.
25
Lady Menoë appears, fighting against a man attempting to pull her out of her carriage. As I brace myself to see her murdered beside the boy, Sergeant Demos appears. He signals orders to the men, and they lower their weapons and push her back inside. The bloody corpse of the dead boy is slung into the carriage while his dead companions are thrown into a second carriage where Menoë’s women cower. The two carriages are driven away in the direction of the King’s Hill, surrounded by armed men.
I don’t have time to feel anything. I have to act.
By now spectators are beginning to rush from the court like folk fleeing fire.
“Temnos, we are going to take off our masks and join the crowd. You have to stick right with me, hold my hand the whole time so I don’t lose you.”
“What happened, Spider? Your face is like ash. You look like you swallowed a bug.”
“Don’t call me Spider, Temnos. Say Jes if you must.” I take his hand and we hasten past the latrines and out a back gate where worried guards ask, “Do you know what’s going on?”
“No,” I say, slipping past, “but if I were you I would clear everyone out and hurry home.”
“What do you mean?” they call after me, but Temnos and I slide easily into the streaming channels of people. We’re jostled and shoved. Someone steps hard on my foot. Temnos yelps in outrage as he is elbowed.
“Keep moving,” I say, my fingers clamped over his frail wrist.
“Where are we going?” he asks in a preternaturally calm voice, the tone of a person who has finally stripped off his mask to reveal the real face beneath. “Are you trying to save me or hurt me, Spider?”
The accusation stings, and yet how can I fault him? “I promise you, I’m trying to save you. But if you prefer I will let you go on your own way, alone.”
He considers in silence as we stride along. He really thinks it over, the poor boy. What considerations whirl through his head I cannot fathom, and yet to him these are normal concerns that he has been taught by his father to evaluate: Who may wish to kill me? Whom can I trust?
After a bit he shakes his head. “I’ll stay with you. I don’t know how to get around the city by myself.”
As we weave in and out of the masses of people headed out of the Fives court square and down into the city, I consider the paths that are unfolding. This can’t be the king’s attack on Garon Palace: Why would Kliatemnos and Serenissima try to kill the son they have been keeping alive with magic? It doesn’t make sense.
What if this is a cunning plan by Gargaron to rid the king of his heir and blame it on interlopers? But that path is a dead end. As Princess Berenise said, Temnos will likely be out of their way due to his illness once no priests are ordered to revive him with sparks stolen from other people. This isn’t worth the risk.
The presence of Sergeant Demos tells me everything I need to know. No one else saw it coming because they don’t want to believe it.
Menoë and Nikonos have made their move.
I should have insisted Kal stay with me and never let him go off so confidently by himself into the maelstrom, still believing he can trust his sister.
As the crowd masses into a boiling, buzzing, frightened swarm trying to get out of the square, we are slammed from behind by the crush. Temnos stumbles and goes down onto his knees. He’s almost trampled but I manage to hoist him up on my back. He scarcely weighs anything; I’ve trained with heavier sacks of sand over my shoulders. I batter a way out of the bottleneck and down a street, then follow a lesser trickle of citizens into the relative quiet of the Lantern Market.
Vendors are folding down their awnings and closing up their stalls, covering up stacks of mouth-watering melon and jars of sweet-smelling date wine. News travels fast. People are quick to crawl into the nearest refuge where they can hope to weather the storm.
We pause under the portico of one of the theaters to catch our breath. All the theaters are closed on Fivesday, when the city trials are run, so no one pays us any mind as they hurry past.
Temnos clings to me, arms wrapped around my waist. He isn’t crying but his face is so pale, trembling as he presses his cheek against my arm.
“You’re doing very well,” I say to encourage him.
“I know. I’m very scared.”
“I’m scared too,” I say even as I pack my terror as into a jar and seal it away. Nothing can be allowed to trouble my concentration, not now. “Temnos, we need to find your father and mother. They are the only ones I trust to make sure you are safe. Your father made a very clever plan to protect you by switching clothes with Lord Elotas. Did he perhaps choose a rendezvous site should some disaster overtake the city? Someplace away from the royal palaces?”
“Oh, yes! I should have told you before this. If ever disaster overtakes me, I’m supposed to meet my gracious father at the Playwrights’ Pavilion in the Archives. I know a secret way in. I’m thirsty, Spider.”
“Can you make it a ways farther? I don’t have any money so I can’t buy you anything.”
“Can’t we just take whatever we want?” he asks with a bewildered expression. “I am the prince!”
“Shhh! But you are acting the role of a servant, remember?”
“That’s right!” He slaps the mask back over his face, but even so he forgets to speak as a servant would. His voice is bold, thoughtless, and so sure. “Masks are how we know who is a servant and who is a master. That’s what my gracious father says. He says that back when my honored ancesto
rs first came to this land, the Efean rulers wore masks as a sign of honor and authority. So by making our servants wear masks we remind ourselves that we Saroese now rule and Efeans serve us. Just like you serve me, Spider.”
My hand twitches as I suck down the urge to slap him. He’s only repeating the world he sees around him. He’s just a child. Yet his comment claws at me as we stride through the Lantern District because it reminds me of the painting I saw in the Heart Tavern. It reminds me of Ro-emnu’s righteous anger.
It reminds me that Efea and Efeans once ruled themselves.
The streets are slowly emptying out as news of the disturbance spreads, although I spy no foreign soldiers searching for us. Temnos is starting to lag, so as soon as we cross under the West Gate of the Lantern District I kneel and again have him crawl onto my back. I am a mule, after all. The word has never felt more caustic as I carry an invalid prince through the streets to save his life when I have come to doubt it would ever occur to him to take any action to save mine.
Everything changes once we reach the Avenue of Triumphs. It swarms with uniformed men wearing the bird tabards of the Saroese kingdoms. From partway up the slope of the King’s Hill we can see across the city the ships that fly the flags of our enemies anchored in the twin harbors: the hawk of East Saro and the peacock of Saro-Urok.
“We are being invaded,” Temnos whispers into my ear as his spindly arms cling around my neck, almost choking me. “Where is the Royal Fleet? Where is the Royal Army, Spider?”
“Maybe the invasion on the Eastern Reach was a decoy all along,” I say, because there is no use in trying to hide the ugly truth from him. Like Kalliarkos, he is already in the viper’s pit. “If so, it worked perfectly to draw the main army away from Saryenia and the royal palaces so this invasion by sea could happen with less resistance.”
“Will the invaders kill me?” He doesn’t sound frightened, more resigned, and that is saddest of all: that he knows his part in this precarious game. He’s just a child. I’m sorry for the hateful thoughts I’ve had about him.
“I am sure the king has a plan in place to get you out of the city.”
The Archives aren’t far, and he and I are so very unimportant-looking that we rate not a second glance. When we reach the monumental entrance of the huge library we find no foreign soldiers on the prowl, nor any guards at all, which troubles me as I set him down and study the entrance with its wide marble steps and high portico. But we’ve already chosen our path through this obstacle, so I decide to keep going.
“I’ve never been inside, so you’ll have to lead the way, Temnos.”
He takes my hand. “Come along, Spider. I know exactly where we are going.”
The Archives are a place of learning, founded at the order of Serenissima the First during the tenth year of her joint reign with her brother Kliatemnos the First. Here all the books and scrolls containing all the knowledge of the world have been collected, and Archivists study and write about every endeavor of human life and unravel the mysteries of the world as well. According to royal decree the Archives are freely available to all. In reality Commoners are welcome here only as servants.
Temnos limps, drooping. He’s exhausted but gamely courageous, a true adversary. Under the vast stone entryway we creep like mice into a storehouse of grain. Statues of the royal couples who have ruled Efea in the past one hundred years stare down upon us from high plinths: Kliatemnos and Serenissima the First, known as the Saviors, who safely guided refugees over the Fire Sea to a safe landing in Efea; Kliatemnos and Serenissima the Second, known as patrons of the arts; Kliatemnos the Third and his niece and queen, Serenissima the Benevolent; their son and daughter who married and reigned together as Kliatemnos and Serenissima, the fourth of the name. These last two are the elder brother and sister of Princess Berenise, and parents of the current reigning king and queen.
Past the entry lies a great courtyard whose marble pavement is carved with the words of the ancient sages. We tread upon their wisdom as Prince Temnos guides me to the first of several pavilions, built as a series of meeting rooms situated around a central open area.
“This way,” says Temnos. “The warden of this pavilion is a particular friend of Scholar Thanises. My gracious father comes here sometimes in secret to argue about which playwrights are the best and which are rated too highly. The warden has a private office in the back, with a secret door.…”
A crack like a board snapping startles me.
“Hurry,” I say, for now I hear the deadly tread of footsteps coming closer and I fear being trapped inside the pavilion with no way out.
He lets go of my hand, runs along the portico to the back corner where a door stands open, and dodges inside. Just as I reach the door I glance back to see a phalanx of soldiers enter. No civilian clothes disguise their armor; they wear the hawk of East Saro.
Praying that I have not escorted the prince into a trap, I walk straight into a sticky pool of drying blood.
Temnos stands with arms lax at his sides and a slack expression as he stares down at the corpse of King Kliatemnos. The king’s torso is a mosaic of red wounds. Thanises is bent back over a chair with his throat cut. A drop of blood rolls off the scholar’s pale hand and spatters on the marble floor. A man wearing an Archivist badge lies sprawled under a table that’s piled with open books and a scatter of scrolls.
The chamber is large, with couches, chairs, and several more tables all piled with books and scrolls and scraps of paper someone has been piecing together. Statues of famous playwrights line the walls. It has no obvious outlet other than the door we came through, and windows set into the thick walls higher than my head.
I grab Temnos’s shoulder. “Do you know where the secret door is?”
He doesn’t answer. His gaze has the slightly wild look of someone about to collapse.
“We’ll find a place to hide. They must have killed the king and now they’re searching.”
“They’re searching for me,” he whispers. “They’re going to kill me.”
“I should have done what Kal told me,” I murmur. “We’d be safe at the Heart Tavern by now, whatever Gargaron and Berenise have planned. Oh gods I should never have brought you here. Temnos, we’ve got to get out of the Archives. I know a safe place. A truly safe place.”
“The secret door is by the statue of Serenissima the Scribbler. Here.” Temnos pokes at a tapestry. The fabric gives way. I yank it aside to find a narrow passage built into the wall.
“This isn’t a secret door,” I say.
“It is if you don’t know it’s there!”
Footsteps tramp closer. I have no choice except to shove him into the passage and let the tapestry fall over the gap.
“Where does this go?”
A musty smell gets up in my nose. I can barely see my hands, much less the prince, who has already taken several steps away from me down the black passage.
“It runs along the outer wall all the way to the Head Archivist’s office in the Hall of Scrolls. There’s a secret door like this one letting into the warden’s office of each pavilion. It’s so the wardens can bring scrolls in and out to visitors without going through the courtyard and exposing the paper to sun or rain.”
“Good Goat!” exclaims a man’s thunderously loud voice as a group of people clomps into the chamber we’ve just left. “Did that dry, dull stick Kliatemnos really have that much blood in him?”
“You can let go of my arm now,” says a sneering, haughty voice I recognize as Lady Menoë’s. “I won’t faint.”
“Oh, I never thought you would, for I know what an unyielding heart you hide under that lovely exterior, dearest Menoë,” drawls Prince Nikonos.
The collaborators, unmasked!
I have to get Temnos as far away from here as fast as possible before they discover the passage.
The huge Hall of Scrolls is famous for being a vast maze of aisles and cubbyholes and side alcoves, as convoluted as the Ribbon Market, a good place to hide. I squee
ze past Temnos, grab his hand, and pull him along as we hurry down the dim corridor.
Suddenly a lamp appears, illuminating Queen Serenissima herself hurrying down the passage in our direction.
“Gracious Mother!” Temnos cries, then claps a hand over his mouth, aware that he spoke too loudly.
“Your Highness.” I press fist to chest and bow. “I have Prince Temnos. Your Highness, the king has been murdered, and I fear a conspiracy between Prince Nikonos and Lady Menoë. You can’t go back to the Playwrights’ Pavilion.”
“Of course not.” Her face seems wax-pallid as she looks past me to Temnos, half hidden behind my body. He’s so small, and he’s breathing hard, his lungs taxed to the point of breaking. “You must come with me, Temnos. I’ve been looking for you. I hoped you would remember your father’s secret plan, and so you have, clever boy. You are so very much Kliatemnos’s child.”
“Where did you come from?” I ask as I realize she appeared so abruptly she can’t have approached us from the Hall of Scrolls, because the passage runs straight along the entire length of the wall and so we would have seen her light much sooner.
She pushes Temnos in front of her. Her lamp’s golden aura of light spills along the wall as I watch them hurry away from me, shadows curling around her.
There is blood on the back of her dress.
Her hands are bloody.
They vanish down a side passage leading into one of the pavilions. I scramble after her, but before charging into the space she just entered, I peek past the passage’s concealing tapestry. Beyond lies another warden’s chamber. This one displays nothing but masks: savage cat masks, crocodiles with toothy jaws hinged wide, joyful butterflies.
She sets the lamp on a table and beckons to the soldiers who await her. “Take us to Prince Nikonos.”
Prince Temnos grabs her hand and says, “Gracious Mother, I’m so glad we found you.”
“Yes, come with me, Temnos. It will all be over soon.”
She and the soldiers hurry out, and I race into the room on their trail, only to stop dead as my eye catches on a rumple of clothing in one corner of the room. The body of Lord Elotas has been tossed on the marble floor like so much discarded trash.