The Silver City, page 55
Still, he had to do something, or risk Tsenit’s wrath. He turned unhappily to Seardrith, who stood waiting with the grim impassivity that always hid his thoughts. ‘There can’t be anyone left alive in there. You’d better start a search. After all, the Temple is one of the twin pillars of authority in Zithirian. Who will continue the worship of Tayo, if there are no priests left?’
‘No one, with any luck!’
It must have been one of the soldiers who had spoken, but when Seardrith turned to confront them, he saw only fifty blank, expressionless faces. He stared at them menacingly for a few heartbeats, then swung round to face Sathen again. ‘You can report to His High Mightiness that I am undertaking a search immediately. Somewhere, we will find one.’ And he added, so low that only the Chamberlain could hear him, ‘Or if we can’t, we can always dress someone up. It’s all empty foolishness anyway, so who’ll know the difference?’
With reluctant feet, Sathen made his way back to the Palace, his escort of half-a-dozen Guards tramping behind him. At least the streets were almost empty: everyone, it seemed, had gone to dance for joy on the abandoned Ska’i camp. He felt conspicuous and vulnerable in his distinctive blue livery. He almost turned aside to the comfortable house in the Merchants’ Quarter, where his wife and children still lived: almost, but not quite. For whatever his other faults, at least Sathen was loyal to his master.
*
The Lady Kefiri had seen the smoke and flames that announced the end of the hated Temple, and her young maid, M’yani, had told her about its complete destruction by the Ska’i, and of the slaughter of all its inhabitants, including the High Priestess, D’thliss. And when the girl had left her locked in for the night, with everything but freedom for her comfort, she had wept long and bitterly for the children who might have died brutally in the attack, or, worse, might have been taken into hideous slavery.
‘You’ll be safe in the Temple,’ she had told Bron and Lelya, and she had watched them, two dear and vulnerable figures, running through the great gate. But it seemed that the Ska’i had been so desperate to seize Bron — or to kill him — that they had wreaked wholesale and savage destruction to achieve their ends. And she would probably never know whether the two boys had survived as prisoners, or had perished in the flames.
But she must try to find out, if she could. And the next morning she would ask M’yani for news when the maid came up with her breakfast.
M’yani, however, had momentous news of her own. The Ska’i had gone in the night, tidings which did not really surprise Kefiri when she thought about it. And, unpleasantly closer to home, the date for her wedding to Tsenit had been brought forward, and would now take place tomorrow.
She stared at the servant girl’s sympathetic face, and shook her head. ‘No. He can’t. I won’t agree. And anyway, how can he marry me if the Temple’s burnt down and all the Priests are dead?’
‘I hadn’t thought of that one, Lady,’ said M’yani. ‘But everyone’s talking as if it’s a certainty. And you don’t want to be Queen?’
‘Of course I don’t!’ Kefiri said angrily. ‘I have never wanted to be Queen of Zithirian. I am the Lady of Sar D’yenyi — that is my home and my responsibility, and I want to return there when all this is over. And besides, how can I possibly marry my father’s murderer? Oh, if only I could get out of here! Ansaryon must be coming, or why else would Tsenit want to marry me in such a hurry? And while I’m locked up and in his power, he can use me as a hostage, to bargain for his own life and freedom.’
‘And the Lord Ansaryon will come, lady. Everyone in the city is sure of it. Soon we’ll all be free.’ M’yani put the tray down and came close to Kefiri. ‘Listen, lady,’ she went on, very quietly. ‘I’ve been thinking a lot, in the last few days. I know a way to get you out of here.’
Kefiri stared at her in astonishment. She had assumed that M’yani, being a Palace servant, would naturally be loyal to Tsenit. She said in disbelief, ‘Why? Why would you want to help me?’
‘Because I’m on the Lord Ansaryon’s side, of course,’ M’yani told her, as if this was something that Kefiri should have instinctively recognized. ‘Most of us servants are, and some of the soldiers too. We’re all citizens, after all, not courtiers. My Da’s a potter, and my Ma and two of my little brothers died of hunger last winter. Why should I want Tsenit for King? I’d much rather have his brother, sorcerer or not — at least he wasn’t a traitor, nor did he have his own family murdered.’
‘I’m sorry about your family,’ Kefiri said softly. On impulse, she clasped the maid-servant’s hands in the universal sign of friendship and equality. ‘Do you really think you can get me away from here? If I can be free and in hiding in the city before Ansaryon arrives, then Tsenit’s last hope is gone.’
‘Of course I can.’ M’yani grinned at her. ‘Just you sit tight here, Lady — I’ll soon be back.’
The door closed behind her. Kefiri sank down on the bed, her knees suddenly weak. The tray of food lay within easy reach, but she found that she wasn’t in the least hungry, though she normally ate a good breakfast. She thought of the five days she had spent cooped up here as Tsenit’s prisoner, subject to his increasingly violent attempts at persuasion, and then of his face when he discovered she had escaped. For without her, he had nothing left to bargain with, and if M’yani was right, he wouldn’t even be able to rely on the loyalty of many of his own Royal Guard, let alone the Palace servants.
Too excited to sit still, she got up and paced round the circular room, pausing at every one of the four windows to look out. Northwards, to the clear snow-tipped peaks of Annako, Estray and Sargenn, the guardians of her heart and her home. East, into the rising sun, symbol of promises and hope. South, down the shining ribbon of the Kefirinn, the snow-water for which she had been named, her narrowed blue eyes seeking a distant glitter, a far-off smudge of dust, which might herald the arrival of Ansaryon’s army. And finally west, across the city, still shaded by smoke from the burnt Temple, where she would find refuge with her friends until the appointed hour when they would rise up against Tsenit, and help to destroy him.
M’yani’s brisk double-single tap sounded at the door, and she entered, carrying a bundle of what looked like green linen, rather creased and dirty. She glanced significantly behind her, and said loudly, ‘His High Mightiness commands your presence in his chamber, Lady. Shall I make you ready?’
‘Of course,’ said Kefiri, trying to make her voice sound natural. It was difficult to prevent excitement and apprehension colouring her tones: as it was, she could not stop herself grinning at M’yani like an eager child.
The girl grinned back. She shook the cloth out onto the bed. From within the green linen tumbled a tunic and skirt of the familiar bright blue that all the servants wore. ‘Put it on under your gown,’ she hissed. ‘Once we’re past the soldiers, you can take the gown off and you’ll be just like any of us — especially with your hair tied back.’
Kefiri looked at her doubtfully. ‘Where will I take the gown off?’
‘Once we get past the turn in the stairs. It’ll have to be done very quickly and quietly.’
‘It’s too risky — it won’t work!’
‘Oh, yes, it will.’ M’yani stared at her with a challenge in her face. ‘You can’t tell me you’re scared now, Lady, after all you’ve done and all that’s happened?’
‘No — no, I’m not.’ Kefiri took a deep and rather shaky breath. ‘But if something goes wrong, there’ll be no second chance. He’ll chain me to the wall rather than risk me escaping again.’
‘Then we just can’t get caught, can we?’ M’yani said. ‘And pray to Sarraliss, Mother of all, to help us.’
Swiftly, with fumbling nervous fingers, Kefiri removed her bodice and gown and slipped the blue tunic over her head. The skirt was much too long, so she rolled it up around its waistband until it was clear of her ankles, fastened the broad leather belt over the tunic, and then pulled the loose silk gown back on over the top. It was also blue, though of a darker, richer hue than the sharp colour of the Palace livery, so perhaps anything that showed underneath would not be too conspicuous.
She had a jewelled bodice which laced up the front. Like all the clothes that had been given to her, it had originally been made for someone much broader and taller, so it was quite loose, and would be easy to slip off in a hurry. M’yani helped her to put it on, and then surveyed her critically. ‘That’s not too bad, Lady. Nothing shows, and it doesn’t look too bulky. I’ve got a ribbon to tie your hair back — that should do the trick.’
The two girls stared at each other, on the brink of danger. Then Kefiri smiled. ‘Whatever happens, M’yani — thank you, from the well of my heart, for giving me this chance. I won’t forget it.’
They clasped hands in friendship once more, and then moved to the door. A last exchange of glances, a last silent prayer for success and good luck, and then M’yani ushered her mistress out.
The guards outside hardly gave her a glance. They were sitting in the corner under the window, playing skrath, a quicker and simpler version of the Tanathi game of tek. The stairs to freedom wound downwards into the heart of the tower. Kefiri, her heart pounding under the silk bodice, began to descend.
Twelve steps, and they were out of sight of the men above, and also of the door to the Chief Minister’s chamber below. Kefiri loosened the laces of her bodice undone and tugged it silently over her head. The gown followed, to be pushed into M’yani’s bundle. The maid, standing on the step above, gathered up her mass of dark hair and tied it up, dragging it back off her face in the practical fashion of every servant girl. The transformation was complete, and had taken no more than two score heartbeats.
They hurried down the stairs. Past the Chief Minister’s door, past the Chamberlain’s, then that of Tsenit himself, fortunately closed; below, the Council Chamber, and after that the Throne Room. The only person they saw was a male servant, sweeping the steps, and he did not even look up as they passed.
‘Follow me,’ M’yani whispered when they reached the bottom, and her warm hand touched Kefiri’s arm beneath the short, braid-edged sleeve of her tunic. And the Lady of Sar D’yenyi, with no choice but to put herself, and her fate, and perhaps the future of Zithirian too, into the maid-servant’s hands, did as she was told.
The passage snaked in a spiral round the ground floor of the central tower, with others radiating off it. Most of these, Kefiri knew, led to what had been, a year ago, the Royal Apartments, each with its own courtyard and tower, each now destroyed or derelict after the Ska’i attack. One entrance was still blocked by a heap of fallen plaster and roof-beams. At last they came to a tall wooden door. M’yani turned the handle, and daylight, dazzling sunlight, flooded into Kefiri’s eyes.
This was the entrance courtyard, through which she had been dragged as a prisoner, five days ago. Blinking, she saw the maid’s frown, and her unobtrusive but urgent gestures, and hurried along in her wake, head bent. Ahead lay the huge double towers of the Palace Gate, and between them a solid wall of wood. She was wondering how M’yani proposed to bluff her way past the guards when she realized that the other girl had turned aside to a small door set in the base of one of the high flanking towers. Acutely conscious that there were many people in the courtyard, servants, soldiers, even a well-dressed clutch of courtiers, all of whom might recognize her at any moment, she followed M’yani through the door, and into the servants’ quarters.
It was almost dark inside the tower. Steps climbed upwards, and a doorway beckoned on the other side. M’yani grasped her arm and pulled her towards it.
A man appeared, so abruptly that Kefiri almost flinched. He was young, broadly built, and likewise clad in blue livery. He stopped when he saw them, and smiled. ‘Hello, M’yani — I thought you were on duty.’
‘So I am, but Amethi isn’t very well — I should stand aside unless you want her to be sick all over you.’
The young servant stepped smartly out of their path, and Kefiri made a gulping noise in her throat and put her hand over her mouth. M’yani whisked her through the further door, along a brief passage, and suddenly into a wide courtyard, warm, sunlit, the walls laden with bright green fronded leaves and scented white and yellow flowers of the ubiquitous trumpet vine. The fragrance hung deliciously in the air, birds sang, the sky overhead was still the clear, infinite blue of summer. Astonished and delighted — she had somehow never realized that even the servants’ quarters in the Palace could be so beautiful — Kefiri paused, and M’yani pulled her forward impatiently. ‘Come on — please, hurry!’
The courtyard was empty, and the big central fountain silent, its bowl filled with green scummy water. But there was a broom propped up against a pillar, and damp washing piled up in a basket next to it, so they could not afford to linger. An arcade ran round the big square space, and M’yani scurried across the expanse of smooth flagstones, between two pillars and through an entrance beyond. She shut the door behind her and Kefiri, and let out a gusty sigh of relief. ‘That’s it! Done it!’
Kefiri looked around. The chamber was obviously a dormitory: six or seven low wooden beds, neatly made, were ranged round the room, each with a small chest for personal possessions at the foot. An empty brazier stood in one comer, and in another there was a small table and a chair. Nothing else: it was all clean and tidy, but the walls were bare, and the atmosphere was somehow cheerless.
‘Right.’ M’yani went over to one of the chests, presumably her own, and began rummaging inside. ‘These should fit you. Take your livery off now, and put them on. Come on, Lady — it won’t be long before they realize you’ve gone, and start a search.’
Kefiri unbuckled the belt, hauled the tunic over her head and divested herself of the skirt. In exchange, she received a rather old thin woollen gown, unobtrusively patched and of a faded sludge green colour, and a stamped leather bodice, the sort worn by peasants or poor citizens when they wanted to look their best. Kefiri had seen a hundred women dressed like this in Zithirian, so she would be quite inconspicuous — and with D’thliss dead in the ruins of the Temple, there was no one left with the abnormal powers necessary to find her in such an anonymous disguise.
The bodice had cheap clasps of adulterated silver, and like everything else was much too big, but it would have to do. She fastened it, hitched up the skirt, and looked at M’yani. ‘Does that look all right?’
‘Perfect.’ The maid was obviously becoming increasingly apprehensive. ‘Now to get you out.’
‘But surely there’s no way out except through the gate?’
‘Oh, yes, there is.’ M’yani jumped onto one of the beds. Above it, quite high in the wall, there was a window. Kefiri realized suddenly that as the other one was opposite and gave onto the courtyard, this one must surely look out over the city.
But of course it was blocked by an ornate iron grille, presumably to allow a defender to fire arrows out while preventing an attacker from climbing in. The maid had hold of the central bar and was tugging at it fiercely, muttering under her breath. One last frantic pull, and it came away in her hands.
‘Several of us have sweethearts in the city — it comes in handy,’ she explained, dropping the grille on the bed. ‘It’s a tight squeeze for some of us, and quite a longish drop too — more than your height, probably.’
‘I don’t mind.’ Kefiri scrambled up onto the bed beside M’yani, and peered out. Below, the Palace wall fell to a grassy bank, gently sloping down to a defensive ditch, and up the other side. Once, this area had been kept tidy by an army of servants. Now, the grass and weeds were thick and neglected, promising not only a soft landing, but plenty of cover.
A quick glance to her right showed that the bulk of the double tower blocked the view of any soldiers guarding the Palace Gate. Unless someone happened to be looking out of a window or over a wall at the wrong moment, her escape would not be seen.
‘The Merchants’ Quarter is just the other side of the ditch,’ said M’yani urgently. ‘Keep low and go down it as far as the River Tower on the left, then work your way round by the docks.’ She gave the Lady of Sar D’yenyi a brief, encouraging grin. ‘You’ve got friends to go to, of course? Don’t tell me who or where — it’s best for me not to know. Go now — and good luck!’
With her help, Kefiri managed to wriggle through the narrow aperture and slithered painfully down the wall, scraping arms and legs and landing with a bone-shaking jar. She looked up to thank M’yani, and say goodbye, but the grille was already back in place over the window, and there was no sign of her unlooked-for and invaluable friend.
Outside the Palace Gate, trumpets sounded, startlingly harsh and abrupt. Instinctively Kefiri ducked down into the tangled grass, wondering if this meant that her absence had already been discovered. Then, her keen ears picked out the words that the King’s Chamberlain was declaiming.
With unconsciously splendid timing, he was announcing her imminent marriage.
It was too much. Weak with silent laughter, Kefiri lay on her stomach in the ditch and stuffed her hand into her mouth to stifle the noise. For the first and only time in her life, she was envious of sorcerers. Oh, to be able to spy on Tsenit, and to see his face when he realized that his bride had escaped!
But of course, if she stayed here much longer, she might well be caught. Managing to keep her amusement under control, she crawled through the thick undergrowth, ignoring her bleeding arms and ripped skirt. When she reached the huge mass of the River Tower, she stood up cautiously in the deep shadow where it joined the wall. With a quick glance round, she took in the houses of the Merchants’ Quarter, spacious and comfortable, stretching down the hill to the docks; the neglected and overgrown strip of grass, scrub and rocks between Palace and houses; and the little gathering of people, some two hundred paces away, standing at a respectful distance before the Palace Gate, listening to the announcement of the King’s marriage to the Lady Kefiri.
Unobtrusively, the Lady Kefiri climbed out of the ditch, shook the grass-seeds and earth from M’yani’s old gown, and walked briskly down the hill to the secluded lanes and alleys separating the houses of the Merchants’ Quarter.
