Above the Snowline (25 page)
‘I once read tin was easy to smelt,’ I said. ‘Can we do that here?’
‘I’ll look into it.’
‘Excellent. Show the seam to the chief miner tomorrow.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘And give Karbhainn a double helping of gin.’
The Rhydanne began drumming on the lid of the barrel, chanting in Awian, ‘Captain Crake, Captain Crake, Captain Crake, we’ve thirst to slake!’
‘I’d better go pay them.’ He smiled, cracking his chapped lips. He hurried to the barrel and the Rhydanne all stood back, jostling each other like crows. He brought a ladle and stack of tin cups from inside the house, levered the lid off, ladled out some gin and passed it to the nearest bearer - who downed it in one and reached for more.
The Dellin woman exclaimed, ‘No! What is he doing?’ She ran to the captain, dashed the ladle from his hand and pushed him hard. He slipped but regained his balance. He looked to me for help, as Dellin leant over the barrel. She sniffed it and grimaced in disgust. She put her weight against it, rocked it forward and over into the snow. Clear spirit poured out, melting straight through the snow then running in little gullies out of the soaked patch and sinking deep. The Rhydanne together gave a howl of dismay.
All three dropped to their knees and started scooping up the spirit. They knocked back handfuls, licked their palms, elbowing each other out of the way. A woman bedecked in beads snatched a cup and scraped slush into her water bottle. A youth lowered his face to gin pooled in the heel of a frozen footprint, and sucked it from the ground. Dellin set about them, yelling, kicking and slapping. She grabbed the youth and pulled him to his feet, but as soon as she let go he knelt down again, lapping the rivulets.
Karbhainn peered into the barrel and reached in with his cup. Dellin hauled at his ponytail. He batted her aside. She scratched his shoulders and kicked the barrel till it boomed.
All the Rhydanne bawled at her, and Jant shouted at them all until his cheeks flushed red.
‘Just tell me what she’s saying!’ I said.
‘Karbhainn!’ Dellin was shrieking into the tall Rhydanne’s face. ‘You were a hunter once! What happened to you? What have you
become
?’ The captain tried to grab her but she darted away and he flailed after her, as ungainly as a bear trying to snatch soap. ‘Are you flatlanders, to work for pay? They’re fobbing you off with worthless drink! With rotgut spirit! No Awian would work for that!’
become
?’ The captain tried to grab her but she darted away and he flailed after her, as ungainly as a bear trying to snatch soap. ‘Are you flatlanders, to work for pay? They’re fobbing you off with worthless drink! With rotgut spirit! No Awian would work for that!’
The Rhydanne sat back on their haunches and regarded her with astonishment. They had scratched up all the gin-laden slush and now surrounded a large, ragged hole in the snow. ‘Believe me!’ she begged. ‘I’ve seen the lowlands. Featherbacks have such riches that this is a joke. It’s poison!’ She booted the barrel so hard it cracked.
I said, ‘Comet, call her off. She’s upsetting my porters.’
‘She has a point. That stuff stinks.’
‘If you don’t call her back, the guards will arrest her.’
‘Listen to me!’ Dellin pleaded. She whirled round and pointed at me. ‘He’s using you like goats - all of you! He is stealing your self-sufficiency. Turning you not even into herders but into herd animals! Karbhainn, aren’t you ashamed? You used to be the best hunter in Chir Klannich!’
The tall Rhydanne did start to look embarrassed, so as Jant drew breath for his next translation I said, ‘Call your wildcat off.’
‘How much do you pay them?’ he demanded. ‘It hardly seems a fair wage.’
I turned to the gatehouse and prepared to call the archers.
‘There’s no need for that!’ He glared at me. ‘Dellin! Shira Dellin, violence won’t win! You’ll make the featherbacks hate you!’
‘But they—’
‘The porters made their own choices. Come here!’
She snarled and reluctantly returned to us. Jant took hold of her spear. ‘Put your trust in me and the Castle.’
‘Let go!’
‘All right, but calm down.’
I said coldly, ‘I can see who is the troublemaker.’
‘She’s under control.’
‘She’s completely unreasonable!’
‘Raven, if you can’t overlook this entirely, at least be noble enough to give her a chance.’
I turned my back and climbed the stairs, and did not speak until we were seated at the table in the relatively warm solar. The servants served goat’s cheese soup, roast ibex and sauerkraut. Jant instructed Dellin not to drink from the gravy boat, then he turned to me and said, ‘So you’re using Rhydanne as cheap labour.’
‘Cheap? No. Everybody has to work. You should see how little my people live on - I can’t spare more for Rhydanne. But yes, we’re working hand in hand with some Rhydanne, the enlightened ones. Isn’t that what you want? We’re bringing progress to Darkling. I keep telling you. Some have learnt a lot from us already. In fact, several hunters have been so keen to offer their services that they climbed into our compound.’
‘Of course, they had no choice,’ said Dellin. ‘They’re dying of hunger.’
‘But we are supplying their material needs and improving their lot.’ I said. ‘Food and drink, so they no longer need to hunt. Comet, I am happy to cooperate, but you must stop their raids.’
Jant drew a deep breath, deeper and longer than anyone else in the world could, to fill big Rhydanne lungs, then the air sacs inside his long bones - femurs and humeri - and two deep in his back under the roots of his wings. It is a wonder he left any air in the room. Then he sighed long enough to empty them all at once. He seemed frustrated and downcast. For me, the worst thing about this place is the uneasy cold, obtrusive every hour of the day and night, but he will never be rid of the humiliating memories of his goatherd past. Good, I thought. An ego as strong as his can be brittle too and I can drive an apposite word into any crack in his self-esteem.
‘Does Carniss remind you of your youth?’ I asked.
‘This is a holiday resort compared to Mhor Darkling.’
‘Do you think the Rhydanne at the Frozen Hound will listen to you?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, they will stop taking your domestic animals. Never fear. I should leave now, while there’s still enough light.’
I glanced at the window and the sun was indeed grazing Capercaillie’s nearer peak. Then it was coat, hat and boots again, and out into the attendant cold. Night comes on too fast in winter, and faster here than in Rachiswater, as Capercaillie rapaciously blots out the setting sun. The oblique winter light cast the long shadow of my gatehouse over the bailey - the snow had turned dark blue in its shade, and the colour dappled every hollow. We passed through the undercroft passage and Dellin curiously examined the carts parked on one side, with sacks of rock salt, bales of fodder and barrels of gin between them. At the gate, below my blank escutcheon, I said goodbye to Jant and watched them shoulder their packs. They took the gruelling ascent towards the glacier at a loping pace and gradually shrank into the distance, tiny at the heads of two long, regular chains of footprints - the only tracks over the snowfield made nacreous with all the colours of dusk.
JANT
We left the keep and began walking up to the trading post. Where the slope levelled out to a snowfield on the bank high above the glacier, I paused and glanced back down to the promontory.
Raven was still standing where we had left him, tiny at the entrance of his gatehouse. His black coat hung in cornet folds to his ankles, hiding his feet. His steward had left his side but he remained, looking up at us. I could just make out the blur of his face muffled up between fur collar and fur hat. God, his scar had shocked me. It was terrible - a crevasse from just below his right eye to the corner of his mouth. He might have lost that eye if Tarmigan hadn’t been such an excellent swordsman. I know what Raven must have felt - I’ve felt the pain of a cut as deep as that. In fact, the Wheel scar carved into my shoulder by my gang leader in Hacilith is a good deal longer than Raven’s blemish, but my Wheel was a sign of belonging, albeit to a gang. Raven’s is a scar of exclusion. With all that’s happened to him it’s a miracle he could bear it so nobly; he was still every inch a prince.
The cloud was closing in and his figure faded as wisps blew past. In thinner patches his outline resumed its clarity: it firmed up, ebbed from view, then gradually became less and less visible until he greyed out completely and was gone.
Dellin continued to crunch across the snow. She realised I wasn’t following and stopped to look back. I had grown used to her rhythmic footsteps, and when they ceased the silence was absolute. It thrummed, like a pressure on the ear. The still majesty of the mountains struck me, increasing until I was overwhelmed by the silence. Slowly I became aware of a constant, very distant sound like surf, the endless rush of wind in the high cirques kilometres away.
‘Jant, we don’t have much time!’
‘I’m coming . . .’ I whispered, then cleared my throat and called, ‘Coming, Dellin!’ As I walked I felt inside my jacket and brought out the letter I’d stolen. If you know me, by now you’ll have realised it was no accident that I knocked over the pile in Raven’s room. The top letter had caught my interest - I was positive the handwriting belonged to Francolin Wrought - and tipping them all onto the floor was the only way I could think of pinching it.
I smoothed the envelope and studied the writing. I have often carried Francolin’s letters and his crabbed script is unique. But he was involved in the rebellion and Tarmigan exiled him. Why should he be corresponding with Raven? The envelope had no seal - stranger and stranger - so I opened it and unfolded the letter. It was in code. Ah, Francolin, you hoary-headed son of a bitch, what are you up to? I scanned the lines of letters and knew immediately it wasn’t a cipher I’d seen before. It wasn’t any of those used by the Awian nobility, which are very prosaic and easy to crack - after all, they rarely hide much more than gossip. Neither was it one of the Eszai’s codes, by far the most difficult to decipher - not least because I invented many of them myself. It shouldn’t take me long to figure out. In fact the trickiest part will be interpreting Francolin’s handwriting.
I read while I walked, treading in Dellin’s footprints, and found Francolin’s encryption was just a simple transposition. He had written in Plainslands, moved each letter four to the left in the alphabet and removed the gaps between the words. It was so laughably straightforward that I worked it out in my head.
November 29th
To Raven Rachiswater from Francolin Wrought, greetings.
As promised, I have dispatched my Select troops and you will receive them in approximately thirty days, depending on conditions at your end. It is considered good luck, is it not, to welcome a visitor to herald in the New Year? Well, you shall have five hundred.
Each man is loyal to myself - and to you, of course, my lord - and hand-picked for our purpose. You must ensure the sleds are in prime condition, for speed is of the essence.
I would be grateful for prompt payment. I have precious little here. I fear my steward left in charge of Wrought is lining his pockets, draining the coffers I have spent my life assiduously filling. The Castle keeps close control of Lowespass’s finances. You would think a noose encircles this fortress with the rope extending straight to the Emperor’s hand. If you send me funds I can scatter money around the court. Tarmigan plummets in popularity as the taxes levied for his indulgences soar, and our partisans grow in numbers.
My lord prince, keep your spirits high! I trust from the tone of your last letter that your mood has improved and I assure you again all is not lost. I understand the pain of enduring this bleak winter - Lowespass is a dismal valley. Constant sleet, Insects everywhere, my living quarters seem to predate the Pentadrica and the latrines don’t work. You are isolated from the court but I am banished from the side of the daughter I love and, at the rate Wrought is falling into poverty, I fear for her future. This terrible state of affairs will not last. Two years is not too long to wait for the throne.
I risk you interpreting this as a bitter irony but, nevertheless, with all my heart I wish you a very happy New Year, and may our Wishes shatter and release the very future.
Yours faithfully, Francolin.
I see. This explains everything. I clenched my fist in rage and looked downhill - only the black parapet of Raven’s gatehouse was visible now. He thought he could trick me.
Me
! He is pressing ahead with his ludicrous vendetta and all the time he
knows
this will bring the Castle into it. He’s flouting Imperial authority. He’s prepared to deny San as well as Tarmigan!
Me
! He is pressing ahead with his ludicrous vendetta and all the time he
knows
this will bring the Castle into it. He’s flouting Imperial authority. He’s prepared to deny San as well as Tarmigan!
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