Bazil Broketail (8 page)

Now he gazed across to the roof of the Chapterhouse. There were warm lights beckoning down there, comfortable rooms with fires in the grate, and yellow lamps lit. There were soldiers there relaxing in the warmth around the supper table.

The wind wailed faintly; he shivered again and reached up for the first handhold. From this point the tower soared straight up more than forty meters to the first battlements and setback.

Relkin had found his handholds easily enough—the tower was no longer inspected regularly. Nor was it even primarily a military installation. The families of well-placed persons in the legion and the administration were given apartments there. Windows had been cut in the great walls. Cracks had begun and been allowed to grow.

Relkin was an agile youth and good at climbing. Soon he was passing the windows of apartments, shuttered close against the wind. He moved quickly past these floors and eventually reached the battlements where the tower’s setback occurred. Here the tower shrank to one half of its former width and soared another fifty feet to a conical roof, becoming the tallest structure in the city of Marneri, overlooking all else, including the great dome atop the Temple.

A quick glance around showed no sign of the guards.

Relkin skipped quickly across the stones of the battlements. He crossed the tower and looked down upon the southern face. Here there were elaborate balconies cut in the wall. On these balconies were heavy tubs bearing shrubs and small trees. Amber lamps were alight in many windows. Here lived many of the most important people in the city: administrators, estate holders of rank, and members of the Council of Guard.

Relkin had spied on the guards. They usually patrolled the perimeter in pairs, once around every half hour. Since none were in sight, he had time to put his plan into action.

When he reached the point that he knew offered the easiest descent to the balcony he sought, he climbed back over the battlements. The south face of the tower had been remodeled with ornamental stone borders to frame its gates and windows. It was child’s play to a nimble burglar. Relkin was soon clambering onto the wide balcony of one of the uppermost floors, where there grew a garden of orchids in a small, circular greenhouse with an unlocked door.

There were a pair of lamps lit within the glass paneled doors of the apartment. The curtains were drawn aside and Relkin could see into a sumptuous room filled with heavy pieces of dark brown furniture. There was no one in sight inside, however. His way was clear.

He paused a moment to take in the view from the balcony. The moon rode low on the horizon and the stars glittered in the sky. Spread out below, stretching down to the dark water of the sound, the white city sprawled, suffused with the warmth of yellow lamplight. On the mole stretching out into the dark water was the Marneri lighthouse, its great lantern sweeping around every two minutes as it was pulled by a team of trained Cunfshon monkeys.

Relkin felt his hopes for the future rising once more. With a few of the fabulous flowers he could earn at least ten pieces of silver from the wealthy folk who would attend the
Orchidia
at the Opera House. Then on the morrow he would buy the magical blood of the Cunfshon steerbat from old Rothercary and they would re-grow Baz’s tail.

There was no lock, the owner had never imagined that anyone would climb the tower like this to steal her flowers. The greenhouse door opened easily and Relkin slipped in. A brazier’s heat kept it steamy and tropical inside with the curious peppery scent of some black liver plants that grew in a tank on one side.

On the other side were the orchids. And what beauties they were! Long, pendulous-lobed petals bore exquisite shades of yellow and pink, now dusted pale with moonlight. They were the most beautiful blooms Relkin had ever seen.

He opened his satchel and began to pull the orchid plants out of their pots. Keeping a small amount of the moist matting around their roots, he wrapped each plant in a tissue of mattaleaf and thrust it into the satchel until he had a dozen or more. He closed the satchel, swung it over his shoulder, opened the greenhouse door once more and stepped out.

All was as it had been with one exception. He was no longer alone on the balcony. An ape dog wearing a thick-spiked collar was sniffing along the area of the balcony rail that he’d climbed across.

Relkin tiptoed quickly in the other direction.

The balcony came to an end. There was a long jump to the next one. The ape dog began a horrific howling and barking. Relkin could hear its claws skittering along the stones as it charged. He panicked, jumped awkwardly, and slipped on the neighboring balcony rail and almost fell to his death. Only the fact that his legs were astraddle the balcony saved him, and he landed with punishing force with his feet on either side. The breath went out of him, but he managed to topple inside the rail before fainting.

He returned to consciousness too soon. He was still struggling to breathe, his testicles ached. It was hard just getting to his knees. Even harder to gather up his satchel.

Before he had achieved that much, however, he was interrupted. The doors to the balcony opened and a figure stepped out. Relkin stared up into the face of a slender woman with lank grey hair and exhausted eyes, wrapped in a brown blanket against the cold. In her right hand glittered a foot-long knife which she kept pointed at his throat.

For a long moment she simply stared at him. Was this a harmless child, or some deadly thing from the enemy?

“What do you do here?” she said at last, using the witch voice that would compel his answer.

“I stole orchids from the greenhouse,” he said. His reply astonished him with its sudden frankness.

“Why?”

“To sell at the performance of the
Orchidia
. To get the money for a magic to re-grow the tail of my dragon.”

“A dragonboy?”

“Yes,” he said, not knowing quite why he answered so simply and truthfully. There was something about this haggard-looking woman that compelled honesty from him.

She also held the long knife in a manner that suggested that she knew how to use it. The steel glittered; he watched it, entranced.

“Come inside, you’ll sit while I decide what to do with you.”

Relkin felt something lift off his mind, almost like a heavy cloak. His urge for self-preservation surged to the fore.

“Ah, wouldn’t it be much simpler if I just carried on and climbed down the wall?”

She turned to stare at him; her eyes were most peculiar, they seemed to bore into one’s head.

“Inside! I’ll not have common thievery wreaked across the tower. The flowers must go back to the person who has taken such pains to grow them. It is difficult to grow these tropical blooms in the northlands.”

Relkin looked to the balcony rail and calculated his chances. The woman looked up, saw him and snapped her fingers twice. Relkin followed her inside, walking as if he was in a dream. He sat in a chair in a room suffused with an amber light and furnished with heavy bookcases bulging with tomes wrapped in deep brown leather. He still felt distinctly nauseated, but the pain between his legs was ebbing slowly.

The woman rang a silver bell. A guard appeared and received instructions.

She turned back to Relkin. “Now, tell me exactly what it is that’s wrong with your dragon.”

Relkin tried to speak, but his thoughts were filled with fog and he was unable to articulate.

“Come along, young man!” she said. Then seeing his trance-struck eyes she caught herself.

“Oh, silly me. I’m sorry.” She snapped her fingers a third time and broke the declension. Relkin’s mind cleared from the spell for obedience.

“Now,” said the lady. “What’s wrong with your dragon?”

“His tail tip was cut off by a sword.”

“And what is this dragon’s name and of what breed is he?”

“Bazil is his name, Bazil of Quosh. He is a Quoshite leatherback, brown on the back, green on the belly and strong in the shanks.”

“I’m sure he’s a beauty. Well, I’ll be just a minute. Leave the flowers you stole upon this table. I will have them returned to their rightful owner at once.”

Glumly Relkin removed the flowers from his satchel. Now he would be punished and later Bazil would fail the battle tests, and they would be sent to Quosh to become farm labor for the rest of their days.

He waited for a minute or so and the guard returned, now accompanied by a pair of monitors, young seniors from the Chapterhouse who assisted in the maintenance of order in the Tower of Guard.

The guard pointed to Relkin.

“A thief. Take him down to the crypt and deliver him to the disciplinarians. I recommend perhaps a quick dip in the sound.”

“He’ll need a dip once the drubbing women have finished with him,” said one of the monitors, a pinch-faced youth with weaselish eyes.

“They’re in a fettle tonight!” added the other one. “We’ve had three drunken apprentices and a pickpocket already,” he said in a cheerful voice. “It’s the full moon, of course, happens every month—and the drubbings! Oh my, oh my, what a night we’re having.”

The fellow’s good cheer did not hearten Relkin a whit. He was pulled to his feet, his hands were cuffed before him and the monitors prepared to lead him away, when the door opened and the pale lady with the tired eyes returned.

“One moment. Before you take him away I have something for him.”

She pressed a small packet, a brown envelope folded tightly, into his shirt.

“Here, Master Relkin. Boil the contents of this packet in a pail of water and give it to your Quoshite leatherback to drink. He’ll hate the taste, I can guarantee it, but it will help his condition as you described it.”

Relkin had barely time to thank her before he was pulled through the door and down the stairs to the crypt in the cellars.

On the landings he was led through the various crowds of servants, novices, guards and occasional notables. On the lower floors the landings were larger and broad corridors ran away in three directions.

On the ground floor Relkin passed a party of female novices scrubbing down the marble flags. The girls giggled to themselves as he was pulled past them towards the stairs leading to the crypt.

“Guess who won’t be walking so insolently later tonight!” said a voice. Giggles resounded.

“Give him a dip in the sound, that’ll cool them down again!” said another voice.

And then he was tumbling down the stairs to the guard post. He was logged in and sat on a bench outside the small gymnasium used for peremptory punishments. Several other youths were already sitting there. Mostly they were apprentice boys, rounded up for fighting. They sat there sullenly, silent and fogged with alcohol. A smell of sour beer and sweat emanated from them.

His handcuffs were removed and the guards logged him in with the disciplinarians, who emerged briefly from inside the door to collect the next young criminal. From within the doors there came briefly the cries of pain associated with the place. Relkin shivered to himself. There was nothing to be done about it as far as he could see. This anteroom was locked even though the guards now left him.

The inner doors opened again. A middle-aged woman in the shapeless grey robes of the Discipline Order came in. Her heavy arms were wrapped in gold bracelets of rank. Wordlessly she pointed the way for the first of the young louts. With ill grace he got to his feet and went inside ahead of her. Relkin glimpsed the stocks set up inside, with seats for the Recorders of Justice in rows in front.

The doors closed again. The other youths stared at the floor; they made no effort to converse.

Relkin was left with his own naturally gloomy thoughts. Ahead lay the hope of curing Bazil’s condition, and for that he was grateful. Before that, however, he faced an uncomfortable period.

A key turned in the lock to the outside corridor. The door swung open and a face slid into view. He stared at it dully, for a moment and then snapped to attention.

“Lagdalen!”

“Ssh!” she whispered, and bent down beside him. “Come with me, I know a way out of here.”

The others barely looked at her—she wore the grey robe of the Sisterhood with a novice’s blue borders. She endeavored to look as official as possible, walked over and pushed open the door into the gymnasium. A punishment was in progress and the apprentices looked down, intent on their own thoughts.

Relkin followed Lagdalen inside and together they slipped past the backs of the Recorders of Justice, who were intent on the stocks and never turned to look at them. A few feet further on and they entered a narrow stairwell that opened at one side of the room. It led to changing rooms filled with equipment for the gymnasium’s primary usage.

“Quickly, we don’t want to be caught in here,” said Lagdalen in an urgent whisper, pulling him through the dark room and into another passage. They came to a window that looked out on a narrow alley.

“That passage leads out to the kitchen. If you keep straight on you’ll come out by the stables.”

Relkin was momentarily overcome with gratitude. He told Lagdalen about the woman with the pale, lank hair and the packet she had given him.

Lagdalen’s eyes widened.

“What floor was this woman’s apartment on?”

Relkin shrugged, did it matter?

“Near the top of the tower, maybe three floors down.” Lagdalen bit her lip and shook her head. “You are lucky, Relkin. Those are powerful people’s apartments. She might have turned you into a frog for your troubles.”

“But she didn’t. She was kind, I think.”

“Probably one of the High Witches. Again, I say you have been very lucky. You should be more careful, Orphanboy, next time I may not be around to get you out of trouble.”

“Thank you, Lagdalen of Tarcho.”

“Well then,” she said nervously, pressing her hands together. She would have to return the key to the guard-post, before its absence was noticed. “Why did you save me?” he said. “I was passing on the landing and I saw you and I just hated what those other girls were saying and I knew that I had to try and free you if I could.”

“You have risked a drubbing yourself.”