Beyond the Hanging Wall (16 page)

“How?” Joseph asked doubtfully.

“Venetia,” Ravenna said, staring him in the eye, “can spirit her into the marsh. No-one will ever find her there unless she wants to be found.”

“But you will have to send Venetia a letter,” Garth began, “and Cavor’s men will surely be on their way south now. They will reach her before any word from you can.”

“They will not have had time to reach her yet?” the girl asked, her colour high and her eyes sparking. She shook her black hair back from her face.

“No,” Joseph said, staring at her. “No. It will take them another two or three days to reach Narbon from Ruen.”

Ravenna smiled, and it was as predatory as any either Garth or Joseph had seen on her mother’s face. “But I can reach her tonight.”

There was utter silence about the table, then Vorstus grinned. “You are more of a witch-lady than I had realised, Ravenna. Save Nona Baxtor then, if you can.”

It was a challenge, and Ravenna knew it. “You have not seen half of what I can accomplish yet, Vorstus.” She paused. “Watch, if you dare.”

She turned for a moment to Joseph. “Venetia will need some message from you, something that will identify her as a friend to Nona and convince her of the urgency of the need to hasten away. What can I give her?”

Joseph thought, chewing his lip. “Tell Venetia that I asked Nona to be my wife on a seventh-day, and that we were married on a seventh-day, and that,” his colour deepened, “Garth was conceived on a seventh-day.” He cleared his throat as his son shifted uncomfortably. “It has always been a joke between us that seventh-day, the only day I take off from my duties as a physician, has been the only day of the week when I can be a true husband to her.”

Ravenna stared at him, then she leaned across the table and gently touched his hand. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Then she abruptly stood up from the table. “Isus, would you open the door for me? Only slightly, I will need but a small gap.”

As Isus moved across to the doorway and silently activated the mechanism that operated the rock door, Ravenna paced in circles about the centre of the chamber.

Maximilian, who all thought to have been asleep, rolled over and gazed curiously at her.

Ravenna folded her hands tightly before her; so tightly the others could see her knuckles gleaming white. She frowned, and began to mutter inaudibly, her voice a low monotone that murmured through the room. The only word that the others could occasionally make out was the name of her mother, Venetia.

After some time Garth stiffened, as did everyone else watching, save Maximilian; he still gazed at her with nothing more than curiosity.

A mist was forming about Ravenna’s tightly clasped hands and, as they watched, it solidified until it became a perfectly spherical silver ball.

Ravenna pulled her hands apart, but the ball remained, and the girl cradled it lovingly to her breast for a moment. She looked up, and Garth drew in a shocked breath. Her eyes were now so colourless they reflected the silver of the ball she held in her hands.

“Venetia!” Ravenna cried, and threw the ball into the air.

It circled about the room five times, increasing its speed with each circuit, then abruptly it dipped and rushed for the door. Isus stepped back hurriedly, avoiding a collision by only a breath.

There was a whisper of air as it passed through the doorway, and then it was gone.

“That was very pretty,” Maximilian said into the silence.

Ravenna turned slowly and regarded him. “Pretty? Yes, it was, Maximilian. Thank you.”

Maximilian smiled for her, his eyes feverish, then he lay down and went back to sleep.

“Nona will be safe by noon tomorrow,” Ravenna said, laying her hand briefly on Joseph’s shoulder, then she sat down, smiling slightly at the expression on the men’s faces. Of them all, Maximilian’s reaction had been the only one she valued.

“Well,” Joseph said, “if Nona is safe, then I guess that Garth and I will cast our lot in with you…and with,” he glanced over to the bed, “the rightful king of Escator, Maximilian Persimius.”

There were smiles all about. “Good,” Vorstus said. “Now, I suggest we discuss how to get Maximilian away from here and into the royal forests to the east. I thought that perhaps we could smuggle him out in a cart of supplies.”

Garth and his father exchanged looks.

“No,” Joseph said. “Fennon Furst, the overseer, well knows the true identity of Lot No. 859—Maximilian told Garth that was the one name he remembered from his kidnap. Furst is putting an effort into the recapture of this prisoner that has never been seen before—several of the guards are commenting on it. The upshot of it is that everything leaving this area is being searched, and anyone not recognised by the guards is not being allowed through the cordon that has been thrown about the Veins—and Myrna itself—without rigorous inquisition.”

The monks exchanged troubled looks. “Then what can we do?” asked Isus as he returned from closing the door.

Joseph looked at the ceiling, then looked at his hands, then studied a minor whorl in the table surface in intimate detail. “I think I know a way,” he mumbled.

“Yes?” asked Vorstus impatiently.

“To effect his escape to the forest I shall have to visit the Ladies’ House in Myrna,” Joseph said, then blushed at the expression in his son’s eyes. “You can stay here, Garth, and sit with Maximilian as he sleeps. I’ll collect you as I return by here towards morning.” He looked about at the monks and Ravenna. “With luck, by tomorrow evening Maximilian will be well on his way to the forests.”

Joseph and Garth scrunched through the sooty soil towards Furst’s office in the morning’s grey light. Both were silent, their faces tense even though they fought to remain expressionless.

Joseph had returned to the hollow hill late into the night, spoke quietly with Vorstus and Ravenna for some minutes, glanced at Maximilian’s sleeping back, then had collected a still-puzzled Garth and had returned to the physicians’ quarters—earning some sly grins at the lateness of their passing from the guards they encountered.

Garth had tried to question his father, but Joseph had only grunted that for the moment the least Garth
knew the safer it would be. And with that Garth had to be satisfied.

At least he could guess the reason they visited Furst this morning.

The overseer was flushed and visibly nervous, his red hair standing in odd spikes where the man had run terse hands through it. Papers drifted across his desk as Joseph and Garth entered, and he mumbled a curse. “Yes?”

“Fennon,” Joseph said calmly, and Garth wondered that his father could speak so naturally. “The Veins is in chaos. None of the physicians are being allowed down at the moment, and we all sit pointlessly about the fire exchanging months-old gossip. Garth and I might as well go—”

“You can’t,” Furst interrupted tersely. “You’ve only just arrived. Three weeks is the minimum that you serve.”

“Ah,” Joseph murmured politely, and reached inside his cloak, pulling out a letter. He handed it to Furst. “You may not be aware, my friend, that the king has asked me to attend the court as his personal physician. This letter serves to cut short my service at the Veins if I so desire. Do you recognise his seal?”

Furst stared at the letter, then thrust it back to Joseph. “An elevation of some note, Joseph. Well, I suppose you can go. This has been a worthless trip for you; all the way from Ruen only for a day’s service.”

Joseph spread his hands in a gesture of resignation. “Well, the escape of this damned prisoner has thrown everyone’s routine into chaos, Fennon. If it had not been for him, well then, Garth and I would
have been happy to stay here and study the fungal infections of the Veins in some greater detail.”

“Humph.” Furst stared back at the papers on his desk. The past night had been a bad one for him.
Where was he?
“Leaving this morning?”

Joseph nodded.

“Well, perhaps I’ll see you at court.” Furst paused, and both Joseph and Garth noted his pale face and the dark circles under his eyes. “This prisoner is proving hard to catch. If I can’t find him…” Furst’s voice trailed off and his eyes shadowed.

“No doubt he tripped and fell down one of the unused shafts within moments of his escape,” Joseph said soothingly.

“If only,” Furst whispered, then waved them out.

“Father?” Garth asked as they mounted their horses. “
Will
you tell me what’s going on?”

Joseph took a deep breath, the only sign of nerves that he had exhibited so far, and turned his horse’s head for the road. “We’ll no doubt meet up with them soon, Garth. On the road beyond Myrna, if not sooner.”

“But the guards…”

Joseph grinned, but it did not ease the worry in his eyes. “I have every hope the guards will not take too much notice of them, Garth. Now, come.”

Garth stifled his impatience as he urged his own horse forward and tugged at the lead rope of the packhorse. Several guards, en route to the shaft, waved unsmilingly; Furst had driven them through the night in his efforts to find Lot No. 859, and now both eyes and tempers were scratchy from lack of sleep.

Joseph waited until they were well past, then spoke quietly to Garth. “Be careful if we have to speak to guards, Garth. They’ll not be so ready to jest as they were last night.”

Garth nodded. The above-ground complex was tense and brittle, and he shuddered to think what it must be like underground. No doubt the guards wondered why Furst drove them so hard to find this particular prisoner, and doubtless Furst was in no hurry to enlighten them.

Whatever the reason, tempers would be short this morning, and Garth shivered again as he contemplated the consequences if the guards found Maximilian.

Joseph kept his horse to a fast trot. There was nothing more he would like to do than touch his heels to the beast’s flanks and flee the Veins as fast as he could, but that would only attract unwanted attention. He glanced across at his son, and smiled reassuringly. “Look, we approach the outbuildings of Myrna. So far so good.”

The town was in as much turmoil as the Veins complex itself. Guards, in groups of three and five, patrolled the streets, while various townspeople stood about in nervous groups discussing the latest rumour about the escape. Like the guards, many were wondering at the unprecedented effort being put into the recapture of the prisoner…and how had he managed to escape anyway?

Rumours abounded, and the strongest of them was that one of the guards had helped in the escape. Must have, else how had the man managed to flee so completely?

Joseph and Garth attracted a few curious looks, but none gazed overlong—for which both were profoundly grateful. They turned their horses into the main street and Joseph nodded at a three-storey house on the corner of the first block. There were gay pennants hung from the balconies—incongruous in this greyest of grey towns—and secretive lace curtains in the windows. Several brightly apparelled and heavily rouged women stood on its verandah, their hair dressed in complicated ringlets and hung with ribbons.

One of them, a blonde with cynical eyes, called out to Joseph as they passed. “Up so early, Physician Baxtor? I would have thought you needed your sleep this morning.”

Joseph managed a grin as several heads—guards’ among them—turned in the street at the exchange. “My son and I thought to get a good start on the road, Erla. We have a way ahead of us.”

“That you have,” Erla said, and her tone softened somewhat. “That you have.” Her eyes locked with Joseph’s momentarily, then she turned aside with studied disinterest to gossip with one of her companions.

“Where are you going, Baxtor?”

A group of guards, their interest caught by the exchange, had stepped out in front of their horses, and Joseph and Garth had to pull their mounts to an abrupt halt.

“Ruen,” Joseph replied smoothly. “We have an order from the king…if you want to see it.” His hand crept to the pouch at his belt.

The guard who had spoken, his eyes flinty with suspicion, stared at the letter Joseph extended. After a
moment he shuffled his feet and shifted his gaze back to Joseph. “Furst has seen this?”

“Yes.”

The guard hesitated a moment longer, but there was no need to detain the physician and his son. “On with you then…and best you keep that order handy. You’ll pass several more posts on the way through Myrna.” Then he turned on his heel and waved his patrol down one of the side streets.

As they kicked their horses forward Garth glanced over his shoulder. The three women on the verandah were staring at them, their faces tight with tension.

“Come on, Garth,” Joseph muttered. “Don’t draw too much attention to them
or
us.”

One more patrol stopped them as they rode down the main street, but it was at the junction of the main street and the road for Ruen that they struck the most trouble.

There was a patrol of ten guards here, and they were the most thorough of all in town. Several carts, riders and a man herding several dozen sheep were being held up as the guards meticulously checked everyone’s identity. The shepherd, a dark man who was tattered and dirtied by his exposure to the elements, was receiving more attention than most.

“Curses,” Joseph muttered feelingly, and Garth stared at him worriedly.

“Father?”

As they reined their horses in behind the tangle of carts, horses and sheep, Joseph leaned across to his son and hissed at him. “
Whatever happens, follow my lead!
”

Shocked by the tone of his father’s voice, Garth simply nodded and turned his gaze back to the crowd before them. Somewhere in here was Maximilian. His eyes drifted to the shepherd.

The man was shifting from foot to foot, his hands clutching nervously about his staff, as three of the guards interrogated him and inspected the small pack he had let slip from his shoulders. Garth tried to watch as inconspicuously as he could—then, realising that everyone on the road was staring at the man, gave up all pretence and stared himself.

The shepherd’s back was to him, but Garth could see that he was tall and lean, and had straight black hair that drifted about his face. The man’s hands where they clenched his staff were patched with dirt, and his clothes were similarly grimed. Garth’s stomach clenched and he fought not to look at his father. Was that Maximilian under all that grime?

Another of the guards wandered away from a cart and approached his companions standing about the shepherd, glancing at the new arrivals as he did so. As he stepped up to the small group around the shepherd, voices were suddenly raised and the shepherd attempted to take a step backwards before being seized by one of the guards.

Garth heard his father take a quick, shocked breath beside him.

Now the shepherd and the four guards were decidedly agitated, and Garth broke out in a sweat. The sheep had begun to wander off the road in search of grazing, and the shepherd was gesturing at them excitedly as the guards resolutely shook their heads. Their eyes were growing narrower by the minute.

Finally the fourth guard, who had noticed Joseph and Garth, raised his head and beckoned them forward. Garth’s stomach tightened.

“Physician!” he called, and Garth recognised one of the guards they’d spoken to last night. “Come here!”

Joseph risked a warning glance at his son, then rode forward, Garth immediately behind him. They pushed their horses through the crowd. Several of the people among the crowd waiting to be allowed through the checkpoint were complaining loudly about the delay, and a pretty girl with a sulky mouth called out from a wagon she shared with several female companions. “Here then! What about letting
us
through?”

The guards ignored her; now two of them had the shepherd in their tight hands, and all of the guards, whether or not they were grouped about the shepherd or standing by the side of the road, had eyes for no-one but their suspect.

“Baxtor,” said the guard as they reined their horses behind the shepherd. “We have a suspicious character here. No-one knows him, and see this dirt? Straight from the Veins, we think!”

The shepherd struggled and moaned.

Another of the guards indicated that Joseph and Garth should dismount. “It’s good that you’re here, physician. Will you examine this man? Some of these stains look like fungus to us. See? Here…and here.” He pointed to several stains on the man’s garments.

Gods! Garth cursed to himself. So close! This was the last patrol before the freedom of the road to Ruen.

But he kept his face as neutral as he could as he dismounted. Joseph was already leaning close to the shepherd, and Garth had to push past one of the guards to get a good look at the man’s face.

His heart thudded alarmingly in his chest. The man was well covered in dirt, but Garth recognised him instantly—Vorstus!

“And how old was this prisoner you hunt?” Joseph asked patiently as he made a pretence of checking the man’s eyes, ears and skin.

“Youngish,” muttered one.

“About thirty, Furst told us,” another said.

Joseph sighed and raised his eyebrows. “Well, you may have bagged a wandering thief, gentleman, but he’s not from the Veins.”

“Are you sure?” one of the guards asked, disappointment clouding his voice.

Joseph sighed again, more melodramatically and impatiently this time. Garth regarded his father with veiled admiration; he had not thought Joseph to be this good an actor.

“This man approaches old age,” he said. “Look, his finger joints are swollen with arthritis.”

“Could be from the constant swing of the pick,” a guard said hopefully, but Joseph glared at him.

“These stains are not fungus, but grass. No doubt the man sleeps with his sheep. And look here,” Joseph abruptly squatted by the man’s legs, and every eye followed him. “His ankles are smooth and unmarred by irons. You’ve all been down the Veins. You’ve all seen the festers and ridges the irons carve into a man’s ankles. This man has never been manacled in his life.”

“And look at this,” Garth put in, as eager to convince the guards as his father was. “His skin is tanned underneath this dirt. This man’s well acquainted with the sun.”

Joseph caught his son’s eyes momentarily, and nodded.

“Nevertheless,” the commander of the patrol said slowly, disappointment etching his voice, “he’s the right colouring…and none of us know him.”

“Then arrest him for being a stranger,” Joseph said disinterestedly as he stood up, “but not for being an escapee.”

His frustration making him testy, the guard now turned on Joseph. “And what are
you
doing here, Baxtor?”

Joseph silently withdrew Cavor’s order and handed it to the man. The guard read it through, then thrust it back at Joseph. “Well,” he said roughly, “let them through…and this filthy shepherd. We’ve better things to do than interrogate every peasant that wanders by.”

Vorstus wasted no time in wrenching his arm from the one guard who still held him, and waved his staff at the rest of them. “And who’s going to help round up my sheep?” he demanded.

“Get out of my sight,” the commander hissed viciously, “or I
will
throw you in gaol!”

Obviously deciding he’d taken the act far enough, Vorstus wasted no time in striding off mumbling to himself. He jumped down from the verge of the road and shooed his sheep back into the semblance of a flock, herding them as quickly as he could towards the south.

Joseph met his son’s eyes again, then looked back at the guards. “And Garth and myself?”

“On your way,” the commander said shortly, then turned back to the first wagon in line. “Well?” he demanded of its occupants.