Dawn of Wonder (The Wakening Book 1) (42 page)

“You have a good eye for pickpockets.”

Peashot didn’t reply.

At the end of the lane, they came across an
enormous tent where men, woman and children whirled in folk dances and where Lorrimer
was spotted by a group of girls from the academy. The boys tried to duck away,
but the girls matched them for speed and caught them easily in the congested lane.
Liru flew up, her raven hair streaming behind her, eyes filled with laughter.

“Oh you poor young men,” she teased. “What grave danger
is this at your heels that you run so?”

They shuffled and looked at the ground.

“Partners are always scarce for us girls. Would
you really be such beasts that you would make us struggle on our own? Lorrimer,
I see you slinking away. There is a very pretty third-year student with us who
has been complaining constantly about short partners. And I understand that you
want to learn to dance?” She winked.

Lorrimer darted a look at Aedan who made no effort
to hide the grin.

Liru was finished talking. She snatched Aedan’s
hand in a grip that invited no debate and led him back to the tent. The other
girls giggled and did likewise with the rest of the boys – all except Peashot
who had somehow disappeared.

Aedan found it a lot more enjoyable than he had
expected, especially when Lorrimer introduced a comic aspect by attempting more
challenging steps – to the alarm of his neighbours. He persevered with a
determined set of jaw that reminded the boys all too clearly of Princess
Allisian’s parting words.

Aedan had heard some of these reels in the Mistyvales.
One in particular caught his ear. It was a harvesters’ song that all knew and
sang as they danced.

Ring out

Bells of the town

And sing out

Dells and the downs

For heavy are the sheaf and tun

Full with a summer’s sun

Bursting

Are barrels and the workers

Thirsting

(But none for the shirkers)

Rest for the labour’s done

And ease from the winter won

After they had completed several rounds, they were
breathing hard and laughing at the numerous missteps and near-collisions. Then
a blast of trumpets echoed across the grounds. Crowds came to a standstill as
dances and conversations stopped.

“Feat of arms!” they cried, and began streaming
from all parts of the festival towards the huge stands surrounding the main
arena.

Hadley led the now-larger group across the lane,
under the stands and through a little gap between supports that he had found
earlier, thereby avoiding the crush of people squeezing into the designated entrances.
Following Hadley’s lead, they climbed up between the seating boards to the top
of the stand where they were able to fit all ten of them along a bench. Peashot
was waiting, clearly trying not to look like he had missed out.

The stands filled up. Almost everyone wore
streamers of one of the four colours.

“Why don’t you have colours?” It was Delwyn, the
tall, blonde girl who had danced with Lorrimer. “Here,” she said, and handed
out green strips of cloth which they tied around their heads.

“So we’re all green team?” asked Hadley.

“All except Liru,” she said.

Liru gasped, pulled the red ribbon from her head
and stared at it with exaggerated horror, then tossed it away, snatched a green
one from Delwyn and bound it in place with such an air of mock relief that
everyone laughed. Aedan marvelled at how confident she had grown.

“I love watching from high up like this,” she
said.

“Me too,” said Peashot. “It’s like walking across
the bridge over Regent Street where you can see the whole city market underneath
you, and there are lots of nice piles of goat and horse dung that … some
other
children drop on those ratty, bribe-collecting hygiene inspectors that the
whole city hates.”

Liru chuckled. “I have been doing that for years.”

“So you’re one of us! I’ve never been able to hit
the chief inspector though. He’s really been –”

“I meant watching from the bridge.”

Peashot’s face drained. “Uh, yes, I meant that
too. What I was trying to say was that I couldn’t get a good view of him.
Sometimes when I use ‘hit’ like that I actually mean ‘see’.”

The silence was rigid. Aedan squirmed for Peashot.

Liru turned back after a while. “I got him once,”
she said and grinned, jabbing Peashot in the ribs.

Aedan laughed. “I warned you about her sense of
humour,” he said.

The stands filled up around the huge arena as
slanting rays of the afternoon sun cast spectators’ shadows halfway across the
field. Another brassy peal of trumpets brought the excited crowd to a gradual
hush. Through a large speaker-horn, a golden-robed official announced the
rules, as well as the winnings. Princess Allisian would indeed partner the
winning knight at the feast. Aedan glanced over at Lorrimer – the tall boy did
not cheer.

Another blast of trumpets, and the gates opened.
Four teams of fully armed knights strode with crashing steps onto the field.
There was no official rank of knight in Castath. It was an honorary title given
to competitors who were chosen from among soldiers and citizens.

At a gesture from the announcer, they saluted the
royal tier, then took up their positions at the four quarters of the field where
four flags stood – blue, green, red and white. Knights could engage in any
manner they chose. The winning team was the one whose flag was the last
standing, the winning knight the one who showed the greatest courage.

Allisian herself, dazzling in a silken gown,
dropped the gold ribbon. It had begun.

The white team was the first to sally out. Four of
their ten knights began stamping towards the red flag, raising swords, maces
and flails – all blunted, but all still deadly. The green team saw the weakened
white base and sent six of their knights to take it. But as the white team
approached the full company of reds, they swerved aside and charged the
now-weakened green base.

A ruse.

Crowds began to cheer and stamp, and then a
harsher din broke through the applause as green and white smashed into each
other with weapons swinging and shields denting.

Red and blue looked to have a mutual understanding
of preserving their numbers; a single knight from each strode forward and
engaged in combat. When one fell he was replaced. Green and white supporters
booed this timid and conservative approach as their own teams whittled each
other down at an alarming rate.

The white flag dropped first.

The green flag stood, but it was held by only a
single tottering defender. A small contingent was sent from red to attack him,
but as they left, all but one of the blues rushed at the red base. The reds
spotted the attack and together they retreated to their flag where, in a
clatter of desperate fighting, all fell, including the flag.

It was down to the single green and blue knight.
The green was exhausted, swaying in his armour as he staggered forward. He was
able to preserve his dignity by landing a few prods with his sword on his
opponent’s shield before the huge sweep of a mace knocked him off his feet.

Blue took the win, but the green soldier was
considered to have been the most valiant, having taken part in three separate confrontations
in which he had demolished four opponents.

Several men had to be carried off the field on
stretchers. A few dark stains showed on the cloth when the stretchers returned
for more.

A whole range of contests followed – single
combat, archery, wrestling, and another team event in which armed knights had
to carry a ripe melon from across the field while their opponents attempted to
smash it. The crowd roared with laughter when a melon was damaged near the
finish and the frustrated carrier smashed it over his antagonist’s helm,
felling the man with the most unexpected of weapons.

While looking to the side, a movement behind the
stands caught Aedan’s eye. He turned to see the same tall man with the hat that
kept his face in shadow. It gave him the first tingling of fear. But the next
time he looked around, the man was gone.

As the sky darkened, fires and lanterns were lit,
and teams of acrobatic dancers ran onto the field and began to perform. They
leapt over each other, built pyramids with their bodies, balanced on horses
while throwing flaming torches to each other across the arena, and walked
fearlessly along ropes high above the ground. The final applause that rolled
from the audience expressed equal parts congratulation and relief.

It was with an air of satisfied fatigue that the
group of friends clumped down from the stands and gathered on the walkway. The
boys insisted that the girls accompany them to Enna’s for supper, and told them
with no little pride how they had spent their morning. Aedan grinned as he
passed the tent where they had added their own creative ingredients – it was
empty.

Letting his eye latch on a sign – jewellery made
from seashells – Aedan stole a casual glance behind him. It was the same man
with the grey hat and shaded face, still fifty paces behind. The uncertainty
was making him uncomfortable. It was time to solve the riddle.

“I’ll catch up,” he told Hadley, and turned down a
side alley. Once around the corner, he ran in a big loop, emerging onto the
main walkway behind the stalker who was now entering the alley, following in Aedan’s
tracks. Aedan darted after him, keeping one turn behind and peering carefully
around the corners.

But this stalker appeared to have a nose for such
tricks. At the third corner, Aedan peered around to see the man looking
straight at him. He caught his breath – it was his father. A peculiar mixture
of hope and uncertainty rushed through his veins. He realised just how much he
had wanted this reunion. Tarnished as the relationship had been, the good times
came back now and glowed in the silence that hung between them. He stepped out
into the alley.

“I heard rumours that you’d entered the academy,”
his father said.

Aedan smiled. But the answering sneer on his
father’s face showed this to have been a mistake.

“Oh, smug are you? Want to show that you’re better
than me now? Is that why you ran off to their snooty lectures and mounds of
books?”

“No,” Aedan replied, suddenly confused. “No. It
wasn’t like that. It was when Harriet wanted to … actually it was because of
what happened back in the Mistyvales – the slavers – and about taking revenge
for her … and being strong enough to stop any bullies … and General Osric –”

“And nothing about me! Yes, I understand all too
well. A dead girl and some general are more important to you than your own
father. And Harriet! You’d actually stoop to taking that woman’s advice!”
Clauman’s voice had risen; he was working himself into a shuddering rage.

“No, it’s ... You don’t understand. Harriet –”

“Oh I don’t understand, do I? Is that it?” He was
striding towards Aedan now, jaw clenched. He closed the distance with big steps.
“It’s your turncoat mother and that fool of a meddler that have been putting
these ideas into your head. With a bit of fancy learning you think you’ve risen
above me, don’t you? Don’t you?” He was shouting now, spit flying, eyes bulging
as his rage snapped free of the last restraints. “You think you don’t need to
respect me anymore because you can read and scribble! Don’t you? Let’s see
about that …”

Aedan wanted to run but he was locked in a paralysis
like that of deep sleep. He could see it all clearly and slowly. His father seized
him by the neck and hoisted him off his feet while striking so hard with the
other hand that Aedan barely remained conscious. Skin was burning and ears
ringing when he was dropped.

“Filthy little traitor! Treacherous, milk-blooded
coward! I always suspected she would teach you to despise me. You both deserved
every thrashing you got and more.”

Aedan wanted to say that it was not true, that he
had missed his father, that he had wanted to see him – and indeed he had. But
now the words curdled in him. A deep cauldron of hissing anger heaved its
contents out, turning his eyes and his thoughts dark, though he was still
unable to move.

A sudden chill of dismay passed through him as he
remembered something. He fought against his locked muscles enough to glance
down, and let out a small breath. No dark patch. He had relieved himself not
too long ago, but what if he had not? Dread rose in him as he saw the completeness
of the ruin his father could bring.

Clauman took a handful of Aedan’s hair in a
shaking fist.

“Now,” he said, barely in control of himself, “let
me warn you not to interfere with matters that do not concern children. The
stall you ruined earlier today was one of my sideline investments. You stole
from me. Tonight my boys will collect what was stolen.” Then he brought his
face right down to Aedan’s. “If you meddle with my operations, the discipline you
have needed in the past will be like mist compared to the hailstorm I’ll set on
you.”

Aedan stared back from a whirl of screaming,
stamping fear and rage. “You … a criminal?” he finally managed between gritted
teeth.

Clauman stood and waited a long time before
answering. “All that knowledge and still blind?” He looked around before
continuing. “I am an artist. When I lived in Tullenroe I was legendary, and my
reputation here is just beginning to take root. No window, no safe defied me,
and no doddering lawman ever had any idea. Not even your mother knew – thinking
herself so clever with all her books. The reason I can trust you to hold your
tongue is because the knowledge would destroy your future quicker than mine. Interfere
with my plans again and you will know what it is to be sorry.”

He picked up his hat where it had fallen during
his exertions.