Interregnum (44 page)

The door creaked open and an eye-watering smell of musty air and ammonia washed out into the chapel. With a nod toward the minister, Athas removed a small oil lamp from his pack and lit it. The flickering light joined the minister’s in illuminating the room before he turned and held the light in the entrance to the passageway. The flame of the lamp took on a sickly yellow-green colour and gave the passage an eerie aspect.

“You’re staying here?” the big man enquired.

The minister nodded. “With Darius’ help I’ll get the screen back and cover the tracks. You know where you’re going, yes?”

“To the end and turn right” the sergeant repeated from memory, counting off on his fingers. “Follow the main sewer tunnel downhill all the way except where there’s a small collecting tank, where we take a left-hand fork slightly uphill and then back down. When we reach the small round room that’s a dead end, look for iron rungs in the wall around five feet up. Climb them and move the wooden cover and we’ll be out near the shore.”

“And then?”

Brendan leaned over from where he supported Kiva and grinned. “I’ll take ‘em from there ter where we sat yesterday. We’ll meet yer there.”

The minister nodded. “Once things are in place and we’re ready to make a move, I’ll send Darius here to find you. You have the rest planned?”

This time Kiva hauled himself with a grunt and a great deal of pain from Brendan’s shoulder and growled. “I’ve planned it all for them. Who goes where and when. Just wish I could be involved, but I’m not even any use with a bow. Guess I’ll just be sitting by the shore waiting for everyone.”

Marco patted the general on the back gently. “You need to rest sir. You’re going to need to be on fighting form soon enough.”

Caerdin nodded impatiently and sighed as Athas took a last deep breath of good, clean air and stepped into the passageway. Darius and the minister watched nervously as Athas lit the other two lamps and handed them out and then disappeared down the tunnel. Behind him, Brendan and Marco helped Kiva into the reeking passage, followed by Prince Ashar and his six men and finally Tythias, his arm around the young lady Sathina, tied a scarf around her lower face and entered with Jorun bringing up the rear. As the group gradually faded from sight, only the echoes of their footsteps coming back up to the chapel, Darius frowned.

“There don’t seem to be as many as I remember.”

The minister smiled. “We do have the two doctors still in the palace, masquerading as two of the missing islanders, remember.”

“Yes,” Darius nodded, “I know, but I’m sure there were more Pelasians.”

“Prince Ashar assured me he would deal with his men, so I assume they are secured away somewhere. Whatever the case, we’ve done what we can now. Help me get this screen back, then we must fan the dust around so that it settles again.”

The sun burned down from on high in the Great Courtyard. The entire population of the island stood in ordered rows, lined up for inspection by the uncaring guards who surrounded the entire square. There were forty or so guards here, the rest preparing their quarters or in position on the walls or various vantage points.

“Cristus?” yelled out a guard and, as a hand shot up among the crowd, he ticked the name dutifully of the list.

“Savic?”

Another hand raised and another name ticked off. With a squaring of his shoulders, the guard slapped the list down on the table beside him and the sergeant leaned over to examine it.

“Four!” he growled and then, turning to the gathered islanders, he raised his voice.

“Four prisoners unaccounted for. That’s not good enough.”

He strode forward with two of the guard at his shoulders and pointed at a random man in the front row. The guards dragged him out of the line into the open space and then dropped him to the floor. He was not a young man but far from feeble, a farmer with some muscle. He floundered on the floor for only a moment before he made to stand. The guard kicked him heavily in the gut and he fell back to the grass with a groan. The sergeant leaned over him.

“Where are these four prisoners?” he asked quietly.

The farmer shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Straightening, the sergeant nodded once at the two guards, who proceeded to pulverise the poor man with repeated kicks to the head and torso. After a solid minute they stopped. Darius strained from his position in the fourth row to see, but the man was still breathing, though unconscious. He was battered beyond recognition and Darius found his hate for the sergeant growing ever stronger, aware that this ‘lesson’ was having the same effect on everyone else. The sergeant was trying to make them fear the guard, but his actions were merely fostering hate and desire for vengeance.

The two guardsmen stepped away from their prone victim and the sergeant moved forward again.

“Where are the missing four?”

Silence greeted him and he glowered at the crowd.

“Very well, I will assume that these four islanders are hiding of their own accord. They will present themselves at the roll-call in the morning and will be duly punished. If they do not present themselves tomorrow I, personally, will break all their knees to make sure they cannot hide again. You would do well to pass this on to them when you see them and to remember it yourselves.”

He stepped back behind the table and cleared his throat.

“Very well, one by one approach the table from your lines and give your details for duties to the guard. Anyone under the age of ten need not approach; nor should anyone over the age of sixty. Those of you who fall into these categories will be restricted to the Ibis Courtyard, the Great Courtyard and the various buildings directly surrounding them. In due course, a perimeter will be set up around the set areas to prevent straying, but I’ll have to rely on everyone’s good sense in the meantime.”

As the lines filed slowly past the table, with the old and the young being directed to one side under the watchful eyes of the guard, Darius sighed. It was a damned good job they were going tonight. If he’d had to go through another day of this, either he or the sergeant would be dead. Perhaps the brute was trying to find fault wherever he could because he’d failed to find the quantity of contraband that he’d expected. If he’d seen the contents of the olive grower’s shed, he would have had apoplexy. For a moment a smile crept across Darius’ face, but he quickly forced it back down. To be seen smiling at a time like this would be to attract unwanted attention. Ahead of him in the queue he watched Mercurias, the Wolves’ medic giving a false name and his career as cook. The guard didn’t even blink at him and the grizzled soldier went on in the line to stand where he was told. Five minutes later, as he himself was closing on the desk, Darius watched the Pelasian doctor, whose name escaped him, giving another false name and the title of kitchen skivvy. Again they barely noticed the unusually dark man. A prisoner who worked in the lowly places was all but invisible to these people but then that was exactly what they’d wanted. Finally Darius himself stepped up. He’d no job but a short conversation with both Sarios and Athas last night had left him classified as a smith. Athas had told him a few of the most basic principals in case he was quizzed but, watching the way the guards were dealing with people, he doubted they would care enough to enquire. Sure enough, as his name was ticked off once more, and ‘smith’ written beside it, he was shuffled off to join the others. He couldn’t help feeling this was all too easy.

“The secret,” the Pelasian doctor murmured, “is to get the proportions exactly correct. Too little and we merely spice their meal. Too much and they will all be dead within two hours.”

Mercurias, busy taking the kernels out of a large basket of peaches, looked up speculatively at minister Sarios, standing at the other side of the table. “I presume you still want us to merely drug them?”

Sarios nodded. “I do not like poison on principle, but if it can be used correctly to merely incapacitate, then we must do it.”

Favio, the third doctor in the room, leaned over from his place with a heavy-headed mallet where he was crushing the kernels into rubble. “Minister, there are any number of fascinating drugs we could use that would work with a great deal more control than cyanide, but we don’t have an awful lot of time and there are not many sources on the island. Cyanide is the only really feasible option. After all, there are orchards all over the island and so many peaches in storage we could probably poison the entire population of the city if we so wished.”

He scooped up the latest pile of peach rubble and, dropping it in a bowl, passed it to the Pelasian, who Darius had since discovered was named Ahmesh. Ahmesh dropped the contents into a large bowl of strong shrimp and onion broth the cooks had been making for an hour, and stirred it thoroughly.

“I would say another ten kernels and ten more minutes of warming through and then we can strain the pieces out along with the remains of the onions.” He looked up at the minister. “I am hoping we’ve judged this correctly, minister, but even in my deepest, darkest days of creating cyanide compounds for my Prince, I have never tried to create a cyanide-based sleeping draught for over a hundred men. The quantities to be used are simply too unpredictable. No-one has ever tried such a thing, you understand.”

The minister once more looked sceptical and unhappy, but Darius leaned across from his position near the door and said quietly “if the quantities are wrong we can pay for it in the next life, minister. These men don’t deserve your sympathy or care and you know it.”

Sarios glanced back at his young friend. Since the attack on the girl this morning, Darius had become gradually bleaker and darker throughout the day and right at this moment, the minister had never seen him display more of a similarity to his father. Darius, for all his upbringing here, was a Caerdin through and through and the way he’d just spoken had clinched it. The young man had never spoken to Sarios like that. Never on a level like that. The minister began to wonder if involving Darius in today’s events would perhaps irreparably damage the young man’s soul.

“Just do your best gentlemen. When will it be ready?”

Favio looked across at the head cook, who nodded.

“Twenty minutes should be enough. Dinner will be ready right on time and should be nice and spicy.”

The minister turned again to Darius. “You’d best go and get the Wolves into position now.”

The young man nodded and turned to pull on the door handle just as it opened and he was almost crushed up against the wall by the heavy oak of the door. A guardsman in full kit with his helm under his arm burst in onto the raised platform around the edge of the kitchens. He glared down at the various people working and recognised the minister.

“You! You’re not busy and I’m just going on duty so I won’t get dinner. Make me something quick!”

The minister looked up at the guard in confusion and then his eyes widened as Darius pushed hard and sharp against the door. The heavy oak swung back on its hinge and this time slammed hard into the angry guardsman’s shoulder, hurling him from the raised platform and down onto a table covered in condiments. The guard floundered around in shock but before he could pull himself together, Darius was on him, jumping from the higher level and landing on top of the guard with his knees. There was an audible crunch as at least one rib broke and Darius rolled off with the momentum and onto the floor before springing lightly back to his feet.

The guard groaned in pain but was tougher than Darius had given him credit for. He hauled himself off the table and reached down, twitching at the pain in his ribs, to draw his sword from the sheath. A low growl escaped from the young man’s throat as he reached across to another table and withdrew a serrated knife from a block of wood.

“You can’t treat people like this you piece of shit!” he snapped as he stepped forward. He was vaguely aware of cooks rushing to either help or hinder him and the minister shouting at him to stop but, ignoring all the other commotion, he reached out and grasped the guard’s wrist, jamming the blade back into its scabbard. The guard’s eyes widened as the tip of the serrated knife brushed his broken ribs. He was a guard, not a combat veteran and here was a young boy with exceptional strength threatening his life. He fought his incredulity and tried to free his hand and sword.

“You people are like parasites” Darius continued, firmly holding the sword down. “You just take and don’t care. Sabian was right about you. Not one of you is fit to clean out his piss pot!”

The guardsman struggled again and opened his mouth to speak but, as he did, Darius drove the blade deep between his ribs and into his organs. The man was dead before the second blow. By the fifth and sixth he flopped around against the table, fountaining blood from the many wounds as Darius took out his hatred of the guards on one unlucky man. He was still carving the man when Mercurias and Favio pulled him off and the knife dropped.

The grizzled medic looked at the minister as he picked up the viscera-covered knife and Favio supported the now-glazed Darius. “Better tend to dinner. It looks like we’ve begun.”

Chapter XXIII.

Darius stopped at the entrance to the small clearing, his hands dropping to his knees as he leaned over and fought for breath. The group of rebels among the tangled roots gathered up their weapons and Kiva stepped unsteadily forward, his face weighed down with concern. The young man looked exhausted but that was to be expected; he’d run from the palace most of the way across the island, ducking in and out of shadows wherever he passed close to a patrol route or guard post. What the general hadn’t been expecting was the blood. Darius’ arms were stained to the elbows with almost dry blood, giving the impression that he wore red gloves or gauntlets. Equally, there were stains all over his chest and face. Clearly something unexpected had already occurred.