stressful.
When I could stand it no more, when I was certain as I could be that neither set of feet was returning and that my heart had stopped trying to wrestle its way out of my chest, I turned my attention back to the corpse at my feet.
It was impossibly convenient that this particular guard should have chosen this particular moment to get himself murdered. Could it be another part in the mystery Alvantes had hinted at? Yet that made no sense. I couldn't believe Alvantes would have gone along with the killing of a royal guardsman, not even to secure his own freedom. Anyway, unless he was capable of plotting and effecting a brutal prison escape whilst chained in a cell, there had to be another explanation.
If so, whatever it was it eluded me. Moreover, given my immediate circumstances, it hardly mattered. For careful inspection had revealed one useful fact. The corpse I stood over was about my height and build.
Not having a clue as to why he was dead needn't stop me from exploiting that fact. Whoever had taken his life had at least been good enough to do so in a fashion that left his uniform — loose trousers and shirt with a knee-length jacket and helmet of studded leather — unmarked by blood. His uniform wasn't so much as crumpled. It couldn't have been more convenient if he'd been left there for my benefit.
Following that logic, I tried to assure myself that stripping his clothes was the only sensible thing to do. Necessity and barely subdued terror helped, making me less squeamish than I might otherwise have been. Nevertheless, I couldn't help cringing every time my fingers brushed his cooling, lifeless flesh.
Left with only a loincloth, however, his corpse looked more pitiful than alarming. I comforted myself with the thought that my own remains would have looked even less dignified if he and his colleagues had had their way. Dead and practically naked he might be, but at least he still had his head.
I hurriedly undressed. My pack was just big enough to hold my clothing; bundled with my cloak, I wrapped it carefully around the crown and telescope. Then I pulled on the guard's trousers, shirt and long studded jacket. I strapped his sword at my waist and drew on the helmet, a cone of leather with flaps across the ears and a vicious spike protruding from the top, presumably for those exigencies when all that remained was to charge an enemy headfirst. After brief consideration, I decided to keep my own boots. If anyone was inspecting that closely, chances were I was already done for.
I looked down at myself. What I saw looked more like a skinny thief in stolen armour than a burly sentry out on his rounds.
I considered procrastinating a little longer; mightn't hiding the dead guard's body delay the discovery of his absence? But it had gone unnoticed so far, and once his desertion was noticed, I doubted anyone would wait for proof of foul play before sounding the alarm. No, I was ready as I was going to get, and every further delay was only stretching my already slim chances.
I hurried back through the door. In the antechamber, the outer door had been left ajar. I could smell the warm nocturnal air, faint odours of old straw from out in the courtyards and even the pungent perfume of nightblooming flowers drifting from the gardens below.
I opened the door fully and darted through. Skipping down the short flight of steps that linked door and courtyard, I barely managed to keep my footing. My intention was a dignified speed for a guard in a hurry, but the swell of panic was close on my heels. Once I reached level ground, it was all I could do not to run.
For all that, the night air felt good, like soothing breath on my skin. I was profoundly glad to be outside. If it turned out that I really had to die, better it be like this.
Still, the courtyard was vast. That alone was enough to keep my nerves jangling. I couldn't see anyone, but that didn't mean a thing. Besides the tremendous edifice of the palace and its countless windows and balconies, there were the walls, rolling in serpentine folds, innumerable shadowed nooks formed by their passing. Anybody could be watching from anywhere and I'd be the last to know.
I hurried on. The yard was flagged with white stone, glimmering in the dim starlight. The more my eyes adjusted, the more I felt like a bullseye on a target board. I strove to remember the layout of the grounds from what I'd observed on our arrival, but all I could say for sure was that the opening ahead must be the gatehouse joining this tier to the one below.
It was certain to be manned. There were bound to be questions. They were sure to be the kinds of questions I had no answers to.
I slowed. I needed time to think. Was there another way out? Perhaps across the walls, but there were bound to be patrols. My presence would be even more conspicuous and unexplainable.
I slowed further. The darkness of the gatehouse looked ready to swallow me whole. I was certain I could feel eyes staring. Wasn't I walking straight into the hands of my enemies?
I stopped. I might be the master of bad planning tonight, but even I had my limits. If this was the only route out, then what I needed was some detail to complete my disguise, perhaps the halberd I'd foolishly left propped outside the door, or else…
I finally remembered what I'd seen on the journey in, and cursed myself beneath my breath. The stables. If one thing was guaranteed to complete my disguise, it was a horse. What escapee would have the nerve to steal their own transport on the way out? Only one as terrifically daring and foolhardy as Easie Damasco.
Or so I tried to tell myself. Now that I looked, far to my right where the stables were, I saw lights burning in the stalls at the upper end. Lights meant people. People meant trouble. Yet the only alternative remained trying to walk my way out. All else aside, it might take me the rest of the night to make it to that distant final gate.
Trying to retain a dignified and guard-like pace, I hurried towards the stables. I knew I'd be most convincing if I kept my gaze fixed steadfastly ahead, but I couldn't resist the occasional glance around. Though I knew there must be patrols on the walls, I could still see no one.
As I drew close, I found I could hear the hushed drone of conversation from within the lighted portion of the stables. Nearby was an open side door; the area beyond was sunk in shadow. I weighed the risk of being seen against the potential value of overhearing whatever was being discussed inside — not to mention the fact that my horse-theft scheme was the only one I had left.
That dearth of better ideas was the clincher. I slunk inside. The door led into a region of empty stalls, apart from the wide central corridor where the lantern hung. Ahead, through a gap in slats, I could see two silhouetted figures with their backs to me. One was speaking, steadily and softly, to the other.
I was astonished to realise it was a voice I recognised, though it took me a moment to place it. Gailus… the senator we'd run into on our journey through Pasaeda, who'd warned Alvantes outside the King's audience chamber. His voice was unmistakable — and as I focused my attention, his mumbled tones became intelligible: '…if he acts on two fronts at once. Yet day by day it seems inevitable.'
'Can the boy really be so much worse than his father?'
That voice I definitely knew — incredible as it was that its owner should be here. I nearly burst in there and then, but something made me hesitate for Gailus's reply.
'Not the boy, his grandmother. Or so we hear. Still, the situation might yet be contained… if circumstances were different. The King is sick with rage and grief. To lose them both, after everything that had happened. For it to happen how it did. And the rage is stronger in him, now, than his sadness. Well, you saw firsthand.' Gailus's voice took on a weight of added weariness as he finished, 'Then again, perhaps it was always that way.'
Intoned with grim seriousness it might be, but Gailus's speech was just as unintelligible as the ranting of Alvantes's senile father had been. Time was too short to be wasted on indulging lunatics. I stepped from the shadows.
'Guard-Captain. Senator. Always a pleasure.'
Alvantes wheeled. 'Damasco!' He recovered himself quickly. 'So you made it.'
'Of course.' I noticed then that he'd changed his clothing, for a uniform much like mine. 'You've been busy, I see.'
'What are you doing here?'
'Well, I'd say escaping the same distasteful fate as you, except it seems you'd rather catch up with old friends.'
'This is none of your affair.'
'He has a point, Lunto,' Gailus interrupted. 'Sunrise isn't so far off. Your father told me he'll be waiting in your grandfather's shadow. Anything more you need to know he can tell you. You should join him, while you still can.'
