reminder of what a King represents.” He looked up at the massive skull and realised, with a sudden burst of clarity, that what he was saying was the truth. “You are the mark they all have to aim for. The first and greatest King. That is not a product of fear, Majesty. It’s worship.”
“Do you…” Scorbus stared down the corridor at the broken doors. “Do you suppose…”
“Marius!” Gerd had wandered down to the far corner as the two talked. Now he ran towards them.
“What?”
“Time to go,” he said, racing past them towards the rear of the building. Behind him, a soldier ran out into the corridor, saw Marius and Scorbus staring at him, and flung himself back around the corner. The dead men shared a look, then took off after Gerd.
“How many?” Marius asked as they reached the far corner and checked to see if the approach was empty.
“Lots.”
The corridor was empty. They raced towards a door at the far end. “Lots and lots.” They reached the door. It was locked. “What do we do?”
“What else?” Marius kicked at the handle. It smashed under his assault. The door swung open and the three fugitives piled into the room beyond.
It was obviously an office of some sort, Marius decided as he looked around. Bookcases dominated, lining each wall from floor to ceiling, leather spines standing erect along every shelf. Two small writing desks sat in alcoves, their backs to drape-less windows that stared out over the city a hundred metres or so below. From his vantage point, Marius could only see the docks, small and blue in the distance, betraying nothing of the squalor and violence visible at ground level. From this height, it looked like a painter’s impression, or a king’s ideal. A massive wood desk squatted in front of the window. Three maids sat around it, a deck of cards spread out before them. They stared at the little group, their expressions a mixture of fear, resignation, and sullen insolence.
“It’s our break,” one of them uttered, before the manner of the group’s entrance sank in. Scorbus completed the tableau by standing up and revealing himself to the women. One fainted immediately. The other two abandoned their chairs and threw themselves behind the desk, where they took up wailing and asking a multitude of Gods for salvation. Gerd ran to a door on the opposite wall and pulled it open.
“Nope,” he said, and quickly shut it again. ‘Lots more, coming this way.” He returned to the door through which they had come. “And here come the first lot.” He turned to Marius. “Trapped.”
“Right.” Marius thought for a moment. “Help me with that writing desk.” He indicated the one nearest the door. Together they pulled it over and blocked up the broken door with its bulk. “Now the other one.” They moved that against the other entrance. “That should hold them for a minute or two, at least.”
“So now we’re trapped, and we’re even more trapped.”
“Ah, yes.” Marius scanned the room. “Nothing. Nothing we can use.” His gaze fell upon the window. “Oh,” he said slowly. “Oh, no.”
Gerd saw his gaze. “You must be kidding.”
“Oh, I wish I was. I really wish I was.”
“I told you I was afraid–”
“Yep. Remember that.”
“And this is your–”
“Yep.”
Marius looked out. Below the window a thin ledge, perhaps six inches wide, ran the length of the wall to a corner a dozen feet away. Below that, a sheer drop of a hundred feet led to broken alleyways and a line of rooftops. He undid the latch and swung the window open. A breeze grabbed it from him and slammed it back against the wall.
“See,” he said, turning to his companions. “Our escape route. Easy.”
Scorbus and Gerd joined him.
“Yes,” Scorbus said, in a voice so polite it promised painful torture before death, “this should round off the rescue nicely.”
“I’m open to ideas.”
“I imagine you are.” The King levered himself up and edged out of the window.
“Go that way,” Marius pointed back the way they had come, towards the square and the far edge of the cathedral, just visible around the corner of the palace. “The crowd should have moved further down the hill by now. They’ll be expecting us to go that way.”
Scorbus glanced down at him, then very deliberately and with great purpose, began to move in the opposite direction.
“What is he… all right, out you go.” He pointed Gerd out the window.
“Like hell.”
“What? Look, we don’t have time…”
A crash behind them caught their attention. One of the writing desks had shifted several inches away from its door. As they watched, another impact knocked it further away.
“I’m not going,” Gerd said as a third impact shook the door.
“But…”
“Nope.” He stepped away from the window. Another collision struck the door. This time it opened far enough that a leather-clad arm was able to slip through the gap and scrabble around for purchase. Marius stared at Gerd.
“Scorbus is just about gone by now,” Gerd said. “It’s not me that has to be sure he gets down.”
“Oh, you bastard.” Marius turned towards the window. From the corner of his eye, he spied the two conscious maids curled up in the corner. They were staring up at him with eyes full of terror. He winked.
“Marius Helles, ladies. If I had more time…” He blew them a quick kiss, closed his eyes, and thrust himself out of the window.
The wind clawed at him as he straightened and shuffled gingerly a few steps along the wall. A moment later, Gerd clambered out, swaying as he clumsily gathered his legs beneath him and stood. Marius reached out a hand and helped to steady his young companion.
“I thought you weren’t coming.”
“Changed my mind.” As Gerd spoke, something whizzed past his shoulder. The two companions watched it fall towards the distant street.
“See?” Marius said to nobody in particular. You don’t get workmanship like that if you work for just any old King, you know. That is a perfectly balanced knife, that is–”
“Get moving!” Gerd risked his balance to give him a shove. Behind them, several people could be heard clambering over their barricade into the room. Within seconds a second crash announced the entry of the remaining pursuers. Marius began to shuffle along the tiny ledge, scouring his fingers across whatever miniscule purchase the worn stones accorded him.
“Son of a bitch!” Marius looked back at Gerd. Beyond the young man, a head had emerged from the window, and the arm it guided was swinging a sword towards him. As Marius watched it struck the wall an inch or so from Gerd’s hip. Marius scuttled a few steps further, dragging Gerd with him.
‘Keep moving!”
“They won’t follow us,” Marius replied. “They’d have to be insane!”
As he spoke, a soldier levered himself out on to the ledge.
“Wait a second!” Gerd turned towards the soldier and whistled. The young man looked up. Gerd backhanded him across the jaw. He slumped, and Gerd continued his swing, pushing him back into the arms of his colleagues. As they staggered under the unconscious soldier’s weight he leaned down and stared at them through the window.
“Don’t be insane,” he shouted, then scooted back to Marius.
“I just want you to know,” he yelled, enunciating carefully above the wind so that Marius caught every syllable, “in case this all goes wrong…”
“Yes?”
“Fuck you.”
“Right.” Marius nodded. “Thanks.”
