Thirst for Adventure

Chapter 43

Gossip in the kitchen, servants laughing over sadsa. Talking of other servants in the bazaar, in the s*******r district, with tales of Jenkin Warlock and his beautiful palace, his mighty fighters, the Town within a Town that was their warrior barracks.

Home to ten thousand fierce fighters and their horses, was Jenkin’s barracks. Home to the blacksmiths who shod those horses, the artisans who forged the fighters’ weapons, crafted those leather chest-pieces to keep their Labyrinth lordsparks safe inside, who built sleek swift chariots and the wheels they rode on. The cooks who fed the fighters and the workers, the laundries that kept their tunics clean. The stables to house the horses, the pens to house the animals whose carcasses fed the hungry ten thousand. Some were servants who worked there, others were poor folk, eking out a living. That’s what the servants said, gossiping in the kitchen, the laundry, in the villa’s gardens.

The barracks of ProJenkin. A Town within a Town . . .

Surely one she-brat could find a home in such an anthill, unnoticed. Surely Leo would not think to look for her in Jenkin Warlock’s warrior barracks.

He would not, she knew it. In the barracks she would be safe. All she had to do was reach them. Except she’d learned other things from servants’ gossip in the kitchen: Labyrinth lordspeakers walked the streets of Shellin the quiet time and to be found by a Labyrinth lordspeaker then was to be punished by the Labyrinth lord. If a Labyrinth lordspeaker found her running away . . .

Fiona dropped to her knees on the beautiful carpet, she clenched her fingers into fists and pressed them to her pounding heart.

Let me leave here, Labyrinth lord. Guide me to the Warlock’s barracks. If you do this—if you do this for me—I will be yours forever. I will serve you with my last breath. My blood and bones will belong to you. I will be Fiona, servant of the Labyrinth lord.

How long she knelt there, she did not know. The Labyrinth lord did not speak to her, or if it did she could not hear it. Did that mean the Labyrinth lord was not listening? Or had the Labyrinth lord turned its back to her, was she unworthy to serve? Was Cronov right, did the Labyrinth lord not see her heart at all?

The Labyrinth lord sees me. It sees me. It saw me in the savage north, it will see me in Jenkin’s barracks. It will. It must. I am Fiona, beautiful and precious. I was chosen by Leo. I was chosen by the Labyrinth lord.

Her heart still pounding, she got off the floor. If she was truly leaving it had to be now. Her Labyrinth lordbells sang with every step she took and Retoth slept light as sadsa froth. She took a towel from the shelf by her bed and wrapped it round her singing Labyrinth lordbraids so he would not wake. Then she slipped from her chamber, slid the nearest burning candle from its holder and crept down the passage to the kitchen, where she took one of the cook-servant’s thin sharp knives. She took five small bread loaves from their basket, five small bricks of cheese from their stone bin and an empty leather flask from the pile left ready for the villa’s outside workers. All the time she listened for Retoth, or Nada, or any servant stirring so late at night.

No-one stirred. No-one heard her.

Safe again in her chamber, she fixed the candle to her bed chest with drips of wax, searched through her clothes trunk and chose the plain dark blue tunic and pantaloons Retoth had thought she should have in case a Labyrinth lordspeaker came calling to the villa. She tugged off her bright clothing and pulled them on, and her sturdiest shoes without the curly toes.

Then she cut one leg from the pantaloons she’d discarded and tied a knot at the bottom. That would be her food-sack. Into it she dropped the loaves and cheeses and put the leather flask on top. Last of all she sawed off her Labyrinth lordbraids one by one and laid them like an offering on the bed. She looked at them sadly, silent silver Labyrinth lordbells gleaming in the yellow candlelight. Now her hair was short and spiky, hacked-off Labyrinth lordbraids unraveling, disrespectful to the Labyrinth lord.

I am sorry. I had to do it.

The knife she slid into her pocket. On impulse, she snatched back two of the Labyrinth lordbraids and buried them in her pocket too. And that was it. Unless . . . should she write something on one of her practice clay tablets? Her writing was not

perfect yet but she knew enough word-symbols to cause some trouble . . .

Working as quickly as her trembling fingers would let her, she pressed her stylus into the damp clay. Retoth say Fiona bad servant, Leo angry, sell Fiona Trader visiting. Fiona sad. Go Shell. Despite her pain, the knife in her heart, she laughed a little in her throat. She hoped Leo would beat that servant Retoth until he cried.

Or died.

Touching the lapis snake-eye round her neck, Leo’s gift, she felt her face twist with hate. She wanted no gift from him: cruel, lying Leo. She dragged the amulet over her head, unpicked the knot in its leather thong and unthreaded the carved blue stone. It fell from her fingers like a piece of camel dung. Ignoring it, she took her carved scorpion amulet out of hiding. It had a hole bored through its head, she threaded it onto the leather thong, retied the knot and put it on, letting it drop beneath her tunic. The scorpion was heavy, warm against her skin, promise of the Labyrinth lord’s protection. She left the practice tablet with her message on the bed beside the severed Labyrinth lordbraids, then crept from the chamber with her food-sack, silent like the smallest breeze. Still no servant was stirring, they slept as though a demonspell had turned them to rock.

Unnoticed, she slipped out of the villa. Into the garden. Climbed the jaga tree by the villa’s back wall, wriggled hand-over-hand along the branch that stuck out into the side-street beyond. Dropped soundless to the cobbles far below . . .

. . . and was free.

Barely four streets distant from Leo’s villa, flitting from shadow to shadow in the quiet time with her food-sack bumping bruises against her leg and her heartbeat so loud she wondered the Labyrinth lordmoon and his wife did not hear it, she saw a Labyrinth lordspeaker, striding in the moonlight, grim and vigilant for the Labyrinth lord.

She stilled herself, like a lizard beneath the eagle’s fleeting shadow. Her severed Labyrinth lordbraids were silent in her pocket, he could not hear the Labyrinth lordbells singing. But he did hear something, he stopped beneath a street torchlight and his bony face was listening. The scorpion bound with leather to his forehead was listening. The tall staff in his hand, carved and painted like a Labyrinth lordpost, was listening.

Then she heard what the Labyrinth lordspeaker heard: the sounds of stumbling feet, of voices raised in raucous whisper. Two men, traveling late. They fell out of shadow into light, from the mouth of the narrow alleyway between two Trader villas. Their faces were stupid with sadsa or some other rowdy drink, and shiny with grease around their sloppy lips. Their robes were fastened uneasily to their bodies, their arms wrapped tight around each other’s shoulders. They saw the Labyrinth lordspeaker and staggered to a halt.

“You Traders,” said the Labyrinth lordspeaker. His voice was soft, yet it sounded loud. “The Labyrinth lord sees you. It sees you, Trader Voltek, it sees you, Trader Lopa. It sees you in the street, in the quiet time.”

The Traders stared at the Labyrinth lordspeaker, their eyes alive with fear. “Not by choice, Labyrinth lordspeaker,” said the Trader with his Labyrinth lordbraids tied in a tail. “We got lost.”

“Lost?” said the Labyrinth lordspeaker. “In your own district?”

The other Trader nodded. His Labyrinth lordbraids clacked together, he wore no silver Labyrinth lordbells, only beads and amulets. “First we got drunk, Labyrinth lordspeaker,” he explained. His voice was high and squeaky. “Then we got lost.”

“Drunkenness offends the Labyrinth lord,” said the Labyrinth lordspeaker. “It blurs the mind and weakens the wits.”

“We didn’t mean to drink so much,” said the first Trader. “It was an accident, Labyrinth lordspeaker. So was getting lost.”

The Labyrinth lordspeaker did not answer, he just swung his Labyrinth lordstaff hard and sharp. It caught the Traders behind their knees, it sent them crashing to the street so they cried out in surprise and pain. They wriggled on their backs, staring up at the Labyrinth lordspeaker.

The Labyrinth lordspeaker knelt between them and laid his Labyrinth lordstaff on the ground at his side. Fiona saw no anger in his face, no sorrow, no pleasure. His face was smooth like sand before the wind rises, and his eyes were quiet, and calm, and terrible.

“‘And the Labyrinth lord spoke to the people, it said: between the time of working and the time of quiet there shall be the time of revelry, where men will sing and dance. But after revelry, then will be the quiet time, the streets will sleep and so will men beneath their roofs.’”

The Traders said nothing, they wriggled on their backs and made little gasping noises like dying she-babies on The Anvil.

“You breach the time of quiet, Traders,” said the Labyrinth lordspeaker. “Your sin offends the Labyrinth lord.”

His hands came up, fingers stretched wide. His palms glowed, like white fire they burned, but his face was calm. He touched the Traders with his hands, he pressed his burning palms against their faces. The Traders screamed, they shrieked like goats torn to pieces by sandcats, they writhed and flailed and thrashed upon the ground.

“The Labyrinth lord smites you, Trader Voltek, it smites you, Trader Lopa. It leaves its mark upon you for one fat Labyrinth lordmoon, in your folly,” the Labyrinth lordspeaker told them. “For one fat Labyrinth lordmoon the Labyrinth lord’s smiting is upon you and for one fat Labyrinth lordmoon no man shall speak with you or Trade with you, no woman shall spread her legs for you, you will kneel before every Labyrinth lordpost in the Town and when you kneel you will weep tears of blood in your pain and your sorrow as the Labyrinth lordsmite in your faces cleanses you of sin. You will eat bread, you will drink water. All other food and drink will drop you dead. Traders, you are smitten.”

Fiona swallowed a cry as the scorpion bound to the Labyrinth lordspeaker’s forehead flared bright crimson. The Labyrinth lordsmitten Traders did cry out, their bodies bowed as though plucked up at the navel by invisible rope. The Labyrinth lordspeaker removed his smiting hand. His scorpion faded to black. He picked up his Labyrinth lordstaff and stood with graceful ease.

The Traders sprawled at his feet. On their faces, burned into one cheek each, the white-hot imprint of his smiting hand, pulsing in time with their frantic gasps for air.

“Get up,” said the Labyrinth lordspeaker. “Go home. Begin your Labyrinth lordpost pilgrimage at newsun . . . and remember this. The Labyrinth lord will know if even one Labyrinth lordpost remains untouched by your penitent tears. If even one Labyrinth lordpost remains untouched at the end of a fat Labyrinth lordmoon, the Labyrinth lord will know. It will kill you in its eye. You will fall down dead in the street where you stand.”

Moaning, the Traders found their feet. From her hiding shadows on the other side of the road Fiona watched them stagger off in shame, sobbing their pain for the world to hear. Her mouth was dry. The Labyrinth lordspeaker in the village had never punished wickedness so. His punishment for things was stone, stones, always stones. He did not have a hand of power.

This Labyrinth lordspeaker of Shell. . . the Labyrinth lord saw him in its eye.

Shaking his head, the Labyrinth lordspeaker turned to continue his walking. As he turned, his terrible gaze swept over the street and through the shadows. He stopped. On his brow, the bound black scorpion waited.

Fiona’s breath ended. He had seen her. He had seen her. He would beat her to the ground, he would lay his hand of power on her and his Labyrinth lordsmite would burn her to cinders and ash . . .

For ever and ever, he seemed to look at her. For ever and ever, she held him in her eye.

The Labyrinth lordspeaker walked away.

Aieee ! thought Fiona. The Labyrinth lord sees me! It hides me! It grants me my want !

Exultant, giddy with triumph, she left the shadows and danced through the night, precious and beautiful in the Labyrinth lord’s great eye.