Twenty

So It Happens Here Too?

Gratia returned to the room feeling refreshed and much cooler than before. The bath chamber had been splendid: pure white marble with large sunken pools of steaming water. Her muscles were completely relaxed, the knots of fear and tension from the execution completely dissolved. By rights, she knew she should be rotting in some maggot-infested turf by now, a lifeless corpse shamed for a crime she had not committed. Yet here she was, in the lap of luxury, maids attending to her every need and quarters to put the High Excellence of Lariaan to pity. Why couldn’t Gale be here, too?

Quickly, she pushed that thought from her mind. She was in no mood for self-inflicted grief. The past couldn’t be undone and she had enough to worry about here. She had never heard of Imandilas or Sire Quathrobe. She did, however, know of the infamous Capulan Sea; travellers often entered Lariaan and boasted of bathing there. It was famed for bringing the continent its riches from other smaller islands. Apparently it stretched as far as the eye could see. Anyone sailing out of harbour was blessed by the priests, and often took on board a mage or wizard to ward off storms and other bad fortunes. The thought of having crossed it in what felt to her like a very short time was too much to contemplate. She knew it must have taken strong magic to achieve that.

Another uneasiness she felt was the time difference. The water clock now stated it to be quarter to two, yet she had been set to hang at six o’clock in Lariaan. Yet the calendar stated it to be the same date. Perhaps that, too, was magic? 

Removing her nice clean bath robes, she slipped into her crimson silks again. They had been expertly cleaned and darned whilst she had been attending to herself. To an inexperienced eye, they seemed brand new. Old tears had apparently disappeared in the tailor’s expert hands.

But now fatigue was overwhelming her. The journey across the great ocean had taken its toll on her already stressed body. She lay on the bed and closed her eyes. Within minutes, she was sleeping soundly.

The water clock positioned itself at eight o’clock when Gratia next opened her eyes. The room was flooded in twilight and it was unbearably close. A thin frosting of sweat coated her brow and she rolled over onto her side with a groan. Something buzzed past her ear and she sat upright. A candle had been lit by the side of her bed. Mage Sharloss must have been back whilst she slept. Peering around the gloomy shadow-spilt room, her eyes fell upon a small sliver of parchment resting on the mantelpiece. Shuffling off the bed, she plucked it up in one hand and cast a bleary eye over the fumbled script. It read :-

Banquet in main hall. If you wake before the 9th hour of noon, please feel free to join me. Cathchart Sharloss.

Glancing to the water clock, her stomach urged her to go. Opening the door, she squinted as glaring light from rows of wall candles stung her sleepy eyes. She saw no signs of life along the corridor, so gingerly stepped out, locking the small brass catch behind her and slipping the key into her skirt pouch. Unsure which way the dining hall was, she instinctively set off to the left. After several yards of gold-laced candle holders and marble floor tiles she turned a corner and almost fell over a startlingly dressed young man who was crouched by a door.

“Darn,” cursed the man, scrambling to get off his rump.

“Oh, I do beg your pardon!” she whispered, giving a flustered half curtsy. But before she had time to apologise further, the door swung open and a hook-nosed old man stood before them with a cold scowl etched into his aged features.

“Beggerboy, what are you still doing here? Damn you! Little spy. Traitor!” he growled, taking a menacing step into the hallway and ignoring Gratia completely. 

She glanced at the young man again. He was clad in dark brown and burgundy silks, trimmed with lace, gold trinkets decorated his wrists and fingers. If this was how beggars dressed in Imandilas, she would probably faint at the sight of noble-folk. A smile crossed her lips. The youth was pale and she placed a bet that the sweat on his forehead wasn’t caused by the humidity.

“I– he– there–”

“I believe I may clarify matters, m’lord.” She spoke in a voice radiating gentility. The grouchy old miser turned to take a better look at her.

“And who might you be, missy?” His stern expression changed little. The youth eyed her with concerned suspicion from over his shoulder.

“I am here with Mage Sharloss. He is attending to the Sire’s sick son.” She raised an eyebrow of importance, and smiled inwardly with amusement as the old man’s features suddenly softened. He looked almost apologetic for his harsh words. “I was taking a nap in my quarters. When I awoke, I realised that I was running awfully late for the banquet. I seem to have gotten myself dreadfully lost in all these unfamiliar corridors, and I have quite misplaced myself. I asked this kind man here to direct me to the dining hall. He was just about to oblige my request when my wretched shoe slipped and he tripped over it!” She gave a theatrical, exasperated sigh. “I must ask the cobbler to mend the heel in the morning, they were a gift from the High Excellence of Lariaan and, although I would never mention in public, his taste for quality is somewhat misguided. I do beg your forgiveness for interrupting any business you are undertaking.”

The old weather-mapped face was now glowing with adoration for the beautiful young lady who stood before him. “No, no, it is I who should be apologising to you. My tongue was unforgivable in the presence of a lady such as yourself. I am quite embarrassed. Indeed, he is a most excellent guide, you have my sincerest apologies.”

Gratia gave a hopelessly polite smile, followed by a deep and extravagant curtsy. “Then if you shall allow us to continue on our way, I really mustn’t keep my friend waiting any longer.”

“Indeed not, no.” He gave an equally exaggerated bow and tried to hide his discomfort in straightening up again. “Please give Mage Sharloss my warmest gratitude for all he is doing for the Master, our best wishes go out to him for all his help. The Master couldn’t possibly be in better hands. They say he is already showing an improvement.”

“Yes, yes indeed. I shall. Now, if you shall excuse me, I really must be on my way.” She nodded to him and turned her attention back to the youth whose face was one of sheer disbelief. The old boil appeared to accept her yarn without question. He gave a series of short bows as he disappeared back into his closet, shutting the door reluctantly behind him.

“But–” the man started.

“Shhh, not here, lest he should overhear us as you did him,” she whispered. A sly grin spread across her lips, for he was now completely at her mercy. Not only had she provided an excuse and saved him a beating, but she also held the power to rat on him should he disobey. After all, he had been listening at the door. The man nodded, radiating gratitude, and led her around a corner.

“I can’t even begin to thank you,” he began again.

“Well, I am sure you could try.” She smiled.

The young man failed to catch on to the joke and seemed a little taken aback by her comment. She sighed and shook her head.

“Now, where is the dining hall?” 

The man’s expression looked puzzled further. “You really were looking for the dining hall, m’lady?”

“Well, of course I was. Why else should I have saved your hide from the old miser if I had no use for you myself?” Her smile was forced, more so than intended. Habit had formed it this way. Her features softened greatly when she saw him tense.

“Come on now. I don’t have all night to attend the banquet.”

“Then– then you really are with Mage Sharloss?” he asked, incredulously.

“Indeed, I am.” she gave a smug smile. “Now, lead on.” The boy’s reaction was more then she could have hoped for. He bowed deeply enough to kiss her feet and his expression took on a wondrous gaze. She bit her tongue to suppress a giggle as they began to walk.

“Your ears are still burning,” she pointed out. “Was the conversation really so engrossing you would risk your hide to hear it?” She quirked a teasing eyebrow but again he failed to see the humour.

“I– I...” he stammered, realising it would grace him little to try and deny it. “It concerned me.”

“It concerned you and yet you were not invited to attend the conference?” Her curiosity flared up inside. He looked uneasy and instead of providing the lengthy explanation she hoped for, he simply nodded and replied “Yes” in a quiet tone.

She knew it would be rude for her to pry further, and a ‘lady’ of her breading, as she was trying to act, would never have dreamt of pushing the conversation...

“Pray tell, why was that then?” She bombed ahead regardless of her mental warning. The man shrugged, disgruntled at such an invasion on his privacy, yet knowing he had to answer someone so clearly above him in status.

“They were discussing my wife.”

“They?”

“Gambian, the man you met just then, and his friends of ward.”

“Ward?” She tried to sound composed and neutral, but she was growing impatient with him.

“Yes,” he said, surprised. “The ward. The circle of the ward.”

“I am not from these parts. Explain.”

The man frowned slightly, but listened to his inner wisdom and decided that it was in his favour to comply. “The ward take care of our town, guard it against inner crime and outer attacks.”

“Ah, the guard.”

“Yes. I suppose you could call them guards. They work in legions. There are 1twelve legions in Imandilas and each legion is led by a ward master. The twelve masters meet each month to talk about ward business. You know, new threats to the city, legion news from other towns and all that. Gambian is the mage assigned to take note at the meetings and advise on how best to protect the city for the following month. He is no more than a cheap illusionist, really.”

“Why so bitter? What has the ward to do with your wife?” Gratia noted the jewelled ring on his wedding finger.

“Must you ask, m’lady? It is not a matter I truly wish to discuss. No disrespect.”

For a split second Gratia considered dropping the matter, but her cold curiosity was not yet satisfied. If anything, its appetite was whet for a lengthy story.

“Yes, I must ask. No disrespect taken, but just remember who you owe your hide to.” The man looked as if he had just been stung by a wasp disguised as a butterfly. His voice became hoarse.

“They killed her,” he said. It was not an accusation. The way he said it, it was a fact.

Immediately she regretted asking, but it was too late now.

“Oh?” Her own voice quivered now, but he didn’t appear to notice through his own grief.

“They say she had an affair with Demivolsh. They say she seduced him and then stole papers from him.” A tear spilt down his cheek. It had to be deeply painful for a man to abandon his pride and weep openly in front of a lady, especially a lady he didn’t even know.

“Demivolsh?”

“Ward master of the fifth legion,” he replied. Then he stopped and turned to face Gratia, a sudden bout of rage gripping him. Gratia stepped back, suddenly aware that she didn’t know this man or his temperament at all. His voice was gruff and his words so hot they could have burned. “But she didn’t. She didn’t I tell you! He raped her! He forced himself upon her and then, when he realised that he could lose his job for it, he killed her!”

Gratia tried to maintain a calm expression. In truth, her reaction to what would be scorned by many as an “outrageous accusation” was one of great sympathy. After the treatment she had received from the guard-head of Lariaan, nothing much surprised her about corruption in the ranks any more. 

Hot tears now poured from his sparkling green eyes and she couldn’t help but draw him close to her. He buried his head against her shoulder and wept quietly for a few minutes before remembering himself and pulling away.

“Forgive me,” he stammered. “I should not have spoken out like that. Please, I didn’t mean to embarrass you in any way.”

“Embarrass me? Don’t be so silly. And it is a good thing that you spoke out. If no one ever spoke out, no justice would ever be done.” She gave him an ice-meltingly warm smile. 

He seemed even more uneasy with her friendship than her humour. “I could have lost my head for speaking in such a manner.”

“Oh, they do that here too?” She sighed and shook her head slightly. “Would you believe me if I told you I was hanged this evening?” She cleared her throat, aware that she was in danger of making a joke out of something very serious.

The man gave her an awkward look, unsure what to make of her last statement. “You are due to be hanged?” he asked, unsure of himself.

She suppressed a smile. “No, it doesn’t matter. It’s a long story.” He nodded. Unlike her, he was not going to drain a conversation.

“Look, suddenly I have lost my appetite for food. Come, let me walk with you back to your quarters. I don’t wish to leave you alone when you are so upset.”

“You are misled, m’lady. I have no quarters here. Only a small house beyond the palace gates.”

“A small house? But you are so finely dressed.”

“I am employed as a footman. All workers are dressed in finery to create a good impression to guests of the palace.” He gave a rue smile. “Again, I could lose my head for letting slip such secrets.”

“Hold no fear of that, I shan’t tell a soul.”

He shrugged. Gratia couldn’t help but wonder if that was through lack of concern towards her thoughts, or indifference to his own life. She didn’t wish to ponder that question for long.

“Is that your carriage on the pathway?” He nodded slightly in reply. “The four drawn?”

“Yes.”

“Fine beasts.”

“It is the guest carriage. It is sent to collect guests of the palace. The Duke of Cordenay is here tonight, the banquet is in his honour.”

“Well then, I should let you get back to your work–” She paused.

“Emalus. Emalus Greshloy, at your service, m’lady–” He paused.

She couldn’t help but smile, and for the first time he also appeared to find the humour in it.

“Cilarie. Gratia Evaina Cilarie.”

“Would you like an escort anywhere else, m’lady Cilarie?”

She shook her head and smiled. “No, you go home Emalus, and know that if you ever need a friend, I shall be in the guest quarters of the palace.”

Emalus smiled with genuine appreciation. “That is very kind of you. I shall.” He nodded and paced off down the corridor and around a corner.