“I say what’s essential. Anything else you decided to leave out in your great wisdom?”
“The Ice Court is a vast structure,” Matthias said, turning away. “I can’t label every crack and corner.”
“Then let’s hope nothing is lurking in those corners,” Kaz replied.
Upper Djerholm had no real centre, but the bulk of its taverns, inns, and market stalls were clustered around the base of the hill leading to the Ice Court. Kaz steered them seemingly aimlessly through the streets until he found a run-down tavern called the Gestinge.
“Here?” Jesper complained, peering into the dank main room. The whole place stank of garlic and fish.
Kaz just gave a significant glance upwards and said, “Terrace.”
“What’s a gestinge?” Inej wondered aloud.
“It means ‘paradise’,” said Matthias. Even he looked skeptical.
Nina helped secure them a table on the tavern’s rooftop terrace. It was mostly empty, the weather still too cold to attract many patrons. Or maybe they’d been scared away by the food – herring in rancid oil, stale black bread, and some kind of butter that looked distinctly mossy.
Jesper looked down at his plate and moaned. “Kaz, if you want me dead, I prefer a bullet to poison.”
Nina scrunched her nose. “When I don’t want to eat, you know there’s a problem.”
“We’re here for the view, not the food.”
From their table, they had a clear, if distant, view of the Ice Court’s outer gate and the first guardhouse. It was built into a white arch formed by two monumental stone wolves on their hind legs, and spanned the road leading up the hill to the Court. Inej and the others watched the traffic come and go through the gates as they picked at their lunches, waiting for a sign of the prison wagons. Inej’s appetite had finally returned, and she’d been eating as much as possible to build her strength, but the skin atop the soup she’d ordered wasn’t helping.
There was no coffee to be had so they ordered tea and little glasses of clear br?nnvin that burned going down but helped to keep them warm as a wind picked up, stirring the silvery ribbons tied to the ash boughs lining the street below.
“We’re going to start looking conspicuous soon,” said Nina. “This isn’t the kind of place people like to linger.”
“Maybe they don’t have anyone to take to jail,” suggested Wylan.
“There’s always someone to take to jail,” Kaz replied, then bobbed his chin towards the road.
“Look.”
A boxy wagon was rolling to a stop at the guardhouse. Its roof and high sides were covered in black canvas, and it was drawn by four stout horses. The door at the back was heavy iron, bolted and padlocked.
Kaz reached into his coat pocket. “Here,” he said and handed Jesper a slender book with an elaborate cover.
“Are we going to read to each other?”
“Just flip it open to the back.”
Jesper opened the book and peered at the last page, puzzled. “So?”
“Hold it up so we don’t have to look at your ugly face.”
“My face has character. Besides – oh!”
“An excellent read, isn’t it?”
“Who knew I had a taste for literature?”
Jesper passed it to Wylan, who took it tentatively. “What does it say?”
“Just look,” said Jesper.
Wylan frowned and held it up, then he grinned. “Where did you get this?”
Matthias had his turn and released a surprised grunt.
“It’s called a backless book,” said Kaz as Inej took the volume from Nina and held it up. The pages were full of ordinary sermons, but the ornate back cover hid two lenses that acted as a long glass. Kaz had told her to keep an eye out for women using similarly made mirrored compacts at the Crow Club.
They could read the hand a player was holding from across the room, then signal to a partner at the table.
“Clever,” Inej remarked as she peered through. To the barmaid and the other patrons on the terrace, it looked as if they were handing a book around, discussing some interesting passage. Instead Inej had a close view of the gatehouse and the wagon parked in front of it.
The gate between the rampant wolves was wrought iron, bearing the symbol of the sacred ash and bordered by a high, spiked fence that circled the Ice Court’s grounds.
“Four guards,” she noted, just as Matthias had said. Two were stationed on each side of the gatehouse, and one of them was chatting with the driver of the prison wagon, who handed him a packet of documents.
“They’re the first line of defence,” said Matthias. “They’ll check paperwork and confirm identities, flag anyone they think requires closer scrutiny. By this time tomorrow the line going through the gates will be full of Hringk?lla guests and backed up all the way to the gorge.”
“By then we’ll be inside,” Kaz said.
“How often do the wagons run?” asked Jesper.
“It depends,” said Matthias. “Usually in the morning. Sometimes in the afternoon. But I can’t imagine they’ll want prisoners arriving at the same time as guests.”