“That is a children’s rhyme, Master.”
“I know. Stay long enough to be seen, in case any ask where you were, but after I perform there will be uproar and Adran will command me to dance again. I will do something less patronising. Her ministers at the top table will have to stay but you can use the uproar to sneak out. No one will be paying attention to a squire. Return here, blacken your hands and face and put on the nightsuit. Two floors up and three across is the room of Neander the priest. Search it. One floor down from there and one across you will find the room of Daana ap Dhyrrin. Search that too. Find me something, Girton—anything.” She sounded almost desperate but her face remained an unreadable deathmask. “Now get ready,” she said.
“A kilt?”
“You are spared that; tonight is to be informal.”
“Well, small mercies are all one can expect of dead gods.”
“Have you suddenly become religious, Girton?”
“When I must climb the sheer face of a castle in full view of anyone below? Yes.” I knew I sounded moody, but she laughed, short and sharp, before leaving the room to make her way to the main hall. Soon after, I followed.
Soldiers filled the benches, the noise of their drunken chatter like a wall, and even unarmoured the cloying smell of rancid fat and sweat clung to them. A whole bench across the centre of the room was unoccupied. About two thirds of the guards sat before it, while the rest, with occasional splashes of red, were behind. Every so often food would be thrown from one set of tables at the other, but it was good-natured and the room was filled with laughter. As I fought through to my place on the front bench I saw why. Gusteffa, the king’s jester, was staging a mock fight with a tame bear. She wore a skirt of red which had been cut and shaped to move like the legs of a mount, two twigs in a crown served as antlers. I took great joy in Gusteffa’s performance, but while I laughed at her I also listened to those around me. I sat among the larger group of guards, loyalists, and quickly learned they were not loyal to Aydor; it was his mother they respected. Now I understood at least a little of why Daana ap Dhyrrin had felt able to talk so freely of treason. His son would outlive Queen Adran and, unless she worked a miracle, Aydor would find little loyalty in his own castle.
Gusteffa finished her act with the bear, the end of which seemed needlessly cruel. At the last she produced a spear and slashed the bear’s throat with it, leaving a pool of blood and a smear of red across the floor as servants dragged the animal’s corpse out. I wondered whether this had been done to inconvenience my master, but it did not bother her. She walked into the area before the top table, approached the pool of bear blood and bent down and dipped her fingers in it. Then she smeared her cheeks with red like a warrior of old and assumed the start position while waiting for the guards to quieten.
When they did she went through a set of acrobatic manoeuvres that earned a huge cheer and then fell into the posture of the teller.
And then the dance really began.
Death’s Count
One is for Xus, the god left after strife,
I am Xus the unseen the god who takes life.
Two is for sorcerers who ravage the land,
I am Xus the unseen, all come to my hand.
Three is for blood, drip, drip life is bidden,
I am Xus the unseen, always there, always hidden.
Four for the living who make and they mend,
I am Xus the unseen, I bring them their end.
Five for the thankful to whom life is a gift,
I am Xus the unseen, see them oft on my list.
Six is for blessed whose hands guide us all,
I am Xus the unseen, see them rise see them fall.
Seven is for priests with masks and with books,
I am Xus the unseen, leave the priests as they’re loved.
Eight is for sourings where nothing exists,
I am Xus the unseen, blame yourselves for those gifts.
Nine is for mounts—
wild, free and strong,
I am Xus the unseen, even mounts heed my song.
Ten is for rebirth, to be bought with Xus’ life,
I am Xus the unseen, how can death ever die?
It was a child’s rhyme more generally performed to amuse the very young. My master performed it exceptionally, drawing it out and making every rhyme poignant and sad, but the guards had no interest in her art. They wanted, and expected, something filled with bawdiness and fighting, and to them being presented with a children’s song was an insult. There was an explosion of noise in the hall. Food and cups were thrown at my master but she was nimble and easily dodged the missiles. As I pushed my way along the benches to the door, my master pulled silly faces at the angry crowd and jumped around ensuring all attention was on her. If Queen Adran had not stood and demanded quiet they would have ripped my master apart.
Or tried to.
“Quiet!” shouted the queen. “You are blessed to witness a performance by Death’s Jester.” More shouting. Most loudly from the rear benches where Adran was not loved. “And as you all know Death’s Jester is allowed to choose its own dance.” More shouting, and she held up her hands for quiet. “However, as queen I also have tradition on my side, and I may choose another dance if I am displeased with the first.” She paused, staring out into the quietening room and I marvelled at how easily she suddenly held the guards, even the ones who disliked her, in the palm of her hand. “So I ask you,” she said softly, “am I displeased?”
A roar of “Yes!” went up, and it was hard not to admire how simply she bound these two disparate groups together.
“Very well, Death’s Jester. You have displeased my guards and in doing so you have displeased me. You will give my loyal guards the story of how the first king defeated the three sorcerers.”
Another roar went up. This is always a popular story, though it was more suited to travelling mummers than an artist like my master.
Before she had even started, I had left to begin my journey across the walls of the castle.
Chapter 18
My stomach looped and twirled like a black bird in flight as I transferred my weight from the window ledge to fingertips lodged in the brittle mortar of the wall. I had fashioned a climbing device, a piece of wood with nails sticking from it in place of my useless toes, and had lashed it around my malformed foot so tightly it made me gasp with pain every time I found a foothold.