When I could walk again, I examined the room.
It was far tidier than Neander’s, and if a man’s room was emblematic of his mind then Daana ap Dhyrrin was the exact opposite of the priest. No dust at all, and his books were stacked neatly. A square decanter of apple liquor and a matching glass were placed on the desk so their corners lined up perfectly with the corner of sthe shining darkwood top. Thankfully, his noisy lizards were with him at the feast. At the first sign of a stranger they would have squawked or spat venom at me.
I was twice as careful in Daana’s room as I had been in Neander’s—a tidy man likes things just so and is more likely to notice something out of place. I took out my chain garrotte and started going through the books on his desk, though I found nothing except that he had an interest in folklore and a love of old books. I memorised some of the book titles as they were unfamiliar to me.
A sheaf of vellum pages had been laid out on his desk. The top one had Rufra’s name on it, and I leafed through them to find they all read the same apart from the names. “I, Rufra ap Vthyr, request the heir, Aydor ap Mennix, be removed from Rider training.” Rufra had told me some squires had written to request Aydor’s removal, but I was surprised to see there were even a couple of requests from boys I thought of as Aydor’s cronies. Not that it mattered. Daana had clearly decided to ignore them and had started to scrape the vellums clean. The word “training” on Rufra’s request was already so faded as to be barely readable.
Under the vellum was an elaborate family tree showing the ap Dhyrrin’s claim to the throne. There was little doubt that it was stronger than that of the ap Mennix, who ruled currently, but such things mattered little when King Doran had won loyalty with the edge of his blade. It was clear that Daana ap Dhyrrin intended his great-grandson to take the throne at some point in the future. But would he really be so blatant if he had contracted an assassin?
Why did the queen put up with him?
What hold did he have over her?
I resumed searching. In the bin I found some slips of paper that had been scrawled on and ripped up. As I studied them I heard the water clock strike twelve. The feast would be finishing now. I stared at the torn slips of paper, trying to make some sense of them; they appeared to be nothing but angular doodles. Signs of a violent mind maybe but that was hardly a crime in the Tired Lands. I dropped the papers back in the bin. They fluttered through golden, luminescent air. Pain stabbed into my head, needles behind my eyes, and the lines on the paper connected in such a way as to remind me of the signs I had seen in Heamus’s room. I squeezed my eyes shut to banish the pain, a sure sign of too much exertion. Then I dipped into the bin and set about making a quick jigsaw of the bits of paper until I saw a definite familiarity, though these symbols did not carry the same sense of revulsion and sat easily in my memory. Surely Doran ap Mennix’s right hand would never mix himself up in magic?
I went to the window, readying myself to go out again. The wind had come up and it howled around the keep, making my heart sink. My arms were so tired and my club foot so painful I was not sure I could make it back without falling. I cursed myself for not chancing the rope or at least knocking in some nails. I glanced down, and as if to reinforce my worries the priest of Xus appeared by the water clock in the keep’s courtyard. The gibbous moon of his mask was angled straight up at me. Surely an omen.
I took a rag from my pocket and hurriedly wiped as much blacking from my face and my hands as I could. Then I ripped off my climbing aid and, leaning as far out of the window as possible, I dug the nails into the mortar in such a way that it would work its way loose and fall, hopefully long after I was gone, and I could reclaim it later. Then, remembering the guard outside the kennels and how my master had covered her actions by making him appear drunk, I took Daana’s decanter and poured out enough liquor to wet my fingers and ran them through my hair. After a deep breath and a quick entreaty to Xus that no guards were posted outside Daana’s quarters, I slipped out of the room and into the corridor.
No guards. In my panic I had forgotten they were all in the main hall getting drunk. I made my way as quickly as I could back to my rooms, but when I heard footsteps behind me I started to weave and stumble like a drunk. Not looking where I was going, I walked straight into Heamus.
“Girton, why are you here, boy? And why are you dressed like— Dead gods!” He laughed as the smell of alcohol hit him. “You have been celebrating, aye?” He laughed again as he held me by my shoulders. I wondered how many innocent lives his big hands had taken as I focused on a tapestry of an old queen on her mount behind him.
“Um … lost,” I said, swaying. Then I repeated myself. “Lost.”
“Ha, you will be a sad one when you ride the cows tomorrow. Nywulf has no pity in him. Let me help you to find your way back, and then I suggest you drink plenty of water.”
He escorted me back to my room and because I was with him no one asked any questions or commented on my strange dress. Heamus seemed totally lacking in curiosity, in fact he seemed distracted and did not speak to me again as we walked.
When I slipped into our room my master was staring out of the window. She turned and opened her mouth to speak, but I raised my finger to my lips and pointed with my thumb at the door. We both waited and listened while Heamus thumped away down the corridor.
“Heamus,” I said.
“He caught you?”
“No. Ran into him in a corridor.” She tipped her head to one side as she often did when she wanted more information. “The climb was harder than I thought. When the wind picked up I did not think I could make it back so I cleaned what blacking I could off me and put alcohol in my hair to play the drunk. I could do nothing about my clothes or lack of shoes.”
My master shrugged. “People will expect stupidity of a drunk boy, so it will not be hard to make excuses, if anyone even asks. But for now you should tidy yourself up. The queen wants to see us again.”
“Why?”
“To speak to you, I imagine.” A lump settled in my stomach. “She is naturally suspicious and sick of hearing the same things from me each night. She probably thinks she can catch you in a lie. Tell her the truth and don’t say anything too outlandish, or mention anything connected to the death of Kyril.” She nodded knowingly and I felt the same swoop in my stomach at the thought of magic as I had when swinging myself out onto the castle wall.