I could not bear to think about it but at the same time could not help myself. I needed to do something, anything.
I remembered the voices I had heard when climbing out to look through the rooms of Neander ap Vthyr and Daana ap Dhyrrin. If I could find that same place on the wall, maybe I could eavesdrop again. It was a slim chance, but at least if I was hanging off the side of Castle Maniyadoc my mind would be far too busy to go round and round in tortuous circles. Sticking my head out of the window made me gasp at the chill bite of the wind, though it was not as gusty as the last time I had climbed, and if I used the rope and nails I should be fine. Quickly I wrapped myself in the nightsuit, blackened my face and hands and strapped on my climbing foot. Then I cut a length of rope and tied it around my waist; the other end I made into a loop and placed my right hand through it. Grabbing a handful of nails I climbed out onto the window ledge.
I transferred my weight to my fingers, and that familiar hollow swooping in my stomach rushed over me as my mind screamed at me for placing my body in such danger. But it was the danger that drove dark thoughts from my mind and painted a grin on my face as a wind out of the sourlands whipped my hair about my face.
Far below, a scum of ice had formed over the pool the water clock sat in and the guards had taken to their room after shutting the courtyard gates. Those who needed to go in or out would have to ask them to open the postern gate, and they saw no need to freeze outside. This was good. It meant that if I found a place where I could hear the voices I could use my knife hilt to bang in a nail without worrying about being heard; then I could hang from it to save my strength. I retraced my path across the wall, keeping alert for the whisper of voices on a breeze which rose and fell but lacked the malevolence of the wind the last time I had done this.
My arms were burning with fatigue as I approached the corner where the inner courtyard wall met the massive stones of the keep and found the protruding stone. It was here I had heard the voices, and I had hoped to wrap the rope around it, but the stone was so corroded the rope slid off. Instead, I took one of the big nails from my belt and pushed it as far into the stonework as I could. Then, using the hilt of my knife, I hammered it once and glanced down. The guards were still inside, no doubt warmed by a brazier. I hit the nail again, then a third and fourth time, before looping my rope over it and, very slowly, letting it take my weight. A slight grinding noise. I lifted myself on my fingers and toes just as the nail fell out of the rotten mortar and fell, each tiny metallic beat of the fall sounding impossibly loud. I waited, heart hammering in my chest, but no one came to investigate. I gave it a minute that seemed to stretch for hours as I counted out my-masters and my muscles complained. Then I hammered in a second nail, and a third into a lower course of mortar just in case. I twisted the rope around the bottom nails and placed the loop over the top one and gingerly let them take my weight.
They held.
I waited, it seemed for an age, as cold seeped through my nightsuit. At the moment I was about to give up I heard it: “… not what I agreed to …”
Then another voice, lower, reduced to sounds no more sensible than the hiss of leather against leather.
“No! … id not leave … sma … more cruelty …”
That voice. I knew it, but by the time the wind had tumbled it around the keep’s inner walls it had lost its familiarity.
“… cannot continue … not after … iess … poor boy …”
Poor boy? What poor boy? And what could not continue?
“… other ways … manage the gift …”
I knew that voice.
Then the other roared,
“You are wrong and you are wicked! I cannot let it continue!”
I heard a door slam, and it came to me.
Heamus! It was Heamus. I unlooped the rope and was making my way back to our window when I heard a door open far below. I froze as Heamus strode across the courtyard. He was fully armoured and wore blades at his hip. He was no careless guard and despite his age I felt sure if I moved he would somehow sense me. What had he meant? The gift? The boy?
Heamus hammered on the postern gate and a guard came out.
“None to leave. Queen’s orders,” said the guard.
“Let me out. I must go to the stables.”
“Queen says none can leave after—”
“Open it,” shouted Heamus and he pulled out his stabsword. “You know who I am.”
The guard stared at him for a moment then shrugged.
“Ain’tn’t no need for blades, Heamus.” He opened the postern door to let the old Landsman out. Once he was gone, I heard the guard say under his breath, “Mardy yellower,” before he returned to the gatehouse. Then, quickly as I dared, I made my way back to our room. Boy? The Gift? And Heamus was going to the stables. Drusl was in the stables! Was the boy Leiss? Did Heamus suspect Drusl of having something to do with Leiss’s death? But how? Why?
What if he hurt her?
I pulled myself in through the window and found my master standing with her back against the door in her full jester’s suit, a blade in her hand.
“Girton,” she said. “What are you doing? I thought you were an intruder.”
“No time,” I said, gasping for breath as fiery pain ripped through my hands and feet. I fell to my knees. “Heamus. Going to the stables,” I hissed. “Drusl.”
“What?”
“Armed. Something about Leiss?” Pain was stealing my strength. “Please, Master. Drusl may be in danger.”
“But, Girton, we will not be allowed out.”
I searched my mind for what to do.
“Fire, Master! I could start a fire in the keep and it would distract the guards on the gate. Then you could use the windlass to open the main doors.”
“Girton—” she knelt in front of me “—slow down. Think. A fire big enough to distract the guards would likely bring half the castle running, and the windlass is heavy. I’d barely have any strength left to help you after turning it alone.” She stared into my eyes “Breathe, Girton. Out and in. Calm yourself and think. We don’t climb a wall where there is a staircase without good reason. Think. Simple is always better.”
I took a moment. Breathed. Each second seemed a minute, each breath brought the danger to Drusl closer.
“The letter the queen gave me, to leave for Festival, we can …”
“She dated it. And her instructions were specific, I can forge her handwriting but it will take me— “
“Daana ap Dhyrrin,” I said.
“What of him?”
“He defended me in front of Queen Adran when she questioned me about Kyril. He either wants my friendship or wants to ensure Neander doesn’t have it, I’m not sure which, but he may help.”
“And that helps us how?”
“I could tell him I want to visit my girlfriend in secret. The best lies contain truth—right, Master?”
“Aye. But you wait here, clean the blacking from your face and hands and put on your armour,” said my master. “You are shaken and he will sense that. I will go to him for you.”