Then he was gone. I heard him lock the door behind him. Of course. If we were hiding in that room, it was what we would do. There was blood on the floor outside that door. His bloody handprints on the wall and the door. The guards would think they had us cornered.
‘Get in here,’ Lant said in a dark and savage voice. He took my shoulder and pushed me toward Beloved. I tottered numbly along with him. Per came beside me. I heard him sob once. I understood. I was crying, too. As the door began to close behind us, Per spoke in a hoarse voice. ‘Bee, I am sorry, but I am the only one Lant won’t need. Spark must set the firepot. Prilkop knows where the tunnel is. Lant is strong and good with a blade. And the Fool promised. And you … Saving you is why we came all this way. But me? I’m just a stableboy with a knife. I can stay with Fitz and help him.’ He sniffed. ‘Spark, quickly. Come back to that door and unlock it for me.’
‘Lant?’ she asked uncertainly.
‘Do it,’ he said harshly. ‘After all, he’s just a stableboy.’ He cleared his throat. ‘A stableboy who killed Duke Ellik to save Fitz’s life. One who stood beside him when Fitz faced down a queen dragon. Go, Per. Be sure he knows it’s you And when you’ve killed the guards, bring him back to us. Two knocks, then one, and I’ll open this door without trying to kill you.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Per said. He looked at me. ‘Goodbye, Bee.’
I hugged Per. It had been a long time since I’d hugged anyone. It was even stranger to have someone hug me back, so gently. ‘Thank you for killing Ellik,’ I told him. ‘He was a terrible man.’
‘You’re welcome, Lady Bee,’ he said, and his voice shook only a little.
Prilkop was waiting for us. ‘The lad is terrified,’ he objected.
Lant spoke. ‘That’s because he’s as intelligent as he is brave. Go, Per.’
‘All this talking,’ I heard Spark mutter angrily. ‘Per, hurry!’ But as she turned, she reached up and touched Lant’s cheek. Then they left us
I stood beside Beloved in the dim room. Overhead, something fell with such a crash that the ceiling shook, and bits of paint flaked down. He looked at me and spoke so softly. ‘The Destroyer.’
I could not tell if it was a compliment or a rebuke. ‘Go down the steps,’ Lant said in a low voice. He closed the door behind us.
THIRTY-SIX
* * *
Surprises
No, I cannot agree with you that this work should be left to others. You and I, we are the only two with the necessary depth of knowledge to understand and correctly classify the Skill-cubes. In an excess of caution, Skillmistress Nettle has removed from my safekeeping the sack of memory-cubes I myself brought back from Aslevjal. She has given them over to a young journeyman and a team of apprentices. The task she has assigned is that the apprentices should briefly sample each cube, both to teach them how to use a memory-cube and also to teach them the restraint needed to enter the Skill-flow and then to exit from it after a limited time. Each cube is then to be classified as to what it holds, be it music, history, poetry, geography or other branch of knowledge. Each cube will receive a designation so that they can be kept in order.
I consider a ‘brief time’ in each cube to be inadequate. You and I both well know that a poem can be a history and a ‘history’ can be a flattering fabrication to tickle a ruler’s vanity. You and I are the ones who should be experiencing the cubes, creating clear pages that summarize what they hold and then storing them in order. This is not a task to be left to inexperienced apprentices, and ‘sampling’ the cubes before storage and classification is inadequate. I understand that the information they hold is vast. Even more reason that each cube should be explored completely by people with a broad base of knowledge.
Chade Fallstar in a letter to Tom Badgerlock of Withywoods
I latched the door behind me. Then I leaned against it. Why had they made it so hard for me? Did they think I wanted to do this? To leave Bee yet again? I did not mean to slide down to sit on the floor, but I did. It hurt, but it probably hurt less than falling.
I was lightheaded. My body was demanding that I rest, that I sleep. After so many years, I was familiar with its aggressive healing. All my body’s attention and resources were going to the slash on my leg, just when I needed to be alert.
How bad was it?
It’s bleeding less. Don’t poke it.
‘Where have you been?’ I heard myself whisper the words.
With the cub, doing my best to help her. Mostly failing.
She is alive. That means you succeeded. She would be safer if you went back to her.
She is safer if we draw off the hunters. And kill as many as we can.
I had held back three of Chade’s firepots for myself. I reached over my shoulder and took out the cracked firepot that I’d mended, put it back and chose the other two. One had a blue fuse. Long and slow, Spark had said. I wasn’t sure I wanted it to burn slowly. I wasn’t clear on what I was going to do with it. How slow was slow?
I knew the guards would come. Make all ready.
I looked around the darkened room. It was small, perhaps for private meetings. There were two small windows set high in the wall and no other door. A watery grey light told me that outside, dawn was breaking. As my eyes adjusted, I saw a table with two comfortable, high-backed chairs around it. In the middle of the table there was a little pot-lamp made of glass and painted with flowers. A lovely, welcoming room. An assassin’s dream.
I got to my feet, not quickly and not without curses, but I did it. I set my pack on the table and opened it. The folded paper of carris seed was on top. Very little left. I dumped it in my hand, tossed it into my mouth and ground it between my teeth as I set out the firebrick. The heady rush of the carris seed flooded me. Good. I drew the wick most of the way out of the lamp and set it on the firebrick. It warmed immediately and soon the wick began to smoulder.
Someone tried the doorhandle. Out of time. I’d planned to have the lamp lit ready to light the fuse. Instead, I uncoiled the fuse from the firepot and set it on the brick. Almost immediately a tiny spark danced on it. A flame leapt and then died back to a steady red glow. The lock rattled once, then turned. I slid the brick along the fuse and lit it closer to the pot. Then I stood. Almost. I leaned heavily on the table. The sword wasn’t long enough to be a walking stick. I put more weight on my bad leg. It folded under me and I caught at the table. One can ignore pain. But when the body invokes weakness, determination is useless. I hopped and lurched toward the door. I wanted to be behind it, out of sight when they entered. They’d come in I’d close the door and keep them there until Chade’s little pot gave up its lightning.
I made it to the door just as it opened a crack. I leaned against the wall and held my breath.