The Grave thief

CHAPTER 24

It was cold in the Duchess Chamber of the Ruby Tower. Dropping the antechamber onto Byora's clerics had opened the room to the winter wind gusting through the large double-doors. The small group of petitioners trooped in under the beady eye of Jato, Steward of the Tower, mindful of the positions they had been assigned. Luerce was almost last, lacking both wealth and a title, but that position gave him time to observe the others. Timing was everything, and Luerce was well-used to gauging a crowd.

He was a slight man, pale and thin-boned as most Litse were, but folk described his face as washed-out rather than porcelain, the more usual description for those of that tribe. It was an easy face to see weakness in, and few doubted it when that was what was displayed. Azaer hadn't had to show him the value of weakness; he already knew it.

The group on either side of the door included workmen, and a fat man in a drooping velvet hat. While some repaired minor damage to the plaster, others watched as the fat man painted on the newly whitewashed wall, tracing faint lines with sooty water. Luerce couldn't quite resolve the shapes into anything recognisable, but still it made him want to smile: he was painting shadows where once images of the Gods had been. The destruction of the antechamber had revealed enormous murals of Death and Ushull. The duchess had fallen into a rage at the sight of them and demanded both be whitewashed within the hour.

Now the duchess sat on her throne, with little Ruhen on her left, in the shadow of Sergeant Kayel. As Luerce stared at Ruhen, scarcely able to believe what he saw, the duchess said something to the boy and brought him round to sit beside her. Ruhen, apparently live winters of age and the picture of innocence, smiled up at the duchess as she bent to place a kiss on his brown curls. At the side of the room a grey-haired woman watched, bewildered — the child's mother, Luerce remembered. She was little more than skin and bone, and she looked broken, lost. He could see nothing more than a glimmer of recognition in her eyes, and it obviously wasn't enough for her to take exception to the duchess's motherly attentions to her son.

Then Ruhen looked up and stared straight at Luerce, and he felt that electric tingle down his spine. As his master fixed his gaze upon him, the sounds of shuffling feet and hurried whispers withered to nothing.

'Gods below,' Luerce breathed. The woman ahead of him turned and gave him a puzzled look, but he was so lost in the swirl of shadow in his mind that he hardly noticed.

Careful to keep the thought to himself, he recalled, I was there that day in the square when the duchess took you in, just a matter of months ago, no more, and look how you have grown.

'Where is Lady Kinna?' the duchess called, fingers idly stroking Ruhen's hair as though the boy were a pet.

Steward Jeto cleared his throat. 'Ah, she sends her apologies, your Grace. She came down with an ailment, an illness of the throat, two days past; she has been unable to leave her bed since.'

'Have my doctors been sent to attend her?'

'They have consulted with Lady Kinna's doctor, a woman from Helrect, so I am told. Your doctor is satisfied that she is receiving good care. They tell me a few days' rest will see Lady Kinna better than ever.'

Jeto finished his statement with a nervous cough. The fussy little sexagenarian had jet-black hair and a prominent nose, both of which contrived to make him look rather like a crow amongst pigeons. Black hair was rare in Byora, and Jeto lacked the height and thick bones of the Menin. Luerce was a small man himself, but he felt sure he could snap Jeto's neck like a twig if it became necessary.

'Very well, let us begin,' the duchess announced, holding Ruhen close.

Steward Jeto bowed ceremoniously and brought the first petitioner forward, a tall woman of similar age to the duchess — and her rival in wealth, if the jewellery with which she was adorned was anything to go by. Indeed, the duchess greeted the woman almost as a friend as Jeto began to outline the suit. Luerce let the words drone on without listening. He had a task to complete, but he could not risk interrupting a woman as powerful as this one clearly was.

Luerce had been apprenticed to a chandler from an early age, but he had not found the trade to his liking, despite being a good worker and popular with the customers. People were his greatest skill, making friends and connections as much as ferreting out their secrets. The old master had not lasted long after Luerce had married his daughter.

Now he left his wife to run the chandlery; so many foreigners passed through Byora that there were always opportunities for a man with a quick mind and glib tongue. His illicit living had been even more profitable than the chandlery, but he'd thought the fun had come to an end the day he tried to con a man with scarred hands and a quicker mind than his own. He'd spent the next few days confined to bed while the swelling subsided, and during those uncomfortable sleepless nights the shadows had spoken to him.

Since then Luerce had been waiting for the day he was needed, all the while extending his contacts within the city and smiling sympathetically at stories of hauntings and unfortunate accidents among his rivals.

The second petitioner was a waddling mage in robes that had once been very fine. Luerce bided his time, unwilling to steal a mage's thunder. The third was a meekdooking merchant whose fortunes had seen better days, judging by the state of his clothes. With a mournful wail Luerce slipped through the lines and past the merchant, falling to his knees well short of the point where Ilumene would have to give him a second beating.

'Your Grace,' Luerce moaned, 'I beg your forgiveness but I cannot wait any longer! I am cursed; cursed by a vengeful priest of Death. My daughter lies at home, one foot inside Death's Gates because of his spite and no healer can help her.'

He felt the crowd behind him shift, alarmed at the mention of a curse. The guards on either side started to move closer before Ilumene raised a hand to stop them. He had already stepped forward, putting himself between Ruhen and Luerce, as a bodyguard should, and now he peered at Luerce as though trying to see whether he was mad, or simply desperate. He is a great actor, Luerce thought.

'Why do you come to me?' the duchess asked sternly, not at all cowed by the mention of a curse. 'I have no dealings with the priesthood.' She spat the last word out and Luerce cringed. 'I suggest you find a mage to undo the curse, or some witch to fashion a charm for you.'

'I have tried,' howled Luerce as the tears began to come, 'and none have been able to break its spell. First my wife sickened and died, then, as a black dog crossed his path in the street, my brother's heart gave out.' He gave a choking sob. 'Your Grace, most blessed lady of Byora, I beg your intercession, I beg help-'

'Enough,' the duchess snapped, 'I cannot…' Her voice tailed off as Ruhen slipped from beside her on the throne. 'Ruhen dearest, sit back up here,' she began.

The little boy shook his head solemnly. When she opened her mouth to speak again he held up a hand to her and the words died in her throat. With the room transfixed, Ruhen reached out and ran his little fingers through her sandy hair. When the little boy turned around, Luerce saw he had a single hair in his fingers. With an expression of total concentration Ruhen walked towards Luerce, apparently oblivious to the intake of breath from the crowd behind.

Awestruck, Luerce stayed where he was, as if frozen by Ruhen's unblinking eyes. 'Little prince,' Luerce whispered, his voice carrying around the silent room, 'I am a sinner, but I did not deserve this curse. I swear it.'

Behind Ruhen he saw the duchess, sitting bolt upright, unmov-ing, gripping the armrests of her throne, her knuckles white. Beside her, Ilumene's expression reflected her concern.

Ruhen ignored them all and kept his eyes firmly on Luerce. Without even thinking about it Luerce slowly raised his hand and the child stopped before it, studying the dirty fingernails and raw skin. Eventually Ruhen reached out and tied the hair about Luerce's index finger, the movements painstakingly slow.

'Go home,' he piped, his childish voice quite unlike when Azaer had spoken to Luerce, but with the same electric effect.

He kept still until Ruhen broke eye-contact and went toddling back to rejoin the duchess. Luerce pushed himself upright, staggering a moment before turning to look at those behind him. They were standing in stunned silence until he stumbled towards them and they parted to allow him out through the half-open doors and into the grey daylight.

'The touch of the innocent,' the mage said in a hushed voice. 'They say the pure can cast out sin and daemons, so why not curses too?'

'He begged intercession,' breathed someone within the crowd.

'And intercession he received,' the duchess finished, looking down at the child beside her. Ruhen smiled up at her and she felt herself enveloped in warmth.

Venn stirred, drifting slowly towards wakefulness. His head felt heavy, his chest tight. The smell of incense tickled his nostrils and he came awake with a twitch and a cough. He turned his head and felt the greasy, sweat-soaked cushion against his ear.

I cannot continue like this. I am dying here, he realised, reaching out for the cup of water by his bed.

Someone put the cup in his hand and helped him lift it to his lips. He blinked and slowly focused on the face before him — not the priestess, but a young woman, a Harlequin, one soon to walk out into the Land. He recognised her; she had sat at his feet often these past few… weeks? Months? He was no longer sure. Her name eluded him too, but much did, for up to an hour after awakening. He'd once been a great athlete, but he had had to become used to being a broken old man while Jackdaw lived in his shadow.

'We have come to say goodbye,' she said softly as he drank.

'You are blessed now and sent out into the Land?' he croaked, his throat raw.

She shook her head. 'No, Master. We go to seek the child, the innocent, the prince of your tales.'

I have you, Venn realised, only just in time. You choose your king, and when you find him you will cast off your masks and march under his banner.

'You believe the Land is in need of intercession?'

She nodded urgently.

'Then I should come with you,' Venn said, struggling to rise.

She helped him up, her face a picture of concern. 'Master, you are very weak.'

'Have faith, sister. When 1 start on the journey to find our little prince, faith will restore me.' The words were barely out of his mouth before he realised his mistake — it was far too early for him to leave. His desperation to be rid of Jackdaw had made him rash, he had not reached enough Harlequins yet. His impatience could be the undoing of everything.

'We are ready to leave whenever you are, Master,' she said, indicating half a dozen other young Harlequins standing close by.

'Then slip my swords upon my back,' Venn intoned, echoing the words of a heroic tale they would all recognise, 'and let us go wherever our master leads.'

'No,' said a sharp voice behind her: the priestess. She looked weary, but her voice was still full of authority. 'There's still too much snow; a journey will kill him.'

The young Harlequin glared. 'The worst has passed already.'

The priestess walked up to the young woman and looked down at her. 'He is too weak; you must wait for the thaw.'

'We shall carry him. "The strong shall bear the weak on their backs, letting the weak guide them, for it is they who see the safest path",' quoted the Harlequin.

Venn winced at the smugness of her piety, though he was fascinated to see how they interpreted his words to their own ends.

'And his weakness shows you the path, child,' the priestess replied triumphantly. 'His weakness shows you that such a journey should not be undertaken until the spring.'

Spring? Can I last that long with Jackdaw in my shadow? Venn wondered. It could be the equinox before the snow recedes this far north — he stopped dead. The Equinox Festival, when more Harlequins gather then than at any other time.

He gave a weak cough and interrupted, saying, 'Priestess, you are correct. My weakness tells us we should wait, that there is preaching yet to be done. We shall stay until the Equinox Festival, and when we have celebrated with our kin, we shall go.' He paused, breathing heavily.

When he'd caught his breath, he added, 'And you will come with us, Priestess, to minister to those of the clans who join our quest.' And we'll need to bring as much water from the pool as we can — those Harlequins we meet on the journey will challenge my authority unless I can get them to receive her blessing first. The priestess bowed low. 'You do me great honour, Master,' she said, her eyes brightening at the prospect.

I will give you everything you have always wanted, Venn thought as he allowed himself to be helped back to bed. You should read your scriptures a little more carefully, priestess. Such a thing has ever been a curse.