The Shattered Crown

THIRTY-THREE

Waylian had never set foot in the Trades Quarter before and it certainly wasn’t what he’d expected. It hardly qualified as a ‘quarter’ for a start, squirrelled away as it was between the Crown District and the Storway River. He’d anticipated bustle and verve, streets alive with the sound of ringing hammer and humming saw, the air on fire with rich aromas.

Fact was, the streets were all but deserted and stank as bad as the rest of the city. He passed a brewery that stood beside a tannery, and the mixture of smells almost turned his stomach. A blacksmith honed horseshoes beside a cooper crafting barrel rings, and the sound of their duelling hammers made such a discordant din he was forced to cover his ears.

He had difficulty navigating the narrow streets. It was only as he was beginning to feel he’d trodden every lane and alley of the Trades Quarter that he found the house he was looking for.

It was a narrow building, stretching upwards in between a weaver’s and a chandler’s. Unlike most of the dwellings in this part of the city it seemed well constructed; its stonework was uniform, the wood of its door recently varnished, the knocker and handle polished to a sheen. On the wall beside the door was nailed a brass plaque, embossed with the words: Sequeous Qale — Scribe. Waylian had to stop himself from punching the air in relief. Instead, he merely knocked three times.

After what seemed like an age, there was a jangling of keys and the door opened a crack, a thick chain snapping taut to stop it. The mournful face of an old man appeared. His features drooped with age, and grey hair fell to his chin. On his pointy nose sat a pair of spectacles, the thick lenses making his eyes look enormous.

‘Yes?’ asked the man.

‘Sequeous Qale?’ said Waylian.

‘I am. And what can I do for you?’

‘My name is Waylian Grimm. I’ve been sent from the Tower of Magisters. Your apprentice, Josiah Klumm, has been summoned on urgent business.’ Waylian held out the sealed scroll Gelredida had given him.

Sequeous took it in his gnarled fingers as Waylian passed it through the crack in the door. With some difficulty the man broke the seal and unrolled it. Waylian watched as the old man cast his huge eyes across the letter. When he had finished he looked up, then slammed the door in Waylian’s face.

That went well, Grimmy. You appear to be excelling at this kind of business! Magistra Gelredida will be so proud.

Waylian breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the chain rattle on the other side of the door, and Sequeous opened it. The old man said nothing, just turned and shuffled on down the corridor, allowing Waylian to follow.

The house smelled musty and old, every surface seeming to wear a layer of undisturbed dust. The corridor was lined with bookcases from floor to ceiling, each shelf stuffed to the gills with ancient leather-bound tomes. Where there was no room on the shelves, Sequeous had piled the floor high with yellowing scrolls and parchments of varying sizes.

Waylian followed the old man into an adjoining room. Light filtered in through four windows, lancing through the musty air. Four study tables sat in a rough square, islands in the midst of yet more books and parchments. At each of the tables sat one of Sequeous’ apprentices, head bowed in studious observation, quill scratching away with calligraphic precision.

Three of the apprentices were withered and stooped, peering over their labours in a parody of the old men they would one day become. They would end up looking much like their master sooner rather than later. Only one of them still looked his real age. He was young, broad of shoulder, wide of jaw.

‘Josiah?’ Sequeous said, and the largest apprentice looked up from his parchment, quill appearing tiny in his huge hand. The boy gave no answer, just sat with a blank expression on his face. ‘This is a messenger from the Tower of Magisters. You are to go with him.’

Josiah nodded obediently and walked over. Waylian noted how tall he was, how broad. It was a physique more suited to a squire of the knightly orders, where such burgeoning strength would be trained and honed, rather than wasted in an old man’s study.

‘Hello,’ said Waylian.

The boy only stared back as though he’d just been asked some tricky riddle.

‘Off you go, Josiah. You shouldn’t keep the magisters waiting.’

The boy complied obediently, and Waylian turned and led him to the front door like a cow gone to milking.

When Sequeous had slammed the door behind them, Waylian turned to Josiah. ‘Nothing to worry about,’ he said, trying his best to reassure the young lad. ‘I think they need scribes at the Tower, that’s all. They’ll just be trying you out. It’s an excellent opportunity, by all accounts. Though if you’d prefer to stay here with Master Sequeous I’m sure they’ll understand.’

But Waylian wasn’t taking Josiah to the Tower. Gelredida had given him strict instructions to take the boy to another address in the city.

Josiah just regarded Waylian with his deep-set eyes. They no longer looked vacuous, and instead were regarding him with keen scrutiny. Waylian had to admit — it unnerved him a bit.

The Tower of Magisters was roughly north-east of the Trades Quarter, but Waylian took them south. The boy seemed placid enough at first, but any hope Waylian might have had that Josiah would come along quietly were soon dashed.

‘Where are we going?’ the boy asked suddenly.

‘Just a slight detour,’ Waylian replied. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

‘That’s the second time you’ve said that.’

‘Said what?’

‘“Nothing to worry about.” You’ve said it twice now. That kind of makes me think I do have something to worry about.’

‘Well …’

‘What’s going on here?’ Josiah’s voice rose. He seemed to become more threatening. Waylian was acutely aware of the size difference between them — Josiah could easily thump Waylian into the ground.

‘I’ve just got to make a quick stop off. Won’t take long.’

Josiah stared at him, as though searching for any sign of deception in Waylian’s face. All Waylian could do was look back until finally, the big lad seemed satisfied.

‘All right then,’ Josiah said, calm once more. ‘Let’s go.’

They carried on walking until they reached the north end of Dockside. The sea air was chill there, a cold wind blowing in from the Midral Sea, twisting its way through the alleys of the district. As surreptitiously as he could, Waylian checked the slip of paper in his hand and the address written on it, hoping he would find the second address more easily than the first. Too much dawdling might reveal the fact he had no idea where in the bloody hells he was going.

Fortunately, the streets of Dockside were easier to navigate than the Trades Quarter, and Waylian soon found the address. He fumbled in his pocket for the key to the little house and let them both in.

Inside the air was fusty, and the cobwebs draped over the furniture were thick as lace and it was obvious no one had been here for weeks. Gelredida had told him to bring Josiah and wait for her to meet them, but how long would that be? How was he supposed to force this giant of a boy to stay if he didn’t want to?

‘Just take a seat,’ said Waylian, dusting off a chair with his hand. ‘Won’t be long.’

He was relieved when Josiah did as he asked, but then wondered what in the hells he was going to do next.

Perhaps some scintillating conversation, Grimmy. You know — the sort you use to charm the ladies into your bed and the birds from the trees.

‘So, a scribe?’ said Waylian, with no idea what else he should talk about. ‘Must be an interesting line of work.’

‘Not particularly,’ Josiah replied, glancing around the room as though it were daubed with shit. Waylian could understand that — calling this place a hovel would have been overstating it. ‘It’s pretty boring really.’

‘But old Master Sequeous seems nice enough.’

‘He’s a cantankerous, doddery old fool, and the sooner he keels over and dies the better.’

‘But it must be better working for a scribe than making arrows for some slave driver.’ Waylian couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret as he remembered those helpless orphans in the Northgate slum.

‘I suppose,’ said Josiah. ‘But only marginally.’

And now Waylian was stumped. It was clear Josiah didn’t give a toss about Sequeous, or about how lucky he’d been to escape the squalor of Fletcher’s orphanage.

He glanced at the door, willing Gelredida to arrive. The moments seemed to spread out, growing ever more uncomfortable. With every passing breath Josiah seemed to get more fidgety until he could contain himself no longer.

‘Look,’ he said, rising from his chair. ‘I’m not waiting round here all day.’ The confines of the small room emphasised how much he towered above Waylian.

‘But … it won’t be much longer,’ Waylian replied, his fear of failing Gelredida still outweighing his fear of Josiah.

‘Not really my problem. Give my regards to the magisters, won’t you.’

He moved towards the door, but Waylian moved to block his way. The ridiculousness of Waylian trying to stop his huge adversary was not lost on him.

‘Maybe we could talk some more,’ he said, desperate to delay Josiah. ‘What was life like back in the slums? Must have been difficult for you.’

Josiah’s brow furrowed. ‘It was just about as shit as you’d imagine. But what I’m bothered about is how you know where I came from? Who told you I was from the slums? Who told you I used to be one of Fletcher’s boys? If you’re just looking for apprentice scribes how do you know about my past? And why are you so interested in me?’

All very good questions, Josiah. Wish I could answer them.

‘It’s … erm …’

‘Get out of my way.’

Josiah looked determined. Waylian was going to blow it again.

‘No. You can’t leave yet.’ He tried to muster all the power and authority becoming of a magister. He most likely sounded like a petulant toddler. ‘We have to wait here for someone. Then all your questions will be answered.’

‘Fuck that,’ Josiah replied, reaching past Waylian for the door handle.

Without thinking, Waylian grabbed his wrist. It was thick, and he could hardly get his hand around it, but that didn’t seem particularly important as Josiah regarded him with fury.

A hand snapped forward and grabbed Waylian by the throat, slamming him up against the door.

‘You going to stop me then?’ growled Josiah. ‘What are you going to do?’

Waylian wanted to be both defiant, and apologetic. Unfortunately, neither option was possible with his throat constricted as it was.

Rage and humiliation welled inside and, for a fleeting moment, he thought he was about to manifest some kind of power — that power he’d felt in the Chapel of Ghouls, and when Nero and Ferenz had come to his chamber to intimidate him.

Before that could happen, Josiah threw him out of the way. Waylian landed hard, hitting his head against the wall. Real anger bubbled to the surface. Not magickal, not infused with power, just cold hard rage.

‘I said no!’ he screamed, as Josiah grabbed the door handle again. With a strength that surprised him, Waylian rose to his feet then flung himself across the room. His arms wrapped around Josiah’s neck and he hung there, his feet dangling as the big lad tried to shake him free.

He held on as Josiah staggered across the room making a pathetic choking sound. Josiah’s big hands worked to pull Waylian off, but to no avail. There was no way Josiah would escape, no way Waylian was going to disappoint his mistress again.

Josiah stumbled, then toppled over, falling on a broken chair, which shattered into pieces beneath them. The air was punched from Waylian’s lungs, forcing him to release his victim.

He flailed his arms, vainly trying to grab Josiah’s shirt, but the big lad had already rolled away and risen to his feet. Waylian stared into those murderous eyes as Josiah looked down.

‘I’ll fucking kill you,’ Josiah growled.

Waylian’s hand scrabbled around beneath him until it closed on something hard. As Josiah came forwards Waylian rose to his feet, swiping what turned out to be a chair leg across Josiah’s head. The big lad went down like he’d been shot with an arrow.

The chair leg felt unbelievably heavy in Waylian’s hand and all he could do was stand there and stare at the body in front of him.

Shit, what have you done? You’ve fucking killed him. Gelredida’s going to skin you alive for this.

He dropped the chair leg to the floor, and quickly squatted down beside Josiah. The lad’s head was bleeding and he was out like a snuffed candle. Waylian moved closer, relief washing over him as he felt Josiah’s breath on his face.

Before he could even begin to think his way out of the predicament, the door to the little house opened.

Gelredida walked in and casually closed the door behind her. She regarded Waylian, kneeling as he was over the body of Josiah Klumm, with curiosity.

‘What do we have here?’ she asked.

‘It’s … er … not what it looks like?’

‘Really?’ She raised one white eyebrow. ‘Because it looks as though you’ve killed the boy I sent you to fetch.’

‘He’s not dead, Magistra. He’s just … er …’

‘Having a nap?’

‘He tried to leave. We fought and I … hit him with a chair leg.’

‘How very resourceful, Waylian.’

‘I didn’t mean to. It just-’

‘Never mind.’ She pulled out a length of rope from inside her robes. ‘It’s saved me a job anyway. Tie him up and put him in the cellar.’ She flung the rope to Waylian. ‘Make sure he’s gagged. We don’t want him screaming the place down when we leave.’

Waylian stared at her for a second, then at the rope. ‘You mean we were going to keep him prisoner here all along?’

Gelredida smiled. ‘I wasn’t going to ask him nicely. By all accounts he’s quite a stubborn, wilful jackass. Just like his father.’

‘Who’s his-?’

‘Enough questions, Waylian. Rope. Cellar. Chop chop.’ She punctuated her last two words with a swift clap of her gloved hands.

Waylian put his mind to the task and tied Josiah as tightly as he could. As he flipped the door to the cellar open and peered down into the dark he did wonder what the lad had done to deserve such a fate. Was it his place to ask? Gelredida seemed in no mood to answer questions, though she’d taken Josiah’s unconscious condition better than he expected.

Just do as you’re told, Grimmy. It’s probably best if you don’t know. You don’t want to end up the one in the cellar, do you?

As Gelredida watched impatiently, Waylian dragged Josiah’s unconscious form into the darkness.

Maybe he’d ask her all about it later.

Maybe he’d just keep his mouth shut.