The bookkeeping staff now started to examine the next set of books and Cartheron peered round, wishing for a drink, as his throat was dry from all this dust. Unfortunately, there was not a drop in sight. He sighed. An easy and egregious case, that one. There were far more sly swindlers out there, but their trials, and the confiscation of their entire estates, would serve as a very public warning to others, and perhaps give them pause for reflection.
The door slammed open then and he turned, startled. One of Surly’s Claws stood in the doorway, breathing heavily, his eyes wide. ‘Come!’ was all the man blurted before he was gone again.
Cartheron nearly dropped the sheets of personnel he was examining. He’d never before seen one of her people agitated like that – in fact, he’d never seen them agitated at all. His first thought was, Gods! Someone’s finally gotten through to Surly. But if so, they’d hide the fact, wouldn’t they?
He nodded to the staff of bookkeepers. ‘Carry on,’ he said, and hurried out of the door.
The palace, just across the harbour, proved to be an overturned anthill of activity. No one he spoke to quite knew why – just that there was a confusion of contrary orders and shifting duties flying about. As he climbed the stairs Napan guards waved him onwards and upwards until he was within the private living quarters set up for the rulers – quarters Surly never used. Now, however, the place was swarming with servants and staff, all bustling about, dusting and cleaning, some with armloads of bedding, others bringing up platters of food and carafes of wine and liqueurs.
Cartheron stood scratching his brow, quite bemused. At least, he reflected, it doesn’t look as though anyone’s been murdered.
Then, as the door to the inner private bedroom swung open, he caught a glimpse of the rake-thin form of Dancer, looking very much the worse for wear, leaning up against a wall, arms crossed. He went to him and they clasped wrists. ‘Dancer! It’s good to see you again. Is …’
The assassin nodded and glanced across the room. Behind a crowd of servants sat a huge copper tub full of sudsy water, and above the mass of foam protruded the shrivelled and wrinkled chest and head of their wizened leader, Kellanved. The man was raising his arms and directing servants with long-handled brushes to his back.
Also present, pacing back and forth, was Surly, her arms likewise crossed, looking rather vexed.
‘Where—’ Cartheron began, but Dancer shook his head.
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
Wherever they had been, or whatever they had done, it must have been terrifying, as the man before him appeared to have aged years. His face was blistered and peeling from exposure, his shirt and trousers hung torn and soiled beyond recognition, and his boots were split and cracked. And slim to begin with, he had lost so much weight he was now no more than rope wrapped round a pole.
‘And Jadeen?’ Cartheron had to ask.
‘She proved unworthy,’ Kellanved supplied from the bath.
Cartheron crooked a questioning brow to Dancer, who waved the comment aside. ‘Never mind.’
‘Please do continue,’ Kellanved invited Surly.
She clenched her lips tight, but continued, ‘Forces out of Malaz are committed to the east, while a Napan task force is preparing to leave as soon as possible for the west.’
Kellanved nodded. ‘I see. And does this constitute all our forces?’
‘Virtually yes, excepting those held back for defence, of course.’
Kellanved nodded again, held out an arm for brushing. ‘Well, I happen to have a target in mind on the mainland and we must attack immediately!’
Cartheron and Surly exchanged alarmed glances; even Dancer frowned his confusion. ‘What target?’ he asked.
The mage, falsely aged and Dal Hon dark, his chest hair grey, stood from the bath and Surly looked away. Servants wrapped a towel round his waist. ‘I intend to attack Cawn!’ he announced.
Cartheron felt his brows crimp almost painfully. ‘Cawn has no military,’ he muttered, bewildered.
‘Cawn is not a strategic target,’ Surly confirmed, dismissively.
‘None the less,’ Kellanved huffed.
Dancer, arms still crossed, tilted his head and enquired, ‘You’d have us pull forces away just to beat up a pack of merchants?’
The mock-ancient’s eyes slit almost closed and his wrinkled features took on a sly look. ‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Then what?’
The servants were dressing him now, pulling on a new brushed-cotton shirt. He thrust a finger into the air. ‘I shall loose the Hounds upon Cawn.’
Cartheron gaped openly, and only barely stopped himself from blurting aloud, What?
Dancer started from the wall, obviously quite alarmed. ‘You can’t do that,’ he said.
The mage’s tiny eyes darted right and left. ‘Actually, I’m pretty certain I can.’
‘I believe he means you don’t want to do that,’ Surly supplied. ‘It would be a slaughter. They’re all civilians. Families. Women and children.’
Kellanved flapped his hands. ‘Well, then, warn them. Yes, send a warning! They have incurred my displeasure and now must suffer the consequences, blah, blah, such and such.’
Dancer raised a sceptical brow. ‘And just how have they incurred your displeasure?’
The mage threw his hands into the air. ‘I don’t know! Make something up.’ He raised a finger. ‘Wait! I know. Shadow. Two nights hence Shadow will visit them. There, that’s it.’ He brushed his hands together. ‘After that, our main force will land there. Cawn shall be our foothold. After the Hounds there will be no fight left in them. Oh, and also, I want an official historian. Find one.’
Cartheron and Surly shared a puzzled glance. ‘An official historian?’ Cartheron repeated, just to be certain that was what he had heard. ‘Okay. We can get on to that.’
‘Very good.’ Kellanved pulled on new shoes, took a moment to admire them, then headed for the door. ‘Let’s have a look about the place, Dancer. We didn’t have the chance last time.’
The lean knifesman was good enough to offer Surly an apologetic shrug, then a servant handed him a set of new clothes, trousers and shirts, as he headed for the door. Cartheron went to Surly where she stood shaking her head, perhaps in disbelief.
‘You forget,’ he said. ‘You start thinking he’s just a harmless oldster – then he goes and does something like this.’ He, too, shook his head. ‘What are we going to do?’
Surly raised a hand for silence. ‘We can allow him his little pet project, so long as it doesn’t interfere with prior commitments. We can send a small contingent to Cawn. No one gives a damn about Cawn.’
Cartheron would have objected, but he saw that she was struggling to salvage the situation as best she could so he said nothing. He watched, instead, while her lips drew down so very far.
Chapter 18
It all started with someone shoving a sum chalked on a slate piece in front of her. Iko threw it aside to shatter on the floor. It appeared again and she blinked; she thought she’d gotten rid of the damned thing. She threw it away again and took another drink to celebrate.
Someone was now tapping her on the shoulder; she ignored the pesky irritation. The tapping became an ill-mannered resolute jabbing. She grabbed the hand and twisted and was rewarded by the snapping of bones.
She was allowed to drink in peace for some time after that.
Then some fellow appeared sitting opposite her. She blinked at him and decided to ignore him, hoping he’d just up and disappear as quickly as he’d appeared. Unfortunately, the fellow did not go away. In fact, he had the temerity to speak to her.
‘We were wondering,’ he said – or she thought he was saying, ‘when you would be good enough to cover the bill?’
She waved the impertinent fellow away and refused to look at him. That should serve him right. However, when she next sneaked a glance, he was still there.