The youths helped the old woman out of the launch. From the dock she reached down to flick a tear in Silk's shirt. ‘All faded now,’ she chuckled. ‘What's become of us, hmm?’
‘The Twins turn, Liss,’ Silk murmured with an affectionate smile.
‘Hunh! They do, do they? Well, they're taking their own sweet time about it.’
‘Many thanks,’ Silk said softly and he pushed off.
As they drifted away Hurl heard her call after them, ‘Protectress Bless you!’
They drifted downriver, east with the sluggish current. Soon the next broad curve of the Idryn would bring them to the first of the River Gates, the huge iron grills sunk from bridges that served as extensions of the curtain walls surrounding the city. Jalor suddenly lurched upright, nearly swamping them. He glared about as if still in the fight then eased back under Shaky and Rell's grip.
‘How's the leg?’ Storo asked Sunny.
‘Fine,’ he grunted, sour.
‘Good. ‘Cause you're going to need it.’
Sunny's smile slid back to its usual sneer. ‘Why?’
‘Because we're headed to the Palace.’
Everyone gabbled at once. The Captain raised a hand for silence. ‘We've no choice. We have to act now before they firm up control. Before everyone salutes them tomorrow.’
Shaky goggled at Storo. ‘What? Us against the whole garrison?’
Storo waved that aside. ‘There's only a handful of officers behind any coup. Them plus some outside muscle. Can't be more than that. The soldiers are just waiting it out. They'll take their orders from whoever's around tomorrow at the dawn mustering.’
‘What about Orlat and his crew?’ asked Sunny.
‘They have to stay behind the scenes for now. Can't show themselves. But we'll have to keep an eye out.’
Hurl caught Sunny's gaze. ‘For sure Smiley's one of ‘em.’
Sunny showed even more teeth. Then he frowned. ‘Don't matter, do it? We'll never make it to the Palace. There's two River Gates ‘tween us ‘n’ them.’
‘No, there isn't,’ said Silk from the bow. He gestured ahead.
Sure enough, as they'd drifted along, helped by Rell and Shaky's rowing, the bend of the Idryn brought the hulking barrier into view and in the faint light of torches and lanterns Hurl saw that the centre river portcullis was raised. She skewered Silk with a glare. ‘How did you know?’
He smiled back. ‘Don't you see, Hurl? They raised it themselves to bring in their own men. Now it's our way in too.’
She wouldn't let go of Silk's gaze. ‘Too convenient, Silk.’
He gave his most charming smile – the one that she'd seen never fail on any female. Any except her. ‘As you've seen, Hurl. I still have a few old friends here. They jammed the gates for me.’
Sunny snorted his scorn. Hurl sat back, now convinced. Sunny had it half right: more than he seems, yes. But no Claw. No, maybe more than that. Yet the Captain trusted him as his second in command, and that was good enough for her.
‘What's the plan?’ asked Shaky while he sorted through his remaining crossbow quarrels.
Storo was watching the dark shore, his gaze tight. ‘Silk here will get us into the Palace. We have to establish control of what used to be the old Protectress's Throne room, the City Temple. From there, we work our way out to the garrison's marshalling grounds. We want to be there when the sergeants come out to test which way the wind's blowing.’
Sunny sneered at Silk. ‘What'ya going to do, Silk? Bring us in by Warren? The Imperial Warren maybe?’
The mage brushed dirt from his torn vest of dark green silk. He needn't have bothered, it was long past salvaging. Tor your information, Sunny, no one can enter or exit the City Temple by Warren.’ He gave the condescending smile that Hurl knew drove Sunny insane. ‘We'll take the secret entrance.’
Silk's secret entrance turned out to be a fetid sewer tunnel hardly above the sullen waves of the Idryn. Shaky took one whiff of the damp fumes limping from the brick archway and rocked the boat in his effort to flinch away. ‘Aw, Gods! Give us a break, Silk! You can't mean it…’
‘Don't be so dainty,’ Silk purred. ‘Remember, you're a sapper, right?’
‘Don't rub it in,’ Hurl grumbled beneath her breath.
‘Let's just go,’ Sunny announced, and he nearly swamped the boat as he set one boot on to the slimed bricks. One by one, they carefully stepped out on to the ledge. Hurl hissed her disgust as to steady herself she couldn't help but touch the soft wet walls. Storo ordered Jalor to let the boat slip away. Great, Hurl thought. Now there was no going back. The stench was a physical thing jabbing its furry fingers down her throat, gagging her. Silk lit a hooded lantern and moved to lead the way but Rell stepped in front of him, both swords out, to take point.
‘What're we goin’ to do?’ Sunny said, ‘Pull ourselves up through a privy hole and say, Hello!’
‘A reverse birth for you, eh, Sunny?’ called Shaky – from the rear.
Sunny just smiled, his teeth bright in the gloom.
‘For your information, yes, something just like that,’ said Silk from up front with Rell.
‘You just had to ask,’ Hurl whispered to Sunny.
‘Quiet.’ This from the Captain behind.
Stooped, wincing at the stench, they sloshed along, slipping and skidding on the centuries’ accumulation of the city's ruling elite's excrement. How fitting! Hurl imagined floors above, in a dark alcove, some magistrate extending his withered arse out over her head and wrinkling up his monkey face in effort to deposit… suddenly dizzy she almost heaved and had to lean against the slimy wall. Storo steadied her. ‘You OK?’
‘I can't do this.’
‘Just a bit further. Bear down on it.’
‘Please! Cap'n!’
‘Sorry.’
Ahead, a yell of mingled anger and disgust from Sunny echoed through the tunnel. They groped into a broad underground chamber, dome-roofed, lit by the lantern carried by Silk. Sunny stood knee deep in the pool of filth filling its floor. Everyone else kept to the shallows at its edges. ‘Poliel's rotting tits!’ he snarled. ‘I can't believe the mage led us to this!’ He pointed a long-knife to the far side. There, the flow of excrement dribbled from a sculpture twice Hurl's height – that of a closed snouted dog's maw. As Hurl's vision adjusted she could make out more detaiclass="underline" long pointed ears, slanted canine eyes. An entire carved hound's head, down here! In the dark! What could be the reason for that?
But the nose was too long, the head too narrow. All of a sudden she recognized it: a jackal. Ryllandaras. The White Jackal of Winter. Quon's Curse. The man-jackal First Hero who rampaged for centuries across these central plains rendering them all but impassable but for the intercession of the tribes who worshipped him – the Old Seti.
Silk pushed his way forward through the sluggish wash until he touched the gigantic head. He turned to them. ‘Who recognizes this?’
‘Ryllandaras,’ Hurl supplied.
He nodded, pleased. ‘Yes, I thought you might know, Hurl. Though none of you has ever seen him. Gone from these plains for near a century now. Great was the hatred of this city for their ancient enemy, the man-jackal of the grasslands. As you can see.’
‘We all know the stories,’ Sunny sneered. ‘Until the emperor, or Dancer, slew him. Get on with it.’
‘That's one version of things… in any case, this is an entrance. A very old one. One dating back far before the current Empire when Heng was an independent city state, and the third most powerful one on the continent. Back then Ryllandaras and the Seti tribes were the eternal enemy, ever washing up against its walls…’
The mage was silent for a time, regarding the faeces-smeared titanic statue. He shook his head as if reliving old memories. Hurl shot a questioning look to Storo but the Captain frowned a negative. Not now.