There was a gasp from the soldiers as if from one person: Cale looked at the sergeant then calmly dropped the broken half of The Edge he was still holding. The sergeant walked toward him, taking a chain and lock from one of the soldiers next to him.
“Turn around, boy.”
Cale did as he was told. As the sergeant cuffed his hands, he said softly in Cale’s ear, “That’s the last stupid thing you’ll ever do, son.”
One of the physician soldiers-one to every sixty men in the Materazzi army-was checking the unconscious Conn. He nodded to the sergeant and then went to check the others. Now Arbell Swan-Neck burst into the ring that surrounded Cale and knelt down next to Conn, checking his pulse. Satisfied, she stood up and looked at Cale, now pinioned between two soldiers. He stared back at her, expressionless and calm.
“I don’t suppose you’ll forget me a second time,” he said, and with that he was dragged off by the soldiers. It was then that Cale had a stroke of luck. Vague Henri had not been alone on the roof. Just as curious, if less worried about what might happen to Cale, Kleist had followed Vague Henri. As soon as the fight had started Vague Henri had told Kleist to try to bring Albin.
Kleist had found Albin in the only place he knew where to look for him. In a moment he was out of his office door and calling for his men to go with him. And so it was that Albin arrived just as four soldiers were dragging Cale out of the garden and heading for the city jail, a place where he would have been lucky to make it through the night.
“We’ll take care of this now,” said Albin, backed by ten of his men dressed in their uniform of black waistcoats and black bowler hats.
“The sergeant-at-arms told us to take him to the jail,” said the most senior of the soldiers.
“I am Captain Albin of Internal Affairs and responsible for security in the Citadel-so hand him over or else.”
Albin’s commanding presence as well as the ten hard-looking “bulldogs,” as they were not at all affectionately known, had cowed the soldiers, who were rarely allowed in the Citadel and were instantly ill at ease when challenged in such a strange place. Nevertheless the senior soldier tried once more.
“I’ll have to ask the sergeant-at-arms.”
“Ask who you like, but he’s our prisoner and he’s coming with us now.” With that, Albin nodded his men forward and the disadvantaged soldiers uncertainly let Cale be taken. The senior soldier nodded to one of the others and he legged it back into the garden to fetch help-but by then the bulldogs had taken Cale and, picking him up, had started making their way into the labyrinth of alleys that wound in and out of the Citadel. By the time help arrived, they had vanished.
Within ten minutes Cale was locked inside one of Vipond’s private cells and a jailer was working on the irons binding his hands. Twenty minutes later he was free and standing in the middle of the dimly lit cell as the door was locked behind him. There was a cell to either side of him, separated partly by a wall and partly by bars. Cale sat down and began to consider carefully what he had done. They were not happy thoughts, but after a few minutes they were interrupted by a voice from the cell to his right.
“Got a smoke?”
15
Whenever we meet,” said IdrisPukke, “it seems to be in unhappy circumstances. Perhaps we ought to change our ways.”
“Speak for yourself, Granddad.” Cale sat down on the wooden bed and pretended to ignore his fellow prisoner. It was too much of a fluke, meeting up with IdrisPukke again.
“Bit of a coincidence, this,” said IdrisPukke.
“You could say.”
“But I do say.” There was a pause. “What brings you here?”
Cale thought carefully before replying.
“Got into a fight.”
“Getting into a fight wouldn’t bring you into Vipond’s personal jail. Who were you fighting with?”
Again Cale thought about his reply-but what did it matter? “Conn Materazzi.”
IdrisPukke laughed, but the delight and admiration were clear, and while Cale tried to resist the flattery, he was hardly able to.
“My God, Goldenbollocks himself. From what I’ve heard, you’re lucky to be alive.”
Cale should have realized he was being provoked, but for all his unusual gifts he was still only young.
“He’s the one who’s lucky. He should be coming round about now, and with a nasty pain in his head.”
“Well, you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He said nothing for a moment. “Still-none of that explains why you’re here. What’s this got to do with Vipond?”
“Maybe it was because of the sword.”
“What sword?”
“Conn Materazzi’s sword.”
“Why would his sword have anything to do with this?”
“It wasn’t exactly his sword.”
“Meaning?”
“It was really Marshal Materazzi’s sword. The one they call The Edge.” The silence was much deeper this time.
“After I dropped Conn, I jammed it between two stones and snapped it.”
The silence from IdrisPukke was deep and cold. “A particularly mindless act of vandalism, if I may say so. That sword was a work of art.”
“I didn’t have time to admire it while Conn was trying to use it to cut me in two.”
“But the fight was over by then-that’s what you said.”
The truth was that Cale had been regretting his impulse from the moment he snapped the sword.
“Do you want my advice?”
“No.”
“I’ll give it to you anyway. If you’re going to kill someone, then kill them. If you’re going to let them live, then let them live. But don’t make a meal of it either way.”
Cale turned his back on IdrisPukke and lay down.
“While you’re sleeping, dream on this: everything you did, particularly breaking the sword, means you should be in the Doge’s hands. None of it explains why you’re here.”
Half an hour later the sleepless Cale was disturbed by the sound of his cell door being unlocked. He sat up to see Albin and Vipond entering. Vipond looked at him balefully.
“Evening, Lord Vipond,” called out IdrisPukke cheerfully.
“Shut up, IdrisPukke,” replied Vipond, still looking at Cale. “Now tell me-and I want the whole truth, or by God I’ll hand you over to the Doge this minute-tell me exactly what happened; and when you’ve finished, then tell me exactly who you are, and how it was possible that you beat Conn Materazzi and his friends so easily. I mean it-the truth, or I’ll wash my hands of you as quick as boiled asparagus.”
Cale did not, of course, know what asparagus was. The only difficulty was going to be in deciding how much he would have to tell Vipond in order to persuade him he was being completely honest.
“I lost my temper. That’s what people do all the time, isn’t it?”
“Why did you break the sword?”
Cale looked awkward. “That was a stupid thing to do-it was in the heat of a fight. I’ll apologize to the Doge.”
Albin laughed. “Oh well, as long as you’re sorry.”
“Where did you learn to fight so well?” said Vipond.
“At the Sanctuary-all my life, twelve hours a day, six days a week.”
“Are you telling me that Henri and Kleist can fight like that?” This was awkward for Cale.
“No. I mean, they’re trained to fight, but Kleist is a zip… a specialist.”
“In what?”
“The spear and the bow.”
“And Henri?”
“Supply, mapmaking, spying.” This was true, but not entirely true.
“So neither of them could have done what you did today?”
“No. I told you.”
“Are there others with the same skill as you in the Sanctuary?”
“No.”
“What,” asked Vipond, “makes you so special?”
Cale paused in order to give the impression he was reluctant to answer.