Odaka, however, did not share her view.
‘It appears there has been an incident in one of the gaols,’ said Odaka. ‘There have been fatalities.’
Janessa looked to Rogan, who shrugged. ‘Unavoidable really, what with so many fighting men cooped up in one place.’
‘You put Zatani warriors in a gaol alongside mercenaries,’ said Odaka, his voice low and menacing. ‘What did you think would happen?’
‘I won’t pretend to understand what prejudices you might hold against a rival tribe, but they were willing warriors. What should I have done with them? Let them roam the city streets?’
‘You should have turned them away at the gate. They are not men but beasts of the wild. Bred only for killing.’ Odaka raised his voice. Janessa couldn’t remember when she had last seen him lose his veneer of calm. ‘Now three mercenary companies are threatening to leave the city and the Zatani are in cells.’
Rogan held his hands up in a placatory manner. ‘I can hardly be blamed for the attitude of mercenaries. Word is they’re leaving because we have nothing to pay them with, not because of some brawl. Isn’t that right, Chancellor?’
He looked over at Durket, who froze, his partly chewed food filling his bloated cheeks.
‘We …’ Durket managed through his full mouth.
‘Apparently our would-be saviour,’ Rogan continued, ‘the representative from the Bankers League, has gone missing. We can only assume he left on the first boat back to the East, taking his promise of financial aid with him.’ He looked at Janessa expectantly.
Did Rogan know what had happened with Dravos and his bodyguard? Not even Durket could have been so stupid as to tell him.
‘We were unable to come to terms,’ Janessa said quickly, before Durket finished what was in his mouth and said something stupid.
‘Yes,’ said Rogan. ‘That’s what I heard.’
That’s what you heard? And where did you hear that, Seneschal Rogan? From one of your rats, hiding out in the eaves?
Janessa stood, the tartness of the lemons suddenly making her feel ill. That would be all she needed, to throw up all over the feasting table.
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she said. Everyone at the table rose to their feet as Kaira moved to her side.
She tried to hold herself steady as she walked from the room. Merrick opened the door to allow her to leave, while Kaira stood beside her all but propping her up. Janessa was thankful for the support.
When she reached her bedchamber she sat heavily on her bed, her responsibility weighing on her.
‘Are you well, Majesty? Do you need water?’ Kaira asked.
Janessa shook her head. ‘I’m just light-headed, that’s all.’
Kaira sat beside her. ‘Is it the child?’
Janessa smiled. Few people knew she was with child and she was thankful for that. Of those who did, Kaira was the one she trusted the most — she had risked her life to save Janessa; almost died for her.
‘No, the baby is well.’
The door opened and she heard Merrick telling someone they had to wait, before the imposing figure of Odaka pushed his way inside
‘It is fine, Merrick. Please.’ She beckoned Odaka to enter as Merrick closed the chamber door behind them.
Kaira stood as the regent entered, recovering her veneer of discipline. Now, it was Odaka’s turn to look concernedly at Janessa. It almost made her laugh, their fear for her. The city was on the brink of attack and here they were concerning themselves with one light-headed girl.
She stood up. ‘I am fine. Azai Dravos is dead. Nothing of him or his insidious sorceries remains. My only regret is we were unable to secure his master’s coin before he died.’
‘Indeed,’ Odaka replied. ‘Without it we will lose the support of the Free Companies.’
Janessa went to the window that looked out upon a city that might soon be razed to the ground.
‘It’s my fault,’ she said. ‘Were I not with child, perhaps Dravos would not have tried to take advantage. Perhaps he would have played straight with me. It has cost us everything.’
‘No, Majesty,’ said Kaira. Janessa was surprised. Though in private they spoke often, her bodyguard never voiced her opinions in front of others, especially not Odaka. ‘Dravos knew what he was doing from the start.’
‘She is right,’ said Odaka. ‘There was nothing that could be done. No outcome other than his death or your enthralment.’
‘Then we should be resigned to our fate,’ said Janessa, still staring out on the city.
‘No, we should not. Every man, woman and child in Steelhaven is prepared to defend its walls. Your father’s bannermen will be back in the city soon. They will bolster our ranks.’
What’s left of them.
‘Thank you, Odaka.’
She wanted to say that she was confident they would put up a valiant fight. That with such brave and loyal warriors victory was assured. But Janessa knew that a valiant fight would not be enough to hold back what was sweeping down from the north.
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.