The Godspeaker Trilogy (77 page)

We won’t get caught. Hettie won’t let us. There’d be no point in us coming in the first place if we were going to get caught. Oh dear, hurry up, Ursa. Eat quickly for once. All this waiting is upsetting my stomach.

Since she wasn’t coming with them they’d have to drive most of the way back to Kingseat before turning again for the closest river-station so they could take a barge north all the way up the Eth river.

The van was supplied with things to help them disguise themselves as best they could. Of course disguising Zandakar might prove something of a problem, but then he could spend most of his time hidden in the back. If they made sure he only came out late at night the chances were good he’d not attract undue attention. And the further they travelled from Kingseat the easier it would be for Rhian. Outside of the capital few people knew what she looked like.

If I could keep her hidden in the van I’d be much happier … but I’ll need another pair of hands. And I don’t think too many people will question a man and his daughter, humble travelling peddlers, quietly going about their business. I doubt even a duke’s soldiers would think of stopping us.

“Jones!” said Ursa in a piercing whisper, appearing without warning out of the dark. “What are you doing, sitting there muttering to yourself? Help me up, I’ve eaten so much I’m going to burst!”

“What are you doing, sneaking up like that?” he whispered back, taking her wrist and hauling her beside him. “You nearly scared me out of my wits!”

“What wits?” she said, settling under his blanket. “Now hush up, voices carry at night, and drive on a bit. We’ll have to wait somewhere inconspicuous till it’s time to do the deed.”

She was right but he still felt annoyed. The way she went on sometimes you’d think she was the only one who knew anything and that was a fact.

He picked up the reins and chirruped to the brown cobs. The horses grunted, leaning into their harness. The single lit torch on the peddler’s van stuttered and flared, throwing a little light on the road before them.

“This’ll do,” said Ursa as they reached a rutted laneway some minutes from the clerica’s gates. “Let’s wait here.”

It was as good a place to stop as any. Dexterity halted the horses and extinguished the van’s torch. They plunged into darkness, the night damp on their skin. Overhead the starry sky streamed with clouds.

Dexterity pulled his share of the blanket closer.

Well, then, Hettie. Here I am, just as you wanted. So you make sure things go exactly to plan.

M
antled in night, the clerica slept.

Rhian shifted beneath her light blanket, wincing as movement stirred her pains from slumber. Was it her imagination or did the place seem even more silent than usual? She was the infirmary’s only patient but the devout in charge of the pills and potions, Agitha, had assured her that she or her assistant always remained awake between dusk and dawn, in case of trouble. But Agitha hadn’t returned to check on her since supper, and that was hours ago. No-one else had checked on her either. Not even Helfred, and she’d been sure he’d come to stand over her and gloat.

Something’s going on.

The clerica’s deep silence—did it have to do with Mr Jones? She thought it must have. She didn’t really believe in coincidences. He was here. He’d come to help her escape. Though how he expected to spirit her out from under Dame Cecily’s nose she couldn’t begin to imagine …

A lamp burned on a table by the window, shedding enough light so she could comfortably see. She sat up, cautiously, swallowing a whimper. Whatever was in the foul concoction Agitha had forced upon her earlier had eased the alternating heat and shivers … but done nothing to alleviate her acute discomfort.

They want me to suffer, they just don’t want me to die.

Her ruined blue dress had been taken away. For rags, most likely. It was fit for nothing else now. In its place she’d been given a plain brown clerica robe. On edge, skin prickling with premonition, she slid off her narrow cot and slipped the robe over the cotton shift she wore for modesty since her various underthings had been taken away too. The rough wool was heavy enough to hurt, and the room swung around her in a dizzy swoop. She staggered sideways a few paces and groped for the wall.

“Your Highness!” a voice whispered from the door.

She turned, and was swamped by a crashing wave of relief. “Mr Jones!”

His teeth appeared in a smile, which was genuine but a trifle strained. “We have to hurry. I don’t know how much longer we can trust the clerica to remain asleep.”

So he was responsible for the silence. God bless the man. She took a step towards him and gasped. Oh, it hurt . She could grit her teeth and keep walking if she had to, but as for hurrying …

She felt her eyes burn. “Mr Jones …”

His smile disappeared and his face turned grim. “It’s all right. Don’t worry.” He looked away, into the corridor. “Zandakar! Come!” His hand beckoned urgently. “Come.”

Zandakar? What an outlandish name. Who was—

“Oh,” she said faintly. “Mr Jones?”

The tallest man she’d ever seen in her life stood in the doorway behind the toymaker. His skin was dark. His head was bald, like a venerable’s. His eyes were the most incredible blue, and so exquisitely beautiful she felt her heart thud. He was beautiful. He was—he was—

“Zandakar,” said Mr Jones, and tugged the man by his plain sleeve into the room. The man Zandakar looked down at him enquiringly but didn’t speak. Mr Jones mimed picking something up and holding it like a baby, then pointed.

What? Did he mean her ? Oh no. Oh no. Oh—

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” whispered Mr Jones as the tall dark man Zandakar swept her easily off her feet. “But we really are in a terrible hurry.”

“Mr Jones, who is this?” she demanded, keeping her voice low.

“It’s a long story. I’ll explain on the road. He won’t hurt you, though. I can promise you that. And he doesn’t speak much Ethrean, either. Best let me do the talking.” He looked up at the tall man holding her. “Good, Zandakar. Now come.”

Cradled against the man’s broad chest, feeling his heart thumping steadily beneath her ear, Rhian was surprised by a sensation she’d not experienced for years.

Safe. I feel safe. I don’t know this man, and yet … I feel safe.

She also felt pain. His strong arms were pressed against her battered back, but that didn’t matter. They were getting her out. She’d endure more than this to escape Marlan’s clutches.

In silence they made their swift way along the infirmary corridor. As they passed one open door she glanced in, to see Devout Agitha sleeping face-down at a desk. She wanted to ask Mr Jones how exactly he’d accomplished this miracle, but satisfying her curiosity would have to wait.

The corridor they travelled joined with another, running across it. Mr Jones turned left and Zandakar followed. Incredibly, he wasn’t even breathing hard. Carrying a strong young woman at a fast walk was no burden to him.

Who is this man? Where does he come from? And what is he doing with Mr Jones?

A door stood open at the end of this corridor. She felt the night air caress her face and caught a glimpse of the moons, half shrouded by cloud. Then they were outside the clerica, on tended lawn. Freedom was only moments away.

Mr Jones touched her shoulder. “Not long now, Your Highness. It’s nearly done.”

They rounded the corner of the building … and came face to face with Helfred, prowling the grounds.

“Your Highness?” said her chaplain, his voice squeaky with shock. The prayer beads he was counting fell from his hands. “What are you doing ? Who are these men ?”

It was like being doused with a tubful of iced water. She couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. Mr Jones was silent too, his mouth open, his eyes wide with dismay.

Helfred snatched up his prayer beads then took a step closer. It was hard to see his face clearly in the clerica grounds’ guttering torchlight but she could easily imagine the expression her chaplain wore. As she stared, and he stared, she felt a spit of rain on her cheek. A breeze sprang up abruptly, sighing with the cold.

“You’re running away,” said Helfred. He sounded accusing. “You’ve found some accomplices and you’re running away .”

She’d have preferred to confront him on her own two feet but she wasn’t strong enough to stand, thanks to him and Marlan. There was tension in Zandakar now, she could feel it in his arms, in his whole body. She knew, without being told, without knowing how she knew, that he was poised on the brink of violence. She eased one hand free and pressed her palm to his breast, hoping he’d understand the gesture.

He stared down at her, a question in those amazing eyes. She smiled at him, nodding, and felt a little of the tension leave him. Relieved, she looked at her chaplain.

“Yes, Helfred. I’m running,” she said, and was amazed by how calm she sounded. “What choice have you given me, you and your uncle? You’re trying to steal the kingdom—my birthright—from me. Worse, you’re trying to steal the people’s future. If you have your way Ethrea will be plunged into misery. I won’t let that happen. I’ll fight to prevent it with my dying breath, I swear.”

Helfred groaned. “Your Highness—”

“You can let me go, Helfred, or you can stand in my way and pay the price. Your choice.”

“You’d accost me?” he demanded. “You’d lay hands on a man of God?”

She met his outrage with leashed fury of her own. “Why not? You laid hands on a queen of Ethrea.”

Mr Jones stirred. “Your Highness …” His voice was a warning.

She glanced at him. “I know.” Then she fixed her gaze on Helfred again. “Make up your mind, Chaplain. And know that God will judge you for your decision.”

“God has judged me already, Highness,” said Helfred after a short and difficult silence. “I have spent hours praying, and my prayers have been answered.”

To her surprise he sounded … different. The outrage had left him, and the self-righteous pomposity. Now he seemed resigned. Almost afraid. Or humble.

Helfred, humble? The world must be ending.

“Princess Rhian, I won’t stop you from running,” her chaplain added. “In fact …” He took a deep breath and released it tremulously. “I’m going to run with you.”

For a moment she couldn’t speak. “What?” she said, when her voice returned. “ No . I don’t want you. After I leave here I never want to lay eyes on you again! I hate you, Helfred. I despise you. I loathe you.”

“I know you do, Highness,” said Helfred simply. “But you also need me.”

“ Need you?” She could’ve spat. “Helfred, I need you like a case of the plague.”

“Your Highness !” said Mr Jones. “Please! We mustn’t linger!”

“Let me come with you,” said Helfred, defiant, “or I’ll raise the alarm. Then you’ll never escape this place, Your Highness. And Marlan will descend on you like the wrath of heaven.”

Oh dear God . The pustuled slimy little toad .

I’ll get you for this, Helfred. I swear I’ll get you.

“We’ve no choice, Mr Jones,” she said to the toymaker. “Helfred comes with us … at least for now.”

As the clerica slept behind them they hurried through the darkness and more spitting rain, to the gates of the devouts’ house and onto the road.

“Hurry! Hurry!” panted Mr Jones, and broke into a jog-trot. “For all we know someone’s woken up by now!” Zandakar loped beside him, untroubled by his burden or the increased speed. Helfred wheezed several paces behind, his sandals slopping on the increasingly wet road.

Rhian bit her lip to stop herself from crying out. There was fire in her flesh, threatening to consume her. As they ran she prayed with all the strength left in her.

God, don’t let them catch me. Don’t send me back to that place. If you let them catch me I’ll never talk to you again.

They ran and ran. A long way down the empty road there was a lane, and a peddler’s van. A woman sat in it, leaning forward to greet them in the gloom. “Have you got her, Jones? What took you so long?”

“Yes, Ursa, I’ve got her!” said Mr Jones, almost breathless. “At least Zandakar has.”

The woman Ursa rummaged at her feet and held up a small, smoked lamp. The dim light fell over Helfred, bent double and gasping. “ Jones? Who’s this ?”

“A complication,” said Mr Jones, briefly. “Ursa, we have to go.”

“Yes, yes,” said the woman Ursa. “You get up here and drive the van. The rest of us will climb inside. I hope we can fit. This girl needs physicking or we’ll all be in the suds.”

This girl . Well. It certainly wasn’t a respectful way to describe the Queen of Ethrea. It lacked deference and a recognition of protocol, but somehow it was reassuring. Or perhaps it was the woman’s voice that reassured. Tart. Brisk. Used to being obeyed. But with a rough compassion that was of more comfort than the soft-spoken murmurings she’d received in the infirmary.

There was a certain amount of grunting and heaving as Mr Jones clambered up on the van’s seat and the woman Ursa clambered down. Rhian felt cool fingers on her cheek, a gentle pressure against the scudding pulse in her throat.

“Don’t just stand there, Zandakar!” snapped Ursa. “Get her in the back!”

When Zandakar hesitated, the woman made a hissing sound of impatience, grabbed his rain-dampened sleeve and dragged him along to the rear of the van. There were steps attached there, and two wide half-doors hinged like the doors on a stable. Ursa wrenched them open, stood back and pointed.

“In!”

As Zandakar followed the curt instruction Rhian heard Ursa say, just as curtly, “And you, Chaplain Complication! Get in after them. Hurry! Quick!”

Helfred staggered up the steps into the van’s cramped, lamplit interior and the woman Ursa leapt up then after him. She was remarkably spry for a woman with so much grey in her hair. Swinging the doors shut, she shouted, “Off you go, Jones! What are you waiting for?”

The van lurched, the wheels creaked, horses’ hooves scraped against stone and mud, and they were on the move.

“Right!” said Ursa. “You, chaplain, on the bench there, and I’ll thank you to keep quiet even though you’re a man of God. If you want to pray on the inside, that’ll be fine with me. Zandakar, put the girl down. Last thing I need is for you to fall over.”