The Serpents of Arakesh (17 page)

Kai cut abruptly down a paved sidestreet, with another quick glance over his shoulder. We were close to the city wall now and he broke into a trot. Jamie groaned, clutching his side, and stumbled into a limping jog. Another twist, and Kai ducked through an arched entranceway into a cobbled courtyard strewn with wisps of hay and spattered with dried dung. It was deserted. With the five of us panting behind him, Kai made for the tall wooden doors at the far end, and disappeared inside.

I hesitated, hoping he knew what he was doing. If we'd
been followed we'd be trapped. His sweaty face peered impatiently round the door. ‘Come
on
— what be you waiting for?'

I caught Rich's eye; he shrugged and nodded. Gen's — she nodded once, decisively. Kenta — yup. As for Jamie, he was operating on autopilot — he plodded blindly after Kai, and disappeared through the doorway. The rest of us followed, me taking up the rear, adrenaline still zinging through my veins like sherbet fizz.

A solid wall of stink hit me in the face like a fist, making me reel and choke. All round me, I could hear the others coughing and gasping. The acrid reek of ammonia, so strong it frizzled my nostrils, and a sulphuric stench of rotten eggs that made me want to puke. With my hand over my nose and mouth, holding my breath, I stumbled after Kai into the gloom.

The dark shapes of the others had gathered at the far wall, sheltered from the entrance by a ramshackle haystack higher than my head. ‘Where are we?' I hissed at the shape I thought was Kai.

There was a rueful flash of white — only Kai could grin in a place like this. ‘In the glonk stable at Pa's inn,' he whispered back hoarsely. ‘The glonk-widdle and rear-enders will cover your scent. Even the Faceless will not sniff you out.'

My eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and I could see that his face had become serious. ‘You must leave the city, Adam. Once the gates close at dusk, the Followers will all be free to search — and even here, they will find you. And that be another reason I brought you here. My friends, what I show you now is a secret I have shared only with Hob. Follow me.'

He turned his back, knelt on the filthy floor, and burrowed like a rabbit straight into the heart of the haystack. ‘But —' protested Gen faintly.

‘But nothing. Think of the Faceless. Do it — and do it quick.'

One by one they disappeared into the hay. Gen, Kenta, Jamie, giving Rich and me one last anguished glance before thudding to his knees and lumbering forward, moaning softly. Rich followed him.

I took a deep, foul-smelling breath, and burrowed into the hay. It was dark as pitch. I squeezed my eyes shut to stop straws poking into them, and groped my way forward with my hands. The tunnel was as narrow as my body, sloping gradually downwards, the earthen floor smooth with use. My lungs were burning. My breath huffed out, and I took another reluctant breath. This time, it tasted of damp earth … and fresh air.

My eyes popped open. I could see faint light up ahead, partly blocked by Rich's solid figure in front of me. The tunnel was sloping up again, and there was hard earth on either side instead of straw. Suddenly, with a slither and a grunt, Rich disappeared. I crawled out after him into a copse of thorn bushes and bright sunlight.

We were on the other side of the city wall.

‘Heads down, and stay in the bushes until we are certain the way be clear,' breathed Kai. ‘Then run for the trees — there is no gate on the northern wall, and few folk come here. It will mean a night in the forest, but you be seasoned travellers — light a fire, and keep careful watch.'

‘Do we really have to spend another night in the forest?' whimpered Jamie, almost in tears. ‘It's only just turned twelve o'clock — if we set off now, we'd be home …' he glanced at Kai, remembering our cover story just in time, ‘we'd be … uh … well on our way back to Winterton by this evening.'

We goggled at him.

‘Back to Winterton?' repeated Kai. ‘Surely you cannot mean that you would abandon your quest, Pinky?' Jamie
scowled, flushing a deeper pink than ever. ‘What of your sick friend? What of the adventure that lies ahead? Nay, you must dig deep for the warrior spirit that lies within us all — even you, my friend.

‘By morning, your trail will have cooled. I know the byways of Arakesh as well as the Faceless, if not better. I will meet you here at daybreak, and we will see what answers the temple holds, if that is where you choose to begin your quest.'

We spent the afternoon in the woods to the north of the city, eating some much-needed lunch, choosing a campsite to spend the night, and building a bivouac to provide some shelter from wind or rain.

And, in Tiger Lily's case, having a thorough and very pointed cleaning session, to wash away the indignity of being jolted around in my backpack.

Gen cobbled together the tear in my breeches with the sewing kit Nanny had insisted we bring. We played a halfhearted game of tag and hide and seek … until Jamie wondered aloud what we'd do if we couldn't find someone.

None of us said anything about the Faceless. After all, unless we were prepared to give up, what was there to say? And though Jamie was more subdued than usual during the afternoon, even he didn't mention going home again.

Most of all, we studied the parchment. Over and over again we came back to it, singly and in groups, reading and rereading it, and puzzling over what it could possibly mean.

The Balm of Healing rests beneath the towering trees of stone

Guardian of Inner Voices has whispering leaves as home;

Power rings the walls of iron with silk

And Sightless lies in blindness, pale as milk.

Bright Beauty burns with fire eternal as a gem:

An emerald vision age will never end.

 

For those who dare defile the steps of five

Lies no escape — they shall not leave alive

Unless bright Serpent Sun to Zenith climb

And fang of light doth pierce the phial of time.

‘Each of the five potions is mentioned in turn,' said Kenta hesitantly. ‘The
Balm of Healing
is the Healing Potion, of course, and
Inner Voices
could be the Potion of Insight, I suppose.'

‘Yeah, and
Power
must mean the Potion of Power, just like it says,' chipped in Richard, cottoning on.

‘Which means that
Sightless
means the Potion of Invisibility,' said Gen thoughtfully. ‘
Sightless
, like unable to
be
seen, maybe.'

‘And that means the next two lines must refer to the Potion of Beauty and … what was it?' asked Kenta.

‘Eternal Youth,' Gen supplied.

‘But the rest makes no sense at all,' said Rich.

‘Yeah — beyond the obvious, that is,' agreed Jamie darkly.

‘I reckon we've got it a hundred percent right so far,' I said. ‘But we need to take it a step further. It seems to me each potion is linked to the place where it comes from. Like, the healing potion among trees, for example …'

‘Yeah — right here in the forest, maybe!' chips in Richard, staring round wildly as if a phial of the potion might be lying in full view by the campfire.

‘It says
trees of stone
,' Gen pointed out. ‘What on earth are trees of stone?'

‘
Whispering leaves
sounds like a forest, also,' said Kenta. ‘But if that
is
what it means, where on earth would we start looking?'

We gazed round us, at the trees stretching away into
the distance, as far as the eye could see. Where indeed?

‘I think we stick to our original plan,' I said, in a voice I hoped was as cheerful as Kai's. ‘Meet Kai at the tunnel entrance at sunrise, go to the temple, and see if we can't ‘borrow' a bottle. Who knows? We may be wasting our time trying to figure out the poem — it may all turn out far simpler than it seems.'

But even though I'd made up my mind not to waste any more energy thinking about the poem, by the time we settled down in our sleeping bags for the night I realised I knew the whole thing by heart. Round and round in my head it went, as I lay gazing up at the stars … round and round in my dreams, as I tossed and turned on my bed of rustling leaves.

We woke, stiff and cold, in the grey pre-dawn. Breakfast was muesli bars and fruit juice. A fine, misty rain had fallen in the night — not enough to soak us, but enough to put out the fire and rule out any hopes of a hot drink. Jamie, who'd been on last watch, had fallen asleep beside the ashes, a chocolate wrapper peeping from his fist.

It was a bedraggled, disgruntled group that set off in the direction of the northern wall and Kai's secret tunnel. Except for me.

The perfume of damp earth and springtime was all around us; every scent, every sound seemed magnified and unbearably beautiful. Tramping silently over the soft ground, I had a feeling of joy so intense it was almost painful.

Tiger Lily had been missing since we woke, but soon after we set off I noticed her bounding through the trees alongside us, a tiny grey feather caught in her whiskers. She gave me a sidelong look, as if to say that she understood exactly how I felt.

We'd taken note of the location of Kai's tunnel — the wall at that point was fringed by an untidy straggle of thorn bushes hiding the entrance. We smelt Kai before we saw him — a mouthwatering aroma of fresh bread that would have given his presence away at once if anyone had been passing. One by one, we burrowed under the bushes, and he met us with a broad grin and crusty rolls, still warm from the oven.

‘
Friends forever
,' he said with a wink, taking the last one himself. ‘We have been fortunate. The rain will have erased what remained of your trail. But they will still be searching — especially for you, Adam.' He nodded in the direction of the none-too-tidy darn. ‘The customs in Winterton must be different indeed. Here, the wearing of scarlet, like the naming letter ‘Z', is only for those of royal blood.'

I grinned and tugged down my breeches a centimetre or two to reveal a flash of bare bum — no boxers were better than ones that might get us all strung up on the city walls, I reckoned.

‘They searched the northern sector of the city overnight, as I guessed they would,' Kai told us, once we'd emerged into the stable, dusted ourselves off, and slipped out into the empty lane. ‘If we keep to the old part of the city, there is a good chance we will go unnoticed. We must be cautious, though.'

‘What about you, Kai?' asked Kenta hesitantly. ‘Surely they would have seen you with us? I've been worrying all night that you'll get into terrible trouble for helping us escape.'

Kai shot her a smile. ‘It ain't the first time a lass has lost sleep over me,' he teased, and Kenta flushed. ‘Nay,' he said, more seriously, ‘it is said the Faceless track their prey by smell — I know not what lies in the shadows of those dark hoods, but if they have eyes, they do not use them for that purpose. My scent be the scent of Arakesh, and
it is strangers they seek. For the time being at least, I am in no danger.'

The streets were deserted, and in the misty light of early morning I began to feel more confident that perhaps we might be able to reach the temple without being seen. The part of the city we were walking through had an air of dilapidated splendour. The streets were wide but empty, and though the houses were large and imposing, many of them seemed derelict. ‘I'll bet someone important lives here,' remarked Jamie, gesturing to a tall wall on our left, which stretched ahead as far as I could see.

‘Aye … and nay. This be the old Summer Palace, beloved of King Zane and Queen Zaronel, but fallen into ruin. They say the gardens were carpeted with emerald, and crystal fountains sang day and night with music sweeter than the birds. Within, the walls were hung with tapestries so finely woven they almost seemed alive; the chambers rang with laughter and echoed to the tales of bards from distant lands.' Kai lowered his voice to a husky whisper. ‘But it was also here that King Zane lay upon his deathbed. When his spirit flew free at last, Queen Zaronel's heart tore asunder. And within these walls was born a legend that lives on in tales told by firelight, when voices are low and doors are barred, and dreams stir again in men's hearts.'

A metal gate was set into the wall just ahead, and we peered curiously between its bars. There was certainly no evidence of any of the wonders Kai described. The gate gave onto a bleak courtyard of dry, cracked earth and the only fountain we could see was a bare, dusty bowl with a broken statue, covered in cobwebs. It might have been beautiful once. Now it seemed a barren place, a residue of sorrow drifting like dust over the splintered flagstones.

‘They say Prince Karazeel was crazed with grief when he learned of his brother's death, and in his anguish caused all to be destroyed, overturning every vessel and paving
stone, and tearing every precious drapery asunder. And now … now Karazeel himself is king. Times change.' Kai's face was grim. I opened my mouth to ask him more but Gen caught my eye and gave her head a tiny shake, as if she thought he had already said too much. I shrugged and followed him away from the gate. Whatever secrets were hidden in the mists of Karazan's past were no concern of ours.

We walked on in silence, the ground rising gradually as we wound deeper into the heart of the city. When at length we reached the open piazza in its centre, the whole of Arakesh fell away on every side. The piazza was like an enormous town square, paved with huge stone flags of a pinkish sandstone similar to the city walls. The Sacred Temple of Arakesh reared up from the centre like an enormous, round, six-tiered wedding cake. The entire second level seemed to consist of vast pillars rather than walls, with creepers and other greenery cascading down. I found my gaze drawn to the top, half expecting to see an ornamental bride and groom perched there. Instead, I saw a shining dome of golden metal.

‘They say the dome is a magical timekeeper that counts the hours, and the noonday bell rings of its own accord,' Kai told us. Something in his voice made me glance at his face, where disapproval fought with reluctant pride. ‘The temple is one of the wonders of Karazan,' he continued, ‘but Pa says it be just a ridiculous waste of gelden.' He shot me a sidelong smile. ‘I'll wager you ain't seen nothing like it in Winterton, Adam!'

‘We sure haven't,' I admitted. ‘Are we allowed inside?'

‘Aye, anyone may enter the public hearing room, once the dawn gong has sounded. Let us be bold — those who search will seek you in hidden places, not marching through the portals of the temple. Follow me.'

We straggled across the flagstones to the broad stone steps leading to the main entrance. I felt a chill as we
passed through the tall arch into the cavernous hall, and was glad of the reassuring warmth of Tiger Lily, asleep in my backpack.

The entrance led directly into what I supposed must be the public hearing room — and, in fact, appeared to be the entire ground floor of the temple. A pink and white checkerboard of flagstones stretched before us. Tall, arched windows punctuated the circular walls at regular intervals, making the vast chamber light and airy. Huge columns thicker than a man's body reared up everywhere, helping to support the massive weight of the floors above. Only one area was clear of pillars, a wide central aisle leading to the far end of the hall.

‘Imagine a game of tag in here,' whispered Jamie. ‘These pillars would be even better than trees to hide behind!'

And in fact, instinctively, we'd all moved away from the open aisle, into the shelter of the columns. Using them as cover, we drifted gradually closer to the dais at the far end of the hall. Somewhere, I could hear the sound of water.

On the dais were five ornate chairs, almost like thrones, ranged in a wide arc. Before each of them was a low table bearing a giant set of scales and an array of brass weights. The smallest was tinier than a thimble, and the largest the size of a skittle.

On each throne was seated a man in long robes, holding in his hand a strange staff, tall and slim, with a V-shaped fork at one end. ‘The Curators,' breathed Kai. Each man's robes were a different colour: steely grey; an intricately patterned brown; jet black; snow white; and a radiant, shimmering green. ‘I bet they have heaps of applications for the green guy's job,' muttered Richard. ‘It's the first bit of colour I've seen anyone wearing since we got here.'

‘The Curators are among the most privileged in the land, second only to the king and his most trusted advisers. But hush! Here comes an applicant.'

An old man was struggling down the central aisle, wheeling a rickety barrow. Whatever was inside it was swathed in rough brown cloth. The barrow was cumbersome and badly balanced, tilting heavily to one side. The five Curators watched expressionlessly as the man approached and set the barrow down. An usher came forward, and there was a whispered consultation. The man hefted his barrow again, and wheeled it across to the table in front of the Curator in the grey robes.

‘The Curator of Healing,' Kai hissed.

The man knelt, bowed his head, and waited.

With a slightly patronising air, the Curator rose and walked up to the barrow. He lifted the cloth with the point of his staff, as if it might be contaminated, and glanced underneath. I could see now that it was a threadbare blanket, and could just make out the huddled form of a child beneath. The Curator raised one dark eyebrow, and let the blanket fall. He poked the kneeling man in the shoulder with his staff and said in a cold, hard voice, ‘Come forward and be heard.'

The man shuffled forward, still on his knees. The usher spoke sharply to him, and he turned back to his barrow and fumbled for a moment, then withdrew two heavy leather pouches and laid them on the table. His hands were shaking slightly as he loosened the drawstring of one and extracted ten gold coins, counting them carefully. Kai draw in his breath sharply. ‘The price of a hearing,' he whispered. ‘Ten gelden — as much as a man might make in a span.
Just to be heard …
'

‘Listen!' breathed Kenta. The man had started to speak, but his voice was hardly above a whisper, and trembling so much it was hard to make out the words. ‘My lord: wise, compassionate and just,' he began unsteadily, ‘I approach you in the name of King Karazeel, he of ultimate power and infinite mercy.' Kai snorted. I gave him a dig in
the ribs to shut him up. ‘You see before you Danon of Drakendale, a humble carpenter. I work at my trade from dawn till dusk, earning but twelve gelden in a span. I am proud to halve six of those gelden to King Karazeel, as the records will show.'

The Curator gave an almost imperceptible nod, and placed the second-smallest weight onto the flat platform at the raised end of the scale. The weight was about the size of a matchbox.

‘My lord, I have journeyed three long days with a sick child to attend this audience,' the man continued, his eyes fixed on the array of weights. The Curator inclined his head, impassive. ‘My daughter …' The man's voice broke, and he put his hands up to his face for a moment before he continued. ‘My daughter is our only child, my lord. Until a moon ago she was like a little sunbeam, the light of our days and the hope of our future —'

‘Proceed.' The Curator's cold voice cut through the man's words like a steel blade. ‘This will not assist your cause.'

‘Our daughter fell ill,' the man continued. ‘A pain like an axe splitting her skull and her neck so stiff she could not bend it. We were certain she would die.' He sighed. ‘But … she did not. And yet, neither did she recover. Now she lies like a wraith in a twilight land, neither of the living, nor the dead.' He bowed his head. ‘We have begged gelden from kin both far and near, and sold all we have save the roof over our heads, to raise the price for the potion that will heal her,' he said softly. ‘I rest the matter in your merciful hands.'

The Curator's pale hand hovered for a moment above the array of weights, finally selecting one about the size of a salt cellar, and placing it beside the other on the raised end of the scale. He motioned to the usher, who brought the first of the bags of gold, and placed it on the platform beside the two weights. The scale didn't budge.

The usher hefted the other bag. Even I could see how heavy it was. We watched, scarcely breathing, as he lowered it slowly onto the scale. For a moment, I was sure the balance would tip. The platform dipped a fraction as it took the weight of the bag, and the opposite end lifted for a tantalising second before settling back into its original position.

There was a long, awful silence. Then the man started gabbling desperately, his words falling over each other. ‘Please, please, my lord, have mercy,' he begged. ‘This is all we have — we can raise no more! Can we not include the ten gelden hearing fee? It would tip the balance! This is our last chance, our only hope! She is our baby, my lord, our only child!' He was weeping now. I couldn't watch; I felt sick. ‘I appeal to you as a father! If you have children, my lord, you will know —'

‘Enough!' The Curator's voice was like ice. ‘Remove this man. I exact a five gelden penalty for wasting my time and attempting to sway the scale by sentiment. Be thankful it is not more. Be gone.'