‘You were saying-’ Gilmour interrupted.
‘What? Oh, right, Sandcliff, well, I was at the university and I ran into some Malakasian officials whose business ethics did not entirely align with my own and I had to run like a raving madman to get free. I figured they would assume I made my way back into town; so instead, I headed up towards the old palace. When I reached the lower gardens, I thought I was clear, but there they were, waiting.’
‘I understand they’re thorough about such things,’ Garec said.
‘So I moved through the lower garden – well, the brush – trying to find some cover. They’d fanned out and were hard on my heels when I found a grate, like a drainage grate for rain runoff, or melted snow, maybe, running through the gardens – I’ve never seen anything like it, it was a simple idea really, just an underground trench to allow for excess water to run down from the garden-’ He broke off, as if to rhapsodise further about the Larion drain, but a look from Mark brought him back on track.
‘There was nothing covering the opening now – I guess it might have been wood once, or maybe metal that rusted away, but either way, it was gone, so I crawled inside and made my way up the trench.’ The way he told the story, it sounded as if eluding Malakasian patrols was something he did every day. ‘The trench ran through a narrow breach in the wall into the scullery, just about wide enough for people to empty water pots or old beer barrels in, I guess, but I managed to squeeze through.’
Gilmour shook his head wryly. ‘I’m quite sure the Larion leadership never thought of that opening as a potential breach in the palace’s defences,’ he murmured.
‘It wasn’t much of one, I tell you,’ Rodler said, ‘it would take a rutting Twinmoon to get a decent-sized fighting force through there. The palace wouldn’t ever have been under any real threat from that trench, but we were always told it was hard to get into Sandcliff via the main entrance, what with all the spells and such, so I was surprised that I could just crawl into the place.’
‘So what did you find inside?’ Gilmour wiped a few beads of nervous sweat from his forehead.
‘Nothing,’ Rodler said, ‘I wasn’t raiding the place. Well, I did try to find the library – but really I just went in to hide while the prince’s squad tore the gardens up looking for me outside. I waited until they were gone and then thought about going back out.’
‘But not before you went looking for books,’ Garec reminded him.
‘Of course – I’m a businessman, just like anybody else.’
‘But you couldn’t get to the library,’ Gilmour stated more than asked.
‘Rutting mothers, no. I couldn’t get out of the stinking scullery. The doors, windows, nothing would open.’ Rodler pursed his lips. ‘That’s when I knew the place still had some leftover magic in it.’
Again, no one replied.
‘So that’s why you want to go up there, you want to tap into that force somehow – with that stick? Or is it you?’ He pointed at Gilmour. ‘You seem to know a lot about the Larion Senate.’
Gilmour shook his head. ‘I had a grandmother much like yours.’ He changed the subject swiftly. ‘How would you recommend we get into Gorsk?’
The sun had set by the time they reached the river, but the water reflected moonlight in hundreds of tiny sparkles, illuminating a surprisingly bright path into Gorsk. ‘It will be cold,’ Rodler said, not bothering to whisper – unless a patrol was right on top of them, the perpetual background roar of the water would muffle their voices. ‘But we don’t have to be in it for long, a few hundred paces, that’s all. The patrols from the highway station come up to this river on that shore. Patrols from the encampment in the west come up as far as this shore. Neither patrols the centre… I’d prefer it a bit darker, but we ought to be able to pass by tonight without incident.’
‘What makes you so confident?’ Garec asked quietly.
‘I almost stepped in your campfire – if one of you isn’t wielding powerful magic to mask your whereabouts, someone is watching over you. I think we could be screaming songs and playing a bellamir and no one would know we had passed. But it’ll be very cold, so we have to move quickly.’ He gestured and moved into the water.
Steven shrugged and followed, leading his horse. The mountain water was icy-cold and for a moment he feared the horses would refuse to move, or worse, might bolt and give away their location, but apart from a few irritated shakes of her head, the mare allowed herself to be drawn towards the centre of the river. Their packs were tied onto the saddle, but he retained the hickory staff, warm in his hand despite the frigid, numbing cold in his legs, and Lessek’s key, an indistinct lump in his pocket. Rodler hadn’t commented on the curious cut and colour of the Gore-tex coats; he appeared to have learned when to keep his mouth shut.
They picked their way carefully upriver, but after what felt like an hour, Steven began to worry that he might never regain feeling in his legs. He was seriously considering an attempt to warm the water as it rushed by when Rodler turned and pointed.
‘Just up here, up past that big willow,’ he said, indicating a willow tree standing sentinel on the bank, its leafless branches hanging like the thinning hair of an ageing woman. Steven waited until Rodler was distracted and then quickly moved between his friends, drying their leggings and warming their feet with the hickory staff.
‘Thanks, Steven,’ Mark said. ‘Do me a favour and leave him wet, okay?’
‘He got us here,’ Steven said firmly.
‘Where’s here?’ Mark asked. ‘How do we know Eldarn’s answer to the Gulag Archipelago doesn’t lie just over the next hill? We can warm up beside the fire with Al Solzhenitsyn.’
‘Nah, he got out,’ Steven said.
‘Do you know where we are?’ Mark asked Gilmour.
The old man nodded. ‘I used to fish in this river – if we follow it north, we’ll begin to see landmarks I’ll recognise; then we can turn east to Sandcliff.’
‘Should we risk a fire?’ Garec asked. ‘I’m freezing.’
‘Not here,’ Rodler answered, ‘let’s ride further north. There’s a copse upstream where I keep a fire-pit ready to dry me out after coming through. I’ve yet to hear a patrol come by while I’m in there.’
‘Come here first,’ Steven said. ‘I owe you at least this much.’ He used the staff to dry Rodler’s leggings and boots.
‘Well, that’s a neat trick,’ he said, grinning. ‘I knew that stick was special.’ He reached out to touch it, but recoiled, wondering if it might strike him dead on the spot. Coming across the four travellers had put an unfortunate kink in his plans; agreeing to guide them into Gorsk was a desperate offer to save his life, but he was curious about Steven and the wooden staff, and he wanted very badly to pillage the library at Sandcliff Palace. Rodler decided to remain with the four strangers for a while – at least until he had a better understanding of their intentions.
Steven and Mark turned into the car park next to the Air Force Academy Aquatics Centre just north of Colorado Springs. They had made the trip to the Colorado State Championships to support one of Mark’s swimmers, Bridget Kenyon, who was a favourite in several events. Bridget was behind them in a titanic SUV with her parents, her two younger brothers and her grandmother.
Steven asked, ‘Why do they hold this all the way down here and not in Denver?’
‘The facility is state-of-the-art: an Olympic-size pool cuts down on the number of turns the kids have to make so in the end, the times are faster.’ As Mark opened the truck door, the winter air rushed inside, chilling them both.
‘It’s a long ride to watch one girl swim.’
‘Ah, but wait until you see this girl swim.’ Mark zipped up his jacket, pulled on his gloves and stepped outside. ‘You’ll agree it was worth the trip.’
‘All right, but you’re buying the hot dogs.’ Steven realised he had forgotten his gloves and pushed his hands deep into his pockets. ‘Let’s hurry. I’m cold.’
‘You’re such a wimp, Steven,’ Mark teased.