Wess caught Aerie's gaze. 'Did you hear?'
Aerie nodded. 'They have him. What else could their great secret be?'
'In this skyforsaken place, they might have overpowered some poor troll, or a salamander.' She spoke sarcastically, for trolls were the gentlest of creatures, and Wess herself had often stretched up to scratch the chin of a salamander who lived on a hill where she hunted. It was entirely tame, for Wess never hunted salamanders. Their hide was too thin to be useful and no one in the family liked lizard meat. Besides, one could not pack out even a single haunch of fullgrown salamander, and she would not waste her kill. 'In this place, they might have a winged snake in a box, and call it a great secret.'
'Wess, their secret is Satan and we all know it,' Quartz said. 'Now we have to figure out how to free him.'
'You're right, of course,' Wess said.
At the gate, two huge guards glowered at the rabble they had been ordered to admit to the parade-ground. Wess stopped before one of them.
'I want to see the prince,' she said.
'Audience next week,' he replied, hardly glancing at her.
'I need to see him before the carnival begins.'
This time he did look at her, amused. 'You do, do you? Then you've no luck. He's gone, won't be back till the parade.'
'Where is he?' Chan asked.
She heard grumbling from the crowd piling up behind them.
'State secret,' the guard said. 'Now go in, or clear the way.'
They went in.
The crowd thinned abruptly, for the parade-ground was enormous. Even the tent seemed small; the palace loomed above it like a cliff. If the whole population of Sanctuary had not come here, then a large proportion of every section had, for several merchants were setting up stalls: beads here, fruit there, pastries farther on; a beggar crawled slowly past; and a few paces away a large group of noblefolk in satins and fur and gold walked languidly beneath parasols held by naked slaves. The thin autumn sunlight was hardly enough to mar the complexion of the most delicate noble. or to warm the back of the most vigorous slave.
Quartz looked around, then pointed over the heads of the crowd. 'They're making a pathway, with ropes and braces. The parade will come through that gate, and into the tent from this side.' She swept her hand from right to left, east to west, in a long curve from the Processional gate. The carnival tent was set up between the auction block and the guards' barracks.
They tried to circle the tent, but the area beyond it all the way to the wall was blocked by rope barriers. In the front, a line of spectators already snaked back far beyond any possible capacity.
'We'll never get in,' Aerie said.
'Maybe it's for the best,' Chan said. 'We don't need to be inside with Satan we need to get him out.'
The shadows lengthened across the palace grounds. Wess sat motionless and silent, waiting. Chan bit his fingernails and fidgeted. Aerie hunched under her cloak, her hood pulled low to shadow her face. Quartz watched her anxiously, and fingered the grip of her sword.
After again being refused an audience with the prince, this time at the palace doors, they had secured a place next to the roped-off path. Across the way, a work crew put the finishing touches on a platform. When it was completed, servants hurried from the palace with rugs, a silk-fringed awning, several chairs, and a brazier of coals. Wess would not have minded a brazier of coals herself; as the sun fell, the air was growing chill.
The crowd continued to gather, becoming denser, louder, more and more drunk. Fights broke out in the line at the tent, as people began to realize they would never get inside. Soon the mood grew so ugly that criers spread among the people, ringing bells and announcing that the carnival would present one more performance, several more performances, until all the citizens of Sanctuary had the opportunity to glimpse the carnival's wonders. And the secret. Of course, the secret. Still, no one even hinted at the secret's nature.
Wess pulled her cloak closer. She knew the nature of the secret; she only hoped the secret would see his friends and be ready for whatever they could do.
The sun touched the high wall around the palace grounds. Soon it would be dark.
Trumpets and cymbals: Wess looked towards the Processional gates, but a moment later realized that all the citizens around her were straining for a view of the palace entrance. The enormous doors swung open and a phalanx of guards marched out, followed
by a group of nobles wearing jewels and cloth of gold. They strode across the hard-packed ground. The young man at the head of the group, who wore a gold coronet, acknowledged his people's shouts and cries as if they all were accolades - which, Wess thought, they were not. But above the mutters and complaints, the loudest cry was, 'The prince! Long live the prince!'
The phalanx marched straight from the palace to the new-built platform. Anyone shortsighted enough to sit in that path had to snatch up their things and hurry out of the way. The route cleared as swiftly as water parting around a stone.
Wess stood impulsively, about to sprint across the parade route to try once more to speak to the prince.
'Sit down!'
'Out of the way!'
Someone threw an apple core at her. She knocked it away and crouched down again, though not because of the threats or the flying garbage. Aerie, too, with the same thought, started to her feet. Wess touched her elbow.
'Look,' she said.
Everyone within reach or hearing of the procession seemed to have the same idea. The crowd surged in, every member clamouring for attention. The prince flung out a handful of coins, which drew the beggars scuffling away from him. Others, more intent on their claims, continued to press him. The guards fell back, surrounding him, nearly cutting off the sight of him, and pushed at the citizens with spears held broadside.
The tight cordon parted and the prince mounted the platform. Standing alone, he turned all the way around, raising his hands to the crowd.
'My friends,' he cried, 'I know you have claims upon me. The least wrong to one of my people is important to me.'
Wess snorted.
'But tonight we are all privileged to witness a wonder never seen in the Empire. Forget your troubles tonight, my friends, and enjoy the spectacle with me.' He held out his hand, and brought a member of his party up beside him on the stage.
Bauchle Meyne.
'In a few days, Bauchle Meyne and his troupe will journey to Ranke, there to entertain the Emperor my brother.'
Wess and Quartz glanced at each other, startled. Chan muttered a curse. Aerie tensed, and Wess held her arm. They all drew up their hoods.
'Bauchle goes with my friendship, and my seal.' The prince held up a rolled parchment secured with scarlet ribbons and ebony wax.
The prince sat down, with Bauchle Meyne in the place of honour by his side. The rest of the royal party arrayed themselves around, and the parade began.
Wess and her friends moved closer together, in silence.
They would have no help from the prince.
The Processional gates swung open to the sound of flutes and drums. The music continued for some while before anything else happened. Bauchle Meyne began to look uncomfortable. Then abruptly a figure staggered out on to the path, as if he had been shoved. The skeletally thin, red-haired man regained his balance, straightened up, and gazed from side to side. The jeers confounded him. He pushed his long cape off his shoulders to reveal his star-patterned black robe, and took a few hesitant steps.
At the rope barrier's first wooden supporting post, he stopped again. He gestured towards it tentatively and spoke a guttural word.
The post sputtered into flame.
The people nearby drew back shouting, and the wizard lurched along the path, first to one side, then the other, waving his hands at each wooden post in turn.