Prince of Thorns
Even when I understood the Builder words, the sentences didn’t make sense. “Binary weapon leakage is now endemic. The lighter than air unary compounds show little toxic effect, though rosiosis is a common topological exposure symptom.”
Or, from the same page: “Mutagenic effects are common downstream of binary spills.” I could stretch my Greek to guess the meaning, but it hardly seemed reasonable. Perhaps I’d stolen an old storybook?
“Jorg!” Makin hollered through the door. “The escort’s here to take you to the Forest Watch.”
Sally started up at that, but I pressed her down.
“Tell them to wait,” I called.
The Forest Watch weren’t going to be much use to me. Not unless they had ten thousand friends that wanted to come along.
“Sweet Jesu I’m sore.” Sally tried to get up again. “Oh! It’s morning already. Sammeth will kill me.”
“I said still, damn it.” I found a coin from my purse on the table and tossed it up to her. “That for your damn Sammeth.”
She slumped back with a comfortable protest.
“Binary weapon leakage . . .” As if speaking the words would add meaning.
“You’re going to the Castle Red then?” Sally said. She stifled a yawn.
I raised a hand to slap her into silence. Of course she didn’t see it and A History of Gelleth blocked the best target.
“Say hello to all those little red people for me,” she said.
Rosiosis.
I lowered my hand to her hip. “Little red people?”
“Uh huh.”
I felt her wiggle under my palm. I gripped harder. “Little red people?”
“Yes.” A whine of irritation tinged her voice. “Why do you think they call it the Castle Red?”
I pulled myself to a sitting position. “Makin! Get in here!” I shouted it loud enough for the whole inn to hear. He came in sharp enough, one hand on his sword. A smile found its way to his lips when he saw Sally sprawled out naked, but he kept his hand where it was.
“My prince?”
Sally really did try to get up at that. She almost made it to all fours and A History went flying.
“Prince? Nobody said nothing about a prince! He ain’t no bleedin’ prince!”
I pushed her down again.
“That conversation we had yesterday, Makin,” I said.
“Yes?”
“Anything you’d like to add to the description? Anything about those nine hundred veterans?” I asked.
For a moment he looked as blank as idiot Maical.
“Something about the colour scheme?” I gave him a prompt.
“Oh.” He grinned. “The Blushers? Yes. They’re red as a cooked lobster, every one of them. Something in the water they say. I thought everyone knew that.”
Rosiosis.
“I never knew it,” I said.
“Sounds like your father should have hanged Tutor Lundist then,” Makin said. “Everyone knows that.”
Monsters down below.
“He’s never a prince!” Sally sounded outraged.
“You’ve been royally fucked.” Makin gave her a little bow.
Castle Red and all its red soldiers up above.
I got off the bed.
Weapons stockpile.
Leakage.
“So,” Makin said. “Are we ready to go?”
I reached for my trews. Sally rolled over as I laced them up, which didn’t help at all. I watched her nakedness, highlights courtesy of the morning sun. I wondered—should I gamble the Forest Watch and the brothers both on some wild conjectures and blind guesses at what obscure words meant . . .
“Tell them an hour.” My fingers flipped from lacing to unlacing. “I’ll be ready in an hour.”
Sally lay back on the pillows and smiled. “Prince, eh?”
Lying in seemed like a good idea all of a sudden.
24
“What ho! Captain Coddin!” I came down the stairs in remarkably good spirits shortly before noon.
The Captain gave me a stiff bow, his lips pressed into a tight line. In a far corner the younger brothers, Roddat, Jobe, and Sim, nursed hangovers. I could see Burlow under a table, snoring.
“I’d have thought you’d be back at Chelny Ford, Captain, protecting our borders from the predations of villains and rogues,” I said, all cheery-like.
“There was some dissatisfaction with my performance in the role. Certain voices at court maintained that I’d let a sight too many villains and rogues past my garrison of late. I’m assigned to escort duty in Crath City.” He gestured to the street-door. “If Prince Jorg is ready?”
I decided I liked the man. That surprised me. I’m not given to liking people as a rule. I blamed it on my mood. Nothing like a night of whoring to turn a man soft.
So Coddin and his four soldiers led us out through the West Gate. I had Makin with me of course, and Elban because old though he was, there weren’t many among the brothers with more than half a brain. I brought the Nuban along too. Not sure why, but he’d been sat by the bar eating an apple, with that crossbow of his across his lap, and I thought I’d have him along.
We took the Old Road toward Rennat Forest, twelve miles or so as the crow flies, and of course the Old Road flies like a crow, following the line laid down by men of Rome an age upon an age ago.
Coddin rode at the fore, flanked by his boys, us behind enjoying the day. Makin nudged Firejump up alongside Gerrod and the two of them exchanged whatever threats pass between stallions.
“You should have left me to Sir Galen, Jorg,” Makin said.
“You think you could have taken him?” I asked.
“No. He knew his swordwork, that Teuton,” Makin said, and he wiped a hand across his mouth. “I’ve never crossed blades with a better man.”
“He wasn’t the better man,” I said.
A silence fell between us for a moment. Elban broke it.
“Makin found a man he couldn’t beat? Sir Makin? I don’t believe it.” His lisp made a wet “Thur” of “Sir.”
Makin turned in the saddle to face Elban. “Believe it. The King’s champion had me cold. Jorg beat him, though.” He nodded toward the Nuban. “With a crossbow. You’d have been proud.”
The Nuban ran a soot-black hand over the ironwork of his bow, touching the faces of his pagan gods. “There’s no pride in this, Makin.”
I could never read the Nuban. One moment he’d seem as simple as Maical, the next, deeper than a deep well. Sometimes both at once.
“Maical,” I said, remembering. “What happened to our pet idiot in the end? Did he die? I forgot to ask.”
“We left him in Norwood, Jorth. He should have been dead, with that gut-wound, but he just hung on, moaning all the time,” Elban said. He wiped the spittle from his chin.
“Too stupid to die,” Makin said. He grinned. “We had to drag him off to a house at the edge of town. Little Rikey was all for finishing him off, just to shut him up.”
We had us a chuckle over that.
“Seriously though, Jorg, you should have left Galen to it,” Makin said. “If you had, you’d be sitting pretty at court. You’re still heir to the throne. You’d have got that saucy princess in time. The Castle Red is a death sentence for smashing that stupid tree. That and calling his wife a Scorron whore. Your father is not a forgiving man.”