Bazil Broketail by Christopher Rowley Read Free Book Online Page B

I will gather some of those orchids and I will sell them outside the opera. There is a performance of
Orchidia
tonight, they will be gone in a flash.”
    “That will be stealing, dragonboy. You will get caught and take a thrashing.”
    Relkin shook his head. “They’ll not catch Relkin. And the window is not guarded, nor are orchids heavy to carry, so I’ll just bring them down in my satchel.”
    Bazil turned a gloomy dragon eye upon him. “Farewell, Relkin Orphanboy. I ask only that you place my ashes in an urn of Quoshite brick.”
    “They won’t catch me, Baz. You’ll see, have faith in Relkin now.”
    But the dragon remained beyond consolation.
    “The thrashings are administered by the drubbing women, a dour, broad-shouldered lot. You will not survive their ministrations, Relkin. I will miss you.”
     
CHAPTER SIX
     
    As night settled in across the white stone walls of Marneri, a cold wind arose from the north. The tocsin began to ring as the stars glittered in their courses, the moon had not yet risen.
    A sudden disturbance echoed in the stairwell of the Tower of Guard. Shouts, secretaries running ahead. A guard holding back the door to the restricted rooms. Two women in the grey cloaks of priestesses of the Temple came hurrying across the landing to the double doors of the anteroom to the royal bedchamber.
    “Awake the king,” said the shorter of the two, a round-faced woman who wore the red surplice of an abbess. “We must speak with him.”
    The guards sent for the Lord Chamberlain, old Burly of Sidinth.
    Burly and Plesenta were old antagonists. The chamberlain’s ancient crusty face soured at the sight of the plump abbess. It soured further on considering her companion, a tall, grey-haired priestess with no badge of rank, Viuris of the Office of Insight.
    “What is it now?” he said testily. “It’s damn late, you know.”
    “An urgent matter for the king. I require his permission to use the Black Mirror.”
    The chamberlain looked as if he’d been bitten by a snake, then with a convulsive shake of his head he led Viuris on into the royal bedchamber.
    King Sanker of Marneri was not happy to be awoken so soon after he had been put to bed.
    He was even less happy to be told that a passage through the Black Mirror was requested.
    “Damnable thing! I wish I’d never agreed to let them use it.”
    “Your Majesty, it has not been used in three years. Only on a matter of grave urgency would we make this request.”
    “And what is this matter?” His peevish eyes snapped. Servants assisted him in rising to a sitting position. Angrily he brushed them away when they sought to arrange a coverlet about his scrawny frame.
    Viuris hesitated, then bent forward to whisper in the royal ear: “The investigation of the desecration on Fundament night.”
    “Mmf, won’t find anything, know that before you start. Damned stuff and nonsense.”
    “Someone comes from Cunfshon itself.”
    “Long way to come, must be hellishly dangerous.”
    “It is dangerous, but she is a mighty traveler.”
    “Damned dangerous. One mistake and we could lose the entire city.”
    “We must open the mirror, Your Majesty.”
    “I don’t like the idea, not one bit.”
    The abbess had an idea. She leaned forward and whispered in the other royal ear.
    “Your Majesty, the Princess Besita will be required to serve at the mirror’s side. She has the duty for this week.”
    King Sanker’s face was transformed suddenly.
    “Besita has to attend, eh?”
    “Absolutely, Your Majesty, it is her duty on this night.”
    He scratched at the white stubble on his chin.
    “Sounds wonderful. You have our permission—you may proceed.”
    “Thank you, Your Majesty.” They genuflected and departed swiftly, two contrasting figures cloaked in grey, Viuris tall and lean and Plesenta, short and plump.
    On the way out to the central stair, Viuris whispered to the abbess, “What changed his mind?”
    “Ah, Viuris, you have not been in Marneri