I was getting used to my new training regime and although I missed seeing Alex, Fig and Dene most days we were still able to meet in the evenings at least once a week at the Hare and although our free days didn’t always match up, I invariably ended up spending at least part of my free day hanging out with at least one of them. Having said that, I was spending a lot more time with my squad now – which was fun but we had a completely different relationship as squad mates rather than friends, not that I didn’t consider them friends but it felt secondary to being squad mates. It was also a relationship between knights and an apprentice rather than between peers and all that meant whilst I wasn’t exactly lonely or unhappy I was feeling the absence of my boys. Still there were plenty of things about Malin in high summer to enjoy and I was determined to find as many of them as I could. So far my highlight had been the Pauper’s Regatta. As usual I had known absolutely nothing about it before Alex brought it up in the Hare one evening.

“So if you’re all free tomorrow shall we go watch the regatta?” Alex had said.

“The regatta?” I asked, funny I hadn’t noticed any unusual river traffic which you’d expect if there was a big boat race planned.

“Yeah, the Pauper’s Regatta,” Dene said, “don’t tell me no one’s told you about it yet.”

“No,” I said, sheepishly, knowing I would be in for some more teasing. Thankfully before the other two could start Fig jumped in.

“It’s not that kinda regatta,” he said, “it’s much better! Basically, anyone can enter, all you have to do is build your own boat, although I use the term loosely, which can’t be bigger than three metres long and two metre wide and have a crew of no more than three people, turn up on the bridge between Hopmarket and Crane Heights or the one between the Old City, run off the bridge with your boat, launch it and be the first one to pass clear of Temples Rest. Most people sink right away but there are hundreds of people who enter every year so there’s usually still seventy or eighty boats racing.”

“Sounds mad,” I said grinning at the ridiculousness of what Fig had just described.

“It is and that’s why it is so fun,” Alex said.

“Alright, I’m in,” I said, it was my free day anyway.

We met mid-morning, even though the race wasn’t till afternoon, at the flower market, and I had to concede it was probably a good idea as the market was already jammed with people coming to see the Regatta. We had debated our viewing spot at length last night – The area near the wine market was the most favoured spot as you could see both of the starting bridges and the approach to Temple’s Rest from there, as well as being opposite the confluence of the two rivers which often resulted in the most chaotic scenes as the two groups of racers collided. The fact the wine market was nearby also helped. However, it was (so Dene informed me) absolutely rammed with people so you often as not couldn’t even see the river through the crowd. So we had decided to go and see one of the starting points where we would have a good view of all the launches, and we were meeting at the Flower Market rather than the Hare for the obvious reason that a lot more people went to watch from the Crane Height’s bank because that was where the Hare was.

Eventually we managed to grab a good spot on the embankment, near enough a stall selling roast duck soup and we were all soon fed and a bit merry for the time of day thanks to Alex who had acquired a couple of bottles of red wine on his way to meet us. Even though we had hours to wait before the start of the race there was still plenty of entertainment, near the foot of each bridge on the pebble beach that appeared in summer as the river levels fell, the various competitors had erected little encampments where they readied themselves and their craft. It quickly became clear that for most of the competitors that normally key considerations for a boat, such as water tightness, were secondary to a need to entertain the crowd. So far my favourites had been a dairy cow made of cloth stretched over a wooden frame, a bath tub complete with a working shower, and a giant yellow duck. Alex had tried to tell me about some other crafts which were apparently mocking one of the parties (whatever they were) in the Council, but I told him I wasn’t remotely interested, absorbed by the chaotic spectacle unfolding before my eyes.

In what seemed like no time, it was time for the race to begin and I soon saw it wasn’t just the boats that were elaborately decorated; the racers themselves were dressed in wild, garishly coloured clothing, faces painted and hair dyed a myriad of colours. They assembled in a heaving throng upon the top of the bridge, whilst a man in an elaborate pastiche of the Speaker’s robes, climbed up on a ladder erected precariously on one of the wide barriers that stopped traffic falling off the side of the bridge. We were too far away to hear what he was saying but when he raised and then rapidly waved a bright green flag it was obvious the race was on. Suddenly the mass of people turned into a flowing torrent of bodies heading off the bridge and down to the river banks, some racers skipped this step and jumped straight into the river, swimming back to the banks to collect their vessels.

True to Fig’s word as we watched the various unlikely boats launch into the river we were treated to the site of dozens of them sinking, rolling over, and in one case just plain falling apart, moments after they met the water. The bathtub sunk within about five metres of the bank, after slowly sinking as the shower filled the bunged tub. Surprisingly it was the giant yellow duck that fared best of my favourites and I cheered for it until it reached the confluence and disappeared from view. Even though the excitement was soon over, the party continued on the streets by the rivers. People debated who had built the most entertaining craft, who had the most spectacular sinking, and who might have won it – although no one cared enough to find out the actual winner. The teams, as they were hauled out the water were showered with food and drink and greeted with loud cheers wherever they went – at least until they dried out! It was well past two in the morning before I made it back to my bunk and my hangover the next day was spectacular but somehow I couldn’t help but feel it was all worth it.

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Anyway, after enjoying the Pauper’s Regatta so much I was looking forward to today as it was time for the next major festivity in the Malinese calendar – Midsummer. Midsummer was less a single festival and more of an amalgamation of hundreds of smaller parties, fairs and general revelry that had merged so that the whole city was effectively one chaotic party – or that’s how Fig described it to me, and I was looking forward to it immensely. Each ward had its own big event: Crane Heights had the Sky Hunt where teams Pixies (with more mana reserves than Fig) and Celestials flew around the rooftops tying to capture each others’ flags. Hopmarket had a beer festival (obviously!), Maiden’s Reach some sort of beauty pageant, which Dene and Alex seemed very excited about, King’s Bane had bonfires and a torch procession, in Spring Town revellers dressed as the green man and took part in elaborate dances. Here in Northgate the festivity was drama. Northgate was home to the city’s premier theatre the Theatre of Angels, and today the actors took their performances out into the street. More than that though, in just about every tavern there would be plays being staged or music being performed. Actors and musicians from all over the basin came to Northgate just for today.

The only cloud on my horizon was until ten o’clock tonight I was on patrol duty so I wouldn’t be seeing any plays, well not more than brief snippets as I passed through with Sir Flynn, my partner for today. However, it didn’t stop me taking in the atmosphere and grabbing the occasional interesting snack from the scores of stalls that the Malinese could just make appear out of thin air for days like this one. It was hot, and I was sweating in my uniform and leather armour, but so was everyone else, the streets were heaving, with dancing, singing people – many of them were going bare chested, Malinese were generally quite modest but on festival days all the unwritten rules went out the window. So as Sir Flynn and I, as we patrolled the ward’s streets, although we were on duty, it didn’t stop us laughing and singing with everyone else as we wandered. Sir Flynn certainly did his fair share of dancing, he was definitely very popular amongst the young women of the ward, and even I got invited to dance a few times, which I accepted, even if I could never stay long enough for a second dance with the girls who asked me to dance (whereas I was pretty sure some of Sir Flynn’s dancing partners were actually following us around the ward).

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Sir Flynn was good company on days like these, and he told me about his family and what it was like growing up a noble in Malin. He was the only brother amongst four sisters, and the baby of his family. He spoke a lot of his sisters – there was Alice, his eldest sibling, who was regarded as the black sheep of the family as she’d refused to get married and then went onto to be so crass as to open an apothecary. It turned out that a lot of Dr Haskell’s health potions were brewed by Alice, and it was clear the Sir Flynn didn’t see her as anything other than a hardworking and loving sister. Next in line was Sofia who had married well and was now supporting her politician husband in his attempts to manoeuvre himself into the leadership of one of the parties on the Council. She was the sister he seemed most fond of – largely it seemed as she was the one who indulged him both as a child and as an adult. Then there were the twins, Beth and Kallia, they were only a year older than Sir Flynn and living a wildlife of balls and soirees at the moment as they decided if they were going to try for an advantageous marriage or do something else with their lives. Sir Flynn said he hoped both aimed for being a bit more than wives of powerful men, Beth apparently was a talented painter and Kallia had a passion for the natural world and spent a lot of her time in the countryside cataloguing and sketching the plants and animals of the region. Sir Flynn hoped she would be accepted by the University, but it was rare and difficult for women to gain admission.

It was interesting hearing Sir Flynn speak about his siblings he clearly loved them all dearly and it made me think of Estelle and Frederick and how I missed them both. It was my one regret about my new life that it had come at the cost of losing them – even now with my sister staying in the city I couldn’t risk speaking to her even though I’d spent hours at night thinking of a way I could safely let them know I was alive and well but there wasn’t a way that would let me continue living my new life and ultimately, selfish or not, that was what was most important to me. Still, I could admit that I was deeply sad about losing them and remember them fondly. I wondered what Estelle was making of the festivities, whether she was taking part, or locked in her apartments agonising over the latest diplomatic letter she was drafting or the seating plans for a dinner she was hosting. I had no idea what Frederick would be up to right now but I imagined him riding through the forests near home or heading into the mountains with his closest friends; Frederick had always loved the Great Eastern Mountains and not just for hunting, in fact he rarely hunted, but rather he would simply walk amongst them and experience them. It was something about Frederick that I had always admired even if I didn’t fully understand it.

You might think from my musings that patrolling on festival day was all revelry and reverie but, in all honesty, there was plenty of work to keep us busy. Although most Malinese were good natured the inevitable combination of a scorching hot day and free flowing alcohol meant there was no shortage of fights and confrontations that Sir Flynn and I had to intervene in. Most of these, a stern word from Sir Flynn, was enough to settle but a few times we had to physically separate brawling fighters and drag them back to the drunk pens the auxiliaries had constructed just for today. Once things were already so far gone that Sir Flynn had to draw his sword and order me to cover shoulder my repeating crossbow – thankfully, the threat of steel and being peppered with crossbow bolts was enough to put a stop to the fight before it became a bloody mess. When I had first started patrolling, I was worried that my small size and limited strength would make me useless in these situations, but I’d learnt that people by and by respected the uniform and the militia, and my presence, even as just a knight apprentice, was usually enough to convince people to calm down. When it wasn’t I learnt that the combat training the fifteenth had made me endure was actually useful and against an uncoordinated drunken thug I found I generally had the advantage now, using the techniques I had been taught to quickly restrain them in a way that didn’t rely solely on physical strength. So now, after several months of experience I was gaining confidence that I could handle myself in these situations.

We had just apprehended a pickpocket, an all too common occurrence whenever there was a large crowd, I had actually been responsible for catching this one, tripping him with a tap tackle as he tried to outrun me; however, it was taking everything I had to restrain him, despite the wrist lock I’d forced his arm into he continued to buck and thrash beneath me and I was neither strong enough or heavy enough to hold him down for long. Luckily Sir Flynn wasn’t far behind and put him in restraints before he could throw me off. Even so, Sir Flynn was now nursing a bloodied lip from a wild kick the man had thrown as he was strapping on the ankle restraints; now though Sir Flynn had his wrists tied behind his back and his ankles hobbled so he could only walk at a shuffle, finally his wrists were attached to Sir Flynn by a stout leather strap he now held. The man had given up trying to get away now he was bound but that didn’t stop him shouting curses at us.

“Nasty one this one,” Sir Flynn said to me, talking loudly so he could be heard over our captive’s ranting, “good work though on stopping him, I would never have caught up to him.”

“No worries, is your lip ok,” I said.

“Yeah, just going to sting until tomorrow, nothing to worry about really,” Sir Flynn said, “he’s going to be a pain moving to a holding pen now he can only shuffle, plus he’s going to shout blue murder all the way – I’ve seen his sort before.”

“We get all the good jobs,” I grinned.

“Listen, no need to subject us both to it. Why don’t you take a break, get some food and enjoy the festivities and I’ll meet you on the corner of Bear Avenue in an hour?”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind coming with you,” I said, although I was keen to have some time to explore on my own, I could even catch a short performance if I stumbled across one.

“Of course I’m sure – go on you’ve worked hard already today and deserve a little break, just make sure not to try and get involved in anything whilst I’m gone. Just let it go or go find another patrol or an auxiliary for backup.”

“Yes sir!” I said, he was right of course and I had no plans to be a hero whilst he was gone.

“Good, right go have some fun and see you in an hour,” he said.

“Sure,” I said with a wave as I headed off into the crowd.

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I hadn’t been walking very long though when I saw something, or rather heard something, off to my left I could hear a loud argument playing out, a girl’s voice was protesting loudly although they were just far away enough that I couldn’t make out exactly what was being said. I was just about to be on my way, I couldn’t get involved in every argument I came across or I’d never get anywhere, plus I had no back up, when the girl suddenly screamed like she was being murdered. Immediately I whipped my head around and saw a brunette being manhandled into an alley by three men. Now I know I’d promised Sir Flynn I wouldn’t play the hero but well I was a knight, sort of, and this girl was clearly in danger. There was never any question as to what I was going to do. I ran towards them as fast as I could, drawing my sword as I did so. I shouted to the people around me to come assist me, but no one did, not that I had time to take in everything that was happening around me properly, but the passers-by all seemed to have been avoiding looking at the scene entirely and none of them were changing that now even with my cries for aid and the girl’s terrified screaming. Screw them cowards, I thought. I reached the alley just in time to see a door slam shut in one of the buildings at the back of the alley. I charged at it, I was going to do my best to break that door down and if that didn’t work I was going to hack it to pieces with my sword.

I slammed myself into the door, it was rotten and gave way easily, too easily, and I stumbled off balance into the dark room beyond. I tried to take in my surroundings looking for the girl or the men when I heard a shuffling noise behind me. I just had time to spin around in time to see the cudgel coming towards me before it slammed into my temple and everything went black