CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

The reason Tom called up a warning to Trinket from the bottom of the vent was because he had run into Silas Fox. There he was, the dapper little fellow in his green jacket and purple hat, with his moustache shining like oil. Silas Fox had his bow up and drawn, and an arrow trained on Tom.

Fox whispered, ‘Step away from the air vent and don’t say another word.’

Tom stepped away from the air vent.

Fox watched him down the length of a steady arrow while glancing at the bottom of the vent as though expecting someone else to emerge.

Helpfully, Tom said, ‘The other two aren’t coming just yet,’

Still Fox kept his arrow drawn and ready. If Trinket came down the vent, Fox couldn’t risk giving her even a second to draw. She was a better archer than Fox, and if she got even a moment she would get an arrow off.

Up in the catacombs Trinket put a finger to her lips to tell Jane to be quiet. Jane’s eyebrows lowered and came together in a look of irritation at being treated like an idiot.

Trinket sidled over to the top of the vent, and hesitated. An arrow would find her quickly, if there was someone at the bottom of the vent who was even halfway proficient in archery. She listened. Silence. With the speed of an unfolding slingshot she put her head out above the column, and just as quickly drew it back. There was nothing in the vent other than the light streaming in from the room at the bottom. She put her head back over the vent, and now she saw a shadow, moving in a menacing way.

Trinket called, ‘What is happening down there? Who is with you Elion?’

A man answered, his voice high and simping.

‘I recognise the sweet little voice of Trinket the Princess.’

Trinket had heard this voice before, but she couldn’t quite place it.

She said, ‘Identify yourself.’

The man laughed, a lips-pressed together laugh that sounded like bubbles.

Jane stood. She felt wonderful, with the yellow syrup pouring through her veins. Her leg, where the silent child had bitten her, felt brand new. She moved over to the vent and stuck her head over the edge and spoke with the authority of someone with yellow syrup clouding her brain.

‘The Princess has asked you to identify yourself.’

Mumbling came from below. Jane got a sense of someone speaking to Tom, enquiring about this latest voice that he didn’t recognise.

After a moment the voice said:

‘This is Silas Fox.’

Trinket muttered something to herself. She seemed annoyed.

Jane said, ‘Silas Fox, what are you doing?’

‘I am taking Elion to the Emperor to collect my million risers.’

Trinket put a hand out to stop Jane talking. Her lips were pressed together, and her vertical irises folded in and out like the beating of a butterfly’s wings.

‘I will deal with this.’

Trinket called down the vent, ‘I can negotiate a better deal than the one the Emperor is offering.’

‘Don’t even attempt to seduce me with your ideas Princess. I only have one desire, and that is to be rich so that I can live in a beautiful house filled with beautiful things.’

‘I can give you that … once I have taken control of Coronet.

Taking control of Coronet.

Jane wondered what the blimey this meant. Trinket had failed to mention the goal of becoming the ruler of Coronet.

‘I thought you were only here to help me and Tom,’ Jane whispered.

Trinket ignored her. She spoke down the air vent.

‘With Elion back in the machine, he will have the power to raise new leaders. I will form an agreement with Elion that I will supply my key, essential for accessing the machine, only if he gives me the throne of Coronet. When I have assumed control of Coronet I will then give you two million rizers, double what the Emperor is offering. That is more money than you will know how to spend for the rest of your miserable life.’

‘A wonderful sentiment,’ said Fox. ‘Except I don’t believe you. The Emperor also has a key, and you are yet to negotiate with the Emperor. That negotiation could lead anywhere. On the other hand, if I sell Elion to the Emperor I get a guaranteed million risers.’

Trinket shook her head but didn’t counter further. This wasn’t the time or place. Instead, she changed the subject.

‘How did you know we would be entering the Palace through the vent?’

‘I have a functioning brain.’

‘Did you speak to the captain?’

‘The captain of the Sweet Louis is floating down the river with an arrow through his eye.’

‘You killed the captain?’

‘Of course. He would have told the Emperor that Elion was coming through the catacombs. I couldn’t have that information reaching the Emperor.’

‘So you killed the captain to shut him up?’

‘In a very easy shot across a narrow part of the Milkstone river.’

‘But how did you know I was going to come through the vent instead of the Needle gate?’

‘A hunch. You have always been a sneak.’

‘I am coming down.’

‘NO!’

‘Yes … I’m coming down.’

‘I will be waiting here with an arrow.’

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‘You better be fast and accurate because I also can shoot.’

‘Except you will be busy climbing.’

Trinket stayed in place and after a moment Jane realised that Trinket was not willing to climb down into a situation where she was at a horrible disadvantage.

‘We are leaving,’ Fox called from below. ‘Count to one hundred before you come down the vent, or you will risk a flint of steel through your eye.’

*

Tom walked ahead of Fox along narrow stone corridors and down steep stone staircases. The caverns were dark, barely litten by sconced candles that spluttered with vague light. The air was acrid with mould. The walls were made of grey stone blocks, streaked with black. The floor was paved with black flagstones. Down the left side of the path was a gutter holding a thin line of putrid water. A rat came running along the gutter and stopped and sat up, its long tail trailing in the water. Its mouth twitched, and its beady eye locked onto Tom. Its eyes widened with fear, and it dropped to four paws and ran away. Its little feet skittered and splashed.

Soon they came to a wider corridor, litten by large burning torches, and lined with woven tapestries. Between the tapestries were arches that led into a purple room where tables were stacked with silverware. The plates and bowls and goblets were stacked in large, haphazard piles, covered with cobwebs and dust.

Down another staircase they came to a room shaped like a star. A chandelier made of black stone burned with a myriad of candles.

Tom wondered where everyone was. Although it would be late at night he felt that there should be people around: maids doing midnight chores, guards doing guarding, maybe a chamberlain rushing off with a silver bucket. But there was no one, and the palace was silent.

As if reading Tom’s mind, Fox said:

’The upper palace has been evacuated. Everybody who isn’t required to fight has made their way down to the fortified area beneath the palace. As I am sure you are aware, we are under attack from an army led by the landholder known as Gibor.’

Tom said nothing.

After a moment Fox said:

‘Since he can’t see the ‘shine’, the Emperor will want you identified. When I took the fat boy to him earlier, hoping to pass him off as you, he ordered three separate witnesses to identify him. All the three confirmed the fat boy wasn’t Elion. The Emperor was displeased and I had to make some fast thinking arguments to save my own life.’

‘Is Andrew dead?’ asked Tom.

Startled by Tom’s matter-of-fact tone, Fox looked at Tom, as though trying to read whatever emotion lay behind his innocent face.

‘No he isn’t dead.’

They came to the end of another corridor and there was a large black door made of some kind of stone, with a stone handle and a locking mechanism that Fox spent a moment unscrambling. The door opened onto a balcony, high above the city of Coronet. Cool air rushed at them.

They stepped out and went to the balcony railing.

Beneath were the spires and turrets and flags of the palace. Further beneath, so far down it was like looking into a deep valley, were gardens and roadways and village houses, and the city wall running along the banks of the Milkstone river.

Inside the city walls, was a long garden that formed a main courtyard for the palace. An elephant walked along a broad road, and on its back was a beautiful rug, and on the rug sat three women. The elephant was flanked by soldiers carrying spears.

Alongside the road was manicured lawn and shrubs and pools and statues and waterfalls. Flaming lanterns spilled light between the trees.

Over to the right, a waterfall fell from an invisible height, from some mountain stream shrouded by mist. The water fell into a white viaduct that ran through the palace and into the city.

Along the city wall were towers spaced out about one hundred feet apart. Flags were raised above each tower, the flags emblazoned with the Emperor’s insignia: hard red background with a black symbol.

The wall waved in and out following the course of the Milkstone river. The river was as black as spilled ink. Ships were docked on the river, lined up with their noses in hard against the city wall.

From far away there came the sound of men shouting. A thousand or more voices rose in a roar. Across the wall, across the Milkstone river, on the plains that ran into the farms of Gibor, there was a ragtag plague of warriors. This was the army raised by Gibor. They roared then fell silent. They roared and fell silent again. There were archers and spear wielders. There were men on foot, and men on horseback.

The horses were restless, almost dancing. Even from this distance, Tom could feel a sense of anticipation, and a promise of violence.

All along the walls were the soldiers of the palace. They were in formation, standing three deep on the wall walk, taking protection between the crenels. On command, archers would send an arrow out into the dark. In reply, a flurry of arrows would come winging back. Sometimes a palace soldier took an arrow and fell over the wall into the roiling river.

Fox turned from the wall and went through another door into the palace, and Tom followed. They went along a corridor beneath architraves of gold with evenly spaced columns all wrought with depictions of angels and monsters. The floor was laid in a checkerboard pattern with white and pink marble. The floor was dented from the wear of feet.

The corridor ran into the grand reception hall: a long cathedral-like room with a vaulted ceiling perhaps a hundred feet high.

Tapestries hung from the walls depicting the history of Coronet. Woven images of men on horseback, holding spears; images of women fishing; images of stone masons with raised hammers; images of gardeners pushing fingers into soil.

Across the grand reception hall a set of double white doors reached fifteen feet into the air. Here were two palace guards, standing either side of the door. The guards were dressed in red uniforms that swept from their shoulders to their knees. Dangling from necklaces were red and black pendants, bearing the symbol of the Emperor.

‘Behind that door is the throne room,’ said Fox quietly.

They approached.

If the guards saw him, Tom knew he would be recognised as Elion. He wondered if he could trust these guards to act decently. Should he hide his face? What would the guards do with information that some great hero from their deep past had come back. Would they love him or hate him?

Did Fox intend to kill the guards?

Fox walked ahead of Tom, and approached the first guard.

‘I am requesting entrance.’

The guard eyeballed Fox. He had a fat red face and thuggish eyes. There was a moment of silence while the guard considered the request. Fox tapped his foot impatiently. His pond green jacket and his purple hat and yellow shirt, and the twilling moustache that ran out from his mouth, had a touch of ridiculousness. The guards were formal and large and proper.

The closest guard sneered.

‘You have been forbidden entrance.’

Because Fox’s licence for entrance stood one pace behind, Fox stepped aside and gestured to Tom. The guards noticed Tom. Like rain drops turning into flood water, they reacted. Their eyes widened. They dropped their heads forward.

‘My Lord.’

‘Hello,’ said Tom and he smiled. His cheerful dimples rolled into his cheeks.

‘So,’ said Fox to the guards. ‘Do you still want to refuse me entrance?’

The closest guard shook his head, and his red cheeks wobbled.

‘You will not be allowed entrance. Our Lord Elion will have entrance under the care of the Emperor’s personal guards.’

In an instant Fox wielded his bow and drew an arrow so quickly, it distorted the room. The guards’ hands went to their swords. Compared to Fox they were slow and clumsy, and Tom was sure the Fox could put an arrow through both of the guards if he so chose.

The closest guard said, ‘You are mad, little man.’

Fox answered, ‘Yet you stand back. The world has moved past you. The army is at your gates.’

The guard whistled, and the sound pierced the air.

Fox said, ‘You whistle for reinforcements against one lonely archer!’

The closest guard spoke to Tom:

‘Come, Elion, and I will deliver you safely to the Emperor.’

Fox’s left eye squinted, while his right eye became filled with an unholy light. This was the expression of someone who had decided that he was at the end of ideas, and was ready to die for a cause.

Fox turned the arrow toward Tom. The arrow head, deadly, was pointed straight at Tom’s eye. Tom looked into Fox’s eyes, and after a moment he murmured:

‘He will kill me.’

The closest guard said, ‘He won’t kill you.’

‘Five,’ said Fox with strange glee.

‘What is that?’

‘Four.’

The guard asked, ‘What are you doing?’

‘When I get to zero the arrow flies, and Elion dies.’

Fox adjusted his eye down onto the arrow, and his mouth settled, and his face firmed up. He was as serious as a war.

‘You will not kill your pot of gold,’ said the guard.

‘I will kill him before I let you take him to the Emperor without me.’

’You are being reckless and senseless. If you kill Elion you will forfeit your own life.’

‘Three.’

‘Stop. I will put your request to the Emperor’s butler and he can decide whether you will be allowed an audience with the Emperor.’

‘You best hurry.’