“No,” I admitted.
“Deserters are usually hanged, Orion. I’m allowing you to live. You’ll even have your freedom, once the wedding is over.”
“What’s the wedding got to do with it?”
He looked away from me again, as if there was something in his eyes that he did not want me to see.
“What’s the wedding got to do with it?” I repeated.
“You’re loyal to Philip,” he muttered. “It’s best that you’re kept out of the way until it’s finished.”
I stared at him for a long, wordless moment. Kept out of the way, my mind echoed. Until it’s finished.
I grabbed Pausanias by the shoulders and stared into his eyes. “You’re going to assassinate the king!”
He did not deny it.
“Olympias has swayed you. The witch has you in her spell.”
Pausanias laughed bitterly. “Jealous, Orion? She’s thrown you aside for me. Does that bother you?”
“It frightens me. I’m frightened for your sake. And for Philip’s.”
“Philip.” He spat the word. “That man deserves to die a dozen times over.”
“You loved him once.”
“Yes, and look what he did to me! He knew what Attalos had done to me and he did nothing about it. Nothing! I went to him for justice and he ignored me.”
“He made you captain of his personal guard,” I said. “That is high honor.”
“Honor my ass! He didn’t punish Attalos. After what that stinking hyena did to me he didn’t lift a finger to punish him. Not even a harsh word.”
“The king must avoid blood feuds.”
But Pausanias did not want to hear reasonable words. “He threw a sop at me and let Attalos get away without a word. Then he marries the bastard’s niece and makes a new princeling with her. And all the while he’s laughing at me; him and Attalos, laughing at me every night, every time they see each other—”
His chest was heaving, his eyes wild with rage. His hands shook so badly that I feared he would drop the torch he was carrying and set my pallet afire. I knew he was speaking Olympias’ words now. She was filling his ears with poison even deadlier than the venom her snakes carried.
Pausanias slowly pulled himself together. “None of this is your affair, Orion. You’re not a Macedonian; perhaps you should be glad that you’re not. You are an honest man and you feel loyal to the king, so I’m keeping you locked safely here until it’s all over. Then you will be freed and you can go your own way.”
“Don’t do it,” I urged. “Don’t let her destroy you.”
His twisted, bitter smile returned. “I was destroyed a long time ago, Orion. I have nothing to lose.”
Weakened though I was by long days of imprisonment, I knew that I could overpower Pausanias. Perhaps I could force him to call for the guard to open my cell door. Perhaps I could overcome the other guards loitering in their chamber down the corridor. Perhaps I could reach the king and warn him.
Too many perhapses. There was no way I could protect Philip if I were cut down by the palace guard before I could reach his side.
Pausanias called for the jailer to open the door. I was tempted to try to force my way to freedom, but then I heard the tramp of a half-dozen men accompanying the old man. They were taking no chances.
I had learned to mark the passage of time through the rats. They were mostly nocturnal animals, although how they told the difference between night and day in the windowless cellar of the castle was beyond me. Still, when I peeked in at the guard chamber through their eyes, I could tell it was nighttime when the men there crawled into their bunks and slept. There were always at least six guards on duty, although they had little to do, even during the day.
I had no idea of when the royal wedding was to take place; only that it would happen soon. By listening to the guards’ conversations I learned that it would not be at Pella, but at the ancient capita up in the mountains, Aigai. Apparently Philip was to depart for the old citadel within a day or so.
I needed more information. And help. Tentatively, I tried to control a few of my rat pack. Not merely use their senses as extensions of my own, but actively control them, make them do my bidding. I needed to find Harkan. Of all the soldiers and guards in Pella, only Harkan and Batu could I trust to help me.
I sent my rats ranging through the palace and barracks. It was dangerous for them; other packs attacked strangers in their territory. But I sent one “scout” after another scurrying along the warren of tunnels and hollows that honeycombed the palace. At last I found Harkan and Batu, still quartered together in the main barracks that adjoined the palace proper.
Now that I knew where they were, I had to reach them. That meant breaking out of my cell. But stealthily, without rousing the palace against me. Somehow I had to release the iron bolt that held my cell door locked. But how?
I knew that I could probably release myself from this placetime and travel across the continuum to the realm of the Creators, but then I would undoubtedly return to the same point in time and space that I had left; I would return to my cell. It was bitingly ironic: I could travel through uncounted ages and even span the distances between stars, but that ability was useless to me now. All I wanted to do was to get past my cell door. My barely understood powers of moving through the continuum could not help me. I had to rely on my own strength and wits.
I still had my dagger strapped to my thigh, so much a part of me that I took it for granted. One small dagger was not much of a weapon against all the guards of the palace. But it might make an effective tool.
Using the point of the iron blade I chiselled away at the wooden door at the point where the bolt slid into its iron groove on its other side. The wood was tough and old. I wondered how long my iron blade would hold an effective edge. All through the night I worked, forcing the blade’s point into the iron-hard wood and working it back and forth until another splinter fell loose. From time to time I used the rats’ eyes to check on the guards. They were snoring away in their bunks; even the jailor sat with his head down on the table, his evening’s flagon of wine drained and empty.
After hours of unceasing effort, my blade scraped the hard iron of the door’s bolt. I jerked back, shocked by the noise. It sounded loud enough to wake the sleeping guards, to me. But that was only my own fear and surprise; the guards snored on, undisturbed. Now the trick was to worm the blade into the bolt’s slot and slide it open without snapping the dagger itself. My hands grew sweaty with the effort. Four or five times I felt the blade bending dangerously and withdrew it. The bolt remained stubbornly in place.
I stopped a while and tried to think of another way to get the stubborn door open. I tried using the edge of the blade to catch some surface roughness on the bolt and slide it out of its slot that way. But the blade merely scratched along the bolt without finding any real purchase, nothing but iron sliding across iron.
Finally I hacked at the wood to make a wider opening and then wormed my index finger into the rough opening. I felt the cool round iron of the bolt, pressed my finger against it and then slid my finger back a fraction of an inch.
The bolt moved. I pulled my finger out, moistened it slightly on my tongue, and tried again. Again the bolt slid back a bit. Slowly, slowly, I pulled it out until I felt the door give slightly under my pressing weight. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open. The hinges groaned and I froze. But none of the guards stirred, down the corridor. I placed my chamberpot in its usual spot, then opened the door only enough to squeeze through. I shut it and slid the bolt home again. From out here in the corridor it was impossible to tell that the door had been damaged. They would not know I had escaped until the jailor realized that I had not touched the next bowl of gruel he brought.
I was free! Almost.
Holding my dagger before me I tiptoed past the slumbering guards and up the stairway that led to the ground floor of the palace. Keeping to the shadows, I managed to avoid the few guards who stood sleepily on duty. I made my way to one of the courtyards and quickly decided that the safest and swiftest way to travel was across the rooftops.