“You stupid, stupid boy!” Joseph repeated once he had Garth alone. “What came over you?”
Garth was still pale. “Curiosity, father. I’d heard gossip about this claim, and I…”
“Well, stifle your curiosity boy, before it gets us both killed! The secret of the claim is shared between king and heir only! Not to a dim-witted physician’s apprentice whose artlessness will yet see him on the executioner’s block!”
And Joseph turned and stalked off, leaving Garth to hurry after him.
FOURTEEN
INJUSTICE CONFRONTED
They arrived at the Veins on one of those spring days that harkened back to the winter, for cold winds blew in heavy sea clouds, and they hung a veil of mist and drizzle and sadness about Myrna and the complex of buildings and machinery above the Veins themselves.
The weather matched Garth’s mood. He had not stopped cursing himself since he had left the king’s apartment with his life still miraculously intact. After a day of ignoring him, Joseph had appeared to forget the entire episode, and had chatted to his son about this and that along the lonely, northerly road to Myrna. Garth had replied in monosyllables, but Joseph had let that go as well, and left his son alone when it became apparent that Garth would prefer to ride in silence.
Joseph surely had enough to think about himself. How was he going to extricate himself from the king’s order to relocate himself to Ruen? The last thing he wanted was to move back to court and spend his time treating diseases caused by imbibing too much wine and food, and dallying too long in the wrong boudoirs.
And what would Nona say when the king’s men arrived on her doorstep with the order to move? Poor Nona. Joseph shuddered. Poor Joseph.
They arrived at the Veins as they had the previous year, at dusk with the day closing in about them and the noise and the smell of the shafts settling about their shoulders with cold, heavy hands.
Garth huddled close within his cloak as his father reported to Furst. Was Maximilian still alive down there? Had Ravenna and Vorstus arrived?
Would he be able to find Maximilian again?
Would their flimsy plan be enough to free him—and escape themselves?
After his experience with Cavor in Ruen, Garth knew none of them could hope for much mercy if they were caught. The more he thought about it, the more Garth became convinced Cavor would do whatever he had to, by whatever means he could, to prevent Maximilian’s return.
“Garth?”
His father had returned, and Garth shook himself out of his lethargy.
“We have the same lodgings as before. Come on boy, let’s go get something to eat and then crawl into our bunks. We’ll have an early start in the morning.”
Joseph climbed back onto his horse, waved briefly at Furst, who watched from the lighted window of his office, then he and his son swung their horses towards the quarters set aside for visiting physicians. The building was about fifty paces away from Furst’s office, set between two bleak mounds of gloam. Even though air would have been welcome, its windows were sealed shut so that the gloam dust could not penetrate inside; Garth remembered how hot and stuffy the building had been the previous year. Well, with luck, he would not have to endure the conditions either above or below the Veins for very long this year.
They left their horses with a groom in the lean-to stable behind the physicians’ quarters, then entered the front door. Another physician, a spare grey-haired man who introduced himself as Liam Bent, told them that every other physician currently at the Veins was down below.
“On nightshift,” he said, then chuckled at his own joke. “As if it’s anything else below this cursed soil.”
Joseph introduced himself and Garth, and then a servant emerged from the kitchen and took their cloaks.
“Sit, masters,” he murmured, his pale, round face turned aside deferentially, “and I will serve food.”
Joseph and Garth sat down at a table well away from the over-stacked fire and waited. Silent now, Liam Bent had slouched into a chair beside a lamp, reading a week-old edition of Ruen’s newssheet.
Joseph glanced at Garth and tried to smile, but the boy looked as if he were consumed by a stomach gripe, and Joseph looked away again. No doubt wondering why he wanted to come back, he thought.
The servant emerged from the kitchen carrying a laden platter and a stack of plates. Halfway across the room his toe caught the corner of a rug and he tripped, the stack of plates sliding from his hand and shattering across the floor.
Everyone in the room jumped, and the servant himself gushed effusive apologies as he sank to his knees and tried to stack what remained of the plates with his free hand.
Garth stood up and went to help, feeling for the man. “Here, let me take the platter,” he said as he bent down by the now red-faced and perspiring servant.
Patently grateful, the servant gave Garth the platter, but as Garth took hold of it, the man’s eyes caught at his.
“There’s an abandoned poppet head a hundred paces behind this building,” he whispered, and Garth froze. “Be there by the time the moon rises tonight.”
For an instant longer he stared at Garth, then he dropped his eyes and let the platter go.
As he did so, Garth noticed the faint tattoo on his index finger, and his breath caught in his throat. Was Vorstus here?
He nodded imperceptibly then rose to his feet, returning to the table and setting the platter down.
Neither Joseph nor Liam Bent had noticed a thing.
Garth lay in his bunk, every nerve afire, staring at the ceiling above his head. Every now and then he would turn and look out the window, waiting for the telltale glow of the moon—but would he notice it in this fog that now huddled so close and intimate between buildings and mounds?
Eventually he could stand no more and slid as silently as he could to the floor, hoping his father was asleep.
But as he slipped on his cloak, Joseph turned over and opened his eyes.
“Garth? What are you doing?”
“Oh,” Garth said in as relaxed a voice as he could manage, “I cannot sleep and thought I’d take a walk.”
Joseph frowned and made as if to push his blankets back.
“No,” Garth stepped over to the door and opened it. “I won’t be long, father.”
Then he was gone.
He slipped quietly out of their quarters, grateful that Liam Bent had gone to bed, and walked quickly along the narrow path behind the building. It led between the two great mounds of gloam that reared to either side, and Garth’s feet crunched on the thick layer of rock and dust that blanketed the path.
He glanced anxiously to the sky, his heart pounding when he saw a vague luminescence shining through the fog. The moon was already well risen! He hurried his steps…would they still be there?
Garth thought he had gone at least three hundred paces before the skeleton of the old poppet head reared out of the fog before him. Its iron wheel hung drunkenly askew and broken chains swung in the slight breeze, clinking mournfully.
“Vorstus?” he whispered as he stepped underneath the structure, leaning to one side to avoid one of the swinging chains. His eyes scanned the night anxiously. “Ravenna?”
“You’re late, boy,” a gruff voice said behind him, and Garth swung around.
“Vorstus!”
Despite his rough tone, Vorstus smiled and gripped Garth’s hand in welcome. He was well cloaked and hooded, but underneath his thin face and sharp eyes smiled. “I’m glad to see you, boy.”
Garth smiled, then glanced behind him. “Ravenna?”
“Here, Garth Baxtor,” her soft voice said, and she loomed out of the fog at Vorstus’ back. Like the monk, she had her red cloak pulled tightly about her, but she smiled and leaned forward to give Garth a brief kiss of welcome on his cheek.
Garth took a deep breath. “Did you have any problems on your journey north?”
Vorstus shook his head. “No, all went well.”
Several figures emerged from the shadows about them, and Garth froze.
“It’s all right,” Vorstus hastened. “Several other Brothers of the Order of Persimius are here. You met Brother Rial this evening.”
Garth relaxed. “Yes,” and he nodded at the man who was masquerading as the servant to the physicians.
“And this is Gustus and Morton.” Garth nodded and shook their hands.
Vorstus smiled. “Both of whom seem to have obtained employment here in the Veins as guards.”
Garth’s eyes widened. “Then our plan does have a chance!” he breathed, and Vorstus laughed.
“Yes, I believe so. Now, listen, boy. There are, all told, some half a dozen members of the order secreted about the mines. All is in readiness.”