Furst slowly sank into his chair, eyeing the guard duty roster on his desk. He had been working on it when…when the alarm bells had begun to peal. Then he had only cursed, thinking some poor wretch had managed to file his way to a brief interlude that would end only in his death.
But it had taken just one question for Furst to realise the danger was much, much more serious.
“Curses be heaped atop your soul, Maximilian,” he whispered, low and viciously, “for when I catch you I will make sure that you will be thrown down the deepest shaft of the Veins. I should have done it years ago. Damn it! I should have done it years ago!”
It was a sentiment that Furst was to repeat over and over again during the next few days.
Joseph and Garth left their quarters well after dark. Somehow they had managed to get through the day, although they’d not been given much to do. Indeed, in the fuss over the escape of the prisoner they had been sent to the surface relatively quickly—no point fixing fungus when the entire complex was in turmoil. Besides, there were no guards to spare to look after them.
And, both thanked the gods, no-one seemed to remember the strange guards who had appeared among their midst one day, and then completely vanished.
They tried not to look furtive as they left, and had in fact announced to the roomful of physicians as they stood from the table that they were going to take a stroll through the night air.
Lam Bent looked up from the newssheet that he’d already read thirty-five times from end to end and raised a speculative eyebrow. “And where could you be finding to go this late at night, my friends?”
One of the other physicians sniggered into his beer.
Joseph tried to look as uncomfortable as he could. “Well, ahem, Garth here has not yet seen all of the attractions that Myrna has to offer and, ahem, tonight appeared to be a good chance to slip through the back streets unannounced…if you get my meaning.”
They all laughed—all except Garth who just looked puzzled—and waved them out the door. “I’ll not expect you back before morning, then!” one called, and Joseph grinned shamefacedly as he hustled Garth out the door.
“What was that all about?” Garth asked as soon as it closed behind them.
“I hope you’ll not find out for a good many years yet,” Joseph mumbled and, taking his son’s elbow, hurried him down the pathway leading towards Myrna.
They were stopped within a hundred paces by a detail of suspicious guards.
“Who are you?” one asked, leaning his pike dangerously close.
“Physician Baxtor and my son, Garth,” Joseph replied calmly. “Out for the night air.”
Another of the guards laughed and spat. “No one enjoys the night air in this forsaken slime pit,” he said. “Now, tell me the real reason.”
To Joseph’s utter shame, he blushed—an action that was, in the end, the saving of him and Garth.
“I’m taking my son through to the, ah, Ladies’ House in Myrna. I thought it time he be introduced to some of the more exotic pleasures in life.”
The guards all roared in delight, relaxing at Joseph’s obvious embarrassment and Garth’s equally obvious puzzlement. “Ladies’ House?” he said. What was his father going on about?
“Here,” one of the soldiers said. “I know these two. Went down with them the last time they were here. The lad’s grown a bit—”
“He’ll grow a bit more tonight!” another guffawed.
“But it’s him all right. Let them pass.”
Joseph would have relaxed if he wasn’t so utterly embarrassed. Garth had finally caught onto the general drift of the conversation and was peering at his father with a strange look on his face.
The guards stood back, still chuckling, and let Joseph and Garth past.
“Father, how could you even suggest…”
“Well, it got us past, didn’t it?” Joseph snapped, and hurried along the path.
Some one hundred paces past the guards both checked their stride, and looked carefully about.
“Was this where you said?” Joseph said.
Garth nodded, trying to peer through the gloom. “Yes. A small hill, Vorstus said, with a rock protruding halfway up its eastern aspect. Look, what about that one?”
“Yes, you could be right. Is anyone watching?”
“No. Not this far away. Father…how well do you know the Ladies’ House?”
But Joseph was already halfway to the hill, and Garth scrambled after him.
Gustus spotted them as soon as they rounded the southern part of the hill and guided them inside.
“How is he?” Joseph asked an instant ahead of his son. Both had completely forgotten the embarrassing incident at the guard post.
“Washed, is all I know,” Gustus said as he rolled the rock silently away. Joseph stared at it briefly but curiously. It was operated by some ingenious mechanism that had been so cleverly hidden that unless you knew exactly where it was, you would never be able to find it. “I’ve been outside most of the evening watching for you.”
Both Joseph and Garth stared in silent amazement at the hollowed interior of the hill. It had a warm, homely air, despite its size, and had obviously been used by the order for some time.
Vorstus greeted them as they stepped into the chamber, and he noted their looks with some pride. “The order has many of these hollow hills about Escator, Joseph, Garth. And other, stranger, places besides. We find them…useful.”
But neither looked at him now; both stared beyond his shoulder to the still form lying with his back to them on a bed by the far wall.
“Yes,” Vorstus said softly. “He is well—as well as I could expect. He has acknowledged his identity, but little else.”
He smiled suddenly. “Little else but ask for you, Garth.”
“Me?” Garth was surprised. Surely Maximilian would have better things to think about.
“He remembers only little bits, boy. He only wants to remember little bits, else he will go mad. But he remembers you, and he wants to talk to you.”
Garth made as if to step over, but he hesitated. “Vorstus, you remember the old king and queen, don’t you?”
The monk nodded.
“Well…does Maximilian look like them? Is he…?”
“Is he a true Persimius or is he the changeling that he claimed, Garth? Well,” Vorstus hesitated, and neither Garth nor his father liked the expression that came over his face. “The truth is, I can’t tell. The old king was tall and lean and with black hair. His queen had dark blue eyes. All of these Maximilian has…but no other resemblance that I can see. If he is a changeling—hold boy! I said if!—then the queen could easily have selected an infant whose parents were tall and dark with blue eyes.” He paused, and stared at his hands. “Garth, Maximilian said something down the Veins which makes me think he knows the meaning of the verse the Manteceros gave you. That is good. If he comes through that test, if he can make the claim on the throne, then I can speak for the entire order in saying that we will support him. But,” he repeated, “the Manteceros must make the final judgment.”
Garth accepted it. In his heart of hearts he knew Maximilian had to be the true king. “Can I…?”
“Yes, boy. Go and speak with him, and your father can come and sit with Ravenna and myself for a while and share bread and cheese.”
Garth walked towards Maximilian slowly, wondering what he would find. Before he had only seen Maximilian as a begrimed man huddled in the dark, even in his dreams the prince had worn a peculiarly faceless aspect.
So it was that when Maximilian rolled over at the sound of his step Garth was surprised at the pleasantness of the man’s face; surprised, because somehow he had expected a man with a heroic visage and a sternness of expression that reflected the trials of his life. But then Maximilian smiled, and Garth gasped as Vorstus and Ravenna had done.
“You are Garth Baxtor?” Maximilian asked slowly.
“Yes, I am Garth.” He hesitated, then sat down on the edge of the bed. He glanced with some concern at the prince’s face; it was flushed, feverish, and his eyes were too bright.
Maximilian slowly raised his hand, and Garth grasped it. “You were the one who found me, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” Garth kept his face clear of expression, but he did not like the feel of the man through his Touch.
“You demanded of me that I remember.”
Garth was silent, his eyes compassionate.
Maximilian licked his lips. “I remember that my name was once Maximilian Persimius, and I remember that once I lived in this strange world beyond the hanging wall. But I do not remember very much else.” A small smile flitted across his face again. “Except that I now remember the taste of tea.”