Someone threw an apple core at her. She knocked it away and crouched down again,
though not because of the threats or the flying garbage. Aerie, too, with the
same thought, started to her feet. Wess touched her elbow.
‘Look,’ she said.
Everyone within reach or hearing of the procession seemed to have the same idea.
The crowd surged in, every member clamouring for attention. The prince flung out
a handful of coins, which drew the beggars scuffling away from him. Others, more
intent on their claims, continued to press him. The guards fell back,
surrounding him, nearly cutting off the sight of him, and pushed at the citizens
with spears held broadside.
The tight cordon parted and the prince mounted the platform. Standing alone, he
turned all the way around, raising his hands to the crowd.
‘My friends,’ he cried, ‘I know you have claims upon me. The least wrong to one
of my people is important to me.’
Wess snorted.
‘But tonight we are all privileged to witness a wonder never seen in the Empire.
Forget your troubles tonight, my friends, and enjoy the spectacle with me.’ He
held out his hand, and brought a member of his party up beside him on the stage.
Bauchle Meyne.
‘In a few days, Bauchle Meyne and his troupe will journey to Ranke, there to
entertain the Emperor my brother.’
Wess and Quartz glanced at each other, startled. Chan muttered a curse. Aerie
tensed, and Wess held her arm. They all drew up their hoods.
‘Bauchle goes with my friendship, and my seal.’ The prince held up a rolled
parchment secured with scarlet ribbons and ebony wax.