The Ruthless. Peter Newman
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Название: The Ruthless
Автор: Peter Newman
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Приключения: прочее
isbn: 9780008229054
isbn:
If those idiots in the castle were willing to believe that Pik was him, then it would be easy to reverse the illusion. There were risks, certainly, but Satyendra rarely got to roam about the castle freely.
The guards outside looked surprised when he emerged from the room. ‘Finished already?’
He didn’t reply immediately, not wanting to appear too clever. When he did, his voice sounded almost identical to Pik’s usual whine. ‘No, forgot my sponge.’
They laughed at that. ‘Better hurry then. When the Honoured Mother gets back, she’ll expect everything to be spotless.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, and turned away.
Once out of their sight, he made his way quickly towards the lower-mid level of the castle, where the apprentice hunters slept. By now all of the apprentices would be training, leaving the rooms free for him to explore. Each one contained four bunks and a single gemlight. Sacks were slung from each end of the bunk, containing their possessions. Satyendra moved between them, searching for things he might need.
If the High Lord can’t be put off, this could be my last chance.
A knife took his fancy. The handle was carved from wood, highly polished, with settings for gemstones. Even unfinished, it would be desired in the markets.
He already had a knife stashed away, but it was a blunt one stolen from the kitchens. This one was much nicer. He tucked it away and continued to rummage, taking anything that might help him effect an escape, along with anything he liked the look of. He was far greedier than normal, and more reckless.
They’ll never suspect me as the thief, and even if I’m caught what can they do? I’m too important to exile or hurt.
With his treasures hidden within his cloak, he made his way towards one of the quieter areas of the castle, a little courtyard that had once been used by Samarku Un-Sapphire to cultivate a rare type of flower called Dawn’s Blush. Since Lord Rochant’s arrival it had been abandoned and left to grow wild.
Why the courtyard hadn’t been maintained or repurposed was not spoken about, but Satyendra liked to think it was an act of pure pettiness. A little shoot of spite in Lord Rochant’s otherwise perfect record.
Whatever the reason, the resulting neglect had led to the creation of Satyendra’s favourite hiding place. Nobody else went there, and it was easy to slip within the net of tanglevine and become anonymous. Years ago, when he had faced up to the idea that the rebirth ceremony could not be put off forever, he had begun preparing for the day he might have to flee the castle. This meant gathering supplies: clothes, food, tools, all the things he’d need to survive alone on the road.
The problem was he’d no idea what those things were. Apart from his adventures in the Wild as a baby, he’d never left Lord Rochant’s floating castle.
His mother was coy about that time, but he’d gleaned that road-born who ventured outside of their villages had to wear special clothes, and that they covered their feet, face and hands at all times. When he had exhausted his patience with her, he’d turned to Story-singer Ban, asking about hunts and travel, and then attacking the old man with questions. However, this proved frustrating, as the Deathless were not troubled by simple issues like needing to eat or sleep outside, and if they were, the practical details were dropped in favour of a ‘higher truth’.
Armed with some meagre facts and his imagination, Satyendra had set about gathering what he thought would be needed. Over time, he strategically started to lose things: tops, trousers, even boots, until he had an impressive stash tucked away.
He carefully opened up his hiding place, adding the knife and the other new acquisitions before covering it all up again and slipping back towards his room.
When he arrived the guards seemed relieved to see him, as if they were expecting someone else, someone worse, and there was a strange vibe in the air as he travelled, a tension that made his mouth water.
Yadavendra is here, and he was both cheered and appalled at the thought. It was easier to feed that other part of himself when the High Lord was around which also meant it was harder to resist. He’d told himself in the courtyard when he’d dislocated Chunk’s knee – the pop still resonated deliciously in his mind – that it would be the last time. He tried to remember that he could also enjoy other things, like his mother’s praise. He resolved to resist. To stay focused on the matter at hand: to cancel the rebirth ceremony or escape the castle.
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