‘Milady?’
Clariel blinked. Valannie was holding back the red and gold curtains of the nearer palanquin, and a block had been placed to make it easier to climb inside. Clariel had never ridden in a palanquin before. It seemed stupid to her to be carried by people when you could walk yourself. But as Captain Gullaine had explained to her the night before, it was the usual protocol to arrive at the Palace by palanquin, or on horseback if given leave to ride within the city, but this was usually reserved for royal couriers or other special messengers.
The interior of the palanquin was padded with cushioned velvet on all surfaces, so much so Clariel wasn’t sure exactly where she was supposed to sit. She climbed in and positioned herself at one end, discovering that there was a depression amid all the cushioning, though it made her not so much sit as recline. Valannie climbed in the other end, carrying her cedarwood case of cosmetics, and twitched the curtains closed. There were small holes to see out, disguised on the outside as gold coins against the red, but they didn’t offer much of a view. Or let in much air, so it was quite stifling inside.
‘Please remember to keep as still as possible, milady,’ said Valannie anxiously. ‘I will retouch your face, of course, but please do try to keep it undisturbed.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ muttered Clariel. She settled back and slowly turned her head so she could see out through one of the small holes. One saving grace about being trapped in a palanquin with Valannie was that the maid probably wouldn’t talk too much, not wanting to crack her own face paint, or encourage Clariel to answer and destroy the last hour of work.
There were eight bearers carrying the palanquin. Clariel could hear them whispering a kind of marching song to one another to help them keep in step and make sure the ride stayed level. She smiled as she recognised the chant; it was a song the Borderers sang, though with ruder words.
I once loved a lover but I left … right … left
Never find another as right … left … right
Should I have left … right … left … right …
I once loved another but I left … right …
Should’ve listened to Mother right … left … right
But I’d still have left … right … left … right …
Even with the steadiness of the bearer’s step, there was a small amount of swaying and tilting, rather like being on a barge. Clariel had been on a barge once, when she travelled with her father along the Metal Canal that took silver ore from the mine at Mount Shulle to Ponstayn, where it was smelted and refined. She had not particularly enjoyed the experience, disliking the mine and the metalworking town. They were far to the west of her beloved Estwael and surrounded by clear-felled dales, the nearer woods gone for lumber long ago. Her father had liked it though, perhaps because he was seen as a significant figure there, being an important buyer of silver and not just Jaciel’s husband.
There wasn’t much to see out the closest coin-size hole in the palanquin’s curtains apart from even more houses of white stone. There weren’t even many people, probably because they were being herded out of the way by the guards that accompanied the palanquins on every side. Despite the presence of the guards, Clariel regretted that she had only her smallest dagger, and nowhere to hide a larger weapon, since she’d been forced to wear slippers of a soft silver mesh fabric rather than boots.
With nothing to see, Clariel turned away from the peephole, remembering to do it slowly so as not to invite criticism from Valannie for cracking her face paint. She hoped this would be her first and last ride in a palanquin, because it was getting even more airless, and the slight swaying motion was making her feel sleepy, but not in a good or comfortable way.
It should be one of the last, at least, she told herself. She would go to Magister Kargrin tomorrow, get her money and a disguise and leave. It would probably be best if she was disguised as a man, which she had done before herself, without the aid of Charter Magic. She smiled as she suddenly thought of what a magic disguise might do. If she was bespelled to look like a man, would that go so far as to give her the parts of a man, to look at, at least? That would dissuade even the most suspicious, if it came to that kind of inspection …
The sudden, sharp sound of metal on metal brought her out of this amusing daydream and she shot upright with her hand on her knife, legs swinging towards the curtain, before Valannie managed to raise her hands in alarm and cry out.
‘Milady! It’s only the metal stars in the road, under the guard’s hobnails!’
Clariel’s hand slowly came out of her sleeve, but she did not lie back.
‘What stars?’
‘We are on the Avenue of Stars,’ said Valannie. ‘There are many tiny stars set in the flagstones. It is a wonder of the city.’
‘I see,’ said Clariel. She moved forward, gently pulled the bottom of the curtain up and leaned over to look out. The palanquin rocked more than usual, and there were a few grunts as the bearers adjusted to the shift of weight. Clariel peered down at the road, and indeed saw many tiny stars in the stone, reflecting the afternoon sun like bright sparks fallen from a fire, though these would never fade to cinders.
The metal clicks continued for quite a long time. Clariel looked out, but again couldn’t see much, apart from the fact that the Avenue of Stars was at least twice as wide as most of the regular city streets, and that the guards were still keeping people well back, forcing them to stand aside. Most of them looked at the passing palanquin with unhappy or angry faces, making Clariel think again about the ‘minor trouble’ with ‘unsettled workers’. She’d not really noticed before, the mass of people in the city being simply too large for her to focus on as anything other than ‘huge and frightening crowd’, but seeing individuals from within the palanquin, it became clear to her a great many people were not happy to see rich Goldsmiths and their guards arrogantly force their way past.
There were some shouts ahead, but not in alarm or trouble, just the same sort of ceremonial call as Roban had given when they’d arrived at the Academy, calling out, ‘Goldsmiths!’
‘Are we there already?’ asked Clariel, puzzled. ‘I thought there was some sort of park, a band of trees below the Palace …’
‘Not yet, milady,’ answered Valannie, who was trying to speak without opening her mouth too wide. ‘We’re turning onto the King’s Road. There are guards, to keep the commoners out of the gardens.’
Clariel frowned at this, and wondered why the commoners were being kept from the gardens. In Estwael, there was a town park much frequented by the more timid folk who didn’t like the Forest beyond the walls. She’d loved it as a small child, before transferring that love to the wilder woods.
Through the spyhole, she saw a large crowd gathered as close as they could get to the great iron gates that had been opened to allow the palanquin’s passage, gates in a high fence of iron topped by spikes that had once been gilded, remnants of gold still showing here and there.
As Clariel looked out, she saw one of the people, obviously poor from her sackcloth dress, lift her arm back to throw something. As she did so half a dozen others followed suit.
‘They’re throwing things!’ cried Clariel, instinctively crouching and once again reaching for her dagger.
r /> chapter fourteen
king orrikan regrets
But the thrown objects had no weight, bouncing off the roof and sides of the palanquin, and neither the guards nor the bearers paid any attention to the missiles or the throwers. Whatever they were hurling, it was soft and harmless. Clariel saw one missile bounce onto the road near her and partially unfurl.
‘They’re throwing scrunched-up paper?’
‘Petitions,’ said Valannie, with a sneer. ‘They hope to get their petty grievances to the King. Don’t worry, the guards at the gate will pick the papers up and record the names on them for later attention.’
‘To address their wrongs?’ asked Clariel, but even as she asked the question she knew that would not be the case.
‘No! To make further enquiries, to see if they are troublemakers,’ said Valannie. ‘It is a small set of rabble-rousers causing all the problems. Most folk are loyal to the Governor.’
‘You mean loyal to the King,’ said Clariel, but Valannie didn’t answer, nor would she meet Clariel’s gaze.
It wasn’t her problem, thought Clariel. Let others politick and plot and counterplot. She would be away from the city soon enough, and in the Great Forest within a week. If the Borderers continued to exist, then she would join them in a year or two, when she had proved herself as a hunter and guide. If by some stroke of governmental foolishness the Borderers were disbanded or discontinued through lack of funds, then so be it. She would remain a hunter and try to carry out some of the good work the Borderers did on her own account, tending to the woods, its animal inhabitants and the men and women who lived or travelled there. ‘Tending’ being a word that covered all manner of activity, from clearing overgrown paths, protecting young deer from poachers, travellers from wolves and bears, culling populations of animals that threatened the balance of the Forest …