#marbrand

‘Lost a dog, your highness?’ he called pleasantly.

Ron swung to him and flinched.

‘Uh, um, yes, exactly!’ he jumped in with potent enthusiasm.

Marbrand noted the prince was smoking slightly from the rear and filed this offhandedly in a mental file labelled simply as ‘Ron’.

‘Have you seen him?’

‘What does he look like, your highness?’

‘He’s…’

Ron paused, curling his upper lip inward.

‘Black. With white spots,’ he added as a slow afterthought, ‘on his… regions in the rear. Yeah.’

Ron shot Marbrand a wide grin. Then a slight frown.

‘Can you smell pork?’

‘Um, no, sir. Black with white spots, is it?’ he said, scratching his chin. ‘Can’t say I’ve seen him. I’ll put the guards on the lookout and call you when they’ve found him, yes? Allow me to walk you to your quarters and the lads, they—Sir!’

‘What?’ Ron said.

A plume of white flame flickered around Ron’s waistband, stark in the twilight.

Marbrand shoved him onto the grass behind him and rolled him back and forth.

Two figures dashed past his peripheral vision.

Marbrand jolted his attention from the extinguished Ron.

Plumes of a similar nature roared across the roof of Fred’s shed.

‘Crap!’

He guided Ron to his feet before jogging to Fred’s aid.

 Ron watched the guard race out of sight. He dusted himself off, glanced at the shed to make sure that, yes, Fred and the bull were out safely and, regaining posture, made for the direction of the palace orchard.

‘Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?’

Archie double over, massaging his shins.

Howie waved his sleeve in the air, which was aflame.

‘Please tell me there’s no more running,’ Archie panted. ‘My shins are on fire!’

‘Are they, Archie?’ Howie asked hysterically. ‘Are they really?’

Archie snatched his shoulder and ripped the sleeve off at the seams.

Howie flung it to the ground and stomped it into the path, his arm prickling.

‘What now?’

Ron smiled faintly into the distance for a moment.

‘Oh, yeah, the plan,’ he said with a start. ‘We climb the tree by the wall, go over the wall and onto the flat roof sloping down to the back alley.’

‘Then what?’

Ron sucked his top lip. ‘Didn’t think that far ahead.’

‘I thought not,’ Howie said dully.

‘First thing I’m doing is picking up Adrienne,’ Archie said, ‘before someone hears she’s at the shop unattended. Point us to the tree.’

‘We don’t have time,’ Howie said. ‘He’s gonna send guards after us, they know this city like the back of their hand. We need to leave the city as soon as we’ve over that wall. We can send her a letter once we’re somewhere safe.’

‘Oh yes, a letter. The best known defence for armed robbers in the night. Excellent idea.’

‘She’s a surgeon-in-training,’ Howie said in exasperation. ‘She owns a collection of tiny knives and knows where main arteries are. She’ll be fine.’

‘Oh, is she your girlfriend?’ Ron said in interest.

Howie glared at him.

Archie glared at Howie. ‘She’d better not be.’

‘She isn’t!’ Howie said firmly.

Ron shrugged and guided them to the tree closest to the wall.

Archie pointed two fingers at his eyes and then at Howie.

‘She isn’t!’ Howie hissed at him.

They wound off the gravel pathway and ducked under hanging branches. Thin ones, Howie noted with unease.

‘They’re very spindly,’ he said.

‘This one’s fine, I’ve climbed it loads of times,’ Ron said. ‘And there’s footholds on the upper part of the wall. I made them.’

They came to the tree and looked up. And up.

Archie swung his gaze from the summit of the wall to the top of the tree. There was a considerable distance between the tree and the wall – at least twice as long as the tree was by itself.

Archie made unintelligible noises. He simply flung his hands in demonstration.

‘I’ve done it loads of times,’ Ron said flippantly.

Archie thrust his hand to Ron’s face, fingers first.

‘You’re twenty-one!’ he screamed at him. ‘I’m twice your age, how the hell am I gonna—’

Howie shushed him violently, covering his face with both hands.

‘We’ll manage!’ he hissed at him. ‘So shut up!’

Shuffling footsteps urged them towards the tree.

 Sixteen buckets of water and twelve bottles of brandy later, Marbrand stood outside the charred remains of Fred’s shed as its owner wobbled in blissfully medicinal drunkenness.

‘The two prisoners have escaped, you say?’ Marbrand asked to clarify.

‘Hyeah, dah lackhwit prince helped them to hescape, sir,’ slurred Fred, nursing the last of his dozen bottles closely to his chest in case it might run off. ‘Sheems like he’s hup to something shushpishishousousous…’

He paused with a frown.

‘… ous,’ he finished with a smile.

‘I quite agree with you,’ said Marbrand.

He recognised the curling of the upper lip anywhere. Anyone subject to Ron’s drunken and/or sober pranks knew the signs of fabrication when they saw them. And while sending guards chasing off after imaginary dogs could be deemed a suitable prank, it wasn’t half as imaginative as the antics Ron got up to and what’s more, it was done in a hurry.

‘I’ll have a guard posted at the trapdoor tonight, Fred. You find an inn and take the day off tomorrow. We’ll cover the expenses.’

‘O’ course, shit, couldun impee on your doo-tees, not at all,’ he said, grinning at the prospect of a day off. ‘Any chance of some more—’

Marbrand strategically ignored him.

‘Ankovich?’ he called behind him. ‘Inform the crown prince of the captives’ exit, will you?’

He paused and added an afterthought.

‘And check on Spotty-Balls, will you? Just in case he is missing?’

‘Of course, sir.’ The soldier saluted, turning to leave.

Marbrand followed close behind, his mind on Ron.

He couldn’t think why he would want to release two prisoners. An unfortunate side-effect of a mother like Aaliyaa Horne was that friends were a rare occurrence.

But perhaps that was the idea?

What if Ron had taken a night-time jaunt to the dungeons and they nabbed him there? Offered to take him on an adventure?

‘Let us out,’ he pictured them saying. ‘We’ll be your friends.’

It seemed feasible. He ought to go after them and bring him back. At least to get away from the silly ‘Sadie’ jokes for a while.

As if on cue, Fred trilled behind him.

‘Goo-bye, Sadie! S’always nice to have you call down!’

Sniggers followed Marbrand’s hand as it rose to rub his temple tiredly.

 ‘My shins!’ Archie squealed.

‘We get it, you’re old!’ Howie hissed down at him. ‘Now be quiet!’

The branch teetered against the flat of the wall. A conveniently-placed oil lamp illuminated their way from directly above them. Howie decided that the task of meandering it could wait until the very last minute to plan. Stress, plus Archie’s numerous shin-related complaints, held Howie’s brain in a pincer-grip.

Quiet rustling ahead marked Ron’s self-assured climb.

‘Got it!’ he said softly. ‘I’m on the wall. Let me know once you’re here and I’ll help with the footholds.’

Howie made to surge ahead.

A strangled yelp.

‘I’m stuck.’

‘Oh, for Christs’ sake,’ Howie spat at the wall.

The branch wavered beneath him.

‘Don’t shake it!’ he scolded Archie. ‘I’m not gonna be able to help you up the tree if I fall off!’

‘Stay there!’ Ron called down in a soft voice. ‘I’ll help Howie up and come back for you.’

Archie flapped frantically, his limbs contained in a layer of foliage.

Howie squirmed ahead, his stomach flat against the branch. He gave a short yelp as it tilted downwards.

‘You’ll be fine, keep going,’ Ron assured him. ‘It’s a good branch, I’ve used it loads of times.’

Howie grimaced, straining a hand out.

Rough stone brushed his fingertips, to his immense relief.

‘Go easy,’ Ron said.

The branch scraped against the blocks.

Howie scooted closer to the wall, fingers locked into two footholds. This was clearly a well-worn route, he saw: small footholds stood out in clusters spanning a yard in every direction, black holes in the gentle yellow light.

His knees clattered into the rock. He pulled himself up, joints trembling.

He heard Ron climb back onto the tree.

Howie negotiated the footholds, in silence broken only by shifting leaves and his own shallow breath. This was not what he signed up for eight years ago. Not by a long shot.

His fingers slipped on the bricks.

A small animal shriek escaped from him involuntarily.

‘You alright?’ Ron called.

‘Yep, just nearly fell to my death,’ Howie said in a strangled whimper.

‘You’ll be fine, there’s shrubbery just below us.’

‘Great,’ Howie whined. ‘That’s very reassuring.’

He groped upward again, hoisting himself up. His shoulders were beginning to smart.

‘Archie, you alright?’

‘No,’ floated up from within the foliage.

‘He’s fine,’ Ron called.

Howie’s foot clanged on the edge of the brazier. He hissed, dragging himself up with haste.

His hands flailed in mid-air for a moment.

Howie yelped and threw himself forward.

He fell horizontally onto his stomach and clung to the edge, legs flailing.

He had reached the top.

He shuffled forward until his fingers gripped the back edge. The wall was as thick as he was tall, which was a relief. He pulled himself into a sitting position and glanced down into darkness for a moment before, with a shudder, directing his gaze to the battlements.

‘I’m at the top.’

‘Great!’ Ron said brightly. ‘Go on, up you get.’

‘No!’ Archie squeaked. ‘I’m going back to the dungeon.’

Howie ignored him. Pivoting and hopping into the narrow corridor forming the battlements, he faced the city of Stoneguard, peering out between two of the crenellations.

A vast collection of terraced roofs and disjointed chimneys greeted him from below. For as far as the eye could see, tiny bursts of yellow light illuminated the narrow streets and close-knit houses beyond. Faint laughter sounded from Howie’s far left, a small group of men exiting a bar.

Howie followed the winding streets back to his home, the tiny terraced house where they and Archibald Hart’s Carpentry Shop lived. He eyed the street longingly, the dirt road, the small tavern, the empty stalls. The road he called home since he was twelve years old.

‘Get your ass over here, Howard! I need a hand up.’

Howie obediently crossed the battlements to assist.

He heaved Archie up, Ron assisting from behind.

‘There,’ Ron said in annoyance. ‘Wasn’t so hard, was it?’

Howie ignored them. A glint outside the carpentry shop caught his eye.

‘And how are we supposed to get back down?’ Archie shrieked. ‘Magic? If you’d told me we were supposed to fly down, I’d have brought the cat!’

‘There’s a flat roof sloping down the other side,’ Ron said, crossly. ‘Don’t you listen?’

‘Guys, there’s guards outside the shop,’ Howie said quickly.

‘What?’

Archie bolted forward, hands clasped to the edge.

A shining brass breastplate paced outside the shop, waiting access.

‘Shit, Adrienne,’ Archie whispered in horror.

‘As long as we’re not there, she’ll be fine,’ Howie said.

‘What? No, we have to go get her—’

‘No, we can’t,’ Howie insisted, ‘otherwise she’ll be harbouring escaped criminals. We’re no use to her up here in any case.’

‘Not now she’s opened the door,’ Ron said.

Sure enough, the faint outline of Adrienne’s head came into view in the faint light from the carpentry shop door. A brief exchange occurred between her and the guard before, with a curtsy, she closed the door.

‘See, he’s leaving,’ Howie said. ‘She’s fine where she is.’

Archie looked defeated for a moment before blazing pure indignance.

‘If I should return to find her missing a limb,’ he threatened, pointing a finger at the space between Howie’s eyes, ‘or an eye or her maidenhead or so much as a frigging eyelash, I will skin you alive.’

‘That’s fair,’ Howie said. ‘Can we leave now before we get caught?’

Ron hopped onto the ledge between the crenellations. Hopped, Howie observed in horror, watching the toe of Ron’s left boot hang over the edge.

‘So the flat roof is by the cake shop,’ he announced to the wall at large.

Archie flung fleeting glances across the street below. ‘Which is…’

Ron tilted his head down. And around.

‘… on the… other side… of the castle,’ he said. He flung them a sheepish glance. ‘Sorry.’

They watched the wall yawn out in a broad circle, rising and falling in gentle slopes. Howie guesstimated at least a hundred feet of walking distance.

‘I hate you,’ Archie seethed.

Howie heaved a sigh and blew out through pursed lips.

‘What are you huffing at?’ Archie spat at him.

Howie stomped to a halt in the middle of the narrow dirt road and flung Archie a withering glance.

‘Where do I start? We’ll start small, shall we? It’d be nice to walk at a reasonable speed without stopping every two minutes for a grouchy old codger to catch up!’

‘I’m not old!’ Archie said hotly. ‘I have flat arches!’

Howie turned from him in disgust, his hands on his hips. Flakes of mud peeled from his brow as it furrowed into a hard line.

‘What are we going to Adem for anyway?’ he demanded. ‘I thought you hated it there?’

‘I do,’ said Archie. ‘Funnily enough, mortal danger makes it seem like a carnival.’

‘And it’s the last place my dad was sighted,’ Ron piped up.

Howie glanced at him.

Ron’s backside glanced back, his head and arms currently rooting around in a ditch for an elusive bloom.

Archie halted at Howie’s side and panted, his mouth ajar.

‘Don’t look at him like that, it’s your fault.’

Howie flung his arms in the air.

‘How is it my fault his dad’s gone AWOL?’ he whispered hysterically.

‘Not that. Why’d you tell him we were gonna find his dad for?’

‘We were locked in a dungeon, Archie! I had to say something!’

‘If you’d shut up long enough for me to suggest my cabinet idea, we’d probably be home by now,’ Archie seethed. ‘I’d cheerfully labour for hours at a wooden likeness of slimy little Vladimir Horne if it meant not roaming around the countryside after you two.’

‘Oh yeah,’ Howie snorted, stalking off, ‘because woodwork makes everything better.’

‘It does when I make it!’ Archie snapped at him.

Howie clenched his fists at his sides, seething at Archie, the Hornes, God, everyone. He knew he shouldn’t have entered that church. Or maybe he should have attended a bit more beforehand. Everyone knows the gods shy away from regular church-goers.

Archie took about a dozen steps before slowing to a halt again.

‘Christs in heaven, my legs!’ he wailed, clutching the back of his shins. ‘I’ll never make it there, my legs are about to split in half! How the hell did Adrienne walk all the way to the Shades?’

‘She didn’t, she got a lift with Keith,’ Howie said.

He walked ahead for a couple yards before realising that Archie was frozen in place.

‘She what?’ Archie asked dangerously.

‘We met Keith on the way out of the city,’ Howie said, ‘she got a lift with him.’

He glanced at Archie.

Whose face was twisted in pure fury.

Howie splayed his arms. ‘What’s wrong with you now?’

‘You let my niece,’ Archie simmered, ‘get into a coach with the proprietor of a countrywide chain of knocking shops and you don’t see the issue here?’

‘He’s your mate.’

‘That doesn’t matter!’ Archie exploded. ‘He picks up waifs and strays and plonks them in his hellhole in the Shades! He can’t tell either of you from the Christs themselves! What the hell were you thinking?!’

‘Archie, it was two hundred and fifty leagues away! She was hardly going to walk it on her own, was she? Anyway, she’s fine, isn’t she?’

Archie, red-faced, opened his mouth to scream.

Howie cut across him. ‘Did she look like she’d been plonked into a brothel for three months? Don’t you think she would have mentioned it? She’s never set foot near a brothel in her life, she’s a prude! If he’d taken her near, we’d never have heard the end of it!’

Archie opened and closed his mouth a few times, at a loss.

‘She’s never leaving the house again,’ he muttered to himself instead. ‘I can’t risk it. He won’t let her go a second time.’

Howie rolled his eyes and strode on ahead.

‘Get off the road,’ Archie barked at him. ‘You can’t stride along in the middle of the road like that, he’ll have sent men out.’

‘And cowering in the ditch will look less suspicious, will it?’ Howie snapped. ‘We might as well keep moving until we get to the village. You can rest your precious arches in the afternoon.’

‘Afternoon?’ Ron moaned. ‘I can’t stay up that late!’

Archie glanced at him.

‘You mean to say you’re actually nocturnal? I thought that was a propaganda rumour.’

‘It was,’ Ron muttered. ‘My brother started it.’

‘You really don’t like him, do you?’ Archie commented.

‘I tried to,’ Ron said. ‘He doesn’t make it easy. My father’s brilliant, though. We built a treehouse in the orchard together, just the two of us, a few years ago. It was great.’

‘Where was he going last?’ Howie asked, softening.

‘Helping King Theo Crey with the midnight patrols.’

‘Patrols? What are they patrolling for?’

‘Faeries,’ Archie said. ‘In case they creep out of their woodland.’

Howie pulled a face. ‘What, titchy little things with wings?’

‘They aren’t like in children’s books, Howie,’ Archie said with a shudder. ‘Not in the real world.’

Howie lifted an eyebrow and added ‘Faeries’ to an internal list marked ‘Archie’s Irrational Phobias’.

‘Don’t they have a queen?’ Ron said.

‘Queen Wosserface? She’s better off staying away from them, with her anger management issues.’

‘How d’you mean?’ asked Howie.

Archie pointed.

To the right, over the trees and shrubbery, Howie could see the grey void on the far horizon and the black mountains jutting out from it.

‘She did that,’ Archie said.

Howie glanced at him. ‘She made the Wastelands?’

‘That was her mother, fifty years ago,’ Ron said.

They continued down the considerably more colourful country road, the city of Stoneguard far behind.

‘King Theo’s father hired her to do it in this war ‘bout fifty years ago, back when King Theo was just a kid.’

‘They used to own the whole continent,’ Archie said. ‘The Hornes started a rebellion and declared half of it theirs after Theo Crey started nicking apples out of the Hornes’ orchard.’

‘Are you joking?’ Howie exclaimed.

‘Nope,’ Ron said. ‘Granddad got very worked up about his apples.’

‘He started a war because a little boy stole some of his fruit?’

‘It was more to do with the kid’s dad copping off with half of Janus Horne’s mistresses,’ Archie said.

‘Oh, that makes sense,’ said Howie.

‘Between Seb Crey cuckolding half the nobility and his predecessor being a cannibal, the Hornes thought “sod this, I’ve had enough” and they rebelled. They were just divvying out the mainland when the Forest Queen burned most of it into the ground. Stoneguard would have been one of about four new kingdoms if it weren’t for her. Only Stoneguard left of it now. Half the continent’s useless because of her.’

His voice lowered.

‘People say she enjoyed burning the place up. Say they saw her dancing that day, between her purple demon flames, spinning around and laughing.’

He twirled his index finger in mid-air in demonstration.

‘Purple demon flames?’ Howie asked with a frown. ‘What, she’s a witch?’

Archie and Ron shrugged in unison.

‘No idea,’ Ron said. ‘No one’s seen hide nor hair of her since. No one even knows her name anymore. Everyone was too afraid to utter it.’

Howie pictured a woman of Faerie description, with blue skin and violet hair to match the flames dancing with her across the continent of Truphoria, and would probably have understood were she not about five inches tall in his imagination.

Before he could say as much, rattling sounded from behind them.

A pair of horses pulling a small carriage appeared, atop of which sat a man with his sparse amount of grey hair arranged in a spectacularly bad comb-over.

Howie and Ron lowered their heads and stepped off the road.

Archie, however, walked into the centre of the road and shouted, ‘OI! Dickhead!’

The horses slowed and the carriage trundled to a halt.

‘Wanna explain why my niece was in your custody last winter?’

The driver craned his neck.

‘Damsel in distress, innit,’ he called. ‘Said her uncle was too busy conked at his lathe to escort her to her first job. Had to step in as honorary godfather and protect her virtue for you. You owe me for twelve hundred dissatisfied customers, by the way. Broke my heart, having to turn their money away like that.’

Archie grinned from ear to ear.

Howie and Ron emerged from the ditch, peering out at him.

The man was portly, his rubbish comb-over clean and freshly combed. He wore a black cloak with a garish turquoise shirt underneath. Not a farmer, then, Howie thought with a wince. Farmers generally had better taste.

A young woman in a straw hat perched next to him, a flowery linen dress fluttering in the breeze.

‘Oh God,’ Howie swore, closing his eyes. ‘Not him!’

‘Who is he?’

‘Keith,’ Archie said.

Keith dismounted from the coach and stood in front of Archie, looking him up and down.

‘You’re covered in shit, mate, you know that? I take it the carpentry shop’s gone belly-up?’

‘Let’s just say the gods have it in for me as usual,’ Archie said. ‘Any chance of a lift for an old mate?’

‘Well, alright. On condition you lot get yourselves a bath when we hit the village. Just don’t touch the young lady, not unless you’re paying.’

He glanced at Howie and tilted his head to one side.

‘Who are you, then?’

‘Howard,’ Howie said patiently. ‘The apprentice. We’ve met, like, a thousand times.’

Keith’s bulbous eyes widened.

‘Ah, Howard!’ he exclaimed, clapping a hand on his shoulder. ‘You were my first customer!’

Archie shot Howie a sideways glance. ‘First customer?’

Howie buried his face in his palms.

‘Yep,’ Keith grinned. ‘My first client in the new shop in the village, when he was dropping Adrienne off to Doctor Thingamajig. Nothing but the best for the Knight of Raining Thorns, eh?’

‘News travels fast, then,’ Archie said in a flat tone.

Howie cleared his throat daintily. ‘Yep. So, the coach—’

‘What is it you do for a living?’ Ron asked Keith in interest.

‘That… doesn’t matter,’ Howie said. ‘Come on, let’s get going.’

‘Where you headed, anyway?’ Keith asked.

‘The Shades,’ said Archie. ‘Long story short, we had an altercation with Vladimir Horne, so now we’re on the run. Take it you heard about the king going missing?’

‘Oh yeah, we’ve searched the house in case he’s looking for a freebee. No sign yet.’

He climbed aboard and gave Howie a hand up.

‘Half expected to find you there,’ he joked to Howie, ‘after you attacked the prince like that. Knocked his teeth out, I heard. That’s not like you.’

‘One, I didn’t attack him, it was self-defence. And two…’

He shrugged Keith’s elbow away.

‘… I only went that once because she was special.’

‘Yeah, she’s special alright. Locked you in the pantry, wasn’t it? Because you wanted to get to know her first!’

Archie laughed.

Howie’s eyes narrowed.

‘She said he refused to bum her until she told him her favourite colour!’

‘Do you have to phrase it like that?’ Howie asked in a pained voice.

They piled in together like sardines.

The young woman clung to Howie’s arm to keep balance, to his distinct unease.

‘I didn’t know she was a…’ he glanced at Ron, ‘… an employee, I just liked her and wanted to get to know her.’

‘So does everyone, but the poor girl’s got a quota to fill,’ said Keith, squirming into the middle to take the reins. ‘She can’t sit around chatting and leave the Duke of Osney waiting outside, can she? Everyone on?’

He eased the horses into a trot and they trundled uphill.

Hot breath landed in Howie’s right ear, making him flinch away. He had hoped the layer of human shit across his face might have dissuaded her, but apparently not.

‘My favourite colour is yellow,’ the girl whispered in his ear.

Howie pointedly turned his face to the left, to her disappointment.

 Elliot Maynard entered the tavern and swiftly approached an occupied table in the corner. He waded through the dense crowd of drinkers and narrowed his eyes in the dim candlelight, his sights set on the glint of flame on metal in the far corner.

The armoured man glanced up lazily and backed up against the wall.

Elliot slid in beside him. The sheer girth of the man conquered every inch of free space. He was built like a fort, with a large brown beard pouring down his neck. He propped an elbow on the table, which creaked.

‘Alright?’ Elliot said idly.

The man gave him a sideways glance. ‘Hello.’

Sat next to Elliot, he looked like a pencil nub placed beside a cinder block.

‘I hear you’re off to the Shades on palace business,’ Elliot said. ‘Need a hand?’

The man regarded him.

‘Could do with one,’ he said, giving him a cursory glance. ‘You’ll have to purchase your own supplies, mind. I haven’t the money for enough steel to cover all of your…’

He shot the thick muscle across Elliot’s shoulders a bitter look.

‘… you,’ he grunted.

Elliot rolled his shoulders, as if in response. ‘As you wish.’

The man regarded him again, his brows furrowed. ‘You like ships?’

‘Don’t mind ‘em,’ he said.

‘Long journeys?’

‘Not a problem.’

‘Night duty?’

‘Can’t stand the daytime.’

The man smiled faintly. ‘What’s your name, sir?’

‘Elliot Maynard,’ he said. ‘And yourself?’

The man’s smile faded. ‘Er… Sadie.’

Elliot’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yes.’

Elliot lifted an eyebrow and shrugged. ‘Alright.’

Marbrand blinked. ‘You haven’t got a problem with my name?’

‘Something to call you, innit?’

Marbrand paused. Then he held out a hand. ‘Welcome aboard.’