The Empty Throne. Cayla KluverЧитать онлайн книгу.
Frat, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine. So go ahead and continue with your work. I wouldn’t want to prevent you from earning a living.”
“Nah, you’re not fine. You’re too stupid to be fine. What d’ya think you’re doin’, drawin’ the ’tention of the Scarlets? Thought sure I’d ’ave to save you again with my slingshot.”
I gritted my teeth, temper flaring, for he was now scolding me.
“Look here. I’m not stupid, nor do I need rescuing. I have good reasons for being here, not that they’re any of your concern. So just get on your way.”
“Suit yourself. But take this and find a place to ease yourself a bit.” He grabbed one of my hands and closed my fist around something cold and hard. “I’ve been ’avin’ a good day—not sure you can say the same.”
I stared at the coins he’d pressed into my palm, but before I could say anything, he slapped his hat back on his curly mop of hair and slipped away. I stared after him, shaking my head slightly and marveling at how self-reliant he seemed to be. Then I tucked the money into the pouch at my hip, glad for the gift if not for his opinions.
Though it would have been nice to take Frat’s advice and find a place to “ease myself,” I was more determined than ever to go after the Anlace, especially now that I had spotted the guard for whom I’d been searching. I headed for the West Gate a second time, careful to stay within the throng, wary of being seen by the large guard who had picked me up after my fall. Once more I settled into the shadow of the tower where I’d laid eyes on the man I sought. He had moved closer, but was still working, waving tourists and itinerants every which way, and I crouched down to wait.
The afternoon dragged interminably, and acid ate away at my empty stomach. When at last the sun began to descend, and the traffic in and out of the city slowed considerably, my target emerged from the guard tower. He was burrowed so deep in a fur-lined coat that his face was hardly visible, but at this point, I could have recognized him by the pomposity of his stride. The fur of his coat stuck out oddly, clinging to its neighboring fibers, looking more like it might be seeking the Constabulary’s warmth than vice versa, and yet he clearly enjoyed the power and prestige inherent in his position. I doubted he was a man who would listen to reason when it came to the Anlace—I feared I might need a different approach from a conversation.
Yanking my cloak close around me, I started after him, keeping to the edges of the streets. I followed his barrel-like form through the nearby business district and into narrower, little-trafficked residential neighborhoods. The lack of people was a boon to keeping sight of my target in the fading orange glow of the sun. When the Constabulary turned to cross the street we’d been tracking, I ducked into an alley next to a community bathhouse that obligingly disguised my presence with the steam that seeped through the cracks in its paneled exterior. Peering around the corner, I saw him turn up the walk before a small home with a single peaked roof. Knowing he was about to enter, I stepped out of my hiding place and strolled in his direction.
The guard fumbled with a ring of keys, and I nearly cursed aloud when the door was opened from inside by an elderly woman. Concentrating, I tuned in my ears to catch their voices.
“You keep too many damn keys,” the woman sniped. “Keep so many you end up trapped outside buildings rather than gettin’ in ’em.”
“The keys are for work, Mum,” the guard muttered, a strong note of bitterness in his tone.
He shoved past her into the house, and the door thwumped shut. I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to solve this conundrum. I had never considered that the guard wouldn’t live alone. But although he shared the house with his mother, this didn’t change my ultimate plan. I still had to confront him and recover the Queen’s Anlace. The task had just become more complicated.
I darted across the street and into the deep shade of an awning that extended over one of the home’s windows. I hid my face in the fabric of my hood and exhaled, enjoying the brief warmth it created inside the covering, then stilled my body. At some point, I crouched down and then sat, secure in the belief that no one would notice me in the gathering darkness, shrouded in the alcove I had chosen like a wraith. While I waited, I fretted over a plan. Maybe I could get something that would knock them out? Sneak into the house and incapacitate them both while they were sleeping?
At the sound of raised voices coming from inside, I pulled back my hood to improve my hearing, but the words were indecipherable. They were, however, definitely unpleasant, and it came as no surprise when the front door banged open. It was the old woman, wearing a coat and shawl along with an expression so sour she might have swallowed quinine.
“I’m off to me friend the grocer’s,” she squawked over her shoulder. “Since you don’ like the food on the table, I s’pose I’ll have to cook new.”
She slammed the door shut and toddled away, and I held my breath until she’d disappeared down the block. I couldn’t believe my luck—she hadn’t locked the door, and, judging by the silence that now reigned inside, her son had been left alone.
Limbs quivering in anticipation, I rose to my feet and stepped onto the porch. I crept toward a window from which warm light streamed, pressing my back to the wall. When I worked up the courage, I stole a peek at the home’s interior. My quarry was in the kitchen, where a table was laid with dinner, but judging from his actions, he didn’t expect the meal to be resurrected. He gathered silverware and tossed it toward the sink, ignoring the knife and fork that clattered to the floor. After dousing the lamp on the table, he headed down a hall and out of sight.
Scanning the layout of the house, I spotted a tall closet that opened into the hallway, its door ajar. Deciding it would be better to subdue him than to argue with him, I untied the sash from around my tunic, steadied my nerves to the best of my ability, and quietly opened the front door. I skittered across the room, taking in the odor of a burned dinner, and slipped into the closet.
“Back already, Mum?” I heard the sarcastic call from the deepest region of this tiny home. “I figured you’d be out all night proving that real men appreciate you.”
I slowed my breathing, my heart threatening to catapult up my throat. Footsteps announced the guard’s approach when no response was forthcoming.
“Mum?”
He stopped just past the closet where I hid, at the juncture of the hallway and the main room, and I was able to peruse his form up close. He might have been shorter than me, but he was stocky and well muscled—it would take little effort for him to crush me. I swallowed hard. If he saw me before I had the chance to restrain him, I was ruined. Briefly closing my eyes, I gathered my courage. Then I smoothed the sash in my hands, wrapped it once around each palm, and eased the closet door farther open.
The guard still lingered a few steps from me, and I sprang forward, throwing my hands over his head and snapping the sash tightly around his neck. He made a desperate grunting, wheezing sound that might have been a shout had I not pulled the sash tighter. He clawed at the strip of fabric cutting off his breath but never thought to attack me instead. He lurched, knocking over a chair and a plate of spoiled food. I struggled to keep a fast hold, almost climbing onto his back. He spun, then wobbled on his feet, finally dropping to the ground. I released the pressure of the sash, not wanting to kill him, and checked for a pulse. The steady rhythm of his heart confirmed I had only rendered him unconscious.
I picked up the chair he’d toppled, and, panting, hauled him into it. The sash was still about his neck, and I tied it to the spokes of the chair back. My eyes glued to the man, I hastened to the closet for my supplies, and yanked free my rope. He still hadn’t moved, and I wasted no time in better securing his arms and legs.
The guard’s breath was ragged, but his eyelids were flickering—he would come around soon enough. What else should I do before he woke? Spotting the napkins on the table, I picked one up, folded it lengthwise, then tied it tightly over his eyes and around his head. I didn’t want him to be able to describe me tomorrow.
I shifted restlessly from foot to foot, counting the seconds,