10. The palace (V)

When Oren could run no longer he stumbled to his knees, gasping for breath, but fear quickly forced him back on his feet. Blindly he felt for the wall on his right, found it, and walked on, tapping with his fingertips to keep himself on course. He continued walking until something up ahead — the slightest ripple in the texture of the darkness — made him draw to a halt. He had come to the opposite side of the building; one of the great windows was directly before him, and looking through it he could see faint points of starlight above the now completely invisible landscape.

A night breeze, chilly and strong, was flowing soundlessly through the perimeter gallery. He walked slowly in the direction of its source; in a few moments he found himself in a circular lookout, ringed with open windows where it projected from the palace walls. Stepping to the window and looking out he realized that he had come to one corner of the building, though he was no longer certain that he knew which corner it might be.

He had been standing there for some time when he felt something heavy brush against his leg. He started and drew back several steps, and was preparing to run when the sound of a husky, unmistakably feline expiration of breath froze him in his tracks.

“Lucinda?” he inquired tentatively.

“Yes, it's me,” came the cheetah's reply. “Come, it isn't safe here. Put your hand on my back.” Her words were calm but firm, and he promptly complied. But as they began to walk away from the turret he hesitated.

“Mira — ”

“She's safe, little thanks to you.”

The unexpected reproof felt struck him like a slap. He lifted his hand from Lucinda's pelt and stepped away.

“Me? What did I do?” “More, what you didn't do.” Then, instantly, her tone softened. “Never mind; I suppose you knew no better. Come. Remove your shoes — they make too much noise.”

In utter confusion he did as he was told. As Lucinda said nothing more it was left to Oren to break the silence.

“That thing — that bird —” he began.

“It was the Black Swan, looking for the king. An old enemy. He has a hatred for the king that knows neither bounds nor reason. A story too long to explain, I'm afraid.”

“And the king — is he all right?”

“He is hiding. There are rooms in this palace that only he knows. He will remain in one of them until the danger is past, in the morning. The Swan could be anywhere, looking for him, searching gallery after gallery. That is why the lamps have been put out, and why we are not safe, out in the open.” She paused, but then added: “He has killed a man tonight.”

“The Swan?”

“The Swan. It's not the first time.”

Oren pondered this information silently as they walked. He would not have been able to trace their labyrinthine route, but Lucinda seemed certain of her course. They met no one and heard not a sound, not even a distant echo. Eventually they reached a stairwell and began to climb. When they reached the upper storey she led him to his door and waited while he stumbled his way into the dark room and found the bed. He turned towards her.

“Are you leaving?” he whispered.

“I'm needed elsewhere. You're in no danger as long as you stay in your room.”

With a few all but inaudible footfalls she was gone. He undressed and got into bed, his thoughts racing, trying to concentrate on listening for noises in the hall, but none came. He had been sleeping for some time when he realized that the door to the room had been silently opened, and that someone had stepped in and then shut the door again behind. In his half-conscious confusion he hadn't had time to reflect on what new terror this might portend, when that someone — or something — quietly drew back the sheets and climbed into bed beside him.

“Mira —?”

June 27, 2007

Copyright © 2007 Chris Kearin. All rights reserved.