Free The Rat and the Serpent by Stephen Palmer Page A

twelve chairs in a circle, pushing two others aside that I realised were meant for me and my cimmerian. Without comment I sat down, as did the cimmerian woman. She was short and slight, her soot-stained tunic ripped and worn. She wore leather mukluks not unilke my own. Her jet-black hair was fine and long, and she had made some effort to comb it.
    I glanced aside, then said to her, “I’m Ügliy—don’t worry, we’ll manage.”
    She attempted a smile, but she was afraid. “I’m Karanlik,” she whispered.
    Silence descended upon the chamber. I whispered back, “I’m glad you were allocated to me. We must remain true against the wayward methods of this group. Don’t worry. I am a shaman.”
    Karanlik nodded. The fact that she comprehended the word ‘shaman’ was a great comfort to me.
    For an hour the group discussed options, with me contributing not a word, nor Atavalens, who sat head bowed as if enduring the idle conversations of children. The apprentices discussed the possibility of transport, of natural seepage, even of sorcery, but they could not agree on a solution, not least because the amount of water was so large.
    Then Atavalens rubbed the back of his neck, sighed, and looked up. “I cannot credit what I have just heard,” he said. He stood up, jumped upon the dais and began walking around it, hands behind his back. “Have none of you any imagination? Midnight is close and you still haven’t seen the obvious solution.”
    “Tell us,” Raknia said.
    “That is what your leader is going to do. The answer is simple. Do you think Musseler used the sorcerer’s block merely to fry fungus? No. It was a clue. We have to use the block to boil away the water.”
    Raknia laughed. “Haven’t you seen a can on a bonfire? It takes a long time—”
    “This is a sorcerer’s block,” Atavalens interrupted, “not a child’s fire. We are dealing with the implements of the citidenizenry here. We face a big problem so we use big tools. Please—have some realism.”
    “Carry on, then,” Raknia said.
    “The sorcerer’s block will be lowered into the water, and after a short time the water will boil away. There, that is decided.” He jumped down from the dais, adding, “Remain here, all of you. I will return before midnight.”
    I watched as Atavalens approached the door through which Musseler had departed. He crept through the doorway, and I knew he was going to steal a sorcerer’s block from the equipment room. I glanced at Raknia, who shrugged, then smiled; a gesture of sadness, not confidence. So I turned my attention to Karanlik, but before I could strike up a conversation Raknia was at my side, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me from my chair.
    “What’s the matter?” I asked.
    “This plan can’t work,” Raknia said.
    I nodded, saying, “You could be right.”
    “I am right. Have you seen a can boiling? It’s violent. If Atavalens boils a tower full of water it will break the stonework, or explode, scalding us and everybody else in the area. We have to stop him.”
    I saw her reasoning. If Atavalens was allowed to pursue a scheme that failed none of the apprentices would be allowed to take the test. Suddenly I felt desperate. Atavalens was not a man who would listen to reason. “We have got to do something,” I said, “before it’s too late.”
    “Exactly. Have you thought of a plan?”
    “No.”
    Raknia glanced at the door. “Musseler will return any minute, and I have a feeling Atavalens won’t discuss the details of his boiling plan.”
    I sensed my chance of becoming a citidenizen slipping away. I bit my bottom lip, then said, “We’ve got to think of something!”
    “I know.”
    “You?”
    Raknia sighed, then replied, “Nothing yet.”
    From deep inside the tower a bell tolled, marking the division of the night. I cursed under my breath, then said, “We’d better sit down.”
    Raknia grabbed my sleeve. “Even if somebody does come up with a better plan, nobody can tell