Free The Two of Swords: Part 9 by K. J. Parker Page B

their steps to the alley; from there to the colonnade. “What I should’ve done,” Oida muttered, “is leave a change of clothes for us just inside the door here. I never thought we’d get this filthy.” He went to the edge of the colonnade and peered out. “Coast is clear,” he said. “We need to nip smartly across to that door there—” He pointed, but so briefly and vaguely she couldn’t tell what at. “That’s the servants’ access to the state rooms on the fifth floor. From there we can take the kitchen stair down to the third floor and make a dash for it from there. Game?”
    She nodded wearily. She hadn’t had any strength left for a long time. “Fine,” he said. “With me.” Then he darted across the open hall, and she followed as best she could.
    Many years earlier she’d watched a battle. It started at dawn and went on till sunset, and the thing she remembered most was watching the survivors of the shattered centre turning their backs and walking away from the enemy cavalry – walking, not running, because they were too exhausted to run and too drained to care. Now she knew how they felt. She followed him up and down various stairs, but she’d lost track of where she was and couldn’t be bothered to try and figure it out. When they stopped outside a door, she didn’t recognise it as her own.
    “On second thoughts,” Oida said, “you’d better come in mine. What you need is a bath.”
    While it was filling she stripped off the remains of the dress without a thought. Oida, however, was shocked. “For God’s sake look at you,” he said. “How many guards did you have to fight?”
    “One,” she said, “and it wasn’t a fight.”
    “You got in that state just strolling down a few passages?”
    She didn’t answer. Instead she got into the bath. It hurt like hell, but she was past caring.
    He fetched clothes from her room. “The veil’s a blessing,” he said, “it’ll cover those burns on your face, and you can wear gloves, so that’s all right. What about shoes? Will you be able to get them on?”
    She was wrapped in a towel but made no effort to dry herself. “I don’t know.”
    He leaned back in his chair. He had a few smears of brick dust and cobweb on his cloak and robe, and a few swabs of her blood, and his hair needed brushing. “In a little while, all hell’s going to break loose,” he said. “But not officially, thank goodness.”
    She realised she was supposed to ask for amplification. “What?”
    He smiled. “The man we rescued isn’t supposed to be in prison,” he said. “Officially, he’s retired to his country estates. If the Queen found out what they’ve been doing to him, there’d be blood on the floor. Division believes she’s in love with him, but personally I think they’re just friends; which is rather more significant, since he’s the only friend she’s got.”
    She pulled the towel round her. Unbelievably, she was starting to feel cold. “Who is he?”
    Oida hesitated. “I’m not supposed to tell you, but what the hell. His name is Daxin, and he was the chief minister or grand vizier or whatever you want to call it. If you remember, he was the one who made such a muck-up of the first expeditionary force against the nomads, before Forza slaughtered their army. The ruling faction on the Council nabbed him and stuck him away down there – it’s a sort of unofficial prison, nobody’s supposed to know about it – and he’s been there ever since, poor bastard. We’re going to give him to the Queen for a birthday present.”
    She forced herself to take an interest. “Will he be all right?”
    Oida grinned. “At this moment he should be on a garbage cart underneath two tons of kitchen waste on its way to be sweated down into pigswill. The farmer will dig him out, brush him off and put him in a fast chaise to the coast, where a ship will whisk him far, far away. Her Majesty’s birthday isn’t for three months, so they’ll have a chance