Teamwork
KATIA STOPPED. “THIS is the one.”
“You sure?”
She nodded.
Course it is—there’s the torn sack.
Martik was examining the shop front. While his attention was diverted, Katia glanced at Mynott. He was leaning against the wall; pale, eyes shut, his breathing a little laboured.
“There are a few greengrocers on this stretch,” Martik grunted. “So it’d better be this one, or I swear I will skewer your friend here like a rat. Find the stone. Now.”
Katia began to search in the top of one of the open sacks, ignoring the one in which the Kingstone was hidden. It was still there; she could see the fabric it was wrapped in, a flash of colour among the earthy potatoes. She had to buy herself some time, but she needed to be careful. Martik musn’t suspect . . .
Next door to the greengrocer’s was a hardware shop. In front of the window were crates of nails and screws, boxes of tools, and hanging over it were several tin baths. But what had caught Katia’s eye were the warming pans stacked by the door. An idea had taken shape in her head, but she needed Mynott to understand to make it work.
“Hurry up, will you?” Martik growled.
“I can’t find it, it must’ve sunk to the bottom. Mynott, will you help? I’m sure I’m getting . . . warmer.” She made eye contact with him on the last word, emphasising it. Then she glanced quickly towards the pans. He followed her glance and turned back, frowning.
Understand, please, understand.
“For gods’ sake. He’ll be no use. Get out of the way.” Martik shoved Katia away and dug his hands into the earthy sack.
Their actions had drawn the greengrocer to his door. “Can I help you, sirs?”
“Potatoes,” Katia said quickly. “He,” she pointed at Martik, “is making me look for decent ones.”
The greengrocer’s face went red. He puffed out his chest and advanced on Martik. “Decent ones, sir? All my stock’s decent, I’ll have you know.”
Martik, still looking in the sack, paid him little attention. “I’m sure it is, but I’m most particular—”
Katia stepped away. Using her body to shield her hand from Martik’s view, she shoved her fingers through the tear in the sack where the stone was.
At the same moment, Mynott snatched up a warming pan from the hardware store and swung. With a loud kloing it struck Martik’s shoulder, knocking him forward.
“Here!” the greengrocer yelled. “You can’t do that. Look at the dent you’ve put in that pan.”
Katia tugged the Kingstone free as Mynott swung again.
Already reeling from the first blow, Martik took the second to the side of his head. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed into the sacks, knocking two over and sending potatoes tumbling all over the pavement.
Mynott flung the pan away, snatched his belt from Martik’s pocket, and grabbed Katia’s free hand.
Then they were running.
And they kept running down twisting, turning alleyways, until Mynott was stumbling and Katia was completely lost and breathless.
“Stop! Oh, please, stop. I can’t . . .” Katia tugged her hand free and collapsed against the nearest wall, lungs burning, leg muscles screaming, head and heart pounding.
“Not safe,” Mynott gasped.
“Can’t.”
“A place . . . close . . . can rest. Almost there . . .”
With a groan, Katia pushed herself away from the wall and they set off again, slower this time, moving further into the maze of alleys.
Eventually, Mynott stopped. “We’re here.”
The soot-blackened bricks, the grimy windows that prevented her from seeing inside, and the door with its cracked and peeling paint did not fill Katia with confidence. Was that the ghost of an image she could see on the door? A broken glass?
“Turn your collar up,” Mynott instructed, pulling a crushed cap from his pocket and slapping it on. He tugged the brim low on his forehead. “And keep your head down.”
They stepped into another tavern, one that was worlds away from the Journeyman’s Arms. It was dark and dirty, the customers wreathed in pipe smoke and body odour. While Mynott ordered a couple of beers, Katia took a seat at a table tucked into a corner, well away from the bar. Glancing round, she noticed one thing that all those present seemed to have in common—an overwhelming desire to hide. Hats, scarves, and facial hair; all were being put to good use.
“You’d best put that away.” Mynott’s voice was low as he set the glasses down on the table.
“Put what—oh!” Katia shoved the hand that was still holding the Kingstone out of sight, under the table.
“There are some in The Shattered Glass who’d take it even if they didn’t know what it was.” Mynott took a long pull from his glass. “Shove it back into that pouch of yours for the time being. No one’s looking.”
Katia had been holding the Kingstone so tightly, her fingers had locked shut; she had to prise them open. She tied a knot in the ends of the thong where Martik had sliced through it, dropped the stone into its pouch and as the familiar weight settled once more against her chest, took a sip of the thick brown liquid in her glass. She screwed her face up and set the glass down quickly. She wouldn’t be having any more of that.
Mynott looked at her over the rim of his glass. “I think you need to explain why I took a beating for you, Troy. Except Troy’s not your name, is it?”
Katia avoided his eye.
Mynott leaned forward slightly, wincing. “You’d best tell me what a girl who was a temple novice is doing, disguised as a boy and running away from Lord Arolf while in possession of one of the most well-known and important items belonging to the royal family. Start at the beginning,” he suggested, settling back in his seat and raising his glass. “What’s your real name? Is it Katia, like Martik said? Or something completely different?”
A battle raged inside Katia—should she tell him?
He’s done so much for you on this journey. You owe him.
True.
So Katia told him her name. And then she told him everything that had happened from the moment she arrived on Indigon. All through the telling, Mynott said nothing; took the occasional sip from his glass and watched her closely.
“So now all I have to do is get the Kingstone to the prince. And warn him about Senior Martik,” Katia finished.
Mynott paused in the act of raising his glass to his lips. He’d almost drained it while he’d been listening. “Senior Martik?”
“Yes. Because he’s the assassin Elder Harolt used, isn’t he? He poisoned the king and was ordered to kill the prince too.”
“Hmmm. Interesting.” Mynott fell silent.
Katia pulled her glass towards her again and turned it round and round while she waited for Mynott to say something. Did he believe her? Had she taken a huge risk by telling him everything?
“I want you to cut me in,” Mynott said.
“Do what? Cut you?” Hadn’t he got enough injuries already? Katia shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Look.” Mynott cast a furtive glance over his shoulder, but he needn’t have worried; none of the customers in the Shattered Glass were listening. “You need to see the prince, right?”
Katia nodded.
“And you’ve already tried once to get into the palace?”
She nodded again. “They wouldn’t let me in.”
Mynott looked her up and down and rolled his eyes. “Really? You look a mess and you stink.” He held up his hand to stop Katia’s red-faced protests. “No one’s going to let a beggar boy into the palace, are they? But if you cleaned yourself up a bit and followed my instructions, I reckon I could get us both inside to see the prince, no problem.”
Katia’s eyes widened. “Both of us?”
“Both of us.” Mynott leaned close and lowered his voice again. “Think about it. I’m a carrier, I have paperwork, a reason to be there. And when we get inside, well, I reckon the prince’ll be glad to know there’s an assassin on his tail and extremely pleased that you stopped his uncle from taking the Kingstone. So pleased, in fact, he’ll shower you in gold. That’s what I want. Half the reward, whatever it is.” His eyes glittered.
Katia chewed her lip, thinking about it. It sounded perfectly possible that way, but . . . “I’m not sure . . .”
“I can help you finish what you set out to do.” Mynott leaned back again and rubbed his ribs gently. “You wouldn’t have got this far without me.”
He was right of course. From the runaway cart to the shipwreck of The Mermaid and in getting away from Martik—not once, but twice—Mynott had been vital to her success. When the decisions Katia had taken had turned out for the worst, he’d set them right. Perhaps he was the key to getting into the palace to see the prince, perhaps he was the answer to her prayers?
The gods often worked in mysterious ways. By working together now, on this final stage of her journey, she’d be able to keep her promise to deliver the Kingstone to the prince and save his life, all the while knowing that she’d done the right thing, that she’d succeeded.
And if she was offered a reward—not that she’d done any of this for a reward, of course—if she was, then perhaps she did owe Mynott half. Her mind was made up.
Mynott was watching, waiting for her answer.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, if you help me, I’ll split any reward with you. Equally.”
Mynott grinned. “Good.” He pushed his chair away from the table and stood up with a groan. “Let’s sort out the first problem, then—getting you to look and smell better.”