Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [267]
When he had finished, I was half-convinced.
"Ah, the poor dumb bastard!" The sentry took control of the situation. As the only person present who'd been a member of Lucca's city guard prior to nightfall, I supposed he was entitled. "Take him to the gatehouse," he said, nodding to the first pair of guards. "Let Captain Arturo decide what to do with him. The rest of you, resume patrol."
I stood up, my boots squelching. "All of us?"
He gave me a wary look. "Did Gall us Tadius order otherwise?"
I glanced at my fellow conscripts. The boy in the bucket-sized helmet was there atop his plowhorse, looking scared despite the scrap of red cloth tied boldly about his upper arm. If the lemures of the Red Scourge were afoot—and I believed they were—they were not finding so consistent or congenial a host as their commander. I sighed, catching the Bastard's reins and setting one foot in the stirrup. "Right." It was a half-conscious echo of Gallus Tadius. I swung myself astride, plopping wetly into the saddle. "Patrol."
Eamonn handed me my cloak without comment. At least it was dry. I settled it over my shoulders and huddled inside it as we resumed our circuit of the city walls. Within a few minutes, an acrid funk of wet wool surrounded me.
We rode for hours. I noted the landmarks, and reckoned that it took almost an hour to make a complete circuit of the city. I had learned, in Saba, how to gauge the passage of the stars across the night sky. Although I'm no horologist, I've always had a good sense of time ever since then.
We made nine circuits that night.
By the fifth, I was sore. It was much like keeping Elua's vigil on the Longest Night. The air was cold and I was soaked. My muscles tensed and fought one another as I shivered until I ached as with an ague. I thought about the boy in the bucket-helmet, and I thought about Joscelin, his profile silhouetted against the winter stars. I kept riding, and the Bastard paced along the walls, tireless and steady. From time to time, I blew on my fingers and warmed my hands on his spotted hide.
"Damn, that's a fine horse," Eamonn muttered.
I summoned a weary smile. "You want a rematch?"
He eyed me. "You know, I don't fancy it. You're a little mad, you."
By the eighth circuit, I was beyond sore. Everywhere my sodden clothing rubbed me, my skin felt raw. Circuit after circuit, sentry after sentry. Mundus manes, mundus manes. All was quiet, and if I never heard the words again, it would be too soon.
The ninth circuit ushered in the dismal grey light of early dawn and Gallus Tadius, grinning. "Go home, princelings!" he called to us. "Your replacements are here, and your warm beds are beckoning you."
I sneezed. "Thank you, my lord."
Gallus studied me for a moment and I found myself straightening in the saddle, squaring my shoulders. Damned if there wasn't a part of me that wanted his approval. He gave a slow nod. "I heard what you did. That was a nice piece of work at the aqueduct, D'Angeline. The deaf-mute may be harmless, but one of the guards swore he drew a dagger on him."
"I didn't see a dagger," I lied. "Where is he now?"
"Oh, Captain Arturo tossed him in gaol with the Valpetran prisoners." He shrugged. "We'll see if he changes his story," he added, then laughed. "Not that he could tell us, mind!"
"Indeed," I murmured.
Eamonn and I wasted no time in heading for the Tadeii villa. His mount was plodding and exhausted, which was how I felt. Eamonn was quiet, watching Gallus Tadius ride away on another indefatigable errand.
"Does he ever sleep?" he asked when Gallus was out of earshot. I shook my head, too tired to venture a guess. "I don't think he does." Eamonn glanced at me out of the corner of one eye. "That intruder looked a lot like your beggar, didn't he?"
"Canis?" I asked.
"Mm-hmm."
"Yes," I said. "I suppose he did."
* * *
Chapter Fifty-Three
At the villa, I turned the Bastard over the stablehands and went straight to my chamber, where I stripped off my cold, wet clothing and burrowed under a pile of blankets. I slept through the morning and