Black Salt

Black Salt - Chapter 27

 He hurried to the palace at dawn, as the sun rose like a golden orb, and the gulls screamed and chanted to greet it. The clear sky promised another day of unbearable heat, and the wine merchants had already begun to man their stalls, in preparation for the thirsty crowds. As the sun rose, a breeze carried in from the sea, and he caught the familiar tang of salt water. It should have refreshed him. On any other day it would, but anyone who'd looked at Nikias could have told, by the pallor of his skin, and the deep shadows under his eyes, that he hadn't slept all night.

With every step he took, he heard an echo from behind.

He hadn't wanted a pack of dogs to watch him, he wasn't going to get himself captured two days in a row, and besides, Black Salt was all locked up. Where was the danger? In spite of his arguments, Kalliphas had insisted that he take a squad of guards with him, pointing out that if Zalm was still alive and able, he had to be reckoned a threat.

Kalliphas had done more than set guards to watch him. "This audience can wait. It's too early to see the king," he'd said. "And you look like something we dragged out of the harbour. Take your time and rest, sleep. Then we can talk to the king when you're ready."

"I'm ready now," he'd said, and gone on his way, leaving Kalliphas to manage the guard house in his absence.

The brilliant sun made his eyes sore, and he paused to massage them. Kalliphas had been right; he should have had some rest. Even so, he couldn't have. The pressure in him to move, to act, made any kind of lull unendurable. Every which way he looked, he saw one more problem. He'd captured Black Salt, yes, and that ought to please the king. But Phaedrus had convinced him he'd been chasing the wrong people, which meant the real traitor was still alive and free, and he had not the slightest tattered rag of an idea who or where he was. Moreover, he'd been forced to take Phaedrus prisoner, and he wasn't at all sure the old man would understand it. If he hadn't pretended to chase the old man, if he hadn't locked him away, he might have jeopardised his own liberty, and then who would ever know about the traitor? He told himself he'd done the right thing, but he felt bad about it.

And then, as if matters weren't bad enough, Zalm was out there. In his present state, weakened by worry and lack of sleep, that was perhaps the worst part. If he'd understood Phaedrus, then Zalm had never been involved in the murders, he'd only acted to protect the secrets of the circle. He'd even held back from killing. He would have no such inhibitions now.

"Sir?"

The guard's voice made him jump. "Gah! What is it?"

"You... You stopped moving. We were worried, sir."

He realised he'd been standing, rooted to the spot, lost in thought while his hands rubbed his eyes and face. His body felt like a sack of wet sand, and his eyes felt as if they'd been left out in the sun, halfway towards becoming raisins. An involuntary image entered his mind, a mental picture of a soft, clean bed. He sighed. Just then, that thought was more attractive than Aphrodite.

He scowled, straightened his spine, and forced himself to march. "Come on," he said. "We're almost there."

...

"We heard you were dead," said the guard. Even leaning on his spear, he towered over Nikias, and the foetid air that spilled from his thick, stubbly lips suggested a diet of pickled rat. "Isn't that right, Hogoth?"

Hogoth looked like a sack of butter, beaten into almost human shape, but melting and sagging. He had an unruly mop of grey hair and a bushy beard, so thick it made it impossible to tell how old he was. He said something in his own language, a thick stream of guttural consonants, accompanied by blasts of spittle.