Black Salt

Black Salt - Chapter 34

 Though they left the dock, they couldn't get far from the harbour, and the stench of burnt wood stayed with them, driving away the usual scents of the city: fresh flowers and baking bread, raw sweat, and running sewage. The burnt stink wafted in from the harbour, overpowering the tang of saltwater, and even the aroma of gutted fish. Nikias even smelled it through the blood clotting in his nose, as if the scent had reached inside him, had soaked through his skin and laid down ashes on his bones.

If Rathea held true to her promises, she would flay the skin and then the meat from his body. Should she reach his bones, would she find black ash and the fragrance of wood smoke? His brain had proved as useful as ash, his heart as valuable as ash. If he died now, would the people remember him as anything but the traitor who turned the city's fleet to ash?

Red Spot groaned with every step, one hand clasped over his wreck of an eye, the other feeling along with his spear like an old blind man. His hands were stained with blood, and his skin had turned a pallid yellow. Another had taken the lead, but he had shifty grey eyes and he'd broken his spear. The others looked sick and wan. When they'd left the palace, they'd been swaggering heroes. Now their shoulders sloped, and they moved with a furtive step, eyes downcast, and flinching with every sound.

Dawn had come, and washed the stones of the path from black to dark grey, and the city folk had risen in force. Those who'd got a bargain at the docks came hurrying along the way, clutching their sacks and baskets. They gave the soldiers a wide berth, and some sucked their teeth, or cursed, or spat when they passed them. Where before Kalliphas's dogs would have turned on them in fury, they now looked aside, and clutched their spears for comfort.

A pair of men stood guard at the barracks gate. One was young, with creamy skin, and no hair on his well formed jaw. The other had a curly yellow beard almost as great as his stomach. He leaned against the wall, yawning and blinking in the light. The beardless youth snapped upright, his spear at port arms. "Who are you, and why do you come?"

His companion gave them an apologetic shrug. Then he saw the solders' prisoner, and went red and choked.

"Get out of the way, you gods cursed fools," said Red Spot, but the command had leaked out of his voice.

The youth looked back and forth between the men and his companion, his brows raised, his lips pursed.

"It's the chief! It's the buggering chief," said the other sentry.

The younger one looked at Nikias, and his eyes narrowed. "What in all gods' names are you men doing?" His voice shook, and the spear wavered in his hands.

"I don't have to answer to you, boy."

He might have had skin like cream, but he had a man's heart. He squared his shoulders, and gripped his spear lengthwise, so it barred their path. "I'm on watch. You can answer to me, or you can stay out here until the titans come back to life."

"For gods' sakes," shrieked Red Spot.

The lead soldier with the broken spear glared at the boy. "We're here by the command of Kalliphas and the king, taking a traitor to the cells. Now lower your spear and let us in." The effect of his words was spoiled by the way he kept glancing over his shoulder, fear flickering in his grey eyes, as if he sensed Nemesis stalking them from the waterfront.

The young guard chewed his lip, and his eyes flickered between Nikias and his captors. He looked close to giving in, when his partner stepped up beside him, and raised his own spear, to level it at Red Spot. "I'll shit rubies before I'll believe the chief's a traitor."

The younger sentry took the lead from his companion. He gritted his teeth, and pointed his spear at the lead soldier.

Moments before, all had looked bleak, as if the very world had turned against him. Now Nikias saw through the traitors' trick. They hadn't suborned the entire guard. How could they? Kalliphas had brought a few men into his conspiracy, and they the worst men the guard could offer. Everything had seemed hopeless, as if he was already dead, but now he felt the whisper of the goddess in the sound of his pulse, the call of Athena, goddess of wisdom, of guile, of war.