Breaking an Empire (15 page)

Tarranau turned and examined the structures behind him, and saw his goal peeking over the edge of the smaller buildings before it. Stepping back into the alleyways that ran amongst the buildings, he followed one that would take him to the side entrance of the warehouse. It was dark and foul, for it had been used as a urinal by generations of sailors, and tonight it smelled as if there had been a sick drunk as well. A groan from underneath a pile of rotting crates spoke eloquently to the drunk’s presence, and Tarranau moved past as quickly as he could, shifting his feet carefully in the refuse. Reaching the side of the building, he slid along it until he found the door, still in a sturdy condition.

Dropping the sacks, he pushed at the door, making the hinges squeal, rusty and tight from ill-use. Tarranau lent his weight against the jammed portal, shoving it hard, but it moved not at all, and so he eyed the door for a moment, then took a step back and rammed his shoulder into it. The door screeched and slid back half a foot, just enough for Tarranau to slip inside. He turned to grab his bags and saw the drunk emerging from the alley, woken by the sound of the protesting door. Snatching at the satchel that he had left outside, Tarranau pulled it into the hidden darkness of the interior, hoping that the movement escaped notice.

The drunk banged into the wall near to Tarranau, leaning against it and groaning as he made his way towards the open door. Tarranau could hear the lush as he walked down the alley, his shoulder dragging against the wall. The sound stopped for a moment, and Tarranau held still, listening to the loud and ragged breathing of the alcoholic. The drunk began moving again, stumbling along the wall of the warehouse, walking towards the partially open door. The sound was very close now, almost at the open doorway, the coughing and spluttering marking the drunk as clearly as if Tarranau could see him. Two more steps would place him at the portal, and there went the first, the shoulder thudding into the wall. Another, and the drunk stumbled, the wall suddenly no longer there for him to lean upon. He slammed into the door, tripping over his feet and falling heavily to the ground, stunned.

Tarranau had been leaning against the panelling, listening through the cracks in the wood, and the impact of the drunk knocked him back, opening the door a few more inches. With the way the drunk had fallen, Tarranau could not get out through this opening, and did not think he could pry apart the main gate of the warehouse. All the lush had to do was to remain in front of the entrance, lying there in a stunned and drunken stupor, and Tarranau would be stuck within. The apprentice stepped around the door, looking at the filthy, rag clothed man on the floor beneath him. Dare he risk moving the sot? If the drunk awoke, he would think nothing of taking the apprentice for his money. The noise could also attract more awake and less inebriated types of thieves. Tarranau decided to wait for a moment, to see if the drunk would regain his footing, or if the alcohol had stewed his brain into one of the mashes out of which the drink had been made.

Minutes passed, and aside from the occasional groan or twitch of the limbs, there was no movement that would free Tarranau from his confines. He needed to purchase passage with one of the merchant sailors who was due out the next evening, and his time was fleeing. Tarranau glared at the wretch, thinking him a most unkind individual to have the poor timing to fall asleep in front of the door on the one night that Tarranau needed to use it freely.

Tarranau reached out, nudging the drunkard’s foot. The lush stirred, but woke not. Tarranau paused a moment, then prodded him again. There was still no sign of waking from the wretched beggar. Becoming bold, Tarranau hid the sacks further in the shadows, then placed his arms under those of the beggar, and hauled him slowly and carefully down the alley, making sure not to wake the man. Depositing the sot against the side a small house, Tarranau made sure the drunk was around the corner and unable to see the door of the warehouse. Heading back into the storehouse, the apprentice pulled the door closed, attempting to hide the tracks in the dirt and muck, so as to not lead anyone to his hidden goods.

Tarranau hurried back through the city, trying to look at the sky and catch a glimpse of the moon to tell how many hours he had left in the night before he had to return to his room and make ready against the coming day. There was also the need to gather his things and return quickly, allowing him to set up the trip that would take him across the seas and to his new home. While looking up through the gaps between the houses, he stumbled over a pile of trash that had been left in the alleyway, falling to the ground and sliding in the muck, covering his clothes in the crud and filth that crawled along the clay. There was a clatter and bang, a rotten crate knocked to the ground, crumbling loudly in the quiet of the night. Tarranau froze, listening to the sounds of the twilight, wondering if the bang had alerted the thugs who hid amidst the alleys.

Thankfully, there was no sound that arose after his stumble and fall. Perhaps the people who frequented the alleys were so used to the sound of drunks stumbling at night that they did not come to find them, for drunks had often liberated themselves of all their own money within the bars of the docks, drinking cheap swill until they were thrown out the door, and left to stumble to a cold and faceless corner in an alley, curling up against it for heat. Struggling to his feet and wiping the muck off as best he could, Tarranau walked swiftly, being careful to make no sound. He stayed close to the main roads, fearful of becoming lost in the twists and turns of the back ways. There were times when he had to turn aside, stepping into a darkened overhang to avoid prying eyes. It took him almost an hour to return to the school, and from there he had to sneak in. Thankfully, no one had shut the gate, so Tarranau was able to slip back into his room, grab the rest of his bags and return to the city.

The last two bags over his shoulder, Tarranau staggered to the gate, disappearing out into the city one more time. Having been awake since early this morning, Tarranau felt the weariness of a night spent in activities other than sleeping, but knew that he had to spend the day awake, for to spend it in bed would signal that he had been engaged the evening before. Walking on, Tarranau moved swiftly down into the city, through the empty outskirts of town, towards the crowded areas from which he had so recently come. The bags over his shoulder grew heavier, and his arms grew leaden, but he continued on, finding again that same warehouse. This time, with knowledge restored of where the warehouse lay, he was able to find the door behind which he had hidden his bags. Smiling with relief, he nudged the door open, striding inside, into the blackness within. Feeling around for his bags Tarranau dropped the two he had on his shoulder, sliding them back into the shadows along with the rest of his things. Tired, he pushed the door closed, and sat down, his back to the wall, leaning against it and resting for a few minutes.

Tarranau began to feel sleep stealing over him in a few moments, a warm and soft feeling, but he knew that if he fell asleep here, there would be no chance for him to make it off of the island, and so he dragged himself to his feet, prodding his limbs deadened by fatigue. Without the heavy bags to carry, he would be able to move far more easily, and with less apprehension over being seen. Now for the last, and most difficult, part of his plan. Tarranau needed to find a captain who was not only going to go to Arnich, but was also planning to leave at the right time of day. Tarranau could attempt to slip out of the school’s compound during the day time, but there would be students and teachers both watching to see if he attempted to leave, and that would make it far more difficult than a night time escape.

Tarranau strode out of the warehouse door, careful to shut it behind him. As he walked down the alleyway, he passed the corner where he had left the drunk. The sot was no longer there, but there was a wet puddle where he had been, and the reek made Tarranau quicken his pace, heading towards the docks.

A few minutes later saw him on the wharves, moving easily along, appearing nonchalant while walking the docks in the early hours of the morning. He was looking for boats that were quiet, where the men had gone to bed in preparation for a long day ahead of them of loading the cargo and then the midnight trip out of the harbour on the late evening tides. Tarranau called out to a few of the ships, but was met with silence or shouted curses from the sailors who were on watch duty that night. He was already halfway down the docks, and nearing the section of the largest ships, and yet not one vessel so far had offered passage.

There were men coming back to two of the ships at rest in the harbour, jostling one another and shouting loud insults. Neither side seemed stung by the gibes, instead returning each fusillade with one of their own. Soon the insults were met by more flying off of the ships, from those who had had to remain aboard watching the cargo. Two men followed the raucous crowd more quietly, heads together and talking. They were dressed in finer robes than that of the sailors, clothing of sky blues and sea greens. Tarranau walked toward them steadily, neither slow enough to seem uncertain, nor fast enough to be aggressive. However, as he got close he slowed down, unsure of what to say, and what an approach for a spot on a ship in the dead of night would look like. Tarranau did not wish to look like a person with a reason for getting off the island.

As the two captains neared him, Tarranau kept walking, striding past the men with only a mumbled “excuse me”. One of them looked at him sharply, but neither broke stride and kept heading onwards, eventually parting to go down the quay to their ships. Cursing himself, Tarranau strode on, heading down to the less populated end of the docks. Bloody fool to think that he would get off of the island in this manner. No one would take him as a passenger if he approached in the middle of the night. He’d just have to put up with what would happen to him, and then try and leave afterwards. Running away would never make it better, he’d just be guilty of fleeing a crime rather than trying to assert his innocence. Not much good, was he? A failed apprentice would never make it as a watermage, even in the places that needed them. After all, he couldn’t even purify small amounts of water. He might as well take his packed bags back to his room, and then get ready for the trial. He’d just have to listen to Magister Gothren yell at him for a few days, and then he’d be able to go back home and see his family, and it would all be over.

Tarranau reached the end of the dock and turned around, meandering slowly back along the water front, his mind mired in the black morass into which it had fallen. If he’d made it as a mage before this had happened, there would be a chance that he’d be worth something, but there was just not that much that he was good at with water, was there? Sighing, Tarranau headed back up into the city. He could retrieve his bags tomorrow night. Now? He was just too tired to do anything about it.

Tarranau woke the next morning, despondent. He looked out of the window at the docks, lit from behind as the sun rose over the city to shed its light across the waters that were full of ships. Here he was, having spent his chance to leave the city quietly, waking up late in the morning with only a day to go before the beginning of his trial. Still technically a student, but recused from all duties, he looked down at himself, dressed in drab, plain clothes, still stained from the night’s unsavoury travels through the alleyways of the city. Tarranau’s room was barren, missing all of the comforts of home. He’d have to go and retrieve his belongings today or tonight, otherwise they would soon be stolen. Someone was bound to notice the footprints into the half-opened door.

Tarranau struggled to wash himself, attempting to clean the encrusted filth from the clothes. Scrubbing his face, he wiped away the sleep from his eyes, and felt better for it. At least there was a fresh pail of water, provided early this morning while he slept. Soon that pail was dirty and brown, full of swill from the alleys. Dressed in clean clothing, Tarranau swallowed his pride and made his way to the dining hall, where it was sure that he would be treated to another day of cold shoulders and sympathetic looks, neither of which would stand him in good stead in the long run, and neither of which would help him now. He arrived as one of the last students there, as the staff was preparing to clean away the morning meal in favour of lunch. The members of staff said nothing to him, but the gossip as they worked drifted over to Tarranau’s ears. Some apparently thought he was innocent, others that he was guilty and was doing it out of revenge against a teacher who didn’t like him. The camps were evenly split, and they all agreed that the trial would provide interesting watching, and that they would be there when they weren’t required to be in the kitchen for their duties. After all, there would certainly be some almighty arguments between the teachers, and what was better than watching shouting matches?

The students in the hall all ignored Tarranau, pretending that he didn’t exist. They shifted in their chairs so they need not see him, but nor were they comfortable enough to talk at first. Aside from the low conversation of the staff, Tarranau could have been situated in a devout monastery, silent and cold. The low buzz of conversation resumed eventually, but as with the staff, the discussion among the students centred around him, and the glances he kept receiving from all sides of the room made him feel awkward, his every bite taken under a large magnifying glass, a specimen to be preserved and prodded in order to satisfy the minds of the curious. Tarranau tried to guzzle his food faster to escape the prying eyes, and made things worse for himself, with pieces of food falling out of the side of his mouth or off of the utensils as he tried to eat. Embarrassment colouring his cheeks, as soon as he finished his meal, the apprentice grabbed his plate and placed it to be washed, not quite running out of the building.

His strides took him across campus to his room, a hurrying step that would allow him to find a refuge in the dim recesses of his room before the next bell signalled the end of the current class and the need for all students to spill out across the lawns and walkways, a flood of young disciples in which Tarranau dearly did not wish to be caught. He had just managed the stairs of his dormitory when sounded the first tolling of the bell, and Tarranau jogged up the steps and into the building, at least partially safe from public scorn.