Escape to ponti, p.16
Escape to Ponti, page 16
Bec picked himself up, rubbing his jaw, then launched into an all-out attack, swinging the truncheon and kicking furiously. Tien Nu weaved this way and that, apparently off-balance, miraculously evading the blows and parrying with lightning strikes to face and chest and belly, until Bec toppled to the ground. Tien Nu gazed down at Bec and collapsed on top of him.
Tien Nu lay there for a moment, then sprang to his feet. Bec followed, moving a little more slowly. They bowed to a deafening storm of applause and whistles.
“Why the devil did you hit me so hard?” Bec hissed.
“You almost broke my head, you fool.”
Tien Nu retrieved the monkey masks and wigs he’d borrowed from the mummers. He tossed a set to Bec, and they launched into their Monkey Style routines, capering about like madmen, while the crowd laughed and clapped, egging them on.
Suddenly, there was a commotion at the entrance to the hall. Some kind of argument had broken out.
Chapter 39: Monkey Style
Bec glanced at the doorway and was stunned to see Malaspina—his bodyguard beside him. He was berating a servant, his voice carrying across the hall: “Blockhead! I have every right to be at the head table.”
Bec felt a shiver of fear. He quickly turned and continued with the performance, adjusting his mask to make sure it covered his head and face.
Tien Nu skipped close. “He’s here.”
“I know.”
The steward, Raimondo, hurried over, frowning slightly. He put a restraining hand on the servants shoulder, then bowed to Malaspina and escorted him and Nozzo to the wedding table.
Heads turned to follow them, and flurries of whispers spread through the hall. Judging from people’s expressions, Malaspina was well known by reputation but not well loved. Nevertheless, the lord of the castle greeted him politely and made room for the two men at the head table, calling for more wine and food.
Bec watched Malaspina from the corner of his eye, waiting for the moment when the man would jump up and shout his name. Yet the moment didn’t come. The man piled his plate with food and set about shovelling it into his mouth while he watched the performance.
It dawned on Bec that Malaspina could have no idea who they were. The masks disguised them completely. To him, they were just a couple of mummers, no different from the others scattered about the hall.
Bec felt as if the bonds of fear had suddenly been sprung.
Hidden behind the monkey mask, he could do whatever he wanted—Malaspina be damned.
Tien Nu cut short his routine and moved to the side, motioning for Bec to do the same. Bec glanced at him and gave a slight shake of the head. He continued to caper and prance about the hall, twisting his head and emitting yelps and howls, as the crowd laughed and hooted, following every move. On impulse, he approached the wedding table and loped alongside it, chattering at the guests. When he reached Malaspina, he let out a piercing shriek and snatched a chicken leg from the man’s hands, knocking over a glass of wine.
People stood up to watch and clap as Bec danced in front of Malaspina, waving the purloined piece of chicken in his face. The man kept trying to grab it, but each time Bec skipped nimbly out of reach, provoking gales of laughter. Eventually Bec took a bite of chicken and tossed the leg back toward Malaspina, splashing the man with grease.
There was a startled silence, as gravy dripped from Malaspina’s nose and chin. Then the hall erupted in hooting and applause. The noise was so loud, Bec thought his eardrums would burst. Malaspina leapt to his feet, shouting and shaking his fist. Yet the more he shouted, the more the crowd roared and laughed.
Malaspina turned to his bodyguard and pointed at the monkey-man. As Nozzo got to his feet, Bec sprinted toward the other end of the hall, setting his sights on the minstrel gallery. A throng of enthusiastic spectators trailed after him, thumping him on the back and pressing money into his hands.
Bec freed himself from the crowd and swarmed up a pillar supporting the gallery. He clambered over the railing at the top, and tumbled into the midst of the startled musicians, who dropped their instruments and backed away.
“Sorry, sorry!” Bec said.
He headed for the door at the rear, stumbling over the instruments on the floor. His foot got caught in a tambourine, which clung to him, jangling crazily. He hopped about, shaking his leg until the tambourine fell off.
Tien Nu climbed into the gallery. “I’m here!”
“Where’s Nozzo?” Bec asked.
“Down below,” Tien Nu said. “He tried to climb up but couldn’t make it. Come on, let’s go.”
The door at the back of the gallery led to a staircase that took them down to the kitchen.
Francesca was there waiting. “I thought you’d end up here.”
“Have you seen the bodyguard?” Bee asked.
“That big man? He came storming in here just now; looking for you. I told him you’d gone outside, and he ran into the courtyard.”
“Did he use my name or talk about a runaway?”
Francesca shook her head. “He just asked about the monkey-man.”
Bee grinned at Tien Nu. “He doesn’t have a clue who we are.”
They slipped across to the pantry, where their packs were stored.
Tien Nu paused to gaze at some kitchen scullions in soiled white uniforms, who were rolling a series of barrels toward the door
“Where are they taking those?” he asked Francesca.
“To a cart outside. They’re empty.”
“And then where?”
“To a barge at the landing place”
“Perfect!” said Tien Nu.
Chapter 40: The Escape
The heavy cart rumbled as the scullions pushed it across the dark courtyard, with the barrels inside rattling and banging against the rails. The yard was full of people, some singing drunkenly, others sagging against the walls or relieving theselves in the corners.
Francesca led the way, helping to guide the cart through the rowdy mob. It took them some time to reach the gateway, where Nozzo emerged from the shadows.
“Hold on there,” he said. “Where are you going with that?”
“To the landing,” Francesca said. “We’re loading a barge for tomorrow.”
The scullions stopped and fanned themselves, staring at Nozzo.
“Is that so?” The bodyguard motioned toward the cart. “What’s in those barrels?”
Francesca shrugged. “Nothing.”
“So why are you taking them to the barge?”
“To return them to the brewery.” She gave a smile. “To be filled up again.”
Nozzo scowled. “Don’t take me for a fool. I need to look inside.”
“But the steward said the barrels weren’t to be tampered with.”
Malaspina stepped from the gateway.
“Now, why would the steward say that?” He glanced at the bodyguard. “Open them up.”
“But you don’t need to,” said Francesca. “Just thump on the lids. You can tell they’re empty.”
“We’ll see,” said Malaspina.
Nozzo climbed into the cart, squeezing between the barrels. He hammered on the nearest lid, which boomed like a bass drum.
He looked at Malaspina. “Seems empty, all right.”
“They’re all like that,” Francesca said.
Malaspina gave a tight smile. “So you keep saying.”
He nodded at the bodyguard. “Check them all.”
Nozzo continued testing the barrels. One after another, they produced the same booming sound. The final barrel was wedged into the back corner. Nozzo tried to reach it but failed.
“Guess there’s no point,” he said.
Malaspina had been watching Francesca’s face. “That’s just the one we need to look at.”
Nozzo sighed and shifted the barrels around, eventually making his way through.
He pounded on the lid of the barrel, which gave a dull thud.
“This one isn’t empty,” Nozzo said. “What’s inside?”
“Sorry, I forgot,” said Francesca. “It’s filled with slops from the kitchen.”
“Not good enough,” Malaspina said. “Open up.”
Nozzo tried to remove the lid, but it was hammered tightly down.
“I’ll need something to pry it off,” he said.
One of the scullions fetched a crowbar that Nozzo used to lever the lid up.
He leaned over to look inside, then recoiled sharply.
“What a stink!”
“Told you so,” Francesca said.
“Take a closer look,” Malaspina said. “Make sure no one’s in there.”
Nozzo wrinkled up his nose and poked the crowbar into the putrid mass, raising it and lowering it several times.
“Nothing’s here,” he said finally.
He banged the lid back into place and got down from the wagon.
The scullions applied their backs to the cart once again. As Malaspina watched, they pushed it through the gateway and headed down the track.
On reaching the landing place, Francesca looked back toward the castle.
“All clear,” she said.
“And thank our lucky stars!” Bec took off his floppy white hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I was sure they were going to spot us.”
Tien Nu unbuttoned his dirty uniform. “They were so focused on the barrels, they didn’t give us a second glance.”
He smiled at Francesca. “You played your part just right. They were convinced you were up to something.”
“Actually, I was!” she said. “But not what they thought.”
“It’s the art of distraction,” Tien Nu said. “The magician’s best friend.”
There was a noise on the track behind them.
Out of the darkness came a man in a chequered red and yellow costume—one of the mummers, carrying two packs. A small, very dirty dog trotted along beside him.
“Thanks so much for bringing our packs,” said Bec, mussing Hannibal about the head. “Did they give you any trouble at the gate?”
The man shook his head. “I told them it was our equipment.”
Tien Nu and Bec stored the packs in their boat and made ready to leave. Bec looked over at Francesca, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was gazing at Tien Nu, who was untying the rope.
“Well, anyway,” she said, “I just wanted to say goodbye.”
She threw her arms around him and kissed him on the lips.
The kitchen boys laughed and clapped. “Well done, Francesca!”
She ran off into the darkness, leaving a trail of giggles in the air.
Tien Nu stood there, rooted to the ground. He glanced at the grinning boys, then at Bec, who shook his head.
“I don’t know how you do it, Scraps. Not with a mug like that.”
They paddled out to mid-stream. The lights of the castle receded into the distance, then vanished behind the trees. The boat glided down the dark river, which was streaked with moonlight, as the water bubbled and creamed beneath the bow: Swallows raked across the gleaming surface and an owl called from the woods.
Tien Nu felt supremely happy, dizzy from the kiss and the beer. He poked Bec with his paddle.
“What the devil got into you back there? I thought you’d gone crazy, taking on Malaspina like that.”
“I really don’t know,” Bec said. “Usually, the man scares the living daylights out of me. But with my monkey mask on, I felt completely free.”
“What you did—it reminded me of the stories about the Monkey King.”
“Monkey King?”
“Sun Wukong. One of the Immortals. My father used to tell me about him.”
“Is he good or bad?”
“Oh, definitely good. But mischievous, crazy! I think maybe his spirit possessed you.”
Bec laughed. “I don’t need the spirit of the Monkey King to make me crazy.”
Chapter 41: Scars
The Knight paced along beside the pilgrim wagon, lending a hand whenever it got stuck in the deeply rutted road. The red-haired youth was keeping a safe distance on the other side of the wagon. He’d been quiet the entire day, staying our of the Knight’s way. His left eye was swollen shut, the surrounding skin stained a glossy black.
The Knight glanced over at the youth. He paused and waited for the wagon to move ahead, then crossed to the other side. Emilio noticed the Knight approaching from behind and shied away, keeping his eyes on the ground. When the Knight touched him on the shoulder, he jumped and spun around, fists raised.
The Knight held out his hand. “I owe you an apology, my friend. I lost my temper. I was drunk.”
The red-haired youth didn’t seem to understand.
“Ap . . . apology?” he stuttered.
“For last night.”
Emilio looked down at the Knight’s immense hand.
“You’re apologizing for hitting me?”
The Knight nodded.
Emilio shook his head. “You don’t need to do that. It was my own fault. I should have kept my big mouth shut.”
“We all make mistakes. Come, my friend.”
The youth hesitated, then took his hand.
The Knight gripped Emilio’s arm and pulled him close, his mouth close to the boy’s ear.
“Don’t ever pull a stunt like that again,” he said.
*
The wagon shuddered to a halt. They were in a village high in the mountains—no more than a scattering of houses. Ahead, the road made a serpentine descent into the valley, where the river threaded a path between the hills. The driver climbed down and entered a ramshackle inn, calling for the landlady.
The Knight helped unload the bags, then walked back to survey the countryside they’d just passed through. The road ran in a long dusty ribbon over the crests of the hills to the horizon. He stood there silently, letting his eyes drift over the scene-groves, fields, meadows—all bathed in a soft light, not a leaf moving. From the distance came the clank of cowbells and the bark of a dog. The sun was setting in a flawless sky and the evening star had appeared.
The Knight gazed at the star, glimmering with a pearly light. He wondered where Bec and Tien Nu were. He hoped they’d find their way to Ponti. If need be, he’d wait for them there, as long as it took, pilgrimage be damned. It was years since he’d cared about anything so much—cared about anything at all.
A tide of shadow swept across the valley as the sun dropped out of sight. The Knight watched the outlines of the hills dissolving into the liquid sky, then walked back to the inn.
The red-haired youth was seated on a bench in front, a hunk of raw meat pressed to his eye.
“Mind if I join you?” said the Knight.
“No, no. Sit down.” Emilio looked surprised, but shifted over to make room.
The Knight gazed at the meat. “Does that help?”
The youth grinned. “Not much. But I’ll get the kitchen to cook it up for me later.”
He glanced at the Knight, hesitated, then said: “You look like you’ve been in a few scrapes yourself.”
“You mean this?” The Knight touched the scar on his cheek.
Emilio nodded. “How did you get it?”
“It was a gift from my brother. A message, you might say.”
“A message? Telling you what?”
“To get out.” The Knight pursed his lips. “Very handy with a knife, my brother was. I left home that night.”
“And you never went back?”
The Knight shook his head.
Emilio nodded at the man’s missing finger. “Did your brother do that, too?”
The Knight held up his hand and wiggled the stump. “No, this happened when I was younger. My cousin and I were trying out some swords—presents from my father. I got carried away and took a swipe at Bernardo. He ducked and struck back. I parried, but the blade slid down and caught me on the hand.”
“You must have been pretty angry.”
“I was at first, but we made up later. Bernardo was my closest friend-we’d grown up together. He left home not long after I did. Moved on to Ponti, I hear. With any luck, we’ll meet again.”
“Actually, I’ve got a scar, too,” Emilio said. “In a rather delicate spot.”
He widened his eyes. “On my arse.”
The Knight struggled not to laugh.
“And worse still,” Emilio said, “it was a self-inflicted wound.”
“You did it to yourself?”
Emilio nodded gleefully.
“Why in the name of all the saints would you do that?” asked the Knight.
“I was trying to impress a girl.”
“By stabbing yourself in the arse?”
“No, no! I was serenading her from the street. When she came out on the balcony, I started climbing up the vines. My dagger kept getting in the way, so I shifted it round to the back. Halfway up something happened.”
“You fell!”
“Exactly! A branch broke and I dropped like a stone. The dagger stuck me in the bum.”
Chapter 42: Roast Pigeon
Bec and Tien Nu continued paddling late into the night, only stopping when a bank of cloud rolled across the moon. They pulled into shore and bedded down in a meadow.
Bec was so tired, he fell asleep almost instantly. At dawn, he was woken by something wet pressing on his mouth and nose, smothering him. He jumped up with a shout. But it was just a cow nuzzling at his face.
