Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(63)

He could see slaves climbing scaffolding and huge stone blocks on platforms of wooden logs hovering in the air, work teams lifting them by means of pulleys. He suddenly understood the sun king’s obsession with gold: most of the blocks were faced with shining yellow metal, set against the stone steps both horizontally and vertically, cladding the pyramid’s exterior.

The sun king must have exhausted every treasury in his empire. Every ingot from every mine must have fed his lust for the precious metal. It was either the greatest folly the world had ever seen, or a creation of utter simplicity and beauty. No matter which it was, it demonstrated the sun king’s power for all to see.

Dion watched for a time, seeing priests in yellow robes standing near the overseers with whips directing the work. As he looked at the intense activity he tried to come up with a plan.

He needed to spend time in the city, preferably somewhere he could watch the palace. No doubt its gates would be guarded, so it was probably for the best that he hadn’t stumbled across them. He had a few silver coins sewn into his tunic, but he would need more if he intended to remain longer than a couple of days.

Dion turned around, and there was the young boy from the main city gates, watching and smiling as he hovered near a side street. He had his hands out, showing he meant no harm. The boy looked a little fearful as Dion approached, but he was bold and persistent, and stood fast.

‘What’s your name, boy?’ Dion asked.

‘Anoush, master,’ he said, clasping his hands together and making little nodding bows.

‘Anoush, I need a place to sleep. Somewhere not too expensive but close to the palace. I want a high room where I can watch the city.’

Anoush nodded enthusiastically, smiling so that little dimples formed on his round cheeks. ‘The House of Algar. Please, let me take you, master. You will have very fine views.’

Dion wondered if he could trust him. Anoush was about thirteen, and although he was skinny his clothes weren’t the ragged garments of a beggar, which meant that he was either a good thief or a resourceful guide.

‘Where are your parents, Anoush?’

‘Parents are dead, master. I am an orphan. I came to Lamara when I was six. I know the city well. I can help you with anything you require.’

Dion rubbed his chin. ‘We’ll start with lodgings and take it from there.’

‘Come.’ Anoush took Dion’s hand and started to lead him down the side street. ‘It is not a long way. Come, come.’

The House of Algar was well located within the nobles’ quarter, not far from the palace. The roofs in the area were crowded close together, each building either leaning against the next or joined together, making the alleys a maze of twisting pathways. Dion saw a three-storied terraced house with a set of cleanly swept steps leading into a dark, cool interior. It was on the same side of the palace as the city gate and he nodded approvingly; he may need to make a swift exit. There was nothing to mark it out as a guesthouse other than a representation of a man lying on his back carved into the stone near the entrance.

‘The House of Algar,’ Anoush said proudly. ‘Come.’

‘Wait,’ Dion said. He hesitated. ‘Can I trust you, Anoush?’

‘Yes, master.’ The boy nodded.

Dion unpicked the three silver coins from the rough pocket sewn on the inner hem of his tunic. He showed them to the boy. ‘Will these be accepted here?’

Anoush frowned. ‘Strange coins.’ He held out his hand. Dion placed a Phalesian silver coin into his palm. The boy bit onto it and examined the imprint of an eagle pressed into one side to demonstrate that the coin was solid. ‘Good silver, though. Algar will accept them, but if he says he will not I can change them at the bazaar.’

‘How much should I pay for the room?’

‘Algar will ask for one of these silver coins, for one week’s lodging.’

Dion smiled. ‘But how much should I pay him?’

‘Less than that.’ Anoush grinned.

He finally made a decision. ‘Anoush’—he put out his hand—‘the first of these coins is yours. I want you to be my guide. I need my money changed and I need fresh clothing and a razor.’ After giving the boy the coin, he indicated the composite bow poking out of his satchel. ‘I also need to visit a bowyer. Can you help me with all that?’

‘Of course!’ Anoush beamed. ‘I am the best guide in all of Lamara.’ He looked down at the weapon and then up at Dion. ‘Are you a warrior, master?’

Dion hesitated. ‘Yes,’ he finally said. ‘I am a warrior.’

‘Are you here to find work in the sun king’s army?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Where are you from?’

Dion scratched the stubble on his chin. ‘From one of the islands in the Maltherean Sea.’

‘Which one? Ibris? Amphi? Tarlana?’

‘No,’ Dion said. ‘Further than that.’

Anoush shrugged. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘I will now take you to the bazaar. We will return to the House of Algar after.’

As Dion followed his new guide, he pondered the palace and the first consul’s daughter, and wondered what his next move should be.





27


It was morning, rising heat filling the narrow alley as Dion waited in front of the House of Algar. He now wore clean clothing: strange brown trousers and a white tunic to his knees, the garb of Ilea. He had a quiver over his shoulder with a dozen sharp arrows inside, and the bow in his hand had been serviced the previous day. Anoush had proven his usefulness.