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never get inside. Soon the mood grew so ugly that criers spread among the
people, ringing bells and announcing that the carnival would present one
more
performance, several more performances, until all the citizens of Sanctuary
had
the opportunity to glimpse the carnival's wonders. And the secret. Of
course,
the secret. Still, no one even hinted at the secret's nature.
Wess pulled her cloak closer. She knew the nature of the secret; she only
hoped
the secret would see his friends and be ready for whatever they could do.
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The sun touched the high wall around the palace grounds. Soon it would be
dark.
Trumpets and cymbals: Wess looked towards the Processional gates, but a
moment
later realized that all the citizens around her were straining for a view of the
palace entrance. The enormous doors swung open and a phalanx of guards
marched
out, followed
by a group of nobles wearing jewels and cloth of gold. They strode across the
hard-packed ground. The young man at the head of the group, who wore a
gold
coronet, acknowledged his people's shouts and cries as if they all were
accolades - which, Wess thought, they were not. But above the mutters
and
complaints, the loudest cry was, 'The prince! Long live the prince!'
The phalanx marched straight from the palace to the new-built platform.
Anyone
shortsighted enough to sit in that path had to snatch up their things and
hurry
out of the way. The route cleared as swiftly as water parting around a stone.
Wess stood impulsively, about to sprint across the parade route to try once
more
to speak to the prince.
'Sit down!'
'Out of the way!'
Someone threw an apple core at her. She knocked it away and crouched down
again,
though not because of the threats or the flying garbage. Aerie, too, with the
same thought, started to her feet. Wess touched her elbow.
'Look,' she said.
Everyone within reach or hearing of the procession seemed to have the same
idea.
The crowd surged in, every member clamouring for attention. The prince
flung out
a handful of coins, which drew the beggars scuffling away from him. Others,
more
intent on their claims, continued to press him. The guards fell back,
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surrounding him, nearly cutting off the sight of him, and pushed at the
citizens
with spears held broadside.
The tight cordon parted and the prince mounted the platform. Standing
alone, he
turned all the way around, raising his hands to the crowd.
'My friends,' he cried, 'I know you have claims upon me. The least wrong to
one
of my people is important to me.'
Wess snorted.
'But tonight we are all privileged to witness a wonder never seen in the
Empire.
Forget your troubles tonight, my friends, and enjoy the spectacle with me.'
He
held out his hand, and brought a member of his party up beside him on the
stage.
Bauchle Meyne.
'In a few days, Bauchle Meyne and his troupe will journey to Ranke, there to
entertain the Emperor my brother.'
Wess and Quartz glanced at each other, startled. Chan muttered a curse.
Aerie
tensed, and Wess held her arm. They all drew up their hoods.
'Bauchle goes with my friendship, and my seal.' The prince held up a rolled
parchment secured with scarlet ribbons and ebony wax.
The prince sat down, with Bauchle Meyne in the place of honour by his side.
The
rest of the royal party arrayed themselves around, and the parade began.
Wess and her friends moved closer together, in silence.
They would have no help from the prince.
The Processional gates swung open to the sound of flutes and drums. The
music
continued for some while before anything else happened. Bauchle Meyne
began to
look uncomfortable. Then abruptly a figure staggered out on to the path, as if
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he had been shoved. The skeletally thin, red-haired man regained his
balance,
straightened up, and gazed from side to side. The jeers confounded him.
He
pushed his long cape off his shoulders to reveal his star-patterned black robe,
and took a few hesitant steps.
At the rope barrier's first wooden supporting post, he stopped again. He [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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