Dragonsight by Paul Collins Page A

that she was standing on his shoulders. Her head poked through the opening. She quickly checked the kitchen. It was empty. She scrabbled for a handhold, found one, and hauled herself up. She turned back for Daretor. Soon he too was slumped on the kitchen floor, shivering and panting. Then they moved away from the hatchway and found an alcove. Here they stripped off their wet clothing and dressed in the dry clothes that Jelindel had brought in a leather bag sealed with wax.
    ‘Lead the way,’ said Daretor. Jelindel nodded, still too cold to speak coherently.
    The castle, like many ancient buildings, resembled a maze, partly from a sense of fun, and partly to confuse intruders. Fortunately, Jelindel had memorised a map of the castle’s layout. Sold as a curio, the map was more than a century old. She doubted that there had been any significant alterations.
    She guessed Fa’red would be in the east wing, which was normally reserved for visiting nobility. She could not imagine Fa’red tolerating anything less. The east wing was some two hundred yards from their current position, and the guest suites several floors up. There was no stairway to the upper floors from this service level, but Jelindel knew that there had to be a service stairwell or similar arrangement for the staff.
    ‘Here,’ she said, indicating a small rectilinear cavity in the wall.
    ‘Are you seriously suggesting that I get in there?’ Daretor asked.
    ‘It’s called a dumb waiter,’ she said. ‘The servants place food and drink in it, then pull on those ropes to the side. The whole thing goes up to whichever floor has ordered it.’
    ‘Like Rakeem’s elevator.’
    ‘Exactly.’
    ‘It’s too small. I wouldn’t fit in there,’ he pointed out.
    ‘Still forgetting you’re in Zimak’s body,’ Jelindel replied. ‘Squeeze in, because this is how we’re getting up into the realms of royalty.’
    Daretor scowled. She smiled sweetly back.
    ‘You know I don’t like small spaces,’ he said. ‘Poxy little body or not.’
    ‘I’m sorry, Daretor, but there’s no other way. I’ll go first.’
    ‘No,’ he said, taking a deep breath. ‘I will.’ He paused. ‘ Why must we go up? Surely we could use the stairs around the other side.’
    ‘They will be charmed against intruders,’ Jelindel said dismissively. ‘Fa’red won’t leave his suite of rooms, so we must meet him.’
    Reluctantly, Daretor climbed into the tiny space, drawing his legs up to his chest. His face glistened with sweat and he was shivering. ‘How will you know when I arrive at the right level?’
    ‘Stop worrying. It’s all marked here on the side. When you get to the proper level this marker will be next to the name of that floor. I told you, it’s designed for illiterate servants.’
    Daretor swallowed, then nodded. Jelindel closed the door and started hauling on the ropes; fortunately, the contraption was counter-weighted to rise smoothly and easily.
    Inside, Daretor kept his eyes shut. He was a fearless warrior, known among the Preceptor’s former legions and mercenaries as death on two legs, but this tiny cabin unnerved him profoundly. He sighed with relief when the dumb waiter jerked to a stop. He listened for a moment, then slid the door aside wide enough to peer out. The chamber was shrouded in shadows, and seemed empty.
    Daretor pushed the panel wide open and climbed out, cautiously stretching his cramped limbs. Still nothing. He sent the contraption back down for Jelindel. In a short time she stood beside him, having endured the claustrophobic journey with less anxiety.
    A tall, turbaned man entered the chamber, padding silently on soft slippers. He was holding an oil lamp. When he saw Daretor and Jelindel he froze, then opened his mouth and drew breath to cry out. Jelindel was faster. Her binding spell wrapped itself around him, shackling his legs and arms, silencing his cry. Daretor caught the lamp as the man toppled to the floor, mumbling for