This was from the
very first draft of The Sleeping Prince, while Silas was still trying on
personalities like hats.
He looms over me, tall and thin. “Tincture of monkshood? I put an order under
your door,” he says, his voice rasping and low, made for secrets and I feel my
hands start to shake.
It
was Pegwin who’d told me about him in hushed tones as he’d stalked through the
market my first time there two moons ago.
“Watch
that one,” she’d said, spittle flying out from between her cracked teeth. “He’s
Lormerian. Silas Kolby. Rotten to the core.”
I’d
been surprised, given the nature of the village it was rare that anyone spoke
out against about their neighbours. “Is he dangerous?”
Pegwin
merely gave me a dark look. “The sooner he passes on into Tregellan the better.
And in the meantime you stay away from him.”
And
I have, until now, when he stands on the edge of my cloak and stares at me.
“I’ve
got coin,” he says quietly, patting his pockets where metal rattles freely.
I
still can’t speak, which is unlike me, and I keep one eye on him as I rummage
in my basket for the vial of deadly monkshood.
He
holds out a gloved hand to take it from me and I do the same for the money,
keeping the vial in my fist until he reaches into his pocket. His hand is full
when he pulls it out, coins and a silver pipe and a glass ball all sit on his
palm. He selects a few of the coins, dropping them into my open hand and I drop
the vial into his. He gives a brief nod and leaves and I look down at the coins
he’s given me. None of them are Tregellian, all of them are old and tarnished
and bear the head of some old king from somewhere else.
I can’t use these
to pay Unwin.
I can’t use these
for the rent. If it were any other week it wouldn’t matter but today I need the
florin he owes me for the mixture. I need five florins for the rent.
“Mr
Kolby” I call after him, ignoring Pegwin’s sharp intake of breath as I move
after him, trying to keep my voice level and respectful. “My Kolby, a moment
please.”
He
stops dead, turning, and looks me up and down in a way that makes my skin feel
itchy. “Did you just call me Mr Kolby?” he says.
“I
did,” I swallow, before holding my hand stiff. “I think you made a mistake,
sir. This isn’t Tregellian currency.”
“Sir?”
he says, narrowing his eyes at me. “Sir? Are you mocking me?”
“I’m
not. I just… this isn’t the right money.”
“The
right money?” He looks perplexed.
“I
need Tregellian coins. This is no good.”
“Throw
it away then,” he shrugs and turns away.
“You
owe me a florin for the monkshood,” I protest but he shrugs again without
turning to look at me and my vision turns red.
I did not spend
this morning having piss thrown at me to have some freakish Lormerian put the
little I do have in jeopardy.
I will not allow
Chanse Unwin to put his hands on me because Silas Kolby thinks he doesn’t need
to pay for my work.
Enraged I throw
the coins and they bounce off his back.
He stops dead, his
shoulders jerking back, his arms held slightly away from his sides and my
hand moves to my knife belt.
As
he turns the whole forest stills, as if every person, tree, and animal around
us are simultaneously holding their breath. Then the exhale; I can hear the
last remaining people behind me gathering their belongings, the clink of metal
against metal as possession are thrown into baskets and bundled away, the
rustling of branches as they scuttle into the undergrowth and cold hard fear turns
my stomach to stone.
Silas Kolby looks
at me, then the ground where the coins have fallen, then me again with
exaggerated slowness. He opens his hand and looks at the monkshood and my blood
runs cold. I shudder involuntarily and he smirks, dipping his hand back into
his pocket. He looks thoughtfully at whatever it is he pulls out before he
flicks it towards me and I catch it neatly. My jaw drops when I see it is a
whole, shiny five florin piece. The entire month’s rent, right there in my
hand. Four more florins than I need, four more florins than the potion is
worth.
“Keep the change,
Errin Vastel,” he says quietly but I know he’s not being generous. It’s a
threat, I can tell from the way the words made every hair on the back of my
neck stand up. He wants me to know he knows who I am.
I
stare after him, watching him vanish into the dark woodland, my heart
fluttering in my chest before I realise I am alone. There is a moment when I’m
grateful for it and then I curse. Cowards leaving me here alone with him. Alone
in the woods is the last place I should be, especially given the amount of
money and goods I’m carrying and especially because Silas Kolby knows my name.
I
dart back to my basket and cloak, whirling it around me and palming my knife
before I begin the walk back. The one advantage to not keeping to a regular
path on the way to and from the market is that there’s no route I’m likely to
be caught on, but just in case I’ll circle back around the yew trees. I need
more nightshade anyway.
There
are no birds calling in the trees as I move and I don’t like it, it makes the
world feel poised and sets my already jangled nerves on edge. I keep my basket
between my feet as I pull my gloves on and hack at the nightshade. When I have
as much nightshade as I can wrap in my waxed paper, I twist the ends carefully
and wrap it in another sheet, before tucking it as far from the food I’m
carrying as I can.
Then
I’m away again, darting through the trees. I have a long list of things I need
but I’m too anxious to collect it now, I’ll have to come out at dawn tomorrow.
No one bad is up and about at dawn; evildoers don’t rise before midday. When
the trees begin to thin my heart slows, I can see the afternoon light
puncturing the dim forest and that’s when I trip over a root, flying forward,
my basket arching up and then down with a sickening crunch as I raise my arms
to protect my face.
“Oh
dear. You seem to have fallen down,” a jagged male voice drawls.
I
turn over to see Silas Kolby balancing a knife on the end of his finger.
