All his life, Cinnamon had been taught that the reception halls of the imperial palace were manned at all times. Cinnamon's grandmother used to tell him stories, him and Vitus both, when they were young boys. Her favourite tales always included someone making a formal request of the Emperor. In the stories, people going to make petitions to the Emperors waited in lines for days while bureaucrats worked tirelessly, day and night, to deal with the backlog. But things were different in reality.
It was true that the reception halls were open to the public at all times; a yawning guard had directed him to an open door. Cinnamon had let himself into a giant, cool room, glorious with mosaics on both floor and ceiling. There were rows of desks, no doubt for the use of the bureaucrats who were, unfortunately, not in at the moment. In fact, the room was empty, and only dimly lit with a few rushlights. The doors at the far end of the room were all firmly closed, as if to indicated that the workday was over. Cinnamon wondered if there might be another, inner room, full of people hard at work and ready to hear his request. He chose a door, and began to walk.
~*~
It didn't take long for Cinnamon to realise that the palace was even bigger than he had imagined, bigger, even, than in his grandmother's stories. He had wandered for what seemed for hours, through great big empty rooms, and narrow corridors, and elaborately decorated inner chambers. He had wandered up and down staircases and ramps, and seen no-one. He was growing weary, and had found himself in a less pleasant part of the building.
Here the hallway was narrow, and made of rough, unfinished stone. It led downwards, first as a gradual descent, then a definite ramp, and finally, a tight staircase cut into what Cinnamon suspected was natural bedrock. He thought it unlikely that he would find any helpful bureaucrats down this way, but perhaps the stairs led to a wine-cellar. He was growing thirsty.
Cinnamon was surprised by what he found at the bottom. The narrow staircase opened into a large room, containing what appeared to be large cages. Large enough to hold a lion, Cinnamon reasoned. Or, noticing a figure struggling to its feet before him, a man.
The figure tottered uncertainly in the dim light, then asked, “Cinnamon, is that – is that really you?”
YOU ARE READING
The Baby and the Battlefield
FantasyA baby? On a battlefield? Marcus is a clerk in the Imperial army. When he finds an abandoned baby on a battlefield, he has no idea what to do with her. His best friend is no help; he thinks Marcus is a sucker for taking the kid in. The slave who end...
