2
Eventually, after they finally ran out of questions to ask for their precious papers, he was dragged off down the hall to a cell.
The door clanged shut behind him, and the sound of the lock turning was ominously final.
Even his prison cell was nicer than his room.
There was a rug here, threadbare though it was, and the bed had sheets and a suitable blanket.
There was enough torchlight from the hallway that he could have read a book if he'd wanted.
And there were no vermin or shit stains or puddles of piss anywhere.
Perhaps he should get arrested by the palace guards a bit more often.
Wasn't that a sad commentary on how far he'd fallen in life.
Sighing, he removed his dirty boots and left them by the door, then removed his outer layers, folded them, and placed them on the little shelf attached to the wall by the door.
He crossed the room to his bed and sat down, leaning against the wall with a sigh.
His hands were sore, still covered with blood and sand.
He looked around, but there was nothing in the small cell that he could use to clean up.
The sound of footsteps drew his attention, and a guard he didn't like the looks of came into view.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside, carrying a cheap clay bowl that he set on the small table at the end of Berkant's bed.
"You really that fighter, then? Don't look like much."
"Looks don't win fights," Berkant replied.
Great, a posturing guard eager to prove himself, just what he needed to end his night.
He held still as the man approached, even continued to hold still as the bastard touched him without permission.
He was long used to people just helping themselves to his muscles, his chest, occasionally his ass.
He only tended to lose his temper when they went for his dick.
"What's this?" the guard asked, hooking a finger into the silver chain around Berkant's neck and pulling it out from under his shirt to reveal a locket.
A birthday gift from Parvaneh, the first one she'd given as his wife.
It contained an image of her, a lock of her hair, and a tiny, delicate lock of hair taken from his stillborn daughter.
"Mine," Berkant said.
"A gift from my late wife.
Please leave it alone."
"Looks like contraband to me," the guard said, right before yanking it off his neck and stuffing it into his pocket.
Berkant launched from the bed, slammed a fist into the bastard's face, and watched him drop like a rock.
He dragged the guard out of the cell, took back his necklace, locked himself back in and threw the keys through the bars and into the empty cell across from him, and settled in to rest until the inevitable mayhem descended.
Just moments later, the guard woke up, and had a brief, fumbling panic as he tried to figure out where he was and what was going on.
His eyes landed on Berkant, and he froze.
Berkant said, "Try to take my necklace again, or anything else, and you won't be waking up the second time.
Now run along and have fun explaining why the keys are locked inside the cell opposite me, little sand rat."
The man puffed up like a cat, but instead of trying anything, he had the sense to flee.
There was a ruckus in the main room, and after a few minutes, several guards came charging dramatically down the hallway.
One helped the asshole guard fetch his keys, while another, a woman wearing the marks of the Captain of the Guard, eyed Berkant through the bars of his cell.
"I might have known having the Jackal on the premises would not make for an easy morning."
"Tell your piss-drinking guards not to steal my stuff, and you won't have further trouble from me," Berkant said.
"I also want him paying for the repairs, since he yanked it off my neck."
"What are you talking about?" the captain demanded.
Berkant explained his side of the story.
"That's not what happened!" the guard said, but the words had no force behind them, and with a curt jerk of the captain's head, he was being hauled away by his fellows, who were suddenly far less supportive of his being hit by a poorly behaved prisoner.
The captain sighed.
"Get cleaned up.
You have an audience with His Majesty.
Afterward, I'll have someone brought to fix your necklace."
Berkant eyed her warily.
"You believe me?"
"Yes.
Get cleaned up."
"Yes, Captain." Berkant rose, quickly cleaned his poor hands, and what he could of the rest of him, combing damp fingers through his hair to try and tame it, and then put his clothes and shoes back on.
Trying very hard to avoid that he had an audience with the king.
Why? Why in the world would His Majesty waste his time speaking personally to a criminal bodyguard? People like him were given a token trial, sentenced to hard labor, and shipped off to wherever there were rocks sorely in need of being moved around.
"Ready?" the captain asked.
"Yes."
The captain unlocked the door and jerked her head.
"Come on, then.
His Majesty is busy."
Four guards fell in around them as they left the detainment area.
Jail? He didn't know what it was called, really, when it was in the middle of a royal palace.
If he'd thought the parts of the palace he'd already seen were beyond beautiful, they were nothing compared to the areas he was in now.
Mirrors, gold, even more plants… The walls were made of white stone in most places, but in a few the stone seemed to have soft, barely there rainbows within, like flecks of opal.
Everywhere was the smell of green things, blooming flowers and fresh water, a faint hint of incense.
The tiled floors were interspersed with rugs so soft he could have slept on them.
Statues of all sorts of materials, precious vases, busts, and more.
Throughout, every hall was lined on either side with stone-faced guards.
For many city guards, the ultimate achievement was to be recommended for royal guard, and only a small handful of those recommended actually gained the coveted promotion.
Before he'd become so disgusted and fed up he'd quit, Berkant had hoped for it himself.
Even now, he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have such an important post, to live and work in the palace, never have to worry about a roof and food, to live somewhere so beautiful and safe.
The people here had probably never seen so much as a single rat in their life, let alone come home to several of them prowling around for literally anything to eat.
They finally came to a stop at the end of a narrow hallway that seemed slightly removed from the rest of the palace, quiet and still when the rest was full of people, mostly servants, bustling about getting ready for the day.
The captain knocked on the door and, as it slid open, stepped inside and spoke quietly for a moment.
She then returned to the hallway and jerked her head.
"His Majesty will speak with you.
Do I need to warn you about what will happen if you dare to misbehave in any way?"
"No, I think I'm pretty clear on what my misbehavior has gotten me so far," Berkant said dryly.
"Captain."
Sighing, the captain replied, "Get, then."
Utterly bemused by the situation, Berkant stepped into the room and knelt on the small rug placed for that purpose.
The captain came in behind him and slid the door shut, probably standing in front of it in case Berkant tried to bolt, which honestly was even stupider an idea than attacking anyone.
Not that he was interested in any such thing.
He bowed low, and kept his eyes on the floor, even when His Majesty, who had an absolutely beautiful voice, soft and warm, what Parvaneh would have called a comforting tenor, finally spoke.
He'd never had call to retain the very basic etiquette lessons about going before a monarch, but he knew you were supposed to keep your gaze averted.
"So you are the notorious Jackal.
Many here have wondered what became of you after you vanished so abruptly from the ring.
My wife, may she rest in peace, had been hoping to commission a private show fight here for our anniversary.
What is such an esteemed figure doing consorting with criminals?"
"With respect, Your Majesty, that is an old wound I do not feel like tearing open.
Suffice to say that grief and mourning got the better of me, and I no longer enjoy the attention." He never really had; he'd just liked the thrill and challenge of a good fight.
"You will answer—"
"Enough, Captain Bahiyya.
If someone demanded I talk about my late wife to satisfy their curiosity, I would refuse as well."
Berkant looked up before he thought better of it, catching a bare glimpse of a breathtakingly handsome man before he jerked his head back down.
He'd forgotten.
With one thing and another, he had forgotten for a moment that His Majesty had lost his wife as well.
Stupid of him, for Her Majesty had been highly regarded.
Parvaneh had admired her greatly.
"What was this altercation with one of my guards?" the king asked.
"Captain Bahiyya has given me a rundown of events, but I would like to hear your version in full."
He would? This man was nothing at all what Berkant had expected of a king.
"There isn't much to tell, Your Majesty.
The guard in question brought me water.
He made jeering comments about how I don't look much like 'that fighter'.
He touched me, then pulled the necklace from under my shirt.
I asked him to leave it alone, as it was a gift from my late wife. He said it looked like contraband and yanked it off, placing it in his pocket. I flattened him and took it back."
"Then locked yourself back into your cell," His Majesty said.
"I do not think I've ever heard of a prisoner who locked himself up when the opportunity for escape presented."
Berkant snorted a laugh.
"Not much of an opportunity.
There were at least fifteen guards in the detainment area alone, nevermind all those filling the hallways, and I have no idea where the entrance is, as it was dark when I arrived and beating a man for being a child-trafficking bastard is exhausting work."
"Yes, let us turn to that.
You may look up, Master Berkant, I'm not going to take offense to being looked at, especially as we are conversing."
Though he found that extremely hard to believe, given how angry nobles could get at being stared at by riff-raff when they were in the city, Berkant wasn't going to disobey an order when he heard one, no matter how nicely it was said.
He'd almost been happier staring at the floor, rather than gazing on the handsome man across the room.
Hardly shocking that a king would be beautiful, but it still made his heart flip in his chest in a way he hadn't felt since the day he and Parvaneh had met.
It wasn't a sensation he wanted to experience again, especially not for the king.
King Shafiq, only child of the late king and queen.
They'd borne two others, but one had died in childbirth and the other just months after birth of illness.
The whole kingdom had been relieved when Shafiq had not just survived, but flourished.
At present, he had no wife and only one child, which was of great concern to many.
Looking at him, Berkant could not imagine he lacked for offers.
The women must line the halls, surely.
He would certainly be tempted to try, if he was a noblewoman.
Gods, he needed sleep.
"Tell me your tale, by your pleasure," King Shafiq said.
"I am intrigued by all that I have heard so far."
"I rent out my skills as a bodyguard.
Ratti is a cretin, but he pays well and mostly doesn't try to make me do anything except the job I'm hired for.
I kept his stupid ass alive.
He's always dealt exclusively in smuggled liquor.
Takes it around to pleasure houses, reputable and dubious, and a few private homes.
A lot of those places overlap with traffickers, I know that much, but he's never had anything to do with that, or so I thought. I made it clear when he hired me for regular work that I don't tolerate anything involving children, and that if I caught him involved in such, I would not react kindly."
"You certainly kept your word," Shafiq said.
"Captain?"
"We're still investigating, but my assessment is he speaks honestly.
He's an accessory, by law, and the few incidents on his record were all dismissed as self-defense.
At most, six months hard labor."
King Shafiq drummed his fingers on the table, then picked up the small cup of tea near his hand and sipped from it.
Hadn't he recently taken a concubine? Or was that just wild city gossip? Surely it must be, because if Berkant was a royal concubine, he wouldn't miss a single opportunity to lift anything to that man's lips.
Gods above, he was losing his mind.
Since when did he think such ridiculous things about anyone, let alone the king.
Maybe Ratti had gotten in more blows than Berkant had realized at the time.
Setting the cup down, King Shafiq said, "How about a trade, Master Berkant? We need all the information we can get if we are to put a stop to the child trafficking.
Any knowledge you have would be of great use, since as you say, there is overlap between smugglers and traffickers.
In exchange, you will be set free."
"Deal," Berkant replied immediately, because he wasn't entirely stupid.
He refused to be pleased at the flicker of a smile on King Shafiq's mouth.
"Thank you, Your Majesty.
It's a most generous offer that I do not deserve."
King Shafiq waved the words aside.
"You did not deserve to have your necklace stolen by one of my guards.
Be assured he is suffering greatly for his appalling behavior.
Captain, see he's moved to one of the long-term cells, well away from anyone who might take it amiss he is cooperating with us."
"Your Majesty."
Berkant rose at the clear dismissal, hating how bereft he felt to be leaving King Shafiq's presence.
He would probably never be this close to him ever again, or see him at all, except maybe at a distance.
He wished he could have savored the moment longer.
Bowing low, he then followed Captain Bahiyya out of the room and through the halls of the palace.
Back in the detainment area, Captain Bahiyya returned him to his cell and said, "We're having your new room prepared.
I'll transfer you personally once it's ready.
I'll send now for the jeweler.
I apologize one of my own behaved in such an appalling and shameful way.
He's been dismissed and will be in the city by the time the sun has risen."
"Thank you," Berkant replied, too tired to muster anything further.
He went and lay down on his cot and closed his eyes, willing sleep to…
He jerked upright and stared, scowling at Captain Bahiyya, who didn't look terribly sorry to have woken him by banging loudly on the bars.
"Come on, hate to wake you, but the jeweler is here, and your room is ready.
I'd apologize for it taking so long, but I doubt you noticed."
Berkant laughed.
"I'm not sure I would have noticed if your entire guard traipsed through here dancing naked.
It was a long night and morning."
"Thankfully we'll probably never have to find out," Bahiyya said with a laugh of her own.
"Come on."
Berkant tied his clothes and smoothed his hair and stepped from the cell as Bahiyya opened it.
Closing it again, she said, "This way" and led Berkant out of the entire detainment area and down the hall to a small room that looked like it was probably used for meetings or something.
There must be tens of such rooms in the palace, given it was the center of so much activity, local and international.
How did they decide which rooms to use for which meetings?
An elderly woman sat waiting for them, all manner of strange tools laid out around her.
"Good afternoon, good sir.
You have the necklace I'm here to fix?"
"Yes, Mistress," Berkant replied, sitting on the opposite side of the small table.
Taking out his necklace, he slid it across the table to her.
"Thank you for fixing it for me."
Picking it up, her fingers long, deft, and elegant, the woman examined it closely.
"A beautiful piece.
Gollen silver, but local work.
I would say only Wessa or Zimmia could do this."
"I'm afraid I've no idea.
It was a gift from my late wife, and I never thought to ask where she had it made."
"No matter," the woman replied with a smile.
"I'm just rambling in admiration.
I'll get it fixed straight away." She set the necklace on the mat in front of her, which seemed to be made of velvet or something along those lines, and turned up a light in the corner, though Berkant would have said the room had plenty of light.
He watched, tense and anxious, as she removed the chain and set it into a small jar filled with a blue-ish substance.
Was that necessary just to fix a couple of broken links? Next, the woman opened the locket, and it took every bit of control Berkant possessed not to lunge across the table and snatch the locks of hair away as she lifted them free with a delicate pair of tweezers.
She faltered as she stared at the small lock, and Berkant couldn't take the pain and understanding in her face.
Hardly surprising a woman would immediately know what it was, but it hurt all the same to have his wounds laid bare.
Thankfully, she said nothing, only set them gently aside and covered them with a scrap of cloth.
She then added the locket to the same jar as the chain.
"Forgive me, Mistress, but… it was only a couple of links that were broken, wasn't it?"
"I would never be so lazy and unprofessional as to do half measures, especially when summoned at His Majesty's personal request.
Only a slovenly, lazy jeweler would fix a minor chain break but not take the time to see the whole necklace was cleaned and polished properly.
Such a beautiful piece should be treated beautifully."
"I… thank you, I am honored." Also grateful he didn't have to pay for it; there were reasons he'd never gotten it professionally cleaned.
He sat quietly, staring at the table, occasionally around the room, not really certain what else he could or should do.
Talk? That seemed disruptive to her work, and what would he converse about anyway? Parvaneh had been the talkative one; Berkant had been happy to earn the money that kept them well and obey her every wish.
Merciful Divine he was so tired .
"There we are," she said eventually, though how much time had passed, Berkant had no idea, there was no way to tell in that little room.
She slid the necklace back across the table, and Berkant's eyes stung as he saw it looked as good as it had the day Parvaneh had given it to him.
Inside, safely tucked away once more, were the locks of hair, and the little portrait of Parvaneh, forever frozen in time, never to be replaced as she grew older and more wonderful, seemed none the worse for wear for the treatment.
Pinching his eyes shut briefly to get control of himself, Berkant fastened the necklace in place and then bowed over the table.
"Thank you, Mistress.
This means the world to me.
I am forever grateful."
"I'm sorry for your loss," she said gruffly.
"Off you go, then, good sir."
"Thank you," Berkant echoed again, voice soft.
He rose and departed, Captain Bahiyya reclaiming the lead as they stepped into the hallway.
"This way, Master Berkant, I'll show you to your new room."
He'd expected a larger cell, maybe in a slightly different area of the detainment hall.
Instead, he was shown to a hall that clearly was intended to accommodate boarders who were not quite as affluent as most of the palace inhabitants.
"This one is yours," Bahiyya said, coming to a stop in front of a room that was four doors down on the right side of the hallway and giving Berkant a key.
"You share a bath with the room next to you, and the two rooms on the next hall over.
There should be a schedule inside for meals.
You are not permitted to attend the various events, like dances and such, without express permission from me or His Majesty.
You are to remain on this hall unless bid otherwise, save for mealtimes.
If you are found breaking the rules, you'll be returned to the jail hall. Guards are posted at all times, and they have been given orders to keep an especially close eye on you. A clerk will come at some point today with a schedule for you, though mind that schedule is subject to change and very likely will change as there are always things happening that demand His Majesty's attention."
Berkant stared.
"I'm… going to see His Majesty again?" Why did that make his heart flip in his chest?
"Why wouldn't you?"
"I figured he would assign the problem to someone else to attend."
"His Majesty is involving himself directly in this matter.
Behave and be well, Master Berkant." With a ghost of a smile and a slight bow of her head, Bahiyya departed.
What a strange day.
Berkant unlocked the door, slipped inside, and closed and locked it again before setting the key aside on a little table.
It was a handsome little room, with a bed, chest, writing chest, and a table intended for meals, work, and whatever else was needed.
The bed even had the sheer curtains he'd missed so much since throwing away his old life.
The room smelled of incense, and he could also catch the barest hint of fresh, clean water.
Going to the far side of the room, he pushed open the sliding door there and took in the large bathing chamber.
As Bahiyya had said, it was shared between four rooms. What a luxury. Like everyone else in his building, he shared a single dubious bathhouse on the ground floor, where it was a good day when the water was only murky.
Closing the door, he returned his attention to the room, and found the slip of paper that laid out the general palace schedule, including prayers, meals, and more.
What would all this cost him if he were not here at His Majesty's indulgence?
Unwanted thoughts rose up then, of all the ways he would be more than happy to indulge King Shafiq.
Divine, he really was finally losing his mind.
Stripping off his clothes, Berkant set them neatly aside, crawled into the wonderfully soft, warm bed, and went gratefully back to sleep.