Chapter 41: Quiet Corridors.

Chapter 41: Chapter 41: Quiet Corridors.

"This doesn’t mean I trust you," Khobi declared belligerently, dabbing at the water dripping off his chin –smoother now, or as smooth as he’d been able to get it, if not even –and wincing when a nick on his jaw smarted.

"I know that," Bongo assured him from the doorway, where he’d been silently observing Khobi sloppily shaving away his stubble the way a youth might before his father’s shown him how, hands folded neatly behind his back. "...You missed a spot."

The glare Khobi sent him was particularly withering, but since Bongo had long since grown immune to such things he just sighed and gestured to a spot underneath his chin.

Khobi glowered at him but Bongo caught him giving himself a final once over with the razor before casting it aside and skulking over to the clothes laid out for him.

(The captain personally found it in rather poor taste on Gurdet’s part, but sometimes it was best to leave His Majesty to his whims.)

Khobi didn’t like them. They were tight and stiff, and suffocating, and when he looked in the mirror he barely recognised himself, like he was wearing skin that wasn’t his.Too bright, and too clean, like someone had painted an old toy like new but hadn’t bothered to mend the cracks.

Do I have to do this ? Said the hangdog look he sent to Bongo in the mirror. But they both knew the answer to that already.

Bongo gestured for the door, standing wide open and unguarded. Inviting him to pass him by.

"Walk with me," he said –offered, rather, because it wasn’t so much an order as it was a request. All the same, it felt like a trick.

"What if I run?" Khobi asked flatly as he sidled stiffly towards the door. The boots he was wearing weren’t a perfect fit, and rubbed a little against the bandages Binny still insisted on binding his feet with, but run in them he would, if he had the chance.

And Bongo was presenting him with a chance like no other, holding the door open and expecting him not to run.

"Then we’ll catch you," came the simple reply. And there was something about how certain he sounded of that, that a dry huff –the closest he would allow himself to real laughter –passed Khobi’s lips. It felt good, like some of the weight he’d been carrying in his heart for too long had been suddenly lifted from him.

Who did this soldier think he was, talking like that, trusting a man he didn’t even know and offering peace to him?

Funny .

That was just the kind of man his uncle had always been.

And so, before he knew it, he was standing in the doorway, gazing down into the gloomy spiral staircase that stretched out below him. There were torches lighting the way,chasing away shadows and casting an eerie glow about the walls.

The steps were steep and made of thick stone, and to fall from them at this height would be fatal. Fleeing down them...well...even he knew how dangerous that might be, and just briefly, Khobi entertained the notion of letting Bongo descend before him.

On precarious steps like these it would take only a small nudge to send even a grown man careening over the edge to his death. He’d crack open on the stones easy enough, and it would be little skin off Khobi’s nose to steal his sword and armour and...

No.

He wasn’t going to kill him. Maybe, if he’d had but a little less of his uncle, and a little more of Briyagi in him, but he didn’t, and wasn’t about to take his freedom as the cost of becoming like them.

From what he’d seen of Bongo, he was strong, and honest, and a good captain to his men, and somewhere in his mind there was a hazy memory of him hauling Khobi to his feet when he wasn’t strong enough to lift himself.

And even after Briyagi, maybe things like that still meant something to him

So, instead of running, Khobi waited. The grimace he was wearing showed his true feelings, but he waited nonetheless.

Bongo nodded, just once, and for the most part his face remained as impassive as it ever was, but just briefly there was a crinkle to his eyes that gave his expression warmth, like he was trying to disguise a smile.

And despite himself, Khobi let him come closer, let him reach out a hand and lay it on his shoulder with a grip too firm to mean nothing, but too gentle to harbour ill will.

"I’ll be right here," he said. Whether it was meant to unnerve or reassure him, Khobi didn’t know, but out of nowhere a dusty kind of nostalgia settled over him –the memory of being a child of no more than seven, a quiver of arrows on one shoulder, and a heavy hand –the kind that was made for both peace and war –on his other, and his uncle, his honest, kind uncle, looking down and smiling like he was proud of him.

But he shook it off –both the memory, and Bongo’s hand –because that was then, and this was now, and he had an audience with a king.

...

It was different, seeing Crade like this. Being dragged in chains, or largely unconscious, or sprinting along with guards breathing down his neck never really left much time to get a good look at the castle on the whole. Truthfully, Khobi hadn’t been all that interested –all castles were the same to him –and he’d been enjoying the sun on his face too much to pay much attention, but even he couldn’t help but notice that it was maybe a kind of impressive.

It was bigger than he remembered his uncle’s being –bigger even than Briyagi, with walls and columns that reached high, and intricate tapestries and sculptures lining almost every corridor. Overkill, maybe, but impressive nonetheless.

Bongo took them by quieter corridors with an even stride, letting Khobi walk a few paces in front, head always twisting and turning to drink in what lay around him. It was refreshing to see him look like a young prince turned guest of a neighbouring kingdom for a change.

"Khobi," he called out as his charge wandered on just a little too far ahead. Khobi paused in his stride for half a beat and then stubbornly continued walking. Bongo sighed to himself but didn’t protest. It seemed that when it came to dealing with him he had to be prepared to give a mile every time Khobi took an inch.

"It should go without saying," he continued, hoping that he was at the very least listening, "But when you meet with His Majesty you should afford him and his daughter the same respects you would offer to any other king...More, perhaps, considering your history," he added dryly, and Khobi snorted like that was the understatement of the century. But that was about as good as he was going to get.

He hoped Gurdet knew what he was getting himself into.