Above the Snowline Read Online Free Page A

were books of matches pinched from various hotels; a scallop shell (‘A Souvenir From Cobalt’); horse racing spurs from Eske; a glazed green roof ornament of a sea serpent from Ghallain; a bunch of silk sky-blue roses of Awia given him in secret by a Lady Governor, stuffed into a Litanee knotwork vase; a series of small gouache paintings of local scenes popular in my own manor; a pack of cards I know to be false, with extra aces; and several half-dried bottles of eyeliner, which I believe was all the rage in Hacilith and the sort of thing that Jant latched onto rapidly.
     
    Clay animal figurines from past Shatterings crowded the mantelpiece and in the grate were a very blackened kettle and toasting fork. Rather than descend the three hundred steps to the hall, he sat up here of a night and made his own toast and black coffee, from a great coffee tin embossed with baroque scrollwork and a dense little cylinder of dark chocolate, which he grated into it.
     
    On a stand, pride of place, stood a black and scarlet chessboard, with ebony and red maple pieces inlaid with jet and carnelian. It had cost Jant so much he never stopped flaunting it, but it was no more than a pose because he doesn’t have the slightest idea how to play. The bric-a-brac and interesting junk picked up in flea markets around the world gave off a mothy smell of dust, but the more subtle smell of wood polish underlay everything, with old newspaper and the peppery scent of ink.
     
    Beside the door, the wall was taken up by pigeonholes, each compartment labelled with the name of one of the Eszai or the Castle’s staff. Bundles of letters and slips of paper projected from most of them.
     
    The curtain was pushed aside and a half-dressed woman emerged, apologetically bowed over a bundle of her clothes. She backed to the door and disappeared down the spiral stairs as fast as she could go. Jant came out on the other side and began preening in the mirror.
     
    I said, ‘A Rhydanne, right here in the Castle! What do you think she wants?’
     
    ‘I have a landslide of a hangover . . .’
     
    More rustling, and another pale and interesting girl crept out of the bedroom - all dishevelled hair and white shift - and departed as quickly as her flip-flops would let her. Jant didn’t spare her a glance.
     
    ‘Who was that?’
     
    ‘I’m not really sure . . .’ He pulled on his boots and searched around. ‘Where’s my sword? I can’t go down there looking like a Zascai. Oh, here we are.’ He unhooked his jacket from the back of the door and a Wrought sword was hanging underneath, on a belt with the Castle’s sun as its buckle. He put it on then sailed out of the room, leaving the door open. He took the stairs two at a time, leaning around the tight curve. ‘What a time to come knocking. There I was, lying in the sunlight with a sleeping beauty on either side. The blonde’s leg there , hidden in the duvet; the brunette’s plump tits there . I was enjoying wondering how to wake them and you rush in, shouting.’
     
    ‘I’m sure you’ll manage to find some more.’
     
    ‘It’s the eyes.’ He smirked. ‘They can’t resist the eyes.’
     
    We reached the bottom of the staircase, emerged onto the grass and turned onto the path that runs between the kitchens and the end of Carillon which houses the Treasury. All the windows of the Treasury were caged and the flagstones of the path were dipped in the centre by the progress and egress of so many thousands of feet over the centuries. We passed the Treasurer’s apartments, then the Cook’s, and on either side the verdant lawns exhaled the moisture of last night’s rain. Although it was late November, the warmth of autumn still lingered and the baroque, red-tiled roof of Carillon looked more beautiful than ever against the cloudless sky.
     
    ‘Maybe we should be careful,’ I said. ‘She seems wary. If she’s come all the way from Darkling, imagine how strange the Castle must be to her.’ Jant