Halt shifted position for the third time in thirty seconds, easing the strain in his thighs by sitting sidelong on one buttock.
'Tell that to my poor old aching knees,' he said.
In spite of Halt's earlier grumbling, the beds – essentially no more than thick mattresses spread out on the floor – were quite comfortable.
After they had doused the small lantern that lit their room, Will lay on his back, listening to Halt's deep, regular breathing. As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he could discern a pale crack of light that showed at the edge of the sliding door leading to the gallery outside, although the innkeeper had dimmed the gallery lanterns some hours previously.
The sliding, paper-paned window panel was open and a chill breeze entered the room. Will pulled the down-filled bedcover higher around his ears. The innkeeper had offered them a small charcoal brazier to warm the room but they had declined. Both Rangers preferred fresh air.
Not for the first time, he found himself marvelling at the amazing turns his life had taken in recent years. He knew that some people he had grown up with had never strayed more than a kilometre or two from Castle Redmont and others had never gone outside the boundaries of Redmont Fief. Even his wardmate Jenny, who was now a famous chef, had barely gone further afield.
Yet here he was, on the far side of the world, having travelled through an amazing channel in the desert, cut by unknown, ancient hands, on an ingenious ship designed to sail against the wind. Before this, he had crossed the heaving, tossing Stormwhite Sea and seen the barren crags of Skorghijl, then travelled on to the snow-covered mountains of Skandia, where he had faced the fierce riders from the Eastern Steppes.
More recently, he had crossed the burning deserts of Arrida and made firm friends among the nomads of the Bedullin tribe. He had faced the wild Scotti tribesmen in the north. Then, with Halt and Horace, he had travelled the length of Clonmel, one of the six kingdoms of Hibernia.
Sometimes, when he thought about how much he had seen and done in his young life, his head swam. And at those times, he thought about his childhood ambition of becoming a knight. How circumscribed his life would have been in contrast to this amazing existence! He knew that most of the knights who had trained in the Redmont Battleschool with Horace had never left Araluen's frontiers.
He wondered if Halt, who had seen all these things and more, ever felt the same sense of wonder and excitement about his life. Without thinking, he spoke.
'Halt? Are you awake?'
'No.' The ill humour in the one-word reply was unmistakable.
'Oh. Sorry.'
'Shut up.'
He pondered whether to apologise again, decided this would go against the instruction to shut up so remained silent. He glanced at the open window. The light of a half moon was beginning to creep through it. The same moon would be shining now on Horace, somewhere in the mountains, he guessed. Then he yawned hugely and, shortly after, in spite of his sense of wonder, he fell asleep.
He'd barely been asleep a few minutes when Halt's voice woke him.
'Will? Are you asleep?'
His eyes shot open, instantly alert. Then he realised there had been no sense of alarm or warning in Halt's words and his tensed muscles relaxed.
'I was,' he said, a little indignantly. 'I'm not now.'
'Good,' Halt replied, a trifle smugly. 'Serves you right.'
And the bearded Ranger rolled onto his other side, gathered the bedclothes under his chin and dozed off.
A sound.
Slight, barely audible. But outside the normal pattern of night sounds that Will's subconscious had studied, filed away and learned to ignore. His eyes were open again and he listened carefully. The moon no longer shone through the open window. He must have been asleep for some hours, he thought.
Halt's breathing remained deep and even but Will knew that his teacher would be wide awake too. Rangers trained to maintain their breathing pattern even when awakened unexpectedly, so that a prospective attacker would have no warning that his quarry was awake and ready for him.
Another sound. The light, creaking noise of wood moving, ever so slightly, against wood. It was the sound of a careful tread on the stairs, he realised. So the intruder, if it was an intruder and not one of the ryokan staff, was not in their room. Moving slowly and with infinite care to make no noise, he raised himself on one elbow and laid the bedcover back. Across the room, he saw the dim shadow of Halt doing the same thing. Halt raised a warning hand, signalling him not to make any further movement. Lying low to the floor like this, it would be difficult to rise without making any noise. The general construction of the ryokan's interior was exceedingly light – with interjoining panels of wood and oiled paper and more panels of woven reed matting covering the wooden floors. Movable panels like that would almost certainly have free play in them and would make noise – just as the stairs were doing. They heard another two slight squeaks from the stairway as if in confirmation. Will glanced down to make sure his saxe knife and throwing knife were next to the mattress, in easy reach.
Now that they knew there was no intruder in the room, there was no need to continue the pretence of deep breathing. They both breathed lightly, almost inaudibly, their ears tensed for any sound coming from outside.
Will was grateful that their room was closer to the stairwell than Alyss's. An attacker would have to pass their room to get to Alyss. A soft scuff of fabric against the wall, then another slight squeak, told them that whoever it was had reached the gallery and was moving slowly along it. They followed the slight sounds that marked his progress until the pale crack of light at the door panel was obscured and they knew he was outside their door. The sounds of movement ceased and Will felt a sense of relief. Whoever it was, Alyss was not the target.
He strained his ears, his head cocked slightly sideways towards the door. There was a gentle scratching sound – fingernails on the oiled paper surface, he guessed. Hardly the act of someone whose intention was to take them by surprise.
Halt mimicked the sound, rustling his fingernails on the reed floor mat. There was silence for a few seconds, with no movement perceptible outside the door. Then a low voice, barely audible, hardly more than a whisper, came to them.
'I am Atsu.'
They exchanged a quick glance. Halt nodded to the wall beside the door. Will rose, making as little noise as possible, and moved, barefooted, to stand beside the opening, his saxe knife in his hand. Halt remained seated on the mattress.
'Come in, Atsu,' Halt said softly.
The door scraped open. A figure was framed in the opening. He looked left and right, saw Will beside the doorway and spread his hands to show he was unarmed. Will gestured for Atsu to go forward, into the room, and he complied, sliding the door shut behind him. He moved to where Halt sat sideways on the mattress, his legs crossed, and dropped to his knees, facing him. He bowed.
'Greetings, friends,' he said.
Will moved from the doorway now and stood to one side, so he could observe the man as he spoke to Halt. He was slightly built, shorter than Will or Halt, but wiry. He was almost bald, with just a fringe of hair around the sides and back of his head. He appeared to be unarmed, but he could well have a knife concealed under the long cross-over robe that was standard attire for most Nihon-Jan.
'Do you always move around so late at night?' Halt asked him.
Atsu nodded. 'Since Lord Arisaka's men have imposed themselves upon us, it is safer for me to avoid them.'
'You helped another gaijin recently,' Halt said. It was a statement, but it was also a question. If this was not Atsu, chances are he wouldn't know the name of the gaijin he had brought down from the mountains. Atsu understood the challenge.
'You are talking about George-san,' he said. 'Friend to Or'ss-san.'
Halt frowned momentarily, not recognising the name.
'Who?' he said suspiciously. This time, Atsu enunciated the name carefully.
'Or'ss-san,' he said. 'The tall gaijin warrior.'
Will suddenly deciphered the name. He knew that the word 'san' was a Nihon-Jan term of respect, added as a suffix to a person's name. If he ignored that, he was left with 'Or'ss' – and that was a little more recognisable.
'Horace,' he said quickly and Atsu turned his head towards him and bobbed it quickly in affirmation.
'Yes. Or'ss-san,' he said. 'He saved the Emperor's life.'
'Did he now?' Halt said thoughtfully. 'I imagine that didn't make him Arisaka's favourite foreigner.'
'No indeed. Arisaka was enraged when he heard. Or'ss-san killed two of his Senshi.' Atsu allowed a note of satisfaction to creep into his voice as he added the last comment.
'That sounds like Horace, all right,' Will said.
'And our friend here doesn't sound too heartbroken at the thought of Arisaka's men leaving us for a better place,' Halt said wryly.