Five Senses Box Set

by Andre Norton

  “But if you agree, Your Grace, there is also a warning. Already some of my wares have been tampered with and only due to Willadene has mischief been defeated. Herb craft is a very old learning, and it has its dark side as well—it can kill as well as cure. Therefore I would advise you, should this plan be agreed upon, not to have dealings with any such mixtures as Willadene herself has not passed upon as being free of any meddling.”

  Vazul nodded. Ssssaaa had climbed back to his collar again, and there was a very purposeful look on the Chancellor’s face.

  “It would seem that what you suggest, mistress, is our best answer. Your Grace?”

  “Yes, I agree. But also—I do not like hallways and steps within walls, ones through which my own rooms may be easily reached.” If Halwice recommended this girl she could believe in her and the powers the Herbmistress credited her with. However, she felt exposed to something she could not put name to when she thought about that panel she had so impulsively opened and the fact that there were secrets beyond secrets in the very walls which had once seemed so safe.

  Vazul was nodding. “That can be remedied, Your Grace. The secret inner fastenings of these doors are known to us. You need have no fear of any trouble thereby. It is near morning. After your maid comes to awaken you there will be a message that while you are at breakfast with His Highness there will be workmen in your room. Their purpose will be to install a special new cabinet since your wardrobe will of necessity be continually added to. This will completely barricade the panel so that it will need a squad of workmen to ever force it open again. But first they will plaster the wall.

  “Now.” He looked down at the young man lying at his feet. “We must also see you safe. Since the wallway seems to be known beyond our own circle we shall place you where you will not be discovered inadvertently—in my own suite. In fact in my own bed. For I shall continue to ail for a day or so until you are on your feet again. Your Grace, if you will return to your own chamber—’’

  Mahart prickled inside. This was as if he were giving some child instructions for proper conduct. However, it would seem that she was not to have any further hand in this particular part of any game Vazul was playing, and she remembered with a start that she must do something to hide the traces of her own activities below. Nodding in agreement she squeezed once more through the secret panel and found her way back to her chamber, where she busied herself hastily with what had to be done.

  Willadene awoke, but somehow the fragrance of her dream seemed to last past her duties of the morning— even after she opened the store. Halwice had left on the order slate some instructions for simple remedies which might be exhausted and these she put together even before the Second Bell boomed out over the town. But she longed for the return of the Herbmistress. She herself knew so little and customers would begin to question if she were the only one seen in the shop. She was sure that a number would not trust her judgment—certainly the doctors would not.

  But it was none of the doctors who was to begin this day with wreckage. She had cleared away most of the orders as well as prepared three simple remedies herself when there was a stir outside the door of the shop, and a moment later a young man in noble’s street finery came in, accompanied by two others of his kind, though not so brightly dressed.

  They stared about them contemptuously. One of them pulled down a braided cord of dried stalks, sniffed at it, made a face, and tossed it onto the floor, where one of his companions trod upon it. The leader of the trio leaned across the counter and, before Willadene could dodge, thrust two fingers under her chin and jerked her head up, his thick lips sneering as he looked at her.

  “Where’s the old witch, slut?” His speech was slurred and, early as it was in the day, she could smell the heaviness of wine—as well as a faint trace of that other thing— the darkness which frightened her.

  “The Herbmistress Halwice"—she had pulled away from his hold on her chin—"has been summoned to the castle. How can I serve you?”

  He grinned, and that was echoed by his companions.

  “Were you not a dirty little serving wench you might just give us a jog or two,” he drawled.

  “That’s telling her, Lord Barbric,” commented one of the others. “But it’s not getting you anything—”

  “So,” Barbric said (she had never seen him, but she had heard enough of his roustering, his spite, and his mishandling of commoners to understand who she now dealt with to her inner despair), ‘‘look me out, wench, that scent as will make every woman’s eye turn toward me willingly. They say your mistress knows it well—Heart-Hold.”

  Willadene summoned all her courage. “Lord, that is but an old tale. No dealer in herbs has ever seen or heard of it these three hundred years or more.”

  His hand lifted and before she could dodge he slapped her so viciously that she fell back against the cupboard-studded wall behind her, her cheek feeling fiery with pain.

  “You tell your witch mistress, what I want I get and she had better remember that. To give her a little proof—” He gave a sudden nod and the two with him swept from the fore shelf display in the shop the fine bottles, each one one of its kind, to smash on the floor. The fragrances they had held were thick enough to make one dizzy. Over the wreckage Barbric and his friends crunched their way into the outer air.

  12

  Sickened, Willadene surveyed the costly wreckage upon the floor. There was no use, she knew, as she nursed one hand against her smarting cheek, in calling the Reeve’s guard. They would no more lay the hands of justice on that trio than they would sprout wings and fly. The son of the High Lady Saylana was indeed above any complaint a merchant might make. There had been cases before when young drunken lords had preyed upon shopkeepers, but any justice was served quietly thereafter by some responsible member of their House settling outside the Reeve’s court with the plaintiff. And somehow she was sure that for this destruction there would be no such recompense.

  Slowly she went into the back room for broom and basket and came back to work. The larger pieces she picked up, here running fingers over the back and part of one wing of a headless swan, there sickened by the sight of cracked petals. It took some time to clear the floor. At least no customers intruded. That made her happy at first and then she realized that those in the neighboring houses and shops might well have recognized the vandals and wanted nothing to do with their victim. It was safer to look the other way when one from the Great Houses made trouble for a commoner.

  Willadene had swept the floor for the third time, trying to work loose the smallest slivers of broken glass, when someone did at last darken the doorway, and she looked up quickly.

  Halwice, her sturdy faring-forth cloak about her, the bulging bag of her supplies in hand, stood there. It was plain she had already noted the half-full basket of broken china and glass, the empty shelves in the street window.

  Willadene felt guilty, even though she knew that there had been no way she could have protected those precious possessions.

  “Bring a wet cloth.” Halwice spoke calmly as if this was a catastrophe she was well used to dealing with. “Lay it across the boards and press lightly. That will bring up some of the splinters, but be careful of your hands. And to whom do we owe this attack—and why?”

  She had shrugged off her cloak and set down her bag on the counter while Willadene hurried to the inner room for the cloth she dipped into the water bucket and wrung out. It was not until she returned that the girl answered that question.

  “My Lord Barbric, mistress. He was well gone in liquor and there were two with him—nobles also, I think.”

  “Come here, child.” Halwice held out her hand, and now her fingers tightened around Willadene’s chin as she turned the girl’s face to the full light.

  “This mark he left on you also?” she asked. “What was he in search of?”

  “Mistress, he spoke of Heart-Hold. And when I said that was naught but a tale he—”

  “He seeks that?” Halwice wa
s frowning but, Willadene knew, not at her. “He—or she who sent him, grows bolder—out of strength they have gathered, or because time presses in upon them now?”

  Willadene could give no answer to questions she did not understand. Still keeping hold on her the Herbmistress reached for a pot on a nearby shelf and used her teeth to loose its lid. Then, dipping a finger deeply into the thick jelly inside, she swept that across Willadene’s cheek. Though the girl flinched at the pain of the touch, light as it was, Halwice held her head steady until she had finished.

  “It is well you will be out of here!” she said forcefully when she had done. “Put down that cloth of splinters and come—’’

  Willadene quickly obeyed, swift to follow Halwice behind the curtain to the inner chamber.

  “Sit—and listen well,” the Herbmistress ordered. “There is that which only you can do.”

  She herself knelt by the long chest, pulling out folds of bedding and garments of a brighter hue than Willadene had ever seen her wear—almost as if some lady’s wardrobe had been stored so. As she worked she talked, and Willadene unconsciously moved her stool the closer to listen.

  “Your talent is needed, my girl, and it may be of great importance. There is certainly trouble to be sniffed out— trouble such as you have already met by scent among those towers above us. The Duke has his secrets—one you have seen in person—that one who has served him well— nearly to the death.”

  “Nicolas?” Willadene said the name as the Herbmistress paused.

  “Nicolas,” confirmed Halwice, “and we should thank the Star that he was found in time. But this is another matter. The Duke seeks a new kind of protection for the High Lady Mahart. She may be in very grave danger indeed, one which only such a talent as yours can sniff out. It is His Highness’s will that you for a time join Her Grace’s household. To all who question it will be told that you are bringing her some new preparations and there is need in instructing her waiting maids in their use as well as matching certain fragrances and the like to gowns being prepared for the visit of Prince Lorien, the great victory ball and other festivities.

  “This you are fully trained to do. If it is possible, gain the High Lady’s confidence even in a little. But this is the most important: you must be ever ready with your talent to make sure that no evil draws near her—not only because she is her father’s daughter and High Lady but also because she is one who truly follows the Star Path and will, I believe, in the future bring good to this land and its people.”

  Willadene, remembering that serpent of green light, felt for her amulet, and it was as if Halwice read her mind.

  “You will be given what protections are possible, not only for yourself but for her. Above all—learn her personal scent—not just the fragrances she favors—so that you know her in our own fashion as granted by the talent. Now—”

  She had pulled a last flat bag from the depths of the chest. Lifting it onto the cupboard bed she unfastened the end and began to pull out a folded length of cloth, all in shades of green varying from that of plants to the leaves of trees. And her stirring of this released the scent of lavender and, what Willadene had come to know as a foreign import of high value, sandlewood.

  Unfolded to its farthest extent the cloth was revealed as clothing. The palest green, soft in folds, made up two chemises. There were then two petticoats of a slightly darker shade, and, last of all, two gowns, plain of any embellishment until Halwice lifted the nearest and there was a gleam of deep purple and silver somewhat tarnished by time— High on the left side of the laced bodice this revealed itself fully as a circlet of violets picked out with silver leaves.

  Such were no garments for one of Halwice’s height nor would those skirts meet around her. She shook out each piece and surveyed it critically as if in search of some flaw and then said: “In earlier days those of our guild (there were more of us then) had our own robes for meetings and feast days. Now"—she shrugged—"I am known. Why should I wear livery for myself alone? But these were my journeymaid dresses and you shall do us proud at the castle so that none can sneer at your outward seeming.”

  “For me?” Willadene put out a hand but did not quite touch finger to the dress Halwice was still holding.

  “For you to wear in honest pride. This—” she plucked the bodice closer so the girl could see the violets “—will serve you as a house badge and none can say you are an intruder. Now, let us see how well all fits.”

  Not only did the Herbmistress see Willadene into the wealth of clothing, but she took thread and needle and made some tucks here and there so at last the girl could almost believe that these had come to her straight from the seamstress. Their labors were interrupted by calls from the shop, and she heard from behind the curtain Halwice deftly explaining to several visitors that the disaster of the morning had been the result of drunken folly. There was much agreement that something should be done to curb such actions, but there was also the undercurrent, the suggestion, that the Duke had truly not the strength to enforce the law even within Kronengred.

  Leaving Willadene to turn up the last hem (luckily her hands had softened enough under the nightly creaming that rough skin did not fret the fine cloth) Halwice brought out from a far cupboard a bag not unlike that she herself carried when she was summoned to a healing except larger.

  She opened it to display the many pockets inside, and in each she placed a small jar, packet of oiled skin, or a thick-sided bottle. As she worked she talked, and Willadene listened with care, for this would be for use of the Lady Mahart and must, if it were at all possible, please her.

  There was a second row of pockets, near hidden behind the first, and into these Halwice tucked away certain remedies for minor ills—headaches, sleeplessness, agues and the like. The extra clothing had a section of its own.

  Such medications Willadene had already dispensed in the shop and knew well. Halwice was reaching for a packet of well-dried leaves when she near knocked a book from the tabletop. Picking it up she looked at it closely and then shot a sharp glance in the girl’s direction.

  “You have been searching—?” That was not an accusation but rather a question.

  “Yes, mistress. It is the story of the Heart-Hold—there has been such talk of it I would know more.”

  Halwice smiled. “How we dream when we are young, child. I think in the heart of every Herbmistress, since this tale was first told, there has abode a faint hope that she, too, might be the Star-favored one to chance upon such a treasure again. Take it with you— Perhaps you may find something within to catch the High Lady’s interest. It is said she is one who likes books and has spent many hours reading.”

  She placed the ancient book in the bottom of the bag to Willadene’s relief, for she had feared a scold for prying.

  This time Willadene’s entrance into the castle was not made a secret to be hidden by night shadows. Instead, one of the senior pages in full uniform came to escort her, though she refused to surrender her bag to his hold, knowing that Halwice would not have done so. However, to walk forward in her new livery, for such she was sure she could consider the clothes the Herbmistress had supplied, was an experience to bring her chin up, her eyes light with pride. Halwice’s trust in her was less tangible than a green dress, but the latter gave Wiladene confidence in herself and armed her for what she must do.

  However, when the climb up the castle mount was behind her and she entered the small posten gate her escort held open, memory stirred and she looked carefully around for that tower of dark tales. It seemed that they were bound in that very direction, and she took firmer grip upon her bag.

  She was so intent on what lay before her that she was hardly aware of those passing, nor did she note the stares which fastened upon her or heed the murmur which trailed behind her as they went.

  The Black Tower was not their goal; instead, she was ushered to another, united to that place of ill omen by a wall, to be sure, but fashioned of lighter stone. The narrow windows were all open to the
sun and air, while doves fluttered on its roof. It had every appearance of vibrant life, whereas its neighbor was a finger of gloom pointing skyward.

  Willadene was ushered into the lower room, where there was a bustle of servants, and then steered up the stairs to a second and much richer and quieter chamber—-though the thin notes of a hand harp not too well plucked could be heard and she caught the scent of some of the pure-the-air preparations such as she herself had fashioned.

  Not only were the windows well opened here, giving one side of the room a dazzle of sunlight, but the walls between those windows were bannered with strips of brightly colored ribbons twisted here and there into the form of flowers.

  The girl with the harp struck a false note as Willadene came in, and the three others in the room centered their attention on the newcomer.

  Willadene sank down in the curtsey Halwice had rehearsed her in, fearful of losing balance as her heavy bag pulled her a little to one side. One waited for the High Lady to speak first, that had also been the Herbmistress’s instructions.

  “You are apprenticed to the Herbmistress?” It was the girl seated near enough to the pool of sunlight that seemed to put flecks of gold in her hair even though it had been braided in such tight coils, one over each ear, and there were flashes from the jeweled heads of the pins which held it so.

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Luckily her voice sounded as usual. “I am Willadene, if Your Grace pleases.”

  The High Lady was certainly not as striking looking as another who sat on a stool nearby, but she far outshone the other two—one being a beanpole with a sourish face, and the other bulging out of her clothes, cream powder ill applied to cover a rising spot on her chin.

  “You may be seated—here.” Her Grace beckoned Willadene toward her own chair and pointed to a thick floor cushion not too far away.

  Somehow Willadene was able to curtsey again and subside as decorously as possible on the place indicated.

  “I have long enjoyed your mistress’s products,” the High Lady continued. “Lady Famina and Lady Geuverir"—now she was speaking to the two other ladies, the plump one having set aside her harp—"we have promised the Abbey the new altar cloth before Prince Lorien arrives. He will undoubtedly go there to give full thanks for his victory. Since your needle skills are indeed to be praised, you may work on that now.”