“Guildmaster,” he said, bowing to Jenci. “Rider, be at your ease. He is found, then?”
Kieve looked at him. “How did you know he was lost?”
His perfect lips tilted. “It’s a small island full of very bored people, Rider, and you went by most of them this morning, at speed, with your hair unbound. Next time you could hire a crier and be more subtle, perhaps.”
Jenci made a grumbling noise and came across from the window. “The child is found and all’s well, and this hue and cry for nothing.”
“With respect, Guildmaster, I think not,” Cairun said. “Do you think he went off by himself?”
“What else?” Jenci said and went still, looking at him.
“Just so,” Cairun said, and turned toward Kieve.
“What is it?” Jenci demanded. “Kieve, what does he mean?”
Cairun didn’t take his eyes from her. “Does he know?”
“I am bound by my oath,” she said, her hands still on Pyrs’ shoulders.
“Ah. But I am not.” Cairun told the Guildmaster about Cadoc and Gadyn and their plans, about Cadoc’s threats and Gadyn’s inept attempts at bribery. Jenci listened, his eyes narrowing. When Cairun finished he shook his head. “Cadoc is not a fool,” he said.
“Gadyn is,” Cairun said. “Too foolish to hatch a plan like this, which means that someone hatched it for him.”
Kieve stared at him, then bent her face to Pyrs. “Tell me what happened to you.”
The boy took a deep breath and held it for a moment and let it out all at once. “I curried the horses, mistress, we thought it was all right because you said I had to stay here until you were back, and you were back. When I finished I put the brushes away, and I left to come here and it was just dark, early dark, and I was—I was crossing the yard and somebody threw a cloth over me and I couldn’t see, and he picked me up and ran with me. I kicked and yelled and he wrapped me closer.” He paused to take a breath. “It was very hard to breathe,” he said. His shoulders moved under her hands.
“Go on,” Kieve said.
“We went inside and the wind stopped and we went down some stairs and it got colder and colder. Then he put me down and a door closed. I could breathe freely then, and I did, and footsteps went away and another door closed. It was quiet, mistress, so quiet, I heard my heart in my ears.” The words spilled over each other in his haste to get them out. “I pulled the cloth away but I couldn’t see anything, I didn’t hear voices or breathing or anything and I felt bones, all around me, cold, hard bones. I was—I was—I thought he had put me there—put me there to die, where all the bones were and I—I screamed but no one came at all forever.”
She gave him a cup of water. He sipped and put it on the table, using two hands.
“I think I slept. I woke when someone picked me up and said all would be well, and he gave me a blanket and took me away but put me somewhere else that was still black, just black, and forever later I saw a light and I was afraid, mistress, the light came closer and I was so afraid and I cried, I couldn’t stop it and someone unlocked the door and a man came in and I tried to hide but he caught me and brought me to that other man and he gave me hot food and tea and he took me outside to you and—and then you came, and then you came for me.”
He buried his face against her shoulder.
“Not lost,” Cairun said to Jenci. “Abducted.”
“To what end?” Jenci demanded. “The child is a bondslave, there must be tens of them on Sterk.”
Cairun nodded and helped himself to some of Kieve’s tea. “True. But only one this Rider holds dear.”
“Who would think so?” Kieve demanded. “Drysi admired him, as did her astrologer. Perhaps they took him.”
“You brought him through the castle like your shadow,” Cairun said, “shortening your stride to match his. Even before this morning it was no secret that Cadoc’s Rider had bought herself a fondling.” He drained the cup and put it down. “And he is now a weakness. Moreover, he is a weakness known to every person on Sterk.” His brown eyes regarded her. “What would you do, Rider, to get him back, or to keep him safe?”
Pyrs was very still against her. She let her arms fall away from him.
“And to fix this,” she said, “I am to—”
“No! I don’t want to know,” Cairun said. He caught and kept her glance. “I too am in line for the sword. But I would not be doubted more than you need to.” He sketched a quick bow toward Jenci and left the room. Kieve stared after him.
“He’s right,” Jenci said. “You must get him off Sterk.” He hauled himself from the chair. “I will come with you. For a little while.” He stood frowning down at her, in his braids and bulk and intricately tattooed hands. Without thinking she drew Pyrs closer. Jenci shrugged and went across the room, and after a moment she realized he was reading her notes and had put his hand on her map of Stormbringer. She closed her eyes and opened them again.
“Put your belongings together,” she said to Pyrs. “There’s an iceboat before the noon hour and we should be on it.”
The boy wet his lips. “I don’t want to go,” he said.
She looked at his dirty face, streaked with the tracks of tears. She shook her head, yanked the bellpull, and pushed him toward his pallet.
“Mistress?” Gaura came in, looking frightened.
“I want both horses saddled.”
“Yes, mistress.” Gaura went out. Jenci was silent. Pyrs dragged his saddlebags from behind the map cabinet.
Kieve pushed aside the curtain to her inner room, in search of dry boots, and froze. A shadow filled one corner where there should be none. She put her hand on her belt knife and the shadow moved. Daenet stepped forward, his fingers on his lips, his eyes wild. She took another breath, understanding the faces Gaura had made.
“Ikume?” Jenci called.
“I come,” she said as Daenet faded into a shadow again. She kicked off her boots, snatched up a dry pair, and took them into the outer rooms. Once shod, she slapped her cloak’s pockets, making sure her papers were in order and that she had some money. Pyrs finished stuffing his few belongings into the bags. Gaura came back as Pyrs scrubbed the dirt and tears from his face.
“We are going into the city,” Kieve said. “I shall be some hours. Keep the rooms warm.”
Gaura nodded. Pyrs picked up the saddlebags. Kieve put her hand on his shoulder and let him walk before her to the stables. Jenci lumbered after.
They led the horses through the wards. The shadeen at the main gate saluted, their eyes on Jenci’s escutcheon, and held open the doors.
They walked through the glacis, the dead lands below the curtain wall, towards the town. Jenci frowned at the frozen dirt of the road and shook his head within the folds of his hood.
“Two nights ago I dined with Lady Isbael Marubin,” he said.
This was so far from her thoughts that it took Kieve a moment to understand him.
“It was enlightening,” he said. “She is formidable, and quick. And her cook is very good.” He kicked a stone out of his way. “There were four land-barons, and the woman from the Merchants Guild, and myself. She—Lady Isbael, I mean—talked about the future, about trade with the rest of Cherek. She talked about wool and weaving, and about forests, and the talking wire. She has studied well, I think, and knows where she would take Dalmorat, were it hers to take. She is very smooth, very polished. A smart and serious woman. Smarter than the others, I think. And canny.”
Kieve made no answer. After a moment, he said, “The Lord of Bergdahl ate with us. After a time, he spoke of Cadoc’s network of spies, of—of...”
“Ferrets,” she said.
“Yes, of ferrets. He admired it. I said that it was unlikely to survive Cadoc’s death, and he disagreed. He said it already had survived, as an idea if nothing else. He said that if Cadoc’s heir can maintain this network, then the border lords would adopt it for themselves, for it provides control and an income from confiscated lands.” Jenci was silent
for a moment. “He wanted to know if Cadoc had developed his network together with the Riders, or whether he had contracted with us later. Since Cadoc’s network depends on a Rider to deliver warrants. He wanted to know if the Guild would be willing to contract just for that, since he had the telegraph. And would not need a Herald Rider for much longer.”
“Master—”
“I told him that Cadoc had never contracted with the Riders for anything other than a Herald, like all other Lords in Dalmorat. That the Riders Guild would not make such a contract. And he shrugged and had more wine, and said it wouldn’t matter, for he could contract with a Guard band as easily as with us. That the Guard could easily provide a messenger, a warrant-bearer. Since that is the most of what the Lord’s Rider does, in Dalmorat.”
Kieve bowed her head. After a moment Jenci resumed walking.
“Yesterday morning,” he said, “Gadyn Marubin came to me, to ask me to feast with him that night, in the Great Hall. I presume so that others could see the Rider Guildmaster at his table and draw conclusions. I declined.”
Smoke rose from chimneys in the freeholders’ village. A few inhabitants, well bundled against the increasing wind, looked at them and moved toward the walls to let them pass. Pyrs walked behind them leading the horses. Kieve looked back and saw him notice the ducked heads and surreptitious furcas. Jenci noticed them too, and withdrew into his cloak. They passed the last houses but Pyrs stayed close.
“I think it would be wise,” Jenci said, “to pledge you to Kyst as soon as possible.”
“No,” Kieve said. “No. I won’t be part of what you want to do to Daenet.” Jenci looked at her but did not respond, which surprised her. “He is as much a victim of his circumstances as I of mine,” she said. “You are the guildmaster, you will do as you like with him. But do not ask me to be a part of it, Jenci. I am more soiled than he.”
“It would make you safe,” he said. “No one would want to war with Kyst.”
She shook her head.
A goods wagon rumbled toward them. They stepped out of the path to let it by, then walked on in silence. The wagon gate in the outer curtain wall was open. They stood aside again for other wagons, then passed through the wall. The path widened toward the huge winches. The sound of the ratchet road grew, the skreeing of rope and the rhythmic banging of carts as they climbed the cliff. The guildmaster stopped again.
“I will turn back here, I think,” he said. He put his hand into his pocket and brought out her notebook. Her breath stalled. He opened the book and looked through the last written pages. “An open traverse, it seems. Not a reconsideration of existing maps. According to the Dalmorat map, there is no way over the mountains, between that village and the Morat. I assume that the decision to take that route was not authorized.” He tapped the book with a blunt fingertip. “The boy helped?”
“Yes.”
Jenci didn’t look up from the notes. “I looked at your map, too, while I waited for you this morning. It is very good. It fits the notes, and fits the empty place in Dalmorat’s map like a puzzle piece.” He waited a moment, and said, “This cannot be your first.”
“No, master.”
He moved his finger over the page. “I have quarreled with Lady Esylk, over you.”
“Master?”
“No matter. We will talk, Kieve. When you return.” He put his hand on the boy’s head. “Goodbye, young man. You’d have made a fine Rider, but I don’t suppose you want to hear that, do you?”
“Yes, sir,” Pyrs said. “No, sir.”
The guildmaster nodded and turned away. He turned back and held out the notebook. “Here. It is yours.”
She pocketed the book and watched him walk back toward the castle. He did not turn around again.
“Mistress?” Pyrs said.
She swung aboard Traveler. After a moment Pyrs clambered into Myla’s saddle and rode before her down the steep road.
Carts clacked up the ratchet road, carrying bales and boxes and netted baskets piled high with gourds and dried vegetables and meats and sacks of grain. Pyrs looked at them as the horses picked their way down the path. Kieve, behind him, stared at his golden head and the round profile of his cheek, and beyond him over the Morat to the city. The fortnightly supply boat from down river had arrived and lay at winter anchor amid the fat-bellied merchant barges and the smaller iceboats within the harbor.
The shadi at the quay checked her papers, saluted, and stood aside. Pyrs put the horses in the corral and leaned against the stern rail, fists in pockets, staring at Sterk. Kieve stood a little bit away from him and closed her eyes. A picture of Cadoc. A picture of Aedin. The dark picture that summed her life in Dalmorat Province. One by one, into rooms in her mind, close the doors. One by one. It seemed to take forever.
After a time she opened her eyes. Pyrs turned his head away. Boatmen shouted, sails snapped, and the ferry moved from the quay. Fine arches of splintered ice rose behind. Kieve watched Pyrs watch Sterk.
The boat heeled, tacking. The morning sunlight dimmed and she glanced overhead to see high, dark clouds moving up the Morat Valley.
“Where are you going to take me?” the boy said.
It would do no harm to tell him, she thought. “I will find the Minst guildspeaker. He will have a companion. One of them can take you back.”
He frowned, his lips pressed tight together.
“I’ve given you no cause to like me,” she said. “Why do you want to stay?” When he didn’t answer, she added, “This is not a safe place for you, Pyrs. Last night showed that.”
He wouldn’t look at her. “But you’re back on Sterk now. You’ll protect me, won’t you? You’re a Rider.”
“And you are a bondslave. I stand alone behind you, just as I stand alone behind Traveler, or my books.” He didn’t respond. “If you were a Rider the guild would stand behind us both. If you were an apprentice I couldn’t send you away at all.”
He tilted his head back and looked at her before shoving his hand into his shortcoat’s pocket. He brought out a folded piece of paper, which he clutched so hard the paper pleated around his fingers.
“I made this,” he said, thrusting it at her. He didn’t open his fingers until he was sure she held it securely.
“On stolen paper, no doubt,” she murmured. He didn’t reply. She unfolded the paper.
He had made a map. The scale varied from one side to the other and the symbols were peculiar but she recognized her two rooms and the stairs, the small room beyond hers where Gaura kept her supplies, the stable yard, the stables themselves, and the adjacent stalls occupied by Myla and Traveler. The distances needed refinement, but taken all together it was not a bad map. For an untutored child, it was a very fine map indeed, for all that a castle map was illegal, and dangerous, and could get both of them killed.
“Apprentice me,” the boy said. “I can help you make maps. I don’t want to go to Minst. I want to have adventures, I want to see new places.” He paused. “When you go to Koerstadt you can take me with you.”
“You hate the Riders.”
“I—I want to be with you.”
She turned away at that, bracing her arms on the gunwale. Sterk flew away from them, featureless against the low winter sun.
“No,” she said. “Even being an apprentice would not keep you safe now.”
She held the map out to him, but he turned his back on her. She refolded the paper and tucked it deep inside her cloak.
The ferry tacked again and the springs above the runners groaned. She turned her back to the gunwale and watched the city grow larger.
“Rider,” he said. Brake-beams howled against the ice. She looked away from the city and down at him. “Can you change your mind?”
She put away the urge to touch his hair. “No,” she said and walked toward the corral. After a moment he followed.
Chapter 6
When they came through Penitence Pyrs twisted in the saddle, his shoulders stiff, searching for the bondslave’s cage.
He brought Myla up to ride close behind Traveler. Penitence was deserted save for light traffic to and from the quay, but at its edge kiosks and booths sprang up as though pressed against an invisible wall. Market day in Abermorat, she realized. Covered carts split the broad avenue into a maze of alleys, their wheels chocked in place and hidden behind piles of potatoes and beets and green-black barbutas. Braids of onions and garlic hung from awnings, over the bright, unlikely shapes of winter squashes. A rope of dried peppers looped around the top of a booth; the grocer wore handfuls of them tucked behind his ears.
“Puh-puh-puh-peppers! Blistering sweet! Puh-puh-puh-peppers!”
The slap of money on wooden planks. In the distance she saw the puppeteers’ tent, flying the Maccus flag. They wouldn’t be presenting the same play, not to this audience.
“Finger pies! Finger pies! Fresh and fragrant finger pies!”
Folk shied from her cloak, opening a path a few yards before her that closed just beyond Myla’s tail.
“Sausages! Succulent, savory sausages, hot as hell and twice as tasty!”
The air brightened with the smell of roasting nuts.
“Father wove what Mother spun, bonny shawls for everyone!”
The shophouse windows were opened for business: the baker sold dough shaped like ice ferries, the leather-worker had punched holes in leather squares that, when held to the light, showed the outline of Sterk. The candy-maker sold sugar replicas of Cadoc’s head which, when Kieve saw them, caused her to start, then snort. Pyrs, staring at the marketplace, stared at her, but she shook her head and urged their horses on.
“Fine hats, warm and woolen! Fine hats!”
The smell of toasted cheese.
“Come buy my gourds! No finer here! Come buy my gourds!”
A traveling showman presided over an electrical display. Glowing glass bulbs outlined the cart’s shell. His apprentice cranked at the electrical box, all elbows and reddened ears, while the bulbs dimmed and brightened. The showman held up a metal rod and invited onlookers to come up and be shocked, for a fee. Country folk crowded around, awed and excited.
Mapping Winter Page 21