Kaybree Versus the Angels

by Harrison Paul

CHAPTER TWELVE

  Weaving the Mystery

  "Love your dress, Kaybree," Danelle said as I entered the mead hall for breakfast. "Which corpse did you steal it off of?"

  I stood behind her in line, waiting my turn for today's fare of bacon and buttered rye bread. Her friends snickered at me. "Actually, Galen gave it to me," I said, smiling back as I picked up my plate. "He said he liked how it brought out my eyes."

  She glared daggers at me. "You need to work on your lying," she said. "Galen Valkegaard has much better taste than that." She turned away and picked up her food, leaving me in peace. I'd guessed right in tailoring my response; she resented the attention that Galen gave me. As far as she could tell, her betrothed was flirting with a half-peasant daughter of a suspected heretic.

  When Mira and the others went to relics class, I stopped in to see Jans. He was polishing a bronze bust of Baldr the Philosopher. "Ah, good morning, Kaybree," he said, setting the polishing cloth on the table. "What searching questions do you have for me today? The origin of the sages, perhaps? The founding of Valir?"

  I considered the stacks of history books. I could spend all my life studying here and not know half of it. It filled me with wonder that Jans found the time to learn such intricate details of history, though as a sage without a family, he could dedicate his entire life to his work. He probably spent every waking hour in this room, studying or imparting knowledge to his students. "Nothing like that," I said. "I was actually wondering what you could tell me about Galen."

  Jans frowned. "Lord Valkegaard? Your mother's lack—I mean, your mother's assistant?" Suspicion crept into his tone—and a hint of disgust, if he'd intended to say "lackey" instead of "assistant." "What do you wish to know?"

  I stopped beside the polished bust and met his gaze. "What was that for?"

  He arched an eyebrow. "The polishing cloth?"

  "No, about Galen," I said. "You don't seem to like him very much. Is it because he works for my mother?"

  Jans rubbed his forehead. "Kaybree, you have to understand that there are a number of political currents running through this sagekeep at any given time, and most of them center around your mother." He shook his head. "Let me assure you that I have no personal grudge against your mother or her people. But that said, you really should be careful about your associations with Galen Valkegaard."

  I leaned on the table. "Why? He seems like a nice enough guy."

  "Of course he does," he said, brandishing the polishing cloth. "Smooth as butter, slippery as an eel. Did he ever tell you how he ended up working here?"

  My heart skipped a beat. "He did. He said that my mother recruited him after they met during some heretic inspection thing."

  "And did he tell you what happened after that?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "How his family practically disowned him?"

  I searched Jans's expression for mockery, but he was serious. "He must have skipped that part."

  "He had agreed to a career as a sage, Kaybree. He had much promise as well, a great many insights into theology and doctrine." He shook his head. "But whereas he was supposed to come here and act as an agent of the sages, to lend an air of transparency to your mother's activities—in essence, to provide proof that she wasn't doing anything heretical—he chose to turn sides. He's not given a report in eight years, or at least nothing that gives us any information as to what's going on in that tower. He says he's changed career paths, but that only throws more suspicion onto your mother's actions."

  I nodded, fitting this into my picture of Galen. I was sure he had pure motives for failing to report, perhaps feeling it was wrong to spy on my mother when she placed so much trust in him. Maybe the sages had tricked him into taking this assignment, and his silence was a quiet gesture of defiance. "What about his family?"

  "Needless to say, they aren't pleased with his decisions. They want him to leave the Order. The only thing that's keeping him from being formally disowned is his betrothal to young Lady Ambros, your classmate. His father figures that if he can marry into a high noble family, he'll be of use even with questionable associations."

  I felt numb. Not only did Galen have to worry about his parents' wrath, but Danelle was his only way to keep from being totally disgraced. Even if they hated one another, he had no choice but to marry her. That's how the nobility worked.

  Mira invited me to another bard show that night, but I had to decline again. Galen would want me there for our training session. But when I arrived at the courtyard, he wasn't there. I waited for at least an hour, rubbing my hands together to stay warm, but he didn't show.

  I had thought it odd the first time, but when he missed three more training sessions in a row, with no sign of him in the hallways, I started to worry. I checked with the soldiers at the Vormund Order, but they said that they hadn't heard from him. Apparently he came and went as he chose. My mother was also nowhere to be found, which the soldiers informed me wasn't out of the ordinary either. I asked Signy about him, but Galen had not even entered the stables in the last three days, which meant that unless he knew how to fly, he must have still been somewhere in the city.

  After the third night, I resigned myself to the fact that he had a secret mission to perform, and I wasn't invited. Instead of biting my nails in worry to pass the time, I took Mira up on her offer to see the Bard Song. I met her by the channel right outside the sagekeep, my boots crunching against the snow as I walked. She wore a plain woolen coat and knit scarf, and beckoned me toward a waiting longship. She gave the oarsman a copper halfpenny and told him our destination. He took the coin and began rowing us down the channel, gliding past a stream of traffic going the other way.

  "Who's going to be there tonight?" I asked, settling into one of the hard wooden seats. A pair of soldiers strode by on the shoreline, their swords clicking against their belts. "Not that I know any of them."

  Mira laughed. "Just come and see. It'll be fun." She pointed to the channel. "I wanted to take you this first time so you wouldn't get lost. It's in a crowded part of town, and it can be hard to find if you don't know what you're looking for."

  We passed under an arched bridge, leaving us in darkness. I heard the oars dipping in and out of the water, and a moment later, we emerged back into the light. Now I noticed that lanterns were hung on steel poles on the shoreline, to guide the longships in their course on the water. "Do you go to this tavern often?" I asked Mira.

  "Sometimes," she said. "I don't leave the sagekeep much, but when I do, it's usually for the Bard Song. I tell my parents I'm doing research on customs and stories of Nordgard. And I do hear a lot of stories there, so it's true."

  "You sure are dedicated to studying," I said. "If I could leave the sagekeep whenever I wanted, I'd just go exploring. Have you ever been out to the forest? It's like stepping into another world, a magical place where the trees and rocks come to life around you."

  Mira's eyes widened. "The forest? Oh, no, not me. I do appreciate when the bordermen bring back new plants and animals to study, but I don't go out there myself. People disappear when they go inside alone." She gave me a worried look. "You should be careful too, Kaybree. The Angels live there, and you saw what they can do."

  "Right," I said. "Well, I guess it's good we have the Bard Song to keep me out of trouble, then."

  We arrived at the street and stepped out of the longship, walking up a flight of stone steps carved into the slope. On the next street over, Mira led me to a tavern with a peaked roof and a wooden sign hammered above the door. The tavern had two floors, with a landing on the top floor where guests could walk around and gaze at the city below. A railing was set up around the second floor, perhaps to keep the tavern's most frequent customers from staggering to their deaths. The tavern was connected to another building with a similar peaked roof by a wooden bridge on the second floor.

  Light from the street lanterns illuminated the sign as we approached. The sign had a lute painted on it, with the words BARD SONG in faded r
ed letters. The sign's condition, as well as my father's mention of it in his journal, attested to its age. Lanterns hung on either side of the sign, bathing it in yellow light. We paid the guards at the door and walked inside.

  A wave of sound hit me as I entered. Other people were packed inside the tavern, and most of them were singing along to the bard who was playing. It was a slow, somber song that referenced drowning one's sorrows in drink. A wooden, circular chandelier hung from the ceiling, with four large candles mounted on it. The room didn't smell nearly as bad as I'd feared; many of the patrons were students from the sagekeep, so the scent of sweat was tempered by the fragrance of rosewater. I spotted a few ragged figures with long, tangled hair sitting off in one corner. Two men gibed loudly with one another at a table beside them.

  "So, girls, can I get you a drink?" someone asked. I turned, thinking it was the bartender. No such luck. It was Willard.

  "We meet again," I said, shaking my head. This was getting kind of strange. He seemed to follow me everywhere. "Why am I not surprised to see you here?"

  "Hey, I'm here for the music. As you know, I'm an aspiring bard myself. You said I should work on my lyric writing, so I've come to 'learn from the best'."

  Mira cringed. "I wouldn't be so sure about that." The bard finished his song to a loud applause, and a student with a lute stood up and started playing. "Tonight's the first apprentice night. That means anybody with a lute can get up and start singing."

  Willard shrugged. "Like I said, I'm here to learn. But if you're here anyway, mind if I buy you a ginger beer?"

  I smiled awkwardly. "Sorry, I don't drink. Beer, that is. My mother's kind of strict about that sort of thing." Not to mention that I didn't want to accidentally loosen my tongue and start talking about fighting Angels.

  He laughed. "No, silly Kaybree, despite the name, ginger beer is not really beer. I'm not such a scoundrel as to try and impair a girl's judgment to get her to like me. I have too much pride in my natural charm."

  Mira took a glass filled with an amber drink from the counter. "I hate to say it, but he's right about this one. Give it a try."

  I took a sip of the ginger beer. I hadn't tried real beer before, but I'd smelled it—it smelled like the sweat of sour-faced old men—and this definitely did not taste like that. It had sort of a tangy kick to it. "All right, Willard, you win. This is actually pretty good."

  "Told you," he said, sipping his own ginger beer. "And by the way, nobody under the age of fifty calls me Willard."

  "Then what do I call you?"

  "Will. William. Mason. Any of those will do."

  I took another sip. The would-be bard's voice stretched for notes way too high for him, and the crowd laughed. "The first two I get. But why Mason?"

  He shook his head. "Long story."

  "Fine, then. Will."

  He smirked. "Okay. It's officially decided." He tapped my glass with his. "To my new nickname."

  I frowned. "If nobody under fifty calls you Willard, and if you didn't have a nickname until right now, what does everybody else call you?"

  He drained his glass and waved the bartender over to fill it. "Uh, mostly 'hey you' or 'you' or sometimes words I won't repeat in the company of ladies. Those are usually from my sister."

  "What about your mother?"

  "'Son'," he said. "What else would she call me?"

  I glanced over at Mira, who was sipping her ginger beer intently. "So, you two must have known each other before, right? Haven't you both been at this sagekeep for awhile?"

  Mira nodded. "Sort of. We've talked before."

  Will gestured with his glass. "Right. But there's not usually much to talk about. Not until you came into town."

  "What do you mean?" I asked, suddenly tense. Will's intense interest in me had seemed only innocent curiosity, but I feared that he knew more than he let on.

  "I don't mean just you," he said. "As exciting as it is for Lady Staalvoss's daughter to move in and nearly burn down the relic room, the Angels and inquisitors also give us quite a bit to discuss." He leaned over. "Plus I have to ask, what is going on with Galen Valkegaard? He hangs around you like a maggot around rotten meat."

  I sipped my drink. "I'm not sure it's any of your business," I said, trying to sound serious but unable to stop myself from smirking. "Especially if you're going to compare me to rotten meat."

  He frowned. "Hey, I'm just saying that a lot of people don't like him. Sure, he's an amazing politician, but people are saying that it'll take more than smooth scheming to keep your mother safe from our Lord Inquisitor."

  "I'm sure Galen will ask me about you as well," I said. "He might wonder why I'm hanging around with the son of a slimy merchant family."

  Mira stifled a giggle, and Will shook a finger at me. "Oh, it's on now, Kaybree. That was kind of a low blow. Especially considering what I could say about your parentage."

  I put on a guise of wide-eyed innocence. "But you wouldn't do that," I said. "You're far too much of a gentleman."

  He rolled his eyes, and Mira and I laughed. It felt strange laughing and joking with Will and Mira. I didn't have to keep my defenses up around them. I could be myself, and not worry about what they'd think if they knew who my mother was. I couldn't tell them I'd killed an Angel, but that was a given.

  "Kaybree," Mira said, tapping me on the shoulder. "Do you know that guy? He keeps looking this way."

  I followed her gaze to a young man by the far wall, near the door. He stood alone, studying the crowd with his piercing blue eyes. He wore a traveler's cloak over a studded leather vest, though his belt was empty of weapons. The style was typical of real bordermen: not the students who dressed like bordermen, with their pristine leather boots and brightly colored cloaks, but showing authentic grit and dust from nighttime patrols in the forest. And I knew his face too: it was the borderman "messenger" who'd given me the key.

  I stood, almost without thinking. He had a lot of explaining to do.

  "I'm guessing that's a yes?" Mira said.

  "Oh, I've only seen him once before," I said. "I think he works with my mother. I should go see what he wants." I pushed my drink aside and wove my way through the crowd. The borderman caught my gaze and took a seat at a booth behind one of the room's pillars. Convenient. Sitting here, we would be blocked from Will's and Mira's vision.

  I took the seat across from him. "Would you like your key back?" I asked.

  He straightened his cloak. "Keep it. My gift to the mighty Angel killer."

  I glanced around, but with another bard attempting a rousing battle cry, no one paid us any heed. "How do you know who I am?" I said. "And why did you give me this key? It doesn't lead to anything important."

  "Is that so?" he said, his expression unchanging. "My apologies. I thought you'd be interested to know why your father came to Kant Vakt."

  "He came looking for relics," I said. "He found Angels. But I suppose you must know that too." I wondered if the messenger was one of my father's old friends. Studying his features, though, I discarded that idea; he was too young to have worked with my father, perhaps only a few years my senior. I leaned closer. He didn't smell like beer like most of the tavern's patrons. He smelled like pine and dirt, a fresh scent that made me long to explore the forest again.

  "I know that you want to stop the Angel attacks," he said. "To protect Vormund tower and its contents."

  I perked up. "The tower?" I asked. "What's so special about the tower?" Now I started to wonder if he was working with Jans. Both of them wanted to know what my mother was hiding in her tower.

  He took a sip of his drink. "If you want to stop the Angels, you need to learn who you are," he said. "You need to understand your powers—and your destiny."

  I sighed. "Why is everyone going on about my 'destiny' nowadays? I don't have a destiny. If the Angels stayed in the forest, I'd be a normal girl going to a normal sagekeep."

  "That's what you say now," he said in a grave voice. He stood. "But you're not 'normal',
Kaybree Andresdatter. I don't think you ever can be."

  "Wait," I said. He couldn't leave without giving me some answers. "Do you see visions too?"

  He frowned. "Visions can be seen by any who fervently seek them. But unless you have stewardship over others, your visions will not concern them. Only you." He turned to leave.

  I grabbed his sleeve, halting his exit. "Who are you?" I asked in a fierce whisper. "At least tell me your name."

  He stared into my eyes for a moment before answering. "Mikael," he said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have other messages to deliver."

  "But how do you know about—"

  I was cut off as a commotion erupted near the entrance. I gasped and let go of Mikael's coat as Father Traum strode into the room. He peered through the crowd, his beady eyes searching for someone. Was he here for me? The music stopped, and Traum marched up to the front of the room.

  "The Knights of Valir request leave to inspect this place," he said to a bearded man at the front who must have been the tavern keeper.

  "Of course you may," the man said, wiping sweat from his brow. "But I assure you that the Bard Song holds its patrons to high standards of piety and—"

  "Spare me," Traum said, motioning to his knights. They shoved their way through the crowd, eyes darting from face to face. "Take anyone you recognize." The students in the crowd started muttering, and he made a sharp gesture. "Silence! The innocent have no need to fear. Only the guilty need quake before the Knights of God. Those who witnessed the incident of last week will come with us."

  My heart pounded, and a bead of sweat ran down my face. Did he know I had seen the Angel? I searched for an exit. Mikael had vanished, leaving me to fend for myself. For the second time. If Traum questioned me, what would I say? If he wanted evidence to use against my mother, surely he would not take the daughter Andreya Staalvoss never spoke to. Or did he know about my powers?

  Someone grabbed my arm. "Come on," Will said, leading me through the crowd. "I know a place where we'll be safe." We jostled other students as we passed, until we emerged by the staircase. I followed Will up the stairs, with Mira a few steps behind, and he led us across the wooden bridge over to the other building. We emerged into the cool night air for a moment, but we soon entered the door up ahead. This place was quieter than the tavern, with a long corridor of identical wooden doors. Will pushed on one of them, but it was locked. The second door swung open, and he gestured us inside.

  We shut the door and sat on the pair of straw beds. "Extra room," Will explained. "The Bard Song doesn't sell all of its rooms every night, and the Knights shouldn't come looking for us here. Unless they saw us climb the stairs."

  After a minute or so, my heart stopped pounding. "That was close," I said, listening for sounds from below. Muttered commotion and the heavy footfalls of Traum's Knights rose up in a muffled roar through the floorboards.

  Will let out a sigh. "Yeah, this is twice now," he said. "Maybe sometime you should just talk to him. You know, so he finally leaves you alone."

  "Maybe," I said. Traum had been sent to investigate rumors of heresy, and with my mother's operation inaccessible to him, he was taking desperate measures. With my mother mysteriously gone, I had to do something before he declared her a heretic to satisfy his bosses in Valir. "But if he finds out my mother is innocent, he'll have to leave anyway." That was the key. Like Jans had said, I needed to keep looking. Maybe my father's journal held the evidence I needed to show she wasn't a heretic.

  But what if the journal showed that she was?