Ferret's stomach did a slow, cold roll. Oh, Kitten, she thought. Then, she became aware of the glowing point of the awl, hovering in the air just below her eye. "Gods." It was whispered, a prayer. "She just tags along with me, sometimes," Ferret told the men. "I share with her when I've extra."
"And why was she with you, then?" he pursued, the hot, silver point shifting closer to her eye.
Ferret scrunched her eyes closed and flinched away. "I told you: she tags along."
"She didn't go into the tavern with you."
"Gods and fish!" Ferret's eyes snapped open to glare. "The Cur's no place for a little girl. I told her to wait outside."
"Really? You told her to wait for you? And where were you going, after you'd settled with your master?"
A simple, reasonable explanation presented itself. Ferret seized it. "Out fairing. I'd promised her a meat pie for Ythykh-Fair."
As he studied her, Ferret saw the shadow of his decision; he replaced his implement in the coals. "I doubt she knows anything useful, your Eminence. Shall I dispose of her for you?"
Rhydev considered. "I don't think she knows anything useful, either, Ghorran—but I could stand to have Ycevi in my debt. We'll throw the girl to the Ghytteve. Deliver her with my compliments, and convey the information that she's the one Cyffe was following when she was killed. That should suffice."
"Very neat, your Eminence." He cut Ferret free of the chair, retied her wrists behind her back and coiled his large fist lightly round her burned arm. "Come quietly, now," he suggested, with a slight—excruciating—tightening of his fingers. Ferret complied.
No one paid any heed to them as they wound through endless palace corridors. Ferret's arm throbbed, her ears buzzed and her head felt unpleasantly light. Rhydev's man left her to her muzzy, worried thoughts. It sounded as if Rhydev expected the Ghytteve to make rather short, unpleasant, work of her. She concentrated on ignorance; she did not have any useful information; she had never even heard of Owl or Sharkbait. It sounded unlikely that she would escape this tangle alive; at least she could try not to bring her friends down with her.
"Ghytteve!" Her captor's tone jarred Ferret alert.
The man so hailed turned toward them: a thin, young man with dark hair and brilliant blue eyes. Ferret's heart lurched with recognition. The Lady's puppy: Cithanekh.
"Compliments to your Lady from Rhydev, Lord of Azhere; this is the creature Cyffe was following when she was killed. He thought your Lady might be able to find a use for her."
The young lord bowed slightly. "Please convey my Lady's sincere thanks to the Council Lord of Azhere."
Ghorran pushed Ferret toward him. As the young man took her injured arm, she hissed in pain. Though his face remained impassive, his grip loosened instantly. "Come," he told her, and as Ghorran started back to his master, Cithanekh led Ferret in the other direction.
When the other's footsteps had faded, the young Ghytteve lord halted. He looked around carefully, as though seeking watchers in the shadows; then he gazed down at Ferret. "I remember you, from the Replete Feline. Whatever did you do with the Royal you stole from me?"
"I hid it away. I'm saving to buy a friend out of slavery."
Enlightenment broke in his sudden smile. "You're Ferret. Owl's told me about you." Sudden fear clouded his face. "I've got to keep you out of Ycevi's hands." He looked around him again. "Come on: hurry!"
He chivvied her through twisting leagues of corridors; they emerged in a long gallery. At the far end was a dais, lit by two sconces of candles; music swirled toward them. The young lord drew his knife and cut Ferret's bonds.
"I daren't spend any longer in your company. My cousin Ycevi doesn't trust me; she often has me watched. We may have been lucky so far." He gestured toward the musicians. "The woman with the lute—"
"Arre?" Ferret asked.
Cithanekh nodded. "She'll help. I must go." He strode away.
"Wait," she called softly. Then, when he did not respond, she called again, "Cithanekh, wait."
He spun back swiftly, his eyes wide and alarmed. "How do you know my name?" he demanded. "I didn't tell you."
Ferret thought her heart would stop in the face of his terrible, intense suspicion. She searched her mind for an innocuous explanation. "Rhydev Azhere called you that in the Replete Feline. I've a good memory for names."
His suspicion eased very slightly; then, his eyes narrowed again. "The man with the scar," he murmured, almost as though to himself. His gaze sharpened on the thief. "Who is he?"
"Another friend of Owl's; name of Sharkbait. Cithanekh, I have to know: is Owl all right? And what, in the names of all the gods, does Ycevi want with him?"
"For the moment, he's well. As for what she wants," his face turned bleak as winter. "I'm Anzhibhar; she plans to make me Emperor, and to use Owl as a hostage, to control me. Owl will be all right." He added, with self-loathing, "I haven't the courage to defy her. Ferret, go. Ycevi mustn't find you." This time, when he strode off, Ferret made no move to call him back. Instead, she staggered toward the pool of light and music.
There were three musicians: Arre, a fire-haired Windbringer priest with a harp, and Mouse's nobleman. They broke off at the sight of the disheveled thief.
"Ferret," Arre cried. "What are you doing here? Did Sharkbait send you? And how did you get through the Guild war?"
Ferret tried to answer, but her torpid brain refused to respond. With a sudden rushing in her ears, darkness crested over her and she collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.
Chapter Sixteen—Collaboration
Arre was first on her feet after Ferret collapsed. She felt for a pulse and saw the burns on the thief's thin arm. She cursed softly in her own language; Venykhar knelt beside her.
"What should we do with her?" the flute maker asked. "My quarters are closest."
Arre looked sharply at him. "And how better to convince the Ghytteve you are a threat than by sheltering Ferret?"
Venykhar made a face. "Antryn's a worrier."
"Antryn," Arre repeated. "Is he the one who sent you the warning, then?" At the old lord's nod, she said, "You ought to heed him; he's right. You are in danger."
A sudden gust of wind rattled the music on their stands and made the candles flicker. The wind carried the unmistakable tang of the sea, and the echo of harping. Arre jumped and looked at her friend, the Windbringer priest. He was sitting perfectly still, his head up like a stag scenting danger; his eyes were bright and wide in his white face.
"Kerigden?"
The next gust was stronger; several candles went out, and the harping was louder. The young priest shook his head once. The third gust appeared to follow immediately upon his denial; the harp notes played a recognizable melody, and Kerigden's music blew off his stand.
Arre frowned absently. She recognized the melody: part of a hymn to the Windbringer from the Canticles of Creation. It filled her mind, to the exclusion of all other thought, with a kind of muzzy purpose. As if obeying some inward directive, she fit the ancient words to the tune and sang softly:
"'Dost thou know wherefore shineth the moon?
Dost thou ask whither goeth the wind?
Dost thou see every heart's hidden dream?
Canst thou separate fate from doom?'"
"All right! Enough." Kerigden's voice was tight. "I don't pretend to understand, but I will obey."
The muzziness left Arre's mind with a snap. She stared at Kerigden. "I didn't— I wasn't—" she began, but Kerigden cut her off with a gesture.
"What?" Venykhar asked, puzzled by the tension between them.
A shiver of awe began in Arre's stomach as the implications came clear in her mind. Her people followed the One God, but her schooling was thorough, and she had been taught the histories of other gods. "She used me," Arre said, between outrage and awe. "Talyene."
At the Windbringer's ancient name, wind swirled through the chamber, tossing Arre's hair into her face, and extinguishing all but one of the candles. And they a
ll heard it—not harping, this time, but laughter: a woman's low laughter.
They were silent for a long moment; then, Kerigden lifted one hand, sang a phrase of music in his clear tenor, and the candles bloomed with light. Kerigden came to join the other two, beside the fallen thief.
"Arre's right, Ven," he said calmly. "It would be foolhardy for you to shelter Ferret. I'll take her back to the Temple with me. She'll be safe there."
"You'll take her," Venykhar exclaimed. "But you've spent years convincing the Council Houses that you're neutral in their constant scheming. If this gets out, it will destroy your carefully built reputation."
"Yes," Kerigden agreed.
"Ven's right," Arre said gently. "It's not really your quarrel."
"It is now," the High Priest said. "She has made it mine."
"Why?" Arre demanded. "What does the Windbringer care for the Scholar King and his courtiers?"
A strange smile touched Kerigden's face. "She hasn't told me. Perhaps it is the children; she likes children." As he gathered Ferret into his arms, Venykhar put the harp back into its case and slung it over the priest's shoulder. "I'll take care of Ferret; come tomorrow to see us."
***
Ferret returned to consciousness in a room full of sunlight. Someone had cleaned and tended her burns and cuts; she had been bathed, and she lay in a comfortable bed. She turned her head at a faint rustling sound beside her; Arre sat in a chair at her bedside, reading. Arre smiled at her.
"Back among the living, I see."
"More or less," Ferret agreed cautiously. Her head ached and her arm throbbed dully. "Where am I? Is this the Palace?"
"No. This is the Temple of the Windbringer; we thought it was safer."
"Oh," Ferret said, while inwardly, she was wondering, We? The torn net of her memory had allowed several significant events to escape. Ferret puzzled over the disjointed fragments until Arre spoke again.
"Will you get up? There's a clean tunic, if you like; and Venykhar and Kerigden are waiting for us."
"Kerigden?" she repeated. As though he were conjured up by his name, he came through the door with a coffee pot on a tray.
At the sight of the fire-haired priest, several bits of Ferret's jumbled recollections connected. The priest had been with Arre last night, when the Lady's puppy had left Ferret in the gallery. And hard on that memory came the knowledge that this wasn't any Windbringer priest; it was the High Priest, the head of the sect. She studied him covertly as he set the tray down and poured her a cup of coffee. He was very young, in his twenties, she thought; she remembered that gossip said he was quite a prodigy: the youngest high priest in the history of the Temple District—or some such. And there was something else. She fished for it. Oh, yes: rumor had it that he was completely disinterested in the political maneuverings of the nobles and the temples. She wondered if that were true.
"I'll get up," Ferret said, realizing belatedly that Arre had asked her a question.
"Good," the young priest said with an almost mischievous smile. "Venykhar has had long years in which to cultivate the art of waiting, but I am of an impatient disposition. He sent me in here with the coffee to still my fidgeting."
A few minutes later Ferret was dressed and starting on her second cup of coffee. She, Arre, Venykhar and Kerigden sat in his study, a bright, spacious room with tall windows which overlooked the Temple District's beautiful park.
"As no doubt you have surmised," the priest began, "I am Kerigden, the High Priest of the Windbringer. Last night, after you interrupted us, we brought you here for safety's sake. We would all like to know what happened to you: how you were captured, and by whom; how you escaped; and how—or whether—we can be of help to you."
Ferret sighed. "Happen it's a tangle, but I'll do my best. Yesterday, I was captured by some men in the Slums. They were Watch, I think, but it wasn't an arrest. They took me to Rhydev Azhere, who wanted to know what I knew about some Ghytteve woman who was killed."
"Wait," Kerigden said. "Did you recognize Azhere, or did your questioner introduce himself as Rhydev?"
"I knew him: I'd seen him before. He told me who he was, too; he tried to convince me to be his friend, but happen I'm not so great a fool."
"Did you know anything about the Ghytteve's death?" Venykhar asked.
After an instant's hesitation, Ferret nodded. "But I didn't tell Rhydev that. I didn't kill Cyffe; but I helped."
"Who did kill her?" Kerigden asked.
"Happen I'd rather not say."
Venykhar frowned as he thought, then he said, "How badly is Antryn—Sharkbait—hurt?"
Ferret shot him an assessing look. "I beg your pardon?"
The old lord smiled wryly. "He sent me a note of warning; he would have come in person if he'd been able. So: how badly is he hurt?"
"He said he'll live if the wounds dinna fester."
"So," Kerigden said, "somehow Azhere guessed you were involved in Cyffe Ghytteve's death, and arranged to have you brought in and questioned. How did you convince him you didn't know anything?"
"I knew I'd been betrayed by a Guild thief; so I told him that I have enemies in the Guild. I'm a Journeyman—and young for it. I said you dinna make Journeyman as young as me without putting thorns in some tender prides. I gave him the names of people who might do me mischief; and then I stuck to ignorance. Eventually, he decided I didn't know anything, so he had his man deliver me to the Ghytteve. He wanted Ycevi in his debt, he said. Only his man gave me to Cithanekh, who figured out I was Ferret—a friend of Owl's—and he let me go."
"And you recognized Cithanekh Ghytteve?" Kerigden asked.
She nodded. "I'd seen him, too—with Rhydev Azhere."
"Gods above and below," Venykhar swore. "No wonder the Ghytteve are jumping at shadows. For an innocent friend of little Owl, you know an uncomfortable lot about Court matters. Are you sure you're not working for someone?"
"I'm sure. But the Ghytteve are plotting treason, you know; and happen I'd not weep if the Lady's scheming came to naught. Cithanekh told me that Ycevi plans to make him Emperor and to use Owl as a hostage to control him. Cithanekh is not happy with this plan. He's to be Ycevi's puppet; and if Owl is at all fond of him, he'll hate being her strings. There's no one as stubborn as Owl. Happen he'll push Cithanekh into defiance, even if it means pain and danger for himself. I'm not working for anyone; what yon nobles do to one another doesn't make much difference to me. But I care about Owl, and it seems to me I'd best foil their plan somehow, to safeguard him."
"Make him Emperor?" Kerigden repeated, puzzled.
Venykhar nodded. "He's Anzhibhar. I'd forgotten that; he lacks the resemblance."
"Anzhibhar?" Ferret asked, ears perking at the familiar word. "What's that?"
"It's the family name of the Royal House," Arre told her. "Cithanekh's mother was the old Emperor's sister."
Kerigden frowned. "But is he really close enough to be construed the Scholar King's heir?"
"Let me think," Arre said, running family trees in her mind. "They're first cousins. There's Ancith—Cithanekh's younger brother; then, let's see... There's an Anzhibhar-Azhere: Morekheth; another first cousin, but he's younger than Cithanekh. And there's Antryn."
"He's a second cousin," Venykhar corrected.
"Yes, of course. So by age and degree, one might argue the descent as Cithanekh, Morekheth, and Ancith."
"Wait," said Ferret. "Sharkbait is the Emperor's second cousin? Sharkbait?"
Venykhar looked abashed. "Oh dear. You won't tell him we let it slip, will you? He's touchy about it."
But Ferret's mind had raced on without waiting for the old lord's comment. "If the Ghytteve are half as suspicious as Sharkbait says, then if they figure out Owl and I and the others all know Sharkbait, happen they'll think he's using us in some plot or counterplot." Ferret looked up at Arre. "Elkhar Ghytteve came to the Slums looking for Mouse; but he found Kitten. Just the pattern of our names makes him nervous. If he knew about Sharkbait, happen naught c
ould convince him we were harmless."
"You're not harmless," Kerigden pointed out. "You are trying to save your friend Owl—which will foil Ycevi's schemes, no matter what your motives. So: how can we help you?" He turned to Arre. "Couldn't the Scholar King—appropriate—the boy?"
Venykhar drew breath sharply. "None of the Council Houses would accept that calmly. Many of Khethyran's ideas and policies make them nervous about their prerogatives, even without flagrant examples of interference by royal fiat."
"Besides," Arre said, "if Kheth took Owl, she'd just think of something else—even if it meant poisoning Cithanekh and starting over with Ancith. But if Owl stays where he is, I think he'll be in a position to help us bring her down."
"Yon sounds dangerous for Owl," Ferret put in.
"Ferret," Venykhar said gently. "There is no safety for Owl. You and Mouse and the others exist, and you all know Sharkbait. That connection alone could be enough to destroy Owl, if the Ghytteve learn of it. He's your friend and you love him; but to Ycevi Ghytteve, he's a minor khacce piece: expendable. And she'll sacrifice him without hesitation if it appears to be in her interests to do so."
"Happen that's so, but I willn't wring my hands and wait for the worst. What can we do?" She rounded on Arre. "Is there aught your heathen magics can do? Owl said he dreamed of you; did you cause that?"
"No. Owl has Sight Gifts of his own. He's far stronger than I," she added, for Kerigden's benefit, "and just coming into his power; but he is untrained."
"Can you touch his mind?" the priest asked.
"I have," Arre admitted, "but he'd been drugged. They gave him haceth. He's untrained; I'm not strong enough to hold him."
"If I helped?" At her shocked look, he hunched one shoulder. "We are taught mind work. We're not the Kellande School, but surely there is common ground."
Arre looked doubtful, but she said, "All right. I'm willing to try it. I need to talk to that boy."
A Business of Ferrets (Bharaghlafi Book 1) Page 13