The Shamer's Signet

by Lene Kaaberbøl

  “How old was he?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps thirty.”

  “Hmm. It does not sound like anyone we usually count among Laclan’s enemies. But who else would benefit from sowing strife between Kensie and Laclan?”

  I don’t think she meant for me to say anything. She was posing the question to herself. But I answered anyway.

  “Maybe Drakan….”

  She snorted delicately. “I nourish no gentle feelings for a man who would buy children from a peddler, the way the rest of us buy mules or frying pans. But other than that, Laclan has no charge to make against the Dragon Lord, and I doubt he wishes enmity with us. He would not dare.”

  Laclan was a great and powerful clan, far bigger than Kensie. But I thought that that would be all the more reason for Drakan to try to set the clans at each other’s throats. Having them kill one another, rather than risking anything himself—that sounded like a very Drakan-like scheme. But although she had called me “Medamina Tonerre” and entertained me at her own table, I did not think that Helena Laclan would ever act on advice from an eleven-year-old girl, and so I took another bite of my honey bread and kept my thoughts to myself.

  Before I could go looking for plantain, I had to tell everything I could remember about the false Ivain to Helena Laclan’s clerk, who carefully wrote down every word I said. I did as Callan said and asked for someone to come with me, and Helena Laclan laid that task on her youngest grandchild.

  “Tavis, you go with Medamina Tonerre and show her the way Behave, now, and do as she says!”

  I thought Callan had had a guard in mind, rather than a guide, but I didn’t like to say so. Besides, Tavis was a lively looking boy with a shock of red hair, a host of freckles, and a mischievous smile that made you uncertain whether to cuddle or to throttle him. I would rather have him along than a grown-up like Ivain, who would probably get impatient and grumble about having better things to do.

  “How old are you?” I asked, once we were out of Helena Laclan’s hearing.

  “Nine,” he said. “How old are you?”

  “Eleven.”

  He took my measure. I was only about a hand’s span taller than he. “Mmh,” he said. “But ye’re a girl.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, even though it was pretty clear what he meant by it.

  “Nothing,” he said, and flashed his most innocent-looking urchin smile. “Where d’ye want to go, then, Medamina?”

  “Find me an open field or a grassy verge. Do you know what plantain looks like?”

  “Mmh. What d’ye need it for?”

  “For my brother’s hurts. But only the ones with the pointed leaves will do. Plantago lanceolata.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what they’re called in Latin.” Just to show him that I knew a thing or two—even if I was a girl.

  We had to leave the town to find a bit of grassy ground that had not been trampled to mud, and the first place Tavis showed me was so riddled with buttercups that precious little else grew there.

  “Let’s just go down the road a bit,” said Tavis hopefully. “We’ll be sure to find something.”

  “As long as it doesn’t take us halfway to the Lowlands,” I said. It sounded a little surly, but that was mostly because I was worried about Davin.

  “Oh, so ye’re not so used to walkin’?”

  “Of course I am.” There he went again with his what-are-girls-good-for-anyway manners. It was starting to annoy me. Perhaps a real guard would have been better than a nine-year-old brat with freckles and a cheeky manner.

  We walked along the road—a cart track cutting through the hills, sometimes sunk so deep that we couldn’t even see over the sides. Above our heads hung a lark on flickering wings, and the sound of its song brightened my mood a little. The sun was near its noontime height now, and the day was getting warmer.

  “Are ye thirsty?” asked Tavis, and I thought that he probably was.

  “A bit.”

  He clambered up the side of the road and extended a polite hand to help me. I hesitated a bit before taking it, remembering a trick Davin had had of letting go halfway up a slope, but Tavis really was being the gentleman, for the moment at least. A small path led over the hill. It seemed to be trodden mainly by sheep; little round black pellets of sheep dung were everywhere, and I had to watch my footing, because I didn’t want to ruin my nearly new boots. Tavis wore clogs and didn’t care.

  On the other side of the hill, the path crisscrossed down toward a hollow overgrown with birch and hazel. Water gleamed brightly among the leaves, and I could hear the gurgle of a stream. We slid and skidded down the last sharp dip of the path, and Tavis sat down on a rock, kicked off his clogs, and dangled his feet in the water. Crouching, I cupped my hand, dipped it, and drank my fill.

  “What’s that noise?” I asked, because there was a not-so-distant rushing that seemed to be more than a brook this size should make.

  Tavis pointed downstream. “There’s an old water mill down there. It doesn’t work anymore, so no one lives there.” He looked at me sideways. “We can go and look if ye like. But it’s not really a place for girls. It’s haunted.”

  “Haunted by what?” I asked. “You’re only saying that to try to scare me.”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s true. I’ve heard it. If ye stand at the top of the mill wall, ye can hear her weepin’. And in the night, ye can see her too, or so I’ve heard.”

  “Who?”

  “Auld Anya. Anya Laclan. My great-great-grandmother. She’s searchin’ for her drowned child.”

  I snatched a quick look at him, just enough to see whether he was telling the truth. He was. Or at least he believed what he said.

  “They found Anya in the Mill Pond some weeks after her little girl drowned. No one knows if she did it on purpose or if she slipped while she was searchin’.”

  Tavis cautiously peeked at me to see whether he had frightened me. And I did suddenly feel a chill come over me, despite the heat of the noonday sun.

  “We’re looking for plantain,” I said. “We don’t have time for water mills.” And that was quite true, but I could tell by his smug smile that he thought he had succeeded in scaring me.

  We sat there for a while, watching the dragonflies skim across the surface. Then I noticed that we weren’t the only ones drawn to the coolness of the stream.

  “Look,” I said, “peddlers.”

  Tavis looked the way I pointed. Farther upstream, by the proper ford, some men were leading their horses down to the water. Two covered wagons stood on the bank, hung with copperware and other tinker’s goods.

  “Well met!” shouted Tavis at the top of his voice, waving at them. One of the peddlers looked up. He seemed to stare at Tavis and me longer than was really polite, but in the end he raised an arm in greeting.

  “Let’s go and see,” said Tavis. “Let’s have a look at what they’re sellin’.”

  “Plantain,” I reminded him. “Plantago lanceolata.”

  “Oh, come on. Just a peek. It’ll only take a moment. Then we can look for yer plantago what’s-its-name afterward.”

  I agreed unwillingly. “But only for a moment!”

  “That’s what I said….” Tavis had already pushed his wet feet into his clogs and was trotting upstream along the narrow path next to the brook. I followed him more slowly. Living deep in the Highlands the way we did, we did not get many visits from peddlers and traders, and despite my worry for Davin, a flutter of curiosity rose inside me. What did they have in those wagons? Bartol Tinker, who passed by Baur Kensie about once a month, always had some boiled sweets, white and red and yellow, and every child got one—if you wanted more, you would have to buy them, and I never had the money; there had been so many boring and necessary things we had to have, nails and rope and things like that. But that one piece of candy… if I sucked it carefully, I could make it last nearly an hour. My mouth watered at the thought, and I hoped the peddlers by the ford woul
d be as generous as Bartol. They looked as if they could afford to be—I had never seen such fine horses in front of a peddler’s wagon before. One of them, a leggy chestnut, positively shone in the sunlight.

  “Well met, and welcome to Laclan,” said Tavis as he produced a bow worthy of a chamberlain with lace on his sleeves. It looked a little out of place when done by a freckle-faced kid with bare wet feet in his clogs. “May I ask what such fine tradesmen as yerselves keep in yer wagons?”

  “This and that,” said one of them a bit curtly. He was a broad-shouldered, black-bearded man who actually looked more like an armsman than a peddler. There was something about him… hadn’t I seen him before? A strange unease fluttered in my stomach.

  “Tavis,” I whispered, “come on. Let’s go back.”

  “Now? But we haven’t seen anything!” He walked up to one wagon and patted the chestnut’s neck in a familiar fashion. “A handsome animal,” he said approvingly. “Master Tradesman has a good eye for horseflesh.”

  “Get away with you, boy!” barked the black-beard. “Hands off that wagon. Don’t even think of pinching anything!”

  What an ill-tempered man. And rude. Where had I seen him before?

  “Come on, Tavis.”

  But Tavis had drawn himself up to his full height—roughly level with Blackbeard’s belt buckle—and had gone rigid with offended pride.

  “We are not thieves, Mesire. And ye would do well to speak us fair. My name is Tavis Laclan. Mesire may have heard of my grandmother—Helena Laclan, head of the clan? And this”—he flourished a hand in my direction, like a mountebank showing off a three-headed wonder—“this is Dina Tonerre, the Shamer’s daughter.”

  Oh, do be quiet, Tavis! I thought furiously. No good ever came of mouthing off about Mama being a Shamer. And now that someone had tried to kill her, it seemed even less wise. Blackbeard stiffened for a moment, threw a quick glance my way, then looked away.

  “I see,” he said. “Tavis Laclan. And the Shamer’s daughter. Fine company for a humble trader. Forgive my suspicion, but one meets all sorts of riffraff on the roads. Step inside and have a look at the merchandise.” He waved a hand at one of the wagons. And suddenly I knew where I had seen him before. I had had only a brief glimpse of his face, just before I had nearly ridden right over him, letting the gray pony shove him into the lake. He was one of the ambushers—he might even be the one who had shot my mother.

  “I’m afraid we don’t have the time,” I said, backing a step. My whole body felt icy cold and empty of blood. “Come on, Tavis, we have to go.”

  “What’s the matter with ye?” asked Tavis in irritation. “Just the one peek.”

  But I shook my head.

  “No, thank you. I want to get back to Baur Laclan. Now.” I turned and began walking.

  “But ye said—Hey! Let go of me!”

  Blackbeard had hooked Tavis by the belt, holding him so that he wiggled in the air like a fish at the end of a fisherman’s line. Yet another man had come out of the wagon. And although he too was dressed like a peddler, I recognized this one right away. The false Ivain Laclan.

  I ran the only way I could, downstream, toward the old water mill.

  DAVIN

  The Mill Pond

  “Gone? What do you mean, ‘gone’?” I stared at Callan as best I could, with my right eye swollen almost shut.

  “Her and the Laclan boy they sent with her. They went lookin’ for plantain and did not come back.”

  I remembered very well the last thing I’d said to her. Dina, go away. And I had asked Callan to get her to leave. For a brief confused moment I thought she might have done exactly that. Maybe she had just left. Gone back to Baur Kensie, and to Mama. But no, she wouldn’t have. Dina was much too stubborn for that.

  I pushed the blankets aside and tried to sit up. Callan had to help me.

  “What time is it?” I had dozed for most of the day, and now I only knew that daylight no longer fell though the thick leaded panes of the chamber’s window.

  “The sun went down about an hour ago,” said Callan. “Lie down, lad. There’s nothing ye can do. I only came to tell ye that I’m ridin’ out with the Laclans to look for them.”

  It had been dark for an hour. Dina would never have stayed out so long of her own free will. The unheated air of the chamber chilled my bare chest and arms, but I felt colder still inside.

  “I want to come.”

  “Do ye now? Try standin’ on yer own first.”

  “Dina is my sister! If something has happened to her…”

  “Likely they got lost, that’s all.” He handed me a pewter mug. “Here. Drink a bit, then lie down. What can ye do that the Laclans cannot do better? There’s an unholy lot of them, they’re all fit and healthy, and they know this place inside out. We’ll find the children, never fear.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  Callan got up. “We will. If we have to look under every blade of grass, we will. Lie down, lad, and try to get some rest. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  I waited until the sound of Callan’s steps had faded in the passage outside. Then I grabbed hold of the windowsill and hauled myself to my feet. Where were my boots? At the foot of the bed, it seemed. Bending to pick them up, I nearly fell flat on my face. Callan was right, it was horribly difficult to stand without hanging on to something. At least it hurt less—the pain had faded into a strange kind of numbness the minute I realized what Callan meant by “gone.” With thick, clumsy fingers I pulled on my boots and reached for the shirt. I could barely raise my arms, but somehow I managed to get it on.

  I got up again and put a hand against the wall to steady myself while I waited for the room to stop spinning. But I was able to stand. I was fairly certain that if I could only get onto Falk’s back, I’d be able to ride, or stay on at least. That would have to be enough. The Laclans might know the land inside out, like Callan said, but I knew Dina. And I couldn’t just lie here and let them do the searching if there was the least little clue, the least little lead that I might understand because it was my sister we were looking for.

  There was only one problem.

  Callan had locked the door.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  He returned shortly before dawn, spattered with rain and mud, and with an oddly helpless droop to his shoulders. I knew at once that they hadn’t found Dina.

  “I’m sorry, lad,” he said, his voice hoarse from shouting. “We haven’t found them yet.”

  “Are there any tracks?”

  “The hounds lost the scent by the millrace. They’ll… they’ll drag the pond once it gets light.”

  They’ll drag the pond. That was something you did when you were looking for drowned bodies. My stomach turned to ice once more.

  “Dina would never go swimming in a mill pond. She’s not that stupid. She wouldn’t even come close. Didn’t you say she was looking for plantain? They don’t grow by water.” My voice sounded oddly breathless, although I had done nothing except lie still, trying to sleep.

  “Let’s hope so,” said Callan. “Are ye any better? Can ye walk today? There’s breakfast downstairs in the common room, but I’ll bring ye some if ye cannot make the stairs.”

  “I can walk,” I said. “And I won’t let you lock me up again.”

  He peered at me. “Another day in bed would do ye no harm, lad. How’s yer head?”

  “Fine. Let’s just go.” My head did hurt, but what did he expect? My sister was missing. Did he think I would stay in and nurse a bit of a headache?

  He had to help me down the stairs. My back and my arms were the most badly battered parts of me, but it’s amazing how hard it is to lift your feet when your back hurts. When I caught sight of Ivain among the men seated at the long table, I squared my shoulders and tried not to limp. His eyes followed me all the way from the stairs to the table, but he didn’t say a word. At least no one laughed. They just moved aside, making room for Callan and me on the benches.

  It was a sile
nt and hasty meal. Most of the men had been out searching all night, and they ate hungrily. But there were no jokes, and no laughter, and very little talk. I remembered that it was not just Dina who had disappeared. A Laclan boy had been with her, and he was gone, too.

  “We’ll start by the mill,” said Ivain, and rose without further comment. Benches scraped against the slate flagstones of the floor, as most of the men around the table got up to follow him.

  “I want to come,” I hissed at Callan. “You’re not going to leave me stuck in that bloody chamber all day.”

  He looked at me. Then he slowly nodded. “If that’s what ye want. But turn back if ye start feeling poorly. There’s no shame in takin’ it easy after a beating like the one you got.”

  Someone had fetched Falk from the White Doe, and Callan helped me get him ready. I couldn’t raise my arms far enough to brush his back, and when I tried to pick his hooves I nearly fell flat on my face again. It was very annoying. Callan practically had to lift me onto the horse.

  “Are ye sure ye shouldn’t rest a bit more, lad?” he asked, eyeing me dubiously.

  I shook my head and gathered the reins.

  “Let’s get moving,” I said, nudging Falk forward.

  It was a gray and windy day. The water mill had probably once been a busy, useful place, but now it was little more than a ruin. The old works squealed and creaked when the wind came whistling through the gaping holes where windows used to be. Half the roof had fallen in, and only owls and crows lived here now. And water rats. I caught a glimpse of a slick brown body diving into the water as we approached.

  “What a gloomy place,” I said, shuddering a bit. “Dina would never come here.”

  “The hounds think so,” growled Callan. But even he looked dubious.

  “The hounds are wrong,” I said. “Dina would go out of her way to avoid a dismal place like this one.”

  There were two ponds, an upper and a lower. The upper pond was dammed by a wide stone wall and lay silent and dark like a mirror. The one below it was much more turbulent. Water tumbled into it not just from the millrace where the wheel had once gone round and round, but also through a big, jagged hole in the dam.