The Shewstone

by Jane Fletcher

  “You mean the Shewstone?”

  “Yes. They call it the Shewstone. I intend to have it.”

  “You’re hoping to buy it?” Two could play the game of asking silly questions. “I can’t see them parting with it. Do you know the priestesses reckon it can foretell the future? They rake in the money. You’d be amazed.” To Matt’s way of thinking, the scam was so brazen even she would have felt a twinge of guilt carrying it out.

  “I am very aware of how much they charge, and I do not think it would be for sale, regardless of price. Which is why I’ve come to your father to see if he can acquire it for us.”

  “Won’t be easy.”

  “If it were easy, we wouldn’t need your services. Do you think you can do it?”

  Matt shrugged. “If the money’s right.”

  The Flyming gang did not generally work as thieves for hire, but business was business, and Edmund would not have wasted her time if he had no intention of accepting the job.

  “Your father and I have agreed on a price.”

  Matt glanced over to meet Edmund’s eyes. What was he thinking? The Shewstone was just a ball of rock. Could they get away with passing off a replica?

  As if hearing her thought, the visitor said, “I arranged for a divination yesterday, so I could first see it for myself. The artefact was exactly as I’d been told. I must have it.”

  Which meant he might notice if he did not get the genuine Shewstone.

  “How quickly do you want it?”

  “Within the month. I cannot wait much longer.”

  Matt nodded. She trusted Edmund already had a plan in mind, and if they could not steal the Shewstone inside a month, they could not steal it at all.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “I agree.” Edmund pushed himself away from the desk. “How shall we contact you when we have it?”

  “My companion will walk along the harbour wall, each day at noon. You may pass a message to him there.”

  So, the visitors intended to conceal their lodging. A vain hope. Edmund would want to know more about their new clients and did not lack the resources to find out. The information would be forthcoming, of that Matt was sure.

  Edmund’s face gave nothing away. “Then I think, gentlemen, we’ve covered all that is needful.”

  The visitors nodded politely as they were shown out.

  “What do you make of them?” Edmund asked once they were alone.

  “They’ve come a long way for a lump of rock.”

  “The mainland around Sideamuda, I’d say.”

  Matt took a seat in the casement window. “And with money to burn.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  “How much are they offering?”

  “Four thousand yellowboys.”

  “What!”

  “I know. We’d have jumped at half that.”

  Matt was puzzled. “They didn’t strike me as fools.”

  “Except for being desperate to own a stone ball.”

  “There is that.”

  Matt turned her head to look on the street below. The two strangers were walking away.

  Edmund joined her, leaning his shoulder against the window frame. “It feels too good.”

  “And if something seems too good, it probably is. You think they’re pulling something?”

  “I don’t know.” He sighed. “We go carefully. Any hint of a problem and we tell them it’s off.”

  “Right. Any idea how we’re going to get the stone?”

  “Nope. That’s up to you.”

  “Me?”

  “We need someone inside the temple. I don’t fancy our chances of bribing a priestess, and men aren’t allowed in.”

  “You think I could become a priestess? I’m not sure the haircut will suit me,” Matt joked.

  “I suspect the haircut would be the least of your problems. Fortunately, there’s a less demanding way in for you.”

  “You’re thinking of the hostel for travelling gentlewomen who’re too dainty for common inns?”

  “Do you think you can play the part?”

  Matt laughed. “You doubt my acting ability?”

  “I’m not sure about you staying sufficiently virtuous.”

  “I don’t have to be virtuous, just act it. I’m sure that’s all the sisters are doing.”

  “You can’t afford to slip. No matter what the sisters are up to when the public aren’t around, you should stay in character with your cover story.”

  “Which is?”

  “You’re from a quaint little rural spot. You’re in town to tidy up the affairs of your recently departed uncle, because you’re the only one your family can spare, but you’ve never been to a big city before and your husband is possessively jealous and wants to be sure you aren’t cavorting with sailors and the like.”

  “Husband?”

  “Wife is hardly an option.”

  “I don’t know. If word gets out, they might be queuing up outside my bedroom door.” Matt ran the idea past what she knew of the sisterhood and winced. “You’re right. Husband is safer.”

  “You don’t have to lift the stone yourself. Just see how it can be done. We’ll plan on you staying in the hostel half a month. You can extend it if necessary. But I don’t think you have to worry about being recognised afterward. The priestesses don’t leave the temple much, and when they do they’re surrounded by guards.”

  “A wig wouldn’t hurt.”

  “True. We’ll send a letter to the temple. You can show up a couple of days later.”

  “Right.”

  “And remember. Don’t take risks. Maybe this man calling himself Waldo is just a clown who doesn’t know the price of a thief, but something about this is making my back itch.”

  “You know me.”

  “Precisely. That’s why I’m saying it. Be careful.”

  Matt wandered back to her room, which was now empty. Pearl had done her job. But with hindsight, perhaps she should have had Maybe-Marie stay. Matt was facing the prospect of days on end stuck in the temple with only the Virgin Priestesses of Anberith for company. Unless the priestesses were more fun than their tag suggested, it could be her longest period of celibacy since turning sixteen.

  Matt closed her eyes and groaned. “The things we do for money.”

  Chapter Two

  The stout walls of Hyth Diepu could have held out against the ragtag rebel army until loyal reinforcements arrived, but the base-born rabble inside the port city made common cause with the besiegers and rose up. In two days of fighting, the traitors burned the warships in dock and massacred the sailors.

  With the loss of such a significant part of the Rihtcynn navy, the seas would become the home of pirates, and Earl Swidhelm Wisa Gyrwefenna saw there was no hope of keeping Pinettale secure within the empire. He therefore made the hard decision to take full personal responsibility for the island, and named himself King of Pinettale, so that he might preserve a remnant of the noble Rihtcynn culture there for the generations to come.

  Or to put it another way, Swidhelm saw his chance and grabbed it. Eawynn sincerely doubted the first king’s motives had been altruistic.

  The events, and the slant on Swidhelm’s actions, were familiar to her. It had been her father’s favourite bedtime story, on the few occasions he had seen fit to tell one to her. At the time, Eawynn had preferred Hattie’s funny tales of Jibjob the Bear. However, Alric Husa Achangrena had wanted to impress on Eawynn their noble heritage. He could trace his ancestry back to Swidhelm by multiple routes, most directly through Swidhelm’s youngest daughter, who had married the Thane Achangrena of the day—his great-great-great-great-great-grandfather.

  The library door opened. Eawynn looked up to see who would come in. She was supposed to be reading Holy Scripture rather than distorted history, but after four hours spent cleaning, she needed entertainment, and Wilfrid’s Rise and Fall of the Rihtcynn Empire was the best option on offer. Given her low standing, being caught out woul
d mean more trouble than she wanted to think about. But how great was the risk? Nobody else was in the library, and the book was written in Cynnreord, using old clerical hieroglyphs. After Erudite Sister Librarian’s demise, only three other priestesses could decode it well enough to even get the first idea that she ought to be looking at something else. A stout figure in sea-green waddled into the library, and Eawynn smiled. Redoubtable Sister Door-warden was not one of the three.

  Eawynn was about to return to her book, but another person followed the priestess in. This woman was a stranger, of average height, dressed in secular clothing, a long blue surcoat, reaching well below her knees, with matching red collar and stockings. A white shirt and dainty shoes completed her attire. Her skin was the light brown of a commoner, but her long wavy hair held a tint of auburn, proclaiming a modicum of noble blood in her ancestry. Possibly there was another trace of Rihtcynn forebears in the delicate bone structure of her face. Her hands were also well formed with long fingers. She looked to be in her mid-twenties.

  “We have nearly one hundred and fifty books in the library,” Redoubtable Sister Door-warden announced proudly.

  “Really.” The overstressed cadence suggested the woman was not quite as impressed as she was trying to sound. A bland smile was plastered on her face.

  “While you’re staying with us, you may come here to read. Studious Sister Librarian or one of her assistants will help you find a suitable book.”

  As long as you don’t ask Diligent Sister Caretaker. Eawynn still wanted to scream at the injustice. How could a featherbrain like Agnes be assigned to the library? She understood the politics, but it was not being fair to the books.

  “Thank you.”

  Redoubtable Sister Door-warden started to back out, but the visitor was not ready to leave. She tottered the length of the room. Her hands were folded demurely over her stomach. Judging by her clothes, the woman was either an artisan or married to one. She was attractive, but otherwise unremarkable, yet something was odd about her. It took Eawynn a moment to work out what. The woman’s manner was timid, mouse-like, with small, teetering steps. Her walk should have been ungainly, yet, like a mouse, her footsteps made no sound, even on the tiled library floor.

  At the rear of the library, the woman stopped by the metal grill protecting the proscribed books from unauthorised eyes. Insightful Sister Oracle’s permission was needed to even open the grill, let alone read any of the contents.

  “Why are these books locked up? Are they valuable?”

  Redoubtable Sister Door-warden had followed, making considerably more noise. “All the books are valuable. These ones contain particularly sacred writings that only the elders may read. They hold deep mysteries of our faith.”

  “Really.”

  The woman did not sound convinced, and nor was Eawynn. Probably every inquisitive novice in the temple’s history had tried to sneak a peek. If any had succeeded, they were not letting on, though this did not stop rumours about the contents. Juvenile suggestions were that the books held erotic bedtime reading or magical spells. Eawynn would now guess they included tips on how to wheedle clues from supplicants, plus maybe a compendium of pretentious metaphors in Cynnreord.

  The visitor continued her circuit, although it seemed her eyes spent as much time on the windows as they did on the books. Was she a glazier, come to give a quote for new stained glass? Whatever her interest, Eawynn wished she would hurry up and go. The next ceremony was due soon, and Eawynn wanted to finish the chapter without distractions. But no such luck. The woman stopped by her table.

  Eawynn restrained the pointless urge to conceal Wilfred’s history. It would merely make her appear guilty. Anyway, even if the visitor was a scholar and could decode the script, how was she to know what Eawynn was supposed to be reading?

  The woman looked pointedly at Redoubtable Sister Door-warden, who finally got the idea she was expected to introduce them.

  “This is Madam Hilda of Gimount. She’s going to be staying in the hostel while she concludes some business in Fortaine.” Redoubtable Sister Door-warden gestured with one hand. “And this is Dutiful Sister Custodian.”

  “Good afternoon.” Madam Hilda’s smile revealed even white teeth. “May I ask what you’re custodian of?”

  “The Shewstone.”

  “Really.” For the first time, the woman’s interest was unmistakably genuine. Her eyes widened slightly, and her voice acquired depth. “I’ve heard so much about it. I was hoping I might even see it while I’m here. Would that be possible, do you think?”

  Redoubtable Sister Door-warden got her answer in first. “I’m afraid the Shewstone is never on display. You would have to make a representation to Most Reverend Insightful Sister Oracle.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  The woman’s eyes fixed on Eawynn, and here again was an off note. There was nothing timid in that gaze. An intent glinted in their depths that Eawynn found unsettling. Hilda of Gimount had locked eyes with her—a wolf, not a mouse—brazenly sizing her up, and Eawynn did not know how to react. How she ought to react was easy; there was little doubt what advice any elder would give. But how did she want to react? Eawynn was completely at a loss, and that was the disconcerting part. Whatever else was happening in her life, Eawynn always knew her own mind. Was it just a reaction to being ignored by everyone else for months?

  Eawynn felt her cheek burning. It did not matter whether it was annoyance or embarrassment. The effect was always so obvious on her pale skin. She looked down at the open page, taking a few seconds to compose her features, hoping the woman would move on. However, when she looked up, Hilda of Gimount was still watching her, but now with an easy grin on her lips, like a woman enjoying a private joke. What game was she playing?

  “I’ll show you the rest of the temple.” Redoubtable Sister Door-warden came to the rescue, albeit unwittingly. She shepherded the visitor to the door. But before Hilda of Gimount let herself be led out, she stopped to throw one last broad smile at Eawynn.

  When the door closed, Eawynn let out a long sigh, either of relief or apprehension. She could not say which emotion was uppermost. There was something intriguing about Hilda of Gimount, maybe even dangerous. She was also very attractive. But the last thing Eawynn needed were more black marks against her name. This woman was trouble. Eawynn could feel it in her core.

  After a few deep breaths, she returned to Wilfrid’s history.

  Such true-born Rihtcynn as resided on Pinettale rallied to King Swidhelm’s cause. United, they were able to maintain discipline in the army and put down uprisings by the commoners. The victories were hard won. In Anmet and Monflacin, mobs murdered everyone of Rihtcynn blood. Sorrowfully to relate, many noble bloodlines were extinguished. Yet, though sorely tried, King Swidhelm kept a firm grip on Fortaine and dealt ruthlessly with the rabble. Once his capital was secure, he had a stable base from which to launch his campaign to subdue the rest of the island. Five years after King Swidhelm took the throne, Pinettale was again at peace.

  *

  Back in the colonnaded courtyard, Matt rubbed her face discreetly, trying to massage her expression into one suitable for a decorous gentlewoman. A cheesy grin was certainly not right. She should have been more careful with the good-looking priestess, but good-looking women were always Matt’s weakness. Besides, as Matt read the signs, the custodian had potential, and not just in terms of access to the Shewstone. It was a shame about the shaved head. The custodian was pretty enough to carry it off, but Matt was sure she would be even more attractive with enough hair to run fingers through. The grin threatened to return.

  “That was the library. I think I’ve already told you this is called the atrium.” The door warden, on the other hand, was a lost cause, regardless of hairstyle.

  “Yes, Holy Sister.”

  In the middle of the atrium was a neat garden of low shrubs and box hedges. Spring bulbs were in full bloom. The four sides were lined with pillars supporting a low vaulted roof over a wide walk
way, somewhere the sisters could take exercise on rainy days. To the north, east, and west, arched passageways gave access to the other areas of the temple. There was no southern exit. The Temple of Anberith backed directly onto the cliffs overlooking the port. As befitting the goddess of tides, the sounds of waves crashing against the shore could be heard everywhere.

  The priestess paused by another door. “You saw the audience room when you arrived?”

  “Yes, Holy Sister.”

  They progressed as far as the eastern arch. “As a resident of the hostel, you may come and go through the atrium at will, but you may not enter here under any circumstances.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” I have far more interesting dreams.

  “It leads to the priestesses’ private quarters.”

  Private quarters—dormitories, washrooms, an extra special place to pray, and maybe an orgy chamber. Or maybe not, but the priestesses had to do something for fun.

  The circuit of the atrium continued. There was a schoolroom, where the daughters of the gentry could be taught to read and write, an accounting office, where rich people who felt compelled to give away money could do so, and a chart room where a grumpy priestess was calculating something and did not want to be disturbed. They left that last room rather hurriedly.

  Matt was also shown into two enclosed halls of a religious nature. The larger was the Shrine to the Oracle. A door at the rear was pointed out as being the unpronounceable whatsit where the Shewstone was kept. Matt nodded and said nothing. Expressing too much interest would be a mistake. She concentrated on small steps, with her elbows clamped to her sides, pulling her shoulders in, and smiling sweetly all the time. Her face was starting to ache.

  They concluded the circuit back at the northern exit. “The Sanctuary of Anberith is through here. It’s the only part of the temple open to everyone.”