The story of the late uncle gave Matt an excuse to go out whenever temple life became unbearable. The problem was the up-market clothes which pulled in unwelcome interest, although this was the first thief to target her. Before now, the trouble had come from young studs, trying their luck. So far, Matt had only needed to resort to violence once to change their ideas. There was a reason why genteel women rarely walked the streets alone. If she returned to the temple with a bruise or two, the sisters would have no trouble believing she had been attacked, but it might blow her cover if she had to admit to winning the fight.
Furthermore, the surcoat was so long and close cut she could not easily run or climb. The fashion was favoured by the professional classes to show they were not engaged in physical activity. Its effect on Matt was to make her feel vulnerable, and she did not like the feeling. She had kept her outings to the bare minimum needed to keep her sane, not going far beyond Silver Lady Square. This was her first visit home.
Benny was on duty outside the Flyming house. He grinned when he saw her. “Has anyone ever said you look good with long hair? Have you thought about growing it?”
“Has anyone ever said you’d look good with no teeth? Would you like my help? I’m sure I could find a rock.”
Benny snorted a laugh.
The familiar home sounds and scents flowed around Matt, washing away the soul-stifling dross of the temple. She tugged off the wig and took a deep breath. She felt her rib cage expand, taking in more than just air. How did the sisters cope? The rules, the constant surveillance, the tedium, the absence of everything that made life worth living. Benny’s was the first genuine laughter she had heard in days.
Matt was there because of Edmund’s message but was not going to waste the chance to check by with the people she missed the most. She stuck her head into the housekeeper’s office. Nobody would ever replace her Ma, but if Edmund was her adopted father then Pearl was a favourite aunt.
Pearl was slumped, dozing in a chair, but she struggled up for a hug. “Good to see you, Mattie.”
“You too.”
Matt wrapped her arms around Pearl, while fighting to control her shock. Over the last year, the weight had fallen off. Pearl’s once soft body was now a bag of bones in Matt’s arms. When had it happened? Yes, somewhere in the back of her mind, Matt had been aware all was not well. But only now, coming back after days away, was the change so awfully obvious.
“You here to see Edmund?”
“You don’t think I’d visit just for the pleasure of seeing you?”
“Get on with you.” Pearl pushed her away, smiling, but dark bags under her eyes spoke of sleepless nights.
“Do you know where he is?”
“Haven’t seen him for a while. Ricon is upstairs. He should know.”
Matt hesitated, wanting to say something. But what? No easy words came to mind. Nothing that was not bland or stupid. Are you all right? Why ask? Clearly, Pearl was not all right. Matt gave an extra hug, to let her actions speak for her.
She found Ricon lounging on a daybed, looking pretty, which was something he was very good at, and he knew it. Despite his vanity, Matt liked him. He was smart and funny and appeared to be genuinely in love with Edmund. He dressed in a strange mixture of scruffy and elegant, with a wispy beard and ponytail, which even more strangely, suited him. He had come to Edmund’s notice as a smuggler. The noticing had been of a sort that resulted in the breakup of Edmund’s previous romance. So far, Ricon and Edmund had been lovers for nine months. Matt thought he might even last another three and make it to their anniversary, which would be a record.
Edmund’s love affairs were definitely mellowing with age. Matt had a vision of him and Ricon, both bald and toothless, sitting in front of a fire wearing fluffy socks and bed robes, drinking warm milk, and then dismissed it, smiling at the fantasy. There was no way Edmund would go down that route.
Ricon did not get up, but settled for an exaggerated wave. “Hey there, gorgeous. How’s things going?”
“Well enough, handsome. How about you?”
“I struggle through. But tell me, who’s winning the conversion battle, you or the sisters?”
“The battle?”
“Are you corrupting them, or are they making a virtuous woman of you? And for the record, my money’s been on you all along.”
“I can’t claim any credit. From what I can tell, somebody’s already corrupted most of them.”
“You mean the stories about the sisters are true?” Ricon held his hand to his mouth in mock horror. “Lights out at the eighth bell, candles out at the ninth.”
Matt laughed. “With one or two exceptions, I pray I never get to find out.”
“I guess we all have certain standards. Are you here to see Edmund?”
“Yes. Do you know where he is?”
“He went to feed the dogs a while back. Might still be there.”
“Thanks.”
Edmund was indeed sitting by the cage at the rear of the garden. The three heavy jawed mastiffs wagged their tails like puppies when they saw Matt approach.
“Hi, Mattie.” Edmund spoke without looking back.
“How did you know it was me? It might have been the butcher coming.”
“He’s already been today.”
Matt put her arm between the bars and scratched a furry head. Very few people could have done that without losing a hand, but Matt had known the dogs since the day they were born. Edmund also was accepted and loved by them. He reached through, patted the oldest mastiff, then stood.
An ancient gazebo was nearby, its frame sagging under the weight of an overgrown honeysuckle. They sat on the weather-beaten bench inside.
“Raff said you wanted to see me. Anything up?” As chance would have it, the story Matt told Eawynn the previous day was true. She had spotted the messenger by chance. On previous occasions, Raff had asked for her at the atrium gate, posing as her late uncle’s foreman.
“No. I just wanted a report.” Edmund smiled. “And I’ve missed you.”
“Nothing like as much as I’ve missed you, and home.”
“Not tempted to renounce your sins and become a priestess?”
Matt gave a snort in answer.
“So how’s it going?”
“Slowly.”
“Good. As long as you’re making progress.”
“I think so. I haven’t got sight of the stone yet. The sisters really are fussy about who they let near it.”
“We knew that. That’s why you had to be on the inside. Have you checked out the guardsmen they employ?”
“The only one I’ve recognised is Shorty Potts.”
“Bribable.”
“Yes. But not worth the cost. They stay outside and aren’t in a position to give us trouble unless someone raises the alarm and they come running.”
“At which point it’s too late to worry about the stone.”
“True. The big issue is the round-the-clock ceremonies. There’s high tide, low tide, as well as moonrise and moonset.” Matt shrugged. “Those aren’t so bad. We can predict them. But at any time they can all just decide to get up and stream through the atrium for a quick chant in the sanctuary, right by a door we need to get through. We don’t want to be caught red-handed, picking the lock.”
“We need the key.”
“Getting it won’t be easy. The only people with a key are four, tight-arsed high-up sisters. However, the outer shrine door is unlocked during the day.”
Edmund frowned but said nothing, letting Matt continue.
“There’s also an inner door to the actual room where the Shewstone is kept, which is locked day and night, but I fancy my chances of getting hands on that key far more.”
“You smiled as you said that. Let me guess, the key holder is young and pretty, not at all tight-arsed, and you’ve been winking at her.”
“I’m never so crass as to wink.”
“I was being figurative.”
“I’m thinking I can g
et close enough to lift the key, take the stone during the daytime, and pass it to one of the boys.”
“You’re sure it’s not the getting close bit making you think this?”
“No. Because even if we pick both locks, it still has to be me doing it. A yeggman could hop over the garden wall and get to the atrium, but what happens if they’re spotted? If it’s me, I can say I was pacing around because I was worried over my uncle’s will and couldn’t sleep.”
“So getting this pretty priestess in the sack is purely a bonus?”
“I just ask myself what you’d do in my place.”
Edmund shook his head and laughed. “Just be careful.”
“Aren’t I always?”
“No.”
As ever, they were on the same page. Matt said, “I’ll send word when I’ve got the stone.”
“Any idea when that’s likely to be?”
“Another four or five days.”
“That long? You’ve already been there eight. She putting up a fight?”
“Nope. It’s me. I’ve been playing hard to get, and I think it’s worked. But I’ll speed up. I can’t take much more of the temple.”
“How will you pass the stone out?”
“Not sure. I’ve got a couple of ideas. Send Raff over again in two days, and I’ll confirm.”
“Right. I’ll let our customers know.”
“Have you found out anything about them?”
“Bits. Still no idea what their real names are, but I’ve got three fake ones to choose between. I know what boat they arrived on and where they’re staying. Some other scraps. It all adds up to half a picture.”
“Do you know what they want with the stone?”
“Not a clue.” He sighed. “There’s something about this I don’t like. I’m putting the info in the back drawer. Maybe we can piece things together, if needed.”
“Hopefully, it won’t come to that.” With no witnesses around, other than the dogs, Matt shuffled along the bench and rested her head on Edmund’s shoulder.
He slid his arm around her. “What’s up? Is temple life really bad?”
“It’s not that. I spoke to Pearl on the way in. She’s lost so much weight.”
“Ah.” He tightened his arm in a reassuring squeeze. “Yep. It’s not good. But none of us are getting any younger.”
She knew that. Edmund’s once black beard was now grey. The lines on his face were etched ever deeper, his voice less strong, warning of a future she did not want to think about. What sort of fool needed a Shewstone? Was today not enough? For herself, Matt just wanted to finish with the temple, come home, and take her life one day at a time.
She felt Edmund’s lips brush the top of her head. “Don’t worry. We’ll look after Pearl.”
“Look after yourself, too.” Matt turned her head and whispered into the cloth of his shirt, not fully intending him to hear. “Love you, Pa.”
But he did. “Love you too, Mattie.”
*
Eawynn rubbed the tabletop, trying to remove the smears. The previous client had been sweating profusely. Admittedly, “Will I get away with murdering my husband?” was one of the more nerve-racking questions, but the woman could have worn gloves. Her fingerprints were all over the table and chair.
The divination had been one of the rare occasions where the client had not been given the desired answer. From the information the aspiring murderess had revealed, she was clearly hoping for a yes, but Insightful Sister Oracle had played it safe. If the woman went ahead anyway, and the Shewstone prophesy proved false, she was hardly likely to take the story before a judge to demand a refund.
Eawynn adjusted a lamp and lowered her eyes to table level, checking the state of the sweat marks from a different angle.
“So this is it.”
Eawynn dropped the polishing cloth and nearly fell. Hilda stood just inside the doorway. “You—”
Hilda held a hand up. “I know, I shouldn’t be here. But who’s going to know?” She sauntered forward, until she was scant inches away. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” Her delivery suggested the offer applied to more than just her presence.
Eawynn braced herself against the table, grasping the edge with both hands to hide their shaking. Hilda was standing so close her breath tickled Eawynn’s neck.
She shut her eyes, fighting to cling to a semblance of composure. “Would you tell your husband?”
“Ah. Him.” Hilda sounded amused but then, thankfully—disappointingly—she moved away.
Eawynn picked up the cloth in her clenched fist with no hope of using it. She bowed her head, her eyes fixed, unseeing, on the grain in the wood. This isn’t love. It isn’t anything important. You don’t know her. Ten days ago you had never set eyes on her. Five more days and she’ll be gone. Don’t be insane. This isn’t love, just a stupid juvenile crush. You aren’t fourteen any more. Grow up. It isn’t—
“Can I touch it?”
The question knocked Eawynn back on her heels, forcing her head up. Hilda was standing by the Shewstone repository. “No.”
“Forbidden?”
“I don’t have a key.”
“Not even as custodian?”
“No one does. Most Rev—”
“Don’t tell me. Most Revolting Unsightly Sister Orifice is the only one with a key?” Hilda found everything one big joke.
“Yes.”
“And she never lets you use it?”
“No. It’s never out of her possession.”
“Doesn’t she trust you?”
“No.” Not with the key. Not with anything. At that moment, Eawynn did not trust herself.
Hilda’s grin broadened, and she returned her attention to the repository. While Eawynn watched, she examined the wrought iron cabinet in a teasing, arousing display, like nothing Eawynn had witnessed before.
It was as if Hilda forgot anyone else was in the room. She ran her hands gently over the metal tracery, caressing it like a lover. She stroked the top, the sides, sometimes with the palm of her hands, sometime just the lightest fingertip pressure. With her thumbs, she rubbed small, sensual circles on the protruding copper hinges and lock. She drew a line with her forefinger down the middle of the door, riding the curves in the ironwork patterns, then slid her hand underneath the main casing. Slowly and deliberately, she started to delve between the stout metal legs, more and more of her hand disappearing with each purposeful stroke.
Eawynn was mesmerized, unable to tear her eyes away. She felt herself grow wet. She wanted Hilda’s hands on her body, to bestow the same treatment she was giving to the unfeeling iron case. The surge of desire was more than Eawynn could bear. How could Hilda ensnare her so totally with such brazen tricks? Eawynn clawed at the remnants of her dignity, trying to muster a defence.
“Please.”
Hilda took her hands from the repository and turned around. “Please what?”
“Go.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?”
No, Eawynn was not sure, not of anything. Except that she desperately needed a firm footing to her life, and she was not going to get it from Hilda. “Yes.”
Again, Hilda advanced until they stood almost touching. “I don’t know if I believe you.”
What was it with Hilda? Was she really no more than a visiting businesswoman as she claimed? What about the absent husband she found so easy to forget? She was restrained and demure with the other sisters, and so very different when they two were alone together. Or was she? Was Hilda playing these same games with other priestesses? Was that where she had been those other days, when she seemed to be avoiding contact?
Eawynn clenched her jaw. Did it matter? It was all a game to Hilda anyway, wasn’t it? Did it matter how many people she was playing it with? Eawynn focused on the opposite wall and drew a deep breath.
“I want you to go.” Her voice was firmer than she had expected.
Still, Hilda made no move to leave. Instead she raised her hand, the same han
d that had so seductively explored the repository, and brushed Eawynn’s cheek. For a moment, Eawynn surrendered and leaned into the touch, letting Hilda caress her face. The contact of skin on skin rippled though her. Her body felt more alive than Eawynn would have believed possible. Tingling waves spread out, over her scalp, shooting down her spine. Her legs trembled. Her breath was ragged, as if she had been running. Her vision blurred.
And then Hilda’s hand was gone. “If that’s what you want.”
Eawynn gasped at the shock.
Step by step, Hilda backed away, and then she was gone, leaving Eawynn alone again, with nothing more than an old polishing rag, tightly balled in her fist.
*
The temple lay in darkness. Matt prowled the deserted atrium. She knew she was prowling, and she knew she should stop. It was not the way demure ladies walked, but it was hard to control the energy in her legs. Tomorrow, she was going to get her hands on the Shewstone. The excitement was like wine, dancing in her veins, to the rhythm of her heartbeat. Her body felt fully alive. All things were possible. She could stretch up and pluck a star from the heavens, if the price was right.
Matt forced herself to stop and lean against one of the columns surrounding the atrium. She needed to show self-control, not act like a kid on her first job. Carelessness was fatal, as those on their way to the gibbet would agree. The judges would come down hard on a thief caught stealing from a temple, or from anyone else with deep enough pockets for the bribe. Matt closed her eyes and breathed, slow and deep. She was Hilda of Gimount, gentlewoman, wife of a protective husband, too well-bred to frequent bawdy taverns. And she had to act like her, for just a few more days.
The moon was past full, nearing the last quarter. Its light trickled over the garden of knee-high hedges. The cool night air carried the scent of lavender and herbs. Matt let the calm soak into her and pull her back into character, enough to continue walking.
There was a thrill to pursuing a woman, and there was a thrill to pursuing a theft. They were similar and different, and Matt loved them both. She treasured every warm memory of success. With a woman, the fun was in the chase, the anticipation. With theft, the best bit came afterward. Not least of the reward was new respect in the eyes of others. Yet, for both, the high point was the same—the moment of triumph, when you held your prize in your hands for the first time, when you knew you had won.
The Shewstone Page 8