The Shewstone

by Jane Fletcher

  The stranger was dressed in monochrome, black leather jerkin and boots, dull grey shirt, and loose leggings. They were the clothes of a common tradesman, off to make an early start on a day’s work. Or so Eawynn prayed. He strode along confidently, yet his footsteps were almost silent on the cobbles. Even so, Eawynn knew she should have heard him, should have been more alert, for what good it might do her, lacking the strength to either fight off an attacker or run.

  The man’s pace did not change. If he saw her, he gave no sign. Still the panic frothed in Eawynn’s gut. Only when he drew level, still without slowing or speaking, did she let herself relax and raise her eyes to his face. Then he was past, walking away, out of sight around the corner.

  In that brief glimpse, Eawynn realised her mistake. Not a man but a woman, and not a stranger. The clothes and haircut had changed, but the face was one she would never forget. It had taunted her dreams for nights. A wave of joy swept all rational thought from Eawynn’s head. She started to scramble to her feet, about to call out, then froze.

  Hilda of Gimount was not home with her husband, nor was she in the temple hostel. She was prowling around Fortaine by night, dressed like a workman.

  Eawynn sat back on her heels and clamped a hand over her forehead. Had hunger driven her mad? Was she suffering from hallucinations? But no. She was sure of what she had seen, which meant Hilda of Gimount was not the honest businesswoman she claimed to be. No great news there. Eawynn had always known, on some level, Hilda was an actress, playing a part. Yet she had still believed there was a core of truth in her story. Now she doubted everything. How much else about Hilda was a lie? Did she have a dead uncle, or even a husband? What had she been doing in the temple?

  The obvious conclusion hit Eawynn like a hammer blow. She had no idea how it was done, but Hilda of Gimount had stolen the Shewstone. The blows did not end there. Eawynn doubled over in anguish. Hilda had flirted with her and kissed her and made her feel special while taking her for a dupe. She had known Hilda was playing games but had still fallen for the sham, and now she was starving on the streets because Hilda had tricked her into acting like an infatuated fool.

  Eawynn lifted her head, gasping as she tried to steady her thoughts. As a secondary point, it also meant Enlightening Sister Astrologer was innocent. Eawynn wished she could say she did not know which conclusion was the more upsetting, but in truth there was no competition. The memory of kissing Hilda raked her heart with acid claws. She thumped her fist on the wall. She had to hit something.

  What should she do? More to the point, what could she do? If she went to the temple and told them, would anyone believe her?

  Insightful Sister Oracle had spoken of earning Anberith’s forgiveness. Of course, she had not meant it; the line was merely what the high priestess was supposed to say during the Abrogating Ritual of Expulsion. But if Eawynn helped return the Shewstone, surely it was possible the elders might let her return. As things stood, it was easily the best chance she had. And if nothing else, there was revenge.

  Eawynn shoved herself to her feet. If she followed Hilda to the rogues’ den, or wherever it was the thief lived, then she could summon the city watch. Her feet were leaden lumps of ice and did not want to obey her, but she forced them to move. They retaliated by shooting daggers up her legs. Eawynn ignored the pain and broke into a hobbling run.

  She made it to the end of the alley in time to see Hilda turn into another side road. For the next half mile she followed her quarry, zigzagging across Fortaine. Twice she got too close and was nearly spotted. Once she thought she had lost Hilda, only to catch sight of her again. The emptiness in her stomach was forgotten as Eawynn crept from corner to doorway, keeping to the shadows.

  The old city walls were coming into view when Hilda switched direction again, ducking through a gap between two tall buildings. Eawynn reached the opening as Hilda vanished around yet another corner, twenty yards ahead.

  The passage was narrow and dark and had been used as a rubbish dump. Eawynn made what haste she could. A broken post snagged her left sandal and the strap gave way, leaving the sole flapping. Eawynn kicked both shoes off. They had been the next best thing to useless. She carried on barefoot, but avoiding broken glass and pottery shards slowed her down. When she reached the corner, there was nobody in sight.

  The buildings here looked semi-derelict, the sort of street Eawynn would have imagined for a secret rogues’ den. Doorways punctuated the walls on either side. Had Hilda gone into one or was she carrying on ahead?

  Eawynn tiptoed cautiously along, looking up at the windows for sign of anyone watching. She drew level with the first doorway, when a blur of motion caught the corner of her eye. A force slammed into her, knocking her to the ground. A knee rammed into her back, biting on the half-healed cuts, and pressing her face into the ground. Then a sharp point pricked under her chin.

  “I don’t know why you’re following me, but it’s a dangerous thing to do.” Hilda’s voice, rich and soft and deadly.

  Eawynn had been caught out, over and again. Could she have made a bigger fool of herself if she had tried? In fury, she shouted, “What have you done with the Shewstone?”

  *

  “What have you done with the Shewstone?”

  The question caught Matt flat-footed. It was not any of the things she expected the incompetent, would-be footpad to say, and the surprises kept getting bigger. Matt felt her jaw drop. The stubble haired guttersnipe was Eawynn, dressed like a beggar.

  Matt took the knife away and shifted back on her heels, allowing Eawynn to roll over and face her. When did the holy sisters start tailing people through the streets?

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I want the Shewstone.”

  “What?”

  “You’re a thief. The Shewstone. You stole it, didn’t you?”

  Matt had still not mastered her surprise, but the question was easy enough. “Yes.”

  “You’ve got to give it back.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I’ll call the city watch. They’ll be able to—”

  “I can’t give it back because I don’t have it.” Matt sheathed the knife in her boot and stood. She had her own questions. “Why are you here, like this? You’re a priestess. Why aren’t you in the temple?”

  “Not anymore. They threw me out.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they think I helped you steal the Shewstone.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?”

  “I didn’t need any…” Matt stopped and stared down the street, thinking rapidly.

  She had chosen the spot because she was unlikely to be disturbed or overheard, but that did not mean she wanted to hang around. Eawynn was a problem that needed a quick solution. The easiest and surest was to slit her throat. The city watch would not concern themselves over one more dead vagrant. It was not a solution Matt was willing to consider.

  The second option was to simply walk away. Losing Eawynn in the city would not be a problem. As it was, she had needed to actively work at keeping Eawynn on her tail. When she realised she was being followed, Matt’s first thought was that the footpad might be on Gilbert’s payroll. She had wanted the chance to ask a few questions in private.

  There was one more option. Matt held out a hand to help Eawynn up. “Come with me.”

  “Where? Why?”

  “Somewhere we can talk in comfort.”

  “Do you think I’d trust you?”

  “No. I don’t think you’re stupid enough to do that. But I’m not staying here, so if you want to talk, you’re going to have to come along.”

  “I could scream for the watch.”

  “You think they’d pay any attention to someone dressed like you?” Eawynn truly was a total innocent when it came to life on the streets.

  Matt started walking. Before she had gone a dozen yards, she heard Eawynn’s footsteps hurrying to catch up. Matt smiled, mainly in self-mockery.
Why was it always so easy to persuade herself that inviting an attractive woman up to her room was the most sensible thing to do?

  Oh well, if Eawynn tried to cause trouble, tying her up was another option. Matt would leave instructions for the tavern staff to release the prisoner after she left town. If the information she hoped for was in Edmund’s papers, she would be on the first boat out.

  As ever, the barman at The Jolly Wagoner acted as if she was not there, which was not the same as ignoring her.

  “I’d like two large breakfasts.” Matt gave the order while heading for the stairs. No need to ask if Eawynn was hungry—street folk always were.

  Up in the room, Matt stripped off her wig and jerkin, and dropped the bag of papers on her bunk. They would have to wait. If Eawynn were not there, she would have skipped breakfast and gone through the papers until she could put off sleep no longer. However, Eawynn was going to want to talk. Matt could have guessed as much, even without the expression on her face. The women she kissed always did.

  Matt leaned her shoulder on the wall by the window, with half an eye on the sunrise and half on Eawynn, who sat at the table, glaring.

  “How did you do it? How did you steal the Shewstone?”

  “Quite easily.”

  “You took the sacrarium key from me?”

  “Yes.”

  “While you were kissing me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you have the key to the outer shrine door as well? Did you kiss Insightful Sister Oracle?”

  “Oh please, no. I have some standards.” Matt winced at the thought. “I honestly find you attractive and enjoyed kissing you very much.”

  Eawynn’s glare deepened. If Matt was honest with herself, she knew that line always was going to be a hard one to sell.

  “So how did you do it? When did you take the Shewstone?”

  “Immediately after you stopped kissing me and ran away.”

  “But you followed me into the sanctuary. You didn’t have it with you.”

  “No. I hid it in the outer room to pick up later, after all the fuss died down.”

  “How did you get the repository open?”

  Matt could not help laughing. “That was easy. You wouldn’t believe how often people spend a fortune on a lock, then screw it to matchwood that splinters if you look at it too hard. The hinges were soft copper. A kid could’ve taken the door off.”

  “They said you used tools.”

  “Just the jemmy I’d hidden in my boot.”

  “You had it planned all along? The only reason you were waiting for me was so you could steal the Shewstone?”

  “Yes. Although getting to kiss you was a bonus.”

  “You’re revolting.”

  Matt sighed. Any hopes of seduction had been weak to start with and were not getting any better. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  “Sorry? You don’t feel sorry at all. I can see it on your face.”

  “Not about taking the stone. I’m sorry for what’s happened to you. I didn’t think you’d get into so much trouble. If I’d known, I’d have worked things differently.”

  The apology had no effect. “But you think it’s all right to steal things.” A statement, not a question.

  “I’m a thief. It’s what I do. Taking the Shewstone?” Matt shrugged. “No guilt at all. Your chief priestess has been fleecing people for years. At least I’m honest about what I am.”

  “Honest! After all your lying, you think you can claim honesty?”

  “In comparison to your Unsightly Sister Orifice, yes, I can. The Shewstone is a con trick. It’s a ball of rock, nothing more.”

  “If you think that, why did you bother stealing it?”

  “Some people said they’d pay us.”

  “Us? You’re part of a gang? Are you the leader?”

  “No, my father is…was…Edmund Flyming.” Matt swallowed. Eawynn showed no reaction to the name. There was no reason to expect one. The sisters in the temple knew nothing about life on the city streets.

  “He has the Shewstone?”

  “No. He’s dead. The shitheads double-crossed us and murdered him. They’ve got it now.”

  “Do you know where they are?”

  “No. But I’m going to find them. And I’m going to kill them.”

  That got a reaction. Eawynn sat silent for a moment while a succession of emotions chased across her face, starting with surprise and ending in disgust. “You really are a lowlife.” Matt might have been something unsavoury, found stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

  “They murdered my father.”

  “That’s what you get for being a criminal.”

  Matt clenched her jaw, unable to speak. The sun poking over the horizon misted as tears filled her eyes. What Eawynn thought did not matter. She had never met Edmund, did not know the man he had been. He was worth a thousand of the parasites in the temple, or the palace.

  After a few seconds, Eawynn asked, “What’s your real name?”

  “Matt.”

  “Matt. Hilda. Matilda?”

  Matt nodded.

  “Mattie.”

  “No. Don’t call me that. I answer to Matt.” No one would ever call her Mattie again, not if they wanted to keep all their teeth.

  Eawynn’s eyebrows raised at her tone, but she offered no challenge. “Why did these people want the Shewstone?”

  “They didn’t say, and I don’t care.”

  “I want the Shewstone back.”

  “I’ll tell them that when I find them.”

  “I have to get it.” Unmistakable misery broke in Eawynn’s voice, shattering the hard veneer she had been presenting until then. “If I can get the Shewstone and return it to the temple, they might let me back. I could be a priestess again.”

  “You’re out of luck. Chances are the bastards won’t still have the Shewstone when I catch up with them.”

  “I can’t live on the streets.”

  “You can stay here a while.” Maybe Matt owed her, and anyway, the room was paid for. Somebody might as well benefit. “Anything you want, food, drink. Just ask the staff.”

  “I don’t have any money.”

  “You don’t need it. It’s taken care of.”

  On cue, there was a knock. Nobody was around when Matt opened the door, but on the floor was a tray bearing two plates of eggs, bacon, sliced sausage, and mushrooms, along with half a loaf of bread and two tankards of beer. Matt carried it to the table. The desperate look in Eawynn’s eyes was one she knew. Matt broke off part of the loaf, took two rashers from a plate and picked up a tankard. Bread, bacon, and beer would do her for breakfast.

  “You can have the rest. I’m not hungry.”

  Eawynn did not need persuading. She tore into the food like a woman who had not eaten for days.

  Matt left her to it. She positioned herself on a bed and pulled open the bag. The strangers had come from the mainland and had most likely gone back there, and that was far too big a net to cast. Matt needed details to have any hope of finding them. Edmund had described the gathered information as half a picture. Which half was it?

  The smallest roll was labelled “Shewstone clients” in Edmund’s neat handwriting. Matt untied the ribbon. While eating her bread and bacon, she sifted through the contents, eight sheets of various sizes, written in different hands, all annotated by Edmund.

  Waldo of Bousack was what the leader called himself when about town, which was something he kept to a minimum, except for twice a day, when he and his servant attended ceremonies at the Temple of Liffrea. If they wanted to stay out of sight, yet still thought it important to pray, they must be unusually devout. Were they priests, hoping to get the Shewstone for their own temple?

  One informant had traced the strangers to The Royal Standard, where lodgings were taken in the name of Onesta D’Walnia, which was no more likely as his real name, since Walnia was far to the south, and its inhabitants were very dark skinned. A chambermaid reported the men kept apart from the othe
r guests. Both could speak Tradetalk, but between themselves stuck to Cynnreord. Matt pursed her lips. Using the old empire language would not guarantee eavesdroppers could not understand them. So if it wasn’t for secrecy, was it their native tongue? In which case it would narrow down their potential homeland.

  Jenny the Trip identified the strangers from their description and reported they arrived on the Sabina. In the harbour master’s log, they were described as Esteman Haswold and servant. The ship had sailed, so Jenny could not question the crew, but she listed its ports of call on the way to Pinettale. One must be where they boarded the ship.

  Four other papers added nothing to what was known. It was all less helpful than Matt had hoped. The final sheet was an intercepted letter. Presumably, it was a report home, but this was guesswork, since it was written in a strange, dense script. Edmund’s note read, “No luck with translation from normal sources. Will pursue further if events warrant. Courier had verbal instructions for delivery and wasn’t willing to share.”

  Matt looked up. Eawynn had finished the second breakfast and was wiping the plate with a corner of bread. The script looked similar to the book she had been reading in the library the day they met. Matt waited until the last mouthful was gone, then took the other seat at the table.

  “Can you read this?”

  Eawynn glanced at the letter. “Yes.”

  Matt sighed. This was not going to be easy. “Will you read it to me, please?”

  “Why?”

  “It’s from the people who took the Shewstone. It might give a clue about where to find them.”

  Eawynn pulled the sheet to her. “Theodcwen. Min aerende faerath laetlice. Se feondulf—”

  “I don’t speak Cynnreord.” Matt recognised the language, but no more.

  “No. I didn’t think you would.” Matt waited for Eawynn to get over being smug. She started again. “‘Great Queen. My mission is proceeding slowly. The criminal we have conscripted…employed…’” Eawynn paused, frowning. “There’s no exact word for it. Um…‘tells us the artefact will be in our hands before the moon is reborn.’ That’s the new moon. ‘We have provisionally secured passage on the…’ I guess it’s a name. It doesn’t translate. Ah…‘so with the blessing of Liffrea, we will return to your imperial capital a month before the solstice.’” Eawynn’s eyes scanned down the page. “The rest is a lot of flattery about how great the queen is and what an honour it is to serve her. I can translate if you want.”