“Later will do. Is there a name?”
“Oswald Husa Eastandune.”
“This writing, it’s not normal letters.”
“It’s written in clerical hieroglyphs.”
“Who uses it?”
“These days? Mainly historians. They developed from pre-empire pictographs, but got superseded by cursive script five hundred years ago. The only people who kept using them were the Rihtcynn priesthood.”
Matt smiled. Everything added up. She knew where to go and who to hunt down when she got there. The man who murdered Edmund looked Rihtcynn, spoke Cynnreord, and wrote in an old empire script. He was a priest who would return to a queen in her capital city. History was not Matt’s favourite subject, but she knew enough to work out the clues, as could anyone on the Island of Pinettale, or beyond.
Twelve centuries before, the Rihtcynn had burst out of their homeland on the Rihtcynn plains. Their armies had cut a bloody path across the world, enslaving everyone they met. For five centuries, the empire had expanded. The Island of Pinettale was its last major conquest. The wealth of the known world had flowed back to their capital, Cyningesburg. Then stagnation set in and the empire was smothered by its own weight. Just under 200 years ago had been the great upheaval. The conquered lands had risen up and the bloated empire had fallen apart. The Rihtcynn had been pushed back to Rihtcynnedal, their ancestral homeland, except for places like Pinettale, where a remnant had clung to power.
Talk on the docks said the mainland Rihtcynn were getting pushy again, but did not have much to back it up. How much was left of Cyningesburg? Matt assumed it would be in ruins, but the Temple of Liffrea must still be standing, and someone was styling herself queen in the old imperial capital, so maybe she had a building she could pass off as a palace. Matt would find out when she got there. The first step was passage to Sideamuda, historically the seaport for the inland city. Significantly, it was one of the stops Jenny listed on the Sabina’s voyage.
The sun had climbed clear of the horizon and light flooded the room. When first they met, Eawynn’s head was newly shaved, her hair no more than a dark outline. Now her hair was a half inch in length, and for the first time, Matt noticed its colour.
“Another damned redhead.”
“Pardon?”
“This Oswald and his sidekick. They were both redheads. Pureblood Rihtcynn by the look of them.”
Eawynn frowned. “I think they might have come to the temple for a divination.”
“He said he went to see the Shewstone before deciding if he really wanted it. He’d have given his name as Waldo of Bousack.”
“Yes. That was him. He’s the one who’s got the Shewstone?”
“Yes.”
“He’s taken it to Cyningesburg.” Eawynn was not slow on the uptake.
“That’s my guess.”
“You’re going to follow him?”
Matt nodded.
“You don’t speak Cynnreord.”
“I think he’ll understand my message when I give it to him.”
However, Eawynn had a point. Tradetalk was found wherever the old empire’s tendrils had reached. Even where other tongues predominated, it was the language of business. Matt could have counted on getting by, using nothing but Tradetalk everywhere except Rihtcynnedal. Everyone knew the Rihtcynn had their crackjaw, antiquated language and would speak nothing else. They despised all other races—Thraelas they called them, thralls.
With her red hair and white skin, Eawynn clearly had a good dollop of Rihtcynn blood, and she spoke Cynnreord. A translator would be useful, especially one who could read prehistoric writing. If the arrogant jerks gave her trouble, it might even come in handy to have a translator who could pass as Rihtcynn. But was it worth having a translator who was totally pissed off at her? Matt pursed her lip to hide her smile. Why did she even bother asking the question, when it came to a translator as good-looking as Eawynn?
“You’re sure you want the stone?”
“It’s my only hope of getting back in the temple.”
“How about a deal?”
Eawynn’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What?”
“We both want to track down Oswald Husa Eastandune. Come with me. Help me find him, and I’ll get you the stone.”
“Do you seriously think I’d go anywhere with you?”
“Only if you want the Shewstone. I’m betting Oswald has it sitting on his altar in Cyningesburg. I’m the one with experience of stealing stones from temples.”
Chapter Six
The docks were a deafening maelstrom. Half the population of Fortaine seemed to be on the quay, all pounding their way in different directions, all bellowing their part of different conversations at the top of their voices. But now Eawynn was no longer dressed as a beggar, the porters detoured around her with only a grunt of irritation. Nobody shouted at her. Nobody swore at her. Nobody tried to run her over.
Did clothes make such a difference? Eawynn looked down at what she was wearing, taken from the wardrobe at The Jolly Wagoner—a green jerkin over a large white shirt, both reaching to mid thigh, loose leggings, leather belt, and ankle boots. Respectable, but hardly aristocratic, especially since all was paid for with the proceeds of crime, as was the food in her stomach. Eawynn’s conscience gave a dig. She had not stolen the money personally but had no doubts where it came from. Yet what other option did she have? She would pray for forgiveness the next time she visited a temple.
Clearly, no such qualms affected the woman she was learning to think of as Matt. The thief stood a few feet away, talking to another woman, who had been introduced as Jenny the Trip, an elderly hook-nosed harridan, tall and gaunt, with skin like old leather. The pair stood as if they were dock fixtures—feet planted square, arms crossed, shoulders back, heads held high.
No more of Hilda the hunched mouse, elbows glued to her sides, tiptoeing around. She was not even Hilda the seductress, with eyes that smouldered, and lips so softly possessive. Eawynn closed her eyes, fighting the memory. She did not want to think of how completely she had fallen for the crude trickery, of how her pulse used to race at the sight of the woman, or how her body used to respond, aching to be touched. She should never have let herself get caught up in the game. Because, all the time, Matt had been playing her for a gullible slut.
Eawynn felt her face burning with shame and humiliation. She snapped her eyes open. Desperately, she hunted around the dockside for anything to distract her thoughts.
By a warehouse, two urchins, one barely old enough to walk, ducked and dodged between the heavy carts. Wherever they were hoping to get would not be easy. An older boy sat on a barrel, kicking his heels on the side, his expression withdrawn and hopeless. A woman wrapped in rags was curled, unmoving, in a corner, either sleeping or dead. Who would care? Eawynn bit her lip, guilt-struck. She knew what the docks were like. She should have brought something from her breakfast. She could have given it out and made a difference for just one or two, for just a morning.
Farther along the quay, a stout merchant shifted to avoid being run down by an overladen pushcart. Eawynn focused on him. The man was dressed far better than herself, in a long red embroidered surcoat. Yet he was not immune to the chaos. Her gaze carried on down the dockside, picking out patterns in the flow. Maybe three or four still spots existed, she realised, and she stood in the biggest, stillest of all. Or rather on the edge of the still spot centred around Matt and Jenny.
What was it about them? Surely not just the brash posture? Eawynn listened to their conversation. Apparently, Benny and some badly behaved children were running from a bower. This had to be a secret code, since a garden structure would not be giving chase. They had persuaded both of the hired help to go for a swim in the bay, which made Matt inexplicably happy. Tobias was sending over a couple of handymen. Eawynn was unsure whether this was to assist a man called Gilbert, who was doing something with bricks.
The topic moved to an aspect of Matt. “I wasn’t born in the house.”<
br />
“Edmund claimed you. That’s enough for most.”
“Is it enough for Tobias?”
“He ain’t the only one with a shout. Make the fucker pay a kin’s due, and you’ll get my nod when you come back.”
“That’s not why I’m doing it.”
“I know. That’s why it counts.”
None of it made sense. Eawynn forced herself to look at Matt. The auburn hair had been a wig. This had come as a surprise, but should not have, once she knew the sort of woman Matt really was—a lowlife criminal who did not possess a drop of noble blood. Her real, spiky, black hair did not have the flowing curls, so there was nothing to detract from the balance of cheek and jaw. Eawynn refused to let herself consider which look suited Matt better.
Brilliant sunlight accentuated the planes of Matt’s face. The breeze chased across her loose white shirt in ripples that hinted at the body beneath. Matt’s pose radiated confidence. Even when playing the demure merchant, she had always seemed certain of herself.
The only time Eawynn could remember a faltering in that certainty was in the shrine, when Matt had spoken of being crazy for her, in the moments before they kissed. And it had been the crudest, most contemptible sham of all. Eawynn felt sick. She wished she could persuade herself she had not enjoyed that kiss. She hated herself for the way she had felt and for the way she still could not get it out of her head. But most of all, she hated Matt. Put the blame where it was due.
When they returned with the Shewstone, she could still turn Matt over to the city watch. The thief was guilty of enough crimes. Somebody should see she was brought to account. Maybe it was an oversight, but Eawynn had not been asked to give her word on the matter. Even so, having Matt arrested went against the spirit of their agreement. It did not seem honourable. Eawynn pursed her lips. She would not do it, but that did not mean she could not amuse herself with the idea from time to time.
The conversation was drawing to a close. The women clasped each other’s forearm and said farewell. Matt swung her bag over her shoulder and sauntered along the quay. Eawynn fell in alongside. Where to start the questions?
“Why is she called Jenny the Trip?”
“To distinguish her from Jenny the Catch.”
“And she is?”
“Was. She took a ride, years back. She used to be an indie, who played hide the lady by Newbridge.”
Eawynn gave up. I’m fluent in six languages, and know something of three others, and she might as well be speaking a tenth.
A few yards farther on, Matt said. “Jenny’s got us passage on a ship to Sideamuda. The Blue Puffin. It’s not taking the most direct route, but it’ll get us there, and the captain owed Edmund a favour.”
Obviously, somewhere in the midst of the nonsense, Matt and Jenny had exchanged useful information.
Matt branched out from the quay onto one of the deep water jetties. Docked midway along was a medium sized ship with a bright blue seabird as its figurehead. Matt headed up the gangplank.
A seaman hailed them from the rigging. “D’ya want Captain Joachim?”
“Yes.”
“Over there.” He pointed to the stern, but there was no need to go hunting.
A tall, heavily built man approached. Captain Joachim had clearly been working and was naked from the waist up, beaded with sweat. “You’re Matt? Edmund Flyming’s girl?”
Matt answered with a nod.
“Jenny said you’d be over.”
“Thanks for the passage.”
“Ah, it’s nothing. Without Edmund, the bastards would’ve had me swinging.” He pointed to a doorway. “You can have my cabin. Like I said, I owed him, big time. Get yourselves stowed. We sail on the tide.”
Eawynn followed Matt as far as the doorway. The image conjured up by “Captain’s Cabin” did not match the reality. The lopsided room was five feet wide and seven at its longest point. A narrow bunk took up one wall. A tiny triangular desk was squeezed into a corner beneath the single, unglazed porthole.
“How long did you say this voyage was going to be?”
Matt dropped her bag on the floor and shoved it under the bunk with her foot. “I didn’t. But it’s going to take twenty-two days if we get a good wind.”
“And if we don’t?”
“We could get smashed on the rocks and never make it.” Matt grinned. “Don’t worry.”
Easy for her to say. Shipwrecked, Eawynn could deal with. The better part of a month, cooped up with Matt in the tiny cabin was more than she wanted to think about. Briefly, Eawynn considered going back onto the dock and curling up beside the motionless beggar woman she had seen. Realistically, that was her only alternative.
Anberith help me.
*
Pinettale was a dark smudge on the horizon, purple in the dusk. A pulse of light from the Fortaine lighthouse flickered for a while before being lost. Matt leaned against the railing and watched her hometown vanish into the night.
“Have you ever been off the island before?” the helmsman asked.
“No. Never.”
“It’ll still be here when you get back.”
Matt laughed. “Yeah. I’m sure.” Along with Gilbert, Tobias, the family, and a shed-load of other issues, but it could all wait. For now, she had just one matter to deal with. Matt bid the helmsman good night and left the aft deck.
Eawynn was in the cabin when Matt got there, sitting at the desk and staring at the wall as if trying to see whether she could bore holes in wood with her eyes. All right, so maybe there were two matters to deal with.
Not for the first time, Matt questioned her own wisdom in bringing Eawynn along. Other options were available if she did not want to travel alone. The Flyming gang was pulling itself together and could have spared the muscle. Volunteers would not have been hard to find. Yet in order to succeed, she would be relying on stealth, not strength, and stealth needed good reconnaissance. Eawynn was the best resource on offer—just not a very happy, fun-to-be-with resource.
A lantern hung from the ceiling. By its light, Matt considered the bunk. It was narrow, but long. Captain Joachim was a good foot taller than either of them.
“There’ll be plenty of room for us to sleep top and tail.”
“Do you seriously think I’m getting into a bed with you?” The venom in Eawynn’s voice would have put a viper to shame.
“You have to sleep somewhere.”
“The floor sounds good to me.”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
The glare she received in response made Matt feel empathy with the wall.
“Look, I know you’re upset about being kicked out of the temple. I’m sorry. I’ve said that. If you think the Shewstone is your way back in, we’ll get it. I promise.”
“That’s all you’re sorry about?”
“I’ve told you I don’t feel guilty about upsetting your Unsightly Sister Orifice.”
“How about me?”
Why did women always take things so personally? Though to be fair, Edmund had always made exactly the same complaint about men. “I never meant to upset you or hurt you.”
“So what did you mean to do?”
“I was having fun. We both were. Yes, I was after the key, but you can’t deny you were enjoying the game as well.”
“How dare you say that!”
“Because it’s true. Be honest. Are you upset I hit on you? Or are you upset because you enjoyed me doing it?” Matt could hear the level of her own voice rising.
“You abused me.”
“Oh no. You’re an adult. I may have strung you along, but I never forced you to do anything.”
“You abused my trust.”
“Trust?”
“As in pretending to be something you weren’t.”
“You’ve never tried to make someone think you’re smarter, or funnier, or more interested than you really were, just to get her into the sack?”
“No.”
“Then you picked the right calling as a virgin
priestess.”
“You think you’re so funny.” The missed beat in the reply made Matt wonder how close Eawynn came to deserving the title.
“Just pointing out you were breaking your own rules, and you knew it. You can’t claim total innocence.”
“I didn’t know you were a thief.”
“So that was it. All along, you were thinking, That Hilda, she’s a merchant. Wow. I really get hot for women who spend all day counting money. Don’t kid yourself. You were going for me. I look like this. I sound like this. I act like this.” Matt swept both hands downwards with a theatrical flourish, encompassing her body from head to toes. “And this is what you went for. It wasn’t the name. It wasn’t the job. You fell for me.”
“Now I feel sick just looking at you.”
“Then you’ve saved yourself a lot of time. Usually, I have to be banging a woman for three months before she feels that way about me.”
Eawynn lurched to her feet. For a moment, Matt thought she was about to get slapped, which was also not unheard of at the three-month mark, but instead Eawynn pulled her woollen cloak from its peg.
“I’m going to sleep.”
“On the floor?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. Go for it.”
Matt was not about to waste any more time. She watched Eawynn wrap herself in the cloak and lie down, facing away. Matt blew out the lantern, kicked off her boots, and got on the bunk.
For a while, she lay staring up at the darkness. How justified was Eawynn in her anger? Or to flip the question round, how would Matt feel if their positions were reversed? It was not an easy trick of mental gymnastics. Matt could not imagine accepting life in the temple. She needed her freedom and would have jumped at any opportunity for some fun, with no recriminations. Was it her problem if Eawynn could not take things the same way?
The Shewstone Page 15