by Melanie Rawn
Cade counted his own heartbeats for a while, then realized he was breathing too quickly and shallowly for an accurate guess at the elapsing time. Instead he recited “The Song of the Harpy’s Lair” inside his head—a trick he’d learned back at Sagemaster Emmot’s Academy during mathematics class, when at a certain speed it measured out fifteen minutes of frustrated boredom. He was halfway through it when he heard Mieka drop lightly to the floor.
“They’re gone,” the boy breathed. “What don’t they want us to see?”
“Whatever it is, they really don’t want us to see it,” he whispered back. “Want some light?”
“Don’t need any, beholden.” By the sounds, Mieka was rummaging about in his satchel. “That little polishing kit Blye gave us—I need that thin metal file.…”
Cade was about to ask a foolish question when he heard, in rapid succession, Mieka’s bare footfalls on the deck, a fumbling, and another click at the door.
“Ha! Gods, I’m good!”
“Where’d you learn to do that?”
“Jez taught me. C’mon, there’s some glowy sort of thing out there, up ahead. I want to find out what it is.”
“Let’s wait a bit more.”
“But I want to know now!”
“I can’t bloody wait for you to grow up and add the concept of patience to your collection. Just as an abstract idea, you understand.”
But they did linger for caution’s sake, and after a while Mieka inched the door open. A single lamp burned at the foot of the steps. All else was darkness. Barefoot, they crept along the passageway. Cade was edgily aware of the length of his own limbs, the size of his hands and feet, the scant distance between his head and the ceiling. They were in the second barge down the row, and as Mieka picked the locked overhead hatch at the top of the steps, Cade wondered if they’d have to sneak all the way up to the front to see whatever there might be to see.
At intervals of about six feet or so, all along the perimeter of the deck, were footlights—small lamps encased in glass. They would allow for safely negotiating the deck at night, but there were no lights above the railing, nothing to shine down onto the water. Cade thought that rather odd, but didn’t have time to ponder it, because Mieka elbowed him in the ribs. They ducked back below the hatch. Footsteps approached, continued on towards the back of the barge. After an agony of waiting, Cade dared to peek his head out again.
Mieka tugged his arm and they went topside. The barges were moving now, picking up speed. Up at the prow was a catwalk connecting this barge to the one ahead, but Cade felt no temptation to cross. He had the blood of Wizards and Elves, Pikseys and Sprites, and even Fae in his veins; he had studied for several years with one of the most accomplished practitioners of magic in the Kingdom; he was a not inconsiderable Wizard himself. But it took a journey to a land where magical folk were shunned to show him the strangest thing he’d ever seen in his life.
Up ahead was the glow Mieka had glimpsed: a swirling cloud of purplish-gold, with sparks flitting amid it, hovering just above the black water and pulling the barges at a now remarkable speed. Limned against this light was a hunched figure seated on the prow of the lead barge. Hands lifted and fell, and to their rhythm the shining cloud pulsed. Below it, submerged in the water, were huge pale shapes that surged towards the glowing haze.
Mieka’s fingers dug into his arm, yanking desperately. Cade wasn’t entirely aware of scurrying back down to their cabin. Not until he stood with his back against the door did he hear the harshness of his own breathing. Mieka pushed him aside and he heard the sound of the door being locked again.
He stood there, shaking. The stark sound of a flint-rasp at a wick made him flinch. Mieka was shaking, too, as he set the candle on the floor and curled on the lower bunk, arms wreathing his knees. After a moment Cade took up a blanket and sat beside the Elf, draping the warmth around both of them. They huddled there together, silent and wide awake, until dawn.
Chapter 13
He dared say nothing the next morning, nor at breakfast, nor on the drive to the distraction of the day. Neither did he dare to look for more than an instant at Mieka. Sometime before dawn they’d felt the barges slow down and slide towards shore, and heard their door being unlocked. A little while later, a bell sounded to wake everyone up. A quick wash with the warm water from the ewer left outside their cabin, a change of clothing, a few glances of worry and speculation, and then they were up on deck again, open carriages waiting for them this time. Cade didn’t even dare look up at the prow of the lead barge.
He was surprised to learn that thus far they’d traveled through two Grand Duchies, a County, and three Marches, all independent of one another and of any larger kingdom. He learned this through the simple expedient of asking the little man with the big silver badge of office where they would go today. The name of the place was unintelligible to him, but when he made further polite inquiry about its location, he was told that the nobility had vied strenuously for the honor of hosting each day’s excursions, but when it came to excellence of musicians, dancers, and acrobats, none of the three Markgrefins or the Count or even the two Grand Dukes through whose domains they had passed could compare with the Markgref of Kladivo, whose family was known across the Continent as highly cultured patrons of the arts.
Cade knew that name. He’d found it in Lost Withies, mentioned several times as one of the few places outside the Kingdom where players had been welcome in years long past.
A lingering malicious touch of Sprite in Cade’s blood made him smile down at the official. “Then we ought to perform for him, shouldn’t we? How about it, Lord Fairwalk?” he said as Kearney turned all the colors of the rainbow. “Why not grab a few withies and show everybody how it’s done?”
Kearney looked stricken. “You—but you can’t—you just simply—”
Jeska took pity on the stuttering nobleman. “If His local Lordship’s as expert as all that, he’ll prob’ly be invited to the castle or the palace or wherever it is we collect the Tregrefina from, eh?”
“Quite right, Your Honor, quite right indeed,” the official blurted, “so wise of you to understand—must see to the horses now, pray do excuse me—”
“Whatever possessed you to say that?” Kearney hissed at Cade. “You were there when protocol was discussed, you know you’re not supposed to mix with—”
“We’re guests, it’s only polite to offer.”
“Do us all a service, Cade, and shut it.” Rafe paused, eyeing him sidelong. “And don’t sulk.”
He did, though, all during the drive and until the carriages pulled up in an excruciatingly picturesque town. Every wooden shutter and awning had been carved and painted to within an inch of its life. Garlands of flowers and ribbons stretched from one side of the main street to the other. A minor fair had been laid on for their benefit—and that of the local merchants—with colorful booths of wares on the streets outside the shops. Lunching would be provided at the central square, and afterwards a performance of music and dancing. Cayden, still feeling contrary, found himself a stone bench and sat on it, watching the display of good cheer with a scowl on his face.
It seemed to him sheer folly, this deception of days on land and nights on the river. Surely someone else would realize what Mieka had realized last night—that the dinner wine was laced with a sleeping draught. But why should anyone suspect anything? After a pair of long drives, and an active afternoon between, with a heavy dinner and lots to drink, why shouldn’t everyone be too tired to stay up late?
Granted, the river was the quickest way to travel. If he recalled correctly, Kladivo was more than halfway to Gref Jyziero. Had they been loaded into coaches for the duration—
“What else don’t they want us to see, I wonder?”
He glanced up, startled. Mieka was juggling three green apples.
“I mean, obviously the way they move those barges up the river is meant to be secret, but what happens during the day?”
“What do you mean?
”
“It’s all been very pretty so far, hasn’t it? Castle, meadows, fields, trees, charming little villages—”
Cade reached out and snagged one of the apples. “Stop that and sit down and tell me what in all hells you’re talking about.”
Shrugging, Mieka sat and bit into one of the apples. After munching and swallowing, he went on, “We must be making at least a hundred miles each night, prob’ly more. I don’t like to think how long it would take in coaches. But why risk anybody seeing those things in the water? Why not just let us bounce and bruise our bums for a fortnight or so through the countryside?”
“Mayhap they want us in a good mood when we arrive.”
“Who cares what mood we’re in? Except for the Archduke and Fairwalk, we’re all common folk and servants. And you’re avoiding the issue. Why get us away from the river during the day?”
“You’re imagining things.” But he couldn’t put much assurance into the statement.
“Did we each of us have the same hallucination last night, then?”
Cade turned the apple over and over in his hands. “We’re off the river every day from halfway through the morning until just before sunset. We have dinner, and the drinks are dosed to send us to sleep. Once everything’s quiet, we’re locked in. Then the barges start moving.”
“And there’s somebody up front who makes a light appear, and somehow that controls those things in the water, and they’re what’s pulling the barges.”
“I wish I had a library to hand.”
Mieka chortled. “Only you, Quill! D’you think there’s any book could tell us what happens during the day that we’re not supposed to see? We already know what they’re hiding by night.”
Cade lifted the apple to his lips, then looked at it. An awful idea had occurred to him. “Feeding time,” he blurted. “Those things must be hungry after swimming upriver all those hours.”
Mieka blinked several times, then whispered, “What d’you think they eat?”
“Oy, Mieka!” Rafe called from across the street. “Jewelry shop!”
He looked blank for a moment. Then, with a muttered apology, he scampered between horses and carts. It took Cade a while to figure it out. When he did, he swore under his breath and told himself to ignore it, and go look for gifts for Mistress Mirdley and Derien.
He found Jeska outside a woodworker’s establishment. Spread on the counter and hanging all around the booth was a selection of intricately carved toys, brilliantly painted. Cade was reminded of Master Ashbottle’s ironworks, though he knew that there would be no magic in these toys—except for what a child’s imagination brought to them, of course, and he had the thought that for a child at play, imagination was more than enough.
“I thought I’d find something for me girlie,” Jeska said, holding up a doll with articulated joints for Cade’s inspection. Big blue eyes in a smiling little face were framed by golden curls, delicately carved. She came with two dresses, one green and one pink, and a white apron tied with blue ribbons.
“Beautiful. Rather looks like her, too.”
“D’you have any coin on you?”
“Skint already?” Kearney had distributed spending money the day before the trip.
“Had to send most of it to her mother.” He gave the crafter his most ravishing smile, then tilted his head in a silent question. The man held up three fingers. “Three of what, though?” Jeska muttered, frustrated.
Cade dug into a pocket and picked out four different sizes of coins. The first and second made the crafter shake his head, but when he held up the third, there was a vigorous nodding. Cade was fairly sure the price was moderately outrageous, and held a brief debate with himself, then decided that in the interests of international harmony he’d pay up without haggling. The doll was wrapped in clean burlap dyed blue, tied with string, and after much bowing and more smiling Cade and Jeska moved on.
“Is she after you for more money?”
“She wrote to say she’d had nothing since before Trials. I talked to Kearney on it. His clerk forgot, or something.” He pointed to a booth frothing with piles of lace. “I think I’ll get her something of this, to apologize.” Then, with a sidelong glance: “You might bring your mother a gift, too, y’know.”
Cade shrugged.
“She’s proud of you, though she’ll never say it.”
“She’s reconciled to my superfluous existence.”
They ambled on through the town. Every paving stone was spotless, all the faces were smiling, the scent of the flower garlands was overwhelming, and it all made Cayden extremely annoyed. The show being staged for them was every bit as elaborate as the most complex play. A good impression for visitors was desirable, of course, but this was doing it up a bit too brown.
“Are you sleeping all right?” he asked Jeska.
“What? Oh—yeh, out like a snuffed candle.” He pulled a face. “No reason not to sleep, if you see what I mean.”
Cade snorted. “When we finally get there, you can seduce every woman in sight. Just keep your pretty paws off the Tregrefina.”
“When we finally get there, I’ll have forgot how it works!”
An outdoor lunching was followed by the promised entertainment. By midafternoon they were all back in the carriages, waving farewell to the happy populace—who grinned and simpered as if they’d all done something quite cunning. Cade supposed they’d all made a lovely profit. Mieka was in a foul mood. Despite a dedicated search, he’d found nothing to his liking by way of wedding jewels. He hadn’t been impressed by the glasswork, either.
“All crizzle and bubble,” he was complaining as their carriage rounded a turn in the road. “Swirly colors like cat-yark on a really ugly rug. And—”
The carriage lurched and skittered. Cade knew what a popped wheel felt like; they’d experienced enough of them on the Winterly last year. To be inside a closed coach, rattling about like bees in a jar, was bad enough, but this was an open carriage. Rafe pitched sideways, half atop Kearney; Cade grabbed for Jeska with one hand and slammed Mieka back against the seat with the other arm as packages went flying. So did Briuly Blackpath, tumbling over the side of the carriage, landing on one shoulder in the dirt.
The horses stopped almost at once. The driver leaped down, Cade right behind him. Theirs was the next-to-last carriage in the procession—and the one behind them merely slowed to maneuver past, and did not stop to help. Their driver busied himself unbuckling the straps holding the boot compartment closed, muttering under his breath. Rafe ambled back down the road to collect the wheel.
Briuly sat up, cursing as Cade stripped off his neckband to use as a sling. “How in fucking hells am I s’posed to fucking play me fucking lute?”
“No worrying on it, mate,” Mieka told him. “I’ve got a bit of something in me satchel back at the boat that’ll do for the pain.”
“Praise the Lord and Lady it wasn’t a finger, don’t you see,” Kearney contributed helpfully. “Or your whole hand—”
Briuly looked ready to rip off the sling and throttle him with it.
“Wheel’s intact,” Rafe announced, rolling it up to lean against the listing carriage. Then the driver’s string of curses—the words were unknown to them, but the tone was unmistakable—made all of them flinch. A moment later a box was flung into the road, scattering a collection of wooden pegs.
“Nothing that fits, I take it.” Rafe shook his head. “Remind me, when we acquire our own nice, big, expensive wagon, to hire a coachman who understands that a repair kit is useless if he doesn’t keep it stocked.”
“Did you see the axle peg lying about anywhere?” Jeska asked.
A search yielded the splintered halves of the peg in the roadside grass. Examining the pieces, Cade saw it was a clean break, no bits missing. It had split right up the middle.
“I can mend it,” he said.
“Don’t!” Kearney exclaimed.
“Magic,” Rafe muttered. “It’s either that, or we walk.”
“Briuly’s hurt,” Jeska said, eyes wide with amazement. “We have to get back as soon as may be. And there’s nobody about but the driver.”
Cade looked at the two pieces of wood in his hand. An Affinity spell would take care of the break in a trice. “What d’you think they’d do to us? And who gave these orders?”
Mieka appeared at his side with the box and all the useless pegs. “Mend it,” he said simply. “And pretend you found it in here, that he overlooked it.”
The little farce was played out, and the wheel was secured, and they climbed back into the carriage with the driver none the wiser. Briuly was settled carefully against the cushions, and everyone sorted themselves—and Jeska found the doll he’d bought for his daughter crammed under the seat, one leg and both arms broken.
“Give it here,” Cade commanded—though he did wait until the driver’s back was safely turned before becasting the poor little wooden doll with the same magic he’d just used on the axle peg. Kearney stifled a whimper and turned his face away.
“If you could do that to roof timbers and such,” Mieka remarked, “Jed and Jez would hire you in a flash.”
“If I ever get sick of you lot,” Cade retorted, “I’ll consider it.”
It was full dark before they reached the docks where the barges had tied up—a different location from the morning, of course. After shock and dismay were duly expressed, and gratitude that everyone was mostly all right, Briuly was looked after by the Archduke’s own physicker. Cade took his dinner down to his cabin, and ate very little of it. And drank nothing.