by Gayle Greeno
A festival, a carnival, a living fairy tale unfolded here in Ruysdael, and she, Lindy Marlin, a part of it. Hugging herself hard to make sure it was real, she pirouetted, coat belling out around her. Although Ruysdael was tight-packed with the curious from surrounding towns, Bard had found lodging with an innkeep he’d known from his Seeker days, accommodations so cramped Bard had slept in the kitchen and Lindy’d been relegated to share with the innkeeper’s grandchildren, four to a bed just like home. But best of all, Miz Rooke had seen she’d had a proper bath and washed her hair. For some reason she’d refused to rebraid it, letting the long blonde tresses flow free, except for a barrette that gathered the hair around her temples behind her head. “O’course,” Miz Rooke had said, pleased with her handiwork, “that way your lovely earrings’ll show, dear.” And then Miz Rooke had rummaged in a trunk, pulled out the dearest coat of aquamarine velvet with a navy velvet collar and cuffs, piping. “Kara outgrew it almost before she wore it. Try it on.” It fit as if it had been tailored for her, the bodice formfitting, then swelling into a long, bell-shaped skirt.
All through the late afternoon and evening Bard had treated her with gentlemanly courtesy, never dragging her by the hand when the crowds became thick but decorously inviting her to take his arm. The crowds made him nervous, she’d decided, especially when a Guardian squad marched through, breaking up knots of Reapers, sullen at the polite refusal to let them congregate.
She felt mature, at least twelve, yes, perhaps even thirteen, on the verge of young womanhood. And Bard—where was Bard? Or M‘wa? Scanning as much of the throng as she could, she discovered she was alone, or not precisely alone, since she stood in the midst of hundreds of people. Oh, well, it had happened before. Hardly anything to worry about. She’d meant to stay put, had promised she would while Bard ran a private errand, but there was always something just beyond that enticed her. Well, this time she simply would stay put and Bard or M’wa would find her shortly. Schooling herself to patience, she looked for something to occupy her wait—no, that’s what had gotten her into trouble in the first place—discovered she stood in front of an impromptu stage with a midnight blue backdrop spangled with tiny silver stars and crescent moons. A man, dressed all in black with long, flowing sleeves lined with gold, stepped onto the platform with three brands in his hands. He was darkly, sleekly handsome, with a pouty red mouth and wavy hair. Not as handsome as Bard though, she decided loyally.
Curious, she clasped the stage for balance against the people milling closer for a good view, wondered what performance she’d see. Strange, he smelled almost smoky, the brands in his hands sooty looking. Well, hadn’t she seen other wonders today? An acrobat walking a tightrope, magicians, dancers, musicians, a man with a Sunderlies macaque like a wee fur-suited human. A woman so scantily clad in gauzy gold veilings that Lindy shivered carried a brazier heaped with throbbing red coals, placed it stage left, then energetically pumped red leather bellows to make the coals spring into flame. Applause for that, appreciative whistles. Lindy thought it excessive. Anyone could do that.
The man in black rolled back his sleeves to reveal smooth, olive-tinted forearms and began juggling the brands, gradually moving closer to the brazier until at last each brand spun through the flames and ignited. The fiery torches danced in a never-ending circle until they formed a glowing loop, soaring arcs of fire blossoms that burned their afterimages on her eyes even when she blinked, dazzled. Without warning the man let one flaming brand remain in his right hand, his left hand still casually keeping the other two aloft. Head bent back, he thrust the blazing torch into his mouth, almost down his throat while Lindy gasped, mesmerized by the stream of fire that shot from his mouth to light a new brand held by his assistant. The man ate another mouthful of fire, almost contemplatively and fountained it back into the air.
“I could do that, easy,” a voice beside her informed her.
Without taking her eyes from the stage, she countered, “I bet not.” As braggy as her brother Harry. The performance continued, the fire-eater and his assistant willingly consuming fiery morsels, flames coruscating in the night, bathing their faces in its red-orange glow. At last, one by one, the brands winked out and Lindy sighed in awed appreciation and turned to look at her new companion. “That was splendid ! I wonder how they do it?”
“Oh, they gargle with something special beforehand to make sure they don’t get burned,” the boy reassured her. “Then, long as they’re steady, don’t hesitate, everything’s fine.” He looked like a nice boy, she decided, mayhap thirteen, a bit stocky, but with merry dark eyes and a heavy fringe of bangs. “Here, my name’s Davvy. Want to walk a bit, see what else is doing? I gotta be someplace shortly, it’s important, but I’ve a little time.” Perhaps he wouldn’t attract so many stares if he were with someone, wouldn’t have people asking if he were lost, taking an interest in him. He wasn’t used to crowds, cities; Gaernett might be bigger, but he’d barely seen any of it, had stayed close to Swan’s bedside.
Shocked, Lindy realized that neither Bard nor M’wa had located her, and the faintest worry began to nag. “I’m Lindy. I don’t think I’d better. I’ve misplaced my friends.” She liked that, the adult “misplaced,” not saying she was lost. “They ought to be along soon—mayhap you’ve seen them?”
“How’d you expect me to notice anyone in this crowd?” he waved a hand at the throng. “Less there’s something special to make your friends noticeable—like those with silver sickles on their collars, lurking around.” He scowled, cocked a brow, or at least she thought he did, since it vanished beneath his bangs.
“If I could get on the stage, I might be able to spot them.” She tried to match actions to words, but couldn’t manage, not and remain ladylike. “I’m not as tall as you, can’t see as far. Of course M’wa’s shorter than I am.”
“M’wa? Who’re you looking for? A Seeker? Wait.” Hands grabbed her waist and her feet left the ground, back scraping against the edge of the stage until he finally hoisted her high enough to sit. Davvy panted, rubbed at a shoulder.
“You’re awfully strong,” and put her hand on his shoulder to make it feel better.
“I’ve been practicing unarmed combat. You’ve got to be strong for that—and quick and clever, too. Sorry I didn’t get you up there more gracefullike, but I’m used to throwing people, not lifting them polite and neat.”
More boasting? She wasn’t sure but didn’t think so, or at least not all of it. “How’d you know I’m looking for a Seeker?”
He leaned on the stage, fingers toying with the piping on her cuff, not quite meeting her eyes. “‘Cause if one of your friends is named M’wa,” he tossed his head back, eyes closed, hand pressed against his brow in a dramatic gesture, “then I see ... I see a man, tall and dark-honey colored, a man called Bard!” The merry eyes popped open, awaiting her reaction.
Lindy clapped, delighted. “You must be a Resonant, to know that!” and Davvy’s face slackened with shock, eyes darting to see who stood near him. The backdrop rustled, stilled.
“No, no, I’m a fortune-teller, can see into your future. Want me to read your palm?” His hand, grasping hers, was sweaty with fear as he tried to recover. “Actually, no, not that either. It’s just that I’ve met a black-and-white ghatt called M’wa and his Bond is Bard. Listen, is he truly here? I could use his help.”
Tell, not tell? Davvy was torn. Could Bard help him gain admittance to the king when the royal party arrived? Guarantee that he spoke true. about Jenret Wycherley’s capture by Resonants? Or would Bard simply have M‘wa contact F’een and Cady, tell them his whereabouts, ignominiously pack him off before he could complete his mission? Bard was a friend of both Doyce and Jenret, wasn’t he? Still, mayhap it was prudent to trust no one, do it completely on his own. Heroes couldn’t depend on someone smoothing the way for them, could they? He didn’t know this girl, this Lindy, at all, though she was nice, even kinda cute ... for a girl. But she’d hit too close to home with her comment about Re
sonants, best be careful around her. He’d only stopped because he’d been on the move all day, bone weary, desperate for companionship, fearful the Reapers might sense him, snatch him if he were alone.
But Lindy hadn’t heard the last of what Davvy had asked, was standing on tiptoe, craning in all directions. “I can’t wait to see the king—I’ve never seen one before, have you?”
He almost answered in the affirmative but stopped himself. Don’t give too much away, be cautious, be canny. And on top of that, he didn’t dare lie again, even though, with F’een so far distant, he’d never be caught out. Still, heroes don’t lie. But without waiting for an answer, Lindy caught her breath. “Oooh, that woman over there—can you see her? The one in the long amber cloak, satin amber, I think. Are they here already, the royal party, I mean? She looks like a queen, or a princess at least.”
Scrambling beside her, Davvy followed her pointing finger, frowned. How could you dislike a woman you’d never met, a stranger who stood six booths away? But he did, with a visceral terror that made him want to cut and run, dragging Lindy after him. Breathing through his mouth, he examined her more closely. Yes, the cloak was rich, elegant—or had been once. The rest was less impressive—gray—blonde hair that stuck out like a wire brush, eyes that reminded him of dull chips of slate, hands worn, almost dirty looking at a distance. Yet something about her chilled the marrow of his bones. Worse feeling than mingling with the Reapers, passing them on the streets here, barely daring to breathe. Worse yet, she’d caught sight of them, posed like actors on a stage, and was working toward them through the crowd.
“Good evening, young lady, young sir. How fare you this fine evening?” Her voice was rich but hoarse, the flat eyes glittered now, widened as if they’d witnessed a miracle, a holy vision of the Lady. To his utter astonishment, Lindy dropped a curtsey and, loath to respond, Davvy jerked stiffly at the waist. Don’t, don’t bend so deeply you can’t watch her, something inside him warned. He rammed a hand under Lindy’s arm, brought her upright.
“Are you royalty? You’re royalty, aren’t you? A queen, a princess?” Dawy cringed at Lindy’s words. “The king’s arrived, then?” Absolutely impossible, Davvy knew it with every fiber of his being. There would have been fanfares, fireworks, crowds parting to let the royal party pass. Horses and plumes, gilded saddles and bridles, decorated carriages. And guards, most of all, guards, Guardians and Muscadeine’s soldiers. They couldn’t have arrived, not with everyone still wandering around, eating, dancing, jesting, singing, entertained by and entertaining each other. Besides, he would have felt something if that many Resonants were near, that near-electric hum that shivered the air when they mindspoke. He’d felt it gradually intensifying through the evening, knew the royal party advanced, the way you anticipate an approaching thunderstorm, but they weren’t here yet.
The cloaked woman staggered backward, almost as if struck, but recovered herself, her eyes never leaving their faces. “Why, yes, yes, of course. I am Princess Hylan, royal cousin to the king.” Oh, yes, yes, it didn’t matter what she said, how she babbled, she’d found them! Yes, the sacrificial lambs delivered to her hands to appease the Lady, offer them in tribute and of course the king would fall to her! One black lamb, oh, she knew that without even taking the forked witch hazel rod from her belt. And one white, pure and innocent, so sad to sacrifice her but so necessary. “Would you like to meet King Eadwin, my royal cousin?”
“Oh, yes!” pale with excitement, Lindy gathered herself, stopped in regret, “but I can’t. I’ve misplaced my friends, mayhap you’ve seen them, the Seeker Bard and his Bondmate M’wa?”
“Ah, the gentleman with the ghatt? Of course. They were walking over that way just a little while ago, looking for you.” A Seeker—that she didn’t need! Best get these two under wraps. Indeed, she heard a fight breaking out in the next street over, sure to bring the Guardians at a trot. Had Tadj done something foolish? Doubtful, he was so circumspect, so organized. She pointed wildly in the direction of the goat cart and its sapling cargo. “Why don’t we surprise him, bring him along when we find him?”
“Lindy,” Davvy hissed, tugging at her arm, “I don’t think you should go. Best wait here, let Bard catch up with you.” At least he’d managed to drag her a step or two farther from Princess Hylan, and if she were a princess, he was King of Canderis!
Tugging impatiently until he bent his head, Lindy whispered, “Her ears aren’t even! Bard was right!” Nonsense, gibberish, he decided. “Let’s go with her, Davvy. I know Bard’ll be worried, and this way we’ll set his mind at ease. Won’t he be surprised?” Her hand clutched his fingers and he wasn’t sure whose were icier.
“No,” he scuffed mulishly, heard the hollowness of the stage. “Don’t go, Lindy. Look, I’ve something important to do real soon. Matter of life and death, almost.” Tell her the king hadn’t arrived? Would she believe him? Not likely, given her infatuation with Princess Hylan. “Please, I think it’s best you stay.”
She dropped his hand, her mouth pouting. “Well, I’m going, Mr. Davvy whoever-you-are. This is my one chance to meet a king. Mayhap you have lots of chances, but I don’t.” And with that she skipped to the stage’s lip, Hylan reaching to lift her down. He watched them go off, the turquoise coat with its navy velvet collar beside the taller exclamation mark of the amber cloak. The cloak was stained and dirty at the hem, as if its owner had walked long and far on dusty roads.
Follow her or stay? Stay or follow? Farfel and smerdle! He had a mission to accomplish, didn’t he? The king had called him foolish once, said that he’d grow out of it. Well, wasn’t saving Jenret serious, wasn’t passing on word of his capture serious? And respecting your mission, sticking with it, meant avoiding childish distractions, not chasing after a new fancy. He’d already scouted a position for himself, a spot where he could observe the king’s procession when it passed, mindspeak the king or Arras Muscadeine, pass the word. Except ... except.... Indecision twitched his feet.
Except he didn’t like or trust that Princess Hylan, she scared him, scared him so much he hadn’t even considered trying to read her mind, afraid of what he’d find there. And Lindy, she was nice, he shouldn’t have let her go like that. Bard’d skin him alive if he found out. Mayhap he could do both, keep track of Lindy’s whereabouts and find Bard and M’wa, get back in time for the king’s arrival. He concentrated, letting the emanations in the air brush against him, gauging them. Closer, definitely. But there was still time, especially if he acted quickly. He’d fix that Princess Hylan if she tried anything with Lindy. He knew self-defense, unarmed combat, after all! Mop the floor with the old hag!
He hopped down, began trailing after, hiding himself in the mass of moving people, edging closer but not too close. Smerdle, where were they headed? What was Princess Hylan doing, taking her on a tour of the meadows where everyone had camped last night? Anxious, he worked closer, still unseen, dodging and darting, taking cover as he could.
Hylan smiled to herself, smiled down at the girl. Yes, the boy was following, she was sure. The witch hazel rod hummed and vibrated against her ribs underneath the cloak. Yes, black lamb and white lamb.
Bazelon Foy stepped from behind the stage curtain, fastidiously unrolling and smoothing his sleeves. Enough gold and three quick lessons could make anyone a fire-eater for a day. That and the determination to succeed—nothing was impossible. Tadj had promised him the woman Hylan would be here in Ruysdael, primed with purpose and passion. Now that he’d seen her he thought her a flawed vessel, but even flawed vessels served. If she broke, had to be discarded after this, so be it. But if she could kill the king ... he let the thought dangle deliciously, tempting. Why not let her try? Best go find Tadj now, let him know he was here.
Fleet, yes, fleet as the wind! Parm raced toward camp, Barnaby pounding behind him, claws scrabbling on stones, tearing up grass, doggy panting delight steaming the air. Ecstatic at having escaped the guard dog, they giggled and wriggled, jumped sleeping bodies in sheer deli
ght as they wove between wagons and tents and early risers. Glorious sunrise! Parm’s head still pounded, but he didn’t care, he could think again! Phew! Not as fleet as the wind after all, and his legs trembled, spasmed in reminder that the drug wouldn’t relinquish its hold on him all that easily, despite Barnaby’s antidote. All the way back he’d been calling to Harrap at intervals, waiting to hear the beloved mindvoice welcoming him.
But no mindvoice came and despite Barnaby’s eager, crowding presence, he felt utterly bereft, alone, as they reached the goat cart. Why, oh why wouldn’t Harrap ’speak him? He claw-carefully tugged at the coarse blanket draped over Harrap’s form, Barnaby pushing behind him, whimpering. Parm staggered backward, tumbled and righted himself, bristling in shock. Tadj slept under the blanket, not Harrap! Where was he?
“Harrap! Harrap!” His mindvoice sounded sluggish to his ears. Try again—never had Harrap ignored him before, even when they were both deliriously happy from Hylan’s special seasoning. “Harrap, where are you? ’Speak me, Harrap!” Silence. Had Barnaby’s poo-phooey weed done something to his mindspeech?
Tadj stirred, groaned as he rolled onto his back and fell asleep again, but Parm skittered clear, arching his back. Best get away before Tadj awoke. There was nothing for him here, no beloved Harrap. If his mindspeech wouldn’t work, he couldn’t search Hylan’s and Tadj’s minds for an answer to explain Harrap’s disappearance. “Harrap!” he wailed again. Still nothing.
Desperate, he commanded, “Barnaby, find Harrap. Seek!” There was more than one way to Seek, and he’d depend on Barnaby’s nose.