I scratched my head. "A caulking party?"
"No." Neff dumped an armload of torches next to the door. "That fire last night? We found out who set it."
"Fireworks accident, I thought."
"Joks." Another rigger folded his arms across his chest. "A nest of em, I heard. Came for the treaty talks, they said, but all along they meant to burn Dorisen to the ground. Couple of'em spotted on D-dock before the fire."
"That's right." Neff trimmed a lantern wick with his knife. "And two others here yesterday, trying to steal our secrets so they can build their own."
"We don't ship 'em out of town, they'll set our shop afire next."
The Jocondagnansl I needed to speak with Aurelie, make sure the rumor wasn't true. It made no sense. Her country needed this truce as much as we did. If not us, who'd buy their timber, grain, and food? Who'd bring them trade goods, fabric, and spices? Why would they attack the one family in Dorisen who knew and liked them?
Anger chased a spurt of fear. I wanted to punch the rigger's lying
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face, but common sense stopped my hand. I couldn't take them all. My brain ticked on, a cold machine. The entry from Inglis's secret ledger flashed in my brain. 2Jk crw, whs vst. Two Jok crew, warehouse visit. Had the captain paid them to set the fire? Had some troublemaker done it on his own?
Either way, the Woolie crew were strictly followers. Someone had pointed them at Aurelie, and my quarrel lay with that person.
Helm Burgida had come up behind me. Her amused voice cut into the crew's angry growls of agreement. "Oh, come now," the Fae said. "Spies? You mean that slip of a girl with First Inglis yesterday? I doubt the little lubber could tell a square knot from a bowline. And the other one couldn't have seen much more, for sneezing."
"Due respect, Helm," the navigator said, "this is men's business."
I smelled rust and lightning and backed away from Burgida. I rubbed my jaw. "Dunno 'bout that, but I've had enough fire to last me awhile. You fellows've got it covered. I'm for a wash and my twenty winks."
"Say, Gar," Neff said, "how'bout we bring you a plump Jok pigeon to roast for supper?"
They all laughed. It was hard work to smile vacantly and shamble in the direction of the bathhouse. When I rounded the corner, I ran for the princess's inn. Matching me step for step was the Fae Burgida.
I'd figure out what to do with her when we got there. Until then, I needed all my breath.
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Chapter 10 Aurelie
"Please, Your Highness, wake up."
A hand shook Aurelie's shoulder, sending darts of pain down her arms. She spit out a mouthful of covers and opened her eyes. Sunlight pressed against the curtains, tinting the room a deep amber. Elise's apron hung crooked against her skirt, and wisps of hair straggled out from under her cap, as if she had dressed in a hurry.
"Another fire?" Aurelie coughed. Sand lined her throat.
"No, Your Highness. First Inglis is downstairs with Count Sicard. Urgent, monsieur says. You're to dress and join them as fast as may be."
Aurelie pushed herself upright, stifling a groan as the movement twisted her aching arms and back. Elise had worked as hard as she, and the maid wasn't complaining, though she moved with less than her usual sprightliness. She poured from a porcelain pot, and Aurelie gulped the tea, an herbal flavor that refreshed her parched mouth.
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"Hands, please." Elise unwound the bandages from Aurelie's blistered skin, dabbed ointment on her palms, and wrapped fresh linen around them. Then she helped Aurelie dress in one of the new Skoeran walking costumes, the green of spring leaves. "Sets off the red lights in your hair very nicely, Your Highness," the maid said. "Lace mittens over the bandages, and a body wouldn't know you'd spent all last night fighting that awful fire," She combed Aurelie's tangled hair and plaited it.
Aurelie grimaced at the mirror. "If you have a matching veil to cover my bloodshot eyes, I might almost believe you."
Elise sniffed. "Anyone without them means they hid inside, away from the smoke. Badge of honor, cook says."
"I'll keep that in mind. Let's see what brings the First to our doorstep, shall we?"
"Trouble, Your Highness." In the downstairs parlor, Hui Inglis bowed over Aurelie's lace mittens. He, too, wore gloves today, she noticed. Red rimmed his light eyes. A model citizen, by all accounts. So why couldn't she help comparing him to his countryman?
Garin might have visited, now that she thought about it, to make sure she was safe. Or had he assumed that Aurelie would stay away from the danger? That she'd grown up into a ninny, cowering in her room while Dorisen burned around her ears? Funny how physical danger wasn't as frightening as the other kind. Fire she could fight with a bucket, same as the next person. The need to secure the peace weighed more heavily, and it was a burden fewer could shoulder. Still, a friend would have come. They really didn't know each other anymore, if Garin could think her a coward.
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"Your Highness?" Hui Inglis stepped back, and Aurelie realized .she was glaring at him.
She perched on a settee next to the count. The shorter skirts swished around her ankles. "What kind of trouble, First Inglis?"
"Apparently, there's talk going around the docks, Your Highness," the count said. "Two Jocondagnan men were reported skulking around the warehouse before it burned."
Aurelie went rigid. "Not the place we visited yesterday?"
First Inglis preened. "Considerate of Your Highness to concern yourself with our property, Gargouille included. No, the warehouse that burned was above D-dock, though it also, alas, housed a goodly portion of our cargo, through a partnership of my mother's with the Deschutes family. Splinter's safe at I-dock, thanks in no small part, I understand, to your own valiant efforts at H."
Aurelie sat mute, transfixed by self-blame. How could she have been so selfish? Garin's family had lost their warehouse and cargo and ships. Little wonder he hadn't come calling. If she could help... a loan, perhaps, from the funds they'd brought. Or even a friendly word, if he'd take it from her.
"Yes, yes." Count Sicard glanced at Aurelie. "First Inglis has been generous enough to warn us of this brewing unrest and offers a safe haven at his mother's residence in the heights until the misunderstanding is cleared up."
"Box-chairs are outside," Hui Inglis said. "We'll send men back for your things, but in the meantime, Your Highness, may I suggest an immediate departure as the most prudent course?"
"Leave the guesthouse?" Aurelie said. She couldn't seem to focus
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on what the First was saying. How Garin must be suffering! He'd never want to watch fireworks again.
"A temporary measure," Hui Inglis assured her. "After last night's unpleasantness, tempers may be running a little hot." He smiled at his own joke.
Two quick raps on the door and Elise burst into the room. "There's a crowd of rough men four streets down," she gasped. Her freckles stood out against her skin. "With torches, coming this way."
"Thank you, Elise." The count stood, dragging Aurelie with him. "Let us go, Your Highness. It appears we owe First Inglis a great debt. We're most grateful, monsieur, to accept your mother's invitation."
"The pleasure's ours," the Skoeran returned, holding the door open. "I've instructed the porters to travel home on different step-ways, so as to draw less attention."
Aurelie felt as if her brain was splitting. Part of her remembered to paste a calm expression on her face, even smile at the guesthouse cook, as if escaping two steps ahead of an angry crowd armed with torches in the middle of the afternoon was nothing more than a minor nuisance. That part, call it the Heir, noted how First Inglis strolled into the courtyard, smiling like a fox with a partridge, while Count Sicard steered her toward the box-chair closest to the gate. Then another porter's intent gaze caught hers. With a heartbeat to decide, Aurelie waved Elise to the first chair and took the second for herself.
Another part of her fumed. She had helped fight the fire! How could
anyone believe her countrymen responsible for such devastation? Did Garin think that? Had he heard rumors of treachery even before the fire, and that's why he didn't want her to acknowledge him? Because
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he was ashamed of her? All night she'd breathed smoke and hoisted buckets until her hands bled. They all had, all the Jocondagnans! She intended to tell him so. Very soon.
This chair's not following Elise's, the dispassionate part of her mind noted. Of course, Hui Inglis had told their porters to split up. He was smart, the First, and levelheaded in a crisis, although Aurelie couldn't find it in herself to care for him. Or trust him, as one of last night's porters had so picturesquely said, as far as she could spit. How curious that her mind and heart should find themselves at such odds. Illogical, even absurd, what she had done, and yet...
We've reached the harbor, not the heights. Her nose reported burned spices, tar, fish, and drying seaweed. Aurelie put her eyes to the viewing slot. Outside, the docks bumped up and down. A rather jouncing ride; her porters hadn't had this job long. But they should be well clear of the rest. She rapped, hard, on the roof. "Porterl" she called. "Stop the chair, if you please."
"In a moment, mam'selle," a smoke-roughened voice said behind her.
Aurelie's teeth clicked closed, narrowly avoiding her tongue. "Garin? Will you please tell me what this is about?"
The box-chair dropped with a crash to the dock. The door swung open and Aurelie tumbled into Garin's sooty arms. He looked a mess, but she didn't care. He was all right! Not burned, just weary and dirty, his hair malted with ash, like a bird's nest. Finally, they were together without a spying Inglis present. She wanted to fling her arms around him and bury her face in his neck.
But she restrained herself and was glad she had. Wouldn't she
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have looked stupid, considering how the Skoeran set her down as if she burned his hands. He stared at her, accusation in those gray-green eyes. "Did your people set the fire?"
Shocked out of speech, she shook her head.
"Sorry." He swiped at the dark streaks on her sleeves. "Had to ask."
Aurelie found her tongue. "May we talk now, since I've connived at my own kidnapping?"
"Rescue," Garin corrected, his face stern. "You chose the box-chair, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Then get into the skiff please. Your ship's at T-dock across the harbor, and we haven't bought much time. You found the oars, Helm?"
"Aye," a woman's voice said. "Casting off."
Aurelie swung around, hands on her hips. Her distinctive red hair tucked under a cap, Burgida slapped a mooring rope from its cleat. Ah, yes. There had to have been two porters, though Aurelie had only paid attention to the one in the back.
"Quick," Garin said. "I need to get word to your people." He hesitated. "Remember me to Netta, would you?"
"Certainly, the next time I see her. She lives with her uncle in Cantrez now and won't travel." With dignity, Aurelie stepped into the little boat and took a seat in the stern. If she had given Garin her hand, he'd have known that she was trembling. She'd ask herself later why it seemed so important to match his cool manner.
"Fair winds." Garin's foot pushed the small craft away from the dock. Without a backward glance, he walked away. Helm Burgida rowed. Wind ruffled the dirty surface of the harbor and teased
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strands of hair loose from Aurelie's braids. Ashes swirled away from the oars. The boat bounced in the light chop.
Shaking with disappointment and pent-up questions, Aurelie peered through her hair at the Fae, first with one eye, then the other. Woman, dragon. Woman, dragon. Very strange. At least it gave her something other than Garin's infuriating behavior to occupy her mind. "Why are you doing this?" she asked.
The Fae glanced at her. Woman. Dragon.
Aurelie blinked and wiped her face on her sleeve.
"Gar doesn't trust Hui Inglis," Burgida said. "Figured you'd be safer on your own ship, with your own crew. We bribed a couple of porters outside the inn, told them where we'd leave their chair."
Aurelie persisted. "But why are you involved?"
"Maybe I'd rather Jacinthe Inglis didn't get her claws into another innocent." The Fae hesitated, though the oars cut cleanly through the water. "And that Gar runs a deep game. I'm curious to see how it'll play out."
"What do you mean?" Aurelie hugged her knees. The wind's cold fingers feathered her hair. Had the Fae suspected they could see past her human form?
Instead of answering, Burgida shrugged. "And it can't hurt, Jocondagne's Heir owing me a favor." Briefly, she smiled.
Aurelie saw a dragon's teeth and controlled a shudder. "Thank you," she said. "I'll remember your kindness."
They rowed the rest of the way in silence.
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Chapter 11 Loic
Humans lie. That's their nature. As well blame a fox for stealing eggs, a snake for slithering on its belly.
No, it's not their lies that trouble me; it's the ingratitude. Show them marvels, they'll take it for their due. Share your innermost self, and they forget you. Best friends one day, and the next--what's the quaint expression? They "grow up."
Only children believe in fairies, they're told, so they pretend they can't hear you calling, don't read the messages you send. Some don't even have the decency to say farewell to your face; they just stop coming.
But before my friends' desertion could wound me too deeply, my father announced that I was old enough to begin the study of magic, a grand undertaking better suited to the Fae world than an isolated river near an unimportant human town. I quit my former home without looking back.
It's disappointment that turns a Fae mean. Not all, of course.
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Some of us rise above early slights or ill treatment to develop other aspects of our characters. Extensive practice may be required, but unlike humans, we immortals have plenty of time.
I devoted myself to my craft and had achieved no little degree of competence when curiosity prodded me into bidding my parents farewell and venturing the Door upon another mortal Where, another mortal When. I thought myself prepared for every contingency. While I'd been otherwise absorbed, three days--or three centuries--might have passed in the mortal world, rendering my former playmates dust and ashes, a memory on the wind.
So imagine my feelings to emerge into a gargouille's lair (unoccupied, conveniently, madame's table habits not being all one could wish in a host) and find myself near Jocondagne's capital. Discreet inquiries revealed that King Raimond ruled, with Aurelie his Heir.
Yes, that Aureliel I'd last seen her as a gangly child, standing hip to hip with Garin, blasting toadstools off a log with my father's pistols. Not a bad shot, the little princess, but not as accurate as myself or Netta. Sweet Netta; of the three of them, she was the first to insist that I be pulled out of the bear trap and released into the river. Not that I couldn't have saved myself (which would have been more amusing), but that was my first experience with human kindness, and I craved more. Had I understood how sharply their cruelty could bite, I might not have put the ointment on their eyes or gotten to know them as individuals and considered them my friends.
Ah, well. None of us is perfect, mortal or Fae. I disobeyed my father in befriending the children and taking them the ointment he had made for my nurse. No need to lie to her --Jacinthe and I hated one another cordially, so she never questioned the many hours I
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absented myself without explanation. Deception came naturally, of course, to the human children. They concealed our friendship from their kind and mine, and we all had a grand time. At least, I thought so. But dwelling on the unpleasant past runs contrary to my nature.
My tail wags. I've chosen dog shape rather than invisibility for this inspection of Lumielle. A street urchin pats my glossy black fur, and I angle my neck so he can reach the sensitive spot behind my ear. Humans are clever about some things. Market day, for example. And sausages.
And then 1 smell her. So useful, dog senses. Extracting myself from my accomplice's clutches, I trot down the street. The princess is climbing into a closed carriage. I pause in an alley, change into a sparrow, and-- flip, flap --I flit into the carriage just before the door shuts and the driver chirrups to his horses.
Her astonishment delights we.
"Loicl" Her head falls against the cushion, lovely bronze skin fading several shades.
I resume my own shape, in tribute to our former closeness and as a compliment to her. Not easy, sitting upright on a swaying carriage bench when one's lower body ends in a lizard's tail, but for Aurelie I make the effort. One has one's pride. And also, sparrow throats are less well designed than a drac's for conversation. Though it's a
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moment before I answer. The most peculiar emotion threatens to overcome me. But, as one of the greater Fae, rather than a common lutin who must display his every mental process, I present her with a smile of gentle goodwill. "How do you fare, sweet princess?"
"Oh, well. You're so... you look older!" She gulps a couple of times. Not an attractive response, though I make allowances for surprise. She couldn't smell me coming, after all. An apology would be graceful at this moment, but humans are always thinking about themselves. Their short span of days, I fear, makes it impossible for them to take the long view as we dracs do.
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