‘River Maid’s tougher than your average river barge. Better balanced, too, and there’s an art to loading ’em right,’ she said as her fingers worked deftly at the sodden knot. ‘I’m glad you saved those barrels — Rhet would hate to think his ale had gone into the river, though it’d make little difference given the way he waters it.’
Risha let the words flow over her. Her legs still felt weak. ‘How do you get back up the river?’ she asked, as her thoughts began to settle.
‘There are a series of locks — we passed the upriver entry just back from the rapids. The canal joins the river again an hour or so downstream.’
Risha frowned. ‘Couldn’t we have come down the locks instead of risking the rapids?’
‘It adds a couple of days to the journey; more if the river’s busy. And besides,’ Fenn grinned, ‘I enjoy the challenge. The rapids are why I do this run.’ She gave Risha’s arm a consoling pat. ‘It’s an easy ride from here. We’ll reach Elion tomorrow.’
9
Scholars’ city
The river gate into Elion opened like a mouth in the stonework of the city’s walls.
‘The city has grown beyond the original walls to the north, but on its southern boundary the river keeps it in check,’ Fenn said.
Risha stared at the grand edifice that rose directly from the river’s banks. Small gates and window slits pocked the stonework, only the main gate standing open. Fenn steered the barge beneath its raised iron grill and through a dank tunnel of mossy stone. The marina beyond was crowded with barges and smaller river-craft. Flights of stone steps climbed from the jetties to the tall stone buildings and narrow streets that ran between.
‘Get the pole ready,’ Fenn said.
Wedging herself against the front rail, Risha prepared to fend off other craft as they jostled for position.
Fenn steered them to an open wharf where a group of officials observed their arrival without curiosity. Risha gazed around wide-eyed as Fenn went ashore to negotiate for a berth and unloading rights.
Where Caledon had been a ragged, sprawling city thrown together with neither skill nor planning, the stone structures of Elion towered tall and elegant. Even the warehouses and customs buildings were ornate and imposing. The city had a sense of age, and of its own high opinion of itself. As well, it had been designed with an eye to defence; the wall, mossy from the river’s damp, was topped with lookout towers and walkways. But — disappointment wrinkled in Risha’s belly — it wasn’t the city she’d seen in her head.
She jumped as Fenn nudged her shoulder. ‘We’ve two hours to clear customs.’
They worked side by side, rolling barrels of ale and ferrying a miscellany of other goods into the customs hall. The official recording their cargo replied half-heartedly to Fenn’s banter. Risha kept her eyes lowered and her ears open.
By the time they were done it was mid-afternoon and she was damp with sweat. The stonework collected the sun’s heat and held it shimmering above the water. If they’d been on the river she’d have dipped a bucket and doused herself, but the water of the marina was thick with scum and jetsam. She helped Fenn close up the barge and trailed her up a flight of steps.
Fenn shot her a curious glance. ‘I’ll be here two days before heading downriver. Will you be stopping here or coming on?’
Risha hesitated. ‘I’ve someone to see. I’ll know after.’
Fenn nodded equably. ‘Well, I plan to lodge with my sister Nieve. She’ll be happy to give us both a bed — she lives over by the scholars’ halls.’
Risha felt a tug of excitement in her chest.
‘Come, I’ll show you the sights on the way. Elion’s pretty enough, though there are too many guards for my liking.’
‘I’d like to see around the scholars’ halls,’ Risha said quickly.
Fenn snorted. ‘They don’t let women in as a rule: we’re bad for their powers of concentration apparently. But I can show you their walls and towers.’
Latticed windows glittered as the late afternoon light washed the buildings in gold. Fenn had led her up a winding stair that opened onto the city wall and gave them an unimpeded view of Elgard’s ancient centre of learning. ‘It’s beautiful,’ Risha said.
The buildings were of honey-coloured stone and boasted a multitude of architectural splendours. Domes and towers were fringed by courtyards, fountains, lush gardens and bowers, the whole linked by walkways enclosed in delicate traceries of stone that cast ornate patterns of light and shade.
‘As beautiful inside, so they say,’ Fenn answered. ‘Nearly three hundred scholars live and study here.’
Risha swung to face her in dismay. ‘Three hundred!’
Fenn shrugged. ‘Some spend their whole lives within these walls, but for most it’s home for a handful of years then they’re faced with finding a way to put their learning to use in the world.’ Her tone suggested she didn’t envy them the task.
‘How?’ Risha asked, wondering if Ganny had been right after all.
‘A few become advisors to the lords and wealthier merchants. They cluster about the Sitting like flies on a carcass.’ The words out, Fenn darted a belatedly cautious glance around. There was no one near. ‘Others find work as scribes and private tutors.’
‘Are there records of where they all go when they leave?’
‘There are those who believe the Sitting keep records of everything,’ Fenn answered, before shrugging off her dark mood with a laugh. ‘But what would I know? Come, I’ll show you the trade halls.’
The following afternoon, while Fenn negotiated for a fresh load of cargo, Risha made her way back to the halls. The gate porter sneered when she asked if she might speak with one of the scholars.
‘I have a message,’ she insisted, when he told her audiences were allowed only under exceptional circumstances.
He closed his grilled window in her face.
As she stood irresolute, a woman paused beside her. ‘Try the kitchens,’ she muttered. ‘They’ll sometimes carry a message if you make it worth their while. That’s how I arrange to see my brother, now and then.’
She’d disappeared into the crowd before Risha had time to thank her.
Following the street that echoed the curve of the building’s stout outer wall, Risha wondered who, exactly, the scholars were protecting themselves against: the place felt impregnable. When she reached the tradesmen’s entrance she found it unguarded but busy. This time she paused to spy out the situation, and settled on an older woman peeling onions near the pump.
The woman eyed her sideways when she made her request. ‘A message, is it? I doubt I need to guess what kind. It’s more than my job’s worth, you know, to go breaching scholars’ rules.’ She paused. ‘He’s in the new intake, is he?’
Risha shook her head. ‘He’s been here some time — at least, I hope he’s still here. I’m not sure.’
This was met with a frown. ‘What name?’
‘Meredus,’ Risha said, reaching into her purse for a coin.
The woman had dropped her onion to stare at Risha. ‘And you think he’ll take well to this message, will Master Meredus?’
‘It’s a family matter. If I could just talk to him, I’m sure—’
‘As if a master would be arranging trysts!’ the woman said tartly, gathering her onions to leave. ‘Whatever can you be thinking? Master Meredus, indeed!’
‘Wait,’ Risha said, tugging Pelon’s copy of The Illuminations of Pratinius from her bag. ‘If you could just give him this — please!’
For a moment she doubted the woman would take it, but perhaps the coin in her hand was enough, or perhaps it was the slim volume that tipped the scales.
‘I’ll give it to him,’ she said at last, ‘but I’m saying nothing with it. He can do as he likes once he has it.’
Risha risked a smile. ‘I’ll wait here.’
The woman shook her head. ‘Not here. You’ll attract too much attention.’ She glanced around, as if worried that someone might alrea
dy have observed them. ‘Go to the west garden after sunset. There’s a gate — it won’t be locked. Wait there.’ Both book and coin disappeared beneath the woman’s apron.
‘Thank you,’ Risha murmured, but the woman was already hurrying away.
Mostly by guesswork she made her way to the city marketplace. She bought a pastry, savouring it as she glanced over the stalls. At the live produce aisle she turned back, and found herself staring into a face that seemed familiar. A moment later the man was gone. Risha frowned. She’d seen him before, but where? Then she had it: he’d been leaning against the wall when she’d been speaking to the porter. She’d noticed him because he’d reminded her of someone.
Shrugging it off, she began to search the stalls for Torfell stone, but found none. If she saw Marit again she’d suggest Elion might be a good place to— Risha stopped. It hadn’t been the man’s face but his manner that had been familiar: the way he’d stood and his eager, shifty gaze. Amos. He’d reminded her of Amos.
Risha spun around, her eyes scouring the marketplace. The sun was low, casting thick golden light across the stones, and the vendors were beginning to pack up for the day. There was no sign of the stranger in the thinning crowd. She shook herself. Of course he wasn’t following her: why would he? Amos returned to her mind. Risha chewed her lip. She should have insisted that Barc tell her what he knew before he went to Fratton. She felt as ignorant and vulnerable as she had in Caledon — only this time, there was no Sulba to defend her.
Deciding a little belated caution would be prudent, Risha glanced casually about before ducking into an alley. At its end she veered left, then right and left again, working her way to the far side of the market. She would have to be quick to get to the west garden by sunset. She refused to weigh the likelihood of her message being delivered, or to think about what she would do if Meredus failed to come.
By the time she reached the wall of the scholars’ precinct it was nearly full dark. With a swift glance behind she set off at a brisk walk. It was further than she’d expected and her doubts had begun to swell when the wall curved sharply to a recess that housed a narrow, iron-bound door. Relief tingled through her. Her fingers were reaching for the latch when a broad hand clamped her shoulder.
‘Now what might it be that would draw a young girl to the university wall when she should be home with her parents?’ a dark voice asked in her ear. ‘Nothing good, I’ve a mind. Nothing good at all.’
The hand that held her turned her about, and Risha found herself staring into the eyes of a sergeant of the Elion guard. The man’s creased brown face did not look like it belonged to someone who would budge easily on a point. ‘I mean no trouble,’ she mumbled. ‘I was hoping to see someone, that’s all.’
‘In the scholars’ private garden?’
‘I’m seeking the advice of one of the scholars.’
‘Advice, is it? I’ve heard it called many things but not often that.’ The sergeant’s fingers relaxed on her shoulder. ‘Listen, there’s nothing good can come of it, whatever he might have told you. Scholars aren’t allowed liaisons with females, however young and pretty they might be — aye, and especially not then.’ He dropped his hand. ‘Why don’t you just get off home before the damage is done?’
Risha shook her head. ‘I have to talk to him.’
The sergeant sighed. ‘Look, I’m trying to do you a favour. I’ve a daughter your age, and I’m telling you: young girls have no business with scholars, at least none that’s respectable.’
‘There’s something I have to ask.’
‘There’s some you just can’t help,’ he muttered. ‘Well, it’s not on my head. I’ve done my best. I never saw you,’ he added, and trod heavily away.
Risha let out a breath and closed her fingers on the cold iron ring of the door. It gave easily beneath her hand, swinging open on well-oiled hinges. If she’d paused to consider, she might have concluded that the entry to the scholars’ gardens was well used, but the brush with the guard had flustered her. Pushing the door just wide enough, she slipped inside.
The smell of jasmine hit her first, filling her nostrils with its sickly sweet scent. Her second impression was of warmth, of the sun’s heat trapped and held within the garden’s high walls.
On the far side of the enclosure light spilled faintly through the ornate windows, intensifying the shadows that lay across the garden’s formal walkways and plantings. Only in the high meadows above Torfell had Risha seen so many flowers. A spasm of longing rushed through her: there was something excessive and artificial about these neatly arranged beds, stuffed full yet held in check with lines and paths. She hesitated. It was past sunset and there was no sign of Meredus. She didn’t know what to do.
An opening door sent a swift arrow of light across the garden, gone as quickly as it appeared. Risha ducked behind a bush and peered cautiously through the leaves. Footsteps approached along the garden’s central path. Dodging the trailing tendril of a rose, Risha pushed a little further into the greenery, keeping the wall at her back. The feet had reached the gate.
‘And who might be wandering the garden at this hour?’ The harsh, nasal voice came from Risha’s left. She tensed. ‘Odd, surely, to admire the blooms when the light is so poor and the hall filled with your fellows.’
The shadowy figure at the gate turned. ‘They do not offer company you choose, I see, Tadeus.’
‘Ah. Oh. Indeed not.’ The voice had lost its smug certainty.
‘But, like me, you doubtless wished for a moment’s solitude and contemplation. The garden offers its less subtle riches in the evening, does it not?’
Risha held her breath as feet crunched past her.
‘I … it is not my habit to frequent it.’
The two voices could not have been more at odds, the one rich and melodic, the other thin and clipped.
‘I often come to meditate on a text; this evening it will be Pratinius.’
The reply was scornful. ‘Pratinius has not been taught in years!’
‘In itself an excellent reason. As with the garden, it is worth reminding ourselves, at times, of that which has fallen from view.’
‘I am not sure I follow you,’ Tadeus protested.
‘No matter. It was a notion that took me, that is all. Don’t let me keep you, Tadeus. I am perfectly content alone.’
Dismissed, the man’s steps crunched away. Risha’s heartbeat seemed to fill the silence they left. At last, when she was quite sure she and the scholar were alone in the garden, she scrambled from the shrubbery.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I had hoped — but no matter. It was you who sent the book?’
Risha nodded. The old man appeared almost fragile with age. ‘Was it you who wrote the inscription?’
‘Oh indeed. Years ago. Tell me, child, what of Pelonius?’
‘He fell ill in the winter. It didn’t seem serious at first, but … He was buried in the spring.’
Meredus sighed. ‘And you? How old are you?’
‘Fifteen come the end of the summer.’
This seemed to satisfy him. He gestured her to the bench. ‘And your mother?’
Risha frowned. ‘My mother died before I was old enough to know her. I’d hoped you might be able to tell me more of her, as well as of my father.’
‘Pelonius told you nothing?’ His tone was sharp. ‘Perhaps that was for the best.’
‘It doesn’t seem so now,’ she answered tartly. ‘I have no one, sir, at least no one I know of. Yours was the only name I found among his papers, then in Caledon I heard my mother’s name for the first time. I—’
‘Where did you grow up?’ Meredus interrupted.
‘Torfell, in the northern mountains. I can’t go back there.’
‘No, indeed.’ He was silent a moment. ‘Lest Tadeus decide to return in the hope of catching some hapless student struggling with his vows, I will be brief. You asked of your mother. I didn’t know her well, though I was on good terms with your grandmother, for whom I once
worked. Pelonius, of course, spoke of the Lady Cattra in the most glowing terms. She was heir to the House of Havre,’ he added, almost as an afterthought. Oblivious to Risha’s startlement, the old scholar swept on. ‘To her sorrow. At the time of her marriage, Elgard stood on the brink of civil war. It was an ill-advised match, disturbing, as it did, the balance of power. A love match. You were a babe in arms when matters came to a head. Havre was attacked and Cattra’s parents — your grandparents — were murdered.’
Risha’s breath caught in her throat.
‘Pelonius was stationed at Havre — I brokered the position myself, though had I known he would give his heart in a way a scholar’s heart should not be given, I would perhaps have chosen differently.’ He seemed to notice, suddenly, the impact of his words. ‘I am sorry, child, to put it so bluntly, but those are the facts.’
She stared at him, wide-eyed.
‘When no trace of you and your mother was found it was assumed you had perished, and the line of Havre with you.’ He placed his fingertips together, the fingers clawed into a cage. ‘Pelonius’s motives are not clear to me, though he chose your refuge well. But why he should have kept your heritage from you … I can only assume he believed your safety more likely thus assured.’
‘But … Havre … I …’ Risha struggled to pull her tattered thoughts together.
‘You must understand that your danger is as great now as when your mother fled. How did you come here? You are surely not alone?’
‘Yes. No. One of the traders helped me.’ She frowned. ‘There was … some trouble in Caledon. I … a bargewoman brought me downriver. Do I have family still, in Havre?’
‘Distant relatives: descendants of your grandfather’s half-brother, whom illegitimacy places outside the line of inheritance, and which Havre in any case traces through the female line. I believe there was a maternal cousin who escaped the slaughter. Do you know much of the politics of Elgard, child?’
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