Black Kath's Daughter

by Richard Parks

  "You are Marta? Yes you are. Who else would you be? Your mother? Did she not come? But the King specifically asked for her."

  "He asked for the Witch of Lythos. My mother is dead."

  "Dead? And no one told me? This isn't right, no not at all."

  It was all Marta could do to keep from leaping at the man's throat. "I apologize for the inconvenience my mother's passing may have caused you," Marta said, though now she was having a hard time deciding which she wanted to do more, laugh or kill him. It was just too hard to decide.

  He waved it away. "A tragedy of course; I don't wish to appear insensitive but the king will be...best not to think of that. I'll attend to that, of course, no need for you to worry. You'll have to do then, won't you?"

  "That was my own conclusion," Marta said.

  "Yes, of course. Please wait here. I'll inform his majesty of your arrival."

  "Most kind," Marta said.

  He hadn't been gone more than a few minutes when Marta sensed Bone Tapper's presence. She heard his questioning croak and whistled to guide him to her. He flew in through the open doorway and landed on her shoulder.

  "All done at the Apple Branch," Bone Tapper said, "though I dare say Master Lokan was acting a bit oddly."

  "Oh? How so?"

  Bone Tapper shrugged. "Oh, he seemed a bit surlier than usual. Probably nothing more than a sour batch of wine. So. Where is the noble Feran?"

  "In blue blazes and roasting merrily, for all I care."

  "I told you so," Bone Tapper said.

  "You told me he wanted something," Marta corrected. "I have yet to hear anything of that."

  Bone Tapper nodded. "Not yet. You will."

  "So tell me—when did you add prophecy to your limited skills?"

  "The moment I saw the way Feran looked at you," Bone Tapper said. He had that smug look that Marta was beginning to roundly detest, but she didn't argue. She was too afraid that he was right.

  CHAPTER 9

  "Everything happens for a reason. If that reason proves elusive, create one."

  —From the Annals of Dommar the Beast

  King Alian was a bit taken aback by the Chamberlain's news; that was plain enough. He sat in his chair by the table in his workroom. It was just as Marta remembered: books and scrolls and tally sheets in wild profusion. The only thing different was the Chamberlain standing at a discrete but very prominent distance from the king.

  "When did it happen?" Alian asked.

  "When my mother was returning from the birth of your son," Marta said. "I trust all is well with them?"

  "Of course. Your mother was very helpful...I don't know what to say, Marta. I won't say your mother and I were always on the best of terms; you know more of that than we need discuss. Yet I am sorry for your loss. For my loss and the kingdom's as well."

  Bone Tapper made a very faint sound, something like a snort, but Marta shot him a warning glance and he settled down demurely on her shoulder.

  "I thank you for that, Majesty. As Kath of Lythos is no more, her obligations are mine now. That includes this present duty. I will try to be of service to you, as would she."

  He smiled then, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "For a price?"

  She inclined her head in something like a bow. "The Arrow Path's stipulation, Majesty. Not mine. Nor," she added pointedly, "My mother's."

  King Alian nodded. "Quite so."

  The king studied Marta frankly for several long moments. Marta, feeling a bit like a suspect coin on a scale, fought the urge to fidget. Alian finally came to a decision.

  "Let's see if you're up to the challenge, then. Chamberlain?"

  The Chamberlain bowed deeply and hurried from the room. He returned leading a man Marta had never seen before. He was tall and thin, with strong features and hair trimmed and combed as carefully as a girl's.

  "Marta, may I present Dalan Kom?"

  She knew the name of course. Who in Lythos had not, and even further? He was the king's own bard, though it was probably only ties of kinship that kept the man in a backwater kingdom like Lythos. He was known from Wylandia to Calyt for the beauty of his voice.

  "Say hello, Dalan," the Chamberlain directed.

  "H-hello," the minstrel said, and Marta knew what her first service as the Witch of Lythos was going to be. The man's voice was a wreck: scratchy, hoarse, and it cracked worse than that of a boy with his first chin whiskers. A bard, especially one that was such an ornament to a court as this one, would certainly rate the services of an Arrow Path magician if that was the only way to save his voice.

  Was this the only way?

  Marta hoped not, since she wasn't too sure that there was anything of the First Law that would help here, save perhaps being able to tell how badly the man's voice was damaged. Marta tried to keep her uncertainty from showing. She held up her hands. "With your permission?"

  The bard nodded and Marta stepped forward, reaching up—he was very tall—to place her hands on either side of his throat. She kept them there for a few moments, breathing slowly, trying to listen to what her hands told her and hoping there was a story for them to tell. There was. Marta almost laughed with relief.

  "It's done," she said, lowering her hands.

  "Done..?" Dalan Kom, said in a voice as bad as ever, "but I still sound like a weasel caught in a waterwheel..."

  "And will for a week or so more, I fancy," Marta said. "I've done what I can but even so the healing will take time, Master Dalan. I suggest rinsing your throat with pickle brine twice a day...and don't talk at all if you can avoid it. Of a certainty, do not sing. It will be well."

  Dalan Kom looked at her as if she were the only lantern in an eternity of night. It was as if Marta's own certainty overwhelmed his doubts. She believed what she said, and so did the bard. He smiled then, with tears of relief in his eyes and he bowed his head to her. "I am grateful. Name your price, Mistress."

  Marta didn't hesitate. "A song will do. When your voice is fully healed I would love to hear you sing."

  "Gladly..."

  The Chamberlain led the bard away, probably in the direction of the nearest pickle vat, leaving Marta, for the moment, alone with the king.

  "Pickle juice? A song?" A smile showed faintly on the king's face.

  "Little enough to ask, considering that I didn't really do anything," Marta said. "His voice was just strained, not destroyed. I wager your own physician told him as much."

  "You would win that bet, Mistress Marta," Alian said, smiling openly now. "Yet I could hardly deny him when he sought help from the Witch of Lythos as well. An inconvenience for which I apologize and yet I had little choice. And may I say: well played. So. What is your real price?"

  Marta closed her eyes. There was no sense of the Debt, no hint of what the price would be. Which, remembering her time with her mother on their last trip here together, didn't surprise Marta at all. Still, she thought long and carefully and and all of a sudden she remembered an earlier notion. Not a payment, exactly, but something she thought might be useful. Marta realized there was no way to compel what she wanted, yet thought it might not be impossible to obtain nonetheless...

  There it was again. That feeling. That almost but-not-quite sense of understanding. Had she touched another Law? No, not another one. The same one she had touched, briefly, on the trip to Karsan. But what was it? Marta blinked, noted the cloud slowly gathering on the king's brow, and forced her attention back to here and now.

  "As I used no Power, there is no fee, as perhaps you may remember from my mother's visit before the last one. However, for the slight inconvenience...well, I do have a favor to ask."

  Alian looked at her speculatively. "A favor? What is it?"

  "Majesty, with your permission, I would like to have the use of the Royal Archive."

  He frowned. "That dusty mass of histories and tax rolls? I know your mother was fond of it, but I have to ask--whatever for?"

  "I've been neglecting my education in...certain matters. I thi
nk perhaps the Archive may be of help to me, though I confess I do not know that for certain. May I?"

  He waved his hand. "Secrets of State are not so easily found, if that's what you're searching for, but otherwise I have no objections. It's certainly easier on my purse than most of your mother's visits, Mistress. I will so inform Brother Akaen."

  Marta thanked the king and took her leave. Bone Tapper waited until they were out of the chamber and partway down the hall before he spoke.

  "Should have asked for gold."

  Marta shook her head. "Mother never used most of what she had. The last thing I need right now is more to carry around."

  "You weren't just dancing around the bard's problem, were you?"

  Marta glared at him. "Certainly not. He will be fine. I just hope the king doesn't ask for anything else for a while. I doubt the task will be as easy next time and the Second Law still eludes me."

  "You think you'll find it in the king's archives?"

  Marta remembered telling Laras that the secrets of Power were not to be found in books. She thought it was true then, and she still thought it was true. Even so, she had to look somewhere and she knew her mother had been fond of the archives. Besides, her mother's account book had been more than a little useful so it was at least possible... Marta shook her head. She knew better. "No, but perhaps I will find something I can use."

  "What?"

  "How will I know unless I've found it? We'll start tomorrow morning."

  Bone Tapper scowled. "We?"

  "I know you can read, you lazy thing. I'll need help."

  "My curse to be so talented," Bone Tapper said.

  "Your curse to be unable to control your impulses. Else you wouldn't be here."

  They retrieved Yssara and the cart from the castle courtyard and drove over to the Apple Branch. The green tree on the inn's signboard was a welcome sight. When Marta had seen to the cart and Yssara's stabling, she went inside, Bone Tapper as usual riding on her shoulder.

  It was just past mid day; the common room was filled with people and the murmur of voices. Mostly travelers this time of year, though there were a few who traded in horses or cloth. Marta saw more than one group of folk who were clearly pilgrims, come to visit the Karsanmon Shrine. Marta realized she'd have to pay her own respects to the Priestess of Amaet as common courtesy, but she wasn't looking forward to it. Listening to her mother's accounts of the woman had not endeared the priestess, at least by reputation. Marta doubted the reality would be any improvement.

  Several people glanced at Marta as she walked in. She was aware of it but pretended not to notice. Let them get used to seeing her now, coming and going on her own business as her mother had before her. This was the way it had to be.

  "Marta?"

  Marta looked around to find Master Lokan coming to greet her personally. He was heavyset and florid, wearing the same fixed smile Marta had never seen him without. The publican wiped his hands on his heavy stained apron and gave her a small bow.

  Marta nodded. "Master Lokan. How are you?"

  "Oh, well enough," he said, with the same fixed smile never wavering. "I just heard about your mother. I'm sorry."

  Then why are you smiling? Marta thought, but all she said was, "Thank you."

  Lokan just stood there, wiping his hands, smiling. Marta frowned. "Was there something else?"

  The smile did fade then, just a bit. Lokan wore an expression that, in anyone else, might have been taken for the prelude to telling a joke, but Marta knew that on Lokan it was more likely discomfort. "Well, there is a delicate matter I need to discuss with you."

  Marta sighed. "Master Lokan, I've just come from the castle, and I went there directly after traveling half the morning. I'll be glad to speak to you about anything you wish after I've had a chance to rest for a bit. Can it wait?"

  "I'm afraid not. It's about payment."

  Marta frowned. "Payment? What are you talking about?"

  "For the rooms you've engaged. Surely you know that's customary?"

  "My mother had the use of that room at all times. It's part of your arrangement with her."

  "Your mother is dead," Lokan said. "For which I am sorry, as I said. Yet, well, there it is."

  "I have assumed my mother's obligations," Marta said. "Those she owed and," she added pointedly, "those that were owed to her. That includes many things, including that one room in your fine establishment."

  "Marta, our arrangement was informal. As far as I'm concerned, it ended when she died. That is the custom. You're welcome here, certainly. More than welcome! But I will require payment. As I have friends in court I'm sure the king's writ will agree with me. Shall we take it to judgment?"

  Marta was aware that, by now, almost all the conversation in the common room had faded completely. All attention was focused on her and Master Lokan. All listened. Some looked worried, some curious, a few whispered to each other in excited tones. Others smirked with such pleasure that Marta would have gladly killed them then and there, if she had the trick of calling lightning.

  Perhaps one day.

  Marta shook her head. "No, Master Lokan, we needn't trouble the king in this trifling matter. You're quite right: Payment is required."

  Lokan's smile turned to one of pure triumph. "Do not fret, girl, my rates are quite reasonable. What about—"

  "What was your trouble?" Marta asked.

  Lokan blinked. "My what? I don't understand."

  "Yes, you do."

  Bone Tapper laughed, and then even the faintest whispering elsewhere in the room faded to dead silence. Marta repeated the question, a little louder, and with full intent. It wasn't a use of Power, exactly. It was the working of the Debt, which had power of its own. Marta remembered the image of a man turning into a raven, and a dragon becoming a cart horse. The Debt was the Debt, and Master Lokan was no different. There was no escape; not for Master Lokan. Not even for Marta herself.

  I do what I must, Master Lokan.

  "What was your trouble?"

  Master Lokan's eyes widened even as his mouth opened to speak. He clearly did not want to speak. Under the power of the Debt, he had no choice, and his terror began to grow as understanding finally dawned. "Drink," he said, as softly as he could.

  "A little louder please," Marta said. "What was your trouble?"

  "Drink," Master Lokan said loud enough for all to hear, and he wasn't smiling now.

  "What was my mother's promise?"

  "To free me of the curse," he said, trembling slightly.

  "And was it done?"

  "Mistress Marta..."

  "Was it done?" Marta repeated, as cold, remorseless and as inescapable as time itself. Because he had no choice, Lokan answered, clear and loud so that all could hear.

  "Yes."

  "How will you repay that? No, don't answer that part. I've already seen how you intend to deal with your obligations. I suppose it's up to me, then." Marta gave all the appearance of deep consideration. She turned to Bone Tapper. "What do you think?"

  "How about a hob?" Bone Tapper asked, practically bouncing on Marta's shoulder in barely suppressed glee.

  "I already have one of those," Marta said. "Or will again. A mule? No, Yssara would kill him... A hound, perhaps? Yes. Something useful for keeping watch and finding lost items. That might be an advantage indeed." She turned the full fire of her attention back on the shaking innkeeper, who went whiter than snow.

  "So shall it be," Marta said.

  Lokan began to change. A gasp traveled through the room as his arms and legs shrank, his nose and snout began to lengthen and sprout coarse hair. Now Marta was looking down on him as Lokan, falling forward, stared at his paws in horror.

  "No!" he shrieked, close to hysteria. The word came out contorted; his lips were nearly gone and his tongue long and lolling.

  Marta shrugged. "Your choice."

  "I was...mercy! Oh, mercy..."

  "Have you changed your mind about honoring your debts?" Marta asked.

/>   "It was a jest! Yes, that's it. A jest. A poor one. Of course you may have your room. It's ready for you, as always! Please..."

  "Well then," Marta said, and that was all. She didn't say anything else. In a moment Master Lokan was back to himself. The room was so quiet a feather falling would have sounded like thunder. Lokan ran his hands over his face, his arms, trying to assure himself that he was really back to his own self.

  I think you would have made a better hound, Innkeeper. Marta smiled at him. "My room, Master Lokan? You may send up our meal as soon as we're settled."

  The man almost fell over himself in his haste to show her the way, though of course Marta knew it well enough. She allowed him to proceed, though. As soon as she was inside Marta shut and bolted the door and then sat down on the bed and put her head in her hands.

  Bone Tapper landed on one of the bedposts and giggled. "Oh...that was almost worth being a raven, to see that."

  "Quiet," Marta said.

  He frowned, which for a raven is very hard to do. "What's wrong? You don't look happy."

  "Happy? I almost had that fool for a servant! Better a new enemy than such help."

  Bone Tapper snorted. "Hah! You got that anyway, though a toothless one. I swear, for the rest of his life that man will faint if you so much look at him sideways! As for the rest of them..."

  "The rest of them will take the tale of this day far and wide," Marta said. "I don't suppose it can be helped."

  "Helped? Nay, you could not have planned it better! No one else will test you like that. I wondered who would be first. I expected the king, really, but then he's not such a fool."

  "In a way the king has tested me already. He may do it again, and if he does, it won't be over such a trivial thing." Marta looked up. "That business with Master Lokan was necessary, Bone Tapper. The Debt must be honored, and that's all. That doesn't mean I enjoyed it."

  "Yes, you did, and more than a little," Bone Tapper said. "Don't deny it."

  "Enough! It's done, and there is much else to do. I need to think."