The Goblin Gate

by Hilari Bell

  Yes, he could. Jeriah’s hands began to tremble again, and he tucked them under his arms.

  “Did you find them? Are you ready to cast the gate now?”

  Jeriah jumped. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

  “Well?” Daroo was perched on a limb above Jeriah’s head. “Tell me! I saw that other one throw you out of the priest’s rooms. He must have gone in before I started watching. He stayed till the priest came and they talked for almost half an hour, but the charm kept me so far away I couldn’t hear them!” Indignation filled the goblin’s voice. “I don’t know where your room is, and during the day you were dashing all over the place or with that poor old man. And I’m dying of curiosity. You owe me a button for watching.”

  “Why should I pay for something I told you not to do? I’d pay you to go home! Although…You say you’ve been watching me for days? No one’s seen you?”

  “Of course not,” the boy said smugly. “With all those flowers and bushes it’s easy to get around. There’s even trees in those planters, so I can go from one level to the next without using the stairs. But what’s happened?”

  Jeriah hesitated. True knights didn’t confide in children. But if he called the Hierarch “poor old man,” Daroo must have seen what the humans had missed. Besides, Jeriah had to tell someone.

  He sat, leaning against a tree, and Daroo climbed down to sit beside him. The boy listened without interruption as Jeriah told him what had happened that first night, and briefly about his discoveries concerning the Hierarch. When Jeriah finished, Daroo put his small finger right on the heart of the problem.

  “You believed this Nevin when he said the spell notes weren’t in the priest’s rooms?”

  “Yes. He might have lied about that, but I’m sure he was about to let something slip when he told me that if I found them I couldn’t…couldn’t what? Can you think of anything? It has to be something that would give me a clue, because if it didn’t, he would have finished the sentence.”

  “No. And if it’s not in the priest’s rooms, you’ll have to search the whole palace. And maybe beyond. And to do that you have to be here, so you’d better make sure that old man likes you!”

  “I need a clue,” Jeriah fretted. “Searching the whole palace will take years, and Tobin doesn’t have a month!”

  Just over two weeks until Tobin became ill. Maybe less than that—no illness, not even a magical one, was completely predictable. After that, perhaps as little as a week before he was dead. Jeriah had to find those spell notes soon, but how?

  In the stories, if the knight didn’t know where to go, someone appeared to guide him. Usually a beautiful girl. But Koryn, who might have guided Jeriah, was working for his enemy.

  “And maybe beyond the palace,” Daroo repeated gloomily.

  “I don’t think Master Lazur would let those notes too far out of his reach,” said Jeriah. “Suppose he needs them? But I can’t…”

  True knights also didn’t ask for help. Especially not from vermin. Untrustworthy vermin, too.

  Then Jeriah must not be a true knight, because he couldn’t see any other way. Whatever the goblins were concealing, he’d come to believe that Daroo cared about Tobin. Try.

  “Daroo, you seem to get around the palace pretty easily. Could other goblins do the same?”

  The bright eyes glinted. “Does this mean you’ll stop telling me to leave? During the day we’d have to take care, but by night we could run an army around. The guards are looking for big folk, see?”

  “No,” said Jeriah. “But I’ll take your word for it. Could your people search the palace for the spell notes?”

  “Aye. A few dozen Bookeries could go through that priest’s office in an hour if it weren’t for the charm. All the papers in the palace would take a while, but Bookeries could do it.”

  “Bookeries?”

  “Their gift is writing and language, things like that. They’re the ones you need for this.”

  “Then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Jeriah grinned at the goblin’s squeal of protest and continued: “Go home, and convince your father to come back with enough…Bookeries?…to search the whole palace. Will you do that?”

  “I will,” said Daroo. “For a button. But whether they will is something else again. What are you going to trade for it? They’ll want even value, not just a token.”

  “I’ll think of something.” Jeriah rose and brushed himself off. “Your job is to bring them back. Can you do it? Fast? Tobin’s running out of time.”

  “Sure.” The boy held out his hand.

  Jeriah looked around, and dropped a pinecone into it. “I need my buttons, if you don’t mind.”

  “I’ll do the trip for a pinecone, but I want a button for the watching, like we agreed.”

  “I never agreed to any such thing! I didn’t ask you to stand watch. I didn’t even want you to!”

  “But I did it, so you’re indebted. I’ll do no errands for an indebted man. I want a button.”

  “But…” The foolishness of it overcame Jeriah’s indignation and he laughed. It took only a moment to twist off a button. “There, demon, are you happy?”

  Daroo sniffed. “It’s an uphill fight to civilize some folk, but I suppose you’ll get there. Eventually.”

  “Civilize? Why you…”

  Daroo grinned, shot into the bushes, and vanished.

  “Be careful,” Jeriah called to the empty woods.

  He went back to the Hierarch’s rooms and was intercepted by Nevin, who immediately took him in charge. Jeriah’s wardrobe was inspected and found wanting. “You haven’t spent much time in civilized places, have you? Look at you—you’re missing a button on the tunic you’re wearing right now!”

  Jeriah was taken to the seamstress for new tunics and tabards, to the baths for a haircut, and back to the Hierarch in time to help him dress for dinner.

  As he handed the old man his shoes, the blue eyes dwelled on his face with troubled curiosity.

  “Who…?”

  “Jeriah Rovan. I brought you some tea, remember?”

  The Hierarch frowned, trying, and Jeriah’s throat tightened with pity. “I’m Jeriah. Just remember Jeriah.”

  The frown vanished. “Ah, Jeriah. Good.”

  “It’s time to go in, my lord.” Nevin was scowling, but as long as the Hierarch accepted him, Jeriah didn’t care. He was getting tired of Sir Nevin.

  Still, he had to admire the young knight’s competence. The Sunlord dined alone, at a table on a dais at the end of the huge hall. He was weary in spite of the afternoon’s rest, his hands unsteady. But when he spilled his wine, Nevin was there in an instant, apologizing loudly for “his” clumsiness. The old man nodded, his confusion taken for graciousness by those who watched. Yes, this job was complicated. Jeriah hoped he could cope, along with everything else he had to do. What could he offer the goblins in exchange for their aid? And even if he found the notes, he couldn’t…what?

  The Hierarch was very tired after dinner. He sat on the bed, running a gold necklace around and around in his hands.

  “You brew his medicine like a tea,” Nevin was explaining. “One scoop of the leaves in a cup of boiling water, and steep it till the sand timer stops. Master Kerratis, his healer priest, says he has to drink it all. It helps him sleep and…well, it helps him.”

  Jeriah knelt before the old man. “It’s time to take your medicine and go to bed,” he said gently. “I have to put the necklace away.”

  The blue eyes gazed at him blankly. “Who?”

  “Jeriah. Remember? Jeriah.”

  “Ah…”

  Jeriah sighed and reached for the necklace, but the old man held on with surprising strength. “No.”

  “I have to put the necklace away. It’s time for bed.”

  “No.” The Hierarch’s lip began to tremble and his eyes filled with tears. One of the menservants started forward, but it was Nevin’s hand that grabbed Jeriah’s collar. Jeriah was crouched on his heels, a
nd the yank sent him sprawling to the floor.

  Nevin stood over him and hissed, “He is not a backward child who must do what you say. He is the Holy One, Chosen of the Bright Gods themselves. If they’ve seen fit to afflict him, it is not ours to question. Your place is to treat him, always, with the respect he deserves. You may go.”

  He turned his back on Jeriah and knelt before the Hierarch. “My lord?”

  Jeriah fled.

  By the next morning the Hierarch hadn’t simply forgiven Jeriah, he’d completely forgotten the incident. And Jeriah’s name as well. But he did seem to like Jeriah, the Bright Ones be thanked.

  As the days passed, Nevin forgave Jeriah for his disrespect—only one in three sentences was an insult, instead of all of them. And Jeriah overcame his own anger enough to study Nevin’s methods for handling the old man. Nevin never actively thwarted the Hierarch, he simply distracted or confused him until the ruler was willing to do what was needed. When Nevin wanted to get something out of the Hierarch’s hands, he gave him something else and waited until he became involved with it before taking the first object away.

  Jeriah, whose pity was often laced with impatience, found Nevin’s unfailing gentleness rather shaming—but it didn’t make him like the arrogant knight any better.

  When Nevin served the Hierarch, Jeriah could eat with his friends. From them, he learned that Nevin had been knighted not on the field of battle but for “service to the Sunlord.”

  The other squires held him in contempt for that.

  “With his father being who he is, all Nevin had to do to get knighted was pick out the right clothes,” Harell told him.

  Jeriah, who knew why Nevin had been knighted, kept his mouth shut. But Nevin’s father really was a power in the Realm. All landholders were technically equal in the sight of the Gods and the government. Lord Brallorscourt’s influence came not only from his vast wealth, but also from his willingness to use that wealth in pursuit of political power. As Ranan put it, “Those who don’t owe him either money or political favor are afraid of him.”

  Jeriah, whose father’s influence sprang from his neighbors’ respect for his integrity, was a little afraid of that kind of power too. He sometimes encountered Nevin’s father, dealing with the council or other lords, but Lord Brallorscourt ignored lowly creatures like squires and Jeriah was grateful for it.

  He’d almost forgotten about his mother’s plans when Senna’s letter arrived. The first page was full of family chatter. The tenants from the flooded village had been resettled, and his father was planning how to save more grain for seed, to take with them when they were forced to relocate. Jeriah was smiling over Tami’s campaign to trade her pony for a full-size horse when he turned the page and his blood froze.

  Mother got some disappointing news from her old friend, his sister wrote. But she hasn’t given up. She hopes you’re doing well in your new post—says she’d love to hear some palace gossip again! So write if anything interesting happens there.

  The rest of the letter consisted of local news, with a brief note at the end that Senna might be doing a bit of traveling herself soon—and what in the Dark One’s name did that mean? Jeriah thought he’d translated the rest of her hints correctly—Master Lazur had resisted whatever pressure his mother had brought to bear, and Jeriah was to stay at his post and report if the priest did anything unusual.

  What was his mother up to? Confined to her own estate, surely she couldn’t do too much harm….

  Jeriah shuddered. His mother could create world-shaking havoc confined to her bed!

  He wrote back to Senna, filling his own letter with his recent promotion. So don’t worry about me—I’m delighted with how things are going here. I’m sorry Mother’s old friend let her down, but maybe it’s for the best. Try to keep her from worrying about it. And you might consider staying home too. It’s too early in the year for good traveling weather.

  He hoped that would be enough to rein in his mother’s scheme, whatever it was, but he doubted it.

  As the Hierarch slowly became accustomed to Jeriah, Master Lazur began to pull Nevin into his own service. Although Nevin still turned up frequently to harass Jeriah—and, Jeriah admitted, to reassure the Hierarch with his familiar presence. Jeriah was heartily tired of introducing himself to the old man every morning.

  Unless Master Zachiros drafted him to run errands, in the afternoon when the Hierarch slept Jeriah was granted free time. He came to like and respect the elderly secretary—though calling him a secretary was a joke. Master Zachiros exercised more power than any man in the Realm outside of the council. Except for Master Lazur, whose cadre held sway in the council.

  Listening to the talk around him, Jeriah began to realize how tenuous the shadow government’s control was. Everyone disliked the relocation, even those who had fought the barbarians themselves and knew it was necessary. Most of the daily petitions had to do with landownership. Master Zachiros said that the moment it had been announced that the amount of land a person owned in the Realm would determine how much land they were granted in the northern wood, every man who owned more than a few acres started scheming to get more.

  Jeriah couldn’t tell what Master Zachiros thought of Master Lazur, though he was sure the secretary was aware of his power. But Jeriah wasn’t even certain if Master Zachiros’ absentmindedness was real or a clever act to fool those who watched the Hierarch. He only prayed that he would never have to deceive the foolish-looking “secretary.”

  Jeriah also met Master Kerratis, the Hierarch’s personal healer priest, when he performed the Hierarch’s weekly examination. The man’s darting, birdlike gestures made the Hierarch uneasy, and Jeriah’s distaste for the healer intensified when Master Kerratis made it clear he found the Hierarch’s case hopeless and unworthy of his time. Even the fact that Nevin detested the finicky healer didn’t make Jeriah like him. He resolved to continue Nevin’s policy of never leaving the Hierarch alone with the man.

  Between errands for Master Zachiros and his free afternoons, Jeriah was able to explore the parts of the palace where Master Goserian hadn’t sent him. He found no papers in the unlocked storeroom under the chorus steps behind the altar, and he spent several minutes staring wistfully at the small, locked storage compartment under the lowest steps. He also bluffed his way into the wine cellar, one level above the furnace room, from which yet another staircase led down to the palace vault. Because of that, several guards were posted there. They escorted Jeriah as he selected the Hierarch’s wine and prevented him from looking for the secret tunnel that was rumored to come out of the hill near the guards’ barracks.

  Jeriah kept hoping that one of the Lesser Ones would contact him. He knew enough about the goblins now to be certain Cogswhallop had passed on his letter—surely the tinker would have relayed his request. But no one tried to get in touch with him.

  In fact, the only one who seemed interested in his movements was Master Kerratis—Jeriah encountered the Hierarch’s healer in several odd places, and his eyes followed Jeriah during meals. But that might have been chance, for the palace was stuffed with people. The relocation, on top of the normal business of ruling the Realm, brought clerks, lawyers, and petitioners flooding in. It occurred to Jeriah that Master Lazur didn’t need to set anyone to watch him; there wasn’t a private corner anywhere! But Jeriah soon realized that although many people might see him, as long as he didn’t act suspicious, hardly anyone noticed him. In some ways the crowded conditions made his search easier than it would have been if the palace had been empty.

  In spite of what Daroo said, Jeriah thought Master Lazur would keep his spell notes in the palace. They were unlikely to be on the second level, which held only the Hierarch’s rooms, Master Zachiros’ offices, and the petitions court. (Unless Master Lazur had access to a strongbox in one of the offices?) They certainly wouldn’t be in the temple. (Unless they were in the locked storage area under the chorus steps.) They wouldn’t be in anyone’s bedroom. (Unless the priest ha
d asked someone to keep them for him.) They wouldn’t be in any of the servants’ rooms, or workrooms, or public hallways. (Unless they were hidden inside some object.) It seemed likely they’d be hidden among other papers, and Jeriah thought the palace library was a more promising place than the public offices. (Unless Master Lazur had asked one of the clerks who worked in those offices to hide them for him.)

  He tried to search the library himself, avoiding the librarians, since he didn’t dare tell them what he was looking for.

  The amount of information in the vast tangle of shelves was staggering—and if it had been organized, Jeriah couldn’t figure out how. He was in the middle of a shelf of books that discussed the nature of magic, and experiments on it, when he came across a brief history of the Sunlord’s life before he was chosen. Jeriah suspected the long account of the old man’s exceptional holiness was mostly lies, but he discovered one shocking fact—the “old man” was only forty-four. Younger than Jeriah’s father. The fever must have changed him terribly.

  But tragic as that was, it wasn’t what he was looking for. Jeriah finished that section, turned around a corner into the next aisle, and ran into a gray-gowned woman perched on one of the step stools that allowed people to reach the taller shelves. She squeaked and started to topple, and Jeriah steadied her.

  “I’m so sorry,” he began, and then looked up to meet Mistress Koryn’s wide gaze. “What are you doing up on a stool like that? Don’t you know better than to…I mean, with your…ah…” The awkwardness of their last meeting flooded back, and his voice trailed into silence.

  “I can still climb a step stool.” Her voice was cool. “And what I’m doing is my job.”