Stepping forward, she pulled on a leather string around her neck. At the end of it hung a crystal amulet Paidraigh recognized as bearing the Knot of Warrant. “I seek the Enforcer.”
He’d seen more than one skyjumper, but he’d never seen one come out of a rock, and he’d never been this close to one. How was one supposed to address a Priestess of Warrant? “Most call me Paidraigh,” he said, tugging on the leather string around his own neck to produce an identical crystal amulet. “And you are?”
“Moira.”
“And to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Moira?” Gods, how awkward.
Moira pulled her hood back, exposing golden hair with a white streak, a gaunt face with a sharp nose and eyes as green as the gem atop her staff. “May I?” she asked, nodding at a rigid chair on the visitors’ side of Paidraigh’s desk.
Paidraigh started. “I apologize. Please sit,” he said, motioning to the chair. While Moira settled onto the chair, he looked around at the sparsely filled room. Until now, he hadn’t really noticed all that it didn’t have, like a comfortable cushion. “As you can see, I’ve not much to offer in the way of comforts, but I can make tea if you are in no hurry.” Thanks to a dependable Private working to attain rank, he’d arrived to a toasty room and well-stoked fire.
“Thank you, but no. I have come on business and must soon leave.”
“And what business would that be?” However one was supposed to speak to a Priestess of Warrant, Paidraigh was pretty sure this wasn’t it. He was starting to hate hearing his own voice.
“We have an assignment for you.”
Paidraigh rubbed his amulet. Bless the Saints!
CHAPTER TWELVE
Foreign
Stepping into the sunlight was jarring. The noises of the busy port assaulted ears accustomed to the relative quiet in the hold. From every direction except the sea came the clangs of heavy chains and anchors, creaks and groans of wood, the shouts of traders directing the movement of freight, and the sing-song yells of orders to crews raising sails. Tearful goodbyes blended with welcome cheers. The port was pure cacophony.
Tell led the trio past the warriors, who stood on the deck talking amongst themselves in low whispers. Under one arm, Lan carried the small chest, its creases now filled with flour. Once they stepped off the ship and onto the docks, Gráinne heard him exhale.
Lan turned to Tell and spoke through gritted teeth. “We will send word where you can find us once we have secured rooms. You can have our trunks delivered.”
Caera and Lan continued to walk toward the town, Lan leading the way. Tell remained next to the ship.
Gráinne lagged behind the other two and stopped when she reached Tell. “They are not pleased with our bargain?” she asked him, nodding toward his companions.
Tell shrugged and stared at Lan’s and Caera’s backs as the pair moved farther away. “I honour my word. You had best catch up with the others,” he said, avoiding eye contact with her.
Gráinne stretched her stride to catch up with her companions. When she reached Lan and Caera, she looked back, smiling. Tell Bravin was gone. Gráinne’s smile faded, and she fell in line with her companions.
The trio made their way through the busy dock district and into the town square. Traders yelled at merchants. Merchants yelled back. The smell of fish and unbathed crews floated in the air. The marketplace in the town square, though also crowded, churned mildly in comparison. Children’s laughter tinkled as they chased each other, weaving in and out of the shoppes.
The smells of pastries and other delicacies made the next two hours barely tolerable. Lan’s pockets were empty, as was Caera’s apron. Gráinne hadn’t carried coins with her since she was a young woman roaming the marketplace with her cousin. The trio dared not open the chest in public, no matter their hunger, so their stomachs rumbled and taunted them while Lan spoke with one merchant after another until he found one who took them to a respectable inn located in a quiet part of town.
At the Port Firth Inn, the trio met its roly poly innkeeper, a human named John Baston. Freckles speckled his shiny nose and rosy cheeks, toning them down, while sun-bleached strands of blonde, obversely, lit up his dull brown hair. His soft belly jostled when he walked and when he laughed, which was often. John found humor in everything and asked no questions, the latter of which suited Gráinne just fine.
Lan paid the innkeeper for two rooms, one for the females and one for himself. “We need to send a message to someone at the docks.”
“Riley!” the innkeeper shouted.
A lanky boy of ten years with cheeks as rosy as his father’s appeared in the doorway. “Aye, Papa?”
Lan spoke up. “Find Tell Bravin, the Captain of the ship that docked this morning, and tell him we have found lodging at your father’s inn.”
“Aye,” the boy replied.
The most pressing business taken care of, Lan suggested they eat and decide on a plan of action. Their trunks arrived during the meal, and Lan left the dining hall to direct their placement. When he returned, they resumed planning in private, interrupted only once when the innkeeper’s chunky wife, Marta, appeared from the kitchen with apple tarts fresh from the morning’s market. Noon slipped into late afternoon.
By the time they’d finished the apple tarts, the three had agreed on plans for the current and next day. In the morning, Lan would go with Tell to the Harbour Master to investigate hiring a larger ship. Caera and Gráinne would stay together and visit the guild houses, the most likely places to find tradesmen. They would spend the remainder of the evening and night bathing and fulfilling their longing to lie in soft, unmoving beds.
The last of the three to bathe, Gráinne took a deep breath, drawing in air heavy with steam and the scent of lavender Marta had added to the bath. The lavender masked the smell of sea salt that had melted off her skin and into the water. As she slid her arms into the white cotton sleeping gown, she savored its light weight and softness. She’d never considered a sleeping gown a luxury until she’d slept in heavy dresses and riding gear in her own bed and aboard the ship. She left the bathing room reluctantly and tiptoed into the room she and Caera shared. The cook, asleep in the bed farthest from the door, breathed quietly, her shoulders rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm. Gráinne crawled under the quilt in her own bed and settled her head on the feather pillow. Through a crack in the heavy drapes that Marta had drawn when she made down the beds for the night, Gráinne saw a sliver of the moon. Its buttery fullness had already begun to wane. “Mother, help me find them,” she whispered, drifting off to sleep.
It was the first time Gráinne had dreamed since she’d had the visions during Slyxx’s attacks. Although she recognized what she saw as a dream, she also had the certain feeling that awakening from it wouldn’t happen until the dream was finished. She was its captive, held somewhere between sleep and consciousness.
***
Dressed in the sleeping gown, she stood in a forest meadow, her bare feet hidden by swaying dense ferns tickling her calves. A woman dressed in a white robe stepped into the clearing. She had perfectly matching warm, chestnut brown eyes and hair. “Let us walk, child,” the woman spoke. Her tone was as comforting as the stillness of the forest. The two walked slowly, side-by-side, until they came to a small brook. It trickled over pebbles, its path widening and narrowing as it carved its way past foliage and trees.
“You have determination,” the woman said. “It comes naturally to our kind, in more ways for some than for others. You will never have your cousin’s diversity.” The woman looked into Gráinne’s eyes and smiled. “Nor need you have it to do what you must. And that is what you must leave behind, Morgraine. To do what you must.”
Gráinne thought about her cousin, who Shifted unreservedly. In their play, Gráinne had seen Annie change into a panther, a crow, a calico cat, a falcon, a dapple mare, a mouse, and even a giant butterfly with orange wings and black spots. She suspected Annie could Shift into any creature, and she envied tha
t gift. To understate the truth, Gráinne’s ability to Shift was limited. While her cousin could choose which animal to become and do so gracefully, Gráinne’s Shifting occurred only when she felt enraged or threatened. Even then, the Shift occurred awkwardly and sometimes failed or wore off. More than once Gráinne had found her human form falling from a tree limb her liger form had climbed.
“You have your own gifts,” the woman continued, “and you must find them and choose how to use them. You are what your mother chose.”
Gráinne felt she’d had this discussion before. “I do not understand.”
The woman smiled again and continued walking, following the brook’s winding path. Gráinne walked beside her. When the robed figure stopped and looked down, so did Gráinne.
In the brook, a bright red ladybug with playful green spots on her back crept along atop a small pebble. A stronger trickle of water suddenly rolled the pebble, and the ladybug fell into the water. Gráinne gasped and bent to retrieve the bug, which struggled to stay afloat. The woman’s hand forcefully grasped her arm.
“Save her, but do not put your hand in the water.”
Gráinne’s face twisted into the horror she felt at such cruelty. Her gaze searched for a twig the ladybug could climb onto, but she saw none. Panic seized her.
“Concentrate. Move the water away from her,” the woman said.
Gráinne took a deep breath and pulled her arm out of the woman’s grasp. She turned her palms face up over the brook and slowly began to move her arms upward. Unsure of why she was doing what she was doing, a feeling nagged her that it was the right thing to do. Her eyes widened as she saw droplets of water rising and becoming mist.
The ladybug, flipped onto its back by the current, struggled to right itself, but was still drowning.
Gráinne strained to concentrate on moving more of the water. The brook responded as its trickle bowed and curved over the ladybug, flowing through Gráinne’s hands and leaving the creature in a dry bed. Gráinne held her breath as she waited for the ladybug to move.
It didn’t.
“All living things must choose their paths,” the woman said.
Gráinne lost her concentration, and the water crashed into the dry bed, washing the insect into the torrent. “The ladybug chose to drown?” she snapped.
“No, child,” the woman answered patiently. “She chose to give you a chance to learn.”
***
Gráinne awoke with a start.
“Good morning, ma’am.”
Gráinne turned her head to see Caera standing near the window, peering out through the crack in the drapes.
“I hope I did not wake you. You were sleeping so peacefully.”
Gráinne felt anything but peaceful. She seethed with anger, but she couldn’t explain to Caera why and saw no reason to take out her anger on the cook. She feigned a smile and rose from the bed. “There is much to do today. I will be down for breakfast, and then we will set off.”
Caera took the hint and left the room carrying with her a small purse on a string.
Gráinne dressed in a gown she considered moderate, neither too rich nor too simple. The only guests in the inn, Marta had told them she would leave breakfast in the kitchen, so Gráinne went in search of the kitchen. Lan and Caera had just finished their breakfasts when she peered around the door into the room. Not particularly hungry, she took a seat and drank a glass of milk. A speckled apple in a bowl on the table tempted her, so she scooped it up and chomped on it. “I will need some silver to carry with me. Just a small amount,” she said to Lan. She wasn’t sure they’d be anywhere near the marketplace by the time hunger hit her, but if so, she didn’t want a repeat of the previous day’s frustration over an inability to buy food.
Lan reached into his pocket and pulled out a purple cloth pouch, dangling it in front of her by the strings that drew it closed. “Put this somewhere out of sight,” he said, flashing a glance at her bosom.
Caera piped up, “I can carry it in my apron if you would like.” She patted the front pocket of the green apron tied around the waist of a crimson dress with green trim at the neck, cuffs, and hem.
“That might be best,” Gráinne pulled at the scooped neck of her dress and looked down.
“It would just fall through.” Caera giggled.
Lan tossed the pouch onto the table as if it were tainted, sending Caera and Gráinne into fits of laughter.
As planned, Lan set off to meet Tell, and the two females headed toward the town center, following the directions John had given them. Along the way, they marveled at the neat rows of houses, some with little shoppes at ground level and fluffy coverlets gasping for air as they lay draped across the window sills of living spaces above the shoppes. They passed children playing in gardens while their mothers beat rugs hanging over ropes stretched taut between wooden posts. Some of the mothers nodded or smiled as the strangers strolled by them. Others eyed the pair cautiously, casting watchful glances toward their children. The latter reminded Gráinne of the woman and child she’d seen trampled by the mercenary’s steed in Incorrigible. She wondered if she had known them.
The mason’s guild was their first stop. A looming stone structure, the hall itself presented a fine example of the detailed work of well-trained masons. A layered stone arch made of three rows of carvings framed its door. The first row had reliefs of masons doing the tasks of their trade—hauling stone, breaking up large boulders, chiseling, and building walls. The second row had reliefs of public figures associated with justice in one form or another, such as magistrates, jailers, councilmen, and executioners. The final row had reliefs of religious figures performing rituals with incense and candles, blessing babies, and saying prayers over the dead. All the figures were males, and none had hair, or if they did, their hats hid it from view.
The hair on Gráinne’s neck stood on end as they passed through the archway. No more than two steps inside, a gruff male—bald, lanky, with pointy ears, and not much taller than John’s ten year-old son—met them.
“You need somethin’?” he barked.
Caera stopped and looked at Gráinne.
Towering over the man, Gráinne looked down at him and smiled sweetly, though she wanted to smack the top of his bald head for his rudeness. “Aye, we were just admiring the stonework. It is beautiful.”
“So, whaddoo you want?” he replied as if she’d not spoken a word.
If pleasantry didn’t work, then Gráinne would have to try another method of getting what she needed. “We have come to speak to the Guild Master about masons seeking work,” she replied with an air of formality.
“He ain’t here.”
Gráinne took a slow breath before speaking again. “Have you any idea where we might find him?”
“No.”
Gráinne’s patience thinned with the man’s rudeness. “When will he return?”
“Id’n know.”
Hold your tongue, Ginny. “Who does?” she asked more sharply.
“Id’n know.”
That was it. She’d had it with the little man. Gráinne bent down and stared him straight in his beady eyes. “Just what do you know?”
“I know you’re womenfolk,” he said, gesturing wildly at them and stepping back, “and I know you’re not s’posed to be in here! That’s what I know!”
The words stunned Gráinne. She straightened up and looked at Caera. “We are leaving. Somewhere there are masons who do want to work.” She turned, angry and frustrated, and bumped into the body of a male her size. His presence startled her, and she wondered how long he’d been standing there.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, leaning around Gráinne to see the gruff man.
“These here ladies were lookin’ for you.”
When the man straightened and looked up, his eyes met Gráinne’s mere inches away, staring directly into his eyes and clearly not pleased. He stepped back and gave a slight bow from the waist. “I am Marlot, the Guild Master. How may I help you?�
�
The little man interrupted. “You’re gunna let ‘em stay in here?”
Gráinne waited for an answer and watched Marlot’s reaction. She wanted to know what this Marlot thought about womenfolk in the guild hall.
He motioned toward the archway. “Perhaps we should speak outside.”
Gráinne summoned the sweetest smile she could and thought about the Enchantress whose voice she’d loved enough to spend time training her own voice to imitate it, much to the dismay of her parents and grandparents. “As tempting as that is, Guild Master Marlot,” she said, seduction infusing every syllable, particularly his name. She took Caera by the hand and dropped the imitation. “I think not.” Gráinne sidestepped Marlot and practically marched through the archway. She continued down the road to the next guild house with Caera in tow, both furious. “How dare they!”
“Maybe we should send Lan?” Caera squeaked out.
Gráinne dropped Caera’s hand, no longer angry because shock had replaced the fury she felt at the treatment they’d received. “Caera, you cannot mean that.”
“I just think if we want masons, we might need to send Lan to negotiate with them.”
“We . . . Incorrigible . . . does not need masons like those, Caera. The women of Incorrigible do not need men like those men. That is the same kind of treatment my ancestors fled during the Sieges, except then it was Shifters who could not enter places, conduct trade, or even handfast with another Shifter without permission.”
“I am sorry, ma’am. I should have realized,” Caera said, looking down.
Gráinne simply could not remain angry with Caera. “You stood up to Lan when he tried to stop me from coming on the ship. Why would you let those men control us?”
“They would be working for us, ma’am. It seems a minor point who hires them. Besides, Lan is a good negotiator.”
Gráinne could understand Caera’s logic, but something about it didn’t feel right. She didn’t want to make Caera feel bad. She could appreciate the cook’s focus on gaining what they needed, but Gráinne couldn’t accept men treating women as the masons had just treated them. She’d have to find other means of meeting their needs. “I see your point. How is this then? If we cannot find masons to do the work, we will send Lan to speak to Marlot and his troll. But . . . we look for others first?”
The Dragon Writers Collection Page 113