[Lyra 02] - Daughter of Witches

by Patricia C. Wrede - (ebook by Undead)

  Daughter

  of

  Witches

  Lyra - 02

  Patricia C. Wrede

  (An Undead Scan v1.7)

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  The sun was already high in the sky as Ranira hurried across the bridge toward the Temple of Chaldon, cursing the innkeeper Lykken to whom she was bonded. How like him to send her on a long errand just before her half-holiday! Bond servants were only entitled to half a day of free time every three weeks; she would be lucky to have an hour to herself by the time she finished at the Temple.

  Muttering behind the veil that covered her face from the eyes down, Ranira wove expertly through the narrow, crowded streets of Drinn. Why did the fat fool have to wait until the day before Festival to make this week’s offering? It was going to take her twice as long as usual. And all because Lykken couldn’t bear to part with a copper until he was forced into it.

  At last she reached the heavy, wrought-iron gates of the Temple courtyard. Eyes lowered, she waited her turn to step up to the two armored Watchmen at the gate. Then she bowed her head and said ritually, “I come to the great Temple to give thanks and offerings from the Inn of Nine Doors and to receive humbly the words of the god.”

  “Enter-for-what-the-god-gives,” a guard responded in a bored monotone. Ranira bowed again and passed through the gate. Inside the courtyard it was less crowded, and the girl quickened her step. She hated the gloom of the Temple, and spent as little time there as she could without arousing suspicion. Still, some attendance in addition to the mandatory rituals was a good idea; she had no wish to be accused of heresy or witchcraft.

  Her first stop was the offering booth, halfway around the courtyard. The line was long; Lykken was not the only shopkeeper in Drinn who paid the required offerings at the last possible moment. After twenty minutes of standing, her legs began to ache, and she tried to shift her weight unobtrusively from one foot to the other to ease her muscles. The only noticeable result was a disapproving stare from one of the Templemen. When she realized that she had been seen, she abandoned her efforts to make herself more comfortable and concentrated on an appropriately pious demeanor instead. The guard turned in another direction, and Ranira breathed an inward sigh of relief.

  After another half hour of waiting, she reached the dour-faced priest who had charge of the large iron coinbox and the black ledger in which the offering was recorded. Ranira handed him the little bag of copper and silver pieces that represented one out of every five earned by the Inn of Nine Doors. The priest raised an eyebrow when he saw the iron bracelets that marked Ranira as a bondwoman, but he made no comment as he noted the offering and made out a receipt. When he handed the paper to her, she bowed with careful respect.

  As she turned away from the offering booth, Ranira sighed. Half the business was done, but nearly an hour and a half of her precious afternoon was gone as well. She turned toward the booth where the business of the Midwinter Festival was being conducted, and shuddered. The line there was twice the length of the one she had just gone through. Muttering curses once more, she made her way across the courtyard to the end of the line.

  At least this part of her errand would be as unwelcome to Lykken as giving up one of his precious silver pieces, she thought. The Temple required all merchants and innkeepers in the city to provide a certain amount of free food and housing for the pilgrims to the Midwinter Festival. Theoretically, this was to furnish a place for the poorer folk from outside the city, but, in truth, most of the free goods went to friends of Temple personnel. She hoped vindictively that Lykken’s list of required services would be a long one.

  It was another hour and a half before Ranira finally finished her business with the priests. With a sigh of relief, she turned toward the gates once more. If she hurried, she could reach the inn in time to deliver the list and still get a little of her time off. Once she was free to do as she pleased, Ranira vowed silently, she wouldn’t go back until midnight, even if it meant a beating. It would serve Lykken right if he had to clean the kitchen himself!

  As she walked toward the gate, she noticed one of the priests staring in her direction. He was older than most of the others, and the greying of his black hair around his temples lent an air of intensity to the angular planes of his face. Ranira shivered and ducked her head quickly, hoping she had not accidentally broken one of the many Temple rules. No guard accosted her, however, and she reached the street without incident.

  The crowded streets were difficult to negotiate with any speed. The pilgrims, come to Drinn for the Midwinter Festival of Chaldon, were depressingly alike in their black and brown robes. Occasionally Ranira saw the bright flash of a Trader’s cloak among the drab gowns, but such glimpses were few. No one from outside the Empire of Chaldreth was allowed inside Drinn during the seven days of the Midwinter Festival, and most of the visitors had already left the city. The few foreigners that remained would be gone by evening.

  The main bridge across the river Annylith was even more crowded than the streets, though it was more than three times as wide. Ranira frowned. For a moment she was tempted to try one of the smaller bridges, but walking down to another bridge would take almost as much time as waiting at this one. Resignedly, she joined the crowd inching its way across the river.

  By the time she reached the inn, it was late afternoon. She found Lykken in the large room that served as meeting place and dining hall for the inn’s patrons. She stood waiting until he noticed her and came puffing over.

  “And where have you been so long?” he demanded as soon as he was within earshot. “With Festival tomorrow there’s work to be done! Let’s see the receipt; you’d rob me to ruin if you could.”

  Silently, Ranira handed him the first of the papers she had collected at the Temple. Lykken stared at it, screwing up his face as if to express the mental effort involved in extracting meaning from the small black marks on the page. At last he nodded reluctantly over the receipt, and without waiting to be asked, Ranira handed him the second list.

  “Ah, they will ruin me!” he said after another minute’s concentration. “Three rooms and food and drink for ten people. It is not possible!” Ranira grinned maliciously to herself, carefully keeping her eyes lowered so that Lykken would not guess the satisfaction she hid behind her veil. The Temple requirements would not ruin the fat innkeeper by any means, but they would put a substantial dent in one of the man’s dearest possessions—his pocketbook.

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” Lykken said, looking up. “Get to work! I didn’t buy you to loaf, and you still have two years before your bond is paid. Don’t start acting as though it’s canceled already.”

  “It is the day of my half-holiday,” Ranira reminded him.

  Lykken paused. “Yes, and it was not well done of you to take it before returning the receipts to me,” he said after a moment. “Someone might have stolen them! Still, I am generous; I will not report it this time.”

  “I have had no holiday, as you may guess,” Ranira said, trying hard to keep her temper in check. “I am asking now only for what is my right.”

  The innkeeper’s eyes narrowed. “All this time on one small errand?” he asked in mock disbelief. “No, you must be mistaken! Now, go on with your work! You have wasted enough time.”

  “My half-holiday is today,” she repeated stubbornly.

  “I am owner of this inn, not you! A lazy bondwoman has no right to a holiday if her work time is not properly employed. Be off; there are fires to lay before the guests return for the night!”

  “I work harder than you do, you fat idiot!” Ranira shouted. “You sent me to the Temple on purpose, to cheat
me of my time. Well, I won’t be cheated! You have no right!”

  The innkeeper’s face turned purple. “I am your bondholder, and I have the rights I choose!” he shouted. “You will learn your place, girl!”

  Ranira did not quite manage to duck the heavy hand that swung with surprising speed in her direction, and she was knocked backward into one of the tables. Thrown off balance by the collision, she was unable to avoid the second blow, and she fell to the floor. Winded and dazed, she was hard put to protect her head from the continued pounding.

  A cool voice broke through the haze of pain that surrounded her. “Innkeeper Lykken? If we may interrupt?”

  As suddenly as it had begun, the beating stopped. After a moment, Ranira shook her head experimentally. Nothing rattled, so she looked up.

  A tall, blond man dressed entirely in green leather stood near the entrance of the room. Beside him was a woman with black hair and grey eyes, wrapped in a fine wool cape of pale blue-grey. The short veil she wore identified her as one of the rare female visitors from outside the Empire of Chaldreth. Her presence was surprising; foreigners rarely patronized the Inn of Nine Doors.

  Lykken was hurrying toward them, all interest in Ranira gone. “Gracious sir, gentle madam, what service may I give you?”

  To Ranira’s surprise, it was the woman who answered. “One of my escort has fallen ill. I wish to rent a room where he can rest for a few hours before we must leave the city.”

  “So close to the Midwinter Festival there are few rooms,” Lykken lied. “But perhaps we can find something that will be suitable.” He turned and scowled at his bond servant. “Get up, girl! The gentlefolk will have the red room, at the rear, where it is quiet.”

  Ranira climbed to her feet and began hastily straightening her veil. As she did so, she saw a strange look pass between the two foreigners. “I think something upstairs would be better,” the man said. “The corner room, perhaps, where the windows can catch the breeze.”

  “There are but three of you?” Lykken said, allowing a note of doubt to creep into his voice. “The room is large for so few, and with the Festival pilgrims already crowding the city…”

  The blond man shrugged. “Our gold is as yellow as any other, and we only plan to be here for an hour or two. Still, a little extra might be appropriate for your trouble.” He named a sum nearly twice the worth of the room for a whole night.

  Lykken nodded numbly, and motioned to the two to follow him. The woman stepped forward, while her companion disappeared through the open doorway, returning with a slender youth who moaned in spite of the slow, careful pace the blond man set. Ranira watched in fascination as they climbed the steps behind Lykken. Before she could decide whether to follow the fascinating foreigners or to disappear while she had the chance, Lykken’s head reappeared at the top of the stairs. “Water and clean cloths for the gentlefolk. And bring a firebox as well,” he hissed. “And don’t be slow about it!”

  Ranira turned slowly toward the kitchen. There was no chance of getting any part of her holiday now, but she found herself more interested in the strangers than in brooding. Ever since her childhood, Ranira had been fascinated by tales of the world outside the Empire of Chaldreth, but the chances offered to a bond servant to indulge such unprofitable and doctrinally suspect interests were few. She would enjoy serving the foreigners for the few hours they remained in Drinn, and if they proved generous enough to put Lykken in a good mood, she might even get back a little free time during the Festival.

  Unreasonably cheered by these reflections, Ranira grabbed a water bucket from its place beside the door and stepped out into the alley behind the inn. The first of the big water jars was nearly empty, and she frowned as she replaced the heavy lid. Though there were five jars standing against the back wall of the inn, Lykken paid the water carters to fill only three regularly. If the first was empty already, the inn might well run short of water before the carters made their next rounds in the morning. With a shrug, Ranira dismissed the problem; if Lykken wanted to save coppers by shorting the water supply, he, not she, would have to deal with the angry patrons.

  Picking up the bucket, she stepped toward the second jar and reached for the lid, wincing as she stretched recently beaten muscles. Just as she lifted the cover, she heard a whisper behind her.

  “Psst! Renra!”

  Ranira whirled and almost dropped the lid. “Shandy! Don’t sneak up on me like that. If I break one of these lids, Lykken will have the cost added to my bond, and two more years is enough to be stuck here.”

  A small, dirty figure materialized out of an impossibly tiny space between two walls. “Ah, Renra, I just wanted to be sure he wasn’t around. Get anything good on your free day?”

  “I didn’t have one,” Ranira said with renewed bitterness as she reached for her water bucket. “Lykken sent me to the Temple with the week’s offering just before noon, and with the Festival crowd and everything, I didn’t get back until a little while ago.”

  “He musta been in a real mood,” Shandy said, eyeing Ranira critically. “Another day or two, and you should have some real good bruises.”

  “I wouldn’t call them good,” Ranira snapped. “And I haven’t got time to stand talking today; there are some foreigners that Lykken wants to settle in, and he’ll come looking for me if I’m not back soon.”

  The urchin’s eyes widened. “Outsiders? But Festival starts tomorrow.”

  “One got sick, and they wanted him to rest for a while. Lykken is going to take every copper he can wring out of them before they leave, too.”

  Shandy still looked worried. “But, Renra, if they don’t leave and the Temple finds out, you know what will happen. You could get in real trouble!”

  Ranira pressed her lips together tightly for a moment before she replied. “I know. But that’s Lykken’s problem, not mine. I’m only his bondwoman.”

  “Yeah, but your parents got burned for witchcraft,” Shandy reminded her unnecessarily. “The Templemen are always meaner to people with witches around.”

  “My parents weren’t witches!” Ranira said angrily. “And neither am I. The Templemen had no proof, only suspicion. You don’t have to remind me what they can do. Chaldon’s curse on the lot of them!”

  “Renra!” Shandy looked around in horror, as if he expected a Watchman or an Eye of Chaldon to materialize and arrest her at once. “You can’t curse the Temple!”

  Ranira laughed bitterly. “No, because it is cursed already.” She saw that Shandy was getting more upset, and she forced a smile. “Don’t worry. I don’t say such things to anyone except you.”

  “When you get mad you would,” Shandy insisted. “You be careful, Renra.”

  The boy’s solemn advice was too much for Ranira; she broke out laughing, and the lingering traces of her black mood vanished. “I can take care of myself, Shandy. You just make sure that none of the Watchmen catch you sneaking food out of the farmers’ stalls, or you’ll be the one in trouble.”

  “Ah, them!” Shandy said scornfully. “They’re too fat to catch me!”

  “Well, I don’t think I’ll be able to bring you anything from the kitchen today,” she said, lifting the brimming bucket onto her hip. “When Lykken has special guests, he watches everything so closely that a fly couldn’t sneak off with anything. You’ll have to steal your own dinner today.” Shandy nodded, and as Ranira reached for the door, the urchin vanished again into his own mysterious byways.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  Lykken was already in the kitchen, shouting orders at the cook, when Ranira entered. The innkeeper paused for a moment in his tirade and jerked a thumb at her. “Upstairs! And don’t forget the cloths! And be sure the fire is well lit before you return!”

  Ranira nodded and proceeded through the kitchen as rapidly as she could without spilling water from the bucket she carried. Near the far door she stopped and lowered her burden to the floor. Reaching up, she grasped one of the large pitchers that hung beside the door. She
was just about to fill it when Lykken came hurrying over.

  “No, no, not that one! It’s cracked; see, there! Find a good one, you lazy slattern, or you’ll get the beating you deserve!”

  Once more Ranira fought down anger. There were no good pitchers; Lykken refused to purchase new ones so long as those he had could hold water. Silently, she replaced the offending crockery and after a short search found one which was cracked near the handle, where it was less obvious. The innkeeper gave a cursory nod of approval when Ranira offered him the jug to inspect, and then turned back to the cook.

  She filled the pitcher as quickly as she could and left the kitchen with a sigh of relief. Once out of sight, Lykken might well forget about her for a while, and as long as she had some plausible excuse when he found her again, the innkeeper was unlikely to give her another beating. She climbed the stairs and paused in the short hallway above. A narrow chest at one side contained the cloths she needed. Ranira set the pitcher on the floor and knelt to open the chest.

  As she started to lift the lid, she heard the muffled sound of voices coming from the far side of the wall. For a moment she hesitated; then she thought she heard the sound of her own name. Leaning forward, she strained to catch the words more clearly.

  “…help everyone, Mist,” a man’s voice was saying. “Besides, if you try that in Drinn you will be arrested for witchcraft, foreigner or no.”

  “I know, Jaren, but that poor child will have bruises for a week!” a female voice responded. “She is lucky not to have any bones broken, and by the look of things, it isn’t the first time, either. Why, the innkeeper boasts of it!”

  “But is it worth the risk to try to help her now? Just being here is dangerous enough as it is.”

  “I know, and I do not wish to add to your burden,” the woman replied. “But I think there may be some talent in her that would be criminal to waste.”

  “You’d see genius in every mistreated puppy if you let yourself, Mist,” the man said. “I don’t like seeing a child in this situation either, but it is the custom here, and if we interfere now, what will we accomplish besides alienating the innkeeper?”