The Baker's Wife--complete

by Amy Keeley

  With a brief smile, as if he knew why she was there, she felt the spell retract, and he walked on.

  Without thought, her hand passed over the lock on her window to check it. As if that would keep her safe. She snatched it back before she could try it. The Dog might be watching for just such an action. And yet, she knew she couldn’t sleep if she didn’t have some assurance that this place was safe, that, if she didn’t do as the King commanded, there was something, no matter how feeble, standing between her and the storm that would cause.

  In spite of the hatred she knew Daegan felt toward her, she wrapped her cloak around her shoulders for modesty’s sake and crossed the hall to his room. Knocking lightly, she was only somewhat surprised by how quickly he answered.

  Hair disheveled, he glared at her with groggy eyes. “My window,” she said, and decided that honesty would work best. “There was a Dog.”

  His glare softened, and, without a word, he walked to her room, slowly. As he walked, he took note of things she couldn’t see, and brushed his hands against various parts of the wall. It was only when he got to her window that he said anything. “Did he look at you?” He examined the lock briefly with one wave of the hand. She could feel the lock tug at his gesture, tightening.

  “Yes.”

  “Must have been your ruse earlier with that lock.” Had Zhiv told him that? His glare once more fixed in place toward her, his words were softer than she expected. “Though I would love for this to be your fault, the Dogs come by here regularly. Especially when Parlay is gone. Best get used to it.”

  She nodded, biting her tongue regarding how much he wished it was her fault that the Dog had visited. “What are they looking for?”

  And with a look that unsettled her far more than she expected, he said, “The same thing you are, probably.”

  “I don’t—”

  He stared hard at her, and she found she couldn’t lie. Hoping she wasn’t as pale as she felt, she watched as he went back to his room, closing the door with a finality that made it clear she was not to knock again unless it was an emergency.

  But the Dog had unsettled her. Thinking she would be able to sleep, she had left the few items she had brought with her from Lejer’s house inside her bag, to wait until the morning. Restless, she got them out now. She’d only brought one dress, good for New Moon when the Disciples spoke—though not nearly as fine as what she’d worn at the Felldesh manor, it was a very flattering shade of green, and laced prettily up the front making it easy to adjust—plus two plain wool skirts with two blouses and two blue sashes. Though the wardrobe in her room was obviously built to accommodate far more than her meager collection, she opened the door and cringed as it began to squeak. Placing her hand over it, she felt for the rust and brushed off what she could without making the spell strong enough to attract attention. It’s a sad state, she thought, when house magic can make a person nervous. The hinge still complained, but not nearly as loud.

  Placing her dress and skirts on the hooks inside, she realized there was something written, no, carved on the inside of the wardrobe. Taking a King’s Light from the wall, she held it up inside the wardrobe. In plain Tothsin, it said, “There are truths that are but tokens.” Part of an old saying Zhiv had added to his message, sent by Byor. She touched it, amazed someone would write that on the inside of an ordinary wardrobe. At her touch, she felt the back of the wardrobe move.

  She pressed it, and it dropped. Putting the King’s Light back in its sconce, she tried to feel out what she now knew was a false panel. With a little work, and a few scraped knuckles, she managed to remove it.

  In front of her was a small door, built into the back of the wardrobe. A simple wooden lock held it closed. She felt inside for pins and found the lock was simpler than ones she’d worked before. It didn’t take long for her to undo it. The door opened, but all she could see was darkness.

  Taking the King’s Light from the wall once more, she rearranged the pillows so anyone who entered would think she was asleep, then went through the wardrobe, closing the door almost completely, and the now unlocked door not at all.

  All around her was dust and cobwebs, as if the room had been long forgotten. Along the walls were various pieces of furniture and chests which she could only assume held family heirlooms or extra curtains that had been long forgotten. Pictures sat in the corner, leaning against each other like slices of bread on a plate, though more upright. There were no windows in this room. No doors, either, except for the one she’d come through.

  This must be a storeroom, she thought, but why hide it? It must contain valuables if it’s hidden, but the lock was simple enough to open. Wouldn’t a locksmith have all sorts of heavy locks on anything of value?

  Chests with the lock symbol inscribed on the sign outside the house piled up in a corner opposite the pictures. Something glittered among them in the light she’d brought. Coming closer, she saw a dagger, inscribed with Ornic characters. Reaching out slowly, alert for both spells and spiders, she felt nothing as she gripped it. Pulling it out, she saw a word she remembered from when she’d opened the Felldesh door with Zhiv. “Okya,” she whispered.

  The characters flamed to life, and the image of a sun briefly appeared in her mind.

  Her breath caught. Of course. She fought to remember any other words he’d said when they were opening the door. “Okya...Okyahusan?” And suddenly she could see a brilliant field of stars, a brilliant sun glowing bright at the center and she felt the world turning under her feet.

  The characters glowed brightly, joined by others nearby, and then light seemed to come from inside the blade itself.

  The Dogs watch this house, she thought, and, in spite of her fascination, tried to find a way to stop the spell that she’d begun.

  They’ve already watched it, and the King said he’s tried to convince them not to pry too much. Still, her movements were hurried as she looked the blade over. When she pointed it at the chests, light shot out, a spell wrapping around one of them, deep inside the pile, and she felt the lock unwork itself. Moving the chests carefully, she put the dagger in her sash and looked over the contents of the one she’d inadvertently unlocked. Something flat and rectangular sat in one corner, wrapped in cloth and spells that she’d never encountered and couldn’t describe if she tried. All she knew was that the spells swirled under the cloth, and did not seem to be a trap or a warning. They felt more like a containment of some sort. Next to the rectangular, cloth-covered item was a folded paper, rather large, judging by the size of it and the number of folds.

  Opening it up, she gasped as she saw the whole of the land on it. And markings. Red and green and blue markings and none of it made any sense. There was one red marking in the castle here at Hurush, but another up in the great mountains near the head of the powerful river Naryaset, and another in the Plains of Belgeriand far off in the west. And near the red mountain marking was a green marking as well as a blue marking, as if all three belonged to the same location.

  Folding it up, she put it back in the chest. For a long while, she simply looked at the inside. With the exception of the unique locking mechanism, there was nothing particularly secure about this stash. And the cloth-covered item unnerved her. She’d never seen a spell like that.

  If I take it, they’ll know who it was, she thought, considering what to do. But if I don’t take it, I might never be able to find it again.

  And if I look under the cloth (she very much wanted to look) I might end up in worse trouble than I can handle right now.

  Reaching out towards the item, she placed her hand on it. And knew it belonged to Zhiv. She could feel his presence almost as clearly as if he stood next to her, and she felt once more that focus, that drive that she’d felt in the note he’d given her. What was he planning, this minstrel who held such love for the past?

  The lock got her attention next. Locking it up was probably similar to unlocking it: all she needed was a keyword, and that keyword was likely not the same one that o
pened it. Picking up the dagger, she examined the characters. If only she knew them as well as Zhiv. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the words he’d used that night, but nothing else came to mind. She tried the words that had opened it and, and confirmed they weren’t the ones she needed.

  Frustrated with her inability, she closed the chest and put it back as best she could in the pile, unlocked. Streaks in the dust showed where she had touched it. Using a small bit of housekeeping magic, she reversed the dusting spell, moving the dust until it covered the streaks, making it seem as if no one had ever been near. She set the dagger, which she now realized had been nearly free of dust, in its former spot among the chests and tried to mimic its previous, almost dustless, state as best she could.

  And hopefully, she thought as she did the same for her footprints, the feel of the magic will have disappeared by the time anyone enters this room again.

  At the desk she paused, then opened the thin drawer in the front. It opened easily, too easily, and inside she found a collection of unbound papers, as if hastily shoved inside. On top, she found one with Ornic characters next to the more common Tothsin. An alphabet. He knows them so well, she thought, he won’t come back to look for this. Dust sat on the drawer, as untouched as any item in the room.

  But he may, she considered. Searching for a blank piece of paper, she found one. She searched for a bottle of ink and found that as well, though the ink was almost dry. Laying the blank piece on top of the other, she used a spell Lejer had taught her for days when they needed a copy of a receipt for their records. She took a small drop of ink from the bottle, pinching it off from the rest with only a gesture of her fingers, and held it above the paper. With a wave between the two, she placed a spell that would catch the ink and send it to all the places on the empty paper that matched the one underneath. Before long, she was blowing the ink on her copy dry, while the original sat in its original place in the drawer.

  It was small magic this, barely noticeable, even if you were in the same room. Nothing like the many layers of spells around Zhiv’s room. And yet, she prayed the feel of it would dissipate soon.

  Climbing back through the wardrobe, she brushed the dust out of her hair and off her clothes before getting dressed for bed. She also made sure the false back was firmly in place, though she thought it odd that it felt weak to the touch. Too obvious, and she wondered briefly if that was how Zhiv or Daegan wanted it.

  For a long time she sat and stared at the alphabet, trying to memorize the characters. It wouldn’t help her much if she encountered words. She wouldn’t know what she was saying. But it was a start.

  And why would you want to learn? she wondered as she paused above one particularly beautiful character, one that had formed the word “okya.” Sun. They tried to burn the world. Why would you want to learn their words?

  They’re beautiful, she thought. And she remembered sitting in the meadow, practicing with locks and reading about locks and talking with Zhiv. And remembered how little he thought of a world where some magics were forbidden simply because of your trade or who you married.

  But there are reasons for these laws, part of her countered. There are reasons death is given to those who break them, and there are reasons anyone should be horrified that you have a piece of Ornic thought in your hands, even if it’s only meaningless characters.

  They’re just letters, she tried to tell herself. And besides, even if I could read them, that doesn’t mean I’m to burn the world with them.

  It was with these thoughts swirling through her head that she heard the front door open and close below. There was no sound on the stairs. No steps. And yet, she remembered that Zhiv could move silently if he wished. It didn’t surprise her when she felt the spell surrounding his room shift and felt multiple locks uncurl themselves in his door, then re-curl and the layers re-form.

  Those who search for the old ways follow them, she remembered the King saying. Folding the paper carefully, she put it in her bag inside the cup with her lock. Might as well keep all my secrets in one place, she decided, and tried to get some sleep.

  Far off, softer than during the day, she heard the bell of the clock tower sound out three times. Was it that late?

  The layers surrounding Zhiv’s room began to tremble. She got up and pressed her hand against the wall that adjoined her room to his. Nothing. Perhaps, she thought, it was my imagination. Perhaps I’m more tired than I think.

  And so, she got back in bed and stayed there until she woke up to the feel of the layered spells straining against whatever they contained. Concerned at the way they shook, she put her hand against the wall and knew, without touching, that something was pushing violently against them.

  Throwing her cloak around her shoulders for modesty, and grabbing a King’s Light from the wall, she raced to Zhiv’s door. She felt the warning trip as she passed it, but didn’t care. Knocking, she said, “Parlay? Are you all right?”

  Whatever pressed against the spell eased. The trembling faded. And through the door, she heard Zhiv say, “Goodwife? Are you awake already?”

  You woke me up, she almost said. “I couldn’t sleep well.”

  There was a long silence, longer than she expected. Then he said, “I’m fine. Sorry to have woken you. I’ll explain tomorrow.”

  She thought of his secrets and what the King had wanted to know. “It’s all right. As long as you’re fine.”

  “No.” Another long silence. “I’ll explain tomorrow, goodwife. I promise.”

  She remembered how little a promise meant to him and smirked. “G’night, then.”

  “G’night.”

  You don’t sound fine, she thought, looking behind her at his door. Whatever had pushed against the layers hadn’t returned. Going back to her room, she wondered what kind of lie Zhiv would give her tomorrow to explain it. Perhaps something like, I was practicing my spells and didn’t want my minstrel secrets to fall into the wrong hands.

  That might not be too far off, she considered. Where would Zhiv Mikailsin practice if not here in the house of Daegan Jixsin and “Parlay the Fiddler”? It could be that all those layers were simply to hide that fact. If the King asks me, she decided, that’s what I’ll tell him. She wouldn’t tell him about the map, or the cloth-covered item in the chest. Or the Ornic alphabet.

  Another scratch at her window and she saw a piece of paper flapping against it, tucked into the corner so that a little stuck into her room. Feeling as if there was no protection, she managed to pull it the rest of the way through. Afraid of what she might see, she looked at the street and saw the same Dog as before, grinning at her now before walking off once more.

  Opening up the paper, the note was written in a neat, measured hand, one used to much writing and the necessity of clarity when it wrote. My dear, it read, do not be surprised if Daegan is called to the castle tomorrow. And do not be surprised if I ask for you as well. Do not worry, though I will use the reason of your husband for the call. All will end well. Jivon the Wise, blessed by Toth.

  She blinked. This had to be the King. He’d said he commanded the Dogs and it was definitely a Dog who had been here, twice now, and one that had waited until she had the note.

  She rubbed her face, hard. Sleep. That’s what she needed. Too little food and too little sleep and she would start doubting everything around her and jumping at the slightest sound.

  Crawling into bed, she tried to ignore the unfamiliar noise of the city, cringing when the clock tower struck five. But it took almost until the next ringing of the hour before sleep finally claimed and relaxed her. Somewhat.

  ***

  The next morning, she woke long after the sun had risen. Jumping out of bed, she hurried into her clothes, almost as panicked as when she’d been terrified Lejer would throw the ailing Zhiv out of their house. She was supposed to be their housekeeper, wasn’t she? Straightening her room—and making sure, once more, that the panel was safely back in place in the wardrobe—she went downstairs where the sme
ll of food drifted from the kitchen.

  However, from her spot at the foot of the stairs, she couldn’t see anyone in the kitchen. Up above, she heard heavy steps and Daegan, without even a glance in her direction, walked past to the room with the locks on the table, wearing his apron.

  “I’m sorry I overslept,” she said.

  “Food’s on the table.” And that seemed to be the end of whatever he expected from her.

  In spite of how much he reminded her of Lejer, she forced herself to say, “Thank you,” before going into the kitchen to eat. They don’t need a housekeeper, she thought, looking at the perfectly made bacon and eggs, a slab of bread with butter and jam sitting beside them. Clean house, good food...what do they need me to do? I can’t even provide a decent sham for them. Still, she managed to eat and then cleaned up, going over what she could find to tidy without making the kitchen her own.

  A demanding knock rattled the door. Krysilla jumped and got up to answer it. Daegan was there first. And yet, he only opened the door a crack. He opened it wide for me, she remembered. “May I help you?”

  “An invitation from the King,” she heard a man say on the other side. “He requests your presence at your earliest convenience.”

  Daegan took the small envelope offered, bowed slightly at the waist, and shut the door. Taking off his apron, he hung it on a peg in the room with the table full of locks. He opened the letter as he went upstairs, his steps slowing until they stopped entirely.

  Krysilla waited, knowing what he read.

  “Circle—!” Whatever he had begun to yell was strangled up in his obvious attempt at self-control. “Goodwife Gillasin?” he called out.

  She didn’t move from the kitchen. “Yes?”

  Let him come to me, she thought, remembering how often she had jumped at the sound of Lejer’s voice. After a brief pause, Daegan came back down the stairs, glaring at her with even more hatred than before, if that were possible. “You’re invited. You can go as you are, but I recommend getting into your good dress. I’ll wait.”