“No, it’s better.”
“Richard!”
“All right, now listen to this. Some years ago I was called to a house in the oldest part of Harrowsgode. The city walls have been extended many times over the years to make room as the city grew. But this, as I said, was the original part. The buildings are old and in poor repair—small doors and windows, you know, in the old style. Now this particular house was a good deal larger and handsomer than the rest. The man who lived there claimed it had once been part of the palace of old King Magnus—which was just a lot of puffery, of course.
“At any rate, the owner called me in about the rats, and I looked around the property, getting the lay of the land. The creatures had set up house all over the place: the kitchen, the storeroom, you name it; but they seemed to be coming and going from a single location, a little shed out back. I cleared away all the tools and whatnot and found a heap of rubbish, so I cleared that away, too—at which point I found their hole. They’d burrowed through the dirt, which is uncommon for rats, so I figured there must be a pipe or a drain down there, or an old sewer line, sommat like that. Naturally, I got to work with a shovel—”
“And what did you find?”
“A tunnel. Well built, too, or it had been once upon a time. It was crumbling in places, and full of mud and rubbish such as rats carry in—and the rats themselves, of course, swarms of ’em.”
“What did you do?”
“I walled the whole thing off nice and tight. If they died down there, so be it. The stink wouldn’t travel, not through all that dirt and stone.”
“And now you’re thinking that tunnel might lead under the wall. That it was built in the old days as a means of escape in the event of an attack or a siege.”
“Clever lad!”
“Richard, how did my question about your caged rats and what you intended to do with them make you think of that house and that tunnel?”
“Well, you know how a person’s mind jumps from one thing to t’other? When you asked that, it reminded me of this ratcatcher I’d heard of once who’d keep such rats as weren’t wanted for the pits and hold on to ’em. Then whenever work was slow and he was running short on cash, he’d sneak over to a bakery, say, or an inn, and let the whole lot of ’em out. He’d be guaranteed another job, see? But he got caught at it, and serves him right. Gave all of us a bad name.”
“And?”
“Then I thought it might be well to hold on to these once I’ve shown ’em to the silk merchant. They could be useful in gaining entrance to some place we might need to go, like the Magnussons’ house, for example—though there’s no point now since your sweetheart isn’t there anymore. But it did start me wondering if there were any other places that it might be advantageous to get into. And that ancient palace—which now that I think on it may really have been part of the palace—just popped right into my head.”
“Amazing.”
“Isn’t it? So, as soon as the client has counted and admired my rats, I think I’ll just run on over there and give ’em their freedom.”
“And the owner will call you, and we’ll open up the tunnel—”
“Yes, Tobias, that’s the plan. Ain’t it ingenious? As soon as I get the job, I’ll move you over there by night, and you can be useful to your heart’s content, clearing out rubbish, and reinforcing walls, and seeing how far the thing goes.”
“That’s marvelous, Richard. I shall do it gladly.”
“But?”
“Molly’s still in the tower. Have you forgotten?”
“No, I have not. But you’re safe, and we may have found a way out of the city. Is that not enough for one night? Can’t you take your miracles one at a time?”
“Richard, I shall try.”
22
The New Magus Mästare
THEY SENT LORENS to fetch Molly in the morning, apparently hoping she’d be more compliant with him than she’d been with the others. He seemed relieved to find her already dressed and seated at her desk, copying words out of a book.
“Lorens!” she said. “Where are your beautiful stars?”
“They only come out at night, cousin. This is my day robe, and here’s one for you.” Hers was made of fine wool, in a deep garnet color, not blue like his. “Let me help you put it on. Your robe of occasion should be ready by this evening. It had to be altered. They didn’t have any that were quite so small.”
“Will it have silver stars like yours?”
“No, better—you get golden sunbursts.” Then, after a pause, “Are you . . . recovered, Marguerite?”
She barked out a bitter laugh.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t told till this morning that you were here—or, well, the circumstances under which . . .”
“Never mind. I’m here now. Just tell me what happens next. I’m ready to work as they want me to—though first I’d like something to eat.”
“As it happens, I’ve come to bring you down to the hall to eat with the others if you’re willing. If not—”
“I just said I was willing, Lorens—to learn and to eat. Can’t you see I’m ready?”
“I can indeed, cousin. After you?”
The great hall was dark and gloomy, with a low arched ceiling, small windows, and a glowing brazier in the center. The walls were adorned with frescoes darkened by age and smoke, cracked and peeling in places, hard to see in the dim light.
The hall was furnished with four long tables, two on either side of the brazier, at which the Magi now sat, dressed identically in plain robes of garnet-colored wool. It felt more like a monk’s refectory than a nobleman’s dining hall—except for the fact that there were women among them.
Molly searched their faces, looking for any that might be familiar from the day before. She spotted only one, the tall man with the irritatingly pleasant voice who’d kept begging her to be calm.
“The room looks ancient,” Lorens whispered, “but it’s not. It’s an exact replica of King Magnus’s hall, copied many times over the years, always the same.”
“But there’s no dais. The king didn’t sit at a high table?”
“No. He always dined with his Council of Magi—just as you will, cousin. See the handsome white-haired gentleman at the far end of the table there? That’s Soren Visenson, the Great Seer. And notice the empty place on the bench? They’ve put you right beside him. It’s quite an honor.”
“Where will you sit?”
“Downstairs, with the other Magi Postuläre. I’m still in training to be a Magus Mästare—sort of like an apprentice. That’s why I wear blue and silver while you wear garnet and gold.”
She stopped and looked up at him, pointedly touching her robe. “Then why . . . ?”
“You get to wear garnet because you’re already a Magus Mästare.”
“But how can that be? I just got here yesterday—kicking and screaming, I might add. And I’m an ignorant bumpkin, whereas you can read and write, and went to the university—”
“Lower your voice,” he whispered. “You were made a Mästare because you have something they value far more than education: the Gift of King Magnus.”
“But—”
“Shhhh. Here we are. This is where we part ways.”
Molly remained where Lorens left her, watching him walk away, feeling abandoned and utterly overwhelmed. Only when the door had closed and he was gone did she turn around, slide onto the bench, and look up.
She’d expected grim, disapproving faces, at the very least curious stares. But instead she was greeted with smiles and words of welcome. The Great Seer, who said she must call him Soren, not Lord Seer, smiled even more broadly than the others. He introduced her in turn to each of the members of the Council, some of whose names she remembered. Then he made a graceful gesture with his hand, directing her attention to the platters of food, and urged her to take whatever she wanted.
“We follow the custom of King Magnus here,” he said. “We help ourselves. Magnus felt that servants at table were a di
straction from thoughtful conversation. So, please, go ahead. You must be hungry.”
Molly gazed at the feast set out before her—sliced oranges, strawberries bathed in cream, fragrant loaves of white bread fresh from the oven, tubs of butter, three different cheeses, and slices of cold roast pork—and didn’t know where to begin. As the bread was closest to hand, she took two large slices and smeared them thickly with butter. Then she spooned an ample portion of berries onto her plate, where cream and crimson juices oozed onto her buttered bread.
“You really must try the oranges,” Soren said. “I believe they’re uncommon in your country.”
“I had them once, at a royal banquet. They came all the way from Cortova.”
“Yes, orange trees are tender plants, native to the south, where winters are mild. But we grow them here in great glass houses; they get plenty of sunshine, you see, yet they stay warm in the winter.” He reached for the platter of oranges, to pass it. “We have lemon trees too,” he added.
Just then his eyes flicked away for a second, and a flash of annoyance crossed his face. Molly followed his glance, curious to know what incoming cloud could have brought such a sudden change in the weather. As soon as she saw that it was Sigrid, she understood.
Sigrid had been the only one of the councilors who hadn’t greeted Molly warmly. She’d simply nodded; and there had been such a lack of expression on her great, pale slab of a face, it had put Molly in mind of something dead and frozen, drowned perhaps. Only Sigrid’s eyes had been alive; and they’d burned with such a fierce, knowing intelligence that Molly had quickly turned away, half fearing the woman might steal her soul.
But it was something else, something quite unexpected, that had drawn Soren’s attention and rattled his composure. Sigrid was smiling. And not the sort of smile one friend gives to another, or even the false kind you put on out of politeness. This was the smile of a poisoner watching her victim take his first bite.
Soren met her gaze and held it as long as he could. Then, with a shudder, he turned back to Molly. But he was trembling now, and it seemed that he might drop the platter of orange slices, so she reached out to take it from him. As she did, their fingers touched, and a jolt ran through her as from an unexpected blow. She struggled to catch her breath, but already the vision was rising before her: the Great Seer, sitting behind a gleaming desk in a beautiful room with tapestries on the walls.
There was no doubt it was Soren—he had the same handsome, angular face, the same aristocratic nose, the same close-cropped silver hair—but in her vision he wasn’t smiling and he didn’t look pleasant. He was talking to his ministers, and he was angry.
Molly seemed to be floating above the scene, watching everything that happened and hearing every word that was spoken in that room. When the vision finally faded away, she felt fried in the middle, as though she’d been struck by lightning. For a moment she just sat there, blinking stupidly, wondering why there was a broken platter lying on the table with half-moon slices of orange scattered around it, and why everyone was staring at her. Maybe she had been struck by lightning.
Then her mind cleared. Sucking in a ragged breath, she swung around to face the Great Seer. “You—” she howled. “You arrested my friends. You signed their death warrant!”
A ripple of silence moved across the room. Soren’s face went ashen.
“You even locked up poor Master Pieter, who was so kind to me. And then, just now, you dared to smile at me?”
The Great Seer rose, trembling with rage, and looked down at her with the same cold fury she’d seen in her vision.
“Be careful what you say and who you say it to,” he said. Then as he turned to leave the room, “I really would be a lot more careful.”
23
The Gift of King Magnus
AND THEN EVERYONE around her was gone, scattered like sheep in a thunderstorm. Soren had stormed off in one direction, the rest of the Council in another, deep in whispered conversation. Molly remained, alone on the bench, sick with fear and embarrassment.
Then, from behind her, “Lady?”
His voice was soft, hard to hear over the scraping of benches and the scuffling of feet as the other Magi rose and left the hall. He’d had to say it twice: “Lady?”
Molly turned and saw a small, plain man with a kind face. “Excuse me,” he said. “My name is Mikel. I’ve been asked to serve as your teacher.”
She was still too dazed to speak.
“Come,” he said gently. “They’ve given us a room downstairs to work in. We’ll discuss it there, in private.”
“You heard, then—what happened?”
“Yes.”
Well, of course, everyone had. Her voice was loud at the best of times, and she’d been shouting.
“Please, lady? They need to clear the tables now.”
The room was bright and spacious, equipped with a large desk, two chairs, and shelves filled with scrolls and books. Across from the entrance was another door, which led to a balcony with a view of the northernmost mountains and beyond them, the sea. Mikel opened it, letting in the cool morning air. Then he urged her to sit at the desk and—just as Master Pieter had done two days before—took his place across from her.
“I understand you had a vision,” he said.
She nodded.
“Our visions are deeply personal, the gifts of our spirits and meant for us alone. So when you and I are working together, I shall never ask what you’ve seen or experienced. But in this case, as you’ve already shared it and as it clearly troubled you, I wonder if you’d like to discuss it.”
She nodded again.
“Sometimes, especially with those who are young and inexperienced, visions can be unreliable. You might see the thing you fear the most, or something you deeply long for. I don’t mean to discount what you saw, but I have to tell you, it’s contrary to everything I know about Soren and the people of Harrowsgode.”
“What do you mean?”
“Our people abhor bloodshed. We have no murders here, nor any other violent crime. We don’t execute people. As for Soren, though I don’t know him well, he’s been our Great Seer for many years; and he’s always held the good of Harrowsgode very close to his heart.”
“That may be, and I hope you’re right. But, Mikel, I’ve been having visions since my seventh year. That first time, I was chasing a playmate in a game. I touched him on the shoulder, and suddenly I saw him dead of the plague. Everybody laughed when I screamed and ran away. But the next day it happened exactly as I’d seen it. The neighbors started talking, saying I was a witch, so Father sent me away.
“Then I had a vision of my mother’s death, and after that they started coming thick and fast, one after the other. I saw my grandfather murdered. I saw evil people plotting against the royal family. I saw the horrible death of a king. And I saw my cousin Jakob, who lives here in Harrowsgode, before I even knew that I had a cousin or that this city existed.
“Mikel—I have never had a vision that didn’t turn out to be true. So I can’t just dismiss it. I really believe that Soren is planning to execute my friends . . . and I don’t know what to do!”
She was blinking back tears now.
“I understand,” he said. “Let me see what I can find out. The Council is meeting this morning; and while their deliberations are secret, their final decisions are not. They’re our elected representatives, after all. We have the right to know what’s being done in our name.”
“How soon will you know?”
“Not till this evening, I would guess. They have a lot to discuss; they’ll probably be at it most of the day. But even if you’re right and your vision was true, warrants issued without consent of the Council are invalid. Your friends should be safe, for the moment at least.”
Molly took a deep breath and let it out. “Good,” she said.
“So perhaps while we’re waiting for more information, we could pass the time with a few lessons?” It was a dark little joke, and it actually ma
de her laugh.
“Why is everyone so dead set on giving me lessons? I’ve gotten along quite well without them all these years.”
“You have a great gift, lady, and it would be a crime to let it lie fallow.”
“What—you mean that bloody Gift of King Magnus everyone’s always talking about?”
“Yes, the very same.”
“I don’t even know what it is.”
“Would you like me to tell you?” Something about the slow, calm way he said this, and the little twitchy half smile at the corners of his lips, made Molly laugh again.
“Yes,” she said. “I would.”
“Good. To begin, then, all Harrowsgode folk have a touch of the Gift, to a greater or lesser extent. But some, like you, have visions; they can see the future and look into the past. Such people are chosen to be Magi Mästare.”
“So you have the Gift of Magnus, too? And all those people in the hall?”
“Wait. I’m not finished. Even among the Mästare there are differences. Most are like me: useful and talented, but nothing more. Then there are great ones; they are very powerful and are often elected to the Council. And finally there are the rare few with truly prodigious gifts. Magnus was the first. He saw this valley in a vision, you know, and led his people to it, though he’d never been here before. And when he was old and near death, he rose up from his bed and summoned his powers one last time. He split open the side of the mountain with the force of his mind and caused the very stone within to be changed to silver. It’s been a blessing to us ever since, the source of our great wealth.
“Of course that was a special case since it was done by the king himself. But the Magi have done amazing things too. We have harnessed nature so that the rains come only when we want them to, watering our fields in spring and summer, though never so often as to rob the growing crops of sunshine. We never have floods, or droughts, or hailstorms. You will have noticed, I’m sure, how green the fields are. It’s done by magic.”
“What else?”
The Cup and the Crown Page 13