by Glenda Larke
“Oh, how sad. Give her here. I’ve plenty of milk! Though she won’t take more than a sip yet a while.”
While Sorrel ate and drank, the woman attended to Mathilda’s child. “What’s her name?” she asked.
“She doesn’t have one yet,” Sorrel replied, sipping the tea. “Her mother never said, and her father was not interested in a girl.”
“Ah, that’s even sadder. You could leave her here, if you like, with me. They call me Mother Odlenda round here. I’ve enough milk for two! I’ve birthed five of me own, though three died of the fever. I take in babes for a guildeen every moon. Safer here, anyways, than down in the hollow of Thorn Meadows; I heard there was the Horned Plague there. Elsewhere, too – even been a case or two down by the port wharves. Va save us from another plague!”
Sorrel shook her head. “She’s family,” she said firmly. “She stays with me.”
“Then she’s a lucky little darlin’ to have such a fine-spoken aunt.” Odlenda smiled down at the baby and touched her cheek with the back of her fingers. “Oh, look at the precious dear. Sucking so bravely!”
Just then bells started ringing in the distance, even though it was not a holy day. Odlenda cocked her head to listen. “I wonder what that’s for?”
Sorrel felt a skitter of fear. “Warning of the Horned Death?”
“Why no, lass. Don’t you know the bells ring like this only for celebration? For warning and death they toll a single note. You must be a country lass not to know that.”
She nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“Thought you must be. Explains the rattly way you sound.” As more and more bells joined in from all over the city, she exclaimed, “Course! A new heir! A son of the Regal must have been born last night. Why did I not think of that?” Her face lit up. “After all these years, and past wives, finally a true son for the Basalt Throne. And here I was thinking we was about to be cursed by pestilence, when in truth Va has blessed the Regal and his bride!”
So the second baby was a boy. Good news, or bad? The idea that the next Regal might be an evil man serving A’Va sent shivers down her spine. Sweet Va, someone has to make sure that doesn’t happen.
Once she was on her way again, with a contented baby in her arms, she considered her reaction to Odlenda’s offer. I promised Mathilda, I promised Saker, and now I promise you … little girl. I am your mother now. I will look after you as long as you need me.
But first she would take her to the Pontifect, in case there was any truth in the legend of the twin devil-kin.
“Well?”
The query snapped from Regal Vilmar with the intensity of a loosed arrow. Lord Chancellor Yan Grussblat was used to the Regal’s rages and replied calmly. In fact, he inwardly rejoiced to hear the return of some of Vilmar’s old fire. It had been lacking too long.
“It seems the Regala’s Ardronese handmaiden is missing, your grace. That can’t be a coincidence. She must have been hand in glove with the man who stole the warden’s uniform. She could have shown him how to enter your bedchamber while the banquet was in progress.”
The Regal’s eyes narrowed. “Was witchery involved?”
“It looks that way. All that strange behaviour of the birds? It can’t have been normal, although it’s hard to believe someone was able to misuse his witchery to steal. And my men have found out something more about this handmaiden. Seems she has the witchery of glamour.”
“Glamour?”
For a moment Grussblat wondered if the limit of the Regal’s equilibrium had been reached. Vilmar’s face darkened, the pupils of his eyes contracted to pinpricks. “How is that possible? The Basalt Throne has never allowed glamoured witches to live! Glamours are not Va-granted!”
“Sorrel Redwing was Ardronese, sire. I assume she never told anyone here what she could do. The Regala didn’t even know she had a witchery. Only reason we know now is that Frynster Annusel – she’s the castle apothecary, sire, with that shop down in the outer bailey—”
“Yes, yes, I know who she is! Get on with it!”
“She told us she once saw Mistress Sorrel wearing a glamour to sneak out of the castle.”
“And she never mentioned it?” The Regal drew in a deep breath. “If that haggard witch wasn’t so blistering useful, I’d have her tied to a wheel! Put the fear of the Throne into Mistress Annusel, my lord Yan. I want her knock-kneed with fright for the next month, understand?” He leaned back in his chair, calming himself. “What about the man? Was he also glamoured?”
“I don’t think so. His witchery was probably something to do with controlling birds. I have asked Prime Mulhafen to find out who has that kind of power.”
“Offer a reward. How did this Redwing woman come to be in the Regala’s service? Who was responsible for that?”
“The Regala says that when she arrived in Betany, the woman was already on board ship. She told the Regala that King Edwayn had arranged it. The Regala never thought to question her presence – why should she? The woman must have glamoured herself and no one saw her come on board in Betany.”
“An Ardronese spy?”
“Seems likely, sire.”
“A pox on their paunchy king! We shall have our revenge for that, Lord Yan. I swear it. I want these thieves found. I want the city scoured until they are. I want every witchery-skilled man and woman looking for them with the Wardens and the Watch and the Dire Sweepers, night and day.”
Grussblat was shocked. “The Sweepers? In the city, in broad daylight?” He hesitated, searching for a prudent way to couch his thoughts. “Sire, much of the Sweepers’ success is due to the fear they arouse because people rarely see them. They are dark assassins in the night—”
“I gave you an order.”
Astonished, the Lord Chancellor blurted, “And all this over the theft of some feathers, sire?”
The Regal eyed him with a look he knew he would never forget. “I am going to say this just once, Lord Yan. And then I want you to forget it was ever said. If you so much as whisper a word of this conversation, your bones will rattle next to those of all your children on a crossroads gibbet. Understand?”
“Sire.” His mouth was suddenly so dry, his tongue stuck to the palate.
“Those feathers came from the Va-forsaken Hemisphere and were given to me by Uthen Kesleer. They were bewitched. They bewitched me, you understand? Those thieves did me a favour when they stole the plumes because they unwittingly lifted that witchery from me, but the fact that they took only the feathers also tells me they know too much and they have to die.”
“Bewitched you? Kesleer dared?” So much makes sense now. By the Flow, the merchant must be mad!
“I can see you now understand much that was puzzling you.”
“Forgive me, your grace, but you have not been yourself of late. It will be my personal pleasure to bring Kesleer to you in chains.”
“Not yet. In fact, I don’t want anyone to know about the theft of the feathers as yet, least of all Kesleer.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Those feathers bewitched me. Me, the Regal! Think what power they must have. One day Kesleer will pay in ways that will make him regret he ever lived, but first I want those plumes back in our hands, without falling under their power again. When you find them, don’t bring them back here. Put them in the keep on Bhor Island, and inform me, and me alone. Do not touch them. If anyone lays a hand to them, make sure that it is with thick gloves.”
“I’ll see it done.”
“I want the whole of Ustgrind searched for these thieves. I want every road out of the city blocked, and every wharf patrolled. Offer a reward for their arrest. Understand?”
The Lord Chancellor blanched. His guess was that Ustgrind had fifty thousand households. He smiled weakly and said, “It is already being done, sire.” And if I find the bitch, I’ll skin her alive myself for the trouble she’s caused.
“One more thing. I have written a letter of instruction to Captain Lustgrader of the Spice Winds, Kesleer’s fl
eet commander, and also to Captain Russmon, who commands my royal galleon. I want these letters delivered into their hands before the fleet sails, with a verbal message. They are to be told that it is from me, but no one else is to hear that. They are to be told that they are to open the seal only once the fleet has left port, when they have a private moment.” The Regal smiled. “As I do not usually ask my Lord Chancellor personally to attend to such mundane matters as my correspondence, I am sure you have an inkling how important it is that Kesleer does not get to hear of this. Your most trusted messenger, please, Lord Yan.”
The Lord Chancellor bowed deeply in acquiescence. At least, he thought, the days were numbered for that scurvy varlet Uthen Kesleer.
When Sorrel arrived at the gates to the seminary, her way was blocked by several heavily armed men. They were all dressed in dark grey or black, not a scrap of colour on them anywhere. Each had his hair tucked up under a black velvet hat with a black rooster feather cockade pinned to the side. Each had his lower face muffled with a scarf.
“No entry here, mistress,” one said as she approached. “The seminary is closed to all but the sick.”
Her heart turned over. “Sick?”
“Have you not heard? Most of the clerics are dead. The Horned Plague. The Regal has ordered the seminary sealed. Enter here, you’ll not come out again. Best you leave this place.”
“I was supposed to meet Witan Shanny Ide,” she said, thickening her accent to copy the country-born palace chambermaids.
“Ah, mistress, I’m sorry then. I heard she was the first to die.”
No, oh no. Please tell me that’s not so. Her knees buckled and she almost fell. Her dismay was overwhelming. Without the cleric’s help, she had no idea of where she was going to find a wet nurse who would go with her to Vavala.
The man folded his arms over his chest, and there was something about his cold dark eyes that frightened her. Her arms tightened around the baby. “Is that a babe you have there?” he asked, and his tone was heavy with suspicion.
“Ay, indeed,” she said quickly. “Poor wee mite has the spotted meazle, and frets like a nipped pup! I heared it said the witan had a fine physic for the meazle…”
“Not any more.”
“Never mind. ’Tis only a fret, naught serious. Right sorry I am to hear ’bout the witan, though. A fine lady she were.” She turned away then, sick at heart, and headed back. She would have to take up Mother Odlenda’s offer while she searched for a wet nurse who would go to Vavala with her.
Only two hours or so had passed since she’d said goodbye to Odlenda, but the welcome she received on her return was no longer pleasant. Odlenda frowned when she saw her coming, and shook her head.
“Didn’t think to see you again, girl. Not sure I want to, neither. The Regal’s watchmen came by here while you were gone. Fact, they’re all over the city looking for a black-haired lass with deep blue eyes and an odd way of speaking. You the one they were looking for? Name of Sorrel?”
Appalled, she tried not to show her fright. “That’s an Ardronese name, isn’t it? I’m from Lowmeer, up in the north,” she said, as if indignant at the assumption. “Up near West Denva in the border country. What’s she done, this Sorrel?”
The suspicion did not fade from Odlenda’s eyes. “They say she was a servant in the castle and opened a door for someone to enter the royal apartments to steal.”
“Well, that certainly weren’t me. Wager they didn’t mention a babe, did they? I’ve been staying with my brother-in-law and sister, and would be still, if my sis hadn’t died. And here’s my problem: the wet nurse who promised to suckle the child has died of the Horned Death. I just found out, which is why I came back to you.”
“Well I’m not interested no more. I don’t want no trouble, an’ you look too much like this Sorrel they described.”
“But the babe…”
“Not my business. You can’t find a wet nurse, then get a nanny goat. Nothing like goat’s milk for a babe that’s lost her ma. Now be off with you!” With those words, Odlenda turned her back and went to serve another customer.
Sorrel turned away, her dismay fast changing to despair. If she didn’t find a wet nurse before the day was over, then the baby would be in trouble. Once out of sight of Odlenda, she reverted to her Celandine persona, the grey mouse with wispy light hair and grey eyes.
Saker, she thought. I have to find Saker. But she had no idea where to start looking.
Ardhi, though…
A brown-skinned seaman from the Summer Seas was hardly common, even down on the wharves; everyone would know where to find Ardhi the lascar, surely. She glanced down at the baby. You first, though. I have to find a way to feed you.
43
The Company Factor
“So you wish to be one of my factors in the Spicerie?”
Mynster Uthen Kesleer raised a single eyebrow at Saker. This time he was seated at his table in the main office of the Lowmian Spicerie Trading Company, a position strategically placed to oversee, yet to be outside the earshot of, the scribes and bookkeepers and clerks so busily scratching in their ledgers. “I know I mentioned it, but you astonish me nonetheless, Heron. It seems you’re a foolish man after all.”
“Pardon?”
“A man who thinks being a company factor in the Summer Seas is a quick path to riches.”
“I’m not looking for wealth, mynster.” He struggled not to sneeze; the air in the room was saturated with the aroma of spices, even though he could see no cargo bales or sacks.
“Adventure, then?” The man’s scorn was obvious. “Well, let me enlighten you. I have no fewer than thirty-five factors sailing in this fleet, and yet I really only have need of half that number.” He placed his elbows on the desk and leaned forward with an anticipatory smile, reminding Saker of a hound that knew it was about to be fed. “You see, I expect half of them to die.”
He then leaned back to observe the effect of his words. Saker sat expressionless. Or so he hoped.
“Certainly,” Kesleer continued when Saker said nothing, “those who do return will be rich men. To earn the riches, they must stay five years working for the company on one of the islands. Those who don’t return? Some will die of scurvy on the journey out, others of the fever or the bloody flux in a port of call. Some will die in a back alley with a knife in their guts, or have their head blown off by a privateer’s cannonball at sea. And that’s even before the ship reaches the islands. So why would you want to take a risk like that, if not for a dream of wealth?”
“I have an earnest desire to see the Spicerie and the Va-forsaken Hemisphere for myself,” Saker lied. Half lied. Va rot Ardhi and his sakti. All he really wanted to do right now was take Sorrel and the child to Vavala. And to make sure there was no devil-kin heir to the Basalt Throne. Instead, he had to go halfway round the world as an errand boy delivering feathers. He struggled to keep a bland expression of deference pasted on his face as he added, “I know how to keep books, my handwriting is excellent and I am scrupulously honest. I do not suffer from seasickness and I am in good health.”
Kesleer leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers together and folded them over the rotundity of his stomach. “Add up these figures,” he said. “Fourteen, two hundred and eight, one thousand seven hundred and sixty-five. What’s the answer?”
“One thousand nine hundred and eighty-seven.”
“If one measure of cloves costs six guildeens, you buy four measures, then the price goes up to eight guildeens before you buy more. I have given you one hundred guildeens to spend, so how many measures can you buy?”
“Thirteen, with four guildeens to spare.”
“Is there anyone who can speak for your good name?”
“The Prelate of the Witan Seminary of Advanced Studies, Murram Loach.”
Kesleer frowned. “Ah, yes, we made enquiries with him and he was high in his praise. Did you know the seminary has since been quarantined and most of the seminarians have died of the Horned P
lague? The gossip is that A’Va is now targeting clerics and shrine-keepers.”
Saker stared at him and felt the blood drain from his face. “I – I didn’t know that.” Shanny. And he’d told Sorrel to go there with the first baby when it was born. His mouth went dry. Oak-and-acorn … what can I do?
“Well, you can have the job if you want it. Most of your salary will be paid on your return, one per cent of the profit on cargo sold in Ustgrind which you personally negotiated to buy in the islands and saw loaded on board. Your advance now will be sufficient to buy personal items such as new clothing, a hammock, shoes, bedding and so forth. You will be under the orders of the senior factor on board the Spice Winds, Mynster Yonnar Cultheer. Oh, and I expect you to continue to teach the Pashali language to officers and factors throughout the voyage, is that clear?”
He scribbled a payment voucher and handed it to Saker.
Wonderful. A small investment on your part, and a good chance that I’ll never collect what is owed me because I’ll be dead. You’re a mean bastard, Kesleer. Aloud he said, “Thank you, mynster. That’s very generous.”
“Settle your affairs now. Make plenty of use of your wife tonight, if you have one, or tickle the bawds, because the ship sails out of here on the evening tide tomorrow. So you don’t have much time left on land.”
His stomach lurched. “I thought the sailing date was still several weeks away!”
Kesleer gave a humourless superior smile as he scribbled a note of appointment for him to show the ship’s captain. “I want the fleet out of here as soon as possible because the Horned Death has its grip on the city, at least for those who don’t have access to the spices that keep it at bay.” He opened a wooden box on his desk and took out a pomander the size of an apple. It was stuck through with cloves, cinnamon sticks and slivers of nutmeg. From the colour, it had also been soaked in honeyed mace-water. “Take this and use it. Hang it around your neck and it will protect you – but don’t hang it where it will be seen. These are selling for well over fifty guildeens now.”
He didn’t believe it had any value at all against the Horned Death, but he thanked Kesleer profusely anyway.