Homegoing (The Tall Ships of Saradena Book 1)

  He stepped out, squinting as he left the shadows of the doorway. “Doctora Bann. It is you. I thought so.” He smiled—or at least a wide gap appeared in his beard—and put his hand to my horse’s bridle, holding the mare’s head as I dismounted. “I did not expect to see you again. But here you are. Well met. And welcome.” He extended his hand to me.

  I was so astonished I blinked silently at him for a long moment.

  “Was it a long trip?” His brow furrowed. “Are you well?”

  I took his hand hastily. “Yes, thank you, sir.”

  He laughed. “None of that. You are doctora.” He leaned closer, eyes glinting in the gray flurry of hair. “Do not speak as a novicia. They,” his gaze flicked towards the gate, “must remember you are doctora, whom they must hear if not heed.” He released my hand. “I worried about what you might portend, when the High King forced us to take you.” He wagged his head slowly. “Your presence shook Vere. But for the better, I think. Perhaps you can again.” His voice went so low I could scarcely hear him. “Things are not well in Vere.”

  I’d suspected trouble, but finding it was another matter. “What...?”

  He shook his head. “You should not hear from me. The Pedagno. Be cautious.” He whistled.

  A moment later a boy ran through the gate and took our reins.

  “Jumon will see your horses to the stable,” he said. “I will take you to the Pedagno.”

  ***

  Inside the gate stood a smaller inner courtyard, in the center of which stood a statue of Cynan Maccus. Half again as tall as a living man, it suggested determination and wisdom, a representation of his status as Vere’s founder, not a portrait of the man himself. No image of Cynan Maccus survived. None known by Vere, at least. I patted my bag, where the golden book rested with its concealed illumination, and wondered what the scholars would say if they knew the man who walked at my side wore the face of our founder.

  Two arched doorways led out from the courtyard. The one on the left led to the meeting hall, where the scholars convened each morning to discuss any business before beginning the day’s work. Behind the wall directly in front of us lay Vere’s library, but no door opened into it from the courtyard. The library, the keep’s most valuable possession, was accessible only through passages at the very heart of the keep. I smiled, looking at the inner courtyard with different eyes than I had when I’d arrived with my father. I’d been too excited and nervous to notice that while Vere was not a true castle, its design was defense minded.

  “The Pedagno is at supper with the scholars in the comedor,” Doctore Unwin said, leading us through a doorway to our right, which opened onto a passage leading to the Pedagno’s chambers. “Would you consent to wait in his sitting room? It will not be long until he returns.”

  “Of course,” I inclined my head. “Thank you, Doctore Unwin.”

  He motioned us inside. “I must return to my post.” His hand on the handle, he looked back. “Be cautious,” he said again.

  “What are we to be cautious of?” Hal asked after the door closed.

  I shook my head. “I’m not sure. But something is wrong.” I turned, appraising the room, listening, testing the scent of the keep. “Vere was fraught when I was here, but that was because I was here. This feels different.” I turned a second slow circle. “Like fear rather than anger.”

  “The castle feels tense,” Hal said. “Like everyone is looking over his shoulder.”

  “You feel it too,” I said, relieved.

  “How could I not?” Following my lead, it seemed, he pivoted, considering each wall. “It’s heavy in the air, like a coming thunderstorm.”

  On the wall opposite, a doorway led to another chamber. The inner room was where the Pedagno slept, if I’d been told true; I’d never seen it. This room, the sitting room, was where the Pedagno worked and received Vere’s guests. Seven years ago I had been here with my father.

  I studied the chamber as intently as I had Vere’s gates. In outward seeming, it was little changed. A small fire against the evening chill that lingered in Bruster and Elbany on all but the hottest days of summer burned on the hearth, which was built into the wall between the two rooms. It was a clever design; a large fire could heat both rooms, or metal screens on either side could be closed to direct heat into one room. Both screens were open. I could see shadowy glimpses of the inner room through the flames.

  The chimney extended to an identical set of rooms above, which I’d seen more than once. The King’s Rooms. The High King who gifted Lastland to the scholars had required that they provide chambers for his visits. Most likely he had required the rooms because their existence reminded the scholars that they were bondmen of Bruster. Lastland was far from Reud. A Pedagno might forget. My father had come three times I could remember, for the same reason the rooms were demanded: to remind Vere of Bruster’s overlordship. I had accompanied him, and never forgot my first glimpse of the walls of books that were the library of Vere.

  My gaze returned to the hearth. When I’d come the last time with my father, there had been two chairs at the fireside, a low table between them, as there was now. The Pedagno had brought his work chair from his writing table for me. I looked at the empty chairs, seeing that night again.

  Pedagno Olwen had sat to my left, a tapestry on the wall behind him the same blue as his robe, the device of Vere woven in white but glowing yellow and orange in the firelight. My father sat to my right. The two had argued in the cool, precise manner of civilized and powerful men. Quiet voices, but hard, accustomed to being obeyed. I sat listening, gut churning with the humiliation of the demand and the hunger that it be granted. Their eyes flitted to me rarely. I was the source of their debate, not its substance.

  Later, they had turned to me in earnest, both heads swiveling to stare in unnerving simultaneity, and the Pedagno spoke. He questioned me for nearly three hours but I did not give him the easy path of being witless, untutored, or foolish.

  After that, they sent me away. I did not know what the High King argued or offered to tip the balance. In the end, Pedagno Olwen had accepted me as novicia. He treated me graciously, if reservedly, and required the scholars also to do so. Which meant their mistreatment was coldly brooded and covert.

  Now I looked at the empty chairs, feeling the loss of the Pedagno afresh, and perhaps fully for the first time. Gone, and too soon.

  My gaze swept the room again. “The leader of Vere died recently, suddenly, and unexpectedly. Could the tension we feel be the shock of loss and mourning?”

  Hal considered, walking, listening, as I had done. “I don’t think so.” He stopped, facing the tapestry. “Shock and sorrow are here, but there’s more. A sharp, chilly thread of fear.”

  “I agree. But I have no idea why.” I paced to the corner where the Pedagno’s writing table stood, then, turning, to its opposite where a chair cradled a lap harp. “A time of change is a time of difficulty. But I see no cause for fear if the Pedagno’s death was natural. Magistre Poll will be an excellent Pedagno.” I looked back at the vacant chair. “Still, Pedagno Olwen’s death is a great loss. He was young. He should have been Pedagno many more years.”

  “I agree,” a voice said.

  Chapter III

  I whipped around. Behind us the door to the Pedagno’s inner room had quietly opened.

  “Doctora Bann.”

  I had known about his elevation. Nonetheless, I was stuck speechless at seeing Magistre Poll in the Pedagno’s blue robes. I stared, incongruously registering the noteworthy fact the Pedagno’s inner quarters must be accessible from elsewhere in the keep. The cloister garden, perhaps?

  After half a dozen heartbeats, surprise faded, leaving a welt of fresh grief for Pedagno Olwen. In its place grew astonishment as I gazed at my mentor. I had last seen him in April. He had come to Elbany to assist in training my students, returning to Vere just two weeks before the Saradenian letter arrived.

  He looked years, not months, older.

  He
was thin—no, gaunt—and pale approaching gray. He smiled, but there was no light in his eyes. It was the brave but fearful smile of those who know they have a mortal sickness.

  “Welcome.” He walked into the room more slowly than I recalled but his lightness of step was still evident. “Come. Sit by the fire.” He moved to the Pedagno’s chair. “It is perhaps more comfort than need.” He stretched his feet towards the hearth. “But comfort is not unwelcome.”

  After a moment I gathered myself and went to the opposite chair, where my father had sat and disputed with Pedagno Olwen. I glanced at Hal. “Pedagno—”

  He forestalled me. “Friend.” He looked at Hal. “The Pedagno rarely receives more than one guest at a time.” His gaze went to the corner, where the lap harp sat like a guest on its own fine chair, although not as fine as those that stood before the hearth. “You are welcome to Vere, and I look forward to greeting you properly. But could I first be so bold as to do you the double discourtesy of not only asking you to be satisfied with a lesser seat but fetching it as well?”

  Hal bowed. “To be received by the Pedagno of Vere is a great honor. To sit with him, in any manner, a greater one still.”

  The Pedagno answered his bow with a courteous nod. “You are gracious, sir.”

  Setting the harp gently on the floor, Hal returned with the chair and gave a quick bow once more to the Pedagno before seating himself.

  “Now, then,” said the Pedagno. “Whom do I have the pleasure of greeting?”

  Hal moved as if to stand again, but the Pedagno waved him down. “Your servant, Pedagno. I am Hal Carlson. I accompanied Doctora Bann from Ragonne.”

  The Pedagno’s eyes narrowed at the second name. “I do not recall your time at Vere, Doctore Carlson.”

  “I am not doctore. Nor was I trained at Vere.” He paused. “But I can read and write. I assisted Doctora Bann in Vere and was sent with her to continue doing so.”

  The Pedagno’s gaze remained on Hal, assessing the younger man. “We will talk, later.”

  “As you wish, Pedagno.” Hal inclined his head respectfully. “But I will not tell you.”

  “We will see,” the Pedagno said. His gaze flicked to me. “Why have you come? Surely you do not suppose my new role means you could become magistra.”

  I guiltily recalled having considering just that possibility. But the coldness in his voice startled me more than his apt guess. “Pedagno—”

  I was interrupted by a knock at the outer door.

  “Enter,” the Pedagno called.

  The door opened and a boy appeared, bigger than the child who had taken our horses but so much like him I felt certain they must be related. He carried a polished wooden tray, a meal spread upon it.

  The Pedagno noticed my glance. “This is Jurl, Jumon’s brother. Their mother became Vere’s cook last year. Their father oversees our stables, as he has done for several years.”

  I searched my memory but could not bring a face to mind for Vere’s stableman. While I had ridden a great deal when I was novicia, neither the scholars nor the students were encouraged to go to the stables; when horses were wanted, they were brought to the keep.

  Jurl placed the tray on the low table and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

  “What happened to Mistress Kimber?” I asked.

  “I am afraid her talent has taken her beyond us,” the Pedagno replied. “When the High King’s cook died, he remembered Mistress Kimber from his visits here and invited her to Reud. Perhaps you will have occasion to enjoy her cooking again there.” His voice was crisply, painfully impersonal.

  Had so much changed when he became Pedagno? Or did he truly believe I’d come to demand a place at Vere now he could give me one? “Pedagno—”

  “Surely you must be hungry,” he cut across my words. “You are a guest of Vere, Doctora. I must insist you allow me to treat you as one, with all the courtesy we can offer. Eat. Then you may tell me why you are here.”

  Doctora. Not Alumna. He did believe I’d returned to presume upon our bond as maestro and novicia.

  “Pedagno—” I began urgently.

  Suddenly, silent as a cat, he was on his feet. In an instant, his hand was on my arm, gripping more tightly than I would have thought possible in his wasted condition. His other hand rose, his forefinger on his lips. His eyes caught mine, then flicked towards the chimney

  In a quick flash, I understood. The Pedagno suspected some-one was in the King’s Rooms, listening. Clever. If fires were lit in the upper and lower hearths, the noise of the flames would drown sounds from the rooms. But if only one, or better, neither, hearth was lit, a sharp-eared listener on one floor could overhear what was said on the other. The design was assuredly meant to benefit the Pedagno, allowing him to listen to what the High King discussed during his visits. But if someone were bold enough to sneak into the King’s Rooms, the arrangement could be used to hear the Pedagno’s conversations. But who, and why? How could the Pedagno suspect this shameful treatment and be unable to halt it?

  He squeezed my arm, the question still in his eyes. I nodded, letting him know I grasped his warning. His fingers uncurled and he returned to his chair, looking even more haggard than before. “May I serve you, Doctora? And you, Master Hal?”

  “You are kind, Pedagno.” I hoped I’d scrubbed the confusion and concern from my voice. “We thank you for your hospitality.”

  He poured wine, then began cutting the bread. I examined my goblet. It was very fine, delicate glass the deep green of the magistres’ robes, with the device of Vere etched on the base. Exquisite Ferranti craftsmanship. When I was novicia, these goblets were used only on festival days. Surely, I thought dryly, my visit was not so momentous. What was going on?

  The Pedagno handed me a plate—also the best—laden with food I would have expected for the feast of Cynan Maccus. Veal cutlets grilled to brown but not beyond, savory fish pie, creamed leeks, a soft Ragoni cheese, and white bread as fine as that which had graced Philip’s table.

  “I have just come from our evening meal,” the Pedagno filled a third plate, “but of course it would be impolite not to keep my guests company.”

  “Of course.” Drawing his belt knife, Hal began to eat.

  I turned to the food as well but could not give the meal the attention it deserved. I did not suppose the extravagance was on my behalf any more than I’d believed Vere’s best glasses had been brought out to honor my return. Was it a holiday, one new since I was novicia? Or did the scholars eat now as if every day were a feast day?

  “Is the Roth pleased with your work on his library?” The Pedagno buttered a second slice of bread.

  “Yes, Pedagno,” Following his lead, I kept our conversation formal and innocuous. “If it would not be too bold to presume to know my lord’s mind, I would hazard the Roth would have instructed me to convey his gratitude to Vere for answering his request.”

  “So you are not here at the bidding of the Roth?”

  I frowned, realized I’d told more than I’d meant. Surely he didn’t want me to explain why I’d come, not after warning me about the eavesdropper.

  His eyebrows waggled a silent reminder. Dangerous game, maestro. I was not adept at the diplomatic dance of misdirection. It chilled me that he knew this and still deemed it necessary to engage me in it. “I am about the Roth’s business,” I said guardedly.

  He raised his glass in silent approbation, although the roll of his eyes upward, all too clearly relieved that I’d managed to both answer and not answer, rather undermined the commendation. But it was affectionately done. His earlier rudeness, I realized, more relieved than I could have said, was for the eavesdropper. Not me.

  “Business in which, I take it, Philip of Ragonne is also involved, since he has sent Master Hal to aid you?”

  “Just so, Pedagno.”

  “That is interesting,” he replied. “I would have supposed the lord of Ragonne preferred to work alone in most things.”

  “Have you met Kin
g Philip?” Hal asked.

  “I have not had the pleasure,” the Pedagno said. “But I have heard much of him, as with the other kings of the Three Lands.”

  “All leaders must know about their peers,” Hal said. “Have you had the chance to visit Ragonne, Pedagno? It is a land of great beauty.”

  He chose another piece of bread. “I have, unfortunately, visited few places outside Bruster, and none since I came to Vere.” He eyed Hal conspiratorially. I looked between them, wondering what understanding had passed there that I’d missed. “Perhaps, Master Hal, you could tell me somewhat about Ragonne?”

  Hal dipped his head. “If it would please the Pedagno.” He described the palais, the countryside he had seen on his trip north, the Fields and the city.

  As Hal talked, the Pedagno ate. I had thought my curiosity full blown already but I was wrong. The Pedagno was eating as if his previous meal had been last week, not less than an hour before. He had very soon eaten all that remained upon the tray.

  I looked again at his thin face and wasted form. He wasn’t ill. He was starving. How came the Pedagno to be famished within his own walls, while splendid meals were set before the scholars?

  Chapter IV

  If I had any doubts about my conclusion, they fled when Hal passed his plate, nearly full, to the Pedagno. He quailed not an instant before plowing in. Hal continued to fill the room with polite drivel about the wonders of Ragonne. I handed over my plate, rather less full than Hal’s. He had understood the Pedagno’s trouble more quickly and saved most of his supper to share.

  Hal moved to telling stories about his days in the stables, the humor in them mostly at his own expense, as if he were unskilled with horses and slow to learn. Untrue as I knew it to be, the tales were no less entertaining. The Pedagno laughed, a true burst of enjoyment but ragged, as though he had not done so for months.