The stares and whispers that had begun at breakfast had only increased. I caught my name amongst inaudible conversation. After the servants had cleared the plates and brought cheese and fruit, Magister Hulthon, at the next table, poked Magistre Thurl. “Why do you think she’s back?”
Magistre Thurl seemed taken aback by his assigned role in the show Magistre Hulthon had begun. He gave us a quick glance over his shoulder. “I don’t know. Who’s that she’s brought with her?”
Magistre Hulthon waved an impatient hand. “Some servant. Doesn’t matter.” He planted both elbows on the table, glaring past Magistre Thurl at me. “Know what I think?”
“Uh...no?” Magistre Thurl said.
“Now he’s Pedagno, the old man figured he could bring back his tearsheet.”
Silence fell like a dropped stone. Eyes turned, staring.
Hal’s hand clamped around mine. Reassurance or a reminder to behave properly? Or both? “We brought a gift from Ragonne to Vere and to ask Vere to send a new clerk to King Philip.”
“So Domon finally came to a sticky end?” Magistre Hulthon said. “Knew he would.”
“Domon is not dead,” Hal said. “But my lord does find himself in need of a new clerk.”
“Why?” Magistre Thurl asked, honest puzzlement on his face.
Magistre Rouk, sitting to his left, looked at him incredulously. “Domon? You don’t remember him? I thought we’d have to start locking up the wine casks.”
“Oooh.” Magistre Thurl’s open face clouded. “Him.”
“What happened?” Magistre Rouk half-turned on the bench and looked at Hal, more curious than malignant.
Hal hesitated. Or seemed to. The swift glance in my direction let me know his intent. Distraction. I felt impatience and gratitude well up together. It was kindly meant but I doubted it would work. Magistre Hulthon looked like a dog licking his chops over a particularly meaty bone.
“Well,” Hal said. “It started with a Verduni stallion.” He launched into what was decidedly the long version of Domon’s banishment. More funny than the reality had been, too, with himself the butt of the jokes. I couldn’t help but stare at him sidelong. This trip had already proven instructive, at least as far as learning new sides to my companion. Even Murrow, the most self-effacingly charming of my brothers, couldn’t have done better.
But, as I expected, to no avail.
“That’s what you’re doing here,” Magistre Hulthon said as Hal finished. “I want to know what she is.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a sneer. “Returning to her role as the Pedagno’s doxy, that’s my guess.”
“I was never—”
Hal’s hand caught mine again, this time a tight grip with a clear warning. “She’s here for the same reason she was in Ragonne,” he interrupted. “To borrow books to copy for the Roth’s library.”
“Borrow books? From Vere?” Magistre Hulthon brayed a laugh. “That’s the worst lie I ever heard.”
“It’s true,” Magistre Rouk said. “I heard it from Magistre Ulton.”
Interesting. I’d have pegged the blustering Hulthon as an adherent of Ulton’s, but instead it was the more controlled Rouk. Ah, well, it was too much too hope, I supposed, that Magistre Ulton would be careless in his choice of followers.
Magistre Hulthon caught sight of Hal’s hand clasping mine. His eyes narrowed. “That’s how it is? I understand now.”
“I doubt it,” Hal said.
Magistre Hulthon snorted, but Magistre Rouk looked between us, frowning thoughtfully. Let them think what they want. I squeezed Hal’s hand back in sheer perversity. Once I leave, I’m never coming back here again.
Of course, that was what I had thought about Reud. But there I must go, and soon.
Chapter VIII
Two days passed in the same way: Hal with the Pedagno and Magistre Ulton, surreptitiously teaching the Pedagno Old Valenian and searching the secret books. I in Vere’s library, purportedly deciding which books to borrow but really trying to think of some way to thwart Magistre Ulton.
Meal times brought more stares and whispers, but not another confrontation. Perhaps Magistre Ulton had ordered his followers to be less overtly hostile. Perhaps the scholars were biding their time. But their silence translated to greater scrutiny, making it impossible to talk to Hal about either his progress or mine. Or, in my case, lack thereof.
By the end of the second day, I was frantic to hear how he was getting along.
“After three days in the library, I could stand to stretch my legs,” I said to Hal. I had finished supper. He was sipping the last of his wine. “Would you care to walk in the cloister garden?”
“Certainly.” A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. He understood perfectly well what I was up to. He emptied his cup.
***
We had hardly set foot in the cloister garden before Doctore Orsenius appeared as if sprung from the stones. “Is there anything I can help with, Doctora?”
I smiled over the Brusterian words I was thinking. “Not at all, thank you. I need a bit of air after being in the library all day and Hal agreed to accompany me.”
“Excellent idea! I’ll join you.”
There was nothing to do but begin walking again. Doctore Orsenius fell into step with us. So our nowhere-unaccompanied status reached to the cloister garden? Interesting. Not only did they want to make sure we went to no part of Vere unescorted, but also that we could not talk together unheard.
“Does Vere expect a good harvest?” Hal asked, showing his diplomatic skills.
“It’s early yet,” Doctore Orsenius said, “but yes. The wheat alone....” He launched into a description of Vere’s wheat crop.
I had to speak to Hal...how? It was a measure of my desperation I considered sneaking into his room. Which would be truly foolhardy. Watched as we were, such a move would surely be noticed. It was not difficult to imagine the result. Well-stoked outrage followed by demands we leave. Which left me with my problem. How to speak to Hal without being overheard?
Doctore Orsenius was still describing the state of Vere’s crops and expectations for the harvest. “—not just the steward’s job, of course,” he was saying. “All the scholars are encouraged to look over the tenant farms when they ride.”
Of course.
“Is Starn still here?” I said.
“Who?” Doctore Orsenius frowned, halting.
“The horse I usually rode. I would like to go out tomorrow afternoon. That is still the custom, isn’t it?”
He hesitated, as if wanting to deny the request but unable to think of a plausible reason. “Few scholars ride out these days,” he said finally, “but some do.” He waited, seemingly for the disapproval in his tone to make me change my mind.
“Could you have her brought tomorrow? And another, if you would,” I said. “I am sure my traveling companion would like to join me.”
“I would welcome the chance to see more of Vere’s holdings,” Hal said. “I am seldom away from Ragonne.”
“If you wish,” Doctore Orsenius said with obvious reluctance.
Behold the power of tradition. According to custom, scholars and guests were allowed to ride out for afternoon exercise. Doctore Orsenius’ orders from his true master to not allow us a moment alone had come into conflict with Vere’s ways. Without having been given a reason to subvert custom, Doctore Orsenius could not bring himself to do so. That told me something about both of them. Doctore Orsenius was cautious but not clever. Doctore Ulton was clever, but perhaps not as clever as he thought. He had not anticipated a request to ride out, as he clearly had that we might try to talk in a quiet corner in the cloister garden.
We began to walk again, Hal continuing his dexterous small talk. As we rounded the corner and Doctore Orsenius’ face turned away from him, Hal quirked one eyebrow up, which I needed no words to understand.
***
I did not breathe easily the following afternoon until we were away. It would have been a grave breech of custom f
or Doctore Orsenius to invite himself to come along but it was possible he had been instructed to since yesterday. Did it worry me more or less that he handed over the reins unhappily but let us go?
I was delighted that the horse brought for me was indeed the sturdy red-brown mare Starn, and more so when she nickered a friendly greeting. Hal’s roan gelding was not a stranger either; I had often ridden him during Starn’s foaling times.
We turned the horses to the river road, heading inland. I breathed deep, letting the warm scents of forest and field calm nerves tightened by surveillance. “How is the Pedagno?”
“No worse,” Hal said. “Perhaps a bit better. We put the food brought for him down the jakes and he shares mine.”
“That’s good,” I said. “Thank you.”
“The implications are less pleasant,” he said. “It proves someone is tampering with his food.”
“The Pedagno suspects Magistre Ulton,” I said.
“Suspicion is not enough,” he said. “Would the High King act on suspicion alone?”
I scowled but he was right. My father would not intervene in Vere’s doings without incontrovertible proof. Perhaps not even then, if it were not clear how the High King’s power was imperiled by Vere’s internal strife.
“If Magistre Ulton is to blame,” he said, catching the grasping fingers of a branch before it could scratch his face, “proving it will be difficult.”
Ah, well, it would have been too much to hope for. “What have you seen?”
“Magistre Ulton has been present most, but not all, of the time I have been there,” Hal said. “I have watched him. As, I am sure, he has watched me. I’m willing to wager that even in his boldest plotting he ensures that if anyone is found guilty, it will not be him. He gives commands. Other hands dirty themselves with the deeds.” He looked at me. “Does that fit what you know of him?”
I shook my head slowly. “I’m not sure. I knew of him. I interacted with him very little. It would not surprise me, given his family. But I can’t say he was so.” I shrugged. “Perhaps he wasn’t. People, like circumstances, alter.”
“I doubt it.” His voice was uncharacteristically harsh. “These traits seem dyed in the wool in him.” He shivered slightly despite the comfortable warmth of the afternoon. “He puts me in mind of a vulture, patiently circling, knowing eventually he will get what he wants.”
His description made my own skin shiver. Worse, Magistre Ulton’s patience would most likely be rewarded.
“The Clerk might meet with an…accident,” Hal mused.
I fingered the hilt of my belt knife, considering our odds of success. “I doubt it,” I said at last. “Men in the midst of a coup do not grow careless about whom they let in arm’s reach.”
“Surely there are scholars that remain loyal to the Pedagno,” he said. “We could rally them. Lead them against Magistre Ulton and his followers.”
It was a tempting thought. Too tempting, perhaps. My head filled at once with images: Myself persuading, demanding, inspiring the reluctant, timid scholars. Taking Magistre Ulton by surprise. Binding his hands personally. Taking him in chains to Reud. Redeemed in one bold move in the eyes of the scholars and my father.
Definitely too tempting. What I wanted to do, certainly, but just as certainly, for entirely the wrong reason. It would indulge every rough desire of my blazing anger. I’d promised myself in Ragonne to learn better. I shook my head. “Such a stroke might be a good idea. But only if we knew we would win. A disaster, otherwise. And the Pedagno’s immediate death warrant. I don’t know that there are enough scholars that are still firmly the Pedagno’s men. And I doubt how many of the others that are remember enough fighting to be useful. It is too big a risk to take with another’s life as the price of failure.”
“Very well.” His voice was frustrated but he patted the gelding’s neck gently. “What of stealth? Can we steal away with the Pedagno to Reud? Perhaps the High King will be more likely to act if the Pedagno pleads his case himself.”
Even more tempting. Because it was possible. Evade or tie up whoever watched the Pedagno while he slept and slip away in the middle of the night. The porter would let us out…the portman would certainly help us with a ship…
There was just one problem. “He will not go,” I said.
“What?” Hal sounded incredulous. “Why?”
“I’ve known men like him all my life. This is his duty. He will not leave it.”
“Even to do his duty better by regaining control of his charge?”
“I think,” I said slowly, putting an understanding into words that was so deeply carven on my soul I had never had to look closely at it before, “that the Pedagno believes that if he needs help to keep control of Vere, he does not deserve to have that position of authority. My father believes the same. He would rather die fighting a rebellion on his own than accept the Roth’s aid and win.”
Hal frowned, unconvinced, but made no further suggestions.
“If we’re to help, it has to be now. Before we leave.” And we couldn’t stay in Vere much longer. I left that unspoken. We both knew it already.
In my inattention Starn had slowed. Tugging at the reins, she dropped her nose into a clump of tender new grass by the roadside. I let her stay. The gelding followed her lead.
“What about the Old Valenian?” I said. “The secret books?”
“He’s learning quickly,” he said.
“With Magister Ulton there...how?” I adjusted my seat as Starn suddenly lurched forward to another, apparently tastier, grass patch.
“With the best sort of lie. One very close to the truth. I told the Pedagno, in Magistre Ulton’s hearing, that Domon had discovered books in a local dialect of Valenian and offered to teach it to him.”
“Very nice,” I said with unfeigned admiration. Of course, I lied badly, so people who lied well impressed me. “But doesn’t Magistre Ulton want to learn also?”
“He’s a busy man, Magistre Ulton. When he’s there, he’s not watching us closely. He’s thinking, making notations on a wax tablet, consulting with other scholars from time to time.”
“Acting as Pedagno,” I said.
“In all but name, yes.” He flipped the ends of his reins idly against his leg. “He’s there, I think, to make sure we do not have unmediated access to the Pedagno again. We caught him off guard that first night. Though his man was listening, he’s suspicious. Poring over old books? He’s not concerned about that.”
Despite everything, Magistre Ulton’s scholarly heresy—his disbelief that what might be learned in old books could be important—shocked me. He did not want control of Vere because it was Vere, the city of scholars, preserver of knowledge. He wanted control to have control, the same cause for which under-kings gambled life and heirs to seize the High Kingship.
“Do you know what happens if a Pedagno dies without a named successor?” he asked.
“Something bad, I expect. Someone seizes power.”
“No,” he said. “Or, not so openly. The scholars choose the new Pedagno. So when Magistre Ulton tires of trying to persuade the Pedagno to name him his heir...”
“Or he has enough supporters to know he will be chosen...” I brushed away a fly that had become too interested in my ear.
“He will wait until we leave,” he said, earning a savage glance from me. But it was true. Magistre Ulton would not take such action with outsiders present, no matter how unimpeachably ‘natural’ the mode of death he chose to employ.
The gelding tried to thrust his nose into Starn’s bunch of grass. She pushed him away with her muzzle.
“I may have an idea,” Hal said. “It’s not much. But it may be worth a look.”
“Tell me,” I said.
Chapter IX
We requested and were granted an interview with the Pedagno after we returned. I knew from the crackle of the air when the steward opened the door that Magistre Ulton was with him. Good.
The Pedagno sat in his chair beside t
he hearth. Magistre Ulton was in the second, where I’d sat, where my father had. He turned as we approached. I froze, staring.
He looked more like my brother Utor than any of our blood brothers did. How had I lived in Vere so long and not seen it? But I’d spent little time in his company. He had never been assigned to instruct me, and I could recall passing him in the comedor or the corridors only a handful of times.
Then his face shifted. The resemblance fled. The affinity was surface and form. What lay within, and gave life and light to those features, was altogether different. Pride and contempt etched his face. Unconcealed because he lacked skill in dissembling, as I did, or because he was too arrogant to bother?
I blinked, suddenly realizing Utor had never turned such a look upon me. Not in the worst days after my return from Ferrant, nor in the dreadful weeks that followed, as they pondered what to do with their discarded princess. The knowledge that had crept towards me in Ragonne arrived in a tidal wash. I had believed I’d seen disdain and loathing in my father, revulsion and hatred in my brothers, but it had been my hurt that put it there. I should have known better. I had seen real contempt in Francis’s eyes. I had been too marred to see rightly, and I had fled.
Now I had to return. Thanks be no one had died before I could come home and make peace. If they would have me. They had to, at least long enough to hear the news I brought. Nothing of peace there. Again I would return unlooked for, and bring trouble.
“Doctora Bann?” The Pedagno said in a tone of gentle but genuine puzzlement. “You wished to see me?”
“Yes, Pedagno.” I bowed, Hal following suit, his deeper than mine as was proper. “Pardon me. I’d not recalled that Magistre Ulton resembled Utor so strongly. It surprised me.”
Magistre Ulton’s nose rose at the perceived compliment. “It could be argued the blood of kings flows more purely in Verun than anywhere else in Bruster.”
I let that insult go. “Thank you, Pedagno, for seeing us so promptly.”
“We receive few guests but Vere prides itself on being hospitable to them,” the Pedagno said.
Homegoing (The Tall Ships of Saradena Book 1) Page 29