by John Houser
"Master Harte, this mad ragamuffin nearly broke my window throwing stones at it! Now he won't leave without seeing you."
"I only threw the stones because you wouldn't let me in!"
"Am I to let in every urchin off the street, just because he requests it?"
Peli stamped in frustration. "I am not any urchin off the street. I know Mr. Walford. I am supposed to help him."
"Help him? You!" Cook was nearly apoplectic.
Harte threw up his hands in supplication. "Please, please, stop! Cook. I'm sorry Peli disturbed you. Please accept my apologies on his behalf and go back to bed. I will see to this."
Cook seemed inclined to argue, until a firm look from Harte reduced her to a muttering retreat. "It's not your apologies I'm wanting, Master Harte. Not you who--"
"Peli. I take it something very important has happened."
"Yes. I dreamt that--"
"Wait. You're shivering. Let's go into the library and get a fire going."
"But Mr. Griff--"
"What about Griff?"
"I dreamt he's freezing and can't move. He's afraid. I think he's hurt."
"Hurt? Where is he?"
"I don't know! He must be on the road somewhere, right? He went to find that servant girl, and he must have had a mishap or something."
"Peli. Are you sure?"
"I think so. This afternoon, Sister Grace told me that she found out from one of the ward nurses that there was a man who couldn't breathe last night. He had a new 'mona' or something."
"Pneumonia. You think that last night's dream was real, therefore this one must be?"
"I was so sure when I woke up. I was shivering like I was buried in snow, even though I was in bed and under the blankets. Now I'm not sure. What should I do?"
"I think you have already done it, Peli. Now, I must take over. How I wish Stilian were here to consult. He would know if this is plausible." He thought for a moment. "No, it doesn't matter. If I were not to act, and Griff were to be injured or die, I would never forgive myself. Peli, run back to the hospital and put on your warmest clothes--make that all your clothes. Tell Sister Grace that you are with me. You must wake her, if necessary. When you have done that, meet me here at the stables." He waved Peli on his way, still talking. "I must go to Watch House. But first, a sleigh ..."
* * *
It took persuasion, bluster, and finally the promise of a reward to get two of Griff's patrol to agree to help, but Harte prevailed. They made a strange procession jingling down the King's Road towards the country village where the servant girl lived. The watchmen, Garth and Tom, rode on either side of the road. Each carried a lantern hung from a pole that was braced to his saddle. Harte and Peli rode in the Walford family sleigh, behind a matched pair of geldings. Four more lanterns were fixed to each corner of the sleigh. The sleigh, the horses' driving tack, and even the watch horses, all had bells on them.
They were unquestionably lucky, in that it was a clear night with a three-quarter moon. Harte still despaired of finding Griff, if he were more than a few feet from the road. He drove the men and horses on, regardless.
"Peli, do you sense anything at all?"
"No, I don't think so. I don't know." Peli shook his head in frustration. "It was so real in my dream."
"If sleeping is the only way you can find him, then why don't you sleep?" Harte was willing to try anything. He pointed at the seat next to him. "Sit close to me and close your eyes."
"But I'm not sleepy. I want to help look for him."
Harte put an arm around Peli and pulled the bearskin rug over them both. "You may do Griff more good this way. Just relax next to me. If you can't sleep, let your mind drift. Perhaps you may come within sight of Morpheus' gate."
"Who's Morpheus?"
"The god of dreams."
"Then I have been tormented by a god, every night?"
"Hush. Don't be vain. Try to sleep."
They rode out of Walford's Crossing, past prosperous holdings with large houses and stone barns, then past more distant hardscrabble farms, until they came to a stretch of dark forest where their lanterns hardly seemed to pierce the gloom under the barren branches. Harte was quiet, hoping the clopping of the horse's hooves and jingling of the bells would lull Peli. But his eyes scanned every hillock and lump that might conceal the body of a man or horse. Twice their noisy progress set an owl hooting as it glided silently to a more distant perch. Later, a deer stood unmoving under the tree boughs, its eyes reflecting the yellow light of their lanterns. Harte started to point it out to Peli, but he realized that the boy's eyes were closed, and that he drew the even breaths of a sleeper.
It must have been five bells and nearing dawn, when Peli jerked awake. "He's awake; I think he hears our bells!" He looked around frantically. "We must be close." They had passed from the forest and begun to follow a frozen stream as it wound in and out of sight of the road. There were marsh grasses and gnarled bushes as high as a horse blocking the view. "Griff! Where are you?" Peli yelled suddenly. Garth and Tom reined in and looked around in surprise.
"Did you hear something?" said Garth.
"The boy may have."
"Griff! Can you hear us? Griff!" yelled Tom, taking up the call.
"Whoa there, boys." Harte brought the sleigh to a halt.
"Griff! Griff!" called Peli again.
"Hush now," Harte said. "Let's listen for a moment." They stood silent, but they could hear nothing but the heavy blowing of the horses and the occasional jingle, when a horse shifted or stamped. "Let's go farther and try again," Harte said. They resumed moving slowly and continued for a furlong or so, then stopped and called out again.
"Griff! Griff! Can you hear us?" Once again, there was no response, so Harte motioned them on.
"How far do you think the sound of the bells carry?" Peli asked.
"I don't know. Maybe pretty far, in this still air."
"Griff!"
Tom saw it first; the feeble wave of a watchman's stick, seeming to come from a snow covered bush, four or five strides off of the road. He spurred his horse to trot, then reined in and slid off. "Ho, look here! Garth! Boys!"
"Shut up, you great oaf, and get me out of here," whispered Griff horsely. "I can't feel my hands and feet."
Tom laughed gaily, his breath making a great steaming cloud. "I've found a talking bush, and a rude one at that."
Harte had not even brought the sleigh to a halt when Peli leaped off. Harte reined in and followed quickly. Garth trotted over from the other side of the road.
"Griff, Griff, I knew you were here! Are you all right? Your ankle, does it hurt?"
"Hush boy," Harte said. "Let's get him into the sleigh. He is very cold."
"Be careful of his ankle."
They lifted Griff out of the make-shift shelter that he had constructed and carried him over to the sleigh. "Get him under that bear skin. Peli get under there with him. Help to warm him. Tom, help me get this sleigh turned around." They got the sleigh pointed back towards Walford's Crossing and set out as fast as their tired horses would carry them.
Harte pulled out a flask and gave it to Peli. "Give him a taste of this. Not too much. Help him with it."
"That burns," Griff moaned.
"What happened to you?"
Between bouts of shivering, Griff told his story. "Men. Grabbed my reins and stabbed Belle." He stopped to take another swig from the flask. "She reared up and threw me. I caught my foot in the stirrup. Damn horse dragged me twenty yards before I got loose. Twisted my ankle. Tried to walk for a while, but had to stop."
"What happened to Belle?"
"Gone." He stopped as a shudder rippled through his body. "I hope she gets eaten by wolves. Gods, I'm cold."
"Here, unwrap your cloak and get Peli in there with you. You'll warm faster." Griff complied with shaking hands. It was then that Harte noticed that Griff was wearing a second cloak underneath the plain outer one. It had a di
stinctive black and white striped, fir collar.
Too Dear a Price
Griff slowly pushed himself up in his borrowed bed at Walford House. "How did you know to come and find me?"
Harte pulled off his gloves and sat down next to the bed. It was two days after they had brought Griff back to Walford's Crossing, nearly frozen. It had been close, but it appeared that Griff would keep his fingers and toes. "It seems there is more to our Peli than we knew."
"Peli?"
"You recall his sleeping troubles?" Harte said. Griff nodded. "It seems he visits others in his dreams. It's as though he is canny, but only while sleeping. That's why his rest is so disturbed at the hospital. He feels every patient's distress."
"Surely he could not have felt me from so far away. I've heard the canny are limited to a furlong or less."
"Perhaps that's only as far as they will admit," Harte said.
"What determines who they focus on? There must be thousands of people within that distance, especially in town."
"Stilian suffers from terrible headaches. He will not talk of them very much, but I see them in his face. He says that drinking shortens his range. I think it a wonder he is not drunk all the time. In any case, Peli woke in the night, convinced you were hurt. He knew you were freezing too, although cold is not an emotion. Perhaps he understood it because your fear centered around it. He actually came to the house and threw rocks at the windows until Cook let him in. I'm grateful she did not brain him with a skillet."
Griff looked at Harte in wonder. "And you believed his wild tale well enough to roust my men and rig a sleigh in the middle of the night!"
"In the end, it didn't matter what I believed." Harte examined the palm of one hand. "It was a simple calculation: could I live with myself if I were wrong?"
Griff swallowed, his voice box bobbing visibly.
Harte jumped to his feet and began to pace. "The clerk of court scheduled the Greer trial today. It will be in two weeks time. The cloak will help. You did well, bringing that back, through the price was dear. Very nearly too dear. We must be more careful. Who knows what Brin's friends may do when they discover we have the cloak. But I still want a witness who can identify Greer at the beating. I have asked Soloni for help again, but he promises nothing."
"Do you think it wise to pressure him? The price could be very high for such a witness."
"I don't know what else to do."
"You could post a reward."
Harte shook his head. "The witness must be credible. If they have been paid ..."
Griff yawned. "I'm tiring you," Harte said. I should take my pacing elsewhere."
"I'm fine." Griff pushed himself up in the bed again.
"No, you must rest. I will go. Have you everything that you need?"
"I'm fine," Griff said, irritably.
"Good." Harte opened the door.
"Thank you, Harte."
Harte waved him off without looking back. "We must have a witness."
* * *
Stilian rode into Bugport remembering the first time he saw the city from the back of a hay wagon. It had seemed impossibly big, dirty, and crowded. Now it only seemed dirty and crowded. Too many horses, wagons, and people had ground the snow into a muddy slush.
"Petar, you are nearly delivered. You will have oats!" What will I have? It took nearly one bell from the time the farmer's fields gave way to houses, until Stilian could see the gray stone and verdigris of Blue House. It seemed longer. When he reached the gates, he hailed the gatehouse impatiently, awkwardly sliding off Petar's back.
"Hallo! Watch! There's a weary traveler at your gate."
"Who greets us?" said a voice from within the gatehouse.
"Judge Cast, home from his travels."
"Didn't I say it sounded like him?" said second voice.
"Granted, but it doesn't look like him."
"Who looks like himself after a winter journey?" Two watchmen tumbled out of the gatehouse, like brothers from a tent. "We'll take care of your horse and saddlebags, Judge. The mistress said to watch for you. You're wanted in the infirmary."
"He's not--?"
The watchmen exchanged a look. "He's not dead, if that's what you mean. Beyond that, you'd better see for yourself."
"Thank you." Stilian squared his shoulders and turned for the infirmary. As he did, he threw the blanket off his senses and opened up to the people around him. There were two persons whom he sought. He found Thalia, her usual tight control loosening too, as she became aware of his presence, her worry changing to a muted joy even as he found her. But as he walked towards the room where he expected to find her with Hugh, he found no warmth or glow from his mentor. There was only the faint wash of the dreamer.
Thalia met him at the door of the infirmary. "Stilian! I'm so glad you're here. I have missed you so." She wrapped him in a great hug and nearly lifted him off his feet.
"Careful, you will cover yourself with mud. I've not washed in four days."
"Yes, you smell like wet horse. How is Petar?"
"Ready for a warm stall and a bag of oats, I should think. The gatekeepers are taking care of him." As he spoke, he looked into the room with a mute question.
"Please, go on in," she said, her voice thick. "He sleeps, as he has since he fell."
"Come in with me. Tell me what happened." Peevishness gave his voice a minor key. "Your note was lacking somewhat in detail."
"Well, we don't really know what happened. He was alone in the library and must have fallen. Some of his students found him at the bottom of one of the ladders, unconscious. The doctors say he hit his head. That appears to be his only serious injury. He had a few bruises, but they are nearly healed."
Stilian knelt by Hugh's side and brushed the hair from his forehead. "What are you up to Gray Beard? Is this a scheme to get me to visit? If so, it worked, so you may wake."
"They sent a pigeon to tell me he was hurt," Thalia said. "Just like in the old days, before the peace. They were the longest three days of my life, coming here."
Stilian straightened in surprise. "Three days! How did you manage the trip in three days?"
"I rode a sled down the Ramp--tied a pack to it and held on for dear life. I slid like an otter on a river bank. It took me one bell to do what takes the drays a whole day to do. Then I borrowed a horse at Bug Station and rode like a jockey."
"Wasn't that dangerous? A woman your age, sledding down a mountain?" Thalia glared. "Never mind," he said. "He's been unconscious for nine days?"
"Yes. He began to moan and talk in his sleep yesterday, but he won't rouse."
"Perhaps he rises slowly to the surface?" said Stilian.
"The doctors say that if he doesn't wake in the next few weeks, he will probably never do so."
"That's their idea of doctoring! To tell you such a thing--better you attend to Hugh, and ignore those charlatans."
"You are probably unfair to them," said Thalia, gently.
"I have reason."
"It was not their fault, what happened to Kit. Nor was it yours."
They were silent for a time. Stilian was embarrassed by Thalia's concern. She certainly knew it. "I am fine," he said.
"You met someone at Walford's Crossing."
Stilian sighed. It was fruitless to try to hide anything from Thalia. "Yes. I told you he's a presenter advocate for the town council--that he takes up cause with the downtrodden." He laughed. "My very sort, abandoning his peers to play in the mud. I don't think he will retain his position long. I hope to carry him away with me."
"Has he family there?"
"Yes." Stilian nodded. "They come slowly to understand him--and he them."
"Will he leave them?"
Stilian sighed. "I don't know."
"Does this altruist have a name?"
Stilian tried to project confidence. "Walford. Harte Walford."
"Walford? As in Walford's Crossing?" Thalia's shoulders sagg
ed.
"The very same."
"Oh, my dear. I fear you are star-crossed. You cannot expect to spirit away a scion of the local gentry?"
"Why not? I may be starry-eyed, but I'm not insensitive. He's unhappy there. He feels caged."
Thalia shook her head and looked down at the lined face of her bonded. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to discourage you."
"No. I should not be troubling you with my concerns. You're burdened enough."
"Burdened? Oh no. You will not start that talk again. I could not bear it. We are your family. You are not a burden to us!"
"But I hurt you. I know it! I feel it."
"Of course you do. There is no love without pain. You are old enough to know that. You would deprive us of your love and company, just to save us your pain? You have no right." She wrinkled her nose. "Go take a bath. Then come back here, and we'll talk some more. You will not leave me now." She turned away from him, her shoulders quivering.
* * *
Dear Stilian,
How apt that you should inquire of Peli, for I have much news of him. You may recall that Sister Grace sent me a note describing Peli's troubled sleep. Well, it seems that Peli may have been visiting hospital patients in his dreams and sharing in their suffering. Perhaps this is common among the Canny, but it is not a phenomenon known to me, and Peli shows no sign of being canny when conscious. Before you come to any conclusion, there's more. After the hearing, I sent Griff off to interview a servant girl who had been dismissed from Greer House. About the time Griff should have been on his way back, Peli woke from a dream absolutely convinced that Griff was injured and in need of rescue. I rousted Griff's patrol and went haring off into the night in a sleigh to find our missing comrade. Perhaps you won't be surprised to hear it, but we found him by the side of the road, nearly frozen, with a twisted ankle. His horse--my horse--gone, dead or taken by the highway men who knocked Griff from the saddle. (We are certain they were hired by Brin or his friends, but there is no proof.) Don't worry, Griff's mending satisfactorily.