Robin's stance, not in the least submissive, gave her away, even though she wore the same drab clothing as every other woman in the square. When Jonny saw that familiar figure waiting for him beside the wagon, he was torn between giddy relief and wanting to strangle her with Ills bare hands.
Relief won easily. He shoved his way through the crowd towards her. At the very last moment, though, he remembered that Robin was "supposed" to have been a little ill, not missing, and kept himself from running towards her and flinging his arms around her as if she had been gone since last night.
That did not, however, stop her from doing the same.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you were right, I shouldn't have—" she babbled—and before she could say anything that might betray them to listeners, he stopped her the only way he could think of. With a kiss, and a hug that squeezed the breath out of her.
"Inside," he whispered into her ear, quickly. "Preachers."
She started, and took a quick glance around, her eyes widening at the sight of all the street preachers around. She nodded, and followed him inside the wagon.
She waited until he closed the door before finishing her sentence. "I'm so sorry"—she babbled, as they threw their arms around each other and hung on as if they would never let go again—"I'll never be that stupid again, I was an idiot, you were right—"
"But n-not r-right to act as if I c-could order y-you about," he interrupted, caressing her hair in the soft semidarkness. "Y-you w-were r-right, t-too. I'm s-s-sorry."
"Not half as much as I am," she replied, ruefully, calming down and chuckling a little". "I was a little too convincing. They thought I was a real Patsono, all right—and they put me up in the dormitory for their unattached women! I couldn't get out all night, and in the morning I had a self-appointed guide that glued herself to my elbow right up until that mob broke loose to go after that poor Woolwright woman!"
He shuddered; he couldn't help himself. He could all too easily imagine the same thing happening to himself, or any of the Free Bards. "I s-s-saw it all," he said, locking both his arms around her to stop her sudden shivering. "Th-the d-demon and everything. S-s-someone w-was using m-magic in th-there, of c-course. How d-did you g-get away?"
She put her head against his shoulder, until her shaking died down. "The girl who was watching me couldn't resist a chance at the loot, and she left me as soon as those brutes broke down the door," Robin told him, after a moment. She put her head back a little, so that she could see his face. "I didn't get any good looks at the demon-show—"
He smiled, wanly. "W-well, I d-did," he said, and proceeded to describe everything he had seen and heard, in as much detail as he could remember. She shook her head in disbelief several times, and her lips and chin tightened in anger long before he was done with his narrative.
She hugged him hard, then pushed him away gently when he had finished. "That's it," she said firmly. "That's all of this I can take. I don't know about you, but I've seen everything I need to; I can tell the Gypsy Chiefs who is betraying our secrets, we can warn the Free Bards, the nonhumans, and the Gypsies about what is starting here. Now I want out of here, before they do something like that to one of us!"
Kestrel nodded. "There's n-nothing back in our r-room at the inn th-that c-can't b-be replaced," he told her. "W-we k-kept everything important in th-the w-wagon. How ab-bout right n-now?"
Her face lit with a smile of relief. "That's the best idea I've heard in a long time!" she exclaimed. But then her face fell.
"What about Orlina Woolwright?" she said, hesitantly. "She's inno-cent—and we know that, and we didn't do anything to stop them—"
Jonny paused for a moment, hand reaching for the door, then turned. "W-we g-go after her," he replied. And wondered if Robin was going to argue with him. "W-we c-can take her t-to one of the J-Justiciars. Wren kn-knows one—"
He expected Robin to object, but she nodded with enthusiasm—a change in her that made his spirits rise. "I know her too!" she exclaimed. "And I doubt she'll have forgotten me! That is the perfect solution—surely what Padrik is doing can't be legal, even by Church standards. And—well, the Justiciar we both know is impartial enough that she has made judgments against Priests before this."
"All r-right, then," Kestrel agreed, opening the d(X)r. "Th-then let's g-get out of h-here b-before s-something else happens!"
Chapter Fifteen
Getting out was easier said than done.
Robin noticed that the square was filling up with people as they readied the horses and headed for the street of the inns; and that was odd, because at this hour, things were usually winding down and people were going home. But the moment they maneuvered the wagon out of the Cathedral market square and onto the street itself, it seemed that everyone in the city was determined to go towards the Cathedral while they struggled to move aujay. One or two folk struggled against the growing flow-tide of Gradford citizens, but most were trying to get to the very place she and Kestrel wanted to leave.
A pity that they weren't real merchants; they'd have sold everything they owned with a crowd this big!
I'd be doing my best to stay out of the street in this part of town, if I lived here, Robin thought grimly, a headache starting to form in both temples, I'd lock my door and not open it until morning. It must be that they've heard about the demon and all the rest of it, and maybe they're trying to stream in to show their piety. Come to the evening services and prove that you're not a sorcerer! What a clever way to make sure no one ever decides to oppose your will! Surely every Councilor by now has seen the handwriting on the wall. Get in Padrik's way and he'll see that you wind up being accused of demon-summoning!
And there would be no proper court of law for those who were so accused. Padrik had just set a precedent; he was judge and jury for those he accused—and his mobs would see that punishment was dealt out with a heavy hand.
Their wagon was forced to the far side of the street and kept there by the press of bodies. A blind cripple would have been able to walk faster than the horses could, and every time there was an intersection, there was a City Constable there, stopping traffic to let another stream of people onto Inn Street.
In the end, it was full dark long before they reached the city gates, and they had actually been able to retrieve their belongings from The Singing Bird after all. Robin simply hopped out and shoved and elbowed her way through the crowd when they were two buildings away; by the time the wagon reached the opening to the courtyard, she had gathered everything up and was waiting for him. It had been easy, and she hadn't even needed to give a parting explanation to the innkeeper, for The Singing Bird was so full of people she couldn't even see him. Not that she thought he'd be the loser in this; he was going to have the money they'd paid in advance for their next week. She was glad of that; it made leaving a little less distasteful. In fact, the only thing she regretted was leaving Ardana without entertainers, with no notice whatsoever. But if Ardana had heard what had happened tonight—well, she would probably understand.
She might even be thinking about a swift relocation herself right about now. What was the cost and difficulty of packing up and leaving, when compared to waking up to find yourself accused and convicted of dark sorcery?
Robin tossed the bags of their personal things up beside Kestrel and climbed onto the driver's bench, pushing open the doorway over the bed and shoving the bags in there quickly.
A good thing I went back, too, she reflected, as they inched along, both of them trying very hard to look relaxed and completely unconcerned about the press of traffic. If Padrik or someone in his train is working magic, and he gets an inkling that we were something other than what we appeared to be, any mage can use our belongings to find us. Or to send things after us! I don't want to have to test Bardic Magic against that!
She took mental stock of what provisions were still in the wagon; not a lot, unfortunately. They hadn't been planning on running. And she had no notion what they were going to do when they finally
got out of Grad-ford; camp at the bottom of the hill and hope that the area was safe, probably.
Poor planning. Next time they did this, they'd have to make certain they were ready in case they had to make a run for it.
Next time! she thought, suppressing an hysterical giggle. If there's a next time like this, I'm becoming a washerwoman!
They reached the gates just before they were about to close for the night. There was no one else waiting to get out, and a thin stream of people coming in at the last minute. The Guards there looked at them a bit askance; usually people wanted to get into a walled city before the gates closed, not out of the place. But now that they were leaving, Robin didn't particularly care what they thought; she didn't bother to offer any excuses or make up any explanatory story. If luck was with her, she'd never have to visit Gradford again in her life!
Well, luck was with them enough that there was a high, full moon tonight. The switchback road down to the bottom of the hill stretched out before them, clear and pale gray in the bright moonlight. The horses were able to make their way down the road to the bottom of the hill with very little difficulty, and only a stumble or two over a rock or a hole.
Once at the bottom, though, it was clear that it would not be possible to go any further tonight. The valleys were deep in shadow, and anything could be hiding there. The horses could easily break legs over unseen obstructions. So they made camp; not a very satisfactory camp, as Robin had foreseen.
The provisions still in the wagon left a lot to be desired. The horses had grain and water, but not as much of the former as they wanted. There wasn't much to eat for the humans, either, no lamp oil, and only enough charcoal for the stove to warm the wagon and cook a scanty meal, not enough to keep the wagon warm all night. So Robin made unleavened griddle-cakes, two each, and generously loaded them with honey. Not enough to do more than tantalize. Then they went to bed still hungry, with only the blankets and each other to keep them warm through the night. That wasn't as bad as it could have been, though; they both had belated apologies to make to each other and a quarrel to mend. It was an argument that had proven to bring misery to both of them—but the reconciliation made up for the horrible night before.
Roosters high in the hills woke them at false-dawn, stiff with cold and muscles aching. There was nothing to eat, and only work to warm them. But they set off again as soon as the sun rose, with Jonny catching up on his missed sleep, and Gwyna driving, knowing they would easily reach the wayside inn by noon. The horses knew this road, now, and they remembered there was an inn on it, which meant a real stable, hay, and grain; they made very good time with no need for urging on Robin's part, setting off at a brisk walk when she gave them the signal.
Robin kept her eyes sharp for foot travelers. She expected at any moment to see Orlina Woolwright, limping along the side of the road. The woman was wealthy and not used to walking, after all; she was afoot, and they were in a wagon. Granted, the advantage of the wagon was somewhat negated by the fact that they were in hill country, and a man walking could make roughly the same time as any beast pulling a vehicle; only a person riding would outpace either. But as the hours passed, and Orlina did not appear, Robin began to wonder just what had happened to the woman. The only foot travelers she saw were a couple of shepherds and a farmer or two.
"Where can she be?" she wondered aloud, as the inn appeared on a hilltop in the distance, and there was still no sign of Orlina's mulberry-colored dress. Surely the woman hadn't just dropped out of sight! Robin hadn't heard of any robbers on this road; the local Sire kept it as well-patrolled as it was tended. And if she had fallen over from exhaustion, she should still be on the grassy verge . . . .
But Jonny didn't answer her; he was still asleep. She swallowed, and glanced back at the closed door behind her, feeling rather guilty. His red-rimmed eyes had told her more than he himself had about how he had spent the previous night. Well, she hadn't exactly enjoyed herself, but she had known where he was, and that he was safe enough in their room in the inn. He'd had no idea where she was, or what had happened to her—and likely, if they both hadn't been mistrustful of anything that passed for an authority in Gradford, he'd have had her name and description up with the Constables before sunrise.
That bewildered her a little, and touched her a great deal—and made her feel horribly guilty for making him so miserable. She wasn't used to having someone worry over where she was and where she had gone. Or at least, not since she was old enough to leave the family wagon and go out on her own. And to have someone worry himself sleepless over her . . .
But if it had been the other way around—hmm. I think I'd have done the same. If I hadn't known he would stay where he was, I still might have fretted myself into a lather—
She shook her head and gave up on it. She had promised she would never be that stupid again, and she meant to keep that promise. Too much going on, and not enough time to think about it all, that was the problem. Too many things happening too fast, and they had completely-neglected to make plans together. Next time they'd do better. Weren't they partners? That was one meaning of vanderei: "partners on the road." Partners didn't leave one another in the dark. He never forgot that; it was time she started remembering.
And where on earth was that Woolwright woman? Surely no wealthy rootfoot could have walked this far—surely she wouldn't have walked all night!
But that assumed she was walking of her own will. She might not be; hadn't Jonny said something about how the woman had looked after Padrik put that curious "token" around her neck? Yes, he had; he'd been adamant about it.
Spell-struck, that was what he said. As if something had just thrown a spell over her, and had taken over her body, mind, and will.
If Padrik really didn't care if she returned or not, casting a spell on her mind to make her keep walking until she reached Carthell Abbey-would be no great problem. What would it matter if she walked herself into exhaustion and collapse? What would it matter to him if she walked over a cliff? Why should he care? Any misfortune that befell her would clearly be the will of God.
So the least he had done, probably, was to make certain she would walk straight to the Abbey with no pause for rest. For a moment, Robin felt guilty again—they hadn't done anything to stop Padrik, and they could probably have used Bardic Magic to cancel the spell on that token. Had they stood by and condemned an old woman to death-by-exhaustion?
Maybe not; when she made that speech, she didn't look very frail to me. She's a Master in the Weaver's Guild; that's a lot of hauling, walking, lifting . . . even for a Master with a shop full of apprentices. She could be more fit than I had thought.
She could, in fact, have the reserves to walk a full day and a night without collapsing. And if that was the case—she would be a full day ahead of them by now!
Robin sighed with resignation, her guilt lost in a moment of self-pity. Last night had not been very comfortable, and she had been hoping to intercept the woman and enjoy a good rest at the inn. But this meant no warm bed in the inn tonight, and no supper cooked by someone else. Only a brief stop to properly reprovision the wagon—
At inn prices. She winced. While she was hardly parsimonious, a Gypsy was never happy without a bargain. There were few bargains to be had at inns as remote as this one.
So. It had to be done. Once they had restocked, they could go on, and hope to catch Orlina before she actually reached the Abbey.
And try to figure out what sort of spell they have on her, and how to break it, she realized, as the horses mounted the final hill and quickened their pace, with the inn in clear sight. They knew what was up there! Otherwise, if we don't break it, she's going to keep right on walking to the Abbey, no matter what we do.
The innkeeper was very happy to see them again; as she pulled the horses into the dusty yard in front of the door, he came out himself, beaming a cheerful greeting in the thin winter sunlight. "Well, my travelers!" he called out. "You return! And did you prosper in Gradford?"
"Ai," Robin said, sadly, and made a long face, as she halted the horses. "Everywhere one turns, there are hard times, and everyone is a thief. How can any honest craftsman prosper in times like these?"
"How, indeed." The innkeeper wiped his hands on his apron, and made a mock-sober face himself. "The times are hard. But you have come to stay, surely—"
His face truly fell when she shook her head; with custom already thin along here, the coming of winter must be hitting him hard. "No," she replied regretfully, "but we will have to reprovision here. We will need everything: horse-feed, oil, charcoal, food—we are down to nothing but a handful of meal and a few cups of oats. And I don't suppose your cook has any of those little meat pies that keep so well—?"
His expression regained its former look of cheer. "Why, he made a batch this very morning! And for you, of course, my prices on provisions will be so tiny, I shall make no profit at all!"
"I'm sure," she told him dryly, then settled down for a serious bargaining session.
Jonny slept all through the stop; he didn't even wake up when she entered the wagon to store everything she had bought, nor when the innkeeper's workhands clambered atop the wagon to store waterproofed sacks of charcoal up on the roof. The horses might not have gotten their warm stable, but she did see that they each got a good feed of grain, and bought more to store under the wagon. Their profits for their God-Stars paid for all of it; would, in fact, have paid for it all three times over. But she wept and wailed and claimed that the innkeeper was cheating her; he blustered and moaned, and swore she was robbing him, and in the end, they both smiled and shook hands, satisfied.
He had been able to unload some stocks that he clearly wasn't going to need this winter, and she was at least as satisfied as she was ever likely to get, buying provisions at an inn set out in the middle of nowhere.
The innkeeper hadn't seen anyone even remotely resembling the description of Orlina Woolwright, neither walking nor riding. None of his stablehands and servants had, either, and Robin wondered then if they had gone off chasing a phantom. Still, she reminded herself that their main reason for leaving hadn't been to run off to her rescue—it had been to escape while they still could! If they couldn't find her, they couldn't help her, and there was no getting around it.
The Robin and the Kestrel Page 27