“Oh, I noticed,” Tyra said. “I lie awake at night waiting for the stupid melody to change, but it never does.”
A woman in a blue hooded cloak turned at Tyra’s remark. “There is beauty in the song, and sorrow. It is melancholy, but not unpleasant, like the sigh of the wind through the grass on the mead.”
“Seratha.” Mauric grinned and sauntered up to her. “Had I known of your desire to visit the gardens, I would gladly have accompanied you.”
“Why?”
His grin faltered. “Because…ʼtis unwise for a beautiful woman to roam the city alone.”
Seratha shrugged. “I have my knives.” Dismissing Mauric, she turned to Raven. “A man approached me with a missive for you.” She handed him a bit of rolled up parchment. “ʼTwas a big fellow with a beard and the swell of the sea in his strut.”
“Gurnst,” Raven said. He unwound the note and read it. “He’s gone to the market to check on something. He says he’ll meet us at Doran’s.”
“Which is where?” Raine asked.
Raven glanced down at the parchment again. “Kelping Street, Leechy Bottom. Third house on the right.”
“Kelping Street, third house on the right,” Raine repeated, anxious to fulfill her promise to Doran. “I want to get there, and fast.”
Her new boots jigged up and down and took off, taking Raine with them. Raine yelped and rocketed away from the Wailing Tree, leaving her startled companions behind.
Chapter 18
Revelations
Raine raced around the park in the grip of a sudden paroxysm, her body twitching like a puppet.
“Raine, come back,” Raven shouted.
“I can’t.” Her voice was thin with terror. “I can’t make them stop.”
She circled a tree and shot past a nurse with two young charges. The toddlers squealed and pointed.
“Blessed Bear, it’s her boots,” Tyra said. “They’ve run away with her.”
“Enchanted boots?” Mauric made the sign to ward off evil. “By Tro, trouble finds that girl wherever she goes. How the hell did she come by enchanted boots?”
“I don’t know,” Tyra said. “She said they were a gift.”
Raine stopped abruptly, teetering on her heels. Her body was jerked forward, as though pulled by an invisible string, and she took off for the gate.
“She’s headed out of the park,” Mauric said, his gaze on Raine’s distant figure. “Where’s she bound, you reckon?”
“Leechy Bottom,” Raven said. “She said she wanted to be in Leechy Bottom.”
“She can’t go wandering around the wharves alone,” Mauric said. “The place is full of drunks and cutthroats.”
“I know,” Raven said, taking off at a run.
Raven tried to catch Raine, but she was moving too fast. Feet hammering up and down, she darted in and out of flowerbeds and through bushes and leapt over a group of lads playing stakkers on the green. A guardsman on horseback paused to watch the boys bowl.
Raven ran up to him. “Give me your horse.”
The warrior blinked at him, his face slack with surprise. “What?”
“I said—never mind.” Raven grabbed the man by the hauberk and yanked him off the horse. The warrior landed on his back. Wheezing, he stared up at Raven and tried to suck air back into his deflated lungs.
Raven flung himself on the mount. “My pardon. Rowan’s business.”
Pressing his heels into the horse’s flanks, he galloped after Raine. The trail of confusion she’d left in her wake was easy to follow. A woman sat on the curb, packages scattered at her feet. Her hat, a towering creation of swirling cloth festooned with tiny bells, was twisted backward.
“Whoosh,” she mumbled, her plump cheeks quivering. “Whoosh, whoosh.”
Down the street, a shop keep was righting his cart.
“The girl,” Raven said, cantering up to him. “Which way did she go?”
The man bent to retrieve a round of cheese with shaking hands. “Toward the West Gate, Roark.”
“It’s as I thought,” Raven muttered. “She’s headed for the wharves.” He tossed the man a coin. “My thanks.”
He rode on and found more chaos at the West Gate. Baskets of fish and lobsters were spilled in the street and the outraged fishmonger was yelling at one of the guards. Raven galloped past them through the open gates and onto the sea road. He spotted Raine ahead. She was haring along at incredible speed, her feet churning up clouds of dust.
He urged the horse onward. Leechy Bottom was situated in Eely Cove, a stagnant backwater with a tumbledown pier and a ragged fleet of boats. The Bottom was a thoroughly disreputable place, a den of thieves, smugglers, and various forms of vice. The streets were muddy, the houses mean and in ill repair. The air was dank with the odors of rotting fish and refuse. A tavern near the wharf leaned drunkenly to one side, belching beer fumes and stale smoke through the open door. The Bottom came alive at night, and few people were out this early. Those few who were up and about took one look at Raven and crossed the street.
“Kelping Street,” Raven said, pausing to ask directions from a saggy-faced fellow in bibbed breeches and muckers. “Which way?”
The man set down the willow fish trap in his hand and scratched his head. “Depends. Who wants to know? Be you a snatcher?”
“I’m no gaoler,” Raven said. “I am looking for a girl.”
“Aye, many a fine lord’s come to the Bottom singing the same song, but you won’t find your ease at this time o’ day. Tarts need their rest, same as other folk. Come back later. They’ll wring your dangler good and proper.”
Raven clenched his jaw. “The directions, and now. Make me get down from this horse and you’ll regret it.”
The man took a closer squint at Raven and stepped back. “A’right. No need to get yer wind up.” Raising an arm, he pointed. “Kelping Street be thataway, farther up the slough. There’s a wooden post at the end of the street wiv a crab carved on it.”
Raven nudged the horse into a brisk trot and clopped through the squalid streets. He found the street marker with a crab, as described by his reluctant guide. Kelping Street consisted of a string of cheap cottages with molting thatched roofs and crooked shutters. Raine sprawled, red-faced, on a stoop, gasping like a blown horse. Her skirts were around her knees, exposing a good deal of leg and the unruly boots.
Two men stood over her, admiring her shapely limbs.
“What’s the hurry, pretty thing?” one of them asked in an oily voice.
Gasping for breath, Raine pushed herself onto her elbows. “Go…away.”
“Or what?” the man’s companion said with a leer.
“Ask…him,” Raine said, and collapsed back on the step.
The men looked back. Raven had dismounted and tied up the horse. He strode toward them, his sword drawn. The men yelped and bolted down the street, disappearing around a corner.
Raven sheathed his blade. “Raine, are you hurt?”
Her eyes were closed. “Don’t…think…so.”
“Let me help you up.”
“No…please.” She waved feebly. “Can’t…breathe. Heart…pounding.”
“Small wonder, dashing about like a scalded cat.”
She opened one eye to glare at him. “Not…my fault. Boots.”
“Ah, yes.” Ignoring her protests, Raven pulled her to her feet. “Did no one warn you to beware enchanted gifts?”
“I didn’t know they were enchanted. I thought they were an early Trolach present.”
“Trolach is more than a moon hence.”
Raine scowled and opened her mouth, but her retort died on her lips when the cottage door opened and a red-eyed young woman with a toddler clinging to her skirts confronted them.
“I’ll thank you to get off my doorstep,” the woman said. “This ain’t no pus
h house. Have your diddle someplace else.”
Raine flushed. “We’re not… That is, we’re looking for someone.”
“Whoever it is, you’ll not find them here,” the woman said. “Off with you, before I send for the beak.”
“Patience, good wife, you misunderstand,” Raven said. “Are you Birgit Geerland?”
The woman’s blank, exhausted expression did not flicker. “What if I am?”
“I’m Reaven Gorne. Doran was one of my men.”
“My da’s dead.” The little boy peered around his mother’s skirts. “He ain’t coming home no more. The sea swallowed him.”
“You must be Aksel.” Raven crouched in front of the boy. “I’m sorry about your father. He was a good man.”
“Sorry don’t pay the landlord,” Birgit said. “If you’ve come to tell me about Doran, you’re too late. One of his mates stopped by yesterday with the news.”
Raven rose and removed a pouch from his belt. “I’m sorry I did not deliver the news myself,” he said, handing the coin purse to the woman, “but I was detained at the fast. I’ve brought you Doran’s wages.”
Birgit opened the bag. “You’ve made a mistake, m’ lord,” she said with a soft gasp. “There must be a hundred trones in here.”
“Hazard pay. ʼTis what Doran would have earned had he—” He paused, adding roughly, “Had he completed the voyage.”
“Praise the gods.” Throwing her apron over her head, Birgit burst into noisy sobs. “We’ve no money for food or rent, and I’ve been at my wit’s end.”
“No need for that,” Raven said, shifting uncomfortably. “All will be well. Have you family nearby?”
Birgit sniffed and shook her head. “My da was a fisherman. When he and my older brother died at sea, my mother grieved herself to death. Doran is from a village up north. He come to the city for work. I was a server at an inn by the wharf. He stopped in for a bowl of stew, and”—her face crumpled—“and that’s how we met.”
“His family then,” Raven said. “The Bottom is no place for a young widow.”
She shook her head. “They don’t know me, and I’ve no proof I’m Doran’s wife. They’ll turn me away.”
“The medallion,” Raine exclaimed. Fumbling in her pocket, she produced the necklace and gave it to Birgit. “Doran left this for you and Aksel.”
“Doran’s necklace,” Birgit said. “ʼTwas a gift from his brother when he left the north.” Her face wrinkled in confusion. “But you’re a fine lady. W-why would Doran give it to you, and not one of his mates?”
Raine reddened. “Well…um…that is, I…”
Taking pity on her, Raven stepped in. “The Lady Raine was a passenger on the Storm. Your husband knew she was bound for the Citadel and trusted her to deliver the medallion to you.”
“Yes,” Raine said, shooting him a grateful look. “That’s it, exactly.”
Birgit’s fingers tightened around the medallion. “He gave this to you before he…” She swallowed. “Before he died?”
“It was given into my keeping,” Raine hedged. “He loved you and Aksel very much. He never stops—stopped—talking about you.”
“Thank you.” Birgit’s mouth trembled. “Thank you both.”
Raven glanced around the squalid street. The back of his neck tingled. A curtain moved in a window across the street. They were being watched. “Where does your husband’s village lie, Goodwife Geerland?” “To the north, m’ lord, some three days distance. Finald, it’s called.”
“I’ll have my man Gurnst escort you.”
“Oh, no, m’ lord. ʼTwould be too much to ask.”
“I insist,” Raven said. “A widow of means such as yourself wouldn’t make it out of the Bottom alone, much less three days north.”
“A widow of—” Birgit’s mouth sagged. “Blessed Bear. I don’t know what to say, except thank you, m’ lord.”
“Thanks, will suffice.” The clop of hooves drew Raven’s attention up the street. “Here is Gurnst, now.”
Gurnst rode a hired nag, a rawboned chestnut with a mean expression. Dismounting, he strode up to them. “I see you found the place, Captain.”
“Aye, and much faster than expected.” Raven slid a wry glance at Raine. “Gurnst, this is Doran’s widow and his boy, Aksel.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. And you, as well, young’un,” Gurnst said in his hearty voice.
“I’ve told Birgit that you’ll escort her and the boy to Doran’s brother in Finald,” Raven said. “It’s not safe for her to travel alone.”
“No, indeed,” Gurnst said. “The mountain roads are dangerous.”
“I told his lordship there’s no need.” Birgit wiped her wet cheeks. “I don’t wish to be a bother.”
“No bother,” Gurnst said. “Finald’s not far from my own village. ʼTwill give me a chance to look in on my old da.”
Birgit gave him a worn smile. “I’ll grab our things, then.”
“You wish to leave today?” Gurnst asked.
“Yes.” The set of Birgit’s shoulders was determined. “The sooner we leave this place, the better. With Doran gone, there’s naught but unhappiness here.”
She disappeared inside.
“It’s sad, Cap’n, about Doran,” Gurnst said. “Him being in the prime o’ life, and all.” He considered the dingy street. “They’ll be better off in Finald, and no doubt. The Bottom is a manky spot. No place for a pretty young woman and a squeaker.”
“Ho, Raven, you found her?”
Mauric plodded down Kelping Street astride the eight-legged ox. Tyra sat in front of him. The ox rolled an eye at Raven and lowed, protesting the indignity of being ridden.
Tyra slid off the ox. “Raine, are you hurt?” she asked, running up to them.
“I’m fine,” Raine said. “Just winded and foot sore.”
“I should think you would be.” Mauric jumped down from the ox. “Like a rabbit with its tail on fire, you were. Who gave you the boots?”
“I have no idea,” Raine said. “Drifa found them on the steps this morning.”
“Plots within plots,” Mauric said. “First the attack at the gate, and now this. Someone’s trying to kill you, lass. I’ll tell you frankly, at this rate, you’ll be lucky to see Trolach.”
“Thank you, Mauric,” Raine said. “You are such a comfort.”
“I think the boots are wonderful,” Tyra said. “Think of it. With boots like that, I could be at Sea Watch and back in the blink of an eye.”
“Absolutely not,” Raine said. “I wouldn’t give these boots to my worst enemy. In fact, I want to go back to the fast right now and take them off and throw them in the fire.”
Raine’s feet began to patter up and down.
“Oh, no,” she said, her eyes wide with panic. “What have I done? I didn’t mean it. I take it back. Aieeee.”
She took off down the street in a blur of motion.
“Blood and thunderation,” Raven said, striding for his horse. “She’s off again.”
* * * *
Late that evening, Raine waited in bed for Drifa to retire.
“That’s it for me, then, milady,” Drifa said, poking her head into the bedroom. “You’ve had your bath and supper, and I’ve tidied up. Is there aught else you require?”
“If you would, set the kettle on the hearth. If my feet should begin to ache, I may need a draught to sleep.”
“Very good, milady. I’ll see to it and wish you good night.”
“Goodnight, Drifa.”
Drifa closed the door and Raine threw back the covers and stripped off her gown. Thanks to Tyra, she’d had an idea. Beneath her nightclothes, she wore her breeches, a hooded tunic, and her new boots.
“No more shenanigans,” she said to her recalcitrant footwear. “I must be nuts to give you another cha
nce, but I don’t know my way around the fast, and I need your help. But listen, you. Mess with me again, and I will toss you in the fire.”
Stepping to the bedroom door, she opened it a crack and looked out. Drifa was at the table preparing a tisane for Raine. Quickly shifting into a mouse, Raine crept into the sitting room and darted behind a tapestry. Nose twitching, Raine peeked at Drifa. The maid was humming to herself as she mixed poppy juice and lavender in a cup. Task completed, Drifa placed the kettle on the hearth and went to the door. Scurrying after the maid on silent feet, Raine slipped from the tower at her heels.
“Good e’en, Lord Lindar,” Drifa said, pausing to speak to the guard on the landing.
Raine ran under her skirt and froze, quivering.
“Good e’en, Drifa,” Mauric said. “The Lady Raine is abed?”
“Aye, m’ lord. She’s tuckered out. Quite the adventure she had today.”
“Aye, she led us a merry chase.”
“Magic makes mischief,” Drifa said. “I should never have given her them boots.”
“You couldn’t have guessed they were charmed.”
“No, indeed, m’ lord. What’s the world coming to, I ask you, when someone leaves magic boots on the stairs for anyone to find? It’s trying times we live in m’ lord. Trying times.”
Bidding him good night, Drifa made her way down the winding steps with Raine clinging to the hem of her dress. At the bottom of the stairs, Drifa opened the tower door and stepped into the murky hall. Raine let go of Drifa’s dress and dropped to the stone floor, crouching in the shadows.
“Dark as Glonoff’s heart, this part of the fast,” Drifa muttered, hurrying off down the corridor.
Raine scampered in the opposite direction. She turned a corner and shed her mouse form. Tugging the hood of her tunic up to conceal her face, she looked down at her boots.
“I wish to visit Glory in her chambers,” she said, “and this time go slow.”
A strange stretching sensation seized her, not unlike the experience of translocation. With excruciating deliberateness, her body was pulled forward a scant inch.
A Muddle of Magic Page 24