Some were living in Temple quarters? That sounded like a prime environment to develop religious mania . . .
Except she couldn’t think of a single Temple or other religious housing near the Hill that held any sect that would hold the sort of vitriolic abhorrence of women that was expressed in those letters.
:Who would know where they all live?: she asked, although she was pretty certain she knew the answer.
:Actually it’s probably not the Seneschal,: Rolan corrected. :But the Seneschal will know who knows.:
She managed to intercept that harried individual just as he was leaving his office. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t ask you this if it weren’t important,” she apologized, “But who has the list of the Blues, who they are, and where they live?”
“Royal Housekeeper,” the Seneschal said, and hurried off without waiting for her thanks.
The Housekeeper had an office as well, in the basement of the Palace, and it was with profound relief that Amily descended the stairs into the real cool. The basement might not be very pleasant in the winter, but right now . . .
I’ve got to figure out a way I can spend more time here.
Amily found her in her office, as expected, and she was not nearly so harried as the Seneschal. But she had a small army of maids and pages under her, and seldom had to leave her office except on her rounds of inspection. It was the first time in a long time that Amily had needed to come talk to her about anything, but remarkably, the woman remembered her.
She was a tall, thin, stern-looking lady who habitually wore black gowns with snowy white trimming, and the heavy ring of keys to everything in the Palace that needed to be locked up jangling at her belt. But she smiled faintly when Amily tapped hesitantly on her doorframe, and gestured her in.
“Well, little Amily, you have come up in the world since I saw you last,” she said, sounding pleased, and not at all as if she was trying to make it a veiled insult. “And I am more than happy to see you so well settled with your young man. What can I do for the King’s Own, my dear?”
:What does she know?: she asked Rolan.
:Everything. She has to. She’s one of your father’s people.:
That made things easier. “Well, you know I’m helping Mags and Father try to find this . . .”
“Wretched letter-writer,” the Housekeeper interrupted. “Yes, he told me, I’m in his circle of informants.”
Perfect. “I’m more or less in charge of weeding out the people who live or move about in and around the Palace. So I need the list of the Blues, who they are, and where they are lodging.”
Now the Housekeeper smiled broadly, and with great satisfaction, like someone who has done a job before anyone even knew it was going to need doing. “I thought someone might. I made a copy. Here you are.” And with that, she handed over a neatly folded, thin stack of papers. “I’m sure you haven’t considered the servants, but I have. Nikolas asked if I could think of anyone among the servants who could be responsible, and honestly, I can’t. They’ve all been here . . . three or four years at the very least, and those who have little seniority are all young under-servants. The letters didn’t start until this summer, and I cannot imagine why any of them would suddenly break out in a flurry of acidic letter writing. Not to mention, I absolutely assure you, they simply do not have the time to have written all those letters, delivered them, and still gotten their duties completed.”
Amily nodded; the Palace servants were treated well, paid well, and certainly not overworked—but the sheer volume of letters sent and delivered would have meant that a servant would have been sitting up past his or her bedtime for hours several nights in a fortnight. The Housekeeper, and their fellow-servants, would absolutely have noticed someone showing signs of that sort of exhaustion.
“As for the Blues, they are all youngsters. The missives he showed me left me with the impression that the writer is an adult.”
Well, that was two observations from two separate people, Joya and the Housekeeper, coming to the same conclusion. “You’re probably right—but that’s not the only reason I want to check on them. What if this creature has been sending them those horrible letters? If they are anything like the Trainees, they are going to assume that they are the only ones being singled out, and will have no idea how much of this poison has been strewed around the Hill. And they’ll hide the fact that they are getting these things, because they won’t want anyone to know.”
“In that case, I am sure you will think of a way to find out. I’d appreciate it if you can solve this nonsense as soon as possible. It’s not only creating a great deal of unrest, but it has the potential to turn deadly.” The Housekeeper gave her a fixed look, as if to be certain that Amily was taking her seriously.
Startled, Amily just nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Pellam. I’m doubly glad to discover you’re someone I can rely on.”
That last brought a gratified smile to the Housekeeper’s face, and on that note, Amily hurried off, reading down the list, and noting where each student was quartered.
I need someone who can keep an eye on them from inside, but who? All her friends in the Blues were long since grown and most were married. None of them had had younger siblings who might be students now, and their children were toddlers at best.
Of course. Lirelle. Mags had said the girl was smart, smart enough to have figured out within days of arriving that there were classes in those three Collegium buildings that she could eavesdrop on. And she was sensible; sensible enough to know that even if she was caught listening to classes, there wasn’t much anyone would say to her except “don’t do that.” And she probably figured out she could go right back to listening in as soon as she found a more secure hiding place.
So, smart and sensible, and new enough here she hadn’t gotten sucked into any cliques yet.
:Rolan, get Dallen to have Mags talk to me, would you, please?:
:Of course.:
She glanced around and spotted a handy bench, and sat down on it, taking her time reading over the list. As she had thought, the Blues that were boarding in nearby Priories and Abbeys, Monasteries, Convents, and Temples, were all in what she would have been willing to swear were “safe” places. All of these particular houses of religion were the sort that concentrated on good works, scholarship, and prayer, or any combination of the three, and had she shown the Poison Pen letters to the heads of any of those particular institutions, they’d have gone livid, and possibly forgotten their vows of peace, at least temporarily.
:How can I serve ye, milady?: The familiar Mindvoice sounded like Mags’ real voice, but it seemed to be coming from between her ears and had a slight echo to it.
:I need an ally in the Blues; they are the only group we’re not watching on the Hill. Do you think Lirelle, Lord Lional’s daughter, would work? Papa has the Housekeeper with an eye on the servants, by the way.:
She ran her eye down the next page of the list while he thought. :Aye. I think she’d do. So does Dallen.:
That settled it, then. But Mags had something more to say. :Get her brother, too. And afore ye do, get their schedules and go to the Weaponsmaster and have ’em both set up with lessons. I promised—or Magnus promised—Loren’d get ’em and you might as well get the girl started, too. If she don’t like ’em, she can quit, and tell her so.:
:Thank you, love!: she thought affectionately.
Well, the likeliest place for the girl to be at this moment was, in fact, in a class. And just as she realized that, she turned a page in the list of Blues and discovered that the hyper-efficient Housekeeper had already appended the schedules of all of them.
No wonder Papa has her as an agent! She saw that Lirelle was indeed in a class, and had a long break afterward. Perfect.
She got in place just outside the class in History that Lirelle was taking just in time for class change. Lirelle was one of the last to leave, and was chatte
ring away at high speed to a Herald Trainee when Amily intercepted her.
“Lirelle, would you mind talking with me a moment?” she said—although the conversation abruptly stopped when both girls realized there was a Herald at the classroom door looking right at them.
“Absolutely, Herald,” Lirelle said, although Amily could tell the girl hadn’t recognized her.
“That’s the King’s Own, dolt!” her friend hissed at her, and Lirelle’s eyes widened, and she glanced at her friend for further help.
But her friend just shrugged. “I’ll see you later, Liri,” she said, and scuttled off.
Amily nodded in a friendly fashion, and said, with a little hand gesture, “Shall we walk?” Lirelle just nodded dumbly, and followed where she led.
The most private place she could think of where they stood no chance of being overheard or interrupted was her own quarters, so that was where they went. “Take a seat anywhere, but I’d suggest the floor,” Amily said, folding her legs under her and sitting down on a floor cushion. “It’s coolest down here.”
“All right,” Lirelle agreed, and did so (a little stiffly), setting her books down beside her. She clasped her hands in her lap and fixed her eyes on Amily, looking more than a bit apprehensive.
:I like her,: said Rolan, abruptly.
“I wonder if you know about the unpleasant letters people have been getting?” asked Amily, throwing caution to the wind and jumping right into the subject.
Lirelle made a face. “Ugh. Yes. I got two. Helane has gotten lots. Not so many lately, though. Why? Have you caught whoever has been doing it?”
“Not yet,” Amily admitted. “In fact, the problem is, we really don’t know where to start.”
Relaxing now, Lirelle nodded. “Aye, I can see that. I mean, she could be anybody, from one of those nasty old cats in Court to . . . I don’t know . . . anyone, I guess.”
“You said she,” Amily pointed out, her pulse quickening to think that this child might have information no one else did.
“Oh, did I?” Lirelle shrugged. “I guess . . . I guess I’ve just thought it was a she because of the letters. It could be a man, I suppose. . . .”
“Ah, well,” Amily made sure her disappointment didn’t show on her face. “It’s just because we have no idea who it is that we’re trying to keep an eye on everyone. But one group we don’t have someone watching is the Blues. The fact is, I don’t really know anything about any of them except the ones that are in the Court.”
“Oh! And you want me to!” Lirelle perked right up at that, which was a relief, because she could have been indignant about Amily wanting her to spy, so to speak, on her friends. “I can do that, I don’t mind a bit. I can tell you, though, I don’t think any of them are your trickster.”
“Why is that?” Amily asked curiously.
“The only reason we’re all in the Blues is because we want to learn things. Even the ones from Court.” She grinned unexpectedly. “Even Loren, now that he’s started. So I don’t know how any of us would have the time to write all the letters and run around delivering them and still keep up with classes. Did you ever think how much work it is to print them out the way they are? So there’s nothing of someone’s handwriting to tell who wrote it? That’s the sort of thing a copyist learns to do, you have to take a lot of pains over it, and it takes time. A couple of the ones Helane got were three pages long!” Lirelle shook her head. “It’s not easy, and it’s not quick, and it’s not the kind of thing we have time for. Especially when we’d much rather spend our free time in the river.”
“So would I,” Amily sighed. “What can you tell me about them, then? Here’s the list.”
She handed over the Housekeeper’s list of the Blues, and Lirelle summed each of them up in a sentence or two, while Amily took notes.
Then she stopped, abruptly. Amily looked up to see that she was frowning over the paper. “Is something wrong?” she asked. “Do you think—”
Lirelle sucked her lower lip. “No, no, Katlie couldn’t have written things like that to save her life. I doubt she knows what half the bad words mean. But . . . there’s something about her that isn’t right. At least I think so, though nobody’s said anything, so maybe she’s just like that. Still—you said you wanted my impressions—”
“And I do,” Amily insisted. “So what is it that she’s like?”
“Nervy,” Lirelle said succinctly. “Like a rabbit that’s being chased. It’s much more than just shy. Starts when you talk to her, keeps to herself, and sometimes I get the feeling when I’m speaking to her that if I made a sudden move, she’d break and run.” She sucked on her lower lip again. “Now that you make me think about these things, she’s got a look of being hounded or bullied, but I will swear to you, if she is, it’s not by one of us.”
“Keep an especially attentive eye on her for me, will you?” Amily asked, not liking the sound of that at all.
“I will. I should have been, anyway, since no one else seems to,” Lirelle replied decisively.
“Good, and thank you.” Amily smiled at her, and she blushed. “Now, as a bit of a reward, I’ve been asked to get you and your brother Loren into classes with the Weaponsmaster.” She leafed through the pages of the schedules. “Now, how would you like to see him just after your Map class? That should give you enough time for a quick splash in the river before supper.”
Lirelle’s face lit up like the sun.
Lirelle was rewarded, but if some of the rest of the Blues had known who to “blame” for the changes they suddenly got in their lives, they probably would have cursed Amily’s name.
The problem was, with no way in place to keep track of their comings and goings, it was obvious that the authorities just couldn’t keep on allowing people to parade in and out of the Gates based on the fact that the Guards all knew them.
So things changed, almost immediately. It was just a good thing that the Palace had its own metalworkers right on the grounds in their own shop, next to the blacksmith. It made doing things much quicker.
So now those who were boarding outside the Palace grounds were required to keep a new, named and numbered little brass pass-tag on them at all times, and to check in with the Gate Guards every time they entered and left. There was some grumbling from the Guards about all the lists and paperwork, but Amily had expected that.
And really, after that mess with the Sleepgivers, they surely must have realized we were being too slack when it came to the Blues and eventually things would have to change.
With the new system explained to all shifts of the Gate Guards, Amily went on to the next tedious step. She made visits in person to every one of the religious orders that were boarding Blues, and made the heads of those establishments aware of some of what was going on and why the students needed to have an eye on them. “It’s not that we suspect them,” she explained over and over, “It’s that we’re afraid that now that we’ve stopped the letters going to the Trainees, some of the independent students might start getting them.”
That explanation passed muster—because, of course, it was entirely true, even if it wasn’t the whole truth. She got promises from all of these heads of Orders that they’d make sure their charges had a discreet eye on them.
As for the ones that boarded up at the Palace, there was some shuffling of servants’ rooms, and within a day the Blues there all ended up in a set of rooms next to the Handmaidens. Anything that went on after hours, those sharp girls would catch in a heartbeat. No one complained, at least not in her hearing. Then again, the Handmaidens were an extremely convivial lot, and she’d asked them to make themselves congenial to the Blues, so . . .
So there are likely to be a few late-night bread-and-jam feasts for a while. No one is going to complain after that.
All this had to be sandwiched in around her other duties, but at least there were people taking charge of some things
without her supervision. All three Collegia had established a night-watch on each dormitory floor. This probably discouraged some bed-hopping among the older Trainees, but Amily knew from Rolan that most of them were going to go take their partners out to Companions’ Field instead. That was fine with her. More than fine, actually; with the Companions out there keeping track, at least the next time trouble broke out on the Hill, the ones in the Field would be oblivious to it and not rushing about, and the Companions could establish their alibis. Right now, Amily would have given almost anything to have a nice long list of people on the Hill with solid alibis.
Finally Amily was able to settle back to her regular duties—somewhat curtailed regular duties, since absolutely no one was willing to sit through any sort of meeting in the afternoon heat.
Oh, the heat. She couldn’t remember a worse summer. During the worst hours, Mags had told her, nothing stirred down in Haven, and even the most ambitious stopped for a nap in the coolest places they could find. Those who shivered in damp cellar rooms three seasons of the year suddenly had cause to be grateful for the cool, and anyone who had such a room soon found himself with many, many friends. Aunty Minda let the littles spread their blankets in the cellars of their own home and the pawn shop, until temperatures dropped enough to go back to work.
She would have envied Mags his stints at the Sethorites’ Temple (which he carefully timed for the hottest parts of the day), except that she had the river, and she wondered how anyone had ever managed a summer this hot before the ropes-and-nets had been thought of.
That was where she was now, arms draped over the rope and letting the current hold her against the net, wearing an enormous hat to keep the exposed parts of her from getting sunburned. It was just cold enough to keep her from falling asleep, although she had a shrewd notion that if nothing came up after she left the river, that was exactly what was going to happen to her. She didn’t envy poor Lydia at all. To be pregnant in this heat . . . when I do that, I am going to have better timing, she decided. Then blinked at herself, because she had used the word “when” rather than the “if” she’d been saying to herself all this time.
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