Mags impulsively reached out and put his arm around her to give her a quick hug. “It takes a real strong mind, an’ someone who’s perfectly sure of themselves t’ hold out against that kinda bullying,” he said. “Now, enough of that. Spread out, people; there’s enough of us to search the grounds, an’ the Companions have got the Field. Go in groups of two or three, but not more. We don’t wanta scare her, in case all she’s done was go for a walk. Tell ’er—” His brow crinkled as he tried to think of something.
“I know!” Amily said. “Tell her that Lirelle is missing and we’re looking for her. Lirelle, if we find her, your story is that you went looking for a Healer for a headache potion, took it and fell asleep in the examination room. Everyone, go!”
People quickly sorted themselves in groups of two and three, and dispersed. “That’s everybody sensible I want out lookin’,” Mags said to her. “Some last-year Trainees, all the Heralds, an’ some of the steadier servants. Should we be lookin’ too?”
“No,” Amily told him. “Someone needs to be here. We’re central to everything. And . . .” She felt her mouth go dry. “I think we should go get a Healer. Just in case.”
“Aight,” Mags agreed. “I’ll git one.”
• • •
Amily looked like a ghost. Beside her, the girl Lirelle looked like another. Mags sympathized; Amily had told the poor girl to keep an eye on this Katlie, and now she felt as if she had failed both Amily and her fellow student.
He’d had a horrible feeling ever since he’d heard about this; was this what Lord Jorthun had been worrying about? :Among other possibilities, I’m sure,: Dallen replied grimly, as Mags kept his shields very tenuous, and “listened” to all the searchers out there. Amily was right. Of all of the people up here on the Hill, he, with his impressive Gift of Mindspeech, was the best suited to keep track of all the searchers, human and Companion alike, and coordinate . . . whatever needed to be coordinated.
But it seemed utterly wrong to just be standing here in the dark garden, waiting and doing nothing.
:Is anyone down by the River-Gate?: he broadcast to Heralds, Trainees, and Companions.
:I am,: came the immediate reply. :Companion Seraf. The River-Gate was open last I saw, and I think the Guard forgot to close it again. People were rowing about earlier, and wanted to go down to Haven by way of the rapids.:
The River-Gate was not a “gate” as such; it was a sort of portcullis in the arched opening that let the river flow through the wall about the Palace. Some of the more daring boaters liked “shooting the rapids,” and in a boat, it really wasn’t all that hazardous by day. By night . . . that was another story. It probably shouldn’t have been left open this late—
But Mags’ thoughts were shattered by a sharp mental cry.
:I see her!: called Seraf. Then came an anguished mental cry. :No! No! She’s thrown herself in the water! I’m going after her!:
Mags and Dallen didn’t hesitate and neither did the Healer standing beside them. The second he offered his hand to the Healer, the man was up behind and clinging on for dear life as Dallen leapt into action. As images came from Seraf, they headed for the postern-gate at top speed, Dallen as sure-footed in the darkness as if it was broad daylight.
Seraf had managed to catch the girl’s collar in her teeth and was holding Katlie’s head up out of the churning water with every iota of her strength. But they were out past the walls now, and down into the tumbling rapids that sent the river swiftly down into Haven, and the poor Companion wasn’t even trying to fight the current, when it was all she could do to keep Katlie from drowning and herself off the rocks. What wasn’t hazardous in a shallow boat was punishing to the flesh and blood body of the Companion. All Mags was getting were flashes of foaming water, glimpses of the bank, and the terrible strain of keeping the girl’s head from going under.
At least this time it’s not the dead of winter. . . .
They shot out the postern-gate and pounded for the river. Mags hardly noticed the Healer’s desperate grasp on his waist as he strained his ears for the sound of running water, and his eyes for a flash of white ahead.
There! There was the river!
They surged forward, and now Mags had that peculiar . . . mental snap that he had learned from his contact with the Sleepgivers and his cousin’s mind. Everything except the task at hand receded into the depths of his thoughts; emotion was gone, replace by a cool calculation that took in every bit of information and made constantly changing plans based on what he saw. Thank the gods, there was a path along the riverbank that allowed Dallen to stretch himself out and run as fast as ever he had in all his life. And there—ahead in the water, there was that flash of white!
The water was not as fast as Dallen; they caught up to the Companion Seraf, then passed her. Getting ahead of the pair until Mags thought they’d come to the right spot to intercept, they stopped just long enough to drop the Healer on the bank before Dallen turned on his heels and plunged them both into the churning, cold water.
:Hurry . . . : That was all Seraf could manage; Mags felt her fading strength and desperation in her Mindvoice.
But he and Dallen were fresh . . . and they’d done this before.
:There they are!: They crossed in front of Seraf; as the mare’s chest and shoulder ran into them, Mags scooped the unconscious girl up by the waist and pulled her up in front of him, draping her over his shoulder. Dallen turned in front of the mare. :Grab my tail!: he ordered, and Seraf reached out, exhausted, closing her teeth on the hair, just missing the bone.
Now it was all on Dallen; Mags hung on to the saddle and the girl, grimly, while Dallen worked with the current to get to the bank, the Healer keeping pace with them on foot. And by this time, they were down in Haven proper, and people had begun to notice the Healer running along the bank, and then the unusual objects in the water. Soon there was an entire crowd running along with the Healer, cheering them on.
Then one of them had the wit to run downstream and throw in a rope.
Dallen’s teeth closed on it as they passed, Mags let go of the saddle long enough to get the end and get three turns of it around the pommel, and with a team of townsfolk hauling, they got the last few armlengths to the bank.
Then stumbling up the bank, Seraf clinging on to Dallen’s tail for dear life. Flashes of torch and lantern light. Hands everywhere, grabbing the saddle, the girth, even his legs, pulling. Hands reaching for Seraf, hands tangled in her mane, hauling her up by anything they could get hold of.
Then they were up the bank, and there were more hands guiding both Companions to get to the safety of the road. Light, lots of it, and people bringing blankets and torches and brandy. The Healer and two helpers took Katlie from Mags; he slid off of Dallen’s saddle, as the Healer took her aside and got to work on her. People closed around, holding lanterns so the Healer could see, but blocking Mags’ view.
And a moment later, he heard the sound he had feared he wouldn’t—Katlie coughing and gasping, and then throwing up all the river water she’d swallowed.
And now it hit him, the insanity of what he’d done, the chill from the river. He started shivering, then shaking uncontrollably, as much in reaction and exhaustion as from cold. The hot night air, that had been so oppressive, felt like a welcome embrace.
Now it was the turn of Mags and Dallen and Seraf to be surrounded, swathed in blankets, and pelted with questions. He managed to gather his wits. He had to be careful what he said. Truth, but not too much; truth was easier to keep straight than a lie.
“Student at the Collegium,” he said, in answer to the question of who she was. “Poor girl hasn’t been sleeping well, and we think she went for a walk along the river alone, hoping to cool off.”
“Half the town’s been a-doin’ that,” someone observed with sympathy. “Wha’ happen?”
“I don’t know for certain,” he said truthful
ly, then accepted a brandy and downed it. “But I imagine she forgot how swift the current is up there, and perhaps went to bathe her head or her feet. All it takes is one little slip—” He shook his head. “You know, you tell younglings that it’s dangerous, and they nod their heads and—”
“And ye might as well be talkin’ t’ th’ air,” replied a knowing voice out of the crowd. “I tell me damn boy all th’ time, an’ ’e lissens t’me about as much as if I was speakin’ Karsite.”
Mags took a long, deep breath, and looked around at the faces surrounding him, letting his shields down a little. It appeared this was going well, friendly, concerned faces, friendly, concerned thoughts. The Poison Pen wasn’t among them. He didn’t know whether to be glad of that or annoyed. “Anyway, it was near Companion’s Field, and Seraf here saw her go in. If it hadn’t been for her, we’d be pulling a body out of the river, and that’s a fact.” On the one hand . . . if the Poison Pen had been lurking, watching, he’d have been able to identify the bastard. By mental “picture,” at least. On the other hand . . . what if Jorthun was right, and the bastard was Gifted? I don’t have the strength to get into a mental wrestling match right now.
His little speech was enough to distract the crowd, who surrounded Seraf, offering her bread, pears, brandy, anything they could think of. The quicker-witted, at least those who knew something of horses, began giving her a brisk rub-down with some of those blankets. Seraf wearily accepted a pear, then another, and began to revive. Dallen roused himself to beg and was fed as well.
The sounds from where the Healer was working on Katlie were encouraging enough that Mags sagged against Dallen’s side, all the energy that fear and nerves had given him running out of him. Dallen let his head droop with weariness . . . but he was not too weary to refuse those juicy pears people kept giving him and Seraf.
The crowd’s curiosity had been momentarily assuaged, and they stopped pelting him with questions and started passing what he had told them to the newcomers who were arriving, and gaining a little in importance as they did so. Mags let them do his work for him, as the uniform dried on his back and he started to feel all the aches and strains of the rescue.
His mind just went blank for a little while, as all the things that might have gone wrong washed over him, and he dealt with the aftermath. And then, after what seemed like a very, very long time, the rescue party from the Collegia arrived.
The crowd parted to let them in, and Mags could finally see how the girl was doing. Katlie was lying on a blanket, head propped up on another, folded blanket, looking a little like a half-drowned mouse. The Healer had outdone himself. Katlie was conscious and dazed, and Mags suspected he was making sure she stayed dazed so she didn’t say anything. The rescue party had brought a small cart with them; while the onlookers carefully lit them up with their lanterns, the rescuers loaded the girl and her Healer up, and off they clattered, back up the Hill, with some of the party lighting the way ahead.
Mags looked over at Seraf. :Got enough strength back to make it, or d’ye want us t’stay with ye until ye do?:
Seraf raised her head, her mane and forelock still wet and dripping a little. :I think I can, if you’ll come with me.:
Mags got the feeling she didn’t mean him.
His guess was confirmed when she continued, :I hope I didn’t damage your tail, Dallen.:
:It’s only hair,: Dallen said gallantly. :It will grow back. I’d have sacrificed my whole tail to help you.:
“Welp,” Mags said aloud. “I think I’m gonna catch that cart, if you two’ll be all right.”
:We’ll be fine,: Dallen replied. But he was looking at Seraf as he said it.
Mags chuckled wearily, and trudged after the cart.
• • •
“What a night,” Amily said, wearily, helping Mags out of his uniform. “I think we can save our uniforms, but those boots are a lost cause. And I can’t believe it’s not even midnight yet.”
They had gone straight to their room, with Mags politely brushing off any congratulations. Morning was going to come too soon, and they were both exhausted, him physically, her emotionally.
“It’s not?” he replied in surprise. He stripped out of his breeches and tossed them on the pile of clothing that was definitely going to need some attention. “I’d’a thought it was near dawn. Gimme them breeches, eh?”
She handed him the soft breeches he slept in, and stripped down herself, pulling on her sleep shift. She ached as if she had been beaten, and knew he must be feeling even worse. The two of them dropped into the bed and she exerted herself just enough to blow out the candle before rolling over to kiss him.
“I managed to round up everyone and convinced them that Katlie had told you and the Healer that she’d just gone out for a walk to clear her head, bent over the water to bathe her face, slipped and fell in,” she said into the darkness. “That story was genius.”
“Thanks.” He chuckled a little. “Lirelle think the same thing?”
“No, I told her the truth.” She had known she was going to need at least one ally who was also a friend of the girl, and had bet that Lirelle would rise to the occasion. She had. “As soon as Katlie is out of the Healers’ hands, Lirelle is going to be right with her until we figure out what to do with her. . . .” She bit her lip. “Mags, what are we going to do with her?”
“Nothin’ fer now,” he said, pulling her into his arms, and cradling her. “Right now, we’re gonna sleep.”
Amily fumbled for her lightweight shirt, and pulled it on over her head. It was still dark outside. She was getting a little tired of being awakened at dawn. Was it only a few weeks ago that I actually resented Father taking over so much of my place as King’s Own? Now all Amily could feel was gratitude. If it had not been for her father’s help this morning . . .
I don’t remember things being this frantic when he was King’s Own . . . at this rate I’m going to need three of me.
Mags had jolted awake the moment she moved this morning, and she had moved in response to a light tapping on the inner door to their rooms. It had been her father, with the gray light of dawn barely lightening the sky above the trees of Companion’s Field. She and Mags had taken turns telling him what had happened last night, and when he was certain he had all the details—and she had given him that stack of vile letters—he had gone off to give the King and the Prince a better report than Mags had been able to do by Mindspeech last night. “I’ll play King’s Own this morning, Amily,” he said, before she could even ask. “You can serve better figuring out what to do with that poor child. I haven’t a clue.”
Then he’d kissed her on the cheek, and gone, leaving her awash with relief. And scrambling for her clothes.
“I’ve got cold fruit pocket pies, and I can make tea if you want to have breakfast here,” she said to Mags, as he rummaged for a uniform that wasn’t stained green with river-weeds and river-water.
“That would be excellent,” he replied, having found trews, shirt, and tunic, and now looking for replacements for his ruined boots.
She hurried into the rest of one of her “working” uniforms, and put a kettle on over the little fire, and unlocked the sealed box where they kept food secure from insects and vermin. There were four pies there, more than enough to hold both of them over until they could get something more substantial.
The sun was just barely up when they took the seldom-used inner door of their rooms into Healer’s Collegium and the House of Healing, and went in search of Katlie Gardener.
That is, Amily was going to search, but Mags headed straight down the hall, and Amily followed, wishing enviously that she had a useful form of Mindspeech. Rolan was silent this morning. Then again, Rolan might still be asleep. Mags, however, could look for Katlie’s familiar mind and follow it to where she was. They ended up outside a door in a white-painted, white-tiled corridor lined with doors spaced so closely togethe
r that it was obvious the rooms were very small. Then again, how big did they have to be to house a single patient?
Mags tapped on the door, and opened it before anyone could answer. Amily followed him in.
There was a bed, little bedside table, and a single chair. The chair actually looked more comfortable than the bed, which was a good thing, since Lirelle was curled up asleep in it.
Katlie’s pale, round face stared at them from the bed. It looked as if she had not gotten much sleep last night; there were huge, dark rings under her bloodshot eyes. “I—I am sorry—” she began, in a voice hoarse from crying, coughing, or both.
“Hush,” Amily said, sitting down on the end of the bed. “The only thing we are annoyed with you about is that you didn’t say something about those horrid letters after we told all of you that other people were getting them. If you had, we’d have made sure you didn’t get any more, and we’d have made sure you knew that there is absolutely nothing in them that is even remotely true and everyone here knows that except, it seems, you. Katlie, you are the victim here, and the only person we are angry with is the vile beast that was persecuting you.”
The poor girl burst into tears, which woke up Lirelle, who fumbled her way to her friend and began awkwardly patting her back. She looked about as awkward as Amily felt, not knowing quite what to do, or what to say, and helplessly trying to get her to drink a glass of water.
Between the two of them, they got Katlie calmed down again, although Amily had the feeling she’d break out in weeping again at the least provocation. And she had no idea what she was going to do with the girl . . .
She turned toward the door, to consult with Mags, only to discover that Mags was gone. Bother . . . she thought with exasperation.
It appeared that while she and Lirelle were doing their best to calm and comfort Katlie, Mags had slipped out. Amily didn’t blame him, but . . . it seemed unfair for him to just leave her here like this.
Fortunately, right after they got Katlie calmed down again, one of the Healers came in to check on her.
Closer to the Chest Page 24