Now he knew exactly how the Poison Pen had been delivering letters up on the Hill. There were three people involved, the delivery-thug, a Farseer, and a Mindspeaker. The Farseer would keep track of their delivery man, while the Mindspeaker gave him instructions on where to go and which letter to deliver to whom, warning him if anyone was about to see him at work so he could hide. There may even have been more than one delivery man up there; that would make the job go quite a bit faster.
That was why the Poison Pen was no longer able to deliver letters personally once the shield against Farseeing had been put up.
So, he thought, finishing the bottle. I know the how and the why. I just need to find out the who. And somehow I need to let Nikolas know. And all without the Mindspeaker figuring out I’m not what I seem. . . .
• • •
There were only two candles burning in the room, giving just enough light that the people sitting in low chairs around an equally low table could see where to put their wine glasses. Gauze screens on the windows let in the lovely, cool breeze that stirred the curtains, but kept out the insects. It was too bad no one was in a mood to enjoy their surroundings.
“. . . so Dallen is lurking passively in the background of Mags’ mind, and not even Mags knows he’s listening,” Nikolas told Amily, Jorthun and Lady Dia. And Prince Sedric, who was attending this little meeting—which they were holding in the Prince’s rooms, well inside the protections the spirit of the stone was holding against Farseers.
I can’t believe how lucky we were that the Sethorite Farseer never learned enough about Lord Jorthun to keep an eye on him, she thought. Then again, Jorthun’s identity as the King’s agent was known only to a very few, and none of those people were ones that were being watched by the Poison Pen. Except perhaps me, now . . . I can only thank all the gods that I never led him to Jorthun.
“So Dallen is talking to your Companion, and also to Rolan.” Sedric chewed on his lower lip as he thought. “I am tempted to ask him to add my Companion to the list, but I think perhaps—”
:Tell him I will speak with his Companion,: Rolan interjected, before he could finish his sentence.
“Rolan says he’ll keep you informed,” Amily said, as Sedric mulled over his next few words. “It’s all right, I think he can handle it. I’m not in danger of being discovered by a lot of dangerous fanatics.”
Sedric’s face cleared. “That suits me. I don’t want Dallen to be overburdened at a time when he needs to be watching closely for signs his Chosen is in danger.”
“Is he in danger?” Amily asked, finally asking the one thing she wanted to know. “Can we get him out if something goes wrong?”
“Well, we know this system works without their Mindspeaker detecting anything,” Nikolas went on. “I was down in Haven last night; I was able to alert the Watch to check that leather-worker’s shop, and according to what the Novice said to Mags, none of the Sethorites guessed the interruption was due to anything other than bad luck and vigilence on the part of the Watch.” Her father’s voice took on tones of admiration. “I can’t believe the mental work he did, creating a false mind on top of the true one, with hardened shields in between. That’s the work of . . . well the most talented and skillful Mindspeaker I ever heard of.”
“He did manage to keep himself sane when he was a slavey in those mines for a good six months or more after his Gift emerged,” Amily reminded her father. “And that was without any teaching at all. But you haven’t answered my question. He’s in the equivalent of a fortress, and I don’t know how we’d get to him in time if they discovered he was a Herald!”
They all looked at her soberly, as if to remind her that a Herald’s life was not . . . safe. Then her father spoke. “Dallen is confident that Mags can keep up his ‘double mind’ quite easily. He is also confident that the Mindspeaker is not going to pay much attention to him, since he obeyed every command immediately and to the letter. Given all of that, Mags can do this.”
She nodded, slowly. All right. If he doesn’t know we can follow what is happening to him, he might actually be safer. I can see that.
“Let’s get to the point of this meeting,” Nikolas replied, with a little nod to Amily of encouragement. “We know the why, the how, and the when this monster has been acting. But we still don’t know who he is.”
Amily sipped absently at her wine. It had to be someone higher than a Precept, because this person was obviously giving orders to the Precepts. Did the High Priest know about all this? He had to know about a great deal of it at the very least; he’d be a pretty poor leader if he didn’t know that his underlings were destroying shops under his nose. But he probably had some sort of plausible deniability set up, just in case the rest were caught. I knew I didn’t like him the minute I set eyes on him. Did he know about the Poison Pen, though? He might not. That would only require one or two people at most, and perhaps the Poison Pen himself to write all the letters. Nice thing about being a priest. No one really questions you about what you’re doing if you’re writing.
“I have already gotten answers to my letters, thanks to you, Sedric,” Jorthun replied, looking distinctly uneasy. “I have a strong suspect, and a theory. But I don’t yet have any proof. If I am wrong—I do not feel it is right to make accusations, for one thing, and for another, if I name the wrong person, then the right one will be alerted and might act swiftly and impulsively . . . and that would quite literally put several lives in jeopardy. Of course . . . those people may already be in danger. I don’t know, and I have no way to be sure just how far this man will go.”
They looked at each other, but it was Amily who spoke. “That’s all very well, but if those people are already in danger I think someone should know. Who are they?”
“You,” Jorthun said to Amily. “And Lady Tyria, and possibly Helane.”
She was a bit taken aback by the fact that she was in danger . . . why? But then it struck her, all those letters telling her she should die and let her father be King’s Own again. She might not be a threat to another woman’s man, but by the Sethorite beliefs she was certainly stealing a man’s job. “I can take care of myself, but shouldn’t we warn them?” she asked, saying what Nikolas and Sedric were surely thinking.
“That is a problem,” Jorthun replied. “Warning them, or at least, doing so openly, would warn our target. But we should certainly take steps to protect them.”
Since that was pretty much a direct echo of what Mags had told her the last time they had been able to “speak,” she nodded. “Mags had an idea,” she said. “That I should befriend both of them; that way I have an excuse to keep an eye on them. We really can’t take the chance that whichever Sethorite this is hasn’t got more ordinary eyes and ears up here on the Hill.”
“My thought exactly,” Jorthun agreed. “I was going to suggest just that, and I think that will go a long way toward protecting them.
“But I have another idea,” she continued. “Can we tell all of Lord Lional’s children except Helane? Mags and I have had dealings with the other three, and they’re clever, steady, and Lirelle is the one that made Helane talk to her mother about the improper conduct of that so-called music tutor in the first place.”
Jorthun pondered this. “Do you think you can trust them to keep quiet? If so, then they would be ideal. They can alert us at the first sign of trouble.”
“I think we’d be foolish not to include them.” Amily frowned. “Part of me is saying to tell Lord Lional, but we all know what he’d do—he’d take them all home, and home would be even less safe for them than here is.”
“That’s sadly accurate,” Nikolas agreed. “This Sethorite has made up his mind to act, and running—well, it would be like running from a predator. It will only make him attack. If he has the resources, he could probably even ambush them on the road, where they are utterly unprotected.”
“I only have one more suggestion—D
ia, do you also breed a smallish guard dog? Something the size of a rabbit-hound perhaps?” Amily asked, but Dia shook her head.
“No, I am sorry, but the only dogs I have that are trained to alert and to guard are the mastiffs,” she said regretfully.
“All right, this is as much of a plan as we can manage for now,” Sedric proclaimed. “Amily, you approach the children in the morning. Nikolas, I’m making your only duty to be down in Haven, at the ready, in case Mags needs help. You might set yourself up in the nearest Watch post. Jorthun—try and get me some more real evidence, something we can actually use to charge this man before he can act.”
“It probably won’t be possible,” Jorthun warned.
“Try anyway.” He looked around at them all. “All right. You all have your tasks. Nikolas, yours starts now.”
• • •
In the morning, with Dean Caelen’s help, Amily intercepted all three of Lord Lional’s younger offspring, and got them all spirited up to the library, as being the one place there could not possibly be any Sethorite spies. They were clearly perplexed at being intercepted, and even more perplexed when they saw who was waiting for them in the middle of the library. Before any of them could burst out with questions, she said, “We think your mother and Helane are in danger.”
Lirelle, as she had suspected, was the first to catch on. “From the man who’s been writing all those letters! The one that killed the dog!” Then her face betrayed uncertainty. “But why? I mean, why Helane? She didn’t get any more letters than anyone else. And why mother? She didn’t get any at all.”
“We think the letter writer may be the father of that tutor you disgraced,” she told them frankly.
They thought about that for a moment. “And he wants revenge?” Hawken ventured. His eyes darkened with anger, and he clenched his fist on the hilt of his belt-knife. “Just let him try! I’ll—”
Loren punched him in the biceps. “Don’t be stupid, stupid!” he said, crossly. “Weaponsmaster can wipe the floor with me, and I’m better than you are at everything. He’s been really smart so far, do you think he’s going to be so stupid as to send somebody that hasn’t killed people before? We wouldn’t stand a chance.” Hawken opened and shut his mouth several times, but didn’t try to contradict his younger brother. He went up several degrees in Amily’s estimation at that. So did Loren. Oh, I really like these youngsters.
“We don’t want you to try and fight anyone,” she told them. “If he decides to hurt your mother and sister, we just don’t know what he would send. But what you absolutely can do is watch over them all the time. Here.” She gave each of them a silver whistle, disguised as a pendant. Hawken’s was an ax, Loren’s was an arrow, and Lirelle’s was a bird. “If you see anything suspicious, blow that whistle. We’ve already tried them; they’re loud. The Guards have all been told to come on the run if they hear it. And having an alarm raised will probably unnerve anyone that was sent. That will give you a few moments to try and get them to somewhere safe. We’re telling you and not your mother and Helane because we want them to act naturally. They are the ones that any spies will be watching.”
“Shouldn’t we tell Father?” Lirelle asked doubtfully.
“Absolutely not,” Hawken exclaimed, before Amily could say anything. “He’ll either not believe it and tell Mother, and then she’ll be nervous and give the whole thing away, or he will believe it and try to take us back home. We’ll be open to ambush at ten or a dozen places along the road, and if we get home, we won’t have Guards everywhere. I know it’s horrid, but it’s safer here.”
Amily let out a sigh of relief. These younglings had real sense. And they proved it in the next moment.
“Tell us exactly what you do and do not want us to do,” said Hawken, as his siblings nodded agreement.
• • •
As Amily left the Collegium, she saw yet another series of laden carts, followed by a pair of very fine traveling carriages and a string of riding horses, heading for the Palace gate. A string of servants, looking a bit worn, shuffled in the direction of the Palace. It looked as if whoever was leaving had commandeered everyone possible to load the carts. She intercepted one of the Palace porters before he could go back to other duties.
“Who’s leaving now?” she asked, as the man paused; her Whites got her his attention, where anything else other than a Guard uniform probably wouldn’t have. He looked ready for a tall drink of water and a moment of rest.
“Lady Harmitege an’ her pretty chickens,” said the porter. “Eight of ’em. Eight! And all their fripperies and all.” He looked perfectly happy to stand in the shade of one of the garden trees and gossip—and Amily was perfectly happy to let him. It wouldn’t be “gossip” in his mind, obviously, it would be “informing the Herald.”
“Eight!” he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. “’Course, four of ’em is cousins, but ’ow she ’spected t’get ’em all married off—well ain’t my problem, thank the gods. Can’t blame ’em for leavin’ either. Six of the eight was gettin’ them nasty letters. The dog was the last straw, I reckon.”
“Thank you,” Amily replied, and then stopped stock still as a brilliant idea occurred to her. Lady Harmitege had inhabited—of course, with all those girls—the largest suite of rooms available to courtiers. And the Farseer couldn’t see what was going on here on the Hill anymore. If she moved Lord Lional’s family there, that would be one more significant layer of safety.
Now, as Nikolas and the others had pointed out, the Poison Pen might have ordinary spies up here . . .
But I doubt he will in the courtier’s wing. We’ve gone over and over every single servant that does so much as pull weeds under their windows, and they are all good, loyal, and have been with us for a very long time.
:I agree, Amily,: said Rolan. :The Seneschal is in his office. You can arrange to have Lord Lional’s family moved immediately. I doubt very much that they will object to a change in quarters that allows them each a private bedroom.:
She hurried to the Seneschal’s office and caught him just before he left it. It took no more than a few words and he was happy to make the arrangements.
“Can you leave their old suite empty?” she asked hesitantly, when he agreed.
He arched an eyebrow at her. “I know exactly what is going on, you know, Herald Amily,” he said to her. “I’m one of your father’s—special circle. He’s kept me informed of everything, so I can take proper precautions. You might as well tell me what you have in mind.”
“I thought that I might as well spend the nights in that suite,” she told him, with no hesitation. “Of course, the fewer people who know that, the better.”
“Ah, set a trap. That’s a good idea.” He pondered it a moment. “Well, with courtiers fleeing—not that I blame them—there isn’t anyone exactly clamoring for those rooms. I don’t see why I can’t leave them empty for a fortnight or so. If—” he looked at her sternly “—you will consent to an extra Guard or two under the window.”
“I was going to ask for that,” she replied, with a shrug. “I’ll have Rolan tell my father, and anyone else he thinks should know, too.”
“Good.” The Seneschal brought his eyebrow back down. “One always hopes you Heralds will be sensible, but one never knows.”
“Oh pish,” she said, managing a faint smile. “Next you will be complaining about us cluttering up the lawn, and shaking your cane at us, and calling us ‘young hooligans.’”
“Herald Amily—” he called after her as she turned to go.
“Yes, Seneschal?” she replied, turning back.
“Good hunting.” Without waiting for her reply, he hurried off on whatever errand he was on before she interrupted him.
It had been a full sennight since that last aborted run on the leather-worker’s shop, and Mags had not left the confines of the Sethorite Temple. He had exercised with the othe
r Soldiers, and sparred with them, careful to show no more skill at weaponry than a simple laborer should have—but also taking care to seem to “learn” some of those skills quickly. Not so quickly as to excite suspicion, but enough to make him look as if he was earnestly trying with all his might to do what his masters wanted him to.
When he wasn’t exercising, sparring, and sleeping, he was taking religious instruction, twice a day, some with all the other Soldiers, and some on his own. He had been given a copy of the ponderous Book of Sethor, which was every bit as misogynistic as he would have expected, and was told firmly to read it in his free time. So read it he did. And he was completely unsurprised to see a great many examples of the sort of raving that had been in those letters and scrawled on walls repeated word for word in the Book. He had already decided to smuggle his copy of the Book out as soon as he could manage; he’d marked the relevant passages by dog-earing the corners. It was more corroborating evidence that the Sethorites were involved, since they never let copies of their Book out of the Temple. ‘Enough pebbles make an avalanche,’ as they used to say in the mine. Hopefully, even if they didn’t catch the Poison Pen himself, this would be a big enough avalanche to bury the entire Temple.
For the rest, if it hadn’t been for the work of holding a double mind, this would have been something of a holiday. He was fed very well indeed by the standards of his persona. There was meat in his stew, his bread wasn’t half sawdust, and there was butter on it. His oatmeal pottage in the morning was full of currants. There were fruit pies and seedcakes. And there was good ale and wine with every meal. If he had been who he claimed he was . . . well . . . this life would have been extremely seductive, and he probably would have succumbed to it by now, as had his fellow Soldiers. After all it was a fine thing to be told that your proper rights had been stolen from you by pernicious women, that your lack of success was not your fault, but theirs, that in the proper order of things you would be a master whose orders were obeyed without question. And it was an intoxicating thing to be solemnly told how important you were, and to a god, no less! And then to be treated with respect, fed well, housed better than Pakler would have been in his life, given everything he could possibly want, including a woman whenever he wanted . . . not that he made use of that. He had been afraid at first that this might tip his hand, but . . . no, he wasn’t the only one to ignore the kitchen women. So he kept his mouth shut and read the Book.
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