The Dog of the North

by Tim Stretton

  That night, under a full moon – for Lord Thaume would not wait until morning – the Croad delegation rode out from Glount. The death of a king was a great evil, but not nearly so great as a crippling illness, for in the doubt of his recovery uncertainty grew like a plague. None wished him to linger at life’s boundary as he made his final reckoning with Harmony, and if he was not to recover, his immediate death was the wish of all those who desired peace and concord in the realm.

  4

  Lord Thaume’s party made more rapid progress on the journey home than they had in visiting Glount, and within five days were back in Croad. Sir Langlan’s welcome was tempered with a grim smile, for the news of King Arren’s illness had already reached the city. Lord Thaume paused only to hand his gallumpher to a groom before striding off to his audience room to pool information with Sir Langlan. Arren had not been formally dismissed from the party and consequently saw no reason not to follow along with Masters Guiles and Coppercake, and Oricien and Siedra.

  Lord Thaume flung himself into a stuffed chair. ‘Well, Langlan, what matters do you have for report?’

  ‘I have suppressed no ancient liberties, closed no temples, punished no heretics. In that sense, my regency has been uneventful.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it,’ said Lord Thaume, pouring himself a goblet of wine. ‘My last absence was marred by altogether too much incident.’

  ‘It would be wrong, nonetheless, to suggest that affairs have gone entirely according to plan.’

  Lord Thaume sat forward in his seat. ‘The King is on his deathbed; Panarre is grasping at my ransoms; my marriage alliances go awry. I hope you refer to nothing further.’

  Sir Langlan pursed his lips. ‘Raugier.’

  Lord Thaume gave him a quizzical glance.

  ‘I should more properly say, Lord High Viator Raugier, King Arren’s Commissioner for Orthodoxy. He is presently lodged, with his entourage, in The Patient Suitor.’

  ‘What is his business?’

  ‘He will speak only with you, my lord. The title “Commissioner for Orthodoxy” is pregnant with meaning.’

  ‘Arren has no truck with such nonsense,’ said Lord Thaume, his words falling into an empty silence. ‘The post is surely no more than a sinecure.’

  No one responded for a moment. Then Master Guiles said: ‘The King lies ill, my lord.’

  ‘Jehan is no viator’s puppet.’

  ‘Jehan is not yet King,’ said Guiles, ‘and yet Arren is less than a king.’

  ‘Already they gather. What do we know of Raugier?’

  Sir Langlan shrugged. ‘He is not a man negligent of status. Sleech tells me he was close to being elected Consort last time around. A Commissioner of Orthodoxy will stand well in the lists next time.’

  ‘An ambitious man, then?’ said Lord Thaume. ‘A worldly one, perhaps?’

  ‘You must meet him for yourself, my lord.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Lord Thaume. ‘We will invite him to our hall tomorrow. For now, you are all dismissed.’

  Oricien filed out with Arren and Siedra. ‘I am hungry,’ said Siedra. ‘Let us go and find Mistress Eulalia.’

  Soon the three were sitting at a table laden with the best Lord Thaume could offer. Arren pondered the events which had unfolded so quickly over the past months: Jehan’s Steppe, marriage negotiations, the King’s illness, and now the arrival of the Lord High Viator.

  ‘What are you thinking, Arren?’ asked Siedra, leaning close enough that he could smell the fresh soap from her morning ablutions.

  Arren gave a half-smile. ‘That we are no longer children. Can you imagine us learning multiplication with Master Coppercake now? Those days are past. We must now make our way in the world.’

  Siedra looked down at her plate. ‘My “way in the world” would appear to involve Lord Dinarre: I see no cause for satisfaction or optimism. You and Oricien may play soldiers as you choose.’

  Arren said: ‘Your marriage to Dinarre may never happen. Panarre will be throwing his children at the new court. He will be hoping to marry Helisette to some Emmen lord. They will have no care for us up here.’

  Siedra gave a wan smile. ‘It is easy for you to be sanguine. You will not have to share a bed with that depraved lummox.’

  ‘It could be worse,’ said Oricien with a chuckle. ‘You could be like Guigot, marrying a lackwit.’

  ‘Which reminds me,’ said Siedra, ‘not that I wish his company, but where is Guigot?’

  ‘He said he was going to the Viatory,’ said Oricien. ‘The matter struck me as unusual but I did not pursue it.’

  ‘“Unusual”?’ said Arren. ‘Guigot hates the viators, and has little care for the Way. We can assume indirection of some sort.’

  ‘Perhaps he has gone to find a wench or a doxy,’ said Oricien. ‘He will wish to brag of his deeds in Glount.’

  Siedra laughed with unaffected glee, leaning back in her seat. ‘Poor Guigot! The only people who will listen to him are the ones he pays!’ She flung her arms wide and sent a flask of wine crashing on its side, where it gushed ruddily onto the fine damask cloth.

  ‘Oh! Maid! Maid! Hurry forth with a cloth!’

  Nobody appeared. Siedra bellowed again: ‘Quickly, if you want to avoid a whipping! The damask is ruined!’

  From within the servantry issued a maid to mop up the spillage.

  ‘About time,’ snapped Siedra. ‘What kind of buffoon is Mistress Eulalia employing?’

  Arren turned to look at the maid. His mouth fell open in astonishment. ‘Eilla!’

  The maid turned scarlet. ‘Arren . . . Seigneur . . . I . . .’

  ‘What is going on here? Wipe up this mess,’ said Siedra.

  ‘Sorry, my lady,’ said Eilla, flapping ineffectually with the cloth.

  ‘Hopeless,’ said Siedra. ‘You are new, and Mistress Eulalia will hear of my dissatisfaction. And who are you to address Seigneur Arren in such a familiar way?’

  ‘My lady,’ gasped Eilla. ‘I—’

  ‘I know Eilla from when we were children,’ said Arren. ‘Before I came here we were playmates.’

  Siedra turned to look at Eilla and caught hold of her wrist. ‘Hold still, girl – Eilla. That is a low name, and you have a low, cunning face.’

  ‘Siedra—’ said Arren.

  ‘Do not intercede for her, Arren. Oricien and I overlook your origins, but you cannot afford to be sentimental about serving girls. If you want to be taken as a gentleman, you must always be conscious of place and station. If you hobnob with the likes of this, folk will never fail to remember where you came from.’

  Oricien said: ‘Siedra, leave the girl alone. She is new, she does not know our ways.’

  Siedra let go of Eilla’s wrist. ‘You may go. You have made a poor impression on me. Oricien may be deceived by your peasant looks but I am not. If I hear you addressing Seigneur Arren so freely again I will have you turned out. Do you understand me?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’ Eilla slunk out with her chin almost touching her chest.

  ‘Well!’ said Siedra. ‘I cannot imagine what Eulalia was doing to engage such a girl. She looks old to come into our service; she will never learn proper docility.’

  Arren could hold his tongue no longer. ‘That “girl” has been my friend since we could barely walk. You had no business speaking to her in that way.’

  She gave him a sharp look. ‘Can you not see I was helping you?’ she said. ‘Your prospects are good, if you will only take care to avoid such errors.’

  ‘How can it be an error to acknowledge an old friend?’

  ‘Because, Arren,’ she said softly, ‘you are become a man of consequence. You fought well at Jehan’s Steppe, and my father makes much of you. Through his favour, and your merits, you may call yourself “Seigneur”. You are a man to reckon with in Croad. Do not insult yourself – and my father – by holding yourself cheap.’

  ‘Our views on the subject are likely to remain at variance,’ said Arren.

  ‘Who is she, an
yway?’ said Oricien in a conciliatory tone. ‘As Siedra says, she is old to appear in service: she must be sixteen.’

  ‘Do you remember Master Jandille, the mason?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Oricien with a grimace.

  ‘Eilla is his oldest daughter.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Siedra. ‘All is now understood. She is a charity case. A mason with one hand can no longer work, and no doubt Sir Langlan has induced Eulalia to engage her. She will be surly and resentful throughout her employment. I predict she will be discharged within the month.’

  ‘Siedra, Oricien; will you excuse me? I am no longer hungry.’ Arren bowed and left the room.

  He stalked into the corridor, his head spinning. That proud, spirited Eilla should be reduced to tears by Siedra’s cruelty! Poor Eilla had gone from the daughter of the city’s master mason to a castle servant in only a few weeks.

  He went into Mistress Eulalia’s pantry. ‘I am looking for Eilla,’ he said.

  ‘I have let her off duty early, Seigneur Arren. She was most distressed; I could not follow her account, which was somewhat disjointed.’

  ‘Siedra abused her horribly,’ said Arren. ‘It was not a pleasant spectacle.’

  ‘Lady Siedra is Lord Thaume’s daughter,’ said Eulalia. ‘She may be quick-tempered, but I am sure you do not mean to take a servant’s side against her. I do not misunderstand your words, but others who do not know you so well might not be so perceptive.’

  Arren looked at her coolly. ‘I am grateful for your clarification. Perhaps you will tell me where I can find her.’

  ‘She is on the ground floor of the East Wing: her cubby is the third along. If anyone asks how you found out, I did not tell you.’

  Arren bowed. ‘Thank you, Mistress.’

  He stepped along into the servants’ part of the building. It was an area in which he rarely found himself, and he had never before noticed its meanness, the narrowness of the corridor and the frowning proximity of the ceiling. He knocked on the door. There was no answer; he knocked harder.

  ‘Go away.’

  ‘Eilla? It’s Arren.’

  ‘That applies particularly to you.’

  ‘I am worried about you.’

  There was silence, then a noise of soft footsteps within. The door opened to show a cramped chamber with a rough wooden bed, a spindly chair and a candle. Eilla stood in the doorway, her raven hair askew and her dark eyes red.

  ‘I saw little sign of concern in the dining room,’ she said.

  ‘May I come in? I should not be seen here, for your sake and mine.’

  She briefly held the door wide. As soon as Arren had passed through she closed it.

  ‘I realize how much you are demeaning yourself by coming here, Seigneur.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Yes? I am keen to hear any further insults you may wish to offer me.’

  ‘Siedra should not have spoken to you as she did.’

  Eilla gave a bitter smile. ‘We agree on at least one point.’

  ‘She has a hot nature, and she is concerned about her betrothal. I am sure she meant nothing by it.’

  Eilla sat down on the bed. ‘I did not imagine you had come here to defend her conduct: indeed, I should have imagined defence impossible. You saw how she spoke to me, how she touched me. But maybe I misjudge you; maybe you are already one of them, and the feelings of a servant do not matter.’

  Arren perched on the chair. ‘I would not be here if I felt that. I know that Siedra was wrong.’

  ‘She does not.’

  ‘No. That is why I am here. If I thought she would apologize you would not need me.’

  ‘I do not “need you” now.’

  ‘Eilla, I was mortified to see you treated so.’

  ‘Your mortification cannot be one-hundredth part of my own.’

  ‘I do not know what to say, Eilla.’

  Eilla paused a moment. Her expression approached a smile. ‘You do not have to say anything, Arren. What hurt me were not the insults; it was thinking you saw no wrong in them. I do not care what Lady Siedra thinks; but we have been close for so long. I could not bear to think that you had come to be like them: I could not bear to think of you as Seigneur.’

  ‘Eilla, I will never be “Seigneur” to you. When we were in Glount I picked a villain’s pocket and I thought of you.’

  Her eyes sparkled as she laughed. ‘Not every woman would take that as a compliment, but I understand. If only we could go back to those days, Arren,’ she said with a soft smile.

  ‘Eilla,’ he said. ‘I am so sorry for everything that has happened to you. You must know that whatever happens, we will always be friends. However bad things are for you in the castle, I will always look after you. If I must endure Siedra’s scorn, so be it.’

  She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. Arren was shocked but did not pull away; instead he responded with vigour. She disengaged herself and stepped back. ‘I do not know why I did that,’ she said, with a return to something like her old insouciance. ‘But the experience was enjoyable, and I may care to repeat it in the future.’

  ‘Now, perhaps,’ said Arren.

  ‘I think not,’ she said. ‘The past days have been turbulent enough without adding an extra set of confusions and complexities.’

  Arren grinned. ‘No doubt you are right.’

  ‘You should go now, Seigneur. Mistress Eulalia will discharge me if she finds you here.’

  Arren bowed, kissed her hand, and slipped from the room. For a woman who wished to avoid confusion and complexity, Eilla was acting in an irrational fashion.

  5

  Lord Thaume’s castle had several reception rooms, and he had selected with care the one he would use to receive Lord High Viator Raugier. Ultimately he had chosen the Amber Room, next to his private viatory, and sent a note to Raugier inviting him to wait upon him at ten bells the next morning. His attendants were chosen with equal care. The notoriously irreligious, such as Sir Langlan, were kept well away, as were those of exaggerated piety, such as Lady Jilka. Lord Thaume instead chose to be attended by Viator Sleech, Master Guiles, Master Coppercake, Oricien and, to his own surprise, Arren. Guigot, despite his visit to the Viatory the previous night, was not included in the party.

  The Patient Suitor, where the Lord High Viator was staying, was on the other side of the river, and Arren watched from a tall tower as the party made its way across the bridge, accompanied by a fanfare of heralds. At the head of the procession rode the standard-bearer, the banner of black and white check snapping in the strong breeze. Next rode Raugier himself, his black robes trimmed with ermine. Behind him rode attendants and soldiers in the white livery of Harmonic Perfects.

  The bells began to ring ten, and Arren clattered down the stairs into the spartan reception chamber. He was concerned that he might be late, but neither Lord Thaume nor Viator Sleech was yet in attendance.

  Lord Thaume’s seneschal Cyngier – once a renowned warrior but never noted for his adherence to the Way – escorted Raugier and two attendants into the chamber. Raugier did not look enchanted to find the lord’s seat before him empty. He was a man of mature years, his thin hair arranged to cover a balding pate. The belly straining at his doublet suggested that here was no ascetic, and his lips set themselves into a half-smile which contained little mirth or agreeability. His brown eyes took in the scene with a cool appraisal.

  ‘My apologies, my lord,’ said Cyngier. ‘Lord Thaume has been unavoidably detained.’

  Raugier raised his eyebrows a fraction. ‘I am interested to know of the matter more important than presenting himself before the Lord High Viator, who speaks with the voice of both King and Consorts.’ His voice was crisp, well-modulated, chill.

  From the side of the room a door burst open and Lord Thaume strode in, Viator Sleech trailing in his wake.

  ‘Lord Raugier,’ he said with a bow, a little out of breath. ‘I must apologize for my unpunctuality. I was making my devotions in my viatory with Sle
ech. My laxity is inexcusable.’

  Raugier’s half-smile twitched upwards. ‘It is no part of my commission to deny you the counsel of the viators,’ he said with a hint of ill-grace. ‘Naturally I would not wish to impede your progress along the Way.’

  Lord Thaume bowed. ‘I am grateful for your indulgence. Please, be seated while we discuss our business.’

  Raugier introduced his attendants, Flassille and Erlard, and set out his programme to Lord Thaume.

  ‘I am in Croad on the simplest of business, my lord,’ he said. ‘As Commissioner for Orthodoxy I must establish that throughout King Arren’s realm the Way of Harmony is followed to the Consorts’ satisfaction. Nothing could be more straightforward: I examine the devotional practices of the city, and form my conclusion as to orthodoxy.’

  ‘I can assure you of the fact in two minutes,’ said Lord Thaume. ‘I am sorry we have detained you unnecessarily awaiting my return.’

  Raugier smiled and shook his head. ‘A pleasant fiction! What such an approach gains in convenience, it loses in rigour,’ he said. ‘I will go among the people, as will Flassille and Erlard. We will reach our conclusions, and with luck achieve a rapid consensus.’

  ‘May I see your writ?’ asked Lord Thaume. ‘It would be best if we all shared an understanding.’

  Flassille, a thin young man of earnest countenance, reached into a valise and brought forth a paper, which he handed to Lord Thaume.

  ‘There are two contingencies,’ said Raugier. ‘Ideally I find that all is as it should be, and issue a Statement of Orthodoxy on the spot; conceivably my researches reach a less happy conclusion. In this case I set forth a programme of remedial action, although of course in cases of gross turpitude I am empowered to remove from office any person from the lord of the city down.’

  Lord Thaume summoned a servant to fetch wine. ‘Let us be candid from the start,’ he said. ‘You have been here several days, and no doubt have formed preliminary views.’

  Raugier leaned back in his seat. ‘There are certain areas which cause me concern. Frankly, the tolerance shown in the city for the heretics of the Wheel is surprising and disturbing. I find the Gollains all too prevalent.’