Well, I’d been thinkin’ ’bout askin’ ye fer advice about Amily, Mags sighed under heavy shield. But I’m thinkin’ now that if ye can’t see past the game, an’ if ye can’t guess Amily might be put out at this, ye prolly ain’t the right person t’ask. Since Gennie was the only other girl he really knew besides Lydia, he really was out of luck on that score. . . .
Gennie finally let him go, and he did get a chance to walk with Amily a little and sit on the bridge and look at the stars. He didn’t think she was annoyed at the way that Gennie had appropriated him and his time—or at least, was not still annoyed—but she hadn’t said a word while he and Gennie nattered on, and she didn’t say anything about it now, so . . . well, he just wasn’t sure.
Everything was perfectly normal on his next night at the shop. He had the usual sorts of customers. A few people actually bought things. One old fellow came and redeemed his good suit of clothing and bought a second out of the used clothing bin, which signaled a new level of prosperity for him, and Mags had given him a good price. Thieves brought in small items of the sort he was allowed to buy; some shirts, several fine handkerchiefs, two spoons, five knives, and a carved walking stick. People paid their pawn fees to keep their things from being sold. If anyone had anything interesting to sell in the way of information, he wouldn’t hear about it—that sort of sale was reserved for Nikolas.
And when he went out on the roof to head for Dallen—he had that feeling of being watched again. This time it came down on him suddenly, rather than creeping up on him, as if whatever it was had been waiting for him.
:Dallen!: he yelped.
:I know, I know . . . I’m checking, and I can’t find anyone.:
He did some evasive maneuvers—down a drainpipe, transfer to a second drainpipe, down onto a wall, up onto the roof of a shed, and from there to the side of a roof that wasn’t visible from the shop roof—then hid in the shadows of some chimneys. The feeling did not go away, but he couldn’t see anything or anyone, nor could he detect any minds concentrating on him.
He decided to put as much distance between himself and whatever it was as he could. And he definitely did not want to lead it back to Dallen.
This time he deliberately went in the opposite direction to where Dallen was. And at about the same distance from the shop as last time . . . the sense of being watched faded, and he finally felt that he could stop and take a rest. He wasn’t winded, but his heart was pounding, and his stomach felt knotted.
He didn’t double back to return to his usual route. Instead, he circled around and came at the inn by another path entirely. The feeling did not come back, and he entered the stable feeling uneasy, unhappy, nerves all afire, and a little frustrated. He wondered if he should have searched the nearby roofs for—whatever it was. He still didn’t think it was an animal or bird.
Dallen didn’t tease him this time, either. :I can’t account for it,: he said. :There is nothing that I can use to identify it, whatever it is that is watching you. And all my teasing aside, now I really am wondering if it actually is something like a spirit, or a ghost.:
The prickly sensation on the back of his neck started again, and Mags shivered. :Why would ye say that?:
:Because neither you nor I can pinpoint this thing, we can’t pick up any actual thoughts, and you are living in a part of town where there is a lot of death. If it is a ghost, I am not sure what to do about it. There’s a Gift for speaking with spirits, but none of the other Companions or Heralds at the moment have it.:
Well, that was certainly anything but helpful, or comforting.
However, it finally gave him a direction. He couldn’t go report “I had the feeling of being watched” without more than that to offer. But this, at least, was something he could go to someone about, and he did. He’d had it happen twice, and he had Dallen’s speculation. It wasn’t something to concern Nikolas with, at least not yet, but he certainly could ask someone else’s advice.
Herald Caelen, the Dean of the Collegium, was always in his office early, and Mags was waiting for him when he arrived, bearing a plate with hot bread, butter, and fruit and a pot of tea.
The Dean of the Collegium was solidly built, to say the least. In fact, he looked a little as if he had been constructed out of a series of building blocks. If it hadn’t been for his graying hair, Mags would have been very tempted to ask him if he wanted to play Kirball, he certainly looked fit enough, and with his build, he looked as if he could fend off everything that came at him.
Just now, he also looked a little startled to see Mags. “I see you come bearing my breakfast, youngling,” he said as he opened the door to his office, “And I thank you kindly, but the question is, why have you come?” His brow creased as he wave Mags inside. “No troubles, I hope . . . ?”
“Not exactly, sir,” Mags replied, and closed the door. He took the seat that Caelen waved him to. Finally, now that all the renovations were done, Caelen no longer had to share his office with what seemed like half of the Heraldic Collegium library. As a result, the office was tidy to a fault and looked almost empty. “I come t’you on account of you know what I’m doin’ with Nikolas, so you’re safest t’ ask some things of.” Quickly he described that feeling of being watched, his and Dallen’s inability to find a living person doing the watching, and Dallen’s suggestion that it was a ghost. Caelen nodded thoughtfully throughout the explanation, and when Mags was done, he drummed his fingers on his desk for a while, thinking. Mags let him think in peace. In his experience, you didn’t get answers out of someone any faster by pelting them with more questions.
“I’m sure Dallen has told you that there is a Gift for speaking with the spirits of the dead that are still lingering on earth,” the Dean said, finally. “I’m sure he has also told you that there aren’t any Heralds living now who have that particular Gift. It generally doesn’t come up for Heralds anyway, it’s more an . . . independent sort of thing. They call people like that ‘Mediums,’ but not too many of them are genuine, and it’s a difficult Gift to bear, I am told.”
Mags nodded, refusing to feel disappointment yet. Caelen clearly wasn’t done speaking.
“Now, I can’t tell you whether or not what you sensed was a spirit. I can tell you that Dallen is right; it wouldn’t be out of the question for the ghost of someone who had recently died to be lingering in that neighborhood.” Caelen’s sober expression at least told Mags that the Dean was taking him seriously, and at his word. “How often do people die there, as a rule?”
Mags shrugged. It wasn’t something he liked to think about. “Pretty often. Death cart generally has a customer within shoutin’ distance of the shop every couple of days.”
Caelen nodded. “Out of all of them, I am sure there are a few who aren’t aware they have died, or who are afraid to pass on, or would be lingering for some other reason. Did you feel anything other than that you were being watched? Any emotion at all? Anger? Fear?”
Well, at least that was something he could answer. “Nothin’ but bein’ watched, like.”
“Hmm. Well. Actually, that’s not so bad. If it is a spirit, at least it isn’t angry with you.” Caelen drummed his fingers on the desk some more, a look of concentration on his face. “I don’t suppose you experienced an intense sensation of cold? Many who have directly encountered spirits have reported that.”
In this heat . . . that’d be right welcome . . . In that way his imagination had of picturing something incongruous in the middle of a serious discussion, Mags had a sudden mental picture of someone running about with a gossamer net and a jar, trying to capture ghosts and store them for their cold-producing abilities. “No cold,” he said, “but I was movin’ pretty brisk. I might not’ve felt anythin’.”
Caelen chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said, finally. “But what I can do is put the word out to see if there is someone who actually has this particular Gift somewhere within a reasonable distance of Haven, if you like. It might take some time, beca
use there are a great many people who pretend to have it in order to defraud the gullible. And those who do have it sometimes would rather not actually use it, so it might take some persuasion.”
But Mags shook his head. “Nothin’ attacked me, nor even did anythin’ but give me the prickles,” he pointed out. “Dallen said it might’a been somethin’ out of the Pelagirs too.”
Caelen made a face. “Far be it from me to contradict a Companion, but that seems even less likely. The Pelagirs are a long way from here, Mags. Even something that flies would have a difficult time making its way here.”
Mags laughed weakly. “Y’know, now I kinda know how that mad feller felt, the one that died? I mean, he was here t’do us harm, but feelin’ like somethin’ is watchin’ ye ain’t a good feelin’. ’Twas bad enough fer just that little bit. I’m just glad I could get away from it.”
Caelen glanced at him sharply. “Well . . . you were around him. We still don’t exactly know what was plaguing him. Maybe whatever it was has somehow attached itself to you, now?”
He shivered. “Hope not.” Occasionally the poor man’s ravings came back to him in nightmares.
“Well, I hope so too—but that’s a possibility we should consider, so if it becomes worse, or it follows you here, I want to know about it immediately.” Caelen’s expression said without words that he was going to take no argument on the subject.
“Oh, no worries! I’ll wake ye up in middle of night if I have to!” Mags promised fervently. “But didn’t we figger out that the things was somethin’ that was supposed to protect Valdemar? So why would it be pickin’ on me now?”
Caelen could only shrug. “I’m sorry, Mags, I am just as much in the dark here as you are.
:It might be . . . not one of ours, but something similar,: Dallen said, thoughtfully. :They aren’t the sharpest swords in the rack.:
:Who aren’t?: he asked.
But Dallen didn’t answer, and he knew there was no point in trying to tease an answer out of him. The little information that he, Lena, and Bear had uncovered in the archives had suggested that the “things with eyes” were something set up by Herald Vanyel . . . so perhaps they were a species of invisible creature, and something like them had spotted Mags?
So now I have invisible things chasin’ after me? Why couldn’t he just have a life like—Gennie—where his worst worries would be how long it would take to get into Whites and whether or not they’d win the next Kirball game?
But there was no point in quizzing Dean Caelen any further, since it was clear he was at the end of his knowledge as well.
“Reckon we’ve got as far as we can, sir,” Mags said instead, getting to his feet. “Thenkee.”
“Thank you for coming to me immediately, Mags,” Caelen replied, with a wan smile. “You’ve got good sense, sense I sometimes wish other people would demonstrate before we end up with problems on our doorstep.”
As Mags shut the door to the Dean’s office, he wondered about that last remark. Could Caelen have been referring to Lena and Bear?
:He said other people,: Dallen said, tartly. :And if you recall, I was the one that advised silence on their part, and I took full responsibility for that. Furthermore, neither Lena nor Bear are his charges.:
:Fair enough. So that means you ain’t people?: Mags chuckled. :Good. Means I don’ need to share m’pocket pies no more. Them’s people-food.:
Dallen’s wordless snort of indignation did not need any translation.
* * *
The next time Mags climbed out on the roof, he felt the eyes on him even before he was fully out of the hatch.
:Ideers?: he asked Dallen, crouching in the shadows, every nerve on fire.
:I . . . can tell where it’s coming from, anyway,: Dallen said, hesitantly. :Even if it makes no sense at all. It’s coming from above you.:
Above? Reflexively, he glanced up and, predictably, saw nothing at all except the night sky, obscured tonight by clouds, with only a few stars shining.
Of course, it was darker than anyplace other than the inside of the mine. He wouldn’t be able to see anything smaller than a horse even if it was practically on top of him.
:Ideers?: he repeated, sharply.
:What you did the last time.:
So he ran, ran in another direction entirely than Dallen’s. Sprinted from rooftop to rooftop as fast as he could, just to get rid of that horrible, flesh-creeping feeling of being watched.
:It’s following you, still above you. But it’s slower than you are.:
Well, there went his hope that it was some strange phenomenon, maybe some sort of weather thing, that had nothing to do with anything living. He hadn’t thought he could go faster, but he did, and for good measure, he changed direction, time and time again. He was in a better neighborhood, but the houses were even closer together, which made his progress swifter.
:It’s stopping. I think you lost—huh.:
:What?: He paused with his hand on a rooftree, panting.
:It’s gone.: Dallen sounded baffled. :Not as in, ‘it went away,’ but as in ‘it just vanished.’ It didn’t fade, it was as though someone blew out a candle. There one moment, gone the next.:
Mags swore. He didn’t know a lot of oaths, and he didn’t use them often, but all of them were screamingly obscene, and at the moment, every one of them felt absolutely appropriate.
* * *
This time Nikolas was at the shop, and so was one of the most sensitive Empaths at Healer’s Collegium. At the usual time, Mags went up through the roof. And just as before, he felt eyes on him.
This time, despite the crawling of his skin, he stayed where he was, waiting for Nikolas and Healer Charis to make their own assessments. After what seemed like forever, Dallen said, :Right. Come back in.:
He did, but only as far as the attic. The sense of being watched remained for a moment, then abruptly vanished. Just as Dallen had said the other night; it wasn’t as if it faded away, it was as if it had completely vanished. As if a door had opened on it, then closed again.
:Now go back out.:
He did, and waited, and to his intense relief, this time, nothing happened. But right after the relief came puzzlement. Why hadn’t it come back a second time? Shouldn’t it have reappeared when he did?
He dropped back through the roof and went back down into the shop, where Nikolas and Charis were waiting in the box for him. Nikolas had blown out the lamp at the doorway, closed and locked the front door, and blown out the lamp in the front of the shop. The shop was officially closed for business. Charis was not wearing his Greens; he was dressed in a scruffy, nondescript sleeveless tunic and trews from among Nikolas’ disguises. His blond hair had been left alone; it wasn’t likely anyone down here would recognize him.
“I got no feelings from it at all,” Charis said, before Mags could ask any questions. His normally stoic expression had been replaced by one of extreme puzzlement. “Nothing. No anger, not even interest.” He shook his head. “I can’t even properly describe it. It was detached, intelligent, yet incurious. Almost as if someone had set a watchdog, yet it was a watchdog trained only to watch, and not do anything about what it saw.”
Nikolas nodded and ran his fingers through his hair. The shop was very quiet tonight, and Mags could hear the ticking of wood beetles chewing away at the beams, the skittering of a mouse over in the corner. He wondered if they ought to get a shop cat. “That was the same impression I got,” Nikolas agreed. “I . . . I don’t know what it is. Dallen and Rolan think it might be some sort of . . . not a ghost, but a sort of spirit they either can’t, or won’t describe. But they don’t think it’s harmful; they just think that for some reason it got curious about Mags, but not curious enough to follow him for very long. If they’re wrong, and it is a ghost, Caelen has a new theory based on his own research. He thinks it’s someone who hasn’t yet realized that he or she is dead, maybe a very young child, who is just watching things to see what happens.”
Mags looked at hi
s mentor dubiously. “Y’know, that ain’t makin’ me feel any better. If anythin’, that’s creepier.”
“Well, Caelen says if that is the case, then this sort of ghost fades fairly quickly, and no, we don’t know why they do, he just says that they do. So this won’t last more than a moon or two more.”
“A moon or two.” Mags sighed. “Well, I reckon I can put up with it for that long, I guess.” The thought of a dead child watching him rather made him want to crawl right out of his skin, but he couldn’t tell Nikolas that.
Why was it so difficult to figure out what this thing was, anyway? He would have thought, with one of the most skilled Mindspeakers around and one of the best Healers, they’d at least have a guess.
“If ye don’ mind, I druther not go over roofs tonight,” he said, finally. “One go-around of bein’ stared at is enough fer one night.”
The Healer smiled. “I fully understand that, Mags,” he said. “I really do. I felt what you felt . . . and that made me very curious. If you don’t mind my asking, what is it that makes this so difficult for you?”
Nikolas let them all out of the office, blew out the lantern after lighting a candle stub at it, locked the office door, and led them out the front door. Mags tried to puzzle out what the Healer had meant.
Finally he gave up. “Don’t reckon I understand the question, sir,” he said respectfully.
Nikolas coughed a little. “I told you that you need to be more direct with Mags, Charis,” the King’s Own said as he locked up the shop. “He is a very direct sort of fellow.”
“An’ there’s a powerful lot that’s difficult fer me, sir,” Mags added ruefully. The three of them trudged down the street together, heads down, shoulders hunched, three men going home after a long and tiring day. The street was quite empty tonight; the only activity seemed to be in a few upper-story rooms and in the drink shops—and there was not much of that.
“I mean, why does the prospect of a spirit frighten you,” Charis asked after a long moment.
Redoubt: Book Four of the Collegium Chronicles (A Valdemar Novel) Page 15