“Oh, I wasn’t born yet, then.” The shadow resolved into Willam, apparently being boosted up from below by the unseen Bel. Will grasped a crossbeam, pulled himself onto it, lying prone to reach one hand back down.
“I assumed as much.” Rowan moved to the opposite side of the mare, to keep the man’s attention in her direction. “But it occurred to me that you might know of some elderly stable hand, perhaps not working any longer, who might have been on hand during that time.”
“Hm.” The man paused in his work, resting his arms across the mare’s back. Behind him, Will was now standing on the beam, his sack in hand, scanning the rafters above. “Hum,” the groom said. “Andry, maybe. Old as the hills, he is, and he worked here when I first came.”
Rowan recognized the name. “Does he live on Iron-and-Tin Street?” Up above, Will caught her glance, flashed a grin— then stopped short.
“Matter of fact, I think he does.” The groom stooped to wipe at the mare’s rear hocks.
Rowan looked away quickly, then could not resist looking back; the groom could not see her face. Willam was now lying on the beam again, gesturing urgently to Bel down below.
“You should ask old Andry,” the groom said.
“Um . . .” Rowan recovered. “Actually, I suppose you haven’t heard yet, but he passed away”—it took her a moment to calculate, with her sleep pattern skewed—“yesterday morning.” Will passed the sack back down, shot one wild, wide-eyed glance at Rowan; then, moving urgently, he shifted his body, hung from his hands, dropped out of sight.
“Well, no surprise there. On the one hand, I’m sorry he’s gone. On the other hand, he was a sour old thing, and wasn’t above using a stick, on horses and stable hands both. Still, it’s a shame. No one should die; then he’d have the time he needed, to mend his ways.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Rowan said distractedly, casting about for a polite way to depart immediately.
“Hey-oh!” Bel’s voice called from the stable doors. “Good, someone’s still up.” She arrived, slightly out of breath, looked at Rowan in apparent surprise. “And you’re here, too, that’s good.” She addressed the groom cheerily. “Now, I just had a notion, in the middle of the night, while drinking my last beer, which is often the case, isn’t it? It came to me that my friend the steerswoman, here, has been working far too hard, and could use some recreation, so I thought: Why don’t we hire a pair of horses and spend a day in the countryside?”
“Hire a pair?” The man shrugged. “Plenty for hire, here. Are you a good rider?” Rowan was completely at sea, and could only watch the exchange, trying not to let her confusion show.
“I’m terrible!” Bel declared, as if proud of the fact. “I hope you can find me some animal old enough to be gentle, but not so old that it will die under me. But Rowan, here”—she clapped the steerswoman’s shoulder—“she’s good with horses. Let’s get the best you have for her. In fact”—and here she eyed the mare—“I like this one. How much, to hire him and another for the day?”
“Her,” Rowan corrected, which was the only contribution she could muster.
“Her. She’s beautiful. I like the idea of the steerswoman up on a beautiful white horse.”
“That’s not a white horse,” the groom informed Bel. “That’s a gray horse. And she only boards here, she’s not for hire.”
“Really? Well, perhaps I can talk to her owner, and make some private arrangements.” And Rowan experienced a quick sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.
“Ha!” The groom’s expression was wry. “You’re welcome to try it. This is the wizard Jannik’s own horse.”
“Oh, well, I won’t bother him, then,” Bel said, agreeably. “Now, then—” And she and the groom began to discuss prices, Bel haggling hard, in no apparent hurry; while Rowan stood, listening to them, trying to remain calm, and wishing very much that she could get out of there, quickly.
The arrangements were completed, subject to the head groom’s approval in the morning. Bel bid the man a good night, and led the steerswoman at a leisurely pace down the row of stalls and out the door.
The instant they emerged, Will, who had tucked himself beside the door, grabbed Bel’s arm, pulled her aside, did the same to Rowan, half-pushed them both around the corner and into the shadows. He swung Bel around, clutched her shoulder, hissed to her, urgently, “Is it? Was I right?” His eyes were wide.
The Outskirter nodded. “It’s his horse.”
He leaned back, flung out one arm as if to pound the wall behind him, stopped himself just in time. “Jannik’s back.”
12
“He found your spells,” Bel said. “He’s neutralized them all.”
“No,” Willam said. “Not all of them. Not this soon. Something else brought him back.” In the darkness, Willam reached out, found Rowan’s arm, gripped it tightly, urgent. “It’s you,” he said, quietly.
“Will—”
“Someone went to Jannik, and told him—Rowan, you have to leave, now.”
“If Jannik wanted Rowan, she’d be dead already,” Bel put in.
“Will, that’s true,” Rowan said. She put her hand over his. “Jannik was right here, at the stables, not two hours ago. He could have simply strolled into the common room and killed me, or taken me away. But that didn’t happen.”
She felt his hand relax. “That’s right . . .” He released her arm, leaned back against the wall.
“Then,” Bel said, “Jannik is back because he’s finished. He got rid of Willam’s spells.”
Willam remained stubborn. “No. Not so soon. Bel, there were thirty of them!”
The Outskirter scanned left, right; there was still no one else about. Then she took a step back and entered a stance that Rowan knew well: feet planted firmly, chin tilted up. “You’re putting a lot of trust in those spells of yours. So, tell me this, Will—exactly how good a practitioner of magic are you?”
Will was silent.
Rowan had entirely neglected this possibility. She and Bel had no means by which to evaluate Willam’s abilities. They had been placing all confidence in the skills of a runaway apprentice.
Presently, Willam drew a breath, released it; and when he spoke, it was calmly, with no sign of offense at Bel’s challenging tone. “The jammers are simple,” he said. “They either wouldn’t work at all, or they’d work perfectly. And they did work. I watched Jannik ride out of town, not an hour after the first one was set to activate.”
“Then he found them, all of them.”
“No.”
“It’s the simplest explanation—”
“No it isn’t,” Rowan said; and it was the image of a man riding out of town on a horse that made her think of it, “that’s not the simplest explanation at all.”
Will and Bel subsided, and Rowan sensed their curious regard. “Willam,” she said, “can the wizards create objects at will? Bring them into existence by magic?” Of course they could not; they would never need food, or new clothing, if that were the case. They would have no use for the common folk at all.
The question puzzled Willam. “No . . . Not really. They can make things appear . . . but the things won’t be real.”
“And while you watched Jannik ride out, did you happen to notice what he brought with him in the way of supplies?”
Silence, and then a soft, delighted “Ha!” from Bel.
Will laughed. “He’s run out of food!”
“We,” Rowan said to them both, “are panicking. We are panicking unnecessarily.”
“Jannik will replenish his supplies, and ride out again in the morning,” Bel said.
“Or in the afternoon; he’s ridden all night. He’ll want some rest, I should think.”
“Or the next day,” Will said; and his tone gave Rowan pause. “And if he’s not gone by twenty-three hundred . . .” He allowed the sentence to trail off.
“Then you would have to abandon your plan entirely.”
“No.” He grew very still, an
d spoke quietly. “I’ll try later. Without the maintenance routines to cover me.”
Rowan did not like the sound of this at all. “How much riskier would that be?”
A long silence. Then Will’s voice came from the shadows: “I don’t want either of you anywhere near me if I have to do it that way.”
Bel said, in a perfectly conversational tone of voice: “Let’s kill him.” Will startled. “And don’t be squeamish,” Bel went on. “He’s an evil man. In fact, I believe that they’re all evil. Even Corvus—despite you thinking that he’ll let you get away with running off.”
“Bel,” Rowan put in, “we can’t simply murder Jannik.”
Bel ignored her. “You served a wizard for six years, Will, so you would know better than anyone—is even Corvus evil?”
Willam was a long time replying. “Probably,” he finally said.
Bel was incredulous. “ ‘Probably’?”
“Yes.” Will turned away. “Yes, he is evil.” He turned back. “But Bel. . . they don’t think like we do. Corvus doesn’t think he’s evil, probably none of them does. I don’t think they even believe there is such a thing as evil. That, that the whole idea is imaginary, or . . . meaningless.”
“It’s not,” Bel said. “You know that.”
“Yes . . . but I think . . . I think that, as wizards go, Corvus is probably the best that we can expect of them.”
“Wonderful. The best maggot in a pot full of maggots. And that’s why you’ve run away from him.” Will said nothing. “Since Jannik is evil, and he’s in our way, I have no problem with killing him. By surprise, you said: would a knife in the dark do?”
“Bel,” Rowan said, “no.”
Bel’s voice was harsh. “And tell me, lady, why not?”
It was Willam who answered. “Because the Krue won’t let that pass. If they can’t find Jannik’s murderer, they’ll take it out on the whole city. Or the next wizard of Donner will. Slado will send someone. And there’s no one ready. But he’ll send someone anyway.”
“Someone inexperienced?” Rowan asked.
“Like Shammer and Dhree?” Bel said.
“Yes.” The sibling wizards had been younger than Willam’s present age. Abruptly, Rowan remembered Liane, a girl of some fifteen years, whose sole occupation at the fortress of Shammer and Dhree was to serve both wizards’ pleasure.
Dead now, along with her masters.
Rowan forced the memory back. “Imagine Shammer or Dhree,” she said to Bel, “with the city of Donner as their toy.”
The idea disturbed the Outskirter, deeply. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “Jannik can live. But we need to make certain he leaves in time.”
Quiet, as all three considered this.
Eventually, Rowan said to Willam, “Can you affect the dragons yourself? Can you command them?”
“No,” Will said. “I don’t have the means, and I don’t have the skill.”
“That’s too bad,” Rowan said. She leaned back against the wall beside him, crossed her arms. “Jannik would probably consider this far more urgent if he thought that the spells did more than merely block his commands. If they actually allowed someone else to control the dragons, I suspect he’d dash straight back there, and wouldn’t rest until he’d found them all—” He startled. “Will? What is it?” She could not see his face.
“Will—” Bel said.
He said, in a voice of immense astonishment: “That’s it.”
Rowan and Bel traded a glance.
“That’s it.” He threw his head back, laughed quietly. “That’s it, that’s perfect!”
Bel said, “You mean, you can take command of Jannik’s dragons?”
“No.” And he took Bel’s arm, and Rowan’s, and hurried them back toward the Dolphin. “But I know how to make him think someone has.”
13
The plan required twenty-four hours, and two horses. Fortunately, Bel had already reserved a pair. It merely remained necessary to alter the arrangement to include the extra time, and to substitute Willam for Bel when no one was looking.
Unfortunately, their funds were running low. The three friends pooled their resources, Will’s and Rowan’s contributions being very meager. They had money sufficient to hire the mounts and purchase supplies for the extended time, but only if Willam and Bel ceased to eat for the rest of their stay in Donner.
They considered the small pile of coins. “I could go back to begging,” Will ventured.
“And I can pick a few pockets,” Bel volunteered cheerfully.
“I’d really rather you didn’t,” Rowan said, affronted. “Aside from the morality of it, you might get caught and thrown in a cell. It would be inconvenient, at the least.”
The Outskirter tilted her head. “I’ll haggle some more. And you’re a steerswoman. Perhaps we can get your horse without charge.”
Rowan protested. “Food and lodging are one matter; there’s no custom that requires people to give me free use of a horse for twenty-four hours.”
“Yes, but maybe the head groom doesn’t know that—”
“Bel—”
“So I’ll do the talking, and you stay quiet and try not to look appalled and disapproving. And I can play on sympathy, too. You were sick yesterday—”
“I was not!”
“But everyone thinks you were. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Rowan, but for some reason people around here seem to like you, and right now they feel sorry for you. I say we should play on that.”
The steerswoman continued to protest; but in the end, it seemed the only plan available, and Rowan surrendered.
They waited until dawn was near—not so very long a wait—and took themselves out to the stable yard. There, they watched while the head groom, a strong, weathered woman in her forties, gave the day’s instructions to the stable hands.
“I like her face,” Bel said. “She seems almost motherly. This might work.” She turned back to Rowan, considered the steerswoman’s expression disparagingly. “Maybe it would be better if you stayed over here, at a distance. Try to look peaked, if you can manage it—no, Rowan, at least try. And Will, be a bit concerned, and sympathetic—” She stopped short. “Ha.”
Rowan was immediately suspicious. “What?” she said.
The Outskirter grinned. “I have an idea.” She took Will’s arm, and Rowan’s, and pulled them closer to each other, spoke quietly. “Act cozy.”
Rowan put up her brows. “Excuse me?”
“Act cozy. Here, Will—” She drew him closer. “Put your arm around her shoulder, like this—”
“Um—” He attempted to back off.
“And Rowan, lean in—” Bel pushed them together.
Rowan resisted. “Bel—”
Bel glowered up at her. “Rowan, no one will wonder if the steerswoman wants to ride out with a handsome young man instead of with me. And no one will wonder if they stay out all night.”
“Um, Bel—” Will was definitely uncomfortable with this.
“Will, don’t be a prude—” Bel maneuvered them both back into position. “—And since I’m such a wonderful person, and I’ve taken a liking to the steerswoman, I’m generously footing the bill for her little outing. But I’ve been spending my money like water, as everyone has seen, so I don’t have enough for both horses. If we do it this way, I won’t have to hide out all day, pretending I’m not here—” The conversation at the stable door ceased, and the group began dispersing to their duties. “All right,” Bel said glancing back at them. “Now just stay back here—” She turned, caught Will’s and Rowan’s expressions, faltered. “Well . . .” She studied them dubiously. “Here.” She pulled them both around. “Keep your backs to the conversation. Rowan, move in, put your arm around his waist; Willam, like so . . .” Bel stepped away, surveyed the result. “Just stand together like that. It should be enough, if they don’t actually see your faces.”
Bel left them and went to greet the head groom. Rowan and Willam remained in place.
Rowan held on to Willam’s waist tentatively, as if steadying some extremely tall object; Will held his arm about Rowan’s shoulder in the manner of a person restraining a wet dog. They stared at the back of the inn as, behind them, Bel haggled cheerfully.
Presently, Will emitted an odd noise.
Rowan looked up and found that he was struggling to keep a straight face. He noticed her looking at him. He tried harder. He could not keep it up.
Laughter half escaped him, suppressed into a series of truly ridiculous snorts. The steerswoman could not help it: she did the same—
At that, neither of them could maintain restraint. They laughed, breathlessly, silently, weakly hilarious, leaning against each other for support. “I think,” Will managed to say between gasps, “that we’d better stop this, or we’ll ruin everything.”
“No, no,” Rowan said. “No, this is better!” And she allowed herself to laugh out loud. There was a pause in the conversation behind them; then it continued, in a slightly different tone.
“Here,” Rowan said, pulling Will halfway around, to allow their audience a better view. She stepped free, took both of his hands in hers, carefully composed her face, looked up at him. “Now, do you think you can manage to gaze longingly into my eyes?”
He said, as she had expected, “No—” and lost control completely, half falling back against the building, laughing helplessly. But she kept hold of his hands, watching him with genuine pleasure, and it seemed to her that the image they presented was perfect.
Presently Bel returned. “Well, that worked,” she said. “I didn’t think either of you had it in you.” Bel waited, puzzled, through another spate of hilarity. “We have Rowan’s horse free, and her supplies,” she continued. “And they’re only charging me one day for Willam’s horse. I think the head groom just did it so that everyone can gossip about you two later.”
Rowan said, wiping her eyes, “Oh, far be it from me to deprive”—she paused to catch her breath—“the staff of its entertainment.”
While Willam went to retrieve the traveling gear from Rowan’s room, a stable hand led out the horses: a pair of fine mares, one chestnut, one dapple gray. Rowan chose the chestnut, and introduced herself to her mount, rubbing its head, allowing it to snuffle at her hands. Then she checked its tack, testing the bit and the cinch. The head groom seemed reassured by the attention Rowan paid to these details.
The Language of Power Page 18