She came into the circle of firelight. Zale smiled up at her, and Sarkis gave her the muted scowl that passed for a smile, and Halla realized that she almost didn’t want the journey to end.
Chapter 41
The next day, Zale taught Halla to use a crossbow.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked Sarkis. In the abstract, he believed that it was good for everyone to know how to defend themselves, but in the concrete, that meant that Halla was holding a loaded crossbow.
She’s not notably less competent than most of the recruits you’ve trained over the years.
…yes, and how often did those recruits nearly put a bolt in you?
“It is the best of ideas,” said Zale firmly. “We defeat ignorance with knowledge and training.”
Brindle hunched his shoulders up and said, “Better not aim at an ox, rat-priest. Better not aim anywhere near an ox.”
“Oh dear…” Halla looked at the crossbow. “Should we go to the back of the wagon, maybe?”
“That might be best.” Zale took their weapon and led her around to the back. Sarkis followed grimly, determined to be on hand if something went wrong.
There followed a few minutes of the priest explaining what part went where. “You must have a bolt to fire it. If you fire the crossbow without a bolt, you damage the crossbow. All that pent up energy has to go somewhere.”
“Like some people I know,” said Halla, sighing.
Sarkis gave her a sharp look, but she looked innocently at him. Which meant nothing. Halla’s ability to look innocent was a constant source of amazement.
“Now, put the stock up against your shoulder. Wedge it very tight. There’s a pad, but it will still kick, and the tighter you have it there, the better.” The priest set their long, thin hands over Halla’s, moving her into position. “No, a little higher. There.”
The ox ambled onward while Zale talked Halla through the act of aiming and firing. “Do not point it at anything that you do not want to put a bolt into. Do not shoot if you do not know what is behind it. Now, this dirt bank will do admirably. Aim and fire.”
“What do I aim at?”
“That plant there,” said Sarkis.
“Coltsfoot,” muttered Halla. “Well, it’s a weed anyway…”
THWANG.
“…ow.”
Sarkis was actually rather impressed at how little the crossbow had kicked. Fisher had dislocated his shoulder once, shooting his in a hurry, and had said it wasn’t the first time it had happened. But that had been a substantially larger weapon, with a great deal more range. This one was…well…cute. But then again, Zale was not over large themself and had little need for a weapon that could kill at a vast distance.
And Brindle also killed a man with that crossbow, so let’s not get too hung up on size, shall we?
Halla did not seem to appreciate the relative lack of recoil very much. She rubbed her shoulder. “That hurt.”
“It is not a thing to be fired lightly,” said Zale. “But you’ve slain your weed, look!”
Halla grinned. Sarkis’s heart lurched, as it always did, and he went to go check on the ox and wagon.
As they approached the gates of Rutger’s Howe, Halla shivered. It was cold out, but Sarkis doubted that was the reason. He put an arm around her shoulders anyway.
She cast him a brief look, both startled and appreciative, and said, “I know they’re not expecting us, but I’m still half-afraid Alver’s going to be waiting with the constables.”
Sarkis hated the thought of leaving her to face her cousin alone, but nevertheless… “Should I go back into the sword? I do not wish us to spend our first night back in a jail cell.”
“You absolutely should not,” said Zale firmly. “We begin as we mean to go on, and we will not act as if you are a criminal. You were defending Halla against a completely indefensible imprisonment.”
“Yes, but then we ran away afterwards,” said Halla.
Zale straightened their back and lifted their chin. “You did not have a lawyer then,” they said. “More specifically, you did not have a priest of the Rat. I will not allow my clients to be imprisoned for fleeing from danger.”
For once, it really did seem to be that easy. It was hard to believe that the servant of the Rat sweeping into town, wearing the full vestments of the priesthood, was the same person who had been violently ill in a ditch while Halla held their hair. Zale exuded authority. They even looked a few inches taller. When they raised their hand and beckoned to a constable standing by the gate, the poor man nearly saluted in return.
“Your Holiness?” he asked.
“I require your assistance,” said Zale. “This is Mistress Halla, most recently of your town.”
The constable looked at Halla, and appeared even more confused. “Halla? I thought you were kidnapped!”
“Hello, Michael,” said Halla. “I wasn’t.”
“No thanks to those…persons…claiming to be her relatives by marriage,” said Zale. They somehow managed to make claiming to be a relative sound like a crime on par with bestiality. “Mistress Halla was forced to flee when they attempted to imprison her in her own bedroom. Can you imagine the depths of such depravity?”
Michael blinked several times and looked around, possibly hoping someone else was going to answer the question.
“Direct us to the offices of your town clerk,” ordered Zale. “I wish to settle this for my client as soon as possible, and see those imposters subjected to the full force of the law.”
Michael was clearly relieved that all that was required were directions, not any arrests. He waved toward the center of town. “And turn left at the butcher,” he said. “The three-story building with the angel on the weathervane.”
“Indeed.” Zale wrinkled their nose. “On, Brindle!”
The tilt of Brindle’s ears indicated that there would be words about this later.
“I could have told you where it was,” murmured Halla, as the cart rumbled past Michael, who was standing at attention.
“Undoubtedly,” said Zale. “But this way, the accusations have been made—loudly—and the constables will know your side of the story before we are even to the clerk.”
Halla looked at Sarkis helplessly. He took her hand and squeezed. “It will be all right,” he said. “Zale clearly knows what they are doing.”
Zale grinned like a shark that had eaten the cat, the canary, and several innocent bystanders.
“A servant of the Rat?” squeaked the clerk. Halla felt bad for him. He was a middle-aged man who had the job primarily because of the neatness of his penmanship and his meticulous recordkeeping. He did not deserve to be caught between Aunt Malva on one side and Zale’s inexorable courtesy on the other.
Speaking of which…
“What is the meaning of this?” snapped Aunt Malva, throwing open the door to the office. “What is this foolishness I am hearing about Halla being—Halla?”
Her voice went up half an octave as Halla turned to face her.
If she had been a better actress, Halla thought, Malva might have carried the day. If she had thrown her arms around Halla’s neck and professed how happy she was, perhaps.
Fortunately for me, she cannot pretend to hold me in anything but contempt.
“Hello, Aunt Malva,” said Halla grimly. “Surprised to see me?”
Alver came in behind her, saw Halla, saw Sarkis, saw Zale, and began to back out of the door as if he had wandered into the wrong building by mistake.
Malva drew herself up to her full height and pointed a trembling finger at Sarkis. “You! Constables! Arrest this man!”
This would have been a very impressive statement if there had been any constables in the room. Sarkis looked around, apparently saw none, then looked at the clerk and shrugged.
“What exactly are you arresting my guard for?” asked Zale.
Halla watched Sarkis’s lips twitch as he absorbed his new employment status.
“He kidnapped
Halla!”
“As my client is standing right here, this appears to be some definition of kidnap of which I am unaware,” said Zale. Halla had never previously paid much attention to the length of the priest’s nose, but the way that they looked down it at Malva was positively inspirational. “Mistress Halla, has this man kidnapped you?”
“Certainly not.”
“Perhaps it was some time ago. Try to remember?”
“Nothing’s coming to mind.”
“Alver!” snapped Malva, turning. “Alver, explain to her what happened!”
“Um, he kidnapped you,” said Alver. “It was awful.”
“How odd,” said Zale. “Since my client made no mention of being kidnapped. I would think she would know, wouldn’t you?”
“She’s mad,” snapped Malva. “Or a fool. It doesn’t matter. Alver, go get a constable!”
Zale gave her a look of withering contempt. The clerk looked horribly uncomfortable.
“You might try Constable Michael,” said Zale. “He greeted us at the gate and is fully apprised on the situation.”
“He seemed pleasant,” rumbled Sarkis.
Malva, outmaneuvered, snapped her mouth shut.
“Now,” said Zale, turning to the law clerk, “I am aware that this is unorthodox, but as I was not present for the reading of the will, would you be so kind as to go over it again?”
The law clerk grabbed onto this like a life line. “Yes! Certainly!” He went over to a cabinet and pulled out the document. “Here, as you can see, the signatures are all in order…”
“They certainly seem to be,” murmured Zale. “Now let us take this line by line.”
“Is this really necessary?” said Malva. “We all know what it says.”
Zale brushed their hand through the air near their ear, as if to wave off a buzzing insect. “Let me see…yes, this appears in order. The house and possessions inside it, along with all properties, are to be left to Mistress Halla. Is this your reading too?”
“Yes,” said the clerk, nodding vigorously.
“He was not in his right mind when he wrote that,” snapped Malva.
“This would appear to be quite straightforward,” said Zale. “Is there any reason why my client cannot take possession of her property at once?”
Halla held her breath.
The clerk looked once or twice at Malva, opened his mouth, then forced a sickly smile. “Well, not exactly, but I’m afraid that there’s been a…a challenge to the will…”
“I see,” said Zale. “And the challenge was brought by?”
“Alver,” said Malva.
Alver, who had his shoulders up around his ears and had been staring at the floor, looked up, startled. “Yes, mother?”
“Tell them why you’ve brought this challenge to the will!”
“Uh…I…uh…that is…well, the old boy can’t have been in his right mind, can he? To leave it all to his housekeeper instead of his family…”
“You were eager enough to marry that housekeeper a few weeks ago,” said Halla acidly.
“Not of sound mind,” repeated Malva. “She was clearly manipulating him. Might even have been…” Malva looked down her nose, “…carrying on with him.”
Halla’s jaw dropped. “Carrying on with—he was eighty-six!”
“Not the first old goat to be made a fool of by a young woman, is he?”
“Young? You told me that I was so old that I should be grateful for any offer!”
The clerk was looking back and forth, eyes round. Zale cleared their throat. “The age of my client is not relevant. Very well, if a challenge is being brought to the will, we will require a judgment. I assume that the house has been sealed in the meantime?”
The clerk gulped. “Ah…well…no, I…”
Zale’s voice grew clipped. “And why not? In the event of a contest to the will, it is accepted legal practice to seal the property to prevent theft, is it not?”
“Yes, but…well, that is…” The clerk glanced at Malva, then took a deep breath. “No, you’re absolutely right, your honor. I will order the constables to seal the property at once.”
“But that’s where we’re staying!” cried Malva.
“Then let us hope that irreparable damage has not already occurred,” said Zale.
Malva began to turn blotchy and red.
Halla coughed. “Someone will need to feed the chickens,” she said. “And the servants—well, if there’s any still working there—oh dear, they shouldn’t lose wages for this…”
“I am certain that provision can be made for the chickens,” said Zale gravely. Sarkis, who had been as silent as a statue, coughed. “Should the servants wish to speak with Mistress Halla, please inform them that we will be staying at the Temple.”
“But where will we—”
“Now,” Zale continued, nodding to the clerk, “as regards the challenge, I would ask that judgment be delayed until the deceased’s friend Bartholomew arrives. He is heading here directly from Amalcross, and should be no more than a day or two behind us. He is the witness on this will and can speak to the mental state of the deceased at the time of writing it.”
“Certainly,” gasped the clerk, sensing a reprieve.
“Tomorrow, I will wish to go over the extent of the property named in the will with you, if that will be acceptable?”
“Yes, yes of course.” The clerk stood up straighter. Property records, at least, he understood.
“Then we will leave you to your duties,” said Zale, inclining their head. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”
“Where are we to stay?” shouted Malva in the priest’s face.
Zale looked at her, then removed a handkerchief from their robes and silently wiped their face, as if removing flecks of spittle. Malva’s flush deepened.
“That, madam,” said Zale, after folding the handkerchief into a precise square, “is not my client’s concern.”
They swept out of the room. Halla would likely have stayed, rooted in place, but Sarkis put a hand on her shoulder and steered her out in the priest’s wake.
“Zale,” she started to say, but they raised a hand for silence. Halla, brimming with incredulous laughter, could barely climb onto the wagon. It was not until Brindle had brought the ox to a halt outside the churchyard that the priest exhaled and slumped back against the seat.
“That,” they said, grinning, “was fun.”
“You were amazing!”
“She is not wrong. I have been on battlefields with less mayhem.”
“Ah, well.” Zale waved a hand. “I so rarely get the chance for a full dramatic legal scene. The Rat cannot blame me for taking the opportunity now and again.” They sighed, putting their hand to their heart. “Tomorrow, I fear, will not be nearly so exciting, though a good deal more essential.”
“Do you need me there?” asked Halla.
“You may certainly attend if you wish, but it’s dry business,” Zale said. “We will go through deed records and maps to determine the extent of your great-uncle’s holdings, and thus precisely what will come to you. It may be that there is something in there that we could offer to those wretched people, something you would not miss, and get them to simply go away…though I confess, after that scene, I am inclined to leave them with nothing at all.”
“I would love it if they simply went away,” said Halla. With all of Silas’s property, I imagine I wouldn’t miss any of it, if it meant that they didn’t come back and bother me every time the wind blew. Although I suppose that might mean a smaller dowry for my nieces…still…
“We shall keep that as an option, then,” said Zale firmly. “And now, let us go meet your priest and tell him that we are invading his stable for the foreseeable future.”
Chapter 42
The priest of the Four-Faced God was almost pathetically delighted to see Zale. “A colleague!” he said. “Of course—of course—as long as you like, certainly—please, put your ox in the stable—oh dea
r, I only have one guest room, I’m so sorry, but we can put the novices out and change the sheets and—”
Zale took his hand and patted the back kindly. “That will not be necessary at all, Father. We have a wagon that travels with us, and I would not see your novices suffer in the cold. A stall for the ox and a meal or two is all that we will impose upon you.”
“Oh dear! Are you certain? How long are you staying?”
“Until the matter of the will is sorted out.” Zale smiled warmly, the icy legal demeanor gone as if it had never existed. “But if we may eat with you tonight? I fear I will bore you senseless, since all my chatter is of the capital and the Temple politics there, but if you will grant me your patience…”
“Not at all,” gasped the priest. Halla realized with a pang how desperate the poor man was for news of the wider world. Was Rutger’s Howe really such a backwater? Well, perhaps it was.
She would think so again, several times in the next few days. It was familiar and comfortable and she was glad to be home, but she kept thinking how much smaller it seemed, compared even to Amalcross. People walked by the stableyard and stared at the painted wagon as if they had never seen one.
They stared at Brindle too, and that really annoyed her. There were gnoles in Rutger’s Howe, for the love of the gods, it wasn’t like they hadn’t seen one before. But somehow the local gnoles were unremarkable, while Brindle, calmly going over the wagon, fixing harness leather and replacing nails, merited staring.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know why people are being so…I’m sorry.”
The gnole gave her a look, ears down and back, in what she had learned was wry amusement. “A gnole is a job-gnole, not a rag-and-bone gnole,” he said.
“I don’t know what that means, Brindle.”
He turned back to his work. “Rag-and-bone gnole works in gutters, takes trash. Works hard. Not insulting a rag-and-bone gnole. But a job-gnole works on wagons.” He put his claws across his chest. “Fixes. Drives an ox. Human sees a job-gnole, maybe a human doesn’t expect it.”
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