Aloren (17 page)

“Sweet blessed earth.”  Padlimaird shook Trid’s hand.  “Thank ye kindly, sir.” 

“Wear boots,” Trid said, looking at the boy’s feet.  “And don’t get water here––that was stupid.”

“Aye, m’lord.”  Padlimaird tramped away with his empty bucket. 

I scowled after him, certain Wille and Nefer would know all about my unlikely acquaintances by the next half-hour. 

“Aye, m’lord,” crowed Andrei into Trid’s ear.  Trid shoved him through the arcade, and Max joined us from where he had watched the whole thing.

I thought of all the
m’lord’s
and
sir’s
the humans seemed to inspire in everyone, and had a sudden notion––one of those that haunt the mind until they’re cleared and settled.  So I ran and caught up with the boys.

“D’you ever see the Queen’s son?” I asked them. Andrei stopped for a beat, and his face took on a queer expression.

“Too much.”  He strode ahead of Trid and me. 

Max took Andrei’s place.  “The prince gets in the way of Andy’s fun.  He doesn’t like the prince.”

“He’s not a prince,” said Andrei.

“He’s a nasty little bastard,” I said. 

The boys on either side of me began to laugh, softly at first, but it soon became an impediment, and they had to stop and calm themselves.  “Aloren,” said Max, “you’re a lark.  Careful you’re not a dead one.”

***

After Trid took the initiative to help Padlimaird, I grew a grudging affection for him: for his fairness, never quite beaten into submission by his peers, and for the unexpected dexterity of his long fingers.

He badgered and goaded me until I’d taught him how to pick a lock, care for a beaten dog, mend a broken finger. 

Lord or no, Trid wanted to be a doctor.  This puzzled me, as healing was a woman’s profession among the Gralde.  But Trid was human, as well as from Lorila. 

***

Autumn came, sweeping in with cold rain, and the locust trees spread naked limbs under the bell tower.  The ground shone, paved with their gold leaves.

I sat on the top step waiting for Andrei, who’d exhausted his supply of discreet meeting-places, to tell me what I was to do next.  I expected an angry shout from him.  I’d sprained my ankle dancing the day before and my steps were slow and laborious.

He bounded up the steps, face steely with excitement.  Max walked behind him with a more glum expression.  Andrei stopped to take a great bite of something wrapped in a cloth napkin, allowing Max to speak first: “
I
wanted to break into Luka’s cabinet tomorrow night––see if he had leaf in there, but
I
was ruled out.”

“Stop wingeing,” Andrei said.  “It’s Herist’s records, and I’m going to slug you if you don’t shut up.” 

I jumped up, rolled on my bad ankle, and fell down.  “Herist?”  Perchevor Herist, commander of the city garrison and owner of two-thirds of the vessels in the harbor, was not known for his leniency toward thieves.  Or Gralde.  “Are you mad?”  I rubbed my ankle.

“Barking,” said Max.

“She’s gone and hurt herself.”  Andrei stared at the ankle.  It was swollen into an angry red ring.  “A great deal of help you’re going to be tomorrow, you dancing monkey.”  My mouth twisted down.  “Don’t give me that––I see you doing it everywhere.  Gods know why.  You’ve precious little to be so happy about.” 

I stood up again, two steps above him, swaying.  “What d’ye know about happiness, you stinkin maggoty canker?”

He bent real close. “Shake the sand out of your cunny before tomorrow. We don’t want a problem.”

“You should talk––got a pike so far up your arse it’s scrambling your brains. Get everyone killed, you will.”

“I ought to smack you.”  Our exchanges were becoming boringly rote.  “I’m thirsty,” he complained to Max.  “Let’s go find a fountain.”

Seventeen

Andrei chose an afternoon Commander Herist planned to spend far away from the palace––occupied with inspecting his warehouses.  Andrei was certain there was something subversive buried in Herist’s mercantile and military books.  I got the impression Andrei didn’t much like Herist.

It was at this point I first knew Max to have a twin brother, Luka: exactly the same in looks, but more spastic in temperament.  It was interesting that Andrei had invited him along, as he didn’t like Luka any more than he liked Herist.  Perhaps he wanted more bodies for rifling through Herist’s things, because the boys cornered Luka into taking the first watch. 

We met at the eastern wall, under the hill, to sneak through a little postern I was made to unlock. 

The door swung open––just inside was a flight of steps cut into the hill.  Andrei sighed.  “Haven’t been this way in three years,” he said.  “Since he set up shop in this part of the building.”  He was the first to go through, at a gallop. 

I stood at the bottom with Luka, wondering how to coax my lame ankle up the stairs, until Trid walked back down.  He put his arm around me and half-carried me up, through a garden where yellow roses had climbed over everything, and into the building.

The chest took a time to find.  It was in the farthest room, hidden under a wolf-skin with a snarling snout that made everyone wary of drawing near. 

“Have at it.”  Andrei swept the skin off by its tail and draped it over the bed.  The chest was big and bound at the corners with hammered iron, and the lock was built in.  I put my wrench into the keyhole, slid my needle inside, and felt the breaking of the first tumbler as far back as the needle could reach. 

It began to rain outside.  The air grew colder, numbing my fingers.  I was moving carefully to the third pin when Luka burst through the door, his hair soaked.

Max was snooping through the wardrobe. “Dark too frightening for you?”

“They’re coming––I saw them walking this way––”

“We’ve still got time.”  Andrei crossed the room in three bounds.  “I’m going to do something––”

Luka blocked the doorway.  “If you’re caught,” he said to Andrei, “you’ll cause a stupendous rift between the military and the peerage.”

“And you’re a stupendous idiot if you think I care,” said Andrei.  He shoved Luka out of the way.  “Aloren, when you finish all of you are to carry as many as you––”

“Leave.”  Trid prodded him out the door. “Before he finds us inside his rooms instead of out.” 

Andrei left, still yelling instructions, and Trid grumbled in the doorway for a bit, and then walked after him.

I went back to work.  Luka squatted beside me, yelling at my fingers.  “How d’you make the tick work faster?” he said to Max.  “Does she even understand me?” 

“I expect not.”  Max snapped his arms from the wardrobe. “You talk like a drunk squirrel.”

“Oh, no.”  Luka had thrust his head outside the room.  “I hear them.  They’re inside.  Oh, no––” 

Max walked over and stuffed his brother’s head under his arm.  “Shut up, idiot.”  Luka struggled frantically, and Max backed him into the bed and pushed his face into the bedclothes.  “Aloren, hurry your fingers along for light’s sake.”

“There’re
nine
pins,” I said. 

“Where’ve Trid and Andy got to?”  Max released Luka, who had become quiet.  I raised my last pin, shifted positions, and broke into a sweat when the keyway wouldn’t rotate. 

The pin had gone past its breaking point.  I slowly released tension from the chisel handle, felt the pin click into place, and turned the key.  I let my exhausted hand slide to the ground. 

Luka thought I had given up.  “Lazy little shit.” 

He ground his boot into my fingers just as Andrei barreled through the door with Trid right behind. 

I howled and snatched my hand to my chest.  Andrei sank his fist into Luka’s stomach, and Luka collapsed, squealing. 

“Don’t touch things that aren’t yours.” Andrei knelt beside me and flung open the trunk.  Inside were books, ledgers, and bundles of old letters, meticulously sorted. 

I shrank away, but Andrei pulled me back by the arm. “You’re helping too.” He pushed my hand into the chest. 

I ignored the pain and gathered an armful of the parchment.  I scrambled up and moved away so the others could reach in. 

Digging, Andrei said, “Tried to talk with him about Evelers––all his knee splitters and other nasties where he could just have it off with the man’s wife, but he guessed.  Right away he guessed, so I left, and he’s probably marching up with the whole garrison.” 

He growled at me to leave.  But as I picked my way toward the door, my ankle turned and the parchment spilled onto the floor. 

The other boys pushed past and I knelt to retrieve it.  I’d got half of it up when I noticed the letter poking out from the bottom. 

I went still.  Andrei had lingered behind to close the lid and throw the wolf-skin over it.  His hands reached before mine could, and snatched up Tem’s letter and all the rest.  I squatted, staring, turning over in my mind a vision of Herist picking the thing off the ground after he’d shot my uncle through the back with an arrow.  And then tossing it into his chest when he failed to understand the Gralde.

“Well?” Andrei paused at the door.  “Come on.”  He caught my wrist and swung me to my feet.  I was dragged down a corridor, handed to Trid, and neglected when Trid paid more attention to the letters he was holding.  Max prodded Luka ahead with his elbows, arms full of parchment.  Andrei ran ahead, shuffling through the parchment in his hands. 

“Yes,” he called, stopping in mid jump so that Luka ran into him.  “I knew it.  I knew he was double-dealing.  With Duke Caveira of Dirlan.” 

Trid stopped with me ten feet behind everyone else, and the blood drained from his face.  Trid was Caveira’s nephew, and suffered for it whenever the man did something stupid.  He’d been reading a letter, and he stared over my head at Andrei, who said:

“He’s building up an army.  Been growing the military—you’ve seen it—there’re more soldiers in Ellyned now than there used to be, and it’s driving the Girelden mad. He’s going to threaten Caveira with war.”

“Threaten Caveira with war?” said Max. “How is that double-dealing?”

“Caveira needs troops.  The Ravyir will give him troops if he thinks Norembry’s going to invade eastern Lorila. Caveira wants to beat his cousins out and become the next Ravyir––he’s promised Herist a province in return, he’s promised him Garada.  Ugh!  Imagine––but there’ll be worse, I’ll stake my life on it.  Herist’ll double cross him in the end.  He’s looking for a short trip to power––this must be it!  It’s brilliant––”

“Mad, are you?” said Max.  “Herist couldn’t find his arse with both hands.  And Caveira wants to give him
Garada
?”

“Worse than that, probably,” said Andrei.  “As soon’s they’ve both got enough men, they’ll go after the whole of Lorila and Norembry in a combined effort.”

“Andy––” Max looked back at Trid. “I know Herist is a giant fuck, but you’re crazy.”

“Always was,” muttered Luka.

“Caveira’s been collecting soldiers, anyway,” said Andrei.  “He wants most desperately to be king of Lorila––been doing everything he can to squeeze funds out of the current king.  Probably to the point of encouraging the outlaws in his province.  Maybe he has his soldiers dress as brigands, makes them go raiding.” 

Max gave a snort, and Andrei said to him, “I’m serious.  Daonac Lauriad must’ve known.  He was absurdly concerned about the western wildmen.  Too concerned for Caveira’s comfort.  They’ll tell you it was because his children were living out there, but I still wonder how a crew of wild boors could’ve killed Daonac Lauriad.”

Trid said, “You’re half right, you know.”  He spoke as though he wasn’t sure he ought to go further.   “It wasn’t a crew of wild boors.  They were soldiers disguised as bandits.  Not Lorilan ones.  Noremes.” 

I dropped my letters a second time.  No one noticed. 

Trid kept on: “They had the face paint, the gaudery, everything.  Herist was in charge of it, apparently. See this?” He held up his letter, his hand trembling a very little. “A letter of instruction, from three years back, when Herist was out west.  Gods know why he still has it.  Good for blackmail, I suppose.  The letter has the Queen’s seal, see?”  He was looking at Andrei.

“Go on.”  Andrei’s voice was strange, detached, as if he didn’t really care.  “Go on and say all of it.”

Trid shrugged, scanning the letter.  “She planned it for the littlest one’s birthday, when she was sure the King would visit.  She went herself, even, to make sure the thing was done––to her satisfaction.”  He looked sick.  “She bribed their cook, she wrote, after the cook let slip.  Or it wasn’t the cook; a scullion, rather, a little girl at a market up in Gaelhead. That’s how she found them.”

“So the Queen killed him?” said Andrei.  “And his children?  Does the letter say why?”  The corridor lacked a cresset at that end, and his face was hidden in shadow. 

But no light was necessary to feel the terror coming from Floy’s little breast.  I looked into the corner; she gaped at Trid with slate-black eyes in a girl’s face. 

“Trid,” said Andrei.  Trid took a long breath.  “Why would the Queen do that?  Kill the King, all his children,
and
Ederach?  Of course Herist killed Ederach.  We all know Herist killed Ederach, but it must’ve been under her orders.  Why all of them?”  His voice became higher and more forced.  “Let me read it.  Give it here.” 

I turned back to Floy, but she had resumed her usual form and was flinging herself through the garret.

“Not now.” Trid shoved it behind his back.  “They’re coming.  Can’t you hear them?” 

Faint voices echoed down the walls.  Andrei leapt at Trid’s hand and ripped the letter free. 

“Nobody knew anything?  No wonder.”  Max’s eyes were round as coins.  “All this, if it’s true, it’ll be
perfect
for getting whatever we want.  Just think.   Think what we could do…blackmailing the Queen!”  He burst into laughter.  I put Floy out of my head.

“Do?” I said.  “The only decent thing ye could do is nark on her to the rest, and right away.  And Herist’s meddling with Caveira, too.”

“We’ll do no such thing,” said Andrei on top of my voice, and after taking two crazy steps forward, he turned around.  “And if I hear one word’s got out I’ll have your tongue slit.” 

Max stopped laughing.  A clash of habergeons sounded at the far end of the hall.  Andrei turned and fled round a corner, the other boys running in his wake, except for Trid, who had me to look after. 

He turned toward the noise and must have seen its makers.  He slammed me onto the floor, shoved me beneath a trestle table, and squeezed beside me. 

He grabbed a candleholder from the table, and made as if to throw it toward a far window, but I pinned down his arms. 

A carpet covered the length of the corridor floor, reaching almost to our table. I remembered that a stool with a porcelain jar stood on this carpet.  The stool was set before the door to an adjoining corridor. 

I reached my hands out, and clenching my teeth to keep in the shout of pain, gave the carpet a yank.  There came a crash of wood and pottery, a shout of voices, and a fading thud of boots.  Trid helped me out from under the table. 

“Move,” he said.  “Hallway’s a dead end.” 

Immediately after he spoke the boots came running back.  We turned the corner; hanging on the wall before us was a richly colored tapestry of a blooming peach tree. 

I’d stood here before… 

“Hold it.” I pulled Trid behind the tapestry. Sneezing, I found a door handle.  It was unlocked, and easing it open, I slipped through. 

I brushed cobwebs away from my face and looked round.  Trid, who’d come through behind me, stared at me, stared at the room.

Leaves dusted the corners and littered the bed. They’d never closed the window, apparently, and the ivy had crept in with the sun, rain and snow.  The black rocking chair still sat in the corner, grown faded with lapfuls of sun every evening, and the rain poured in with an accustomed hiss. 

I stepped in a puddle, drew my foot back.  Though she kept hidden, Floy had followed me in.  I looked at the soiled bed, remembering the red of the sunset and Leode’s wet hair.

“It would’ve happened somehow,” I said to her.  “With or without you.” 

Her claws scratched about in the leaves, and careful not to step on her, I limped over to Trid, who had moved to the other side of the room. 

“Here’s the proper door.”  He joggled it and it opened with a bang.

We went along a corridor and came into a long hall with a pitched roof.  Thin piers branched upwards like tree trunks.  The windows were laced with leaf and branch tracery, and a gallery high on one side opened into the raining night.  The room moved with wings, and row upon row of cages swinging in a light wind.

A fear filled me, that hadn’t come from within me.  “What’s this place?”

“Sounds like an aviary.”  Trid looked around and scratched his neck.  “Lady Dariond’s.”