Ambergate (26 page)

“Apologies, young Sir,” he said with grudging respect as he took in Nate’s fine clothes. “Can’t go no further. Lord Protector’s
orders.”

“Our mistake,” Nate muttered.

“Exit through West door only, meantime. I’ll accompany you, if you don’t mind.”

There was no sign of Gobchick’s darting shadow; the sight of the soldier had frightened him away. Nate and I were hurried
through the Cathedral. When we looked back we could see the soldier standing under the arched entrance, looking after us.

I could see Nate was flustered and cross; my own heart was thudding with dismay. “You shouldn’t have followed Gobchick,” he
said. “He only wanted to show you his den.”

“Den?” I said breathlessly.

“He sleeps somewhere in the Cathedral.”

“I’m sorry, Nate,” I said, and added hesitantly, “It’s only that—I’ve always had a curiosity about the Amber Gate.”

“He’s cracked, I tell you,” Nate said. “He can know nothing.” In the sunlight his face was full of fear. “Things have a way
of getting back to the Protector. I don’t want to be reported for spying. If he thinks you’re the enemy, he doesn’t wait for
you to prove it.” He drew his hand across his throat, meaningfully.

I felt a sudden pain in my boot. The sheath of the dagger had slipped and jammed against my ankle bone. And I’d never finished
praying for forgiveness.

Nate felt an overwhelming sense of relief when the girl had been cleared by Palace Security and they both could leave the
building that housed the administration offices of the Protectorate.

Bathed in the afternoon sun and covered with the golden-pink buds of honeysuckle, it did not look in the least sinister. But
cunningly hidden behind the high, dark green firs at the end of the Palace gardens was another building: the recently built
Interrogation Center.

It was well known that the Lord Protector had become paranoid about security. Last autumn, the rebels in the south had managed
to join up with those in the Capital and lead a mob down the Central Parade almost to the gates of the Palace, before they
were routed and most of them slain. Since then, even the recent death of the great rebel leader, Robert Fane, on the Eastern
Edge, had not allayed the Protector’s fears of secret attack.

Bernard the guard had waived the need for any identification papers; he merely made a quick show of examining the girl’s reference
and then stamped a pass with the Protector’s initials beneath an Eagle’s head. He handed the pass over, with a grin and a
wink for Nate, and gestured that she was free to go through.

He thinks we’re courting
, thought Nate, blushing with embarrassment.

He led the girl across courtyard after courtyard: past the great Council Chambers, where an ornate stone fountain
shot streams of shining water high into the air; past the Offices of the Ministration, bordered with neat, freshly tilled
flower beds; past the orangeries and icehouses. Next, the formidable domestic quarters that housed the entire force of Palace
staff, down to the underscullery maid, the gardener in charge of weeding, and the boy who fed special titbits to the swans
on the Palace lake.

All the time Nate watched the girl covertly.

She had the most beautiful singing voice he had ever heard, even though it came out from under the dreadfully unflattering
veil. He thought of what they could achieve together when members of the Ministration or foreign dignitaries were entertained
at the Palace; how they would be celebrated for their concerts, her pure, high voice complementing to perfection the haunting
notes of his ratha.

“What is that?” The girl’s voice was trembling.

Nate was jolted from a delightful reverie of acclaim. The clapping died abruptly in his ears as he realized where they were.

The courtyard through which they were passing was overlooked by a tower at each corner, and from the top of one of these towers
a large gilded cage hung from a pulley. A bedraggled girl crouched inside the cage, glaring defiantly through the bars at
a small group of spectators below: Palace staff who had come to goggle and jeer. The girl’s fair hair stuck to her scalp;
her clothes were limp and crumpled, as if they and their owner had been out in all weathers.

Nate’s heart twisted. “She is Miss Leah Tunstall, the Protector’s niece. The cage is—a punishment.”

The girl looked appalled, as well she might. “Miss Leah,” she whispered oddly. “Why is she being punished?”

“She refuses to marry the Protector’s son, Caleb Grouted,” said Nate, and added, under his breath, “So would I, if I were
in her position.”

“But those people—don’t they know who she is?”

“No doubt, but they also know it’s rumored she’s one of the avia. They insult her because they are frightened. There’s always
a crowd staring up at her, as if they expect her to turn into a bird any moment.” Nate gave a small smile. “But she gives
as good as she gets. Sometimes she’s emptied her pisspot out on them.”

“But the Protector can’t keep her outside forever! She’ll die!” Her veil shifted as she turned to him. Her eyes were huge
and accusing—as if he were responsible—and they were an unusual dark blue.

“He cages her in it as long as he dares,” he said. “A couple of days and nights at a time, then he brings her in. He’s trying
to wear her down, so she’ll agree in the end.”

Even as Nate spoke, there was a flurry the other side of the courtyard, and the Protector himself strode across, followed
swiftly by several members of the Ministration in their dour black Council robes. They had emerged from a meeting in the Chambers
and looked grim and purposeful as they glided behind him, their long robes swishing over the cobbles. The goggling group of
Palace staff turned and fled as soon as they saw them, their faces apprehensive. They knew they would be in trouble for leaving
their work.

Among the gloomy, black-garbed throng, two figures in dark gray uniform stood out. Nate recognized them: the Protector’s Chief
Interrogation Officer and advisor, Mather, and Mather’s personal bodyguard, Corporal Chance.

Chance carried a black leather case. He looked down at it every now and then as if to check it was still safely closed, his
narrow face intent and nervous above the stiff gray collar.

Mather stepped in front of the members of the Ministration and went to the Protector’s side. He said something to him in a
low voice and beckoned to Chance. The three of them came to a halt under the cage, not far from Nate and the girl.

She hid behind him.
She’s terrified
, Nate thought,
and no wonder, poor thing!

It was a bad time to introduce her, yet he knew he would have to do so. Nothing ever escaped the Lord Protector’s lizardlike
eyes: they flicked all about him, watching for any lapses in security. There was no way he and the girl, Scuff, could go back
the way they had come without being seen. It was best to stay where they were.

But the Protector had not yet noticed them: he was intent on Leah. The two men muttered together; the members of the Ministration
stood in a black huddle.

Leah watched the debate beneath her ironically, her pale face pressed to the bars of the cage. Suddenly, as if bored by the
lot of them, she yelled down, “Leave me alone! Go away!”

A hail of stale bread rolls began hitting the ground around the group, some finding their targets and smacking the black
hats off the heads of the Ministration, bouncing off their shoulders and paunches.

The members of the Ministration began to retreat in an unseemly muddle, clutching noses and heads. The Lord Protector did
not move.

“Leah, my dear!” he called up mildly. “I wish to end this as much as you. You’ve only to say the word, one little word—‘yes’—then
you’ll be free.”

“Free!” Leah retorted. “Bloody Wings! I’ll tell you what I think of your ‘freedom’! I think it pukes, it craps, it…” and she
shouted out a string of swear words so horrible that even Mather looked a little startled. The Ministration moved even farther
away, raising eyebrows as they murmured “Blasphemy?” at each other, then nodded solemnly in agreement.

“Leah,” called the Protector again, his tone reasonable. “I see you’ve not lost your spirit, girl, but this has gone on too
long. I’ve a little proposition that will ensure your own release. What do you say to a bargain bein’ struck between us, eh?”

Leah paused in the act of tilting a bowl of cold soup. “What bargain?” she yelled down suspiciously.

“I’ve somethin’ you want. Your precious swanskin.”

Leah put the bowl down.

The Lord Protector beckoned to Chance. Chance opened the leather case and the Protector took out what was inside and held
it up for Leah to see.

There was utter silence, as if a spell had been cast: in the courtyard of the four towers no one moved or spoke. In the sunlight
the swanskin was a pure creamy-white, the tips of the feathers gleaming as if dipped in pearl dust.

“Your swanskin,” called the Lord Protector. His voice echoed through the silent courtyard. “Thought you’d like a glimpse of
it. You can have more. You can have it back again, yours for the keepin’.”

Leah reached her thin white arms through the bars. Her shout throbbed with passion. “How? When?”

“Marry my son, my handsome Caleb. You can have it back on your weddin’ day.”

There was a long pause.

“Before, or after the wedding?” Leah said at last.

The Protector gave a little chuckle. “Well, after, of course, once you’ve taken the vows of marriage. You might go flyin’
off if you had it before!”

“You swear?”

The Protector nodded.

“I’ll choose the oath, then,” said Leah slowly. “You agree?”

“Whatever you wish, my girl.” The Protector shot a look of triumph at Mather. Nate thought,
Oaths mean nothing to the Lord Protector. He believes in nothing but himself
.

“You are to swear on your Anointment Rite that you’ll give it to me,” shouted Leah. “If you break the oath, you lose the authority
to be Lord Protector of this land.” It sounded like a curse.

“I swear,” said the Protector easily. He held up his right hand. “I swear on my Anointment Rite.” He touched the swanskin.
“If I don’t give this back to you, Niece, I forfeit my Protectorship. Now you—you swear, girl.”

Leah’s voice was unsteady. “On my mother’s swanskin I agree to marry Caleb Grouted, son of the Lord Protector.”

“Good.” The Protector clapped his hands together, smiling around. His eye caught Nate’s, and then registered the girl beyond
him. Nate saw him note her, pass on.

“Ministers!” the Protector shouted. “I have great good news! An engagement is announced between Miss Leah Tunstall, my beloved
niece, and my own clear son, Caleb. I shall hold a Council Meeting immediately after luncheon to discuss the weddin’ plans.”
He gestured at the guards standing to attention on either side of the entrance to the tower. “You! See that Miss Leah is freed
and that her maids attend her.”

The guards disappeared in a rush to do his bidding. A low, shocked hubbub arose among the Ministration on the far side of
the courtyard. They clustered together in a tight knot of horror, some shaking their heads surreptitiously. The Lord Protector
ignored their reaction. Not waiting to see the cage that imprisoned his niece hauled in safely, he swept triumphantly away,
with Mather at his side. His path led him directly past Nate.

“So, Boy Musician, are you going to tell me who your companion is?” he growled, staring at the girl, who quickly bobbed a
terrified curtsey.

“A s-singer, My Lord,” stuttered Nate. “She has the most exquisite voice, I do assure you, Sir. She will sing for you, Sir—accompany
me when I play.”

“Did I ask for a singer?”

“Er, not exactly, Sir. But you’ve often complained that I don’t sing. You’ve said you prefer singing to the sound of the ratha.”
“If she drowns you out, that will be something.” The Protector
peered closer at the girl, trying to look beneath the veil. “She can give me something rousin’, can she? None of your plaints
and moans?”

To Nate’s surprise, the girl suddenly spoke in a nervous but clear voice. “I can sing japes, chorus songs, ditties, and frolics,
Sir, if those are what please you.”

“Excellent.” The Protector was evidently in a good humor and willing to allow for Nate’s audacity in employing the girl without
permission. “Security’s cleared her?” He glanced at Mather, who stiffened like a wolf scenting prey.

“Yes, Sir.” Nate produced the pass hastily.

“Excellent,” repeated the Lord Protector. “Who knows, we may even have her singin’ at the weddin’.” He strode off, smiling
to himself, with Mather following.

Tagging behind his commanding officer, Chance looked over at Nate and then at the girl. Nate saw his eyes narrow. For a second
he hesitated, then he hurried on.

The Lord Protector enjoyed a cigar filled with finest-ground nero before going to the Chambers for the start of the Council
meeting. The early afternoon was too warm for a fire, and he lounged in the leather armchair before the empty grate, his muscular
legs in satin breeches splayed comfortably apart, squinting at the smoke as it drifted in curls through the sunbeams.

Opposite him sat Mather, who had refused both cigar and after-luncheon brandy, and had a pile of Council papers on
his knees. Chance hovered behind him, not listening to the conversation. His legs ached; he was sweating in the heat of the
room, and sick with frustration and fury.

Over the past few days he had been mulling over and over in his mind how he’d been too late arriving at the Orphans’ Home
in Gravengate, how that stupid hussy who’d opened the door to him had said, “My, another soldier!”

What soldier or soldiers had got there before him and arrested her? Had they been sent on Mather’s orders? He had heard nothing.
Yet if he asked Mather, it would show up his own incompetence.

Mather’s dry voice broke through his churning thoughts. “Have you thought where the marriage service will take place, My Lord?”