Closer to the Heart (30 page)

Dallen was right of course. But it took every bit of control Mags had to go back to the carriage, change his clothing in its sheltering darkness, and rejoin the staff in the kitchen. By this time the remains of the feast had returned to the kitchen, and Mags was urged to help himself to suckling pig, roast onions and apples, and the remains of the fancy sweet that had been served to the family and their guests. “What don't get et be
goin' inter a fancy pork pie fer th' fambly,” said the Cook, who already had what he needed laid out to make the treat the next day. “Wishet they'd hunt pig in spring oftener.”

“That'd be pressin' luck, Cook,” one of the house servants pointed out, as Mags nibbled on pork and bread, and reminded himself that Dallen was right, that nothing would be gained by letting his anxiety get the better of him. “Got lucky this 'unt. Them pigs was wallerin' an' still stuck i' mud. Iffen they'd'a been up an on their trotters, 'twould'a been a differen' end t'tale.”

:Dallen, do you think you can possibly reach Rolan and tell him what we discovered?:
Mags asked, suddenly thinking of a way he
could
accomplish something right now.

:I can certainly try. At this distance, what I can tell him will be bare bones, however.:

:Bare bones'll do,:
Mags replied.
:I druther ye could send 'im th' face too, but bare bones'll do.:

Dallen's “presence” in his mind withdrew a little, by which Mags knew that the Companion was concentrating with all his might on reaching the King's Own's Companion. But at least now
something
was being done, and that was a comfort. He was able to settle and pretend that everything was normal, and even regale the kitchen staff with a Kirball story.

Coot, meanwhile, being utterly oblivious of everything that had just happened, was joyously stuffing his face full of what must have been the best food he had ever eaten in his life. He was eating suckling pig as if he was never going to get to eat it again in his life—which was very probably true—and the Cook was aiding him in his endeavor to eat himself into a state of comatose bliss. Every time he finished a piece and was licking his fingers clean of the rich fat, the Cook slipped another bit onto his plate.

Of course, the Cook was doing that with everyone in the kitchen to an extent, but evidently he did not like Coot's
perpetually skinny state and was determined to do what he could to put some meat on the boy's bones.

Finally just as Coot reached satiation, Dallen spoke up again.
:I was just able to reach Rolan and give him the name and what we had discovered. He confirms that there was no such sanctioned outreach, asking for voluntary donations on behalf of a mysteriously underfunded Guard. He also confirms that he does not personally know of a General Thallan.:

Mags sipped at his mug of beer.
:Now that I think on it, th' man'd be a damned fool t'use 'is real name. But from ev' thin' I saw in Rolmer's head, he's some kinda leader an' fightin' man. So why's 'e doin' this? Is it even possible 'e's with the Menmellith rebels, an' 'e's managed t'get enough clever bits t'gether t'pass as a Guard General?:

:Anything is possible. I don't know how he'd get those seals, though . . . :

Mags mulled that one over, and had a thought.
:Iffen ye could get the seals off somethin' else, a clever lad could fasten 'em to new stuff.:

:Or a clever lad could make molds out of the seals and make a new stamp to make all the seals he liked out of it,:
Dallen mused.
:They wouldn't fool anyone who knew what the seals looked like or what tampering looked like, but they'd fool someone like Master Rolmer who wouldn't be allowed to look at them for very long in any case. I'd bet this “Thallan” deliberately made him nervous so he wouldn't do more than quickly read all the documents he was given.:

:If that,:
Mags agreed. He would have said more, but he caught sight of Harras waving to him from the doorway. He reached out and shook Coot's shoulder gently, as the latter contemplated the remains of a sugared pastry swan, as if he was trying to figure out if he could force a few more crumbs into himself.

“Time t'go lad. Milord an' milady need us.” Coot looked up;
Harras, satisfied that they were both moving, left, presumably to return to the carriage.

Coot moved with reluctance, and who could blame him, given he had just had the best meal of his entire life? But Mags could not get to the carriage fast enough.

There was a lot that was going to have to be decided on the way back to the inn. Much as he would have preferred to, he could not follow his instincts alone.

Makes me wish I'd done this solo.
But if he had, would he ever have gotten this far, this fast?
Probably not.

But next time . . . and there would be a next time . . .

Dammit. I'll do what Jorthun advises.

“D
allen was right, Mags. We cannot abandon our personas and go dashing back home,” Lord Jorthun said, as the carriage took them back through the darkness. Harras was making good speed, considering the only light was from the two lanterns on the front of the carriage, but Mags was impatient for them to be back at the inn. “There is almost certainly a spy somewhere in Attlebury; I cannot think how this pseudo-General would have known who to approach with his proposition otherwise. If we debunk suddenly, without a messenger turning up, that spy will certainly think this is suspicious, and who did we
just
visit? One of General Thallan's victims.”

Mags sighed. “At least we know Master Rolmer ain't in on it,” he said. “That's one blessin' in all this.” They all swayed back and forth with the rocking of the carriage, but at least this road was smoother than the ones they'd taken getting to Attlebury.

“True enough, and I would have felt very badly for the entire
family if he had been,” Jorthun replied. “Very badly indeed. As it is, he seems to be an ordinarily shrewd man who was defrauded by someone with a very plausible tale indeed. Now, let us concoct what we can as a good excuse for Mags, at least, to leave.”

“Yer stayin' then?” Mags asked.

“I think we must.” Jorthun coughed slightly. “The problem with concocting a good excuse for all of us to leave, when up until now we've only shown great enthusiasm for
staying,
is that we'd have to involve a lot more people in our secret. Even bringing in other Heralds is not a good idea, given that the King asked us to keep the current crisis among ourselves.”

Dammit, he's right.
Mags had thought of contacting whatever Herald was closest and asking him or her to send a messenger that they could pretend bore an urgent message calling Jorthun and Keira home. But to do that, he'd have to reveal that they were here on a private task for the King at the very least.
Or I could ride Dallen a couple of towns away an' hire a messenger an'—that's gettin' too complicated. Too much t'go wrong.

“There is likely more to learn here. It will have to be learned the hard way, of course, careful observation and questioning, but I think we stand a good chance of accomplishing things if we remain.” Lord Jorthun shifted his regard to Coot. “Coot, we shall have to rely on you, solely, as our information corridor to the servants and common people. Can you do that?”

Coot scratched his head. “Reckon I can try it. That wuz part'a m'job fer Harkon; listenin' an' tellin' 'im whut I heerd. I'm purdy good at rememberin' things.”

“Good.” Lord Jorthun nodded in the darkness of the carriage; Mags had excellent night vision, but even he could just barely make out the shapes of his companions. “Keira is already making do with one of the female servants as her handmaid; do you think you can make shift to be my valet?”

“I bin watchin' Mags, reckon I kin.” Coot laughed a little. “You ain't th' most demandin'a masters, milord.”

Jorthun answered that with a laugh of his own. “Probably not. There have been times when
I
was playing the valet, after all. I actually can make shift for myself, but there is an image to be maintained here. So, now all we need is the excuse to send Mags off. What shall it be?”

“It'd have'ta be somethin' that weren't terrible urgent, or ye'd have sent me afore this,” Mags mused. “But it'd have'ta be somethin' that cain't wait till ye go home.”

“And something that was urgent enough to warrant taking the Kirball champion away from his game,” Keira pointed out. “We more or less promised him to the Kirball team, and we have established ourselves as considerate masters. So whatever this is to be, it must be something that cannot wait.”

“Not an illness on the part of either of us,” Jorthun thought aloud. “A Healer would certainly be called from the House of Healing right here in Attlebury, and we would never deceive him.”

“Nor running out of ready money; Master Rolmer would just invite us to stay with him until an ordinary messenger went back to Haven and returned with what we needed,” Keira pointed out.

Jorthun tapped his foot on the carriage floor. “This is a pretty little puzzle indeed.”

“What 'bout somethin' ye figgered ye'd do, when ye got back, only ye've stayed longer than ye reckoned to, on account of ye've been havin' such a good time?” Mags offered. He didn't know enough about the lives of the wealthy to hazard a guess what that might be, but maybe Jorthun could take that as a direction to go in.

It appeared Jorthun did. “Just the thing! I expected to be back home in time to handle all the matters regarding my lands that my Chief Secretary cannot. I'm sending you to tell him as
much and send him on to me. When you get to Haven, tell the King that, and ask Dia to send me Walther and Petras. And see if you can find someone that can be spared that used to play Rider position on the Kirball teams—
not
yours—tell him as little as you can, swear him to secrecy and send him back here with them. That way all our obligations are covered, and Keira and I can see if there is anything more here we can learn.”

“I'll start t'night,” Mags said immediately. “Ye can say ye sent me off first thing in th'mornin' in early dawn, afore anyone in th' inn was awake. Dallen kin be t'th' inn afore you could blink.”

“Not a good idea. Dallen might be seen. Even if he was not we'd have to explain what, exactly, you rode off on, since all our horses would be accounted for. You can set off tonight, but I'll give you the riding horse I bought for myself. Leave it somewhere along the way, far enough that it won't wander back here.” Jorthun waited to see if Mags was going to object.

But Mags shook his head; it was a good thing Lord Jorthun was better at picking up all the little loose ends of a plan and weaving them back into the fabric than he was. He would just have gone on Dallen, leaving people to ask questions that should not be asked.

Mags really didn't want to be burdened by a horse that wouldn't be able to move nearly as fast as Dallen, but there didn't seem any choice if they were going to avoid arousing any suspicions. It wasn't as if he would set off
walking,
after all, not when it was a week by carriage, and the errand was purportedly urgent enough that it couldn't wait for Lord Jorthun himself to return home.

So once they arrived at the inn, Jorthun made a play of “discovering” what the date was, and being exasperated with himself for losing track of time. There was a good bit of palaver with the innkeeper as to what was to be done, with Jorthun hinting that he was reluctant to leave now “because of
my daughter,” with the hint that this had to do with all the mine owners' sons flocking around. The innkeeper offered several options, including the loan of one of the inn horses, but all of these options required waiting until morning because Jorthun would not “risk another man's horse on the road at night.” Finally, and after much lecturing of Mags about “taking care” and “not breaking a leg” it was decided Mags would take the newly purchased riding horse and Lord Jorthun would buy another. Since the
last
horse had been bought from the innkeeper's brother-in-law, that made the innkeeper very happy indeed—happy enough that his suspicions evaporated like snow in the spring.

And after all the play-acting was finally done, Mags found himself in the saddle of Jorthun's horse, and off on the road. The innkeeper was shaking his head over the folly of riding at night—but his surface thoughts told Mags
it's his lordship's horse and his lordship's man, an' if he wants to trust both of 'em in the dark, then it ain't my place to tell him different.

And there was the very deep satisfaction of knowing he'd be getting his share of the new horse Jorthun would buy, and that another of the inn servants would be on permanent duty to his lordship to replace Mags . . . something that would put even more coin in the innkeeper's pocket.

So off Mags went, the horse moving at a reluctant fast walk, and he doing his best to soothe the poor thing. He didn't blame the horse in the least. The poor thing was picking up its feet unnaturally high, to avoid tripping over things it couldn't see. He tried to soothe it, but he couldn't overcome the poor thing's natural instinct not to move at night.

Both of them were nervous and sweating when they reached the Waystation where Dallen was waiting for him. The horse seemed pathetically happy to see “another of its kind” even though Dallen wasn't anything of the sort, and even happier to see the rudimentary stable. Too bad the horse
was not going to get a chance to settle down in it! “I wish I dared leave this nag 'ere,” he told Dallen as he dismounted and began removing the horse's saddle to put on the Companion. “But the stupid brute'll eat all th' hay an' grain at once, and founder an' likely die.”

:Very likely,:
Dallen agreed.
:Well, we won't be able to make much speed, but I can keep him calmer and keep him from breaking a leg on the way, and at dawn we can turn him loose and I'll meddle with him so he won't be able to find his way back home.:

“And some'un'll git hisself a nice horse. That'll do.” He transferred saddle-blanket and saddle to Dallen's back, but left the bridle and reins on the horse. He could put tack on Dallen in full dark like this, easily, when he needed to, and the horse was close enough to Dallen's size that it wouldn't matter for a few days. But he didn't need a bridle or reins to ride Dallen, and he'd need the reins on the horse to lead the beast.

Or rather, for Dallen to lead the beast; Mags tied the reins to the back of the saddle, mounted up, and they were off.

• • •

Just at dawn, before the sun was up but the sky was a nice pale, pearly gray, Mags turned the horse loose within sight of a farm that Dallen assured him took good care of their animals. Just as Mags took the bridle off the horse, a pony whinnied in the distance, and the weary beast pricked up his ears and snorted. A second whinny and a slap on his rump convinced him that wherever that pony was,
he
wanted to be there too, and off across the fields he trotted. The hedges that bounded the fields were nothing he couldn't easily jump, and he was so eager to find a stable and food and water that he lofted over them like a butterfly.

Mags didn't bother to wait to see that he got there. He was back in the saddle again in a trice, and they were off like a shot, this time at Dallen's best ground-eating long-distance lope.

The innkeeper had packed a saddlebag full of food, so Mags didn't even have to stop at inns. And he didn't. They stopped for water, for some mouthfuls of grass for Dallen and mouthfuls of pocket pie or bread and cheese that he didn't even taste for Mags, and then they were off again.

The journey that had taken nearly a week by coach was over in two nights and a day. It was grueling, but a Companion's pace was so smooth that Mags could literally sleep in the saddle, and a Companion's endurance was supernatural. Oh Dallen would
pay
for stretching his resources like this; he'd sleep for days, and eat like a fool pony with all the grain in the world in front of him, but that endurance was there, all the time, to be drawn on when the need was great enough. So Mags rode, and drowsed when the sun went down, snapping awake at intervals to make sure Dallen was still up to the pace, stopping twice so they could both drink at a stream or a village well.

They stumbled in through the gates of the Palace at dawn on the morning of the second day. Already alerted by Amily, who had been kept up-to-date by Rolan, stablehands ran out to lead Dallen to food and his stall and get him out of the increasingly uncomfortable saddle.

As for Mags, there were people waiting for him, too. Once he was out of the saddle, Amily and Prince Sedric led Mags off to the rooms he shared with Amily, where the artist who had worked with Bear in the process of rebreaking and re-Healing Amily's leg was waiting for him, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. With the very last of his energy, Mags first set the image he had gotten of “General Thallan” into her mind, then hovered over the page with her, correcting her as she drew. When she was finished to both of their satisfaction, Sedric carried the
drawing off to his father, she went with him to make more copies, and Mags literally fell into bed and slept until nightfall.

• • •

Mags came awake all at once, feeling very much as if he could sleep more, but it was hunger that had awakened him, and his stomach said forcefully and out loud that he had not eaten in too long. “I've food and lots of it,” came Amily's voice out of the dark, and welcome it was, too. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I could'a slept th' clock 'round. Ye git Lord Jorthun's men off?” he asked. “An' thenkee, 'cause yer a wonder. I don' think I coulda stayed awake t'see to it m'self.”