Daughter of Witches: A Lyra Novel (6 page)

“It says much for you that you are touched by the affairs of your guests,” Jaren replied. “Few others would be so concerned about the welfare of a stranger, I think.” Lykken looked at him suspiciously, but the blond man only smiled. Lykken nodded, and Jaren’s expression sobered quickly. “The news is bad, I fear. The boy’s constitution…”

Jaren’s voice sank, and he stepped closer to the innkeeper. Ranira could catch only a few phrases here and there, but from Lykken’s expression and the brief conversation she had overheard earlier, she could guess what Jaren was saying. The strangers were not leaving Drinn that evening, and once the Festival began, it would be impossible for them to slip out of the city unnoticed, for no traffic passed out of the great wooden doors until the Festival was over.

Jaren finished, and Lykken began expostulating frantically. Jaren responded, at first firmly, then soothingly. Eventually he drew a large purse from inside his tunic. Lykken’s agitation subsided almost immediately, but he did not give in at once. He seemed to feel obliged to make certain first that he was not the victim of some elaborate hoax, for a moment later the two men left the room and turned right, heading for the stairs.

Neither of the two noticed Ranira crouching behind the rack of pots, though they passed within a foot of her. For a moment more, she stayed motionless; then she rose and walked briskly across the kitchen, picked up one of the brooms leaning against the wall, and followed Jaren and the innkeeper out into the hallway. The men were not in sight, but she could hear the echoes of their footsteps coming from the stairs. She went to one end of the hallway and slowly began to sweep. She did not quite dare to follow them upstairs, but it hardly mattered. From where she stood she was certain to see anyone descending.

By the time Lykken reappeared, Ranira had swept the hallway twice even at her deliberate snail’s pace. The innkeeper had a strange expression on his face—one of mingled fear and greed. His hand kept straying to a large bulge just above his sash that made a muffled clinking sound as he came down the stairs. When he saw Ranira, his expression changed to its habitual scowl.

“What are you doing?” he snapped.

“Sweeping the hall,” she replied, a bit too innocently. “I am nearly done.”

Lykken’s frown deepened; his hand strayed to his sash once more. Abruptly, he spoke again. “Our special visitors in the corner room will be leaving very soon,” he said, and paused.

“Of course,” she said. “If they were to stay much longer they would not be able to reach the gates before they are locked and barred.”

The innkeeper shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, of course. But there is a problem. The boy, the sick boy, must be moved in absolute quiet. So no one will be allowed in the hall until they have gone. No one!”

“Yes sir,” she said. “But if no one is to stay in the hall, how shall we know when they have gone?”

“I will tell you!” Lykken roared. “Now, back to the kitchen with you; they may be coming down at any moment. Go!”

Ranira nodded and picked up her broom, thoroughly pleased with herself. She had been wondering how the innkeeper intended to arrange for the strangers’ “departure.” She had all the information she needed now. The only question that remained was how best to use it.

R
ANIRA WAS UP BEFORE
dawn the next morning. The air was cool, even in the kitchens, and she shivered as she coaxed the embers of last night’s fire into flames. When the wood at last began to burn, she warmed herself for a moment, then began laying out utensils for the cook. The bruises on her shoulders and arms were painfully tender, and she winced whenever she bumped them.

The cook arrived just after dawn, grumbling about the hours Lykken set. After inspecting the menu Lykken had left, he sent Ranira to draw water while he began preparing the first meal of the day.

The water carters had not yet made their delivery so Ranira ignored the first two jars and went directly to the third to fill the two buckets she was carrying. When she lifted the lid, she found the jar barely a quarter full—the kitchen had used a great deal of water cleaning up after the crowd at last night’s meal. She unhooked the dipper from its place inside the rim of the jar and lowered it carefully into the water.

As she finished filling the second bucket, she heard a soft scraping noise from the side of the alley. She hung the dipper back on its hook and replaced the lid of the jar, then went down the alley to look for the source of the noise.

The alley appeared deserted. She turned back toward the buckets and stopped. A thin, bare leg protruded slightly from behind the last of the empty water jars, invisible from any position closer to the mouth of the alley. Ranira smiled and moved closer.

Peering around the jar confirmed her suspicions. Shandy lay sprawled loosely behind it, fast asleep and snoring. Ranira’s smile grew as she reached down and poked him. “Shandy! Wake up!”

“Huh? Renra! Where’d you come from? I thought you had to work,” the boy said hazily.

“That was last night,” she replied. “It’s after dawn now. You’d better move. The water carts will be here soon, and you don’t want them to find you.”

“Wouldn’t matter if they did,” Shandy said as he got to his feet. “They can’t catch me.”

“Maybe not, but they can report you to the Temple as a stray or a runaway, and you know what would happen then. The Watchmen would be after you, and once they know to hunt for you, you’d have a hard time keeping away from them. And once they caught you, they’d sell you as a bond servant—which is no fun, believe me.”

“Ah, don’t worry, Renra. I got lots of good hiding places!”

“Where? Halfway behind a water jar? The Watchmen won’t miss you there, not during Festival. You know they’re always more careful then.”

“I’m not dumb!” Shandy said indignantly. “There’s lots of places the Templemen don’t look, and I know all of ’em. I didn’t get caught last Festival, did I?”

“No, but I can’t think why not,” she retorted.

Shandy grinned engagingly. “ ’Cause I’m smart, and I’m fast, and the Templemen are old and fat.”

Ranira gave up. True, the boy seemed to have an uncanny ability to avoid discovery. Unfortunately, Ranira thought, it was also true that the Temple would catch him eventually, especially if he continued to take chances. But try to convince Shandy of that!

“Think Lykken’ll give you any time off for Firstday?” Shandy asked, breaking into her train of thought.

“Yes,” she said, smiling maliciously behind her veil. “Only he doesn’t know it yet.”

“What do you mean?” Shandy asked suspiciously.

“Oh, I think I can persuade him to give me back some of my half-holiday time,” Ranira said with belated caution.

“You meant more than that,” Shandy insisted. He sucked on his lower lip for a moment. “Renra, it doesn’t have anything to do with those foreigners, does it?”

“Of course not,” she replied automatically. She went on with forced casualness, “Except that they gave Lykken a fat purse before they left last night, which means he’ll be in a good mood this morning.”

“I didn’t see ’em leave,” Shandy said. “And I was watching ’most all night.”

“The way you were watching for me to come out this morning?” she scoffed. “Just don’t go telling the Temple we had foreigners at the Inn of Nine Doors,” Ranira added sternly.

“Ah, Renra, I wouldn’t do that!” Shandy said, so indignantly that Ranira laughed. “What are you going to do with your holiday?”

“I don’t know,” she said, relieved by the change of subject, “but I intend to enjoy every minute!”

“Too bad you can’t get free tomorrow. You could watch the parade with me.”

“You aren’t going to stand out in the open with all the pilgrims, are you?” she asked, horrified. “Shandy, you’ll get caught for sure!”

“I’m not dumb. But you can see everything from under the bridge. The parade goes right over it. The Watchmen never check there; they’re too lazy. I like watching, and it’s always been safe before.”

Interpreting this to mean that no one had looked under the bridge during last year’s Festival Parade, Ranira shook her head. “You be careful, Shandy.”

“Renra, you worry too much.”

“Someone has to! I have to go. I won’t get any free time at all if Lykken catches me out here with you. I’ll see you later, Shandy.”

“Tomorrow,” the boy promised. With a brief backward wave, he disappeared into a small space between two buildings. Ranira smiled and went back to pick up her buckets.

Shandy’s speculations worried Ranira more than she cared to admit. She blamed herself for letting him know about the occupants of the corner room at all, though at the time she had not suspected they would try to remain in Drinn during the Festival. She did not expect Shandy to cause trouble for her deliberately, but if he let something slip by accident and a rumor reached the Temple of Chaldon.…

Ranira was too busy to waste much time on this uncomfortable line of thought. The inn was jammed. Lykken was as usual, making up for the Temple’s requirements by cramming as many pilgrims as possible into the paying rooms. Ranira was so overworked that she nearly missed seeing Lykken slip out of the kitchen with a tray of food intended, she assumed, for the occupants of the corner room.

As soon as she, too, could slip away from the kitchen, Ranira seized a broom and a firebox and went out into the main hallway. Her timing was good; she had to wait only a few minutes before she heard Lykken’s heavy tread on the stairs. She immediately started for the second floor, so that she met the innkeeper halfway up the stairs. Before Lykken had a chance to say anything, Ranira burst into speech. “I’m sorry, I really am. I meant to take care of it last night, but it was so busy in the kitchen! I’m on my way now. I’ll have it clean and ready in a few minutes.”

“What are you babbling about, girl? Have what clean?” asked the bewildered man.

“The corner room, where the foreigners were,” she said. “I meant to take care of it last night, after they went, but they slipped away so quietly.”

Lykken blanched. Plainly, it had not occurred to him that he would have to keep the staff of the inn from doing the customary cleaning and laying of the fire for the next patron.

“Ah, perhaps you had best leave that for later,” he said after a pause. “I can have Hindreth see to it, or Drena.”

“But it’s my job to clean the rooms,” she insisted. She allowed a sullen note to creep into her voice. “You refused me my half-holiday yesterday because you said my time wasn’t ‘properly employed.’ I’m not giving you a chance to do that again!”

The innkeeper’s face cleared as he saw the way out of his dilemma. “Yes, well, I may have been a little hasty. Things are rather busy the day before Festival, but now Festival is here! Why don’t you take your holiday today, and enjoy Firstday to the full? Yes, an excellent idea!”

“Oh, thank you!” Ranira said, pumping as much gratitude as she could into the words. “Shall I take care of the corner room first?”

“No, no,” said Lykken expansively. “I’ll have Hindreth clean it later. You go and enjoy Firstday.” He beamed down at her, obviously pleased at being able to solve his problem, and appear magnanimous at the same time.

Ranira lowered her eyes to hide the contempt she felt, and bowed briefly before she turned to go back down the stairs.
By the time I get back, he will have convinced himself that he let me go out of nothing but kindness,
she thought cynically as she hurried toward the kitchen to replace the broom and firebox. But even if he had second thoughts, the innkeeper could not reclaim her holiday once she had taken it. Feeling happier than she had in weeks, Ranira washed the dirt from her hands and went out into the street.

Firstday was always the best part of Midwinter Festival, Ranira thought as she wandered through the streets. The six-day rituals at the Temple of Chaldon, which began with the Festival Parade, did not start until the second day. Everyone in the city was obliged to attend the rituals, but on Firstday there was nothing for the pilgrims to do but wander through the city and enjoy themselves. The inhabitants of Drinn were only too happy to take the coppers of their eager brethren from other parts of the Empire of Chaldreth, and the city streets were full of small booths selling everything from candied violets to painted water jars.

Ranira spent several hours walking slowly past the vendors in the main square just outside the Temple. Though she had no money to spend, she enjoyed pretending she really was looking for a new tunic or a piece of jewelry, and it was pleasant to watch the merchants haggling with more serious buyers. Besides, the booths were the only spots of color in a city of gray stone and brown-robed pilgrims.

A small veil-maker’s booth on the far side of a fruit-and-jam stand caught Ranira’s eye. She edged toward it, squeezing by tall shelves loaded with berry bags and jam pots. The proprietor was a wizened little man who gave Ranira an appraising look and then ignored her, allowing her to rummage through the bright veils as she wished. His selection was surprisingly large—coarse linen squares mingled with the finest of embroidered wool. Ranira was fingering a veil of red silk when a hand touched her shoulder. A smooth voice behind her said, “I believe I have seen you before, my dear.”

Even during Festival, it was not permissible to speak uninvited to a veiled woman. Ranira turned angrily then froze in shock. Standing behind her was the priest she had noticed watching as she left the temple the previous day.

“Revered Master,” Ranira managed in a strangled voice, lowering her head.

“I am named Gadrath,” the priest said. “Since I hope we shall become better… acquainted, you may use it.”

Startled, Ranira glanced up; the predatory smile on the priest’s face made her shiver, and it was a moment before she found her voice again. “It would not be right for a bond servant to presume so greatly,” she said, lowering her eyes again.

“Such piety becomes you, my dear. There is always a place in the House of Chaldon for a woman of humility.”

Ranira barely stopped herself from recoiling in terror and disgust. Only two types of women were welcomed into the inner sanctuaries of the Temple of Chaldon: those who were meant as sacrifices for the god, and those who were meant for the pleasure of the priests. She had seen the wretched women who had been cast out of the Temple when the priests tired of them, sometimes only weeks or months after they had entered the Temple doors. A slow anger began to rise within her. The Temple had burned her parents; did they think to degrade her as well?