Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen) (30 page)

Mondargiss smiled wickedly. “I will not betray his secrets. You know that. I was his favorite once. You are so young. So pretty,
but you are Romani. We understand each other, girl. Someday, you will be like me. You will ache at the thought of being useful again.” Her free hand tightened into a fist and crushed against her heart. “I was a singer once. I graced the stage, and I sang for princes and dukes and the wealthiest of Kenatos. My voice could transfix a man. I had many admirers back then. As do you, child, as do you. I did not want flowers. I asked for birds, birds of every kind. Someday, sooner than you wish, you will find that age has left you bereft of usefulness. And then maybe
you
will tend my menagerie and wait for scraps of paper!”

She started, head cocked, listening. Her face contorted with rage. “She is sobbing again! I hate it! I loathe the sound of it. I can hear her in the upper floor, next door. I will give you a thousand ducats, child. Go there and kill her. Stop her from weeping. Oh, how it torments me. A thousand ducats to kill her. Cim won’t do it. He says no one lives next door anymore. He is just too lazy. Too lazy. A thousand ducats. Will you do it?”

Hettie stared at the old woman, revulsion overpowering her. “I will return in three days. Kiranrao will pay for the pouch. He will pay handsomely for it. I must go.”

“Do not leave me alone, child,” Mondargiss pleaded, grabbing her by the hem of her cloak. “I cannot bear to hear the sobs when I am alone. The birds are too quiet. We must wake them. Then I will not hear her anymore. Help me rouse them.”

“Three days’ time,” Hettie said, shaking off her grip.

“Do not leave me!” she shrieked. “I was once the greatest singer in all Kenatos and Silvandom! I was famous once. The world demanded my music, and I demanded my riches. Even the Arch-Rike fancied me. Even he! I sang for him in private audience. I moved him to tears. If you had seen me, you would not scorn me now. Look at me, child! You will be here someday. You
will wear this crown of thorns. You will not look so fine forever. Do not leave me! Cim! Cim! Bolt the door! Cim!”

Hettie shut the door solidly behind her, shivering with disgust and horror. Six rings in her ears. Six rings. The smell of bird droppings nearly made her retch in the street. Her first night in Kenatos, she had come to see Mondargiss. A Finder did not belong in such a muck-filled abode. She would not end up as Mondargiss. She promised herself that she would not.

But where would she stay for three days? Where could she rest and learn more about the explosion in the Paracelsus Towers?

She roamed away from the rank alleys and wandered north along the main roads higher within the city. Even though it was after sunset, the streets were crowded and full of trade. It was more active than she had seen in the past, as if a certain giddiness swelled the air. Pausing to eat a meat pie, she watched the ebb and flow of oil-skinned Cruithne moving through the crowd. The sight of Bhikhu robes caused her to start, but she did not recognize the man, nor was he a Vaettir. She did remember, briefly, Paedrin’s little lesson about the Uddhava and how just the presence of a Bhikhu could alter someone’s actions.

Hettie finished the pie and started through the streets, watching the spectacle of the city float past her. It was too noisy. She needed a respite from the crowds. Passing into a new quarter, she started up a steep climb of steps that brought her up to the next level. The din and noise of the crowds faded behind. There were plenty of lights atop metal poles on each side of the steps.

As she neared the top, she realized where her legs had taken her. The Bhikhu temple was before her, gates closed. What good
would it do to see him again? She fussed and fumed with herself, standing awkwardly in the shadows, wondering what madness had driven her. Perhaps the dung from the birds had deranged her mind.

It was getting late. Any number of inns or taverns could provide a night’s rest. But for some reason, she had felt particularly safe asleep on a pallet in the temple. It was her uncle’s suggestion.

Her legs began moving again toward the doors, and she exhaled softly, chiding herself. She reached the gate and pulled the taut cord fastened to the bell. It clanged ominously. There were no lights from the temple. The Bhikhu typically did not linger after their meals but retired to their cells to meditate and think righteous thoughts, no doubt. She hugged herself, waiting patiently. The sound of slapping sandals came from the other side of the large door.

The crossbar lifted and the door opened inward, revealing Master Shivu. He saw her standing alone in the doorway and his smile suddenly wavered, replaced by a frown.

“You are alone,” he said softly, barely masking the throb of concern in his voice.

Hettie nodded. “I came to see how Paedrin was doing. If he was healing…?” She let the words die on her tongue. It was obvious by the expression on Master Shivu’s face that Paedrin was not at the temple.

“Come inside,” Master Shivu said, holding the door open. “You must tell me what you know. I have not seen Paedrin since he left with you and your brother.”

A cold lump of fear solidified inside Hettie’s stomach.

“Will we ever comprehend the Plague? I think not. Some things are not meant to be understood. They must only be endured.”

– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos

T
he tea was uncomfortably hot, making Hettie wince. A single fat candle caused a sparse glow in Master Shivu’s chamber. The temple had the semblance of a crypt. A plate was offered to her with some cold rice, a few dates, and some dried fruit and cheese. She accepted the humble fare and ate it gratefully, though without appetite.

“When I first saw you, I feared he was dead,” Shivu said, his brow furrowing. “You say he was alive?”

Hettie nodded. “We were ambushed by a Kishion several days south of here.”

Master Shivu wrinkled his nose. “What cause would a Kishion have of interfering with your return journey?”

“My uncle found us. I believe it was tracking him some way. Paedrin was already injured from our journey into the mountains, but he tried to defend us and was thrown down; his arm was broken cruelly. He and the Kishion disappeared through some form of magic, but the Kishion said the word ‘Kenatos’ before he left, so I assumed he was brought back to the city, that I would find him here.”

Shivu shook his head. “I must speak to the Arch-Rike.”

A pulse of alarm ran through Hettie at the words. “Tell me what happened to my uncle after we left. I have only just heard word that there was some destruction at the tower. Do you know what happened?”

Master Shivu folded his fingers above his mouth. “Your uncle was declared a traitor to Kenatos, child. There are accusations that he was plotting with our enemies to overthrow the city.”

Hettie exhaled deeply. What else would a Bhikhu master believe? She hesitated a moment before replying. The truth was a careful balancing act. “I have no knowledge of such a thing. The treasure he sent us to find was gone. There was evidence all around the entrance that others had been there long before we arrived. I think he was sending us far away to protect us from harm.” She sighed deeply. “If the Arch-Rike wants my uncle, he may want me as well. I should be going.”

Shivu gave her a wan smile. “I will not send you to the Rikes, child. You are under my protection. Even the Arch-Rike himself has no authority within these walls. He relies on the Bhikhu to keep the peace. May I assume you are here in peace?”

Hettie nodded. “I only came because I thought Paedrin was here.” She bit her lip. “It would relieve me greatly to know that he was safe.”

“I am sure that if he was wounded, as you say, the Arch-Rike is tending to his injuries as we speak. I will send word in the morning and see what I can learn. You look tired. Why don’t you rest for the night?”

“Thank you,” Hettie said, trying to hide her smile. These Bhikhu were so easy to manipulate that it almost wasn’t fair. But still, there was a part of her, deep down, that nagged her. Why wouldn’t the Arch-Rike have sent word that Paedrin was back in the city? She was certain she was imagining the trouble.
Borrowing worry where there was none. He would show up, smug and confident and boasting of his duel with the Kishion. That was just his way. She was sure of it.

A day passed. Then two. Hettie stalked the temple grounds, lingering for word. A runner had been sent to the Arch-Rike and returned with word that the master of Kenatos was dealing with pressing matters of state and had not found the time to reply yet. There was a trade interruption from Havenrook, and shipments of grain and fruit were delayed and spoiling, causing prices in the city to bob on the rising tide. He would inquire about the missing Bhikhu, he promised, and send word in a day or two.

After two days, Hettie was impatient and started off on her own again, seeking after the ruins of the Paracelsus Tower herself. Approaching it from the west, she saw it was clearly a work of immense power or magic. The tower where she had last met her uncle was gone, with only loose fragments of broken stone showing the remains. She was in awe at the power involved in such a manifestation. The tower had been a massive stone bulwark, suspended high in the air. All that remained was a warped iron stairwell protruding from one of the four corners, a little nub displaying to witness what had been there before.

“By degrees the castles are built,” Hettie whispered, staring at it as she approached. “How fast they fall.” Bricks littered the street all around. The front windows of shops were being repaired. In some, blankets had been nailed over to cover the void. Broken crockery and pit-marks covered the homes and shops facing the tower proper.

There were many people milling around, but most were repairing the damage with plaster and cobbled stone. She
ventured into the main gate, which was open, and found the interior courtyard full of workmen and wheelbarrows, carting off broken fragments of stone to be reused elsewhere. There were a few taskmasters at hand, but they were primarily ordering low-paid folk doing the work. Hettie studied the ruins of the tower and saw a steady stream of men venturing in and out, carrying bricks in their arms.