Gateway to Fourline (The Fourline Trilogy Book 1) (19 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The guard, wearing a sun-baked blue tunic emblazoned with a white circle, blocked the archway to the waterfront. He took one look at Nat and quickly stepped out of the way.

“Mind yourself now,” the guard said nervously. “What’s your business?”

“The same as theirs,” Nat said as she pointed to the massive crowd near the front gates.

“Why aren’t you with them?” the guard retorted, still keeping space between Nat and himself.

“We don’t want to cause a problem,” she said sweetly as she leaned down to scratch her knee.

“Go on through.” The guard took another step back. “You’re lucky you arrived today, otherwise I would have turned you away,” he said as he scratched his arm. “Nastiness! Make sure you keep to the side roads,” he bellowed as he dropped his sword and began frantically brushing his arms up and down.

Nat nodded dutifully and hurried through the archway with Soris trailing behind. She secured her travel cloak, hiding the bastle-herder wrappings, and pulled her hood over her brow. “Now what?” she asked as she scanned the harbor. A flock of seagulls ripped through a pile of discarded fish on the uneven ballast stones that popped out of the road like enormous pebbles. Scores of men crossed the wobbly way in front of them, loading and unloading the boats that neatly lined the dock.

Soris gestured to an intersection of three sets of steep, narrow stairs with a wide walkway underneath them. As they made their way through the shadowy walkway, Nat pressed her horse close to the bumpy stone side, away from the stream of traffic moving to and from the boats. She paused. High on a hillside, past the tiered rows of houses, shops, markets, and gardens, stood a castle that looked like three consecutively smaller squares stacked on top of each other. Tiny blue flags flapped in the breeze, prevented from flying away by four spires adorning the top square. Two squat rectangular buildings flanked the castle. South of the hill, grand residences and large gardens flowed toward the river.

“Head toward that square.” Soris’ hood hung down to his nose. He was hunched into a crooked
c
.

Nat tightened her grip on the reins of his horse. “Don’t you dare fall off on me, Soris,” she hissed as they edged into the crowd.

“I won’t, at least not on purpose.” He started to cough. That was new. What had Benedict really done to him? She cursed the shriveled man under her breath and ignored the hostile looks from some of the crowd.

They crossed a wide wooden bridge, the rail at the end marred by a burn mark. The scorched emblem of a bird and vine was barely visible. Ahead, in a small square, the tip of a black obelisk poked out of a crowd thronging around its base. She brought the horses around the side, behind the crowd. A parchment was affixed to the black stone. Nat leaned forward in her saddle to read the writing:

By Order of Lord Mudug

Upon determination by the Special Investigation Section of the Merchant Division, authorized by the acting Temporary Regent, Lord Andrew Mudug, that one Sister of the now-defunct Western Warrior House has, in violation of the Rim Accord, conspired and plotted with the Nala to disrupt the sole southern shipping route of our great territories, the Temporary Regent orders the following
:

The rest of the words were lost in a sea of unwashed hair and head scarves. Forgetting herself, she leaned down and tapped the shoulder of a man with a basket of smelly fish strapped to his back. “Can you tell me what the Temporary Regent’s orders are? I can’t see.”

“Mudug’s orders, eh?” the man responded, his four-point beard sticking straight out above his ample neck. “He’s set the Sister’s hanging for this afternoon in Rustbrook Square.”

“All for show,” a teenage boy burdened with a similar basket said bitterly.

“Hush,” the elder fishmonger said and walloped the back of the boy’s head.

The boy rubbed his matted hair. “Just speaking the truth. He thinks a hanging will make us forget that he raised the transport tax. You said the same last night.”

“Watch it.” The fishmonger gripped the boy’s arm tightly and looked nervously around at the faces in the crowd. “Take your basket to the stall,” he said and pushed the boy away. “He’s a bit confused in the head.” He let out a tense laugh. “Where would we be without Mudug’s guards protecting our merchant convoys and transports? The Nala would rip us to shreds.”

Nat clutched the neck of her cloak and nodded in feigned agreement at the man’s cover story.
So not all the people are buying Mudug’s lies,
she thought. She looked at Soris, who appeared to be asleep. “Sir, could you tell me where Wesdrono Street is?” She tried to pronounce the name correctly, but it ended up jumbled on her tongue.

The man stuck his chin out and replied, “Right straight through that lane.” He pointed beyond the obelisk.

“Thank you.” She urged their horses through the throng of people, apologizing as they bumped, stepped on, and knocked over people. She considered getting rid of the horses but dismissed the idea when she glanced at Soris. Lugging him and their supplies through town would be impossible.

The geometric castle disappeared behind the gray stone walls bordering the lane. There was no way she could get him up there by foot. After every step the horses took, she glanced back to make sure Soris was still upright and not rolling down the lane. Benedict had to have done something other than stick him with porc needles. Her hand had hurt when she’d been pricked, but nothing like what Soris was going through.
Does he have an infection?
she worried.

The lane led to another intersection. To the left, beyond a row of small, neat shops, the road opened onto a square. A two-story tower stood in the middle of the square. The sound of hammering echoed down the road to the intersection. She scanned the street for signs and caught sight of a familiar glow in the doorway of one shop.

“An orb!” She pulled Soris close. “I just saw an orb in that doorway.”

Soris, raising his head just enough to peer under the edge of his hood, said in a slurred voice, “I don’t see anything.”

“It was there . . .” The glow was gone, but Nat spied the edge of a cloak whipping past the darkened entrance.

“Can you get to the bookstore?” he asked, his tone pleading.

“I need to figure out where we are,” Nat said, more to herself. People milled past, pushing against the horses. She dismounted and waded through the throng across the intersection, one hand on the reins and one hand tightly clutching the neck of her cloak.

The painted “Wesdrono Street” sign was stenciled onto the bricks of a two-story building at the corner of a narrow lane. She peered down the shadowy street and pulled their horses over its broken cobblestones. A sense of calm came over her when they entered the quiet lane. The tall, narrow buildings that lined the street created a buffer from the bright light and noise behind them. At the end of the street to her right, a book-shaped sign hung below a weathered wooden post. Dark material lined the glass of one of the shop windows. She wiped away a small circle of grime from the other window and peered inside. Rows and rows of bookshelves, many of which sat empty, were angled toward the back of the shop.

Nat tied her horse to a set of copper rings affixed to the sidewalk. She unbuckled her saddlebag and slid it over her shoulder before helping an incoherent Soris from his saddle.

“I already pulled the ditch, Mom,” Soris mumbled as Nat propped him against the wall before tying up his horse and removing his bag.

“It’s going to be okay.” She felt his forehead. It was burning hot. “And you did a good job.” He whispered a rambling response. She pulled his good arm over her shoulder and gently guided him up the stai
rs to the entrance. He babbled the entire way. Whoever was inside was going to help them up to the castle, or she’d threaten to release a torrent of fleas on them.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Nat opened the red door. A rolling ladder leaned against a tall shelf. Weak light shone from the high arched window above a tiny counter at the back of the store. The shop appeared empty. After shutting the door tightly, she called out, “Hello! Is anyone here?”

Two heads appeared from either side of the counter.

She stumbled forward with Soris. A woman with chin-length hair and a sharp nose emerged from behind the counter. She took one look at Soris and reached for his other arm. “Mervin, it’s Gennes’ brother, get—”

“Watch his arm!” Nat cried out protectively.

The woman let go. “Bring him over here,” she ordered. “Mervin, get the door.”

Mervin nodded, and a lock of black hair fell over his eyes. He took a few long strides to the front door, turned the sign to “Closed,” pulled down the blind, and slid the lock in place. “I’ll take him. Right hand’s the problem?” he asked as he extended his long arms toward Soris. Nat nodded. He scooped him up like a leaf. Soris let out a moan.

“Come then.” The woman slipped her long hand into Nat’s and pulled her gently around the counter to a concealed stairwell. Mervin’s head disappeared down the stairs. They passed crates of books and boxes and walked into a cramped office. The woman cleared papers off a tiny wooden chair and motioned for Nat to sit. Mervin set Soris on a wide bench and began inspecting his arm.

“What happened to him?” the woman asked.

“Pory snake,” Nat said, uncertain about telling two strangers the truth.

The woman pursed her lips.

“What do you think, Matilda?” Mervin gently let go of Soris’ arm. Matilda rummaged through a small wooden box. She removed a vial containing an amber-colored liquid and waved it under Soris’ nose. His head shot back and banged against the wall.

“Always works.” Matilda chuckled. “How are you, dear?” she asked loudly. “Seems you’re in a bit of a pickle. Bitten by a pory snake while out herding your, uh, bastles, is it?” She dropped Soris’ robe and gently pinched his bare chin.

“Matilda?” Soris rubbed his head with his good arm.

“What was that stuff?” Nat asked as she reached for the vial.

Matilda stoppered it. “It’ll rip those wrappings off you if you breathe in too much.” She turned her attention to Soris. “Is she trustworthy?” she asked Soris as she eyed Nat. He nodded, then shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. She handed the vial to Nat. “Use it sparingly,” she warned.

“Is it still hearing day?” Soris asked as he looked around the room.

“It is, and should be one for the record. Mudug’s executing a Sister this afternoon.” Matilda leaned toward Soris. “You’re not here to do something illegal for your brother, are you?” she asked.

“That depends on who you ask.” Soris smiled weakly. “My sister here”—he pointed to Nat—“is bringing me to Lord Mudug in hopes that his Chemist will provide me with the antidote to the pory bite.”

“Oh, really?” Mervin said.

“Why would he do that?” Matilda asked.

“The details aren’t important,” Nat broke in. Soris gave her a reassuring look. “Okay,” she conceded. “The details are important, but it’s best that you don’t know.”

Matilda crossed the small room and loomed over Nat. “Who is she, Soris?”

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” Nat said. “With Soris the way he is, I can’t get him to the castle by myself. I need your help. If you won’t help, we’ll be on our way.” She stood and adjusted the straps of the saddlebags. As she turned toward Soris, her bags struck a stack of books. The room filled with dust as they hit the floor, which set off a spasm of coughing. When the air cleared, Nat muttered, “I’m sorry,” and bent to pick up the books.

“Hold on,” Mervin said. “You’re an odd one, bent to get out of here, then bent to pick up books.” He chuckled. “Did I see you had two horses out front?”

“Yes,” Nat replied.

“Stay here and try not to knock over anything else.” He nodded to Matilda and the two quickly disappeared up the narrow stairs. Nat slid next to Soris.

“They’ll get us there, Sister, don’t worry,” Soris said. “They’ve known my family for a long time. We can trust them.”

“I’ll stop worrying when this is all over and I’m home.” She stood, unable to get over the feeling of dread that was quickly overtaking each thought. “Maybe Andris was right.”

“Right about what?”

“He said I’d fail.”

“He said that about me plenty of times and look at me today.” He held up his swollen hand and gestured to the dark room with the other. “On the verge of passing out on the way to meet my enemy, relying on the most irregular Sister any House has ever known. Proved him wrong, haven’t I, Sister?”

“He’d be impressed with you, Soris,” Nat said.

“He’ll be impressed with both of us when this is over, and it will be over soon.” He reached for her hand and gave it a small squeeze. “We won’t fail. Have a little faith.” His words lifted her spirits.

Footsteps echoed down the stairwell and Mervin appeared. “All set to go, you two?” he asked. Nat and Soris nodded. He helped Soris off the bench and up the stairs. Nat followed, thinking more than faith, what she needed now was a small miracle and more than a share of luck.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“Now! Jump now!” Mervin called out from the front of the wagon. Nat jumped, and Soris fell off the back of Mervin’s hide-covered wagon. They hid behind a pale brick enclosure that served as the castle’s main garbage receptacle. Mervin flicked his horses to increase their speed. The wagon disappeared down a side street. He never looked back.

Nat peeked around the side of the enclosure. A few people wandered down the lane toward the crowded castle entrance. No one walked near the garbage.
Little wonder,
she thought, brushing away two flies and breathing a sigh of relief. No one had seen them get off the wagon. “Soris?” She stuck her head over the low brick wall. The smell of rotten garbage assaulted her nose and she gagged.

Soris was bent over, puking into a pile of moldy bread. “Get me out of here. I can’t handle this smell,” he gasped. Flies congregated around his mouth and hand. He flopped his arm over her shoulder, and they slowly walked up the garbage-strewn alley leading to the castle’s kitchen.

“I don’t know that this is going to be much better,” she said as she crinkled her nose against the smell. “Do me a favor—if you have to throw up again, aim for the wall.”

“I’ll do my best to get your shoes,” he said, then slipped on a smear of green gunk.

“Careful, we’re almost there.” She pulled him closer and wrapped her arm around his waist. Heat radiated from his body. She paused at the top of the alley. They were in a tiny courtyard that smelled like rotten fish. A crumbling brick wall surrounded the courtyard on three sides. Nat heard the sound of wheels crunching against gravel. The tops of the carriage compartments were barely visible over the wall. To their left, muck-covered steps led to a worn wooden door.

“This must be it,” she said, remembering Mervin’s instructions on how to get into the castle’s kitchen. They walked up the steps and listened. Hearing nothing, Nat pushed open the door and tripped over a huge woven basket of rotting food. “Yuck.” She brushed what looked like a clump of mashed potatoes and rotten spinach off her leg. Soris wiped his hand on the side of one of the baskets, leaving a smear of beet juice. After going up two more steps and passing a set of rat traps, they entered a large scullery filled with brooms, mops, and wooden buckets. Soris stopped a moment to dip his hand into a bucket containing gray water, then wiped his hand on the thick ropes of a mop. Nat cringed.

“I don’t want them to think I’m bleeding,” Soris whispered when he saw her face. “It’s a pory bite, not a Nala bite.”

Nat held a finger to her lips. Mervin had said the kitchen should be deserted by now, since castle staff was light on a hearing day—and especially light on a hanging day. They peered around the archway into the enormous kitchen. A thickset woman pulled a flat wooden paddle laden with loaves from a hearth and expertly slid the bread onto a long table. Nat’s mouth watered as the smell of the bread filled the air. Soris pointed to a set of stairs to the left of the kitchen that led to a landing and a trio of doors. Nat shook her head, wondering how she was going to get him up the stairs without the baker noticing.

The woman set the paddle between two of the hearths. She returned to the opposite end of the table and lifted a white towel.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

The woman jumped and clutched her chest at the loud knocks on the door. A scowl formed on her face. She stomped away toward the sound.

“Come on,” Nat said, and they crept cautiously out of the scullery and into the kitchen. They passed a line of washbasins, then froze at the sound of the woman’s voice.

“Now why would I have ordered a tub of binding glue?” she asked.

“No idea, but the message we received said the kitchen needed delivery today.” Mervin’s voice rose above her complaints. “Put me out a bit, it did. Having to drop everything on such a day and manage to get through the crowds.” Nat and Soris slowly climbed the stairs. Nat looked toward the door where Mervin and the woman stood. Mervin gave her a quick wink. “You’re not telling me this was a joke, now, are you?” he said to the woman.

“I would never,” she replied. “Who did you say delivered the message? Maybe they meant another part of the castle? Aren’t you always bringing bits in for the Chemist?”

Nat stiffened. The Chemist? Soris, seeming to have regained some strength, tugged at her sleeve. They reached the top of the stairs just as a kitchen maid entered from a door below, carrying an enormous empty tray.

“Beatty, do you know anything about a glue delivery?” A clump of dough flew off the baker’s thick fingers as she pointed at the kitchen maid.

“Glue delivery? Maybe it’s for the rats.” Beatty gestured to the scullery with her free hand. “One jumped out at me yesterday like a nasty little Nala. All claws and sharp teeth. Frightened me to death, it did.” Her voice faded as Nat slowly eased the first door closed. She silently thanked Mervin for creating the diversion.

“Which way, Soris?” They were in a long, dim hallway with stairs leading up one end and down the other.

“Mudug will be in the great hall today, it’s not far.” Soris nodded to the stairs going up. His face was the color of the mop water.

“Do you need to rest?” she asked.

“No time, Sister.” He swallowed. “I’ll be fine.” He started for the stairs and collapsed against the wall.

“Soris!”

“Stop! Both of you, stop!” Two guards emerged from the lower staircase. They carried a large beaten-copper bowl set into an ornate wooden stool with carved armrests. They dropped the stool, which toppled over.

“Please, can you help me? He’s so sick. He was bitten by a pory snake.” Nat spoke quickly as a guard with thick hands and a reddish beard began to examine Soris. He dropped Soris’ cloak like it was on fire as soon as he saw his bare chin.

“Bastle herder,” he muttered. Both guards took a step back.

“I need to get him to Lord Mudug’s Chemist,” Nat pleaded. Tears sprang from her eyes.

“Now, miss, I don’t know how you got back here, but you need to leave.” The other guard motioned to the door leading to the kitchen stairs with his thick, hairy arm, then addressed the red-bearded guard. “Lift him up, Darrin.”

“I’m not touching him. You lift him up, Cecil,” Darrin said.

Nat watched in amazement as the guards argued back and forth.

“First you make me haul that blasted toilet around, and now you want me to take a flea bath. I’m not doing it.” Darrin crossed his arms and stuck out his chin.

“Neither of you has to lift him. I’ll do it.” Nat once again draped Soris’ arm over her shoulder. “Just take me to the Chemist.”

The guards began laughing. “You can’t seriously think we’d take you to the Chemist or that he’d even see you,” Cecil said.

“I have something valuable to trade for his services,” Nat replied.

“Turn it over to us and we’ll see what Lord Mudug has to say,” Cecil said.

“I don’t think so.” Nat adjusted Soris and he let out a groan.

“Search them,” Cecil told Darrin.

“You search them! Have you ever been bitten by a bastle flea? Worst experience of my life.” Darrin rubbed his enormous thigh. “It felt like a stinging needle in my leg that would never go away.” He eyed them nervously and took another step back. “I told you I’m not getting near them. Let them go to the hearing chambers. If she wants to take her chances with Lord Mudug, so be it. If she’s lying, someone else can deal with them. If she’s telling the truth, maybe we won’t have to haul His Lordship’s privy around the castle anymore.”

Cecil rolled his eyes. “Fine, get a move on, then,” he said to Nat as he pointed to the stairs. “We’ll follow you to make sure you’re not up to trouble.”

“Trust me, the last thing I mean to do is cause trouble,” Nat lied.

“Just don’t,” Cecil said firmly, taking a cautious step, eyes darting over the stone floor and walls.

Darrin remained behind. “I’ll just see to His Lordship’s toilet.”

“No, you won’t. Get up here, you coward.” Cecil pushed Darrin in front of him, and the quartet began a sluggish ascent up the stairs.

The hearing chamber was shaped like an hourglass. Nat scanned the room and the straggly-looking crowd as they waited off to the side. A thick blue tapestry obscured them from the crowd. Columns covered in etchings of vines stretched to the soaring, curved ceiling. A granite platform with an empty, ornate throne and a chair were at the front of the hall. Nat watched intently as Cecil and Darrin approached the figure occupying the chair.

Lord Mudug leaned forward, spreading his legs to accommodate his girth. Cecil clasped his hands as he whispered into Mudug’s ear. Mudug’s long gray mustache swept past his chin and dangled at the base of his throat. His black eyes darted around the room, then settled on Nat and Soris. His eyebrows curled over his eyelids like pepper-colored caterpillars. A dismissive smugness colored his expression.

Nat felt nothing but distrust when she looked at the man. “Don’t suppose anyone here is going to recognize you?” she whispered to Soris while keeping her eyes on Mudug.

“I never met him,” Soris responded, clinging to Nat. “But I’ll keep my head down until this is over.” He leaned into her, tucking his head into her neck. “Good acting back there,” he whispered.

She let out a nervous laugh, thinking back to Cairn’s improvisation exercises. “I had a good teacher.” She looked at Mudug again. He tilted his chin, and the tips of his mustache brushed his chest. “Looks like we’ve been granted an audience,” Nat said when Mudug nodded in her direction, and Cecil gestured for her to come forward. She lugged Soris toward the platform and heard a few people murmur “bastle herders.” Nat struggled to look behind her and saw the path they cleared through the crowd. Had everyone moved because of them? She stopped right in front of the platform. Soris’ breath hit her face in short, shallow bursts.

Mudug glared at her for a moment, then spoke to Cecil. Cecil’s face drained of color, and he tugged at Darrin. The pair quickly disappeared into the crowd. Mudug rose from the chair and towered over a rail-thin scribe next to him. The scribe’s lips moved furiously as he read to him from a parchment. The two walked toward the rear of the platform. Mudug bent his ear toward the wispy scribe, apparently already forgetting that he’d beckoned Nat. Nat’s stomach twisted as she watched him depart. She grabbed Soris and pushed her way to the front.

“Lord Mudug, my brother needs the help of your Chemist. He was bitten by a pory snake.” Her voice caught slightly, and she spoke louder. “Please, there is no one else who can heal him.”

Someone in the crowd muttered, “A Healing Sister could mend him.” Nat turned to find a squad of guards moving in on a woman wearing a bright-red scarf tied around her head and clutching a sickly child to her breast. The guards circled the woman and pushed everyone through the high, narrow doors. A guard approached Nat and Soris.

“My brother needs your help,” Nat repeated earnestly. It didn’t matter—Mudug hadn’t heard a word. His broad back faced the crowd. He made his way around the smaller chair while giving directions to the scribe. A trio of older men in poufy red hats shook their heads at Nat.
This isn’t happening,
she thought. She hadn’t come all this way to be ignored.

“Stay here,” she said to Soris and leapt up onto the platform. Her hand was on Mudug’s thick shoulder before the guard reached her.

“I have riven,” she whispered quickly. Mudug’s black eyes focused on her. Two towering guards grabbed her arms. Mudug held up his free hand.

“What did you say?” His voice was like gravel.

Nat said nothing but didn’t break eye contact with him even as she struggled against the guards’ vise-like grip.

“Let her go.” The guards released her and stepped away a little farther than Nat expected. She flipped the edge of her cloak, revealing her wrappings, and they inched back even farther.

Nat clasped her hands at her waist and met Mudug’s eyes. “I have riven,” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper.

His eyes darted to the guards behind her. Leaning in, he asked, “On your person?”

Nat thought quickly. If she said yes, would he just order the guards to take it from her? Bastle fleas might keep everyone else away, but she doubted the guards would disobey a direct order from Mudug. “I have it nearby. I’ll give it to you after your Chemist heals my brother.” She met his dark stare with what she hoped was a believable expression.

The scribe interrupted. “Lord Mudug,” he said as he clutched his parchment tightly to his chest. “The Sister’s transport is ready. The guards are awaiting your final orders.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll be there.” He waved the scribe away, then called out, “Wait, hand me parchment and pen.” Mudug snatched the items, scribbled across the parchment, folded it in quarters, and handed it to the guard nearest Nat. “Take them to the Chemist. See he gets the note.” He turned to Nat. “It may be a fortunate day for you and your brother.” He leaned in slightly. “But if you are lying to me about what you are offering, we may be hanging more than just a Sister today.” He smiled broadly. Nat stumbled off the platform.