Magic Casement (15 page)

The
flickering flames of the driftwood fires danced sideways below the wind,
throwing unearthly glows on the high stacks of hides and peat and hay. Curls of
snowflakes swirled over the hard dark ground, seeking sheltered places in the
shadows to make small drifts. The wind brought smoke-tainted first with
delicious cooking odors and then with the unbearable stench of the abbatoir. It
brought the sound of cattle bellowing in the corrals and the rush of waves on
the shingle. Men and woman hurried by, swathed in the anonymity of fur, stooped
and huddled against the cold like bulky misshapen bears.

As
he picked his way between the grotesque mountains of produce, Rap wondered how
many wagonloads they represented. He wondered also how many days were left
before the road would close. But those were Foronod’s problems, not his.
The king’s factor must be a literate man, so however Rap might serve the
crown of Krasnegar in his coming manhood, it would not be in the post of
factor. He found the grub line and joined on the end, noting that most of the
men and women there looked just as listless and filthy as he did.

“Hi,
Rap! You’ve grown!” the woman in front of him said. Her name was
Ufio, Verantor’s wife, and she was pretty. Rap grinned and said he was
sorry, he hadn’t meant to, and how was the baby. It seemed weeks since he
had even seen a woman, let alone had a chance to talk with one.

Men
he knew arrived and exchanged greetings; old friends, people he had not seen in
months. They told him he had grown.

The
line grew shorter before him, longer behind. He shivered and he shifted from
one aching leg to the other. He pondered what task he might be given next. He
was very much in between now: too old for the best of the kids’ jobs, not
old enough to be trusted with men’s. Whatever it was, he would do his
best. That had been another of his mother’s principles.

Then
he was trudging off over the shingle bearing a mug of something hot and a
platter heaped with steaming beef. Seeking shelter from the cold, he edged into
one of the cottages. It was packed like a fish barrel. The single bench was
crammed with people, and the floor also was covered with bodies, eating or
talking or snoring. The air was as thick as whale oil, reeking of men and food,
but at least he was out of the wind. One lamp guttered on a littered table in
the center. He found a space, sank down on the ground, and prepared to gorge.

“You’ve
grown!” a man behind him said.

Rap
peered, shifting his head to let light fall on the face.

“Lin?
You’ve got a new voice! “

“About
time, too!” Lin spoke with deep satisfaction.

“How’s
the arm?” Rap asked, with his mouth full.

Lin
looked down at his arm in surprise, as if he had already forgotten his summer
accident. “Fine.”

Rap
gestured with his head toward the door. “The work?” he mumbled,
still eating.

Lin
shrugged. “They say it’ll be all right if the weather holds.”

At
sunset the sky to the north had been blacker than the castle walls, but neither
of them mentioned that. A wagon rumbled by outside, making the dirt floor
throb.

“What’s
the news?” Rap asked. “I’ve been stuck up in the hills like a
boulder all summer.”

“Not
much,” Lin squeaked. He scowled at Rap’s chuckle and managed to
find his lower register again. He listed a few births and marriages and deaths.
“They say...” His voice sank to a husky whisper. “They say
the king is not well.”

Rap
frowned and chewed at a rib and wondered about Inos, far away in Kinvale. She
would not know, of course, so she would not be worried. But what happened if
the king died when she was not here to succeed him? The thought of young Inos
suddenly being elevated to queen was staggering. Still, being unwell did not
necessarily lead to dying.

Then,
feeling bearish, as if he would never need to eat again and could cheerfully
sleep from now until spring, Rap added his platter and tankard to a nearby
pile. He wiped his greasy mouth with the back of his hand. Lin had found room
to stretch out and was already into the droopy-eyelid stage. Probably he ought
to do the same, Rap thought. There would be work enough in the morning and all
the others in the cottage had been here longer than he had, so they should be
called first.

A
tall man stooped through the door and stood for a moment. He pushed back his
hood and silence fell at the sight of the silver hair. His face was gaunt and
pale as driftwood, with blue shadows under the eyes and a white stubble that
was almost a beard-the factor. From the way he stood, he might have been
inspecting his workers, or perhaps he was letting the troops inspect him, their
leader. He was their symbol of defiance against the coming onslaught, his
obvious exhaustion both a challenge and a comfort. All eyes not closed by sleep
fastened on his.

“Any
wagon drivers in here?” Foronod demanded.

Rap
scrambled to his feet as a voice from across the room said,

“Yes,
sir.”

It
was Ollo, and he was the best. Rap was already sitting down again as Foronod
nodded to Ollo, but he did acknowledge Rap with a faint smile that probably
meant next year. The two men departed and the cottage sank back into weary
apathy again.

“He
said drivers, not sailors,” Lin muttered sleepily.

“Was
it you who started that garbage?”

“No,
it was you.” Lin rolled over and put his head on one arm.

Pity
about Ollo... Rap very much wanted to drive a wagon again. Once was not enough.
He could hardly sit at the drivers’ table when he’d only run a team
once, and never up the hill, only down.

The
bodies around him had shifted and penned him in. He had no room to stretch out.
He was too weary to go look for somewhere else. He leaned his arms on his knees
and yawned. They were not going to start breaking in new drivers at this point
in the year, not in the final sprint.

His
head dropped forward and jerked him awake again. It was good to have more
company-he had grown very tired of the same few herder faces. He wondered what
Inos was doing. He told himself not to be foolish. He thought of the castle and
the stablehands’ quarters and the men and boys and girls he would meet
again. Only one would be missing.

His
head fell over once more, waking him again. He would have to find somewhere to
stretch out... unless he could lie on his side and stay curled up...

Someone
shook his shoulder. “Rap? You’re wanted.”

He
sat up, confused and muzzy, uncertain where he was, then scrambled to his feet
and lumbered after his guide, stumbling over bodies to the door. The air
outside hit him like a bucketful of ice water; he gasped and pulled up his
hood. The world was filled with streaming snow, a yellow glare in the light
from the cottage. He hurried into the darkness after a rapidly disappearing
back. The snow settled in his eyes and on his eyelashes and began plastering
his parka.

He
was led to a group planted around one of the fires, which was shooting flashes
of light between their legs. The circle opened to admit him and he looked
around the humped, anonymous figures, most holding hands out toward the blaze.
A cauldron bubbled there, and steamed. Shivering and blinking, Rap recognized
the tall Foronod at the far side and waited to hear why he was needed.

“Rap?”
The factor was staring at him. They all were. “Could you follow the trail
in this? On a horse?”

Rap
turned and looked out into the night-nothing! Nothing at all. The snow had
turned the night black, not white. He’d seen guiding done in other
years--men with lanterns leading a wagon--but tonight a lantern would show
nothing but endless snow rushing past. The air was solid with it, streaming
insanely southward. Without a lantern there was nothing to be seen at all.
Nothing! Scared now, he turned back to face Foronod. “On foot, maybe. “

Foronod
shook his head. “Too late. Tide’s coming.”

So
that was it? Rap wanted to be a driver, or a man-at-arms. They wanted a
sorcerer, a seer. A freak. A damnable freak! He’d pulled that fool stunt
with the wagon, and now they thought he could work miracles. Once could be
denied. Twice would be proof. And what they were asking him to do was much more
than driving through water. In this weather a man would barely see the ground
from horseback. His mother, they thought, had been a seer, so he must be. He
opened his mouth to say “Why me?” and what he said was “Why?”

The
factor’s head jerked and the pale blur of his face inside his hood seemed
to stiffen. “Answer the question!”

Rap
hesitated. He couldn’t answer the question. “I... why?”

“Boy!”

“I’m
sorry, sir... I need to know. I don’t know why. I mean I don’t know
why `why’... “ Rap stuttered into unhappy silence.

“We
need a guide.”

And
again Rap’s mouth demanded “Why?” before he could stop it. He
did not know why why was important, but it felt as if it should be.

The
menacing silence was broken when ‘a snow-dappled man standing next the
factor said, “Tell him! If you’re going to trust him, then trust
him! “

Rap
did not know the voice and what little he could see of the face was unfamiliar.
Foronod glanced at the intruder. “What do you know about it? Who the Evil
are you, anyway?”

“I’m
from the south,” the voice said. It was a gentleman’s voice. “A
visitor. But I’ve met seers before. You must give him your trust or he
can’t help you.”

Foronod
shrugged grumpily and looked back at Rap. “All right. I’m scared
that this is the big one. It may not be-it’s very early. But we have
three loads of beef we absolutely must get across.”

Despite
the bone-cracking chill of the wind, Rap’s head was still so clogged with
sleep and weariness that it seemed to be running on one foot. The big one was
the storm that closed the causeway for the winter, and it would blow for days.
Slabs of sea ice and snowdrifts caked by frozen spray plugged the road-men and
animals could cross afterward, but not wagons. He knew what three loads of
salted beef meant, or he could guess. It would buy much time in the spring if
the town was starving. Any risk was worth taking if this was the big one.

If
it was not, then losing a wagon would cripple the supply train. That might be
almost as bad-they needed every one. He might even lose all three if he trapped
them in the path of the tide, and that would be catastrophe for Krasnegar.
Foronod must be frantic if he was willing to take the gamble and trust the town
to a boy-to a seer.

Trust
him? Rap started to shiver.

A
harder gust struck and the men staggered and leaned into it.

Snow
hissed in the fire and steamed.

Rap
turned again and looked at the night. A lantern would be little help in this,
hard enough even for the drivers to follow, useless to see where a horse was
going. They were asking him if he could ride across with his eyes shut. He
tried to remember that strange feeling when he’d brought the wagon
through the water. There had been something there, something unusual,
unwholesome. He did not want to admit he was a freak, but there had been
something. Foronod must be desperate.

Trust
yourself! Rap squared his shoulders. “I’ll try.”

“You
and two to flank you?”

He
hesitated and then nodded.

“Jua,”
the factor said. “And... Binik. Go--”

“No,”
Rap said. That did not feel right. “I want Lin. And...”

He
did not know why he wanted Lin, except that Lin had survived this sort of
madness before, so he would not argue. And one other? He surprised himself as
much as he surprised everyone else. He pointed at the stranger. “Him!”

Foronod
growled and demanded, “Why him?”

The
stranger said quietly, “Trust him!”

“You
ever been across the causeway, master?”

“No.”
The stranger sounded insanely unruffled. “That may be why he wants me. My
ideas won’t interfere with his.”

Rap
wondered if he merely wanted someone who believed in seers. He did not think he
believed-not in himself as a seer. But there had been something.

Foronod
shrugged. “Go ahead. It’s your neck, stranger. You’ve got an
hour at the most, lad.”

“Lin’s
sleeping where I was,” Rap said to the man who had brought him. “Bring
him to the horses.” To Foronod: “Sir, I’ll need lanterns.”
Then he nodded at the stranger. “Come and get a horse.”

He
blundered off into the dark without waiting for any replies.

He
had never given orders to grown men before. Trust yourself!

If
you don’t, who will?

The
stranger’s hand settled on Rap’s shoulder. The darkness was that
thick.

The
best thing Rap could do now was walk into an offal pit and break his leg. Then
they would know, wouldn’t they? This was a test: find the corral. If he
could not find that, then he could not find the causeway. He tried to remember
where all the piles of hay and peat were, but he had not come this way when he
arrived. He put a hand up to shield his eyes from the snow, but he could still
see nothing.

He
stopped.

Obstacle?

“What’s
wrong?” the stranger asked at his ear.

Rap
reached out his right hand and touched hay. He shivered and changed direction. “This
way.” It worked at arm’s length, then. Or had he just felt the wind
eddying around the stack? He found the corral, but he could have been following
the smell, or the noise. He leaned over the rail and he could barely make out
the big shapes steaming and champing in the murk.

“Mustard?
Dancer! Walrus!”

“How
about Swimmer and Diver?” the stranger said with a laugh.

“Sir,
please don’t talk to me.” Why not? What was Rap doing? His head was
starting to throb. Mustard edged through the other horses toward him. Walrus,
he knew, was cowering over on the far side. But he did not know how he knew
that.