Magic Casement (34 page)

“Certainly
not! She is the chief’s daughter. I am only a keeper of stores. She must
marry another chief.”

“Why?”

That
question proved surprisingly difficult to answer. So, also, did the next-why,
then, was Rap going to all this trouble? Loyalty did not translate into the
goblin dialect. Friendship did, but Little Chicken could not comprehend that a
man might be friendly with a woman. Women were enjoyable and useful. Friends
were necessarily other males.

Friends...
Rap was surprised to discover that he wanted to be friends with Little Chicken.

The
young goblin’s monstrous cruelty was not his fault. It came from the
culture of his people, and he had never been taught better. Apart from that, he
was admirable in many ways-self-reliant, confident, effective, and a superb
woodsman. His courage was unbreakable, his strange loyalty to Rap apparently
absolute. In a word, he was trustworthy, and Rap recognized no higher accolade
than that.

“You
run good, town boy.” Those first words on their journey had been haunting
Rap ever since. They had never been repeated, and all Rap’s efforts had
failed to draw another syllable of praise. All his pains and efforts had
gleaned nothing but amusement and contempt. He knew now that no matter how hard
he might strive, he would never match Little Chicken in strength or endurance.
That inferiority rankled deeply.

So
he was the lesser man, but even so, surely effort deserved recognition? Rap had
driven himself to his utmost limits and failed to receive acknowledgment for
it. The harder he had tried, the more disdainful his companion’s
reaction. He had revealed his supernatural powers and they had been dismissed
as party tricks, beneath a man’s dignity. Only one thing about the town
boy seemed to satisfy Little Chicken-that he had cheated in the testing. For
some reason that knowledge pleased the goblin greatly. And of that, Rap was
ashamed.

By
the second day of the blizzard, Rap was growing frantic. If he thought about
Inos or Andor-or anything-then his mind curdled with anxiety. Time was running
out, and he should be running, also, not sitting still. The sinister Darad must
have crossed the mountains long since.

Rather
to his disgust, Rap had also discovered that he was in need of exercise. Weeks
of running had so conditioned him that he felt stodgy without it, and incapable
of relaxing.

Snow
was still falling, but it was the heavy, wet, warm-weather snow of the south,
not fine, dry arctic powder. When the storm passed, Rap knew, he and Little
Chicken would be able to travel without their masks, but the drifts would make
the terrain more difficult.

Travel
where? They had left the last of the goblin settlements behind. There were imp
homesteads in the area, perilous for goblins and to be shunned. Somewhere
nearby lay Pondague, an impish outpost guarding the only pass through the
ranges. Had Rap arrived at Pondague with Andor, it would have meant the start
of friends and safety. They could have acquired more horses, bought food, and
even hired companions, had they wanted them. South of the pass lay the Impire,
with good roads and post inns and safety.

Now
Pondague was danger and enemies. Rap had no money. He wore goblin clothes and
goblin tattoos, so he might well be cut down on sight if he ran into a
contingent of Imperial troops. Living off the land south of the mountains was
going to be difficult, or impossible. He knew roughly what farms were and how
farmers felt about poaching. He did not know where Kinvale was. He supposed
that it was a place like Krasnegar, but he had no idea how far from the
mountains it was, nor how to find it.

His
first trial would be to sneak through the pass unobserved. Probably he would be
safer south of the mountains, where goblins were no threat and hence would not
so readily provoke violent reaction. He would have to find someone-a priest,
perhaps-and explain his problem. With luck he might obtain a guide who would
believe his story and deliver him to Kinvale on the promise of reward from
Inos. Then Rap could dress like a civilized man again and regain his
self-respect. Inos would find employment for him until he could return to
Krasnegar with her, by land or sea, as she chose.

Unless
Andor had already got to her, of course. Then what?

Eventually
Rap decided that he did not know the answer to then what? He rose, took up a
spruce bough, and swept clean an area of floor near the fire. The goblin sat
cross-legged and watched without comment or question.

“Rightl”
Rap stripped off his jacket. “Come and give me some wrestling lessons.”

Little
Chicken shook his head.

“You’re
my trash, you say? Then I order you to come and give me a wrestling lesson!”

A
firmer head shake. Trash, apparently, could decide what trash was good for.

“Why
not?”

“I
hurt you. “ A faint smile played over the goblin’s big mouth. “A
few bruises won’t matter. I want to learn, and I need the exercise. “

Another
refusal.

Beginning
to shiver without his coat, Rap swallowed any trace of pride he might have
retained. “Please, Little Chicken? I’m bored! It would be fun.”

“Too
much fun.”

“What
does that mean?”

Little
Chicken’s eyes glinted in the firelight. “I start to hurt you,
might not stop. Too much fun.”

He
was quite capable of dismembering a man with his bare hands. Hastily Rap took
up his jerkin and dressed again.

The
third day... a faint light was glimmering through the chinks in the walls and
windows that had been plugged with branches. Rap had not realized until he came
to this ruined cabin that goblin buildings had windows at all. Apparently they
were normally covered over in winter.

He
sighed and glanced again at Little Chicken, inevitably sitting cross-legged,
bare-chested, idly poking his long stick at the fire. His patience was inhuman.
In the firelight his dusky skin shone greenly. His curiously slanted eyes were
unreadable.

Try
conversation again? Just maybe a little companionship? “When we get to
Kinvale-” Rap’s voice sounded strange after so many hours of
silence. “-then I shall release you. “

“I
am your trash.”

“Not
forever! You have done wonders for me. I could never have come this far without
you, so I am very grateful. If I could reward you, I would.” Perhaps Inos
would give him money to reward Little Chicken. What would he buy with it,
though?

“Reward?”
The familiar faint smile of contempt appeared on the goblin’s face. “You
will not give me what I want. “

“What’s
that?” Rap rather thought he could guess the answer. “Go back to
Raven Totem. Kill slowly, much pain.”

Rap
shuddered. “I kill you? And then your brothers would do the same to me?”

The
goblin shook his head. “Not if you do good work, make good show. Kill
slow-win honor.”

“Never!
I could not do that to anyone. And I am grateful to you. I like you. I want us
to be friends. “

“I
am your trash.” Little Chicken directed his attention once more to the
sparkling logs.

“You
won’t be able to help me at Kinvale,” Rap said firmly. “Nor
back at Krasnegar.”

“I
shall look after you.” Little Chicken seemed to think that the
conversation was over. Arguing with him was like trying to bail out the Winter
Ocean with a leaky bucket.

“I
will give you your freedom!”

The
goblin shook his head at the fire and said nothing.

“You
mean that you are my trash forever?” What could Rap do with a slave in
Krasnegar, a slave who refused to be freed? Little Chicken looked up now and
stared steadily at him for a while. He seemed to make a decision. “Not
forever. “

“Good!
Until when?”

“Until
the Gods release me. Not you.”

This
was progress! “And when will the Gods release you?”

“I
shall know.”

Suddenly
Rap did not like the expression on that wide, greenbrown face. “And how
shall I know?”

“I
take care of you until the Gods release me,” Little Chicken repeated. He
licked his lips. “Then I kill you.”

“Oh,
great! You mean that you are my faithful slave until one day you decide you’re
not, then you just kill me?”

The
goblin’s oversized teeth showed in a sudden friendly grin and Rap laughed
in relief. He had been afraid that Little Chicken was serious. It was a
surprise to learn that he did have a sense of humor after all.

“You
won at testing, town boy. Good foe! I did not know then. I know now.”

Rap’s
merriment died away. “Do I get any warning?” Little Chicken shook
his head, still smiling.

“When
do I get this surprise? Soon? Or not for years?”

“I
shall know when. Then I kill you. Very, very slow. Long, long pain. Good
opponent, I give you good death. Light small fires on your chest. Push stick
under kneecap and twist. Many days. Sand below eyelids and rub with finger. . .”

No,
he was not joking.

Once
started, he could not be stopped. From then until dusk, when his voice failed
and he became hoarse, he sat by the fire, slobbering with anticipation, eyes
shining bright with hatred. Trembling much of the time with the effort of
confining his activities to conversation instead of putting his plan into
action at once, the goblin described in infinite detail the revenge he had been
devising.

They
were on their way! Inos could hardly believe that it was not a dream. But it
was real! She was really sitting in a real coach, facing Aunt Kade and Isha,
her maid-and sitting next to Andor, too.

Seven
days with Andor back in Kinvale! They had been seven days of heaven, and days
of frenzied packing, as well-what to leave, what to set aside for shipping,
what to try to squeeze into impossibly small packs. They had also been seven
days of farewells, of hastily arranged parties, of dancing, and of continuous
heavenly music that no one but she had been able to hear. Or had Andor detected
a chord or two? She hoped so. The obnoxious Yggingi had vanished, gone ahead to
Pondague to arrange for an escort, and his departure had been almost as great a
blessing as Andor’s return... No, it hadn’t. Having Andor back,
knowing that he had cared enough to cross the bitter taiga in winter, for
her-that was the greatest miracle of all.

They
had not had a moment alone, not one, but even in the crowds she had been
conscious of hardly anyone but him-his smile, his laugh, his imperturbable
strength. It had been Andor who had made it all possible at so little notice,
purchasing a coach and horses, hiring men to drive it, planning
itinerary-organizing and arranging. Aunt Kade had been grateful to leave all
those masculine tasks to him. There had hardly been time, even, to brood very
much over her father’s illness.

Andor
was coming back to Krasnegar! Because they had never been alone together, he
had not repeated the pledge he had given her before he left, but his eyes had
spoken it many times. Andor was coming to Krasnegar... to stay? Always?

May
it be so, Gods! I did remember love, as I was bidden! Outside the windows, the
fields and woods of Kinvale rolled by in watery sunshine under a smoke-blue
sky. The end of winter meant the start of spring-soon, but not quite yet. Grass
was green, and shy flowers smiled in the hedgerows. Ahead and behind the coach,
Corporal Oopari and his troop thumped erratically along. Krasnegar’s
men-at-arms were not notable riders, but they could manage on the straight,
smooth roads of the Impire. They could certainly keep up with the rocking,
clattering carriage. A couple of the men were new recruits, replacing others
who had formed romantic attachments and chosen to remain at Kinvale. Ula, the
maid from Krasnegar, was long forgotten. Stupid Ula had disgraced herself
within days of her arrival and been hastily married off to a gardener.

Andor
rearranged the rug spread over their laps, as the bouncing of the coach
threatened to dislodge it. Her hand found his again, out of sight.

All
those farewells...

“I
can’t believe it!” Inos said for the hundredth time. “We are
really on our way!”

“You
may find it all too real before we arrive, ma’am.” Andor smiled.

With
that smile beside her, Inos could face anything.

“It
will be a great adventure!” Aunt Kade said brightly. Her shiny-apple
cheeks were flushed with excitement, but not a single hair protruded wrongly
from under her cornflower-blue traveling bonnet. “I have always wanted to
try the overland route. “

Well,
if she could believe that, who was Inos to contradict her?

Aunt
Kade’s indestructible good humor could be very irritating at times, but
it would be easier to bear on the journey than sulks, and few persons of her
age would have been willing to contemplate at all what she was undertaking so
cheerfully.

Andor
pointed out the final glimpse of Kinvale, as the carriage crested a hill. Then
it was gone.

“Well,
Sir Andor,” Kade said, snuggling into her comer. “At last we have
time to hear all the news.”

Again
Andor’s smile warmed the whole carriage. “Of course, ma’am!
Remember that it will be stale, though-I left at Winterfest. But, apart from
your brother, everyone in the castle seemed to be well. Chancellor Yaltauri’s
lumbago was troubling him. Doctor Sagorn prescribed a linament with a powerful
odor of cheese... “

In
moments he had the three of them in stitches, even Isha, who was not supposed
to show that she was listening, and who knew none of the people being
discussed. He ran through the foibles of the whole palace hierarchy and moved
on to the notables of the town. Apparently he was already acquainted with
everyone in Krasnegar and that was a surprising thought, one that would need a
little time to absorb. Yet under her laughter Inos wondered about Ido. And Lin.
What news of the friends of her childhood? A transient cloud shadowed her
happiness. They would be friends no longer. An abyss of rank would cut them off
now from the princess they had once accepted as one of themselves. What use to
tell Ido of the latest dance craze from Hub? What need to play the spinnet for
Rap? Chatterbox Lin would not care about Kinvale scandal, nor share what local
gossip he had with his queen. Yet she felt an irrational nostalgic longing to
know how the old gang was faring. Who was married, who was courting? Those
things would interest her more than details of Chancellor Yaltauri’s
lumbago.