Scent of Magic (15 page)

That she had been right in her surmise she knew, until at last he did disappear down another hallway, though she could not be sure he was still not lurking on her trail.

Here other footmen stood guard, and perhaps he had no wish to be seen by them. Willadene counted doors and then said to the tall livery-coated man who stood by the third, “The Herbmistress Halwice is my mistress. She wishes to see me.”

He appeared to continue to stare over her head, but he took one step to the right so that the door was directly behind him and tapped softly upon it three times.

“Name?” he asked, and she gave it promptly, aware there was now a crack of opening showing. A moment later she was ushered in.

Far from being bedbound the Lord Chancellor sat in a chair nearly as stately as a throne, one meant to have judgments uttered from. Facing him on a far less pretentious seat was Nicolas and, to one side, Halwice was delving into her healer’s bag.

She could believe that Nicolas was fighting to keep erect and face his mentor straightly and that that action was drawing deeply on what energy he had left. Halwice came swiftly to him with a small cup in one hand. Paying no attention to Vazul she stood over the young man and ordered: “Drink it—to the last drop!”

By its scent what she had poured for him was a powerful restorative, Willadene recognized. But why in his weakened condition he had gone to the eating hall she had no idea. And it seemed that no explanation was to be made to her, for Halwice’s attention was now on the girl
as she demanded: “What have you discovered? Has the High Lady accepted you without question?”

“She has accepted me, yes, mistress, and she is much pleased with what I have brought. As to what I have discovered—” She gathered that she was to speak openly in this company. “I was taken to her chamber with that I had brought. But there were workmen there, busied on the wall, and one of them—his master called him Jonas—had the smell, not strong, but he has dealt in some way with the Dark.”

Nicolas turned his head to stare at her, and Vazul leaned forward in his chair, though Halwice showed no sign of surprise—she could have been expecting some such report. Around the Lord Chancellor’s wrist that wide black bracelet stared, and yellow eyes regarded her.

“Soooo—” Vazul hissed that as if his nonhuman companion had given voice. Now he addressed Halwice.

“Is there any way this wall can be tested, that we may learn whether what was meant to be a protection has been tampered with?”

“Perhaps a wardess of the Star might be able to do so, but it would require a lengthy ceremony, one we could not conceal.”

The Lord Chancellor looked as if he were chewing upon something bitter. “Soooo—” he hissed again. “And that we cannot do—yet. Jonas . . .” His attention snapped to Nicolas.

There was a moment of silence, and then the younger man answered as if he had some roll of all the castle inhabitants stretched open before him.

“Jonas—tall, butter fair of hair, giving the appearance of one who is as yet not well trained?” Those questions he shot at Willadene.

“He is tall and fair yes, and the master seemed to be keeping an eye on his work as if some check were needed,” she replied promptly.

“Jonas, second son to Wilbar in the Lordship of Vantol. That was—”

“Outlaw taken two years ago, yes!” Vazul replied impatiently. “If I remember rightly it is now wasteland, since their lord and his son are both dead and there is no direct heir. The remaining landsmen and servitors were taken under the protection of Lord Nemunt.”

“Jonas came to Kronengred with a road draft last year,” Nicolas continued as if he had not been interrupted. “He was assigned by Reeve Laprin as apprentice to the mason Valor, who had applied for the next possible aid. His latest work has been in repairing the balcony of the courtyard opening of the Lady Saylana’s quarters.”

“By the Star, boy, can you shake out the history of everyone under this roof?” commented Vazul. It would seem that Nicolas’s flow of information had indeed pleased him.

The other shrugged. “’Tis no great feat, Chancellor, to keep watch on newcomers. There is another also.” Now he once more turned his head in Willadene’s direction. “You came with Julta to the common table. Did it seem to you that she chose her seat there with any care or was it the first open to her?”

“The latter I would say.”

“There was a footman there wearing a new badge—”

The girl nodded. “He serves the High Lady Saylana.”

Again there was a short silence, and now it was Vazul who took over the questioning.

“Was he cordial to Julta?”

“After Master Nicolas left.” She was not quite sure how to address the pale young man now settling even further back into the chair. “He strove to be pleasant to Julta. She would have nothing of his efforts. Then—then—” Swiftly she repeated the conversation she had had with the footman until she had managed to at last lose him from sight.

“He is Ringglen, also out of Vantol,” Nicolas said. “But you did not sense this same evil in him, mistress?”

“No. Mistress"—she spoke to Halwice now—"could the evil be carried by an object or must it be part of one’s own personal scent?”

“Now that is good thinking, young mistress.” Vazul leaned forward. “You have in mind that this Jonas may have brought to place in Her Grace’s private chambers some foul danger?”

She was remembering the box she had changed in the shop as she answered: “My Lord Chancellor, once before there was substituted for my mistress’s wares something which was not of the proper recipe—though I did not then smell evil. But to change any potion can cause evil, though it is not evil in itself.” Swiftly she related the finding of the box of incense.

Halwice drew a deep breath, and an unaccustomed flush arose on her usually pale cheeks. “Never has that recipe been changed since first Her Grace signified that she found it beneficial for sleeping. To meddle so, someone must have entered the shop— Yet the Star blessing was set upon it—walls, windows, and doors—by the decree of the Abbess herself when first I came to be a guild mistress. We—Lord Chancellor—we may be dealing with some dire threat greater than we have thought!”

He was chewing his lip, and Nicolas had straightened again in his seat, until Halwice caught him by the shoulder and held him as firmly as if he had been a wriggling small boy.

The black fur band had uncurled from Vazul’s wrist and was now as long as a bowstring. Ssssaaa moved with the speed which near dazzled the eyes. Off the Lord Chancellor’s knee she dropped to the floor and then was across the thick carpet in an instant until her formidable claws caught in Willadene’s wide skirt and she streaked upward to her shoulder. Oddly enough the Chancellor began to nod.

“Yes, we do have a weapon of sorts to use against the invisible. Girl, can you take Ssssaaa unseen back to Her
Grace’s chamber? Once there, let her roam at her will. If anything has been hidden there to do Her Grace ill Ssssaaa can find it. This she has done for me many times over. Which is the way"—he smiled grimly—"I have managed to keep both my office and my life as long as I have.”

Halwice had caught up a discarded shawl and threw it over the girl’s shoulder, effectively concealing what rode there now.

“Star Point luck go with you, mistress.” She was surprised at that encouragement from Nicolas.

But the Chancellor offered a warning instead of good wishes.

“Should one of the High Lady Saylana approach you again—” He seemed undecided.

Willadene, daring, made answer to what she thought he would say. “I take orders from Mistress Halwice,” she returned. “So my answer would and will be that I am sent to the High Lady Mahart and her I am to serve.”

Halwice smiled. “Just so. Perhaps such an approach to you might tell us more. There is this—” And now her voice was that she used when she gave instructions. “Something moves within these walls which is partly of our kind for learning, partly of menace, and partly of an evil I cannot detect—save it is of that nature. We must delve for the right foot before we pull it forth.

“Now we must all be about what we should do. You, Nicolas, back to your bed and be very sure I leave no restorative within your reach again. Such action is folly I had not expected of you. And, Willadene, I must return to the city. What you can learn—” She looked inquiringly to Vazul.

“What she learns she will learn with Ssssaaa’s aid, and Ssssaaa shall report it to me,” the Lord Chancellor replied composedly, and Willadene felt that warm fur stir against her neck and cheek as if the creature was assuring her this was so.

The many halls and antechambers of the castle were as confusing as the city alleys, and Willadene tried hard to remember her way back to the High Lady’s tower. But her concern with the footman who had seemed to be following her had interfered with her concentration, and twice she was sure she had taken somehow a wrong turn.

In these lower passages there were no statuelike footmen beside the doors, and she decided that was a sign she had left the quarters of the nobles and the high officials. But she gave up in despair when she blundered into a room of looms on which several maidservants were busily at work, managing to dodge back into the shadows before anyone glanced away from the task beneath her hands.

Leaning against the wall in the duskiest comer she could find, she pushed away panic and tried to force memory to her command. There was a strange niggling of fear that she should certainly
not
be found wandering about without direction.

That warm band about her throat moved and flowed, still under the covering of her shawl, so that the pointed head now rested on her wrist. She flipped up the edge of
the covering Halwice had given her and looked into those small, seemingly pupilless eyes.

Though she did not speak aloud, her lips shaped words—"You know!” And she was as sure of that as if she had heard an answering voice. Daringly she smoothed the silky fur with the forefinger of her other hand.

“The High Lady’s tower,” she shaped a thought with care.

Ssssaaa’s head moved under her light touch. It was plain that that head was swinging to a left-hand hall, dim as twilight, for it had only one or two wall-set lamps and those were flickering, though she could feel no breeze. But Willadene was willing to accept her guide, strange as she might be.

There were doors along the hall on either side, but all were firmly shut and that small nose still pointed straight ahead. That is until—

Willadene nearly staggered she had stopped so short, and she heard a low angry hissing from Ssssaaa. Evil— old—Willadene had a sickening thought of a pool nearby in the dark in which something was rising, a slime of ages of hate and pain, and delight in both.

That nauseating smell came from the door to her right. Ssssaaa’s head was higher, swinging to look to her and then the door. Surely the creature which she had accepted in perfect faith as being an ally was not urging her in that direction?

Only now she caught a second scent, this of the physical and not the spiritual world. She recognized it—from overseas. Halwice had had a single shipment of it and had really only acted as agent, for it had been ordered beforehand—a half year it had taken to reach Kronengred—by the High Lady Saylana.

There was sound now, very faint, for the door must be a thick one, and it followed a pattern as if someone recited in a hoarse and croaking voice some verse of ritual.

Willadene could stand it no longer. She felt the evil
rising about her to entrap her, as if she had floundered into some sewer near filled with glutinous refuse which would cling to pull her down.

With one hand she fumbled out her amulet pomander and held it quickly to her nose, though its scent did little to stop that sucking. By the Star—the Star—

Holding up her head, she tried to visualize the Star, brilliant and clear, clean and cleansing, as it appeared in the Abbey. And with that held in mind she took one hindered step and then another.

Warmth seemed to be spreading from Ssssaaa’s small body, feeding her Star blaze. Then, somehow, they had won to the end of the corridor. However, Willadene felt as if she had tramped most of the streets of the city below without rest.

She was only faintly aware of the directions from Ssssaaa, but at length she did come into an anteroom she recognized and from it made her way back to the High Lady’s tower. What foulness she had stumbled upon she could not guess, save it was from no world she knew.

Again she passed footmen as she climbed to the floor where she had first met Mahart and her small court. But it was the bedchamber above which she must seek now. The door was a little open, and she could hear no sounds from within nor could she pick up the scent of either of the men who had been at work there earlier. A limited attempt had been made to return the room to its regular order—though the freshly finished wall was still uncovered. She approached that, letting the shawl slip from her shoulders and holding out the hand on which Ssssaaa’s head now rested.

As far as she could see all marks there were uniform, left by the plasterer’s tools. Ssssaaa’s head came forward, as if Willadene were aiming a spear at that surface, and swung a little back and forth. Starting as high as she could reach—Ssssaaa could rear, with her support, nearly to the ceiling—she began to sweep back and forth.

In spite of her earnest efforts the girl could herself not pick up any more than the usual odors one might find in a room undergoing repairs. There was no hint of evil.

Yet Willadene could sense that the creature she held was dissatisfied. Her faint hissing now held a frustrated note as if she were baffled. Back and forth they examined the wall clear down to floor level. Willadene could pick up no suggestion of strange evil, nor did Vazul’s creature show any signs of discovery.

At last Willadene was sitting on the floor, staring at that expanse of plaster, baffled. She could only believe now that her guess was wrong and that taint had been carried by Jonas himself and not by any material used here.

Ssssaaa uncurled from her wrist and dropped to the floor, scuttling along the baseboard with sharp nose held close to where that met the floor. Suddenly the creature paused and her head swung up and around. No longer was her attention fastened on the wall. Instead she leaped in a series of whirling springs straight for the wardrobe where Willadene had left her bag.

The girl was after her guide at once. Though she had brought nothing noxious into this chamber she had left the bag here, and who knew what might have been added or subtracted from its contents since?

She had the bag out as swiftly as she could and opened it. Ssssaaa reared up on the other side of the carrier so her forepaws also pulled at the edge. Willadene grabbed for the first bottle of cream, her hands shaking a little as she unscrewed its lid. To all appearances it was both untouched and the same container she had earlier shown Mahart—the ball which split in halves to reveal the creamy contents.

Her nose gave her quick reassurance. This was nothing more or less than it should be. But Ssssaaa’s actions caught her full attention now. The creature was making no attempt to draw forth or touch any of the other offerings in their strap loops. Instead, she had poured about a third of
her slim body over the edge of the bag and was picking with claws at the bottom of the carrier.

Quickly Willadene followed that action by plunging her own hand into the bag, groping along the bottom among her clothes, Ssssaaa’s warm fur near entwined with her hand again. Then her fingers caught in something and she jerked free that book which Halwice had put into the bag as an afterthought.

The minute Willadene had it to hand Ssssaaa settled back in a hunched ball on the floor, though those gem eyes were still fast on the girl. Willadene sneezed, for the ancient leather of the binding was flaking into dust at every movement of her eager fingers.

Handling it with all the care she could Willadene searched for that special find she had made—the too-thick page. Were two so fastened together? Or perhaps it could be three? At any rate they were so tightly set that neither her fingernails nor the point of her belt knife could find any opening by which they might be pried apart.

So many of the edges of the pages had flaked away through the years she was afraid of destroying the very thing she sought by too careless handling. Ssssaaa had drawn closer, nose to that thick page. Suddenly, before Willadene could withdraw her find to safety, a long red tongue was busy, running along the edge.

One flick down, a second up before Willadene could pull the book firmly out of her companion’s reach. There was now a slight discoloration along the path that tongue had taken, though no stains of moisture spread very far.

Once more Willadene tried the point of her knife. She always kept it sharp, for it could be put to many duties— chopping, paring, skinning stems, sawing roots, and the like.

She was perhaps halfway down the page when the point actually sank in, and when she moved it back and forth with the greatest of care, the stiff old parchment reluctantly yielded to that prying steel. The gap showed her that it
was
truly more than one page made up this place of hiding. But the page in between the two she worked on had been neatly sliced out to give room to conceal finely scraped bits of parchment.

Its concealment so must have preserved it, for the markings on it were far darker than the writing on the two enclosing pages. Only it was no recipe such as Willadene had expected—rather a series of irregular lines which followed no pattern at all with a dot or cross here and there to vary the general disorder. Perhaps it was some code which Halwice would be able to decipher—though it meant nothing to her apprentice.

She searched quickly in one of the pockets of her bag and brought out a small square of soft, fine gauze. The find allowed itself to be folded and refolded. Wrapped in this, she bestowed it for safekeeping within her bodice, where it lay soft between her breasts. So they had made one find—and that not expected—but still they had not searched the whole of the room. Ssssaaa appeared to be of the same mind, as her black-furred length now looped up the dais of the huge bed and was running across the covers, tunneling under the cloths laid to protect the fine fabric from the workmen.

Willadene climbed up also, aware of where her companion in the search was by the movement of the cloth. Ssssaaa had headed toward the tall head of the bed, and now the mound which marked her body was in the center of one of the pillows stacked there.

The girl threw aside the cover and faced those sharp eyes. They swung from her to the pillow and back again. Pillows were often repositories for herbal remedies, as she well knew—stuffed with plants which might give uninterrupted sleep, or surcease from headache or tooth pain. She bent and sniffed the pillow Ssssaaa had indicated.

Yes, more than soft feathers stuffed this. And the herb she could locate was surely an odd one to find here and now.

It was not, as she knew it, a noxious or dangerous substance. In fact, a very carefully distilled liquid drawn from it could be given to fretful and feverish children to good purpose. Only, she was certain the High Lady had never asked for such from Halwice, or she herself would have been so advised.

Willadene brought the pillow into the open and inspected it closely. Beneath its finely embroidered cover it was plainly stuffed with feathers near as soft as down. It took her only a moment to find that one edge had been recently whipped together. With her belt knife she cut enough of those lately added stitches to be able to work her hand into the soft lump, but Ssssaaa was before her and the black head emerged, several small feathers rakishly adorning the slender muzzle, with a small packet in her mouth.

Willadene reached swiftly for a belt pouch and brought out her sewing box, stitching closed again that opening before she examined the packet. It would never do to be caught in the middle of Mahart’s bed taking her pillows to pieces.

She took up that small, soft roll so uncovered. It was about the size and shape of her forefinger. The material of its making was common white linen but that had been patterned with faint tracing as if from a pen denied a full carriage of ink. Yet, as she weighed it in her hand and drew several breaths to identify its contents, she could find nothing of the faint nastiness which she had been sure she would scent. Pure herbs only. Still this was for Halwice’s judgment, not hers. One thing she did know, though her talent and Ssssaaa had picked up no evil here, she did not intend to leave her own bag of remedies in the wardrobe—to perhaps be tainted. How easy it would be to introduce some one of half a dozen ingredients—and Halwice undoubtedly knew more than a dozen or so more—into a cream already seen and accepted by the High Lady. There
were things which would sear the skin, or worse—cause even death!

Ssssaaa had left the bed in one of those arching leaps, one long enough to deposit her coil of body on the still-covered bench of the dressing table. She burrowed under the second wide cloth which had been draped there to completely cover the mirror and the counter below that. Willadene swung from the bed to follow and dared to pull away the covering.

There was an array of splendid bottles and jars, all fashioned as if to further display the treasured scents within. She recognized having seen the equivalent of several in the shop. In fact, it was most of those which had come to a crushed end under the boots of the intruders. The special rose bottle was not there. In a place of prominence, where such might have stood, was a flagon fashioned in the form of tight-bundled ferns.

Fern fragrance arose from it. That was aspen from the north forests, worth far more than its weight in gold pieces were its principal ingredient to be measured in some delicate set of scales. As far as Willadene was aware, Halwice had not had any of that for almost a season—since the territory from which it came was today insolently patrolled by outlaws. Perhaps now that Prince Lorien had put down the Wolf they might be given a chance to secure such a rarity again.

She carefully lifted the small bottle. It was stopper full and by the power of her nose, fresh. Turning it slowly around, the girl hunted for some identifying mark. There it was, staring at her boldly—the cipher of the High Lady Saylana. A birthday gift? Doubtless, but a very costly one & indeed and one Mahart had not seen fit to open yet. Willadene set the bottle back in the same place from which she had taken it.

Ssssaaa reared, lifting nose toward the bottle. When she hissed Willadene stared at it again. It had only the appearance of a precious and beautiful treasure; she could scent
nothing about it save the fern odor. Now she was truly disturbed. She had come to believe so strongly in her talent that perhaps she had become overconfident. This might be a puzzle only such as Halwice could unravel.