Singer from the Sea (16 page)

He left quietly, taking care not to be seen by whomever the shouter had been.

“What did you find? What’s on your mind?” whispered the clerk from the near end of a side aisle as Aufors passed down the corridor toward the door.

“Nothing much,” he replied softly, taking care to sound bored. “Mostly the Lord Paramount’s relatives.”

“What we’d expect,” said the clerk. “If you come again, be sure you talk to me, Jeorfy. Jeorfy Bottoms. Nobody else. And please, don’t tell anyone where you got the information or I’ll end up … well, worse off.”

Aufors made a solemn promise, expressed his thanks, and went out into the air.

The palace walls at Havenor ran around the edge of a leveled hill, but at one point outside the walls an original stone outcropping had been left untouched to continue upward in a narrow pillar. Some former architect had topped it with an observation deck and furnished it with a stair for those inclined to look at the view or the stars or simply to be alone with their thoughts. Aufors had climbed to this
aerie several times in the past and did so again today, finding himself the only sightseer. He leaned across the railing into the brisk wind that was blowing from the southeast.

Dark clouds massed low on the horizon. If he were farther south, he would see the limitless range of the ocean, wandered by billowy petticoats of cloud, brushed by blue brooms of storm, as though the Mother of Worlds swept the seas. Whenever Aufors felt overcome by beauty or joy, he thought of the Mother of Worlds, Queen of the Skies, a deity peculiar to the rural areas of Wantresse.

There were a number of religions on Haven, the largest one being that of the nobility, the One True Church of the Divine Author of the Covenant. The Divine Author was invoked during weddings, dedications, jubilees, and the covenanting of noble girls at puberty. The Divine Author was anthropomorphic, inexpressibly regal, and He dwelt in heaven, which He had created and maintained as an ecstatic home to which all covenantly men were welcomed after death. There they would be served by angels, allowing their wives, daughters, and other female relatives a well-deserved rest in a separate heaven of their own (as the commentaries on the covenants made clear) where they could flutter on bright wings among the celestial flowers.

The creation and maintenance of heaven were the Divine Author’s only duties, so far as Aufors could tell. Seemingly, the nobility didn’t want a god who interferred in their lives. They needed no other scripture than the covenants and the commentaries. If they worshipped anything, they worshipped the covenants their own ancestors had written, though, so it was taught, the writing was done by divine inspiration. The members of the Tribunal, the Covenanters, served as clergy; and the Invigilator enforced compliance on those the scrutators found nonconforming. It was a very neat, contained system.

The Frangians, on the other hand, worshipped the Whatever, by eschewing toil of any kind. Toil was seen as an offense against the generosity of Whatever, though there were a few Frangians, the Mariners’ Guild, who did toil on ships. They were tolerated by their brethren for it was assumed the ships would be needed to transport all purified
Frangians to heaven, which they called Galul and identified as being near the south planetary pole. Since all Frangians were sterilized at puberty—to avoid the toil of parenthood—they would have died out long ago were it not for the converts from elsewhere, who flowed constantly into the province in defiance of the Lord Para-mount’s edicts.

Though the Covenanters and the Whatevers had the largest numbers of adherents, nothing in the covenants required commoners to give up the religions of their forebears, and there were dozens of beliefs current among them. Aufors had never been particularly interested in religion, certainly not enough to seek spiritual help from it, not even from the Mother of Worlds. Whatever was done for Genevieve, he told himself, it would have to be done without divine intervention, which meant he must do it himself, though he judged himself to be barely capable of it.

Less than a month before he had prided himself on his self-control, now he found himself becoming frantic at the idea of Genevieve being betrothed. It didn’t matter whether it was to Yugh Delganor or to any other of the old men whose names he had just learned. Despite his concern, he was not so out of control as to forget that a frantic man is a careless man, a lesson every soldier learns soon or dies wishing he had learned sooner.

All these concerns were simmering in his mind, like so much consomme, as yet unjelled, when he returned to his quarters to find a message from the lady in question: Could he help her find a dressmaker?

Aufors sat upon his bed and laughed until tears ran from his eyes. He had planned on rank and privilege and an honorable retirement; he had struggled with the idea of seeking divine intercession; he had determined to assure Genevieve’s salvation; what he would actually do, for the love of heaven, was find a dressmaker!

An hour or so later he was at her door, ready to provide whatever help he could. She did not disappoint him in her response to his service.

“Aufors, this is beneath your notice, and I would not ask except that I have no confidante here in Havenor.
While I got on well with the Duchess Alicia, it’s not the sort of thing I want to ask a completely new acquaintance. You’re the one I know best—”

He stopped her apologies with an upheld hand. “Genevieve, say no more about it. On my way here, I stopped at the home of one of my colleagues who has a pretty and well-dressed wife. Both of them are gregarious people who go about socially, so she knows what is needed. She gave me three names.” He handed her a card on which he had noted them down in a firm hand. “She says the first woman is totally trustworthy, though without much imagination. The last one is inclined to imagine rather more than she might wish, and she counsels a firm hand. She says in general the first woman does less with more, while the other two do more with less. The second name on that list dresses the Lady Charmante, consort of Prince Thumsort.”

Genevieve surprised herself by giggling. “The … lady was very strikingly dressed at our dinner. If you had not told me what you told me, I’d never have known. Oh, Aufors, thank you. Father feels our first effort was so well received he must do another as soon as may be, and after that, who knows? A whole string of dinners, probably.” She sighed, looking down at her hands in her lap. “If Prince Thumsort comes again, I must learn more about fish and batfly fever! And, oh, I almost forgot, I have been invited to a concert by Duke Edoard. What does one wear to concerts here in Havenor?”

“I’ll find out,” he murmured, examining her lowered face closely, though it gave very little away. She did not seem cheered at the thought of concerts or new dresses, which won his sympathies as he himself preferred less frippery in both men’s and women’s clothing. Her hands were tightly clenched, as though they fought for control. He decided to pry, just a little.

“I heard your father say that the Lord Paramount envisions some duty for you at court. Have you any idea what that might be?”

Her hands twisted and she shook her head. “No, I don’t. And when he mentioned querying what the Lord Paramount might have in mind, I begged him to let the matter
alone until we know better what we’re doing here. Della thought it wisest, also. You know, I sometimes think Della knows more that’s going on than I do.”

He chuckled. “She probably does. Certain subjects seem to be taboo among the courtiers, either that or they’re talking in a code I don’t understand, but the servants speak as they like, especially when they are in their own quarters where no one bothers them, or even notices them. In the army, it’s the same with the enlisted men. Most officers don’t listen to their talk. I do, because I was one of them, and knowledge picked up in the lat—ah, parade ground is better than ignorance fostered in the drawing room. If Della trusts you, perhaps she will tell you what she hears.”

They fell silent for a moment, each much occupied in looking at the other. In the space between them, the air wavered before Genevieve’s eyes, like rippled water, then cleared to display a city, squat and earth-colored against a bloody sky. A huge voice sang in the silence, but she could not understand the words. She looked down at her hands, and they were red with blood. Blackness swept around her.

He reached out to her, too late, for she had slumped to the floor all at once, limply and without a sound.

“All right, Jenny, what is this?” he growled, falling to his knees beside her, putting one arm beneath her Shoulder* to lift her.

She opened her eyes and stared wonderingly into his face as he held her close, her head lying against his shoulder.

“Tell me,” he urged, his voice shaking. “You’ve done this twice. Once at the dinner, then again today. Are you not well? What is this?” He shook her, as he might shake a child, gently, almost pleadingly.

“I saw …” she murmured, only half aware of his presence. “I saw a city made of earth, with earthen walls. I heard a voice sing loudly, like a great trumpet blowing. My hands had blood on them …”

He picked her up and placed her in a large chair away from the window, keeping his arm around her, thrilling to the touch of her as he had when they had danced together,
having the same trouble hiding it now as then. “And the other night?”

She shook her head wonderingly. “I was watching a shipwreck. There were people struggling in the water …”

He breathed deeply and stepped away. “And are these the first such visions? No, I can see it in your face. They are not. There have been others?”

“Yes, Aufors.” She lowered her face, as though shamed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he cried. “You should have told me. You might have needed … needed someone.”

“I had someone. Mrs. Blessingham, at school. She always … tended to things. Once she found out my visions really …”

“Really what?”

“… really happened.”

“You’re a seeress?” He doubted seeresses, but he did not doubt this woman. So. She was a seeress?

“Shhh, Aufors. Father will hear you.”

“He doesn’t know?”

“Of course not. He’d be furious. He doesn’t even like to talk about such things. Mother … Mother knew. She was like me. According to the Duchess, Alicia, so was her mother and her daughter. We’re related, she says. Several generations back.”

“Tell me what you’ve seen that came true?” he demanded, sounding impatient, even to himself, but so eager to help her that he needed to know immediately, without delay!

She sighed. “Oh, Aufors, many different things. Little things, mostly. A cat hiding her kittens in the hen house. A neighbor losing a chicken coop in a spring flood. Once I saw the roof blowing off the kitchen at school, and that same winter it did. Mostly they’re just feelings of things that will go awry, choices that are mistaken …”

“And your own future?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything about my own future, at least, nothing that I know of.”

“Except you will be on the deck of a ship …”

“No. I think that already happened. Long ago. And the
one just now, if I’m in it. I guess I am in it, for I saw my own hands. That’s the only one that includes myself.”

He sat down, pulling his chair close to hers. “It would be dangerous for you to get yourself involved in the court, Jenny. Somehow we’ve got to keep you out of that!”

“We can’t.” She smiled, rather wearily. “I thought there might be some way I could stay away, but there isn’t. Father needs me here—this first dinner party made that very obvious, Aufors. He’d have been in a dreadful mess without me. Besides, the Lord Paramount asked me to be here.”

“You need someone, surely.” He rose, striding to and fro, agitatedly. “The Duchess of Merdune, perhaps she could be …”

“You’re thinking she might help me? Well, perhaps. She said she would call on me, and since we really are kinswomen, she may actually do so.”

“Your father asked me to take an apartment here, in the house. So far, for various reasons, I’ve delayed, but I could be here tomorrow if it would help you …”

“If it would help me?” she asked. “Of course it would help me, but you shouldn’t do it for that reason.”

“Genevieve …” he cried, the word breaking from him uncontrollably, all his feelings in his face. “For what other reason would I?”

He reached for her hand, ready to go on, but she gasped, as though breathing hurt her. Her eyes filled as she held up her hand, palm out, forbidding him.

“It
would
help me, provided you understand … we must stop this familiarity of ours. I know I asked you to call me Genevieve or even Jenny, but I’m afraid it’s likely to be … misunderstood. Father has already … misunderstood it. From now on, you must be Colonel Leys to me, and I must be My Lady to you, and you must not say whatever you just started to say. It is not fair to you, I know, and it is no more fair to me.”

“You have a right to be happy!”

She shook her head, her lips trembling. “I am a daughter of the covenant, Colonel Leys. The covenant allows us our youth, but that is about all it allows us. I
was
happy, at school. I didn’t realize until I came here how happy I
was there. I knew my way, there, and who my friends were. I had my niche and was comfortable in it. I didn’t ask to be brought here, and the people here are strangers … no, not merely strangers but strange! As though … as though they are not made of the same stuff that you are. As though all their words are paint. Do you understand?”

“Paint?” He frowned. “You mean, painting over, covering up, hiding something.”

“Yes. Covering up something. Exactly. As though they all know a secret. Or some of them do, and the others pretend to. I don’t know what it is, but it distresses me. Della says I’m merely tired out, and perhaps she’s right, but I cannot … cannot deal with anything
complicated
just now. Not until I’ve watched this play, and caught onto it, and learned what the plot is, you see? If I don’t know how it’s going, I might get dragged into it. If I were once to be caught in it … oh, maybe I could never go back to being what I am.”