The Crown of Dalemark (6 page)

The confusion cleared up surprisingly quickly. Mitt was almost alone in the yard, wondering what on earth to do now, when Navis put a hand on his shoulder.

“Come to my room,” he said. “Tell me your news there.”

Funny, Mitt thought, staring slightly downward into Navis's cool, clear-cut face. I don't remember him being that small. Maybe I grew. “I would if I could walk,” he said.

Navis smiled a little. “It's not far. But I can't carry you.”

He turned and led the way. Mitt hobbled after him, protesting, “I do know how to ride! It's just that I never did it for a whole day before!” They went through the hall, big enough, but a dark little place compared with the one at Aberath, and up a shallow flight of steps. Navis had a comfortable paneled room beyond, as good as one of Alk's. Typical, Mitt thought, looking round. He must be well in with Lord Stair. “How did you know I got news?”

“Hush a moment,” Navis said. Two servingmen came into the room. They were grinning rather and carrying a large bowl of something sour and strong. They dumped it where Navis pointed and then hung about, lingeringly, as if there was some joke. “Thank you,” Navis said, “but we'd like to be private now.”

“What is this?” Mitt said suspiciously as the men left, still grinning.

“Vinegar,” said Navis. “Take your leathers off and sit in it. Go on. It works.”

Slowly, with misgivings, Mitt did as Navis said. He sat. Yelled. Tried to get out again and found himself held down by Navis's unexpectedly strong hand. Vinegar spilled on the rugs, and Mitt went on yelling, even though he was sure the two men were standing outside the door loving every shriek. “Flaming Ammet!” he roared. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“No,” said Navis, and he went on holding Mitt down until Mitt's yells had given way to gasps and then to miserable panting. Then he let go and went to the half-open door. “That will be all,” he said, and closed the door.

Mitt heard footsteps retreating. “Can I get out now?”

“The longer you stay in, the sooner you'll be able to ride again,” Navis said. “Tell me your news to take your mind off it.” It was on the tip of Mitt's tongue to tell Navis he was as bad as Earl Keril, but he did not say it because he suddenly realized it was true. Navis, in his way, could be quite as ruthless as Keril. Earls' blood will out! Mitt thought. He was wondering if he was going to be able to tell Navis anything after all when Navis added, “They wouldn't have let you leave Aberath without very good reason, I'm sure.” Very strong bitterness came through his coolness.

He feels just as caught as I do! Mitt thought. “Well, before I start, do you know where Hildy is?”

“In Gardale,” said Navis. “Though, from the one letter she deigned to send, I wondered if she wasn't in the moon.”

“I got one of those,” Mitt said. “Total gibberish. And Ynen? You have any idea where Ynen is?”

“No,” said Navis. There was a cold little silence before Navis said, “No. No one has bothered to tell me that. Is that why they let you see me? To bring me a threat?”

“That may be part of it,” Mitt said. “They must have reckoned I'd tell you. Navis, they want me to kill that girl Noreth. And I tell you I rode most of the way here with her and she's no madder than what I am!”

“Sit still,” said Navis. “You'll get vinegar everywhere.” He drew up a chair and sat facing Mitt in his bowl. “Tell me this carefully.
Who
wants you to?”

“The Countess and Earl Keril,” said Mitt. “Talk about your past catching up with you! They found out all about me.”

“Keril,” said Navis. “Keril. Then, Mitt, you are not the only one whose past has caught up with him. I once risked a good deal to send a message to Keril to warn him that his sons were prisoners in Holand. He must have taken it as a threat. What did he say?”

Mitt sat in his bowl and told Navis everything, including his ride with Noreth. The only thing he left out was the way he had thought the Aden was a mighty river. He was not sure he believed that himself now. He found he felt a little tearful as he talked, not for obvious reasons but because Navis was listening and not treating him as the scum of the earth.

“That statue,” Navis said. “You were a little overgenerous there. Can you persuade her to give you your half?”

“Chop it in two? Why?” said Mitt.

“Because if it
is
solid gold,” said Navis, “neither of us need depend on the charity of earls. We could leave tonight. Mitt, I don't like this at all. You hear a great deal about Noreth here in Adenmouth. She is much loved. If anything happened to her, there would be an outcry all down the coast dales as far as Kinghaven. You are an obvious Southerner. Yet they send you after her in full Aberath livery. What are they playing at? Everyone will know Aberath had a hand in it, however villainous they say you are.”

“I'm not doing it,” said Mitt. “I can't. That's final. But what do we do?”

“We leave,” said Navis, “as soon as I think of an excuse, with your share of the gold if possible. We look for Ynen and we cut short Hildrida's education and we hope we can get to them before Keril finds out.” He sighed. “Then we all go into hiding again. Meanwhile, keep sitting. You have to be able to ride.”

Mitt sat for another hour. During that time the big paneled room darkened, and drops of rain patterned on the tall window. Lady Eltruda's voice was heard bawling for Navis to see about awnings over the yard. Navis hurried away. He came back only to be called away to see about candles. By the time he was back from that, the clouds had passed and red-gold sunlight was slanting into the room. Lady Eltruda bawled that it was going to be fine after all, and Navis hurried off to have the awnings rolled away. Mitt saw why Navis seemed so well in with Lord Stair. People welcomed a little Southern efficiency round here. He grinned as he watched Navis come back and dress for the feast, with the same efficiency, in a ruffled shirt and blue-green Adenmouth livery. You wouldn't think, to look at him, that Navis must have been dressed by a valet all his life until these last months.

“You can get out now and wash,” Navis said.

Mitt did so. He was not sore anymore, not even tender. In fact, he was as smooth and leathery as his own buff and gold Aberath livery. “You pickled me!” he said.

“That was the idea,” said Navis.

They went out into the hall, which was full of cooking scents and people standing about waiting for Lord Stair to arrive and start the feast. The big doors were open, blowing in a chilly wind. A lot of noise came from the yard, where everyone else in Adenmouth was gathered at the tables drinking beer until the food arrived. Mitt stood, a little lost among all these strangers.

“Oh,
there
you are, Mitt!” said Rith's voice.

Mitt turned and found himself facing an elegant lady. He was utterly dismayed. The only thing that was the same about her was the longish, freckled face with its eager, cheerful look. But that was surrounded by clouds of fair, frizzy hair, done in a most fashionable style, and she had on a slender dress of gray-blue that hung in sheeny folds round a thoroughly female figure. Mitt could see now she was a lot older than he was—eighteen or twenty at least—and that was enough to make him feel a fool. But the thing that dismayed him most was the fact that Noreth was alive, utterly alive, and warm, and a person.

“Come on!” said Noreth. “Where's your tongue?”

“Er,” said Mitt. “Your ladyship—”

“I told you,” she said, “to call me Rith.”

“Yes,” said Mitt, “but … what were you doing, letting on you were a boy?”

“I always travel like that,” Noreth said. “It's far quicker and safer than a carriage, and I don't need to bother to take a guard. My cousin lends me the livery. And I can use the weapons, too. You learn to, during grittling. But listen—” To Mitt's consternation, Noreth reached out and took hold of both his hands. Her hands were strong and warm, but so small they made Mitt's feel like great cold paws. “I'm very nervous,” she said. She was. Mitt could feel her hands trembling. “There's something I have to do. Do you know how it feels to do something that means your life will never be the same again?”

“Don't I just!” Mitt said. He sensed that Navis had come up behind him and was watching Noreth coolly. That reminded him that he had to ask for his share in the statue, but he was too confused to know how to put it.

“I had a feeling you did,” said Noreth. “Listen, could you—” There was a bustle up on the dais. Someone was calling for lamps to be lighted. Noreth looked round. “Oh, here comes my uncle,” she said. “Drunk as usual. I must go. If you could just bear witness about that statue when the time comes?”

“Sure,” said Mitt, “but—”

Noreth let go of him and hurried away. Everyone was surging toward the long tables to sit down. Navis beckoned Mitt to a place beside him, just below the important table on the dais. Mitt found there were advantages to being sent to Adenmouth after all. At Aberath he would have been waiting at the tables with the other boys. Here he was a guest, and he could sit and let boys wait on him. He settled down to enjoy himself. The food was good, though Mitt found he did not much care for the traditional Midsummer sausage. Like so much of the food in the North, it seemed to be mostly oatmeal. But there was venison and pork and chicken and beef as well, oyster patties and plum-and-mutton pies, strawberries, raspberries with syllabub, and sweet soda bread. Ale and spirits were passed round the whole time. The sound of voices became a cheerful roar that almost drowned the even greater din from the yard outside. Mitt ate hugely and became very friendly with the hearthmen at his table. There were a great many jokes about vinegar.

Lord Stair was indeed drunk. It was impossible not to notice. He was a large, sallow man, and he sat sprawling in his chair, eating very little and shouting for more drink. Every so often he complained loudly about the food. Nobody took much notice. If people needed to have orders about anything, they asked Lady Eltruda. It looked as if Lady Eltruda, short and fat and loud as she was, had the same power here that the Countess had in Aberath.

“Indeed she does,” Navis told Mitt. “I owe my position here to Eltruda. I imagine Noreth does, too.”

Lady Eltruda was obviously very fond of Noreth. She kept smiling at her proudly.

The feast drew to a close in sweet cream cheeses and sugared fruit, which Mitt was too full to touch. Lord Stair began to get impatient. His voice roared something about “those idle flaming Singers!” and there were terrific clatterings and scrapings from the yard, where the tables were being moved aside. Hestefan got up from a table near the end of the hall and went to stand in the great doorway. With him, to Mitt's surprise, came Fenna and Moril.

Navis frowned. “I don't think that girl should be here. Nor the boy. They both look ill to me. But I suppose they have to earn their keep.”

His voice was nearly drowned in cheering and clapping. Nobody else cared two hoots how the Singers felt, for there was going to be dancing. Tables were pushed aside in the hall, too. Hestefan slung a narrow drum round his neck, looked to see if Fenna was ready on the portable organ and that Moril had tuned his cwidder, and struck up a strenuous jig. Outside and inside, everyone grabbed a partner and danced.

The dancing went on and on. Mitt at first leaned against a table, feeling a little out of things and watching Navis being whirled about by Lady Eltruda. But at the next tune he was grabbed by a young lady in scarlet ribbons, and from then on he danced with the rest. The hall whirled around him, hot and riotous. He kept catching glimpses of Navis dancing with Lady Eltruda, which bothered him slightly, since Lord Stair simply sprawled in a chair and went on drinking. But once or twice he saw Navis dancing with Noreth, in a very courtly way. Mitt would not have dared dance with Noreth himself. He knew absolutely none of the dances. The young ladies squealed with laughter and pushed him into the right places, and he kept going wrong. Every time his desperate, ignorant caperings got him into a real mess, he seemed to catch the eye of Moril, tirelessly playing his cwidder in the doorway, and there was malicious amusement in Moril's look. It began to annoy Mitt.

It took Mitt unawares when the Singers suddenly changed to a slow, haunting tune and everyone stopped dancing. For a moment Mitt was the only one capering. Moril grinned. “What's this tune, then?” Mitt gasped.