The Last Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (13 page)

“Oh selkies, please accept our offering and leave us in peace!” Taidgh called out, holding the bowl of fish out towards the seals.

As long as he could remember, there had been a score or more of the creatures sharing the beach with his family. They had never had any problems with them but this was no time to take chances. Now was the time to give them what little they had.

But the seals ran from them, splashing away and jumping into the water.

“We mean you no harm! We are your friends!” Taidgh called.

His wife, children, brothers and his family were not making any noise and Taidgh turned to tell them to make their own pleas to the selkies – only to see strange creatures emerging from the sea. Already Dervla and the others had been taken.

“But we were offering you tribute!” Taidgh protested, as they closed in on him. They did not listen.

Ita ran through the streets, breath sawing harshly in her throat. A quick glance over her shoulder showed her they were still after her. And she could not see any way of escape.

She ran through an alley and pounded on a closed door. “Open up, let me in, for pity’s sake!” she cried.

But the door remained shut and, before she could turn to run again, hands grabbed her roughly.

“Let me go, I have done nothing,” she pleaded.

Next moment someone punched her in the stomach, doubling her over, then hands hauled her upright by the hair, making her sob in pain.

“You’re going to get what’s coming to you, witch!” someone howled.

“I’m not a witch!”

“That’s what they all say! Burn her!” someone shrieked.

“I’m not a witch – I only came here yesterday!” Ita pleaded but they were in no mood to listen.

“Tie her hands and then we’ll light the fire before she has a chance to fly away,” someone ordered.

“No, please, I beg of you. Take me to a church, I pray to Aroaril every day –”

“Lying witch!” someone bellowed and a fist smashed into her face so she hung helpless in the angry hands that hauled at her. She could feel herself being dragged along the street.

“What is going on here?” a man asked fiercely.

Ita blinked open tear-filled eyes to see a patrol of the King’s guard standing there, a sergeant with sword in his hand asking the question. Desperate hope rose up in her and she pulled away from the hands that grasped at her. “I was going about my business when these people started calling me a witch and chased me and hit me,” she cried.

“Is this true?” the sergeant asked the crowd accusingly.

“Nobody has ever seen her before and she was caught offering food to a child,” someone said truculently.

“I arrived here yesterday from Londegal. I have coin and I am looking for work. The child looked hungry, so I offered it a piece of bread, that is all. Next thing, I am being called witch,” Ita said angrily.

The sergeant looked around at the crowd. “Arrived from the countryside with coin, and offering to share food with street children? Sounds like a witch to me!”

The crowd howled their agreement and Ita was seized by a dozen pair of hands.

“Take her down to the East Gate – we have stakes and wood already set up. Burn the witch!” the sergeant roared. “We shall make the streets of Berry safe again!”

“Wait!” Ita screamed. “Don’t I get a trial? Where is the King’s justice in Berry?”

The crowd hissed at her words but the sergeant waved them down.

“She is right. She can have a trial. The test for witches is simple. We throw you in the harbor with chains around your legs. If you can float, you are a witch and must burn. If you sink and drown, then we know you were not a witch.”

“But I will still be dead!” Ita cried. “There must be some other way.”

“There is.” The sergeant nodded. “We throw you off the roof of a building with a rope around your foot. If you can fly down safely then you are a witch and we pull you back with the rope and burn you to death. If you fall and die then we know you were not a witch.”

“Those are not tests, they are a death sentence. You might as well burn me now!” Ita exclaimed.

The sergeant’s face brightened. “You heard her, lads! She wants to be burned! Must be a witch – take her away!”

Keegan eased his way over the rocks.

“Like taking milk from a baby,” he gloated to his companions. “Look at this stuff!”

The three of them admired the piles of goods. There were pieces of silver, strips of fine cloth, carvings and all sorts of unusual stones and items.

“Leave the rubbish but get all the silver you can,” Keegan ordered.

His companions brought out sacks but the younger, Fitz, hesitated.

“But Keegan, aren’t these supposed to be offerings for the selkies? Won’t they be angry with us?”

“Idiot!” Keegan snorted. “There is no such thing as selkies. And if fools want to leave out money for the seals then they don’t deserve it. We do.”

It was dark on the rocks and they dared not use torches. Keegan still worked swiftly, by touch alone, keeping anything that felt like metal and discarding the wood. He felt like he should offer up a prayer of thanks for the selkies. Without this stupid tale, he would not be enjoying this good fortune.

A noise behind made him turn angrily, but he saw that it was not Fitz. And the creatures almost upon him were not seals.

“I’m sorry!” he cried, dropping the sack. “We won’t do it again!”

He did not have the chance to say another word.

“They know what we are doing. There has to be a traitor. There is no other possibility,” Fallon said in disgust.

He, Devlin, Gallagher, Brendan, Padraig and Sister Rosaleen has returned from another fruitless night at a local farm. The number of volunteers had, strangely enough, risen the longer the trap went ignored. Word had got around that it was silver for nothing. Given most of the fishermen and farmers in Baltimore would struggle to earn a whole silver in a week, the chance to have one for a night sleeping out in a beast shed had the men begging for the chance to go along. In fact it was actually seen as the safest place to be, because while Fallon and the others returned, night after night without the slightest hint of finding anything, those farmers who had refused to shelter in Baltimore and instead stay in their homes were going missing instead.

“It cannot be anyone in the village. I would be able to tell if they were in league with Zorva,” Rosaleen declared.

“But they don’t have to be working for Zorva. They could be passing on which farm is next on Fallon’s list to someone else who is,” Gallagher said.

“Then it could be anyone,” Fallon said grumpily. “And we’ll probably never know. It might not even be someone here. I gave a copy of the list to Hagen, before he and the Duchess headed off to Berry. Maybe someone got hold of that in Lunster.”

“So what do we do?” Padraig asked. “As happy as I am to keep taking the silver, we’re not any closer to finding out who is behind all this.”

“Don’t tell me you have a conscience,” Devlin said.

“You’d be surprised what I keep under this robe,” Padraig said loftily.

“Horrified, more like it,” Devlin said.

“Why don’t we leave the farms and take a boat out instead? No single boat is going out of sight of land, nor daring to fish at night down the coast, so their pickings must be slim indeed,” Gallagher offered.

“The only problem there is we can’t get enough men onto a boat. If they have got ships out there, which seems the most likely thing, we’re just turning ourselves into easy prey,” Fallon said regretfully.

“Between Gall’s long shanks and Brendan’s backside, we’d hardly fit anyone else in a boat,” Devlin said cheerfully.

“Maybe we could send Devlin out there as bait,” Brendan rumbled.

“One problem. Not even a selkie would want him,” Rosaleen said.

Devlin gasped with mock-horror. “When even the Sister is making jokes about me, what hope have I got?”

Fallon sighed. “We need to do something unexpected. We’ll have tonight off and then I’ll pick a farm at random tomorrow night. Even I won’t know which one to choose. That way we’ll tell for sure if it’s a traitor or they’re using magic or something to watch us.”

Brendan stretched. “To sleep in my own bed again – can’t wait.”

Fallon clapped him on the shoulder. “Well done, all of you. Get some rest.”

He walked back up to his house, feeling tired deep in his bones and aching all over. Time was he could spend a few nights out sleeping cold to catch some poachers and run around the village afterwards. Now his lower back was aching from sitting on hard wooden chairs and his eyes felt full of sand.

“Thank Aroaril you’re back safely!” Bridgit hugged him as soon as she saw him. “Come sit down and have something to eat.”

Fallon kicked off his boots and watched her fuss around with the fire, then Kerrin exploded in through the door and grabbed him around the middle, followed an instant later by Caley, who danced around them both, barking.

“Do you have to go out again tonight, Dad?” Kerrin asked wistfully, while Caley wouldn’t leave him alone until he patted her.

“No, not until tomorrow night. I’m all yours until then,” he promised.

“Can we teach Caley some tricks then? She’s so smart, I know she’ll be good at them!”

Fallon grinned. “Why not? I’m sure your mam has her disciplined but she’s a sheep dog, so she needs training. Let me have something to eat and then we’ll work on it.”

“Just one trick now?” Kerrin pleaded.

Fallon smiled and ruffled his son’s hair. “Just one then. Get me a treat for her.”

Kerrin instantly produced a stick of dried beef from his pouch, which explained why the dog had been so close to him. Fallon broke off a tiny piece and held it high over Caley’s nose, until she naturally sat down to watch it, eyes begging and tongue lolling.

“Sit!” Fallon said loudly, then gave her the treat. “That way she thinks she’ll get a reward every time she does something right.”

“Like me?” Kerrin asked.

“Ah, now the truth is coming out!” Fallon laughed, looking over towards Bridgit. “Let’s see what else she knows.” He held a scrap of beef close to the ground. “Down!”

Instantly Caley went down, nose between her paws.

“She’s had some training before. Dermot must have taught her some things. You need to try some words out on her and reward her if they work,” Fallon suggested.

“It works on your father, so I’m sure it’d work on a dog,” Bridgit said with a laugh.

Fallon raised his eyebrows at Kerrin. “I still can’t get the hang of going outside to have a piss though,” he said.

Kerrin giggled as Bridgit walked over with a sigh. “And you always take it one step too far,” she said with a smile.

She slipped a bowl of stew in front of him, which seemed to be mainly potatoes and cabbage.

“Don’t feel like cooking meat again, eh?” Fallon asked with a wink.

“Oh I’d cook it but there’s not much of it around. All the vanished farmers’ livestock went too, and there’s hardly a fish being caught, either,” Bridgit said, sitting down with him. “There’s going to be many a family going hungry this winter if it goes on much longer.”

Fallon stopped stirring his stew in a fruitless search for some meat. “There’s a nasty thought,” he said.

“It may not be all the bad news. A rider came late yesterday with this. It has a strange seal on it.” She slid a scroll across the table to him.

Fallon put down his spoon and inspected the wax seal, a horse with a crown underneath its hooves. “Looks like the seal of the Crown Prince,” he said slowly. “The King’s seal would have the crown above the horse’s head.”

“How do you know, Dad?” Kerrin pushed in close, and Fallon felt a wet nose nuzzle his leg.

“Well, I’m only guessing. But I know what the King’s flag looks like.” He used the end of the spoon to break the seal and opened it up. He read swiftly and then surged to his feet. “Crown Prince Cavan, the King’s Wizard and the Archbishop of Gaelland are coming here to inspect the Duke’s ship,” he said, his aches and pains and hunger forgotten. “It says they’ll be here by noon tomorrow. Which means noon today. Which means bloody soon!”

“What do we need to do?” Bridgit asked instantly.

“Let everyone know. This is our chance to get the help we need for Lunster.”

“And then can we play with Caley afterwards?” Kerrin asked hopefully.

Cavan had been delighted to get out of Berry. For a start he had returned from being yelled at by his father to find his rooms wrecked and most of the furniture broken. Obviously Swane had sent his guards to exact revenge. That was bad enough but they had also taken all the notes they’d made from talking with the parents of the missing children. Not that there was anything particularly helpful in those, but Cavan had the uneasy feeling his brother would use them to do something unpleasant to the families.

Captain Kelty’s search of Swane’s rooms had revealed nothing suspicious, with the hidden door merely leading to a storeroom. Cavan had made sure Eamon was part of the search team, so he knew it had been done properly. And Swane had sworn his loyalty to Aroaril in front of the bristling Archbishop Kynan. Cavan had been reluctantly forced to agree with his father that this meant they had no evidence about Swane. It made him even more determined to find some.

And the streets were filled with angry mobs, hunting for witches. Four “witches” had been burned alive at the stake on the day he left, although he hoped by now word was spreading and most women were hiding indoors or only venturing onto the streets with people they knew.

Yet it had been a long ride from Berry and he was now heartily sick of the road. Or, more accurately, he was sick of Finbar and Kynan.

The King’s Wizard was a lean and fit-looking man with a shaven head and face. He was a little over forty summers and had been part of the court for nearly five of those. Unlike most people, he was not afraid of King Aidan’s rages – perhaps because they were never directed at him. The King had the power of life and death over Gaelland but magic was something else entirely.

Cavan had always been wary around magic. It was rare and mysterious. Less than one in a hundred people were able to use it and far fewer than that had the sort of skill and strength that Finbar possessed. It was also a power that was restricted to the rich, for only they could pay for it. The big Guilds all had wizards in their employ, to ensure fair sailing for their ships, or protection for their various ventures, while almost every noble also had one at his castle, just to demonstrate they had the money to hire one. The people of the county could beg their lord for use of the wizard to help them but only those who had demonstrated extraordinary loyalty had such requests granted – and they were then seen as being deeply in debt to their lord.

If ordinary people wanted to hire one, they needed to scrape together as much gold as they earned in a year.

Occasionally a magician would offer to use their powers for the people, or merely for food. Cavan found it interesting that most of these were women, rather than men. Still, such practitioners were swiftly visited by some of their richer brethren and had the facts of life explained to them. They almost always then started charging a proper rate or found themselves dead – the victims of magic’s strange and terrible vagaries.

Wizards usually liked to show off both their status and the money the power earned them by wearing glossy robes and tall hats, both in bright colors. Finbar, perhaps because he was the richest of his breed, wore simpler outfits, although none could doubt the quality of the golden rings he wore on both hands, or the chunky golden chain around his neck. He looked like a rich noble, or perhaps the head of one of the smaller Guilds, rather than the most powerful wizard in the land.

Kynan, on the other hand, looked more like a wizard than a priest. He had long grey hair and an enormous grey beard, which was dwarfed by his hooked nose. Once his blue eyes had been piercing but now they were more watery. He wore flowing golden robes and carried a long silver staff, although that was used to help prop him up most of the time – and never for anything magical.

The pair of them had been unpleasant from the start.

“You don’t need to give us any instructions, highness,” Finbar told him. “King Aidan has already told us what needs to be done.”

“He has told you how important this is?” Cavan pressed.

“If your father has already told us, you need hardly reinforce it, highness,” Kynan said angrily.

They had complained endlessly about the food, the weather, the beds and anything else they could think of. It had made it a long quarter-moon down from Berry to Lunster and now they had picked up the Duchess of Lunster and some of her guards for the last leg down to see the mysterious ghost ship.

“What is Baltimore like, my lady?” Cavan asked as he stretched in the saddle. The road from Berry had been wide and paved but past Lunster it had turned into hard-pressed earth and, in places, just mud. Deep ruts left by wagons had filled with rainwater and the going slowed as they had to skirt around flocks of sheep being driven to market, or old wagons pulled by oxen dragging barrels of fish or mounds of vegetables from farms to towns. Everywhere they went, men and women jumped down and bowed deeply as they rode past, taking off their hats at the sight of the flags. If they didn’t, of course, Eamon and the guards made sure they did.

At first Cavan had been unsure of the Duchess Dina, who had been dressed in fine Kottermani silks and wearing powders and lip stains, which was a little unusual for someone whose husband had vanished. Cavan had only met her a few times before, despite Kinnard being a distant relative. But she went out of her way to make them comfortable and had swiftly turned into a welcome ally against the complaints of Kynan and Finbar.

“I’ve never been to Baltimore,” Duchess Dina admitted. “My dear husband tried to visit every village once or twice a year, both to see how they were doing and to remind them not to cheat him too much on their taxes.”

“They dare to cheat the crown?” Archbishop Kynan growled.

Cavan sighed. The Archbishop had ridden in sullen silence for most of the trip but, regularly, someone would say something that would provoke a fiery sermon from his saddle.

“Cheating the King is the same as cheating Aroaril! No wonder this area is being punished for its wickedness!”

“I doubt there is a man alive in Gaelland who does not try to squirrel a little away from my father’s taxes. And I cannot blame them,” Cavan said loudly.

“Well, I can, and I will tell them so,” Kynan declared.

Cavan glanced over at Dina, who smiled back and then pretended to be an angry Archbishop, wagging her finger at ungrateful peasants.

Cavan fought to hide his smile. The way the Duchess had seen through Kynan’s pomposity and Finbar’s arrogance and frequently made little jokes at their expense – jokes they never saw – was a welcome relief.

“Did you say something, my lady?” Kynan asked.

“Not at all, my dear Archbishop. I was just telling myself we should have had you down here years ago. A few sermons from you might have persuaded our people to change their ways.”

Kynan sat back, satisfied, and she waggled her eyebrows at Cavan, who had to smother a snigger.

The road ran along the coast, past several farms, although rather than the busy, prosperous places the plump green countryside seemed able to support, these were deserted.

“Why are there no people?” Cavan asked.

“Some of them might have been raided. Or they have moved to the nearest village for safety, highness,” Hagen replied.