The Waters Rising (48 page)

“Some of it may be found,” said Precious Wind. “Let’s not worry about that just now.”

The abbot had tears in his eyes. He bowed his head. “I will say nothing. I will say nothing. You have my word.”

Precious Wind retreated to the library with Wordswell. “Keep an eye on him,” she said. “His kindness may kill us all.”

“Not if we can get him moving on something to distract him; not if we can wind it up quickly.”

“The men who came with us from Woldsgard move in the same circles as the men who were sent after me. They’re all horsemen, workingmen; they drink beer, they talk, things are said that our men from Woldsgard can hear and remember.” She was quiet for a moment, thinking. “The prior believes if the abbot dies, he, the prior, will succeed to the abbacy without any trouble at all. I must leave it to you to see that particular thing does not happen. I understand you will need to speak with dozens of people. Do it as quickly as possible.”

“We have already begun—the abbot and I—to sort out some of the more . . . apparent problems such as our troop movements. Other meetings are scheduled. What are you going to do with the message the abbot gave you?”

“See that it reaches the prior and that he thinks he has seen it first. To do that, I will need to talk to your birdman.”

Together they went to the bird loft. Precious Wind gave Abasio’s misleading message to Solo Winger, who scanned it rapidly.

“Yeah. So? I sor it when it come and I guv it to abbot.”

“We’d like you to pretend it just came today. Let the prior see it.”

He fixed them with clever eyes. “So tha’s the way of it, hah? That chap with the wagon, he’s puttin’ down a smell trail.”

“In the wrong direction,” said Precious Wind. “If you don’t mind misleading the prior.”

“Oh, tha’s one clever, clever fellow I woun’t mind misleadin’ right over a cliff. You know the abbey armor is comin’ back from Netherfields?”

“I didn’t know,” Precious Wind said.

“Abbot sent a bird. Came up here hisself to do it. Armor’s t’come home. Says there’s not enuff food an’ stuff for them at Netherfields.”

“I should have told you,” said Wordswell apologetically. “Even though we didn’t have what the abbot considered to be conclusive proof, he and I have been doing what we can to sort out the worst of the mess. We’d heard from Woldsgard that the troops from Ghastain have gone on to Kamfels and that Hallad, Prince Orez, occupies Woldsgard, so the abbot recalled our men from Netherfields. He told them to go back to the southlands where the brigands are.”

Winger nodded. “S’right. Abbot sent ’em south. They go by Altamont, Lake o’ Clouds, then east, back where they started. Most of ’em. Abbot left a few there in Netherfields jus’ in case any armor comes back that way from Kamfels.”

Precious Wind managed to keep her face placid. Too many people were going south. Abasio and Xulai were no doubt headed that way. Bear was headed that way. Now the army of the abbey, and did anyone know whether the commandant of that army was part of the prior’s plans? Well, there were many ways of laying a false trail!

Precious Wind lingered outside the dining hall when her dinner bell rang. The prior was also fed during the first night meal. She managed to be in front of him, to look up and see him, to let a smile light up her face as she greeted him. He was not as well schooled. Just for an instant he looked terribly surprised, even dismayed.

“Elder Brother, I’m so glad to see you. I know you were interested in our embassy’s analysis of the situation here.” She shook her head. “They’re very concerned. They’ve told me if there’s no immediate message here from Xulai herself, I’m to go on to Merhaven. Before I leave, I want to tell you about our people from Woldsgard. The two women and the men, except for Bear, who left earlier, may take advantage of your hospitality for a time. The duke told me he had already made recompense to the abbey for their care. Once I have gone, however, all the Tingawan presence will vanish, and you can quit worrying about the diplomatic consequences. I know you’ve been concerned.”

By this time the prior was in command of his face and able to offer her an expression of polite concern. “Oh, indeed. Concerned, of course, certainly. There will be no problem about the people from Woldsgard. I’m told one of the women has found an aunt here, one of our cooks. She has offered to work for us if we have work for her. The elderly woman is welcome to stay, of course, and the men will be useful.”

Precious Wind had no doubt of it. Black Mike, Pecky Peavine, Bartelmy, and the brothers Farrier were going to be very useful. If anyone could find out who among the abbey’s men were confederates of the prior, those five could. Meantime, she needed to take a few hours’ rest and have a little talk with Oldwife and Nettie Lean. But before that, there was one item of unfinished business.

She went out the little gate at moonrise, giving the guard her word she would return within the hour. She was carrying a sack of scraps she had begged from the kitchen, saying she was baiting traps. She walked out into the night, across the grasslands, down into a hollow. She put her hands around her mouth and howled.

They came out of the forest, all of them, and behind the pack a few loners, strangers to her, who sat to one side, not daring to come closer. Sons of the alpha wolf that he had chased away. Two females. The nucleus of another, related pack. She emptied the big sack for the pack and let them sniff her again, memorizing her smell. With the pack leader, she laid her hand, very briefly, upon his shoulders, then walked away to the place where the loners sat. The smaller sack would do for them. Just meat scraps, bread with meat juices on it, cheese that may have gone a bit moldy, nothing that would hurt them and more food than they found on some nights by themselves. Pig was good, but both boars and sows had tusks and were very good fighters. Deer and wild cattle would feed a pack for days, but they were swift or horned or both, and not easily come by. Rabbits were quick, shifty, and had very little meat on them. Smaller critters were hardly worth the trouble unless they could be caught by dozens. The loners sniffed her as well. The pack leader came to get her and walked beside her as she went away. She knew they had made an agreement. They would follow her south. She would hunt food for them. If needed, they would hunt men for her.

O
ne of Alicia’s servants told her an army was approaching on the road that went through Altamont to the Lake of the Clouds. Alicia called for her horse, her guards, and went to meet it. The commandant rode forward and bowed graciously. “My lady, we ask your pardon for this intrusion. We will not trespass on your property except to use the road so far as the Lake of the Clouds.”

She pretended surprise. “Why, where are you coming from, Colonel . . .”

“Colonel Sallis, ma’am. We were told our people at Netherfields might be in some danger and rode to their relief, but it is we who were relieved.” He smiled, an honest smile. “Netherfields is in the care of the abbey, as you probably know. I am told by the people there that on the duke’s death, it will pass into our care in perpetuity. They have long known of this in Netherfields and at the abbey, but it is recent knowledge for me and those who sent me. We have left a small contingent there to cope with any incursions, and Hallad, Prince Orez, has pledged his help. So, we are returning to our camps east of here. There are brigands enough there to keep us busy.”

“Then I wish you a quick journey, Colonel.” She managed a smile that felt adequate, turned her horse, and went back the way she had come at some speed. The colonel, left in the dust behind her, frowned. The smile had not reached her eyes. Something he had said had surprised her. Or offended her, perhaps. And what could that have been? He had been as gracious as it was possible to be.

The troops, four abreast, passed the short road that led upward to the hill where the Old Dark House loomed. Its towers peered at them from above the trees, and the colonel very suddenly decided that they would go as far as possible before camping for the night. Strangely enough, there was no griping among the men, who seemed as eager as he was to put the Old Dark House behind them. He later learned many of them had heard stories from those at Netherfields, stories that explained very clearly why Justinian had thought it wise to leave his home.

Behind them, Alicia spent the daylight hours considering what she might do with this knowledge. If Mirami had known of it, she wouldn’t have asked the prior to send men to Netherfields, because Mirami owned the prior, the prior would soon become the abbot, the abbot would control the abbey, and Netherfields would soon be the property of the abbey! All this was part of Mirami’s plan. The question remained, why hadn’t the prior told them this? Was it possible he had not known? If the documents had been negotiated at the abbey some years ago, the current prior might not have been involved. Suppose he didn’t know?

Well, he should know. She, Alicia, would tell him. Tell him and tell her mother, both at the same time. She made her way to the bird lofts, humming under her breath. Surely there was something happening here she could use to her advantage. Pity about Jenger. She would have liked to talk it over with him.

S
olo Winger received a message from the Old Dark House. He knew exactly which pigeons he had sent where, so he knew exactly where each one was coming from. When he took it from the message tube, he saw that it was sealed and the prior’s name was written on the outside. He smiled, unsealed it, read it, then danced a little jig around the loft. It was early evening. He would have to wait a while. The best time to reach either the librarian or the Tingy-away woman would be late evening. The prior usually retired to his own suite early in the evening, shortly after the dinner hour. He had the habit of drinking wine then. The servants said he was a long, loud sleeper, full of snores, snorts, and heaving about. The women who made his bed said he tore it apart in his sleep, every night. They wondered if he had bad dreams.

Solo Winger did not speculate about the dreams. He thought it likely the prior had no conscience that bothered him enough to have bad dreams. More likely he had dreams of glory. More likely his thrashing was his arms flung out demanding that this one or that one be beheaded. Ha.

When the last of the diners left the hall, when darkness fell, when peace descended on the abbey, he went to the library and gave the note to Wordswell. Though unsigned, it was obviously from the Duchess of Altamont.

“I am told by Colonel Sallis that Netherfields becomes the property of the abbey on the death of Justinian. Since you can be the abbot very soon, perhaps it is time to ensure your election. Send now the material I have previously asked for.”

“What does she mean ‘material’?” Wordswell asked.

“That woman, the Tingy-away woman . . .”

“The Tingawan woman, Precious Wind.”

“Her. Yeah. We need her to tell us.”

Wordswell and his crony crept through silent corridors, stepping into dark doorways when necessary, finally knocking on Precious Wind’s door. Nettie Lean had moved into Oldwife Gancer’s room, to care for her, and Precious Wind had a room to herself.

“What does she mean by ‘material’?” Wordswell asked when she had read Alicia’s message.

She nodded. This was verification of the long supposed. “She means something taken from the abbot’s body. Fingernail clippings. Hair pulled by the roots. A vial of spit. Even, I think, something from his seat of comfort.”

Wordswell’s face showed his disgust. “She can use this to . . . what?”

“Kill him,” she replied. “Oh, don’t make a face, old bookworm. You’ve read of such things, I’m sure of it.”

“In the olden days. In the Before Time . . .”

“ ’At’s where the she-devil’s from, some old afore time,” grunted the loft keeper.

“Well, she can do it now, if she has the machines to do it with. Which she has.”

“What are we to do?” asked the librarian

“Who barbers the prior? Who shaves him?”

“His manservant.”

“And when his manservant is . . . ill?”

“He would use the abbot’s manservant. At least, he has in the past. So do I. The abbot has shared a servant with me for many years. He thinks it foolish to have a man sit idle just in case the abbot should want a cup of tea.”

“Ah.” That was no help. “I doubt the prior would use someone else to go sneaking about in the abbot’s quarters. He would want to do it himself.”

Solo Winger snorted. “Prob’ly. Likes to keep ’is ’and in, does prior.”

“Then we must let him. How reliable is the servant you share with the abbot?”

“We trust him with a blade at our throats every day.”

“Do you trust him to keep a secret?”

“I have heard that a secret can be kept between two people only when one of them is dead.”

“That has always been my strongly held conviction.” Precious Wind stared into the distance. Still no help. “Well, are the abbot’s quarters locked when he is not there?”

“None of us have locked doors.”

“So much for that, then. Could you find some reason that the abbot’s quarters should be cleaned? I mean cleaned of every hair, every particle of dust, every spider’s web in every corner? Rugs beaten into submission. Walls swept. New mattresses. Floors waxed. Linens changed.”

“If the abbot went away for a little while, yes. That’s usually when the cleaning people choose to do what you describe. The abbot has not been away for over a year, so it’s probably time his quarters were cleaned.”