The White Spell (8 page)

“That doesn't reassure me about your character, you know.”

“I didn't imagine it would.” He set his mug on the table. “You are a wise woman, Léirsinn of Sàraichte, and you should follow your instincts and stay very far away from me.”

“Unless I'm off to a pub at dusk.”

“Well, I might come in handy then.” He smiled briefly. “Shall we turn for our luxurious accommodations?”

She nodded, though she had to admit that for the first time in as long as she could remember, she wasn't particularly keen to return to the barn. It wasn't that she didn't love the horses there.

It was that she loathed her uncle.

There, she had said it. Not said it, but actually thought the words with a clarity that she had never dared use before. She looked at Acair to find him studying her closely.

“He's a bastard,” he said mildly.

“Who?”

“The one you're thinking of.”

“Cards
and
the reading of thoughts?” she said lightly. “What next?”

“The heavens weep over the thought, I'm sure.” He rose and picked up his cloak, but said nothing else.

She understood. There was nothing to say.

She walked out into the night, flinched a bit at the chill, then took a deep breath and put her foot to—

Nothing, actually, because Acair pulled her aside. He did it so casually, she might not have noticed if she hadn't been the one being pulled. She looked at him in surprise, then watched him point to a spot where she had almost put her foot.

A shadow was there.

She looked at him quickly, but he only lifted one eyebrow briefly, then walked with her away from the pub. It took her several minutes to be able to speak and even then she suspected that nothing useful would come out of her mouth.

“I think I'm losing my wits,” she said finally.

“I would suspect that comes from all the time you have no doubt spent over the years sneaking whiffs of very strong horse liniment, nothing more.”

She would have agreed with him, but she found she couldn't say anything else. All she could do was put one foot in front of the other and continue on to a place where she wasn't sure she could live much longer. She had to get her grandfather out of the manor house and herself out of Sàraichte before something dire happened to them both.

Acair fell silent, which she appreciated. Her head was spinning not only thanks to a decent meal, but also from plans she could only dream of putting into motion. It was a testament to how fixated she was on the thought that she didn't realize how close they were to the barn until she was standing inside it.

She looked up at Acair. “We're here.”

He nodded. “And so we are,” he said quietly. “Keep a weather eye out.”

She had to take a careful breath. “You too. Thank you for supper.”

“My pleasure.” He smiled briefly. “Got work to do.”

“Me too.”

She watched him go, then took hold of herself and walked off
to see to her own work. She was fortunate, she supposed, that she had been doing it for so long that she didn't need to remind herself of what to do next. That was the only thing, she was sure, that saved her from standing there, wringing her hands.

She put her hand over a charm she wore constantly under her shirt, something she'd been given by someone who firmly believed there were unseen forces at work in the world, forces that could be counted on for aid. Léirsinn could only hope that was the case because if anyone needed help beyond the norm, it was her. There was mischief afoot in Sàraichte and she wanted no part of it.

Unfortunately, she had the distinct feeling she wasn't going to escape it.

A
cair stood outside the stables, leaning against a bit of stone fence, and wondered just what in the hell he was thinking. He could hardly believe he'd been up before the sun so many days in a row without having spent entirety of the night before making mischief, but that seemed to be his lot in life of late.

Do-gooding was, he had to admit, exhausting.

But so was mucking out stalls, which was why he had greeted with such joy the tidings he'd had not a quarter hour ago that he had a day of liberty to look forward to. If he used that day of liberty to skulk about satisfying his curiosity, who could blame him? He was less than a fortnight into his sentence and already he was desperate for something interesting to do.

Ah, and there went something interesting, just as he'd suspected.

He pushed off from the wall and followed the lady of the barn at a respectable distance. Now, that one there was a mystery. He could scarce believe she could control the sorts of equine brutes she faced, yet she'd been completely bested by the thought of his buying her supper. She wasn't afraid to give a lad a right proper ticking off, but she had no weapon to encourage the same lad to take her seriously.

And she saw shadows where there were none.

That was the strangest thing of all. He had honestly thought her
daft as a duck when he'd followed her on his last foray to the local pub, but when she'd pulled him aside, he'd seen what she had been avoiding and couldn't deny that there was something quite untoward about it. There were shadows, of course, and then there were
shadows
. What he had seen had been a less of a shadow than a hint of magic. Watching a lad step into its embrace, pause as if he'd had his will to move briefly stolen from him, then carry on as if nothing had happened to him . . . 'twas passing odd, that.

He paused, but that was only because he'd just realized that Léirsinn had stopped, turned, and was currently glaring at him. He examined her for implements of death, then shook his head. As he'd told her a few nights ago, she was going to have to learn to protect herself. He was frankly quite surprised she had reached her current age without having had something dire happen to her.

He might have suggested a thing or two she could do to make herself a bit more terrifying, but he wasn't entirely sure how one went about teaching a mere mortal how to defend herself. The women he knew saw to that sort of thing thanks to garrisons with sharp swords or their own sweet selves with complements of terrible spells. Léirsinn only had a glare and it wasn't even a very good glare.

He caught her up, then stopped a pace or two away and inclined his head. “Mistress Léirsinn.”

“What are you doing?” she asked shortly.

“I understand I've been released from the delights of shoveling horse leavings for the day.”

“And you thought to follow me?”

He shrugged. “I was going your way.”

“Which is why you were waiting for me earlier?”

She had a point there, but he wasn't sure how to admit to that without admitting to more than he wanted to. The truth was, he'd had a fairly pointed conversation with Doghail the night before during which they'd discussed a few things about the lady in question, namely her propensity to simply trot off into the fray without
thinking about her safety. He suspected that was why he'd been set free for the day.

The other problem, though, was that he was terrible at small talk. He usually conducted his business with a rakish smile and a quick and dirty spell. Also, he wasn't sure how one went about talking to a horse miss. Stable lass. He hardly knew what to call her and he suspected that referring to her as Fuadain's niece wasn't going to get him anywhere—not that he wanted to get anywhere with her. The woman needed a keeper and that keeper was not going to be him.

He supposed that begged the question of why he was following her, but that wasn't a question he wanted to answer at the moment.

“I was resting,” he said, nodding back toward the barn. “Very comfortable wall there.”

She snorted. “Resting is generally best done in a bed and, without being too blunt, let me say that I don't require company at present.”

“But I'm such good company,” he said. “Plus, I'll buy you luncheon.”

“Do you have coin left over from the other night?”

“Enough for one meal. We'll share.”

She frowned at him, then walked away. He caught up to her easily and walked with her. He couldn't deny that there were strange things afoot in Sàraichte, but given that the place found itself in the most tedious country he'd ever seen save Shettlestoune, perhaps the inhabitants were desperate enough for something to do that they had to invent trouble.

Léirsinn stopped suddenly and put out her hand. He would have protested, but he had also caught sight of that thing lying there so innocently on the ground. He started to lean over to study it a bit more closely, but was interrupted by an angry shout.

“Oy, out of the way!”

Acair would have told the man to go to hell, but he supposed Léirsinn would pay for that in some way. He instead simply moved with her off the path as a groom came toward them, leading a horse
that Acair could see was not terribly fine. The man stepped on the spot, paused, then shook himself and moved on.

The horse, however, looked down at the spot, hesitated, then stepped over it without touching it. Acair watched the groom and the horse continue on their way, then glanced at his companion.

“That was interesting,” he said carefully.

She looked at him. “You see them too.”

“Aye.”

“What are they, I wonder?” she asked, looking profoundly uncomfortable. “They seem . . . evil.”

He studied the pool of nothing that lay there in front of them but found it surprisingly difficult to identify anything about it that might have pointed to its creator.

That was odd in itself.

“Not that you would know anything about evil,” she added.

He made a non-committal noise. If there was one thing he knew very well, it was evil.

“And it isn't as if it could be something, you know,
magical
.” She laughed, but she didn't sound at all amused. She sounded completely unnerved.

Acair smiled brightly. “Why would it be?” Indeed, for all he knew, the local wizardling had more time than good taste and had decided that he would have a bit of sport at the local populace's expense.

It was odd, though, how when a man stepped in that little patch of nothing, he seemed unable to move, even for the briefest of moments.

“I have to go,” Léirsinn said suddenly, walking away. “Important things to do.”

Acair caught up and continued on with her, watching her whilst trying to look as if he weren't staring at her to determine just how unnerved she truly was. “What sorts of things?”

“I need to talk to someone in town.”

“Your local wizard?” he asked politely. “A little witch keeping
a shop down a side street in a tattier part of town? A less visible purveyor of charms and potions?”

She shot him a look. “I don't believe in any of that sort of rot. I will allow that the woman I'm off to see looks a bit more, ah,
supernatural
than most in the market, but I think she's been selling fish for quite some time. I'm sure the two are connected somehow.”

He wasn't going to argue with her. In his vast experience with things of a nasty bent, he had learned it was better not to poke a hornet's nest unless one was prepared to have it vomit out its contents all over the lad with the stick. Besides, if he had any sort of virtue besides honesty, it was the ability to be patient. He would do a bit of snooping about untoward things, keep his eyes and ears open, and with any luck at all he might have a mystery to keep himself awake for a fortnight or two.

The journey to town seemed rather less tedious than it had when he'd made it by himself going the other direction and they arrived at the market just as things were beginning to look lively. One thing he could say for the inhabitants of the port of Sàraichte, they were early risers. He walked across cobblestones that were slick partly from the dew but mostly from the ubiquitous wooden boxes full of freshly caught fish that were being carried to at least two dozen fishmongers.

“Wait here a minute,” Léirsinn said, looking at him seriously. “I have business to conduct privately, then you may come.”

He would have told her that he never wriggled his nose into places where it didn't belong, but that was his stock in trade. Then again, he was turning over a new leaf. That he was giving her privacy might be counted as a good deed if one looked at it in the right way.

So he clasped his hands behind his back and remained where he was as Léirsinn approached an ample, white-haired woman with a voice like a ship's captain, pulled coins of her purse, and handed them over.

He considered, then shrugged. Perhaps Léirsinn trusted that
woman to keep her funds safe. He generally kept his treasures far away from where he slept, so he understood the compulsion. Léirsinn then had a brief but obviously earnest conversation with the woman. Whatever was said didn't seem to satisfy her, which was no doubt why she was frowning when she beckoned to him.

He approached, then stopped behind Léirsinn's choice of someone who looked a bit more supernatural than most—

And he suddenly understood why.

“What are
you
doing here?” the woman asked, sounding thoroughly annoyed.

Well, that was his damned aunt and he was wishing he had somewhere at present to hide from her, that's what he was doing there. Actually, she wasn't his aunt, she was his great-aunt on his mother's side and there was a very good reason Léirsinn had considered her to have a bit of a supernatural sheen to her. Whilst his mother's sisters were off doing good, something for which they were endlessly mocked, that one there was knee-deep in the family business.

Damn. What to do now?

“Léirsinn, my love, take these coins and run off to fetch me a pint of ale, would you? I can tell already it's going to be a
very
trying morning. I'll put your lad there to work. It looks as if he could stand to do a bit of laboring with his hands.”

Léirsinn nodded, then looked at him pointedly. “Don't discuss anything important while I'm away.”

“I'm sure I'll spend the time shoveling fish guts,” Acair said. “A nice change, actually.”

Léirsinn nodded then walked off, looking a time or two over her shoulder. Acair smiled encouragingly until she was gone, then he turned and looked at Léirsinn's, for lack of a better word, banker.

“Auntie.”

“Don't you
Auntie
me, you miserable little wretch,” Cailleach of Ceal said with a snort. “I know you and your ways. You've likely come to try to appropriate a bit of my magic.”

“Wouldn't think of it,” Acair said, “and that isn't simply because of my recent quite dire and terrible straits.”

Cailleach looked behind him, then made a sound of satisfaction. “Ah, what a lovely little spell you have following you there. What's its purpose?”

“I believe its task is to slay me if I use any magic.”

Cailleach looked at him for a moment or two in silence, then she threw back her head and guffawed loudly enough to send a flock of something feathered flapping off in terror.

“Oh,” she gasped, reaching out and grasping his forearm in a grip that brought tears to his eyes, “that is rich. Let me see if I can guess who is behind it. Not Nicholas of Diarmailt—”

“I think he might be dead,” Acair hedged.

“You know he isn't.” She wiped her eyes with her apron and chuckled a bit more. “He was at your half-sister Mhorghain's wedding not a pair of years ago. I understand you didn't get an invitation, which I suspect wasn't an oversight.” She was momentarily distracted by tossing a fish at a woman and expertly catching a coin in return. She pocketed it smoothly, then looked at him. “Your father, I understand, is indisposed at the moment, which leaves me with a substantially reduced list of souls who would either care enough or have the power to send such a thing off to vex you.” She considered, then looked at him from shrewd bluish-green eyes that were mirrors of his own. “That little prince from Cothromaiche is responsible, isn't he?”

Acair was utterly unsurprised that Soilléir would be the one she would settle upon. Would that she would settle something a bit more substantial on the man, say perhaps a man-sized boulder. “Aye,” he admitted crossly, “damn him to hell.”

She laughed again, then sat herself down on a stool. “Have a seat on the shorter, less comfortable stool, little one, and tell Auntie all your troubles. But first, why are you keeping company with that lovely piece of goodness I just sent off?”

Acair sat down next to his great-aunt and accepted a sip of something from a flask she produced from under her table of wares. He gasped, then blinked until his eyes stopped watering.