The Wicked Day (25 page)

“I must be getting old,” he said to himself.

“What was that?” said the ghost suspiciously from inside the knapsack.

“Shh.”

The mansions of Highneck Rise rose around them as the road wound higher through the city toward the castle towering against the sky. The night was clear and cold, and a full moon painted the edges of the castle towers with its light, creating in brushstrokes of luminance a skeletal construction of darkness and light. Here and there, the rectangles of windows spilled even brighter light out into the night. But beyond the castle, the shadows lay full and dark. Jute shivered. The last time he had been here, he had been running away. Running away through the darkness, hurrying to keep up with the lady. Levoreth Callas. The guardian of the earth.

Grooms appeared in the castle courtyard, silently and swiftly materializing from the shadows to take their reins. A page, nose high in the air, scurried down the steps and hurried over to Owain Gawinn’s side to bow several times, bobbing his head like a bird, before trotting back up the steps and disappearing. Somewhere nearby, a fountain was flowing. Jute could hear the murmur of its water.

It was warm and quiet in the great hall. A fire burned in an enormous hearth at the far end of the hall. Its flicker illumined the sweep of stairs rising up on either side of the hearth, wide enough for five men to easily walk side by side. Jute remembered those stairs. They led up to the ballroom. He had come down the stairs at a tremendous pace. He remembered the shocked faces. The screams. The sceadu stalking across the polished expanse of the ballroom floor.

“Bit different this time,” said Declan, as if he had read Jute’s mind. He winked at the boy with something akin to sympathy on his face.

A steward floated silently across the floor toward them, bowed disdainfully to Owain, appeared to possibly notice Declan and Jute, and raised one eyebrow at the hawk perched on Jute’s shoulder.

“The Lord Captain of the Guard and, er, associates,” said the steward. He smoothed one hand down an impeccable suit of satin. “Always a pleasure for the regent. Always a pleasure, but he is not disposed to receive anyone at this hour. In the morning, my lord. That would be better. Perhaps sometime after eleven? After lunch would be even better.”

“We’ll see him now,” said Owain, “or I’ll wring your neck.”

“Very good, my lord,” said the steward, bowing again. “Shall I inform his grace that you will see him in the morning?”

“Your neck. Do you hear? I’ll snap it like a twig.”

“Very well, my lord.” The steward managed to look both alarmed and honored at the prospect of being strangled by the Lord Captain of the Guard. “Perhaps we might just. . .”

“Immediately.”

“Very good, my lord. If you would please leave your weapons here. . .” He snapped his fingers and several pages scurried over, their hands already reaching out to receive.

“We’ll do no such thing,” growled Owain. “Now, lead on at once and shut your mouth, or I’ll box your ears.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Jute found all of his old urges awakening as they were led through the castle. His fingers twitched and his nose wiggled. There were so many lovely things. Shiny pretty things, whispered a voice inside his mind that sounded suspiciously like the wind. Gold and silver candelabra sprouting tapers of beeswax candles tipped with flame, rows of paintings with frames encrusted with gems hanging along every corridor they walked down (surely just one painting would not be missed), tapestries heavy with gold thread and pearls worked in like shining little eyes. He glanced through an open door to see an immense room lined with shelf after shelf full of books, a sight that made him lick his lips. A book in good condition brought a tremendous price at the dealers on Smara Street.

Stop that
, said the hawk inside his mind.

Stop what?

You’re not a thief anymore. You are the anbeorun Windan. The guardian of the wind. Be yourself.

Fine for you to say
, said Jute.
You still haven’t taught me how to fly. I’m more likely to fall flat on my face than soar. Who’s going to be impressed with that? Some guardian I am.

The steward led them down hallways that opened into anterooms and observatories and miniature gardens vaulted over with glass that revealed the night studded with stars. They walked down yet more halls, each more gorgeous and magnificent than the last, until Jute, who prided himself on maintaining an excellent sense of direction while investigating strange houses, was thoroughly lost. Doors opened into yet more halls and waiting rooms; they trudged up a flight of stairs and stepped carefully through a gallery wet with soap and water and cluttered with drudges industriously scrubbing on their hands and knees.

“Do you even know where the regent is?” said Owain. “Are you lost? Is this your first day on the job?”

“Very good, my lord,” said the steward, keeping a wary eye on the captain and increasing his speed just enough to keep him out of range. “Almost there, my lord.”

A marble hall opened before them. Their footsteps whispered on the polished stone. They came to a final door and the steward opened it with a deep bow. Multicolored lights glimmered from candles set behind sconces of stained glass. Tucked out of sight in an alcove, a trio of musicians wove music that gently filled the room. A pair of glass doors opened out onto a balcony. White roses climbed the pillars of the balcony and then fell back down in abandon. On the balcony, faces turned toward them from around a table, blurred in the moonlight.

A short fat man stood up and hurried to Owain’s side.

“Gawinn, always a pleasure to see you,” he said, trying to smile but only succeeding in looking as if he had a stomachache. “But what are you doing here? This isn’t the best time.”

The man’s gaze settled on Declan and Jute. His mouth fell open.

“I don’t care what time it is, Dreccan Gor,” said Owain. “I’m not in the best of moods. We need to speak to Botrell now. Now, do you hear me?”

“Yes,” said Gor, still staring at Jute.

“Gawinn, my dear fellow,” called a voice from the table. “Lovely to have you drop in like this, but why don’t you run along now? There’s a good man.”

Owain pushed past the fat man and strode to the table, motioning Declan and Jute to follow him. Candles lit an array of wine bottles, glasses, and plates piled with fruits and cheeses, all crowded across a white silk tablecloth. There were several people sitting around the table, but only one of them commanded attention. The regent. Nimman Botrell. He sprawled gracelessly in his chair. His face was slack and his mouth wet with wine, but his eyes were sharp and attentive. They flickered over to Jute and Declan. His eyes widened for a split second—Jute did not notice, for he was looking hungrily at the cheese—and then his face smoothed, became bland.

“My Lord Captain of the Guard,” drawled the regent. “Must you forever be plaguing me? No, you needn’t say a word. I’m sure you’ve come to ask for more money. That’s it, isn’t it? Always money. So tiresome. Isn’t there more to life, I ask you, such as this splendid little red from Thule? I’d offer you some, Gawinn, but it’d be wasted on your untutored palate. Soldier, don’t you know.” This last comment was made to the others sitting around the table. They tittered politely.

“My lord,” said Owain through gritted teeth, “I wouldn’t dare intrude on your precious time unless I thought it of vital importance to the safety of our city. This is such a time.”

“Doubtlessly. Such a bore, I’m sure.” The regent yawned. “Impending doom, a tidal wave, some sort of dreary plague decimating the commoners. They can all wait until the morning. Now, who are these, er, guests of yours?” He sat up a bit straighter and peered at them. “Shadows above. That’s a hawk. Didn’t notice at first. Tame, eh? Quite a big fellow.”

“They’re the reason why I’m here. Allow me to introduce Declan Farrow.” Here, Declan stepped forward and bowed. “The hawk, of course. He can talk. And this is Jute.” Jute stepped forward as well and made an awkward bow in imitation of Declan.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” said the regent. “I had a talking magpie when I was a youngster. It said things like ‘cake’ and ‘die.’ Farrow, Farrow—that name means something. Just can’t bring it to mind.”

“Horses, my lord,” said one of the other people at the table.

“Oh, yes. Horses. Are you one of those Farrows?”

“A long time ago, my lord,” said Declan.

The hawk’s voice whispered in Jute’s mind.

Careful. Something is not what it seems here. This regent fellow bears a ward that is more than just a ward. It guards him, yet it examines everything around him. More than examine. I think it seeks to intrude on your thoughts.

Even as the hawk spoke, Jute became aware of a gentle pressure on the edge of his mind. It was as soft as a feather, drifting in and out of his awareness. The regent’s eyes settled on him and the pressure increased. Jute pushed back in his mind, hard, and the regent dropped his wineglass. It broke in a spatter of glass on the marble floor of the balcony.

“Shadow take it!” said the regent.

“Another glass, my lord,” said one of the ladies at the table, but the regent waved it away.

“What was it you were saying, Gawinn?” he said. “Get to the point, man. You’ve already ruined my evening, but you needn’t ruin it much longer.”

“Hearne is under threat of attack, my lord. An army is massing in the east. Beyond the Morn Mountains. I want you to invoke the writ of sovereignty so that I can demand the mobilization of the duchies, from Harlech to Harth, so that Hearne might be defended, and with it, all of Tormay.”

The regent stared at him for a moment, astonished. Then he let out a bray of laughter. “For a moment I thought you said an army. Beyond the Morns. The only place beyond the Morns is the duchy of Mizra. Fine fellow, the duke of Mizra. He has manners, don’t you know. Just had him here to visit. Good taste in horses. Excellent clothing, too.”

“I did say beyond the Morns, my lord. Yes, the duchy of Mizra.” Owain ground his teeth together and then unclenched his jaw, forcing himself to continue. “Hearne will be attacked by Mizra once the spring thaw sets in. A matter of weeks, at most. I need the writ of sovereignty.”

“Bosh, man! Absurd. Nonsense. On what do you base these ridiculous claims?”

“The words of these two.”

“And they are experts, scholars, renowned for their wisdom?” The regent yawned. “More wine! Give me a fresh glass. Ah, yes. Thank you, my dear. You’re too kind.”

“This boy is the wind guardian, my lord. The stillpoint of the wind.”

“The wind guardian? Isn’t that some kind of silly bedtime story for children?”

But he believes.
The hawk’s voice was puzzled in Jute’s mind.
He believes what Owain Gawinn says. I can feel it on the edge of his thoughts. Careful, now. A strange game is afoot here and I do not see how it will play out.

“He speaks the truth, my lord,” said Jute.

Those around the table examined him with interest. Just on the edge of his sight, he saw that the fat man was shifting from foot to foot. Sweat gleamed on his bald head.

“Oh?” The regent leaned back in his chair and took a sip of wine. He smacked his lips. “Now, boy, who exactly are you again? Right, of course, you claim to be the guardian of the wind. That’s what he said, Gor, is it not?”

“Yes, my lord,” said the short fat man. “Perhaps he, er. . .”

“Perhaps he might be the guardian as he claims? Is that what you are saying, Gor? You hear? My own chief counselor, my sage advisor, thinks you might be the wind guardian. Who am I to gainsay him? I’m merely the regent and. . .” Here, he stared down into his empty wine glass and frowned. “. . . And I’ve drunk a lot of wine this evening. Quite a lot.”

“But not enough, my lord,” said someone at the table, leaning forward with a bottle.

“Thank you. Not enough. Never enough. Yes, well, it’s not every day we have the guardian of the wind in our castle. Rare day, indeed. A historic day for Hearne. I suppose it’s incumbent upon us to extend our hospitality. To you and this, this Farrow fellow. And your pet hawk too, don’t worry.” The regent focused blearily on the hawk and raised his glass. “Always been fond of birds of prey. Devotee of the hunt, that’s me. Go on and say something, my dear bird. Something, anything? No? But you must understand, Gawinn, I can’t commit to this idea, this idea of our young friend being the wind guardian, without a little interview on the part of the court wizard. Merely a formality. Check credentials, you know. First thing in the morning. I’m sure he’s sound asleep at the moment. Wouldn’t want to bother him. First thing in the morning, however. No writ of sovereignty until then.”

“My lord,” said Owain, grinding his teeth together, “while I appreciate your startling kindness to my guests, I think it vital that—”

“No writ until then,” repeated the regent, wagging one finger.

He only plays at being drunk
, said the hawk in Jute’s mind.
There is more going on here than we can see. Do not trust this man.

“Find you a nice room to sleep in, my dear boy,” said the regent. “I’m sure you’d like a bath, too. You look rather grimy. Gor! Call for a couple dozen of our best footmen and get them on it, straight away.” He yawned. “Getting late. Perhaps we should say good night for the night. Ha! That’s not bad.”