The Wicked Day (53 page)

A roar went up in response to his words.

“Tormay!” he shouted, raising his sword.

“Tormay!” they roared back.

“No,” whispered Giverny, staring across the battlefield. “Not yet. This is a wicked day.”

But no one heard her except for Declan. Frowning, he looked across the battlefield and saw nothing except the silent wreckage of corpses and the ruins of the shattered city wall beyond. Flames guttered there in the fallen stones. He took his sister’s hand in his. Her fingers were cold. The pearl laying against his chest suddenly pulsed cold as well, and his heart faltered.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

LENA CAPTURED

“Gotcha!”

Lena tried to run, but it was too late, and she slipped on the icy cobblestones. The man grabbed her by her hair, yanking her head back. She screamed and kicked. Her fists flailed in the air. Someone swore. The man punched her in the stomach. She couldn’t breathe, and tears blurred her eyes. The street was deserted. She tried to scream again, but the man stuffed a rag in her mouth. Someone else whipped a length of rope around her wrists and knotted it tight. Another piece went around her ankles.

“That’ll hold her,” said a voice breathlessly. “Cor, I think she gave me a black eye.”

“Shoulda ducked,” said the man. He laughed. “Twenty gold coins for this scrawny bit of goods. Who’d believe it?”

“If the Silentman puts the word out for pay, let ‘em pay. But quickly now. This ain’t the best of days to be out, even with all the bleedin’ Guard at the wall.”

“Too true, too true. Twenty gold pieces. We’ll be drunk for the rest of the year.”

The man threw Lena over his shoulders and hurried off. Her head bounced painfully against his back. He smelled of ale. She caught a glimpse of the second man, a thin, sharp-faced fellow with a shock of graying hair. She’d seen him before. A basher, that’s what he was, a basher down in the warehouse district. Snow fell from the sky, fluttering between the rows of houses and settling on the street. Lena could see it on the ground, but she could not see it in the sky. All she could see was the ground and the man’s dirty boots and, if she craned her neck, the second man. He winked at her.

“Don’t you fret, missy,” he said. “Whatever the Silentman wants you for, it’ll be painful and not so quick.”

Jute. This is because of Jute. Lena’s mind felt dull and tired. He was gone. Never coming back. Maybe it was time to give up.

She had been skulking and hiding for days, holing up in attics and basements, sleeping with one eye open and her hand on her knife. Three times she had run into children from the Juggler’s gang. They knew all the same hiding places she knew. And, even with them, even with old friends who had stolen and starved with her and Jute in the past, she had seen the avarice in their eyes. Twenty gold coins’ bounty. Twenty gold coins went a far way to overcome whatever friendship had ever existed. It had only been a matter of time. She should have left the city. But the city was all she knew. She had never been outside the walls.

And now this.

Lena lay like a trussed pig over the man’s shoulder. Trussed and ready to have her throat cut. Or whatever the Silentman chose to do with her. Tears ran down her face. Snowflakes froze in her hair. The pace of the two men quickened as if the darkness and silence of the street made them nervous. Faintly, from the direction of the city gates, Lena could hear the jumbled roar of voices and then a clear, cold call of a trumpet.

“Here?” said the basher, sounding somewhat dubious.

“Aye,” said the man carrying Lena. “We’ll stash her and send word to the Silentman. The innkeeper knows how. One of them spell-talking things.”

Lena’s point of view swung as the two men turned and pushed through a door. She caught a glimpse of a sign hanging over the door, upside down to her. Despite the snow swirling down and the faded, peeling paint, she knew where they were. The last place she wanted to be. The Goose and Gold. She could smell ale and roasting meat. It was warm inside, but this was no consolation to her. She shivered, and her teeth would have chattered, no doubt, had it not been for the rag stuffed in her mouth. Faces turned her way, men at the long bar and sitting around tables. But there was not a single spark of friendliness or compassion. This was a Guild inn. These were all members of the Guild. There was no help for her here. She shut her eyes. Her captor shoved her into a chair, but she could feel his hand knotted in the collar of her shirt.

“Here, Garricky,” said the man to the innkeeper. “Can you send word, quick-like, to the man himself?”

“Maybe I can, maybe I can’t,” said the innkeeper. He ran a dirty rag over the countertop. “What’s in it for me?”

“What’s in it for you? How about I don’t take you out back and beat your face bloody, that’s what.”

“You don’t have to be rude about it,” said the innkeeper. “What do you have to say to him, then? It’d better be important, for he don’t like being bothered, I can tell you that. Especially lately. I’ve heard some strange things.”

“You can tell him we got the girl.”

“The twenty gold coins girl?” said the innkeeper, looking greedily at Lena.

“The same.”

“Right away, gentlemen. Right away.” The innkeeper turned to go.

“And ale all around.” The man’s hand tightened on Lena’s neck and he raised his voice. “A round for the house!”

A roar of delight greeted his words, but Lena’s eyes were still shut, and despair filled her mind.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

RESCUING PEOPLE IS A TIME-HONORED TRADITION

The cook was sulking in the pantry, the maid was in tears, and the children were hiding in the basement. Never had the house of Owain Gawinn seen Sibb in such a state. She snapped at anyone who was foolish enough to come near. She found fault with the morning bread, she banished the dog to the garden, and she had the maid polish the silver three times before she declared herself satisfied.

Owain's absence was wearing on her. True, he had been gone many times in the past for weeks on end, but this time he was painfully near—just at the city wall—and that, in combination with his recent scrape with death, grated on Sibb. Even though their home was situated quite far from the eastern wall of the city, the tumult and din that had started in the morning was dreadfully apparent. Her nerves were frayed and she had caught herself considering packing everyone up, saddling the horses, and leaving the city. With or without Owain. The north gate was near enough, and she had cousins in Lastane. But that was ridiculous. She was a Gawinn, and Gawinns did not run.

Doubtlessly, Sibb's four children would have been gratified to know that a great deal of their mother’s anxiety and irritation was due to her concern for the city’s safety and, more specifically, their well-being. However, they were more preoccupied with staying out of her way and evading her swift right hand.

“Mother’s in the kitchen again,” said Jonas from the top of the stairs. He nudged the door open another inch to get a better look. “She sounds mad.”

“She’s been mad all day,” said Magret.

The eldest of the four Gawinn children was perched on top of a barrel in the middle of the basement. It was a tidy basement, as far as basements go, for Sibb Gawinn did not tolerate a disorderly household. The basement was full of neatly stacked boxes and barrels and chests. Cured hams, sides of bacon, and strings of onions and garlic hung from the ceiling beams. High up on one wall, narrow rectangles of window let in whatever light could thread its way past the tangle of rose bushes growing around the front of the house. Fen sat on another barrel, her chin in her hands and her face expressionless. The two smaller boys, Bran and Ollie, chased each other around the room, clambering up and over the stacks.

“Stop that,” commanded Magret. “Both of you. You’re going to put your foot through something and then where’ll you be? Bran! That’s a wheel of cheese you’re standing on. Get off. Mother will hear you if you don’t stop racketing around.”

Only this last threat was enough to stop the two boys. They settled on top of a chest and regarded their older sister with baleful stares.

“Hungry,” announced Ollie.

“Want an onion?” said Bran.

“Yes.”

Bran stood on tiptoes and managed to grab the bottom onion on a string. He tugged and the string snapped. Onions rained down.

“Stop it,” said Magret. “You’re horrible little boys.”

“Are not!”

“You are too!”

“What if we do it ourselves?” said Jonas from the top of the stairs.

“Do what?”

“Go find Father. Mother’s obviously upset, and she’s obviously upset because Father’s not back. We’ll find him and then she’ll be happy.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Magret. “Do you remember what happened the last time you left without telling anyone?”

“But this is important.” Jonas stuck his chin out. “I wouldn’t mind getting spanked for this.”

The two little boys stared up at him in awe. Magret jumped off her barrel and paced back and forth, scowling in thought. Fen did not stir from her perch.

“All right,” said Magret finally. “We’ll do it. We’ll go find Father. But I’m in charge, you hear? I’m the oldest and that means I’m captain. Bran and Ollie, you stay home and take care of Mother.”

“Am not,” said Bran. “I’m coming too.”

“Me too,” said Ollie.

“No, you aren’t. You’re both staying here.”

“I’m telling Mother,” said Bran.

Magret glared at him for a moment and then sighed. “You can come. You just better behave. Ollie, you stay here.”

“Telling Mother,” said Ollie, his lip starting to quiver.

“Fine!” Magret threw her hands in the air in defeat. “You can come too. Stop crying! Your nose is running and you look a mess. Here, blow your nose. Don’t squirm. Blow your nose, I say! All right, council of war. Now. Upstairs.”

The five children gathered in the nursery and sat in a circle on the rug.

“Council is now begun,” announced Magret. “Lieutenant, what do you have to say?”

“Father’s at the city gate,” said Jonas, “because I heard the gardener talking to the maid about it. All the Guard’s there, that’s what he said, right before he kissed her.”

“Want my Father!” shouted Ollie.

“Be quiet,” said Magret, “or I’ll have you thrown in the dungeon.”

Ollie shut his mouth, his eyes wide.

“Whenever Father’s on duty at the city gate, he still can come home for dinner. He always does.” Magret frowned. “Something must’ve happened to him. Something terrible. He must be in trouble. We’ll have to rescue him.”

They all looked at each other. Rescuing people was a time-honored tradition in all the stories they loved. It was what heroes did. It was what brave princes and soldiers did. It was what good, ordinary people did. More important, it was what Gawinns did. But having to conduct their own rescue—the first they’d ever done—was something entirely different. Bran cleared his throat uneasily.

“But how’re we going to rescue him?” he said.

“We’ll find out when we get there. Does that even matter?” The voice was barely a whisper. They all looked at Fen. She blushed. “After all, he’s your father,” said the girl.

Magret was in charge, even though Fen was older than her, because she was a Gawinn and that’s what Gawinns did. They were all on strict orders to stay out of Mother’s sight. Magret commanded them to dress warmly, because she thought of things like that. Cloaks, sweaters, woolen caps, and scarves. She sent Bran down to the kitchen to steal apples and bread behind the cook’s back. There was no telling when they’d be back, so they had better be prepared. Jonas crept into the hall and took down the dagger of Great Uncle Bevan from the wall. He had always admired the thing and considered it vital for any rescuing they might do. He did not tell the others, however, as Bran and Ollie would want ones of their own, and there was no telling what Magret would say. Magret took the hooded lantern from the back porch. It was a small copper affair, full of oil and held with a leather wound handle. The older children knew how to use a flint and tinder (their father had seen to that), and Magret had an uneasy feeling that it might be dark later. After all, night was coming.

“All right,” she said, surveying her little troop. “We’re off. Downstairs and out the back door. Not a whisper. Ollie, Bran! I’m watching you. Tiptoe.”

They tiptoed down the stairs, through the hall, and past the open door of the kitchen. Cook was busy with carrots and chicken and thyme and did not see or hear them. Mother was sewing in her workroom. The maid was ironing linens in the storeroom and would not have noticed a troop of cavalry galloping through. All her thoughts were on the gardener. Fen was last in line, and she closed the back door behind her. It was cold outside and a few snowflakes of snow swirled down from the gray sky. Distantly, the sound of the battle at the city wall echoed through the air, but the children paid it no heed. To them, it only sounded like thunder. They scampered across the grass, giggling with relief and delicious terror. No one saw them. They pushed through the garden gate and found themselves standing in the street running behind the Gawinn home. Magret looked back through the iron bars of the gate and something in her faltered. But then she saw the determination on the others’ faces. Fen smiled at her.