Tyrant Trouble (Mudflat Magic) (33 page)

I
peered through the narrow crack at the edge of the gate and saw an empty outer
courtyard. The gate bolt was still in place on the inside.

Okay,
time to head back the way we came, through empty rooms and down the lightless
passageway until I saw the silhouetted form of Tarvik in an open doorway. I
moved quietly up behind him.

Without
turning his head, he reached back, curled his arm around me and held me pressed
against his back. Over his shoulder I could see across an open grassy expanse
that stretched from the castle to the edge of the hilltop, far enough away that
the men standing there didn't notice us. We were within sight, but we were in
shadow. Erlan's army seemed to be gathering, sorting themselves into a ragged
order, tying on their packs.

Some
were roping blankets to the few horses. Others collected weapons and piled them
into carts. All of them stumbled with exhaustion, their hands shaking as they
lifted and secured supplies.

They
looked like men who had not slept much, and as we watched I saw several rub
their eyes and shake their heads.

Tarvik
stepped back with me glued to him, and quietly closed the passage door. My eyes
had adjusted to the light and now I could see nothing in the corridor. I felt
him turn, lean toward me.

With
his breath warm on my face, he said softly, “They are packing up and leaving.”

“Are
they? Why?”

“I
don't know yet. Come on, let's look.”

I
pushed his cloak against him and he took it and put it on.

We
moved methodically through the passageway, again going in and out of rooms, checking
doorways, watching for moving shadows, listening for any sound at all from
inside or outside. The castle seemed deserted. But each time we went into a
walled courtyard, and the castle was edged with a maze of those empty little
useless pockets that contained nothing more than a bench or fire pit, we could
hear voices from the outer grounds.

They
spoke in low tones. Most of what we heard were instructions on how to carry or
fasten something. It took them the better part of the morning.

When
we reached the courtyard with the mead-filled jars, they still stood against
the far wall. The spit above the fire pit was empty, the ashes cold.

Two
warriors were in the courtyard. My breath caught and I almost turned and fled.
I felt Tarvik stiffen at my side.

They
sat against a far wall, their eyes open and looking at us, their heads tilted
and sagging toward their shoulders. I expected them to shout or jump up to
chase us.

Tarvik
grabbed his dagger from his belt. I put out a hand to stop him.

“You
don't need that,” I whispered and walked over to them.

Neither
moved. They breathed through open mouths. They stared from unseeing eyes. They
looked the way Tarvik had looked after Alakar drugged him.

We
hurried to the jars and peered into them. They were empty, the one into which I
had dropped the powder as well as the other two.

After
that, we stayed out of sight behind walls and doorways. Out on the open grass
we saw several more men lying unconscious, ignored by the others.

“How
long will they be like that?” Tarvik whispered.

“If
it is the same potion you drank, a day or two, maybe longer.”

“Erlan
must think they're sick.”

“And
is leaving them behind to die.”

Tarvik
sighed. “They won't die, Stargazer. You know they won't. I didn't.”

I
don't know why I was upset. The whole purpose of drugging the mead was to
convince Erlan that the castle was infected with plague. That's what I had told
him to make him want to leave and it appeared to be what was happening.

For
some reason, I'd assumed he would take his drugged warriors with him.

“What
will we do with them?”

Tarvik
shrugged. “As soon as the army leaves, we'll have to find all of those left
behind and tie them up.”

“You
can't keep men tied up forever.”

“When
my blacksmith returns, we will chain their ankles.”

“Like
slaves?”

“That's
what they will be. Quite a haul of slaves you made with that powder.”

“I
don't want to enslave anyone,” I protested.

“The
alternative is to kill them, but if I do, you will be angry with me.”

As
happened too often when I talked to Tarvik, he was making my head hurt. I
didn't like what he planned but I had no better suggestions. So I didn't bother
arguing.

We
waited in the castle, out of sight, until midday when we saw Erlan mount his
horse. A guard walked beside him holding a banner on a pole. At some word from
Erlan, the guard handed him the pole.

Erlan
held the banner high above his head with the pole gripped in both hands and
waved it in an arc several times. Then he handed it back to his guard. The long
shabby procession began its slow winding journey down the path and across the
valley.

Tarvik
caught my hand. We moved quietly through the dusky halls, stopped at each
corner, strained to listen. Strips of daylight cut through the empty rooms, as
pale as ghosts and as spooky. I saw light and shadow shapes move in the edges
of my vision, but when I turned my head there was no one there.

Sure
there's ghosts, Gran always said so, but I'd never seen any. I hadn't believed
in them, not before. But here, in this castle with its generations of warriors,
believing in ghosts was a lot easier. The courtyards we crossed were full of
unearthly light that seemed to shift as we passed. I was numb with cold by the
time we reached the front gate. Tarvik grasped my icy hand with his warm
fingers. Felt good. We saw and heard no one.

We
climbed to the wall top. While I waited on the last stair, Tarvik, who was as
sure-footed as a cat, walked on the ledge.

To
the west, a low black cloud of smoke dimmed the fading sunlight while the
hillside turned dark behind the occasional flicker of a dying fire. Here the
wind brushed my hair from my face and curled my robe around me. I felt warmer
now that I was free of the passageway, felt like myself again standing beneath
the familiar sky. I rubbed my arms and stamped my feet and concentrated on
getting my blood circulating. I could see Tarvik moving against the gray sky as
he circled the castle guard walk.

When
he returned, he said, “They travel east and south, far beyond our hills.”

East
and south. Away from the mountains, away from Lor and Nance and the fires that
I had told Erlan were funeral pyres. And, more importantly, away from the
valley where Tarvik's people hid.

“We
have won.” We grinned at each other.

In
the dying daylight we stood at the edge of the thicket's shadow and watched
Erlan's army move slowly toward his homeland. So fear had done the trick and
Erlan had been fooled by me, by Nance, and better still, by a drug mixed by his
own wife.

We
returned to the western wall to build a fire to warm ourselves and to signal
Nance and Lor to return. The sparks shot red and gold into the sky, a
celebration, and I moved as close to them as I could.

“You're
shivering, girl. Here, put this on.” He started to pull off his fur cloak.

“Keep
it or you'll be the one who gets sick.”

“It's
big enough for both of us.”

He
stood behind me and wrapped his cloak around me and held me tightly so that I
could feel his heat against my back, his chin on my shoulder. I felt too warm
and safe to protest.

“How
are your elbows?”

“Better,”
I said, then added, “Thank you.”

While
we waited for a sign from Lor and Nance, he asked, “In your land, do you live
in a castle?”

“No.
I live in a house.”

“What
is a house?” It was his tell-me-a-story voice and I knew he wanted to hear
about anything that would take his mind off thoughts about his father and war
and traitors, and perhaps he also wanted to forget, for a while, the
responsibilities he would have to face tomorrow.

So
I described my house.

“It's
small, but the rooms all open onto a deck facing the back garden. Sometimes on
warm nights I sleep outside on the deck and I can watch the stars.”

“I
have never seen a place like that. Tell me about it.”

Tell
him about my house? Tarvik didn't know anything about houses. He knew stone
castles and wood huts, but not houses.

My
parents, if tested, would have flunked role-modeling. They wandered off, first
one, then the other, daddy moving in with his longtime girlfriend who then
tossed him out, mommy following a traveling somebody to the east coast. Who
knows how many address changes they both collected. What it added up to was
little Claire living with first one cranky aunt and then another. Not that they
meant to be cranky, my aunts, they tried to do the mommy thing, but my mother's
two sisters were both broke and underemployed and overextended and picked men
who ran up debts before running out. Daddy's sister was a good egg married to a
bad egg. So the three aunties took turns, a month here, six months there, for
me.

I
was twelve when my maternal gran was diagnosed with so many illnesses she had
more prescription bottles in her kitchen cabinets than she had food. She was in
a wheelchair within the year and needed someone to live with her, so my aunts
grabbed that as a solution. Not a bad one, really, because it moved me into a
house where I had a permanent room of my own and didn't have to keep changing
schools. And Gran knew bits and pieces of magic. She could do that thing of
opening her hand and lighting up a room. A couple of times the trick scared off
a prowler. And she could call things to her, very small things like popped
buttons and dropped hairpins. That skill only seems unimportant to someone who
is not in a wheelchair.

We
got along fine. She tried to teach me her tricks but I lacked that particular
bit of magic. I did learn to take care of myself, help her, and stay out of the
troll's way. We did okay until Gran died the year I turned eighteen. I still miss
her.

As
her daughters never came to call or help out in any way, and because she had
long since decided they were a lost cause, she left them each some cash and she
left me the house.

That
could have caused a battle except the aunts didn't like the house and they
needed the cash and the lawyer pointed out that the Will was legal, plus
property in Mudflat was hard to sell, especially with a troll in the basement.

So
that's how I ended up with a little two-bedroom house, all on one floor, about
a thousand feet square. Upstairs is a small attic. Downstairs is a basement
apartment and the rent from it takes care of utilities and taxes. The renter
works nights, sleeps days, so our paths don't cross much, but when I am out,
the grass gets mowed, hinges oiled, leaky plumbing repaired.

Should
I tell Tarvik about the troll? Or would that require another long story to
define troll? What the hell, he needed something else to think about than his
uncle.

“There's
a troll in the basement,” I said and he laughed because of course he thought I
was joking.

“Do
all the people in your village have houses and gardens?”

I
nodded. “Or apartments. I don't actually live in a village. I live in a large
city.”

“And
do people live with their families and share meals and do you tell stories in
the evenings?”

I
started to laugh, because it seemed like such an odd question, but then I
thought about the castle with its endless cold and empty rooms, and guards
standing in the hallways. He had no idea how anyone else lived, beyond knowing
peasants lived in crowded huts and the rulers lived in lonely castles.

And
so I told him a bit about Mudflat. That's what he wanted, something to picture
in his mind.

“We
go to our jobs during the day,” I said, and told him about a few of my friends.

Okay,
I did not mention the Decko brothers, who were not friends, and not Roman, who
was a sleaze. There were a couple of fun people at the bank, where I presumed I
was no longer employed, and quite a few friends at the Mudflat Neighborhood
Center, which was solid Mudflat and peopled with assistants and counselors, all
types who thought of forgiveness as a virtue and so I would be taken back like
the prodigal daughter whenever I returned. If? No, not going there, not
tonight.

“And
then at the end of the day we sometimes hang out together.”

“Hang
out?”

“Watch
TV, call out for pizza.”

Skip
trolls, it took the rest of the evening to explain about pizza and lights and
heat and running water and I don't think he believed a word of it. He thought I
was making up a story. As he liked anything that sounded like a story, he
listened carefully and asked for explanations and descriptions, then repeated
words like Seattle and Mudflat and freeway.

The
fire flamed hot enough to shoot sparks and I felt much warmer. I unwound his
arms from around me and stepped free of his cloak. We leaned back against the
wall and watched the distant hills for an answering fire from Nance and Lor.

He
kept one arm around my shoulders, holding me against his side, keeping me
comfortably warm, and I gave up trying to explain electricity and switched to
sports. He asked endless questions about soccer. He was as puzzled as Nance had
been by the idea that the point of a game was to kick a ball past the opposing
team without harming anyone.

“But
wouldn't it be quicker to knock them all down and run over them?”

“If
people get injured, that isn't much fun.”

“Yes,
it is,” he said, and then he laughed at me. “All right, someday you'll have to
teach me this game so I can find out what makes it fun.”

For
that one night, Tarvik and I were friends sharing a victory, trying to use
happier memories to close out the horror of reality.