The Godspeaker Trilogy

by Karen Miller

  The other thing that made Martin invaluable was his lack of curiosity. He nodded. “Eminence.”

  The door closed behind him. Marlan pushed away from his desk and moved to the window, to glare into the wide world where Rhian and Helfred now hid. The sun was on the point of tipping towards the horizon. The day slipped away …

  I expect nothing but treachery from Eberg’s bitch of a daughter. But how could Helfred betray me? My own flesh and blood. After the advantages I have pressed upon him …

  Unless there had been no betrayal. His disappearance could be foul play. He could be in a ditch, somewhere, beaten. Or dead.

  If harm has come to you, Helfred, woe betide the miscreant responsible. But if it has not. If you left the clerica willingly. If you have truly betrayed me … there is nowhere in the world you can safely hide.

  Kingseat Garrison Commander Idson arrived some twenty minutes later. By international treaty Ethrea had no standing army or navy but that didn’t mean it lacked the means to discipline itself. Each duchy had its own small force of arms, sufficient to patrol its section of the island’s encompassing wall and keep the peace when tempers ran high and foolish citizens failed to heed Ethrean Church and Crown law.

  “Eminence,” said Idson, with suitable obeisance.

  Marlan sat at his desk again and kept the man standing. “What I am about to tell you is a state secret. On peril of your life and your soul’s damnation you will not repeat it to anyone, not even a duke’s man or his sworn representative. Is that understood?”

  Eyes wide, Idson nodded. Short and broad, he wore his command sash and uniform with ease. “Eminence.”

  “Princess Rhian has been taken from the clerica at Todding where she was in retreat. You and a handpicked band of guards, no more than five of your most trusted men, must find her. You’re looking for a small group of people travelling without fanfare. Doubtless hastily disguised. The princess, perhaps one or two other men, and possibly a chaplain.”

  “A chaplain?” said Idson, startled out of his horrified silence. “You think she was stolen by Ethreans, Your Eminence? Not by a foreigner seeking to take advantage of the king’s recent death?”

  “No foreign power would risk breaking any treaties. This is a domestic matter, Idson,” he said, impatient. “And its politics are none of your concern. Now be gone. Start your search at the river-station nearest to the clerica. Wherever the princess is headed, the fastest and most direct route is by river-barge, at least at first. Go about your business circumspectly and find her, Commander. Before sunset would be preferable.”

  “Yes, Eminence,” said Idson, but he hesitated. “As Kingseat’s garrison commander I have jurisdiction along the length of the river. But if she’s been taken into one of the other duchies where I hold no authority …”

  It was a good point. Marlan rummaged in a drawer and withdrew one of his gold seals. “Here,” he said, tossing it to Idson. “That will silence any obstinate objectors.” At least temporarily. Long enough to achieve his ends.

  The commander slipped the seal into a pocket. “Eminence. Rest easy, I’ll have her home before supper.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “See that you do, Idson. The kingdom’s welfare depends on it.”

  Alone again, Marlan paced his library and wrestled with the urge to fling himself upon a horse and gallop madly about the countryside searching for Rhian and his nephew.

  I can hold off the dukes’ men for a week, perhaps two. But the councillors are right about one thing, damn their eyes: the foreign ambassadors are like underfed dogs, and none more slavering than the men of Harbisland, Arbenia and Tzhung-tzhungchai. I will see them again next Grand Litany in the High Church. Twelve days. If I cannot produce the little bitch for them then …

  He felt his stomach turn over.

  I will have her by then. I will. I must.

  For the hundredth time since driving away from the field in Finchbreak, Dexterity fingered his naked chin. His face felt so wrong without its beard. And his head felt cold, even in the warm spring sunshine, so closely had Ursa cropped it. He was practically bald .

  “Stop fretting, Jones,” said Ursa, riding on the driving seat beside him. “It’ll grow back by and by. And you have to admit, not a soul in your street would recognise you if they could see you now.”

  He grunted. “I know.” He’d nearly fallen over when he’d looked at himself in the hand-mirror Ursa had brought. So many years since he’d seen himself beardless. How disconcerting, to be surprised by his own reflection.

  As though I were another man entirely. And perhaps I am. The Dexterity Jones I know would never be found on the road in a peddler’s van with a chaplain, a freed slave and a runaway princess hiding in the back.

  He glanced at Ursa. “I’m not sure you should’ve slipped that sleeping potion into Rhian’s tea.”

  “I am,” she said. “Are you blind, Jones, to see how she’s exhausted? Running on raw nerves? Beaten down, not just by the prolate and the council but by life? The poor lass needs all the sleep she can get. Rollin himself knows she’ll have precious little rest once she reaches Linfoi. I say let her sleep all day every day between now and then if she needs to.”

  He nodded. She was right again. Poor Rhian. Poor child. Will she ever be strong enough to face what awaits her?

  The Kingseat countryside unrolled around them, green fields and hedgerows and overhead the wide blue sky. After the night’s rain the air smelled washed clean. Behind, in the van, the sound of muffled voices as reluctant Helfred led obliging Zandakar in a language lesson. The brown cobs, friendly beasts with strong legs and stout hearts, flicked their ears and didn’t seem unduly burdened by the weight of the van. Dexterity stared at their broad rumps and brooded.

  “Ursa …” he said eventually, sliding his stare sideways. “Why did you change your mind and come? I’d convinced myself I’d have to rescue Rhian without you.”

  Ursa rubbed her nose and rested her grey gaze on the flitting birds in the hedgerows. “Why does it matter, Jones? I came.”

  A loaded hay cart was approaching. Dexterity guided the brown horses hard against the left-hand hedgerow and tipped his head to the carter, who sang out Good morning but didn’t slow his draughthorse’s plodding pace.

  “I’d like to know,” he said, when the hay cart was safely behind them. His heart thudded. “Was it—was it Hettie?”

  “No. I’ve not seen or spoken to Hettie since the day she died.”

  “Then why ?”

  Ursa’s fingers scrubbed at a stain on her old woollen skirt. “Jones …”

  She was blushing. She never blushed. “ Please, Ursa. Tell me.”

  “I couldn’t abandon you,” she muttered. “I couldn’t let you do this on your own.”

  “Because I’m a dreamer?” he said, stung. When will she stop treating me as though I were daft? “Because you can’t trust me out of your sight?”

  “No!” she said, goaded. “Because I owe you a debt, Jones, and here’s my chance to pay it back! God knows I’ve waited long enough.”

  A debt? What debt? Then he realised. “Oh, Ursa. No . It wasn’t your fault. You did everything in your power to save her.”

  She stared hard at the passing countryside. “It wasn’t enough, though. Your wife still died.”

  “Not because of you . You were wonderful. She couldn’t have had a more devoted physick. Anyone would’ve thought she was your own flesh and blood.”

  Ursa sniffed. “If only she’d asked for help sooner. If I’d had more time …”

  “Don’t,” he said, and covered her hand with his. “What’s done is done and you owe me nothing. I’m just glad you’re here. I’m glad I don’t have to do this alone.”

  “Alone?” She managed a watery chuckle. “Jones, have you counted how many we’ve got in the back of this van?”

  “You know what I mean.” He tightened his fingers, surprised she hadn’t pulled away. “Ursa … I’m sorry for the trouble your friend will face
because we’ve spirited away Princess Rhian.”

  “Cecily?” Her voice was cold. “Don’t waste pity on her. She had no business conniving with Marlan the way she did. Standing by and letting him abuse the girl like that. That’s not the behaviour of a God-guided woman. I don’t know who Cecie is now if she could do that.”

  Beneath the habitual briskness, a strong thread of pain. “Perhaps she was only obeying the prolate,” he said gently. “He’s a powerful man and she answers to him.”

  “He’s supposed to be a man of God,” said Ursa, almost to herself. “But what man of God beats a young girl senseless to make her marry where he’d have her wed, claiming all the while he does God’s will? That’s not the God I grew up worshipping, Jones.”

  He’d never heard her sound so lost. Poor Ursa. Her life was turned upside down now, just like his. Time to distract her from unhappy thoughts …

  “Do you know I’ve not the first idea of where we are?” he said. “You’re the one who knows duchy Kingseat’s countryside like the back of your hand. How far away is the river-station at Grumley?”

  She gave him a look. “Jones, you’re hopeless .”

  “I know,” he said, and swallowed a smile.

  “We’ve been on the road an hour, give or take,” she said briskly. “Another half-hour will see us at Lower Grumley. Grumley proper and the river-station lie a half-hour or so beyond that. But I’ve been thinking. It might serve us better not to take a barge at Grumley, but travel on to Pipslock instead.”

  “You think Grumley’s too quiet?”

  “I think Pipslock is a conveniently bustling place. Less chance of us being noticed in a station where so many barges and wagons and travellers abound. Not that I think we’re anything to notice,” she added. “Just one more peddler family eking a livelihood on the highways and byways of jolly old Ethrea. But why stick out like a sore thumb when we don’t have to? That’s what I’m thinking, Jones. What do you think?”

  He pretended to have a spasm. “You’re asking me? Not telling me? Ursa, are you feeling well? Perhaps you’re touched with a fever!”

  She swatted him. “You’re only half as funny as you think you are, Jones. I hope you know that.”

  “I know you think so,” he said, grinning, then considered her suggestion. “I suppose it’s better to be safe than sorry. Even though I’ll be nervous as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs until we’re safely on the river. All right. We’ll travel to Pipslock. I hope you know the way.”

  “Of course,” said Ursa, scornful. “We’ll get there just on sunset. Another good reason to take that road. We’ll be even less noticeable on a barge at night while we’re still so close to Kingseat capital.”

  And that was a good thing, he had no doubt.

  Please, Hettie. If you’re listening. Don’t let us be noticed. Let us get away unseen.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  There were Kingseat guards at Pipslock river-station.

  Rhian took one look at them through the little hatch behind the driver’s seat and sucked in a sharp breath.

  “The man in charge? That’s Commander Idson,” she hissed. “He’s garrison leader of the whole Kingseat guard. Damn. The man’s like a terrier on the scent of a rat. If he even suspects I’m here …”

  Dexterity sighed. Hettie, Hettie, I asked for your help . The guards, led by this Idson fellow, were questioning the folk who’d passed through the river-station barrier and were waiting for clearance to load onto the next waiting barge. They were inspecting the carts, wagons and carriages too. They didn’t seem rude, just briskly determined. The many lamps lit to hold back dusk’s shadows threw their sharp faces into relief.

  “But does he suspect it?” he said, hoping against hope. “Maybe he’s not looking for you at all. It could be some other matter that’s brought him to Pipslock.”

  Ursa snorted. “And if you believe that, Jones, I’ve some swampland going cheap to sell you.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Even if he’s not looking for our runaway princess, if we join the line to get onto a barge here he’s going to poke his nose into the back of this van and see her. Even with her hair cut off and dressed like a lad he’ll know who she is. She’s not safe from being recognised till we’re out of this duchy.”

  Dexterity glanced over his shoulder at Rhian’s frowning face, framed in the hatchway. “If Idson and his men are after you, Highness, who’s sent them, do you think?”

  “Marlan. The clerica will have got word to him once they realised I was missing.”

  He looked again at the garrison guards. “There aren’t very many of them. If the prolate really is searching for you, surely—”

  “No,” said Rhian. “Marlan won’t want to raise any public alarm. He can’t afford the council discovering he’s lost me. If he can find me quickly and spirit me back to the clerica with no-one the wiser … Mr Jones, we can’t stay here. We have to move on.”

  Their van was halted on the side of the road, just before the sloping side-street that led down to the Pipslock river-station where the bustle and disruption of the unexpected inspections kept everyone preoccupied.

  But anonymity wouldn’t last forever. Once the final cart was inspected and passed onto the waiting barge, the guards would notice the peddler’s van at the top of the street …

  “You’re right,” said Dexterity, picking up the reins. He looked at Ursa. “Perhaps if we take a barge from Grumley after all? Surely they’ve already been to Grumley.”

  “No,” said Rhian, before Ursa could answer. “Grumley’s behind us. We have to move forwards . I must reach duchy Linfoi as soon as possible.”

  “Your Highness,” he began, but she cut him off with a hard slap of her hand against the wooden wall between them.

  “ No, Mr Jones! You rescued me and I’m grateful but don’t let it go to your head. I’m not asking for your advice or permission. I’m your queen and I’m telling you plainly, we don’t turn back .”

  “She’s right, Jones,” said Ursa, softly. “The sooner we get out of Kingseat the better. It may slow us down a bit, travelling by road for a while, but better that than ending up in Commander Idson’s custody. If we stay on the byroads, keep away from the towns, we can higgledy-piggledy across country into duchy Meercheq and keep on moving north until Idson loses heart along the river. Then we can get a barge. At Chaffing, if we’ve reached that far. Or maybe Rippington. That’s a plan as should keep us out of trouble.”

  “Yes,” said Rhian. “Idson might be able to throw his weight around along the river but he has no authority to hunt for us in Meercheq itself. In any duchy. To get it he’ll have to ask permission from the duke in question and that’ll mean awkward explanations. By the time Marlan’s forced to that point I should be safely in duchy Linfoi. Now let’s get out of here before someone thinks to ask why we’re loitering.”

  Dexterity roused the brown cobs and eased the van back onto Pipslock’s torchlit main street. Dusk was surrendering to the onset of night, and the last shops were closing their doors and shuttering their windows. Lamps bloomed into life behind curtains in the dwellings above. Townsfolk hurried home along the sidewalks, laughing and chattering in pairs or groups, and silently alone.

  Nobody bothered to wonder about a single peddler’s van, drawn by plain brown horses clip-clopping on the cobbles.

  As they reached the end of Pipslock’s main thoroughfare and came upon the open countryside beyond the small township, Dexterity glanced behind him at Rhian’s hatch-framed face, exchanged a look with Ursa, then voiced what he knew they’d both been mulling over.

  “You seem to be placing an awful lot of faith in Linfoi’s duke, Highness.”

  “Not its duke,” she said, her voice distant and calm now. “The duke’s son. Alasdair. We’re friends. He’ll help me.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Of course,” she said, and slammed the little hatch shut between them. A heartbeat later it opened again, and she added, “As
sure as you are of Ursa’s help, Mr Jones. And by the way …” Her voice had dropped several chilly degrees. “Drug me again without my knowledge or permission, Ursa, and when this is over you and I will have words .”

  The hatch shut again, just as firmly.

  Dexterity winced. Oh dear. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it. She’s just feeling disappointed and upset. The sight of those Kingseat guards. They’d put anyone off.”

  Ursa snorted. “Of course she meant it, Jones. Didn’t you hear her? She’s the queen . Or she will be, provided we can get her to duchy Linfoi in one piece and this friend of hers can perform some kind of miracle that’ll get her crowned and on the throne despite the opposition of both council and Church.”

  That made him stare. In the wagon’s burning torchlight, Ursa’s face was flickered with doubt. “You don’t think we can do this?”

  “I don’t know, Jones.” She sounded tired. “What I do know is I don’t like to think about what she’s up against. What we’re up against. Gives me the heebies.”

  Shaken, he looked back to the road. “Hettie said—”

  “A lot of things, apparently. But not a word about how we’re going to win .” She sniffed. “When are you going to tell Rhian, anyway?”

  “About Hettie?” He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s wise, Ursa. She’s wound tightly enough as it is.”

  “You’ll have to sooner or later. When she asks you how you know what you know. And she will. You’ll have to tell her about Zandakar, too.”

  “I’m hoping Zandakar can tell us about himself. Provided that wretched chaplain really can teach him to speak Ethrean properly.”

  “Hmmph,” said Ursa, and folded her arms. “I think he can, Jones. He seems powerfully motivated not to touch the horses. I just wonder …” Her voice trailed away.