The Waters Rising

by Sheri S. Tepper

  Winger nodded. “S’right. Abbot sent ’em south. They go by Altamont, Lake o’ Clouds, then east, back where they started. Most of ’em. Abbot left a few there in Netherfields jus’ in case any armor comes back that way from Kamfels.”

  Precious Wind managed to keep her face placid. Too many people were going south. Abasio and Xulai were no doubt headed that way. Bear was headed that way. Now the army of the abbey, and did anyone know whether the commandant of that army was part of the prior’s plans? Well, there were many ways of laying a false trail!

  Precious Wind lingered outside the dining hall when her dinner bell rang. The prior was also fed during the first night meal. She managed to be in front of him, to look up and see him, to let a smile light up her face as she greeted him. He was not as well schooled. Just for an instant he looked terribly surprised, even dismayed.

  “Elder Brother, I’m so glad to see you. I know you were interested in our embassy’s analysis of the situation here.” She shook her head. “They’re very concerned. They’ve told me if there’s no immediate message here from Xulai herself, I’m to go on to Merhaven. Before I leave, I want to tell you about our people from Woldsgard. The two women and the men, except for Bear, who left earlier, may take advantage of your hospitality for a time. The duke told me he had already made recompense to the abbey for their care. Once I have gone, however, all the Tingawan presence will vanish, and you can quit worrying about the diplomatic consequences. I know you’ve been concerned.”

  By this time the prior was in command of his face and able to offer her an expression of polite concern. “Oh, indeed. Concerned, of course, certainly. There will be no problem about the people from Woldsgard. I’m told one of the women has found an aunt here, one of our cooks. She has offered to work for us if we have work for her. The elderly woman is welcome to stay, of course, and the men will be useful.”

  Precious Wind had no doubt of it. Black Mike, Pecky Peavine, Bartelmy, and the brothers Farrier were going to be very useful. If anyone could find out who among the abbey’s men were confederates of the prior, those five could. Meantime, she needed to take a few hours’ rest and have a little talk with Oldwife and Nettie Lean. But before that, there was one item of unfinished business.

  She went out the little gate at moonrise, giving the guard her word she would return within the hour. She was carrying a sack of scraps she had begged from the kitchen, saying she was baiting traps. She walked out into the night, across the grasslands, down into a hollow. She put her hands around her mouth and howled.

  They came out of the forest, all of them, and behind the pack a few loners, strangers to her, who sat to one side, not daring to come closer. Sons of the alpha wolf that he had chased away. Two females. The nucleus of another, related pack. She emptied the big sack for the pack and let them sniff her again, memorizing her smell. With the pack leader, she laid her hand, very briefly, upon his shoulders, then walked away to the place where the loners sat. The smaller sack would do for them. Just meat scraps, bread with meat juices on it, cheese that may have gone a bit moldy, nothing that would hurt them and more food than they found on some nights by themselves. Pig was good, but both boars and sows had tusks and were very good fighters. Deer and wild cattle would feed a pack for days, but they were swift or horned or both, and not easily come by. Rabbits were quick, shifty, and had very little meat on them. Smaller critters were hardly worth the trouble unless they could be caught by dozens. The loners sniffed her as well. The pack leader came to get her and walked beside her as she went away. She knew they had made an agreement. They would follow her south. She would hunt food for them. If needed, they would hunt men for her.

  One of Alicia’s servants told her an army was approaching on the road that went through Altamont to the Lake of the Clouds. Alicia called for her horse, her guards, and went to meet it. The commandant rode forward and bowed graciously. “My lady, we ask your pardon for this intrusion. We will not trespass on your property except to use the road so far as the Lake of the Clouds.”

  She pretended surprise. “Why, where are you coming from, Colonel . . .”

  “Colonel Sallis, ma’am. We were told our people at Netherfields might be in some danger and rode to their relief, but it is we who were relieved.” He smiled, an honest smile. “Netherfields is in the care of the abbey, as you probably know. I am told by the people there that on the duke’s death, it will pass into our care in perpetuity. They have long known of this in Netherfields and at the abbey, but it is recent knowledge for me and those who sent me. We have left a small contingent there to cope with any incursions, and Hallad, Prince Orez, has pledged his help. So, we are returning to our camps east of here. There are brigands enough there to keep us busy.”

  “Then I wish you a quick journey, Colonel.” She managed a smile that felt adequate, turned her horse, and went back the way she had come at some speed. The colonel, left in the dust behind her, frowned. The smile had not reached her eyes. Something he had said had surprised her. Or offended her, perhaps. And what could that have been? He had been as gracious as it was possible to be.

  The troops, four abreast, passed the short road that led upward to the hill where the Old Dark House loomed. Its towers peered at them from above the trees, and the colonel very suddenly decided that they would go as far as possible before camping for the night. Strangely enough, there was no griping among the men, who seemed as eager as he was to put the Old Dark House behind them. He later learned many of them had heard stories from those at Netherfields, stories that explained very clearly why Justinian had thought it wise to leave his home.

  Behind them, Alicia spent the daylight hours considering what she might do with this knowledge. If Mirami had known of it, she wouldn’t have asked the prior to send men to Netherfields, because Mirami owned the prior, the prior would soon become the abbot, the abbot would control the abbey, and Netherfields would soon be the property of the abbey! All this was part of Mirami’s plan. The question remained, why hadn’t the prior told them this? Was it possible he had not known? If the documents had been negotiated at the abbey some years ago, the current prior might not have been involved. Suppose he didn’t know?

  Well, he should know. She, Alicia, would tell him. Tell him and tell her mother, both at the same time. She made her way to the bird lofts, humming under her breath. Surely there was something happening here she could use to her advantage. Pity about Jenger. She would have liked to talk it over with him.

  Solo Winger received a message from the Old Dark House. He knew exactly which pigeons he had sent where, so he knew exactly where each one was coming from. When he took it from the message tube, he saw that it was sealed and the prior’s name was written on the outside. He smiled, unsealed it, read it, then danced a little jig around the loft. It was early evening. He would have to wait a while. The best time to reach either the librarian or the Tingy-away woman would be late evening. The prior usually retired to his own suite early in the evening, shortly after the dinner hour. He had the habit of drinking wine then. The servants said he was a long, loud sleeper, full of snores, snorts, and heaving about. The women who made his bed said he tore it apart in his sleep, every night. They wondered if he had bad dreams.

  Solo Winger did not speculate about the dreams. He thought it likely the prior had no conscience that bothered him enough to have bad dreams. More likely he had dreams of glory. More likely his thrashing was his arms flung out demanding that this one or that one be beheaded. Ha.

  When the last of the diners left the hall, when darkness fell, when peace descended on the abbey, he went to the library and gave the note to Wordswell. Though unsigned, it was obviously from the Duchess of Altamont.

  “I am told by Colonel Sallis that Netherfields becomes the property of the abbey on the death of Justinian. Since you can be the abbot very soon, perhaps it is time to ensure your election. Send now the material I have previously asked for.”

  “What does she mean ‘material’?” Wordswell aske
d.

  “That woman, the Tingy-away woman . . .”

  “The Tingawan woman, Precious Wind.”

  “Her. Yeah. We need her to tell us.”

  Wordswell and his crony crept through silent corridors, stepping into dark doorways when necessary, finally knocking on Precious Wind’s door. Nettie Lean had moved into Oldwife Gancer’s room, to care for her, and Precious Wind had a room to herself.

  “What does she mean by ‘material’?” Wordswell asked when she had read Alicia’s message.

  She nodded. This was verification of the long supposed. “She means something taken from the abbot’s body. Fingernail clippings. Hair pulled by the roots. A vial of spit. Even, I think, something from his seat of comfort.”

  Wordswell’s face showed his disgust. “She can use this to . . . what?”

  “Kill him,” she replied. “Oh, don’t make a face, old bookworm. You’ve read of such things, I’m sure of it.”

  “In the olden days. In the Before Time . . .”

  “ ’At’s where the she-devil’s from, some old afore time,” grunted the loft keeper.

  “Well, she can do it now, if she has the machines to do it with. Which she has.”

  “What are we to do?” asked the librarian

  “Who barbers the prior? Who shaves him?”

  “His manservant.”

  “And when his manservant is . . . ill?”

  “He would use the abbot’s manservant. At least, he has in the past. So do I. The abbot has shared a servant with me for many years. He thinks it foolish to have a man sit idle just in case the abbot should want a cup of tea.”

  “Ah.” That was no help. “I doubt the prior would use someone else to go sneaking about in the abbot’s quarters. He would want to do it himself.”

  Solo Winger snorted. “Prob’ly. Likes to keep ’is ’and in, does prior.”

  “Then we must let him. How reliable is the servant you share with the abbot?”

  “We trust him with a blade at our throats every day.”

  “Do you trust him to keep a secret?”

  “I have heard that a secret can be kept between two people only when one of them is dead.”

  “That has always been my strongly held conviction.” Precious Wind stared into the distance. Still no help. “Well, are the abbot’s quarters locked when he is not there?”

  “None of us have locked doors.”

  “So much for that, then. Could you find some reason that the abbot’s quarters should be cleaned? I mean cleaned of every hair, every particle of dust, every spider’s web in every corner? Rugs beaten into submission. Walls swept. New mattresses. Floors waxed. Linens changed.”

  “If the abbot went away for a little while, yes. That’s usually when the cleaning people choose to do what you describe. The abbot has not been away for over a year, so it’s probably time his quarters were cleaned.”

  “Can you manage to get him away from here for a few days, having previously arranged for his quarters to be cleaned as I have suggested, but without the prior knowing about the cleaning part?”

  “Cleaning is not the prior’s concern. One of the other elders takes care of that function. And yes, before you ask, the elder in question is completely trustworthy.”

  “Then you and the abbot should go on a little trip of inspection of something innocuous that’s discussed publicly and loudly. Talk about a trip that will take just a few days. And no one should tell the prior about the cleaning.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Something we can’t trust anyone else to do, Elder Brother. Remember, a secret can be kept between two people only when one of them is dead, and I rather enjoy your company and that of your friend here.”

  Wordswell managed a shadowy smile. The loft keeper’s face was frankly jubilant.

  Two days later the librarian, the abbot, and one or two other elders set out to make an inspection of the improvements around the southern watchtower, including the arable lands and irrigation systems being constructed there. The librarian was going because he needed to be sure the records were being kept correctly, and for the past two days this had been a matter for continuous semipublic discussion among him and the abbot and half a dozen other brothers and sisters, often within the prior’s hearing. The trip would, in fact, be longer than had been discussed, during which time still other elders would learn about still other matters. That part had not been mentioned where it could be overheard.

  While the abbot was away, various cleaning, laundry, furniture-polishing, and woodwork-refinishing people—all with covered hair and gloved hands—did an unobtrusive but thorough turnout of his quarters. Drawers and cupboards were scrubbed. Dust was eradicated. Spiderwebs, never numerous, became nonexistent. No flake of skin was left unswept, no used handkerchief or slightly soiled bit of clothing—indeed, no item of clothing, used or not—was left unlaundered. Floors and furniture shone. Windows were cleaner than when first installed. A small mirror, the only one the abbot allowed himself, was polished. When all was done and inspected, the door was shut and two watchers took up inconspicuous posts where they could see it.

  That evening, while the prior was having his evening meal, the abbot’s door was opened again, and a slender figure moved through his quarters, slightly disarranging the bed linen, opening a book and leaving it at the bedside, depositing a few hairs upon the pillow, a few more in the perfectly clean brush on the shelf below the mirror, a film of dust and a few fingernail clippings on the desk, together with the scissors that might have clipped them. A used washcloth was deposited beside the basin. A used handkerchief was placed in the laundry basket. In addition to the newly added material, clothing in the wardrobe was slightly disordered; a pair of new, unworn slippers was left on the floor beside the bed. It had been ascertained that the abbot did not moisten a finger to turn pages, so a few of his books were carefully shaken out the window, wiped, shaken again, and laid on the desk, the places marked by used toothpicks.

  The depositer of this detritus then examined the room carefully. It was quite a neat room, with only that minor untidiness one might expect. This figure departed. The two people who had been quietly chatting in the hall outside—to be sure the third one was as uninterrupted here as she had been earlier in the prior’s quarters—hid themselves again where they could watch the door.

  At dusk, Solo Winger told a messenger that a message had just arrived for the prior. The messenger delivered it. The prior, remembering the abbot was absent, felt the timing of the message was extremely opportune.

  Later that same night, when everyone slept except the guards on duty, another person entered the abbot’s quarters, this one carrying a lantern and a tiny bowl. The person went from place to place, searching diligently, finding and putting into the tiny bowl almost all the bits and pieces the earlier prowler had left behind: Hair from pillow and brush, skin fragments shaken from a washcloth, fingernail clippings, even a scraping from the handkerchief, the toothpicks marking the books. No one was visible in the hall outside. The person was, so he thought, completely unobserved.

  Still later that night while Solo Winger, with an empty bottle on the floor beside his bed for verisimilitude, pretended sodden slumber, the prior arrived in the bird loft. He selected a bird from the Old Dark House cage and attached a message tube containing all the material taken from the abbot’s quarters. He thrust the bird into the night. The same pigeon, not at all interested in flying around in the dark, returned almost immediately to the home cage. The home cage was crowded with birds moving about, eating, cooing, fluttering; one more coming in through the hatch was not noticeable. In any case, the prior was preoccupied with another message, this one to the court at Ghastain. Though the prior thrust this bird into the night as well, it too returned unnoticed.

  Solo knew not only his own birds but also every other bird in the loft. It didn’t matter what cage they were in, he knew where each one would home to, and the birds that would fly to the Old Dark House
and to Ghastain were temporarily in the cage labeled Merhaven! When the message sender had departed, Solo Winger rose, withdrew from the abbey cage the two abbey birds that had message tubes on their legs, removed the tubes, and returned the birds to their fellows. He made a copy of the message that accompanied the bits and scraps of skin and hair: “By the time you get this, there will no longer be any Tingawan people at the abbey. They have all departed.” He then spent a few moments sorting out-of-place birds into their proper cages before transferring the skin-and-hair message tube to an Old Dark House bird. He would let it go first thing in the morning. It wouldn’t have flown until morning anyhow.

  He read the message to Ghastain carefully, word for word.

  “For Queen Mirami: A Tingawan girl believes you have an interest in five deaths in Kamfels and Ghastain. The girl has returned to Woldsgard under the protection of Hallad, Prince Orez. Since your armor is in Kamfels, perhaps you can be of assistance to her. There are no longer any Tingawan people here at the abbey. They have all gone.”

  Solo Winger decided he should not send this one until Wordswell and the Tingy-away women had seen it. He put it behind one of the stones in the wall along with a great many copies of other messages sent and received. When the abbot returned, along with the librarian and the others, he would give it to them. They could decide what to do with it.

  The court of King Gahls was known for its luxury in an age when a mere sufficiency satisfied most. The lands on the high plateau were fertile and well watered. Food was easily grown and harvested. There were lakes, streams, and marshes full of fish and fowl, forests full of game, fields full of grass on which sheep and cattle grazed and grew fat. The market gardeners did well, as did the poulterers who provided eggs, the dairy farmers who provided milk, cream, cheese, and butter. The court was the center of all provisioning, each circle around it feeding on the ones farther out. Hay from the outermost provided winter fodder for cattle in the next; the beef fertilized market gardeners in the next; the fancy vegetables and fruit fed the court, which paid for everything in minted gold. The gold came from the mines in the mountains, which were owned by the king. So long as there was enough of everything, everyone benefited. The system was more or less closed. Though the king’s coinage had spread throughout Norland, barter was still widely used elsewhere than in Ghastain itself. People who raised food traded it for wood, people who cut wood traded it for food, both traded to people who wove cloth. Coinage was reserved for things one could not trade for: fancy things, imported things, silks from beyond Tingawa, furs from the high north mountains, even a few manufactured things from the Edges at the center of the continent. These things delighted the court of King Gahls in Ghastain, which is what he chose to call both the city and its surroundings after he took the throne.