“Mhm,” she agreed, nodding her head. “Flatcakes, I was thinking.”
“Sausage-and-egg pie.”
“Fruit soup with cream.”
“Bacon, cooked perfect an’ not burnt up or limp!”
Naming foods they would like to see offered up for breakfast occupied them all the way to the dining hall.
They parted once they were both fed, conscious of their new duties. Since Nikolas hadn’t been specific about what he intended for Mags last night, Mags had the feeling he was going to rectify that this morning, so he wanted to report to the King’s Own before the Herald needed to join the King for his official duties.
He found Nikolas, as he had expected, setting aside the dishes from his own meal, in his quarters. The door was standing open; Rolan, of course, would have told Nikolas that he was coming.
“I believe,” the King’s Own said, meditatively, “That I shall make the extra bedroom into an office. Do you know, I have never actually had one?”
“That don’t seem right,” Mags observed, waiting a moment in the doorway for an actual invitation to come in. “Even Stablemaster has an office.”
“Well, I never seemed to be able to stop moving long enough to need one.” Nikolas chuckled. “Perhaps with my girl operating on her own responsibility, one less responsibility of my own will allow me to sit in one place long enough to document things properly. Close the door, come in, sit down. I have a particular assignment I want you to take on.”
Mags did as he was told, taking one of the comfortable chairs opposite Nikolas; he had the feeling that, whatever it was that Nikolas wanted him to do, it was going to be challenging.
“You’ve been gone long enough that you’ve fallen out of the minds of people here in the Court as the Kirball champion. In fact, they have a new one. Different from you, of course, but young Robin, in his way, is probably better than you were. This means the courtiers have forgotten what you look like,” Nikolas said, his eyes unreadable. Which meant, as Mags knew, that he was going to be adamant about this job, and he was not going to accept “I can’t do that” as an answer. “I need someone of the Court, in the Court, high enough to become a confidant, but not so high that he’s a rival. And considered trustworthy and apolitical so no one will worry about telling him things for fear they might get to ears they shouldn’t.”
Mags blinked. Become a courtier? That was a pretty tall order. “Don’t you have to be born into the highborn families?” he asked, cautiously, and consciously shaping his speech to lose every vestige of his lowly origins, choosing his words and inflection with care. “Granted, now we know who my parents were, and they would certainly qualify, but I very much doubt such a . . . sensational parentage would allow me to be as innocuous as you’d prefer.”
He knew Nikolas well enough by now to see the very slight relaxation in his posture that told him he’d given the King’s Own the right answer. “I have that sorted. You’re going to be the cousin of one of my informants from the early days of my being the King’s spy. He is perfectly happy with this arrangement. He has a couple of rooms in the oldest part of the Palace, which you will ostensibly share. We’ll supply you with a wardrobe. All you have to do is establish a persona.”
Mags chuckled. “That’ll be easy enough. Something a little like the Weasel’s tough-lad nephew, tempered for the manners of the Court. I’ll hide in plain sight; shallow enough no one would suspect me of deeper motives, enough of a wit to be amusing, a bit of a brawler but not a bully, and a bit of a hard drinker but not a wastrel.” Although he had never spent time in the actual Court circles, he’d observed the younger relatives of those who were at Court to keep the favor of the King, or on business, or there for their own reasons. He knew the kind of young man who was readily taken in as a friend by the others—someone high enough in birth to be considered a peer, not high enough to be considered a rival . . . and all those things he’d mentioned to Nikolas. Someone who was universally considered to be good company. “I’ll probably need to spend . . . what I consider to be too much money,” he added. “More often than not, I’ll be paying for drinks . . . and other things.” This was where his knowledge of the less savory parts of Haven would come in handy. He knew all the good taverns. He knew all the taverns these young men would consider to be risky enough to be adventurous, but where, in fact, he could alert the Guard so that there was no actual risk to them at all. And, of course, he knew the brothels.
Nikolas raised an amused eyebrow. “Is this something we don’t tell Amily about?” he asked.
Mags had to laugh. “Oh no. This is something we do tell her about. The last thing I need is for her to find out about any misadventures from someone else.” Besides . . . he knew the brothels, and he knew the ones where he could pay a girl for her time and get . . . say . . . a perfectly innocent candlemark or two in a thorough-going backrub, and there would not be one word said to give the fact away that he hadn’t gotten far more. In fact, he rather hoped for a couple of those occasions. There were several houses of pleasure where the ladies were quite good at that sort of thing.
For that matter, I know a couple where I can ask a lady advice about . . . well . . . how to please another lady.
Nikolas questioned him more closely about his idea, making cautious suggestions. It took them awhile, but eventually Mags was more than satisfied with the character he was about to inhabit. It was utterly unlike “Mags”; the “Mags” that the people of the Court knew was amiable, very athletic, very focused on his beloved game, and . . . not very bright. This new character was sharp-witted, clever, and quick. My biggest problem is going to be coming up with enough clever speeches.
“All right then. I’ll tell Lord Tyler that we’re going to set this up, and he’ll begin planting the seeds for your ‘arrival.’ Have you got a name you want to use?”
Mags thought about that for a moment. “Magnus,” he said. “It’s close enough to ‘Mags’ that I’ll answer to it even if I’m half-stunned, or I actually do have to get somewhat tipsy.”
Nikolas made a note of that. “All right, then, for now, down into Haven to the Guard Post and present yourself to them. I’ll be seeing you later.”
—
As Amily had somewhat suspected, the Chronicler merely acknowledged that she had been assigned to his office and told her to go back to putting the Heraldic Archives to rights. “And don’t trouble yourself to come back until it’s finished,” he added. “I know your work, why should I waste your time, and most importantly, mine, hanging over your shoulder? It will take as long as it will take. Off with you, young woman!”
And that pretty much left her free to set her own pace and her own hours, which was exactly what she had been hoping for. Not because she intended to shirk—but because there were things she wanted to see to that were not under the heading of “working for the Chronicler.”
Like . . . the little matter of this Gift of hers.
It seemed to her that the logical place to go to ask about it was not to the Heralds. She’d lived in and around Heralds all her life, had read quite a lot of the reports in the Archives, and never had she seen anything about a Gift like this one. Rarely, there was a Herald with Animal Mindspeech—but those Heralds could actually talk to animals, and understand clearly what they were thinking, as if it was all in words. They didn’t passively “ride” in an animal’s mind, sensing what it was feeling and getting a general, fuzzy notion of its thoughts. Furthermore, because the communication was two-way, they could generally persuade an animal to do what they wanted it to.
No . . . this seemed more like something a Healer would have. A Gift like this would be very useful to someone who specialized in Healing animals. A Healer would be able to tell what was hurting, or feeling bad, and where, if he had a Gift like this. And he would be able to tell when his efforts at soothing his patient were working.
So, as soon as the Chronic
ler had dismissed her, it was back to Healer’s Collegium she went. At this time of day, she hoped, things had settled down enough that she could find someone to talk to who could tell her who would know these things.
As luck would have it, one of the first Healers she saw who was not looking busy was also someone she knew. Healer Daymon, one of the ones Bear had recruited to apply Healing treatments to her leg once the physical operation had been completed, was standing, chatting to one of the assistants, his posture relaxed. Ha. Caught him in a moment of gossip! Good, then he won’t mind my interrupting.
Daymon, a tall, lanky, lantern-jawed fellow with a winning smile, spotted her first and grinned at her, waving her over as the young man he had been talking to went on his way. “Amily, I had heard you were back from your great adventure! How was life in a trader’s caravan?”
“Not as bad as it could have been,” she observed. “Though it’s nothing I’d care to experience for any longer. Daymon, who would I talk to about Gifts?”
He raised one sandy eyebrow. “Now why would you want to know about Gifts? Have you suddenly gotten one?” He said it as if he thought it was a joke, but the other eyebrow rose to join the first when she nodded.
“Not suddenly, it came on over the course of several months, and I think that I absorbed enough, being around Healers and Heralds as long as I have, that I’ve got it under proper control. But I want to be sure, and I want to find out if anyone has ever had something like it.” She paused expectantly.
“Well, obviously it isn’t something dangerous and spectacular . . .” Daymon crossed his arms over his chest, and regarded her from his superior height.
She laughed up at him. “No, in fact, it’s minor and anticlimactic. I can see and hear what animals do. That’s all. I have to concentrate to do it, and it’s so weak a Gift that when birds wake me up in the morning, it’s because they are singing, not because my head suddenly fills with images of delicious worms.”
“That’s a disturbing image I’d like to forget,” Daymon laughed. “All right, I know exactly who to take you to. Come along!”
He led her down the corridor. Healer’s Collegium and the associated House of Healing were very light and bright inside; everything was painted white or light colors, whitewashed, or white-tiled. This was the better to see and eradicate every speck of dirt, of course. In fact, the only part of Healers’ that was not painted and tiled that way was the hothouse and the living quarters attached to it. Amily was rather glad about that. She didn’t dislike the brightness, but it wasn’t exactly what she considered to be homey. The rooms she had taken over from Bear were all light-colored wood, floor, walls and ceiling, something she considered much more home-like. Rather like the inside of the caravan, actually, but with plenty of room.
But Daymon took her on past the part where humans were tended to, cared for, and mended, and into the smaller part of the House of Healing where animals were tended. People did not often bring animals here; only when they were rare, expensive, or very much beloved. Still, someone needed to train Healers in how to take care of animals as well as people. Here, at least, Healers were taught that there was no Healing task that was beneath them.
Daymon seemed to know exactly where he was going, as he led Amily unerringly to the part of the building where there were a few stalls devoted to animals donkey-sized and larger. There he found who he was looking for: a gray-haired, gray-bearded man in robes so old and faded they were more gray than green. He was tending a foal, and from the look of things, had just finished feeding it, when Daymon hailed him.
“Elked!” he said, and the old man looked up. “We’ve got a pretty little conundrum for you to wrap your head around.”
“I’m fond of puzzles,” Elked replied, and patted the foal, who folded his legs under himself and settled back into the straw of his bedding. He tucked the bottle he had been using to feed the youngster into a kind of leather holder at his belt, and stood up.
“Well, young Amily here—you’ve heard of Amily, Nikolas’ daughter?” At Elked’s nod, Daymon went on. “Amily seems to have grown a sort of minor Gift; like Animal Mindspeech, but not.”
At Daymon’s gesture, Amily took over, explaining as best she could what she was experiencing. Elked listened closely, then questioned her even more closely about whether she knew how to shield, how she was doing so—all the proper questions, so far as she was concerned. And she was able to answer him to his satisfaction, at least insofar as her ability to protect herself from her own Gift was concerned.
“Well, this is a pretty little puzzle,” he said, tucking his thumbs into his belt. “I’m not going to test you, as I don’t think like a dog or a bird—” he chuckled “—but everything you have told me so far suggests that you have things properly under control. As for the Gift itself . . .” here he shook his head. “I reckon me a time or two when a Healer’s had something like that. Not often, mind; when someone has Animal Mindspeech it generally works both ways. But ’tis a useful enough Gift. If you’re in the woods, you can see if the birds and beasts are wary or no. You can see if a dog is yapping his fool head off about nothing, or a stranger. If you want to know about what’s going on somewhere within your range, you just cast about for a bird or a beast, and see through their eyes. Maybe you can’t persuade ’em to go look for you, but you can generally find a sparrow or a mouse about.”
“Oh—” Amily said, chagrined that she hadn’t thought of that. “I thought it was useless!”
“Nothing on earth, in the heavens, or in the waters is useless, my lass,” Elked said, and patted her on the head like a child. Then again, she probably seemed like a child to him. “Now if you have trouble with it, come to me, I’ll get you sorted out in a trice. But you’ve got a sound head on your shoulders, and ’tis obvious you were listening when others had their lessons, or talked about them. I think you’ll be fine.”
“But—why should it wait until now to turn up?” she asked. “Don’t Gifts usually appear younger than this?”
He pulled meditatively at his beard for a moment, thinking. “Well, that’s generally true, but not always,” he replied. “And you’ve been hanging about with that Mags lad, right? The one that can Mindspeak to everyone?”
“Yes—would that make a difference?” she asked curiously.
“It’s a funny thing, that particular Gift. Doesn’t come up that strong very often. And when the one that has it spends a lot of time Mindspeaking to someone who don’t—if the one that don’t has any little hint of Gift, that Mindspeaking seems to bring it out. Like watering a seed that’s been dormant.” She felt her eyes widening and he nodded.
“If anyone would know that, Elked would,” Daymon said in confirmation. “There’s no one in all three Collegia who’s spent more time studying Gifts.”
Amily spent a little more time questioning the old Healer closely, but by the time she was finished, she was satisfied with his answers. And determined to make as much use out of what she’d been Gifted with as she could.
3
It was definitely winter now, and no mistake about it. There wasn’t snow on the ground yet, but only because it got barely warm enough by day for most of it to melt off, although you could find thin drifts of white in shadowed corners. The trees were bare, and down in the town as well as up at the Palace, the fallen leaves had been taken away, except in Companion’s Field. In Haven, well nothing went to waste. Leaves went to stuff mattresses, or to be thriftily used to start fires. The dead leaves from the Palace that hadn’t been heaped over the flower beds had been taken down into Haven for precisely that reason.
Gray stone and gray weathered wood below and gray sky above, and a wind to chill even the warmest nature. Mags wished he was back up at Haven already, and tucked up at a fire.
Mags wasn’t spending much time in his own room, now that it was really cold. No one seemed to notice when he came and went from Amily’s room
s, so they had both decided this fit her father’s definition of “discreet.” The plain fact was, now that he wasn’t the Kirball champion, no one found him very interesting. And Amily’s notoriety from being kidnapped and all had worn off in the time they’d been gone. There was just nothing interesting about either of them as long as they kept quiet, and kept themselves to themselves.
He, for one was finding it very beneficial to be in the same building as the little things that made life more comfortable—like hot baths and indoor privies. And Amily had arranged to have a little iron stove set up on one of the hearths, instead of having an open fire, so they could even cook for themselves when they didn’t want to trudge over to Herald’s Collegium and the big dining hall. That was something he had never had the advantage of in the stable. Both of them had gotten plenty of practice in cookery while on Circuit, and with a much greater variety of things available—and an entire greenhouse full of herbs—it wasn’t that hard to put something tasty together.
It had been over one of those self-made breakfasts of oat porridge that Amily had told him about her new Gift.
She had explained that she wanted to be sure it wasn’t something that would fade in time, and that she had it in hand before she told him.
He’d been surprised by the revelation, but not at all surprised that she had identified it, learned what it could do, learned how to handle it, gone to an expert, and dealt with it all with complete competence. “I wish it was more useful,” she had sighed.
And he had chuckled. “Takes more smarts and more skill t’get the most out of a little than it does to get something out of a lot. I betcha ye’ll figger out how t’ do more with this than some’f the strong Mindspeakers can with everything they got.”
Closer to Home: Book One of Herald Spy Page 5
