So they understood him almost as well as adults would. They thought ahead, and considered what they were going to do, almost as well as adults. And he couldn’t help but contrast these unchildlike children with Violetta . . . because there was not a single one of them who would not have gone to any length to find out everything there was to discover about Brand before approaching him. If Violetta had had the sense of these younglings, that letter would never have been thought of, much less written.
“Same as ye said afore, Cap’n,” said Mai. “Nobody thinks nothin’ ’bout us. We kin come an’ go, an’ people blab in front’f us alla time.”
He nodded. “People don’t pay no more heed t’littles than if they was bugs. We Heralds cain’t be ev’where, an’ no matter what ye heerd, Mind-Magic ain’t all that.”
That pronouncement was met with skeptical looks. He shrugged. “Use yer noggins. There’s a mort’o people in Haven, an’ even if we could lissen to ’em all, which we cain’t, it’d make about as much sense as tryin’ t’hear summun in a Fair Crowd, aye? Think ’bout it. Ye dunno who t’listen fer, an’ ye dunno where ’e is, an’ ye gotta pick ’im out talkin’ in a crush.” He shook his head. “Cain’t be done. An’ even when ye know who t’listen fer? Ye gotta be sorta close to ’im t’listen. So what’re ye gonna do? Foller ’im around day an’ night?”
He sat there and let them think that over for a while. Some sucked thoughtfully on their lower lips, some went back to spooning up their dinner, but more slowly, and now with their eyes on him. When he finally thought he saw understanding, at least of a sort, in all of their faces, he picked up his narrative.
“Aight then. So, long as ye kin run messages, ye got jest th’ same as I offered ye afore. An ye bring me what ye hear. But see, there’s more t’the deal than there was afore, cause now ye know what I am.” They looked puzzled.
“Th’ reason I tell ye this now is ’cause I want ye t’know when ye get too big t’play messenger, I ain’t gonna throw ye out on th’ street, on account of now ye’re way more valuable t’me. No . . . when yer too big t’run, there’s gonna be new jobs for ye.” He paused again, and let that sink in. The littlest and youngest—well, that didn’t mean all that much to them. They couldn’t, at the moment, think of a time when they wouldn’t be doing this for him; yes, they thought ahead like adults, but not that far ahead. And after all, it would be several years before they were too old to run messages. They couldn’t even picture what it would be like to be an adolescent, much less what it would be like to have an adult job. But the oldest—ah, he saw relief just light up their faces. They were thinking about that already. They were already aware that a time was coming, within a year or two, three at the most, when they would no longer be able to do this job, and depending on their outlook on life, they were either trying hard not to think about what would happen when that time came, or were frantically trying to figure out what they could possibly do.
He had just changed that for them. In fact, he had changed their lives. They knew they were secure, possibly for the first time in their entire lives. He could see it in their eyes, the relief, the gratitude.
It made him feel good, but he didn’t dwell on that. This was what had been done for him, when he realized he was here at the Collegium, and he belonged here. In a way, he was just paying all that back.
“Now, I dunno what ye’ll do,” he went on. “Th’ job ye get’ll depend on what yer good at. Some on ye’ll go next door, t’Weasel’s shop, an’ work there. Some on ye’ll get good jobs in tavern, mebbe an inn . . . jobs ye weren’t never gonna get, without it was me or Weasel givin’ ye th’ nod, eh? Some . . . mebbe somethin’ ye cain’t even guess right now, on account of we dunno what yer good at yet. Whatever it is, ye’ll go right on he’pin’ me by listenin’. An’ ye gotta bed an’ food here with Aunty, ’till ye want and kin go out on yer own.” He added that last, because he saw some anxiety creeping in again. The menial jobs in inns rarely gave the boys who had them beds as good as this, or food as filling and nourishing. Potboys and spit-boys, for instance, if they lived at the inn, generally slept on the kitchen floor and got the scraps rather than regular meals. So there was relief to hear that they would still have their “home.”
“Ye’re gonna have jobs fer life,” he added. “An’ thet’s th’ way ’tis. Ye’ll niver, ever go hungry or cold agin.”
The twenty-one pairs of eyes widened, and many filled with silent tears. He managed a smile for them, although it was very hard for him not to tear up, too. Oh, how he knew this feeling. He’d experienced it himself.
“Now, here’s t’other thing,” he continued. “Aunty Minda’s been teachin’ all on ye yer letters and numbers aye?”
All twenty-one heads nodded, as did those of Minda’s own children. That had been a pleasant surprise, actually, to discover that not only was Minda quite literate, but she was a good basic teacher.
“Well, she’s a-gonna tell me if’n any of ye are real good at that. An’ if ye want, ’stead of running messages, ye’ll be a-goin’ t’ real school harf the day, an’ ye’ll get same pay as ye’d get if ye was runnin’ messages.” Now, this was something unexpected for the children. They knew you could get basic letters and numbers at any temple, and anyone who employed children either had to arrange for these basic classes himself or send the children for at least a couple of candlemarks of teaching once a day. That was a given. And that was what they had been getting with Aunty Minda.
But schooling—real school, with books and paper and pens and learning more than how to spell out the words you most needed and how to work out if you had enough money to pay for something—cost money. Eyes widened once again, at the announcement that good students would be going there, and took on a look of stunned shock when the children realized that they weren’t going to lose anything by occupying a desk.
“Well, makes sense, don’t it?” he asked them. “Figger we needs all kinda people listenin’ in all kinda places.”
They nodded, because obviously it did make sense.
“I ain’t quite done. T’other think I wantcher t’do is keep eye out fer more kiddies we kin trust, an’ bring ’em here like ye already done.” He narrowed his gaze and raked them all with it, looking as stern as possible. “Ye don’ tell ’em nothin’ ’cept I got a messenger pack. Ye don’ tell ’em what we’re doin’, nor what I be. An ye don’ bring ’em here ’less they’re kiddies ye’d trust t’hold yer money. If ye cain’t trust ’em wif yer coppers, I don’ want ’em here.”
That had seemed the simplest way to designate who to trust—and who not to. And it seemed to resonate with them; he caught several of them nodding.
He sat back on his stool now, and let his expression settle into one of anticipation. “Awright. Ye got questions? Ast ’em.”
They did not bombard him with them; he hadn’t expected them to. These were children who had been abused, oppressed, and dominated. They expected the worst at every turn. The Heralds Whites he wore had been, for varying lengths of time in their lives, the symbol of danger. They might not fear him, because they knew the man, their “Cap’n,” who wore the Whites. But they were still cautious, wary of antagonizing him. In their world, asking too many questions could earn you very harsh treatment indeed.
But they had had weeks of good food, good treatment, and mothering nurture. He had treated them right. They’d seen him beat their abusive master within an inch of his life, then turn around and deliver them into what must have seemed like paradise. They had lost a good deal of their fear, and their wariness was, at this point, the wariness of a creature that doesn’t want to ruin a good thing.
So, slowly, they thought of and asked their questions. Why, mostly. Why are you doing this? Why would we go to school? Why do you want more kiddies? They wanted motives; they needed to understand that he had reasons they could relate to for doing what he was doing. He put it all very simply, in materialistic
terms, rather than moralistic ones. Although they were, on the whole, surprisingly good children, they weren’t very moral yet. Aunty Minda was seeing to that part of their education, slowly cultivating empathy, sympathy, and other positive virtues in them. He was more than ever glad he had found her. Interestingly, with the good food and good treatment, she was looking younger, about half the age he had thought she was when he’d come across her. But if he could answer their questions in simple terms of what is this worth to me, to the Heralds, they understood it much better. Commerce, oh, they knew well, having been commodities themselves.
So to why are you doing this? he answered because information is as valuable as food or drink, and sometimes more, and gave them simple examples. Why us? was answered just as simply: because you’re all smart, and you stick with your Cap’n. “Loyalty” was not a word they knew yet, though they were very familiar with the concept. Why do you want more kiddies? brought a laugh from him, and the answer of When ye git too big, I’ma gonna need more messengers, featherhead! And that made them laugh and smile.
Why are we going to school? had an equally simple answer. So you can write down what you hear and see right when you hear and see it. The longer you wait to tell me things, the more you are going to forget. Never mind all the altruistic reasons, or suggesting that if they were clever enough, they could become—well—almost anything! They had no concept of that sort of future. They looked at clerks, at artificers, at people in skilled trades as if they were an entirely different species. No one they knew had ever risen that high. They had no idea they could.
Well, they’re not much different from me when Dallen found me. Reckon I turned out all right.
They also didn’t ask too many questions about their future. This didn’t surprise him in the least. They had been so downtrodden they no longer had the capacity to wish, or to dream—or at least, to do so beyond wishing and dreaming for the next good meal, a warmer tunic, maybe a sweet treat. They’d get that back; when children no longer lived in fear and privation, the ability to hope was one of the first things to return. From his own experience, he knew that children were surprisingly resilient. They would learn to dream again, and dream of a future. But not just now.
Finally, when the last of the questions seemed to have been asked, he got up. “Yer gonna be fine,” he said gravely, once again reassuring them. “Now, tomorrow’ll be jest like t’day, an’ day afore that. Ain’t nothin’ changed ’cept what ye know. I’m still yer Cap’n. Aunty Minda’s still yer boss an’ yer ma. Anythin’ ye need, ye ast Aunty Minda for, an’ if there be trouble, ye go next door t’Weasel’s shop an’ tell ’em there what’s what. Keep runnin’ messages, an’ bringin’ whatcher learn t’me, an—”
“Cap’n Herald?” said little Ash, who had only just begun message running last week. Until then, he hadn’t, in Mags’ opinion, been strong enough to have the endurance for it.
“Aye?” he replied.
“I heerd somethin’ t’day.” Ash twisted his hands together anxiously. “I got sat by some fellers as was all wearin’ same sorta stuff. Same colors. Same kinda trews an’ all. Even same kinda boots.”
“That there’s a livery,” said Coot with authority. “It means they all b’long t’ th’ same lor’ship.” Mags smothered a smile. Of all of them, Coot had come the farthest, the fastest. He had the most confidence, and was the first to learn anything new. He was one of the ones that Mags had high hopes for.
“’Xactly right, Coot,” Mags commended. “So what’d you hear, Ash?”
“Well . . . they kep’ talkin’ ’bout a Lord . . . Kalten? Karan?” The little boy screwed up his face, trying to remember.
“Kaltar?” Mags asked, feeling a sense of . . . well, it wasn’t quite excitement, because whatever it was that Ash had overheard, it was unlikely to be anything good, if it involved Lord Leverance’s servants and Lord Kaltar’s servants. While so far the policy of keeping their Lordships’ families well apart had been working—aside from that slip with Violetta—there was no way to keep their households separated. At least, not without some fairly egregious edicts he was pretty certain neither Lord would stand for.
“Aye, Cap’n!” the child said, his face clearing. “That’d be it! They figgered out Kaltar’s gang goes t’ Flag an’ Flagon most nights. They been workin’ up th’ balls t’ go arter ’em.”
Mags wanted to kiss the child and kick every one of those servants of Lord Leverance repeatedly. Of all the stupid . . . He supposed that they must think that picking an altercation with Kaltar’s underlings would get them favor in their master’s eyes. And for all he knew, it would.
“Ash, that is damn good listenin’,” he said, and dug out a copper bit which he gave to the boy. There was no harm in reinforcing the fact that the deal he had made with them when this all began was still in force. Good information was still getting rewarded, regardless of the fact that Mags was a Herald. Ash took the coin, his face lighting up. Mags looked him and the two younglings that ran message out of the Bird in the Hand square in the faces. “Aight, we got us a situation here, where I gotta know stuff, an’ know it right away. So, I tell ye what. I’m a-gonna hev me a word wi’ the Guard Post near th’ Bird i’ Hand. Ash, Bet, an’ Silas, ye knows where thet is, aye?”
All three of the boys stationed at the Bird in the Hand nodded solemnly. Of course they did. Given their past, they probably knew the location of every single Guard Post anywhere they roamed.
“Ye three keep listenin’ t’them men. Whut we got, we got us a feud between two gangs, an’ ye know what thet means. On’y these two gangs is gonna hev more’n rocks an’ fists and mebbe knives, an’ if they tussle, people’re gonna get hurt. I reckon they’re gonna need some beer-balls afore they go marchin’ on these other fellers, so they’re gonna be drinkin’ afore they go break heads.” More solemn nods; these boys were no strangers to street violence or clashing gangs. They knew exactly how this sort of thing worked. “When they go a-marchin’, you go run t’Guard Post. Tell ’em what’s what. There’s a siller piece for one that gets there fust, copper fer t’other two. Aye, ’tis that important.”
Eyes truly widened over that. He rather doubted these children had ever held a silver piece in their hands in their lives—though their former master had probably had a hoard of them. “Aye, Cap’n!” all three chorused.
Mags stood up. “Aight. Now ye all know. Ye know how much good knowin’ is wuth t’me. Ye know whut I be. Ye know yer my gang, an’ I’m gonna take care on ye.”
He went over to the door and unlocked it. “Get a good sleep,” he told them all. “An’ don’ get too jealous uv Ash an’ Bet an’ Silas. They’s gonna be other jobs that’ll earn siller fer the rest uv ye, an’ that’s a fact. Keep ears open an’ eyes sharp.”
He wrapped himself up in his cloak, hiding every trace of his Whites except the bottom bits of his boots—and in the snow outside it was unlikely that would be noticed. Just before he stepped out the door, he took a look back inside.
They’d all grabbed their bowls and bread and were gathering around Aunty Minda, who was patiently answering the questions they hadn’t dared ask him. But he didn’t see any signs of apprehension or fear—just a little anxiety, which was to be expected. This was change, big change, and in their experience, change was seldom good. They needed to hear their “mother” tell them otherwise.
He smiled a little to himself, and left them to it.
:Everything has gone to plan, then?: Dallen asked.
:Aye, ’cept for that fool feud.: He sighed, and closed the door against the cold, moving out into the snow, pulling his cloak tighter against the freezing wind. It was, of course, snowing again. The street-sweepers wouldn’t clear it off until morning, at least not in this part of town, so he would be slogging through it until he got to the stable where Dallen was waiting. :I need t’figger out some way of findin’ out when those idjits start fightin’. Somethin�
� tells me I need t’ be there when it happens.:
:Ask at the Guard Post. Or suggest something to them. I suspect they would have absolutely no problem with sending you some sort of simple “yes, the fight is on” message.:
He blinked, thinking about that a moment. Because it didn’t need to be a detailed message; he already knew where the proposed ambush was going to happen. He only needed to be alerted when it was starting—which meant he needed a very, very simple signal of some kind.
Like . . . the sort of simple signal the Sleepgivers often used when they were communicating across a city, or across the countryside. Colored smoke.
Once again, Bey’s shared memories were saving the day. Bloody hell . . . thenkee, Bey. Hope mine are comin’ in as handy fer you.
—
This was the first time Mags had ever gone to a real afternoon Midwinter party. For that matter, until last night he had never gone to a real evening Midwinter party. He had discovered last night that the evening parties were a mix of dancing, eating, and drinking, with a room to one side devoted to card playing, and the card playing was really only for the chaperones. Up until now, the only things he had ever attended at Midwinter were several days of Master Soren’s “open house,” which wasn’t the same thing as these elegant parties at all.
Compared to the open house . . . these formal parties were pretty dull stuff. Master Soren always took care to invite a mix of people based on how interesting they were, not on their rank, so the conversation was lively, and people always had a good time. He had good musicians, and people could dance if they chose, or listen if they chose. There were games—board games, dice games, and cards—laid out, so people could make use of them if they chose, but there were no “organized” games that everyone was harassed into playing. In fact, until he had come to this party, Mags had had no idea that people even did that to their guests.
Closer to Home: Book One of Herald Spy Page 20
