The Shamer's Signet

by Lene Kaaberbøl

  “I thought you were a bear,” I said without thinking. She gave me an acid glare but said nothing. She rubbed at her face with one hand, trying to wipe away the tears, but her hand was so grubby that it only made it worse.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “What do you think?” She spat a few times. I couldn’t tell whether it was to show her opinion of me, or to rinse the dirt from her mouth. She managed to cry and look completely furious at the same time, but I didn’t quite understand why she was so angry.

  “Rose, you can’t just—”

  “I’ll tell you what I can’t!” she cut me off. “I can’t just sit at home and let you blunder around in the Lowlands. Dina is my friend. Only nobody seems to remember that!”

  That stung, because there was more than a little truth to it. We hadn’t thought a lot about Rose and how she was feeling lately. I certainly hadn’t. She was just there—helping Mama, feeding the animals, cooking and doing the dishes, and so on. But still…

  “You can’t just come barging in on us like this,” I said. “In the middle of the night. What about Mama? She must be beside herself with worry.”

  “Look who’s talking,” sneered Rose. “At least I left a note.”

  I wasn’t touching that one. It might not be too clever of me to get into an argument on who scared Mama the most.

  “You can stay the night,” I said, in my best and-that’s-final voice. “But tomorrow at daybreak you’re going home. Black-Arse can take you.”

  Rose glared at me in defiance. “That’s not up to you,” she said, tossing her head so that her braids danced on her back.

  “Rose, you don’t even have a horse!”

  “I’ll just have to walk then, won’t I?” she said. “Shank’s mare is good enough for most people.”

  I threw Mathias an entreating look. Couldn’t he explain to the girl that it was no good? But he just stared at us with his yellow falcon’s eyes and showed no signs of wanting to interfere. Rose crouched next to the fire, dug into her basket, and brought out a blanket. If I wanted her to go back, I would probably have to tie her to Black-Arse’s horse, and the thought of having to fight a girl was not very appealing. Particularly not when the girl was Rose. After all, I knew that she really did have a knife.

  “Until daybreak,” I said as firmly as I could, “and not a minute longer!”

  Rose snorted. “Shouldn’t you get some sleep?” she said. “We all have a long day ahead of us.” She lay down and wrapped the blanket closely around her. I tried to glare at her, but I don’t have Shamer’s eyes, and I had the feeling that nothing less would do the trick with Rose.

  “You have to use niter,” said Black-Arse suddenly, loudly and clearly. I turned and stared at him. But his eyes were closed, and he was far away in his own dreamland. He had managed to sleep through both the bear hunt and my fight with Rose without twitching an eyelid.

  I woke up with a wonderful smell of roast sausages in my nostrils. It made me smile even before opening my eyes, particularly since lunch and supper the day before had consisted of dry bread and a lumpy, unsweetened oatmeal porridge Mathias made. Perhaps it wasn’t so odd that Black-Arse should dream of blueberry pies.

  I sat up. Sunlight fell in slanted streaks through the dark thicket, and at our small fire Rose was sitting on her haunches, turning sausages and—yes, she even had sliced potatoes in her frying pan. My mouth watered.

  “Oh, you’re awake?” she said, smiling a little too sweetly at me. “There’s fresh tea in the kettle. You have a cup of your own, don’t you?” She nodded at a small tin kettle sitting on a flat rock near the fire. Steam curled from the spout.

  Yes, I did have a cup, even if I hadn’t thought of bringing frying pans and kettles and sausages and potatoes. No wonder Rose had sounded like a bear, crashing through the thicket with that load. I couldn’t think how she had made it all the way here from Baur Kensie.

  “Where did you get all this stuff?” I asked. I could tell it wasn’t my mother’s frying pan she had pinched.

  “Nico helped me,” she said.

  “Nico? Nico helped you?” I stared at her in disbelief. Why on earth would Nico help Rose run away from home—which in effect was what she had done? Mama certainly hadn’t given her permission.

  “He said that if we were to rescue Dina, there had to be at least one person along with a bit of practical common sense.”

  “You aren’t rescuing anybody,” I said. “You’re going home.”

  “Before or after breakfast?” she said, smiling again—even more sweetly than before. And my stomach was no help at all, choosing to growl loudly just then.

  “Breakfast?” muttered Black-Arse, sitting up sleepily. “Is breakfast ready?” And then he caught sight of Rose, and his face lit in a brilliant smile.

  “Rose! And ye have cooked sausages! I thought we were in for the oatmeal again.” He made it sound as if she had saved him from a fate worse than death.

  We drank the tea and ate the sausages and the fried potatoes. At first I was determined not to eat any. Then I had just a bite. And then the rest of my share, seeing that she had already made it. It tasted wonderful.

  “But don’t think you and your frying pan can make me change my mind,” I said around a mouthful of sausage. “Once we’ve eaten, you’re going home!”

  Rose made a skeptical little sound. “You know what Nico said? He said that a frying pan might be more use to us than a sword.”

  “I’m sure he did,” I said sourly. Nico didn’t think much of swords. “But you’re still going home!”

  We packed our stuff. Mathias finished his in seconds. It took me and Black-Arse a bit longer, and Rose, of course, finished last, what with all the gear she had to clean and put away.

  “Black-Arse, will you see that Rose gets home?” I asked.

  “Aye,” said Black-Arse. “If that’s what ye want. But I had reckoned on riding with ye yet a while.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself for my sake,” Rose told him. “I’ll be fine on my own.” She threaded her arms though the carrying straps of the basket and levered herself upright. It was so large that when you saw her from behind, she was really just a basket with legs.

  “Can you find your own way back?” I asked.

  “Don’t trouble yourself,” she repeated, and I quite realized that she had not agreed to go home. But if nothing else, at least we could outride her. With that load, she had not the slightest hope of keeping up with three riders, and sooner or later she would have to give up and go back. And it was better, anyway, than manhandling her onto Black-Arse’s horse by main force.

  “Let’s get going,” I said, mounting Hella. And so we rode on. And of course Rose followed.

  “She’s followin’ us,” said Black-Arse after a bit.

  “I know,” I said through clenched teeth. “She’ll soon get tired of that.”

  I could hear her behind us. The basket clanked at every step she took, making me think of frying pans and teakettles. And sausages and fried potatoes. But I refused to look back.

  Time marched on, and so did Rose. Mile by mile she followed us, farther and farther behind, until we could see her only on the longest straight bits of the road, a tiny toiling ant on the horizon. A tiny ant with a very large basket.

  “Are ye not goin’ to wait for her?” asked Black-Arse.

  “No,” I said, my teeth now clenched so hard it made my jaw hurt. “She said she could manage on her own, and she will have to do just that. If we help her, we’ll never get rid of her.”

  “Aye, but… after all, she is… well, she is a girl.”

  “So?”

  “So nothing,” muttered Black-Arse. But he kept turning his head even though Rose was now completely out of sight. I knew how he felt—just knowing she was there gave you an odd sort of prickling at the back of your neck.

  It was hot, and we were all sweaty, men and horses both. The road wasn’t much—barely a cart track—but the ground was so dr
y that yellow dust rose in little bursts at every step, layering itself on the horses’ legs and bellies and on my own damp skin. Irritating little black flies kept buzzing around us, and Hella was constantly shaking her head and swishing her tail to be rid of them. I tried not to think of Rose toiling along with her heavy basket, but it wasn’t easy.

  “There’s a stream up ahead,” said Black-Arse. “Can we not halt there? I’m all over dust.”

  Mathias nodded silently. And soon after that, a stream did appear. The horses stopped without any signals from us and buried their dust-streaked muzzles in the cool water. Gratefully, I got down and splashed water on my face and at the back of my neck. Black-Arse simply dipped his entire head and then shook himself like a dog, spraying water everywhere from his thick mane of red hair.

  Mathias dug out his dented pot and filled it with water. Then he poured oatmeal into it, stirred, and left it to steep in the sun.

  “Aren’t you going to heat that?” I asked, eyeing the watery gray mush.

  “No need,” said Mathias, and lay down in the shade of a birch. “Just wait.” He tipped his old greasy leather hat so that it covered his eyes and appeared to fall asleep instantly. No wonder, I thought, he had just said four whole words in succession. That must be downright tiring for a man like him.

  Black-Arse peered into the pot.

  “Oatmeal again?” he said sadly.

  I nodded.

  Black-Arse heaved a sigh and looked even sadder. “Is there not a bit of sausage left?”

  “No,” I said. “But you have no reason to complain. Oatmeal is excellent and nourishing food for travelers. And practical too. Look, you don’t even have to heat it.” I gave the contents of the pot a stir. The oatmeal flakes had already begun to soak and swell. In an hour’s time the porridge would be quite edible. More or less.

  Mathias obviously was not going anywhere anytime soon, so I pulled off my boots and dangled my feet in the stream. Black-Arse wandered about a bit and returned with a few blueberries. They were very tart and not quite ripe yet, but at least they cleared the taste of travel dust from my mouth.

  About an hour later we were getting stuck into the oatmeal. It had not been particularly exciting the day before, and now, served cold, it was even less of a thrill. The oatmeal had gone mushy and water-soaked without really turning into porridge, and we had neither honey nor apples, nor anything else, to sweeten it. Mathias strewed a little salt on his and passed the bag silently to me. It improved matters slightly. Very slightly. I wolfed down my share anyway, both because I was hungry and because I wanted to get us back on the road. Unless we got moving soon, Rose would—

  “Hello.”

  I turned. I wouldn’t have thought she could catch up with us this quickly, but there she was, absolutely plastered with sweat and dust. She had to lean forward to balance the weight of the basket, and her braids swung from side to side at every step. But her smile was triumphant.

  Black-Arse positively lit up when he saw her.

  “Hello,” he called. “D’ye have any more of that sausage?”

  “No,” said Rose. “But there’s a bit of cheese if you want.”

  Black-Arse leaped to his feet. “Oh, aye,” he said. “Thank ye. Let me give ye a hand with that.” He practically ran to get the basket from her and carry it the last bit of the way. And soon he and Mathias and Rose were filling their bellies with cheese and bread.

  “Are you sure you don’t want any, Davin?” asked Rose sweetly, holding out a slice of fat yellow cheese.

  “No, thanks,” I muttered darkly. “I’ve just had my oatmeal. And anyway, shouldn’t we get moving? I do actually have things to do.”

  “No need to rush so,” said Black-Arse, biting into his bread and cheese and gazing at Rose all the while as if she was an angel descended from heaven just for him. The way to Black-Arse’s heart definitely went through his stomach. And when we finally did ride on, Black-Arse went last, and it wasn’t long before Rose’s basket had somehow ended up on Black-Arse’s horse.

  At first I pretended not to see. But when I looked back a bit later to see that she was now riding double with him, it was too much.

  “Let her down,” I said angrily. “This is not a picnic, and we’re not bringing any girls!”

  “She can ride with me until I turn back, can’t she?” said Black-Arse and gave me a glare almost as defiant as Rose’s. “And anyway, who said you could decide who gets to ride on my horse?”

  It was hopeless, that much I could see. I could yell at them and kick up a fuss, but it wouldn’t do any good. Rose did exactly as she pleased, and, apparently, so did Black-Arse. I might as well face it—Callan might be a born leader, but I clearly was not.

  “All right,” I said. “But only until you turn back. And that’s final!”

  “Oh, aye,” said Black-Arse. But Rose said nothing at all, and I thought darkly that she would no doubt stay with me like a persistent tick all the way down to the Lowlands, with or without Black-Arse, with or without a horse.

  That night Rose made rabbit stew, from a small brown rabbit Black-Arse killed with his slingshot. He skinned it and cleaned it for her, and she brought out onions and dried mushrooms from the depths of the basket. Nobody mentioned oatmeal.

  DAVIN

  Serving the Dragon

  Getting into Dracana was not easy.

  “Move your elbow,” I hissed at Black-Arse once the Dragon patrol had gone by. “That’s my rib!”

  Black-Arse moved his elbow, and a bit later the rest of his bony body. It was a relief to sit up. Strange that someone so thin could be that heavy.

  “That was close,” said Rose. She too got up slowly and began picking pine needles out of her shawl. “Do you realize we nearly got caught this time?”

  She glared at me as though it was my fault.

  “If you can’t stand the heat, feel free to leave,” I snapped. “I’m not keeping you!” As a matter of fact I had done everything I could to be rid of her, but it was like picking burrs out of sheep wool.

  “Boys!” she said, rolling her eyes. “Why do they always turn everything into a pissing contest?”

  There was a funny sound from Black-Arse, halfway between a giggle and a gasp. He probably didn’t know a lot of girls who talked like that. Rose put a hand on his arm. “Not you, Allin,” she said. “I didn’t mean you. You’re different, and that’s the good thing about you.”

  Black-Arse managed to smile nervously and look embarrassed at the same time. It was enough to make you puke. Couldn’t he see that she was twisting him around her little finger? Calling him Allin, for instance, when everybody else said Black-Arse. And the food. She kept serving him little tidbits and generally carried on like he was a prince of the blood royal. And it worked. He helped her all the time, letting her ride his horse, carrying that ridiculous basket for her, finding pine boughs and soft grasses for her to sleep on. Without him I would have been rid of her long since. And now she had even managed to lure him into the Lowlands.

  It was all very irritating, but right now I had troubles far more important. Ever since we parted company with Mathias two days ago, we had been trying to sneak up on Dracana without being seen, and the closest we had ever come was the ridge we were hiding behind right now, well over a mile from the waterwheels and the houses down there. Dragon soldiers positively swarmed around Dracana, and I didn’t see how we would ever manage to cross that last bit of open land, to say nothing of sneaking through the camp around the town and finding a way to get over the wall or through the gate. The patrol that had just missed us had come so close that I could have reached out and touched the leg of one horse—assuming I had wanted to, that is, and if Black-Arse hadn’t ended up lying on top of me in the patch of ferns we had flung ourselves into to avoid being seen.

  “What if they find the horses?” asked Rose, watching worriedly as the patrol made its way across that last irritating bit of open field.

  “We lose two good horses. And they’ll
know that someone is sneaking about out here.”

  “We can’t go on like this! We have to come up with a plan.”

  “Certainly, Madam Mastermind. Any ideas?”

  “If we can’t get in without them seeing us, why don’t we let them see us?”

  “Oh, brilliant. Let me see, we march up to the gate in full day-light and make a few polite inquiries—‘Pardon me, Sir Dragon Knight, but do you happen to keep my sister Dina captive?’ Yes, that would do the trick.”

  “Numbskull. That’s not what I meant. But there are people down there, right? People who work in those mill houses. Ordinary people. Perhaps we can get them to hire us. And once we’re in, it becomes a lot easier to ask around, doesn’t it? And we might not even have to ask. Someone like Dina is… rather noticeable. People would talk.”

  It pained me to admit it, but it actually wasn’t a bad plan. At any rate, I couldn’t come up with anything better.

  “All right,” I finally said. “Let’s give it a try.”

  We left Black-Arse and the horses in the woods a fair distance from the town. It would be better to arrive on foot, we thought. Most of the people we had seen on the road did. At least the ones not wearing Dragon tunics.

  Black-Arse had not wanted to be left behind.

  “Why do I have to stay here? Why can the three of us not go together?”

  “Someone has to take care of the horses,” I said. “And if things go wrong, someone needs to ride back to the Highlands and tell Kensie and… and the others.” If things really did go wrong, I pitied whoever had to tell my mother. I hoped it wouldn’t be Black-Arse.

  “But how will I know if ye’re all right? How will I know anything at all?”

  “Every evening you go to that ridge where we were yesterday,” said Rose. “If one of us can get to you, we will. But if not—” she rummaged in her basket—“look. My red scarf. You should be able to see that for some distance. Just before sunrise I’ll be in the square down there where you can see me. If I’m wearing the scarf, everything’s fine. If I’m not—well, you get on that horse of yours and go tell everyone where we are.”