The Shewstone

by Jane Fletcher

  I know. I came through on the way here. “Yes, Holy Sister.”

  Anyway, Matt already had a longstanding familiarity with the large, open-air Sanctuary of Anberith, with its huge statue of the goddess surrounded by a circular reflecting pool. The crowded ceremonies provided excellent hunting grounds for pickpockets.

  “The doors on this passage are my special responsibility.”

  The solid, iron-studded doors were clearly her pride and joy. She was all but fondling them when Matt arrived. Would the priestess drag her back to admire the woodwork again?

  “Is this why you are called door warden? Do you have the keys to all the doors in the temple?”

  The priestess pouted. “I am charged with ensuring no unsuitable persons are admitted to the inner temple.”

  In which case you’ve failed by letting me in. And, between the lines, it was a no for a key to the Shewstone door. Presumably, the custodian had one. Matt would have to find out. Again, she had to work to hide a grin.

  “I’ll show you your room.”

  The door warden might not be guardian of all keys, but her duties apparently extended to full guided tours, when she was not otherwise busy snuggling up to the atrium gates. She led Matt through the western arch, into an area given over to general domestic buildings. A chimney puffing smoke and the smell of cooking marked the kitchen. They passed by the open double doors to a workshop. A paved courtyard surrounded by stables and a small blacksmith was wedged in a corner a short way off.

  The hostel was, fortunately, closer to the kitchen than the stable. It consisted of six private rooms over storerooms. A small, unoccupied cubbyhole was near the foot of the stairs.

  “That’s where Welcoming Sister Hosteller normally sits, but she’s not around at the moment.”

  The redoubtable sister had an amazing natural talent for saying the obvious. And where did the priestesses get their names? Did they shorten them for everyday use? Would the door warden answer to “Red”? What was the original name of the priestess in the library? Matt was going to have to find out.

  Matt’s bags were waiting for her upstairs. Her small room was furnished with a bed, a footlocker, and a wardrobe. Between them, they took up half the floor space. A window looked out over orderly rows of vegetables and herbs.

  “That’s the kitchen garden.”

  “Indeed, Holy Sister.”

  The well-tended area was walled off from the rest of the temple, either to stop overweight sisters from taking unauthorised snacks or to stop the cabbages and carrots from joining in with the ceremonies.

  “We grow food there.”

  Matt pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to laugh. Irony would, most likely, go right over the sister’s head, but the risk was not worth taking. Fortunately, a reply was not needed.

  The priestess clapped her hands together, “Oh yes, food! You’ll want to see the refectory.”

  “That would be nice.”

  The refectory turned out to be a large hall, conveniently close to the kitchen and the hostel. Two long tables ran the length of the room. At the far end, a smaller table was raised on a dais.

  “This is where we eat our meals. You’ll have a place at the high table, or if you prefer, you may request meals in your room, if you ask Nourishing Sister Kitchener in advance.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be a bother.” Unless the sister in the library was the one providing room service.

  “Breakfast is straight after the dawn ceremony. Luncheon is at noon. The evening meal is at the sixth bell, unless this conflicts with the tides. For those whose work keeps them up late, a light supper is available.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  They went outside again. The door warden was, mercifully, running out of things to say. How long before she quit prattling and went back to her beloved gates? “You’re free to join in with all the ceremonies.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Female guests may visit you in your room, if you make arrangements with me. Men are not allowed beyond the atrium, and even there they must be chaperoned by either me or my assistant.”

  That’s fine. I prefer women in my bedroom. Probably best not to say it aloud, although maybe the orgy chamber was not such a farfetched idea. The sisters were human, and for all their talk of chastity, there were certain basic human needs. Again, thoughts of the priestess in the library threatened to give Matt a most indecorous smile.

  A nearby door opened, and an elderly priestess emerged. This time the door warden did not hesitate to introduce them.

  “Beloved Sister, this is Hilda of Gimount, who’ll be residing in our hostel for several days. And this is Most Reverend Insightful Sister Oracle, the leader of our community.”

  Matt was not absolutely sure of protocol, but gave a half curtsy that ought to suffice and bowed her head. “Holy Sister.”

  “I’ve been showing her around.”

  Her divine reverence gave a weak smile. “I trust you’ve found it inspirational.”

  “Yes. I was particularly inspired in the library.” Matt liked to be truthful when she could.

  “You read?” her snotty holiness sounded surprised.

  “My father made sure of it. He said otherwise you could not hope to succeed in business.” Regardless of which side of the law your business was on.

  The door warden said, “I’ve told Madam Hilda she may read books in the library.”

  “She may. But the books contain weighty matters that are not easy for the lay person to comprehend. Our guest may find more suitable reading matter in the schoolroom.”

  “Thank you.” But I already know A is for apple. Her up-her-own-arse-edness was not endearing herself to Matt. Smile, smile, smile.

  “You’re in Fortaine on business?” Her not-too-holy-to-chase-money-edness, was also a little slow on the uptake, but had eventually registered Matt’s words. The sums were running behind her eyes.

  “My uncle died recently. I’m here to tidy up his affairs and see what state they’re in. There had been some talk of debt, hopefully unfounded.” So don’t expect a donation to temple funds.

  “I trust so. You’re a follower of Anberith?” The sums were still running.

  “I’m a faithful daughter of all the gods. My husband thought it better for me to stay with you. Fortaine is a port city, and sailors are…” Matt smiled like a woman too demure to know exactly what sailors were, other than it was not good.

  A bell sounded, interrupting any further pursuit of a donation, though Matt suspected it was only a temporary diversion.

  “It’s time for the Laudation of the Irresistible High Tide. Will you join us?”

  “I’d be delighted to, Holy Sister.”

  The Sanctuary of Anberith was comparatively empty, no more than two hundred worshippers. On holy days and festivals, half the population of Fortaine would squeeze in, ten thousand or more. Those were Matt’s favourite times to visit. At the moment, lifting purses would be too conspicuous and totally out of character for a demure businesswoman from Gimount.

  Deprived of her normal entertainment, Matt had nothing to distract her from the ceremony. She had not realised before how unbelievably tedious and overbearing it was. The only amusement was that the chief priestess had adopted a particularly silly headdress for the ceremony.

  Matt looked at the statue of Anberith, thirty feet tall. The prayers beseeched her to maintain the cycle of tides. Matt was sure, if the gods took their roles the least bit seriously, then Anberith would continue looking after the sea, whether or not she was asked by a group of hypocritical parasites in fancy dress. Alternately, if the goddess decided she could not be arsed anymore, asking her was a waste of time.

  The temple took a tithe of all the wealth passing through the port and levied fines for various shortcomings in its followers, then coerced whatever donations they could from people with more money than sense and capped it all by extorting eye-watering amounts from the sham of fortune telling.

/>   When her time in this world was up and Matt came to be judged, she could only hope the gods would show mercy to an honest thief. But if there was any justice in the afterlife, the fate awaiting the swindlers who lined their own pockets in the name of the gods would be no softer. Matt never stole from anyone who could not afford it, and she certainly never claimed she was divinely ordained to take whatever she could get away with.

  The prayers droned on. “I, your most humble servant, give thanks for the grace you have shown me.”

  Humble! Matt wondered how the chief priestess could say it with a straight face. Did she know what the word meant? The ring of green-clad priestesses began yet another chant, about the seas, the moon, and how happy they were to be so pious. Did any of them have the slightest sense of irony? Some people simply did not deserve to have a nice Shewstone.

  The statue of the goddess smiled down, kind, placid, and with just a hint of humour. Matt was sure Anberith would see things her way. Then she caught sight of the attractive priestess from the library. Matt bowed her head to hide her expression. She would relieve the chief priestess of the Shewstone, and along the way, she might even have a little fun.

  *

  The wooden frescos in the Shrine to the Oracle were a nightmare to polish. Wax got caught behind the little knobbly bits, and the effort of getting it out would cause smears elsewhere, resulting in the fresco looking worse than before Eawynn started. Each fresco would take all day, and polishing them once a year would surely be enough. However, Attentive Sister Chamberlain had ordered it done twice a month.

  Eawynn reached one of her least favourite bits, a selection of fruit spilling from an overturned seashell—not that there was much to choose between it and the rest.

  “Is this what you do as custodian?”

  Eawynn jumped. Hilda of Gimount stood an arm’s length away, smiling.

  “Yes. Mostly.” Caught off-balance, Eawynn’s answer was a touch more honest than she intended. “I mean sometimes. But there’s more to it.” And now she was babbling.

  Hilda gave a knowing smile, clearly amused by Eawynn’s disarray. “Of course. I assume there would be. After all, you’re Sister Custodian not Sister Janitor.”

  Eawynn could only hope her smile was not too sickly. Yet maybe she gave something away. Hilda’s expression became more serious, with a hint of confusion. “I mean, it would be silly if you spent all your time cleaning and polishing. I saw the book you were reading in the library.”

  “You understand clerical hieroglyphs?”

  “Me? Oh no. I had no idea what it was. I didn’t even recognise the letters. Which means you’re a scholar who was reading something really obscure. You don’t set scholars to do a housemaid’s job. I can’t see the chief priestess wasting a mind like yours.”

  That’s because you don’t see how things are. Even so, Eawynn could not help smiling at the compliment.

  “So what else does a custodian do?”

  “I assist Insightful Sister Oracle when she consults the Shewstone.”

  “That sounds more interesting.”

  Had she known it, Madam Hilda was no more accurate than with her previous assumptions. Eawynn merely nodded.

  “The consultations, they take place through there?” Madam Hilda pointed to the back wall of the shrine.

  “Yes. In the Shewstone Sacrarium.”

  “That’s a bit of a tongue twister.” She tilted her head to one side. “The book you were reading, was that to do with the Shewstone? I imagine there’s a lot of arcane stuff you need to know.”

  And you’d imagine wrong. “Insightful Sister Oracle conducts all aspect of the divination. My role requires no special knowledge. I just assist.”

  “But you are in training to be the next oracle?”

  “No. I don’t expect that role will come to me.”

  While they talked, Madam Hilda had been edging forward. Eawynn suddenly became aware how close she now was. The woman had slipped right under her guard. Scant inches separated them, and her eyes were locked on Eawynn’s face. Madam Hilda was flirting. Of that Eawynn had no doubt, and the knowledge set her pulse hammering. Maybe it was a game that would be fun to play along with. But the visitor was not the one standing in jeopardy, and she was not the one who should be calling the shots.

  Eawynn took a half step back. It was time to assert her own script. She was not a fluff-headed adolescent. “Is there anything I can assist you with, Madam Hilda?”

  “Oh please, call me Hilda, no need for the madam part. And is there anything particular you’d like to assist me with?” While they had been talking, Hilda’s expression flitted between amusement and confusion. Humour was now dominant, but then she raised her hands in a conciliatory gesture and backed off. “It’s fine. I’m just here looking.”

  Hilda set off on a slow circuit while she continued talking. “When she was showing me around yesterday, I got the feeling your Sister Door-warden was rather put out that she doesn’t have a key to the Shewstone room. Or did I misunderstand her?”

  “No. Only three of us have keys. Myself, Insightful Sister Oracle, and Attentive Sister Chamberlain.”

  “And there’s no chance of you giving me a quick peek at the Shewstone?” Hilda gave a conspiratorial grin, then again held up her hands, before Eawynn had a chance to reply. “No. It’s all right. Forget I asked. I was just…” She shrugged and continued her inspection of the shrine décor—the statues, the stonework, the incense burner, the windows.

  Eawynn sucked in a breath, surprised at herself and how close she had been to agreeing to the request. So much for my own script. She would have to do a lot better. What was it about the woman? Eawynn’s eyes remained on Hilda, watching the way she walked. The dainty footsteps were those of an old woman, yet a fluidity and grace underlay them, a dancer miming a role rather than genuine frailty.

  What game was Hilda playing? She’s flirting with me. That one was obvious, but was there more to it? Hilda’s stockings did not hide the muscle underneath. Her shoulders stayed perfectly aligned over her hips. Eawynn studied the movement, hoping for a clue, only to realise Hilda had turned her neck, looking back with a smile that outdid anything to date.

  Eawynn felt her face burn to have been caught out in such blatant ogling. Focusing on the wretched fresco, she re-attacked the wax smears and tried to ignore Hilda’s soft laugher drifting through the shrine. For once, the overblown fussiness of the woodwork was a blessing, a job needing complete concentration while she regained her composure. She embarked on her twice monthly battle to avoid getting a wad of wax stuck in the dent where the stick joined an apple.

  “Couldn’t you get a housemaid to do that?”

  Again, Eawynn jumped at the voice by her shoulder. Did the woman’s feet make no sound at all?

  “We sisters perform all necessary tasks. We don’t employ servants. Housework is part of our general duties.” Of course, before Eawynn was given the role, nobody had been specifically assigned to cleaning the shrine.

  “You’ve got armed guards outside the gates.”

  “Only in the outer temple. It would require an emergency for them to enter the inner temple.”

  Hilda studied her with intense dark brown eyes. “Do you enjoy it, being a priestess?”

  Not an easy question. “Serving the goddess Anberith is an honour.”

  The amusement returned. Hilda was too astute not to spot a question being ducked. “Don’t you miss all the things you had to give up when you came here?”

  “I was too young to have anything to give up.” The pony did not count.

  “How young?”

  “I’d just turned six.”

  “Why?”

  I was an encumbrance to my father’s ambition. “My family thought it best.”

  “Now you’re old enough to make up your own mind. Couldn’t you leave, if you wanted to?”

  Where do I have to go? “I’ve taken my vows as a priestess. My life is here, forever.”

  “You
don’t know what you’re missing.”

  Oh yes, I do. Hilda was standing very close, holding eye contact.

  The pounding heartbeat returned, along with a tingling in her knees. Eawynn locked her legs and prayed she was not going to blush again.

  The subject of “special friendships” was well known in the temple. It was never talked about directly, mainly because the gossip mill had an extensive range of code phrases above and beyond the standard euphemism. Once you worked out how to interpret what they were saying, some priestesses hardly talked about anything else.

  Among the novices, Nurturing Sister Mentor had been on guard against juvenile crushes and had kindly but firmly taken steps to squash them before they developed further. Yet she was not infallible, as Beatrice and Eawynn had been able to find out. Their experiences had been awkward and hasty, but they had managed to break a few rules.

  Eawynn was aware that many priestesses, freed from Nurturing Sister Mentor’s oversight, formed questionable bonds with each other, not to mention a few who formed even more questionable bonds with the guardsmen on the gates. Eawynn reckoned no more than a quarter of the sisters could truthfully claim the name of virgin priestess. Though in her own case, further straying looked unlikely. Nobody wanted to be known as a close friend to the daughter of an executed traitor, even had Eawynn desired to pursue such a relationship.

  But what of Hilda? She had a life outside the temple. Gossip over breakfast had spoken of a jealous husband, anxious to keep his wife from the temptations of common inns. Eawynn chased the questions around in her head. Where was this conversation going? Which of them was being naïve? Hilda was playing games; that much was certain. Was she bored and seeking a little excitement to pass the time? Was this how she acted with every woman she met or was she making the most being away from her husband? Either way, Eawynn was tired of people playing games with her life. She was not a toy. She would not surrender what little control she had.

  Eawynn fixed her attention on the fresco and the awful, crevice-scarred bunch of grapes. But she could sense Hilda’s eyes on her. The woman’s body was so close, Eawynn fancied she could feel Hilda’s warmth, burning through the sea-green robe, setting her on fire.