The Shewstone

by Jane Fletcher

  The clang of the summoning bell wrenched Eawynn from her dream, in much the same way as it had ripped her from Hilda’s arms the day before, although that time had been for real. She gasped and bolted upright in her narrow, hard bunk. The wet warmth between her legs testified how strongly her physical body had been responding to the fantasy embrace. Eawynn raised her hand to her face. Her skin was hot, flushed. She prayed it was not conspicuous in the candlelight. But had she called out in her dream? Had anyone heard her?

  The nine sisters who shared her dormitory were getting out of bed and pulling on their robes, ready for the Laudation of the Irresistible High Tide. None were looking at her, and from what Eawynn could tell, none were exchanging significant glances. She scrambled from beneath her thin blanket.

  The pre-dawn air was chill on the gap between her long, loose drawers and her short, tight camisole. Eawynn tugged her robe over her head. When undressing the night before, she had left the white cord belt in place and now required only a moment to tighten it around her waist. Open-toed leather sandals completed her attire. Eawynn took her place in the line of sisters filing from the dormitory.

  The sky was light by the time the Laudation finished, although the sun had not yet risen. The ceremony had been well attended by those wishing to worship the goddess before beginning their day’s work. Even Hilda was there, which was unusual. She rarely showed up early. Had Hilda suffered from troubled sleep too? Eawynn would like to think so. It would go a little way to soothe her pride if Hilda was also paying for the game she had started.

  Breakfast followed immediately, and again Hilda was present, sitting at the elders’ table. Eawynn tried not to look at her, but it was impossible to keep her eyes away. Hilda was so different when others were around. Her elbows were glued to her sides. Her head sunk down so her chin was almost on her chest. A bland, vacant smile was plastered on her face. Somehow Hilda appeared smaller, less alive; even her shoulders looked narrower. Was it just Eawynn’s imagination? Yet Hilda’s eyes were the same, shrewd and alert.

  Suddenly, Eawynn realised everyone else at the table had finished their porridge. Too much time gawking and not enough eating. How long before people started to wonder what was going on with her? Or was it already too late?

  Eyes were turning pointedly in Eawynn’s direction when the deputy door warden bustled into the refectory, creating a minor stir. Steadfast Sister Porter whispered something to Insightful Sister Oracle, presumably about an urgent matter, since she and two other elders left their seats immediately and followed the messenger from the hall. Hurriedly, Eawynn made use of the disruption and emptied the rest of her bowl.

  The rye bread and broth followed while Diligent Sister Caretaker continued stuttering and mumbling her way through all forty-six verses of “In Praise of the Moon Ascendant.” Eawynn concentrated on her food, though it was hard not to choke over some of the more garbled passages. She dreaded the days when Diligent Sister Caretaker was the mealtime reader. Had anyone thought things through when they assigned someone verging on illiterate to the library?

  As usual, the inept reading overran, forcing everyone to remain seated, long after the food was gone. Even then, Eawynn had to stay behind. That day was her turn to sweep the refectory floor. The sweat and stickiness of the night clung to her skin, but she would have to wait a while longer before visiting the washroom.

  The Shrine to the Oracle and the Shewstone Sacrarium were the only places not on the cleaning rota. Everywhere else, the junior sisters had to take their turn. Eawynn thumped the head of the broom on the floor to release her frustration. In all the sisterhood, she was the only full-time housemaid, yet she still got a full quota of the general chores. It was not fair. And since when did fairness come into it?

  Eawynn started sweeping in the corner nearest the door. Some sisters must spend the entire meal picking bits off their bread and dropping it on the floor, as there was no other way to account for the amount of crumbs they generated. Eawynn had reached a particularly messy spot when the door opened and Vigilant Sister Chancellor appeared, with two assistants in support.

  In the temple hierarchy, the role of chancellor tied for third place with chamberlain, but rather than the maintenance of physical bricks and stones, Vigilant Sister Chancellor was charged with preserving the moral standards of the temple. Her promotion to the role four years ago had surprised many. She was seen as too soft-hearted. However, she had managed to carry out all her duties in a dedicated, unwavering manner, without ending up generally hated, unlike most of her predecessors.

  She was now wearing her sternest expression—the sort of stern reserved for junior priestesses accused of serious wrongdoing. “Dutiful Sister Custodian, you’re wanted in the audience room.”

  No need to ask why. Eawynn’s stomach tied itself in a knot. She braced the broom on the ground, a moment of extra support while she steadied herself, then leaned it against the wall and let herself be escorted out.

  Who had reported her? Someone in her dormitory? Had she been talking in her sleep? Which might work out for the best. She was being called to account when she could be accused of nothing worse than making a fool of herself over an attractive visitor. The informers did not know about the kiss, did they? Eawynn would not tell an outright lie, but what was the chance she would be asked a direct question she could not dodge?

  The doubts and calculations raced back and forth in Eawynn’s head. However, the moment she stepped into the audience room, she knew all her reckoning was hopelessly off target. One kiss did not warrant all the assembled elders. Everyone over the role of cellarer was there, lining the walls.

  A last firm push from Vigilant Sister Chancellor shunted Eawynn forward, to exactly the same spot as all those years earlier, when her father had given her to the temple. She stood directly in front of the high priestess’s throne-like chair, but currently it and the supporting chairs on either side were empty. Insightful Sister Oracle was patently too agitated to sit.

  She had been pacing from side to side. Now she stopped, glaring in undisguised fury at Eawynn.

  “Where is your key?”

  The question was so unexpected Eawynn could only gape.

  “The sacrarium key. Where is it? Show it to me.” Insightful Sister Oracle barked the words.

  Eawynn fumbled at her belt, unable to take her eyes away from the vision of rage incarnate. Only when her fingers did not hook onto the chain did she look down, hunting with increasing confusion and alarm. Both chain and key were missing. The knot in Eawynn’s stomach twisted into tighter loops, giving her nausea.

  “I…I don’t know. I must have dropped it.”

  “Who did you give it to?”

  “Give it? Nobody. I lost it. I’m sorry. I don’t know how I could be so careless. But I didn’t give it to anyone.”

  Insightful Sister Oracle stomped forward so she was shouting into Eawynn’s face. “Who did you give it to?”

  “Nobody. Why would you think I’d give it away?”

  “Because your accomplice used it to get into the sacrarium and steal the Shewstone.”

  “My accomp…” Eawynn shook her head. “No, I didn’t give it to anyone. I don’t have an accomplice.”

  “Don’t lie.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Treachery runs in the family.” Enlightening Sister Astrologer added her bit.

  “I’m not lying.”

  “What does the word of a traitor’s bastard count for?”

  Murmurs of agreement rippled around the room. Insightful Sister Oracle held up her hand for silence. “Who has taken the Shewstone?”

  “I don’t know.” Eawynn stared at her feet, frantically trying to muster her thoughts.

  “What are you hoping to get from this?”

  “Nothing.” Eawynn raised her head. Passive denial was not going to help. “What could I get? How could I possibly benefit from someone stealing the Shewstone? Think it through.”

  “Don’t you dare tell me to
think.”

  Once in your life wouldn’t hurt. “If I wanted to help someone to steal the Shewstone, I wouldn’t incriminate myself by giving away my key. Not when I could just as easily hand over a wax impression.” Eawynn felt a flare of anger. “You clearly believe I’m totally without morals. But you can’t possibly believe I’d be so stupid.”

  Insightful Sister Oracle’s hand lashed out, slapping Eawynn hard across the face. “Silence. We don’t need you to…”

  Point out the obvious? Eawynn’s cheek was burning, but now Insightful Sister Oracle had given vent to her anger, what passed for her brain was able to move on. The accusation against Eawynn was absurd, and the shift in tension made it clear that most, if not all, appreciated the fact. For all the good it would do. The Shewstone was gone, and Eawynn was the only one they had to blame. Negligence might be a lesser crime than theft, but with her current status in the temple, Eawynn was not holding much hope in the way of clemency.

  “Take her and put her somewhere secure. We’ll search the temple, and pray to Anberith that the Shewstone will be found.”

  Hands grasped Eawynn firmly by the upper arm, pulling her away. As she reached the door, Insightful Sister Oracle said, “I’ll speak with you again.”

  Eawynn had no doubt of it.

  *

  Watching the priestesses search her room was fascinating. Matt had never realised how many places they would not think to look. This was matched by the number of places they looked where she would never have hidden the Shewstone, even if she were stupid enough to keep it in her room. Most interesting of all, each of the three times her room was turned over, the searchers all looked, or did not look, in exactly the same places.

  While making mental notes for future use, Matt worked on acting like someone who was trying not to show how angry she was. After all, the priestesses were implying she might be a thief, which was the sort of thing that made decorous businesswomen angry.

  “Has there been a theft from the temple before?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure the thieves won’t return? I’ve little in the way of money with me, but some of the documents are very sensitive.”

  “I’m certain your belongings are safe.” Welcoming Sister Hosteller was clearly torn between irritation at the divine Shewstone being equated to mundane business papers, and her job description of being nice to guests. The irritation part was also unfair, given that the sisters were withholding the relevant information.

  “Do we know what was taken?” Matt asked.

  “An inventory of the items has been made.”

  That won’t have taken many sheets of paper. Matt merely pursed her lips and nodded.

  After the searchers left, Matt went for a stroll. On the second day after the theft, things were quietening down. Restrictions on leaving the temple were lifted, and the guard outside the Shrine to the Oracle had gone. A quick check confirmed the door was unlocked. Letting a man stand in the atrium showed how upset the sisters were, but Matt had to wonder what purpose he had been intended to serve. Were the sisters frightened the thieves would break in again and attempt to return the stone?

  Whatever byways her thoughts had travelled down, it would seem Unsightly Sister Orifice finally accepted her Shewstone was gone and she could not get it back with the resources at her command. Matt moved to the sanctuary. A short while listening in on conversations confirmed no word of the theft had passed beyond the temple walls. Most likely, the priestesses would call in the city watch tomorrow, and the hunt would expand. Tonight was therefore the time to get the stone out.

  Matt left the temple and crossed Silver Lady Square. She did not want to be away for long, and, in her current getup, entering most nearby establishments owned by the Flyming gang would attract attention. However, the jeweller on Crown Row was safe. The owner made and sold bespoke jewellery, and if you knew the right word, she would buy back the same, no questions asked.

  Another customer was peering at a tray of gemstones when Matt arrived, a middle-aged, overweight man in a courtier’s outfit. His hair was bleached and dyed henna red. His face was dusted with white powder. Matt bit back a grin. Why bother? No doubt his bloodline was not as aristocratic as he would like, but he was not fooling anyone with the makeup.

  An assistant accosted Matt. “Can I help you, madam?”

  She held out a locket with an engraved letter F. “The catch is broken and I wondered if it might be repaired.”

  At the sound of her voice, the jeweller looked over. Trained eyes were not misled by the wig and clothes. She gave a faint nod of recognition. “Excuse me, sir. While you think about it, I’ll just see to this young lady.”

  The powdered courtier smiled in a preoccupied way.

  The jeweller held the locket to the light. The woman was a true professional. Even though the courtier was clearly oblivious, she stood so Matt’s lips were close to her ear and blocked from view.

  “Pass the message to Edmund. Tonight, one hour after sunset.”

  The jeweller gave no sign of hearing. “Yes. It’ll be no problem. A nice piece. We can sort it out for you. When would you like to collect it?”

  “I’ll send someone.”

  The jeweller handed the locket to her assistant and gave a formal half bow. “Good day to you, madam.”

  Matt returned to the temple just in time for dinner, which had become a far more entertaining affair. Unsightly Sister Orifice was so upset she would go a whole quarter hour without uttering a single insincere platitude, but her face said it all. Somebody had pissed on her birthday cake. Only Eawynn’s absence spoiled the fun. There had been no sight of her since the theft was discovered. Matt did not like to think of Eawynn in trouble, but how much could they blame someone for misplacing a key? Though admittedly, the sisters could be odd at times.

  Had Eawynn tied the loss of the key to their kiss, and if so, had she told anyone? Matt’s guess on the second part tended to a no. Otherwise her room would have been searched more thoroughly than those of the other hostel guests. Not that it mattered. But was Eawynn too naive to realise how she had been duped, or was she staying silent to protect Hilda of Gimount?

  An uncomfortable niggle of guilt had unsettled Matt several times over the previous two days. Mostly she was able to shunt it aside, but now it strengthened into a decided kick. Matt clamped down on the unwanted thoughts. Thieves could not afford a conscience. It was not just a nuisance. It could be dangerous. The hangman did not let conscience get in his way, nor did the bent judges. She could not compete against them if she carried a handicap.

  Matt had never pushed Eawynn to do anything she was not willing to do, other than give up the key, and if Eawynn had followed her own rules, she would not have lost it. Or at least, she would not have lost it so easily. Eawynn was an adult, with responsibility for her own life. How she handled that responsibility was her concern. She was clearly miserable in the temple, but not willing to do anything about it.

  Matt smiled. She must have livened up Eawynn’s dull existence no end. Probably the most fun the priestess had known in years. And in the final analysis, if everything went to hell, Matt was the one who would end up with her neck in a noose. She was the one running the risks.

  Matt stayed in her room after dinner, watching the light fade. The clanging bell announced the start of yet another singsong in the sanctuary. Matt opened the window and waited until she heard the distant chanting. Time to move. All the sisters who were taking part in the caterwauling competition would be there. She pulled a heavy cloak around her shoulders and left the hostel.

  Possibly, rules were laid down somewhere, saying who was allowed to skip out of ceremonies and when, or maybe it went on the whim of the chief priestess. Matt had not been able to work out any pattern to the times when a sister or two could be found wandering the atrium while everyone else was in the sanctuary. Now though, the walkway and small garden were deserted. The door to the Shrine to the Oracle was unlocked, and nobody stood on guard. />
  Again, Matt lay on the floor and felt under the wooden platform. The Shewstone was where she had left it, on the joist. Matt slipped it into the small bag she had with her, then slung the bag over her shoulder so the stone lay in the small of her back under her cloak.

  The resulting bulge would be noticeable, although moving would make it far less obvious. If she ran into someone who wanted to talk, Matt had to keep facing them, walk away backward, and hope the sister did not think it odd. With luck, it should work. However, she did need to put it to the test. Matt returned to the hostel without sight or sound of anyone.

  Just one more step to go.

  The chanting stopped as darkness fell. Soon the sisters would be going to their beds. Already, the workshops and kitchen would be closed for the night. When making her plans, Matt thought about waiting until later for this stage, but no matter how late she left it, the sisters’ ridiculous, round-the-clock prayers meant she could never guarantee being left alone. Trying to explain what she was doing, wandering around at midnight would be that bit trickier. The last thing she wanted, with the current state of alarm, was to do anything suspicious.

  Matt left her room with the Shewstone nestled against her back. This was the riskiest part, and the buzz of anticipation was the best drug in the world. Matt could feel it flowing through her. More sisters would be up and about than during the ceremony, but moonlight played games with shadows, and the darkness was her friend, as it was a friend to all good thieves.

  Welcoming Sister Hosteller was still awake and on duty. “Good evening, Madam Hilda. You’re up late. Is there anything you need?”

  “No, thank you. I can’t get to sleep, so I thought I’d see if a walk helped.”

  “Comforting Sister Infirmarian has sleeping drafts.”