The revelations she and Tor had discussed today were yet more reasons for her dark mood. He was waiting at the fountain for her.
‘We must be very cautious. The Elders’ watchful eyes are everywhere.’
They began to stroll along the paths and Alyssa kept up a narrative about various plants, the history of the gardens, about the herbs and special potions they made at Caremboche and new remedies they had discovered. But beneath that they also talked.
‘What did you do?’
‘A trick.’
‘…shalack is one of our most versatile herbs…He’ll be back. He’ll be here tonight when I’m vulnerable.’
‘Then don’t come out into the open.’
‘…made into a paste which we then warm…I have to. It’s part of the ceremony…but just gently,’ she continued.
Tor ran his hands through his hair. ‘Listen to me. A mask will be delivered to your room today. Be sure Xantia sees it. Be sure that’s what you are wearing when you leave your dormitory.’
‘…good for all forms of pain within the body but is particularly effective for stomach cramps. Over here is a tiny pink flower we call strap…I already have a mask organised.’
Tor gestured to a bench. They sat. ‘You must be wearing the one which is delivered.’
‘What is it?’
‘A fox,’ he answered. ‘I’ll be the pig.’
‘That’s appropriate,’ Alyssa said, unable to help a sad, fleeting smile. She stood again and continued talking about herbals.
‘Alyssa, our time is short,’ Tor urged.
She stopped to pass a few words with two Elders Tor had not met before.
‘And did you enjoy our famed zabub, Physic Gynt?’ one of them asked.
‘Immensely,’ he said.
They nodded politely and moved on.
‘You were saying?’ she said. ‘About time being short. So when do you leave?’
‘Tonight.’
‘Ah.’ Alyssa tried to think of something to say to cover her shock but Tor spoke rapidly. ‘Except I won’t be leaving alone, Alyssa. This time you will be coming with me.’
He put his finger to his lips to hush her when she swung around in alarm. ‘It is no longer safe for you here. Untouchable or not, we were meant to be together. Even Merkhud wanted this. So let’s not disappoint. I have a plan.’
A small troop of acolytes passed them and one said good afternoon to their esteemed visitor. Tor and Alyssa forced polite smiles to their faces.
‘Just wear the fox mask and do as I say, when I say.’
‘Saxon?’
‘Is coming with us, as is Sorrel. They’re as deeply involved in this strange puzzle we’re putting together as you and I. I will speak with Sorrel this afternoon. Leave everything to me. Play innocent to all questions but make sure Xantia sees you put that mask on.’
‘I understand.’
‘I love you, Alyssa.’
Her spirits soared to hear him say it out loud, even though it was barely above a whisper.
‘Likewise,’ she replied and they parted.
Goth had to use all of his powers of guile and persuasion to climb out of the sticky hole he found himself in. Fortunately a small band of his Inquisitors had finally caught up with him in Ildagarth and the strength of numbers lent weight to his argument that the gypsy child had been sentient. He told the city fathers that the young girl had blazed with magic and had cast it against him; he had feared for those around him. He apologised for the manner in which he had dealt with her.
The mother was distraught and calling for his blood. The authorities knew this would never happen of course but they explained that they needed to placate the woman somehow. After all, she had lost a child.
Goth had no mercy for gypsies at the best of times. In fact, sitting here now in the Mayor’s office, sipping zabub and listening to the twitterings of the city fathers, he had almost convinced himself it had been the decent thing to do. To deny life to a gypsy child meant yet another drifting pickpocket had been dealt with. He knew he could not express this publicly but his twisted mind loved the righteousness of that thinking and he knew many people would applaud it.
‘I will make good with the family, of course,’ he said magnanimously. ‘Is it a large one?’
‘I believe there are seven children; well, six now,’ said one of the men uncomfortably. ‘No father but there are two grandparents as I understand.’
As he had guessed—a whole filthy sackful of the thieving rats! Goth banished the sneer which came easily to his lumpy face. He must not show his true feelings.
‘Mayor Jory, how about I send my men around to their dwelling tonight with a filled purse? They will express my sincere sympathies and explain my position. It’s most unusual of course, considering the child was sentient and had to be dealt with, but I feel badly that we did not bridle appropriately.’ His manner was courteous and humble.
Goth had already worked out that the Mayor cared little for these lowlifes who fleeced the Ildagarth community. He tolerated them at Festival time when hordes of gypsies flooded the city to make money from the thousands of pilgrims and revellers. They served a purpose then but the Mayor wanted them gone straight after. Perhaps this would be just the right encouragement.
‘I think that should cover it,’ the Mayor said. ‘Thank you, Chief Inquisitor Goth, for your patience in this matter.’
Goth waved the genteel words aside as if to say it was the least he could do under the circumstances. He called his man over and spoke in a low tone.
‘Have two cases of Morriet sent over to Mayor Jory’s house with my compliments,’ he whispered, pressing a purse into the man’s hand at the same time. ‘Give him this too.’
The man nodded. ‘Ask Rhus to see me, please,’ Goth added before the Inquisitor departed.
Rhus appeared. Goth made a show of standing and pulling out a large and clearly heavy purse of gold.
‘Give this to the family of the child, Rhus,’ he said loudly enough for the city fathers to hear. He watched them nod their approval and then turn away to discuss other matters. Rhus looked at his chief, knowing more precise orders were about to be given.
‘Six children, a mother, two grandparents. Apparently they are presently residing on the fringe of town under canvas with the rest of the gypsy filth. With luck though, Rhus, they may also be waiting downstairs for the outcome of this meeting.’
The Inquisitor turned to leave. He understood the orders totally.
‘Oh, and Rhus…perhaps the mother’s not a bad-looking sort. You and the boys may have your fun but be discreet and dispose of all bodies with care.’
The man smiled darkly. ‘No trace will be left, Lord Goth. I shall return your purse later.’
‘Thank you, Rhus.’
Alyssa was nervous. There had been no time for Tor to explain this plan of his but she knew he was right. Life would not be quite so safe for her any more. Goth had her cornered. The only hope was for Tor and her to try and disappear. She clung to this thread, knowing it was fine indeed. She was a marked woman and Tor was so well known in prestigious circles that disappearing would not be easy.
Her other confirmation was Saxon’s note. Saxon had been sent to protect her and he had not let her down. Now he was telling her to follow Tor. She was making the correct decision, however dangerous it seemed. The books, this strange dream of Tor’s, even her own dream in the Green—she was beginning to feel as though it was all part of some grand scheme. She was too frightened not to stay with Tor.
Alyssa had managed to avoid Xantia all afternoon but had followed protocol and reported to Elder Iris. She had explained that the crowds in the city were thick and it was hard to see much in that sort of merry throng. The Elder had accepted this reason for her early return quite happily. Alyssa explained that she had given Physic Gynt a tour of the gardens and he was now writing letters to the Palace and preparing for his departure tomorrow morning. He would be busy enough for the remainder of th
e day.
‘Did someone remember a mask for him, Alyssa my dear?’ the Elder asked anxiously.
‘All in hand,’ Alyssa replied then took her leave and escaped to the crypt. Sorrel found her there. They were alone and free to talk.
‘Physic Gynt visited me this afternoon.’
Alyssa decided it was no use hedging. ‘Did he tell you about Goth?’
‘He did. However did you get away?’
‘By running fast. Did the physic say anything else?’ she asked almost shyly.
‘You know he did,’ Sorrel said. She sat and fixed Alyssa with a stare. ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘I am. Sorrel, do you remember asking me what I was running away from at Mallee Marsh that day?’
‘Like yesterday,’ the old girl replied.
‘Well, he is who I was running from.’
‘I gathered as much,’ said Sorrel, not enjoying the fact she had helped to manipulate the reunion. ‘I remember now; he’s the young scribe who left Flat Meadows to train at the Palace.’
Alyssa nodded. Deep down, though, she wanted to scream at Sorrel. When Tor suggested Sorrel may be Orlac’s mortal mother the notion had made complete sense. She thought back over all her conversations with Sorrel; seemingly innocent at the time, now she felt they had all been contrived. Everything about Sorrel’s arrival, where she had brought Alyssa, how she had stayed close, had been a series of manipulations. It occurred to Alyssa that the only unknown was Saxon, which is probably why Sorrel had been so aggressive towards him initially.
But she needed Sorrel. If Tor was right then Merkhud was communicating directly with this woman—perhaps his wife—and she may yet guide them. Sorrel was empowered so it was perfectly feasible that everything she and the old girl had done since leaving Mallee Marsh had been fed back to Merkhud, who had timed his release of Tor perfectly. It made Alyssa feel ill to think on it.
‘My dear, are you unwell?’ asked Sorrel.
Play along, Alyssa told herself, be the innocent as Tor suggested. ‘I’m all right…just thinking about Goth makes me feel weak. Tor hasn’t told me yet of his plan.’
Sorrel had heard it already. She enlightened Alyssa. ‘He aims to escape tonight during the festivities. Saxon is preparing a cart. The physic has kept it as simple as possible. Under the shield of darkness and the obvious mayhem of the Festival, who will notice an old cart rolling out from the back gates? Simple.’
It certainly sounded easy but Alyssa was no fool. ‘But where do we go?’
‘Well…’ Sorrel sighed. ‘He seems to feel if we can make it to the fringe of the forest, we will be safe.’ She tried to hide her own doubt.
Alyssa agreed. ‘Sorrel…do you really care?’
‘Light strike me, girl! What an odd question for you to pose. What would make you ask such a thing of me?’
Sorrel looked shaken and Alyssa regretted her hastiness.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m sorry I said that. I just feel threatened.’
‘Know this, Alyssa,’ Sorrel said gravely, ‘I would give my life for you. Perhaps one day soon.’
Dark fell swiftly in a northern winter. There was promise of snow in the icy air but not for this night; tonight it would hold off as the merry fires burned from Ildagarth city to Caremboche and torches lit the main road connecting the two.
Chief Inspector Goth, his group now swelled to almost two dozen men on horseback, was filled with anticipation. The thought of holding Alyssa’s sweet body against his own tantalised beyond even his own understanding. He had no idea why she had such a hold over his senses. Now that she was a woman, her body filled out and offering so much more promise, the excitement he felt was even more exquisite.
Everything had gone to plan. The gypsies had been dealt with quietly and his heavy purse was back in his pocket. Goth was feeling invincible this cold and clear night in an Ildagarth which throbbed to the sound of music and festivity.
He touched the demon mask on his face. It made him smile that its ugliness was actually less intimidating than the grotesque face behind it. He thought again about the Prime, wondering briefly where the soldier might have disappeared to, but the thought vanished when he caught sight of a young woman with golden hair, dancing.
She wore the mask of a cat. It could almost be Alyssa but Alyssa would not be here so boldly. No. She would conceal herself for as long as possible in the sanctuary of Caremboche; but she would have to show herself at some point. Then he would have her.
Perhaps he might have Gynt too. Now that was a satisfying thought. The great Torkyn Gynt at his mercy. He would soon wipe that arrogant smirk from the physic’s face. How convenient that the person he wanted most and the person he hated most were both in the same place at the same time. He congratulated himself once again on his perfect timing.
While Goth was shivering with anticipation, Alyssa shivered with gloom. It was as though she could feel Goth thinking about her. She touched the disc on her forehead and drew strength from its pledged security.
She looked again at the fox mask lying on her cot. She was ready, dressed in the traditional crimson robes worn by the Academie women every decade at Czabba. It occurred to her now that perhaps the deep red symbolised the blood shed on that terrible day centuries ago when many dozens of the Masters of Goldstone were felled by the angry god Orlac. A few days ago such a thought would have been fanciful; now she could easily believe that the story behind these robes was embedded in the tale of Nanak.
Alyssa’s palms felt moist. Her nerves were betraying her. She smoothed her hands against the thick fabric of her robes and begged herself to remain calm. The other girls had long gone to the scenes of festivity outside. They would not be missing their chance to dance, even flirt a little with the men.
As Alyssa’s thoughts turned to Xantia, the door opened and in she walked. The awkward silence between them was broken as Alyssa deliberately reached for the fox mask.
‘Really, Alyssa, I thought you would come up with something more sophisticated than that. It’s so common.’
‘I like it. I think foxes are intelligent and handsome,’ she countered.
‘That’s interesting because most people think they’re just vermin. Far too cunning and best seen hung out on fences to discourage other foxes from pursuing what isn’t theirs. Actually, it suits you perfectly,’ she said sweetly. She pulled on the mask of a beautiful maiden with overly rosy cheeks and full red lips. The hair cascading around it was flaxen.
She posed for Alyssa. ‘Well, aren’t you going to comment on my mask?’
Alyssa would not be drawn but the likeness to herself was not lost on her. Xantia was behaving like a fool. Not wanting to risk further confrontation, she was relieved when a couple of acolytes their own age knocked on the door and asked if they were ready. Both squealed with laughter at Xantia’s mask.
‘The Righteous Virgin. Oh, Xantia, you’re wicked! It’s perfect,’ said one.
Alyssa pushed past, pulling on the fox head as she went. She tried to keep her voice even and friendly. ‘Come on, girls. Let’s not miss the fun.’
The four girls emerged into the cold night and Alyssa instinctively scanned for any sign of Goth. Xantia immediately assumed her wide-eyed search was for Tor.
‘He’s over there,’ she said, pointing towards a brazier in the corner of the main courtyard where Tor, obvious despite his pig mask, was talking with a group of excited young acolytes.
‘I was looking for someone else,’ Alyssa replied coolly.
‘Good. Then you won’t mind if I keep my promise to seek out your friend.’
Alyssa’s patience snapped but her calm voice belied her irritation. ‘Do what you will, Xantia. I’m tired of you.’
She had no idea what Xantia felt at this dismissal. The mask of the virtuous virgin remained serene. Alyssa briskly walked away in the opposite direction towards where the main gates were flung open for the first time in a decade and city folk, curious visitors and pilgrims walked freely betw
een them. She could see fires burning and around them people twirled to a frenzied series of steps known as the Cleffyngo. Hard, furious and noisy, they banged their feet and clapped to the rhythmic sound of drums and cymbals.
It would be a while yet before her participation in this Festival became necessary so for now she kept herself as inconspicuous as possible and watched carefully for Goth or any of his men. By joining a large group of revellers she was able to stay on the fringe of it, in shadow, but still have a good view of the proceedings. She watched Tor.
Just looking at his tall, broad stature which towered above most of the people he stood with made her heartbeat quicken. She wanted to hold him; to lay with him. Alyssa smiled ruefully behind her fox mask. She had never thought she would have the urge to be touched by a man again. Older and wiser, she realised the incident with Saxon had just been her way of reaching out for affection. She had been so young back then; inexperienced and terrified by her introduction to the ugliness of an unwanted touch. Perhaps Saxon had represented safety.
His encouragement of her relationship with Tor was curious. Saxon keenly wanted them to pursue it; his note said so. It occurred to her that he must have had it scribed in Ildagarth for her. What did Saxon know that she did not?
She turned things over in her mind. If Merkhud and Sorrel had orchestrated the reunion, then clearly they too expected something to happen between herself and Tor. And if Merkhud and Sorrel were being manipulated by some higher magic, as Saxon had been all of his life by Lys, then should Alyssa also accept Tor as her destiny?
And what about Cloot? Alyssa figured out that the falcon must have a similar role to Saxon: Cloot had been sent to protect Tor. How else could one explain his transformation unless by powerful magic?
Her thoughts were suddenly disturbed by a wolf, grinning from ear to ear, who asked her to dance. No one was permitted to refuse a dance on the night of Czabba and she allowed herself to be led to one of the braziers to join the twirling figures. Her wolf partner shouted above the noise to reveal he was a local shopkeeper at the bazaar. He sold sugars, he told her, rather impressed with himself. She smiled politely, just pleased he was not the real wolf who wore the purple sash.
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