Make Sorrel come back to me quickly. Give us another chance.
Clovermead turned to the west, and called out with her mind. Brookwade! Are you there? A bird croaked in the darkness. Clovermead waited another minute. She sighed. Make him come quickly too, Lady. I think we’re going to need him.
The next morning the refugees went into the desert. They looked back longingly as they left the green fields behind them, then set themselves to their long trek. It was a cool day, and the thin desert air sharpened the cold. Wind and the pounding of horses’ hooves whipped up dust from the arid ground, and children began to cough. The flagstone road led the Chandleforters alongside giant rose boulders and over dry streambeds.
Clovermead led a band of twenty servants down to the southern ridgeline, and scoured the horizon for any sign of bear-priests. Nothing moved in the rocky plains southward. Lady, I thought I asked you to help them go faster, Clovermead thought querulously toward evening as she looked northward at the refugees. They had made three miles in the morning, and four in the afternoon, but the road had gone over easy, flat terrain that day. Clovermead looked at the broken, hilly ground ahead, and she groaned. We’ll be ten days to Silverfalls at this rate. She looked southward once more.
Waxmelt cantered up to join Clovermead, shaded his eyes, and squinted at the stony landscape. “Not fit for a buzzard,” he said. He took a swig of water from the flask at his waist, and then offered it to Clovermead. She shook her head. Waxmelt studied the terrain again. “I want to send a scouting party south into the Heath to watch for bear-priests,” he continued. “The trouble is, I don’t think I have enough soldiers to escort and scout at the same time. I don’t want to leave our people unprotected.” He hesitated a moment. “Am I wrong, Clo?”
“I don’t think so,” said Clovermead. “Anyway, I don’t think we need to worry for a day or two yet. These boulders are awful to ride through, and the Heath smoothes out farther west—it’ll be easier for the bear-priests to attack us there.” She grimaced. “But I’m no more a general than you are! Don’t make a decision on my say-so.”
“Shouldn’t I defer to the Demoiselle, Clo?”
“No!” Clovermead shook her head violently. “Mother says a Cindertallow has to know when to delegate, and I know the time is now. You’ve been training the servants these last six years, and you know what they can do. If they were Yellowjackets, maybe I’d take charge—but they’re not. I’ll make sure the refugees get fed, I’ll keep them from lagging behind, and I’ll go on patrols, but you’re in charge of our defenses. Let me know what you decide, but make the decisions yourself.”
“Are you sure?”
Clovermead nodded vigorously.
Waxmelt looked back at the thin line of servants around the refugees, sighed, and shook his head. “No scouts, then. We travel blind.” He plucked nervously at his goatee. “I’ve never had so many lives depending on me. I feel irritable and shaky. This morning a servant spilled hot oatmeal on my sleeve, and I nearly bit his head off.” He chuckled. “I never sympathized with Milady so much. I have a very clear picture of what needs to be done, and no end of helpful idiots to work with, all intent on doing exactly the wrong thing. It can give you a very dour view of humanity.”
Clovermead laughed. “I’ll tell Mother. She’ll be glad to hear she’s won a convert to her outlook on life.”
That evening the refugees danced in the desert. Musicians started playing on a flat stretch of smooth ground surrounded by wagons, and soon they were joined by apprentices and washerwomen, lords and ladies, servants and farmers’ girls, all eager to forget the strain of their journey for a few hours. Clovermead wandered over to the music after dinner, sat down at the back end of a wagon, and massaged her calves while she watched the dancers whirling in the torchlight.
Saraband came tripping over to her from the nearest line of dancers and stretched out her hand. “Come join us, grumpy! What are you doing sitting down?”
“I’ve been riding all day,” said Clovermead. She poked her thumb a little harder into a knot of muscle. “Ouch. My legs hurt all over.”
“I see plenty of servants dancing, and they’ve been riding all day too.” Saraband waggled her fingers. “Get up, lazybones!”
Clovermead poked at her calf again. The knot was a little looser. “I suppose I could dance,” she said. “But Sorrel isn’t here. What would he think if he knew I was dancing without him?”
Saraband rolled her eyes. “Now you’re just making excuses. Sorrel wouldn’t mind a bit, unless he’s grown mean and jealous these last few years, and if he has, you shouldn’t care what he thinks. Cousin, I know you danced often enough while he was gone, and it didn’t give you the vapors. Here, dance with me. He can’t object to that!” Laughing, she pulled Clovermead off the cart and into the dance.
Clovermead’s weariness fell away as the music grabbed hold of her body and legs. She faced Saraband and swayed down the line with her. Saraband grinned at her. Somehow the way Saraband danced became a little bear-like, and she growled at Clovermead. Clovermead laughed, and put a little bit of the bear into her own dancing. They galumphed near to the pipers, playing by the fires—
Clovermead saw Lacebark through the flames. He stood at the side of the dance, beside a prosperous-looking fat man with balding blond hair, fingers like sausages, and a banker’s scales embroidered on his doublet. Lacebark watched the dancers, but his fingers hovered by the banker’s purse.
“The thief!” Clovermead gasped. “Lacebark Eddish, by Our Lady’s kirtle!”
“Where?” asked Saraband. She took Clovermead’s waist, whirled her halfway around, and took a look. “The redhead by the moneybags? Ha, he’s taken his purse, and nobody’s noticed. He is good-looking! Who’d have thought such a nice face could hide such a scoundrel?”
“I don’t care about his face,” said Clovermead, but she did, she did, and she growled with rage at herself for her weakness. “It isn’t hiding him anymore,” she continued. “Hiding! I’ll give him a hiding he’ll never forget. Don’t go away, Saraband. I’ll be back in a minute.” He’ll be sorry he came between me and Sorrel. He won’t have a pretty face to charm me with when I’m done with him. The music died down as the dance came to an end, and Clovermead took a step toward Lacebark, her nails grown to bear-claws—but Saraband had leaped ahead of her.
“I have an idea, Cousin,” said Saraband. “Follow me.” She tripped ahead of Clovermead, and stretched out her arms to the banker and the thief. “Gentlemen, the next dance is a round of four. Will you partner my cousin and myself?” She took Lacebark’s hand, and looked up at him with large eyes. “You won’t say no, sir?”
“Of course not, young miss,” said Lacebark. He smiled broadly and easily at Saraband, glanced at Clovermead—and coughed violently. He glanced hastily toward the gap between the wagons.
“I would not have presumed, Demoiselle,” said the banker. “But I would be glad to dance with you, if you will do me the honor.”
“Demoiselle?” said Lacebark. Now his face was paper-white in the torchlight. “The bear?” The banker winced at his companion’s rudeness.
“Growl,” said Clovermead sweetly. With an effort she turned her claws back into human nails. “You will dance with us?” She turned to the banker and took his hand in hers. “It would be a pleasure, sir.” His palm was sweaty. Clovermead sighed, and the four of them joined the assembled dancers. The musicians took pity on the banker and began a slow, stately gavotte.
The banker stepped on Clovermead’s toes. “Forgive me, Demoiselle,” he said. “I’ve not danced these ten years.”
“I’m sure you’ll remember how it’s done,” said Clovermead. Soon, I hope, she thought as she ducked back from his feet. She put her hand to the banker’s, and they twirled around. Saraband spoke animatedly to Lacebark, but Clovermead couldn’t make out their words. Lacebark looked uncomfortable; Saraband laughed. “You must have retired out of kindness, sir, to let younger men win their laurels on the dan
ce floor.”
“Too kind, too kind, Demoiselle. My wife, Lady rest her soul, taught me to be passable at slow dances like these, but no more than passable. I am a man of numbers, Demoiselle, not a dancer. Ask me about interest, ask me about investments, and there’s no man better in Chandlefort, though I say it myself. And I’m a good trencherman.” He patted his belly without embarrassment, and now he chuckled. “I can make a fork and knife dance well enough!”
Clovermead smiled, and turned so that their left palms touched. “I’ll have Father cook for you. He isn’t a fancy man in a kitchen, but he knows to buy good ingredients, and he cooks them simply and well. He fed a thousand pilgrims a year up at Ladyrest Inn, and I never heard a complaint. Mother will tell you he makes wonderful omelets. She likes them with strips of chicken, fennel, and green tomatoes.” Lacebark was sighing, and Saraband expostulated with him insistently.
Clovermead wished she were dancing with the thief.
“You’re cruel, Demoiselle,” said the banker. “You make my mouth water. I would be delighted to accept your kind offer, should Lord Wickward be willing and the opportunity present itself. And if I can be of service to you or him, in the matter of numbers, please call on me.” The banker glanced down at Clovermead’s toes. “It seems I haven’t actually crushed your feet these last few minutes, Demoiselle. Is that to my credit or yours?”
“Yours, sir,” lied Clovermead. “You should dance more often.”
“You know what they say, Demoiselle—bold in the marketplace, shy on the dancing floor. My wife, Lady bless her, dragged me into a jig when I was a young man, and that was how we first got acquainted. But no young ladies will drag a man like me out anymore, save your cousin and yourself, and I fear in truth your cousin wanted me as a chaperone. Do you think she fancies the young gentleman?”
“Not if she has any brains in her head.” Clovermead looked at Saraband smiling as she rested her palm on Lacebark’s. “Which she may not, Lady knows.”
“Brains and liking have little to do with each other. My wife often told me that when I asked her why she’d agreed to marry me. Ah, we’ve come to the change of music, Demoiselle, and we must shift partners. A pleasure, a pleasure, most kind of you.”
Clovermead and Saraband danced three times around with each other, while the banker and Lacebark did likewise. “I have the banker’s purse back,” Saraband whispered. “I’ll slip it to him somehow.”
“What did you say to him?” asked Clovermead.
“That you’d skin him if he didn’t cough it up,” said Saraband cheerfully. “He’s so handsome when he’s frightened! I was so busy looking at those eyes of his that I could scarcely concentrate on threatening him. How does the banker dance?”
“Dreadfully,” said Clovermead. “But he’s sweet. A widower, poor man. Watch for his feet!” And then Clovermead was dancing with Lacebark. Don’t make a fool of yourself, she thought. He’s just a thief. Remember that.
“Where’s my purse?” Clovermead demanded out loud. She put her palm to Lacebark’s palm, but she told herself she wasn’t enjoying the touch of his hand at all.
“Spent long since,” said Lacebark. He stared at her uneasily. “You didn’t tell me you were the Demoiselle.”
“You didn’t tell me you were a thief,” said Clovermead. They swirled around so their right hands touched. “I think you still have my money. Your eyes twitch when you’re lying. It’s those small but certain signs that always betray evildoers like you.”
“My eyes didn’t twitch,” said Lacebark. Clovermead growled at him, and he flinched. Clovermead couldn’t help laughing, and Lacebark grimaced. “I don’t have the money to give you, Demoiselle.”
“My money or your life,” said Clovermead sweetly. A bear-claw scraped against his finger.
Lacebark hastily shifted hands. It took him a moment to regain his composure—but when he did, he spoke with cocky confidence. “I don’t believe your threats, Demoiselle. What will you do? Your dark-haired cousin said you wanted to, ah, shake me like a rabbit with your long teeth—but will you really do that in the middle of the dance, with all your loyal subjects looking on? Will you bite down on my neck when I tell you again I have no money and I whimper for mercy? They already whisper half fearfully of you on the Chandlefort streets. I don’t think you want your subjects to remember that they saw you with my blood on your jaws. You can chase me into the darkness after the dance is over—but I have a fast horse fifty yards from here, and I know hidden byways through the southern Heath. Or you can forget about your missing coins. You have a great deal of money.”
“Maybe I’ll just scratch your pretty face,” said Clovermead thoughtfully. “That way you won’t be able to flirt anymore.”
“It is a pretty face, isn’t it?” said Lacebark complacently. He smiled at Clovermead, and she couldn’t help admiring the cast of his chin, the color of his eyes. “Demoiselle, did it make an impression on you? Tell me, are you still in love with your swain—what’s his name?—your Sorrel?”
Clovermead couldn’t answer him. They danced in silence for a long moment, and Lacebark grinned. Half of Clovermead hated him, and the other half—did not.
“I get confused around you, thief,” said Clovermead at last.
“An interesting answer,” said Lacebark. His eyes caressed her face. His smile was an invitation.
Clovermead looked straight into Lacebark’s eyes. They were honest in their desire for her.
There was no love in them.
The jokes are in my head, Sorrel had said. There are two hundred and twenty-seven of them.
“I do love him,” said Clovermead. “Right now I’m angry he took so long to come back to me, but I love him with all my heart. I just forgot that for a moment.” Lacebark looked disappointed—but hardly heartbroken. I’ll remember that, thought Clovermead. “You’re right,” she continued out loud. “I shouldn’t claw you in front of everyone, but I wouldn’t have so much faith in your byways. I’ll follow your scent wherever it leads.”
“That will be an interesting hunt,” said Lacebark cheerfully. “Though it seems to me you shouldn’t waste time chasing one lone thief when you’re busy taking your townsmen to safety. Ah, me, the music’s changing. I assure you that I spent your money long since, Demoiselle. It’s been delightful dancing with you—we must do it again sometime.” He bowed to Clovermead, and stepped to join the banker as Saraband approached her cousin.
“Moneybags isn’t so bad a dancer as all that,” said Saraband. She clapped her hands together, once to her left and once to her right. “His name is Geill, by the way. Any luck with the thief? I told him you would—”
“Shake him like a rabbit with my long teeth. I heard. But he won’t give me back my purse.” Clovermead told Saraband what Lacebark had said. “I’m afraid he’s right. I’ll frighten the townsmen if I attack him here, and I shouldn’t leave the refugees to go and chase him into the wilderness.” She groaned. “Maybe it doesn’t matter that much.”
“Don’t give up hope, Cousin,” said Saraband. “I’ll handle matters for you—and without scratching the man either.” And then she was dancing with Lacebark again.
“I trust the dance will end soon, Demoiselle?” asked Geill. He mopped his forehead with his sleeve. “I’m more out of shape than I thought!”
“I’m sure the musicians will be merciful,” said Clovermead. She put her hand to Geill’s and stole a peek at Saraband and Lacebark. The thief was shrugging, and then they were out of sight.
“I hope so,” puffed Geill. “Do you know, I was so exhausted that I dropped my purse? Your cousin was kind enough to pick it up from the ground for me—gracious Lady, your cousin is fond of the young man!”
They whirled again, and Clovermead saw Saraband pressed up close to Lacebark. She kissed him passionately, Lacebark looked quite surprised, and neither of them was dancing anymore.
“So she is,” said Clovermead weakly. Oh, I’m not jealous, she thought fiercely. I have Sorrel, no
w and always, and I know the thief doesn’t really care a speck for me, but, but—She jerked her head away, and concentrated on the dance with Geill. “She doesn’t normally act this way,” she said to the banker. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”
“I can hazard a guess,” said Geill. The music came to an end, and he bowed to Clovermead. “I should flee into the desert more often, Demoiselle. It’s been a delight.”
“Likewise,” said Clovermead. She curtsied to him, but she was staring at Saraband as her cousin walked away from Lacebark. That’s a sashay! thought Clovermead. Lacebark didn’t seem able to walk.
Saraband took Clovermead’s arm in hers. “That was quite nice,” she said thoughtfully. She half-pulled Clovermead after her, and they left Lacebark, Geill, and the dance behind them. “He has slow reflexes, though. It took him at least five seconds to return my kiss.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” snapped Clovermead. “You get to kiss the thief, the banker gets his purse back, and all I get to do is gawk at you like a fool and have that thief smirk at me! Thank you very much for your brilliant idea!”
“You have insufficient faith,” said Saraband. She opened her left hand—and Clovermead’s purse lay in her palm. “Is anything missing? It certainly feels full.”
Clovermead picked up her purse and stared at Saraband in astonishment. “How did you do that?”
“I’ve noticed that when you’re kissing them, men don’t pay much attention to anything else,” said Saraband thoughtfully. “It’s a weakness of the sex.”
“Some of us women aren’t much better,” muttered Clovermead. He got my purse from me while he was kissing my hand! “That was all a ploy?”
“An enjoyable ploy,” said Saraband. “Poor dear, he’s going to be hopping mad when he finds out what I’ve done.”
“I don’t sympathize with him at all!” said Clovermead. She laughed, and she started to run. “Don’t let him catch up with us.”
In the Shadow of the Bear Page 80
