“When someone is low enough scum to buy a bully-boy to hurt or kill someone you care about, just who do you intend to get your revenge on?” she asked bluntly. “The bully-boy? Granted, that piece of garbage won’t be taking on any more jobs, at least for a while, but the perpetrator won’t care, he’ll just hire someone new.”
Belton chewed his lip a little more. “No, no—it would have to be the one who did the hiring.”
“So, you want to take on the scum himself?” She saw a fire leap into Belton’s eyes and again raised a cautionary finger. “Think it through. Can you prove that he bought the bully? Obviously you can‘t, or you or your family would have brought him up before the King’s Justice on charges.”
The boy’s face tightened up. “You’re right,” he said harshly. “We can’t prove anything.”
“I’m going to be saying this a great deal, Belton—think this through, every aspect of it. What if he really didn’t do anything? What if you’re wrong?”
“But—” Belton began. She shushed him. “Humor me. What if you’re wrong? You try to hurt an innocent man. Well, maybe not innocent, but certainly one who isn’t guilty of that particular crime. I don’t know what your religion says about that, but I know that the King’s Justice will certainly catch up with you, and their punishment here on earth is bad enough.”
His face looked like a mask, but at least he was still listening. “Yes, but—”
“I know, I know, it’s easier for me to say this, to think about it, because I wasn’t the one who was wronged. Belton, your father is powerful, and powerful men have more than one enemy. It is possible that some other enemy did this—even deliberately staged things to make it look as if the person you suspect did it, knowing that in seeking revenge on the so-called innocent, you’d get yourselves into even more trouble. Isn’t it?”
He paled a little, and nodded. “But—”
“But assume you’re right, and he did the dirty deed. Whether you fail or succeed in killing him, he wins.”
Belton’s mouth fell open in shock. “How can you say that?” he cried, his voice cracking.
She spread out her hands. “Simple, friend. Think it through. You can’t prove that he did the thing, that’s a given. So, if you succeed in killing him, since you are not going to take your revenge by hiring another assassin—or if you are, you aren’t going to be as practiced at it as he is—you’re going to get caught. Your family is disgraced, and you die as a murderer, executed, and your family is impoverished in paying the blood-debt to his. Or, if you fail, your family is disgraced, and you die at his hands, or the hands of his bodyguards, which amounts to the same thing. You’re still dead, and he is still sitting fat and happy on his ill-gotten goods.” She cocked her head to the side, and regarded his glazed eyes. “Doesn’t seem like justice, does it? You’ve been wronged, and trying to make things right will only make them worse.”
Slowly, he shook his head, and despair crept into his expression. “So what do I do?” he asked bitterly.
“Let him go on gloating because he killed my cousin and got away with it?” The pain in his voice tore at her, but she knew that giving him sympathy at this moment would only allow him to wallow in feeling and keep him from thinking.
“Oh, absolutely not!” she replied. “But you have to have an eye to the long view. What’s the goal?”
“Get him!” Belton replied passionately. “Make him pay!”
“Then plan,” she said shortly. “Use your mind— he’s certainly using his against you, and that’s the way you can catch him.”
“Plan?” he repeated, as if the concept had never occurred to him. It probably hadn’t. After all, he was a very young man, and young men tended to act rather than think.
“Planning—that’s what will get you what you want,” she said firmly. “Every action you take must have sound planning behind it. You don’t think that generals just charge out onto the field without first choosing their ground and scouting the enemy do you?”
“Well,” he admitted. “No, I guess.”
“This is war; think of it that way—not in terms of a single confrontation, but as a campaign. You’ve got to get on your choice of ground, and you have to know exactly what you’re up against.” She was satisfied with his initial reaction. His face lost that tight, tense look.
“What do you mean?” he asked very slowly.
“First, you make absolutely certain that he really did order the murder, on purpose, with malicious intent.” This was going remarkably well, perhaps because the wound was no longer fresh. That was all to the good, since it meant he could think as well as feel.
“How do I do that?” Belton asked, losing a little more of the despair.
“Depends on a lot of things, but remember that this is a campaign. Remember the end result that you want. Wouldn’t it be best if you could turn this enemy over to the authorities?”
He sat and thought about that, and finally admitted, “Better, I guess. Not as—as satisfying, but better.”
“Then the easiest is to find a powerful enough mage to scry out the answer for you, and an honest enough one that he’ll tell you the truth and not what you want to hear. That’s expensive, but it’s the cleanest—and any mage in Rethwellan who learns the identity of a murderer is required by law to report it to the Justices.” She nodded as he brightened. “This, of course, assumes he hasn’t hired mages to cover his tracks, which he might have. A sufficiently powerful and persistent mage can untangle all that, of course, but again, it’s expensive and time-consuming. And I would be very much surprised if your family wasn’t already doing that.”
Belton opened his mouth to protest, then stopped himself as something occurred to him. His brow creased in thought, and he finally admitted, “You’re probably right. Father said the family was doing something, but he didn’t say what.”
“Then knowing your father, that’s probably what’s going on.” Now she reached out to pat his hand.
“Your father is a very intelligent man, and a very caring one. He’s too intelligent not to take the most obvious route, and too caring to burden you with the knowledge of it until he knows whether or not it will work. Belton, you’re supposed to be concentrating on your studies, not on family troubles!”
“How could I not?” he asked, unable to understand that.
She sighed. “Remember how earlier today I said that parents sometimes don’t know what suits their child? Well, they often think that they can shelter their children from their own troubles. Parents can be incredibly short-sighted about their children—and their children have to learn to forgive them for it.”
He looked a little bewildered now, but he did accept that, and waited for her to go on.
“Now, there’s another route you can take, which might not have occurred to him. Informants.” She took another sip of her tea. “If this low-life has arranged for a murder, he had to go through interme diaries, and every intermediary is potentially someone who knows who ordered the killing. He probably has boasted of it to someone, or more than one, and those people know he ordered it. Nothing stays a secret forever, and money loosens even the most reluctant of tongues. So, if the mage doesn’t work out, that’s the next path to try. And your father has probably already planned that, as well. Ask him; I think he’ll probably tell you.”
“But what does that leave for me to do?” Belton asked, despair once again creeping into his voice.
“Ah, now that is a good question, and I have an answer for you, but it means being very patient, confiding in your father, and the two of you working together.” Tarma was beginning to enjoy herself; it was a little like old times. “Your job will be to learn all you can from me, then return home and convince him that you have learned enough to become a partner in his plans.”
“And? What can I do then? What if he doesn’t have any plans?” Belton asked.
“Assuming he doesn‘t, I can tell you what I’d do. If I were doing this, I would then pretend to everyo
ne else to have learned nothing,” she told him, throwing out the idea that had come to her when he first revealed everything to her. “In fact, you should pretend to be a very typical young man of your set—learn the silly sword-tricks and act the complete fop. Unless I miss my guess, you’ll be such an obvious target that your enemy won’t be able to resist going after you in order to harm your father even more.”
Now Belton’s eyes were truly shining with excitement. “And when he does—it’ll probably be another assassin, right?”
“Or an assassin in the guise of a street-robber or even someone who arranges for an insult one way or the other so that a duel can be set up between you,” Tarma agreed. “And?”
“And I—don’t kill him? I take him prisoner?” He looked at her like an eager puppy, and she had to restrain herself from patting him on the head and telling him he was a good boy.
“Exactly. Then you have the link back to your enemy; I have no doubt that a skilled priest can elicit the truth out of your captive. When you’ve got the truth and a warm body to confirm it, you let the law deal with him.” She nodded affably. “Chances are at that point there will be plenty of people ready to link him with your cousin’s death, and he’ll be called to answer for that, too. But it’s all going to depend on patience on your part. Three or four years’ worth of learning and getting ready, knowing that at any time your parents may take care of the situation through other means.”
“I can do it,” Belton said firmly. “I don’t think Hesten could, but I can wait.”
“I think you can, or I wouldn’t have told you how to set it all up,” Tarma affirmed, and leaned forward. “Now, feeling better?”
“Better than—in a long time,” the boy said, with a slow, shy smile. “I think I can sleep now.”
“Then go let yourself out—and do me a favor, go tap on the door of Jadrie’s room and tell her I’m about to make a last bed-check, would you?” She leaned back lazily in her chair.
He cast a sharp glance at her, then grinned. “Are you?”
“Not if I don’t have to—but it’s time they stopped giggling and gossiping and got some sleep.” She shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder if we just shouldn’t let all three girls bunk together and be done with it.”
“Hah. You know girls, they’d never get any sleep,” said Belton, with the superior air of a boy who has not yet learned the real fascination of the female sex. “They’d spend every night giggling over nothing.”
“You’re probably right,” Tarma sighed with mock regret as Belton got up and went to the door. “Just pass them the warning for me, would you?”
“I’d be glad to,” the boy said with a grin, and managed to close the door quietly behind himself.
:That was neatly done,: Warrl observed without raising his head from his forepaws.
“What, getting the lad to scare the brats back into bed, or dealing with the potential avenger?”
:Both.: Warrl sighed, and rolled over so that his belly was to the fire. :Thank you for arranging things so I wouldn’t have to leave the fireside.:
“Thank you for the compliment, Furball.” She yawned, and realized that she had no real interest left in the book she’d been reading, or the tea she’d been drinking. “And since I won’t have to go chivvy the girls into their beds either, I’m going to set a good example and go to mine.”
It was the usual sort of midwinter day for the south of Rethwellan; gray and overcast, with clouds like long, lumpy serpents packed together so tightly that not a trace of blue showed through. A breeze hissed in the bare branches, but didn’t disturb the ankle-deep snow. Kethry, with Jadrek, Jadrie, and Tarma had come down to say their farewells to Kira and Meri; a part of Kethry regretted the need to stand there in the snow waving until the children, at least, were out of sight. Her feet were cold, and breakfast had been a long time ago. Still, Jadrie would have thought it terribly unfeeling of her not to be here.
The last set of escorts finally rode out of sight with Kira and Meri safely in their midst, and Kethry was grateful that there had been remarkably few tears of parting. And, in fact, long before the last speck faded out of sight, Jadrie had left them to go back inside the gates. As the core group of adults walked back through the gates and entered the door of the manor, Kethry cocked her head to one side. Tarma looked at her with a quizzical expression.
“What is it?” the Shin‘a’in asked.
“Listen—” Kethry whispered, and grinned at Tarma’s quick answering smile. “Silence. Isn’t it wonderful!”
“By the end of the month you’ll be bored and wanting your students back, and so will Tarma and I,” her husband replied knowingly, and took Kethry’s arm. Even after all this time, she still got a warm thrill at his touch, and she laid her free hand over his. He had a knowing twinkle in his eyes as she squeezed his hand in response.
“Well, we still have our own younglings, and I’m going to go drill Jadrie and the twins in the riding arena,” Tarma replied. “They think I’m teaching them riding tricks and Shin‘a’in horseback games to impress their friends. Hah!”
One of these days that trick isn’t going to work anymore. Kethry laughed. “Just don’t keep them at it too long. It is a holiday, and it’s not fair for us to give their friends release from study and not give them the same treatment.”
Tarma tossed her hair back with a casual flip of a hand. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m an old hand at making lessons seem like play.”
“At least until they catch you at it,” Jadrek warned, echoing Kethry’s thought, with a chuckle.
“Last holiday within a fortnight they had it figured that your game of ‘hide and hunt’ was nothing more than practice in tracking.”
“Well, that’s your fault for breeding such clever children,” Tarma retorted, as she strode off in the direction of the stables. “You should have been a little more careful.”
Kethry laughed, and hugged Jadrek’s arm, reminded again how grateful she was that her she‘enedra and her beloved were as fond of one another as the best of siblings. “To think that I was once worried about how you two would get along!”
Her husband arched a slender, silver eyebrow at her, and she braced herself for something witty, funny, or both. “Do you think that for one scant moment I would even contemplate doing or saying anything to offend our best unpaid child-tender? Perish the thought, woman!”
“I know, how foolish of me.” She released his arm with a kiss on the back of his hand. “I am going to go do something nonmagical, frivolous and feminine; I’m going to go brew up some perfume in the still-room. I’ve spent so much time making bruise-ointment and salve for the little hoydens that I haven’t done a thing with the roses I harvested this summer, or the sentlewood and amba-resin that I bought from that trader this fall.”
“Mmm,” Jadrek replied absently, as his mind apparently flashed elsewhere. I think he just realized that he’s going to have whole stretches of time without interruptions for the next moon. “I’ve got a translation I promised to young Stefansen that’s been giving me some problems.”
Kethry made a shooing motion with her hands. “Go do it, then but set the candle-alarm for three marks, or you won’t remember to eat luncheon, and I’m certain that Cook is already planning something a bit more experimental now that the children are gone.”
This would make another pleasant change; on the whole, children bolted food without paying much attention to it, and looked upon things that they didn’t recognize with suspicion. It was only when no one was in residence but “the family” that Cook made anything other than good, basic fare. And Cook looked forward to the holidays with some anticipation for that very reason.
“Well, I wouldn’t risk my marriage by offending Cook either,” Jadrek laughed, and kissed her forehead. “Now don’t you forget to set your alarm-candle!”
They went their separate ways, and Kethry immersed herself in the intricacies of creating her own signature perfumes—a light floral, rich with roses, an
d a heavier, more incenselike scent, both with hints of cinnamon. The still-room was one of her favorite places in the manor, pleasantly dim (some essences reacted poorly to sunlight), cool in summer, warm in winter. There was just enough room for one person to move about, so no one came here unless invited. She puttered happily with oils and fixatives, flagons and pestles. When her alarm-candle burned down the allotted three candlemarks and released its little brass ball to clang into the copper basin, she came to herself with a start.
She cleaned up and headed for the table, to find Tarma, Jadrie, and the twins making serious inroads on Cook’s latest creation. It involved finely-chopped meat and vegetables, cheese—something vaguely like sheets of pastry—and there Kethry’s knowledge ended.
“Pull up a plate and tuck in,” Tarma urged. “I haven’t a clue what this is, but it’s marvelous!”
The twins looked up with full mouths and slightly-smeared cheeks, nodded vigorously in agreement, and dove back in. All of the “home children” were used to eating things they didn’t recognize and were prepared to enjoy them, partly because of their cheerful tempers, and partly because they had always been used to eating things they didn’t recognize. They had spent their entire lives shuttling between the school-manor, with fairly ordinary fare, and the Dhorisha Plains. Shin‘a’in cuisine was not something that most Rethwellans would be at all familiar with, and there often was not much choice in what they were offered when on the road.
Cook came in with a loaf of hot bread and a pot of butter, wearing a look of anxious inquiry on his face. “Tasty dead horse, Cook!” Jadrie called, and ducked as he mimed a blow at her. It was an old joke between them, since the time when Jadrie had pestered him as a toddler, wanting to know what was in each dish he made. He had finally gotten annoyed at her incessant questions and snapped, “Dead horse! Can’t you see the tail?” From that moment on, any time Cook presented them with an experiment, Jadrie referred to it as a “dead horse.”
“I wasn’t certain, before, but I think this would be a good school dish,” Cook said to Kethry. “It’s easily made ahead and kept warm next to the ovens. Do you think the students would eat it?”
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