Mathe seemed to collapse a little. His rage stopped, his tears stopped, and he turned away from the dead priest. He looked lost. A face Heden had seen before on men after a battle.
The acolytes had stopped chanting, stopped struggling. They weren’t compelled into silence or submission, Heden had just returned them to normal. Many of them had been worked into a fanatical ecstasy for hours and would now be wondering why they were in a jail.
Teagan pulled his sword away from the acolyte’s throat and sheathed it, guiding the point into the scabbard without looking. I could never manage that, Heden thought. I always had to look down and watch what I was doing when I sheathed a sword.
One of the guards asked Mathe what he should do, and Heden watched Mathe pull himself together. These men would be home much later than normal. The Vine would have to open early for five watchmen coming off shift who’d desperately need to drink their memories away. Wives and families would be worried and when husbands returned home, they’d get no explanation. And more than one man would take his anger and confusion out on his family. Heden’s prayer would help with that, but it would be hours later and there was only so much Heden could do without taking the men’s will away from them. Which he was loathe to do in any circumstance.
A stomping was heard and the door to the dungeon below opened. Domnal emerged, his shoulders laden with two dozen heavy manacles. Domnal was a big man, fat but strong. He stood looking at the scene before him, at the acolytes all staring silently at the floor. At the explosion of red on the wall and the headless body of Wil on the floor, next to the beaten corpse of the priest of St. Eseld.
He let the manacles slide off his shoulders and in wide-eyed anger said,
“What the fuck happened here?!”
Chapter Two
“Alright, let’s hear it,” Domnal said, his voice loud as he walked to his small office. He threw his heavy key ring on the table. It hit with a loud clatter, slid, and fell off the other side. Domnal scowled and swore as he sat down and then groaned as he leaned over and picked the ring up off the ground.
Heden followed him in and closed the door behind him. The room was warm, made of hard wood and lit by four candles in sconces on the wall. A layer of sawdust covered the floor, put there by the guards to absorb any blood spilt during the execution of their duty. Several pieces of parchment covered Domnal’s large desk. Heden knew the man could read and write, but only the typical phrases found in official documents. Put a book in front of him, and he’d start to sweat.
“You heard it from Mathe,” Heden said, sitting down in the armless chair.
“I want to hear it from you,” Domnal said, scowling.
Domnal was Mathe in ten years. A big man in every sense of the word. Tall, wide, gone to fat. His pale complexion meant his face went flush any time he was angry or ashamed or had exerted himself. It was currently beet red. His hair grew in short brown wisps. He was loud, brutish, and effective.
Heden recounted what happened, and voiced his own culpability.
“Well what did you come here for if not to help,” Domnal threw his keys on his desk, half at Heden, in disgust. They clattered and rang on the wood and slid down off the table again, landing at Heden’s feet.
“Ah, fuck it,” Domnal said. Heden, aware Domnal’s outburst was not directed at him, reached down and picked up the heavy iron key ring. He placed it on the desk, out of reach of Domnal.
“We don’t see you for a year and then you show up and one of my men dies,” Dom wasn’t really talking to him, Heden knew. He was just angry. “Why didn’t you just stay home?”
Heden didn’t say anything. Dom needed to let it out. Heden knew that if he tried to defend himself, Dom would just get angrier.
“I’m going to have to go talk to his wife,” Domnal said, his voice now betraying weariness.
“Want me to do it?” Heden asked.
“You?” Dom said, not fully listening.
“Done it before,” Heden said. “Spent lots of time with families of dead. . .,” he wasn’t motivated to finish the sentence. “You know.”
Domnal grunted a negative, adjusting his bulk. “It’s got to be me. She’d think I didn’t care if I sent you.”
Domnal was probably right. Heden could see his friend was no longer angry at him. Sometimes it paid to keep your mouth shut.
“Where do they come from?” Domnal wondered. Heden had not used a prayer to calm Domnal and now he’d bled all his anger out and had time to be resentful.
“I dunno,” Heden said. “You want a real answer? The king, I guess.”
Domnal straightened up, frowned and made a questioning grunt.
“The king burned down the bridge across the Mal,” Heden said. “He had reasons. But now there’s no bridge, so no trade. Folks start to struggle, they don’t know any other work and they get desperate. Then they listen to a priest of Cyrvis telling them they don’t have to live like this.”
Domnal listened, then scowled and grunted. “That don’t explain it. My da was poor for two years after the Duke took his farm. He didn’t kill no-one. It don’t explain it.”
Heden knew both of them were right. “No, it doesn’t,” he granted.
“How’s Megan?” Heden asked after a moment.
He saw Domnal’s face flash blank for an instant, and Heden’s stomach turned. He recognized the sign that something was wrong between Domnal and his wife, and that just saying her name caused him discomfort. Domnal was about to lie to him.
“She’s fine,” he said without feeling. “Keeps saying we should invite you to dinner.”
“You should invite me to dinner,” Heden agreed.
Dom sighed at his friend. “You wouldn’t come,” he said with sympathy. “You’d find an excuse to stay in that fucking inn you never open.”
Heden didn’t say anything. He wasn’t aware his desire to avoid the world was so obvious to everyone.
“She says you just need a woman,” Domnal said, gaining interest in talking about something other than the Eseldics and his dead guard.
Heden shrugged. “What did you tell her?”
“I asked her if she was volunteering,” he said, flashing a quick smile. Heden smiled a little for show. For some reason he couldn’t explain, he found that kind of talk distasteful.
Domnal took the question seriously and answered; “I told her it was too late for you. Tried to explain.”
“What’d she say?”
“She didn’t listen. She don’t believe that stuff. Not a romantic, like you,” Dom said, drawing the word ‘romantic’ out to make fun of Heden. “She’s got a niece she says would play your organ like a fife if you’d but loosen your belt.”
Heden looked at the ceiling and blinked as though asking Cavall for strength.
Domnal chuckled at Heden’s reaction and this made Heden happy. “She don’t know you,” Domnal concluded.
Heden waited a moment and changed the subject.
“Did you know Teagan was a ratcatcher?” Heden asked, guessing at the new guard’s old profession.
“What?” Domnal said. “Teagan? ‘Course I did,” he said, frowning. “Everyone does. You know what it’s like here, no room for secrets.”
Heden did know what it was like there and knew there were more secrets than Domnal would let on.
“He’s good,” Heden said. Domnal was impressed with Heden’s evaluation.
“He’s a mare,” Domnal grinned.
Heden frowned. “He’s a what?”
Domnal sat back in his chair, his grin turning into a smile.
“Fancies men,” Domnal said.
Heden’s face went blank for a moment as he absorbed this. “Hm.” He shrugged to himself. “Well he’s that good in a fight, he can do what he wants with his prick. Who was he with?”
“The Sword of Silver,” Domnal said raising his eyebrows and pronouncing the words with exaggerated precision. Most people thought company names were absurd.
“Really?” Heden
said. “They were good. They recovered the Blade of a Thousand Years. I always thought ‘The Immortal Blade’ would have been a better name for them after that.”
“Ah it’s all crap,” Domnal said.
“True,” Heden said.
Domnal remembered something, and threw a sharp glance at Heden for a moment. Then, seeming embarrassed, cast his eyes down.
“Listen, Heden,” he said, screwing his face up with reluctance. Heden could tell his friend was embarrassed by something and for some reason Heden was in no mood to let him off the hook.
“Uh, listen,” Domnal said again lowering his voice, seeming to shrink as he asked a favor. “I was wondering if you could, you know after everything that happened this morning, if you could…say a blessing for me?”
Heden frowned and looked Domnal up and down as though he were being tricked.
Domnal seemed anxious and ashamed. Heden shrugged. “Okay,” he said. Domnal was immediately relieved. The two men got up and approached each other.
Domnal straightened up, eyes closed. Heden grabbed his amulet with his left hand, held up his right, palm out, and prayed to his saint, Lynwen.
Both men stood there, eyes closed, as Heden spoke his prayer in the First Language. As he did so, Heden caught a fleeting glimpse in his mind of two eyes, a woman’s, rolling with amusement. Heden felt his hands grow warm and knew Dom was feeling the same unnatural heat.
The prayer was not ceremonial, it was purifying. It was effective in proportion with how just and fair the subject was, as was Cavall’s will, but Heden prayed to Saint Lynwen, who had her own agenda which none but Heden understood. The prayer would strengthen the body and cure small ills. And reveal any physical problems with the supplicant.
Heden’s eyes flashed open, angry at the secret Lynwen had revealed to him even as she cured it. Now he knew why Dom was ashamed to ask.
“You fucker,” Heden said.
“Heden!” Domnal said, flinching at his friend’s judgment.
“You know I’m going to have to pray over Megan now, too.”
Domnal half turned, picked up a proclamation off his desk. “Well you can do that when you come to dinner.” He avoided Heden’s gaze and pretended to read the document.
“You complete shit, you know she dotes on you. Brags about you.”
“Should I tell her, do you think?” Domnal asked, his face pained, his voice quiet.
“Should you…no you should not tell her, you should be faithful to her! You should go to the church and ask Cavall and Llewellyn for forgiveness!”
“Am I going to be alright?” Domnal asked, stung by his friend’s anger.
“Not if you keep paying for whores!”
“Listen, Heden, did you come here for a reason?” Domnal struck back, angry because he knew Heden was right. “Everyone here does it, you know. If you gave it a go once in a while, you wouldn’t be….” He stopped. Heden cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.
“You going to finish that sentence?” Heden asked mildly.
The small office was silent for a few moments. Then Domnal looked away and sniffed. “Nah,” Domnal said.
“You’ve got someone here for me,” Heden said. “A girl.”
“What?” Domnal asked, forgetting his earlier question. “Oh fuck you’re right,” he said, glad to have something else to think about. He put the papers down. “I’d forgotten about her,” he reached out and picked up his keychain, his thick fingers searching through the keys.
Heden fingered a small pouch on his belt as Domnal selected the right key and moved to the door. Heden stood behind him.
“Black gods,” Domnal said, and Heden saw some weight pulled off him, his body sagged a little with relief, “she’s been here for three days. The boys won’t go near her. I end up having to bring her food and drink. She’s in a terrible state. Not bad looking though,” he mused, then remembered who he was talking to. “I knew they’d send you,” he smiled at Heden. “Knew you’d show up to take care of it.”
“Yeah,” Heden said. Domnal turned to leave.
Domnal looked over his back. “Thank you for the prayer.”
“Yeah,” Heden said. “Tell Megan I want hogget.” He pushed his friend forward. “Let’s go.”
Domnal opened the door and led Heden to the cell.
Chapter Three
The jail was one of several small, squat buildings scattered throughout the city. It wasn’t designed for much but holding murderous, thieving bastards long enough for the King’s magistrates to figure out what to do with them.
Three levels extended down, most of them empty most of the time. The girl was in a cell on the second floor, the only occupied cell down there. She was there, Heden knew, because she wouldn’t disturb the prisoners on the first floor with her raving.
Heden and Domnal arrived outside the small door. While Domnal unlocked the door and opened it, Heden thought he detected a little fear from the man. Domnal was normally fearless. But madness, possession, loss of identity did scare him, Heden knew.
“Come get me when you’re done,” Domnal said, turning to leave. “I’ll send someone down to clear her out.” He stopped and looked with a mixture of gratitude and pity at his friend, about to discharge a terrible duty, and held out his hand. “Thanks again,” Dom said.
Heden took his hand, but couldn’t look Domnal in the eye. “Won’t take long,” he said.
Dom nodded, turned, and walked off into the darkness. Heden, torch in one hand, looked into the cell but out of the corner of his eye monitored the slow retreat of Domnal’s light. The light eventually winked out and Heden was alone.
He stepped into the cell. It was ten feet deep, but only four feet wide. The roof was low but low ceilings had never been a problem for Heden. The cell walls and floor were dark, ruddy clay. There was a cot about a foot off the floor. The door behind him had a small metal plate that could be opened and closed only from the outside, allowing the guards to feed the prisoner. There was a bowl of food on the floor, tipped over, and a bowl of water still intact.
In Heden’s estimation the girl was maybe fourteen. She was in the far corner of the cell, on the ground, looking as though she’d crawled there in an attempt to put as much of her body as far away from the door as possible.
She was gibbering. She’d soiled herself, and her mouth was bleeding. Her eyes were rolling around in her head. For a moment, Heden saw the mad eye of the Eseldic from upstairs.
Heden was relieved. She was in the middle of a fit, which meant she’d be easier to deal with than the last one.
Ensconcing his torch, he walked over to the cot. The girl had left a streak of vomit and blood on the ground. Heden sat on the cot, and unlaced the pouch he’d tied to his belt.
He extracted from the small leather pouch what looked like a ball of green pipe tobacco. It glistened in the guttering torchlight. He pulled a small leather strap out from his waist, and said a short prayer.
As he prepared, he spoke to the girl. Nothing in particular, in soothing tones. He knew she wouldn’t respond to him, but he thought maybe part of her could hear him. He bent down and began his experiment. He felt like a thief. Like he was stealing something from someone.
The girl seized up, flailing around in spasms. Her long, brown hair was matted on her face and her thin, gangly arms and legs were bruised. She was wearing a short wool shift, courtesy of the jail. Her face was gaunt. Her dark eyes jerked in their sockets, looking at nothing.
Heden grabbed her arm. She didn’t resist. She didn’t stop her thrashing, but she didn’t actively fight him.
He pulled her toward him and, sitting on the floor next to her, tried to get her back toward him, so he could put her head in his arms and feed her the herbs he’d brought.
She was slick with blood and sweat and in one great spasm she rolled away from him, hitting him in the nose with her elbow. Heden grunted, and scrabbled after her. Talking to her, or himself, the entire time.
He eventually got her h
ead in his lap, her arms and legs not close enough to the walls to get much leverage. He brought the leather strap out, folded it once, and forced it into her mouth. She tried to bite around it and seemed at one point as though she might gag on it, but Heden was careful. He wedged the leather in between her upper and lower teeth on the left side of her mouth, preventing her from closing. Her eyes still danced wildly, seeing everything and nothing. It looked like mortal terror.
He took out the ball of green herbs, moistened, preserved, and held together with honey, pinched it in half and pushed half of it between her upper cheek and gum, then quickly did the same with the other half, and the lower jaw.
He quickly removed the strap. Taking care to make sure she didn’t bite down on her tongue, he closed her mouth and tied the leather strap around her head, under her chin, keeping it closed. Her nostrils flared as she sucked air in through her nose.
The medicine in the herbs would slowly dissolve into her mouth. It wouldn’t work if she swallowed it, Heden had read. He wasn’t entirely sure it would work at all.
Before she could choke, or swallow her tongue, Heden said a quick prayer and she was asleep. Her whole body relaxed, her eyes closed, and it felt to Heden as though her weight on his legs was suddenly lighter.
Heden looked around the room, at the mess, the aftermath of struggle, and thought; I should have said the prayer first.
Taking care not to injure her, he got up and put the girl on the cot and fetched the bowl of water. Dipping his cloak in the water, he spent several minutes cleaning off her face, arms and legs. Careful not to aggravate the cuts and scratches covering her body. He used his fingers to brush her matted hair out of her eyes, then shrugged and stopped. Good enough, he thought.
He closed his eyes and said another prayer over her. A more potent version of the one he said for Domnal. Her wounds closed, her bruises melted from blue-back to a wan kind of yellow and, for the second time in two hours, his eyes snapped open at what the prayer revealed to him. The disease, the precise flavor it left in his mind. A flavor he’d tasted less than a turn ago.
Priest (Ratcatchers Book 1) Page 2
