Closer to the Heart

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Now, what is it that you need to talk about that you’d endure getting dragged through my kennels in order to get to talk to me?” Dia asked, as she settled herself on a comfortable seat, her sensuous body wrapped in a gorgeous robe. Her handmaid put her hair in order while she hungrily devoured miniature egg pies. Dia’s handmaid was exactly the sort of young woman Amily wanted to recruit for her informants—not Miana herself, because if Dia became untrustworthy, the next thing that would occur would be for the sun to rise in the west—but the sort of beautifully bred and absolutely impoverished highborn girl that had no prospects in front of her without someone like Lady Dia. Miana, aside from knowing the ins and outs of everything needed to keep Dia looking stunning, knew every detail of the voluminous genealogies of the highborn families of Valdemar. Dia called that, “deep knowledge of the studbook.” And Miana was as plain as plain could be. With her mousy brown hair, flat, uninteresting face, and equally flat figure, the only way many women would take her as a handmaiden was as someone to feel superior to.

  Which was ridiculous, because Miana had a mind as sharp as any scholar’s. There were so many things she helped Dia with that were not involved in making Dia look gorgeous that it sometimes made Amily’s head spin.

  “Actually, this is a perfect time to talk to you, because Miana is here,” Amily replied, helping herself to some as well. She explained her idea as both Dia and her handmaid listened intently. When she was done, Miana was the first to speak up.

  “If Lady Dia hadn’t asked me to be her companion, I’d have given something like that serious consideration, Herald,” she said soberly. “Especially if there was some sort of reward at the end of it.” Lady Dia reached up and patted her hand as the young woman continued. “Milady has assured me of a pension and a pretty little apartment of my own, but not every lady’s handmaiden is so lucky.” She patted the last strand of Dia’s hair into perfection, and handed Dia a mirror for her approval. “Given the consideration that a girl might uncover something to the undoing of the family she is in, Herald—”

  “I think such an assurance goes without saying,” Amily replied, sensing Rolan’s immediate assent. “Basically, what I wanted to know was, did you two think this was a good idea, and did you have any way of reaching out to such girls?”

  Dia handed the mirror back to her handmaiden and the two exchanged a long glance. “I can reach some,” Dia said. “Probably the ones Miana can’t.”

  “And I can reach a great many,” Miana replied. “There is a sort of . . . unofficial network of us. We are always looking out for a good place for those who don’t have one.” She handed Lady Dia a lambswool puff and a little pot of pink powder, and Dia lightly dusted her cheeks. “I suspect those of us who are in less than comfortable positions would be happy to join your ranks, on the assurance that they would be taken care of if the position became unendurable.” She took the lambswool and pot away, and handed Dia the exotic stuff from Kata’shin’a’in that Dia used to darken the eyelids over her melting brown eyes, turning them from lovely to seductive. “That’s our worst fear, you know, that we have no choice but to starve or continue to endure places where we are treated worse than servants, because we can’t leave.”

  Dia finished and handed the implements back to Miana, then spread her hands. “Well, there you have it. I think it is a good idea, and so does Miana. We can also ask these girls to insert one or more of my dogs into their households so you’ll have a second set of eyes and ears there.”

  “At the very least they can tell you where the cats are,” Miana pointed out. “But we are practically invisible, unless our Lady is like Lady Dia. People say horrid things right in front of us, and pay us no heed, as if we were furniture. Of course, that’s if we’re plain. . . .”

  Amily seized that. “We wouldn’t ever ask anyone to do anything she wasn’t comfortable with. I would never ask someone to go into a man’s bed just to get information.”

  “But there are some that wouldn’t object to doing just that,” Miana pointed out firmly. “For a pretty one, it’s very hard to say no and be heeded. Almost impossible, in fact. So if being used is going to happen anyway, knowing you’ll be protected and can get away afterward—”

  “I would much rather get a girl out of such a position before anything happens,” Amily said firmly, then wavered, when both Dia and Miana looked at her steadily. “But . . .”

  “Let’s not create nightmares and work ourselves up over them yet,” Dia said firmly. “And let’s not make decisions for girls we have not yet recruited.” She nodded and got up, so that Miana could help her into one of her gorgeous, and terribly complicated gowns. “And it is time for you to take this idea, first to your father, and then to the King. Come back to me when you have his approval, and we three will put our heads together.”

  • • •

  Mags had given a careful report about Tuck and Linden last night to both Nikolas and the Seneschal and his Herald. All three of them had agreed whole-heartedly with his plan, and the Seneschal had given him leave to draw whatever funds he needed out of the Treasury. So the morning was spent, first in going by Aunty Minda’s and rounding up four of the bigger boys, then in buying things all over Haven, and having them taken to Tuck’s shed. Discreetly. Quietly. Stealthily. It would not do to have the neighbors wonder why Tuck and Linden were suddenly so prosperous.

  The only thing he couldn’t have delivered was a full load of wood, but he reckoned Linden would find a way to explain that away.

  At around lunchtime, he turned up himself, with a stout purse full of coppers and some silver. He hadn’t had much chance to look over the immediate neighborhood of Tuck’s shed yesterday, but today, when he did, he finally deduced why there was a shed in the yard of a larger building in the first place. The main building was a large structure now divided up into rooms people could rent. But it had been a brewery, and the stable had held the delivery-van horses.

  He slipped past the larger building, through a wooden gate, and into what had been the stableyard, and now served mostly for littles to play in and women to hang laundry, although there was a sty for a single pig, a couple of henhouses and four pigeon-coops. It was the gate that made all that possible of course. It was probably locked at night, so no one would steal the livestock.

  He had come in his Herald Whites, so that Tuck would not be afraid; he had every right as a Herald to be here, of course, especially after yesterday. It would not seem at all out of the ordinary for him to see how Linden and Tuck were doing.

  Us Heralds is nosy like that.

  :It’s our job to be nosy like that,: Dallen reminded him.

  Dallen was with him this time, pacing along beside him, and the moment the two of them entered the former stableyard, Dallen was the center of attention. The children swarmed him, as children always did. What child could resist a snow-white, silver-hooved, blue-eyed horse? And even their mothers, busy hanging laundry on lines that crisscrossed the yard, with barely enough space to move between them, paused in their work to cast looks of wonder and admiration.

  “Afternoon, ladies,” Mags said, affably. “Jest checkin’ in on that feller Tuck. I mean t’make sure he didn’ take no hurt from thet bully, Cobber Pellen.”

  Well, he’d intended to find out just what the neighborhood thought of Pellen, and those simple words unleashed a torrent. Evidently it wasn’t only Tuck’s stable he’d wanted; he’d intended to take over the whole building. At least half of these women had a story of how Cobber had “come calling,” intending to find out what they were paying in rent and what the terms of their leases were. As Mags had surmised, this neighborhood was one of hardworking poor folk. It had immediately been clear to these folks that Cobber intended to acquire the place and evict them all. “Startin’ wi’ Daisy’s shed,” said the most talkative of the lot, whose empty laundry basket showed why she was willing to stand and chat after the others had unloaded thei
r complaints and tales of woe into his willing ears. “I guess ’e found out poor Tuck owned it outright and reckoned t’set up some sorta tavern an’ make as much trouble as ’e could fer us.”

  Mags thought that over. “Aye, I kin see thet,” he agreed. “Keeps th’ place open all hours, drunks i’ th’ yard, thievery—mos’ of ye are laundry-women, aye?”

  “Aye. Well an’ wash-house inside, where th’ brew-kettles useter be,” his informant told him. “Well with good, sweet water was used fer the brewin’. ’Bout twenny years agone, we all clubbed t’gether, made a wash-house outen it. Landlord was all fer it. Made sure there was niver a room wi’out a tenant.”

  Mags nodded. Taking in wash was a good, stable job, and although it was a hard one, it was one that ensured that the woman in question could always pay her rent. But that begged the question—if this landlord owned the former brewery, how had Tuck’s mother gotten hold of the shed?

  :That’s a question for another day,: Dallen advised. :Start asking too much, and you’ll raise suspicions.:

  “So, Cobber sets up a tavern, an’ pretty soon there goes yer business. All of ye lose yer rooms, landlord’s got no choice but t’take what ’e kin get, an’ that’d be Cobber.” He tilted his head to the side, inviting comment, and the woman grimaced and nodded.

  “But not this time,” she said firmly, and patted him on the shoulder. “Now git, do yer duty an’ be off tendin’ t’more ’portant things than th’ likes of us.”

  “Nothin’s more ’portant than th’ likes of ye,” he countered, and skirted the edge of the yard to stay out of the way of the flapping laundry, and got to the door of the shed and knocked. The door cracked, and Linden peered out of it.

  “Herald Mags!” she said, opening the door for him in the sight of the others. “Thenkee fer comin’ t’see ’bout Tuck.” She reached out and tugged on his arm and he let her draw him inside.

  She shut the door, and looked up at him, her face pink with excitement. Tuck was bent over his workbench, deep in creation, humming tunelessly to himself. “When ye said ye was gonna send us ev’thin’ we needed, I didn’ think twould be—” Words failed her, and instead, she flung herself at him and hugged him tightly. “Yer a angel, Herald! Yer a right angel!”

  He patted her shoulder. “Nah, nah, Tuck’ll be earnin’ it, an’ right quick. I got a mort’a things already I wanter get him t’make up fer me. But I cain’t keep sendin’ boys with parcels. So here—” He detached her and put the heavy purse in her hands. Her eyes widened. “This’ll keep ye awhile. I want yer t’meet me at Weasel’s shop arter dark in three days. We’ll work out there how I kin send ye stuff ’thout anybody the wiser. Meanwhile, I want a set’a lockpicks. Thet’ll be the fust job fer Tuck, an’ I want him t’take ’is time over ’em.”

  Linden nodded. “Iffen ’e says ’e’s done wit’ ’em, an’ there’s time t’spare, want ’nother set?”

  Since a set of really good lockpicks would probably make Nikolas’s eyes light up like candles, Mags nodded. “Thet’ll do fer now. I figger yer better at ’splainin’ thins to ’im than I’d be, so I’ll ’splain to ye the next thin’ I need at Weasels.” He cast a glance over at Tuck’s hunched back. There was no sign of fear or tension now. “’Ow’s ’e doin’?”

  “I tol’ ’im you was gonna make sure Cobber couldn’ be mean t’im no more. I ain’t niver lied t’im, an’ ’e b’lieves me.”

  “Well, Cobber ain’t,” Mags said firmly. “Them was some purt’ serious charges, an’ once word got aroun’ ’e was in gaol, other folk started comin’ in an’ layin’ charges. So ’e’s a-gonna go be workin’ a prison-farm for a good piece, an’ when ’e gets out, I ’spect ’e’ll hev other worries than Tuck.”

  Linden chuckled and rubbed her hands together with glee. He looked her over with approval. Some of what he had sent over was a bundle of used clothing. Gone were the ragged skirts, worn in layers so that the holes could be compensated for. She had a nicely darned, thick woolen tunic that came down past her knees, a pair of faded moleskin trews, and the sort of knitted “boots” with leather soles that would fit many sizes of feet. The wild mop of hair had not quite been tamed, but it also didn’t look as if it had a life and a mind of its own anymore. She noted his glance, and grinned, held out her arms and turned in place. “Lookit me! I’m respect’ble!”

  “No such bad thin’ t’be,” he replied. “Now, come say ’lo t’my Companion, or the ladies out there’ll thin’ there’s somethin’ wrong wi’ye, an’ then I’ll be on m’way.”

  She scampered off and hid the pouch of coins under a floorboard, then followed him out of the shed. Tuck took no more heed of them than if they’d been a couple of moths.

  Dallen was accepting the adoration of the children with his usual aplomb, but Mags caught his chuckle when Linden stopped dead, staring at him with her mouth falling open. Mags nudged her gently with an elbow to wake her up.

  “I—ain’t niver seen one on ’em, close up,” she admitted, and took a couple of steps nearer. “Kin I touch ’im?”

  “All ye want,” Mags assured her.

  And as she joined the children, looking into Dallen’s blue eyes and stroking his silken mane with an expression of bliss, Mags was very aware that while he might be Linden’s benefactor and hero, it was Dallen whom she had given her wholehearted worship to.

  :As it should be,: noted Dallen. :This is the proper order of things.:

  :Quiet, horse.:

  Three nights later, the three of them—Mags, Amily, and her father—shared a quiet meal together in his rooms. They didn’t do that nearly often enough to suit all three of them, but in this case, it was part wedding feast, and part planning session. Nikolas was very interested to hear about Tuck and Tuck’s genius in crafting things, and his eyes did, indeed, light up at the sight of Mags’ gift, the better of the two excellent sets of lockpicks. Tuck had taken less than two days to make both sets; Mags had tried them both and he was extremely impressed.

  “If I have to run off, and actually have a place you can send things to, I’ll let you know through Dallen,” Nikolas said, as they feasted on food straight from the King’s table. “As long as I am still here, I’d like to put in another request. I would really like a set of that climbing gear you’re having him make you. Especially if the two of you can make a grappling-hook-arrow actually work.”

  Nikolas was looking very good these days; fully recovered from the ordeal that had nearly killed him. Nikolas was—purposefully—very difficult to describe, so ordinary as to blend into any crowd. It had taken years for him to get his appearance that way. Even in Herald Whites he was utterly forgettable. In any ordinary clothing, from rags to velvets, it was unlikely anyone would remember him long enough to describe him. Mags actually suspected some sort of minor Gift at work; Nikolas was a very strong Mindspeaker, and that would be a Gift that could easily go hand-in-hand with Mindspeaking.

  At any rate, Nikolas was looking good. Healthy and a little impatient for something to go wrong so he could investigate it.

  I just hope whatever it is has nothing to do with me and Amily.

  :From your mind to the ears of the gods,: Dallen replied fervently.

  “I have no notion, no more does Linden,” Mags admitted. “But if she can figger out how to explain it to him, like as not, if it can be made, he can do it. And I borrowed one of Amily’s corsets, Linden’s gonna get him t’make thin knives t’fit where the busks’d be.”

  Nikolas’s sitting room served as their dining room; he had pressed the table he used for a desk into service as their dining table, and three of his mismatched sitting room chairs were arranged around it. There was just enough room. It was still too cold to seem like spring, so a fine fire burned in the fireplace.

  Nikolas nodded in approval, then chuckled, as he passed Mags the salt. “What a strange lot we are. Any other father would be reacting in horror to
the notion of such a thing, and here I am, trying to think of something else lethal that could get fitted into a corset!”

  “Well, I like to have my lethality hidden, thank you, and where better than in my underthings?” Amily countered, snatching the last roll from the basket in the center of the table. Mags passed her the butter dish.

  “I’d like you just’s lethal out of your underthings, wife,” Mags retorted. “An’ I like you lethal in whatever ye choose to be wearin’, or not. The more lethal you be, the better I like it!”

  “Just as long as you look like the most harmless thing on earth,” Nikolas reminded them. “Both of you. It’s always better, not just for us, but for the entire Kingdom, if those like you and me and Mags are not what we seem.”

  “Speaking of not what we seem. . . .” Amily bit her lip, and Mags knew why. She was still very conflicted over this idea of hers, this little army of female informants. It was not the problem of placing them where they would be expected to tattle on their hosts—because obviously, the placement would only be with those that Nikolas and the King deemed . . . problematic. The problem was that potentially she was putting them in danger. She didn’t think twice about putting herself in danger—but she was balking at the notion of doing so to someone else.

  “The King, the Seneschal, and I all spent all of last night discussing your idea,” Nikolas told her. “I do understand why you feel some misgivings over it. But it seems to me that as long as each of these young ladies is very carefully briefed on every possible repercussion, and is given a route of escape if the situation becomes unpleasant or intolerable or even dangerous, don’t they deserve the right to decide whether or not they wish to serve the King, and just how far they are prepared to go in order to do so?” He caught her hand in his and looked deeply into her eyes. “Are we to assume these young ladies are less brave, and less intelligent, than those who join the Guard? Are we to assume they can’t be that brave and intelligent? Remember, they can always decline, which is more than fighters in the Guard can do.” He shrugged. “Mind, the comparison with the Guard isn’t exact. Things are quite clear-cut when the Guard is sent in, and the opposite will be true of your young ladies. But still . . . it’s a valid comparison so far as bravery is concerned.”