Changes

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Would you like to come ‘talk’ to a deaf person, so you can see exactly what you need to do to counterfeit it?” Bear asked, a little diffidently, when Mags was done. “And would you be pretending to be someone who was born deaf, or someone who lost his hearing because of a sickness or injury?”

  “They’s a difference?” Mags asked, surprised. “In how they act, I mean.”

  “Very much so.” By this time the meandering course they had been taking wound them up at the Kirball field, and they both leaned against the fence and watched a Companion foal scrambling over some of the obstacles under the watchful eye of his mother. The little fellow was very intent. Mags wondered if he had dreams of playing the game.

  “Which’d be easier?” Mags asked. “I mean, obvious, I wanta do what’s easier.”

  “Someone who had once been able to hear, definitely,” Bear told him. “Juran has a fellow like that helping him. He does all the distilling for the Healers’ Collegium. Even I use him when I need more than a single dose of something. He’s very good and very dedicated, and he has an amazing nose.”

  Mags nodded; that made sense. When people lost one sense, the rest tended to get sharper. He remembered how his own senses had sharpened when he was only pretending to be blind.

  He followed Bear to Healers’, taking the side entrance where the House of Healing was but bypassing the rooms where the patients were. Still, you couldn’t avoid the sharp smell of the things they used to keep infection away, or the feeling that if you cracked your shields, you’d be bombarded with pain. It wasn’t just Heralds and folks from the Collegia and Palace that were brought here. Anything anyone down in Haven thought too serious for the Healers there was treated here.

  Bear ushered him around to the stillroom, where, amid a bewildering array of odors both sweet and bitter, a relatively young fellow who had lost his hearing in a fever walked him through what it was like for him now.

  Something Mags had not anticipated was that the fellow could still speak. He sounded odd and a little mush-mouthed, and his tone was flat, but he was perfectly understandable. Should I try that? No, best not. Might make people think I kin still hear some.

  The young assistant had learned to “read” what other people were saying by watching their lips as they spoke. Now Mags could see what Bear was talking about; there were a lot of little behavior quirks that Mags was going to have to think about adding to his character. The young man stared intensely at his lips when Mags spoke. He always had his back so close to a wall that no one could get in behind him and startle him. Mags realized at once that in someone operating in the criminal world, such a habit would be even more pronounced. In a world where he would (supposedly) not be able to hear anything, looking nervous all the time would not be out of character. Mags noted how the young man was acutely sensitive to any vibration, looking about immediately when the floor trembled the slightest bit as someone nearby dropped something heavy. He understood then that while he must never react to something that was purely a sound, he could, and should, react to anything that he could feel. As for the young man’s sense of smell, well, it was clear by how he monitored the progress of the three different distillations he was running by scent alone that this was one of the strongest and most reliable of his senses. This very brief exchange told him far more than he would have thought of on his own. This would make life much easier for both him and Nikolas.

  “Nights are bad for him,” Bear said, as they left the young man. “A friend stays in the same room with him because he’s terrified that something will happen in the night, a fire or something, and of course he won’t hear an alarm, and in their haste to get out no one will remember him. I would expect anyone who couldn’t hear would feel the same.“

  “Then I best never nap ’less Nikolas is about,” Mags mused. “Heh. Not thet I would. Be crazy t’let down yer guard down there. This was a damn fine notion, Bear. Learnt more’n I coulda thought.”

  They walked out of Healers’—which somehow was always cool in summer no matter how hot it was—into the full strength of the sun. There was heat-shimmer above the grass, and the scent of heated rock instead of flowers. Least we ain’t goin’ down there by day. Thet part’a Haven i’ th’ sun’d stink like a midden. They ducked back inside, electing to face the Infirmary and sickroom spells rather than the heat.

  “Well, good. Nice when I can be useful,” Bear said, with what was almost a smile. Clearly, the fact that he had helped Mags had made him feel better.

  “So,” Mags ventured, as they left the Infirmary wing where the stillroom was, and faced the heat and full sun again. He squinted against it. “Ye wanta talk ’bout it?”

  Bear sighed, and his shoulders sagged. “Nothin’ much to say. You know this’s been brewing for a good long time. Father’s spy—his name is Cubern, by the way—is one of the Guard Healers, so I had no idea he was around; he was able to find out everything he wanted to know about what I was doing just by socializing with the teachers at the Collegium. He knew I wasn’t planning to go home at Midsummer, even though most people do if they don’t live too far from here. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to avoid going home at Midwinter.

  “I know now that even though I never told them about the Event because I knew what would happen, they found out about it anyway thanks to Cubern. I suppose they got it in their head I was doing the healing kits in secret, without the by-your-leave of the Collegium and the Healers’ Circle.” He shook his head. “Deluded. That’s all I can figure. They are so damn sure that they are right and everyone else is wrong that I suppose they thought once they ‘exposed’ me and showed the Collegium how dangerous my ‘stupid notions’ are, everyone would be horrified and wouldn’t be able to get rid of me fast enough. Came riding up here figuring to drag me home for certain this time. Found out ’bout what I was doing at the Event when they showed up.”

  “Erm . . . I saw thet.” Mags confessed. “Yer brother, I reckon. Thought ’e was gonna fall down inna fit there an’ then. Dallen scared up some folks ter innercep’ ’im afore ’e made a pother.”

  “Did he?” Bear looked interested—and grateful. “Well, I guess I owe Dallen a pocket pie. Yesterday was a real good day, and nothing they said to me today is going to change that.”

  Mags patted him on the shoulder, awkwardly. “Reckon Healers woulda kep’ ’em away from ye, iffen they coulda. Reckon they tried t’talk some sense into ’em too, since they had ’em all yestiday an’ last night. So Healers’ on yer side, aye?”

  “I know.” Bear swallowed. “Parents still have rights. It’s not as if they beat me or anything. They just think I’m—” He waved his hands, helplessly. “They can’t see that anything I do is worth a fraction of what they call a ‘real’ Healer’s work. Before I walked into that, the Dean had a long chat with me. Everyone tried to talk ’em around, but they just were not gonna listen, not to anyone, not even to the Dean. I guess m’father tried to—” He shook his head. “M’father has an exaggerated idea of his own importance. All right, our House of Healing is one of the oldest in the whole Kingdom, but that doesn’t make him any more important than any other senior Healer. He just doesn’t see it that way. The King’s Edict, though . . . there was nothing he could say or do after that and nothing he can do to alter it. I don’t think even he is stupid enough to try to claim that I somehow hoodwinked the King.” He winced a little. “I’ve never seen him so mad. I thought he was gonna explode.”

  “Well . . . now yer safe,” Mags said into the silence, as they both stood in the doorway of Heralds’ Collegium. He sighed a little with relief to be out of the sun. “I mean, safe, they cain’t drag ye outa here fer no reason. I don’ mean I think they’d beat ye or nothin’.” Not with fists or sticks, mebbe, but words . . . But he didn’t say that out loud.

  Bear scratched the back of his head.

  “Reckon so,” he finally said, sounding a little relieved but a lot bitter. “Probably be told I’m disowned as soon as he can find someone
to bring the message here, but, aye, safe.”

  Mags looked at him askance. “Weren’t yer doin’ th’ King reckoned ye was needed ’ere.”

  “You will never convince him of that,” Bear replied sourly. “He’ll find a way to blame me for it. Ever since he figured out that I wasn’t going to spontaneously bloom a Healing Gift, he’s been sure it was somehow all my fault.”

  “That’s daft,” Mags said flatly.

  “Course it’s daft, and he should know better. He does know better.” Bear’s tone had gone from bitter to exasperated. “He’s a really, really good Healer. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him fail. But to him, I’m a failure.”

  “But—”

  “All my life, everything he has wanted to happen, has happened. Until me.” Bear shrugged. “And now he has to go home and tell Alise or Avise or whatever her name is that I am not going to marry her. Or, more likely, tell her parents. He’s gonna have to come up with some sort of excuse or reason. Another failure, this time because he couldn’t control me and make me do what he wanted, and that’ll make him look bad in front of everyone he told that I was gonna come home and get married. He’s gonna hate that.”

  “Mebbe Alise’ll be happy, though, if she don’ know ye thet well.” It was all Mags could think of to say. “Could be yer gonna make a lady real happy. Fer all ye know, she got some’un she’s sweet on already, an’ this’ll leave ’er a way t’wangle thins.”

  He understood very well what poor Bear was dealing with. The Pieters boys had gotten the same sort of treatment from their father. He expected them to be copies of himself, obedient little copies that would do everything he told them to do without a murmur.

  “Maybe.” Bear finally stood up and straightened his back. “Let’s get some nuncheon.”

  As Mags had expected, there was a new class schedule waiting for him in his room when he returned from eating. It wasn’t at all bad, actually. Weaponry practice every day at the end of the day, although it would be a much shortened version of the class and would include no riding. Three days a week, classes specific to being a Herald—on this schedule, property law, criminal law, and surveying. Three days a week, classes common to all three Collegia—history, math, geography. Seven-day off, except that Mags knew very well that Seven-day was likely to be spent trying to catch up with things he’d miss because Nikolas needed him and he’d skipped a class or two.

  Still.

  He grabbed what he would need for his afternoon classes and made his way over to Bardic, which was where the history class was going to be taught.

  It came as a pleasant surprise to discover that the class was going to cover the reign of King Bedwyn, which just happened to be a period he knew something about. He’d come across a book about that time that was written so well he’d borrowed it and read it for pleasure—the dog-eared state of the book had given mute evidence that he was not the only person to have felt that way. Math he had never had much difficulty with, and although geography was a new subject for him, it was just memorization. He could do that while he was down in Haven at night.

  He went to weaponry practice feeling that he just might manage to survive this summer in a relatively sane condition.

  That feeling of confidence vanished the moment he stepped into his room and found Nikolas waiting.

  The sounds of the crickets outside coming through the open windows seemed suddenly as loud as shouts.

  The King’s Own tossed him a small saddlebag as he stood up, and Mags caught it. Since Nikolas was still in uniform and he was not suggesting that Mags change now, presumably the saddlebag held a change of clothing, and they would assume their disguises elsewhere. Mags felt his stomach tense up a little. He reminded himself that this was not the first time he’d gone into Haven in disguise for Nikolas.

  But it was the first time he was doing so as Nikolas’ partner. He shivered a little, despite the still sultry heat.

  “Rolan and Dallen are saddled and ready. I’ve already established myself as a pawnbroker and clandestine receiver of stolen goods,” the Herald said, holding open the door into the stable. “Time to add you to the mix. Now, it’s been my experience in these situations that the simpler the story is the better, and the more you can get people to assume things, the stronger your disguise will be. Your notion of playing deaf fits into that perfectly. No one can question you, and you can listen to whatever is going on and no one will ever suspect you of eavesdropping. I’d prefer if you were mute as well—” He paused, waiting for an answer to the unspoken question.

  “I’d already recked t’do thet.” Mags nodded. “Bein’ mute means I ain’t got nothin’ I need t’keep straight. Ev’body ’spects lad what’s deaf t’be mute anyroad. We jest wiggle our finners at each other an’ Mindspeak what we’re sayin’, an’ nobuddy th’ wiser.”

  He followed Nikolas out into the stableyard where Roland and Dallen were waiting. Mags noticed something he hadn’t, before. This groom was very familiar—in fact, every time that he recalled Nikolas going out clandestinely, it had been this groom who’d prepared Rolan. And now that he knew Nikolas had a special circle of assistants—

  He’d be daft not t’hev a special groom.

  They mounted up and rode out into the dusk. Fireflies danced over the lawns—it looked as if the King had planned for the Court to remain indoors tonight. Only lovers would be in the gardens at this hour.

  The Companions’ hooves chimed softly on the road, but there were always Companions going up and down at most hours. No one would notice two more. The evening breeze was just beginning to cool things off. In a way, Mags regretted this. It would have been a fine night to just laze about . . .

  Once they were on their way, Nikolas resumed the conversation.

  “I am going to tell anyone that asks a different story about who you are and why I have you,” he continued, as they passed a Gatehouse with two Guards keeping a watchful eye on both sides of the wall. “The one thing I will never say is that you are my son. This will mean, of course, that virtually everyone will be sure that you are. If anyone calls you my son, I will deny it furiously, which will only cement their certainty. Willy Weasel is not the sort of man who would take in a deaf-mute for the sake of charity; only being my son could possibly prompt me to do such a thing.”

  Mags had to chuckle at that name. “Willy Weasel? Where’d ye git thet name?”

  “Allegedly I look like a weasel,” Nikolas replied, with an amused glance at him. “I am also very good at what they call ‘weaseling a bargain.’ People don’t win unless I let them.”

  They were among the homes of the highborn and wealthy now. There were little garden parties going on in several. Mags was glad he had eaten, as savory scents wafted over the wall from one garden all lit up with tiny lanterns. One whiff and his mouth was watering a little even though he’d had dinner; if he’d been hungry, it would have driven him insane. “Aight. I be yer son, on’y ye ain’t gonna say so. What else am I?”

  Nikolas pondered that for a moment. “The Weasel wouldn’t have a woman about, because he doesn’t trust them, so your mother must either have abandoned you or is dead.”

  Mags shrugged. “Tell it both ways,” he suggested. “Let ’em guess. Hev ye ever talked ’bout me afore?”

  “I actually have spoken of you now and again,” Nikolas said, and he turned slightly so Mags could see his grin. “I’ve been planning on getting you on this from the beginning. I’m usually grumbling that you are not there when I have taken in a piece of jewelry, or that you are asleep in the loft of the shop when I want something taken down off a high shelf. So you have been established as a young relative with an uncanny power for judging gemstones. No one will be particularly surprised to see you with me tonight. Although—” now Nicolas chuckled “—at least one person will be very disappointed. He has been passing me what I suspect to be inferior gemstones. You will put a stop to the practice.”

  “Should be able to, sir.” Mags affirmed. Here he knew he was on
firm ground. No one was going to be able to get a flawed sparkly past him. And as long as he had one thing he was sure of, for now, that was enough.

  “All right then.” Nikolas and Rolan both nodded. “We’ve got enough of your persona roughed in that we can do a credible job of inserting you into my operation. Time for the next step in your education.”

  5

  Mags was not quite sure what to expect at this point. Where would they don their disguises? How would they get to where they were going—they certainly couldn’t take Rolan and Dallen with them. And where were Rolan and Dallen supposed to stay?

  But going off to an inn, especially a very popular inn, instead of delving into the seedier side of town did not fit in with anything he would have anticipated.

  It was the very large, very noisy inn that had featured the actors and players that they had been to last night. He assumed that Nikolas had a good reason to take them there, so he held his peace and asked no questions. Nikolas glanced curiously at him once when they had left Rolan and Dallen in a special area of the inn stables reserved for Companions but seemed satisfied with his silence.

  Nikolas took a table in the common room; a small one right in the corner and out of the way, but well lit. He ordered drinks for both of them, looked very much like a man who was enjoying a rare night out, and spent about a candlemark talking to people he knew who came by the table.

  “And this is Trainee Mags,” he would say, as soon as the conversation allowed. “You will probably come to hear about him as a famous Kirball player if you haven’t already, but he and I are getting acquainted away from the overly curious ears of my darling daughter.” Then he would get an arch look on his face as Mags flushed. Then the newcomer would look at Mags, look at Nikolas, and get the “Oh—aha!” look on his (or sometimes her) face and say something like, “So that’s the way the wind is blowing, eh? Well, she’s of age for it—” and Mags would blush even redder.