Caleb moaned quietly and then turned and slowly climbed the steps back upstairs.
Chapter Eighteen
Garrett climbed into the black carriage after Uncle Tinjin in the gloomy light of dawn. Tinjin wore a pale gray tunic and dark gray trousers of a simple cut, though the sheen of the silk suggested that these had been a parting gift from Master Jannis. Uncle’s boots were new as well, and the staff he carried was of simple oak. He laid the floppy traveler’s hat and oilskin cloak atop his rucksack on the seat beside him. It looked odd to see him without his purple hooded robe and skull-topped staff. He seemed smaller somehow.
Garrett had worn his Templar’s tunic under his rain cloak, though it was hard for him to imagine going to the temple after this. It was hard to imagine anything after this. He sat on the dusty cushion of the carriage seat opposite his uncle and felt cold and sick to his stomach.
As the last notes of the morning chime faded from the misty air, the zombie coachman reined the undead horses forward, and the carriage rolled into motion with the creak of its wooden wheels.
Tinjin leaned over to peer out through the side window as they made the turn onto the street. A faint smile tugged at his lip as he took one last look at the house. He sat back in the seat then with a quiet sigh.
“Are you sad?” Garrett asked.
“A bit, I suppose,” Uncle Tinjin answered, “and yet, I believe, I am more eager than anything else.”
“Eager?”
Tinjin grinned. “I can’t remember the last time I did anything simply because I wished to do it,” he said, “It is strange, but for all these years, living with the choices that I had made… being the man I had chosen to become… it came to feel like a kind of slavery.”
“Huh?”
“We can build up an image of ourselves, Garrett,” Tinjin said, “At first, it may be to protect ourselves or to accomplish something important, but, over time, it can become like a cell that we are building around ourselves… a prison.”
“Oh,” Garrett said, looking out the window at the gray streets now starting to fill with people.
“And it is the prison that we build for ourselves that is the most difficult to escape,” Tinjin sighed, “because we built it so that we would not wish to escape.”
Garrett nodded.
“Please understand, Garrett,” Tinjin said, “This is one of the most difficult decisions that I had ever made.”
“I know,” Garrett said.
Tinjin fell silent and looked out the window for a while before speaking again. “I’ve left all the important documents in the vault, and the emergency funds are concealed beneath the loose stone in the basement.”
“I know,” Garrett repeated.
“For anything else you need, just contact Mrs. Nash,” Tinjin said, “I’ll send word back to her when I’ve reached Weslae… and Cenick should return when he is finished his work at Taelish.”
“Taelish?” Garrett asked, “You mean that old elf city in the swamp?”
“Yes, I made contact with him last night after the party,” Tinjin said, “I did not mention my parting… You’ll give him the package as soon as he returns, won’t you?”
“Yeah,” Garrett assured him, “It’s in the study. I’ll give it to him.”
“Good,” Uncle sighed, “I regret doing it this way, but… it is for the best… As for Taelish, Cenick told me that he felt that he wanted to accomplish something important while he was awaiting Max’s return, so he has set his men to rebuilding Taelish… at least as much as the undead can be expected to repair elvish architecture.”
“Are people going to live there again?” Garrett asked.
Uncle Tinjin shrugged. “Who can say? It is dangerously near the Chadirian front, and at the center of a festering swamp, but… well, I suppose Cenick has a warm place in his heart for antiquities.”
Garrett smiled.
“Speaking of which, he asked if you might pay a visit to his house when you have the time,” Tinjin said, “He did not expect to be gone for this long, and he worries about his collections. I’ve left the keys to his townhome and Max’s as well on the table in the study. I know Max isn’t as concerned with his possessions as Cenick, but you might do him the same courtesy while you’re visiting Cenick’s house.”
“Yeah,” Garrett said.
“Thank you, Garrett,” Tinjin said.
They rode in silence for a while, feeling the steady vibration of the carriage wheels over the worn cobblestones. The sadness within Garrett’s breast had faded into a sort of dull emptiness, as though his entire childhood had been some strange storybook that he had only been reading, and now he had set it aside and awoken to the gray reality of adulthood. He looked at Uncle Tinjin, and the old man’s calm smile cheered him.
“Uncle Tinjin,” Garrett said.
“Yes, Garrett?”
“Thanks for saving me,” Garrett said, “and… everything.”
Tinjin nodded. “I consider it one of my better decisions,” he said.
Garrett’s eyes fell for a moment before he looked at Tinjin again. “I… I know I’m not your real son,” Garrett said, “but, if I were… I’d be glad that you were my dad.”
Tinjin’s mouth began to tremble, and his eyes soon brimmed with tears. He smiled through it and nodded his thanks. When he had regained enough composure to speak again, he rasped, “and I would be proud to name you my son.”
Garrett smiled back and then looked out the window, trying to think of something else.
Tinjin cleared his throat, and Garrett sniffed. Neither spoke again as the carriage rolled along the broad lanes that led down to the lower city and the ships waiting at dock.
The Fraelan ship was taking on the last of its cargo as the carriage pulled up beside a towering stack of crab traps. Uncle reached for the handle of the carriage door, but the door wrenched open before he could touch it.
The smell of salt air and rotting fish washed over them as they looked out to see a young man, dressed in sailor’s garb, with fiery red hair and glittering green eyes grinning back at them.
“Good morning, Mister Tinjin,” the stranger said, nodding at the old man before winking at Garrett and adding, “Kingslayer.”
Garrett stared back, dumfounded.
“Good morning,” Uncle Tinjin laughed, “… it hardly seems appropriate to call you m’lady.”
“Wyn is fine, sir,” the strange young man answered, “just Wyn.”
Garrett suddenly made the connection. “Ymowyn?” he whispered.
“At yer service, young master,” the disguised Ymowyn replied with an affected Astorran drawl and a florid bow.
Tinjin accepted Ymowyn’s assistance with his rucksack and staff as he exited the carriage, and Garrett followed them out onto the muddy dock, closing the carriage door behind them.
Garrett recognized a familiar face as they approached the two-masted Fraelan vessel, though the tanned young man no longer bore much resemblance to the gangly kitchen boy he had been the last time Garrett had seen him.
“Pierce!” Garrett called out, waving.
The Fraelan boy swung down from the rigging and leapt across to the dock, his bare feet splashing on the swollen planks. “Garrett!” he said, grinning broadly. He stopped to bow before Garrett’s uncle. “Master Tinjin.”
“Hello, Pierce,” Tinjin said, “Is your uncle here?”
“I’ll get him for you,” Pierce said, “You want me to take your things?”
“Thank you, but I’ll pull my own weight,” Tinjin said, shouldering his bag.
“Aye, sir,” Pierce said. He ran back across the swaying gangplank and disappeared among the other sailors and porters who were stuffing the hold with supplies for the return voyage.
Pierce returned a minute later with his uncle, a middle-aged man in knee-high boots and a sun-bleached overcoat. The man’s unruly hair was swept back and stiff as though he spent a lot of time facing into the wind, and his leathery face bore the same slightly
elfin features as his sister’s. His slight smile seemed to stretch against the rictus of his perpetual toothy sneer, and when he spoke, it was through his teeth to keep the long-stemmed pipe clenched between them from falling free.
“Master Tinjin,” he said, “I’m Captain Greene. You’re ready to go, I take it?”
“Yes, Captain,” Tinjin said, “Thank you for having me.” His hand emerged from his pocket with a bulging sack of coins.
Captain Greene raised his hand. “You pay when I get you there, sir, not before.”
“You have my every confidence, Captain,” Tinjin laughed, “I’d just as soon be free of its weight.”
“No, sir,” Greene hissed through his teeth, “It’s bad luck, bein’ paid before the cargo’s delivered.”
“Ah, my apologies, Captain,” Tinjin said, returning the coins to his pocket, “It seems I have much to learn about the ways of the sea.”
“Plenty o’ time for that, sir,” Greene said, stretching his grin a bit tighter, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll have Mister Nash square you away while I see to the finals.”
“Of course, Captain,” Tinjin said, “although I did wish to introduce you to a friend of mine who may be interested in sailing with you at some later date.”
Greene, already half turned to go raised a bushy eyebrow and eyed Garrett and the disguised Ymowyn suspiciously.
“This is young master Wyn,” Tinjin said, “a gentleman of exemplary character. I can vouch for him.”
“Another wizard?” Greene demanded.
“Not exactly,” Tinjin said, looking to Ymowyn.
“A healer, sir,” Ymowyn said, bowing slightly.
“Hmph,” Captain Greene said, squinting at the fox woman’s illusion, “Get you some sun and learn to tie a few knots, and I can find a berth for you if you’re ever lookin’ to go to sea.”
“Aye, sir,” Ymowyn answered in a surprisingly gruff voice.
Greene turned and stamped away, leaving them with Pierce as he returned to his ship.
Tinjin turned to face Garrett and Ymowyn and nodded. “I suppose this is it, then,” he sighed, “I never really cared for this sort of thing… goodbyes. My heart prefers to imagine that we will see one another again soon, and I think that’s the best way to go about it.”
Garrett nodded. He was having trouble meeting the old man’s gaze.
“I’ll see you soon, Garrett,” Tinjin said, taking him in his arms and squeezing tightly.
Garrett hugged him back. “I’ll see you soon,” he whispered.
Tinjin released him then and gave Ymowyn a brief hug in turn.
“Tell Max I said hi,” Garrett said, his voice starting to break with emotion.
Tinjin nodded. “I’ll send him back home as soon as I can,” he said, “and then… well, I don’t know what happens then… but I am anxious to find out.” He grinned fiercely and looked away toward the channel leading out to the sea.
“Good luck, Tinjin,” Ymowyn said.
“Good luck to us all!” Tinjin laughed, and then he turned and strode across the dock and plank onto the waiting ship with Pierce close behind.
Garrett broke down in sobs, and Ymowyn guided him back toward the carriage.
“Do you mind if I ride back with you?” she whispered when they reached the carriage door, “My face is killing me.”
“It’s all right,” Garrett said, climbing inside and sitting down to dry his eyes on his sleeves.
Ymowyn pulled the door shut behind them and scrubbed the illusion from her face with human hands that were suddenly red-furred paws. “Ah,” she gasped, wiggling her nose and baring her fangs experimentally, “That’s better!”
Garrett stared at the floor, saying nothing.
Ymowyn looked around the interior of the coach, tracing her fingertips across the black velvet cushions. “This is nice,” she said, “but how do you make it go?”
“Oh,” Garrett said, suddenly aware that he was the carriage’s owner now. He turned and banged his fist against the wall of the carriage, yelling, “Home!”
The carriage lurched into motion, turning back toward the city and rolling along the crowded dock, sailors and porters parting to give a wide berth to the undead horses and their burden.
“Wait, I have to get to class!” Garrett reminded himself. He banged on the wall again and shouted, “Temple!”
“Did you want me to drop you off somewhere else first?” he asked Ymowyn, but she shook her head. Garrett sank back into the seat and lost himself in his thoughts once more.
“Thank you for the ride,” Ymowyn said, smoothing the front of her dress and adjusting her tail on the seat beside her.
“Yeah.”
“It’s not easy being on your own,” she said.
“Huh?” he said, stirring from his thoughts.
“You’ve never really had the chance to be your own person before,” she said, “It can be a bit daunting at first.”
“Yeah,” he said, “I guess.”
“What are you going to do now?” she asked.
“I dunno, I guess just keep doing what I have been doing,” he said.
“That’s a terrible idea,” she laughed.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You’re a young man who has suddenly found himself the master of his own fate,” she said with a grin, “I demand that you make at least one stupid decision by this time next week.” She reached across to slap him on the knee. “It’s practically a rite of passage!”
“But I don’t want to make any stupid decisions,” he protested.
“That’s got nothing to do with it,” she laughed, “You are required to do something stupid, and there’s no debating it! Get drunk, start a fight, pursue dangerous women… there’s no end to the debauchery a young man might commit once he’s loosed upon the world. Do something stupid, Garrett!”
He gave her a baffled stare. “That sounds like terrible advice,” he said.
Ymowyn shrugged. “I’m a terrible person,” she laughed, “but the advice is good. Trust me Garrett.”
Garrett smiled. “I’ll try,” he said.
“That’s the spirit, Kingslayer!” she said, raising her fist toward the sky.
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” he sighed.
“I don’t care,” she said, “I’m a terrible person, remember? Someone has to remind you of your glorious conquests from time to time, otherwise you’d be in danger of becoming overly humble.”
“I didn’t kill him!” Garrett said.
Ymowyn raised her hands, open palmed. “If it weren’t for you, he’d still be alive, wouldn’t he?” she said.
Garrett said nothing.
“You may not have meant to kill him, but your actions led to his death, and the world is a better place for it,” she said.
Garrett scoffed and looked away.
“It is a better place,” she insisted, “No matter what you might think of Prince Cabre, I would rather that weak-willed boy was sitting on my country’s throne than that monster he called his father.”
Garrett gave her a look of disgust.
“Of course I would much rather a true king were sitting upon the throne,” she said, “and all the Chadiri driven from our lands.”
“Where are you gonna find one of those?” Garrett laughed.
She gave him a hard look.
“What?” he asked.
Lady Ymowyn smiled slyly and looked away. “The last Songreaver had no qualms about taking other people’s thrones,” she said.
Icy fingers seemed to close around Garrett’s heart, and he held his breath until the feeling passed. He gave Ymowyn a look of disbelief.
“Just something to think about,” she said, grinning sharply. She glanced out the window and suddenly exclaimed, “Ooh, roses! Let me out here, please.”
Garrett called out for the coachman to halt, and the carriage rolled to a stop in the middle of a busy market.
Lady Ymowyn swung open the door and hopped o
ut.
“Thanks again for the ride, Garrett,” she said, poking her head back inside, “and don’t forget to do something awful by next week! I’m holding you to your promise!”
“I didn’t promise anything!” he cried.
Ymowyn’s eyes flared angrily, and she touched her fingertip to her nose before pointing it at him. “Something stupid!” she said, “No argument, or I’ll have Warren introduce you to a few of those Marrowvyn girls!”
Garrett sighed in frustration as the fox woman gave him a final wink and slammed the coach door shut.
*******
Garrett and Banden walked together after sparring class, letting the heat of mock combat fade from their limbs in the cool morning breeze of the outer temple grounds. Banden sported a nasty bruise across his right shoulder, but Garrett had managed to escape with only a few scratched knuckles. The class had not lasted long enough to inflict many serious injuries today. Matron Shelbie had appeared halfway through and shared a whispered conversation with Matron Brix. Afterwards, the initiates had been given the rest of the day off without explanation.
“You think it has to do with that thing you saw sneaking into the temple?” Banden asked.
“Maybe,” Garrett said, “Serepheni seemed really upset about it when I told her, and she was going to tell the High Priestess.”
“I wonder if it works for the Chadiri?” Banden said.
“Who else?” Garrett said.
“It just doesn’t seem very brave or noble,” Banden said, “sending some creepy guy in to spy on us like that.”
“What’s that got to do with it?” Garrett asked.
“I don’t know,” Banden said, “It’s just something my sister told me once. She said you have to look at people’s reasons for doing things to understand what they might do next. I mean, with the Chadiri, it’s all about showing the world how brave and strong they are. They want everybody else to know that they’re the best at everything, and their god is the strongest. This just seems kinda… sneaky for them.”
“They sent those demons after you and my friends,” Garrett said, “That wasn’t very brave.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Banden admitted, “but I’ve been thinking about that too. I mean you said those things were working for the Inquisitor, but that his own people didn’t like him very much. What if he’s doing something he’s not supposed to? What if he’s the real spy, and, if the other Chadiri found out, he’d be in trouble?”
The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4) Page 23
