‘Stop it, both of you. Whatever you are, whatever you’re doing, it stops now.’ His voice shook.
‘Run this blade across this man’s throat, Gabriel, or I will do it to yours. It’s a simple choice,’ the tithe keeper threatened.
Gabe realised he was trembling. Vulnerable and naked, he was struck by how many of his patients must have felt a similar fear. Alone, isolated, in danger.
‘Let me go back.’
‘Too late. Nothing to go back for.’
You’re a murderer now, Gabe, Angelina said. They will have found my body, stabbed with that ugly blade, blood everywhere in your apartment. No, there’s nothing in Paris for you. But you can help us. You’ve always wanted to help me. You’ve begun by bringing me back — thank you. Now I need you to help my master. You have no choice. Kill or die. Either way, he lives. Your body might as well live, too.
The body that belonged to Flek advanced on him and Gabe gave a frigid yelp. He was so frightened he couldn’t run to save himself. He realised he was still holding his quill, which in an instinctive, defensive gesture, he now held in front of him and felt it press against the chest of his attacker. In his moment of panic, he heard a sizzling sound and the smell of scorched flesh, but then the keen blade of a farm tool he didn’t recognise flashed before him.
When Pel returned he was astonished and deeply saddened to see a naked body lying among the sheaves. As he ran over he presumed it was the stranger with the quill. But he leapt back shocked when he pulled at the shoulder of the fallen figure to see someone he recognised. It was Master Flek, the tithe barn manager. Flek’s blood was being hungrily drunk by the sheaf of barley the body had been slumped over. A distraught Pel sucked in a breath.
‘Shar’s pity, Master Flek, what befell you?’ he murmured, terrified by the gaping wound at the man’s throat. Pel shook his head, ashamed that he’d taken the naked man for a decent one. ‘Murder,’ he whispered, guilt-ridden. ‘But why? What could you give him other than your clothes?’
He ran from the tithe barn as fast as his old legs would move him, down the hill again. He had noted the stranger’s features and he would be able to describe him to the authorities. They would catch him, and Pel would stand at his trial and point him out as a cold-blooded killer of one of Ramon’s most honest men.
NINE
Fynch could not be persuaded. He was seriously weakened and Cassien was loathe to argue with him.
‘Go on alone!’ Fynch demanded. ‘I am now a liability to you.’
‘And where will you go?’
‘Never you mind.’
‘How will you go if you can’t even sit on a horse?’
‘That’s not your concern. I have my ways,’ Fynch said breathlessly. ‘Now help me up, please.’
Using Cassien for support, Fynch hauled himself upright and stood there for a few heartbeats, winning his breath back, finding a reserve of strength from somewhere. He looked like all the wind had been punched out of him, his skin was waxy pale and his limbs had a tremor.
‘Are you weakened through sadness, or are you physically injured by the news?’
‘Both,’ Fynch wheezed. ‘The message of Aphra travelling is delivered through magic. It sucked all my strength … to reach me, for me to hear it, for Reynard to send it. Ravan will be travelling too. I have no idea where he will emerge but he will not be well for a long time.’ He shook his head grimly. ‘Cyricus cannot have this land as his playground!’
‘Verily!’ Cassien replied almost as a chant, using the old language of Shar’s scripts to acknowledge something as right or true.
Fynch continued. ‘We are fighting an unknown enemy and we don’t know his strengths or weaknesses. We are the only two people walking this land who know that he’s coming.’
‘Then we go to the queen and we tell her,’ Cassien tried again.
‘And who must she fear? He could be you, he could be me; he could be her wine servant or her page, the stable master or her chancellor. He could be her chambermaid or the cook … her seamstress or the woman who draws her bath. Do you understand the magnitude of our problem?’ He coughed, weakened from the effort of speaking.
Cassien nodded unhappily. ‘Then what?’ he asked, opening his palms in submission.
‘This weakness of mine is potent. I didn’t foresee it and I am sickening fast.’ It was true. In just the last few moments, Fynch’s complexion had worsened from pale to sallow, bordering on grey. All the light and geniality had fled, so his face appeared almost a mask of itself. ‘I am a burden and a risk because of my magic. I don’t know if Cyricus will be looking for it, but I can’t take the chance that he is. We must keep him under the illusion of secrecy until we work out who he is.’
‘For me to kill.’
‘Precisely.’
‘If we follow the pattern of Myrren’s magic, can he then not just become me?’
‘Normally, yes. But you have your roaming magic. This is what makes you so important, my boy.’
Cassien looked at him puzzled.
‘Let me sit down,’ Fynch said, pointing to a fallen tree. ‘I don’t have much time.’
‘Before what?’
‘Before I must leave you,’ Fynch said, gasping as Cassien helped him to sit. ‘I’m no good to you now. I have the breath only to say this once. Go to Orkyld. Do what you must. Then go to Florentyna and convince her that she must have you as her paladin. She’s a queen of her era and doesn’t go in for these old-fashioned ideas. I don’t care what it takes for you to persuade her. Be at the side of her majesty. Keep her safe.’
‘Master Fynch, I don’t even know who I’m looking for.’
‘Look for whoever has the most to gain. He is a demon and arrogant. While he could easily be the stableboy or the baker, he is likely too proud and would want nobility. I will help if and when I can.’ Fynch sighed to himself. ‘I wish I had given the possibility of dying some consideration,’ he said with a sad chuckle.
‘You can’t die, Fynch,’ Cassien said, sitting next to his companion and taking his hand, which was cool, the skin papery.
‘Oh, I can. And I might. But I’m hoping the gods grant that this is not yet my time, although my time is surely overdue. You know all that is important now, Cassien.’ Fynch touched his cheek affectionately. ‘You are strong here,’ he said, moving his hand to Cassien’s chest. ‘The heart of a wolf. But strongest of all here,’ he added, tapping a finger at Cassien’s temple. ‘Use your magic wisely. Gifts from the gods always come at a price.’ He gave Cassien a lingering look before he nodded. ‘Now go, my boy. Ride for Orkyld. Ride through the night if you must. You have two horses now, both big-hearted.’
‘But you —’
‘I have no need of horses,’ he wheezed and his voice had dropped to a whisper. He was fading before Cassien’s gaze.
‘Fynch …’
‘Go, Cassien. Leave me now.’ It was not a request.
He stood reluctantly, watching Fynch slump.
‘Don’t make me beg,’ Fynch pleaded. ‘He will win if neither of us acts. And our Crown is in jeopardy. That’s your path.’
‘It’s only because of the oath I took to the Brotherhood that I leave you now.’ Cassien finally turned on his heel.
The horses whickered as he bound one to the other. He would not be having any roast chicken tonight, he thought with regret. He climbed into the saddle.
‘How will I find you?’ he demanded, knowing the anger in his voice was worry but wishing it didn’t sound so harsh. He hoped Fynch understood.
‘I will find you, if Shar permits it,’ Fynch said cryptically. He raised a hand slightly but couldn’t raise his head. ‘Farewell, my boy.’
With his heart hurting and his mouth set in an angry slash, Cassien turned the horses and left without another word. Below him the lamplight from the village twinkled charmingly, oblivious to his fears.
Everything always looks better in the morning. Who said that to him? Was it his mother? No, he couldn’t even
remember her. Was it Brother Josse? Possibly. His childhood was so blurred, but he remembered he had a brother, if not much else about him. It was his brother’s existence he remembered, and his determination that one day they would both make the pilgrimage to the cathedral and discover their mythical beasts. Whatever happened to their family? Why was he given to the Brotherhood in the first instance?
If he survived this test he would find his blood family. It comforted him to think that people might exist out there who belonged to him and he to them. Lost in his thoughts, and with the wind in his face, Cassien didn’t hear the soft growl in the distance behind him.
Orkyld, a place Cassien had always wanted to visit, was no small, sleepy town. It felt like a city and all of its noise and colour assaulted him. He was holding his breath as he guided his pair of horses toward its toll-gate until he realised no-one — least of all the toll-man — was paying him any attention.
Cassien flipped the toll-man a coin to enter the thriving town and gave him no time or reason to share words.
The coin was caught nimbly and he heard its soft ring as it hit the rest of the coins in the small sack. Clearly, Orkyld was flourishing. He carefully dismounted his horse, still amazed that the weapons he carried were silent, in order to walk and consider who to ask directions from. Who would be the least interested in him?
He saw a sandy-haired lad with a sack of something that was obviously heavy across his back and shoulders. The youngster was nearly bent double.
‘Hey, boy, I’ll give you a coin if you’ll stop and give me some directions.’
‘Where do you need to go?’ the boy asked, breathing heavily with the effort of pausing.
‘What are you carrying?’ Cassien asked, looking at him in amazement. ‘You’ll break your back.’
The lad managed a grin beneath his load. ‘Tapestries, sir. I’m delivering them to one of the noble houses.’
‘I hope they pay you well. I’m looking for an inn. But the town looks so busy I don’t know where to begin.’
‘It’s always like this, sir,’ the boy wheezed. He reeled off a couple of names and rough directions.
‘Thanks,’ Cassien said, showing the boy the bronze regent before slipping it into the lad’s pocket.
‘Of course, sir, most men of your kind stay at the Yew Inn. It’s away from the main square, a bit quieter — it’s in the centre of the swordsmiths.’
Cassien frowned. Perhaps his clothes were marking him, for the boy surely couldn’t see his sword beneath his cloak. ‘What makes you think that’s where I should be?’
‘It’s a better sort of establishment. And, with your weapons, sir, I’m presuming you are here to talk to the guild or one of the smiths.’
‘You can hear —’ He stopped himself. ‘What’s your name?’
The boy adjusted his load. ‘Ham, sir. Er, Hamelyn.’
‘Well, Hamelyn, I shall go to the Yew Inn. In that direction, you say?’ Cassien said, pointing over his shoulder.
‘Follow that street to its end. You’ll come to a small crossroads, at its centre a small fountain. Go right and continue … you’ll see the smith shops and the inn is along there.’
‘Who do you work for, Ham? Wait, let me take that off you.’ He dragged the load from Ham’s shoulders. The lad visibly sighed before stretching.
‘Thank you, sir. I am an errand boy for hire. There are many noblemen who come into the town needing the smiths and they all want errands run. This job is for Lady Hartnell.’ When Cassien looked unimpressed, Ham added, ‘She’s Lord Hartnell’s wife and is setting up a country house on the outskirts of town.’
‘Couldn’t Lady Hartnell have this taken by horse and cart?’
‘They forgot this.’
‘Ah. When you’re done with Lady Hartnell’s errands, come and see me. I’ll be at the Yew.’
Ham’s face lit up. ‘Yes, sir. Who do I ask for?’
‘I’m Cassien Figaret. Now, let me help you get loaded up again.’ They lifted the bundle together and Cassien was astonished at just how heavy the burden was on Ham’s back. He was strong. ‘All right?’
‘Yes, Master Figaret. It’s balanced.’
‘Call me Cassien. I’ll be waiting.’ He lifted a hand in farewell but the boy had already turned and lurched off. That was intriguing. How could Hamelyn hear his weapons when they were magically silenced? He looked forward to seeing the lad again.
Cassien found the Yew Inn without difficulty but he took his time and moved slowly through the street of swordsmiths, awestruck that he was actually here. He wanted to visit each of the shops, but Wevyr’s, like a beacon, drew him toward it. He could see it up ahead; nothing grand about it and yet it seemed to emanate an aura … silent, slightly sinister, yet not in a way that was alarming. It had none of the traffic that the other smiths appeared to be experiencing. Wevyr’s seemed to deter anyone from entering. It clearly didn’t take idle enquirers. He smiled. This street — and particularly Wevyr’s — was like the high altar for any obedient warrior.
Before he could pay a visit to the famous swordsmith, he needed to get his horses seen to. A man seemed to read his thoughts.
‘Are you staying at the Yew, sir?’
‘Hoping to.’
‘There’s room,’ the man replied. ‘Shall I take the horses?’
‘Er, yes, thank you.’ Cassien frowned. He could almost imagine this was a scam and then the man would walk away with a fine pair of mounts and laugh with his friends at the idiocy of the stranger in the dark cloak. ‘Wait, I’d like to see the stables, please.’
‘Follow me, sir. My name is Robb.’
The man led him down a side street and then into a smaller lane that brought him to the rear of what was clearly a busy inn and an equally busy stable. He felt foolish for being so suspicious but reminded himself that not to be might cost him his life. He needed to be suspicious of everyone and every situation, especially while he was familiarising himself with people and city life.
‘These horses have travelled a long distance and bravely, because I had to push them. I want them to have the best feed and sweet water. Do you understand, Robb?’
‘All our horses —’
‘No, Robb. I want these horses to be treated generously and with kindness. I insist. I’m happy to pay you handsomely for your trouble.’
Robb blinked slowly as he digested this. ‘I understand, sir.’
‘Thank you.’ Cassien produced another coin, a silver duke this time. ‘Give them a good rub down, too.’
Robb’s eyes widened. He clearly wasn’t used to seeing silver and reached for it greedily. ‘Consider it done, sir.’
‘Good. I’ll be back later to check on them.’
He wove his way back to the entrance of the Yew Inn. His belly, which he’d ignored since the previous evening, was now howling to be fed. The landlord greeted him warmly.
‘A room for you, sir?’
‘Please. Two nights,’ he said, unsure why he’d need that long. ‘Do you have one with a bath?’
‘No, sir, I’m sorry. But the baths in Orkyld have few equal, save the public one in Pearlis. I’d wager you’d have a better soak there than in your room.’
Cassien grinned. ‘Truly?’
The innkeeper nodded. ‘I’d recommend the one favoured by the guild. It’s not far from here and tends to be frequented by men such as yourself, sir. We have others, of course, equally good but perhaps not as … discreet.’ He smiled. ‘And, if you’re looking for relaxation of a different nature, sir, there are the brothels, and the better ones have bathing facilities.’
‘Indeed. Are there many brothels in Orkyld?’
The man reached behind him to some hooks and found the key he was looking for. ‘I’ve lost count. Orkyld is now the second largest town outside of the capital.’ He shrugged. ‘That means there’s plenty of everything.’
‘Innkeeper …?’
‘Erris, sir.’
‘Good. Erris, what if I wanted to find a
particular girl? I promised an old friend I’d look for her … if you get my meaning,’ Cassien said, sounding conspiratorial. He winked for good measure.
Erris gave a sly smile. ‘I do, sir. Anything you need can be arranged for a price.’
Cassien dug into the pocket where he’d stored some of Fynch’s coin. ‘How much do I owe you for the room and meals?’
‘That would be a crown and six.’
Cassien did a quick calculation. He was having to re-learn how to use money. Six meant regents he recalled. ‘I see. And if I wanted that particular errand we’ve recently discussed?’
‘I’d round it up to two crowns, sir, and assure you that it was all included. I can have her sent to your room … er, that is, if you prefer not to visit the brothel and will take your bath in one of the houses.’
‘Yes, that would be convenient, Erris, thank you.’
‘May I have the girl’s name, sir?’
‘Well, here’s the thing, I’ve forgotten it,’ Cassien lied, making a sound of disgust at himself. ‘I was drunk when I was told and all I can remember is that her name is something like Petal, or Pila, perhaps?’
‘Ah, no, sir,’ he said with a wide, knowing smile. ‘It’s not Pila. Her name is Penely. Hair like flame, mayhap?’
‘That’s the one!’
Erris chuckled. ‘It’s whether she’s available, sir. Penely is extremely popular.’
‘Do what you can, Erris. I’m keen to meet her, even for a brief time, although tell her I will pay her for a night even if she can only spare an hour.’
Erris regarded him with interest. ‘I’ll see what I can do, Master …?’
‘Figaret.’
‘Figaret,’ Erris repeated. ‘After your evening meal, sir. Shall we say three hours after sundown?’
‘Fine. There’s also an errand boy calling for me. His name is Hamelyn. He can probably catch up with me at the bathhouse.’
‘Of course, sir,’ Erris replied.
Cassien arrived outside the bathhouse, having taken his time getting a feel for this lively town. Ham had been right. The area around the Yew Inn was quieter and somehow more secretive.
The Scrivener's Tale Page 15
