Puppy Love: Sagecraft I

by J. C. Hendee

  Kyne didn’t want to know from whom or where Marten had “borrowed” that.

  Tall and lithe Alshenísh’ìn looked ridiculous, though at first he had found the robe amusing. Its sleeve cuffs didn’t reach his wrists let alone hands, and its skirt barely dropped past the top of his felt boots—expensive forest-green boots that no initiate would wear. Worse, he had no excuse for when he would arrive home too late.

  That was going to raise questions from yet another set of parents.

  Between the struggling boys sagged the cage’s old tarp, its ends slung over their shoulders to keep its middle off the street stones. Weighing down the tarp’s middle was a growling, squirming bulge.

  Kyne moaned at the sight.

  This had to be the stupidest of Marten’s many schemes. Not that she had thought of anything better—or anything at all. And exactly where was Grim? Hopefully he had finished what she had asked of him and not run into a problem.

  When Kyne peeked around the last corner to where Leaful Street emptied into Old Bailey Road, she took a breath of relief… and more worry. At the sight of the guild’s bailey wall ahead, she turned to wave the boys on before rounding the corner. Halfway to the meeting of the streets, she looked back again.

  Marten suddenly froze.

  He jerked back on the tarp, frantically shaking his head. Before she could whisper a question, he jerked again, as if trying to duck away. At that, both he and Alshenísh’ìn almost dropped the bulging tarp.

  Alshenísh’ìn teetered, stumbling to keep his feet, and too quickly heaved up his tarp’s end. That pulled Marten and the bulge right into him. Both of them wobbled in a tangle as the pup let out a vicious snarl inside the tarp.

  Kyne rushed back.

  The last thing they needed was the pup making too much noise and attracting attention.

  Alshenísh’ìn toppled. He landed on top of the bulging tarp, on top of Marten. As Kyne closed on their tangled heap, and Marten was trying to thrash free, the pup’s head popped out of the tarp.

  He growled, bared his teeth, and turned on Marten.

  Kyne didn’t have time to think, and she snatched the pup’s muzzle with one hand.

  They both froze.

  Kyne realized what she had just done and chilled all over. For an instant, the pup only stared at her, bright blues blinking around the little hand latched over his snout.

  “You… inept… lhâsuil!” Alshenísh’ìn hissed at Marten.

  Kyne was too busy with the pup to scold Alshenísh’ìn for that foul word about humans. She didn’t know if she should hold onto the pup’s nose or let go—and likely get bitten. Fortunately, the pup appeared just as lost for what to do.

  Marten suddenly grabbed Kyne from behind and heaved. She quickly released the pup’s muzzle and closed her arms around him, hauling him along, as Marten pulled her toward the railed landing of a small timber building. That raised a warning snarl from the pup. A confused Alshenísh’ìn scrambled to follow, dragging the tarp along, but all Kyne could do was grab the pup’s muzzle again.

  He didn’t stop growling this time.

  With the pup half in her lap and wrapped in one arm, she let go of his nose and put that hand over her mouth. That was all she could think of.

  The pup went silent, though he still wrinkled his jowls at her. There was no time for surprise that he actually let her hold onto him.

  “Look,” Marten whispered.

  Before Kyne followed his pointing finger, the pup turned his head that way and his ears pricked up.

  Out the end of Leaful Street, and far up the Old Bailey Road’s front run, two men stood in the deepening darkness before the guild’s bailey gate. The gatehouse’s outer braziers were already lit, though flickering light revealed little more than heavy night cloaks and the glint of steel helmets on their heads.

  “City guards… Shyldfälches,” Marten whispered.

  Alshenísh’ìn’s features flattened as he stared.

  Puzzled at how Marten knew, Kyne barely glanced back when he whispered, “Those helmets.”

  That he was right made everything worse; their way in was now blocked. Trying to hide the pup in the initiates’ barracks was ridiculous and now even beyond hope.

  They all heard boots clomp on stone somewhere around the corner ahead.

  Kyne scooted back on as Marten tugged on her. Clinging to the pup, she tried to scrunch in against the landing’s lower supports. The pup started struggling, and she had to hang on to him with both arms. Unable to grab his snout again, she bit her lower lip, waiting for him to bite something else.

  Alshenísh’ìn snatched the tarp’s edge and jerked it up over all of them. Thankfully that silenced the pup, and they listened for those footfalls to round the corner.

  The footfalls grew fainter instead.

  Marten carefully pulled down the trap’s edge and leaned out. So did Kyne and Alshenísh’ìn. Beyond the end of Leaful Street, a dark figure strode slowly up the front run of Old Bailey Road.

  It was difficult to see much, but Kyne thought that figure wore rough canvas pants tucked into glistening, high hard boots. That was odd combination of old and new. A weathered cloak with its hood up obscured everything else but a sword on the figure’s right hip. The weapon also looked a bit odd with its sheath wrapped in some kind of cloth and tied on. Or maybe the cloth itself was a makeshift sheath.

  The figure slowed. Its gloved right hand brushed back the cloak and gripped the sword’s hilt. As it began to pivot, its hood turned back more quickly.

  Just before Marten pulled the tarp back up, Kyne thought she glimpsed a tan scarf or wrap hiding the lower half of the figure’s face. At a guess, the dark one was a tall, slender man.

  And the pup started rumbling again.

  “Shush!” Kyne uttered.

  “Shut him up,” Marten whispered, “or we’re finished!”

  “Quiet, both of you,” Alshenísh’ìn ordered.

  In panic, Kyne buried her face right into the pup’s.

  He grunted and squirmed, but she hung onto him as tightly as she dared. His breath smelled a bit awful, but he finally grew still.

  All three—or rather four—of them sat there in tense silence.

  Finally, the footsteps started up again, but slower this time.

  Kyne grew queasy in listening as those steps grew fainter in picking up their pace. This time, Alshenísh’ìn hesitatingly pulled down the tarp, and they all peer up the street.

  The dark-clad stranger was much farther up the way. At his approach, one of the city guards at the bailey’s gate stepped briskly out, and the stranger paused. There was nothing to hear of what they said from so far away. Oddly, at a nod from the guard, the cloaked and hooded man turned away.

  Kyne’s focus pulled the other way as the one guard suddenly headed further up the front run rather than back to his companion at the gate. He disappeared around the far turn of Old Bailey Road beyond the guild’s grounds. And as to the dark, cloaked man…

  He stepped directly out and away from the guild grounds toward Old Procession Road. The one remaining city guard at the gate never moved.

  For an instant, Kyne thought she saw the dark stranger’s hooded head turn slightly in looking back the way he had come. Then he was gone as well, leaving only one guard at the gate.

  Kyne looked to Alshenísh’ìn and then Marten. Neither said anything.

  “Now what?” she whispered.

  “What else, we go in as planned,” Marten answered. “It’s not like we’ve got other options. Getting past one guard might be easier… maybe.”

  Kyne didn’t think so, but again, nothing else came to mind.

  Of all bad outcomes, being caught by the city guard was the probably safest, at least for the pup. She might have a chance to explain—or stall—unlike with her own superiors, her parents, or especially if the wolf-catcher caught all of them in the open.

  Getting the pup back in the tarp was less trouble this time, so long as Marten didn’t h
elp, though that didn’t mean it was easy. Alshenísh’ìn was certainly less enthusiastic at being part of all of this. Being caught by the Shyldfälches was probably the least preferred outcome for the son of a dignitary from his people.

  They inched out of Leaful Street, looking all ways, and then on toward the bailey gate. Only halfway there, the last guard obviously spotted them.

  “Aren’t you three out a bit late?” he asked.

  Kyne stopped suddenly, never quite reaching the closed bailey gate. Fortunately, neither of boys bumped into her, and the pup was still quiet… for now. Not one word, excuse, or lie came to her.

  “Just bringing back some laundered robes,” Marten chimed in. “Had to send them out, this time. Not our fault they weren’t ready when we went for them.”

  The guards gaze lifted beyond Kyne, and she heard one of the boys shifting feet behind her. Probably Alshenísh’ìn.

  “So… what are you here for?” Marten challenged.

  A subtle frown spread over the guard’s blockish features. His gaze settled again on Kyne, and that frown deepened with something like suspicion, or so it seemed to her.

  “Pardon, I… we… as he said,” she stuttered. “We didn’t know we would be out so late. Should… maybe… um, is there something wrong?”

  The guard tilted his head a little, glanced to his right, and maybe he looked off to where that dark one had wandered into the city.

  “Get along, miss,” he said, looking down on her again. “No one is to be out of the grounds without permission from the High Premin… and notification of Corporal Lúcan. Please be mindful of that.”

  He cocked his head toward the gate.

  Kyne was fumbling for a reply when Marten nudged her with an elbow. She quickly nodded and rushed off to open the gate.

  When they reached the gatehouse tunnel, fortunately the outer portcullis was still up. She heard the echoes of her own frantic breaths as they all quick-stepped along the dark passage toward the inner courtyard. Halfway there a clattering racket made them halt.

  Kyne looked back down the tunnel as the outer portcullis began to lower.

  “Oh, truly wonderful,” Alshenísh’ìn moaned.

  They had hoped to get him out the way they had come, minus the borrowed initiate’s robe. They could still sneak him out of a window in the initiate’s barracks. Then again, he would have to go through the inner bailey to the front gate, suspiciously arriving in front of the closed portcullis… and that one guard.

  Kyne realized something else.

  In their rush to get in, she never noticed that apprentices were not on watch at the tunnel’s entrance. Perhaps with the city guard outside, anyone on watch had been told they could retire.

  Kyne lingered no longer and hurried on. Upon reaching the door to the inner barracks and pulling it open, she held it long enough for Alshenísh’ìn to catch it with his shoulder. When she turned to head for the passage through the barracks and keep wall to the initiates’ quarters, she stalled again.

  Kyne’s throat dried out.

  Of course, there was an apprentice sage on duty in the alcove at the passage’s far end. After dark, a lit cold-lamp crystal sat on the low little table next to that one chair. It’s light revealed a skinny young woman in a cerulean robe sitting stiffly with her hands clenched in her lap.

  Her eyes were as wide and unblinking as Kyne’s.

  Kyne twisted about, pushed past Alshenísh’ìn, and went straight at Marten.

  “Floraile?” she whispered, and then louder, “Floraile… that is who you schemed into attendant duty tonight?”

  Marten’s eyes scrunched. “Hey! You think it was easy finding someone to trust… who doesn’t think you’re a cracked nut for all of your majay-nonsense?”

  Kyne chilled at the last of that and inched in. “What did you tell her?”

  Marten grew quiet and then cocked one eyebrow. “The same lie you told us,” he snipped, “about a wolf cub.”

  “And what will it cost… this time?”

  “Never mind, I’ll deal with it.”

  “Are you two finished?” Alshenísh’ìn interrupted, followed by a harsh exhale. “Or do we stand here until someone else enters and sees us?”

  Kyne grew incensed with Marten. Likely all of this would cost her more than getting Alshenísh’ìn whatever texts he fancied from the guild. Since there was nothing she could do about any of that for now, she turned down the passage.

  “Pull your cowl forward,” Marten whispered, “or we’ll never sneak you past the others into the boys’ wing.”

  Kyne jerked the front of her cowl low. The closer she came to the initiates’ barracks and its entry alcove, the bigger Floraile’s eyes looked.

  Floraile cautiously lean, peering past Kyne at the bulging tarp between the boys.

  “It… it is so… big,” she whispered.

  Kyne grew both frightened and more furious. The pup was not that big, though bigger than just a puppy. What exactly had Marten really promised Floraile to get her to sit as attendant tonight?

  Something big. Something bad. More likely both, knowing him. Boys!

  “Psst!”

  Kyne jumped slightly and looked toward that sound out of the boys’ wing. A few initiates moved about the main aisle, but there was Grim peeking out around an alcove curtain halfway down. He waved frantically at her.

  “Thank you,” Kyne whispered to Floraile as she waved Alshenísh’ìn and Marten ahead.

  Floraile still stared at the tarp but cringed back as it passed by into the boys’ wing.

  Kyne took one glance around, wondering if Sirron lingered nearby. With no sign of him, she dropped her head, tugged her cowl even lower, and hurried after Marten.

  Once they were all inside the alcove, Grim pulled the curtain across the opening. He hurried to the alcove’s back and turned up the oil lantern on the one low little table between the stacked bunks.

  Kyne had never been into the boys’ side, though it all looked much the same as the girls’. She did know which alcove was Marten’s and Grim’s, though she had never thought about its position until now. Like some alcoves on the girls’ side, except the last ones at the end or nearest the entrance, there were four beds stacked two to each side.

  Four beds for four boys, and Kyne quickly looked to Marten.

  “Stop worrying,” he said. “Chelly and Burgin aren’t in tonight.”

  What about the next night—and the next—until she could figure out what to do about the pup?

  Marten and Alshenísh’ìn carefully lowered the tarp. Grim immediately dropped on a bottom bunk and jerked his feet off the floor. There below his bunk was what Kyne had asked for.

  The old trunk looked worn but solid from its old panels to its iron and brass fixtures and the padlock that held it closed. It looked like a normal trunk.

  “Pull it out,” Grim whispered as he inched farther back in his bottom bunk.

  Kyne stopped Marten and Alshenísh’ìn before they released the tarp, not that they were in a hurry to do so. She knelt and pulled one leather end-handle on the trunk.

  It was about half as wide as the bunk above it. More importantly, and thanks to Grim, its back wall was now missing and lay flattened inside of it; all of its contents were gone as well. When the trunk was pushed back only to the bunk’s edge, there would still be plenty of room behind for the pup to crawl in. And if anyone came looking, the trunk could be pushed all the way back to keep the pup well hidden and tucked away.

  Not a long-term solution, but it was something for now.

  Kyne nodded to Marten and Alshenísh’ìn, and they lowered the tarp to the floor. She quickly crawled over before they opened it.

  “He… trusts you?” Alshenísh’ìn asked.

  Kyne shrugged. For whatever reason, she had been lucky in the streets for not being bitten. Hopefully she would not need to grab the pup’s nose again.

  With a sharp sigh, Alshenísh’ìn dropped his tarp’s end. Marten sharply pulled his
end as he backed away. And the pup flopped out before Kyne was ready.

  He righted himself with a snarl, and the first thing he fixed on was Marten. His jowls pulled back, and Kyne scooted in, ready to grab for him. He fell silent in looking at her, and his ears pricked up.

  “At least he has decent taste in companions,” Alshenísh’ìn whispered.

  “Oh, shut up,” Marten hissed, “and take a bunk… over there.”

  With a narrow glare of Alshenísh’ìn fiery amber eyes, he settled on the lower bunk at the alcove’s far side. Marten remained standing in the back corner next to Grim’s and his bunks as he watched, still clutching the tarp like a shield.

  “Now what?” Grim asked. “How long can we keep him hidden here?”

  Not long at all, and Kyne still didn’t know how to get the pup to… wherever.

  There were only two places she knew of where the majay-hì lived. One was where Shade had come from, far across the world. That was at least a year’s journey, at a guess. For the pup’s size, if he came from there, he would have been taken at birth directly from his mother and pack.

  A ridiculous notion, even if the pup was the right age for so much time.

  From what little Wynn had said of the an’Cróan, another “elven” people, their territory itself was unfriendly to humans, let alone a kidnapping wolf-catcher. As to the other place where the majay-hì lived…

  The forests of the Lhoin’na were a more reasonable origin for the pup, regardless that it was also well out of reach. Even so, the pup still looked too young to have been caught off on his own, away from a watchful pack.

  So how was Kyne to get him home without anyone ever finding out?

  Either she could not think how, though she should have when she first set her mind to rescuing him, or maybe she didn’t think of that anymore in looking into his bright sky-blue eyes.

  He was still filthy and hurt, even for how nasty he was. With everything that had happened since they had rescued him, there had been no safe time to see that. And he was still watching her.

  “I need a bowl, a rag, and some clean water,” she said.

  “You gone bug-batty again?” Marten whispered. “You want him to start up and get us all caught?”