“Ye make a good Queen,” he said, looking up at her. She flushed.
“It’s usually Lydia,” she replied, almost apologetically. “I don’t know what they were thinking . . .”
“That ye’d make a good Queen,” he said, and felt gratified when she ducked her head with modest confusion. “Just as simple as that. What’re ye supposed t’ do, bein’ Queen an’ all?”
“Think of things they should do.” She laughed. “It needs to be things that will keep them awake! Lydia always had them dancing most of the time.”
“Well, ye’re a clever one. I reckon ye c’n think of somethin’.” He nodded
The rest of the night was taken up with games and other nonsense that Amily devised, as silly as possible. She was a very good Queen, since that was what the Midwinter Queen was supposed to do. After the first dance was over, she called out, “Duck, Duck, Goose! And Marc is Goose!” That was utterly incomprehensible to Mags, but shouts of laughter erupted, and soon the entire company was arranged in a circle around the fire, watching covertly as Marc walked behind them all. He tapped each person he passed on the shoulder, solemnly pronouncing the word “duck” each time. That is, until he came to one of the twins. “GOOSE!” he shouted, and ran. The twin chased after him but was unable to catch him, and Marc dashed into his place. Then the twin repeated the formula.
It must have been a children’s game, but that seemed to be what people wanted. When Amily judged that people were wearying of it, she decreed another dance, this time with the oldest dancing with the youngest. And then, another game. She seemed to be enjoying herself, too, and Mags wondered if part of her quietude most of the time was because she worked just a little too hard at being overlooked. He didn’t know a lot about girls, but one thing he was sure of—no matter how hard they might work at being in the background, deep in their hearts they really wanted to be seen and made much of once in a while.
As for himself, he got a great deal of enjoyment out of her pleasure, and when at last the sun crested the horizon and was greeted with cheers and toasts, he felt as if he had done a very good thing, putting her up on Dallen’s back to be noticed like that.
Nor was she allowed to hobble back into the building on her own as they toasted the sun and the new year with the last of the cider, shared in the breakfast feast that was brought out from the kitchen, and then went off to their beds. The twins hoisted her up onto their own shoulders and carried her in triumph at the head of another parade back to her room. Smiling, Mags divested Dallen of his garlands, led him back to the stable, and made sure he had hay and water and was warmly covered in his blanket.
:That was well done,: Dallen said as Mags refilled the manger. :I’ve not seen her have that much fun in a very long time.:
:How long’s she been like that?: Mags asked. :Crippled, I mean.:
:Since the accident that killed her mother when she was very small. There were no expert Healers where they were, and by the time they got her into good hands, it was deemed too painful to rebreak the bones and reset them.: Dallen sighed. : There are many who are surprised she wasn’t Chosen.:
Mags pondered that. :There’s a good reason, aye?:
:Her father. She is the light of his life, and being a Herald is dangerous. He has more than enough to worry about, being King’s Own. If Amily was Chosen, and he had to worry about all the dangers she faced along with all the cares of the King, he might kill himself with the strain.: Dallen shook his head. :Amily knows why, and she agrees this is for the best. We had to tell her, of course. It didn’t seem fair, when she was pining over the Field every day.:
Now, Dallen had never lied to Mags . . . but he got the feeling that there was more to it then just that. :Anythin’ more ye’d like t’tell me?:
:Oh, just that it is frustrating for her, I think, being unable to dare as much as she would like to. And for those of us who know her . . . well, seeing her as only her father’s helper is sometimes like seeing a fine dagger being used as a paperweight. It serves the purpose very well, but that is not what it is for.:
Mags had to agree. But what could he do, that the Companions couldn’t?
Still this night had made her happy. That had to count for something.
He was one of the last to come in, and the halls of the house were quiet once again. He found his room, buried himself in that lovely cloudlike bed, and dreamed of nothing at all.
16
THE holiday had not been kind to Bear or Lena, as it transpired.
They arrived together, but Mags was not there to see it. He was carrying out his assignment to keep an eye on the foreign mercenaries, and there was something exceedingly peculiar going on with them. They seemed nervous, wary—and yet they were, so far as he could tell, oblivious to the people around them. Instead, they were looking constantly over their shoulders for something. What? There was no clue in their behavior or, at least, nothing that Mags could interpret. If they had been worried about an attack on their overlords, they would have been sticking more closely to them. They were not; They were, in fact, going about their usual business.
All he could do was make careful note of how they were acting, and what set off their odd reaction. Not that he could go into the Palace to watch them—on the other hand, when they were on duty, they probably were a lot more careful to keep up their facades.
He had first gotten wind of their peculiar behavior that morning, when he overheard two of the Healers talking about it. He had been slowly eating his breakfast, enjoying one of the last leisurely meals he would have before classes started again. Already most of the extra workmen were gone—but the fruits of their labors were visible in newly opened sections of all three Collegia. More rooms for Trainees in all three, all the work on the Heraldic Library was complete and now the books just needed to be moved in, the dining hall was finished but the kitchen still needed work, and there were rumors that there was some sort of addition for the bathing room that would make all that tedious heating of buckets of water a thing of the past. It wasn’t a reality yet, however.
So he had just had a morning bath and was savoring eggs and sausages and biscuits when two Healers sat down on the bench across from him and picked up what sounded like an interrupted conversation.
“It’s bad enough that they are rude and arrogant, and that half of my work consists of patching up injuries they’ve inflicted during ‘practice,’ ” one of them said as he got a bowl of porridge. “But this . . . how can I tell if something is wrong with someone if he won’t tell me the symptoms?”
“Perhaps they don’t speak our language well?” the other suggested diffidently. The first snorted.
“They speak it just fine. They just won’t tell me. ‘Something is wrong with us, Healer. Fix it.’ Just like that, in so many words.” The first one stirred currants into his porridge with irritation. “I finally got just as rude as they were. ‘Well, perhaps all your problems stem from the amount of strong drink you’re putting away every night down in the city,’ I said. ‘I can’t fix you if you keep making things worse by getting blind drunk every night.’ ”
“Good for you!” the second applauded. “Then what happened?”
“They threatened to kill me, of course. Fortunately, with the Guard there, they didn’t dare do anything other than threaten.” The Healer snorted. “I’ve told everyone that those threats were the last straw, and I am sticking to it. I would not put it past them to ambush me and beat me senseless for not groveling and making them all better. It will have to be a royal command before I have anything to do with any of that lot again.”
They finished their breakfast, with Mags lingering over his, but said nothing more about the mercenaries. He left just after they did; Dallen had not heard anything either. But Dallen took care to point out that Lydia’s friends would want to know anything at all about this—and probably, so would Herald Nikolas.
So with that tantalizing knowledge in hand, Mags decided he would intercept them on their way to the salle,
fall in behind them and watch.
That was just what he did, making himself look as unobtrusive as possible, lurking about the herb garden and waiting for them to come out of their usual door at the Palace at their accustomed time. He sauntered along the path right behind them, close enough to take note of everything they did, and far enough he thought they wouldn’t notice he was there, or if they did, they would just shrug because this was his usual time at the salle, too. And that was when he realized that there was something spooking them. But whatever it was, it wasn’t human. They didn’t even seem to notice him—or if they did notice him, they considered him not worth bothering about, and surely they couldn’t tell which Trainee he was at this distance. But something had them looking over their shoulders with every twig that cracked in the cold, every wren that darted out of a bush. What was wrong with them?
He took a chance, speeded up a little, and walked right past them. Nikolas’ lessons had taught him how to look sharply at people without seeming to look at them at all. If they had been friends of his, he would have been alarmed at their condition.
Their eyes were dark-circled and their expressions harried. Their eyeballs were bloodshot. They looked as if they had not slept well last night or the night before.
They relaxed and acted normally when they finally reached the salle, although their reflexes were a bit off. But if they hadn’t slept, that was probably why. As he worked out with another Trainee, he kept a watch on them out of the corner of his eye. They didn’t challenge anyone today; in fact, they declined partners offered to them, and sparred only among themselves. They tired quickly, they managed to disarm each other without trying very hard. And in the end, they left before he did, not after, looking as if the short session had completely exhausted them. He decided this was enough out of the ordinary that he ought to go tell one of Lydia’s group. And, fortunately, he had a contact right here in the Palace.
So instead of going and having a leisurely luncheon, he grabbed enough sausage rolls for two and a pair of apples and headed for the Royal Kennels.
He had never been there before, so he was at a bit of a loss for where to look first when he got there. The outbuilding was easy enough to find, and he knew that it held dogs, but other than that . . . well if it was anything like the stable, if he couldn’t find Marc right away, probably someone would be able to tell him where the apprentice was.
The sounds of dogs barking would have led him there once he rounded the corner of the Palace and entered the grounds where the stable for the regular horses, the kennels, and the mews were located. Even if he had not known where it was, he could have followed his ears. The structure was very like a stable, but one with fenced runs for the dogs to use, as well as quite a few animals roaming free. Much to his relief, he saw Marc right away, feeding a pen of small, brown-and-white, short-haired, floppy-eared dogs with long, furiously wagging tails.
“Marc! Brung ye some nuncheon!” he called out, holding out the napkin that contained the sausage rolls.
“Bless you, Mags, I’m behind on the work and fair perishing.” Marc wiped his hands on a towel at his waist and accepted the napkin gladly. “Two of our men are out, as you might expect from trying to drink a barrel of beer dry, and I’m having to do the work of three.”
Mags shook his head sorrowfully, which gave him a chance to look around to see if there was anyone near that could overhear them. In an undertone, while Marc wolfed down the sausages—proving that his hunger was no ruse—Mags told him what he had heard and seen.
“Huh. Now that is a peculiar tale. Well, the Healer could be right. Seeing things is one of the signs of someone that’s a habitual drunk, and from what I’ve heard, these fellows have been setting records in the taverns since the holiday began.” He grinned. “Seems they can’t get drink strong enough at the Palace. For some reason, no one will serve it to them, or even admit that it exists in the cellars.”
Mags nodded, but something still didn’t seem right to him. “But wouldn’t they be seein’ creepy-crawlies all the time if it had to do with drink?” he objected. “They stopped actin’ peculiar when they got t’ the salle.”
“Hmm. You have a point.” Marc finished the last of the rolls and wiped his hands. “I’ll pass it on to the others. You see what else you can learn. I’m thinking we might want to put off our plan for a bit.”
“Won’ be much,” Mags warned. “Mostly rumor, I guess. Not like I c’n get inter the Palace.”
“Rumors often have a bit of truth at the core.” Marc’s head came up at the sound of a bell from the Collegium. “And that would be your reminder to get back to classes, I expect.”
“No classes yet. But aye, should be getting back, I got things as I need t’ tend m’self.”
He hurried back up the path to the Collegium, intent on his own thoughts, and trying to decide what, if anything, he should be doing about listening in at Bardic Collegium. At the moment, he had no real excuse to linger there and eavesdrop on the teachers and resident Bards. The best he could do was to position himself during meals where he could overhear as much as possible through the hum of conversation. He was already on his way to Healers’ with an eye to asking about things to prevent the miserable sneezing and coughing that some of the early arrivals had brought back with them. Not that he thought he was likely to get sick—but it gave him a good excuse to eavesdrop as Herald Nikolas wanted.
And that was when he ran right into Bear, or nearly. Bear was ploughing along the path with his head down, paying no attention to where he was going, and since Mags was doing the same, they bumped shoulders and started, becoming aware of what they were doing only at that moment.
Mags recognized Bear first. He stared at his friend as if at a ghost for a moment. Then he grinned, and grabbed both of Bear’s shoulders. “Bear! Yer back!”
Bear grinned, but it looked strained. Mags let go of his shoulders, his glee changing to concern. “Ye look worrit,” he stated flatly. “An’ it ain’t like ye t’ go bumblin’ along, payin’ no heed to anythin’ but yer feet. Summat wrong?”
Bear shrugged. His normally cheerful face took on a mask-like blankness. “Nothing really. My holiday wasn’t much of one. But then, neither was Lena’s.”
“She’s back, too?” Mags asked, suddenly feeling very uncertain. This wasn’t like Bear at all. Bear never temporized. There was no doubt in Mags’ mind that Bear was hiding something, probably the cause of his unhappiness.
Bear nodded. “We came back together; we got in last night, but you weren’t about anywhere obvious, and you weren’t in your room, and we didn’t know where to find you.” Bear shrugged. “And anyway, we had unpacking to do and we were both pretty tired, so we went back to our rooms. I don’t know what Lena did, but I just got something to eat and then went straight to bed.”
“I was down th’ road with some people—” He hesitated; how much did he dare say? He had been down at Master Soren’s house, of course, all of Lydia’s group had gotten together to enjoy the last night of the holiday, the last night all of them would be free to get together as a group until the next holiday of the Spring Equinox. They had not yet made up their minds about when the girls were going to humiliate those mercenaries . . . and in fact, Mags was getting the impression that they had begun to have second thoughts about that idea, and Marc’s words a few moments ago had confirmed that. But he couldn’t tell Bear about any of that. And he couldn’t quite figure out how he could readily explain how someone like him was friends with the circle around Master Soren’s niece.
“ ’S no matter anyway,” he continued. “ ’Cause if I’d a knowed you were comin’ last night, I’d a been here, not there!”
Bear shook his head. “We weren’t in any mood to be around, Mags. Things didn’t go well at home for either of us. And we would rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.”
He was rather taken aback by his friend’s words, in fact, he was rather hurt. Wasn’t he their friend? They had obviously confided in ea
ch other, so why not in him?
He wanted to blurt out all of this, but his mouth had other ideas, and said nothing more than, “Well, we gonna study t’gether tonight? Or at least hev supper t’gether?”
“No studying, that was mostly all I did at home,” Bear replied. “But supper, absolutely. And you can probably find Lena up at Bardic if you want to go look for her.”
He ducked his head, and hurried on his way, leaving Mags staring at his retreating back in puzzlement.
Although Bear had not seemed particularly encouraging, Mags went up to Bardic, looking for Lena. He realized as he was halfway there that he had never been to her room, and he suddenly felt very diffident about trying to find it. There were implications to looking for a girl’s room that he wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with. His steps slowed, and finally, when he reached the door of Bardic Collegium, stopped altogether.
He stood uncertainly, looking up at the wooden façade of the building, noting that it was getting pretty shabby. What to do?
Finally, another girl, a little older than Lena but also in Trainee rust-red, came up from behind him and moved to go around him. “Hey—” he said awkwardly, and she stopped. “I don’ s’pose ye know Trainee Lena? Little bit of a thing, dark hair.”
The girl looked at him as if he was mad. “Everyone knows Trainee Lena,” she replied, with a lot of undertones to the words that he couldn’t quite read. Still this was his chance.
“Could ye tell ’er that Mags an’ Bear wants t’ meet her fer supper?” he asked. The girl rolled her eyes, as if to say Why don’t you tell her yourself? but refrained from making any such statement.
Valdemar 03 - [Collegium 01] - Foundation Page 24
