Eye Spy

by Mercedes Lackey

  Having chosen a pair of rounded sticks about the size Abi recommended, they returned to Master Leandro and presented themselves to him. When they had been younger, they would have done this exercise wearing padded tunics and even padded trews; now he trusted them to be able to land blows precisely enough to be felt, but not injure. Well, mostly. As Perry had said, Abi suspected there was no way they’d get off without bruised knuckles.

  “Half speed,” Leandro said, face thoughtful. “These are much shorter than batons; you’re going to have to hold them in the middle.”

  Abi felt a great deal of relief at hearing they weren’t going to go all out. “Begin,” said the master.

  “So are any of your friends in love with you?” Perry teased as he feinted for her shoulder and came in at her ribcage.

  She let the point of his stick slide by easily. “No, but one of them is smitten with Kat.”

  “Which one?” He ducked under a strike to his temple.

  “You’re the clever spy who’s two years older than me, you figure it out.” The strike to her elbow would have made her drop her right-hand stick from suddenly numb fingers if she hadn’t evaded it.

  “You’re no fun. Oof!” he exclaimed as she connected, not with a stick but with an elbow to the gut.

  “Well done,” said Master Leandro. “You’re only half speed, she shouldn’t have caught you. You’re getting sloppy, Perry.”

  Before the session was over, Leandro had moved them up to full speed, but the worst Abi had suffered had been the loss of a little knuckle skin. Perry had done better, but he was two years older than she was with that much more practice.

  “Maybe next time we should practice with bricks, Master,” Perry said, as their mentor judged himself satisfied with their performance. “Abi should find a lot of bricks on the sites where she’ll be working.”

  “Hmph,” Leandro replied, his eyes gleaming. “Don’t tempt me.”

  They were both dripping with sweat of course, and badly needed a bath, but Perry elected to head back at a run, and she knew he would beat her back home. Since there was only one bathing room in their part of the Palace, shared with the Royals, Abi got a clean uniform and went back down to Herald’s Collegium and the girls’ bathing room.

  “Who let a Blue in here?” came a laughing voice out of the steam as she opened the door.

  “It’s not a Blue, it’s Abi,” she replied, and peered through the fog.

  “Oh, well, then, we’ll let you in, but you have to leave by the back door,” came the retort. “We have to keep our standards you know.”

  Abi made a rude sound, and found the nearest unoccupied tub. She wasn’t the sort to dawdle over anything, much less a bath, so she was finished before the speaker emerged from her own tub.

  By the time she was done, she was starving and raced back to the suite.

  “Full Court dinner,” her mother greeted Abi from her bedroom as Abi burst in through the door. “Lydia’s first since the baby. Gather both tribes and either get something from the kitchen or—”

  “I know, I know.” She glanced in Tory’s room, saw it was empty, and figured he was with Kee. The two were inseparable. Perry wasn’t in his room either, so she ran her fingers through her hair to put it more-or-less in order, went back out into the hall, and turned toward the Royal Suite. The guards at the door grinned when they saw her.

  “Going to mind the baby for Her Highness?” asked one.

  She made a face. “I’d rather shovel manure,” she replied as they waved her in.

  “I hear nappies are worse,” the guard said as she passed them.

  The Royal Suite had the much more conventional layout of a public room where the King, Queen, or both could entertain special guests, the Queen’s solar where previous Queens (who were not also Heralds) had probably spent entire days just embroidering and conversing with their ladies, a room common to the family that was not usually seen by anyone other than the family, with the bedrooms and nursery off that. The sibs were all in the family room, where Lydia’s nurse was displaying baby Rafiel to them, with the mastiff Drake sitting watchfully at her side and Kee’s Gryphon looking uninterested. Dutifully, Abi came over to look at him. At least now he looked like a baby and not a disagreeable old red-faced man. “Isn’t he the most handsome little man?” cooed the nurse. Abi kept her mouth shut and nodded, standing just far enough away that the nurse was unlikely to thrust Rafi at her.

  Instead she turned to the others. “The Queen’s attending Court supper. Raid the Palace kitchen or eat with the Trainees?” she asked, as the nurse, trailed by Drake, went back into the nursery.

  “Kitchen,” said Tory and Kee. Tory glanced at Kee. “They won’ let Gryphon in the dining hall,” Kee explained.

  “They won’t let Larral in either,” Perry said thoughtfully.

  “That’s because Larral inhales everything anyone is not actively guarding,” Trey said with a laugh.

  “Roo rot!” Larral barked indignantly.

  “Do too,” replied Niko.

  Abi interrupted what was about to become an argument between a prince and a “dog.” “Look, Perry, you raid the kitchen for you, Kee and Tory. The rest of us can eat with the Trainees. Everyone’s happy.”

  “Mama didn’t say we could do that,” objected Tory.

  “Mama didn’t say that we couldn’t, either.” Perry often wasn’t home at suppertime, but when he was, he wanted to be with Larral, and Kee didn’t want to be parted from Gryphon under any circumstances. It seemed to her that leaving Perry in charge of the two younger boys solved all of their problems.

  He made a face but nodded. “Come on you two,” he said. “Kee, leave Gryphon here. Larral, make sure Gryphon stays here. I’m going to need both of you if we’re going to get enough food to feed them too.”

  Of course, they didn’t actually need to feed either the kyree or the mastiff. Both of them got proper meals twice a day. But without a meaty bone or some tidbitting, all three of the humans were going get big sad eyes and possibly whimpers all through supper.

  And Kee, at least, would end up putting half of his own meal into his dog.

  Kee nodded and ordered Gryphon to stay. With a mournful sigh, the mastiff sat down. Larral planted himself in front of the mastiff to ensure it, and the three boys headed out the door, followed by Abi and the remaining three Royals. They parted ways at the stairs, with Perry and the littles making for the kitchen and the rest for Heralds’ Collegium.

  Once at the dining hall, Trey and Niko made a beeline for their friends. Kat glanced over at Abi after surveying the tables full of chattering Trainees, mostly Heralds, but a leavening of Bardic and Healers among the gray. “Well, which conversation shall we join? Romance gossip, lesson whinging, artistic panic, or who’s buying what at the Midsummer Fair?” she asked.

  “Midsummer Fair shopping,” Abi replied without a moment of hesitation. “Is it that close? I’ve lost all track of time.” And she had; one day was pretty much like another for her now, she was so busy. Her family didn’t attend services at any particular temple—Amily went with the King and his family, but Mags didn’t go at all, and the siblings figured that their religions class taught at all three Collegia was enough holiness for anyone. So without regular services to mark the day and break up the time, and every day marked by classes or study, time had gotten away from her.

  “A fortnight. But of course, people are already jabbering about it.” Kat could be cavalier about the Fair; any time she cared to she could just join the Court for the evening’s informal entertainment. There was always music, generally performed by the best of the Bardic Trainees, and often acrobats or players, hoping for Royal accolades. But Trainees didn’t get to attend the Court gatherings, informal or not, and most, if not all of them, wouldn’t have had the time to if they could. But all Trainees got a day off during the Fair in rotation, so it was the
high point of the summer.

  There was, of course, another important day of the summer term—the annual day just before harvesting began, when those parents who could make the journey were invited to turn up to see what their offspring had been up to. There was a Kirball game, individual Bardic Trainees would perform throughout the day, there were booths where Healer Trainees could demonstrate remedies and techniques anyone could use, and demonstrations of martial arts and Companion riding for the Heraldic Trainees, culminating in a concert by the Bardic Trainees. But that tended to be a day devoted more to anxiety on the part of the Trainees than anticipation.

  They picked up plates and place settings and joined a mixed table of all four types of Trainees. “I’ve got a half-finished Festival dress that—oh, heyla, Kat! Did you know Abi’s taken to invading our bathing room?” teased one of the female Trainees, who, now that she wasn’t obscured by steam, Abi recognized as Sofia, a year older than she was.

  “It isn’t ‘your’ bathing room, and Abi’s been using it since before you were a Trainee, Fi,” Kat said with a laugh. “And if you weren’t usually the last one in there, you’d know that. What color’s the dress?”

  “Non-Healer green. Sort of a really dark blue-green, like longpine needles. I’m planning to try to find trim for it at the Fair.” Sofia was a huge tease, but she didn’t mind being teased back. “It’s a hard color to match. And I don’t want to use red because I’d look like a Midwinter garland.”

  “And blue and white would just be too, too Heraldy,” Kat agreed. “Green on green is probably your best bet.”

  “Last year I heard there was a vendor that had lovely perfumes,” sighed a Bardic Trainee. “Dione has some. There was a jessamine . . .” She didn’t say anything else, so Abi assumed that she didn’t have any pocket money to buy anything. Heraldic Trainees, because they were basically pledged in service to the Crown for the rest of their lives, got a regular small stipend, and most of them saved it up for the three annual Fairs. Healer Trainees could, and often did, make money concocting creams, lotions, scents, and other beauty products in their spare time from the herbs and flowers they were allowed to grow in the gardens. They had a brisk trade in such things with the ladies of the Court and got practice in making tinctures, salves, distillations, and other techniques without wasting precious medicinal herbs. Bardic Trainees could make money doing performances in the taverns and inns in Haven—but apparently this girl either hadn’t learned that or hadn’t managed to find anywhere that didn’t already have a resident musician.

  “Jessamine?” The sole Healer Trainee at the table snorted. “Pish, you don’t need to buy that. I just finished a batch and it’s not all spoken for. Come by my room and bring a bottle, and I’ll decant some from the jug. I’ll bet mine’s as good or better than any trumpery Fair vendor.” She thought a minute. “In fact, his might be mine.”

  The girl brightened and thanked her friend effusively. The Healer just grinned. “Oh, you’ll owe me a favor, and I will collect. You can do my next three turns at kitchen duty.”

  “What are you going to buy, Abi?” asked Fi.

  “Knives,” she said shortly. “I decided my Midwinter presents to everyone are going to be knives. You can’t go wrong by giving someone a knife.”

  Fi blinked. “Even Kee? Even Tory?”

  Abi kept her smile to herself, because Tory had been training with Master Leandro since he was six and probably had no less than two knives on his person at all times. “Kee’s more than old enough to have something besides an eating knife, and a good all-purpose blade will come in handy for him. Tory can teach him to carve.” How to carve up what’s left of intruders that Gryphon takes down, that is.

  “Don’t you want anything for yourself?” asked the Bardic Trainee. “Scents? Something for a new gown?”

  Abi had to laugh at that. The only use she’d have for a scent would be to use one to reinforce a disguise. On the whole, she didn’t have a lot of use or need for fancy gowns, and the one she’d gotten two Midwinters ago still fit just fine. “Actually . . . surveying and measuring instruments of my own would be awfully nice, but I don’t think there are likely to be any vendors of those,” she said, finally—because the sorts of things she actually could use were not the sorts of things she was supposed to be discussing with people who didn’t know what her father did.

  “Abi, you are exasperatingly practical,” sighed Kat. “Don’t you like nice things?”

  “Certainly.” Abi laughed. “But my definition of nice things and yours are very different. Besides, I need to buy my Midwinter presents first. Only if there’s money left will I think about something for myself.”

  “And you’re getting me a knife.” Kat sighed.

  “I never said what kind of knife, now, did I?” Abi smirked. “I’ve got something in mind you won’t turn your nose up at.”

  In fact, this was something she wouldn’t need to go down to the Fair to get. When her mother and father had gotten married, they’d had very special wedding outfits made—ones with several weapons sewn or built in. That had given Abi an idea. She’d gone to Master Leandro, and Leandro had had that mysterious craftsman in Haven make Kat’s present, an identical present for the Queen, and one for Amily. These were pairs of slender stilettos disguised as hairsticks with beautifully inlaid hilts and bits of silver chain ending in mother-of-pearl beads attached to the pommels. Flick a catch and the blunt sheath remained in your hair and you were left with a wickedly sharp blade as long as your hand.

  But like these ornaments, the other knives Abi intended to give as Midwinter gifts were not going to be bought at the Fair. She would have very little time for shopping. She and Perry and some of Auntie Minda’s oldest younglings would be doing Mags’ work down along the aisles between the booths and the tents.

  She couldn’t tell that to her fellow students, though. Not even Kat.

  “Well, I don’t know how you’d manage to resist temptation, with money in your hand and so many pretty things at the Fair,” sighed Fi.

  It was a rhetorical statement, obviously, since Fi and the others kept right on with their discussions of what they were looking for.

  Abi leaned over the table to the Bardic Trainee. “I’m Abi,” she said. “Is this your first year at the Collegium?”

  The girl nodded. “I’m Harlee. You can call me Lee. I got here just this spring as soon as the roads were fit to travel on.”

  “So you didn’t know that Bardic Trainees have leave to set up with a hat and play at the Fair?”

  “Set up . . . with a hat?” the girl replied, bewildered.

  So Abi explained how all the Bardic Trainees had permission to come down to the Fair during the day that they were given off from class, and after classes were finished for the day, set themselves up with a collection basket—or hat—and play for whatever money people would throw into it. “You have to wear your uniform, of course, and don’t set up near anyone who has a performance tent or booth. Or near one of the big food tents; they generally already have musicians engaged for inside. My advice is to set up near a food booth in one of the quieter areas. Ask the booth owner first, but generally you’ll both benefit.”

  “Oh, thank you, Abi!” the girl replied, gratefully.

  “Oh, you’d have found out when they gathered you all together to tell you about which day off from classes you’d get, and give you the basic rules. All I’ve done was give you advance notice. Most people don’t bother with a hat, because they have regular nights at a tavern or a regular job playing for gatherings up here on the Hill,” Abi continued. “Though that’s usually in duos or larger groups.”

  “I haven’t been asked to one of those yet,” Lee said, as the chatter moved on to speculation about what entertainers might be here this year. “I don’t sing, actually, so that might be why.”

  Abi was a little surprised by that. Most Bardic students sang as
well as playing instruments—usually several. “You don’t sing?”

  “I play the flute, the penny whistle, and the pipes,” Lee replied, and blushed. “I know, very country. But I am from sheep country. Maybe that’s why I haven’t been asked, everything I know is unsophisticated and old-fashioned.”

  “Well, when the Fair is over find someone who plays the hand drum who isn’t already in a group, and try the taverns around the cattle market. That’s exactly what the patrons of the inns there like. But for the Fair, find a good spot with a lot of room around it, start with the pipes and play dance tunes. The pipes will always get attention, and you’ll want room in case people decide to start dancing.”

  “You’re a Blue, not in Bardic, how do you know all these things?” Lee exclaimed.

  Abi smiled. “You don’t know; I’ve lived here all my life. Literally here. My mother and father are both Heralds.”

  Of course all my training in observation hasn’t hurt either.

  A little more conversation with Lee drew out the fact that her family were in hire to a small farmer, that she’d been self-taught on the penny whistle and shepherd’s pipes and played in the local “tavern,” which was really just the yard and main room of the house of the local brewer, and that was where an actual Bard heard her and her compositions and arranged for her to come to Bardic Collegium. Her family had not one copper to spare, and in fact, she’d gotten here by the arduous process of catching rides on farm carts from one village to the next—and walking when there were no rides to be had.

  “I’d play in taverns every night for the night’s meal, a place on the hearth to sleep, and food to get me to my next village,” Lee continued. “My sponsor told me it didn’t matter when I got here, as long as I made it in one piece.”