Hunting Page 13

  "The only recent disappearance in Mids was Nate Trevel," Lark put in. "And you know he's argued with his father and sworn he was heading south at least a thousand times."

  "And not followed through a thousand times, 'til now. Send me a note if he shows up. And Lark, don't try to keep Bitty out of things. You know she'd follow along behind – I certainly would if I was her – and that'd be ten times more dangerous than including her."

  Larkin sighed, but had long ago lost the argument about whether Bitty – a better roof-runner than he – should or should not be included. "What bothers me is this Guardsman killed along with last night's herbalist. One of the Rhoi's wouldn't be an easy target."

  "Yes, we daren't underestimate how dangerous these people are. No need to sit at home hiding, but make absolutely sure the Huntsmen travel in pairs and threes."

  "That's easy to do at night, if we go out of home territory," Lark said. "What with these new skarl sightings, the murders, and your note about the disappearances, we've hardly poked our noses out of Mids the last few days anyway. But during the day there's no way to watch each other's backs."

  Most of the Huntsmen were 'prentices in the section of the Commons called Mids – not at all the 'street gang' Captain Garton liked to talk about – and they spent a good portion of their day playing fetch and carry. Any errand could put them in harm's way.

  "Heightened alertness and common sense." Ash eyed Cloud Cat sampling tussocks of grass at the limit of her reins. "And I'll go back to learning about sewers, and cleaning Thornaster's boots."

  "Right after you tell us in complete detail how you rescued the Veirhoi. My sisters will torture me to reveal all and I need something to say to them."

  "You're not just curious yourself?" Ash asked, and he grinned, shrugging.

  "That's not like you, Ash," Larkin said, when she finished a run-down of the previous day. "I'd have thought you'd ask for a horse, not books! That's a punishment, not a reward!"

  "I want to research a few things."

  "I know that look," Melar said. "What are you up to, Ash Cat? Decided to set yourself up as Rhoi instead?"

  "Sun spare me. No, this is just a bit of digging about for my own satisfaction. Nothing interesting."

  "Last time you told me 'nothing interesting' a mysterious someone tied ribbons around the throats of all the statues on the Grand Walk. Pink ribbons. Marshall Vikence had a frilly bonnet on."

  "You know, I remember that happening. Some people have no respect."

  "Now you can't come over all innocent, Ash! You admitted to it, remember!"

  "Stupid of me," Ash grinned, but absently. She was watching a child in a tattered shift standing behind a tree. A girl of an age difficult to determine, whose eyes did not waver from Cloud Cat for a moment. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but nothing spectacular this time." Twisting the reins in her hand, she thought of her task, then raised her voice. "You may pet her if you wish."

  Larkin looked about in surprise, and then scowled. "Ash! That grubby thing has no business in this park, let alone near us."

  "You sound like half the Kinsel in the Mern," Ash said, watching as the girl, who had retreated behind the tree, poked a nose into view, obviously caught between distrust and desire. "Don't you ever look at street children, dirty and hollow-cheeked and so full of want, and think that all that separates you from them is who your parents are? And sometimes not even that?"

  "No. Not people whole enough to get themselves jobs and clean themselves up. It's not as if the Godskeeps won't feed them in return for a little hard work."

  Melar laughed. "So ruthless, Lark."

  "She's decided Cloud Cat is worth the risk of a beating," Ash murmured.

  The girl, whose dark curling hair and brown skin declared Firuvari ancestry, would have an interesting, maybe beautiful face if she were not so bone-hollow and dirty. She came closer with a show of confidence, though her eyes were always on the three seated boys, even when her fingers encountered a silken coat. Cloud Cat turned her head curiously, and blew on the girl, lipping at tangled hair. Not really a child, Ash decided, a little surprised. Terribly underfed, sunken-cheeked and all angles, but there were breasts beneath that shift. Hard to say how old exactly. Over thirteen.

  "Climb up if you can," invited Ash, with a smile that was all challenge. "If you dare."

  There was a flash of anger in dark brown eyes and the girl scrambled up into the saddle, then sat there, staring at the world from Cloud Cat's height.

  "C'mon Lark," Ash said, grinning at her friend's disgust. "Your mother'll have the search parties out if I keep you too long." She stood and started walking, leading Cloud Cat. She did not glance back. The girl would stay or go. If she were anything like Ash had been, she would stay, for Cloud Cat was a fine, fine thing to ride. To sit a horse was to suddenly feel like a Rhoi. From Melar's chuckle, and the expression on Larkin's face as he matched her step, the girl had likely stayed.

  When they reached the bakery, Ash looked back, and found those suspicious dark eyes fixed on her. "Each morning and evening," she said, "you need only come to this bakery and you will be given a meal. Only you, mind. I trust you have more sense than to spread the word around, for you'll only be bullied. Good luck." She turned to wind the reins around the hitching post, and when she looked back, the girl was gone.

  "Ash!" Lark exploded. "You..."

  "...will pay for the food, of course. Split off a little of the take from those herbs to start, and I'll bring you more."

  "But why? You do the most unaccountable things, Ash."

  She sighed, looking down at her grey and blue colours. "Partly for Sonia. In a few years, if she survives on the streets without rescue, she'll be that girl, or something worse. And, partly, that was for Genevieve. Genevieve was always...kind to children she found alone on the streets. Besides, it made me feel good. I hope she decides to find out if I was telling the truth."

  "I don't," Larkin said, disgustedly. "But whatever you like. Play the bountiful Luinsel, if that's what takes your fancy."

  "I've yet to meet a Luinsel who would think to do that," Ash replied. "Too little a problem for them."

  "What? Not even your oh-so-wonderful Visel Thornaster?"

  Ash blinked, because she hadn't thought her description of Thornaster had been effusive. "Well, I haven't seen Thornaster do that, either. Though – while he had ulterior motives, I guess that's what he thought he was doing with me. Orphan boy being thrown out on the street and all that. It just happened that I didn't need the help." In a number of ways they were very alike, this foreign Visel and the 'boy' he had adopted. She frowned. Was that a good thing?

  "I'd better go. Take care, Lark. Melar."

  "You're not coming back, are you?" Melar said, unexpectedly. "To pass through, maybe, but you've moved on here." He touched his chest.

  Knowing she owed them honesty, Ash asked herself if that was true. "I think you're right. I've no real reason to stay in Montmoth, now Genevieve's dead. I've often thought about going to – going back to Khantar. Once this mess is tidied up, I'll be the one disappearing south."

  Chapter Seventeen

  The new quarters were more than generous: seven rooms to spread Thornaster's possessions among. The Visel quickly pointed out that Ash had more than tripled the amount of space she had to keep clean.

  "If you think I'm cleaning all these, you're..." Ash stopped, and then sat down on the trunk she'd just finished packing. "I expect, so long as you leave occasionally, I can arrange for you to never be sure whether it's me cleaning them or not."

  That eased the frown he'd been wearing all afternoon, and he laughed. "You undo me, stripling," he said. "I'm already too inclined to levity to withstand you."

  "Who told you you were too inclined to levity?" she asked, catching a note of quotation.

  "Oh, any of a thousand people," Thornaster said, flicking his hand to indicate an invisible horde. "My father for one. My sister, when she's annoyed with me. My brother, who has always be
en more serious than I. My mother tells me it's my best quality and indulges my whims. Much of the Landsmeet – Aremal's that is. I've been restraining myself here, so only Arun and Hawk have of late."

  "Which one are you always writing to?" Ash asked, thinking of the amount of time Thornaster spent at his desk, covering thick paper in minute script.

  "My sister. My mother also, and various friends and other relations occasionally, but my sister and I have always been close."

  "What's her name?"

  "Aria. You will like her, I think. She has a soft spot for levity."

  "You miss her," Ash observed, deciding to let Thornaster's assumption that she would one day be meeting his sister pass without comment. She was beginning to see that she would have to disappear one afternoon when he wasn't looking, to counter his persistent belief that she was a seruilis for real.

  "Yes. Very much." His eyes went distant, then focused back on Ash. "You may have the rest of the day free, stripling. Tomorrow I think I shall see about beginning your lessons in swordplay."

  "Do you think I can learn, then?" she asked, wondering if she wanted to bother, since she'd never have the time to learn properly.

  "I don't know yet. We'll find out tomorrow."

  Ash bowed with a fanciful flourish and wandered off to the room that was now hers. She had an actual four-poster bed, which she hadn't had since she'd become Ash Lenthard. Not to mention a desk, bookshelves and a divan. Four chests, which completely overwhelmed her clothing. And there was plenty of floor space left spare, covered with heavy, soft matting. She wondered what hand the Seneschal had had in room allocation this time.

  Deciding to get some business done, Ash picked up her book of tales, and then wandered through the palace until she reached the Rhoi's quarters, where she stopped and regarded the two Guardsmen outside the door with grave interest.

  "I'm supposed to give this to the Veirhoi."

  There was the briefest hesitation, but, as she had suspected, the clothing marking her as Thornaster's seruilis had transformed into a powerful pass. She wondered how long and how much she could trade on that notoriety. The two men opened the door and directed a wide-eyed page to lead her to the Veirhoi's room.

  In a drowsy-warm room, propped on a huge number of pillows, the Veirhoi looked weary, listening to a plump man lecturing him. Whatever conversation they were holding broke off mid-word as Ash entered, and the man harrumphed.

  "I will return when you are less troubled, Ser Veirhoi," he said, and brushed past Ash out of the room. Ash closed the door behind him and turned to consider the blond boy, who seemed caught between relief and apprehension.

  "Lenthard." The Veirhoi's quiet voice was a study of mixed emotions. "A book?"

  "An excuse." Ash walked to his bedside, sparing a glance around the over-heated room. She dropped the book of tales by his right hand. "It's rather old and very precious to me, so be careful with it. If you're feeling enthusiastic, it's a great way to start learning Khanteck. Give it back when you've read it."

  While he examined the book, Ash crossed to the windows and pulled curtains and then shutters open. "How you can sit closed in here on a day like this I don't know."

  "Master Tsimon says the cool air is bad for my lungs."

  "So it may be. But this isn't cool right now, is it? Just remember to get someone to shut them when the sun falls." Ash considered the exceptionally good view, then knelt on the low sill and leaned out to check the distance to the nearest windows. "It's not as if you have a cold anyway, Heran."

  Sitting on the sill, she looked back at the Veirhoi. His eyes were almost violet – very blue, at least.

  "You're supposed to address me as 'Ser Veirhoi'," he said finally, watching for her reaction.

  "Of course, Ser Veirhoi," Ash said, immediately. She smiled faintly and stood up. "I hope you have a speedy recovery, Ser Veirhoi. I'd better be getting back now."

  Ash headed for the door and had it halfway open when he said "Lenthard!" Pure exasperation.

  She looked back at him, still holding on to the door.

  "You saved my life. Risked your own. Why?"

  "Would you rather I'd let you fall?" she asked, still holding on to the door.

  "Of course not!" He sighed. "Come back here, will you?"

  Obediently she closed the door and went to stand by the bed. "Yes, Ser Veirhoi?" she asked, the picture of willing servitude.

  "Oh, sit down and call me Heran," the Veirhoi said, crossly. "And stop making a game of this. Why can't you be serious?"

  "I guess I'm just a little too inclined to levity," she said wryly, sitting down on a chair by the bed. "I can think of worse faults to have."

  "It's not very helpful," Heran groused. "I've got to think of a way to thank you for saving my life. It's an important matter. Having you going all blankly uncomprehending and saying things to provoke me isn't helping."

  "You don't have to thank me," she said. "You didn't ask me to do it. And your brother already rewarded me."

  "Oh, yes, access to the Rhoi's Library. Arun would probably have given you a Decselry if you'd asked for it!"

  "I doubt it. Not only aren't there any up for grabs, but I'd make a particularly awful Luinsel. Just think of me in the Council of Luinsels – everyone trying to figure out how to get rid of me, and refusing to talk to me."

  "We..." The Veirhoi shook his head, grimacing. "Point taken. We haven't been treating you too kindly. But that makes the way you risked your life for me all the more incomprehensible."

  "I can think of a half-dozen motives for saving your life. After all, I've won the gratitude of a Rhoi and a Veirhoi, haven't I? It's too awkward for you to ignore me any more. Even Thornaster's decided to reward me, though if I'd known I was going to let myself in for swordcraft lessons I might have hesitated longer."

  "Is that why you did it then?" The Veirhoi was staring at her. "People don't usually outright admit to cultivating me."

  Ash shrugged. "Well, to be boringly honest, I didn't really consider the advantages at the time. I do a lot of climbing and I saw a way to get to you, so that's what I did. There's no point letting the Veirhoi fall off the cliff while you're working out what you'll get out of it."

  "You're saying that jumping over a ravine is a minor thing to you?"

  "The branch worried me. But I've hit worse situations, roof running. I did have a life before Thornaster dumped me into the Mern, you know."

  "Roof running? You're a burglar? That's why 'Ash Cat'?"

  "No! Though I'll keep the suggestion in mind. I simply meant running around on roofs. Great fun."

  "It is?" The youth's expression was dubious.

  "Yep. There are a few parts of the city where you can spend most of your time off the ground. Especially in the Shambles, where the buildings lean together over the streets and you can pole straight across."

  "And this is fun?"

  "Definitely."

  "I don't think I'd enjoy it. Luin's Heart, I don't think I'll even be able to stand by my own window any more."

  She shook her head. "That's the wrong attitude altogether. If you tell yourself you won't be able to cope with heights any more, you will have a problem."

  "Lenthard, you are such a..."

  "...know-it-all? Yes, I guess I am."

  "Chatterbox," the Veirhoi finished. "It's a complete contrast to the way you've been behaving, sitting quietly in corners. You talk more than Frog does."

  Ash grinned. "Sometimes. I have talkative periods and then I go quiet. It depends on whether people ask me questions I feel like offering opinions on. And I love telling people what to do."

  Heran looked down, and then back at her. "I don't know what I would have done if I'd woken up on that ledge alone."

  "Fallen off, I expect," she said, cheerfully.

  "Maybe. It didn't even occur to me to wonder what you were doing down there, at the beginning. I was too busy trying to deal with being down there at all. Someone's trying to kill me."

  "I
know."

  "Arun says there's a high probability that it was one of the seruilisi. That Marriston or Lirindar or Vendarri or Frog or Gibrace or even Lauren had the best chance of shooting Per." He shook his head, violet eyes wide and distressed. "I told him it couldn't have been Lauren, that there was no way he could have gotten behind me. And that none of the seruilisi had any reason to hurt me. Why would they?"

  "Why would anyone want to kill you?"

  "Because I'm Arun's brother. Because I'm a Nemator." A fisted hand thumped once on the coverlet of the bed. "That's always the reason for anything that happens in my life! I can't do this or that or the other because I'm a Nemator. I must always conduct myself in a certain way because I'm a Nemator. People like or hate me not for who I am, but because of who fathered me. Girls chase me because I'm the Veirhoi. Someone is trying to kill me because of my parentage, not for any insult I've offered them. If I'm going to be murdered, I'd at least like to deserve it!"

  "You're wrong about one thing," Ash said, watching this minor tantrum unconcernedly. "Girls don't chase you just because you're the Veirhoi. They chase you because you're an extremely pretty Veirhoi. If you weren't the Veirhoi, women would still toss themselves at you because you've plenty of looks."

  Heran dismissed his features with a brusque gesture. "That just makes it worse – two reasons that have nothing to do with who I am at all."

  "So you wouldn't romance a girl you liked if you knew that the only reason she was doing so was your face and fortune?"

  "No! Yes. I don't know." The Veirhoi sighed. "Why am I talking about this with you?"

  "Who knows? There's no point you looking to me for sympathy over being born with position and good looks. You could try Carlyon, but he's so proper that the conversation would be horribly one-sided."