Hunting Page 5

  "I should have known. I'm glad I decided not to murder you in your sleep."

  "Do you suppose you could?"

  "Anything's possible."

  He laughed. "Unlikely, boy! And, I might point out, you have no weapon."

  "You've a round dozen lying about."

  "But you didn't take any of them."

  "You checked!" Nice to know he wasn't quite as confident as he pretended.

  "How could I not, when at least four people warned me that you would rob and kill me at the first opportunity?"

  "I've bigger game in mind," she said, remembering her purpose. Would Genevieve still live if she slept lighter? If Ash had taken better care? "Tell me everything you know about the murders."

  "Mph. After you've fetched me breakfast." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up.

  Naked. Very naked.

  "How exactly am I supposed to help you dress?" Ash asked, while he stretched long limbs, unperturbed by her presence. Odd how he looked even taller without clothing. Lean without being skinny, muscle sliding cleanly beneath a smooth surface.

  "Just hand me clothes." He turned around, looking out the window. There was an interesting scar down the back of one of his thighs, a long jagged depression that only a very deep wound would have left. It stood out pale against his light brown skin, but the rest of him was unmarred, the only variation a burnished copper tint wherever he had been kissed by the sun.

  Dress this? Look at this? Every morning?

  "Which clothes, then?"

  "Use your initiative."

  Ash made a face at his back and opened one of the chests. Having already picked through them, she knew there was little variation from what he'd been wearing when they'd met. Thin shirts, loose trousers, short tunics and creamy robes decorated with near-invisible embroidery.

  "You really need me to do this? Every day?"

  "I don't need you to do this, Ash. But you will do it all the same."

  She handed him a shirt. "You want me to cut your meat up into little pieces too?"

  "I want you to be quiet for now. I have some matters to think over."

  She lapsed into silence, passing over boots and socks before heading behind her curtain to get dressed herself, warily listening to him move about the other room. Perhaps the rumours were true and he really wasn't a Visel. He was as self-assured as any Luinsel, true, but so tolerant of her insults and jibes that she was uncertain of his authority.

  Emerging from her niche, she watched him pour water from the jug into a bowl. "Do you want anything in particular for breakfast?" she asked.

  "Something hot," he replied, picking up a fine blade honed for shaving.

  Ash left, wondering why he used a blade. Luinsels – anyone with a bit of money – could afford murmitti to take care of excess hair. He was oddly contradictory, this Visel Thornaster.

  And annoying. When she returned he was frowning over a letter, and said: "I won't need you for the rest of the day," without glancing up.

  It was possible Thornaster was testing her ability to be quiet on direct command, but there were limits to Ash's willingness to play servant. If he wasn't going to provide her with information, he wasn't going to be much use. Another postponement and she would have to conclude that he didn't intend to tell her anything of worth.

  Vaguely disappointed in the man, Ash spent the rest of the morning making a thorough exploration of the palace, and trying to work around the hurdle to gossip posed by her newfound infamy. By the time she presented herself at the Mern, she had set a definite limit to how many days she would invest into searching out motives in the palace.

  Having no wish to enhance her reputation as a sneak, she didn't linger by the door, despite the wall of cold shoulders that greeted her. Frog was absent, a minor blow to Ash's hopes for the day. If she tried to start a conversation with anyone here, they would snub her.

  Not willing to give up entirely, but resigned to a slow campaign, she seated herself to one side. Carlyon came in just as the distant palace bell marked the end of the first full-measure of the afternoon. The first seruilis looked around at them all, the only one to meet her eyes even momentarily.

  "Frog's out for the day," he announced. "Vendarri, you can take seniors in Balance. Marriston, you'll be doing signal drill with the younger group. The second session will be mock combat. Go. Not you, Lenthard."

  The seruilisi clattered out, leaving her to face a youth who needed only forty years, fifty pounds and a river of alcohol to make him the image of her nightmares.

  Carlyon walked out, so she ran her fingers through her short hair, and had herself well in hand before he returned. No more missteps.

  "Read," he said, dropping a square of vellum into her lap. For a moment she just sat blankly, and her good intentions suffered a setback when she looked up to see his expression. So he thought she had lied, did he? Thought her illiterate and stupidly boastful. She folded out the animal skin, saw that it was the common tongue, and read:

  "On this day, twenty-third of the month of Tempere in the fourth year of Malaster's reign, came into the world Arun Ridel, child of Malaster and Lisenna. Long may he live, by the grace of the Star and the World." An old proclamation. She handed it back to him, as expressionless as he.

  A book written in Khanteck was next, a history of one of the great heroes, Jacian. Ash was delighted, having encountered more than a few tales of the Star-bearer. This seemed to be an account of his entire life and she happily began to translate it. Perhaps the less easily found accounts of Halide's life would be included with those of her lover's.

  "That's enough," he said, before she'd hardly started, removing the book from her hands and replacing it with another. A treaty written in formal Firuven, the immensely complex language of most of Southern Arabaya. She stumbled through an attempt, managing the gist if not the detail. He took it away from her soon after she'd begun.

  "You are a reader," he said, having apparently set aside his prejudices in favour of a very searching study of her face. "What have you read?"

  That was a difficult question. A wildly mixed hotch-potch of work. "History," she began, a little doubtfully. "Mainly from Montmoth. Travel accounts. Poetry. Anything I was given." Genevieve had swapped and traded to supply Ash with material, and required a certain amount of reading each day, no matter Ash's desire to spend time at the stables or in the Shambles.

  "Any strategy? Animal husbandry? Water management? Heraldry? The Balance?"

  "No, Ser."

  He strode out again, returning with two books, which he set on the long table where she sat. "Vendarri will take you in the second half. Read these until then. Return them when you're done. They are your responsibility."

  She was alone before she had a chance to speak. Another shining start to the day in the Mern.

  Chapter Seven

  One copy of Luin and Astenar's laws, and one treatise on the Balance, the fundamentals of managing the land by Luin's Grace. Whatever Carlyon's opinion of a gutter seruilis who flinched at the sight of him, he'd apparently decided to train her in the basics of guardianship. A very correct response, since anyone might come to own land, just as it was possible, if unlikely, for anyone to be put forward to be Rhoi.

  Ash fingered the leather covers, then postponed tedium for a brief exploration of the currently empty rooms, but was dutifully bent over the books when a bell heralded the return of the seruilisi. The seniors she'd met, as well as the juniors who made up most of the Mern's population, streamed in. Marriston came in last, followed by Carlyon.

  "You know the rules," Carlyon said without preamble. The room hushed immediately. Ash watched the faces of the seruilisi and realised that whoever his father might be, Carlyon had won himself a great deal of respect. The younger brother of the current Decsel, likely to manage part of the family's lands unless an opportunity rose to stand before Luin.

  "Three teams, three rounds." Marriston was making his way through the room, tapping each boy in turn
on the shoulder, saying "one, two, three" over and over. The groups divided up while Carlyon waited. Then the first seruilis, seemingly at random, appointed a 'Captain' for each army. The Captains, looking variously delighted and horrified, led the teams from the room, followed by Carlyon.

  Ash remained behind with Vendarri, who said impatiently: "Come along, Lenthard. I've been given the honour of catching you up in archery. Don't make it any more of a bore than it has to be."

  During the irritated lecture that followed – on the construction of bows, their maintenance, the way of stringing them – Ash began the slow task of making up ground. Gravely quiet, she followed Vendarri's instructions with solemn attention, and concentrated on the task at hand, which was a good deal harder than it looked. She could get arrows to fly in the general direction of the target, but placing them exactly was a different matter. She responded with dogged determination, patiently trotting back and forth to the target to fetch her arrows, pulling the bow out till her shoulders ached and her fingers stung. Vendarri strung another bow and showed her up completely, leaving her determined to at least consistently hit the target before the next bell sounded. She didn't quite succeed.

  "A slight improvement," Vendarri said grudgingly as she unstrung the bow. She'd given him nothing to complain about, which was the most she could aim for at this point.

  They walked back to return the bows against the tide of departing boys, everyone ripe with sweat and vigour. There were a few bruises, Ash noticed, and a split lip, so she silently thanked Thornaster for sparing her general swordplay. It set her apart even more, but let her avoid a lot of physical punishment. Vendarri met up with Carlyon and they departed without a word to her, so she shrugged, and went to fetch the books. They were gone, of course.

  "Sometimes," she said, to the empty bench, "I wish things weren't so Sun-damned predictable."

  So what to do now? She couldn't raise a fuss. Accuse Kinsel of stealing? Not likely. Besides, Carlyon had charged her with the care of the books and it didn't matter how they had disappeared, simply that they were gone.

  Would the first seruilis have stood by while whoever walked off with two large books? No. Whatever his family, he took his position seriously. So, assuming that the thief could not have removed them, they must still be in the Mern. Quickly she checked all the seats, and tried the door to the inner room, but found it locked. The winding stair that led to the Master's office was empty.

  Hesitating, Ash debated the risk of trying to search the Master's office, and then stared at the stair's arrow-slit window. She couldn't quite fit her head through, but could angle to see out and down. And there they were, tumbled on the roof of a round building below.

  "Scuts."

  Lips pressed together, Ash studied the area, mapping a course to it from the Mern's entrance. She left the Mern and worked her way through the palace. The roof belonged to the Gods' Hall, which brought a shiver of memory, but at least wasn't likely to be full of people. The outer walls were sheer and unadorned, but she circled to the section of building set against the base of the Mern, where the two walls together looked scaleable. A long drop, and the books unwieldy to bring down. If there was something she could...

  Leaving the hall, she headed toward the Water Yard, the junction between the bathhouses, laundry and kitchens, searching the slow cross-stream of foot traffic for a likely target. A girl came into view, perhaps eighteen, with a hint of Firuvari ancestry in the warmth of her skin. It was the wide basket of dirty linen she was lugging which caught Ash's attention.

  "Can I ask a favour, Sera?"

  "What is it, Ser?" The girl's wary interest showed Ash's tabard was doing its job of announcing the gutter seruilis' identity.

  "I need you to catch something. It won't take a moment. Can I help to carry the basket?" At the girl's hesitation Ash produced her best three-pointed grin and added: "It's not a flirtation, I promise you. I'm mostly harmless, and only charm pretty girls on my days off."

  The girl snorted. "You're a few years ahead of yourself if that's how you think you go about catching 'something'."

  "If you're tremendously busy, could I borrow the basket if I give my word to bring it right back?"

  Curiosity overcame caution, and by the time they'd reached the Gods' Hall they'd established that the girl was Cassia and Ash was indeed Visel Thornaster's gutter seruilis.

  "Though why 'gutter seruilis' I don't really understand," Ash said, leading the girl around the curve of the Hall. "It's not like the Commons are the Shambles, and even in the worst part of the city I've never seen anyone spending much time in the gutters. Too much horse doings."

  "There's nothing here," Cassia said, suspicion returning as Ash handed back the basket.

  "On the roof," Ash said, and lifted her tabard over her head. "Can you hold this as well?"

  Turning, Ash ground her shoes on the stony paving, and then swarmed up the junction of the two walls, combining slight handholds with speed to get her within hands-reach of a stony drain. The roofs of Luinhall had been the playground of her adolescence, and she resisted an urge to let loose with a Huntsman's cry as she flipped herself neatly up.

  In plain view of a number of windows, she wasted no time collecting the tumbled books. One had come close to splitting at the spine, the pages loosened and stained. Ash scowled and cursed whoever had thrown them from the window, then returned to the edge of the roof.

  The laundress stared up at her, then suddenly flicked tumbled brown curls out of her eyes and smiled. "You're making me want to see what you're like on your days off."

  "Not so harmless," Ash said. She dropped to her knees, and then hung over the side of the roof with one of the books in her hand. "Hold up the basket."

  The books quickly delivered, Ash looked about her, considering the possibilities of the palace roofs for exploration, but the stone, wood and tile landscape was too disconnected. Shrugging, she slid over the edge, hung for a moment and dropped lightly to the ground. The Huntsmen called her "Ash Cat" when they were on patrol. Now she even wore colours to match the name.

  "Thank you, Cassia," she said, accepting back her tabard. "I believe I owe you a favour."

  "I'd settle for an explanation," Cassia said, taking one handle of the book-heavy basket and waiting until Ash lifted the other.

  "Oh, nothing too complicated. I was charged with the care of these books. They walked out a window. They'll know better in future."

  "I see," said Cassia, in a voice that showed that she did. "Is it very hard, Ash?"

  Ash blinked. "It...could be going better," she said, slowly. "But I am hoping for a turn in my fortunes. You won't speak of this?"

  "Of course not! What do you take me for?"

  Smiling, Ash paused near the double entrance to the Gods' Hall, glancing into the spangled depths. "Strange," she said. "No, not you. Look at the Sun."

  Cassia followed her gaze into the Gods' Hall, where black walls, ceiling and floor glittered with specks of white, and a great golden ball hung from the ceiling, surrounded by far smaller globes, cleverly suspended.

  The glass and metal Sun gave out a warm, steady glow, thanks to a special inner lantern maintained by the Godskeeps, who would visit every decem to adjust the positions of the globes to reflect the gods' movements. The strangeness Ash had spotted was a dark stain veiling the inside of the glassy Sun, as if the Godskeeps had used cheap tallow candles instead of the expensive enchanted stone.

  "Smuts?" Cassia said. "Should we fetch a Godskeeps?"

  "Maybe." Ash put down the basket and approached, looking for the hatch in the Sun's metal framework that would give access to the inside.

  A chill lifted her skin to goose bumps and she shivered, unable to avoid remembering the first and last time she'd been in the Gods' Hall. Unlike the sons of Luinsel, daughters did not attend the Mern – at least not in Montmoth. Instead they were tutored at home, in matters considered suitable to the type of woman Montmothians considered ideal, and had little to do with the pa
lace until they were old enough to attend official functions.

  Ash's first visit had been for a garden party, and she and her friend Kiri had wandered off and discovered the Gods' Hall. They'd been amusing themselves trying to name all the near gods, down to the tiniest moon circling Delkrio, when a boy a year or two older had begun to bother them, and Ash had had to knock him down to stop him from being offensive to Kiri. And then Eward Carlyon had emerged from the rear of the Hall and escorted them back to the party, a thing Ash had thought so little of at the time, beyond being glad he didn't suffocate Kiri with ponderously elaborate compliments, the way too many of the old men did.

  "It's so cold in here!" Cassia said, bringing Ash back to a present when Eward Carlyon was years dead. "Look, my breath is misting."

  Montmoth, with its glacier-fed rivers and multitude of high mountain valleys, was far from the warmest of Rhoimarches, but in late spring the room's biting chill was a definite oddity. Frowning, Ash puzzled out the mechanism to open the figure of the Sun, and saw only a warmly glowing stone in the central mount – nothing that would discolour the glass. Weirdly, the inside of the Sun didn't even look shadowed.

  "The smudge is gone," Cassia informed her. "Maybe there was some kind of smoke?"

  "I didn't see anything." Ash closed the Sun figure and frowned around at the room. Other than the model of the near gods, the room held nothing but walls painted with the constellations of far gods. There was an exit in the rear, a deceptive intersection of two curving walls that gave an illusion of a solid barrier, but there was no hint of smoke. "We'd better get out of here."

  Back in the Water Yard, she parted from Cassia with thanks, and detoured to the kitchens to collect an early meal and a delivery from Larkin via Mirramar. A tiny cloth bag.

  "Lark said to say: 'He found them'," Mirramar added, frowning. "What are you up to, Ash Lenthard?"

  Rolling the bag between her fingers, Ash dodged Mirramar's questions, picked at her meal and left.

  Chapter Eight