Changes v(cc-3 Page 10

  “Stop!” Mags laughed, holding up a hand. “That’ll do fer now. Ye go tell yer Dean an’ build yer field t’study. Like Dallen tol’ me when I fust got here. One step at a time, aye? Jest take it all liddle bits at a time.”

  “Right! Thanks, Mags! You’re a star!”

  Bear bounced off again without even stopping to eat. Well, mebbe he et early on. An’ if’n I don’ eat now, I ain’t getting’ nothin’ till dinner.

  Classes were a little confusing—and confused, as one of the teachers was not aware he’d been juggled into the history class in question, and there was even an enquiry send to Herald Caelen before it got resolved—but things went a lot more smoothly than Mags had expected.

  Except in one class. The Weaponsmaster was concerned that he not fall out of practice; Mags was, frankly, just as concerned. After all, he’d nearly been killed far too many times, and he really did not want to find himself facing down an armed opponent with skills gone rusty.

  “Can you tell me why the Dean shortened your class?” the Weaponsmaster asked. “You should be spending a good three candlemarks up here a day. You’ll only be spending one. You can’t possibly keep in practice at everything with your practice time shortened to a third.

  Mags shook his head.

  “Can you at least tell me what you are doing in place of it?” the poor fellow asked desperately.

  “Nossir,” Mags said, and watched as the Herald tilted his head to one side, and got that “listening” look many of them did when their Companions were talking to them.

  From the look of him, the Weaponsmaster was actually arguing with his Companion. Finally he sighed and rubbed his temple. “I don’t know why I try,” he said, a little crossly. “You can never win an argument with one of them, and they always have the last word.”

  Mags did his best not to smile. “True, sir,” was all he replied.

  “Supposedly this won’t last past the summer,” the Weaponsmaster continued. “But I want you to pledge me faithfully that you will do everything you can to keep your coordination sharp and your muscles conditioned.”

  That was an easy promise to make. Mags had no doubt that Nikolas would have him climbing up and down ladders all over the shop, moving heavy objects, rearranging things, cleaning things, to keep him awake if nothing else. He would stay fit, of that much he was sure. “Yessir,” he promised.

  “All right then. But any time you have a moment free and the inclination for a lesson, I want you to come to me. Whatever class I am teaching, I’ll fit you in.” The Weaponsmaster put one fatherly hand on Mags’ shoulder, looking very worried indeed. “You have had far too many close calls, Mags. I would feel directly responsible if something happened to you that a little training and practice could have prevented.”

  At that point it was almost time to join Nikolas, and Mags escaped from the Weaponsmaster with another set of apologies and promises. He had just enough time to grab something to eat, shove the brooch in his belt pouch, and get Dallen saddled when Nikolas summoned him out to a different gate in the wall from the one they’d used the night before.

  As they rode down to Haven, Mags related to his mentor the Weaponsmaster’s doubts and concerns. Nikolas was very silent for a while, as they passed through some quiet, residential streets in a modest neighborhood. Finally he answered as he led Mags down an alley to what seemed to be a dead end.

  ::He has some legitimate concerns. He’s right, you have needed to defend yourself far more often than our average Trainee. I’ll see what I can do about this... .hmm. This actually might prove to be more of an opportunity... ::

  An opportunity for what, however, Nikolas did not say. Instead, he touched some part of the wall, and the entire end of the alley pivoted in the center. Mags would have liked to get a closer look at that—it was literally a brick wall, somehow pierced through the middle and rotating with hardly more than a touch when the locks were released. But he didn’t get a chance, and Nikolas led him into a tiny, enclosed yard with a bit of roof over it. Hanging in an alcove at the back were outfits similar to the ones they had worn last night. There were also a pair of buckets full of clear, clean water. Nikolas took a bag off Rolan’s saddle and filled two empty dishes with grain. He and Mags took off the saddles and set them aside, changed their clothing, and went back out through the pivoting door.

  ::Did you consider that brooch?:: Nikolas asked.

  Since the wretched thing had been drifting in and out of his dreams all night, Mags nodded. ::I dunno why,:: he said finally, ::But it made me think uv horses.::

  Nikolas didn’t change his posture or his expression, but Mags felt his reaction, as if mentally he had smacked himself in the head. ::Of course. It’s Shin’a’in. Or rather, it’s a Shin’a’in trade piece. They themselves rarely make anything that requires metalwork, but they’re like magpies. They love jewelry. Members of a prosperous clan will hang themselves all over with it—and their favorite horses too. That’s a bridle brooch.::

  Mags had to keep himself from frowning. ::Does thet mean th’ dead feller was Shin’a’in?:: Somehow he didn’t like to think that. He didn’t know a lot about the Plainspeople, but what he did, he liked. He rather thought he wanted to meet one, someday.

  ::This far north in the spring? Not likely. You might—might—find one turning up at the Ashkevron Manor in the fall, when they cull the horse herds. But that’s as close as they ever come to Haven. No, this is more than likely someone come up from the south who got the brooch in a trade or the like.:: Nikolas sighed. ::I think that’s a dead end. I cannot imagine Shin’a’in having anything to do with someone like our ‘guests.’::

  Mags stared at the back of Nikolas’ heels and did frown. ::Thet don’ follow,:: he said instantly. ::Feller coulda killed a Shin’a’in an’ took it.::

  ::If he did—well, that’s why he’s dead now,:: Nikolas replied soberly. ::But it’s not likely. Shin’a’in on the Plains are almost impossible to find. Shin’a’in off the Plains are extremely suspicious of strangers. Rightly so, their horses are prized, especially the ones that they don’t sell. I’ve heard that the couple of genuine Shin’a’in studs that the Ashkevrons own are valued at their own weight in silver.::

  Mags felt his jaw dropping. A horse’s weight in silver? He could scarcely imagine that much money.

  By this point they were at the shop, and Nikolas repeated last night’s routine. When they were ensconced in the little room behind the barred window, and Nikolas had lit the lamp indicating they were open for business, someone came in almost immediately.

  It was a Constable, a tall, burly, black-haired fellow with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw, who said nothing to Nikolas, merely peered suspiciously around the store as if he was looking for something. “Evening, Weasel,” he said, finally. “Been shown anything I should know about?”

  “Whosir? Mesir?” Nikolas said innocently. “This’s a lee-jit-a-mit shop, sir. Nothin’ amiss here, no.”

  The Constable snorted. “And I’m a Master Bard.”

  “Are you, sir?” Nikolas’ expression was of utter guilelessness. “Well, ye should take down one of them instruments on the wall an’ give us a tune then! It’d be a rare pleasure to hear ye, sir.”

  “Leave off!” the Constable snapped. “You know what the law is about taking in stolen goods!”

  “None better, sir, as ye remind me of it every time ye walk in me shop.” Nikolas’ tone did not edge so much as a hair into sarcasm, but the Constable glared at him anyway. “Now if I could be interestin’ ye in some of me goods?”

  “I’m more interested in that boy. Who is he?” The Constable thrust his face at the barred window. Mags considered many different responses, all in the flash of a moment.

  ’f I looks askeered, he’s gonna think I’m askeered of Nikolas. Then he’ll figger Nikolas’ up to no good. Mebbe he’ll try an’ take me away. Same if I act shy-like. Mags decided that a bold approach was in order, glared at the Constable, and stuck his tongue out at him.
<
br />   “That cheeky little bastard!” the Constable exclaimed, affronted. “Why I—”

  Nikolas cuffed Mags, then grabbed his chin and thrust his head up so he was looking directly at Nikolas’ face. “You show some respect fer the law, ye little demon-limb!” he said, enunciating carefully.

  Mags sneered, then shrugged, and turned his back on the Constable. He sat down on his stool, still with his back to the man, and resumed his horsehair braiding.

  “I’m mortal sorry, sir,” Nikolas said, putting an edge of a whine into his tone. “Right little bastard’s m’sister’s son. He’s been here afore, only I guess you was never here when he was. Deaf as a post from a fever. Promised her I’d take care of him.”

  “Well, see to it that you beat some manners into him,” the Constable retorted, then Mags noted his footsteps retreating toward the door, and the jangle of the bell over it signaling his departure.

  ::Good thinking.::

  ::Didn’ want ’im reckonin’ I was some kinda slavey ye’d bought, or th’ like,:: Mags replied. ::Uh... meant t’ask ye somethin’... ye do know ’bout th’ Healers Collegium an’ Bear an’—::

  ::And that they plan to try and fix Amily’s leg, yes, of course I do.:: Nikolas sounded amused rather than alarmed. ::You surely didn’t think they’d keep that a secret from me, did you?::

  Nikolas took out the stolen gems from last night and unlocked a panel at the back of the room. There was a box inside, and inside the box were several small linen pouches. He poured each cup of sorted gems into a separate pouch, and shook them. ::There. Good luck finding one set of stolen gems in a cup of stolen gems just like them.:: He turned back to Mags. ::Was there something else?::

  ::Bear’s in charge!:: Mags blurted.

  His mentor nodded, slowly. ::Amily told me last night. You think I won’t approve?::

  Mags shrugged. ::I didn’ rightly know. I was gonna ast ye t’gi’ ’im a chance. Not like ’e’s doin’ this wi’out supervision—::

  ::Exactly so.:: Nikolas clapped him on the shoulder. ::I trust the Dean, I trust the Healers’ Circle, and I trust Bear. I’ll let him know that myself, if you’d like.::

  Mags considered that. ::Might steady ’im, sir.::

  ::Then I will. Now, knowing how you, Bear, and Lena are as thick as birds hatched in the same nest, I assume you’ve already had a hand in this project?:: Nikolas handed Mags his horsehair and box of beads, and Mags sat down to work.

  ::Aye. ’E’s makin’ a model uv Amily’s leg as ’tis. Then him an’ some senior Healers’ll study it over, figger out what needs t’ be done.::

  ::Slow, steady, and methodical. I approve.:: Nikolas didn’t ask if Mags approved; he already knew Mags did. As terrified as Mags was for Amily—what if this didn’t work and she was left worse off than before?—he knew she wanted it more than anything. How could he stand in the way of that? The only “hold” he had over her would be to say, “I can’t stand it if you try this. If you care for me at all, you won’t do it.” And that would be just wrong. She was brave enough to try this, to get the proper use of her leg back. She hated being a burden on people, hated that they would have to alter their plans to suit what she could and could not do. He also knew she worried for her father; she was the daughter of the King’s Own Herald, which made her a potential target to be used to control her father. As long as she was fundamentally unable to escape a kidnapper, she represented a serious vulnerability, and it wasn’t safe for her to go many places away from the Palace.

  This was important to her. He would never stand in her way.

  So, like her father, he knew he would worry and fret on the inside and never let his concern show.

  ::Reckon his fambly’ll try an’ stop it?:: he hazarded.

  ::If they find out about it, yes,:: Nikolas said, soberly. ::Mags... what do you think Bear needs to do? Not about Amily, about his own situation. I ask you this as a point of strategy, not as his friend.::

  ::Purt obvious, ain’t it? Needs t’stand up to ’em.:: Mags finished the bracelet he was working on and started another.

  ::More than that. Because that will only alienate them, and in the end, he doesn’t want that. What he wants is to be treated as someone with intelligence and valuable skills. To get that sort of treatment, he will have to discover why his father and older brother are treating him in this way. I’ll give you a hint. It is not solely because he is the youngest son. After all, he has demonstrated that he can handle great responsibility.::

  Mags shook his head. ::Dunno.::

  ::I don’t either, but I do know this. When a person acts this outrageously about something, it is because there is more going on than is showing on the surface. I think you and Bear need to find out what that something is and address it. In the many leisurely hours of your spare time, that is.::

  Mags nearly laughed aloud at that.

  ::Now there is something that only you and Lena can do,:: Nikolas continued. ::Bear needs to learn how manage being under pressure. He tends to allow it to eat him alive. I think you can show him a better way.::

  ::I’m tryin’. I’ll put Lena to it. She does th’ same; mebbe they’ll learn from each other.:: He thought a moment. ::Better. I’ll put him t’watchin’ her on it. Reckon they concentrate on each other, they ain’t gonna be thinkin’ so hard ’bout thesselves.::

  The bell over the door rang, and Nikolas was all the Weasel again, Bear’s problems, Lena’s, even Amily’s set aside for the moment.

  It was the thief from last night.

  “I want m’money,” he said, abruptly. “Found out what ye wanted, and I want m’money.”

  Nikolas showed no signs of producing anything. “Got t’hear it first, don’t I?” he said, with a sneer. “I dunno if it’s worthy anything.”

  “But if I tell you afore ye pay me, ye can say it ain’t worth nothin’ when it is!” the thief protested.

  Nikolas shrugged. There was a long, long silence as the man fidgeted on the other side of the barrier. Finally he couldn’t bear it any more and blurted, “Feller that had the shiny was poisoned.”

  That got both their attention. “How d’ye reckon that?” Nikolas asked cautiously.

  “I don’ reckon it,” the thief said. “Healer said so. Feller’s a guide. He was down in some city south, took some horse traders down there from here, that’s where he got the shiny. Passed through there, picked up some other fellers t’guide back up here. Healer says he dunno what poison ’twas, on’y that feller was poisoned. Fellers he brung here, they was all kinda furrin. Bet they poisoned ’im.”

  Mags could smell the booze on his breath all the way from where he was sitting. He couldn’t imagine how Nikolas could stand it. Nor could he imagine how Nikolas was remaining sober!

  “An’ where didja here all this?” Nikolas drawled, skeptically.

  “Feller had a reg’lar ’oman at Peg’s. Got it from her.” The man kept looking furtively over his shoulder, as if he thought he had been followed into the shop.

  “This woman gotta name?” Now Nikolas reached into the cash till, which was out of sight and reach from anyone standing at the barred window, and pulled out a few silver coins. He pushed them idly back and forth on the counter—still just out of reach.

  “Senla,” the thief said, all of his attention centered on the coins. He stared at them avidly.

  “Senla at Peg’s.” Nikolas played with the coins. “Well, I ’spose she got nothin’ t’gain from this... she ever see these furriners?”

  “Nah. He just tol’ her ’bout ’em.” Mags watched the thief’s eyes follow the coins, like a cat watching a fly. The coins made a soft scraping sound across the counter. It was the only sound in the shop aside from their voices.

  “Well. That’s somethin’. Ain’t much but . . .” Nikolas shoved the coins under the bars, and the thief grabbed them greedily. They made a chinking sound as he shoved then into a pouch that he thrust into his shirt. “You get me somethin’ better, you’ll get paid better.”

&n
bsp; The thief didn’t reply to this; he skittered out the door as if someone had set him on fire. That was... odd. Mags wondered why he was in such a hurry to get out of there.

  Nikolas drummed his fingers on the countertop for a moment. ::I’m torn... :: Mags knew exactly what he meant. This was the middle of Weasel’s business day. There was no way that Weasel would close the shop now, unless he was dying, or the shop itself was on fire. And maybe not even then. But he wanted to get to this woman now.

  ::I’ll go, :: Mags said instantly. Sure, he was just a youngling. But there had to be plenty of reasons for a youngling down here in this part of Haven to be seeing a woman of that sort. Right now he couldn’t think of any, but surely Nikolas could. ::Ye thin’ of some reason fer me t’wanter see th’ ’oman whilst I git there. Ye know where Peg’s is?::