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“Why care what that mumper thinks?” I wanted to know.
He gave me a crooked smile. “People will do nearly anything to bring a good mage into their service. Powerful mages are happy to bind and sell their rivals and lesser mages to such persons,” he explained. “For a reward Master Iceblade lets mage sellers know where unprotected mages are. I am very happy to play the fool for Iceblade, and everyone knows the Provost’s Guard can’t afford to hire good mages. I’m left alone.” Master Farmer shrugged.
The cabin door opened, but it wasn’t Tunstall and Lady Sabine who entered. Two young sailor lads had come, one with a couple of fleece pads rolled up and slung over his shoulder, the other with coils of rope.
“We’re here to secure your animals,” the redhead of the pair explained to me. “So they’ll be comfortable, like.”
I didn’t wish to discuss such vile things anymore, so I turned my attention to the new problem. “The cat,” I said. “If you could put him together with the hound?”
“He’ll stand for it?” asked the redheaded lad, happily surprised. “We’re going to bundle them up, mistress. He might not like it.”
“They’re friends,” I explained. “They’ll do fine.” Achoo wagged her tail and tried to wash Pounce’s face.
The redhead pointed to the other lad. “He’s my best friend, and I wouldn’t share a bunk with him,” he told us as he and his friend covered the bunk with fleeces. “He snores. And farts.” The older boy gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs. The redhead patted the fleece. “If the hound and the cat will come up?”
“Bangkit, Achoo,” I said. Up she leaped, Pounce following her onto the bunk. Soon the lads had secured them with straps.
As they were finishing, Tunstall and Lady Sabine came in. Tunstall gave each lad two coppers. “We’ll strap ourselves in,” he told them with a wink. “Why don’t you come check us before we set sail, so you know we did it right and can tell your captain so? We need a bit of privacy just now.”
The talkative redhead touched two fingers to his forehead in a salute. “Aye, Guardsman. Actually, we’re only raisin’ anchor now. You’ve a little more time to settle and buckle in before they put the sleep on folk—got to clear the harbor traffic first. Safe voyage to us!” His friend gave us the same salute. Once they left, I took off my shoulder pack and tucked it between me and the wall.
Tunstall looked at Master Farmer and tapped his ear, raising an eyebrow. The mage smiled and looked at the floor. I didn’t see the color of Master Farmer’s Gift, though I felt it. The air in the room relaxed suddenly; my skin stopped prickling. Over our heads I heard a cove’s voice—Iceblade’s?—raised in startlement and anger.
Master Farmer looked up. “If he were wise, he would ask himself how I could do that,” he said. “Instead I’ll wager any amount you care to name he’s telling the others one of you must be a mage as well.”
Tunstall took the leather pouch from his pack and opened it. “Each of us gets our own copy of our orders,” he said as he gave theirs to Master Farmer and my lady. “My lord wants to be certain none of us risk ourselves while on this Hunt. We each hold true Crown documents in case we are separated.”
I opened my envelope of maps as the others read through their papers. Each covered a section of the realm in the finest detail I had ever seen. One set showed rivers and lakes marked out in blue, cities and large towns labeled clearly. The other set was of noble and temple fiefdoms and Crown lands, the owners of the realm. I know Lord Gershom had not meant these for birthday or Midwinter presents, but this was like a lifetime’s worth of gifts all at once.
I like maps very much.
“Lord Gershom sent word to those Deputy Provosts he could trust in the Three Rivers Province and along the coast between the Summer Palace and Frasrlund, telling them we seek any party coming from Blue Harbor or thereabouts with a child aged about four. He gave them the date of the disappearance,” Tunstall said as all of us got comfortable on our fleeces and bunks. He looked at a paper he’d taken from the leather pouch. “Two days after we left Lord Gershom,” he continued, “my lord had word from the District Commander in Eversoul. Just such a party came to town along the Ware River in the north. The party numbered two mages, one a mot, one a cove, three other women, and five small children. He says—” Tunstall read, “All of the children were less than six years of age. I sent orders that they were to be detained if possible, followed if not. It was too late to catch them in Eversoul. By the time they got my orders, all of the children had been taken on ships on the Arenaver. At dawn on the eleventh I had word from the Deputy Provost in Arenaver that four groups answering my description, two of them small slave trains, had come from the south, three by land, one by ship. The District Commander there sent two Dogs to track them, but he has not heard from the trackers.
“Proceed to Arenaver. Take up the most likely trail if the Deputy Provost is unable to detain all of those suspected. Master Farmer will sort out false clues and confessions. If you lose the trail, proceed on your own. I will get information to Master Farmer as often as it is available.” Tunstall looked up. “There’s an emotional bit at the end.” He cleared his throat. “You four are the best possible team I can field. You have my faith and that of Their Majesties.”
“But we can’t be the only ones!” Lady Sabine said, shocked. “We can’t possibly cover the entire realm, and who knows how many people are in this vicious scheme?”
Tunstall opened the last fold of his document. “Oh, yes. He writes, I am assembling other teams and have been doing so since the day after we arrived here. You won’t be in the field alone! Better, my dear?”
“Gods be thanked.” Lady Sabine lay back on her bunk with a sigh. “What do we Hunt? From what I read in the papers Gershom sent to me, these swine have left us precious little to start from.”
Master Farmer was toying with a stone globe the size of a walnut, producing tiny sparks of fire with it. “I’d been thinking we ought to look at slaves—” he began, just as Tunstall said, “It’s the slave trading that has my eye.” They stared at each other.
Since the lads were startled that both of them had come to the same conclusion, I explained, “These Rats came in disguised as a slave-raiding party, took captives like they were taking slaves, and brought at least one slave trader ship. Why do such things when they destroyed the evidence at the palace?”
“Because the slave items were the materials some of the raiders had at hand?” Lady Sabine asked. “Perhaps some of those still alive have ties to slavery?”
“We think mayhap so,” Tunstall said with a nod to her. “They took every caution, but they knew there was a chance that evidence would be found. Slave trade is big enough and messy enough that we might get tangled up just tracking the ships or the chains.”
Master Farmer locked his hands behind his head. “From that idea, what easier way to hide the lad than in a slave train roaming the countryside? It’s summer. Dozens of traders are on the roads and rivers.”
“But now we’ve got this information to follow,” Tunstall went on. “We’ll look at the evidence in Arenaver. If these travelers don’t give us something to chase, we’ll follow the slave ship builders.”
The ship was moving out into the river, swaying gently under us. I’d seen no oars when we boarded. I suppose the mages filled the sails with wind they had summoned and directed the ship as they willed. “They’ll change the lad’s appearance, no doubt,” I said to my comrades. We seemed to have silently agreed to refer to Prince Gareth only as “the lad,” which I thought was a good idea. There was less chance of letting his true name slip that way. “Darker is my guess, since he’s fair-haired and fair-skinned. And there are plenty of brown-haired, hazel-eyed four-year-olds out there.”
“It will take them time to toughen him up,” Tunstall said. “His hands and feet will be soft, his skin white.”
“There are stains for his skin,” Lady Sabine replied with a grimace. “Walnut juice, properly applied, t
akes months to fade. I know.”
“Are they clever enough to avoid using magic on him?” Master Farmer wondered aloud. “That will be the first thing I look for. A child who’s magicked will stand out in any group.” He was digging in his shoulder pack.
“They’ve been evil clever so far,” Tunstall said. “I don’t see them getting cracknob pox so late in the game.”
“Does Gershom mention a ransom note, or a threat?” Lady Sabine asked. “Surely these people want something from Their Majesties. They must have sent their terms by now.”
Tunstall riffled through the rest of the papers. “Letter of credit—copies of our orders for each of us—no other notes, my dear.”
“Lazamon didn’t mention ransom,” I reminded them. “He wants Their Majesties to die. My lady, did you hear of my conversation with him?”
Lady Sabine nodded. “Tunstall has told me all of the information you have.” She began to do up her straps, but Master Farmer raised his hand.
“One more quick matter of business,” he said. He was holding something. “On your feet, please.” Tunstall and my lady stood. I joined them as Master Farmer gave us each a round piece of smooth obsidian secured at one edge with a silver clasp. I recognized them as the magic devices called Dog tags. Goodwin and I had used them in Port Caynn three years ago. These looked the same: one side plain, the other with a compass cross cut into its surface and painted white. An S was engraved at the end opposite the clasp, to indicate south.
“Each of us must take the stone in our right hands and pile our fists together,” Master Farmer instructed. He extended his own right hand turned up, the obsidian gleaming between his fingers. Lady Sabine laid her hand atop his, palm down. He did not correct her, so Tunstall set his right hand palm down atop the lady’s, and I completed the stack.
“Now,” Master Farmer said, “each of us must choose a color—bright, to stand against the stone.”
“Crimson,” said my lady.
“Green,” Tunstall announced.
“White,” I said, thinking of the greatest contrast to the obsidian.
“And bright blue for me,” Master Farmer said. “Close your eyes. Think of each of us, carefully, one after another, as we know each other, even if it’s just been for a short time. Be sure to consider all four of us, so the tag will show us together.”
I had done this imagining with Goodwin. Tunstall was quickest in my thoughts, my big old owl of a partner, who loved flowers, and went mad in a fight, throwing furniture to take down two and three Rats at a time.
Lady Sabine I’d seen too in fights, back to back with Tunstall, control to his fury, her brown eyes intent as she dealt out punishment. But she was elegant in private. Dressed for home, or for one of her family’s many obligations, she took my breath away. She had cool humor and a kind heart for the street children who waited for her behind Tunstall’s lodgings, feeding them leftovers from meals, letting them into the cellar on cold winter nights where they’d find blankets, a fire, and hot soup.
Master Farmer for me was all questions, grim attention, or folly. It was interesting that he kept his power hidden from his fellows. I wondered if he was like me, not wanting too much attention from those who were stupid, arrogant, or simply bad. He seemed very strong for someone who had not studied at the great schools. Master Farmer was so casual with the little magics. And he was quick with humor.
“There,” he said, and I opened my eyes. We all checked our tags. Each had four glowing dots at the center of the cross. I quickly unclasped the chain on which I wore my Dog’s insignia—leather only for one more year!—and threaded the tag onto it, then hung both around my neck. The others did the same, Lady Sabine with the chain upon which she wore amulets for Mithros and the Maiden as warriors, and Master Farmer with the chain on which he wore his lens.
Overhead we heard footsteps approach. As I fetched the bag with the bracelets charmed against seasickness from its hook, someone banged on the cabin door.
“Open up!” Iceblade shouted. “Open—” The door swung wide. He flailed and caught himself before he went face-first into the floor. Tunstall snorted. Lady Sabine, always well bred, turned away to hide a grin. I picked leather bracelets from the bag and gave them to my companions.
“That wasn’t funny!” Iceblade snapped, glaring at all of us equally. “Who’s working magic down here? We’re going to place our spells at half of the hour!”
Lady Sabine drew herself up like a queen. “Master Mage, have you a reason for interrupting us? Or do you interfere strictly to make a nuisance of yourself? We are engaged upon serious matters.”
Iceblade’s skin paled under its tan. He even seemed to shrink a little under my lady’s imperious stare. “I came to say all spellworkings must end. The horn marks the beginning of our speed and of the sleep spell!”
My lady raised her chin. “So you have informed us. You may go.”
Dismissed, he had no choice but to walk out in a hurry. He didn’t bother to close the door. Slowly, as if mocking his hasty exit, the door closed itself. The bolt slid into its socket, shining with blue fire. More such magic collected in the corners of the room and stayed there, glimmering. We all looked at our mage.
Master Farmer shrugged when I glanced at him. “I would hate it if any of the crew went through our packs while we slept,” he explained. When my lady and Tunstall raised their eyebrows at him, he added, “I’m not saying they would. I just don’t want to invite them to an occasion of bad behavior.”
“We all need to be more watchful than we’ve ever been before,” Tunstall said as I donned my bracelet. He buckled himself into his bunk. “Assume as of now that we cannot trust anyone but ourselves with our business.” He grinned at Lady Sabine as I got onto my bunk and did up my own straps. “What brought on your wrath with Master Iceblade, my lady?”
“He is the kind of bully who gets the serving girls in corners and roughs them up,” she replied as she buckled in. “I don’t want to be asleep with someone like that able to enter my room.” She smiled at Master Farmer. “Thank you very much, Master Cape.”
Without the straps, I would have jumped high enough to smack the ceiling of the cabin when that curst great horn bellowed loud enough to deafen us all. Achoo fought her bindings. Her shrieking bark told me that she was frightened half to death. “Achoo!” I shouted. “Diamlah!” I tried to undo my straps so I could go to her. “Diam—” The poxy horn blasted again. I dropped, half hanging out of the bunk.
I have Achoo. I could not tell if Pounce’s voice was in my head or in the cabin, as my ears still rang. My hound settled, wriggling down into the fleece. Pounce lay against her shoulders, one forepaw around her neck, his chin on her head.
I pulled myself back into the bunk and hurried to do up the straps. It was near impossible—the sleep spells had begun. My hands felt little better than sausages, so clumsy they were. Then I saw dark blue fire. My head cleared. I finished the straps and looked at Master Farmer. “Though I don’t like being magicked, I’ll forgive you for it this once,” I said. “Thank you.”
He smiled drowsily at me and closed his eyes. A moment later, I did the same.
Tuesday, June 12, 249
Arenaver and points east
When the sleep dropped from us, I pulled a back muscle fighting to escape the straps, the bunk, and the cabin to reach the ship’s rail to puke. If Master Farmer had not woken and raised his spell that kept the door locked and the bolt frozen, there’s no telling what sort of mess I might have made in there. Of a certainty my belly threw every meal I’d had in some days out into the Tellerun’s waters, and mayhap even my hopes for future meals. At last I could heave no more. By then my cabinmates were being sick in their turn over other parts of the rail.
“Here yez go.” It was the dark-haired ship’s lad, the one who’d said not a word before. He stood at my elbow, offering me a thick mug. I was almost afraid to touch it, in case my heaves might begin again, but the scent that came from it was one of gentle h
erbs, a tea that meant well by my poor tripes. One sip, and I felt my belly settle.
“I don’t understand,” I said once I’d drunk a bit more. “This didn’t happen the last time we took a peregrine ship. Those leather bands are supposed to keep this from happening!”
“Oh, they stop ye from pukin’ in yer sleep,” he told me. “Didja eat afore ye came aboard last time?”
“No,” I said, thinking that it would be a dreadful thing if Pounce and Achoo were vomiting in their fleece. “I came to that ship in the middle of the night.” I turned to go back, but here they came, Achoo dancing with pleasure at being outside.
I let us out, Pounce said. Since you were busy.
“Well, that’s the explanation,” the lad said, plainly not hearing the cat. “Ye had a full belly, and ye was under the sleep and the ship at full speed for nigh twelve hours. Anyone pukes with that.”
I stared at him. “And the rich folk like to travel this way?” I asked.
