His powers of observation served him well once again. Just about everyone around him was looking up towards the bird; everyone except the retreating acolyte. She, he saw, kept her robes pulled tightly around her—as if she did not want to be noticed—and was hurrying.
Goth had always led his life instinctively and his instincts had never let him down. Now they suggested strongly that he should follow that small, slender figure. His mind raced to the conclusion that his prey was close: Gynt was here. However, his gut feeling demanded he follow the woman as the only Caremboche woman who would flee from him was Alyssandra Qyn. Granted, he admitted as he walked away from the pointing crowd, he had not expected her to be an acolyte for she was not sentient. Perhaps it was a guise or perhaps it was not her at all but he followed all the same. He knew the women of the Academie were protected by royal decree but he did not care a damn for such rules. He would find a way around them.
She would lead him to Gynt for sure. He would have the physic soon…and he would have the
trembling, frightened Alyssa Qyn in his arms once again.
Tor ran out into the street and felt his stomach turn. Goth was not approaching as he had hoped; he was moving away and in the direction of Alyssa.
I sense I’m something of a novelty in these parts, Tor,
said Cloot.
I’m going to follow Alyssa; see she gets to Saxon safely.
Tor quickly caught up with Goth but kept out of sight behind whichever person, animal, store or pillar presented itself. He could not communicate with Alyssa but he could see she was no longer giving care to stealth. She was running.
Alyssa risked one look behind her. She did not expect to see anyone but glimpsed the contorted face of Goth, possibly fifty steps away; close enough to make out the lumps of his ugly face. He was chasing her. She threw off her hood and dropped the cloak which was slowing her down and ran. Her golden hair flowed free and Goth yelled out in delight.
‘It is you, Alyssa! Oh, I am looking forward to our reunion.’ He broke into a run.
Goth was short but he was also fit and powerful. Tor, loping fast behind them now, could see it was a matter of moments before the Inquisitor ran Alyssa down. He had to do something but could not strike directly against Goth who was always well shielded by the same archalyt which protected Alyssa.
Tor thought fast. He had only a matter of moments.
A man was leading two horses towards the stables ahead. As Goth ran towards them Tor spiked the animals with sharp pain. As he had hoped, both reared up, squealing. One ripped itself free from the shocked stablehand and the other kicked out furiously and struck Goth on the shoulder.
It was not much more than a glancing blow but it was sufficient to knock Goth to the ground. People came scurrying to assist him. He shook them off and grimaced, not from the pain of his shoulder but from the agony of watching his quarry disappear around a corner and out of his sight.
Alyssa heard the horses but did not turn; she just kept running towards the edge of town where she knew Saxon would be waiting for her. She glanced above and, despite her fear, felt elated to see Cloot flying with her. She loved the falcon for this and even dared a wave.
The falcon cast back to Tor.
Alyssa will be fine. Now you must get back to the Academie too. He knows you’re here because he’s seen me.
He’s heading back to the stables, I think, to get his horse. Are you sure Alyssa will be all right?
Saxon has her and they are already heading home at full gallop,
came the reply.
Just keep Goth busy for a few minutes more.
Think!
Tor screamed to himself. He doubled back towards the stables.
Cloot spoke again.
Remember that Aspecting charm Merkhud mentioned which all those Masters
found so impossible to wield? I know you never bothered with it but now might be as good a time as any.
It was as though a shaft of sunlight had burst through dark clouds.
I love you, Cloot.
What would you do without me?
the bird said and closed the link.
Aspecting was an extraordinarily difficult charm; it and Shadow-walking seemed to exist only in theory for not even the great Master Joromi had wound his talents around either of the tricks. Nevertheless, as Tor watched Goth disappear into the stables he centred and felt the Colours surround him. Against his chest he felt the thrum of the Orbs as they vibrated with their and his power; he wished, yet again, he knew their true purpose.
He focused on a man standing to his right and cast the complex glamour. Goth reappeared, slapping his thigh with the whip he would use on his stallion to thunder down the road to Caremboche. He glanced around, his small boar-like eyes scanning the crowd swiftly and penetratingly. They were arrested by the profile of a man he knew. The tall figure noticed him and turned away to walk down a side street.
Goth’s pudgy face arranged itself into a nasty smile. ‘I have you now, Gynt.’
He was surprised not to see the physic when he too entered the side street but this was one of the maze of streets which comprised Ildagarth’s famed bazaar. Goods were strewn on makeshift tables under
awnings and there was everything on offer, from boots to confectionery.
He took his time, watching closely. There he was! Talking to someone. Now he was moving off under the cover of the awnings. Goth followed.
He had lost him once more. Goth began to whip his thigh again in frustration. Surely Gynt was playing with him. Suddenly he saw him again, this time carrying a tray which he handed to a woman. Whatever was the physic doing? Goth watched him say something to the woman and then walk into a shop.
By the time Goth arrived at that shop it was empty, save for the storekeeper and the same woman buying rice.
Anger welled and control capitulated to rage. Goth was no longer thinking clearly. He wanted Gynt; wanted to hurt him for years of avoiding his wrath. He wanted to punish him for all those women who fell at his feet. Most of all, he wanted to break him now whilst he was away from the protection of Merkhud, the King and that arrogant Prime.
He stomped out of the shop and, to his surprise, found Gynt directly in front of him, offering him a quartered orange. His frustrations spilled over.
‘No more games,’ he said nastily. Gynt did not seem to recognise him and addressed him in Idagarthian, suggesting Goth try his fruit.
This enraged him. Goth struck Gynt across the face with his whip, then fell on him in a frenzy. He wanted to tear him limb from limb. He had lost
Alyssa again and here was someone upon whom he could vent the anger of that loss. He felt hands frantically pulling at him but he was strong; he clung tight and banged the physic’s head again and again against the cobbles.
He heard himself giggle. My, my! This would take some explaining back at Court. But explain he would.
When Goth was finally wrenched off the body he saw it was a child who lay lifeless in the street, her blood mixing with the juices of crushed oranges. It did not make sense. What had happened to Gynt? Goth’s anger subsided.
People were whispering around him but most were too shocked to speak aloud. Many had known the child since she was born. None had known she was sentient. Why would the Inquisitor beat her to death?
It was fortunate that Tor did not witness the result of his Aspecting charm. He had waited to see the first two work beautifully and then had ducked and weaved through the cobbled streets of Ildagarth to put as much distance between himself and Goth as possible. He made his escape, out across open fields, running in the direction of the Academie.
Cloot, however, saw it all. He chose not to re-open the link and share with Tor the high point of his handiwork in adding a new dimension to the charm by making it pass from person to person through
touch. No, he would keep this to himself and accept the guilt of the child’s death as his burden.
Nanak’s voice broke as he sliced the link open.
Arabella, the priestess, she has fallen to Orlac.
Merkhud’s face twisted in a grimace of despair.
Too soon. This can’t be.
It’s true.
Did she say anything?
She just called out that her time had come.
And she disappeared like the others?
Yes.
Merkhud paced his study. Nanak said no more.
Then she will show herself somewhere, my friend. She will re-emerge. We know that now. Her life as a guardian of Orlac is ended. Her life as a protector of the Trinity has begun.
He received no reply. The link closed.
Tor returned to the Academie and, after hurriedly tidying himself, went looking for Alyssa. He found Xantia.
‘Back so early, Physic Gynt? I thought even Alyssa could have kept you amused for slightly longer.’
Tor was in no mood for her. ‘Do you know where she is?’
‘I don’t, sorry.’ She took a few steps towards him, even dared to trace her finger across his hand. ‘Perhaps I could show you whatever she hasn’t got around to yet?’ The innuendo was not lost on Tor.
‘I’m sure I can find her,’ he said and walked away.
‘I’ll look forward to that dance tonight, Torkyn,’ she called after him. He ignored her and made his way to the crypt.
It was a good guess; Alyssa was there. She appeared calm but colour was burning her cheeks.
There were other acolytes in the library and her look told him to be careful.
‘Are you all right?’ he whispered, desperate to hold her.
She nodded. ‘Did you just get back from the city?’ Her tone was clipped. It was his turn to nod. ‘And our mutual friend?’
‘Thrown off your scent,’ he whispered again. He saw the pulse at her temple pound. Goth’s hold over her was monstrous. ‘We must talk.’
‘Not here,’ she cautioned. ‘I’ll meet you by the fountain; you can have a tour of the gardens this afternoon. I’ll be there shortly.’
A feeling of foreboding had gripped Alyssa. It was not just that Goth had returned to her life, though the sight of him giving chase had terrified her. Tor’s return had stirred up emotions she thought she had long buried. Somehow she had convinced herself that life as a member of the Academie was enough; it was not. Now she understood Xantia’s sentiments. All Alyssa wanted now was to be with Tor. But life could never go back to how it had been yesterday. She remembered her angry words to Xantia; how hollow they sounded now as she struggled to take the same advice.
She was an Untouchable. The disc of archalyt was her sole protection against Goth but it doomed the love she held for Tor. And yet Saxon had pressed her to accept him as the man she must follow. She walked through the Academie’s corridors, confused, and only realised when she saw him standing in the courtyard that she had actually come looking for Saxon. In her
hands she carried the two volumes of Nanak’s writings.
‘Keep these safe for me, Saxon,’ she said, not exactly sure why she was doing this. Like Goth, Alyssa was led by instinct. Right now it told her to hide the books once again but to keep them close. Saxon nodded. He took the books and put them under a cloth in the back of the cart he was mending.
The revelations she and Tor had discussed today were yet more reasons for her dark mood. He was waiting at the fountain for her.
‘We must be very cautious. The Elders’ watchful eyes are everywhere.’
They began to stroll along the paths and Alyssa kept up a narrative about various plants, the history of the gardens, about the herbs and special potions they made at Caremboche and new remedies they had discovered. But beneath that they also talked.
‘What did you do?’
‘A trick.’
‘…shalack is one of our most versatile herbs…He’ll be back. He’ll be here tonight when I’m vulnerable.’
‘Then don’t come out into the open.’
‘…made into a paste which we then warm…I have to. It’s part of the ceremony…but just gently,’ she continued.
Tor ran his hands through his hair. ‘Listen to me. A mask will be delivered to your room today. Be sure Xantia sees it. Be sure that’s what you are wearing when you leave your dormitory.’
‘…good for all forms of pain within the body but is particularly effective for stomach cramps. Over here is a tiny pink flower we call strap…I already have a mask organised.’
Tor gestured to a bench. They sat. ‘You must be wearing the one which is delivered.’
‘What is it?’
‘A fox,’ he answered. ‘I’ll be the pig.’
‘That’s appropriate,’ Alyssa said, unable to help a sad, fleeting smile. She stood again and continued talking about herbals.
‘Alyssa, our time is short,’ Tor urged.
She stopped to pass a few words with two Elders Tor had not met before.
‘And did you enjoy our famed zabub, Physic Gynt?’ one of them asked.
‘Immensely,’ he said.
They nodded politely and moved on.
‘You were saying?’ she said. ‘About time being short. So when do you leave?’
‘Tonight.’
‘Ah.’ Alyssa tried to think of something to say to cover her shock but Tor spoke rapidly. ‘Except I won’t be leaving alone, Alyssa. This time you will be coming with me.’
He put his finger to his lips to hush her when she swung around in alarm. ‘It is no longer safe for you here. Untouchable or not, we were meant to be together. Even Merkhud wanted this. So let’s not disappoint. I have a plan.’
A small troop of acolytes passed them and one
said good afternoon to their esteemed visitor. Tor and Alyssa forced polite smiles to their faces.
‘Just wear the fox mask and do as I say, when I say.’
‘Saxon?’
‘Is coming with us, as is Sorrel. They’re as deeply involved in this strange puzzle we’re putting together as you and I. I will speak with Sorrel this afternoon. Leave everything to me. Play innocent to all questions but make sure Xantia sees you put that mask on.’
‘I understand.’
‘I love you, Alyssa.’
Her spirits soared to hear him say it out loud, even though it was barely above a whisper.
‘Likewise,’ she replied and they parted.
Goth had to use all of his powers of guile and persuasion to climb out of the sticky hole he found himself in. Fortunately a small band of his Inquisitors had finally caught up with him in Ildagarth and the strength of numbers lent weight to his argument that the gypsy child had been sentient. He told the city fathers that the young girl had blazed with magic and had cast it against him; he had feared for those around him. He apologised for the manner in which he had dealt with her.
The mother was distraught and calling for his blood. The authorities knew this would never happen of course but they explained that they needed to
placate the woman somehow. After all, she had lost a child.
Goth had no mercy for gypsies at the best of times. In fact, sitting here now in the Mayor’s office, sipping zabub and listening to the twitterings of the city fathers, he had almost convinced himself it had been the decent thing to do. To deny life to a gypsy child meant yet another drifting pickpocket had been dealt with. He knew he could not express this publicly but his twisted mind loved the righteousness of that thinking and he knew many people would applaud it.
‘I will make good with the family, of course,’ he said magnanimously. ‘Is it a large one?’
‘I believe there are seven children; well, six now,’ said one of the men uncomfortably. ‘No father but there are two grandparents as I understand.’
As he had guessed—a whole filthy sackful of the thieving rats! Goth banished the sneer which came easily to his lumpy face. He must not show his true feelings.
‘Mayor Jory, how about I send my men around to their dwelling tonight with a filled purse? They will express my sincere sympathies and explain my position. It’s most unusual of course, considering the child was sentient and had to be dealt with, but I feel badly that we did not bridle appropriately.’ His manner was courteous and humble.
Goth had already worked out that the Mayor cared little for these lowlifes who fleeced the Ildagarth community. He tolerated them at Festival time when hordes of gypsies flooded the city to make
money from the thousands of pilgrims and revellers. They served a purpose then but the Mayor wanted them gone straight after. Perhaps this would be just the right encouragement.
‘I think that should cover it,’ the Mayor said. ‘Thank you, Chief Inquisitor Goth, for your patience in this matter.’
Goth waved the genteel words aside as if to say it was the least he could do under the circumstances. He called his man over and spoke in a low tone.
‘Have two cases of Morriet sent over to Mayor Jory’s house with my compliments,’ he whispered, pressing a purse into the man’s hand at the same time. ‘Give him this too.’
The man nodded. ‘Ask Rhus to see me, please,’ Goth added before the Inquisitor departed.
Rhus appeared. Goth made a show of standing and pulling out a large and clearly heavy purse of gold.
‘Give this to the family of the child, Rhus,’ he said loudly enough for the city fathers to hear. He watched them nod their approval and then turn away to discuss other matters. Rhus looked at his chief, knowing more precise orders were about to be given.
‘Six children, a mother, two grandparents. Apparently they are presently residing on the fringe of town under canvas with the rest of the gypsy filth. With luck though, Rhus, they may also be waiting downstairs for the outcome of this meeting.’
The Inquisitor turned to leave. He understood the orders totally.
‘Oh, and Rhus…perhaps the mother’s not a bad-looking sort. You and the boys may have your fun but be discreet and dispose of all bodies with care.’
The man smiled darkly. ‘No trace will be left, Lord Goth. I shall return your purse later.’
‘Thank you, Rhus.’
Alyssa was nervous. There had been no time for Tor to explain this plan of his but she knew he was right. Life would not be quite so safe for her any more. Goth had her cornered. The only hope was for Tor and her to try and disappear. She clung to this thread, knowing it was fine indeed. She was a marked woman and Tor was so well known in prestigious circles that disappearing would not be easy.
Her other confirmation was Saxon’s note. Saxon had been sent to protect her and he had not let her down. Now he was telling her to follow Tor. She was making the correct decision, however dangerous it seemed. The books, this strange dream of Tor’s, even her own dream in the Green—she was beginning to feel as though it was all part of some grand scheme. She was too frightened not to stay with Tor.
Alyssa had managed to avoid Xantia all afternoon but had followed protocol and reported to Elder Iris. She had explained that the crowds in the city were thick and it was hard to see much in that sort of merry throng. The Elder had accepted this reason for her early return quite happily. Alyssa explained that
she had given Physic Gynt a tour of the gardens and he was now writing letters to the Palace and preparing for his departure tomorrow morning. He would be busy enough for the remainder of the day.
‘Did someone remember a mask for him, Alyssa my dear?’ the Elder asked anxiously.
‘All in hand,’ Alyssa replied then took her leave and escaped to the crypt. Sorrel found her there. They were alone and free to talk.
‘Physic Gynt visited me this afternoon.’
Alyssa decided it was no use hedging. ‘Did he tell you about Goth?’
‘He did. However did you get away?’
‘By running fast. Did the physic say anything else?’ she asked almost shyly.
‘You know he did,’ Sorrel said. She sat and fixed Alyssa with a stare. ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘I am. Sorrel, do you remember asking me what I was running away from at Mallee Marsh that day?’
‘Like yesterday,’ the old girl replied.
‘Well, he is who I was running from.’
‘I gathered as much,’ said Sorrel, not enjoying the fact she had helped to manipulate the reunion. ‘I remember now; he’s the young scribe who left Flat Meadows to train at the Palace.’
Alyssa nodded. Deep down, though, she wanted to scream at Sorrel. When Tor suggested Sorrel may be Orlac’s mortal mother the notion had made complete sense. She thought back over all her conversations with Sorrel; seemingly innocent at the time, now she felt they had all been contrived.
Everything about Sorrel’s arrival, where she had brought Alyssa, how she had stayed close, had been a series of manipulations. It occurred to Alyssa that the only unknown was Saxon, which is probably why Sorrel had been so aggressive towards him initially.
But she needed Sorrel. If Tor was right then Merkhud was communicating directly with this woman—perhaps his wife—and she may yet guide them. Sorrel was empowered so it was perfectly feasible that everything she and the old girl had done since leaving Mallee Marsh had been fed back to Merkhud, who had timed his release of Tor perfectly. It made Alyssa feel ill to think on it.
‘My dear, are you unwell?’ asked Sorrel.
Play along, Alyssa told herself, be the innocent as Tor suggested. ‘I’m all right…just thinking about Goth makes me feel weak. Tor hasn’t told me yet of his plan.’
Sorrel had heard it already. She enlightened Alyssa. ‘He aims to escape tonight during the festivities. Saxon is preparing a cart. The physic has kept it as simple as possible. Under the shield of darkness and the obvious mayhem of the Festival, who will notice an old cart rolling out from the back gates? Simple.’
It certainly sounded easy but Alyssa was no fool. ‘But where do we go?’
‘Well…’ Sorrel sighed. ‘He seems to feel if we can make it to the fringe of the forest, we will be safe.’ She tried to hide her own doubt.
Alyssa agreed. ‘Sorrel…do you really care?’
‘Light strike me, girl! What an odd question for you to pose. What would make you ask such a thing of me?’
Sorrel looked shaken and Alyssa regretted her hastiness.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m sorry I said that. I just feel threatened.’
‘Know this, Alyssa,’ Sorrel said gravely, ‘I would give my life for you. Perhaps one day soon.’
Dark fell swiftly in a northern winter. There was promise of snow in the icy air but not for this night; tonight it would hold off as the merry fires burned from Ildagarth city to Caremboche and torches lit the main road connecting the two.
Chief Inspector Goth, his group now swelled to almost two dozen men on horseback, was filled with anticipation. The thought of holding Alyssa’s sweet body against his own tantalised beyond even his own understanding. He had no idea why she had such a hold over his senses. Now that she was a woman, her body filled out and offering so much more promise, the excitement he felt was even more exquisite.
Everything had gone to plan. The gypsies had been dealt with quietly and his heavy purse was back in his pocket. Goth was feeling invincible this cold and clear night in an Ildagarth which throbbed to the sound of music and festivity.