Closer to the Chest (35 page)

He was using his most uncultured voice. It took a moment for Amily to remember
why.
They
both
knew Mags, not as Herald Mags, but as “Magnus” the cousin of old Lord Chipman. Fortunately it was twilight, and dark enough to obscure Mags' features. And fortunately neither lad had seen him often as Magnus, nor for very long.

“There's something going on,” said Hawken. “Something more than just a dog being killed. The girls were terrified all morning until someone came and said there were going to be special classes just for the Court Ladies with the Weaponsmaster, and they couldn't get up there to the salle fast enough.
We need to know what's going on.
Please.
If—if it's what I think it might be, it may be important.”

Mags and Amily exchanged startled looks. Well . . . this was interesting.

“Iffen we tell ye, ye gotta tell us
why
it be so all-fired important,” Mags told them, and crossed his arms over his chest, and looked down at them with authority. He managed the “with authority” part pretty well. Amily was impressed.

Even in the dim light, Amily could see Hawken's jaw working. “I'd say it's none of your business. And I'd say it's not my secret to share. But—you're Heralds. And one of you's the King's Own. And . . .” She watched his shoulders sag as he gave in. “All right. It's two things. First of all—there was this music tutor, back when Helane and I were younger . . .”

Quickly, he repeated what Lady Tyria had said the night before, during the Concordance. Amily and Mags nodded along, as if they hadn't heard it before. But
then
—

“Helane and I are really close,” he said. “She tells me everything. And she's told me things about the man that she's never told Mother. He didn't just
try
to fondle her. He actually did manage a little bit before Lirelle came in and interrupted him. I guess Lirelle figured out something wasn't quite right, because she stayed there until the lesson was over. Problem was, he caught Helane before she left, and he told her that his father was a priest, and had a
lot
of power. And I don't mean he knew people, I mean according to Jared, the tutor, his father could call on his god to do just about whatever he wanted. He told her he'd make sure that if she told Mother and Father, and if she didn't do
exactly
what she was told, that God would send monsters to kill us all, and carry her off. He got pretty deep in his descriptions, too. Helane woke up screaming from nightmares for a couple years after that.”

Amily's fists clenched involuntarily. “I take it she told
you
because she hadn't promised not to?”

Hawken nodded, as his little brother stood by, wide-eyed.
“She made me promise not to tell them either. Lirelle told, but she didn't hear the threats, so she just told about the fondling. He thought she hadn't seen, but she had. So he never got a second chance. He got dismissed, and Father made sure he wasn't allowed near the house after that. And Helane didn't go out until after he'd killed himself.”

“He—wait, what?” Mags said sharply. “That ain't what yer Ma said last night!”

It was Hawken's turn to shrug. “She don't know. We didn't tell her. We figured she'd feel bad about it and he didn't deserve anybody's pity. I found him—well, I wasn't supposed to be there, Kend Millerson and Dal Bakerson and me were going . . . ah . . . looking for bird's nests. Anyway we found him. And instead of fetching the town constable, we fetched the Guard so nobody in the town'd know. But I told Helane so she wouldn't be afraid of Jared anymore. And now she's scared. She's scared that Jared's priest-father's found her, and he's sent his demons to kill that dog as a warning. The letters she got were all about wicked women leading good men to their deaths, and corrupt girls tempting men who couldn't resist. She didn't think much about Jared, until the dog was killed, but now she's sure it's demons.”

Amily and Mags exchanged startled looks. Because there it was. The missing link between the Temple of Sethor and the Poison Pen letters up on the Hill. Mags clapped Hawken on the shoulder. “Ye done th' right thin' t'tell us. Now I want ye both t'swear ye ain't gonna let yer sisters outa yer sight.”

Hawken and Loren looked at each other, then back to Mags, and both nodded quickly. “Do we tell Mother and Father?” Loren asked in a very small voice.

“Not yet. I can tell you one thing, though,” Amily replied, her voice hard. “It's not demons. It's just a man. And a man is something we can catch and punish, and we will.”

“Now ye git back t'yer Ma an' Pa,” Mags told the boys. “We got people we gotta talk to.”

They both ducked their heads, as if they couldn't quite make up their minds whether or not they should bow, and turned and headed back toward the Palace. Mags looked at Amily.

“Jorthun,” they both said at the same time.

:Just let us jump the fence and we'll be there in a moment, if you don't mind riding bareback,:
Rolan said.

:I'd rather you hurried,:
replied Amily.

Less than a candlemark later they were telling Dia and Steveral what the boys had told them. They'd interrupted dinner. Lord Jorthun didn't look as though he cared—though he'd sent a servant for wine and two more wine-cups.

When they were finished, Lord Jorthun's eyes darkened with thought. “I need to send some letters,” he said, finally. “So far . . . the Poison Pen has done nothing more than harass and terrify people, and kill one small dog. In the eyes of the law, that's not a great deal. And it appears he is a priest, a man of great secular and sacred power. It will be our word against his, and we might not be allowed to use the Truth Spell against him. If we are to put an end to what he's doing, we are going to have to tread carefully and make sure we have absolute proof. So I am going to need to send some letters.”

Mags nodded, and Amily bit back her disappointment. But he was right, absolutely right. They couldn't just barge into the Sethorite's Temple and demand to know which of them was Jared's father. First they had to figure out which of them was—and it was entirely possible the man wasn't even a priest anymore. He was certainly hiding his identity.

“Meanwhile,” Mags finished. “
I
need to talk to some people.” He smiled grimly. “At least now we're moving.”

“P
romise me that if you need help, you'll bring Teo along.”
That's what Amily had said, and he had promised. Well, he was going to try, although . . . well, he hoped there was a way to do this without Teo losing his job.

This time of the night Teo would be either home or at his favorite tavern. Mags tried the tavern first with no luck, so he headed for the goldsmith's shop.

Luck was with him. The wind was blowing away from the tannery district tonight. He wasn't going to have to battle his way through eye-watering stink.

Never one to miss an opportunity to get as much out of his employees as he could, Teo's employer, the moneylender Bren Kriss, rented Teo the smaller of the two rooms above the shop. Teo got a good deal on it with the understanding that if Teo heard anything in the shop below, he was to deal with it.

Mags got to the back of the goldsmith shop down the alley, and across a tiny yard with an outhouse in it and not much else. Good thing there was moonlight; he didn't have too much
trouble picking his way down the alley and across the tiny yard. Teo had a separate entrance from his employer, a staircase going up the outside in the back, and Kriss kept everything about his shop and home in good repair, unlike a lot of the buildings around here. Mags took the staircase, noting that it didn't even creak, then paused at the door before knocking, and listened hard. There were no windows on this side of the room, but there was a thin line of dim light under the door. And if Teo happened to be entertaining someone else, Mags was going to go this alone.

But Mags heard nothing except a metallic clinking, interrupted with an occasional soft thud, just like someone putting a full pottery mug down on a wooden table.
He's eatin' soup and drinkin' a beer, I reckon.
That meant Teo was alone. So he knocked.

He heard the scrape of chair or stool legs on a wooden floor, then a couple of footsteps. “Whozere?” Teo said quietly, a note of suspicion in his voice.

“'Sme. Harkon.” Mags spoke just as quietly.

The door opened immediately, and Teo grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him inside, closing the door behind him after a quick look around to make sure there was no one else out there.

The light inside was very dim indeed, and not surprising, since Teo was using some form of a dark lantern, one that made the candle stub he was burning dimmer rather than brighter. After a moment, Mags figured out why—this was to save his night-sight. The tiny room didn't hold much, but it was scrupulously clean, and curtains made of feed-sacks covered both windows, allowing in air while keeping out most of the bugs.

“Ye wouldn' come here this time'a night without it bein' important,” Teo said, his back to the door. Mags edged aside so he could get back to his stool; there was just barely enough room in here for Teo's pallet on the floor, the table cobbled
together of odd bits of wood, the stool, and the two of them. Mags leaned back against the door.

“Finish yer supper,” he said. “I kin talk while you eat.”

He explained what had been happening up on the Hill, to the Sisters of Ardana and the Sworn of Betane, and the female shopkeepers down in Haven, while Teo ate and listened with his brows furrowed with concentration. “Well,” Teo said between bites. “Tha's a mess.”

Mags nodded. “We figgered all of 'em was the same people, but we couldn't link 'em till tonight. Then we found out 'bout somethin' what happened t'one of the Court gals when she was a mite.”

When Mags explained what Hawken had told him, Teo's brows furrowed with more than concentration. “And you reckon these Sethorites got that priest among 'em, an' he's coverin' up thet he wants t'get revenge on this liddle gal by goin' ater everyone up there?” Teo hazarded, which, in spite of the seriousness of the situation, made Mags rejoice inwardly. He'd picked the right man in Teo Lendsler.

“Well, none of this was happenin' until thet gal an' her fambly got here,” Mags pointed out. “An' Sethorites been here 'bout half a year. Aye, I reckon this all
started
'cause'a thet, but there's gotta be more
to
it. An' I bin sniffin' round the Sethorite Temple fer a good bit, an' I ain't got no hint they's doin' anythin', an' I got no ideer who's the boss. But I gotta find out, so I'm gonna pull th' trap-door on whut I got set up, tonight an' see iffen anythin's standin' on it. An' I need ye with me.”

“This could take a while,” Teo said, worriedly. “Days, mebbe. I got
my
boss t'think 'bout.”

“Ye trust 'im?” Mags asked.

Teo looked at him startled, with his mug halfway to his mouth. “Serious?”

“Damn serious. Ye trust 'im?”

Teo put his mug down and scratched his head. “Well . . .
reckon I do. Ain't never done me wrong. 'E trusts
me
t'watch over th' shop. Why?”

“'Cause we're gonna tell 'im what I am, an thet ye work fer me.” This was a desperate, maybe stupid ploy, but Mags trusted Teo's instincts, and as Teo had said, he might need Teo's full help for several days. Several years ago he would
never
have revealed himself to a stranger like this unless there was no other choice. Even a year ago he would have hesitated. But he had gotten a good feel for this, and a good sense of the kind of man Teo was, and he thought this was worth taking the chance.

:Besides, you can always make him think it was a dream,:
Dallen said cynically.

:Shut up, horse. It'll have to be pretty damn dire before I meddle with a man's memory.:

Teo's eyes bulged for a moment, but he didn't object.

“Boss still awake?” Mags asked.

“Aye, an' 'e'll still be i'shop, doin' books,” Teo replied.

“Good. Thet means I kin prove it t'him same as I did t'you.” Mags pushed away from the door, and opened it, walking softly down the stairs into the night, until he reached the ground. He heard the creak of the door above him and the soft steps of Teo following.

There was a second door back here, with a little stone sill and a substantial wooden frame, which Teo rapped on. “Mas' Kriss?” Teo said softly. “'Tis Teo.”

The door opened quickly, and an old man looked out, peering suspiciously at Mags. “What is this? Th' money's gone. I take it out of shop every night—”

“We know that, Mas' Kriss,” Teo said patiently. “This's somethin' else. This's a friend'a mine. We gotta talk t'yer. 'Simportant.”

At this moment, Dallen eased his way into the tiny yard behind the building. In a case of exquisite timing, the moon came from behind a cloud and moonlight struck the
Companion and made him as luminous as a horse carved of pearl. This was not something Bren Kriss could ignore.

And in fact, his eyes practically popped out of his head. “Tha's a Companion!” he rasped. “Whut th'
hell,
Teo Lendsler?”

“Aye, tha's a Companion,” Mags said, speaking up for the first time. “An' I'm a Herald. An' Teo's bin workin' fer me on th' side. Tha's part'a what we gotta talk ter yer about.”

Of all of the reactions Mags had anticipated, the one he got was one he never would have expected.

Bren Kriss began to laugh. A choked snicker at first, as he crammed his fist into his mouth to keep from laughing hard enough to alert the neighbors. Then a wheezing guffaw. Then torrents and gales of helpless, repressed laughter as he slapped both hands against his mouth to hold the sound in, tears pouring down his face.

Mags looked at Teo. Teo shrugged. Dallen move closer and snorted.

Kriss kept laughing.

The old man finally gestured at the two of them, beckoning them in. “I'd invite th' nag in, but 'e ain't gonna fit,” the old man managed, still chortling.

Dallen looked at them with ears perked forward in interest, and for once he didn't take offence at being called a “nag.”.
:I assume you won't need me anymore?:

:Reckon not,:
Mags said.

:Right then. Off I go. Call if you need me.:
He trotted off into the moonlight, making no more sound on the ground than the moonlight did.

How does he do that?

Mags followed Teo into the building, and once he was inside, Teo closed the door, his face a veritable mask of confusion.

The old man was already sitting in what looked like a very comfortable chair, behind a table and facing the door, still
wheezing with laughter, as he indicated they should take two of the stools nearby on the other side of the table. Meanwhile, he snatched up a rag and mopped at his eyes. “Oh, hells. Oh bloody hells. I ain't had a laugh like that in . . . well, I cain't 'member. Yer a Herald. An' iffen yer creepin' 'round Haven lookin' like a bullyboy, I reckon yer gotta be workin' fer Willy th' Weasel, which also happens t'be Herald Niko. Aye?”

Now both of them were staring at the old man in confusion. And then it dawned on Mags what the explanation—and the hilarity—was about. And it was his turn to burst out into guffaws. “Oh—my bloody lord,” he gasped, in between peals of laughter. “
You work fer Nikolas!
All this time, Teo's bin workin' fer me on th' side, an'
you
been workin' fer Nikolas, an' not one on the three of us figgered thet out!”

It was hilarious. It was a farce. And things could not have worked out better if he'd tried. No wonder Bren Kriss was one of the few honest moneylenders in this part of the city; he'd have his fingers on the pulse of the entire network of moneylenders and he could tell Nikolas just about everything Nikolas wanted to know about finances in Haven.
Where
the money went and
who
it went to and
what
it was buying was information that could be more valuable than gems to Nikolas.

“Aye, thet I do,” Bren Kriss said, proudly. “Twenny yearn, iffen it's a day.” He dipped water from a pottery jar on the table into mugs and passed it round to the two of them. Teo's face had lost its look of confusion, and Mags had finally got himself under control. “So, my lad Teo here's bin workin' fer ye on the side like. On'y tonight somethin' bad's come up, an' ye need 'im fer more'n a couple candlemarks, aye?”

“That's about the tale,” Mags replied, unspeakably grateful that he wasn't going to have to go through a long explanation, and then persuade Kriss on top of that.

“I don' need t' know no more'n thet. An' if Niko
wants
me t'know more'n thet, he'll tell me.” Kriss waved off any other talk. “You jest use that there Mindy-speak an' tell 'im I'll need
t'borrow some of 'is muscle t'take Teo's place fer a while, startin' tonight.”

The
look
he leveled on Mags made it very clear that he meant
right now.
Which Mags didn't mind a bit. After all, a moneylender had
money,
and thieves go where the money is. It was only fair; if he was going to take Kriss's protection away, he should make sure there was an alternate in place.

He closed his eyes for a moment to concentrate.

When he opened them again, Teo was looking at him curiously, Kriss with expectation. “'E says,” Mags said ruefully. “Thet 'e cain't believe it took't me this long t'find out.”

That sent Kriss off into laughter again, which Mags could scarcely blame him for. He had a very unique laugh, odd enough to finally put a smile on Mags' chagrined face. “Whut else?” Kriss asked, wiping his eyes again.

“'E'll send a lad over in a candlemark, a new feller i' Guard whut 'e's feelin' out fer 'nother set'a eyes an' ears. 'E ain't a good 'nuff play-actor yet t' be in shop, but long as 'e keeps 'is mouth shet, should be all right. Reckon thet'll do?” Mags asked anxiously. “'E kin cover fer Teo t'night, an' arter thet, Niko'll figger somethin'.”

“Iffen Niko sends 'im, 'e'll do,” the old man replied. “Now, off wi' th' pair of ye. Whatever 'tis that got ye out this late, gotta be bad 'nuff ye should get
to
it.”

“Yessir,” Mags said obediently. They got up, opened the door behind them, and left, and heard the lock slide home on the door once they were outside.

“Well,” Mags said, looking at Teo in the moonlight. “Ready t' see whut we kin see?”

“Aye,” said Teo.

The Sethorite Temple—or at least the area that the Novices referred to as the “Fellowship Hall”—was a nightly gathering place for men like that set of rowdies Mags and Teo had heard spouting off about women.

Had it only been a couple of fortnights ago? It seemed an age.

Since it was open all day and all night, that it was a gathering-point was hardly unexpected. When you were a poor working man, if you had a family, they were all crowded into a single room and if you were single, you shared a room with at least three others; here at least you had space, and you were out of the weather. When you were a poor working man, you took every bit of free food you could get. Here there was free heavily watered, sour wine—though it was more like faintly wine-flavored water—and there was bread and drippings, also free. As much as you cared to eat and drink; no one seemed to be keeping track of how much anyone took.