Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) (42 page)

Thioso
coughed. "I'll check 'round the corner."

Iathor
ignored the watchman's departure. "Ke– llisan. It's not that
bad. Perhaps there's an inn, where there'd be hired buggies. Or a
bathhouse. We could . . . Mm." He broke off.

"I
could wait for you all outside, I'm sure," Kessa snapped. "Not
like I'm not used to it."

The
dramsmen became very alert to the risk of anyone taking the trunks.
Iathor pinched the bridge of his nose. "If only you'd been
eating
, you'd not be so irritable."

"I
didn't notice
you
eating much inn-food! Wasn't it
you
who said they'd put dough-dusted rocks in the bread basket, last
stop?" Kessa rocked back on her heels, hands on her hips, and
glared at her husband.

He
only glanced away briefly, in the dim light. "I've more reserves
than you do, and less need of them!"

"It's
only a fiveday, and I've been fed for
months
. You've seen to
it!"

"Of
course I have! Is that an insult, that I want you well and safe?"

"I
did well enough on my own!" And that, she realized, led far too
close to something she didn't want to speak of. "I'm looking for
a carriage,
this
way." She turned for the corner opposite
the one Thioso'd taken.

"Kellisan,
wait!"

"Why?"
she shouted over her shoulder. "It's not even a full block."
But she stayed close to the buildings, away from the street lest
something veer too close.

"At
least take Dayn! There could be cutpurses."

She
stopped and turned. "I've hardly a purse to cut! If they want my
worn stockings, barely clae-dusted, they can have them! And the
under-tunic too!" Her shadow danced on the ground, elongating;
she glanced back briefly to see the men and lantern rounding the
corner. "And
furthermore
, there's watchmen in tabards
patrolling! Blight it, if you'll trust me with metal-salts, let me
walk down the rotted street
!"

"That's
not the issue!" Iathor shouted back. "You cannot simply run
off by yourself! Especially not in a city you've never been to!"

"
Cannot
?"
She dropped her voice to a growl, so the higher pitches wouldn't
betray she wasn't actually a young man. "Are you giving me an
order
?"

"Blight–"
Iathor started. Then his face changed and Dayn and Brague went alert.

Kessa
shifted to bolt back towards them, trusting the dramsmen's reflexes.
Someone put a hand on her shoulder, and called, "Is your servant
giving you trouble, tradesman?"

The
grip was near-bruising, and the arm's-length of someone who thought
an elbow or knee might come at him. The tone was casual, someone
expecting no trouble he couldn't handle. The other man was quiet,
unseen, not touching her so she'd know where he stood. Kessa dropped
her gaze, so her eyes'd not blight the situation, and looked for
watchman feet. Or gray watch feet, belonging to men who'd explain
they needed their stipend paid, lest they fail to guard a shop
from . . . themselves.

Iathor's
voice was entirely a Guild Master's. "Release my student."

"Student?"
The shadows shifted as someone raised a lantern. The hand shoved at
her. "You've a tribesman here–"

"I
am Iathor Kymus, Lord Alchemist, and that is my student, Kellisan
Herbsman," Iathor interrupted, with only the briefest of pauses
before her boy-name. His voice took on Guild Master tones. "I
take whatever student I please, including temperamental ones who yell
at me after a tiring coach-journey from Aeston. Now release my
student."

The
watchman's grip faltered, but didn't lift. If she'd been alone, or
with only her brothers and a bluff, she'd have risked running. With
truth and numbers on their side, Kessa stayed still. Meek coney of an
apprentice, unused to violence. And far too truthfully, stupid with
fatigue, ignoring people at her back. Though . . . in
Aeston, the watch would've just given "Kellisan" a shove
and orders to quiet down while decent people ate dinner.

The
watchman said, "We've no proof of your identity, ah,
m'lord . . ."

Kessa
risked a glance and thought the dramsmen were being a bit
intimidating, Dayn not-really-leaning against the wall more closely
than guards'd like. Iathor's face was a stern mask, his voice
entirely Lord Alchemist. "Irrelevant. Mere shouting is no
arresting offense. If you do not release my student this moment, I
will ask the Princeps if I may plunder the city watch when I search
for a dramsman bodyguard for my new wife."

Wouldn't
want this one,
Kessa thought, but the man lifted his hand. Before
he could order otherwise, she started walking: smooth, easy,
unhurried. It wasn't meekly flustered, but she wanted to be behind
Brague and Dayn before the patrollers noticed the "tribesman's"
boot held a knife – and bolting like a rabbit startled folk.
She was three long strides away when the watchman said, "Wait,
stop there."

"My
student!" Iathor took a step before Brague put a hand on his
shoulder. He halted. "Watchmen, I've been traveling for five
days, on the Cym Mail from Aeston, on urgent and annoying business.
I'm in no mood to have my student detained for shouting at me. Pass
on."

Dayn
moved up as his master spoke, standing beside Kessa with his hand on
her other shoulder. From his fingers' pressure, he was ready to shove
her behind him. She balanced for it, reassured though her blood was
unexpectedly icy.

The
other watchman spoke. "Beggin' your pardon, m'lord, but your
group's a bit hostile . . ."

From
the other corner, Thioso called, "'Course they are, you rotted
stone-steppers. Two of 'em are tired, jumpy dramsmen." He added,
"Sir Kymus, there's a carriage 'round the corner, but he'll not
move his sorry self till I show him coin and I've not enough to hire
him for all five."

The
second watchman said, "And
you
are?"

Thioso
walked past Iathor and Brague, digging in his belt pouch. "Thioso,
Aeston watchman and Prince Tegar's agent. And won't I feel right
stupid if someone pickpocketed my letter . . . No,
there it is." He pulled out a folded paper as he passed Dayn and
Kessa.

Dayn
gave Kessa's arm a nudge that sent her walking again; this time there
was only a mutter as the Cym watchmen examined Thioso's credentials.
She didn't stop till she was beside Iathor, and he grasped her upper
arm as a man might when chastising an apprentice. Neither of them
spoke.

Dayn
and Brague briefly added their own, nearby, murmur to the watchmen's.
Then Brague said, "M'lord, let's fetch that carriage 'round here
to pick up Thioso."

Iathor
took a breath and let it out, shudderingly. "Yes."

The
carriage sat in a pool of lantern-light. Its dark green paint was
peeling, but it looked sound, and its horse cared-for. Or perhaps the
darkness around the lanterns made the horse seem well-brushed.

Iathor
let Dayn negotiate price, still grasping Kessa's arm. Then one trunk
was loaded into the compartment, Kessa and Iathor following, and the
second case was heaved to the roof. Brague lost the brief debate and
squeezed himself inside while Dayn took the bench beside the driver.

With
only a dramsman to see, Iathor wrapped both his arms around Kessa.
"Blight it," he hissed in her ear, rocking with the
movement of the carriage. "If they'd not been watchmen . . ."

"I'd
have dashed back if they'd not had tabards," Kessa growled
against his collarbone.

"And
if they'd been false?" he asked, his voice rising briefly.
"
Blight
it, what if they'd been disguised? Cutpurses
willing to harm their victims?"

"You've
potions!" Belatedly, she realized the back of her mind was as
black as the cells where they'd taken her after Darul's disminding
was reported. That'd been terror enough. Being thrown into some group
cell, where her disguise mightn't hold . . .
He'd
not've let them. He didn't hesitate before chiding them.
She
didn't know if she were relieved for something she'd not had time to
think of, furious, or simply exhausted and unexpectedly startled. Or
still frightened, in a town not her own, her only security being
irritating and . . . not infallible. The watchmen had
doubted him.

The
carriage halted; Kessa heard Dayn's voice, and Thioso's reply. The
door opened, and Kessa pushed herself back into a student's pose as
Thioso clambered inside. He barked his shins on the trunk, muttered
grouchily, and dropped his own pack upon it as he flopped onto the
rear bench. "Blighted suspicious pair. What was all that about?"

Kessa
only shook her head, probably unseen in the darkness. Iathor's tone
matched the blackness. "They didn't like that I'd a . . .
tribesman
student."

"Barbarians
aren't allowed to own horses," Thioso said. "Not so far to
say they're not to be taught something that'll come back to bite the
army. Might not have noticed your . . . Kellisan . . .
isn't full-blood."

Iathor
said, "Aeston's only a fiveday away, by mail. If there were an
edict, Prince Tegar would've told me. Or Master Jobaenen."

"Perhaps
it's new." Thioso might've shrugged. "The tribes don't
settle much downriver. Too much farmland, too long settled by us. And
the army runs off big bands."

"I
suppose it keeps them busy." Iathor shifted, his hand brushing
Kessa's hip. Grouchily, she didn't move to clasp it, and he didn't
insist. "Watchman, will you be needing accommodations? I intend
to presume upon my mother's family, and could likely arrange a room
for you."

"And
give up my neutral stance? Bad enough riding with you." Thioso
sounded entirely unconcerned. "No, I'll be reporting in to
someone or other, so I'll just retain the carriage after you're all
dropped off."

"Expedient,"
Iathor said. "If you wind up talking to the Princeps . . .
As I recall, he places more stock in formality than Prince Tegar
does."

Thioso
grunted. "Any other advice?"

That
rustle was Iathor shrugging; she felt his arm move against her elbow.
"My tactics may involve ultimatums. Polite ones."

"Oh?"
The watchman sounded amused.

"If
the Lord Alchemist's marriage becomes the province of the Princeps,
then the Lord Alchemist will retire and leave management of the guild
to his frivolous brother." His voice was deadly serious, beneath
a thin layer of blithe casualness.

Like,
Kessa thought, the skin on some toxic brews, that had to be removed
so very carefully, lest the poisonous fumes from a still-warm liquid
rise up.

He'd
give up his title . . . for me?
Part of her felt
numb and exhausted. Another part raged.
Then it'd all be for
nothing.

Thioso
only grunted, and the conversation faded like smoke. Kessa leaned
into the corner, smelling mold and old sweat. Days were short, but
travel'd left her tired enough to drift till the vehicle stopped. The
door opened; cold air slunk around her ankles, and light streamed in,
making the shadows stark. She edged out once Brague pulled the trunk
through, and leaned on the carriage while her fogged mind made sense
of the house.

It
was tall, high-ceilinged or perhaps three stories. Not too wide, but
pools of light around the corners suggested wings going back to
either side. The steady glow . . . Incandescens
Stones, shining through windows or fixed above them. Lamp poles
bordered the curved carriage path and cobbled walkway, to the front
stoop of the house. Each lamp held twisted, glowing glass, nearly too
bright to look on; the afterimages clouded her vision till she
remembered to drop her eyes to the oddly normal bricks of the
snow-dusted path. It made sense, after a moment:
Chemstone
.
Like as not, they'd been a common family, till someone excelled with
the alchemical Stones and the name became something to reckon with.

For
that matter,
Kymus
had likely been a name for alchemists with
no breeding nor aspirations for anything fancier, some time long
past, as Herbsman was for herb-witches.
I could nearly be equal,
thinking that.

The
hired driver strode past. "Get wi' your master an' carry
something, then," he said, voice harsh and chiding as if he'd a
right to scold another's servant.

Kessa
flinched and trotted to catch up with the others. Behind, she heard
Thioso negotiating for further transport.

A
chill breeze blew her hair into sight, as starkly black as the
Stone-cast shadows.

Nearly
equal, save for that.
She hurried to reach her husband's back,
where, if she was lucky, she could pretend to be no one at all.

Chapter
XXVI

I
athor
waited with his dramsmen and trunks beside him, his wife a sullen
presence at his back. A servant had answered his pull of the
bellrope, and gone away again in consternation. Iathor's note to the
Chemstones had likely traveled on Cym Mail with them.