Herb-Wife (Lord Alchemist Duology) (52 page)

"A
message boy, late last night. I already burned it. I was afraid one
of the other servants might find it and make trouble." Bynae
took a shuddering breath. "Please, m'lady. Please help me rescue
my sister."

The
plea was claws around her heart. Surely Iasen wouldn't know what
pretexts would rip into Kessa's sense? He shouldn't even know Kessa
had
siblings to keep safe no matter the cost. She swung her
cloak back around her shoulders, no matter that it was over-warm.
"Let's go."

In
the buggy, the driver only lifted an eyebrow when he heard the
address. Dayn asked, "Should m'lady avoid that area of town,
Craym?"

The
man thought as he steered the horse along the pathway beside the
Chemstones' home. "I'd not want to be there after dark . . ."
Over his shoulder, he politely said, "M'lady." He went back
to addressing Dayn. "The watch patrols it, even in winter.
Tradesman Millwell's not titled yet, but chances are his
grandchildren will be, so long as his warehouses and boat-houses
maintain. He pays the stipend for some watchmen, if not so many as
some nobles or guilds. Likely there'll be no trouble."

Dayn
said, "Good," and sat back, but still looked concerned.
Kessa brooded in the shadows. Safer to stay and paint rocks with
Joniacae. But if Bynae spoke truth? Cowardly to've stayed away. And
if something happened to Dayn, without Kessa there, how could she've
sent him into danger alone? Not that he'd thank her for coming into
danger herself . . .

She
scowled to herself much of the way, though she pulled her cloak's
hood up to conceal it.

Eventually,
with the falling snow covering up the muck and mud that coated the
road from prior days and horses, they got to the river docks. Kessa
whistled like a dock-worker herself, long and low, as she realized
how far the Millwell building extended along the bank. Most of it was
gray stone, with some sections in bricks of various tints; when the
thing was built, likely they'd cared only for sturdy bricks, and not
matching ones. It wasn't white-washed, either, as seemed fashionable
in both Aeston and Cym. Kessa caught a glimpse of wooden dock on the
other side, running over the bank itself and out into the water.

"Is
it all open inside?" Dayn asked.

The
driver, Craym, said, "No, it started as one building, normal
size, and he just kept adding. Some sections have room for the
down-stream boats the rich take. Store the boats themselves, or haul
them up on ropes to check for damage. Which one do we go to?"

"Down
the row," Bynae said, faintly. "It should be marked
somehow. A scarf or apron or dustrag."

As
they went along, there was some traffic back and forth, but not much,
and mostly on foot. A subdued tavern was across the street from the
warehouses; food and drink for hungry haulers and boat-men. Other
warehouses, across from the Millwell structure and bearing marks of
consortiums or individuals, seemed to be for long-term storage. The
river was ice at the edges, softening its lapping sound. Men moved
around one of the first segments of warehouse they passed; the double
doors were open, both street side and dock-side, showing men
unloading small, light boats that'd traveled down one of the River
Eath's tributaries. They smelled of cold, uncured hides; hunters and
trappers, Kessa supposed. The dock workers and hunters alike were a
mix of pale and dark hair and faces, barely glancing at the passing
buggy.

The
damaged warehouse was obvious for more than the rag hanging from its
rope door-handles; up near the shallow peak, the roof looked to have
caved in near where Kessa supposed the supporting wall would be,
between it and the neighboring room. Unlike most of the other large
doors they'd passed, these didn't have a metal padlock to bind them
closed. As the buggy stopped in front of the doors, Kessa leaned to
get a better look. "What happened?" she wondered out loud.

Craym
shrugged. "Can't say, m'lady. Bad timber, perhaps. Millwell
tries for bargains. Sometimes he'll get burned."

Dayn
said, "M'lady, let Bynae and me go in first, please. Her sister
might startle."

The
excuse was acceptable enough. "All right." Still, once they
were down, she stood so she could get down quickly, even as she held
to the buggy in case the driver should send it into motion.

Bynae
shoved at the doors; one swung inwards when she put her weight
against it. A rope inside kept it from opening much, but she slipped
in, ducking under the rope. After a moment, Dayn followed, ducking
and turning sideways. Then it seemed a long silence, with just the
noise of the boat unloading down the lane and distant sounds of
carriages and buggies: people slowly doing their jobs in the slippery
snow. A cart turned from a side-street onto the warehouse road,
approaching. It carried a half-dozen men, bundled against the chill,
with another pair on the driver's bench.

Kessa
divided her attention between the road and the warehouse, trying to
decide if the silence within was good or bad. Probably good: Dayn'd
risk or even spend his own life to shout a warning, if she guessed
the wording of his orders and how the draught affected him.

There
was movement at the door: Dayn, leaning through to say, "Bynae's
sister's not here. Bynae says we should wait, for she should be back
soon."

"And
she'd rather wait in there? All right." It made sense. Why stay
with the night monster in the buggy? "What about you?"

"A
moment. Let me check that it's safe in here, and I'll be out."
He vanished back inside.

Kessa
looked around again, since Dayn wasn't troubled by the inside of the
warehouse. The cart trundled closer, and she peered at the men in it;
hats, scarves, patched coats . . . What little she
could see of their faces and hair was all dark. Brown or black hair.
Skin darker than hers or not much lighter. One of them, the lightest,
turned his head, and she shook her swoop of hair into place so he
wouldn't see her eyes.

His
own were pale, as he glanced in her direction.

She
turned her head to see clearly. Pale eyes. Ice-green.

Of
course they'd assume I'd stay in the buggy, if I came at all.
If
it was an ambush. If it wasn't just someone with eyes like Wolf's. If
it wasn't just Wolf on his way to some honest job that took more
muscle than skill. Still . . . Time to be going, and
the warehouse looked safer than the open buggy. Kessa murmured to the
driver, "Be wary." Then she jumped down and trotted to the
door. "Dayn?"

Inside,
it was dimmer, with snow and frozen mud under the hole in the roof.
An uncertain ledge of wide-spaced boards ran around the edges of the
walls, providing extra storage space; slats were nailed flat against
the wall in a couple places, making ladders up to the ledge. Bits of
roof-debris littered the ground beneath the walls. Kessa could see
well enough to make out Dayn at the back wall, with Bynae clutching
him and her voice a soft, urgent babble.

Kessa
called, "Dayn, I think we should go. Or at least go where
there're more people." She glanced over her shoulder; the cart
hadn't sped up, but did it need to? The men were leaning against the
side – but were they ready to leap up and grab at the buggy's
horse or passengers as they passed?

Was
she just paranoid about carts and ice-green eyes?

"Coming,"
Dayn called. "Bynae twisted her ankle on some fallen wood."

Convenient.
Was her sister actually in danger? Kessa would've acted like any
theater performer and then some, to save her siblings. Bynae'd little
reason to care what happened to Kessa, and little expectation that
not-family would care what happened to any of her relatives. Or was
she still involved with Iasen's man, enough to believe he'd be
allowed to marry her, if only she did this favor?

Would
she even know what the favor might be?

Earth
and Rain, let this just be unfounded paranoia,
Kessa thought,
half inside and watching out. The rope stretched beside her head,
rough against her ear. She could even live with the coincidence of
Wolf
here
, so long as he didn't rouse his companions to
brawling for him.

Her
leg was bare of blade. Her coat, however, was full of potions. The
vials were awkward compared to a knife-hilt, but not a suspicious
thing for an alchemist's wife to have, where guards might question a
knife under her skirts.

Dayn
untangled himself from Bynae's limping and came to Kessa's side.
"What is it, m'lady?" She was glad he seemed neither
panicked nor dismissing her uneasy mood.

"Men
in a cart, close now. One . . . might be Wolf. I don't
know. I'm too edgy." She ducked back to let him look.

He
did, quickly, then called to the buggy's driver, "Craym . . ."
His voice changed to a shout, "Get out! Go, rot it!" Then
Dayn pulled back, shoving the double doors shut and leaning against
them. "M'lady, please fetch wood to bar these shut and trust
your instincts more quickly next time?"

There
was a troubling lack of shouting outside, beyond a sharp cry from
Craym. Noise of buggy and cart, though. Would too much ruckus bring
the laborers from the hunters' boats, or would they mind their own
business? Would noise bring the guards? Kessa ran to the wall and
pulled free a length of wood in each hand. One, long as her leg,
dragged against the ground as she brought them back to Dayn. She
helped him thread the shorter length through the ropes of the
handles, getting splinters caught in her mittens. "Just our luck
if that piece's rotten."

"Aye,
m'lady. See if the back door's open. You can get out that way, or
secure it if anyone's coming."

"Blight,"
Kessa muttered, and left Dayn trying to fit the other, unwieldy piece
through the rope loops.

The
doors that opened onto the dock along the river . . .
were locked from the other side. Kessa rattled them, hoping it was
merely some obstruction, or an empty latch catching on itself.
Frowning, she looked over her shoulder. Bynae still stood in the
middle of the room, clutching her new cloak around herself like a
pale, frozen ghost. Kessa called, "Locked back here. Ideas?"

Dayn'd
gotten another bit of wood, trying to get it into the rope handles as
well. "Get somewhere defensible. Start making noise." The
doors creaked, as of someone shoving at them, and Dayn leaned against
them; his arms jolted as whoever was outside threw his weight against
the doors. The omission of "m'lady" was understandable.

Kessa
ran to Bynae. This could be Wolf taking advantage of coincidence.
This could be betrayal Bynae'd been forced into. This could be . . .
something that'd want no witnesses knowing truth. She grabbed a
mittened fistful of Bynae's cloak. "Come on!"

Bynae
flinched, but not enough to pull her cloak from Kessa's grasp. She
stumbled as Kessa towed her to a ladder. Kessa thought of urging her
up first, but decided to demonstrate instead, yanking at her own
skirt and cloak with each step as she clambered up the slats and onto
the ledge. She was short enough, she only had to duck her head a
little, and if she just stepped over to the hole where the roof'd
broken in . . .
Perhaps I could get up?
The
rooftop was one long line, and surely she could run along it and find
help.

The
scrabbling sound, coming from the front, suggested breaking down the
door was too noisy for someone's tastes. The cart and a jump or boost
could easily get someone
else
to the roof, and the hole. Kessa
remembered to "start making noise," and drew in breath to
scream.

It
was almost as hard to start as if she were dreaming, voice trapped in
her throat. Then she could shriek with appropriate loudness after
all: a wordless shrill note that drowned out the cursing of the
barbarian man who looked in and scrabbled away as if she spat venom.

Kessa
took a breath, remembering to look down and behind her. Bynae hadn't
followed her up; the foolish girl cringed in the corner near the
dock-side door. Dayn's hands were braced against the front doors, his
entire body a diagonal line, not putting his back where a knife could
go between the planks. The pounding was loud enough, briefly, to
suggest speed, not silence, had become the small mob's priority.

She
gave another long scream. At the end of it, wood broke below and Dayn
swore. He was still trying to hold fast, but at least one of the
wooden strips in the door's handles had snapped. When she looked back
at the roof . . . Another face: lighter than the
first, perhaps a half-breed like herself. He held a knife. Kessa
darted back along the ledge, skirt grabbed up. Then she turned and
reached for her vials, so she'd be ready.

He
jumped down to the ledge instead, only giving her a nasty look before
leaping to the ground. Kessa shouted after him, "Blighted
coward! Scared of a woman!"

It
might've distracted him. It might've alerted Dayn. It might've simply
been that Dayn was more than just a footman. From trying to hold shut
the doors, the dramsman pushed away, swung away, and grappled the
knife-holding attacker before the darker man'd truly gotten his
balance from landing. Kessa fumbled with the vial, trying to get it
open so she could
use
the paralyzing brew within. The mitten
wasn't helping. She pulled it off with her teeth and remembered to
scream again, belatedly.