Mastiff (32 page)

“Let me carry it,” Farmer said. He and Tunstall had saddled their mounts as she put her flag together. Farmer was the first to get it all done and mount up. “Beka has to stay with Achoo, and Tunstall has his pride. I don’t have any.”

“I can manage it,” my lady said, looking up at him.

“The house of Queensgrace is said to hold itself very high up. I heard of late they’ve turned to that new cult of the Gentle Mother,” Farmer told her. “They make their women ride mules and forbid them any use of weapons. One daughter was cast off when she refused to leave squire’s training.”

Tunstall said, “Let us give you all the dignity we can manage.”

“This Gentle Mother nonsense is starting to give me a pain in my parsnips,” I said as I got ready to run some more. Castles meant villages, which meant possible turns down narrow lanes and into houses and yards. I needed to be afoot. “Are they mad, hoping some cove will always be about to guard them? I’ll protect my own self, thank you very nicely. That way I can be certain the job will get done.”

Lady Sabine’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “They would rather their women go pure and gentle to the grave than sully themselves with an enemy’s blood,” she told me.

I gawped at her like a countryman at the fair.

My lady grimaced. “My family had me attend three of the Gentle Mother’s services four years ago. Then I threatened to become a prostitute at the temple of the Mother of Delight. After that, I was left to be ungentle.”

“Goddess be thanked,” Tunstall said, and spat.

Achoo whined.
“Maji,”
I said, and off she went. I ran behind her. My muscles griped a little, as they always did after a rest, but they soon warmed up. Folk watched us as we passed, but while curious, they kept their distance. No one liked strange Dogs in their districts, just as no one ever felt innocent when a Dog was in view.

When I glimpsed back, I could see that unlike before, when the local folk had passed my friends with a nod and a wave, they now stood at the side of the road, removed their headgear, and bowed or curtsied. That was the change caused by Lady Sabine’s banner. Corus folk never did that. If we did, with all the nobles in the city, we’d never get anything done. Here I had the feeling that them that didn’t act respectful saw the wrong end of the count’s riding crop, or that of his steward. These locals were just too wary as they watched us pass, even me and the hound. They were too fast to move aside for Lady Sabine and the others behind Achoo and me.

It made me growl under my breath.

As Achoo and I crested a long hill, I saw Queensgrace Castle. It stood on its own steep hill across the valley from us, commanding a river view. The inner wall stood higher than the outer, with three different towers inside that rose above the whole. The flat-topped one that would be the main keep flew three banners, those of the Count of Queensgrace and two noble guests, if my memory for such things was right. Between it and us lay a couple of miles of green land split with a winding river, the Retha on the maps. On its banks was a village with a good stone wall and a number of farms outside, but they were just dabs compared to the castle. This would be the reason for the deference of those on foot in the road. They were used to the count, his family, and their guests expecting hats off and low bows for their greatness.

Achoo led us down into the village. I rattled off fast apologies as I ducked around folk doing business or talking, half tripping over a mot who backed away too soon from the village well. I managed, barely, to keep my feet. Achoo and I thumped across the sturdy river bridge. We annoyed three young coves wearing shiny brass shoulder badges hung with Queensgrace red and gray ribbons. They shouted for me to come back, but I ignored them. My lady could deal with the men of the Queensgrace household.

I prayed for Achoo to take the turning of the road, the one with the sign marked
The Galla Highway, the Great Road North, Richcaffery
. She continued straight, onto the castle way. I cursed to myself and followed. Carters and riders squalled at us as we ducked around them.

Whatever happened to the quiet life of the country? I asked myself, picking up my pace so I could be closer to Achoo. I could find as much annoyance at any palace gate. Queensgrace was no duchy to give itself airs.

The hill was monstrous long and steep. My poor thighs were quivering when I reached the top, and the lower part of my back throbbed like a bad tooth. Looking around, I saw the castle stood atop a bluff overlooking the small river that ran through the village. There was no moat, but I guessed the steep hill was hard enough on charging horses. Then I was too close to the castle to see around it. The gate ahead was as great as any at the royal palace, with no guard in sight. Times were peaceful this far from all the borders. Seemingly the count had no enemies among the nearby nobles, to leave his gate open and undefended. Of course, there were men-at-arms with crossbows patrolling the wall overhead.

Achoo charged through the gate and I followed after. “Achoo,
berhenti
!” I shouted as we came out of the thick tunnel and into the sunlight of the vast outer bailey. She halted halfway across, looked at me, and turned to run closer to a gateway in the castle’s inner wall.
“Berhenti!”
I cried. I was no fool. We might have come this far, but we would never be allowed into the inner bailey without someone to vouch for us. “
Kemari
, Achoo,” I said, pointing to the ground beside my foot. “Pox and murrain on it all,” I muttered to myself, hating the need to stop.

Achoo and I had been through this before, though never in houses so great. Every noble demanded his amount of bum-kissing before he would allow the king’s law to be enforced,
if
he was behaving. They thought, if they delayed us, that it bought them time to rid themselves of evidence. They never realized that they could hide very little from my beautiful hound.

Horses clattered in the tunnel, reminding me to be grateful that I was afoot and not being deafened as I rode in.

“Tunggu, dukduk,”
I told Achoo, and crouched beside her. She sat and sighed. She knew what this was as well as I did. We had come into other hounds’ territory and had to introduce ourselves before we would be permitted to continue. She was accustomed. She did not like it. No more did I. Scents get muddled while we wait for orders to be shown and locals to be appeased. One day I would like it to be so a Dog might flash her insignia anywhere she went and everyone, commoners to lords, would stand away.

The guardsmen, who were so invisible when Achoo and I had seemed to be locals rushing in, came out to greet my lady, Tunstall, and Farmer. The mage held Lady Sabine’s flag, the foot of the pole tucked into his left stirrup, as casually as if he were always her bannerman. Tunstall halted at half a horse length to her left, his eyes promising trouble to any who did not treat her with courtesy.

She did not get ill treatment here. As the guards looked at her banner—a chance bit of wind puffed it straight out at that moment—they straightened up and bowed. One of them ran off through the gate to the inner courtyard, dodging geese. Another put two fingers to his lips and whistled up three stable lads, who’d been loitering near the smithy. They bowed to my lady and offered to take the horses. One of them jumped as Pounce leaped down from the packs on Saucebox and trotted over to me. Farmer grabbed my shoulder pack from Saucebox’s back before the horses were led to the stable.

One winter’s night, over hot cider, Lady Sabine had told Goodwin, Tunstall, my friends, and me about her family. The Macayhills weren’t particularly wealthy, but they were related to nearabout everyone. It came from their house being old enough to be listed in
The Book of Gold
and, my lady said, throwing enough fillies to ensure marriages with everyone who mattered. She’d named Queensgrace that night among the other holdings where she had kin.

Lady Sabine pointed me out now to the guards. I took it as my sign. “Achoo,
tumit,
” I said, and walked over to the group. Farmer handed over my pack when I reached him.

Two of the guards returned to the shadows by the gate after bowing to my lady a second time. She nodded, then turned to watch the boy who had Drummer’s and Steady’s reins. “You know how to handle a warhorse?” she asked, more lordly than I’d ever heard her speak.

“Don’t you worry, my lady,” said the guardsman who remained. “Our chief hostler trusts that lad with any horse in the stable. Ah, here comes Niccols. He’ll make you comfortable.”

From the guard’s introduction, I knew the soft-bellied cove who strode toward us from the inner gate was the steward of Queensgrace Castle. His scarlet tunic sported some nice yellow and blue embroideries at the hems, and he could afford a matching small round yellow hat. A ring of keys jingled from his belt.

I ignored the introductions as my lady told the steward, Niccols, who we were. There were banners that hung from a balcony that overlooked the inner courtyard. Chasing Achoo as I’d done, I had not read the flags that flew over the castle. These I could not mistake. One was the blue shield of the Conté house with the royal silver sword-in-crown, topped by a silver crescent with its horns up. Prince Baird was here!

Beside that banner hung another, a red buck deer on a green field under what looked like a yellow strip that was crenellated and laid upside down. Niccols was leading us to the inner gate, where we would pass straight under the banners. I called Achoo to heel. When I looked to see if Tunstall knew what they meant, I discovered Farmer at my elbow. Tunstall was trying to get within earshot of the steward and Lady Sabine without seeming to do so.

“That’s Baron Something-or-other of Aspen Vale,” Farmer told me. “The label, the three triangles with a line laid over the points, indicates the older son. The other one, the same flag but with the mark of the second son, belongs to Master Elyot of Aspen Vale.” Farmer grimaced. “He is a very powerful mage—the pride of the City of the Gods. And being from Corus, I suppose you already know Prince Baird’s coat of arms.”

I nodded. “I’m thinking this makes our luck good,” I told him, keeping my voice low. “With so many guests about, they’ll be too busy to watch us.” I grabbed for Achoo’s collar as she trotted away from me, but it was too late. She’d picked up the scent again.

She knows as well as I that we can’t go where we please in a castle. We must present our papers to the master or mistress first and get their approval, or they will howl the gods’ own red murder at the next high court.

I took the lead I always wear clipped to my belt and freed it. “Achoo!” I called softly. “
Berhenti
, you ill-bred wench! Right now,
berhenti
, or I’ll make you into a shawl for Farmer!”

Achoo looked back at me. When she saw the lead in my hands, her ears and tail drooped. She slumped as she stood.

“Curst right, you’re going on the leash! You know this sarden game better than me, you swine’s get, and looking woeful buys you no beans!” I reached her and threaded the lead around her collar as she looked pitiful for any who watched. “Pretending you don’t know how to act in some clench-arsed noble’s place, when you’ve been in more of them than me! Now
tumit
, and no more sauce from you, or you get cold eels and vegetable broth for your supper!” She does not care one bit for cold eel, nor for broth made of anything that is not meat and does not have legs. I had to be sure that she understood. From time to time she deliberately ignores me. It is the nature of four-legged dogs and two-legged Dogs alike, to challenge the leader from time to time. Each such challenge must be met forcefully, or the Dog, hound or human, will not obey other orders.

When I caught up with the others, Niccols was telling my lady, “—understand we are pressed for space with His Highness, the baron, and Master Elyot staying. I’m certain the mistress will find a place for my lady in women’s quarters, and proper garb for supper tonight—” I wanted to punch him in the kidneys for the look he gave my lady’s riding clothes. He babbled on, “Your, ah, attendants will sleep in the great hall. I will try to ensure they have pallets—”

“Niccols, apparently you did not listen to me before.” Lady Sabine’s voice was chilly and clipped. “I am not in charge of our company. Senior Corporal Tunstall is in charge. We are not here for last-minute hospitality.” She looked at Tunstall.

He stepped forward. “We are on a Hunt,” he informed the steward. “I have documents from the Lord Provost, which I will show Count Dewin and his lady. We require an immediate meeting with His Lordship to that end. Depending on what we discover and at what time, we may not remain.”

“And if we do, we shall do so together,” my lady said firmly. “In a stable loft if necessary.”

That put Niccols into a complete fidget. Mating pigeons flutter less. The count and his lady were out hawking with the guests, he said. We must await their permission to search the castle, he told us firmly. He sent one servant to the kitchen and another for maids. Before we knew it we’d been placed in a fine armory off the main hall, among a collection of very good weapons and armor. A cushion was brought for Lady Sabine to sit on at the table in the center of the room, while we commoners made do with our own rumps on the wooden benches. Niccols assured us over and over that he would come for us as soon as the count returned, then skittered away to do other chores.

I must end here. My eyes burn from the scant light, and there is still so much more to write of this very long day. I will take up the report again when chance offers.

Commencing upon our being left to our own devices in a small armory

Queensgrace Castle

We hadn’t been sitting long when the door opened and a maid shooed in two lads of eight or nine years and a gixie of ten. Each carried a big, heavy tray laden with food, pitchers, and cups. These they placed on the table with care. The maid bustled around them, setting out her own burden of spoons and napkins. The young ones were not dressed nearly so well as she. They had only undyed linen tunics with short sleeves, pale brown in color and needful of a good wash, perhaps even several good washes. They wore no shoes. Their heads were ill-combed, and an iron ring clasped each child by the left wrist.