The Golden Door (14 page)

F
leet was a surprise. At FitzFee’s warning call, Rye woke from an uneasy doze to see before him a graceful township that seemed to be filled with flowers. It was not at all the sort of place he had expected to find in the land of the barbarians.

“How beautiful!” Sonia was exclaiming. “And, oh! Look at the
horses
!”

Rich fields edged with white painted fences surrounded the town. And in the fields were horses — wonderful horses, brown, white, black, and dappled gray, with proud, arching necks and fine, long legs. The younger ones galloped along the side fences with the cart. The older ones just stood watching the newcomers in dignified fashion.

“Of course there are horses!” giggled Popsy. “That’s what Fleet is — a horse place!”

“Fleet breeds the best horses in Dorne,” FitzFee agreed, sighing for some reason as he turned his head to look at the spirited animals. “The best horses in the whole Sea of Serpents, some say!”

“Is that why you have come here, Master FitzFee?” Sonia asked eagerly. “To trade for a new horse?”

“Not likely!” FitzFee laughed. “The FitzFees do well enough, but we couldn’t afford a Fleet horse. Not in a thousand years.”

He clicked his tongue to his old brown mare and guided the cart off the road and into the bustling main street of the town. The mare, who seemed to know very well what she was doing, stopped on a paved area that lay before a large, handsome wooden building.

A small crowd of men and women left their work to greet the visitors. Rye tried not to stare, but he could not help it. The people were all very tall — even Dirk would have seemed average beside them. Otherwise, they looked no more like savage barbarians than Fleet looked like a barbarian camp.

They all seemed tired, but there was a quiet dignity about them that was very impressive. Their garments were work-worn, yet somehow elegant. Despite the shadows under their eyes, they all looked in good health, except for the two youngest — strapping young men of about Dirk’s age, whose faces were covered in angry red blotches and blisters.

Everyone was smiling. It was clear that FitzFee had been expected and was very welcome in Fleet. Yet
Rye could sense a sort of tension, a suppressed excitement rising from the crowd.

A tawny-haired man with watchful eyes moved forward, holding a sturdy boy of about eight by the hand.

“Welcome, FitzFee!” he exclaimed. “So, here are our goats! And very fine they look.”

“The best I had!” said FitzFee, jumping from the cart and turning to lift Popsy down after him. “Good to see you again, Nanion — and young Nanion, too! Bless my heart, how he’s grown! Why, he’s as tall as me already!”

The boy grinned, his likeness to his father suddenly becoming very plain.

“I’ve brought my girl with me, as you see,” FitzFee rattled on, drawing Popsy forward. “I fancied she’d enjoy the outing. Her mother’s very busy with young Tigg these days. He’s teething.”

“Indeed,” said the man Nanion, smiling at the little girl, who dimpled shyly back.

FitzFee waved his hand casually at Rye and Sonia, who had risen to their feet and were standing uncertainly among the goats.

“And here are two young travelers we met on the road,” he added. “They’d lost their way and were having a bit of trouble with a bloodhog, but we soon put that right.”

The man Nanion laughed. “I daresay you did, FitzFee!” he said. “Well, please come, all of you, into the guesthouse for refreshments. Serri and Peron will
see to the goats and lead your good mare to shade and water.”

The crowd melted away as people hurried back to their work. Serri and Peron, the two young men with marked faces, moved silently to the cart. They darted sharp, curious glances at Rye and Sonia, then ducked their heads. Perhaps the ugly red blisters that so spoiled their good looks embarrassed them. Or perhaps, Rye thought, looking down at himself, they were merely being tactful because their visitors were so dirty and bedraggled.

Serri and Peron began unloading the goats. Feeling that it would look strange if they stayed in the cart any longer, Rye and Sonia climbed down and moved rather nervously to stand behind FitzFee.

“All well, I gather, Nanion?” they heard the little man asking in a low voice.

Nanion’s lips tightened, but he nodded. “Olt’s ruffians came four days ago. They turned the town upside down searching, but finding no one here to interest them, they went on their way.”

Rye heard Sonia draw a quick breath, and concentrated on keeping his face expressionless.

“We have been very busy since we were rid of them, as you can imagine,” Nanion was continuing. “There has been little sleep for any of us.”

As he spoke, he raised his eyes to look at Rye and Sonia. Rye felt a jolt of alarm as the eyes suddenly widened, then turned to glare at FitzFee.

He has seen through the lie, Rye thought, panic-stricken. The moment he looked at us closely he knew exactly who we were.

For a split second, he thought of grabbing Sonia’s hand and running. Then he saw that FitzFee was looking shamefaced but quite calm. FitzFee, at least, did not fear that Nanion of Fleet would betray them.

“How could you have brought them here, FitzFee?” growled Nanion. “Dirt and ragged clothes are no disguise! And so close to —”

“Yes, well, bless my heart, what was I to do?” FitzFee exclaimed, holding up his hands as if to defend himself. “Let them walk? They’re determined to get to Oltan, and some young people just won’t be told, Nanion, as you well know.”

“Indeed I do,” Nanion agreed, grim-faced. “Well, as it happens, Fleet is safe enough for them now, at least. There is no reason for Olt’s louts to return here. From what I hear, their vile mission was completed yesterday — not very far from your farm, either, FitzFee — and they are now back in Nerra.”

Hearing the forbidden name, Popsy gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth as if it had been she who had uttered it.

Nanion’s face softened, and he lightly touched the little girl’s curly head. With a shock, Rye saw that he was wearing a braided ring on his index finger. It was just like the one on Rye’s own hand.

What did this mean? Rye longed to ask, but he
did not dare. He had promised FitzFee to keep his mouth shut, ask no questions.

“
Oltan
, I should say, Popsy,” Nanion said gently. “How could I have made such a foolish mistake? I will forget my own name, next!”

He looked back at Rye and Sonia, and to Rye’s astonishment, he smiled.

“You are tired, young ones,” he said. “Tired to death and sore at heart. There is little enough we can do to comfort you, but we can offer food, rest, and a bath, at least.”

“A
bath
!” Rye and Sonia both sighed with pleasure at the very idea.

Nanion nodded. “And perhaps a change of clothes might be in order,” he suggested, looking wryly at their filthy, stinking garments. “I fear the ones you are wearing are fit only for burning.”

An hour later, Rye left the small bathroom at the back of the Fleet guesthouse feeling like a new, smooth creature who had emerged from an itchy, dirt-encrusted shell.

Never had he enjoyed a bath so much. Never had he realized what a relief it could be to be clean. His damp, washed hair felt featherlight, and he had stuffed FitzFee’s cap into a pocket instead of putting it back on. His bell tree stick was safely tucked into his belt. The little bag hung around his neck. The clothes he had been given to wear smelled faintly
of soap and sun, and were deliciously soft against his skin.

Now all he wanted was food.

Sonia had been taken to another bathroom, he was not sure where. Deciding he was too hungry to wait for her, he began trying to find his way back to the room where he had last seen FitzFee.

The room had been large and airy, built around a great central chimney that seemed to have been carved from a single piece of rock. Savory pies, spiced sausages, fragrant bread, and fruit had been set out on a table there. The thought of them made his mouth water.

He met no one as he moved toward the front of the building, past the open doors of several small, empty bedrooms.

Nanion had told him that these bedrooms were for the use of horse buyers who had come to Fleet from afar and needed to stay overnight before returning home. There were no such buyers now, it seemed. The little rooms had a bare, deserted air. The beds had been stripped of their pillows and coverings. In some cases, even the mattresses had gone.

Rye reached a door and opened it cautiously, not sure if it was the one he had been seeking. He realized it was when he heard FitzFee’s voice.

“You’re quite set on the scheme, then, old friend?” FitzFee was asking.

Rye opened the door a little wider. He saw the backs of two armchairs drawn up in front of one of
the fireplaces that gaped at the base of the room’s central chimney. Nanion was sitting in one chair, and it seemed that FitzFee was in the other, though he was too short for his head to be visible.

The two men must have taken these chairs out of habit, because there was no fire. A small, white-furred creature was peeping from the shadows of the empty grate, eagerly snatching up the fragments of sausage that were being tossed to it by FitzFee.

“You’ll truly risk your people and your horses on the sea?” FitzFee went on.

“We have no choice,” said Nanion. “We can no longer live under Olt’s rule — we
will
not! And we learned seven years ago the cost of defying him. Some chose to leave us and hide from him in Dorne, but that was not possible for most of us. You cannot hide horses in the numbers we keep, and horses are our lives.”

The hair rising on the back of his neck, Rye took a step back. The two men had no idea he was there. By all Weld standards, he should have turned and crept away. Yet still he lingered, too fascinated to close his ears.

“The ships are ready and waiting to the north, well away from Nerra,” Nanion said. “Their captains are helping us for gold, not friendship, but on the whole, they seem honorable. I think they will serve us well.”

“But where will you go?” FitzFee became briefly visible as he rose a little to throw another scrap to the little creature in the fireplace.

“The Land of Dragons, to the west, is at peace now after its many years of trouble. We have heard it will welcome us or at least will not object to our landing on its shores and finding a place to settle and start afresh. We can only hope that this is true.”

“
Dragons?
” hissed FitzFee. “But Nanion —”

“What are dragons but serpents of the air?” Nanion slapped the arms of his chair. “And what creature, on land or sea, could be more fearful than Olt? FitzFee, stop feeding that clink! If you give her too much sausage, she will not do her job and keep down the mice!”

“Ah, no fear of that,” said FitzFee, tossing the little animal yet another morsel. “Clinks are always hungry. And what does one mouse more or less matter to you now? Soon you will be far away, and your clinks will have the whole of Fleet to themselves.”

“True,” Nanion admitted. “So the wheel turns full circle. Clinks were here long before humans were. Why, Fleet was built in this spot because of the fine chimneys the clink colony had hollowed from the rocks. They will be glad enough to be rid of us, I daresay.”

“No. They’ll miss the warmth of your fires and the comfort of your scraps.” FitzFee paused. “And I’ll miss you, too, Nanion. I’ll miss you sorely.”

“Come with us, FitzFee!” Nanion urged, leaning toward the little man’s chair. “Gather up Alda and the children, and come with us! Dorne is no place for decent people any longer.”

FitzFee sighed. “You’re right, I know,” he admitted, “but it’s hard, Nanion. Alda feels — she’s sure — that things will change one day. She says the people will rise up against Olt in the end, whatever the cost. And of course Tigg and Popsy take after my side of the family, so they’re not in any danger.”

“They are not in danger
now
,” Nanion growled. “Who knows what might happen in years to come?”

FitzFee said nothing to that, and for a moment or two, the two men sat in silence.

“I don’t see how you’re going to move so many people and horses to the coast without being found out,” FitzFee said soberly at last. “Olt might have been happy to be rid of those who are a danger to him. But he will not be so glad to lose the horse magicians of Fleet — and the whole of their breeding stock!”

Nanion leaned forward, gazing at the clink chattering hopefully in the empty grate.

“That is why we have waited till now to make our move. On Midsummer Eve, Olt will be too taken up with his foul ceremony to notice what is happening elsewhere in Dorne — even here, under his nose.” He sighed heavily. “It is a terrible thing to profit by the suffering of others, FitzFee,” he said. “But the suffering will happen whatever we do. Tomorrow, Olt will wallow in blood once more. And when he wakes the next morning, he will find us gone.”

Very quietly, Rye backed into the corridor, pulling the door shut behind him.