“No word on that yet,” the innkeeper said, shrugging. “The citadel’s been shut up tight. But look at it this way: Would the duke shut down trade and close the borders if he had the thief in a cell?”
He might, actually, if he’d done any research on Eli, Miranda thought, but she kept it to herself.
“Doesn’t matter none anyway,” the man continued. “The duke will catch him all the same. This is Gaol, after all.” He smiled, pushing a small stack of silver coins across the counter.
“Sixty-four exact,” he said. “Take it or leave it, but you won’t find better for the paper around here.”
Miranda had no idea if that was good or not, but she took the money without complaint. The coins were thin pressed, and each was stamped with a man’s face in silhouette, which the block lettering on the edges identified as belonging to Edward, Eighteenth Duke of Gaol.
It must have been a nice bit of money, for the innkeeper’s tone softened considerably. “Anything else, miss?”
Miranda thought a moment. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll need a new set of clothes. And some soap.”
The man raised his eyebrows, but he turned around and got a paper-wrapped bar from the shelf behind him.
“Soap,” he said, slapping the bar on the counter. “One silver. As for clothes… ” He walked over to the corner and opened the first of a series of large chests set against the wall. “My daughter’s work,” he said, pulling out a stretch of brown homespun. “Five silvers each. Just pick out what you like.”
Miranda walked over with a grimace. The chest was full of dresses. Farmer girl dresses. With little motifs of daisies on the trim and sleeves. A quick look through the other chests showed more of the same. The man’s daughter was apparently prolific, and very fond of daisies. Seeing this was all she was going to get, Miranda settled on a long, rust-colored dress with a wide skirt that looked like it would do for riding, and, most important of all, long sleeves that went down over her fingers to hide her rings. The color didn’t clash with her hair too badly, and the stitching, though large, was sturdy. Satisfied, she paid the man for the soap and the dress, and he even wrapped it up for her for free, cementing her suspicion that she was being vastly overcharged.
Miranda shoved the package under her arm. Before she turned to leave, however, she asked one final question.
“Sir,” she said, “did it rain last night?”
“Of course not,” the man sniffed. “It’s Wednesday.”
Miranda gave him a funny look. “What does that have to do with rain?”
“This is Gaol,” the man said. “It only rains on Sundays.”
Miranda just stood there a moment, stunned, while in her head, several little pieces clicked into place.
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you very much.”
The man just made a harumphing noise before going back to his ledger.
Miranda walked up the road until she was out of sight of the inn’s windows, then sprinted up the hill to where Gin was hiding. She’d worried he would be asleep, but the dog was awake and waiting.
“What’s going on?” he asked as soon as she ducked under the shaggy treeline.
“Strange and wonderful things,” she answered, peeling off her shirt. “Mellinor, could I get some water?”
The water spirit complied, and she was sopping wet in an instant. Peeling the soap out of its waxed-paper wrapping, Miranda began to scrub her face and hair. She relayed her conversation with the innkeeper as she washed, occasionally breaking to ask Mellinor for more water, which he gave immediately, for he was listening as well.
“Eli Monpress! Do you believe the luck?” Miranda said again, leaning over to wring out her hair.
“Lucky indeed,” Gin said. “But go back to that bit about the rain. As I’ve heard it, only a Great Spirit can order the rain, and only then if it’s got the cooperation of the local winds. How is a human doing it?”
“Maybe he’s Enslaving the Great Spirit of this area,” Miranda said, wincing as she picked at a knot of tangles rooted at the back of her neck.
“Preposterous,” Mellinor rumbled, giving her a bit more water. “If this place was Enslaved, we would have known miles ago. The whole world would have known. Trust me, a land whose Great Spirit is Enslaved does not look like this.”
The water slung outward, taking in the lovely hills, rolling farmland, and flowering orchards. Miranda was going to point out that Mellinor had looked pretty nice to her when she’d arrived, but then she remembered that spirits probably saw something completely different and she kept her mouth shut, washing the last of the soap out of her hair in silence.
“Well, whatever’s happening, it’s not good,” she said, squeezing her hair dry. “Time to ask the spirits what’s going on.”
She pulled the dress over her head, the thick fabric catching on her wet skin. When the dress was in place, she knelt on the needle-strewn ground and pulled the green stone ring off her little finger.
“Alliana,” she said softly, placing the ring on the ground, “say hello to the grove for us.”
The moment the ring touched the ground, a circle of bright green moss began to spread over the brown needles. It spread to the base of the nearest tree, the moss’s tiny rootlings prodding the bark. But as the moss crept up the fir tree, its quiet, tiny sounds became frustrated.
Finally, almost five minutes later, the moss retreated, and Alliana herself spoke up. “It’s no good, mistress,” the moss said, sounding quite put out. “I can’t get the tree to talk. I couldn’t even talk to the sapling sprouting below it. I don’t understand; green wood is normally very chatty.”
Miranda frowned. “You’re saying they wouldn’t wake up?”
“No, they’re awake,” the moss grumbled. “They just won’t talk. I don’t know what kind of land this is, but its spirits are
frightfully
rude.”
Miranda bit her lip. This was an unexpected problem. “Try another tree.”
They tried five altogether, but every time it was the same. The trees would not talk. None of the spirits in the little grove would. Finally, Alliana asked to go back to sleep, as this was all too frustrating for her, and Miranda drew her back into the moss agate.
“All right, I give up. What’s going on?” Miranda said, sliding the ring back onto her finger. “Could it be Eli? What did he call it, building goodwill with the countryside?”
“No amount of goodwill does that,” Mellinor said, flicking a spray of water at the reticent trees. “And I doubt even the thief has this kind of reach. Normally, I’d say Enslavement. I never knew anything else that could shut up young trees once a wizard woke them up, but they don’t seem frightened, just worried.” The water made a thoughtful splashing sound. “No, something is wrong in Gaol, and I doubt it’s only here. The West Wind was right to be worried.”
“So what are we going to do about it?” Gin said, tail twitching.
“Start at the top,” Miranda answered. “If anyone can tell us what’s going on, it’s the Great Spirit of Gaol. Since the Fellbro River is by far the largest spirit in this area, I’m going to guess it’s either in charge or knows who is, so we’ll start with it, and for that, we’re going to the capital.”
“The capital?” Gin gave her a look. “The river runs all down the duchy’s eastern side. Why do we need to go to the capital?”
“Because it’s only three miles away,
and
because Eli’s in the capital.” Miranda smiled, shaking her sleeves until they fell down over her rings, hiding them completely. “Nothing wrong with a little bonus.”
“I thought you said Eli had already robbed the duke,” Gin said. “Wouldn’t he be long gone by now?”
“Come on,” Miranda said. “This is Eli we’re talking about. When has he ever just run away? I don’t think he even could, not with an entire treasury. Even Nico’s not that strong. No, I bet he’s hiding in the capital, waiting on his chance to waltz out while everyone goes crazy around him. Who knows, maybe he’s still in the duke’s citadel.” She grinned. “After all, ‘the last place a man looks is under his feet.’ ”
Gin gave a long sigh. “It’s a dark day indeed if you’re quoting the thief.” He lay down. “Come on, let’s get going. I did a little scouting while you were gone. If we keep low, we can hide behind copses and hedge walls almost all the way.”
Miranda glared at him. “You were supposed to wait here.”
Gin just wagged his tail, and Miranda shook her head before climbing on.
“Just
try
and remember to be sneaky,” she whispered as they crept out of the fir trees.
“Who do you think I am?” Gin snorted. He slunk up the hill, keeping behind the vineyards until he reached a stretch of trees and bushes that did indeed shelter them for the next few miles, just as he’d said it would.
When they reached the outskirts of Gaol’s walled capital, Miranda left Gin hidden in an empty barn. He was much easier to convince this time around. Even Gin admitted there was no way he could sneak into a city, and besides, the night’s running was catching up with him. Miranda left him sleeping under the straw in the hayloft, and then, strolling casually out of the barn, she started for the city.
With the embargo on travel, she’d expected it would take some finagling to get into Gaol’s capital—a bribe for the guards, maybe, or some wall climbing. But as she got closer, she realized it wasn’t going to be a problem. The road was full of people, farmers mostly, from their clothes, and almost all of them wearing swords. These must be the conscripts, she realized. The duke was apparently building himself quite an army. Because of this influx, the guards at the large gate were letting people in without much question. No one, however, was coming out. Miranda held her breath and kept her head down as she passed through the gates, but the guards didn’t even speak to her. For once, she was very grateful to be ignored.
Gaol’s capital was as lovely as the countryside around it, with a high, thick wall, a grid of neatly paved streets lined with iron street lamps, and tall, close timber and stone buildings with tiled, sloping roofs.
“It’s every bit as orderly as the land outside,” Mellinor whispered in her ear as she turned onto one of the side streets. “The Great Spirit must be a horrible taskmaster.”
“I don’t think the Great Spirit’s the problem,” Miranda muttered. This was a wizard’s doing, she was certain. But how, and why? Those were the questions she was here to answer. As for who, though, she had a pretty good idea already. She looked northeast, where the pointed roof of an instantly recognizable tower poked over the rooftops. This was Hern’s territory, after all, and as she thought about it, several strange things in Hern’s past began to make sense, like how he’d refused year after year to take an apprentice of his own. She’d always chalked that up to self-importance combined with laziness, but if he were hiding something in Gaol, suddenly his not taking an apprentice would be cast in a new light. Same with his stubborn refusal to let other Spiritualists do any studies in Gaol, and his insistence that no Spiritualists cut through the duchy on their way to other places. He’d claimed his duke disliked Spiritualists disrupting his duchy by riding through on strange creatures, and since Hern was powerful and influential, and going around Gaol was a simple matter, no one had thought to question that explanation.
Well, Miranda thought, glaring at the tower, that was about to change. With a final sneer, she turned and started walking downhill toward the river.
As she went deeper into town, the crowd got thicker. Everyone, men and women, was carrying swords. Some moved in orderly groups through the streets, conscripts who’d already received their orders. Others, people who’d come through the gate with her, were still pushing toward the citadel, which seemed to be the heart of the whole operation. By the time she’d reached the edge of the town center square, the crowd was shoulder to shoulder. Miranda pushed her way through as best she could, but it was clear she wasn’t going to get to the river this way. She scowled at the wall of backs in front of her and started looking around for a side street she could take down to the water. That’s when she spotted him.
There, pushing his way through the crowd not five feet from her, was Hern. He was overdressed as always in a bright blue coat with silver embroidery, and looking hurried. The rings on his fingers glittered dangerously as he elbowed his way past a belligerent, and very large, pair of farmers. Once he was past, he gave the crowd a sneering look and turned down a side street lined with large, beautiful houses. As soon as he was around the corner, Miranda followed him.
“Miranda,” Mellinor said in a warning voice. “What are you doing?”
“Think about it,” she whispered, sneaking through the crowd. “Hern’s secretiveness, strange things going on with the spirits in Gaol, the West Wind asking me, Hern’s enemy, specifically to investigate? It doesn’t take a genius to put it together.”
“That may be,” Mellinor said, “but don’t forget your own words. You didn’t want to take this job specifically because of Hern. I don’t like Hern any more than you do, but the world hasn’t changed in the last day. You said it yourself: if anyone sees you here, they’re going to think it’s revenge. Take your own advice, ignore the pompous idiot and keep going for the river.”
“The river will still be there in an hour,” she said under her breath. “I can’t miss an opportunity like this. Think, if I can prove that Hern’s behind whatever is going on here, I can destroy his credibility, maybe even get a retrial. It would be even better than catching Monpress. Even if it’s just that he knows what’s going on and hasn’t reported it to the Court, that would be enough to throw mud all over his career.” She stood on tiptoe, catching a glimpse of Hern’s blond head through the crowd, before ducking down again. “No,” she said. “He has to be up to something. The Spirit Court referendum is coming up any day now, and he wouldn’t dare leave Zarin and miss the run-up for that unless he had a very good reason. I’m going to find out what that is.”