Valdemar 03 - [Collegium 01] - Foundation (35 page)

“But a Herald has to see what he's moving, right?” the maid demanded. “He can't just decide to move things without knowing what they are and where they are, right?”

“Ah . . .” She had caught him off guard, it seemed. He would like to pretend he was an expert in such matters.

“I
believe
that is true,” he said finally. “I believe that in order to move something, the Herald has to be able to see it.”

“And there were no Heralds anywhere about!”
she exclaimed. “They couldn't have seen in the window. Those awful men keep that closed up as tight as tight, and I have never seen anyone in their rooms but
them.”

“And why split a helm?” mused the cook. “I can't imagine what that was supposed to mean. Truly, this is baffling.”

“Unless you were a vengeful spirit and were sending a message,” replied another, silent until now. “Well, I wouldn't care to be in their shoes, I can tell you that. I would not be at all surprised to find out they had some dark secrets, that lot. And a lot to hide. And maybe someone they wronged badly enough to come looking for revenge from the grave.”

There was more, much more, of the same. Mags didn't hear all of it, since he finished the pots with a speed that the scullion must have found gratifying, and slipped back out of the kitchen again.

Mags didn't pause on his way to the stables—he didn't have time. He'd have to hurry to change back into his Grays and be at the dining hall in time to meet Bear and Lena. But he definitely caught something in Dallen's mind-voice.

:It does sound like someone with Fetching. And the cook is wrong, you don't have to see what you want to Fetch—if you did, the Gift would not be very useful. You just have to know
where
it is and
what
it looks like.:

:The thing is what the ax did, not that it moved. It flipped end over end and landed hard enough to split the helm. You would virtually
have
to be there to see in order to do it. Unless . . .:

By now he had reached the stables. Dallen whickered a greeting as he passed. He dived into his room and began frantically wiggling out of his clothing and into his Grays.

Mags stopped, one boot on, the other in his hand.
:But who?:

B
EAR seemed to have had no real improvement in his attitude since that afternoon, and he might have thought he was covering it well, but so far as Mags was concerned, he wasn't. Mags would have given just about anything to have a topic of conversation that would distract his friend from whatever was bothering him, but most of the interesting things he had done over the holiday would only have opened up more questions than he was able to answer.

“Ever been down into th' city?” he finally asked, as Bear toyed with his food and they both waited for Lena.

Bear shook his head.

“Herald Caelen said t' go.” He shook his head. “Never seen that many people in m' life. Never seen that much stuff neither.” After the Midwinter Eve vigil and Midwinter Day celebration, he and Marc and Dia had gone back to the Midwinter Market—and since he now had some money to spend, he'd gotten something for Lena and Bear. He'd brought the presents with him to—he hoped—cheer them up. “Since Jakyr give me coin, got ye somethin'.”

He pulled the cloth bag that held the present out from under the cloak folded on the bench beside him. Bear finally seemed to wake up a bit.

“Mags, you shouldn't—you shouldn't spend money someone gave you on presents for others—”

“Why not? 's mine now, right? S'pose to get things as make me happy? Well, gettin' you an' Lena somethin' makes me happy.”

With a nonplussed look on his face, Bear opened the bag, revealing the sheepskin mittens that Mags had gotten him.

“I hardly know what to say—this is exactly what I needed!” Once again, Mags got the feeling there was more behind that statement than he could properly comprehend. But some of it slipped out. “I think you know me better than my own family, and we haven't been friends for more than a couple of moons.” The last was tinged with bitterness.

Fortunately, what could have been a very uncomfortable moment indeed was salvaged by Lena's arrival. She did not look happy, but she didn't look as miserable as Bear was.

She helped herself to the food, but Mags could not help noticing that she took less than half of what she usually did. If only he had something he could talk to them about, something to distract them!

Oh, wait—he did!

“Ye know them nasty bodyguards? Them furriners?” he began. “Well, hang if they ain't actin' strange.”

He went on to tell them what he had overheard, then what he himself had seen. Bear and Lena both perked up—with a certain amount of very unsympathetic comments—as he gave some pretty elaborate descriptions of their behavior, helped out by Dallen.

He didn't have to figure out how to tell the story of the “haunted” ax, though. Lena suddenly looked as if something had occurred to her.

“Oh, Havens!” she exclaimed. “I wonder if—”

“What?” Bear asked before Mags could.

“Well, there is a rumor going around that the Palace is haunted. Some wild story about weapons flying off of walls and cutting things in half. I wonder if this has anything to do with why those bodyguards are so nervous?” Her eyes sparkled. “I wonder if it is the ghost of some Royal Guardsman who is offended by them?”

“Where d' ye hear these things?” Mags asked, both amused and puzzled. Amused because at least he wouldn't have to figure out some way of telling the story without revealing how he had learned it.

“Bards hear everything, because anything could lead to a new song,” she replied, now actually eating instead of shoving her food about on the plate.

“And Bards gossip worse than a pack of old women,” Bear added, but with a smile. “Do you really think it's a ghost?”

“Well, I 'spect
they
do,” Mags put in. “They sure act like it.”

“I can't think of why something like that would happen otherwise.” Lena's eyes were shining now. “There aren't any classes for another two days, I am going to poke around and see what else I can find out. A mystery! I love mysteries!”

Now that she had cheered up, Mags felt it was a good time to give her the present he had gotten her. He reached into his tunic and brought out the pretty little wooden box that Lydia had helped him pick out to hold it. “Went t' the Midwinter Market. Jakyr come in late an' only stayed a day, I reckon 'e felt guilty, so 'e give me some money an' I reckoned I'd get ye both summut. So . . . 'ere.” He handed her the box, which had a harp carved on the top of it. She exclaimed over the pretty thing, then opened it. Mags was very pleased with that find, which had been a stroke of pure luck. Just as there were merchants who tried to pass off inferior articles as more valuable than they were, there were also those who didn't know what they had. He had found, in a secondhand dealer's booth, this very pretty string of deep red beads. The merchant thought they were glass, but his expert eye had seen that they were, in fact, garnets.

“Oh, Mags!” She pulled the beads out of the box and ran them through her fingers. “Please tell me they didn't cost you a fortune!”

“Bah, this's me!” he scoffed. “I got help bargainin'.” In fact, it had been Lydia who helped him bargain for that, and for the pretty carved wooden charms he had attached to all the page-markers. “I still got coin fer me.”

Thus reassured, she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him quickly. “It's so pretty! And Bardic Scarlet, too! Thank you!”

“Show 'er yer mitts, Bear,” Mags urged, and Bear displayed his mittens. “Can't have his precious fingers froze, now c'n we?” he teased, and she laughed.

“He needed mittens like those on our trip,” she said. “He had to borrow a pair of mine, and they weren't nearly as nice and warm as these. His poor fingers kept getting cold and stiff.” Then she snapped her fingers. “And that reminds me of something else. On the way home, Bear and I were talking, and—Mags, do you want to find out what really happened with that raid on the bandits where you were found?”

That came as such a complete surprise to him that all he could do was gape at her and say, “Wha—” He stared stupidly at her for a moment, then gathered his thoughts. “Uh, I—guess—”

“Well, we can do that. The records of all the Guard reports are kept here, and Bards get access to everything but the sealed stuff. All we need to do is find the report of that raid and see what it says.” She looked at him in triumph. “What's the worst that can happen? We find out you are just what that horrible man claimed you are, a bandit child, which is scarcely your fault. But
I
think he lied. I think we should look into it.”

Mags felt a little thrill of mingled apprehension and excitement. Could he—

Well, that settled it.

“We'll do it,” he said decisively.

With both boys in tow the next morning, Lena went in search of where and how to get at the Guard Archives, and that was when they ran into their first snag. Although Bards had access to the Guard reports, Bardic Trainees needed special permission.

“You'll have to get one of your teachers to give you a letter stating that you need to use the Archives for research, Trainee,” said the stolid old man in Guard Blue sitting behind the desk at the entrance to the Archives. “We can't have every young Trainee in here poking around just to satisfy her curiosity or to win a bet. Those are the regulations.”

Lena sighed, but she didn't push the subject. “I'll be back with that letter,” she said firmly.

“And when you are, I'll let you in. Not before.” The man crossed his arms and gave her a stern look. “There is sometimes sensitive and personal information in those reports. Things other people would rather not have bandied about. As a courtesy to them, we don't let just anyone come in here and start reading through things.”

It was witheringly clear that he was not going to budge an inch on this. Mags tapped Lena on the shoulder. “ 'S all right, we c'n come back later,” he said. Reluctantly, she nodded.

All three of them left the Guard barracks, which was some distance away from the rest of the complex of buildings, and trudged back through the snow to Healers. “D' ye think you c'n get that letter?” Mags asked anxiously. Now that he had committed to finding out the truth, he wanted to get on with it.

Lena snorted delicately. “He's making a big fuss about nothing. Hardly any of the Trainees want to come here; it takes a lot of work to read something in a Guard report and come up with a song. Everything has to match—you can't change the story just because you don't like the way it came out or the person that should be a hero is a really unpleasant person. That is why people
trust
Bardic news and Bardic history songs. It's a lot easier to just make something up for a tale song. I can get that letter. I just need to figure out which of my teachers is most likely to give it to me.”

They pushed through the door into Bear's quarters. And there was someone waiting for them. One of the Palace servants in the special blue-and-white livery rose from his seat, a look of relief on his face. “You're the herb Healer?” he blurted.

“Trainee,” Bear corrected. The man waved that off.

“Everyone says that you are the one that knows everything there is to know about herbs. I need something to make people sleep. Those wretched bodyguards are demanding it for one of their masters.” The poor fellow looked exceedingly harried.

“Such things are dangerous—” Bear warned. “Too little and they don't work, too much and they can kill. And you can become addicted to them.”

“Frankly, Healer, if that man doesn't stop moaning about being watched all the time,
I
may kill him. He hasn't slept in three nights. Please, give us at least one night of peace!” The man gestured entreatingly. “I'm begging you!”

Mags, Bear, and Lena all exchanged looks. “I'll get my bag. My friends are coming with me.”