(Luis)
Donald's room had a balcony, and on the day before we left Kato Town, we sat on it and talked. On side by side chairs angled so we could easily look at one another. And equally important, close enough that our energy fields interacted directly. By feel, I talked them into something like harmony while giving him my impression of the duchy, which is attractive and clearly fertile. And from there, about growing up in Aarschot, and amusing things that happened. All prompting reminiscences from him. As a child he seemed to have been reasonably happy. Certainly there were happy events to revisit, and our being in phase reenergized them.
Once he got underway, he talked more than I did—until I began telling stories about the Aarschot brother house; he ate them up. When I left to give his father another healing session, Donald was looking forward to our trip.
We left at dawn, with almost no one yet on the road. We wore used work clothes I'd bought the day before from the Diocese "poor bin." Two young bucks out for adventure and jobs, wearing wide-brimmed, hand-woven oat straw hats. The air was humid, and by mid-morning more than warm. Between the sweat and the road dust, our faces and clothes were soon dirty.
We didn't have a packhorse. Being heavier than me, Donald rode what had been my pack horse—it had been broken to riding—and I rode my saddle horse. Donald was now Gerald Redgrave, his choice, and he called me "Gus," finding the name amusing.
Just leaving the palace and Kato Town had a liberating effect on him. He was away from the surroundings of his past, with no real compulsion to return. As an expression of independence, he felt free to fart openly, and now and then we exchanged blasts, grimaces and laughs.
Mostly we kept to an easy quick-step trot, occasionally dismounting to walk a mile or so, leading and resting the horses. Donald was so cheerful, his father and Keith would have been astonished. I'd drilled mood guidance at the Academy, but had never used it in any serious way, prior to Kato's ducal palace. I knew I could do it, but I hadn't fully realized the effects it could have.
Mostly the road followed the Sota River through nearly continuous riverine forest, angling occasionally onto the uplands—prairie, fields and woods. Pretty country. We slept in haysheds. The weather had been dry, but in June, Keith had said, thunderstorms could roll through by day or night. And while we had the time and money to sleep and eat at inns along the way, Donald might be recognized, and that we couldn't afford. He'd traveled to Hasty with his father when he was fifteen, so his face was known, certainly to innkeepers, some of whom were no doubt part of a royal informer network, paid for useful information.
The word would get out anyway, of course. Eldred probably had at least one spy in every ducal court including Kato's. Within the next week he might hear of Donald's leaving with me. At least he'd learn that Donald was no longer at the palace, and maybe put two and two together.
Meanwhile we ate jerky from Keith Frazier's travel stock, while from farmers along the way I bought bread and cheese and prunes. And farm-brewed beer, which I carried in a large bottle, in a basket padded with grass. Occasionally we snacked on wild onions in bottomland woods; our breath and sweat reeked of them.
My mother wouldn't have approved of us at all.
I liked to think the horseflies didn't like it either. The deerflies didn't mind though, hitting without warning, with a special liking for our temples. But we were soon used to that. Meanwhile we talked a lot. I learned about his reading—he'd read and reread most of the palace books—and about his mother, whom he dearly loved. He'd have been much happier if she'd lived. He in turn learned more about my years as a novice and brother at Aarschot, back in Mizzoo, and found it as interesting as I intended.
He was curious about how I'd helped his father so much. So I told him, in simple, meaningful terms: various painful events in his father's life tied in with the accident, and I'd guided him through them—helped him unravel them for himself. It was a skill taught to all brothers being trained as Masters.
And of course I told him what I had in mind for him, as my assistant and his father's unofficial envoy, keeping it casual.
Meanwhile his young beard had gone unshaven since before he'd been embraced by his father, and perhaps a day or two before that. Fortunately it was showing up darker than his blond scalp, and dark would disguise him more quickly. As the days passed, he'd be increasingly hard to recognize, certainly by people not expecting to see him.
Finally we reached the little town of West Crossing, on the Misasip. There a ferry crossed to North Landing at the end of the Sugar Grove Road. Up the hill from North Landing, and half mile east, was the brother house.
Carlos and Peng were prepared for us; I'd radioed them each evening, when I'd leave our hayshed of the night to relieve myself by a nearby shrub. As planned, Donald was to stay awhile at the brother house, as an older than usual novice. With his scholarly interests, he'd find it enjoyable. Meanwhile I'd be getting local business handled.
It was Carlos who showed him around, introducing him to the facilities, novices, brothers and staff. As Gerald Redgrave, of course. Meanwhile I talked briefly with Peng. I needed Donald as confident and able as Peng could get him, and in our class at the Academy, Peng had been the best in cleaning people up. My prep work on Donald had gone well, but Peng was more talented and better trained, and he'd have him longer.
I didn't know what Eldred might have learned the past few days, or might learn tomorrow, but a courier from the palace had arrived at the brother house just the day before, with a message from His Majesty: "I wish to see Master Luis as soon as he returns." It was as close to a command as a king could issue to a churchman acting for the Sacred Congregation, especially one whose mission introduction had been signed by Cardinal Termini.
It seemed prudent to humor Eldred, and at any rate my warrior muse wasn't ringing alarm bells, so the morning after my return, I rode to the palace, where I was escorted promptly to Eldred's audience chamber.
Paddy Gwynn stood at his right shoulder, half a step back. I didn't give Paddy a second look; not even a first. My attention was on the king. Eldred looked at me for perhaps thirty seconds without speaking, something which no doubt shook most who were exposed to it, wondering what he knew. I spent it examining his aura. Given his power mode and need to dominate, I'd focus on limiting the damage.
Finally he spoke. "Well, Master Luis, I suppose you've been traveling."
"I have indeed, Your Majesty. I'm just back from Kato Town, where I met the duke. And Captain Frazier, who is acting as his deputy until his lordship is able to carry the full burden of his responsibilities again."
"And when might that be?"
"Physically the duke is frail." I paused to cross myself. "But mentally he is strong and sharp, and each day reviews the matters of government with Captain Frazier, advising and giving orders."
"Hmh." Eldred's gaze was intent. Something was bubbling to the surface, and I wondered if he was going to ask next about Donald. He surprised me. "It has come to my attention," he said, "that you have stolen one of my throne guards. What have you to say for yourselves, you and Master Lemmi?"
"Stolen?"
His anger flashed. "Do not trifle with me, churchman! You enticed Stephen Nez into your Order."
The railing kept us far enough apart to limit the direct interaction of our energy fields, but I made do. "Enticed? Your Majesty has been misinformed."
"I speak of the young Dinneh who stood to my right when you first visited me. I have it on good authority."
This wasn't anything Carlos or Peng knew about; they'd have told me. Or Stephen; I'd seen him the evening before, and his aura had reflected no hint of anything withheld. He'd told me he'd be leaving for Dinnehville the following Monday, to arrange for the sing.
"May I be privy to those reports?" I asked. "I do not imply that anyone is lying, though someone may be. But often what first appear to be lies are honest errors."
Eldred gnawed on that a moment. He wasn't used to being cross-examined. "I had missed the young man's presence," he said, "and asked the commander of my palace guard what had become of him. He'd wondered the same thing, and had asked Stephen's squadmates. They hadn't known, but they told him that Stephen had an uncle in Hasty. So I ordered Captain Uuka, my chief of Intelligence, to locate the uncle, and bring him to me for questioning.
"It seems Stephen had met with two Higuchians—a Master Lemmi and a Master Luis—and that he was going to the brother house. The uncle had never heard of Higuchians, and Stephen explained they were Churchmen."
I frowned as if considering. "Ah. Perhaps he'd told his uncle he'd 'seen' us, not 'met with' us. Lemmi mentioned, after our audience with you, that he thought one of your throne guards looked Dinneh. Clearly the young man you're concerned about." Eldred was frowning again, his wide mouth pursed.
"As for our names," I went on, "he was there when we were introduced to you. If I remember rightly, Lemmi told you he was Dinneh—Blood of Christ Dinneh. Your Stephen would have noticed and remembered."
"Or," Eldred countered, "he may have said exactly what his uncle reported: that he'd met with you."
I nodded. "True. Tell me, were the gate guards informed of his—departure?"
"They would have been, yes."
"Would they have stopped him if he'd returned to Hasty to visit his uncle?"
Eldred looked thoughtful now. "If they'd recognized him." I could almost hear the rest of it in his mind: and Stephen is tall, and there are few Dinneh in Hasty. He'd be hard to miss.
"If he'd gone to the brother house to meet us, then come back to Hasty to tell his uncle, he'd probably have been noticed when he returned. Perhaps the gate guards could tell you. And if he didn't return, he couldn't have told his uncle. At least it would seem so. It would have had to be before he went to the brother house."
"Yes. Well. That may be."
Eldred was uncomfortable with it, juggling my suggestions and implications, trying to see how they fitted. I gave him a few seconds, then broke the silence myself. Best to remain in charge if I could.
"Meanwhile, Your Majesty, I've come bringing a matter of my own. It seemed unimportant when we first heard of it—Lemmi and I, that is. It's well known that the Dkota use iron pots, steel knives and hatchets, and they had to come from somewhere, so Lemmi looked into that. And learned of an itinerant iron monger, one of several who trade with the Dkota."
Now I shifted focus on him again, this time from steel, and possibly weapons, to religion. "Lemmi asked whether he knew anything of the Dkota faith, and the man told him that while they recognize Jesus as God's son, they're seriously pagan in most respects. For one thing, they claim that their great chief, Mazeppa, meets with witches who fly through the sky in a canoe. That supports the rumor you'd heard. One might wonder what such 'witches' have been doing there. If in fact they are real."
The thought distracted him, and I talked my way out of the audience chamber, leaving him with it. Hopefully it would blunt his certainty about Mazeppa. Meanwhile his mind was off Stephen.
Masters are also trained in disguise—a skill sometimes useful on missions—so after supper, Carlos blackened my hair, then widened my narrow face by gluing on mutton chops. Considering how bushy and curly they were, I suppose they were the shearings of some curly-headed novice's introductory haircut.
Then I rode off to Hasty again, with a message and package for guardsman Paddy Glynn. At the guardhouse I found the duty corporal perched on a tall stool behind a counter. In my version of Paddy's brogue, I said I was Paddy's cousin, that his grandfather had died, and the package was from him. If the corporal had chosen to snoop, he'd have found "granddads dager," which "the oud man wanted ye to hav as a kepsak," and that the family looked forward to seeing him soon. But without so much as a look, the corporal stuck it into a wall cabinet with several rows of cubbyholes.
The real message was hidden in the apparent message. Deciphered, it read: "Bow & Saber Tuesday evening. One-Eye." The key was simple to use and easy to remember—a key every brother learns when he graduates, and learns again whenever it's changed, which is seldom. It might not hold long against someone who suspected, but to a guard or page or usher, the message would look harmless.
The next evening I walked into town. And into the Bow & Saber, wearing an eye patch. My hair was re-blackened, but my mutton chops were gone, replaced by soft lambskin pads in my mouth, behind my side teeth, filling out my cheeks. My left jaw had an ugly three-inch scar.
The Bow & Saber was one of several taverns in Hasty that catered to armsmen, guardsmen, and veterans. I arrived early. There were only eight men there besides myself, and only three in uniform. Paddy was nowhere in sight. I ordered a pint, then sat down at a small table with my back to the wall. From there I could see everyone in the room.
It was a decent brew, and I took my time with it. When Paddy came in, I had half of it left. He looked around, his gaze crossing mine in passing, to show he'd recognized me. Then he went to the bar. A minute later, a mug in his hand, he was chatting with the tapman, setting things up so he could leave early. Then he turned, leaning back against the bar as if watching the door. After a couple minutes I killed my mug, set it on the table, and without a glance at Paddy, left the tavern.
With the summer solstice near, it was still early dusk. On the other side of the street was a printer's shop, and I crossed, to stand at the window and watch the printer work. His quick hands took a printed sheet of paper from the press, hung it on a rack for the ink to dry, then emplaced another to be printed. He did about three pages a minute. Cranking the press down and back up took most of the time. It seemed to me a lever would be a lot faster.
At the Academy they print as many pages as they want as swiftly as they want.
My warrior muse told me Paddy was crossing the street behind me, but I waited till the last minute to turn. A good strategy if someone's stalking you; that way you take him by surprise.
"Hello, Paddy," I said.
He grinned. "Hello, One-Eye. Where'll we go?"
"Somewhere we can talk privately. You know Hasty better than I do."
We went to a small park in the shadow of the town wall, to a bench beneath a basswood tree. We could sit side by side and talk, while seeing anyone approaching. Dusk was thickening. Even one of the palace guard wouldn't likely recognize Paddy at twenty yards, and anyway a park wasn't where they'd be in the evening.
Paddy's "new job," he told me, wasn't too bad. Most palace guards were selected from among the armsmen, for size and bearing, but after a morning of tests, and maybe discussion, Paddy'd been assigned directly.
After a few days he'd been sent for an interview with the king. His throne guards had to impress nobles, merchants, and foreign emissaries. The interview lasted most of an hour; Eldred seemed to enjoy Paddy's fictitious adventures as a freight raftsman.
Throne guard was what I'd intended for him—he'd hear the king talk about all kinds of things—but just being a guardsman would have gotten interesting rumors and information.
The food was decent, he told me, and the duties easy. In fact, from Paddy's viewpoint, the guardsmen had too much free time. Instead of squatting in the zendo developing fudochi, they drank or threw darts in the taverns, or went upstairs with the girls. And when their pay was spent, instead of studying the thirteen strategies and eleven approaches, or practicing the fourteen postures and thirty moves, most of them played cards or shot dice for chits, while sparring orally. The gambling and prostitutes in particular caused quarrels and grudges. And there were cliques.
The guardsmen trained with weapons two hours a day, but few really worked at it. "The veterans," he went on, "are pretty good at their weapons drills, which aren't that difficult, but they think they're better than they are. When sparring, oi have to be careful not to make them look bad, or they'd have it in for me. Oi've already made one enemy." He chuckled. "He's bigger than me, but not much. Oi don't think he'd have tried me, but his clique expected it of him. And he's the kind that, if you beat him, he's apt to lay for you with a cosh or the like, unless he's really afraid of you. Oi mean really afraid. So oi worked him over good, really knocked him around—lots of bruises and cuts—leaving no doubt at all in his mind. At the end he had to gather his wits a couple of minutes before he could get to his feet. Him being a bully, most of the others enjoyed the watching, and his clique has pretty much left him."
He eyed me then. "Don't worry about me, Luis. Bhatti and Soong made sure we pay attention to our warrior muse." He chuckled, no doubt remembering the traps and ambushes they'd set to catch the novices, and sometimes a brother, unaware. Coming out of the messroom perhaps, or the latrine. "Talk about empowering!" Paddy finished. "I can smell a trap or ambush."
I knew his ki was strong, probably stronger than mine at that stage of the game. Letting my attention be distracted had been an occasional problem, before I went to the Academy. Partly because of having a strong secondary muse for what Tahmm called "scholar with a nature focus," that had blocked my warrior muse now and then. Most people have a pretty strong secondary muse, but judging from his aura, Paddy's warrior muse stood by itself; he's a warrior through and through. A good-hearted warrior. There was, of course, a false muse—an expression of false personality, whose essence is fear. The false muse can be very active—and seductive!—in producing and selling counterfeit messages. But Paddy's false personality was remarkably muted.
So far, nothing he'd heard seemed relevant to the mission, but he'd only stood a few throne watches, and probably some of the more sensitive matters were discussed without guards present. But I could hardly ask for a better spy. Of course, if he learned anything urgent, getting it to Carlos or Peng in time might be a problem.
So I decided to ask Tahmm to bend regulations and give me a radio for Paddy. If anyone asked, he could use the usual cover—"religious amulet." Tahmm would probably turn me down, but it seemed worth a try.
Stephen Nez, of course, had been a throne guard for weeks, and I'd hoped for important information out of him. But questioning had needed to be relaxed and casual. For two reasons: he still really liked Eldred, and he was new to the Order. But more important, when Carlos had asked what sorts of things were discussed in royal audiences, it turned out that Stephen hadn't paid much attention. He'd gone to the job ignorant, with limited perspective to help relate things.
Six years earlier, that had been true of Paddy, too. Then he'd ended up in the middle of the "lizard war."
Like Stephen, Paddy found Eldred likable. "Though he's a bit sly, and they say his temper can be really bad. But the problems oi've seen brought before him, he's handled justly. They've not dealt with matters of defense of course, or the dukes, or the Dkota. Mostly with property and business disputes, taxes, and complaints about officials."
Almost the last thing we talked about, before he went to the guard quarters for curfew, was the royal family. Since the queen's death, some years earlier, it consisted of Eldred and his daughters. It was the daughters who interested me. Paddy's description matched Linkon's: they looked alike, and they were pretty. And more interesting, sometimes a throne guard would be assigned to them, though Paddy had only glimpsed them in passing.
"You'd have little trouble telling them apart," he said. "Mary looks pleasant, Elvi looks sour. They say Mary likes to go boating, sometimes with Elvi, but usually with what they call a 'handmaiden'—a sort of hired friend. With a throne guard to row. They ride around on the river, the two young ladies talking with each other."
Finally I went to the night gate, where the guards let me out of town, and I walked back to the brother farm. It was time to give Kabibi something interesting to do. Inside the palace. It might come to nothing of course. There are no guarantees. Good old fudochi! The muse speaks, and you act without fretting. The Saint and our Academy instructors tell us this is a free-will universe, as far as people are concerned—Humans, Fohanni, or what have you—and things take their own course. Even our muses can't see the future with certainty. But they read the probabilities and vectors. They do that.