A Skillful Warrior (SoulNecklace Stories Book 2) (18 page)

‘Ah, my duck! What a time you’ve had, to be sure. Come in, come in, my dear.’ Her voice was deep and rich, more like a man’s than a woman’s.

Feeling a little like a beggar approaching a queen, I walked up the steps, into the building The guard watched me as I passed.

The entrance hall had a low ceiling crossed with thick beams and whitewashed walls. ‘Where am I?’

‘In a good place,’ the woman made shooing sounds at the driver, pushing him backwards when he ventured to follow. ‘Whisht now! Go around to the stables, you silly man.’ She added a few words in another language, which he must have understood, for he shrugged, said something in reply, and returned to the coach.

‘There.’ She pulled the door to.

I felt a little like a creature in a trap. But the room seemed harmless enough, even luxurious; low couches covered in rich cloths, carved chests of dark wood. Ornate hangings, embroidered with gold thread, hung on the walls. The place smelt fresh and clean. Or clean, save for me.

‘Now,’ said the woman briskly. She spoke my tongue well enough, but her accent was strange. ‘I have a room set aside for you, my dear. Where are the wise ones?’

‘Wise ones?’ I wasn’t sure what she meant, so I added, ‘I don’t know. I was the only one in the coach.’

‘Ah well,’ she shrugged. ‘Who are we to question the ways of the wise? Now, my dear, would you like to wash while you wait?’

‘Wait? What for?’

‘Oh, there are more a-coming, and all for you, my dear! They’ve bespoken ten chambers, and none of them for sharing! Well! It’s been a while since we’ve had such an honor. I’ve had a tub sent up to your room.’

I stared about me, at the brass lamps, set with colored glass. ‘What is this place?’

The woman regarded me. ‘A Wayhouse, my dear.’ She bustled past, keys clanking at her belt. ‘Come.’

I followed her up a narrow flight of stairs into a small chamber. A mattress was set on a settle beneath a narrow window. Sunlight flooded through the window-slit, falling in a stripe across the floor. On the other side of the room was a mirror in a blue frame and a wider window, covered in white muslin, probably to prevent insects entering. I heard water splashing. There must be a fountain nearby.

A folded screen of carved wood divided the room. I peeped around it and had to stifle my gasp of pleasure, for here was a hipbath! A length of linen and a square of soap were set beside it, as if inviting me to step into the clear water.

‘Our communal baths are only for men, so I’ve put a private tub up here.’ The hostess surveyed me. ‘You’ll be needing clothes, too.’ She clucked, as if thinking, or as if calling hens. It was hard to keep from smiling. She had the same mannerisms as Nurse.

‘You’re very kind.’

‘Why, ‘tis naught, child. It’s what I’m paid to do.’

I wanted to ask who paid her. What were her intentions? How did she speak my language? And why the tattoo on her cheek? But with the water steaming, I did not really wish to spend much time in talking. Besides, there was another matter, all too troubling. ‘Is there a privy here ...?’

I waited for her name. She didn’t give it to me, but turned quickly. ‘Ah, I am getting foolish. Come.’ We ducked down the stairs again, along a narrow corridor, past a kitchen full of rushing figures then out into the courtyard. Here was a pool of clear water and the fountain that I’d heard earlier. Through a stone archway, I saw the driver unhitching the horses and another guard watching the road. A troop of soldiers stepped through the archway, armor jingling. They stared at me with battle-hardened eyes, as if I was something to eat, or kill. The woman said a word to them and they looked away.

‘Here you are,’ she pointed to a small privy. ‘And while you’re washing, I’ll look up some clothes for you. A maid left recently. I have some of her dresses.’

‘Won’t she be needing them?’

The woman laughed. ‘Oh, I doubt it, not Hannah. She’ll soon be too big in the belly for her old robes.’ She pointed at the beads on my wrist. ‘They’re pretty, aren’t they?’

I tucked my hand behind my back.

In the tub I scrubbed at every patch of skin until I was red and raw. Washed my hair, too, scratching soap into my scalp before ducking it under the water, Strands of hair undid themselves from my head and floated on the top of the water like spiders. Then I rinsed and scrubbed again, until the water turned grey.

A maid peered around the screen. She carried a bucket of warm water and had a tattoo on her cheek. Maybe facial marks were a local custom. She smiled shyly and motioned for me to stand while she poured the clean water carefully over my head. I stood in the tub with the water about my knees and finally, finally, felt clean again. The girl handed me a length of linen and a hair brush, bobbed a curtsey, and left, taking her bucket with her. She had to tug the door hard to close it, for the catch was very stiff.

Wrapping the linen around me like an underdress, I sat cross-legged on the mattress, brushing my hair and staring out at the roadway and the people passing to and fro. The road below was built of stone, well-laid, with never a patch of green showing between the joints. There must a small town nearby, for there were people a-plenty; men, dressed in light fabric, with draped scarves on their heads to keep out the sun. Boys riding slow-plodding donkeys. I smiled, remembering the first time I’d met Will. That day, he’d been riding a donkey, too.

As I dragged the brush through the snarls in my hair — really, I needed to cut it — I noticed something. All the passers-by crossed the road before they came near to the inn. And for all the activity below, no one entered or exited the Wayhouse; no one even looked at it. The townsfolk seemed to wish to pretend that this building did not exist.

There was a scratching on the door as the handle jiggled.

‘Come in.’

Pushing the door open, my hostess poked her head into the room. ‘Look at you! Sitting there where any low-born person can see you.’

‘What is this house, anyway?’

She came into the room. ‘There are many Wayhouses along the Stone Roads, my dear. This is one of them.’

‘So its some kind of inn? ’

She shook her head. ‘Does this look like a house for common folk? Nay, Wayhouses are for the Emperor’s own business.’ She put a bundle on the bed. ‘Here’s the clothes. I’ll leave you to try them on. To be sure, there’s little enough between you and Hannah.’ She stared at me, as if sizing me up for the pot. ‘Although perhaps you’re a trifle shorter. Still, they’ve all I have right now — and they’ll be better than those rags you arrived in. Now, will you be wanting rabbit or duck for your meal?’

‘Not rabbit,’ I said quickly. I’d had enough rabbit to last a lifetime.

‘Duck it is, then. I’ll send up a platter in a short while. Is there anything else you need?’

I would have liked to ask for some weapons, but something held me back.

‘Do you have any scissors?’ I asked instead. ‘In case the skirt is too long?’

The maid brought me up a pot of rich duck stew and some clippers. They had shiny narrow blades with a spring catch and looked more like the sort of thing one would use for shearing sheep than for snipping cloth. Still, I smiled and thanked her and she smiled back uncertainly.

After eating I tried on the wide-sleeved linen robe and a linen underdress. They were a little too long so I clipped the hem to just above my ankles. Now if only I had boots, I would be dressed like N’tombe. Where was N’tombe? Where was Will?

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, hoping that in it I might find an answer. But all I saw was my pale skin and my red hair waving about my face. Well, I might not be able to anything about my skin, but I could at least cut my hair.

I bunched my hair in one hand and sawed at it with the shears. It took a long time. I cried as I did it — ah, I had wanted to cut my hair for so long, had argued with Nurse over it since I was a child — but now that I had my way, I felt as if I was losing something. Yet I pressed on grimly, telling myself that life would be easier with shorter hair.

‘Ah!’ squeaked the serving maid. She put her hand to her chest and near to flung herself down the stairs, leaving the tray behind.

My hostess was up at my room in a trice. ‘What have you done?’

‘Do you like it?’

‘No,’ she said, shortly. ‘It was a stupid thing to do.’

‘Ah, Nurse dear...’

‘I,’ she said, ‘am not your nurse.’ She sniffed and bent to pick up the tray.

‘Tell me,’ I wanted to distract her, ‘What is that tattoo on your face?’

She looked surprised at the question and rubbed the mark on her face. ‘This is not a tattoo. It is a brand. All slaves have them.’

A slave! On his travels, Will had met slaves. He had said it had been terrible to see human beings treated like cattle, branded and sold. I hoped I hadn’t offended her. What should I say to a slave?

‘Oh,’ I said nervously. ‘Um, how do you speak my language? Did you learn it at school or somesuch?’

She shook her head, smiling. ‘My mother spoke your tongue. My father was guardsman for a spice trader. He met my mother on his travels, took her back to the city with him. I grew up speaking this language.‘

‘Your parents? So you weren’t born a slave?’

‘Of course not,’ she sounded shocked. ‘No, I was sold. Pa didn’t have enough money — he was fond of the dice box. Ma had died, and there were too many mouths to feed, debts to meet — you know how it is?’

‘He
sold
you?’

‘I was worth a tidy bit,’ she said defensively. ‘I speak five languages.’ She paused, staring out the narrow window. ‘Just a little thing I was, barely twelve years old. Shivering and sniveling on the slaver’s stand and Pa telling me to stand up and threatening to belt me for crying. One of the Emperor’s men was there. He thought I had potential, so he bought me. Pa was pleased. Told me I was a good boy, as he counted out the coin.’ She sighed, and shook her head. ‘I never saw Pa again, but often I’ve wondered if my brothers ended up on that same stall.’

A good
boy
? Had I heard that right? No, I couldn’t have. A woman stood in front of me; tall, and deep voiced to be sure, but still a woman.

‘Are you a man? Or a woman?’ I blurted out.

He laughed. ‘Do you not have eunuchs in your homeland?’

‘What’s a eunuch?’

‘So,’ he said, sounding amazed, ‘you don’t. Ma said as much to me, when I was small, but I disbelieved her. A eunuch is a man who is neutered, child. Gelded.’

I stared at him, shocked from my sorrow. ‘You were ...’

He smiled. ‘It’s quite normal at the Stronghold. And for a slave, it’s no bad thing. Eunuchs are valuable; I won’t be used in the mines or the galleys, or have to work as a guardsman like my father. I have been fortunate really. It is much better here — the climate of the Stronghold is not pleasant.’

‘You’re from the Stronghold?’

‘Of course. All the Wayhouse Keepers come from the city. ’Tis an important job, caring for imperial messengers and their prisoners.’

‘Is that what I am? A prisoner?’

He seemed surprised by my ignorance. ‘Well, Wayhouse’s don’t take guests. We only house guards, coachmen, wise ones and,’ he nodded at me, ‘prisoners.’ He turned to the door and hesitated. ‘This is superstitious, I know, but I always feel the wise ones bring bad luck. Them and their black cloaks. Oh, ’tis an honor to house them, of course, but those nails — like daggers on their hands ...’ He shuddered.

Nails like daggers? My heart seemed to stop. He was speaking of magicians, soothsayers! How foolish I had been, bathing, cutting my hair, eating my dinner, when all the while ten magicians were on their way. Ten! I would never survive, not even with the help of the Guardians about my wrist.

I must have looked as scared as I felt, for he put his hand under my chin and lifted my face to the candlelight. His hands were too large for a woman, too soft for a man. ‘Listen, my dear. Don’t say too much to them; you want them to see you as valuable. Tell them a little, but not all at once, mind. Keep them guessing.’ He touched my head gently. ‘That color — rare, it is. Pity you cut it, but never mind. You’ll still fetch a tidy bit as a slave.’

‘A slave? Me?’ I squeaked.

‘If you’re lucky, yes.’

‘I don’t want to be a slave!’

‘Better that than dead. Or worse. The wise ones can carve your soul from your body without you knowing of it. See,’ he added, ‘Better to persuade them of your value. Then they’ll keep you alive and undamaged.’

I thought of the guards — the one at the door, the one at the rear. I could fight that many, certainly. I must escape! But there were the staff in the kitchen, a troop of soldiers below stairs and an unknown land beyond.

‘Can’t you help me?’

He shook his head firmly. ‘Not that I don’t care, child. But I’m not about to have my soul stolen, or my heart ripped out. And the guards have their orders. They won’t let you past the doors. Now, child. Hush your sobbing. What we want in life is not often what we get. So my Pa told me, when I stood on that step and watched the buyers haggling over me.’ He sighed. ‘Still, seems a shame, you being so young and all.’

‘Will I?’

‘Will you be what?’

‘Be made ... like you?’

‘And how would they do that, little one?’ He laughed, long and loud, and for a moment I felt like slapping him. ‘No, you’ll be kept a female.’ He stopped laughing and looked at me then, like he really saw me, not just a person who needed clothing and feeding and kept quiet for her jailors. ‘And I pray by all the gods they treat you well.’

He shut the door behind him when he left. The door clicked. I realized that what I had thought was a stiff handle had actually been a key turning, snip, in the lock.

––––––––

T
en magic workers! Not even Rosa could fight so many.

Surely, it wouldn’t be too hard to cut this mesh, climb out the window. It was growing dark now — a good time to try my escape. But even if I managed to avoid the guards, how long could I last without water or money?

In the courtyard below, the tinkling fountain sounded a mocking warning; there was plenty of water in this place, if only I cared to stay.