Taste of Lightning (24 page)

‘I doubt it.' Perrin sat beside her, towelling his hair. ‘He and that High Priest will have plenty to talk about. Don't look so grim, Tansy! We've got food, and comfy beds, and a bathroom – a
bathroom!
Enjoy it while it lasts – who knows where we'll be tomorrow. One day at a time, that's my motto.'

‘I know,' said Tansy. ‘I wish I was like you.'

Perrin laid down the towel, suddenly serious. ‘Don't wish that, Tansy. I wish I could be more like
you
.'

‘Me? Why?'

‘Because you're brave, and loyal, and quick-thinking.'

‘You're quick, too,' said Tansy. ‘And brave.'

Perrin laughed. ‘But not loyal. Even Bettenwey could see that. I envy you. And Skir, too. I wish I . . .' He went on slowly, thinking it out as he spoke. ‘I wish I knew what to think, how to feel, how to act. I do things because I can, not because I should. But you always know what's right.'

‘Not always,' said Tansy. ‘I didn't know if I should tell Skir about you taking him back to Rengan. I didn't want to lie, but – I didn't want him to think bad of you.'

‘He knows now. I told him.'

Tansy's face lit up. ‘Oh – good! That's what I wanted. Did he – was he angry?'

‘He'll get over it. Let's not talk about Skir. Let's talk about me.'

‘How you only think about yourself?'

They both smiled. Perrin touched her hair, then took his hand away. Their heads were close together now, the dark and the fair.

Perrin said softly, ‘I'm not thinking about myself now.'

‘I ain't so sure about that,' said Tansy dryly.

‘Be brave, Tansy,' whispered Perrin.

She leaned across the space between them, and kissed him.

In the morning, Perrin flung open the double doors and let the fresh cold sunlight stream into the room through the ironwork grille. He came back to sit on the edge of the bed.

‘Hello,' he said softly.

‘Hello.'

‘Still hate me?'

‘Hmmm.' Tansy reached up to touch his face. ‘Let me think about it.'

Much later, they had begun their breakfast of hard-boiled eggs and stewed peppers and hot coffee when there was a rapping at the door. A servant announced, ‘Rise for My Lord Bettenwey.'

Automatically, Tansy and Perrin scrambled up, but when the High Priest entered he motioned to them to be seated.

‘Please, go on with your breakfast. I will not trouble you for long.'

Tansy was frightened by Bettenwey. Timidly she said, ‘We was wondering if Skir – if the Priest-King could have breakfast with us.'

‘Is he still the Priest-King?' asked Perrin casually.

Bettenwey looked at him coolly. ‘Of course. Why would he not be?'

‘That's what I told him. I knew it'd be all right.' Perrin looked smug.

‘Unfortunately, My Lord Eskirenwey's arrival, though of course welcome, was – ill-timed.' said Bettenway. ‘This is what I wish to discuss with you. I'm afraid I must ask for your patience. My Lord Eskirenwey's return cannot be announced until the appropriate moment. Until that moment arrives, we must keep his presence here secret. I'm sure you understand.'

‘All right,' said Tansy doubtfully.

‘Hold on,' said Perrin. ‘How are you going to keep it secret from people who visit the Temple?'

‘My Lord Eskirenwey has agreed to remain in his room until further notice. I'm sure that his friends will also respect the necessity for discretion?'

Perrin whistled. ‘You're locking us in? Indefinitely?'

‘For a short while only.' Bettenwey stood. ‘I knew I could rely upon your intelligence.'

Tansy jumped up. ‘What about Penthesi? He'll fret if he don't see us!'

‘The horse will be well cared for.'

Perrin said, ‘Can't we at least see Skir?'

‘I'm afraid that will not be possible.' The High Priest withdrew toward the door. ‘Your co-operation is appreciated. Please regard yourselves as our honoured guests.'

The door closed behind Bettenwey. Perrin looked at Tansy. ‘Honoured guests, my backside. Prisoners, more like.'

Tansy said, ‘Gives me shivers up my spine, that Bettenwey. Near as bad as Lady Wanion.'

‘He's a smart man.' Perrin prowled across the room and yanked the door open; a pair of armed servants barred the corridor. Perrin saluted them, and shut the door. ‘Just checking . . .' He threw himself down on the rumpled bed and patted the space beside him. ‘You know, it might not be so bad, being locked up in here all day.'

‘You mind your manners,' said Tansy, reaching for her coffee cup. ‘I ain't finished my breakfast.'

The next few days passed in blank misery for Skir. He was more of a prisoner here, in the only home he could remember, than he had been at Arvestel, among strangers. At least at Arvestel he was free to walk outside; he'd had his painting, conversations, music, light and air and luxury . . . All the things he thought he despised about Baltimar turned out to be the things he missed most.

No. What he missed most was Beeman.

After their argument on the first night, Skir and Bettenwey maintained a cold civility. They were never alone together. They had one disagreement, in Skir's only secret meeting with the Council of Priests, when he learned that Tansy and Perrin were locked up too. He insisted that they be freed, at least within the Temple walls, and Bettenwey backed down. They would be permitted to move about inside the Temple precinct, so long as they spoke to no one.

Skir longed to see them, especially Tansy. He felt like a shadow of a person, drifting around his sparsely furnished room. Outside the Temple, with Tansy and Perrin, he had been real. How long could Bettenwey keep him here? What was he waiting for?

Then one day Skir found out.

Starved for company, he had struck up a tentative friendship with the servant who brought his meals. At first Ulia was too awestruck to speak, but gradually she began to tell him scraps of gossip from the kitchens. ‘There are rumours all over Gleve, My Lord. Some say you're here in the Temple, and some say you're dead.'

Skir shovelled eggs onto his fork without comment. He had begun to wonder if Bettenwey planned to murder him in his bed. Then both rumours would be true. ‘Have you seen the two who brought me here?'

‘The two foreigners? Yes, I've seen them, My Lord.' She gave a sly smile. ‘He's a charmer, that lad, isn't he? Reckon I might have more news of them, come tomorrow. You wait and see.'

Perhaps Perrin would use the Signs to send a message with Ulia, thought Skir. But the next day it was a priest who brought his breakfast tray, the same timid-faced woman who had let them into the Temple.

‘Where's Ulia?'

‘She cannot wait on you today, My Lord.'

‘Why not? Is she ill?'

‘She – she has been whipped, My Lord, on the High Priest's order.'

‘
What?
What for?'

‘She was weak, and disobedient. She spoke with the foreigners. She plotted to help them meet you, against the High Priest's specific instructions.'

Skir threw down his knife and fork. ‘And she was whipped for that?' He dragged on the dark blue tunic that marked him as a high-ranking priest and jammed the twisted copper wire, the Circle of Attar, onto his head.

‘What are you doing, My Lord?'

‘I'm going to speak to Bettenwey,' said Skir grimly. He pounded on the door. ‘Take me to him at once.'

The servants who guarded him lowered their staffs and looked questioningly at the priest.

‘It is forbidden, My Lord,' she said.

Skir glared at her. ‘You'd follow the orders of the High Priest rather than the orders of your Priest-King? I'll be Priest-King here long after Bettenwey has gone to his next life, and I have an excellent memory. Take me to him now, or you'll regret it.'

The woman twisted her hands together. ‘My Lord – the High Priest is taking the morning prayer.'

‘Then I'll wait in his rooms.'

Her eyes darted nervously down the corridor.

Skir said, ‘I'm not going to run around all over the Temple. And you can't stop the Priest-King from seeing the High Priest.'

A moment later Skir was marching down the corridor after the priest with the two servants at his heels, and a moment after that he'd banged the doors closed and shut himself in Bettenwey's empty room.

The High Priest's quarters were far larger than Skir's own, almost as big as Skir's sitting-room at Arvestel. It gave Skir a perverse satisfaction to see that Bettenwey was even more untidy than he was. The bed was unmade, robes and shirts lay crumpled on the floor, and a big table by the wall was strewn with parchment scrolls. Skir paced up and down. It was a relief just to have a larger space to walk about in.

He glanced at the scrolls that lay on the table. Temple business, tedious matters of protocol, the minutes of boring committee meetings . . . Then he froze in shock. He re-read the Signs, unable to believe what he saw. But there was no mistake.

When Bettenwey returned from the morning prayer, Skir was standing by the window with the scroll in his hand. ‘Shut the door,' he said.

‘My Lord, may I ask why you are in my room?'

‘Shut the door. What is this?'

‘Those papers are records of Temple business, and no concern of yours, even if you could read them.'

‘Surely Temple business
is
my business. And I can read them. Fascinating stuff.'

Now it was Bettenwey's turn to freeze. ‘My Lord?'

‘Beeman taught me to read the Signs. You must have known that.'

‘He was not instructed . . . I don't believe –'

Skir read from the scroll. ‘Operation Broken Fire. The operation will take place on the first day of autumn.'

Bettenwey tried to snatch the parchment from Skir's hand. ‘That is private; it should not have been left lying about.'

‘I'll bet,' said Skir grimly, holding the scroll out of reach. ‘Careless of you. Still, no one can read it except me, and the Council. Do they know about this?'

‘The formal approval of the Council of Priests has not yet been sought.'

‘Because you know they'd never agree to it. What is Broken Fire? Some kind of explosive? How many people do you think will be killed by this scheme of yours?'

‘Some casualties will be unavoidable.'

‘I thought the priests helped the resistance with sabotage, destroying roads and bridges. Not mass murder!'

A look of irritation passed over Bettenwey's face. ‘My Lord Eskirenwey, if you are going to spy upon matters that don't concern you, you should at least attempt to understand the situation.'

‘True.' Skir folded his arms. ‘You explain it.'

Bettenwey took a deep breath. ‘Your disappearance from Arvestel has brought about a crisis in relations between Baltimar and Rengan. The Baltimarans can no longer sustain their military involvement in Cragonlands. They are willing to compromise over territory with Rengan on condition that the border skirmishes cease.'

Skir stared. ‘They're going to end the war? But that's good!'

‘No, you fool. They plan to carve up Cragonlands between them. There will be secret talks between the Baltimaran Colonial Administration and the Rengani High Command to work out who gets what. The talks will be held at the White Pavilion in the Old Quarter of Gleve, beginning on the first day of autumn.'

‘But that's . . .' Skir calculated. ‘Four days from now!'

‘Three days,' corrected Bettenwey. ‘And I am going to stop them.'

‘You're going to blow them up,' said Skir. He crumpled the scroll in his hand. ‘And then –
then
you'll announce that I've come back. That I did it.' Skir's face was white with anger. He recited from the parchment: ‘
There may be unavoidable civilian
casualties.
You mean it could kill other people – not just the soldiers and the politicians at the talks, but people living near the White Pavilion, innocent people, citizens of Gleve! I won't have mass slaughter committed in my name.'

Bettenwey clenched his teeth. ‘Eskirenwey, do you not see the opportunity presented here? This is the chance we have waited for all these years. We will strike at the Baltimarans, who invaded us –'

‘Baltimarans like Tansy.'

‘And at the Renganis, who have exploited us –'

‘Renganis like Perrin.'

‘The symbolic importance of the blow cannot be underestimated. This is only the first step. It will begin a mass uprising. The people of Cragonlands will throw off their oppressors. At last we will have true independence. With the help of the chanters.'

‘What chanters? There's nothing about chanters here.'

‘We will send for chanters from the Westlands to help us. They have built their power in the years of the Rising. Now it is time for the Singer to show what she can do.'

‘But you said chanters don't belong here! Why would they help us?'

Bettenwey bared his teeth in a wolfish smile. ‘Oh, I think they will. They don't belong here, but we can use them.'

‘Just as you want to use me,' said Skir bitterly. ‘Well, I won't do it.'

‘Do what? My Lord Eskirenwey, it is not necessary for you to
do
anything. This plan will proceed with or without your co-operation.'

‘I won't allow it.' Skir crumpled the scroll with both hands. Bettenwey stepped forward and gently prised it from his fingers.

‘My Lord,' he said, almost in a whisper. ‘I suggest you think about this carefully. Very carefully indeed. I told you once before, accidents happen in times of war. It would be dreadful if one were to happen to you. Now please, return to your room. I have work to do.'

CHAPTER 14

The Evening Prayer

‘IT ain't good for Penthesi, cooped up in the stables all the time,' said Tansy. She and Perrin sat in the thick shade in one of the inner courtyards. A priest walked briskly past and frowned at them; the Cragonlanders disapproved of idleness, and even more of idle foreigners. Tansy stuck out her tongue at his blue-clad back.