The Hidden Coronet (22 page)

The Sekoi walked ahead and Galen followed, nearly as tall, his dark coat making him a gaunt shadow among the fires. The camp smelled of trodden grass and smoke. It was crowded but strangely quiet. Solon looked around at the watching faces in avid curiosity, but Marco seemed oddly intimidated; he carried his crossbow, even unloaded, as if it were some comfort.

“Are you sure this isn’t some sort of trap?” he muttered, glancing back.

Solon smiled kindly at him. “Nervous, my son?”

“Holiness, I’m scared stiff. There are thousands of them.”

“They want nothing from us.”

“Gold.” Marco nursed the bow. “They’d do anything for gold. Mind you”—he grinned at Raffi—“so would I.”

Raffi didn’t smile. “So how much will you get for the Coronet?” he asked sourly.

Marco stared, his grin fading. After a moment he said, “That was hard, Raffi. You’re getting like your master.”

Raffi felt a flicker of shame. Until he remembered Carys. “She’s not the spy,” he said sullenly. “So who’s left?”

The bald man had no time to retort. They had come to an enormous pavilion, the biggest structure in the maze of silks by far. It was made of some deep crimson fabric, and all its sides hung in elaborate folded shapes, rising to three high pinnacles where owls perched silent under rippling pennants.

The Sekoi turned. “Leave everything outside. Especially that bow.”

Galen tossed the stick and pack down. Raffi did the same. Marco looked distinctly rebellious.

“Come on, old friend,” Solon murmured. “No one will threaten us.”

“You’d better be right.” Marco dumped the bow ungraciously. “This lot scare me more than the Watch.”

Galen glared at him darkly. “Maybe you should stay outside.” It was the first time he had spoken to Marco since the observatory.

The bald man shook his head. “Oh no. You don’t lose me that easily.”

The Sekoi gave an impatient mew. “We’re late. This way.”

It led them inside.

The first thing that struck Raffi was the scent. It was so sweet, a delicious sweetness of honey or sugared cakes. They walked on luxurious woven rugs and soft carpets that silenced their tread. Around them the walls and high ceiling rippled crimson. Small lamps sputtered on bronze stands; on a rail in the very center of the room an ancient gray owl slumbered, one eye slitted to watch them come.

“No one here,” Marco whispered.

“Yes there is.” The Sekoi said something to the owl in the Tongue. It hooted, long and low, and with a speed that startled Raffi, its wings opened and it swooped soundlessly out through an opening in the roof.

“Sit down,” the Sekoi said graciously.

There were cushions, thick and glossy. Solon sank among them in relief. “What luxury. And what happens now?”

“Food.” The Sekoi winked at Raffi. “We’re a hospitable race.”

When it came it was fruit, as he’d known it would be, but huge bowls of it, carried by an immensely strong Sekoi with pure white fur, its eyes amber and curious. Raffi was too hungry to wait; he ate berries and apples and the delicious soft flesh of the mavros eagerly, and drank the pale sherbet waters with Solon, debating about which was the best. Galen picked at the fruit, watching Marco, who said nothing and prowled uneasily.

Until the Karamax walked in.

There were seven of them, all tall and all masked. The masks were elaborate, covering the upper half of the face, made of satin and adorned with bizarre slashes of gold, with feathers and strange painted symbols. The eyes of the creatures behind them were amber and gold.

Galen went to move but the Sekoi glared at him and stood up, a tall, elegant figure. It began to speak urgently in the Tongue, its long fingers gesturing, and the seven Karamax sat on the cushions listening, their eyes flickering to the Starmen.

It bothered Raffi that he could feel nothing of them. He had grown to depend on the awen-field more than he’d realized.

The story took a long time. Finally the Sekoi fell silent.

The Karamax gazed at each other. Then the tallest, a red-furred creature dressed in yellow and blue, stood up. Its voice was female, and it spoke so they could all understand. “We have relived this tale with interest. We welcome you, keepers, and share our sorrows for your losses. Your enemies are our enemies. However, I fear there is little we can do except give you shelter. This relic our friend speaks of is unknown to us and we have no interest in such devices. The Makers’ power we acknowledge freely, but they are not our Makers . . .”

Galen leaped up, irritated. “Are you sure?” His voice was bitter with disappointment.

The Sekoi waved him back, alarmed. The Karamax seemed to stiffen.

“We have had this argument before,” the red-furred one said gently. “The Makers . . .”

Galen waved impatiently. “Not that! Are you sure you know nothing of the Coronet? Surely, in one of your many stories . . .”

“Nothing.”

Solon was on his feet too. “This is bitterly disappointing for us.”

“I know it. And for us too the weather is a cause of much disquiet,” the Karamax said smoothly, “but . . .” It stopped.

Outside the door-curtain loud voices were raised, one insistent, others angry. Suddenly the curtain was twitched aside, and two huge Sekoi marched in. Between them, struggling and furious, was a girl with soaked hair, the red dye almost washed out of it.

“Carys!” Raffi leaped up in delight.

The Sekoi gave a snarl of wrath. “You!”

“Yes, me!” She grinned at it, triumphant. “I told you no cage would hold me. I suppose they’ve already given you their excuses, Galen? Tried to fob you off with a pack of lies?”

He came forward and caught her arm. “What are you talking about, Carys?”

She laughed, scornful, shaking free of the sentinels. “Don’t you see? The Coronet is gold, isn’t it? Gold! So they’ve got it. It’s part of their Great Hoard, Galen, probably the most precious part. The Sekoi have the Coronet. They’ve had it for centuries.”

Astonished, he stared at her. “How do you know?”

She had looked forward to this. She drew herself up and grinned at him, enjoying it.

“Flain told me,” she said.

24

In the night the innkeeper crept into her room. The purse lay on a table; stealthily he opened it. One gold coin fell out. Then another. And another. The innkeeper capered with delight. He ran down the stairs and called to his wife.

“We’re rich!” he cried. The gold kept coming. More and more of it. And then he knew he couldn’t stop it.

Agramon’s Purse

S
HE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN he wouldn’t be surprised. For a moment he almost smiled at her.

Then he gave the Sekoi a sharp look. “Is it true?”

The creature made a mew of disgust. “Of course it’s not true! I would have told you at the beginning!”

“You might not have known.” Dangerously tense, Galen turned on the Council of Seven. “Tell me the truth,” he said. “I ask you in the name of Flain and all your own secret gods. Do you have the Coronet?”

The seven Karamax exchanged glances. Behind their masks their eyes were sharp and uneasy. Finally one of them shrugged.

“All right. We do.”

The silence in the tent was immense; it was the Sekoi who broke it. It snarled angrily in the Tongue, all the fur on its neck swelling with rage.

The Karamax spoke back, rapidly, three of them, but the Sekoi flung away, disgusted. “Galen,” it snapped, “I swear to you I had no knowledge of this. None!”

“Liar,” Carys said calmly. She folded her arms. “Admit it. You knew the whole time. And this Watchspy business. There
is
someone else who knew about the Crow. It’s
you
!”

“Stop it.” Galen’s eyes were black. “We don’t have time. The Coronet is what we’re here for.”

He watched the seven closely. “You must let us use it. I swear we won’t try to take it from you. You say our enemies are yours—then work with us. Help us!”

A Karamax with gray fur and a black and gold mask shook its head. “Unthinkable. We don’t know your reasons.”

“Indeed,” the red-furred female said kindly. “You must plead your case. On the strength of it we will make our decision. And it will be final. Agreed?”

Galen turned. “Well?”

The Sekoi shrugged angrily. “You’ve got no choice.”

“Solon?”

“Yes, my son. And I will speak.”

Galen turned back. “Agreed,” he said heavily.

The sentinels went back to the door. Carys pushed past Marco and sat by Raffi. She poured out blue sherbet water. “Glad to see me?”

“What happened to you?” he whispered.

She drank thirstily. “Tell you later. I want to hear this.” Only Solon was standing now. Around him the red tent rippled and flapped in the rising wind; before him on silk cushions the Karamax sat, eyes bright in the slits of their masks. The gray owl flew soundlessly onto its perch. It preened out one downy feather that drifted to the floor.

Solon seemed uncertain how begin. “Friends,” he said at last. “You’ve heard our story. Our search for this relic has been a strange one, and time is running out. The Makers have told us that the Coronet is a device that will stabilize something they called the weather-net. It will also, we hope, arrest the movement of the moon Agramon.”

The Council eyed one another.

Marco shifted, restless. “Come on, old friend,” he breathed.

Solon licked dry lips. He gave his kindest smile. “Believe me, we understand that gold is precious to you. But this relic is small. It weighs little. And because it was Flain’s, that makes it the property of his successors, that is, the Order. I am Solon, Archkeeper of the Order. I am the last successor of Flain.”

Marco’s eyebrows shot up. He looked at Raffi. Raffi nodded, silent.

“The weather is decaying,” Solon went on, holding his hands out. “Anara is dying. From all sides come reports of hurricanes, floods, destruction. Whole populations of birds and animals swarm and panic. We will all be killed if it worsens, both Sekoi and Starmen. I beg you to listen to us. We are not the Watch, my friends; we want only what is good for us all. Too many have suffered already; we have seen men and women injured and weeping over their children’s bodies. Soon more will be homeless; there will be famine and disease. For Flain’s sake, for all our sakes, let us use the Coronet. It is little enough to ask. You are a gentle race. I know you will help us.”

He sounded so wise and anxious that Raffi felt a great hope. They could never turn him down.

Solon let his hands fall.

The red-furred Karamax stood and looked at the owl. One eye open, the owl looked back. The crimson walls rippled, rain pattering on them.

The Karamax cleared its throat. “Thank you, Archkeeper,” it said softly. “We are saddened at your distress. We see the marks of the pain you have suffered. Because of that, we have decided to tell you things here that few others of your kind will ever have heard.” To their surprise it reached up and took its mask off, and they saw a young female, with a tribemark under one ear. “First, your claim as successor of Flain. We cannot admit this as a factor. The Sekoi own the Coronet now, we have had it for centuries. We have no laws of inheritance or restitution.”

The Sekoi sighed, and shook its head.

“Secondly, the weather. This decay has long been predicted.”

“By whom?” Solon asked, startled.

“You are not the only ones with sacred stories.” It smiled slyly. “My people know the Makers will return. Before they come, many evil portents will occur. It is said that the sky will darken and the moons, one by one, will fall from the sky. The land will shake and the things of Kest, even the Margrave himself, will be destroyed. The planet will be cleansed. This is what has started to happen. We do not wish to interfere.”

“Then you must be alarmed . . .”

“Not at all. For we are ready. The Sekoi will not be touched by this disaster. We have ... places. Secure places, deep underground. Here we will wait until it is safe to emerge. This is the reason for our gathering. Soon every Sekoi will vanish from Anara, and no Starman will know where we have gone.”

Except me, Carys thought idly. But no, the Palace of Theriss would have a fit if it had to accommodate all these. She wondered just how many secrets the Sekoi had. The Watch had underestimated them all these years.

“What about us?” Marco demanded. “The rest of us?”

The red-furred Sekoi looked at him. “We do not know. Maybe your Makers will come in time to save you.”

“I don’t believe in the Makers.”

The Karamax blinked. “Then you are a fool,” it said quietly.

Marco looked so astonished that Raffi almost smiled.

“So you will let the world be ruined?” Solon was appalled. “Allow hundreds of people to be killed?”

“It has been foretold. The Coronet is only a circle of gold. It can do nothing to stop the decay.”

“But it can!” Galen couldn’t keep silent any longer. He leaped up, the shadow of the Crow crackling around him. Side by side with Solon he faced them. “We know it can! Surely your obsessed lust for gold is . . .”

“You do not understand.” The Karamax pointed. “Your friend there. He understands.”