The High House (30 page)

Without further words, the lady led them through a back exit into a dimly lit corridor lined with doors on either side. The duchess’s servants knocked on each of these as they went, repeating the same phrase to those inside: “The Master of Evenmere has come. Prepare yourselves for battle.”

Men began pouring from the doors, pulling their boots on as they came, men grim of mien, silent in their resolution, the sorrows of their ruined homeland upon their faces, carrying swords and crossbows, pistols and pikes, some in armor, others in woolen cloth. The duchess did not pause to address them, but within moments a battalion followed her, and Carter and Duskin found themselves urged forward by the press.

Thus they marched through the desolation of Veth, the army growing with every step. Scouts went forth, and soon came running back, reporting Rooko’s men encamped near what was called the Great Square, warning that they outnumbered their own forces, whispering that the dark-cloaked anarchists were among them.

“The Bobby’s lies have spread too far,” Mélusine said. “Stories of grandeur and glory, of Veth becoming a great empire, as Lorrimon of old.”

They came to a canal, sixty feet wide, built of red marble, which brought the water supply from the mountains beyond the Terraces into Veth. The entire area was of white and vermilion stones, so that the flames had not touched it, and Carter saw the splendor of Veth, not as the massive carved palace of Kitinthim had been, but with a beauty of marble sculptures and cool, ivory pillars, and depictions of butterflies cut with such skill that light could be seen through the thin sheet of their marble wings. Glass globes, like colored Chinese lanterns, hung from poles all along the walkway beside the canal; sunlight drifted down from high skylights in the domed ceiling, and parrots of many hues sat on the poles, eyeing the men knowingly.

The company wound its way beside the canal, and still their numbers grew. An anger was building within them, and words were spoken, threats of punishment and death for those who had sided with Rooko. Yet, a dread was upon Carter, for he knew these men had rallied around him, as if he were their commander, and he did not know how to help.

On the opposite shore they saw clusters of rebels, some soldiers, most dressed as common men, though many carried bludgeons and bows. None bothered to fire arrows, but fled upon seeing Mélusine’s forces, undoubtedly to warn Rooko.

They quickly came to a wooden bridge, wide enough for four men to walk abreast. Upon its far side a company larger than Mélusine’s own were gathered, and at their head stood a man in a red cloak, slightly taller than his fellows, with hair dark as crow’s feathers. The distance was such that a voice could carry easily, and as the duchess halted at the end of the span, a silence fell upon both sides.

The red-caped leader spoke first, in the accent of an unlearned man. “What are you doin’ out of your hidin’ place, old woman? Have you come to surrender to the will of the people?”

“And have you burned down the duchy at the will of the people?” the duchess demanded. “Did you strike the flint for the good of the children?”

“It weren’t me as did it,” Rooko cried. “Don’t try to blame me. It was your soldiers, to ruin what you cannot keep. But we will build anew, when you swing from the high balconies, and Veth will become great, so that we bow and scrape no more to those from Gimry and Knoll.”

“Will your new friends make it so?” the duchess asked sadly. “In one respect you are correct—I am not a great woman and Veth is not a great kingdom. But war will not change that. I have heard your plans; we are not strong enough to fulfill them. Has the lure of treasure blinded you? You are serving the will of the anarchists. They do not care that the White Circle will crush us if we invade our neighbors. We are farmers and blacksmiths, crafters in wood and stone, not warriors.”

“If you don’t share our vision of glory, you better step aside,” Rooko said. “You have nothing to offer us.”

“I have this,” the duchess said, her voice rolling across the bridge. And though she looked very small among those tall men, every eye was upon her. “The Master of the High House is come, though you said he never would, and he stands here with me.”

The announcement caused a reaction Carter would never have expected, exclamations of wonder followed by awed silence. Rooko appeared stunned, and he stared wordlessly across the span for a dozen heartbeats. Then he gave a slow, rolling laugh.

“Do you think we’ll surrender so easily to an impostor?” he asked. “The Master has been gone for years.”

But Carter stepped forward a pace, feeling scarcely regal in his tattered clothing. All during the confrontation, he had focused on the Words of Power, and now held one at the ready.

He spoke it, guessing little its result.

The canal water paused in its course, and all heads turned at its sudden silence. First the bridge, then the entire hall shook violently. Men fell to their knees in fear; several on both sides threw down their weapons and fled. The duchess stood her ground, tiny hands on hips, chin thrust forward, but her face was ashen.

In the silence that followed Carter cried, “My father was Master of Evenmere, I serve until his return! What has Veth done to itself? Do you become mighty by burning your homes? Do you become lords by obeying the anarchists? You serve only Entropy. Rooko has deceived you. This is but one of many fronts where the anarchists have struck.”

He began to walk across the bridge, the Lady Mélusine beside him. The whole force followed a few steps behind their duchess.

“Archers!” Rooko called. “Show these mongrels we have no need for a Master of the High House.”

A few of the men nocked arrows to their bows, and a murmuring ran through all of Rooko’s troops.

Carter did not slow his pace, but kept his eyes on the leader of the rebellion.

An arrow struck at his feet; he strode over it, not allowing his step to falter. He could see the glint of the shafts aimed at his heart. His pulse beat at his temples.

Something flashed to his right, and he saw an anarchist behind Rooko collapse, a knife embedded in his chest, the pistol he had aimed at Carter fallen from his grasp. He thought it was over then, that the rebels would cut him down with return fire, but they only stared dumbly at the slain man.

Suddenly, one of the archers flung his bow to the ground and dropped to his knees. And then all of them were discarding their weapons, and falling to obeisance, some with tears in their eyes, some openly weeping.
The Master has returned
passed in whispers up and down the whole band.

Carter stopped four feet from Rooko. This close he perceived an uncouthness about the man, who was scarcely older than twenty, his pale eyes close together, his face lean like a hungry fox. Here was one who had found a following at an early age, and had reveled in his own prominence. But all arrogance had fled from his eyes; he looked imploringly from face to face, like a trapped animal, saw nothing that could help him, and tried to back away, but the press of the crowd prevented it.

“What is the law of Veth for a traitor and an arsonist?” Carter asked softly.

“Death, my lord,” one of Rooko’s prostrate followers said. “By hanging.”

Carter knew this was no moment for leniency. “Then hang him, and the anarchists with him, and your duchess will surely pardon those of you who were misled.”

Men from both sides rushed to seize Rooko, and his lieutenants with him, who had deceived the people as well. The duchess quickly took charge, and had soon dissipated the crowds, some to the work of finding shelter and food for those who had lost their homes, some to rounding up the anarchists, who had all mysteriously vanished, and some to repairing what could be repaired.

“We will have to purchase wood from North Lowing, and stone from Keedin,” she said.

“How did you know the people would relent when they saw me?” Carter asked. “They might just as well had me skewered.”

“I knew once we rattled their leaders the people would turn,” Mélusine said. “They are a good folk, led astray. Mostly they are fond of me, I think; we just needed to get their attention. Respect for the Master is great in our land. One of the few women to serve in that position was from our country, and it is said when Veth was first built, that Uzzia, who was Master then, brought the red marble you see around you all the way from Merimna, and donated more besides.”

“Then if the word of a Steward has any meaning, tell those who would sell you wood and stone that I request fair dealings and more,” Carter said. “Veth is but the first to falter before the Bobby’s forces; all the White Circle must work together to restore the peace.”

“If I could I would prepare a banquet for you, in gratitude for what you have done,” Mélusine said. “But half my people are hungry and homeless. I cannot feast while they famish.”

“If you can point us toward Arkalen, that will be gratitude enough,” Carter said. “We are in some haste. But if you require shelter, there is much room in Kitinthim, and I don’t think Spridel of the Guild of Dusters and Burnishers would refuse those in need.”

“That is a good thought,” Mélusine said. “I will contact him. But as for your journey, if you could remain with us the rest of the day, so the people might see you, I would be grateful. If you leave too soon, they will misdoubt all that has occurred here. Tomorrow, guides will lead you to the Arkalen door.”

Carter hesitated, torn by his desire to complete his mission, but Duskin said, “We can stay the day, but no more.” He gave Carter a significant look, and the Steward nodded.

“Wonderful!” the duchess said.

They spent the afternoon accompanying Mélusine through her duchy, and Carter learned much from watching her deal with her countrymen. If men were hungry, she found food, if weary, a place to rest; if angry, she calmed them; if sorrowing, she comforted them. She was a woman of the people, and it was clear they loved her, though they had forgotten for a time under Rooko’s persuasion. And always, wherever they went, the people treated Carter with awed wonder, as if he were one risen from the grave, or a great king of old. He spoke to them, and tousled the hair of their children, and though he promised them nothing and made no speeches, it was as Mélusine had said, that he brought them hope. And he saw how wise Duskin had been, to make them stay.

A girl of about eight, brown-haired and blue-eyed, came to him during the afternoon, and looking up solemn and sad, said, “Are you really the Master?”

Because she was a child who would not understand the difference between Master and Steward, he said, “I am.”

“Will you find my lost brother, sir?”

He looked at the duchess, but Mélusine shook her head. “Her brother, Nicholas, was in the rooms nearest the fire. He hasn’t been seen.”

“Please, sir, you are the Master.”

Carter knelt beside her, speechless before those innocent eyes. But before he could think of what to say, a lad of twelve rushed up to her, and taking her hand, cried, “Penelope, he’s been found! Nicholas has been found! He hid beneath the wreckage and he’s all right. Come quickly!”

She gave the reassured smile of a child, looked at Carter gratefully, and said, “Thank you, sir. I knew you would.”

Then she was gone, while Carter still knelt, dumbfounded.

But Mélusine laughed heartily. “Good news! And that was good fortune indeed! Forever after, she will think the Master returned her brother to her.”

“Yes,” Carter said, but his face was pale. “And what would I have done if he hadn’t arrived when he did?”

They slept in Petite Hall that night, brightly lit apartments with low-beamed ceilings, Morris patterns in every shade, blue and white china lamps, plates, and vases, and stained-glass windows with sunflowers in every square. Mélusine’s husband had died fifteen years before, and the chambers held the cheerful look only a woman living alone can bring to such dwellings. The rebels, who had occupied the hall for a time, had done surprisingly little damage, further evidence that they respected their duchess more than even they had known. Those larders not empty the duchess distributed among the needy, so supper was not elegant, but adequate. They ate late, then the brothers went almost immediately to the room they were to share, for the day had been long, and the duchess appeared exhausted. They fell asleep on feather beds, too weary to talk.

Mélusine woke them early the next morning, and they breakfasted together. Someone had found eggs and day-old biscuits, but there was enough, and the men were satisfied. They spoke to the duchess of friendships and alliances, and she promised to do what she could to help the White Circle once order was restored. Midway through the meal, two tall, slender men appeared, bearing the insignia and blue mail of soldiers of Veth, ready to lead Carter and Duskin to Arkalen as Mélusine had promised. The Porcelain Duchess had a kingdom to put to rights, so they did not tarry, but bowed to her and departed.

Their guides seemed to hold the pair in awe, for they were extremely polite, and said nothing unless questioned. As the brothers followed them through the burnt, disfigured halls, Duskin said, “I never got a chance to ask, but I’m curious—what Word of Power did you use on the bridge, that disarmed the rebels and kept them from cutting us all down?”

Carter chuckled, but spoke softly so their guides could not overhear. “It was the Word of Secret Ways. I didn’t know if they would shoot us or not, but I knew the use of any of the Words of Power could shake the house. It was an effect, nothing more, and it provided no defense. They could have killed us all on the bridge. I gambled that even Rooko’s followers were shocked by the burning of Veth, and that they held to him only from pride. They couldn’t have thought the duchess would torch her own kingdom; one need only look at her to know otherwise. All they needed was an excuse to desert the villain.”

Duskin was silent a moment. Then, finally, he spoke, “You say you are only the Steward, but yesterday I think you were the Master, whether you wished it or not.”

“Does that make you angry?”

The young man looked pensive. “No, though once it would have. I’m no coward, but I wouldn’t have led those men across the bridge.”