The Jack of Souls (23 page)

“Good man. And where is our unfortunate grain monger, Brolli? He’s still with us?”

Brolli chuckled. “He is looking worse than when we find him,” he said, in his strange accent. “But he not looking good then, either. Over by the barrels. No, other way. Four pacings.”

“Harric?” Caris said, reviving. “He’s all right? Harric?”

“I’m all right. Sort of.”

She groped her way to him and held him by the shoulders. “I tried to leave,” she whispered, “but—I worried—” Her voice hitched, and Harric cocked his head to hear her better, for it almost seemed she was…what? Choking up over him? “I thought we should travel together,” she continued, with an awkwardness somehow magnified by his inability to see her. “Leave together. For safety.”

“You know each other,” the old man observed. “Pairing’s a wise idea, considering your situation. Now, there’s no time to explain, but I gave you the wrong purse today, son. My mistake. I need that trinket I gave you, and I have another purse to make up for your trouble. I think you’ll find it a more than fair trade.”

“Make up for my trouble?” Harric chuckled. “You can’t afford the trouble I’ve had.”

“I’m sorry about that. But I’m not stingy, and I know you’re an honorable lad.” He located Harric’s arm and pressed a purse tight with coins into Harric’s hand. “Take this. More than that ring is worth.”

“What ring? It was a nut—”

“We want to go with you,” Caris interrupted.

The old man snorted. “Ridiculous. You have no idea what you’re saying.”

“We all need to get out of here,” Harric said, taking up Caris’s cause. “We know the area and can help you escape.”

“I know someone who can hide us,” Caris said. “There’s a stream we can follow west in the next valley—”

“No time for this, son—”

“Show us this stream,” Brolli said, in a tone of decision unlike any servant. “We travel together.”

“Wh—” The old knight choked. “Brolli, we’ve brought them enough trouble.”

“We can’t keep running, old man. You have wounds. And they know of safe places.”

The side door banged, followed by the murmur of hushed voices. At the edge of the porch, two housegirls appeared—neither with customers, which was unprecedented that summer. Harric guessed Bannus’s arrival had cast a pall over any merriment in the place. The women bent their heads in worried conference, close enough for Harric to smell their rose perfume, but the two were too self-absorbed and unadjusted to the dark to notice others near.

When the women slipped back into the lodge, the old man spoke. “Very well. You two fetch your horses from the stable and meet us on the road. We’ll be sure the north gate’s open for you. But I want that ring now.”

“So you can leave us again?” Harric said. “No deal. Once we’re safe and clear, we’ll settle up.” To Caris he said, “Stay here at the doors, and I’ll unlock them.”

Before the old knight could protest, Harric slipped his pack to his hand, felt his way along the stable to the corner of the yard, and slid sideways into the rat run too narrow for the others to follow.

I haven’t a hope of redressing
.

My might is with swords, not with ladies and words
,

Yet I beg you continue undressing.

—From “Sir Willard and the Mistaken Lady”

Unholy Heximony

H
arric’s head pounded
in pain, but his spirits rose in spite of it: he lived. And it now seemed he would make it out of Gallows Ferry. For Caris’s sake too he rejoiced, for she had just aided in a fight for the life of the very man she sought as mentor. As long as the old knight didn’t guess in Harric’s absence that it was she who had the ring, he might leave with Caris and the old knight together.

The rat run was a tight fit. For the last few years he’d had to exhale and sidestep his way to the other side, scraping his chest and back on the rough-sawn planking, whereas in boyhood he’d fairly galloped through for pranks and missions. As he sidled through, the witch-stone he’d stashed in his shirt pressed against his chest, right beside the useless nugget of witch-silver. Without the magic of his nineteenth birthday to keep his mother at bay, he was helpless. Surely the stone was as potent as the Proof…or would he have to know how to use it for it to do any good? The thought chilled him. No one in Arkendia could teach him how to use it. All he could do is hope that merely having the stone in his pocket was enough.

A gust of cool air greeted him as he emerged onto the west side of the stable and looked down to the black waters far below. The stable itself cantilevered over the void, as space was at a premium in Gallows Ferry, so there was no room to walk on the rim of the cliff. Instead, a narrow maintenance plank rimmed the exterior, and with nimble fingers and feet one might negotiate its length without trouble.

Gritting his teeth against the pain in his ribs, he stepped out onto the plank and stood with his back to the windy void. When the pain subsided, he clung as close to the wood as he could, lest a gust of river wind pry him away, and sidled his way down the length, keeping his eyes steadfastly on the plank before his feet. Midway, he found what he looked for: a floor-level dung trap left open for ventilation.

Gripping the top of the hatch, he kneeled on the narrow scaffold and stooped to peer inside. He hadn’t gotten his head around for a proper view before a gust of wind bulled along the scaffold and nearly knocked him flying. Cursing, he held himself in place as it drove its wedge between him and the siding. Had he still been standing when it came, it would have swept him into the void. As soon as it let off, he peered through the trap into the stable. As he’d hoped, the stall beyond was empty. The sweet smell of hay and horses greeted him, the air warm and humid. The place was in near darkness, lit only by Rudy’s lantern by the front doors, some half-dozen stalls away. Somewhere near the front Rudy cursed and threw something metal against a wall.

Harric pushed his pack through and inchwormed after, ribs screaming and limiting him to tiny agonizing movements.

When he finally succeeded, his shirt was soaked with sweat, and his injuries throbbed. He lay for long moments, listening to the sounds of the stable. Rudy, it seemed, was in a fouler mood than usual, cursing the stable boys and thrashing about by the south doors. By the time Harric crept across the empty stall to the right down the main aisle, the stable master had scared the boys out of sight and stood alone in the south doorway, muttering. Rudy fished a roll of ragleaf from his belt purse and lit it in the lantern, then stepped into the yard to smoke.

The horse in the stall to the left of Harric’s snorted loudly and snuffed at him through the rails. Farfit, one of Mother Ganner’s blood stallions; he had a bandage at the top of his neck where Caris had bled him to make travelers’ tonics.

As he let the beast snuff his hand, the three stable boys skulked by with brushes and hoof picks. Wallop and Gander were both nearly twelve, but Honald was only eight, and lived in terror of Rudy.

Harric hissed their names, and they started and squinted about until they saw him beckoning from the shadows. They lit up at the sight of him and gathered in his stall, glowing with admiration.

“Harric, you give Rudy that fat lip?” Wallop said. “He’s mad as a dragon.”

“Fat lip?” Harric grinned, guessing it had been Caris. “No. That was—a knight. A friend. But listen: something’s going to happen here now, and I don’t want you to get in trouble for it. Do you think you can find a reason to leave the stables, all three of you?”

They nodded. “We could fetch Rudy’s vittles,” Gander said. “He always wants vittles ’bout now, but Ma Ganner won’t abide him near the kitchens with a stink-roll lit up.”

“Good. Go fetch his vittles, but take your time. Be standing by the kitchen door when you hear him holler, and I promise you’ll see something to keep you laughing a fortnight.”

The boys nodded eagerly.

“You leaving, Harric?” Honald asked.

“Have to, little man.”

“We’re gonna miss you,” said Gander. “You’re the only thing keeps Rudy in his place. If you go, there won’t be nothing holding him back.”

“And nobody to give us silver pennies,” said Honald.

Harric felt a pang of helpless loss. The three were the nearest thing he had to younger brothers, and he took it as an unspoken duty to protect them—especially Honald—from the worst of Rudy’s depredations. “I’ll be back some day. And if Rudy isn’t in his place when I do, I’ll put him there for good.”

“You promise?” Honald asked, eyes large and worried.

“I promise.”

Harric gave each an affectionate pat with one hand while his other moved unnoticed and dropped pennies in their pockets. “Now get his vittles, only make it look like it was his idea. And don’t look too eager…wipe that smile off your face, Honald. Look all tired and ornery. That’s it.”

The boys shuffled away, and Harric listened to their words with Rudy. After a few grunts from the stable master, the boys’ murmurs faded, and Harric guessed they’d gone to the kitchen. He crept from the stall to the back doors, where the light of the lantern was weak, and opened them for Caris.

“The boys are gone,” he said as she slipped in. “Rudy’s drunk and smoking.”

Her eyes were already glazed in the comfort of the horse world. At the sound of his voice she blinked, and frowned, until her eyes lit upon him and focused. “Open the stalls,” she said, eyes distant. “All stalls. Bring them out. We’ll run them up the road. They can’t pursue without horses.”

Harric grinned, and winced at the split in his lip. “If it wouldn’t hurt so much, I’d kiss you.”

Too late he realized that simple flirtation was too fraught with human emotions for her to process in her horse-tied state. She covered her ears, sealed her eyes, and lurched away from him. He feared she’d howl as she had on similar occasions, but to his relief she remained silent. He gave her as much space as he could, and after long moments she breathed normally. She gave him a warning glare, to which he raised his hands in silent apology. Then she turned away, submerging herself, he imagined, in the world of horses.

Harric slipped away and set to work opening the stalls of the mares and geldings first, and leading them out to stand together in the central passage. Their stillness under Caris’s influence was eerie. Though many of the beasts were unfamiliar to Harric and to each other, in Caris’s presence they became as a unified herd, their mood following hers. Even the stallions, when walked out to the floor, hardly seemed to notice each other. Jacky, who was wont to nicker in greeting whenever he saw Harric, stood still while Harric saddled him and slipped the bit between his lips.

Rudy smoked outside the doors to keep his spark away from the straw, so Harric’s work was swift and easy. But the last horse he released stood nearest the front doors. It was a pampered-looking Iberg stallion—the witch’s horse, judging by the odd-styled saddle on the peg. Ibergs horses were generally high-strung and irritable, but even that beast stayed calm at his touch.

A voice of alarm sounded in the yard. Someone spoke with Rudy, and Harric heard the words “murder” and “bodies.”

Harric turned toward Caris to signal trouble, but a movement above him caught his attention. In the rafters he saw a shadowy animal figure—
a moon cat!
—no bigger than a rabbit, that crouched and leapt and landed on the back of the stallion. The stallion paid it no mind, but the cat craned its long neck toward Harric and eagerly nosed at the stone in Harric’s shirt.

How?
A whiff of aconite from its fur.
Oh…the witch’s cat.

The south doors flew open no more than five strides from Harric, and Rudy stood between them, jaw agape at the sight of all his horses standing calmly in the aisle. “What in the Black Moon…?” His eyes fell on Harric. “You!”

*

Caris let loose
with a bizarre shouting whinny, and the horses lunged as one for Rudy and the doors.

Harric grabbed the Iberg’s mane and hauled himself astride as it lunged through the doors and shouldered Rudy into a straw rick. The moon cat clawed its way from the horse up Harric’s sleeve and his shoulder, where it clung like a burr, its long neck craning about, blank white eyes wide and bright. From its fur, a whiff of Iberg perfume.