The Sand Prince (31 page)

Moth decided this was perhaps not the time or place to defend Lelet. He said, "Well let's assume you are correct and I am a ghost, and not the symptom of a brain tumor. Will you try and get the house... ah... unhaunted?"

Rane shrugged and toyed absently with a thick bandage wrapped around his left hand. "Don't know. Will you keep stealing my things?"

Moth picked the letter opener off the desk. "What if I just borrow them? I'll return this tomorrow. And then you won't have to explain to your family that you're seeing things. Again."

"That would be an awkward conversation. They're just looking for a reason to ship me out of here, anyway. And I want
all
my things back. You can keep Lel's crap." Moth nodded. Rane looked interested for the first time since they'd started talking. "What's it like? Where you are?"

Boring. "
You'll understand that, sadly, I am not at liberty to talk about the conditions of this particular haunting or why I'm here or where exactly I came from. Rules, you understand."

Rane reached under his chair and pulled out a bottle. "Are you corporeal enough to have a drink?"

"O Light and Wind, yes."

Rane handed him a glass of something amber colored and foul tasting. It was fantastic.

***

"N
ow, Scilla," Rane was saying about halfway through the bottle, "if there were any justice in this world, she'd be running the family farm and Pol could take a day off. She's the smart one, even if her head's in the clouds half the time. But sweet as pie—you know, I don't think I've ever heard Scilla raise her voice. It would do her good to be less timid, maybe they would have thought twice about locking her away in that stupid school. Can you believe it? Forever! Like she's a criminal!" He tended to gesture with his glass to the point that he was wearing a good deal of his drink. His handsome light blue shirt was speckled with dark blue flecks.

Moth wondered if Rane would be proud of his little sister's emotional development. He also wondered briefly what pie was. He asked, "What kind of a place is it, anyway?" There was an old expression on Eriis about knowing the mind of your master. "Why do they have her locked away?"

"It's supposed to be a great honor—oh, thank you, I will take a splash more... more... more... that's fine—for the family. Fifth child goes to the Order. Stupid thing to do with some crazy old story about demons."

Moth froze, the glass halfway to his lips. "But you don't believe in that."

"No one does, I mean really! Demons!" Rane shook his head and continued with some real anger. "That's like the whole point of the school, they train the Fifths to keep some imaginary Door portal thing shut so the demons can't get in to invade the fair and innocent city of Mistra. Which, if you ask me, could use a good invasion. So the Families endow the Guardhouse, and it’s just a big scam. So yeah, that's where she lives. And from what she says, she loves it there! Spending her life keeping us safe from imaginary demons. If that isn't the stupidest thing you ever heard in your life. Er, afterlife. Apologies."

"So no demons, but you believe in ghosts?"
Tread lightly
, he thought.

"Well, obviously I've never drunk a bottle of very nice..." Rane peered at the bottle "... '87 Reserve with a demon, now have I? I guess if I wake up in the morning and there's only one glass the jokes on me and my brain tumor. Why? Do you have some sort of post-viability inside information?"

"No," said Moth, "I think I know less than you. I was... away for a long time before I came here." He wished he could say more, although he could tell Rane was not one to trust with a secret. He'd been on this side long enough to know perfectly well that dogs couldn't talk. "Tell me why you fight with your other sister. She seems nice enough to me." At Rane's look he added, "It’s possible I'm wrong, of course. I could be a poor judge of character, being a ghost. Which I am."

Rane laughed again and poured them both another healthy shot. "I could tell you stories that would make your hair fall out about that girl. Do you know, she put spiders in my shoes! Real spiders! But honestly, it’s just something we do. I can't remember a time when we didn't have some sort of grudge death-match going on." He looked slightly confused. "But it wasn't her that's been getting into my things recently, is it? So we really haven't been fighting for a while." He looked at Moth suspiciously. "It's you that's doing it." Rane stared down at his bandaged hand and back at Moth, who began to look around the room for a good, deep shadow.

Rane lost color and set his drink down with a bang. "I may have done something bad," he said. "I may have made a mistake." He stood and began to pace. "I wasn't sure it was you, after all. It might still have been her. Birds and bats. I had my suspicions, but the mirror pieces in my bed, well, look!" He shoved his bandaged hand under Moth's nose. "I was angry. There was blood—my blood. What was I supposed to do? Nothing?"

"It was me," said Moth, keeping an eye on a dark place behind the door, "and I am sorry about that, but I had my reasons. What did you do?"

"It isn't my fault!" Rane's voice rose alarmingly. "I didn't know it wasn't her, and even if I did, she had it coming." He looked out the window, at the floor, anywhere but at Moth. "Whatever happens, it's her fault."

Moth took Rane by the arm. He knew these humans liked to touch each other and found comfort in it. "Tell me what happened." He pitched his voice quiet and low, the voice he used with Aelle when she was trying to have a fight. "Just tell me and we can figure it out and fix it. Its fine, you'll see. Here, sit down. Here's your drink." Rane took another swallow of the liquor and a deep breath. When he looked up, Moth thought his eyes looked like that of a bird in the trees – shiny and blank.

"I paid a boy to cut the girth on her tack."

Moth knew what 'cut' was but the rest meant nothing to him. "I don't... why is that bad?"

"You don't know what I'm talking about, do you? City ghost." He gave Moth a scorching look of disgust and spoke slowly. "The saddle. On the horse. It holds the whole thing together. And I had it cut almost through. So your little friend is probably lying in a ditch somewhere, and now that I think about it, it’s really all your fault. You did it."

Moth still wasn't completely clear about what Rane had done, but he understood 'lying in a ditch'. "I'm going to find her. You're right, this is my fault." In a way, it was. Also, he figured it was best to just agree with everything Rane came out with. If Scilla had looked a bit off, Rane looked exactly like someone who had conversations with dogs. "Just stay here. Have another glass. I'm going to go make sure she's fine, and then we can talk some more."

"You'd do that for me?" Rane looked so nakedly hopeful it made Moth afraid he'd never get out of the room if he didn't agree.

"I owe it to you, don't I? Isn't this my fault?"

"I'm feeling a little tired. Let me know she's fine, won't you?" Rane turned his back on Moth and looked out the front window, down towards the street and the horses and flowers and humans and dogs. "Goodbye. It was nice meeting you."

––––––––

The Duke slapped Mammoth on his shining neck. "You and me, my lad, that's all the company I could ever want or need."

The horse rolled its great eye back at its master as if to say, "That's kind of you to say but not completely true."

-The Claiming of the Duke, pg 71

Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)

––––––––

M
istra

100 years after the War of the Door, Mistran calendar

20 years later, Eriisai calendar

Rosemont Park

Mistra, as it turned out, hadn't satisfied itself with its network of bridges, neighborhoods of huge houses, cramped apartment buildings, theaters, universities, museums, and libraries. It also took into account that someone, one day, might like to go riding. So a long series of interconnected parks ran practically through the center of the city, perfect for a day out with your horse.

Moth thought about Eriis—the Quarter he'd once found so enticing and dangerous, the Market where you'd meet everyone you knew. His family's quarters—which despite its grand size had only ever housed himself and his mother. His library. The school and the play yard. Burning plains outside the city wall. And all of it seen through a dim haze of ash.

He wondered if he'd ever see it again. Every now and then he would ask himself if he still wanted to go home. And he did. But sometimes he couldn't remember exactly why, other than that it was his.

Following a footpath to a pedestrian bridge to an ornamental roundabout and past a stable and restaurant (he kept well clear but even so, the horses could tell he was nearby) he found himself at the edge of a huge, velvety green, manicured lawn.
How do they get the grass so perfect?
He'd have to worry about that later. He could see buildings rising in the distance, on the other side of the parkland. He thought that was where he'd attended the party with the wine, but he couldn't be sure.

Right now he was following the tiny spark which he recognized as Lelet. He thought again how much he didn't know. Why could he see them? He’d never seen such things back home, and it wasn’t likely this was some new skill he’d suddenly manifested. Was it because he was bound to the household? Like the mystery of the perfect lawn, it would have to wait.

He'd stuck his head through the kitchen door and asked a maid, elbow deep in hot soapy water, if she'd seen Lelet. 'Riding, as usual', the woman responded without looking over her shoulder. He’d waited for the pull, the mental leash that kept him from leaving the house, or speaking Scilla's name, or the hundred other rules she'd made him follow. But this time, he’d felt nothing. He could go and look for Lelet.

He'd retrieved his stupid hat from his pile of possessions on Lelet's balcony and left the house, reverting back to carefully slipping through shadows. He was surprised to find the ability felt easier and more natural than it ever had back home.
I'm good for something after all.
And then he thought,
My blood likes it here.
And then,
Don't think about that now. Everything in its order.

He'd been strenuously avoiding that line of thought since he'd arrived in Mistra.

What if she's lying with a twisted ankle in the middle of a field? What if I have to carry her back to the house?
He wanted to throttle Scilla for putting him in the middle of this family of screamers, clowns, drunks, and outright lunatics.
I fit right in. An occasionally invisible half demon who may also be either a ghost or a brain tumor.

He followed a little stream, taking a moment to admire the rills and tiny falls it made over the rocks—water was still his favorite part, although the green smell of the park was a new and intense pleasure, huge and sweet, similar to his glass house (which was more intimate and a little bitter) and as he continued he could feel Lelet's spark growing brighter. He was close. If he kept on this particular path, at least he'd be close to the cover of the trees. He looked at the sky, noting it would be getting dark soon, and that was good news for being invisible, but bad news for finding one small woman in an unlit forest, or field, or up a tree, or wherever she was.

From behind, he heard a series of muffled thumps, a sort of loud snort, and something that might have been a grunt. He turned to find himself eye to eye with the object of so much of his fascination. The horse, however, didn't seem so happy to see him, it made the angry little dogs look like stuffed mice. Its face, startling in its size, was dark brown with a big white stripe between the eyes, and it had huge yellow teeth. He was sure it was going to bite him, and quickly took a step back. It took a step forward. He backed up again, this time tripping and landing on the grass. It stood over him, giving him a good look at its teeth, but at least it did not seem like it would take his head off.

Despite its general appearance of ferociousness, its nose looked so soft, he was touching it before he could stop himself. It blew into his hand and nodded with such enthusiasm he had to duck out of the way. Maybe it wasn't terribly angry after all?

"It’s very nice to make your acquaintance," he told the horse as he stroked its nose, braving a tentative pat between the animal’s enormous brown eyes. "Are you Lelet's horse? Is that why you're upset? Because you have to deal with these crazy humans also? And why are you not nervous that I'm near you? This is one of Pol's shirts. Maybe you think I'm him." (It was tight through the shoulders, but Pol enjoyed his meals, so in other respects it was roomy enough.) The horse had no answer, but moved so fast that he had to roll out of the way to avoid getting stepped on. Its feet were huge and appeared to be made of bone. He noted the part you sit on—some sort of elaborate leather contraption—was twisted underneath. It looked uncomfortable. He gathered that was the reason it was in a bad mood. "I don't suppose you'll be leading me to her? Because that would be extremely useful."

It snorted again and wandered back the way he'd come.

"Well, it was nice to meet you," he called after it.

He got to his feet and followed Lelet's spark deeper into the parkland. He thought it was possible that the horse was the most sensible creature he'd met so far. The Duke's enormous affection for his Mammoth became even more understandable.

Well, Malloy, you got that part right. And if there's a Mammoth, maybe there's also a Gwenyth. In any event, I very much look forward to our sitting down for a talk.

He continued to follow the little stream and follow the tiny light that led him towards the girl. Finally, he thought he saw something on the far side of the water, very close to the bank, breaking up the unending vivid green—although long shadows were starting to turn the meadow and the forest black. A bit of red, he thought, could that be her? He paled.
Blood? What if she was dead? Rane was right, I've as good as killed her myself.

He put on some speed, flowing invisibly along the darkening treeline. He got closer.