The Whisperer (7 page)

‘Indeed,’ Janko said. ‘That manservant of his sticks close.’

‘Pilo?’

‘Is that his name?’ Janko said innocently. ‘What’s his actual role?’

Pilo leaned forwards from behind the enormous velvet drapes that concealed him. He needed to hear clearly why the Duke was so interested in the relationship between Lute and himself.

Rodin chuckled. ‘It’s funny you mention that. There’s never been anything officially said but somewhere along the line Pilo became a personal aide to our son. Now he’s his closest companion. His champion, in fact. There is no title that fits him but he shadows Lute and that’s a good thing because Lute trusts him, loves him dearly.’

‘Like a father?’ Janko responded, and although it was gently done, Pilo sensed it was a deliberate barb, meant to wound.

But it seemed that the King was too secure in Lute’s affections to feel intimidated. ‘No,’ he scorned, then yawned. ‘More like a much older brother Lute never had.’

Pilo watched Janko smile benignly although the smile never reached his eyes. ‘Have you and Miralda kept trying for more
children? I’m still surprised and delighted of course that you were able to have Lute.’

Janko watched the King move in his seat as though pricked. ‘Well, yes, it’s no secret we struggled to have children. But we have Lute. One heir is all you need to keep the line going.’

‘You shall have to be very careful that nothing should happen to the boy, Rodin.’

Pilo felt his muscles stiffen. He tried to tell himself he was imagining it but all the same he heard the Duke’s words as a soft threat.

The King apparently did not, presumably feeling secure in his brother’s affections, although the words that Lute overheard in the bailey were now looming in Pilo’s mind. Was something amiss? Was the Duke hatching something?

‘We are being careful,’ Rodin replied evenly. ‘It’s why we permit Pilo such constant access. As I say, Lute trusts him.’

‘And you?’

‘Implicitly! I’d trust Pilo with my own life. I certainly trust him with my son’s.’

‘I was just thinking perhaps we should throw a small elite guard around Lute. My men, I’ll train them. We can—’

‘Absolutely no need. Lute would hate it. Besides, there’s no immediate threat.’

‘Rodin, you can be awfully cloud-headed sometimes. How can you possibly know when a threat might arise? That’s my very point. There is threat all around him, all the time. I’m a soldier. I know a bit about fighting and cunning. If someone wanted to kill the King and his heir, they’d hardly broadcast it by making themselves obvious.’

The King sat up, stung. ‘But who are you suggesting would want either myself or my son dead?’

Janko stared at his brother. ‘How about Besler?’ Then he softened. ‘No forget that. Besler will be quiet for a long time,’ he said finally. ‘But that’s not really the point. It doesn’t mean precautions shouldn’t be in place.’

‘Precautions
are
in place, Janko,’ Rodin said, sounding vexed now. ‘Stop fretting, for Lo’s sake. You worry about the security of our borders. I’ll worry about internal security. Pilo watches over Lute. My son needs nothing more.’

‘Nothing more?’

‘You haven’t seen Pilo with a sword.’

Pilo knew Rodin, who was staring into the fire, did not see how his brother’s gaze had narrowed at this comment. He would have heard only the gracious words, ‘As you wish, my King,’ that Janko said, and looked up to see the Duke smile in acceptance, although Pilo saw only cunning in it.

‘Well, time for bed, I think. My first sleep on a soft mattress in years. I have to be up early for a ride with Lute so forgive me for leaving you so suddenly,’ Janko said, getting up and giving a short bow.

‘Not at all. I’ve finished here. Are you sure you don’t want me to come along tomorrow morning?’

Pilo’s ears pricked up. He hadn’t realised the King wanted to join the ride. And Janko answered just as Pilo suspected he might. Pilo’s lips thinned as the Duke spoke.

‘No, Rodin. I think I need to get to know my nephew and the only way to do that is to have time alone with him. I’m looking forward to it.’ He smiled tightly again and left. Pilo was about to steal away himself when moments later a page ran up breathlessly.

‘My lord King,’ the boy said bowing.

‘Oh, what is it now?’ Rodin said, draining the last dregs of his fiery liqueur wine. ‘A message?’

‘From Captain Drew, my King. He said it is important you receive it now.’

‘Very well, what is it?’

The page straightened, cleared his throat softly. ‘I am to tell you, King Rodin, that Captain Drew is confused by the presence of Duke Janko’s troops on the outskirts of Floris.’

‘Well, they’ve just returned from the mountains. Why does he need an explanation from me?’ Rodin growled.

The boy looked back at the King blankly. ‘I’m sorry, my lord, but I was given that message to give to you. Captain Drew did add that he would appreciate a chance to discuss this with you.’

‘When?’

‘Now, my lord, on the battlements. He wishes to show you something.’

‘Lo save me! I’m a tired king who needs his sleep and you want me to climb to the top of the palace?’ The boy blinked, unsure. ‘Well, come on then, lad. Lead the way,’ the King grumbled as he stood.

Griff knocked on Tyren’s wagon door. It was his wife who opened it and stared down at him.

‘Er, Master Tyren asked me to come and speak with him,’ Griff said in response to her glare.

‘Now? It’s nearing midnight.’

‘Is that the boy?’ they heard Tyren yell from the depths of the wagon. ‘Tell him to come in.’

Tyren’s wife shrugged and stepped back so Griff could pass. He pulled off his cap. ‘Thank you, Madam Tyren,’ he mumbled, embarrassed. He’d never been inside their private wagon. Tyren normally worked out of one he called ‘the saloon’, where he did his business dealings. This was far more salubrious. Dark velvet drapes and ruby glass lanterns lent a plush, privileged air.

Tyren ambled out of the back to where Griff stood awkwardly. ‘Leave us,’ he said to his wife. ‘Sit down, Griff,’ he added, pointing at a hard chair near the door. ‘Want to taste some curaj?’ he asked, pouring himself a shot of the amber liquid from the etched glass flask on a small side table.

‘Er, no, sir. Um, I don’t.’

Tyren twitched a grin before knocking back the small glass of liquid, wincing as he swallowed. ‘Burns all the way down,’ he said, groaning softly. ‘Is that girl settled?’

‘Tess? Yes, sir. She’s going to be fine, I’m sure. Madam Tyren picked an outfit for her and we spent tonight planning how she can present the creatures in the show for maximum effect.
I befriended her as you asked and will help her all I can. She’s actually very nice so it’s not hard.’

‘I’m counting on you, boy. Keep an eye on her. I have a sneaky suspicion she’s not fully committed to our cause.’

Griff shrugged. ‘She has nowhere else to go, Master Tyren,’ he said carefully.

‘Don’t be too sure.’ He sat back and contemplated Griff, who squirmed beneath the scrutiny. ‘Anyway,’ Tyren continued. ‘I asked you here tonight to discuss you, not Tess. This quirky habit of yours. How accurate is it?’

‘Habit?’ Griff frowned.

‘You said you listen in on people. How accurate are you?’

Griff thought he could hear alarm bells ringing in his mind. ‘I don’t listen to them. I simply hear things. As to accuracy, I don’t know, Master Tyren. I never ask people to be able to check if I’m right or wrong.’

‘Well, you got my thoughts right earlier today. Surely you’ve practised on your brothers?’

‘No, sir. I don’t practise at all. I avoid using it as much as I can.’

The showmaster grinned and Griff saw cunning in his expression. ‘Well, you’re not going to avoid it for much longer, young Griff. I want to build a new act around it.’

Griff stared at Tyren as though he was speaking a different language, his face a mask of incomprehension.

‘I trust you’re not going to refuse,’ Tyren said at last and his tone was as cold as ice.

Griff began to gabble. ‘I hear random thoughts, Master Tyren, only when someone’s anxious and only when I am concentrating hard or I’ve let my guard down and they get through to me. I’ve taught myself—for most of the time anyway—how to block them from my mind.’

‘Well, unblock your mind, boy, because I plan to make many carks from you.’

‘Carks?’ Griff didn’t know whether to be amazed or horrified. ‘Master Tyren, I don’t even earn ten sharaks each moon. It would take years to earn a cark.’

‘I’m going to be charging you out at five jaks a visit, young Griff. Don’t you realise you’re not a freak of nature with a misshapen head, an extra long tongue, eleven fingers or one eye at the top of your nose? You’re not too tall, too short, too fat, too thin or too hairy. Everyone accepts that all of these quirks, visited upon some special people as the Mother’s sense of humour, are natural oddities…Nature taken a wrong path you could say.’

Tyren sat forwards, his shirt stretching tightly over his enormous belly. Griff could see the man’s hairy flesh in the spaces between the buttons as the fabric pulled. He looked down, not only repulsed by Tyren physically but repulsed by the man’s greed. The showmaster continued, unaffected by Griff’s anxiety, his voice dropping to a gentle, almost liquid quality that ran over Griff thickly like honey. It felt cloying, sticky, uncomfortable, and Griff squirmed again as Tyren laid a fat hand on his arm. ‘But what you have is not an oddity, Griff…it’s not even a quirk. What you possess is something we all dream of discovering in anyone, let alone ourselves. You have magic, boy. And to witness real magic at work, people will pay handsomely. I dare say we can persuade the King and Queen of Drestonia to attend our show if you are going to demonstrate your magic and tell us what our monarch is thinking.’ Tyren laughed, loving his own jest, and rubbed his hands gleefully. ‘You, young Griff, are going to make me rich.’

‘Master Tyren, I don’t want to—’

‘Did I mention that I shall pay you generously for your trouble? If the act takes off, as I suspect it will, then I shall be paying you not ten sharaks each moon, Griff, but fifty!’ He beamed, very pleased with himself.

Griff rubbed at the warm spot where Master Tyren’s hot hand had gripped his arm. He took a deep breath. ‘No, sir. I won’t do it.’

Tyren’s expression changed in a blink. All humour left his face as his eyes narrowed above his ruddy cheeks. ‘Won’t?’ He feigned confusion.

Griff pressed on. ‘I’m not a performer, sir. You know me. I’m a grunter. Your best. I work hard but not in front of people, Master Tyren. Please don’t ask me to do this.’

Tyren’s face darkened. ‘Oh, but I am, Griff, I am. I insist, in fact. I haven’t had access to such an original act since Madam Saff and her Levitating Objects of Curiosity. That was nearly two decades ago. And now I have another unique act at my disposal and I intend to use it, make money from it.’

Griff’s alarm was so intense he felt dizzy. This was not what he joined the Travelling Show for. His mind raced to find excuses, ways to get out of this. Before he could construct a plausible lie, Tyren made a chilling threat.

‘And if you try and stop me from making money from your talent, I’ll not only send your new girlfriend to the city orphanage and have her creatures given to someone else to handle, I’ll drop you and your brothers off in the next town. No money, little way of earning it. You’ll starve, you three. Oh, and did I mention I’ll send someone to your father? I’ll want that money back that I gave him. I imagine he’s spent it by now—on the new horse and that cow he needed. We’ll have to beat it out of him.’

Griff stared at Tyren, unable to imagine this was the same jolly showmaster he had been travelling with these past few moons. All this time he had thought Tyren to be a decent sort. How wrong he’d been. How wrong his father had been in trusting this man. The threat was real, too. He could see it in Tyren’s malevolent, determined gaze. He wondered momentarily whether the showman might hurt the creatures. Probably not because it would affect income, but he would certainly carry out the rest of the threats on Tess and Griff’s family. No, he should not call this man’s bluff or say anything other than yes.

He cleared his throat. ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to upset you, Master Tyren,’ Griff said carefully after finding his voice. He was pleased to hear it come out so steadily and not squeak. He had never felt so frightened.

Tyren poured himself another glass of the amber curaj. He laughed and there was genuine mirth in it. ‘Looks as though
you’ve got your head screwed on right, lad. It would be wise to pay very close attention to my warning.’ He held out his hand as though wanting to shake on a deal.

Griff had no choice but to offer his own in agreement, hating the sensation of Tyren pumping his hand, squeezing hard enough to let Griff know this was no jest. His warnings were not to be taken lightly.

‘How would you like this to work, sir?’ Griff asked, working hard to keep his face as expressionless as possible. He could not let Tyren know how scared he was or how angry. All he wanted to do was to leave this wagon in one piece, no further threats, the showmaster believing that he had two new acts on the bill for tomorrow night.

Tyren sat back, satisfied that Griff was not only compliant but that a bargain had been reached. ‘Simplicity is the key, Griff—it always is where magic is concerned. And your act will be magical. It’s not a trick. It’s not conjuring a dove from a kerchief or a mouse from behind someone’s ear. What you do cannot be explained because it is not rational. And that is everything I desire because people will pay anything I ask to witness true magic.’

While Tyren warmed to his thoughts, Griff’s resolve turned wintry as he listened to the huge man continue enthusiastically.

‘We shall simply sit you down at a table in a tent and your paying audience can listen to you tell them what they’re thinking, or perhaps even what their friends are thinking.’

‘That could start some problems, Master Tyren,’ Griff warned, disguising his rising fury. ‘Perhaps those friends don’t want to share what they’re thinking.’

‘Then they don’t have to enter the tent, do they? Tell me, Griff. Are you able to tell me what Madam Tyren is thinking right now?’

He didn’t want to, but of course he could. He thought about lying. But it wasn’t worth the risk. ‘Yes, but only because it’s important to her.’

‘And?’

‘She’s worried that you will drink the whole flask of curaj. You either get abusive or you snore loud enough to lift the roof off the wagon.’

Tyren clapped his hands and laughed. ‘That’s exactly how her mind works! Now I know you don’t lie to me, boy. Excellent, excellent! This just gets better. People who want to know what others are thinking about them can pay double.’ He rubbed his hands together again.

‘Master Tyren, I don’t think we should—’

‘You let me do the thinking, Griff. You just do the eavesdropping on their thoughts.’

Griff had to rein in the tide of rage that was building. Tyren obviously believed he could hear everything and anything…and that simply wasn’t true. ‘I can’t guarantee you the success you want. And it would be their word against mine. They could refuse to pay.’

‘Oh they’ll be paying before they meet you laddie and who’s to say there won’t be a few helpful “friends” in the queue.’

‘I won’t cheat.’ It was said before Griff could stop himself.

‘You’ll do exactly as I say or those you care about will take your punishment. Don’t think I won’t have Tess or your brothers watched. I’d suggest you don’t test me either. Just do as I say, Griff, and we can all be rich and happy.’

There was nothing for it but to agree to the man’s face. But Griff’s mind was already spinning towards ways to get Tess and his brothers away from Master Tyren’s Travelling Show…and quickly.