Above the Snowline (12 page)
But as I spoke they came in, bringing a platter of roast beef, oat bread and some beer. The bleary-eyed cook set the beef down in front of me with a bowl of horseradish - though it was the last of the market heifer and supposed to last a week - blinked innocently and departed before I could give him any more orders.
I carved it as thinly as I could, aware of Dellin’s stare, like being watched by a half-starved lion. I passed the first plate to Jant, naturally, but he gave it to her. She carefully picked up a knife and fork, watching our reactions all the time, and began to eat with them in a contrived fashion. She was copying us; she used both quite dextrously but they were certainly new to her.
Jant poured her some beer and she drained the tankard! She slammed it down, helped herself to more and gulped that too. What a feisty lass! She snatched a quick glance into the furthest corner, which was quite dark. Another glance, like a falcon, and she put her mug down. Her shoulders rounded and her head lowered; she stared into the corner. She swung her leg over the bench and, graceful but hunched, crept away from the table, so lightly she didn’t even creak the boards.
‘I don’t see anything,’ I said, but Jant put his finger on his lips. She was halfway across when - a mouse! In a flash a tiny mouse streaked towards the wall, its tail and hind legs flying.
Dellin burst into a sprint and pounced. Her arm shot out, she landed in a crouch, lunged forward and grabbed it. She settled on her haunches, brought her fist in, and sure enough the mouse was clenched there. She pinched its tail with thumb and forefinger, dangled it in front of her face and examined it from all angles. I thought she was going to drop it into her mouth and swallow it whole.
She knelt more comfortably and let it go - caught it with her other hand and giggled. She released it, deflected its path with an open palm, and snatched it up again. She played with it for a long while, laughing quietly until I began to feel quite sorry for the poor thing. Then, holding it in her fierce little fist with its struggling head poking out, she broke its neck with a flick of her thumb, just as I would flick a match. She crossed to the door and threw its broken body into the courtyard, then jogged back to the table as if nothing had happened. Jant sighed heavily. ‘Excuse her. Please.’
I tapped the pleasantly worn stem of my pipe against my teeth. ‘Excuse her? I think it’s great! Translate for me: you’re welcome to live here any time, my dear. You’re a much better mouser than our old tabby.’
Dellin said, ‘Thank you for giving us meat. One mouse would leave me hungry.’
‘Ah, there are enough mice in Marram to feed a whole army of Rhydanne. What do you think of the hall, my dear?’
‘We passed by the mines. So much metal . . . but your hall is poor.’
‘Ah. Well, Lord Fescue takes all the profit, doesn’t he? He spends it on parties in the city, and with what’s left over he renovates his own house. It’s a good deal more splendid than this.’
‘The Awians steal silver from Carniss too.’
‘Well, lady mouser, there’s nothing either of us can do.’
She made a noise deep in her throat, just like a growl, which discouraged me from questioning her further. Just because she was with Comet didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous. I filled my pipe, scraped a match and pulled the flame into the bowl until the tobacco shreds glowed red.
Her inquisitive face looked around, taking everything in as if she saw the world anew every minute. Maybe all Rhydanne do, and you would too if you were a hunter; there is always something new to look out for.
‘It’s a blessing and a lesson to hear what an outsider thinks of us,’ I reflected profoundly. ‘It’s salutary to hear an unusual perspective. There hasn’t been such an outsider in all of upland Fescue since I was a boy.’
‘If she were a hunter instead of a hunt
ress
you wouldn’t dote on her half as much,’ said Jant.
ress
you wouldn’t dote on her half as much,’ said Jant.
I chuckled. ‘Go on, now. Ask her what she thinks of us.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Indeed. In-deed. I want to know what the wildcat thinks of us folk who can’t catch mice.’
Jant asked her and Dellin replied, ‘Reeve Marram, you think your people are poor, but any Rhydanne can see they are very rich because, every day, every woman manages to put enough on her plate for herself or her family. Since I came to the flatlands I have seen so many riches that no Rhydanne will believe me when I tell them. Flatlanders are sick with greed and racing against each other to possess the most. It’s a disease that dims their minds and slows their bodies. Tell me, why are they so eager to own the earth and turn it into fancy goods and fancy clothes? Don’t you find it exhausting? Rhydanne live simply but everyone else strives to multiply their possessions, even though they already have more than they can use. They own many clothes, but can only wear one coat at a time. They have so much food it rots before they can eat it. And that is why I fear for Carnich.’
Articulate girl, I thought; I hadn’t anticipated a speech. ‘This disease, of covetousness you say, well, the Awian nobility have caught it much worse than the miners of Marram.’
She nodded unhappily. ‘And I despair, because there are more Awians than stones in a scree slope, than stars on a freezing night. We could live side by side with them, but they are taking so many furs that they are wiping out the animals they depend on. Jant is conducting me to see Raven, their leading hunter. I will convince him and the rest will follow.’
Jant shook his head and added to his translation, ‘She’s so naive.’
‘Not at all, not at all. Tell her this. Lady mouser, speaking bluntly works with me, but it won’t affect Raven when you meet him. Awian nobles are crafty. They hint at things and never talk straight. In fact, they speak a language within a language, and if you don’t know it, they’ll ignore you. An old foreman like me couldn’t sway Governor Raven, let alone a huntress like yourself.’
‘I will make him listen.’
Jant glanced up at the underside of the roof tiles visible atop the rafters, just as the lad had done, although I swear to you on my mother’s grave not a single one was loose. ‘We’ve imposed on you long enough. It’s late and I think we’d better retire. Can we have a light?’
‘Certainly. Lad, go fetch a lamp.’ The boy clattered off to prepare the guest room in the north wing, which I feared Comet and his ward might find rather too damp and draughty. Like the rest of the house it had been built somewhat imprudently without foundations. The weight of its roof was gradually breaking my house’s back. Huddled under the gritstone tiles with their lichens as big as dinner plates, every wall had settled its own crooked way into the earth over the centuries.
I stroked my beard smooth and observed Dellin. Her skeletal fingers had picked up my gnarled old pipe and she examined it carefully with eyes the same dark green as the field of the Fescue flag. ‘Good luck in your endeavour, brave huntress,’ I said, and god knows the sentiment was heartfelt. ‘Good luck. Now I can say I’ve met the cat who dared to look at a king.’
JANT
We crossed the packhorse bridge and jogged up a walled lane out of Bromedale onto Marram Moor. Granite outcrops cresting the hills had sloughed massive blocks of stone down their slopes like dice. Behind every tilted escarpment a fragile netting of black drystone walls draped over the hillside, penning a few lean, bedraggled sheep. As we passed they looked up suspiciously, still chewing, and the ones in the distance bleated to each other. Flies hazed around them. Their thick wool was matted and splodged with red dye. Their arses were caked with dung.
By midday we had left them and the moor far behind and were onto the wild lower slopes of Darkling. The hills became more craggy still, broken with the rock beneath bursting through, but between the outcrops the grass was as smooth as moleskin. Tussocks the colour of rabbit fur grew in marshy patches, in the saddles between each summit. But in front, and always in sight above us, were the naked granite peaks - jagged mountains topped with permanent snowfields, with higher summits behind them and a still more imposing third cordillera just visible, forming the horizon. Dellin stretched and smiled, replenished now she could feel their chill.
She trotted on ahead, murmuring to herself. Mutter, mutter, mutter, in pace with her jogging, like one of the short proverbs Rhydanne sometimes tell. I caught up with her, so the spear tied to the upright of her rucksack was bumping along beside me. She was reciting Awian words. ‘Oven . . . bucket . . . table . . . feet . . .’ she said. ‘Feet . . . legs . . . tits . . . bums.’
‘Good grief,’ I said. ‘Did you learn your Awian in a whorehouse? Oh, I see . . . You did.’
She skipped round and, walking backwards, looked at me accusingly. ‘You left me with a house of slow runners. Zoysia and Woodcock taught me some words.’
‘
Woodcock
?’
Woodcock
?’
‘Are the words correct?’
‘Yes, yes. The words are fine.’
‘They taught me more than you did. Why did you leave me there?’
‘What do you expect? You appeared from nowhere and dragged me away from a very eventful social life. I’ve been missing it. I like the Castle’s gossip. I like doing the rounds of manors and coaching inns, keeping up with the news. It’s what I do best. You stopped me enjoying myself, so I thought I’d talk to people along the way.’
‘You could talk to me.’
‘Yes, but . . .’ I stared at her. ‘It really isn’t the same thing.’
‘You’ve been sulking. You haven’t said a word in hours.’
‘I thought Rhydanne never said a word in
days
! We could have ridden by coach but you insist on climbing. What is there to say?’
days
! We could have ridden by coach but you insist on climbing. What is there to say?’
‘You could teach me some more Awian,’ she suggested brightly.
‘Why? Oh, OK. Seeing as there’s no one else to talk to . . . Um, “sky”, that’s Awian for
athar
. “Blue sky”,
athar guirme
.’
athar
. “Blue sky”,
athar guirme
.’
She jogged on, this time allowing me to keep pace beside her. Our steps crunched on the gritty erosion patches, swished over the short grass, splashed through the marshes in the dips. My visual field was full of the thin grass and soil, the worn bedrock, for hours and hours on end until I thought I’d see it in my sleep. We crossed no prints of sheep nor men, heard nothing but our own voices and the shush of the wind.
She said, ‘I’ve learnt the words for sky, clouds, sun and blue. I don’t think they will help me talk to Raven.’
‘The weather is a major topic in Awia, actually.’
‘It isn’t what I want to know. Tell me about Raven himself. Reeve Marram used the word “nobility”. Tell me what it means.’
She was heading all the time straight towards the backdrop of ice-clad peaks. A small, wooded gorge cut through the last of the foothills and up to a pine forest on their slopes, and towards this she naturally made her way. She was wrong - I wasn’t prepared to travel so far at altitude and there weren’t any places to stay up there. We had been having this argument since the first turn on the road through Fescue and she was adamant.
The fact that I can fly had really rattled her. She hadn’t known about it, and I had given her a shock when I took off. She was impressed, despite herself, because Rhydanne value speed. Flying obviously made me faster than her, and she could imagine the advantages that it would have in hunting game. Having being forced to accept the staggering reality of a flying Rhydanne-Awian man she was now trying to reassert herself by forcing me into her world.
I said, ‘Look, I know a hamlet, further on, called Scatterstones. They’re all shepherds, but there’s a drovers’ inn where we can stay. Then we can go on to Cushat Cote, Foin, and take the Pelt Road to Carniss. The sensible way.’
‘I know. You tried to put me in a box.’
‘A coach.’
‘We are going to the peaks,’ she said obstinately. ‘Away from the mosquitoes. Where the water is pure.’
‘Do you expect me to sleep in the open? Fyrd-issue tents weigh a tonne; I’m not carrying one.’
‘I can make you a shelter.’
‘But there’s nothing up there! No paths, no tracks!’
‘Only goats need tracks.’
I pointed ahead to the rugged gorge. The wind constantly swished in the boughs of meagre pine and mountain ash trees. The stream hissed and chuckled over its cobbles and cascades. ‘Look. You don’t know where you are.’
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