Ambergate (20 page)

“They needed a lesson in the art of interrogation from you, those fine physicians. First they’d asked their damn fool questions,
then they’d examine me each day to see if I were sprouting wings yet. It would take three of them—two to hold me down, one
to look.” She shuddered, then laughed again: a hysterical sound that echoed around the stone walls. Her dark eyes, ringed
by the delicate mauve shadows of recent illness, were desperate. “Wings! If I’d grown wings I’d fly away! I long for wings!”

“That is all over, Miss Leah. The Protector will be sending the physicians away tomorrow, after their final report. The reason
for their dismissal is…” Mather paused. His expressionless eyes were on hers. “The reason is that the Lord Protector believes
you.”

Leah let out a shriek. “What?” She threw herself back in the chair, hands clasped together. Chance could see that this was
an act; that she was not amazed at all, but wary and suspicious. He wondered if Mather could see it too.

“The Lord Protector believes you are indeed one of the avia,” said Mather gravely.

A look of genuine fear crossed her face before she could hide it. “What’s he going to do about it, then? Kill me?”

“Why should he kill you?” said Mather carefully.

“People kill things they don’t understand; they feel threatened.” She looked sideways at Mather. “You should know that, you
of all people, Mather. People are frightened of the avia—superstitious. The avia is a cursed race, so they believe.”

“The Protector will not kill you. Indeed, he wants you to put it in writing.” Mather leaned forward, his eyes on hers.

She licked her lips as if her mouth were dry. “What do you mean?”

He pulled a small roll of new cream vellum from his pocket and unrolled it. “Write a short statement to say you are one of
the avia, and sign it. Swear it on your life.”

She looked taken aback for a moment, then she laughed scornfully. “You really must think I’m mad. This statement will be an
excuse to murder me. If the Protector says he believes me now, it’s because it suits his purpose. What I want you to tell
me, Mather, is what that purpose is.”

“The Protector, your uncle, will tell you himself once you have written your declaration and signed it. He needs to know you
have not changed your story.”

“It’s no story!” she said furiously.

“Write it down, then.” He held the vellum out and added with a chilly smile, “He has no plans to kill you, I can assure you
of that. How do you think it would look to the people if he had his own niece murdered?”

“Come, Mather. You know as well as I that he could arrange to get rid of me quietly, without anyone knowing.”

“Write this statement,” said Mather softly, still holding out the vellum. “It will open the way to your freedom.”

“Then I have no alternative, do I?” she spat out. “If I’m imprisoned up here much longer, I think I’ll die!”

She snatched the roll of vellum and stalked over to a little desk in the corner, making the candles flicker. She paused, as
if in thought, then Chance heard the scratching of a quill, the patter of the sand-sifter on the paper to blot the ink. She
shook the sand off into a silver bowl. Then she came back and waved the vellum under Mather’s nose.

“There! I’ve written your declaration.”

Mather took it. In his dry, clipped voice he read out: “I, Leah Tunstall, do swear on my life that during my wanderings in
the Capital I was not myself, but inhabited two bodies, half-girl, half-bird.”

“Satisfied?”

“It will do.”

“Now give me back the swanskin!”

“The swanskin?” said Mather in feigned surprise. “I have no authority for that, Miss Leah. You must ask your uncle yourself.”

She went paler still, if that were possible. “But if I am to be freed?”

He rose to his feet, the vellum in his hand. “Be patient. Your uncle will come to you shortly. He has something to tell you
that will change everything.”

Following his visit to Leah, Mather went straight to the Lord Protector’s private apartment in the Palace. Chance, following
close behind Mather as always, marveled at the number of guards it took to protect one man: they were standing outside the
main anteroom of the apartment, their hands hovering about the leather holsters of their pistols, and looked simultaneously
bored and nervous.

Grouted was having an informal supper with Caleb, who, by his father’s order, had been given special leave from his military
duties. They were seated at a small table in the paneled library, surrounded by shelves of gold-tooled, leather-bound books
that reached to the ceiling. Apart from some tomes on taxation and foreign investment, the books were beautiful fakes: from
the early years of the Protectorate, books had been banned for containing heretical ideas. From the alcoves set into the shelves,
a set of bronze statuettes of the Eagle glared a warning.

Grouted had called for entertainment from the Boy Musician while they ate, and the room was filled with the sweet, haunting
music of the ratha, played very softly. This wasn’t an occasion for family chat: the Protector had just presented Caleb with
a new and highly significant proposition, and Caleb was having some difficulty in taking it in at the same time as his roast
pork.

He swallowed a large mouthful and frowned. “Say again, Pa. What’s the link between this cousin of mine and your discovery
of the Amber Gate?”

“Coincidence, my son—the Gods have sent us Grouteds a divine coincidence.” The Protector leaned forward over the snowy tablecloth.
“It so happens that on top-secret orders from me, my agents have been—let’s call it—‘takin’ an inventory’ of one or two minor
churches in the Capital, with a view to appropriatin’ their treasure—to finance some recent buildin’ work here in the Palace,
you understand, let alone all my other expenses. The priests don’t need it, I do.” He mopped his fleshy lips with a napkin.
“Well, what happens next is I suggest my men take a look at the old Cathedral. And what do you know? They find that a recent
fall of masonry has opened up an old stairwell no one ever knew existed. And guess where it goes?”

“The crypt, Pa, you said,” Caleb said, bored.

“The crypt! And down there they find the fabled Amber Gate in all its glory. Gold, Caleb, gold like you’ve never seen. My
men have searched for the Gate for years, all over the Capital. Never guessed it would turn up underground, along with a lot
of corpses. Anyway, once that gold’s melted down…”

“And the coincidence?” said Caleb.

The Protector smacked the palm of his hand down on the table. “Why, that we’d captured Leah Tunstall at the same time. It
ain’t so much the Amber Gate that’s significant, my boy—though that’s a nice little extra, you might say—as the ceiling of
the crypt. It seems to be some kind of prophecy.” His bald head glistened in the candlelight as he nodded emphatically. “If
you marry your cousin Leah, our line will be secure—that’s what those paintings down there are tellin’ me, and the Palace
seer confirms my interpretation.”

His time in the Militia had not improved Caleb’s table manners. He shoveled in his roast pork, his handsome face sulky. “But
marriage, Pa! It’s a bit sudden. Takes a chap time to get used to the idea.”

“My son, my son…,” began Porter Grouted. He gazed at Caleb with sentimental pride. “I know it’s a big step,” he went on more
slowly, choosing his words carefully. “But it’s a step toward securin’ your future and the survival of our lineage. A father
can do nothing less for his son, especially in my position. The rebels are almost at our gates, Caleb. The people may swing
to them, and if they join forces in revolution, then we shall lose everything, includin’ our lives—you and I.”

Caleb scowled. “And this marriage will stop that?”

His father brandished a fork. “It’s all foretold, Caleb. I tell you, I’ve seen the prophecy with my own eyes.”

Caleb pouted. “What about the girl Leah? I’ve met her once, you say?”

“You came with your mother and me to Murkmere many years ago. She was about five, your cousin.” He chuckled. “Spent your time
pinchin’ and bitin’ her, I seem to remember.”

Caleb smiled, the same unpleasant smile as his father’s. “Did I make her cry?”

“It was you who cried. She bit you right back, spiteful little thing. She was a skinny, wan shrimp of a child, all arms and
legs.”

Caleb spat out a piece of gristle. “Don’t like the sound of her, Pa. She sounds ugly. Ugly things make me want to wipe ’em
from my sight.”

Grouted chuckled again as the ratha paused at the end of a melody, and began another. “Oh, you won’t want to wipe her, son.
I can guarantee that. Wait till you see her!”

There was a knock, and Mather entered without announcement, followed by Chance. Caleb looked at Mather and from where he was
sitting clumsily half saluted, thought better of it and started in on his pudding; Chance, he didn’t give a second glance.

It was known that the Lord Protector disliked being interrupted during the process of eating, and today it was his favorite
sponge pudding and syrup. He laid down his spoon with a show of resignation and frowned.

“Mather. Like a bent scathin’, always turnin’ up. Well, spit it out, man. What did she say, my niece?”

“She has written the declaration, My Lord.”

“Give it here, then.” He seized the roll of vellum. There was a pause. The ratha played even slower and softer. Chance glanced
over at Nate. He plucked the strings with a look of intense concentration on his face. It took concentration to play and listen
at the same time, thought Chance.

Grouted slapped his thigh. His little eyes were jubilant. “What would I do without you, Mather? We have her confirmation—in
her own handwritin’, we have it!”

Mather twitched his upper lip into the semblance of a smile. “I believe so, My Lord.”

“Believe so? What is this, then, if not a confirmation?”

“She has not admitted in so many words that she is one of the avia,” said Mather carefully.

“Stuff, man! When we picked her up, that’s what she was
sayin’, wasn’t it? She’s avian, no doubt about it, and probably the last of ‘em. And she was clutchin’ the swanskin that belonged
to her mother! It was always said that Blanche Tun-stall was one of the avia, and we know the avian trait is inherited through
the maternal line.”

Mather sucked in his thin cheeks. “Miss Leah was delirious when she was discovered, My Lord. She was out of her mind, running
a high fever.”

Grouted snorted. “She was found on the bank of one of the park lakes. She was soakin’ wet, wasn’t she? So was the swanskin.
And the fuss when it was taken from her! It had to be prised from her fingers. Nearly broke ‘em myself to get at it, but it
would have looked bad for an uncle to do that. What further proof are we lookin’ for? She’s a swan girl.”

“She was wet through, it’s true, My Lord, but the parks are not lit at night. In her delirium she might have fallen into the
lake by accident.”

Grouted spoke through gritted teeth. “You’re bein’ too precise, Mather. An excellent quality when extractin’ information,
but at the moment no use to me at all. This document tells me that she says she is avian and it bears her signature. If I
read it like that, then it is so, man. Understood?”

Color tinged Mather’s gray cheekbones. “Yes, Sir.”

Caleb had been absorbed in stuffing himself with pudding throughout their conversation and giving the occasional snide glance
at Chance. As if it had just dawned on him that it was Leah they were talking about, he said uneasily, “What happens if she
doesn’t like me, Pa?”

“Doesn’t like you?” snarled his father. “What the hell do you mean?”

Caleb stiffened in his chair, an apprehensive look on his face. He was clearly used to his father’s tempers. “No need to fly
off, Pa,” he muttered. “Only wondering, that’s all.”

“It don’t matter whether the chit likes you or not, son. Get that into your head.” The Lord Protector spoke louder, looking
furiously over at the Boy Musician. “And as for you, you can stop your confounded pluckin’! If we had a singer, it might be
a darned sight more cheerful than these dolors of yours!”

He glared back at Caleb as silence fell. “Leah’s future is tied up with yours, that’s all there is to it. And she’s damned
lucky to have a future. I could have had her arrested and tried by the Supreme Court for her role in what happened at Murkmere
three years ago, but what have I done? As a dutiful uncle I’ve taken her in, let my best physicians tend her and nurse her
back to health, and now I’m offerin’ her wealth and security. She’ll accept it, all right.” His tone softened; he leaned across
and patted Caleb’s hand. “She’s only got to set eyes on you, my handsome boy, and she’ll accept, ain’t that so, Mather?”

Caleb smirked and helped himself to more pudding.

Mather coughed. “With reference to all this, Sir, it really is imperative that we find the girl, Number 102, and deal with
her as fast as we can. Members of my team have spent all day at the Gravengate.”

“But no sighting of the barge yet?” said the Protector. He took a generous spoonful of syrup and sucked it, narrow eyes sharp
on his Chief Interrogator.

“Not at the Gate itself, no,” said Mather uncomfortably. “I’ve taken the liberty of dispatching men further afield. They are
searching the wharves on the way up to the Gate.

They should report to me at first light tomorrow. The
Redwing
will be found, never fear, My Lord.”

The Protector pushed his pudding bowl away and blotted his lips again. “Oh, I don’t fear, Mather. Nothing frightens me. You
should know that by now.”

“I do know it, Sir,” said Mather quietly.

They looked at each other with cold eyes. It seemed to Chance that the temperature in the room fell by several degrees. “It
is you who frighten others, Mather,” said the Lord Protector with a grim smile. “That is why I employ you, ain’t it? That
is why you are my right-hand man. You do so excellent well at it.”

Mather bowed his head, and the Protector rose to his feet.