Arrows of the Queen (10 page)

The wood-paneled staircase wasn't as narrow as the ones at the Holding, and a little window halfway up lit the stairs clearly. There was a door on the second landing, and the Dean opened it for her.

“This is the dormitory section,” he said. Like the hall below them, it was paneled in some kind of dark wood, sanded smooth, but not polished. The doors here were much closer together than they had been in the hall below, and the hall itself seemed oddly foreshortened.

“As you can see, this hall is a bit less than half the size of the one downstairs, since on the other side of that wall is the common room where all meals are served, and on the other side of that is the boys' section. We're standing in the girls' side now. The third floor is one room, the Library and study area. The Library is entirely for the use of students and Heralds; you can go there any time you don't have classes or other tasks to do,” Elcarth smiled encouragingly as Talia's eyes lit. “Just try to see that you spend a
little
time in eating and sleeping!”

Just then a small boy, wearing a uniform much like the Guard had worn, but in light blue instead of midnight blue, came running up to Elcarth. He was trailed at a distance by a richly-dressed but harried-looking middle-aged man. This was the first person
not
wearing some kind of uniform that Talia had seen since she'd arrived.

“Havens, what is it
now?”
Elcarth muttered under his breath as the boy pounded up to them.

“Dean Elcarth, sir, it's the Provost-Marshal, sir,” the boy said in a breathless treble.

“I can see that, Levand. What's happened this time? Fire, flood, or rioting in the streets?”

“Some of all three, m'lord Herald,” the Provost-Marshal had plodded within hearing distance and spoke for himself, as Talia tried to make herself invisible back against the wall. “You know the Lady-fountain in Tailor's Court? The one that used to vent down a culvert to Breakneedle Street?”

“Your choice of words fills me with foreboding, m'lord,” Elcarth replied with a sigh. “ ‘Used to'?”

“Someone chose to divert it, m'lord Herald. Into the cellar gathering-room of Jon Hapkin's Virgin and Stars Tavern. Which is, as you know—”

“The third-year Bardic students' favored place of illicit recreation; yes, I know. This rather smacks of the Unaffiliates, doesn't it? The plumb-line and compass set—”

“Partly, m'lord.”

“You fill me with dread. Say on.”

“The Bardic students took exception to gettin' their feet wet, m'lord Herald, and took exception very strongly.”

“And went hunting the perpetrators, no doubt?”

“Aye, m'lord. I'm told that drum-beaters make fine cudgels, and there's a few among 'em that lately fancy walking about with carved staffs.”

“Well, that covers the flood and the rioting in the streets. What about the fire?”

“Set by the Bardic students, m'lord. In the alley off Fivepenny. Seems the ones they blamed for the water had holed up in the Griffin's Egg and wouldn't come out, and someone gave them the notion to smoke 'em out. They lit a trash-fire and fed the smoke in through the back door.”

“Lord—” Elcarth passed his hand over his eyes, looking to Talia as if he had a headache coming on. “Why take this up with me, my lord? So far you need to speak to the parents and patrons of the Unaffiliates involved, and the Dean of Bardic.”

“The which I've done, m'lord Herald.
That's
been taken care of.”

“There's more? Lady save me—”

“When all the hue and cry was over, and the gentlemen and ladies separated from one another, it was discovered that they'd had their purses lifted, one and all. The purses were found, intact, hanging from the trees in the Cloister gardens; the Lady's priestesses never saw anyone put them there, of course, but several of the combatants remembered someone in the thick of all the pummeling that had been wearing Heraldic student Grays.”

“Needless to say—”

“Aye, m'lord Herald. Only one student you've got that's able to pull that prank.”

“Lord-Dark and Lady-Bright,” Elcarth muttered, rubbing one temple. “Hold on a moment, my lord Provost-Marshal. I have another bit of business I'll have to delegate, and I'll be right with you.”

Elcarth looked around, and spied Talia shrunk inconspicuously as possible in the corner. “Child, this is unbearably rude of me, but I'll have to find you another guide for the moment,” he said, putting his hand gently behind her shoulders and propelling her forward a little. The door to the common room opened, and a small group of young women, all dressed identically in gray, stepped into the hall.

“And there,” Elcarth said with satisfaction, “Is just the person I was needing. Sherrill!”

One of the young women, a tall, slender brunette with a narrow face and hazel eyes, turned at the sound of her name being called, smiled, and made her way toward them.

“Sir?” she said, then looked curiously at Talia.

“This is the young lady Rolan brought in,” Elcarth replied. “She's from one of those Border settlements that might just as well be outKingdom, and she's very confused. She'll need lots of help in adjusting. Unfortunately, the Provost-Marshal has some other business I need to handle. Would you—”

“Take her off your hands? Surely! Is she as badly off as
I
was?” The young woman's smile was infectious, and Talia returned it tentatively.

“Seriously, yes—worse, in some ways,” the Dean replied.

“Bright Havens, that bad? Poor baby!” The young woman gave Talia another encouraging smile. “Well, we'll see what we can do for her. Uh, sir—is the ‘business' Skif again?”

“It looks that way.”

“Oh, Havens. Doesn't he ever learn?”

“He does. He never does the same trick twice,” Elcarth replied, fighting down a chuckle. “It isn't too bad this time. He's not the main perpetrator, apparently; he's more of a loose end. I think I can get him off easily.”

“Well, I hope so; I like the little monkey.”

“Don't we all? Except possibly Lord Orthallen. You will take good care of young Talia, won't you? I'm counting on you, since the Provost-Marshall is beginning to look impatient.”

“Yes, sir,” she grinned. As she turned toward Talia, the grin became sympathetic. “The Dean knows I was in the same predicament as you are now when I first came. My people are fisherfolk on Lake Evendim, and all I knew was fish. You should have seen the saddlesores I came in with—and I couldn't even read and write!”

“I can read—and write and figure, too,” Talia said shyly.

“See? You're three better than I was to start with! Dean—” she recaptured Elcarth's attention from wherever it had been wandering, “Basic Orientation with Teren tomorrow, sir?”

“Naturally; we've been holding the class until Rolan returned. I'll arrange a schedule for her and leave it with Teren. And tomorrow I want you to take her over to the training grounds and let Alberich decide what he wants to do with her.”

Sherrill looked from Talia to the Dean, a little surprised that the girl was being put into Alberich's class so quickly, and caught Elcarth's silent signal that he wished to talk more with her later. She nodded briefly and Elcarth bid them both farewell, hurrying off with the harried Provost-Marshal.

She took a good look at the latest (and most important) of the Chosen. The poor little thing seemed exhausted, shy, and rather worried, and was most certainly bewildered by all that had been happening to her. Sherrill was surprised by a sudden surge of maternal feelings toward the child.

“Well, Talia, the first thing we need to do is find you a room and get you your uniforms and supplies,” she said, hoping her casual tone would put the girl at ease. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Thirteen,” Talia replied softly, so softly Sherrill could hardly hear her.

“That old? You don't look it,” she said, leading the way. “I'll tell you what, though, it's not so bad being small; there aren't that many Chosen that are your size, and at least you can count on getting uniforms that aren't half patches!”

“Uniforms?”

“Like my outfit—take a good look. It's identical to a Herald's except that it's silvery gray instead of Herald's White, and the materials are a bit different. You see, wearing uniforms puts us all on an equal footing, and it makes us easy to identify as Heralds-in-training. Bardic and Healer's Collegia do the same; full Bards wear scarlet, and the trainees wear red-brown; Healers have their Healer's Green, and the Healers-in-training wear pale green. We wear gray until we've earned our Whites. There are some students that don't belong to any of the Collegia; they wear uniforms too, but they're pale blue. Officially they're called the Unaffiliates; we call 'em the Blues. There's all kinds—people learning to be something more than just simple clerks, ones that have talents for building things, highborns whose parents think they ought to have something to do besides choose new horses and clothing.”

She frowned for a moment in sudden thought, wondering how much to tell the girl about the Blues. Should she frighten the child, perhaps needlessly, or should she leave her in ignorance of the intrigues going on all around her? It was hard to judge when the girl seemed determined to show an impassive face to the world. Sherrill knew she hadn't the ability of Elcarth to “read” someone, and this Talia might just as well have been a rock for all that
she
could judge of what might be going on behind those big eyes.

She decided on a middle course. “You might want to watch out for them,” she warned, “Both Bardic and Healer's Collegia are pretty careful about who they accept for training, and anyone in Grays has been Chosen by a Companion, but the unaffiliated students have no selection criteria applied to them. All that's required is that they keep passing the courses they choose. A good half of the ones from the Court circles are no better than well-born bullies, and there's one or two of them that are
really
nasty-minded. In your place, I'd try and stick close to other Grays in public places.” She stopped, and opened one of the doors at the very end of the hall. “Now, this will be your room.”

The little room revealed had scarcely enough space for the furniture—bed, desk, chair, bookcase, and wardrobe. It was obvious that to Talia, however, it seemed palatial. No doubt she'd shared at least a bed with other girls and very possibly had never had even a corner of a room to call her own before this. Sherrill slipped a card with Talia's name printed on it into a holder on the door, and smiled at her expression. She sympathized completely; before she'd been carried off to the Collegium by her own Companion, she'd spent most of her life packed together with the rest of her family like salt-fish in a barrel. Her summers had been spent on the boat, with nowhere to go for any kind of privacy, the winters were spent in a one-room longhouse with not only her own family but the families of both her uncles as well. She sometimes wondered now how anyone managed to ignore the press of people long enough to ensure that the family name was carried on!

“Do you like it?” she asked, trying to elicit some response from the child.

Talia was overwhelmed. She'd slept all her life in a bed shared with two of her sisters in the barracks-like attic of the Housestead. This room—now all her own!—seemed incredibly luxurious in comparison. Sherrill seemed to understand, and let her contemplate this wealth of privacy for a long moment.

“Oh, yes!” she replied at last, “It's—wonderful!”

It was more than wonderful; it was a long-wished-for haven, a place she could retreat to where no one else could go. Talia hadn't missed the fact that there was a bolt on the inside of the door. If she wanted to, she could lock the whole world out.

“Good! Now we go see the Housekeeper,” Sherrill said, interrupting Talia's reverie before she had a chance to really get used to the idea of having her own room. “She'll get your supplies and put you down on the duty roster.”

“What's that?”

“A question at last! I was beginning to wonder what had happened to your tongue!” Sherrill teased gently, and Talia flushed a little. “It's the tradition of the three Collegia that everyone share the work, so there are no servants anywhere around here. In fact, the only people in the Collegia that aren't students and teachers are the Cook and the Housekeeper. We all take turns doing something every day. The chores never take that long to do, and it really drives home to the ‘gently-born' that we're all equals here. If you're sick, you're excused, of course. I suspect they'd even have us doing all the cooking if they weren't sure that we'd probably poison each other by accident!”

Sherrill chuckled; Talia laughed hesitantly, then offered, “I can cook. Some.”

“Good. Make sure to tell Housekeeper. She'll probably put you down as Cook's helper most of the time, since most of us don't know one end of a chicken from the other.”

She chuckled again as she recalled something. “There's a Herald that just got his Whites a month or so ago, his name is Kris, who was one of the ‘gently-born' and pretty well sheltered when he first came here. First time he was Cook's helper, Cook gave him a chicken and told him to dress and stuff it. He hadn't been the kind that does any hunting (scholarly, you know) so Cook had to tell him how to slit the chicken for cleaning. He did it, then looked inside and said ‘I don't need to stuff it, it's already full!' He
still
hasn't lived that one down!”