Closer to the Chest (25 page)

“Absolutely, Herald,” Lirelle said, although Amily could tell the girl hadn't recognized her.

“That's the King's Own, dolt!”
her friend hissed at her, and Lirelle's eyes widened, and she glanced at her friend for further help.

But her friend just shrugged. “I'll see you later, Liri,” she said, and scuttled off.

Amily nodded in a friendly fashion, and said, with a little hand gesture, “Shall we walk?” Lirelle just nodded dumbly, and followed where she led.

The most private place she could think of where they stood no chance of being overheard or interrupted was her own quarters, so that was where they went. “Take a seat anywhere, but I'd suggest the floor,” Amily said, folding her legs under her and sitting down on a floor cushion. “It's coolest down here.”

“All right,” Lirelle agreed, and did so (a little stiffly), setting her books down beside her. She clasped her hands in her lap and fixed her eyes on Amily, looking more than a bit apprehensive.

:I like her,:
said Rolan, abruptly.

“I wonder if you know about the unpleasant letters people have been getting?” asked Amily, throwing caution to the wind and jumping right into the subject.

Lirelle made a face. “Ugh. Yes. I got two. Helane has gotten lots. Not so many lately, though. Why? Have you caught whoever has been doing it?”

“Not yet,” Amily admitted. “In fact, the problem is, we really don't know where to start.”

Relaxing now, Lirelle nodded. “Aye, I can see that. I mean, she could be
anybody,
from one of those nasty old cats in Court to . . . I don't know . . . anyone, I guess.”

“You said
she,”
Amily pointed out, her pulse quickening to think that this child might have information no one else did.

“Oh, did I?” Lirelle shrugged. “I guess . . . I guess I've just thought it was a
she
because of the letters. It could be a man, I suppose. . . .”

“Ah, well,” Amily made sure her disappointment didn't show on her face. “It's just because we have no idea who it is that we're trying to keep an eye on everyone. But one group we don't have someone watching is the Blues. The fact is, I don't really know anything about any of them except the ones that are in the Court.”

“Oh! And you want me to!” Lirelle perked right up at that, which was a relief, because she
could
have been indignant about Amily wanting her to spy, so to speak, on her friends. “I can do that, I don't mind a bit. I can tell you, though, I don't think any of them are your trickster.”

“Why is that?” Amily asked curiously.

“The only reason we're all in the Blues is because we want to
learn things.
Even the ones from Court.” She grinned
unexpectedly. “Even Loren, now that he's started. So I don't know how any of us would have the time to write all the letters
and
run around delivering them and still keep up with classes. Did you ever think how much work it is to print them out the way they are? So there's nothing of someone's handwriting to tell who wrote it? That's the sort of thing a copyist learns to do, you have to take a lot of pains over it, and it takes time. A couple of the ones Helane got were three pages long!” Lirelle shook her head. “It's not easy, and it's not quick, and it's not the kind of thing we have time for. Especially when we'd
much
rather spend our free time in the river.”

“So would I,” Amily sighed. “What can you tell me about them, then? Here's the list.”

She handed over the Housekeeper's list of the Blues, and Lirelle summed each of them up in a sentence or two, while Amily took notes.

Then she stopped, abruptly. Amily looked up to see that she was frowning over the paper. “Is something wrong?” she asked. “Do you think—”

Lirelle sucked her lower lip. “No, no, Katlie couldn't have written things like that to save her life. I doubt she knows what half the bad words mean. But . . . there's something about her that isn't right. At least
I
think so, though nobody's said anything, so maybe she's just like that. Still—you said you wanted my impressions—”

“And I do,” Amily insisted. “So what is it that she's like?”

“Nervy,” Lirelle said succinctly. “Like a rabbit that's being chased. It's much more than just shy. Starts when you talk to her, keeps to herself, and sometimes I get the feeling when I'm speaking to her that if I made a sudden move, she'd break and run.” She sucked on her lower lip again. “Now that you make me think about these things, she's got a look of being hounded or bullied, but I will swear to you, if she is, it's not by one of us.”

“Keep an especially attentive eye on her for me, will you?” Amily asked, not liking the sound of that at all.

“I will. I should have been, anyway, since no one else seems to,” Lirelle replied decisively.

“Good, and thank you.” Amily smiled at her, and she blushed. “Now, as a bit of a reward, I've been asked to get you and your brother Loren into classes with the Weaponsmaster.” She leafed through the pages of the schedules. “Now, how would you like to see him just after your Map class? That should give you enough time for a quick splash in the river before supper.”

Lirelle's face lit up like the sun.

L
irelle was rewarded, but if some of the rest of the Blues had known who to “blame” for the changes they suddenly got in their lives, they probably would have cursed Amily's name.

The problem was, with no way in place to keep track of their comings and goings, it was obvious that the authorities just couldn't keep on allowing people to parade in and out of the Gates based on the fact that the Guards all knew them.

So things changed, almost immediately. It was just a good thing that the Palace had its own metalworkers right on the grounds in their own shop, next to the blacksmith. It made doing things much quicker.

So now those who were boarding outside the Palace grounds were required to keep a
new,
named and numbered little brass pass-tag on them at all times, and to check in with the Gate Guards every time they entered and left. There was some grumbling from the Guards about all the lists and paperwork, but Amily had expected that.

And really, after that mess with the Sleepgivers, they surely
must have realized we were being too slack when it came to the Blues and eventually things would have to change.

With the new system explained to all shifts of the Gate Guards, Amily went on to the next tedious step. She made visits in person to every one of the religious orders that were boarding Blues, and made the heads of those establishments aware of some of what was going on and why the students needed to have an eye on them. “It's not that we suspect them,” she explained over and over, “It's that we're afraid that now that we've stopped the letters going to the Trainees, some of the independent students might start getting them.”

That explanation passed muster—because, of course, it was entirely true, even if it wasn't the whole truth. She got promises from all of these heads of Orders that they'd make sure
their
charges had a discreet eye on them.

As for the ones that boarded up at the Palace, there was some shuffling of servants' rooms, and within a day the Blues there all ended up in a set of rooms next to the Handmaidens. Anything that went on after hours, those sharp girls would catch in a heartbeat. No one complained, at least not in her hearing. Then again, the Handmaidens were an extremely convivial lot, and she'd asked them to make themselves congenial to the Blues, so . . .

So there are likely to be a few late-night bread-and-jam feasts for a while. No one is going to complain after that.

All this had to be sandwiched in around her other duties, but at least there were people taking charge of some things without her supervision. All three Collegia had established a night-watch on each dormitory floor. This probably discouraged some bed-hopping among the older Trainees, but Amily knew from Rolan that most of them were going to go take their partners out to Companions' Field instead. That was fine with her. More than fine, actually; with the Companions out there keeping track, at least the next time trouble broke out on the Hill, the ones in the Field would be oblivious to it and not
rushing about, and the Companions could establish their alibis. Right now, Amily would have given almost anything to have a nice long list of people on the Hill with solid alibis.

Finally Amily was able to settle back to her regular duties—somewhat curtailed regular duties, since absolutely no one was willing to sit through any sort of meeting in the afternoon heat.

Oh, the heat. She couldn't remember a worse summer. During the worst hours, Mags had told her, nothing stirred down in Haven, and even the most ambitious stopped for a nap in the coolest places they could find. Those who shivered in damp cellar rooms three seasons of the year suddenly had cause to be grateful for the cool, and anyone who had such a room soon found himself with many, many friends. Aunty Minda let the littles spread their blankets in the cellars of their own home and the pawn shop, until temperatures dropped enough to go back to work.

She would have envied Mags his stints at the Sethorites' Temple (which he carefully timed for the hottest parts of the day), except that she had the river, and she wondered how anyone had ever managed a summer this hot before the ropes-and-nets had been thought of.

That was where she was now, arms draped over the rope and letting the current hold her against the net, wearing an enormous hat to keep the exposed parts of her from getting sunburned. It was
just
cold enough to keep her from falling asleep, although she had a shrewd notion that if nothing came up after she left the river, that was exactly what was going to happen to her. She didn't envy poor Lydia
at all.
To be pregnant in this heat . . .
when I do that, I am going to have better timing,
she decided. Then blinked at herself, because she had used the word “when” rather than the “if” she'd been saying to herself all this time.

Well, this is
not
the time to think about that,
she reminded herself, and with that, reached over and grabbed the upstream
rope, hauling herself hand over hand to the bank. Her spot on the rope was quickly taken by someone else.

Some people brought towels with them; she didn't bother. She knew she'd be bone dry by the time she reached her quarters, and she didn't particularly
care
who saw her in cut-off breeches, a shirt with the sleeves rolled up and tacked in place, and sandals. So what if she was the King's Own? A little slovenliness was hardly going to damage the dignity of the office, especially since she couldn't be told from the Trainees at any distance. And as for the Poison Pen, well, if he was watching her, he was welcome to rail at her for being some sort of harlot all he wanted. In this heat, she very much doubted that any man would look at her with lust.
Unless it's lust for my cooler clothing and my hat.

Sure enough, by the time she reached the shelter of her own door, her bathing gear was dry enough to fold up and leave on a stool for tomorrow, and her hair dry enough to comb out. She put on a clean shift and braided her hair in a single tail down her back.

And now for the part of the day I have not been looking forward to . . .

The Poison Pen letters had slowed, but not stopped. They were all coming from down in Haven, paid for and dropped off one at a time at post-locations all over the city. They were still printed on that same, coarse, cheap paper, but were enclosed in an ordinary-looking outer sheet and sealed with proper wafers, so it was impossible to pick them out from the regular correspondence. At least no more were being slipped under doors or dropped in through windows, so the vigilance of all of her careful watchers had paid off somewhat.

Amily picked up the first from the pile, frowning. It was directed to one of the Bardic Trainees who had gotten ones like this before—a general wish that she would fail spectacularly and become a disgrace and an embarrassment to her entire family. Since pigs would fly before that happened, the Trainee
in question usually found these little notes hilariously funny. The next few were more like that, directed to the Healer, Bardic, and Herald Trainees most likely to graduate to full status some time before the end of summer.

Then came an entire bouquet of stink-blossoms for the lovely Helane, rescued from the fire by her little sister Lirelle and delivered directly to Amily.
:Oh my . . . :
Rolan said, “reading” the letters through her eyes.
:All that is lacking is the obscene pictures illustrating the acts described. Whatever occasioned all of that, pray?:

:According to the Handmaidens, there are at least five young men who are betrothed—actually betrothed, and not just in some stage of prebetrothal negotiation between two families—who are bringing Helane gifts and flowers. Hence the obscenity. Evidently our ugly friend is convinced that those gifts are payment for a lot more than a smile or permission to sit beside her.:

Rolan considered that for a moment.
:And of course, that explains the various punishments in the afterlife they are consigning Helane to. How did she take this?:

:Bravely, actually. Lirelle says that she's frightened, but determined not to show it, and determined not to allow these filthy things to drive her into seclusion.:

Lirelle had gotten a lot more detailed than that, describing how her sister had burst into tears, then exclaimed, “I've done
nothing
wrong, and I'm not going to act as if I have!”

And Amily supposed that technically, she was correct, although she probably could be doing more to discourage those young men now that she knew they were betrothed to other girls. But on the other hand,
she
wasn't the one who was betrothed; technically it was up to the young men in question to behave themselves. Or at least
tell
Helane about the fact that they were not free. She supposed that for someone who had been living in a rustic environment, with no one marriageable anywhere near enough to engage in pre-courtship, all the
games and flirtations of Court must be very exciting.
And betrothals are broken all the time, if the parents decide there's a better offer out there.
She recalled one poor young man several years ago who had barely gotten settled and used to a girl before his father broke the thing off and flung another girl at him. So, really, Helane had done nothing at all wrong except, perhaps to accept the gifts. Then again, it depended on what the gifts were. A pretty ribbon was a serious present to a girl living down in Haven—to someone here at Court, it meant no more than a flower.

At least there were no more alarms in the night . . .

There was another sealed message on the bottom of the stack, and Amily frowned at it. She didn't remember that one being there when she'd left for the river . . . but it was on creamy parchment, and sealed with the Royal Seal, so she relaxed, and opened it.

As you know, there is a yearly reception scheduled just before Midsummer for the heads of all the religious houses in the City,
the letter read, in Kyril's distinctive, angular handwriting.
Despite the plague of letters—in fact, in part
because
of it, I am determined that we will hold this event as we always have.

Amily felt her jaw drop open a little. Surely the King wasn't serious!

:Oh dear. This seems ill-advised.:

But it appeared that he was. Quite serious.

The Council officially knows nothing about the outrages up on the Hill, they are only officially aware of the vandalized shops down in Haven. I am certain that at least
some
of them have friends or relations who have been so graced with the Poison Pen letters, and for all I know, some of the female Councilors themselves have gotten letters, but they have said nothing at all to me, and I think it is important that we keep up the appearance that all is normal. It is only a single night, and it is a small gathering by Court standards. None of the
Court are invited. So I think we can manage to pull this off without anything untoward occurring. And more to the point, I think we
must.
We cannot let this unknown madman or madwoman dictate our actions.

In principle, Amily agreed with him. But in practice?

This is going to be a nightmare.

There was more.
Please meet with me at mid-afternoon; we will assemble in my suite and move somewhere private and cool from there. With everyone drowsing away the heat, no one will notice that we are having a private meeting.

Mid-afternoon—was now. She sighed. So much for that nap.

•   •   •

“This is going to be a nightmare,” Nikolas said, flatly.

He, too, had gotten one of Kyril's notes, and the first thing he had done when he'd read it was to gather up Amily, wake Sedric from his nap, and bring them all together at the King's Suite. From there they moved to a little unlighted cubby of a room in the basement of the Palace, just under the Royal Quarters. Her father had the forethought to bring candles and a striker with him, and set them in two sconces, one on either side of the door.

At least it was cool down here. They were all sitting on storage chests, which was a very peculiar sight to say the least. They were very stout, very heavy storage chests, with formidable locks, and she couldn't help wondering what was in them.
Heirloom weapons, perhaps?

:Amily, I'll tell you later. For now you do have a meeting.:

Amily wrenched her wandering thoughts back to the conversation.

“I told him, Niko. I told him, myself. This is a
stupid
idea.” Sedric crossed his arms over his chest, still a little sleepy-eyed. “Father, I love you, and if I didn't love you so much, I would just wash my hands of this and let you do it.”

“It's not a publicly known gathering,” the King replied, not at all put out by his son's rebuke. “But I can promise you that if we
don't
have it, some very prominent people in Haven will be wondering why, and from wondering to themselves, they will probably start wondering out loud. Right now, we're managing to keep the Poison Pen quiet. Cancel the reception, and that won't be possible anymore, and sure as I am King,
someone
will link the shop-wrecker with the letters up here. Amily, what is the word down in the city?”