Closer to the Chest (26 page)

“So far, the vandalized shops are all people know about,” Amily said, slowly. “Mags has
all
his children listening for just the sorts of rumors we could expect if more got out, and so far there's nothing. Even what happened to the Sisters of Ardana hasn't been linked to the shops, and absolutely nothing about what happened at the Temple of Betane has gotten bruited about.”

“There, you see?” Kyril hit the top of the chest beside his leg. “So far, no one has been putting two and two together. But if we cancel this reception, they might start to. Especially if some of the Councilors start to talk.”

“I still think it's insane,” Nikolas replied, making no attempt to hide his exasperation. “But I can see I can't talk you out of this. If we hadn't thoroughly vetted all the Palace servants during the Sleepgiver debacle, I'd have insisted that we put them all to the Truth Spell.”

“At least that much good came out of that five-year mess,” Amily pointed out. “We can at least be certain of the servants and the Guard.”

Sedric just threw up his hands. “If you are going to insist on going through with this despite our council, then Amily and Mags and I will have to see what we can do to make sure our guests don't find obscene notes under their napkins.”

“Or worse,” Nikolas said, grimly. “Obscene notes are the least of my concerns. Jorthun says—” But then he stopped and
shook his head. “Never mind. We'll just have to do our best to see that nothing happens.”

•   •   •

The reception was the last thing on Amily's mind as she headed for her rooms. It had been another long, long day, and it wasn't over yet. It wasn't only the amorous who were heading out to Companion's Field at night; it was stuffy, humid and hot tonight. There were plenty of Trainees who were having trouble sleeping in the heat, and were taking bedding out to bunk down under the trees where the ground always stayed cool. And how could she blame them? She couldn't exactly confine them to their rooms on the basis of a burned effigy and a bonfire of clothing rescued from the rag-bag. Rolan told her that the Companions had divided them all up, and were keeping a sharp watch on them. Even the foals had their assigned Trainees to watch, and if it meant the Companions were drowsing all day in the heat after being up all night, so be it. Rolan assured her they didn't mind.

She doubted that last statement, but if the Companions were choosing to sacrifice their sleep, she wasn't going to discourage them. It meant one less thing she needed to worry about.

But Mags had gotten in early from down in Haven—there was something going on at the Sethorite Temple tonight that was not open to mere plain worshippers—and she was hoping that nothing was going to interrupt a quiet evening together.

“Amily!” came an urgent call out of the darkness, utterly shattering that hope with the anxiety that was in Lirelle's voice. “I've been looking for you since just after supper!”

Since she, her father, the King, and the Prince had all been stuffed in that storage room together until supper, and after supper she had been consulting with a couple of the
Handmaidens, that was not a surprise. “What's wrong, Liri?” she asked, stopping where she was on the garden path, right next to a lantern. She peered into the darkness, but couldn't see anything.

“It's Katlie,” Lirelle said, finally coming into the light from one of the lanterns in the garden. Her young face was a mask of worry. “She hasn't come in, she's not in her room, she's not in any of the libraries, and no one's seen her since before lunch! She should be in her room!”

“You're sure?” Amilie asked.

“I've asked
everyone,
even some of the servants. The last anyone saw her was before lunch. Kaven said he saw her then, she looked really pale and sick, and he asked her if she was all right. She said it was just the heat and he shouldn't worry about her and just walked away.”

:I'm telling Mags,:
Rolan said immediately.
:It could be nothing, but we can't take that chance. She might be ill, and have fainted somewhere on the grounds. Or it could be . . . she's been getting Poison Pen letters and she
hasn't
been laughing them off.:

That was exactly what Amily was afraid of.
:Tell
everyone,
:
she corrected.
:Tell Mags to coordinate searchers. I'm going to go check the Gate Guard, in case she decided to run away, or go down into Haven, or something. Maybe someone invited her to stay the night in a cooler room.:
“Lirelle, come with me, please,” she said aloud. “I may need you to introduce me to your fellow Blues.”

She half-ran to the nearest Gate; Lirelle sprinted along beside her. By the time they reached the official Gate to the Palace, Rolan thundered up to join them, his mere presence adding importance to their questions. The Guard looked a little startled to see them. “Sir, have you seen Katlie Gardener?” she asked as Rolan pawed the ground a little, his silver hooves shining in the lantern-light. “Did she go down into Haven?”
Please let her have gone down with friends, maybe someone
from one of the Orders . . .
With so many of the religious houses being constructed entirely of stone, like the Sethorite Temple, they were ever so much cooler, and if Katlie hadn't been feeling well, perhaps someone had invited her down to sleep overnight where she would be more comfortable.

The Guard checked his book—
thank the gods we started these checks before this!—
and shook his head with regret. “She's not in my book. Perhaps she went out by one of the other three gates?” There was a postern gate usually used only by Heralds, plus a pair of gates big enough to allow in delivery wagons, and if Katlie had left to go anywhere but the manors on the Hill one of those would have been more likely for her to take. Amily nodded, put both hands on Rolan's back, and vaulted herself up into place. She held out her hand to Lirelle, who looked at it as if she had no idea what it was.

“Put your foot on mine, take my hand, and I'll pull you up behind,” she said trying not to show any impatience. “I don't want to have to come looking for you after I check the gates.”

Lirelle did as she had been told, and in a moment Amily had her perched securely behind. “Put both your arms around my waist and hang on,” she ordered, and the second Lirelle was secure, Rolan launched himself toward the postern gate, which was the nearest. They pounded through the patches of light defined by lanterns amid the darkness, and Amily cursed herself for not getting to the Blues sooner.

Her heart was already sinking, and it just went lower and lower as checking the other three gates gave the same result. With one small difference. The Guard at the third gate said that he often saw her out at night, walking about alone. “She tried to leave from here two nights ago, and I thought she just looked . . . wrong, Herald. Strained. Nervy. So I lied, and told her no one her age was allowed off the grounds after dark without leave from a teacher. Did I do right?”

“I think you must have,” Amily told him.
And we'll have to make that a rule now, dammit.
Without prompting, Rolan
turned back toward the Palace. As soon as she got within sight of Healer's Collegium, it was clear Mags had already been working. There was a crowd of people milling about in a group in the herb garden, most of them with torches. Mags and Dallen as well as several other Heralds were with them. She and Rolan galloped up to them, but before she could ask anything, one of the Handmaidens, Joya, held out a sheaf of far-too-familiar papers to her, wearing a grim expression. “I searched her room on Mags' orders,” Joya said, as Amily slid off Rolan and accepted them. “And I found these.”

“You're going to fail and disgrace your family.” “You deserve to fail, and the gods will see to it.” “How dare you think you can be as good as a boy?”
The letters were all short, and all abusive.
“You stole the place that should have gone to a smart young man.”
Perhaps those had not affected her as much as the Poison Pen had wanted, because there were only a few in that vein.

But he clearly found a theme that produced the reaction he wanted.
“You're ugly, fat, and horrible, no wonder you are here, no man would have you.”
There were many, many like that, asking her if she was really a boy pretending to be a girl, if her parents had sent her away because they couldn't bear to look at her, and enumerating in detail everything that was physically “wrong” with her.
“You can't be a proper woman and you can't do what a man can do, give it all up, fat girl.”

Amily felt sick, but there was worse to come. Because now that he had Katlie's attention, he had her exactly where he wanted her.
“You should throw yourself off a tower, and rid the world of a useless blob.” “Kill yourself so no one ever has to look at your fat face again.” “Take poison, and give someone who deserves it a chance.”

Wordlessly, she passed the letters to Lirelle, who read them with horror, as she turned back to Mags. “Mags, can you tell how long she's been getting these . . . things?” she asked.

“Prolly since the letters started,” he said. “An' I don't think they've let up—”

“But why didn't she
tell
us?” Lirelle wailed, looking as if she felt she was somehow personally responsible. “Why didn't she show them to us after you Heralds told us all about them?”

“Because,” Joya replied, her dark eyes clouded with thought—or memory. “When you are being endlessly persecuted and bullied, that is the last thing you want to do. At least, that's how some people react. She probably thought it was one of you, didn't know who to trust, and like a wounded wild animal, she was afraid to show her wounds because she feared you would all turn on her.”

“But—” Lirelle said, anguished. “We'd never—”

Mags impulsively reached out and put his arm around her to give her a quick hug. “It takes a real strong mind, an' someone who's perfectly sure of themselves t' hold out against that kinda bullying,” he said. “Now, enough of that. Spread out, people; there's enough of us to search the grounds, an' the Companions have got the Field. Go in groups of two or three, but not more. We don't wanta scare her, in case all she's done was go for a walk. Tell 'er—” His brow crinkled as he tried to think of something.

“I know!” Amily said. “Tell her that Lirelle is missing and we're looking for her. Lirelle, if we find her, your story is that you went looking for a Healer for a headache potion, took it and fell asleep in the examination room. Everyone, go!”

People quickly sorted themselves in groups of two and three, and dispersed. “That's everybody sensible I want out lookin',” Mags said to her. “Some last-year Trainees, all the Heralds, an' some of the steadier servants. Should we be lookin' too?”

“No,” Amily told him. “Someone needs to be here. We're central to everything. And . . .” She felt her mouth go dry. “I think we should go get a Healer. Just in case.”

“Aight,” Mags agreed. “I'll git one.”

•   •   •

Amily looked like a ghost. Beside her, the girl Lirelle looked like another. Mags sympathized; Amily had told the poor girl to keep an eye on this Katlie, and now she felt as if she had failed both Amily and her fellow student.

He'd had a horrible feeling ever since he'd heard about this; was
this
what Lord Jorthun had been worrying about?
:Among other possibilities, I'm sure,:
Dallen replied grimly, as Mags kept his shields very tenuous, and “listened” to all the searchers out there. Amily was right. Of all of the people up here on the Hill, he, with his impressive Gift of Mindspeech, was the best suited to keep track of all the searchers, human and Companion alike, and coordinate . . . whatever needed to be coordinated.

But it seemed utterly wrong to just be standing here in the dark garden, waiting and doing nothing.

:Is anyone down by the River-Gate?:
he broadcast to Heralds, Trainees, and Companions.

:I am,:
came the immediate reply.
:Companion Seraf. The River-Gate was open last I saw, and I think the Guard forgot to close it again. People were rowing about earlier, and wanted to go down to Haven by way of the rapids.:

The River-Gate was not a “gate” as such; it was a sort of portcullis in the arched opening that let the river flow through the wall about the Palace. Some of the more daring boaters liked “shooting the rapids,” and in a boat, it really wasn't all that hazardous by day. By night . . . that was another story. It probably shouldn't have been left open this late—

But Mags' thoughts were shattered by a sharp mental cry.

:I see her!:
called Seraf. Then came an anguished mental cry.
:No! No! She's thrown herself in the water! I'm going after her!:

Mags and Dallen didn't hesitate and neither did the Healer standing beside them. The second he offered his hand to the
Healer, the man was up behind and clinging on for dear life as Dallen leapt into action. As images came from Seraf, they headed for the postern-gate at top speed, Dallen as sure-footed in the darkness as if it was broad daylight.

Seraf had managed to catch the girl's collar in her teeth and was holding Katlie's head up out of the churning water with every iota of her strength. But they were out past the walls now, and down into the tumbling rapids that sent the river swiftly down into Haven, and the poor Companion wasn't even trying to fight the current, when it was all she could do to keep Katlie from drowning and herself off the rocks. What wasn't hazardous in a shallow boat was punishing to the flesh and blood body of the Companion. All Mags was getting were flashes of foaming water, glimpses of the bank, and the terrible strain of keeping the girl's head from going under.