Fly Up into the Night Air (4 page)

* * *

Sister Marta informed that Raf was asleep when Harte and Griff arrived at the hospital. She escorted them down the long row to his cot, as she had when Harte visited the first time. Harte felt the cold of the stone flagstones seeping through his boots. He felt assaulted by the smell of the place: two parts vinegar to one part vomit. But Griff seemed unaware of the smell as he smiled at the sister.

"What did Sister Grace
say
to you in that note, anyway," she said. "He's not the long lost son of a merchant prince. Nobody will pay you to advocate for him."

"I know. This is Patrol Leader Tarren of the watch. He's assisting me with the investigation."

The sister gave Griff a long look. "Yes. Master Griff is known to us."

Harte glanced at Griff and raised his eyebrows. "Apparently, I'm not the only one fond of hopeless pursuits."

Griff shrugged and looked steadily back at the sister. Harte made a mental note to ask Griff about his connection to the hospital. The sister leaned down to tuck in the edge of Raf's blanket and Harte's shifted his attention to the boy. Raf looked worse than he had the first day. His bruises had deepened and turned shades of green and yellow. His right eye was still swollen shut. In addition, his breathing had a catch in it.

"Don't tire him out. He's not feeling well today," said Sister Marta, as she turned away.

"Thank you, Sister," called Griff.

"Raf, I'm sorry to bother you. But we need to ask you some additional questions. Raf! Will you look at me?" Harte shook Raf's shoulder, gently. "I want to talk to you."

Raf opened his good eye. "I'm tired." He coughed weakly. "What do you want?"

"Raf, what was the man who kicked you wearing? Was there anything distinctive about it?"

"Hobnailed boots. He were wearing hobnailed boots."

"Yes. What else was he wearing? What color were his clothes?"

"It were dark. I couldn't see his togs, because he were wearing a cloak. Fancy thing with a black and white, striped collar."

"No, I guess you wouldn't be able to see his clothes, in that case." Harte straightened up and sent a triumphant look towards Griff. "Go back to sleep, Raf."

"I don't see why you need me, Harte," complained Griff. "You do all the talking."

"You're my witness." Harte grinned. "And you're good with the sisters."

He caught the hint of a smile on Griff's face as they walked out through the tiled lobby.

Stilian

Stilian peered out of his tent at the pouring rain. It hardly seemed worth getting up. He looked around for Petar, and found the cob with his head down, nibbling late season grass under a tree. "It seems you're resigned to your fate," he muttered. Stilian slid back down into his blanket roll and prepared to wait out the rain. Walford's Crossing would have to wait for better weather. He patted the letter folded in his pocket. Hugh would have to wait too. Everyone would have to wait.

* * *

Stilian and Kit were retrieved by the matron the next morning and told that they should wash up and go down to the dining hall, where they would meet with Judge Hugh.

"Who's Judge Hugh?" Stilian asked.

"Why, he's the man who brought you here yesterday! Not like him not to tell you his name. Some of them judges get so used to
Judge Veritor
this and
Judge Veritor
that, they forget they have a name like a normal person. But Judge Hugh's not like that. He says, 'it's incumbent on the Canny to try to make normal people feel at ease.'"

When Kit and Stilian arrived at the Dining Hall, Judge Hugh was already seated at a table with a group of mostly older men and a few middle-aged women, all in dark blue. Another table had a group of watchmen in brown uniforms. A table by the door to the kitchen held another group of plainer looking people, some of whom Stilian recognized from the day before, including the matron and cook. Judge Hugh must have been watching for them; when they came in, he stood up and motioned them over to his table.

Raising his voice he announced, "Ladies and Gentlemen, let me introduce our new friends, Stilian and Kit. They will be staying with us for a little while, until we can send them on their way to Grayholme." Putting his arms on their shoulders, he explained, "Between terms we don't stand on ceremony. We all eat together in the Dining Hall. Meals are at seven, twelve, and six bells."

Stilian wasn't sure why anyone would want to stand on ceremony--or why they weren't standing on him today--but he paid special attention to the meal times, as he planned to do some catching up with regards to eating. Then Judge Hugh took them over to the staff table, because, he said, "You'll probably get fed better over here. Less competition." He winked at Stilian, as he turned to go back his own table.

Kit smirked as he sprawled next to Stilian. "You
are
hungry. Steady, but sort of cool, like a still pond. Maybe I'll start calling you Still. Judge Hugh is nice. He feels like a warm bath." He closed his eyes. "Or a hot spring--in a garden."

Stilian wasn't used to people talking about feelings, much less the kind of feelings that meant you were canny. "My father didn't like it if I talked like that. He said it wasn't proper." Kit opened his eyes and looked at Stilian sharply, but didn't say anything.

"We're used to it," said the matron. "Won't nobody mind in Blue House, so long as you're nice about it. But you'd best keep it quiet-like, when you're out and about. Even in Bugport, there are some folks that don't much care for it. Makes 'em uncomfortable wondering what you know about 'em."

As they were finishing their breakfast, Judge Hugh came over to stand the end of their table. "Kit, your application is complete. We can send you on to Grayholme as soon there's a shipment or courier ready to go that direction. But Stilian, I still have to get your father's permission. We don't need to feed anyone's paranoia about stealing children. I sent a courier with a note and an application to the watch office in Rosset's Grade, but he will take a few days to get there and a few days to get back. That's assuming your father signs the application right away. You're going to have to wait here for a week or more, I should think." He faced Kit. "That leaves you with a choice, Kit. You can go to Grayholme now. Or, if you want, you can stay here until I get Stilian's application in order, and the two of you can travel together."

Kit turned incandescent as soon as the Judge mentioned the school at Grayholme. But he took a sharp breath and looked at Stilian with wide eyes when the Judge said that Stilian had to stay. "Still's ma is dead, you know." Kit paused and shifted his gaze to the Judge. "And I think his da hit him or something. What happens if he won't sign the application?"

The judge lowered a knee onto the polished parquet floor and examined Stilian at close range, his face grave. Stilian felt his face grow hot and decided to check the floor for cracks. "I see," said the Judge, nodding. "There are other things we might try. But let's cross that bridge when we come to it." He turned his gaze to Kit. "You're staying here to wait with Stilian, I take it."

Kit's face was set. "Yes. I want to go to school, but I'll wait for Still."

"Well!" said Judge Hugh, putting a hand on the table and pushing himself slowly to his feet. "That's settled."

* * *

For the next few days, Stilian and Kit mostly talked or played games in one of the empty classrooms. They tried to get into the library, but one of the judges told them that it was for faculty and law students only, and that they would probably find it boring. Stilian knew the man was annoyed by their laughing and talking, but he didn't say anything.

On the fourth day of their stay, they were poking idly around amidst the stacks of old desks and chairs in the attic of the classroom wing trying to decide what to do, when Stilian heard a commotion in the courtyard. He and Kit looked down through a dormer window and saw young men pouring through the big gates and into the dormitory wing on the other side of the courtyard. There was a large wagon with the livery of the postal service on it parked inside the gate. A rowdy group laughing loudly as unloaded boxes and trunks. The students were returning to Blue House.

"I wonder if they ever get tired of school? Look how old they are. Why, they're practically middle-aged," said Kit.

"You can't wait to go to school at Grayholme."

"Yes, but I'm not like most kids. Most kids in Longfield hated school. I had to pretend that I did too, so they wouldn't pick on me. Did they tease you?"

"Sometimes. It was mostly because I was skinny and not very good at games."

"Oh." Stilian rubbed the dust from the window pane before him. "You like to read, don't you?"
Kit asked.

"Yeah, but I haven't done much. There are too many chores to do on the farm, and Father doesn't like to see me sitting still. He says reading is idleness."

"I don't like your father."

* * *

The next night, Kit woke Stilian from a dream. "Quit shoving me!" said Stilian, opening his eyes to faint starlight.

He felt a tug on the covers as Kit moved in the dark. "You were talking in your sleep."

"I was dreaming. I was lying in a field and my mother was there, singing to me. Then a storm came and we ran inside, only it wasn't our house and it wasn't my mother, it was Miss Gorse, our school teacher, and she told me I had to take a bath."

Kit yawned audibly and rolled onto his side. "It's all right. The judges are pretty nice, most of them. Go back to sleep."

After a moment, Stilian sighed and curled up against Kit's back.

* * *

The next day, Stilian told Kit he wanted to see what was in the library. "Nobody's in there before breakfast. I checked this morning, on the way from the bath house, and it was empty. Let's get up early and see what books they have." Kit did not require much convincing. He wanted to see the books as much as Stilian did. So the next morning, they got up as soon as they could see a pink glow at the horizon. It was cold, so they tiptoed down to the library with oil lamps in their hands and blankets wrapped around their shoulders.

The library was a large room with built-in shelves that went all the way up to the ceiling. There were ladders that you could slide from side to side to get to the high shelves. Heavy tables and chairs occupied center of the room. Set into the corner between two walls was a large stone fireplace--empty and cold at this hour. On either side, the walls had tall, narrow windows set in between the shelves. Above the mantle, there was a large portrait of an impressively bearded, old man in a blue tunic who was holding a jar in one hand. In the jar, Stilian could make out a purple heart. The old man was fingering a twig of holly leaves, which was pinned to his shoulder. Stilian found the picture rather gruesome, but Kit laughed at it.

As soon as they'd taken stock of the room, they set down their lamps on a table and started to survey the books. Not surprisingly, most of them were about law or courtroom procedure, but there were also books about history, economics, agriculture, and even theater. Stilian found one with drawings of scenes from famous plays, and took it to a table to examine more closely. Kit discovered a history of ancient warfare that had descriptions of famous battles, including a few from the canny wars.

It began to get light outside. Stilian paid little mind, as engrossed as he was in his book. Eventually, the door opened and a man wondered into the room. He was holding a breakfast roll in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. He chewed slowly. "I wondered who was up before dawn, so early in the term. You can see the lamplight from across the courtyard, you know." He put down his roll and tea, bent over to look at Kit's book and rested a hand the boy's shoulder. "Aren't those battles a little heavy going before breakfast?"

Stilian tried to read the man warily, but the man's emotions were shielded. "We just wanted to see--"

"We weren't going to take anything," said Kit.

The man smiled and Stilian saw that he had crow's feet around his eyes and deep grooves around his mouth. He reminded Stilian of a fish merchant.

"No, I don't believe you were." The man removed his hand and picked up his tea and roll again. "You know, I have a private collection over here, which has some books in it that you might enjoy more than those old tomes. Let me show you. If you like what you find, I'll let you take a few with you, so long as you promise to bring them back before you leave."

"You'll let us borrow some books!" Kit grinned.

The man smiled back at them. "My name's Angus, by the way. I'm the librarian. You are masters Kit and Stilian, I expect."

* * *

The next night, Stilian found himself dreaming he was back home at the farm, sleeping in the loft of the farmhouse with his four brothers. In Stilian's dream, he was back in his old bed with his brother Arnost. Arnost was stroking himself. Instead of turning his back to Stilian, Arnost rolled towards Stilian, and laid an arm across his chest. Stilian felt himself hardening as his breathing synchronized with his brother's. He awoke from the dream in a panic. But it was not Arnost whose arm was lying across Stilian's chest. Nor was it Arnost's cock that was pressing his thigh. It was Kit's.

Stilian's heart thundered in his chest, but he was too ashamed and confused to move. Kit, becoming aware of Stilian's feelings, pulled his arm back, and rolled away. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to upset you. I was just horny."

Kit's lack of concern was a cool sheet against Stilian's skin. But Stilian's breathing grew even more ragged as he sensed Kit's sympathy. "I dreamt that you were my brother, Arnost. He thought I was a pervert because whenever he touched himself, I felt it, and I got hard too."

"Everybody pleasures himself. At least boys do."

"Maybe, but they don't do it together. Not brothers! But I couldn't help it. My brothers knew I felt it whenever they touched themselves. They hated me for it. It embarrassed them."

Kit was silent for a moment. "I am as you are. I feel it when you are randy, just as you felt it, when I was tonight. I don't think it's wrong. It's just how we feel. Do you blame me for feeling happy when you feel happy, or sad when you feel sad?"

"No."

"Then, wipe your eyes and go to sleep."

Stilian tried, but he lay awake for some time thinking of the home he had left.