If Crows Know Best (Mage of Merced Book 1) (20 page)

“You are the answer to all our prayers,” the older lady said, weeping.

I couldn’t have that. “You must be quiet, please. We are going to sneak off the property here, but then we have to walk through town to a safe place.”

I saw with a sinking heart as they emerged one-by-one that they were in their nightshifts and light shawls. Perhaps they had been taken away from their beds when the soldiers came. “I have trousers for the boy,” I said, handing them over. “You ladies will have to wrap yourselves in your shawls as the country women do, and tuck them round the middle. Here, rub some soil on the shifts so they look more gray than white.”

They did as I bid without speaking, the boy timid but silent as his mother helped him into his breeches. If luck and the gods were on our side, we could be taken for country peasants making our way through town on some errand. The ground around the shack was hard packed, but I made sure no dog prints could be seen. It would not do to have the Keltanese seeking a dog involved in the prisoners’ escape. I had seen too few large dogs about town to think Wieser and I would not risk being identified as potential culprits.

I bade them gather sticks when we passed through the brush on the slope, and carry armloads of them as we walked. The boy held his mum’s hand, and carried a handful of sticks as well. I took him to be nearly three years old, and small for his age. Wieser walked beside him, touching him gently with her nose when he dawdled.

About half the way back to Guthy’s the boy had enough. He began to cry, his feet hurt. He had on some sort of cloth shoes that rich townfolk must wear in bed. The ladies’ version of the flimsy shoes began to fall apart, but they walked on hugging their sticks to their chests with their eyes downcast like proper country matrons. I picked up the little boy, and while I carried him, I told him my dog was named Wieser and she was taking us to a place he would like. He left off crying and just sniffed now and then, keeping an eye on Wieser over my shoulder.

We turned up on Guthy’s back stoop, and I felt I could breathe again. “I did not really plan this,” I began as I ushered the three past an astonished Honni. The little boy went at once to peer over the edge of the kitchen table where brown loaves were cooling. Honni managed to stammer out a call for her mistress, who came trotting in response to the urgency in the girl’s voice.

As the next moments involved a lot of female gibbering and wailing, I cut a hunk of bread and slathered it with butter. This I gave to the boy, saying, “What’s your name, then?”

“Toohe,” he said around a mouthful. “Mummy,” he pointed. “And Granna.” I led him to the hearth to sit by the fire. Wieser came and sat beside him, and I heard him say to her, “I do like it here.”

Guthy became a ways undone, and could not decide whether to offer wash water or food to the women. I watched her dither for a short time, then felt her indecision had continued long enough.

“We’ll need clothing for them, and serviceable shoes of some sort. Maybe you can find something? Honni can give them a bit to eat, and then they can wash up,” I said, since nobody seemed able to sort it out. This at least set folk in motion, Guthy bustling above stairs and Honni setting plates on the table.

“Do you know anything about where my husband is?” the boy’s mum asked.

“Really, Madelon, we must thank the young man first for rescuing us. We have been in such straits, we forget our manners. I do apologize,” said Granna.

“I’m afraid you’re not wholly rescued yet. We must still get you away from here. I don’t know about your husband, Donah. My dog tracked the boy by his scent on the trousers, and found you besides. If I can get something with your husband’s scent, we can seek him next,” I said.

“The soldiers would not leave him with us, they thought he could break down the door or escape some other way. They said he was too valuable a hostage to throw in the harbour, but—but—” Here she broke down in sobs. Guthy reappeared with skirts draped over her arms, shed them instantly on the end of the table and came to pat the mother on the shoulder.

“Here now! Judian will find him if anyone can,” Guthy soothed her.

“See, it’s Wieser who—” I started.

“How are you getting them away?” Honni wanted to know. “You c-can’t think to walk them out the town gates?”

“I cannot leave without my husband!” Madelon cried.

“Now, he said he just needed some of Nevra’s clothes. How did you come by Toloun’s trousers?” asked the older lady.

“I thought he said his name was Toohe? Is that just a fond name?” His mum nodded to me. “Anyway, Orlo Suerat brought me the clothes.”

“Nanny Suerat’s boy? The one who runs errands for cook? Does he know how my husband fares?”

“Vonna, you must calm yourself, you’ve been so worried about all of us,” said Madelon in her turn at comforting.

“Orlo says your husband is frantic about your safety, but well enough himself,” I managed to put in. There came a rapid triple knock at the back door, and Honni rushed to open it. Orlo stood on the stoop, and I had the pleasure of seeing his eyes bulge at the sight of the ladies and boy.

There was a blissful moment of silence before all the women started talking at once, but this time they were buzzing at Orlo and not me. He put up his hands and tried to back away, but Honni took hold of his wrist and pulled him the rest of the way into the kitchen.

“Donah Folio, Donah Folio,” Orlo said, nodding to each in turn. “Yes, I can get some of Donar Nevra’s clothes for Judian. And I will ask cook to put some message in with Harbourmaster Folio’s food tray that you are safe.”

“Tell nanny, too.” Toohe added.

“I will. She’s been missing you plenty.” Orlo looked at me. “Tell me later how you managed this. What are you going to do with them now?”

“Can they be smuggled out of town underground?” I asked.

“That may be possible. I could get them below tonight, and see from there,” Orlo said.

“Get me the man’s clothes, and I’ll go out with Wieser while they clean up and rest. I’ll help you get them to the tunnel after dark.” I looked at all the faces staring at me as I spoke. How had I waded into this? I resolved to consider my actions more carefully, in future.

By the time Orlo returned with another bundle of clothes for Wieser to smell, the newly washed ladies had been dressed in plain dark skirts and shawls less fine than their own. Each wore simple slippers of sturdy leather, though Donah Vonna’s were quite snug. I told her how to go about stretching them, but by the quizzical look she gave me, I judged such things were done for her, not by her.

Honni slipped out to her family’s house for a shirt and rough weave trousers for Toohe. She said he would draw less attention barefoot, at his young age, which scandalized the ladies but suited him.

I left with Wieser as soon as I gave her the scent, since it was late afternoon already. If we had to do another rescue, time would be short to get it accomplished before we needed to escort the others to the underground. It did not take her nearly as long to find her target this time, though. She led me to the back of the warehouse where our soldiers were held. I surmised she did not take me to the front because of the Keltanese guards leaning on the doors, watching the street.

“It’s no good,” I told the others when I returned to Guthy’s. “We plan on setting the men free from there, but I can’t do it today. We need a better plan than what I came up with at the sawyer’s. It’s bricks and mortar, not wood, and there are guards besides. We don’t even know how many are held there.”

Young Donah Folio despaired the most at the news. The harbourmaster’s wife now remained stoic though it was her son who was imprisoned still. Orlo said in my ear that it could be possible for the smugglers to tunnel below the warehouse and get the men out that way. He laid a finger to his lips as he moved away.

The old salts filtered in from the waterfront as the sun began to sink. They were enlivened by word of the rescue, and deferential to the harbourmaster’s lady-folk. One of the sailors set about carving a wooden ship for Toohe, while the others sat with me in an upstairs room to compose a reply message. The one who had been a signal master was able to quickly render their report as short and long strokes to say: two guards each wagon.

It was not that we didn’t know all the wagons we had seen so far had two guards, but that we didn’t have our wagon yet to travel and ambush the wagon carrying what we wanted to steal. We did not need cargo information until later, and tonight’s message was more for practice.

It took them longer to convert this missive into an innocuous letter, to be decoded at home. After much scratching at grizzled chins, a particularly toothless fellow took up his quill to write of his regard for Virda, and how he longed to see her again soon. The message was cleverly embedded within. What he intended Virda to make of the accompanying sentiment could only be guessed at, but the man’s eyes twinkled.

I took the message down to Gargle, and tied it to his leg as before. Guthy and Honni had fixed the pellet to send him home, and I spoke the words carefully while old sailors, Guthy, Honni and the freed hostages all watched from the kitchen window. Gargle found this audience only his due, and strutted up and down the porch railing. “Just you fly home to Annora, now, and enough showing off,” I finished, poking him in the shoulder as he passed. He gave a look at my finger and then a look in my eyes before flapping away. I would not say he appeared chastised. More like sulky, I reckoned.

We had all been fed and it was dark out under the waning moon when Orlo came to guide us below. Toohe had fallen asleep clutching his toy boat, and had to be carried by his mum. Guthy found a bit of old counterpane to wrap about him, since the sea breeze had grown chill. Vonna Folio may have been a grander lady than most, but she still clasped hands with all the old sailors and hugged Guthy, and Honni, when we left. Madolen Folio, burdened with her son, spoke warm words of thanks to each in turn.

Orlo moved with especial caution as he led us along the alleyways. Tonight no fog concealed us, and so we kept close to the walls in deeper shadows. We stopped once, breaths caught and backs pressed against the stones, while a pair of guards went stomping past. Orlo waited until their guttering, flaring lantern light faded around the corner before we traveled on.

When all were safely in the tunnel mouth, with Orlo lighting the lantern there, I took my leave. “Will you find your way in the dark?” fretted Madolen.

“I have Wieser to guide me,” I said, petting the black head at my side.

“Words cannot express our gratitude, young Judian. When we are reunited with my husband, you can be sure he will reward you and yours,” Donah Vonna said.

It would have been rude to say I was counting on it. So instead I said, “May you be reunited soon, gods’ willing. Keep safe and I will do what I can to speed Donar Nevra on his way to you all.” Orlo rolled his eyes at me, but followed that with a wink. He led them down the passageway.

Wieser and I evaded more patrols on the return journey to Guthy’s, but none spotted us as we practiced fading into the darkness like wolves. Wieser no doubt better than I, being entirely black.

I found Honni angry with me again when we arrived. “You will m-make me run mad, I do swear. I’ve been sure you were dead half a d-dozen times already tonight.” She scrubbed furiously at the kitchen table.

“I’ve only been gone just as long as it takes to walk there and back,” I complained, and Wieser whined at my side.

“Easy for y-you to say!” she snapped, and wheeled away to go into the keeping room. Wieser and I exchanged glances, mine the more puzzled, and went up to bed.

As before, Honni’s anger spent itself overnight. She fixed food for my journey home and said she was sorry I had to leave so soon. I gave up looking for sense in her, and made my farewells to Guthy and the old salts brief, so I could get on my way.

Next, we would wait until dark of the moon in hope of our wagon’s delivery.

CHAPTER 31

As fate and the gods would have it, rain fell the night our wagon was to be brought; one of those chill spring rains that seep down the neck of a tunic and soak from inside out as well as outside in. Wils and I had trudged down to the forge with Miskin and Beckta, leaving Perk, Joren and Cobbel by the fire with Gevarr and the women. I told Wieser to stay by the hearth, but brought the trio of crows along as spotters. We carried the remaining gold we owed in a leather pouch, which Wils had charge of, being bossy as Gargle at his worst.

Bar Estegg the smithy let us in to stand out of the weather. He told Wils on returning home that he saw nothing of any battles, and tonight talked further with us about his experience with the troops. He marched west with them, and then back east, and when the Keltanese proved to have beaten them to the harbour, his portion of the conscripted army had fragmented and scattered to make their way to their separate homes as best they could. He heard no news from the fort on his route, and had not been with other local men. The miller had not yet returned; Bar believed some had been taken captive, but didn’t like that to get about for fear the miller’s wife would hear.

Ticker wanted to come out and wait with us, but his mother said he was too young to truck with smugglers and shooed him inside. She watched through a crack in the door, and I caught a glimpse of her baby, grown fat and with more teeth than some of Virda’s old salt admirers.

At nearly midnight, Gargle called and the others pecked at the window. The wagon rolled through the mud around to the back of the forge, the team’s harness jingling. Bar waved the driver into the bay with his lantern, and we all stared. Even in the weak lantern light, the wagon almost glowed, a bright sky blue. Black and yellow curlicues chased and twined along the sides. It appeared to have a hut built on the back, rather than a plain bed. The sort of wagon the Travellers lived in on the road. Except those I had seen were pulled by one horse. This larger wagon was pulled by a pair of tall, heavy legged, feather-hocked golden horses, with flaxen manes and tails. Though soaked and muddy, they were clearly an especially distinctive team, and a bit too large for their harness.

Two outriders on plain bays followed the wagon in, and the driver, who proved to be Zaffis, threw off his oiled-wool cloak and jumped down into the wagon. He reappeared at the back, swinging open the small door, and swept aside a canvas covering to reveal the kegs of beans and our load of lumber.

“Where’s my young bargain-striker?” he boomed. “Ah, there you be, amazed at what we’ve fixed for you. Which is your brother?” He rubbed his hands together and looked at us standing on the straw.

Wils found his tongue first. “Mothers of earth and water and all else that’s holy. We’ll certainly be noticed about the countryside in this rig!”

“Wait,” I said. “It looks new and sturdy. It can be painted.”

“Are we painting the team, as well?” Wils said, walking around the back to get the full view of our purchase.

“It isn’t like putting in your order at the wheelwright’s, see.” Zaffis did not sound offended by Wils’s remarks, for a wonder. He extended a three-step wooden ladder from the door, and hooked the top over the threshold. The bottom reached the straw and he stepped down to join us. “Traveller folk are not drawing much attention from the Keltanese these days, I’m told. This may serve you better than you think at first glance.”

Wils looked less than convinced. “And the horses? Is no one seeking a pair this fine, gone missing?”

“Sought they may be, but no one will be seeking them
here
,” said Zaffis with a wink.

“Yah, Wils,” said Bar, straightening from his inspection of the horses’ rumps, which bore no brands. “I have been shoeing these two for your da these five years past. So I’ll say to any who might inquire.”

I went round to their heads, where they both lipped my outstretched hand and flicked their ears at me. Both mares; we could have a herd if we bred them to Halvor Billen’s stallion. If he still had him after the invasion came through, that is.

“Sure, Donar Estegg. I’ve brought them down myself to be shod,” I agreed. “This is Cider, and the other is … Honey.”

Zaffis stood with his arms crossed, while Wils completed his circuit of the wagon and team. He checked the lumber and kegs of beans, picked up the horses’ feet, then looked in each one’s mouth. “You’d better say you’ve been shoeing them these three years past, Bar. They’re young yet.” He wiped the horse slobber on his trousers, and came back to face Zaffis.

“Much finer than expected. Worth the price in these times, I reckon.” Wils took the pouch of gold from his tunic and handed it to Zaffis, inclining his head to him. Zaffis hefted it judiciously, and tossed it to one of the outriders, who began to count it. He passed handfuls of counted coins to his partner, who tucked them about his saddle and stuffed some in his boots and tunic. When he drew aside his oiled cloak, I saw a small crossbow at his back and a knife strapped to his leg. He noted my glance, and gave me a wolfish grin.

When Zaffis got the sign all was in order, he extended his hand to Wils. As they shook, he said, “Happy to do business again, my lad. We’re finding our trade somewhat constricted of late as the Keltanese fools try to learn how a harbour is run. We welcome your efforts to harass them.”

“Our ultimate aim is to banish them,” Wils said. “We may call on you for aid in freeing our troops held on the waterfront.”

“Judian already has my folk working to burrow under the warehouse,” Zaffis laughed. “Orlo says he knows how to get word to you when we are ready to break through.”

All eyes turned to me. Had I forgotten to mention this when telling my tale of the rescue? “It was Orlo who thought of it, tunneling under. Good news in any case,” I said lamely. “Are the captive women and child well away?”

“Aye, far and away. I’ll not say where, as the less you know the less you can tell, eh? I was glad you thought to bring them to me once I thought it over, a little like your brother had to think over his wagon and team, see. But you’re right, it’s good to be owed a favor from a man with the harbourmaster’s influence. Though I wish I could see his face when he finds out smugglers, the bane of his life’s work, helped his family escape trouble.”

With a loud guffaw, Zaffis pulled on his cloak, mounted behind one of the riders, and raised a hand to us in parting. The two men pulled their mounts around and kicked them back out into the rainy night.

“I don’t think we’ll need Joren Delyth to drive this rig,” I said, to head off discussion of who had set a troop rescue in motion without consultation. “May I try driving it home?”

“Joren will be driving the heavy wagon we steal. As you well know,” Wils said with an air of dignified resignation. “I can see Zaffis’ point about this wagon. We can hide men within as we travel. I had wondered how we could keep our numbers secret.”

Miskin and Beckta, silent looming presences through the encounter, now began to laugh and congratulated me for finding Zaffis and Wils for his handling of the exchange.

Bar would not hear of us setting out for home yet. “Let them get some road behind them returning, in case anyone did note their coming.” He brought us in beside his hearth to dry out, while he gave our new team a bit of grain and water. Gefretta and her mother Nellen told us to take our wet boots off and have a hot cider toddy. It was getting onto hard cider, but Wils did not say I shouldn’t have any on account of being too young. And after all in a few months, I would be thirteen, so was nearly a man.

Gefretta studiously ignored Wils, which was only fitting with him being a married man, but I could tell by how she went about it that she wanted him to be wounded by her disregard. I don’t think he noticed. Beckta and Miskin both noticed Gefretta, though, and paid her all the attention she could wish. I supposed she was pretty, in kind of a crisp, tart way. But it seemed to me she was someone who always wanted things her way and no other, and no reluctance in telling anyone if they displeased her.

Wils drove home when we left. Though the rain stopped, the track ran steep and muddy, he said, and the team might not be used to mountain roads. They drove well together, we found. Still, a relief to pull into our own yard, and unhitch our own horses. Wils put the wagon behind the barn, and I took Cider and Honey into their stalls, newly built. Dink whickered to them amiably from his loose box. Beckta and Miskin worked together to treat the wet harness, so it wasn’t too long before we could find our beds. Dawn would come soon enough, and there would be more work ahead, making ready to be highwaymen.

###

In the morning, Gevarr had a laugh at our fancy wagon, but then, like Wils, allowed it would be good for concealing our load of armed men. Morie loved it and wanted to live in it with Murr, full of crabby remarks when I told her we had to take it to do work instead of leaving it for her playhouse. “Da would let me have the pretty wagon!” she shouted at me as I walked away. That was what came of her being everybody’s pet, a girl and the youngest.

Those villagers who had put in money, as tracked by Wils and Joren, were invited to share in the beans and lumber. Wils’s reputation was fixed as a fair-minded man. Folks were appreciative and he encouraged them to tell their neighbors who hadn’t shared their gold. So, maybe next time we asked, the hold-outs would remember the benefit, Wils told me aside.

Wils tasked me with restocking all the caves. “Where else are we going to house the troops if we can free them?” he said. “Or had you thought of what to do with them all? We don’t even have a fair idea of their number.”

“I hope to hear from the apostate, or the smugglers, how many there are all told. The caves are not so large, the ones I used. But there are more, the mountain’s full of them. I think they must all be connected, if we explore further.” I feared he would suggest exploration for my job, too, and I wanted to go to the border fort with him, to Da. “Of course, I could do the exploring, but then I wouldn’t be here to learn the animal craft from Annora …”

“I’ll set Miskin, Cobbel and Beckta going deeper in, once you’re sure they can find their way up and back without going astray. Pack the pickaxe and shovel on Dink with the other supplies. They’ll likely have to excavate as they go.”

Probably he did see through my wheedling, but if it went my way, why should I worry further? As soon as I had escorted the men enough that I was confident they could get back to the house, I pestered Annora to teach me horse-lore with Cider and Honey. I needed to make myself essential to our mission.

Annora watched me practice for hours in the pasture, calling the mares to me, sending them away, all without a word. With a mere nuance of gesture, she could send them in separate directions, at differing paces, and bid them stop and stand far across the grass. Wieser and the crows lined up by the fence to watch, and Morie and Murr came sometimes, too. Morie generously told me she liked the mares’ names; I had expected her to pout since I usurped her job of naming new animals. She did see fit to contrast my horse directing efforts with Annora’s, saying, “I don’t think you’re doing it right. They
like
going where Annora tells them.”

“How do you know they like it?” I said, sweaty and harassed by flies.

“’Cause they look happy,” she replied, stroking Murr.

I looked at them cropping grass, immense gleaming beasts, almost seventeen hands, the pair of them. Happy? Equable, maybe. Docile enough. How could I direct them in a way that made them happy to obey? Did Annora make them happy because of her happiness, with Wils home and productive work to do—that made sense to me. I tried to send out cheerful thoughts for my own part, with our plans for rescue and all I was learning about magic making me useful. I took a deep breath, and gestured Cider to come to me.

She lifted her head from grazing, ambled over to me and pushed her forehead into my chest. I scratched her forelock and she heaved a great sigh.

“See, like that,” Morie said, satisfied.

“Indeed. I see,” I said with a smile.

I tried to explain my revelation to Gevarr as we worked on griming the wagon to make it less flashy. Annora had suggested we rub it with rags dipped in ashes, and Gevarr’s hands worked well enough for that. He could not grip a weapon yet; maybe never would again, according to Wils. Gevarr listened to my tale of better communication with Cider if I set positive intention, and paused in his rubbing.