Ravenheart (25 page)

“I am not here to gossip, Master Pearce. Be so kind as to open the pouch.”

He did so. The glint of gold caught his eye, and he tipped the contents to the bench. “By the bones of Persis,” he whispered. “There is thirty pounds here.”

“And more to be had if you are willing to listen.”

“Gold has a way of making me attentive, lady,” Gillam said, rising from his bench and moving around to fetch a chair for Maev. She sat down, and he returned to his seat. “Please speak what is on your mind.”

“Your boots and shoes are beautifully made, though you do not use the finest of leathers.”

“They are too costly,” he said, interrupting her.

“Indeed. But this is why the rich do not buy your boots. In serving the poor you have been forced to underprice your wares. In short, you need a change in direction.”

“The highest-quality hides must be shipped from—”

“Masacar, three hundred miles from the old city of Stone,” she said. “I know. A small shipment will be arriving in the next week. I have acquired it.”

“You are a bootmaker?”

“No. I am a highland woman with coin to spare. If we become partners, I believe we would both benefit.”

“Partners? Apart from money, madam, what will you bring to this partnership?”

“Profits,” said Maev Ring.

For some time they talked. Maev agreed to finance the buying of leather and the settling of debts in return for a forty percent holding. She then produced an old pair of riding boots from a heavy canvas shoulder bag. She passed them to Gillam Pearce. He looked at them closely. “Fine leather,” he said, “but poor stitching. The wear on the heels is uneven, and the left boot is too small by a fraction. See here where the wearer’s toes have stretched the leather.”

“Could you make a pair of boots for this man that would better these?”

“Assuredly, madam.”

“Then do so. Create a work of art, Master Pearce.”

“Will he be coming to me for a fitting?”

“No. When finished, they will be a gift from you.”

“Who is to be the lucky recipient? Your husband?”

“The Moidart. These boots were discarded some weeks ago. One of his servants brought them to a friend of mine, who brought them to me. If your gift finds favor, Master Pearce, others will hear that you craft footwear for the Moidart. Where the lord goes, others will follow. Then there will be no more two-chailling boots from Gillam Pearce. You can hire others to craft them.”

“You are very confident, Madam Ring.”

“That confidence is well founded, Master Pearce.”

The Moidart had been delighted with the gift. The boots had been of black Masacar leather as soft as silk yet durable. He had not sent any message of thanks to Gillam Pearce, but three weeks after the delivery of the gift two of Eldacre’s richest noblemen had visited his workshop, ordering similar footwear. By the end of the summer Gillam Pearce’s order book was full despite the obscenely extravagant prices Maev Ring had insisted he charge.

As Maev left the old barn and walked across the open area
to the kitchen, she calculated once more the returns from Gillam Pearce alone. Sixty pounds to settle his debts, twenty-eight pounds and eighteen chaillings to ship in quality hides, and eleven pounds and nine chaillings to refit his workshop and acquire higher-quality tools. In total ninety-two pounds and seven chaillings. In the four years they had been partners Maev had earned 417 pounds and four chaillings in excess of that sum.

The forge and armory previously solely owned by Parsis Feld now supplied some three hundred pounds per year. Other businesses—the dye works, the cattle auction dealers, the three furniture makers, and the Eldacre abbattoir—supplied 140 pounds more.

The profits were becoming singularly dangerous. The law governing the clans was harsh. No highlander could purchase a Varlish business or acquire land of more than two acres. No highlander could own a horse above fourteen and a half hands, and then only if it was a gelding. No highlander could lodge coin with a bank or borrow monies above five chaillings. Any highlander found in possession of a sword, longbow, gun, or horse above fourteen and a half hands and virile would be judged a rebel and hanged.

Despite the fact that Maev had broken no laws, she knew that this would prove no defense. It was the spirit of the law that counted. Succesful highlanders were perceived as a threat to the governing order and were dealt with one way or another. Then why go on getting richer and richer? she asked herself. It was not the first time the thought had come to her. Maev had thought about the problem often. It was not the money. Heaven knew, there was little enough that a highland woman could spend it on. No, as she had explained to Jaim, it was the challenge.

He had not understood. “We were out walking last week,” she said. “We passed a section of wall that had tumbled. You stopped and spent an hour restacking the stones.”

“The cattle would have wandered,” he said.

“Aye, they would, Grymauch, but they were not your cattle. It was not your wall. That’s how it is for me. I see the potential in a business, and it irks me when it is not realized.”

“Is it worth risking your life for?”

“No, it is not,” she agreed. “I cannot explain it—even to myself. It is my talent, and I feel obliged to use it. I keep telling myself I will draw back and stop one day. Yet I don’t.”

Maev moved through to the long kitchen. Shula was kneading dough at the wooden worktop. The shy Varlish woman had proved a boon around the house, and Maev had made it clear to her that she was welcome to stay as a guest. Instead Shula worked like a servant, constantly at some labor or other, cleaning, dusting, washing blankets and sheets, repairing Kaelin’s clothes.

Maev climbed the stairs and entered the west-facing bedroom used by Jaim Grymauch. He was still asleep. Maev sat down on the bed and nudged him. He groaned and rolled over but did not wake. Maev caught the smell of ale on his breath.

“Wake up, you ox,” she said, shaking his shoulder.

Jaim’s one good eye opened. It was bloodshot. “What is it?” he mumbled.

“I need to know what happened with Chain Shada. Kaelin came back and would say nothing. Now he and Banny are off in the hills. And you—you drunkard—did not stagger in until dawn. Well, the sun has been up for five hours now, and no self-respecting man would still be sleeping.”

“Give me a few minutes to find my brain, woman.”

“By heavens, Grymauch, you’d need ten expert trackers and a wizard to find such a mythical beast. I’ll be downstairs. Get yourself dressed and join me there.”

“A cooked breakfast would be nice. Bacon, eggs, a steak, and some mushrooms.”

“Such a breakfast is for working folk who rise early. I’ll slice you some bread and cheese.”

Maev rose and glanced at the clothes so carelessly slung on the floor. She hefted Jaim’s cloak, which was still damp, and sniffed it. “Did you fall in the river?”

“I didn’t
fall
. I swam.” Grymauch threw back the covers and swung his legs from the bed.

“You vile man!” she said. “How dare you show your nakedness to me?”

“You told me to get dressed!”

“When I’m gone, man.” Maev flung the cloak aside and stalked from the room. Only when she reached the stairs did she allow herself to smile. She wondered what the difference would be between having Jaim Grymauch and having a pet bear living with her.

Her good mood lasted only as long as it took Jaim to dress, eat his bread and cheese, and tell her of the events of the night before. “You didn’t kill them?” she said, astonished.

“No, I didn’t kill them.”

“Oh, Jaim, you idiot. Now they’ll be coming for you and Kaelin. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I am a Rigante, not some murdering Varlish. The boy has already killed two men. And he was willing, Maev. He was even eager to add to that tally. Two prisoners. He would have shot them down without a thought. That’s not right.”

“Better them than us, Jaim.”

“We’ll have to agree to differ. I have killed men. You know that. I carried rage in my heart, and I slaughtered the enemy wherever I found him. I regret every one of those dead now. Even the bad ones. Had we killed Huntsekker and his man, we’d likely have had to go back into the undergrowth and kill the other three. Then we’d have been forced to bury them in unmarked graves, hoping no one would ever stumble upon them. Dal Naydham and Vinton Gabious have children who would never know what happened to their fathers. Bass and Boillard Seeton care for their elderly mother, who is blind now. Aye, maybe Huntsekker would be a small loss to the world. I can’t say for sure. But the day will never dawn again when I cut down defenseless men. Not ever, Maev.”

Maev walked to the window, staring out at the distant mountains. “We must bring the plan forward,” she said. “You
and Kaelin will leave today for the north. Find him and take him to the cave. Send Banny back here. Tomorrow at dawn be at the fork in the Great North Road. I will be there with a wagon.”

“We don’t need a wagon, Maev. It will slow us down.”

“The wagon will be carrying much of my wealth, Jaim. I need to get it away from here. You will take it to my farm in the north. Once there, you will remove the gold and bury it in the woods behind the main house.”

“Gold? How much gold?”

“Two thousand pounds.”

“Is there that much money in the world?” he asked, astonished.

“Why in heaven’s name did you get drunk last night when you knew I’d be worried sick?” she countered.

“I stopped off at the tavern for a quick one. My bones were cold through. While I was there, I heard that an old friend of mine was hanged south of the border. Public execution, Maev. Hundreds of clansmen and women gathered to watch him dance on the rope. I wish I had known.”

“What difference would it have made?” she asked.

“I’d have taken my glave and marched down the main street and cut him free.”

“There are usually two squads of soldiers at every execution. Twenty men, Grymauch.”

“I know,” he said sadly.

“So what you are saying is you’d have thrown away your life needlessly.”

He suddenly grinned. “Not at all. I’d have hacked a path through the soldiers and freed him, anyway. After all, what are twenty Varlish to a man of the Rigante?”

“A pet bear would be less trouble,” she said.

“What?” he asked, mystified.

“Never mind. Find Kaelin and be at the fork at dawn.”

The black-lacquered coach bearing the fawn in brambles crest of the Moidart stood waiting, the matched black horses
standing patiently. Behind the coach ten lancers also waited in lines of two. The driver, dressed in a heavy double-shouldered coat, sat hunched, the reins in his hands.

A white-wigged Gaise Macon, his long pale blue cloak flaring in the breeze, walked back and forth, occasionally staring toward the gates of the castle. It was nearing noon, and there was no sign of Mulgrave. At last Gaise removed his cloak, opened the door of the coach, and climbed inside. The seats were of polished hide, and embroidered cushions were scattered upon them. Gaise tapped twice on the front panel. The driver flicked the reins, and the coach rumbled over the cobbles and out onto the hill road above Eldacre.

Gaise was disappointed that he had not been able to say farewell to his mentor. Mulgrave had been a good friend these past few years. Lifting his booted heels to the seat opposite, Gaise leaned back. It would be a long journey to Varingas, the capital. Eight days of mind-numbing boredom. It would have been so much more satisfying to ride the palomino and camp beside streams. But this was inappropriate for the son of the Moidart. No, his journey to the capital had to be made in style, with a ten-man escort and not even a wave good-bye from his closest friend.

Mulgrave had been much occupied during the last few weeks trying to solve the riddle of the murders of Jek Bindoe and the kilted Varlish boy. Gaise guessed that the soldier had his suspicions about the identity of the killer but would not voice them. Then had come the killing of Boillard Seeton. Like Bindoe, he had been shot before being stabbed. Mulgrave was convinced that the man who had shot Boillard had also been responsible for the other murders.

“It is a highlander for sure,” he said. “The killer did not ride from the old bridge. He walked. I followed the tracks for a while, but then they vanished in a stream. I rode that stream looking for an exit print. I found none. But there were many areas where either the ground was rocky alongside the water or overhanging branches reached down. The man was canny, as they say in these parts. He was also not heavily built. The
prints were not deep. Judging by the ground he covered, I would also assume him to be young and strong.”

“What does it matter, my friend?” asked Gaise Macon. “Bindoe was a rapist and a murderer. He deserved to die. Boillard Seeton was a hunter of men and a man of poor reputation. Added to which I am glad Chain Shada escaped.”

“It matters, sir, because a highlander has killed three Varlish. It would not be a good precedent for him to escape justice.”

“It has not sparked a rebellion, Mulgrave.”

“No, sir, but it has planted a seed.”

The coach rumbled on. Gaise looked out the window at the houses flowing by and the people walking the narrow streets of Eldacre. Most of the men were wearing white wigs and the high-collared black coats once so popular in the south. A dog ran alongside the coach, barking furiously. A lancer broke formation and clouted the animal with the haft of his lance. The dog yelped and ran away.

Gaise pulled off his wig and scratched his head. Already he was sweating, and the journey had scarcely begun. The coach rumbled on past Five Fields, which was empty now. Gaise thought back to the night of the fight. He had been impressed by Jaim Grymauch. Just for a moment, after he had downed Gorain for the last time, the man had seemed like a giant, his huge frame silhouetted against the mountains.

He recalled an old description of the clansmen: “men with mountains on their shoulders.” It was certainly true of that clansman.

And yet we treat them in the same way the lancer treated the dog alongside the coach, he thought. At first sign of independent thought we come down on them with whips and guns and the hangman’s noose. It was no way to govern a people.