Ross Lawhead (41 page)

By chance—or providence, or fate, for everything so far had gone unbelievably smoothly—Daniel had actually been introduced to Agrid Fiall. Returning to Kæyle and Pettyl's stall, he had encountered a small crowd of people clustered around it. He slipped in around them and edged to the back of the booth.

Kæyle was standing in the middle of the room, his powerful body at ease, and all the more threatening for his casual strength—he was taller than anyone else there. Before him was an elf, who was dressed in an outfit that was splendid, even by elfish standards. Thin black robes enfolded him, trimmed with grey and white lace—the one serving as an accent for the other. Pearls of varying sizes and brilliance were set into the black cloth, creating swirling patterns, as if depicting the sky on a hailstorm night. His face wore a thick, bushy beard that was jet-black and streaked with bright white hairs, which seemed to be a piece of the costume as well.

On either side of him stood what were obviously Elfin soldiers. They wore silver helmets and chest plates that were etched with woodland scenes. Everything else was covered with thick embossed leather. Short swords hung at their sides and long, thin spears rose over their heads. Behind these three were nobles and what appeared to be merchants of a higher class than those who owned stalls.

The eyes of all of these men turned towards Daniel as he entered, immediately pegging him as someone who didn't belong. “Who is this young—
man
?” the black figure asked.

“He is an unfortunate boy who fell into our world and came into my care. I have already made arrangements for him to return to his own world.”

“It has been some time since I have seen a human. You used to see more of them about—when we used to steal them. Are you sure it is not a changeling? It's so hard to tell with those animals.

My name is Agrid Fiall, young human. What is yours?”

“Daniel Tully, your lordship.”

Fiall laughed. “
Daniel Tully, your lordship,”
he repeated in a mocking tone. “I'd forgotten how they sound when they speak.

Marvelous, simply marvelous. One might almost believe that they were able to think as we do. There was that bard who managed it once, but I never saw him and believe reports of him to be exaggerated. Will you sell him to me?”

“No,” Kæyle said once, with finality.

“Anyhow, where were we with the negotiations?” Fiall continued.

“The price is the price,” Kæyle said firmly. “There is no changing it.”

“Come now, it is your patriotic duty to supply us with charcoal for the fires needed to draw silver and gold from rock. It's what keeps many families fed and clothed.”

“If ever I saw a grain of this gold or silver, then my consideration may be different. As I don't share in the fortunes of those who use what I make, I must set the price that seems fair to me.”

“Do you want to own a part of a smelter's works? There is one I'm looking for a partner in,” the moneylender asked with a raised eyebrow. Daniel had seen this expression many times before and had no doubt that even though the offer was in earnest, he'd find some way to cheat and ruin whoever took him up on it. Kæyle simply continued to gaze stoically at the minister.

“No matter, then,” Agrid Fiall replied. He took a deep breath, as if regretting what he was about to say and wanting to put it off as long as possible. “I was trying to spare you some amount of shame, you see; the royal budget only extends to two barrels of your stock.”

“That is no shame of mine.”

“It means that we will have to requisition another nine.”

Kæyle's face was impassive. “That is far less than fair,” he said eventually.

“There is no need to tell me that,” Fiall said in a plaintive tone. “It is how things are, and I feel as badly put upon as you do, no doubt. That is all I can offer, unless . . . unless you want to sell me the human. Go on, please . . .”

Kæyle did not respond, so the moneylender gave instruction over his shoulder. “Pay him.”

“Are you taking the charcoal now?” Daniel asked Fiall.

Fiall had been about to turn away but paused for a final quizzical look at Daniel. Then, with a humorous chuckle, Agrid Fiall left, completely ignoring the question. However, an elf, apparently a clerk of some sort, stepped forward with a bag of money and while counting out silver coins said to Kæyle, “Delivery will be taken tomorrow morning. We want these five, and those five over there; no others. I shall mark them for you.”

That was the whole of the interaction with the man that Daniel was supposed to kill, and he reflected on it as he stayed close to Awin Kaayn, drawing his new sky-blue cloak tighter around his shoulders—another piece of equipment from Reizger Lokkich— and struggling to keep Kaayn's enormous guitar on his back. He had offered to carry it, to make it look like he had a purpose there, but now he wished he hadn't. It was more strain in a stressful situation. Still, he supposed it helped to hide his nervousness. He was now suspecting that elves were far more perceptive and observant than most humans were—they seemed able to actually see emotions. Not just what was on your face, but perhaps what was in your heart as well. And fast—above all else, in Daniel's experience, elves were fast.

Things hadn't gone so well with Kæyle and Pettyl. He told them that he'd made another deal with Lokkich, which he wasn't able to tell them about, but it meant that they wouldn't have to pay anything and that he'd most likely be leaving tonight.

Pettyl had started to ask questions, which Daniel wasn't about to answer.

Kæyle, who must have had some idea, said to him, “Daniel, don't do this new deal. Stay with us for the next few days and take the surer, more natural route home.”

“No, I have to get back soon. I've heard my friend's voice calling me—twice now. I just feel—I need to get back as soon as possible, I know it. She needs me.”

“It may not be in the plan that you reach her so soon.”

“Plan? What plan?”

“The plan of the universe. The natural order that instructs all things, that guides the hearts of all living things.”

“I shouldn't even be here, though,” Daniel said resentfully. “If the universe had a plan to protect every living thing, then I'd have stayed where I belonged in order to protect Freya!”

“We aren't to know the plan,” Pettyl broke in. “It is not for you to judge where you most belong.”

“What does it matter what I do, anyway, if it's such a great plan?”

“Don't think of it as a plan—think of it as all of the created worlds working in an ideal state. Nothing is set, but things have a best course. Within this we may stay on our course, or travel a different one. If we go this other way, then we have made things disordered, and it may be difficult to correct after that. More, it may knock others out of alignment.”

“But as far as I can tell,” Daniel argued, “that sort of thing is happening all the time—at least, it is where I come from. And hearing here about the death of the true king and the exiling of the elves who followed him, as well as Agrid Fiall taking advantage of you and everyone else like he does—it seems to me like the universe needs a little helping hand to correct things. And if I can, then why shouldn't I? Is it the ‘ideal state' that good people suffer?”

Daniel felt his blood warm and skin tingle. Things were falling into place now; it was getting clearer. “I was brought to this point by the universe—by God. This has happened to me before. Here I am, further away from my ‘ideal state' than I've ever been. I've been put in an almost impossible situation, once again, and I know that I have the ability to win through and set things right. If there is a universal plan, then there's no way I'm not a part of it. I'm probably the only one in this world who can fix things and the universe knows it—that's why it brought me here. First I'll fix this problem and then I'll go back and fix my own.”

“Sometimes a correction can swing out of control and cause as many problems as the problem it was meant to fix.”

“I'll bear that in mind. Seeing as I'm the only one fixing things, I'm the only one who has to worry about that.”

Kæyle left at that point, walking out of the tent with a sad face. Pettyl seemed as if she wanted to say more but didn't. Instead, she asked if Daniel was leaving now and he said he probably would. She gave him some food and he thanked her for everything—for looking after him, helping with his Elfish, feeding him, and more besides. He didn't want the last thing between them to be an argument. Then he left and said goodbye to Kæyle, who was standing at the entrance to the tent. He didn't say anything at first, he just shook Daniel's hand. Even after all this time, Daniel still found him hard to read. The collier didn't seem angry, though. He smiled as he gave Daniel a parting gift—a large, golden leaf.

“This is a leaf,” he explained, “from the oldest tree that I know of in the forest. It has stood in the centre of the forest since before anyone started to count the years. It is very old, and yet every spring it produces new leaves. This is something of this place that you can take with you. It shouldn't weigh you down much at all, and it will point you in the right direction if ever you return.”

Daniel had thanked him and put the leaf in an old schoolbook that he still carried around in his backpack.

The feast hall was an enormous building with wide, semicircular arches bowing overhead. From the rafters hung more of the brightly coloured banners and pendants with entrancing designs. There were two rows of benches running nearly the full length of the hall, which stopped before a long table that was raised on a platform overlooking the enormous room. This was the high table where the Elf Prince, his consort, and the most important members of his court were to sit. It is where Agrid Fiall would sit.

Daniel surreptitiously made his way to the back of the hall, behind the high table, and pushed past one of the tapestries. There were two large wooden doors that were standing wide open. Directly in front of them was the kitchen tent where cooks and servers were busily preparing the feast. The smell was unlike anything he'd ever smelt before—it was the rich, sweet smell of caramelizing glazes on top of roasting meat, of spiced breads and pastries, of freshly tapped casks of ale and wine, and a dozen more familiar and unfamiliar.

They all mingled into a single overpowering aroma that made Daniel's mouth water and sent a sharp pain to his stomach, which had only had fruit and nuts for the last, to him, weeks, and now demanded something weightier.

With a regretful swallow, Daniel pressed on. He had to step to one side as a bevy of Elfin servers pushed past him, carrying wide platters of fresh fruit smothered in a dark syrupy sauce. Sighing inwardly Daniel turned to the right and entered a narrow corridor made up of the wooden wall of the feast hall and the canvas tent of the kitchens. This led to the flimsy wooden shack that served as a toilet for the revelers. It was nothing more than two long trough-like pits with a short, narrow, but sturdy bench-like railing before them. At full capacity, it could probably accommodate five on each side—ten altogether.

Daniel walked the length of this building where a disgusting stink that completely eradicated the pleasant odors of just a few moments ago hung like a mist and pushed against the far wall, which as Lokkich had assured him came apart at one end, just enough for him to squeeze through. He did this and found himself between the wooden wall of the latrine and the cloth of the tent around it. It was dark, damp, and smelled completely foul. Crouching, he tried as hard as he could to separate his mind from his circumstances and waited.

It was torture. The longer he stayed, the hotter and stuffier the tiny sliver of space became. He heard the feast start, as if from a great distance. The faint notes of a trumpet announcing the arrival of the prince and other nobles reached him, trickling like birdsong. There was a pause, a cheer, and then music, lovely and haunting, but which came to him in scraps and pieces. His mind tried to fill in images to match what he was hearing, but Daniel knew it was inadequate to whatever spectacles were being performed by the Elfin feasters.

Daniel pulled the gun from the leather pouch and held it before him, checking its mechanism every once in a while. It was at least an hour before anyone came into the privy to relieve themselves. Daniel had arranged himself to lie near a convenient crack, which allowed him to see the whole stretch of the room by moving his head with a very minute motion.

His hands had become sweaty holding the gun, so he placed it before him, constantly rejecting the almost constant impulse to check and reload it. He had no idea how old it was, though it seemed in good shape. Either it would work, or it wouldn't.

It had grown dark outside and a chill was creeping in. Daniel pulled his cloak even tighter around himself. It was quite dark, and Daniel wasn't sure if he would recognise Agrid Fiall when he appeared. He didn't know what would happen if he didn't at least try to fulfill his mission.

A shadow appeared in the doorway and uttered a disgusted oath. It raised its voice and demanded that a light be brought. A servant appeared with a lit lantern, illuminating the face of the self-important moneylender and treasurer. Daniel felt his pulse quicken as he lifted the gun—was it heavier than it used to be?