The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4) (30 page)

“Because she tells you to?” Garrett said, resentment creeping into his voice.

“No,” she said, “because I need to know, Garrett. I need to know what I am becoming. It’s like your uncle said… Let the Valfrei believe that she’s won… it doesn’t matter. She’s not the reason I will have to go back, she’s just the instrument of… revelation.”

“Revelation?” Garrett said.

“She’s just the messenger, Garrett,” Marla said, “They could have sent anyone, but once I realized… once I knew what I had to do… she doesn’t matter anymore… I
have
to do this! I wish I could make you understand…”

“No, I understand,” Garrett sighed, “I do… really. Just… don’t forget about me, Marla… don’t go away and never come back.”

She smiled and nodded before leaning close to kiss him. “I will come back,” she whispered, “I promise that, no matter where this leads me, I will come back.”

Garrett nodded. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. Together, they looked across the room to where Tinjin and Mrs. Veranu were standing together. Tinjin held Lyssa’s hands, both of them looking down, not speaking. Lyssa looked up then, whispering something to Tinjin. The old man smiled and nodded. Lyssa leaned close and pressed a delicate kiss against his lips before pulling away and gathering her cloak to go.

Tinjin watched her with a hollow look in his eyes, and Garrett saw him take a slow breath. Tinjin’s jaw stiffened, and he looked away, bringing his knuckles to his lips as though to cover a cough.

Garrett rose to greet Mrs. Veranu as she walked toward them. She blinked away tears as she gave him a nod and a wavering smile.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Veranu,” Garrett said, “Goodnight, Marla.”

“Goodnight, Garrett,” Marla said, “I’ll see you soon.”

He saw them to the door and opened it, letting in the night wind. He started a little when he saw the gaunt vampire in a black tailcoat standing silently on the threshold.

“Mister Klavicus!” Garrett exclaimed, “Why didn’t you knock?”

“I delivered the message earlier,” he said, “but I chose to wait that I might accompany my ladies home. In that manner, my time may not have been completely wasted.”

“Oh,” Garrett said, “I’m sure my uncle would like to meet you, if you have a minute.”

“No,” Klavicus sighed, “We must be going… My apologies to your uncle. I regret causing any offense… but my duty demands… obedience.”

“No, I don’t think the package bothered him at all,” Garrett said.

Klavicus smiled and nodded. “Then I imagine that it did not have its intended effect,” he sighed in relief, “All the better.”

“Thank you for waiting, Klavicus,” Mrs. Veranu whispered hoarsely, “It is time we took our leave.”

Garrett and Marla shared one final hung, and then he bade them all goodnight once more before the three vampires disappeared into the night.

He returned to find the dining room filled with laughter and sound. Warren and Ymowyn were stomping a ghoulish jig while Scupp and Bargas were doing a stilted imitation of the Astorran waltz. The three musicians had lost most of their inhibitions, thanks to Uncle Tinjin’s wine, and were pounding out a fairly good rendition of
Marrow in the Barrow
with Diggs acting as conductor, waving a soupy thigh bone in one hand.

Most of the necromancers were lost in their cups or gathered around the massive, black frosted cake that Chunnley was carving up to serve. Serepheni and Mister Jannis were saying their final farewells to Uncle Tinjin.

Garrett smiled, feeling a warmth inside that he had not felt for a long time. Then a sort of sadness crept in as he realized that he would probably never see all these people together in one place ever again.

He slipped out into the hallway, not wanting anyone to see him, in case he started to cry. He sat down at the foot of the stairs and remembered the surprise of finding Marla sitting there. The thought of her brought a smile to his face, and he lost himself in the memory of her.

A creaking sound behind him stirred him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see a man descending the stairs. Garrett jumped to his feet, his heart pounding in alarm for a moment, until he realized that it was only Caleb. The zombie had wrapped the satyr headdress around his face, covering all but his eyes… eyes that now looked down at Garrett with an unsettling intelligence behind their scratched pupils.

“Caleb?” Garrett called, his voice a little unsteady.

The zombie continued to walk, stiff-legged, down the stairs, stopping when he reached the bottom. He looked at Garrett and slowly nodded, moaning softly.

“What is it, Caleb?” Garrett asked, “Do you need something?”

Caleb grunted and lifted his right hand. He clutched a crumpled piece of parchment that he held out at arm’s length toward Garrett.

“For me?” Garrett asked.

Caleb nodded stiffly.

Garrett pulled the parchment from Caleb’s grasp with some difficulty and uncrumpled it. Garrett’s eyes went wide.

Caleb moaned questioningly.

“You drew this?” Garrett asked, staring down at the crude drawing of what looked like two hands, scrawled in charcoal upon the parchment.

Caleb moaned again, holding out both of his hands, palms up. Garrett grimaced at the many bloodless lacerations in the pale skin of the zombie’s fingers.

“You want me to fix your hands?” Garrett said, “I’m not sure I know how… I… maybe Uncle might.”

Caleb groaned and made a clawing motion at the wrist of his left hand. He repeated the motion on his right wrist.

“Gloves?” Garrett exclaimed, “You want gloves?”

Caleb sighed and nodded.

“Yeah, yeah,” Garrett said, “I can get you some gloves. We’ll go to the market tomorrow and find some for you.”

Caleb moaned quietly and then turned and slowly climbed the steps back upstairs.

Garrett climbed into the black carriage after Uncle Tinjin in the gloomy light of dawn. Tinjin wore a pale gray tunic and dark gray trousers of a simple cut, though the sheen of the silk suggested that these had been a parting gift from Master Jannis. Uncle’s boots were new as well, and the staff he carried was of simple oak. He laid the floppy traveler’s hat and oilskin cloak atop his rucksack on the seat beside him. It looked odd to see him without his purple hooded robe and skull-topped staff. He seemed smaller somehow.

Garrett had worn his Templar’s tunic under his rain cloak, though it was hard for him to imagine going to the temple after this. It was hard to imagine anything after this. He sat on the dusty cushion of the carriage seat opposite his uncle and felt cold and sick to his stomach.

As the last notes of the morning chime faded from the misty air, the zombie coachman reined the undead horses forward, and the carriage rolled into motion with the creak of its wooden wheels.

Tinjin leaned over to peer out through the side window as they made the turn onto the street. A faint smile tugged at his lip as he took one last look at the house. He sat back in the seat then with a quiet sigh.

“Are you sad?” Garrett asked.

“A bit, I suppose,” Uncle Tinjin answered, “and yet, I believe, I am more eager than anything else.”

“Eager?”

Tinjin grinned. “I can’t remember the last time I did anything simply because I wished to do it,” he said, “It is strange, but for all these years, living with the choices that I had made… being the man I had chosen to become… it came to feel like a kind of slavery.”

“Huh?”

“We can build up an image of ourselves, Garrett,” Tinjin said, “At first, it may be to protect ourselves or to accomplish something important, but, over time, it can become like a cell that we are building around ourselves… a prison.”

“Oh,” Garrett said, looking out the window at the gray streets now starting to fill with people.

“And it is the prison that we build for ourselves that is the most difficult to escape,” Tinjin sighed, “because we built it so that we would not wish to escape.”

Garrett nodded.

“Please understand, Garrett,” Tinjin said, “This is one of the most difficult decisions that I had ever made.”

“I know,” Garrett said.

Tinjin fell silent and looked out the window for a while before speaking again. “I’ve left all the important documents in the vault, and the emergency funds are concealed beneath the loose stone in the basement.”

“I know,” Garrett repeated.

“For anything else you need, just contact Mrs. Nash,” Tinjin said, “I’ll send word back to her when I’ve reached Weslae… and Cenick should return when he is finished his work at Taelish.”

“Taelish?” Garrett asked, “You mean that old elf city in the swamp?”

“Yes, I made contact with him last night after the party,” Tinjin said, “I did not mention my parting… You’ll give him the package as soon as he returns, won’t you?”

“Yeah,” Garrett assured him, “It’s in the study. I’ll give it to him.”

“Good,” Uncle sighed, “I regret doing it this way, but… it is for the best… As for Taelish, Cenick told me that he felt that he wanted to accomplish something important while he was awaiting Max’s return, so he has set his men to rebuilding Taelish… at least as much as the undead can be expected to repair elvish architecture.”

“Are people going to live there again?” Garrett asked.

Uncle Tinjin shrugged. “Who can say? It is dangerously near the Chadirian front, and at the center of a festering swamp, but… well, I suppose Cenick has a warm place in his heart for antiquities.”

Garrett smiled.

“Speaking of which, he asked if you might pay a visit to his house when you have the time,” Tinjin said, “He did not expect to be gone for this long, and he worries about his collections. I’ve left the keys to his townhome and Max’s as well on the table in the study. I know Max isn’t as concerned with his possessions as Cenick, but you might do him the same courtesy while you’re visiting Cenick’s house.”

“Yeah,” Garrett said.

“Thank you, Garrett,” Tinjin said.

They rode in silence for a while, feeling the steady vibration of the carriage wheels over the worn cobblestones. The sadness within Garrett’s breast had faded into a sort of dull emptiness, as though his entire childhood had been some strange storybook that he had only been reading, and now he had set it aside and awoken to the gray reality of adulthood. He looked at Uncle Tinjin, and the old man’s calm smile cheered him.

“Uncle Tinjin,” Garrett said.

“Yes, Garrett?”

“Thanks for saving me,” Garrett said, “and… everything.”

Tinjin nodded. “I consider it one of my better decisions,” he said.

Garrett’s eyes fell for a moment before he looked at Tinjin again. “I… I know I’m not your real son,” Garrett said, “but, if I were… I’d be glad that you were my dad.”

Tinjin’s mouth began to tremble, and his eyes soon brimmed with tears. He smiled through it and nodded his thanks. When he had regained enough composure to speak again, he rasped, “and I would be proud to name you my son.”

Garrett smiled back and then looked out the window, trying to think of something else.

Tinjin cleared his throat, and Garrett sniffed. Neither spoke again as the carriage rolled along the broad lanes that led down to the lower city and the ships waiting at dock.

The Fraelan ship was taking on the last of its cargo as the carriage pulled up beside a towering stack of crab traps. Uncle reached for the handle of the carriage door, but the door wrenched open before he could touch it.

The smell of salt air and rotting fish washed over them as they looked out to see a young man, dressed in sailor’s garb, with fiery red hair and glittering green eyes grinning back at them.

“Good morning, Mister Tinjin,” the stranger said, nodding at the old man before winking at Garrett and adding, “Kingslayer.”

Garrett stared back, dumfounded.

“Good morning,” Uncle Tinjin laughed, “… it hardly seems appropriate to call you m’lady.”

“
Wyn
is fine, sir,” the strange young man answered, “just
Wyn
.”

Garrett suddenly made the connection. “Ymowyn?” he whispered.

“At yer service, young master,” the disguised Ymowyn replied with an affected Astorran drawl and a florid bow.

Tinjin accepted Ymowyn’s assistance with his rucksack and staff as he exited the carriage, and Garrett followed them out onto the muddy dock, closing the carriage door behind them.

Garrett recognized a familiar face as they approached the two-masted Fraelan vessel, though the tanned young man no longer bore much resemblance to the gangly kitchen boy he had been the last time Garrett had seen him.

“Pierce!” Garrett called out, waving.

The Fraelan boy swung down from the rigging and leapt across to the dock, his bare feet splashing on the swollen planks. “Garrett!” he said, grinning broadly. He stopped to bow before Garrett’s uncle. “Master Tinjin.”

“Hello, Pierce,” Tinjin said, “Is your uncle here?”

“I’ll get him for you,” Pierce said, “You want me to take your things?”