The Goblin Gate (12 page)

B
UT EVEN IF
J
ERIAH FOUND
them he couldn’t…what? Couldn’t get someone to open a gate? Couldn’t read it? Couldn’t…The arrogant toad might have meant anything!

The question had kept Jeriah awake, and it started bothering him the moment the page’s tap on his door roused him next morning. Jeriah hauled his last clean tunic over his head—better get some laundry done—and searched sleepily for his boots. He’d always hated rising before dawn, dressing by lamplight—it had taken him five minutes’ fumbling to light the cursed thing. He’d already lost too much time lying in bed as he tried to drag his eyes open, listening to the page working his way down the corridor and trying to figure out what the priest had meant.

Jeriah pulled on his boots and opened the door. By the time he emerged onto the terrace, the sky was bright with the approach of dawn—the stones, the flowers, even the cold air that crept beneath his tunic seemed to be coming alive. If he was supposed to arrive for prayers by sunrise
he was going to be late.

Jeriah hurried around the empty terrace—everyone else must already be at the temple—but when he reached the central stairs, a slight, elderly priest in floppy slippers was hobbling up the steps.

“I’m late again! No need to tell me; I already know.” He smiled at Jeriah and pushed up the spectacles that had slipped down his nose. “I believe I know you. You’re Master Goserian’s new assistant, ah…No, don’t tell me, I’ll remember in a moment. I’m sure I’ve heard your name.”

“Jeriah Rovan,” Jeriah supplied.

“Yes, of course! I’ve seen you somewhere. I don’t at once remember where, but it’ll come to me. Oh dear! We’re both going to be late!”

As the stranger continued up the steps, Jeriah slowed his own pace. If he was going to walk in late, he’d rather have company. “Forgive me, master—you seem to remember me but I’m afraid I don’t know you at all.”

“We didn’t meet. You were pointed out to me at some court function…or was it at…well, it was almost a year ago. I’m Master Zachiros, the Hierarch’s secretary. The formal title is Pen and Memory, Scribe of the Chosen of the Bright Gods, but secretary is the truth.”

“I’m pleased to meet you.” Jeriah meant it—it was nice to see that not everyone here shared Master Goserian’s taste for pomp. Although those slippers…

“Excuse me, but may I ask why…?” Jeriah gestured to
the man’s feet. Was the secretary absentminded enough to have forgotten his shoes?

Master Zachiros shrugged. “Sore feet. The curse of old age, lad. Luckily, one of the graces of old age is sufficient rank to wear shoes that accommodate them!”

Jeriah slowed even more, but in just a few more steps they had arrived at the temple, which stood at the very top of the palace open to the Bright Gods’ sky.

A crowd of courtiers stood in front of the dais, shifting their feet and gossiping, but silence fell when the Sunlord emerged from a staircase at the west rim of the circle and walked slowly toward the great altar at the center. The chorus waited quietly, perched on steps that rose to the northern rim of the temple, cupping the altar like outspread wings. The Hierarch turned to the east just as the sun slipped over the edge of the horizon, bathing him with living light. He lifted his arms. “Praise and welcome.”

The full Dawn Prayer was seldom used in the countryside, but the responses were simple enough that Jeriah was able to murmur through them without fumbling. The formal words had never brought him comfort before, but watching morning light wash over the land, he welcomed that half hour’s peace. He was afraid he might need an extra bit of calmness before the day was over.

In fact, working as Master Goserian’s assistant wasn’t as frustrating as Jeriah had feared—under that stuffy manner,
a sharp mind lurked. By the time Jeriah climbed the stairs for Sunset Prayer, he understood why the Master of Household needed it. In just one day he’d delivered messages to the palace farms, orders to the laundry, a reprimand to a spice merchant, queries, bills, complaints…

A few days later Master Goserian asked Jeriah to investigate a problem and report back on the cause. Was the meat in a certain storage locker rotting because of improper storage, or had the butcher sent stuff that was already going bad? It wasn’t complex, but Jeriah’s answer could cost the butcher his best client, or a cook’s assistant his job. He wasn’t offended when Master Goserian checked to be certain Jeriah’s report was accurate before making his final judgment—and then canceled his order with the butcher.

All of this gave Jeriah a clearer view of the complexities of palace life than he’d ever had before, and also a clearer view of the immense difficulty of finding anything as small as a bunch of spell notes!

By now Jeriah’s work had taken him to every public part of the palace, from the third level, which held not only Master Lazur’s office but also the council chambers and the offices of the landholders who served there, to the subcellar two flights of stairs below the kitchen and laundry, where a great furnace roared day and night.

If Jeriah had been trying to hide those notes, he’d have chosen one of the dozens of overcrowded, paper-stuffed offices. The administration of the entire Realm moved
through them, and finding one pile of papers among all those thousands would have been impossible. But there would be dangers in that as well; those piles of paper were being processed by hundreds of attentive clerks. If something came to light that shouldn’t be there, Master Zachiros would certainly hear about it…and maybe Master Goserian, too.
Even if you found it, you couldn’t…
Recognize it? Use it?

Whatever the answer was, it wasn’t likely to be a problem—because as far as Jeriah could tell, finding the notes was going to require the direct intervention of at least three saints!

He needed to figure out where Master Lazur might have put those notes, without tipping off the priest or Nevin. And he knew just who to ask—the likeliest person to know where papers were stored was always the lowly clerk.

Jeriah hovered in a corner of the great hall, watching the crowd stream in for midmeal. Tracking the girl down in the library would be too obvious, and he’d have to interrupt her work—not the right way to start a casual conversation. It would be tricky to charm Mistress Koryn. He needed to catch her off guard, in a sociable mood.

If he hadn’t been watching, he’d never have seen her come in—nothing she wore stood out among the drably garbed priests. The Sunlord seldom dined with his court, but when he did, the ambitious courtiers and priests scrambled to sit near him. The smarter of the ambitious realized that most
people claimed an accustomed seat for meals, so tables near the dais were crowded.

The table in the corner where Mistress Koryn sat down was one of the farthest from the dais that held the Hierarch’s throne. It was occupied by upper servants and low-ranked clerks. As he drew closer, Jeriah saw that she’d brought a book into the dining hall.

Jeriah seated himself beside her and waited for her to notice. And waited.

The book she was reading appeared to be handwritten—someone’s journal, perhaps?

Koryn turned a page and went right on reading. Jeriah gave up on being noticed.

“What are you working on so diligently, Mistress Goserian? It looks a bit dry from here. Downright dusty.”

She jumped slightly when he spoke. Widened with surprise, her pale eyes dominated her face like a full moon dominates the night.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to thank you for helping me find your uncle the other day. I’m working for him now.”

Once more, his easy smile had no visible effect.

“Is that something you’re doing for Master Lazur?” Jeriah pressed on. “Clerking seems an odd job for a, ah, a lovely young—”

“For a girl,” she said dryly. “You don’t know anything about me, do you?”

The standard response, that he’d like to know more about her, rose to Jeriah’s lips. He had better sense than to say it.

“I understand that women have brains,” he said instead. “My mother is one of the smartest people I know. But you have to admit, it’s an unusual job. Especially for someone who’s not an apprentice priest.”

Her eyes were still wary, but her expression softened a bit. “What do you want, Rovanscourt?”

“It’s Rovan,” Jeriah told her. “As long as my brother is alive. I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Jeriah.”

“All right. What do you want, Jeriah?”

He wasn’t accustomed to girls who were that direct. “I just wanted to get to know you better.”

“Of course you do.” She finally smiled, but it was thin with irony. Her gaze strayed back to the book—which she hadn’t bothered to close.

“Why shouldn’t I want to get to know you?” Jeriah demanded, nettled. “You’re pretty, in a weird sort of way. And you’re my boss’s niece. I’d…”

Neither of those things, he realized, was exactly flattering.

“I just thought you might be interesting to talk to, that’s all.”

And she was interesting, curse it, so the sincerity in his voice should have helped. But her smile grew colder.

“Master Lazur is one of the most powerful men in the Realm.”

Jeriah blinked at the change of topic. “I know that. Your
uncle is powerful, too, in a different way. So what?”

“So do you really think, Master Rovan, that you’re the first person to sit down and oh-so-casually try to get to know me?”

Ouch.

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Jeriah admitted. And he’d been clumsy about it, too. “Well then…Well. I’ll leave you to your book, Mistress Goserian.”

He rose and fled to his accustomed seat, among his own friends. Thank goodness the servers hadn’t brought out the meal, or his departure would have been even more awkward. He was sufficiently embarrassed as it was!

It was his own fault, anyway. He’d realized at their first meeting that this girl had a brain. He would have to go back to searching the palace the hard way. Charming Mistress Koryn would clearly be even harder.

Jeriah had worked at that search for four more days when, taking a few moments to try to figure out which third-level office belonged to whom, he walked briskly around a corner and almost ran into the Hierarch.

“Sunlord,” Jeriah gasped, dropping to one knee. At least he hadn’t run the man down.

“Stand up,” said the Hierarch gently. “I want a cup of tea. I came to look for it.”

Didn’t the Hierarch’s servants attend to that? Evidently not this time. Up close, the Hierarch’s face showed lines that
Jeriah hadn’t seen when he’d attended the Sun Prayers, and silver threaded through the pale hair.

“May I fetch it for you, my lord?” Jeriah asked.

“Yes, please!” The Hierarch’s smile was so delighted that Jeriah couldn’t help smiling back.

He rose and hurried down to the kitchen. The cook’s assistant, whose job Jeriah’s report on the butcher had saved, knew which tea the Hierarch preferred. He swiftly brewed a pot and put it on the proper tray with several gold-rimmed cups in case the Hierarch had company. Jeriah hurried up two flights of interior stairs, setting the tray down on the last step to straighten his tunic and smooth his hair. Master Goserian hadn’t yet sent him to the second level, and the simplicity of the unadorned marble flooring and walls surprised him. But the stone was beautiful, and the Hierarch hadn’t appeared to be a man who stood on ceremony. Perhaps he preferred these open, simpler surroundings.

A pair of guards stood beside the door to the Hierarch’s suite, but they only watched as Jeriah took a deep breath and knocked.

Nevin opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

Jeriah held out the tray. “The Hierarch asked me to bring him some tea.”

“You met him!” Nevin pulled Jeriah into the room so abruptly he almost dropped the tray.

“Hey!” Jeriah protested.

“Where did you meet him?” Nevin demanded. “When was this?”

“Just a few minutes ago,” said Jeriah. “On the third level. Isn’t he here now? He didn’t say where I was to bring it, so I assumed…”

“Oh, he’s back now,” said Nevin. “No thanks to you. I want this tea tested.”

Jeriah blinked. “Tested?”

“Rano!” Nevin strode toward a door on the other side of the antechamber and summoned the man Jeriah knew to be the Hierarch’s Master of Wardrobe. “Go fetch the herb mistress. I want this tea checked.”

“It came from the palace kitchen,” Jeriah protested. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

He knew some people were fussy about how their tea was brewed, but—

“It’s not that,” said Nevin. “It’s…the Hierarch has some stomach problems. We have to be careful with what he’s served.”

“It was prepared by the assistant chef,” Jeriah told him. If the Hierarch had stomach problems, surely the kitchen staff knew how to deal with it.

Nevin ignored him.

Jeriah was fuming silently by the time the herb mistress arrived.

She was a priest of the fourth circle whom Jeriah hadn’t yet encountered on his errands. Plump and comfortably
middle-aged, with quiet brown eyes and graying hair. Although she didn’t resemble Jeriah’s grandmother, who was spare and sharp-tongued, somehow she looked like everybody’s grandmother. She heard Nevin out with a serene expression.

“…wandering around like that. Anything could have happened!” Nevin ranted.

“But nothing did,” she said. “So you’d best ease up before you set folks to wondering.”

Her soft country accent surprised Jeriah. And what should he be wondering about?

Nevin scowled. “I still want you to test the tea. Everything he eats is supposed to be checked. His doctors ordered it when…a long time ago.”

The herb mistress snorted, but she went over to the cooling pot and poured tea into one of the cups. She sniffed it, then took a sip.

“It’s fine.”

Nevin looked as if he expected her to drop dead on the spot.

“Any idiot could have told you that.” Jeriah was beginning to enjoy himself.

Nevin’s scowl turned into a snarl, but the woman squeezed his arm in warning.

“I know you were worried, but you don’t want to make more of the situation than it is. I’ll see this lad back downstairs while you take the Hierarch his tea, shall I?”