The Godspeaker Trilogy (69 page)

She held up her hand. “The rest can wait till I’ve looked in on him. You can make yourself useful and brew me some tea.”

When she returned from inspecting Zandakar, her tea was cooling in a mug. A plate of oaten biscuits sat on the table and the incriminating lists were tidied into a pile. He sipped his own tea, kicked a chair out for her and waited until she’d half eaten a biscuit before speaking.

“How is he?”

“A testament to miracles,” she said. “And the efficacy of my potions. He’ll do, Jones. He needs to get back on his feet, build his stamina again. Stop his brooding inside four walls. He needs fresh air and sunshine. But he’ll do.”

“So … he’s strong enough to travel?”

Ursa sat back and considered him, frowning. “I’d say so. In easy stages at first. Why? Are you sending him on his way?”

“Well—”

She slapped the kitchen table, allowing a rare wide smile. “Excellent, Jones. I’m pleased to hear it. You saved the man’s life and that’s a good thing. I don’t deny it. Now you can see him down to the harbour and onto a free sailing ship. He can go back to wherever he came from, you can get back to your business and I can get back to mine .”

Oh dear. If only his stomach would unknot itself. “Actually, Ursa …”

“Actually, Jones? Actually, there is no actually,” she said, ferocious. “You can’t keep him, slavery’s illegal, and if you need someone else to help with the toyshop you can hire another apprentice. That’s what young boys are for. This Zandakar’s not a lame dog any more, Jones. If he’s anything he’s a caged wild wolf. The time has come to set him free.”

“Ursa …” He sighed, and reached across the table to pat her hand. “You’ve been very patient with me. I’m truly grateful. But this isn’t the end, this is only the beginning.”

“The beginning of what?”

“Helping Rhian.”

“Jones, what are you talking about? Toymakers don’t help princesses.”

“Not usually, no. It seems I’m the exception.”

“Jones—”

“Please! Let me explain. Just promise you’ll save your questions and shouting until I’m finished. Agreed?”

The look she gave him was almost comical in its outrage. “Shouting? Shouting? What are you talking about, Jones? I never shout!”

He smiled at her, gently. “All right. Not shouting. Vigorous declamations. How’s that?”

“Cheeky rogue,” she muttered. “Start talking before I throw a biscuit at you.”

He told her almost everything: the visits from Hettie, the cryptic warnings, the meeting with Rhian in the castle privy gardens. Dinsy bringing the letters. Favours asked for. Promises given. The only thing he failed to mention was Zandakar’s importance to Ethrea. He didn’t want Ursa to know how little he knew of that. How large was the leap of faith he took on the man, only for his love of Hettie.

When he was finished he added, “I know it’s almost impossible to believe, Ursa. Trust me, there are times I scarcely believe it myself. And then I look at Zandakar … and remember it’s true.”

“It may be true, Jones, but what does it mean?” said Ursa, slowly. “The days of miracles and wonders are long behind us. They died out with Rollin. We’re not a kingdom of portents and superstitions. We don’t run around being—being supernatural . That’s for heathenish places like Tzhung-tzhungchai.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know what it means. All I know is I have to do this, even though it makes no sense.”

Ursa’s tea had gone stone cold. A half-eaten biscuit was still in her hand. “Because Hettie asked you?”

“Yes.”

“Jones …” Ursa crammed the rest of the biscuit into her mouth and ground her teeth on it, savagely. “You’re right,” she said when she could speak again. “It’s daft. And one thing’s clear at least—there’s no talking you out of it.”

“None, I’m afraid,” he admitted. “Yatzhay.”

“ Yatzhay? What’s that? Are you sneezing?”

“No. I think it means ‘sorry’. I learned it from Zandakar when I wasn’t dodging thrown cups.”

“The two of you had a conversation ?”

“We had a something,” he admitted. “I suppose you could call it a conversation.”

Mug in hand, Ursa pushed away from the table and tipped her cold tea into the sink. Then she stared out of the window, breathing quietly. “I don’t know what to say, Jones. I’m not even certain how I feel. But it’s clear something’s going on. Something … bigger … than we are.”

She could always surprise him. He’d expected her to shout. Berate. Call him every name under the sun. Some of the tension drained from his muscles. “Yes? But what?”

“How should I know? You’re the one being visited by ghosts claiming God’s chosen you to save Ethrea.” She snorted. “Which only goes to prove what I’ve always suspected. God’s got a dubious sense of humour.”

God had no sense of humour as far as he was concerned. He took another sip of his own tepid tea. “I can’t explain it, either. All I know is I have to help Rhian, just as I helped Zandakar. I can’t turn my back on her. It’d be wrong.” He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “A sin.”

“You know if you’re caught, Jones …”

And there was his stomach, once more tied in knots. “I have to trust I won’t be. I have to believe Hettie will protect me. If I am doing God’s work …” He felt ridiculous, saying it aloud. God’s work, when he and God weren’t even nodding acquaintances …

Ursa turned to face him. Her expression was guarded, her eyes unconvinced. “You’re taking so much on trust, with so little evidence.”

He shrugged. “You’re the one who says faith spins the world.”

“Faith in God . Not ghosts from the past.”

“I reserve my faith for Hettie,” he said stubbornly. “If God should benefit does it matter where my faith lies?”

Her lips thinned but she didn’t argue. “I don’t suppose the princess mentioned where she intends to run once you’ve managed to spirit her out of the clerica?”

“North, to duchy Linfoi.”

“Hmmm. Even by river-barge that’s a long way,” she said, frowning. “Five days there, five days back. An extra day or two for unexpected delays.”

“I know,” he said gloomily. “But there’s no help for it, is there?”

“And how do you intend to get the princess out of the clerica?”

“I can’t imagine,” he said, almost wailing. “It’s a cloistered place overrun with devouts. They don’t play with dolls there. They’ve as much need of a toymaker as I have of—of—”

“A wimple,” said Ursa, rolling her eyes. “And I don’t recommend you masquerade as a chaplain. Your knowledge of scripture is woeful to say the least.”

“Don’t worry. I already thought of that.”

“So it’s a good thing, isn’t it, that I’m known to Dame Cecily.”

“Dame Cecily?” he said, staring. “Who is—”

“Dame of the clerica at Todding,” said Ursa, impatient. “The senior devout charged with the running of the house. The woman responsible for keeping her eye on the princess, from under whose nose you’ll have to whisk Her Highness without being detected. A mighty feat, I’ll add. Cecily’s no fool.”

He put down his mug, his head spinning. “And you know her?”

“We were girls together in Sosset-by-Todding. That’s the village where we grew up. I never told you?” Ursa shrugged. “Ah, well. Why would I? It was a long time ago and nothing much happened there. One reason why I left. I wanted adventure.”

Dexterity sat back in his chair, confounded. Hettie, Hettie. Did you arrange this? “And Dame Cecily?”

Ursa smiled at a memory. “Cecie? She was always the quiet one.”

If he believed in miracles … “Ursa—it’s—it’s—”

“Not a coincidence.” She was frowning again, her eyes shaded. Displeased. “None of this is, Jones. It’s too neat. Too pat. We’re part of a pattern, my friend. A complicated jigsaw. I may not like it but I can’t deny it.”

“Yes. I think you’re right.” He shivered, suddenly cold. What will we see when the whole pattern’s revealed, I wonder? “So … you can write a letter to this Dame Cecily for me, and I can take it to her, and while I’m in the clerica I can—”

“No,” said Ursa. “That won’t work. For one thing you can’t be sure the letter would reach her. Cecie’s an important, busy woman these days. Important, busy women are bristled about with guard dogs. But even if it did work, a letter’s quickly read, isn’t it? No, you’ll need time to sneak a way into conversation with the princess, which means you’ll need me with you to keep Cecie occupied for a while. That won’t be hard. We’ve a lot of catching up to do. Once we’re within the clerica walls and association with me leaves you free of suspicion, you’ll be able to wander about until you accidentally on purpose stumble over Her Highness.”

It was so typically Ursa. Snip, snap, problem solved. “And am I likely to do that? Stumble over Rhian accidentally on purpose?”

Ursa’s eyebrows shot up, as though he’d said something foolish. “She’s not going there for penance, Jones. They won’t be keeping her in close confinement.”

“I suppose it could work,” he said slowly, after a moment. “At least the first time. But after that—when it comes down to helping her escape …”

“Then it comes down to faith. If you’re meant to do this you’ll be shown the way.”

“And if I’m not?”

Ursa snorted. “Let’s not think about ‘if you’re not’. Jones, what about Zandakar?”

Oh dear. Yes. Zandakar. He evinced a sudden interest in the plate of oaten biscuits. “What about him?”

“I hope you’re not thinking of asking me to nursemaid him while you’re gone. I can’t. I’ve neglected my physicking for him enough as it is.”

“I know you have,” he said. “And I’m grateful. Don’t worry, Ursa. He won’t be your concern.”

She nodded, pleased. “So you are going to send him on his merry way. Good.”

He made himself look at her. “Well … no. Not exactly.”

“No?”

“Ursa, Hettie didn’t task me to nearly beggar myself rescuing him just so I could watch him sail away to the horizon. She’s got something else in mind for Zandakar.”

Ursa’s eyes were narrowed to slits. “Oh, has she now? Has she indeed? And what would that be, Jones?”

“Of course,” he said. “I’d gladly tell you … if I knew what it was.”

“Jones!” said Ursa, then managed to snatch hold of her temper. “Do you mean to say you’re taking him with you?”

“It’s what Hettie wants.”

“But you don’t know why.”

“All I know is he’s part of the mystery. I trust Hettie’ll tell me more when she can.”

“ If she can. If this isn’t some—some—” Ursa pressed her hands to her face, breathing deeply, then let them fall again to her sides. “All right. I can see there’s no point arguing.”

He gave her an apologetic smile. “None at all. Yatzhay .”

“Just tell me this. Does the princess know he’ll be going with you?”

“The princess doesn’t know he exists.”

“And if she says she doesn’t want him?”

He folded his arms. “She’ll have no choice if she wants my help.”

Ursa sighed. “Jones, my friend, I hope you know what you’re doing …”

Don’t be silly. I haven’t the first idea . And Ursa knew it, too. Worry for him simmered in her eyes. Worry for himself roiled in his belly. But I mustn’t be cowardly. I must have faith . “I’ll be fine, Ursa. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“And what about your toyshop? And your apprentice?”

“Tamas will run the shop while I’m gone. It’s not as if he’s a first-year indenture. In a few months he’ll be making his journey piece and I’ll be losing him. Besides. All this responsibility I’ve given him lately is doing him good.”

“Perhaps,” said Ursa, dubious. “But how much good is it doing your business? As apprentices go he’s not too shabby but he’s not you, Jones. He lacks your touch.”

It wasn’t often she complimented his toymaking. Warmed, he smiled at her. “My business will survive. I won’t be gone so terribly long.”

“Provided nothing goes wrong.”

She always did her best to find the rough spot in a plan. “Ursa, nothing will go wrong. Hettie will see to that.”

“Jones, I swear, if you had two heads I’d bang them together!” she snapped. “Have you stopped to think about what you’re doing?”

“I find it’s less complicated if I don’t do that,” he said. Less complicated and less terrifying .

Being Ursa, she ignored him. “You, Jones, a harmless, gentle toymaker, are planning to kidnap the last living member of Ethrea’s royal family from under the noses of Prolate Marlan and the council and run away with her to the poorest, least regarded duchy in the kingdom, in the company of a black man with blue hair who may or may not be a murderous heathen warrior, all on the say-so of a woman who’s been dead for twenty years! I can’t imagine why I’d think something could go wrong!”

He shook his head. “See? I knew sooner or later we’d get to the shouting.”

“Jones—”

“Ursa!” He leapt to his feet. “What’s all this? I thought you supported me! I thought you agreed there was a purpose here, a reason things have fallen out this way. Are you changing your mind now? Are you saying you won’t help?”

“No, I’m not saying that!”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m worried, Jones! I’m saying I’m feared for you!”

A ringing silence as they stared at each other.

“Don’t be feared for me, Ursa,” he told her. “Just be my friend.”

She looked away, blinking. “I’ll always be that, Jones. And if I were a better friend I’d do everything in my power to stop this madness before it goes any further.” She pushed away from the sink and picked up her physicking bag. “I need to be on my way. You’ve work to do and so have I. Get Zandakar out of that bed and taking some exercise in the garden. He needs to get moving if he’s joining you on the road in two weeks. I’ll stop by again this evening with some decent clothes for him and some shoes. He can’t travel to duchy Linfoi barefoot in a nightshirt, that’s for certain.”

Dexterity took a step towards her. “Ursa …”

She turned back from the door, physicking satchel slung over her shoulder. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “What?”

He had to blink, to see her clearly. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I think you’re the best friend a man ever had.”

It wasn’t often he saw her blush. “Pshaw,” she said, and pulled a face. “If that’s not an addled thing to say.”

He checked on Zandakar again, after she was gone. His mysterious guest was sleeping. Not from weariness or fever, he suspected, but to escape the cruel inexplicable world he found himself in.