The Godspeaker Trilogy (80 page)

A childhood friend? That meant the woman was old. Old women were not his concern. “No other visitors?”

“No, Your Eminence.”

He leaned forward. “Are you quite certain? Dame Cecily, you cannot hope to save yourself from retribution. The girl was in your care and you have failed to keep her. If there is something more to tell, then tell it. Mincing words now is pointless.”

“I mince nothing, Prolate,” said Dame Cecily, stung. The malice was gone, replaced by fear. “I am as eager to learn where she is as you are.”

I doubt that . “And tell me, Dame, how did the princess spirit herself away? On foot? On horseback? Did she take a clerica cart?”

“They left on foot, I think. No horse or mule or cart is missing.”

They. Helfred, when I find you … “In which case she cannot have travelled far.” He unsteepled his fingers and laid his palms flat to the desk. “You did right in coming to tell me yourself,” he said, his voice cool and even. “Return to the clerica. You and your devouts are henceforth under Writ of Seclusion. Until I have lifted it, personally lifted it, you will admit no visitor save myself to the clerica grounds. You will speak of this matter to no-one save myself. You will not set foot past the clerica gates unless you are summoned by my express wish. Disobedience will be met with dire consequences.”

The dame curtsied. “Yes, Your Eminence.”

“You are dismissed.” He permitted himself a cold, cruel smile. “When this matter is dealt with I will turn my attention to your punishment, Dame Cecily. Until then I suggest you and your devouts make prayer your life.”

“Eminence,” the dame whispered, and wisely withdrew from his sight.

When he was alone and did not need to guard himself, he released his rage in a shout and pounded his fists on his desk.

Gone? The bitch is gone and Helfred with her? What mischief is this? Who is responsible?

Someone had to be responsible. The girl wasn’t able to do this alone. One of the councillors was involved, he was sure of it. During a visit to the clerica a plot had been hatched. Rhian and one of the poppycock dukes’ men, huddled together scheming against him.

I curse their black souls. I will see them pay.

But how to deal with this? If he called a council meeting, if he let them know Rhian was gone … Imagining the furore that would erupt, he shuddered. No. Impossible. This news must be kept secret from the council. He would find Rhian and Helfred too. Return them to the clerica and act as though nothing had happened.

And I will make them regret the day they were born. Them, and the councillor who would dare cross my purpose. Do they take me for a fool, these pathetic dukes’ men?

Breathing heavily, he yanked on the bell rope beside his desk. A moment later Ven’Martin opened the door and slipped inside.

“Prolate?”

Martin was his man through and through. Reliable, dependable and utterly discreet. He could trust Ven’Martin as he trusted himself. Even his firebrand piety was useful, when properly guided. “Get word to our chaplains in the councillors’ establishments, Martin. They must increase their vigilance for any whisper of … unusual occurrences. And send for Commander Idson.”

The other thing that made Martin invaluable was his lack of curiosity. He nodded. “Eminence.”

The door closed behind him. Marlan pushed away from his desk and moved to the window, to glare into the wide world where Rhian and Helfred now hid. The sun was on the point of tipping towards the horizon. The day slipped away …

I expect nothing but treachery from Eberg’s bitch of a daughter. But how could Helfred betray me? My own flesh and blood. After the advantages I have pressed upon him …

Unless there had been no betrayal. His disappearance could be foul play. He could be in a ditch, somewhere, beaten. Or dead.

If harm has come to you, Helfred, woe betide the miscreant responsible. But if it has not. If you left the clerica willingly. If you have truly betrayed me … there is nowhere in the world you can safely hide.

Kingseat Garrison Commander Idson arrived some twenty minutes later. By international treaty Ethrea had no standing army or navy but that didn’t mean it lacked the means to discipline itself. Each duchy had its own small force of arms, sufficient to patrol its section of the island’s encompassing wall and keep the peace when tempers ran high and foolish citizens failed to heed Ethrean Church and Crown law.

“Eminence,” said Idson, with suitable obeisance.

Marlan sat at his desk again and kept the man standing. “What I am about to tell you is a state secret. On peril of your life and your soul’s damnation you will not repeat it to anyone, not even a duke’s man or his sworn representative. Is that understood?”

Eyes wide, Idson nodded. Short and broad, he wore his command sash and uniform with ease. “Eminence.”

“Princess Rhian has been taken from the clerica at Todding where she was in retreat. You and a handpicked band of guards, no more than five of your most trusted men, must find her. You’re looking for a small group of people travelling without fanfare. Doubtless hastily disguised. The princess, perhaps one or two other men, and possibly a chaplain.”

“A chaplain?” said Idson, startled out of his horrified silence. “You think she was stolen by Ethreans, Your Eminence? Not by a foreigner seeking to take advantage of the king’s recent death?”

“No foreign power would risk breaking any treaties. This is a domestic matter, Idson,” he said, impatient. “And its politics are none of your concern. Now be gone. Start your search at the river-station nearest to the clerica. Wherever the princess is headed, the fastest and most direct route is by river-barge, at least at first. Go about your business circumspectly and find her, Commander. Before sunset would be preferable.”

“Yes, Eminence,” said Idson, but he hesitated. “As Kingseat’s garrison commander I have jurisdiction along the length of the river. But if she’s been taken into one of the other duchies where I hold no authority …”

It was a good point. Marlan rummaged in a drawer and withdrew one of his gold seals. “Here,” he said, tossing it to Idson. “That will silence any obstinate objectors.” At least temporarily. Long enough to achieve his ends.

The commander slipped the seal into a pocket. “Eminence. Rest easy, I’ll have her home before supper.”

He raised his eyebrows. “See that you do, Idson. The kingdom’s welfare depends on it.”

Alone again, Marlan paced his library and wrestled with the urge to fling himself upon a horse and gallop madly about the countryside searching for Rhian and his nephew.

I can hold off the dukes’ men for a week, perhaps two. But the councillors are right about one thing, damn their eyes: the foreign ambassadors are like underfed dogs, and none more slavering than the men of Harbisland, Arbenia and Tzhung-tzhungchai. I will see them again next Grand Litany in the High Church. Twelve days. If I cannot produce the little bitch for them then …

He felt his stomach turn over.

I will have her by then. I will. I must.

For the hundredth time since driving away from the field in Finchbreak, Dexterity fingered his naked chin. His face felt so wrong without its beard. And his head felt cold, even in the warm spring sunshine, so closely had Ursa cropped it. He was practically bald .

“Stop fretting, Jones,” said Ursa, riding on the driving seat beside him. “It’ll grow back by and by. And you have to admit, not a soul in your street would recognise you if they could see you now.”

He grunted. “I know.” He’d nearly fallen over when he’d looked at himself in the hand-mirror Ursa had brought. So many years since he’d seen himself beardless. How disconcerting, to be surprised by his own reflection.

As though I were another man entirely. And perhaps I am. The Dexterity Jones I know would never be found on the road in a peddler’s van with a chaplain, a freed slave and a runaway princess hiding in the back.

He glanced at Ursa. “I’m not sure you should’ve slipped that sleeping potion into Rhian’s tea.”

“I am,” she said. “Are you blind, Jones, to see how she’s exhausted? Running on raw nerves? Beaten down, not just by the prolate and the council but by life? The poor lass needs all the sleep she can get. Rollin himself knows she’ll have precious little rest once she reaches Linfoi. I say let her sleep all day every day between now and then if she needs to.”

He nodded. She was right again. Poor Rhian. Poor child. Will she ever be strong enough to face what awaits her?

The Kingseat countryside unrolled around them, green fields and hedgerows and overhead the wide blue sky. After the night’s rain the air smelled washed clean. Behind, in the van, the sound of muffled voices as reluctant Helfred led obliging Zandakar in a language lesson. The brown cobs, friendly beasts with strong legs and stout hearts, flicked their ears and didn’t seem unduly burdened by the weight of the van. Dexterity stared at their broad rumps and brooded.

“Ursa …” he said eventually, sliding his stare sideways. “Why did you change your mind and come? I’d convinced myself I’d have to rescue Rhian without you.”

Ursa rubbed her nose and rested her grey gaze on the flitting birds in the hedgerows. “Why does it matter, Jones? I came.”

A loaded hay cart was approaching. Dexterity guided the brown horses hard against the left-hand hedgerow and tipped his head to the carter, who sang out Good morning but didn’t slow his draughthorse’s plodding pace.

“I’d like to know,” he said, when the hay cart was safely behind them. His heart thudded. “Was it—was it Hettie?”

“No. I’ve not seen or spoken to Hettie since the day she died.”

“Then why ?”

Ursa’s fingers scrubbed at a stain on her old woollen skirt. “Jones …”

She was blushing. She never blushed. “ Please, Ursa. Tell me.”

“I couldn’t abandon you,” she muttered. “I couldn’t let you do this on your own.”

“Because I’m a dreamer?” he said, stung. When will she stop treating me as though I were daft? “Because you can’t trust me out of your sight?”

“No!” she said, goaded. “Because I owe you a debt, Jones, and here’s my chance to pay it back! God knows I’ve waited long enough.”

A debt? What debt? Then he realised. “Oh, Ursa. No . It wasn’t your fault. You did everything in your power to save her.”

She stared hard at the passing countryside. “It wasn’t enough, though. Your wife still died.”

“Not because of you . You were wonderful. She couldn’t have had a more devoted physick. Anyone would’ve thought she was your own flesh and blood.”

Ursa sniffed. “If only she’d asked for help sooner. If I’d had more time …”

“Don’t,” he said, and covered her hand with his. “What’s done is done and you owe me nothing. I’m just glad you’re here. I’m glad I don’t have to do this alone.”

“Alone?” She managed a watery chuckle. “Jones, have you counted how many we’ve got in the back of this van?”

“You know what I mean.” He tightened his fingers, surprised she hadn’t pulled away. “Ursa … I’m sorry for the trouble your friend will face because we’ve spirited away Princess Rhian.”

“Cecily?” Her voice was cold. “Don’t waste pity on her. She had no business conniving with Marlan the way she did. Standing by and letting him abuse the girl like that. That’s not the behaviour of a God-guided woman. I don’t know who Cecie is now if she could do that.”

Beneath the habitual briskness, a strong thread of pain. “Perhaps she was only obeying the prolate,” he said gently. “He’s a powerful man and she answers to him.”

“He’s supposed to be a man of God,” said Ursa, almost to herself. “But what man of God beats a young girl senseless to make her marry where he’d have her wed, claiming all the while he does God’s will? That’s not the God I grew up worshipping, Jones.”

He’d never heard her sound so lost. Poor Ursa. Her life was turned upside down now, just like his. Time to distract her from unhappy thoughts …

“Do you know I’ve not the first idea of where we are?” he said. “You’re the one who knows duchy Kingseat’s countryside like the back of your hand. How far away is the river-station at Grumley?”

She gave him a look. “Jones, you’re hopeless .”

“I know,” he said, and swallowed a smile.

“We’ve been on the road an hour, give or take,” she said briskly. “Another half-hour will see us at Lower Grumley. Grumley proper and the river-station lie a half-hour or so beyond that. But I’ve been thinking. It might serve us better not to take a barge at Grumley, but travel on to Pipslock instead.”

“You think Grumley’s too quiet?”

“I think Pipslock is a conveniently bustling place. Less chance of us being noticed in a station where so many barges and wagons and travellers abound. Not that I think we’re anything to notice,” she added. “Just one more peddler family eking a livelihood on the highways and byways of jolly old Ethrea. But why stick out like a sore thumb when we don’t have to? That’s what I’m thinking, Jones. What do you think?”

He pretended to have a spasm. “You’re asking me? Not telling me? Ursa, are you feeling well? Perhaps you’re touched with a fever!”

She swatted him. “You’re only half as funny as you think you are, Jones. I hope you know that.”

“I know you think so,” he said, grinning, then considered her suggestion. “I suppose it’s better to be safe than sorry. Even though I’ll be nervous as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs until we’re safely on the river. All right. We’ll travel to Pipslock. I hope you know the way.”

“Of course,” said Ursa, scornful. “We’ll get there just on sunset. Another good reason to take that road. We’ll be even less noticeable on a barge at night while we’re still so close to Kingseat capital.”

And that was a good thing, he had no doubt.

Please, Hettie. If you’re listening. Don’t let us be noticed. Let us get away unseen.

T
here were Kingseat guards at Pipslock river-station.

Rhian took one look at them through the little hatch behind the driver’s seat and sucked in a sharp breath.

“The man in charge? That’s Commander Idson,” she hissed. “He’s garrison leader of the whole Kingseat guard. Damn. The man’s like a terrier on the scent of a rat. If he even suspects I’m here …”