The Traitor's Daughter (21 page)

Something rustled nervously in the dark.
Mice
.

Her surroundings lightened into dim view. The cold-closet was sizable, its walls draped in shadow. She spied wooden barrels large and small, baskets of fruits and roots, hanging garlands of sausage, pale cylinders and blocks wrapped in coarse fabric. She went to work on one of the cylinders, and her nose confirmed her success even before the coverings fell away to reveal a substantial round of firm-textured cheese. Exactly what she wanted.

Her fingers danced, worrying fragments off the edge of the cylinder. A few crumbs found their way to her mouth. Most went into her pocket. When she judged she had taken enough, she stopped. The big cylinder was visibly pocked, as if nibbled by mice. With luck, anyone seeing it would assume that such was the case. For the cold-closet was surely infested; she could still hear those furtive little rustlings in the gloom. For some reason the hairs along her forearms rose.

Time to go. She had managed to escape detection so far, but her good luck could not continue indefinitely. She took the time to rewrap the cheese neatly, then turned and made for the exit.

Her hand was on the latch when she heard another little rustle and then a whispery voice.

“Yes.”

Jianna drew a startled gasp, too spontaneous to suppress and sharply audible in that confined space. No point now in trying to hide. The unseen other, whoever it might be, was certainly aware of her presence.

“That, too.”
The small whisper thrilled. The speaker’s age and gender remained obscure. There was a long pause, and then as if in reply to a silent query,
“They do not tell me.”

Her curiosity almost outweighed her alarm. Stepping resolutely to the rear of the cold-closet, she discovered the owner of the voice lodged in the narrow space between the wall and a barrel. There in the shadows crouched a diminutive, skinny form crowned with straggling locks fair to the verge of whiteness. She descried a little peaked face and pale lambent eyes that seemed alien as a Sishmindri’s.

“Nissi?” There was no response, no sign that the other had heard.

“I will … try …”
The alien eyes were inexpressibly distant. Apparently unaware of Jianna’s presence, she was speaking to herself or else to some unseen listener.

Automatically Jianna glanced about in search of the invisible audience, then recognized the absurdity. This pallid wraith of a girl was mad or moonstruck.

“Nissi,” she repeated more insistently, and this time she was heard.

Nissi’s luminous gaze focused. “He says, ‘Ask them,’ ” she confided in her tiny voice.

“Ask whom? Ask what? Who says?” The questions were no doubt pointless, but Jianna could not contain them.

“He does. The nice one.”

“The nice what?”

“They are not all nice.”

“Who or what aren’t?”

“Sometimes they get angry. Because I go too fast. Or else they just fade away. But he doesn’t. He keeps up and he’s nice.”

“But who?”

“He tells me not to be afraid in the woods when the world isn’t real anymore. Are you afraid when that happens?”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, thank you.” The enormous eyes widened. “Are you all right, too?”

“Well enough.”
As long as you don’t go telling the world that you’ve seen me in here
. Jianna eyed the other narrowly. What would this peculiar, inscrutable creature choose to do? A word in the wrong ear could bring punishment ranging from the unpleasant to the unspeakable. How best to silence Nissi? Enlist her sympathies, perhaps? Assuming a woeful expression, she elaborated, “Only—well, I’ve just been so
hungry
, so sick and faint for lack of food, so
desperately
famished, that I finally felt I’d surely die if I couldn’t just—if I couldn’t somehow—”

“Please,” Nissi interrupted almost inaudibly. “Please promise.”

“—find something, maybe just a handful of dried beans or an old root—”

“Please promise that you won’t tell.”

“Tell what?” Jianna inquired, her rush of creativity momentarily diverted.

“That you saw me here. That I did the Distant Exchange.”

“Oh.
Oh
.” So the white girl wasn’t supposed to be in the cold-closet, either. Jianna’s confidence rose and her curiosity bloomed. “The Distant Exchange—I’ve heard of that. It’s something arcane, isn’t it?”

“They would not like it. Lady Yvenza—Master Onartino …”

“Why not? Are they worried about the Taerleezi ban?”

“They … would not like it.”

“I see. Well, then.” Jianna considered. Her prospects had brightened. “In that case, I give you my word. Your secret is safe.”

Nissi regarded the floor.

Jianna studied the huddled figure. At last, she ventured to ask, “You have the talent?”

The colorless head bobbed.

“And the Distant Exchange lets you communicate with others like yourself?”

Another silent nod.

It was not so surprising. Power ran in the Belandor blood and always had. Nissi might not be the legitimate product of a lawful marriage, but talent made no social distinctions.

“Well, then—” Jianna swiftly reviewed possibilities. “Perhaps you could send a message from me to my Uncle Innesq in Vitrisi? He has the talent, too, you see.”

Nissi stared mutely.

“Just a short message, only to tell him that I’m alive and unhurt,” Jianna urged. “He doesn’t know what’s become of me and he must be sick with worry. All of them would be.” It was her father’s state of mind that most concerned her, but an appeal on Aureste Belandor’s behalf was hardly apt to rouse sympathy within the confines of Ironheart, so she concluded, “Uncle Innesq could let the rest of the family know that I’m alive. It would be a great kindness.”

The ensuing silence suggested that the request had gone unheard. At length Nissi murmured, “Family …”

“Yes. They probably think that I’m dead.”

“They would … grieve?”

“Very much so.” Some of them, at any rate. “They’ve offended no one, they shouldn’t have to suffer. Will you help me?”

Silence resumed.

“I think you want to,” Jianna essayed.

“They would not like it,” Nissi repeated.

“They’d never know.”

Nissi shook her head.

“They wouldn’t find out, you’ve nothing to fear.” This last was probably untrue, but Jianna did not let herself think about it.

Nissi rose to her feet and drifted noiselessly toward the exit.

“Wait, where are you going? Nissi, please wait, won’t you even send the smallest message to my uncle? Just enough to tell him that I’m still—”

“I am leaving now,” Nissi announced.

“No, wait, you can’t go yet, not if you don’t want to be seen. There are servants out there in the courtyard.”

“They will not … notice me. I am easily overlooked.”

“But shouldn’t you at least—”

“I am leaving now.”

The door opened briefly and Jianna blinked against the stab of daylight. During that blink, Nissi vanished and the cold-closet sank back into comforting shadow.

If otherworldly little Nissi could wander the courtyard at will, then surely Aureste Belandor’s daughter could do at least as well. Chin up, Jianna departed the cold-closet and made her way back into the house without incident. Once inside, she was obliged to sit rolling bandages for hours, and after that she transcribed the notations on countless crumpled paper scraps into the household ledgers, copying each entry in her neat, fine hand. The afternoon slowly spent itself. In the early evening she endured dinner with the family, and after that she was free to seek the sanctuary of her own room. She heard the scrape of the bolt locking her in for the night, and then she was finally alone.

The room was cold. Despite the advancing season no fire burned on the grate, for the matriarch of Ironheart deemed such comfort superfluous. A tiny oil lamp furnished the sole illumination and by that feeble light she worked, sprinkling absorbent bits of stale bread with the kalkriole elixir, rolling the bits into tiny balls, enclosing each moist ball within a layer of cheese. Presently she had molded a dozen neat spheres, which she wrapped in her only handkerchief. The small bundle disappeared into the pocket of her gown. This done, she stripped down to her linen, blew out the lamp, and slipped into bed, where she lay taut and wakeful well into the night.

* * *

Two more days trudged by without incident before Jianna’s unspoken hope was fulfilled and she was dispatched to the garden.

Once again she stood amid the thorny shrubs without the wall of Ironheart. Once again she bore a wicker basket that she had been commanded to fill with kalkrios leaves, the last harvest of the year. Once again the woods beckoned and once again Grumper barred her path to freedom. But this time it was going to be different.

Jianna worked her way along the row of bushes at an unhurried pace, the boarhound close on her heels. Practice had improved her skills and now she easily avoided the thorns. Her fingers flew unbloodied, and the basket filled quickly. When she reached the end of the row, she paused to shoot a glance at the gate in the wall. There slouched the homespun sentry, his attention fixed upon the lighting of his clay pipe. He did not trouble to look her way. The dog could be trusted to control her, and her value as a source of amusement had lapsed days earlier.

She was unobserved by all save Grumper. Turning to face him, she remarked, “We need to talk.”

He stared at her.

“Perhaps we started off on the wrong foot,” Jianna continued earnestly, “but I hope that it’s not too late for the two of us to establish a relationship built on mutual respect and courtesy. Wouldn’t you prefer that, Grumper? I know
I
would.”

His ears twitched at the sound of his name.

“There’s been a certain uneasiness, even antipathy between the two of us in the past,” she conceded sadly. “There was an incident that we should doubtless both prefer to forget. I’m sure that I was at least partially to blame for that, and I want you to know that I regret it.”

He cocked his head.

“I want to make amends and start over, Grumper. Would you like that, you handsome boy?”

A low growl rumbled from the depths of his throat.

“Oh, I don’t believe you really mean that. You’d really like to be friends, wouldn’t you, Grumper? Well, so would I, and I can prove it. Just to demonstrate my good intentions, I’ve brought you a gift. Something good, something delicious, especially for you. See, look at this.” She drew the small linen package from her pocket and opened it, exposing the cheese balls.

Grumper’s nostrils quivered.

“Yes, you’re interested, aren’t you? And you should be, they’re lovely. And all for you, good doggy, all for you. Here, boy, catch.” She tossed him a tidbit, expecting him to catch it in typically voracious canine style.

Grumper, however, allowed the offering to hit the ground. He eyed it with interest, even longing, but made no move to touch it.

“Clever dog,” Jianna acknowledged sourly. “Well trained. But let’s see how untouchable you really are.” She set to work on one of the balls, peeling away the exterior layer of cheese but leaving the doctored bread center intact. When she had stripped off a sizable morsel, she chirruped enticingly, and Grumper dragged his eyes from the food on the ground to her face.

“Look, Grumper,” she invited. “Look at this beautiful cheese. So rich, so satisfying, so luscious. Can you smell it? I hope you can, because it’s wonderful. I’m telling you, I can’t resist it myself. See, Grumper? I’m eating, I’m just
feasting.
” She popped the cheese into her mouth and savored it at length. The flavor was unremarkable. Closing her eyes, she loosed a moan of pleasure.
“Uuummmmmmmmm
. This is so
good
. I think it’s the best cheese I’ve ever tasted, the best cheese
anyone’s
ever tasted. This is the high point of my entire
life.”
For some seconds, she radiated ecstasy, then opened her eyes. Grumper stood transfixed, rapt gaze fixed on her face. A thread of saliva dangled from his lips. Good. “You really ought to taste this, boy. You owe it to yourself. And mind you, I understand that this places you under no obligation whatsoever. I expect no special consideration in return.” Kneeling, she proffered the remainder of the cheese ball on an open palm.

Grumper sniffed yearningly. A moment longer he hesitated, then his will buckled and he accepted the food from her hand. He wolfed it down in a single gulp, made similarly short work of the ball on the ground, then stood waiting for more.

“Yes, you love that, don’t you? Of course you do. Here, have another.” She tossed him a cheese ball, and this time he caught it in midair. “Oh, yes, good. Eat up.”

Grumper complied, and the cheese balls vanished. When he had finished eating, he licked his chops, lay down, sighed deeply, and went to sleep.

Jianna watched in disbelief. It had been so miraculously quick and easy. Almost she suspected the hitherto invincible Grumper of indulging in some canine version of a practical joke. If she made the wrong move now, he would surely spring to his feet and knock her down, and then the sentry would laugh at her again. But when she spoke his name he did not stir, and when she ventured to touch him, he remained quiescent. She prodded his ribs, as she had not long ago prodded the sleeping Ghost in the infirmary, and like the Ghost, Grumper slept on.

She had done it. She had outwitted her enemies in a manner befitting the daughter of Aureste Belandor. There remained only the mechanics of actual departure. Jianna, crouched low to the ground beside the unconscious boarhound, cast another hostile glance back at the sentry. Tobacco occupied his full attention. He was not watching her. The moment had actually come. Briefly she considered her situation—poised on the verge of solitary flight into the wilderness, devoid of provisions, money, weapons, friends, or knowledge of her surroundings; devoid of anything likely to ensure her survival. It seemed like a leap off a cliff, but the alternative was worse.