Whitemantle (16 page)

‘Perhaps she will do that, your grace. If her mother will let her.’ Will smiled briefly.

‘And what of the younger two boys? George and, ah…?’

‘George and Richard. George is now, let me see…eleven years old. He’s bluff and about as clever as a doorpost. He’s always trying to persuade people to do things for him, and he throws fits of temper when he doesn’t get his own way. On one occasion not so long ago, he got amongst his father’s wine and had to be dragged out, reeling drunk, on the orders of Tutor Aspall. Sir John Morte took him to a water tub to have his head soused!’

‘And the last boy?’

‘Richard? Oh, he’s sharp and handsome of face. I’ve sometimes watched him from afar. Despite being a year or so younger he cleverly taunts George, then shuns him when he tires of his sport. He’s a lonely child who sets himself
apart. He showed my wife where his collar-bone had not set properly after a fall, but his main interest in coming to see us was to look in upon the lodgings of the Wortmaster during his absence. He wanted, I think, only to satisfy his curiosity about what might be there. He has an inquiring mind, you see.’

‘But what do you make of his character, Master Willand?’

It seemed an odd question for a king to ask about a lad who was not yet ten years old. Will thought it opened a window on the morbidly tender mind of the monarch. ‘Young Richard takes his lessons and his duties seriously. He’s at once inquisitive and suspicious, but there’s something about him – something I can’t quite put my finger on.’

‘Try. For us.’

Will blinked. ‘It’s…small things. He stares too long at his own shadow and fears steps that lead downwards. He dislikes dogs – says they always bark at him as he passes. And it’s true. It’s as if they smell something that raises their hackles.’

‘What is it they smell?’

‘I don’t know, your grace.’ Again Will tried hard to put the feeling he had about Richard into the clumsy medium of words. He took a deep breath and said, ‘Richard seems to me to be a little boy who has looked into his own future and seen there only a mess of disappointments. I can say no more than that.’

The king deliberated on what he had been told, then he said, in a way that made Will realize the brief audience had come to an end, ‘We thank you. We think you have been candid and most patient with our tiresome questions.’

‘Your grace.’ Despite himself, Will was touched by the remark. He stepped back, and where other men would have bowed he made a wizard’s gesture of respectful parting, though he felt like an impostor in doing so. He
knew it was not his place to ask uninvited questions of a king, but he thought himself entitled to know the answer to one at least, and so as he reached the door he said, ‘Your grace, may I ask…why did you want to learn about the duke’s family?’

The king looked back at him with sad eyes. ‘It is because we believe we might have found a solution to our stalemate. Another Great Council approaches and we must make an important decision, but first we wished to know a little more about those who would be king when we can be king no longer.’

Tonight the draw was strong. The feeling would not go away, so he decided to leave the palace by the water gate and go down towards Southfolk Steps. There boatmen sometimes drew alongside at night hoping to hook late wayfarers who wanted to return into the City after dark. It was dangerous to go out by the tilting yards where the annual jousts were held. At night no one travelled the roads that joined at the Charing unless in the company of armed men. Those wishing to avoid the sightless stare of the Fellowship were forced to creep through dangerous back alleys, for a single unmolested sentinel stood at the crossroads every hour of the day and night, heeding neither heat nor hard weather, but silently serving his masters. That man took note of each item of traffic that passed to or fro and made report of it.

But no trade was headed for the City now. The gates were closed at sundown and not reopened until morning, which hour still seemed a long way off to Will. It was a cold night and dark, and the stars crowded in such multitudes as to form a solid mass that moved with him as he hurried along. No better proof could have been offered for the way in which the old world was still clinging stubbornly to its truths, he thought. And yet it was easy to believe that
tonight these stars that tracked his steps were a lot further away than usual.

‘Hey, you!’

The rough voice shouted out from behind him. Will spun on his heel to face a familiar figure in studded leather brigandine and an iron kettle hat. He had two palace guards at his back.

‘Captain Jackhald,’ Will said evenly.

Jackhald approached and grabbed a fistful of Will’s jerkin. His words were hissed low so his men heard nothing of what passed. ‘Is this how you repay me, Willand?’

Will did not resist. ‘Repay you, Jackhald? What do you mean?’

‘When I put a man on a door I don’t expect him to be suborned and given the terrors by a crow – ‘specially after I’ve stretched out my neck to find that crow and his kin fine lodging.’

Will realized that Jackhald was talking about the guard on King Hal’s door. ‘Jackhald, he’s
reporting.
’

‘Of course he’s reporting. He’s a guard ain’t he? It’s part of his pay to sell what he sees and hears.’

Will sighed and made a display of his disappointment. ‘Oh, not you too? Is everything in the Realm falling into corruption and self-seeking?’

‘Earners are earners, and you should know you’re poking your sticky beak in where it’s not wanted.’

‘It’s what crows do, Jackhald. We turn over rotting leaves to see what worms there may be sliding about underneath.’

Jackhald let go of his jerkin and walked back towards his underlings. He jabbed a blunt finger. ‘I’m watching you, Willand. Remember that, my friend. And don’t say you haven’t been warned!’

Will straightened his clothing. He turned and headed down past Palace Steps where the royal boats waited. He allowed
himself a small smile at Captain Jackhald’s performance. It had all been for the benefit of his men, of course, a little demonstration of authority, and Will could almost hear Jackhald embroidering it: ‘I told him straight and no mistake: you don’t mess with my boys!’

Yes, that’s it, Will thought, rubbing his chin. At least I hope so.

A low-lying fog hugged the marshy shores of the river. It had seeped into every ditch and trench along the road like a rising tide, and curled slow, wraith fingers up from the water’s edge to drown out the lower stars. The way underfoot was iron hard in Greene’s Alley for there was no moon to light the way. No one would track Will tonight, for there was no one about to do the tracking. Not even those chancers who usually lay in wait beside dark roads imagined that tonight was worth the game.

‘Nggh!’ Will stumbled, stubbing his toe hard. He lifted his foot, waiting for the sudden mind-numbing wave of pain to subside. As the ache cleared he opened his mind and felt the distant response of Chlu’s dreams as they began swimming up through deep fathoms of sleep, eager to lock onto his own.

He closed his mind again quickly. ‘Go back to your slumbers, my brother,’ he whispered into the night, glad that he had succeeded in eluding Chlu’s usual watchfulness. ‘Sleep on, and I’ll be upon you before you know it.’

And then Will sensed the clinking of a chain.

It was not a sound, but a feeling, an image in his mind. There were three boatmen, one asleep in his boat, and two more standing by the wooden jetty, both alert and aware of him. They were armed as boatmen always were, with stout cudgels – nothing more, for anyone rash enough to cause a boatman lethal trouble would have the entire guild to reckon with.

But the chain Will had sensed was not a boat chain…

He felt a vivid human presence a moment before the hand reached out for him. He turned, prepared to meet the threat, and the movement put the man behind him off balance.

But no blow was attempted, only a hand placed on his arm, meant to surprise and frighten him perhaps, but no more. He sensed all this in the brief moment of contact, and that was fortunate, because magic had been about to roar out in his defence.

He did not shake the hand off, but said evenly, ‘What do you want?’

‘Forgive me.’ It was a deep, hard voice, and not interested in anyone’s forgiveness. ‘In the end I grew tired of waiting for you.’

‘And now you’ve come to find me.’

‘That—’ the clink of a chain came, heavy and metallic, to pierce the night, ‘-was my hope.’

Will’s plans drained away like a river tide. He had learned enough about life to know when humility was needed. ‘I’m sorry, Lotan. I should have come sooner.’

‘I believe you.’ Lotan’s voice was a growl, his words insincere. ‘Does not one of your most important redes say that a promise delayed is a promise denied?’ ‘I shall make amends.’

‘Amends…’

‘You don’t believe me. Come, let me prove it to you.’ Will led Lotan back the way he had come.

‘My waiting has been worthwhile.’ Lotan seemed to be talking to himself.

‘Be warned – I promised you nothing more than that I would try on your behalf. That promise still holds.’

‘It is enough.’

Will cringed at the big man’s pitiful hope. He tried to soften the blow he half knew must fall when the request was put to Gwydion. ‘But you do admit, Lotan, that you
gave away your sight of your own free will? And you understand that by the moral rules of magic this must count greatly against you?’

‘I understand. But doesn’t your magic allow that a man ought to be able to make one honest mistake, especially when that mistake harms no one else? If your magic is truly moral in nature as you believe, then there must still be hope for me. Is that not so?’

‘I don’t know if magic is that forgiving, though I’d say it should be.’

The big man groaned. ‘What I would not give to see again a ray of sunshine on a spider’s web, to watch the clouds roll by, to delight in a pretty girl’s face.’

They came to the North Turret and Will rapped on the stout wooden door that was set within the great gate. A small window opened high up and to the side. It was lavishly barred and banded in iron and though the light inside was only a candle, it was blindingly bright to Will’s eyes. A sharp, suspicious face viewed them.

‘Take your hand away from your face and announce yourself.’

‘My name is Willand. I’m with his grace the Duke of Ebor’s establishment. You should know me, for it was you who opened the door to let me out but a little while ago.’

‘Then step up and be recognized.’

A lantern was thrust out on a rod. ‘Hmm. What’s your business?’

‘No business. I live here.’

‘Who’s that behind you in the shadows?’

‘A friend.’

‘You can’t bring him in. Standing orders.’

‘I don’t mean to bring him in.’

They waited a leisurely moment while the narrow door opened. Then Will stepped inside and tapped the guard neatly on the forehead. ‘But if he chooses to follow me in
of his own accord,’ he told the unconscious man, ‘then I can’t really be accused of bringing him in, can I?’

Lotan reeled as if from a physical pain. But then he turned sideways and slotted himself nimbly through the gate. He groped after the stricken guard, put his hands on him and tried unsuccessfully to stand him up. ‘Will he live?’

‘Lotan, there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s just decided to sit down for a little rest.’

‘And all from the lightest touch? Truly, this is great magic…’

‘Sleeping on duty – tut, tut – whatever would Captain Jackhald say?’

He led Lotan to the stair and along the passageway. Willow slipped the bolt on their door when she heard Will’s special knock, but she was stunned to see the huge hooded form looming behind her husband. She almost dropped the lantern that was in her hand. Will took it from her and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. ‘Say hello to Lotan. Lotan, this is my wife, Willow. He wants our help.’

‘I’ll fetch Gort,’ she said, shocked.

‘And Master Gwydion too, if you can find him.’

Will offered Lotan a seat. He took it, his great bulk no less obvious when he sat down. Bethe slumbered in her neat wooden cradle behind his back, undisturbed by the light. Will decided that neither she nor Lotan would appreciate his making empty chatter, but a cup of Gort’s dandelion wine might be welcome, all things considered. Before he could pour it, however, Willow returned and ushered both Gort and Gwydion into the room.

The wizard flew into a flurry of magical gestures as soon as he entered.

‘He wears the robes of the Black House!’ Gort cried. ‘Why did you bring him here, Will?’

‘Name yourself, Fellow!’ Gwydion commanded the unstirring figure.

‘I was called by the Fellows Eudas. I was of the Black House—’

‘
Was
?’

‘Eudas is not my name. My name is, and always has been, Lotan.’

Gwydion’s stance was grim and unbending. ‘Why did you come here? What do you seek from us? There can be no escape from the Fellowship.’

Again, the deep, patient voice came slowly. ‘There is a rede, I think, which says there is always a first time for everything.’

‘Do not quote the redes at me,
worm
!’

Will took a pace towards the wizard and tried to mollify him. ‘Master Gwydion, please – remember your manners. This man is our guest. He saved my life.’

‘Stand aside! It may have looked as if he was helping you—’

‘He
did
help me! And when I was in mortal danger.’

‘From whom? Others of the Fellowship, no doubt. And now he says he wants a favour. He says he wants to get his sight back. Is that it?’

Will nodded, surprised at the accuracy of the wizard’s guess. ‘Yes. We need a miracle.’

The wizard’s anger boiled over at the word. ‘Miracle?
Miracle
? That can never be! His sight was given away of his own free will. And even if it were possible, I would not attempt to restore it.’ The wizard’s hand moved like lightning and threw back the newcomer’s hood. ‘You see? There is nothing left to heal.’

Will blinked, appalled at the wizard’s behaviour. He said tightly, ‘There was a day, Master Gwydion, when you would have tarried longer over a lame horse.’