Текст книги "Point of Dreams"

Автор книги: Melissa Scott

Соавторы: Lisa Barnett
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Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

Eslingen paused at the Owl and Lamb’s kitchen door to settle the cover more securely on the basket. Two days Rathe had spent in Point of Dreams’s best cell, and no matter what Rathe said, it wasn’t justice. And he still wanted to say as much to Trijn, would do it as soon as Rathe was released–except, of course, that would only make things worse.

“Lieutenant vaan Esling?”

He looked up, to see a runner in Dreams’s livery poking a folded slip of paper at him, and he juggled the dinner basket awkwardly as he unfolded the note. It was from Trijn, her spiky hand unmistakable, bidding him attend a formal hearing at Point of Dreams at one o’clock that day. He frowned, and in the same moment heard the nearest tower clock strike one.

“She’s left it a bit late,” he said, and the runner looked up at him, uncomprehending.

“Please, Lieutenant, you need to hurry.”

“And whose fault is that?” Eslingen asked, but stretched his legs, so that they reached the station only half past the hour. To his surprise, there were two unmarked coaches in the yard, their horses stamping and blowing at the unfamiliar quarters, and a third that bore the crest of the queen’s judiciary. The unmarked carriages had to belong to someone of importance, from the quality of the horses, but he wasn’t prepared for the sight that waited for him inside. The usual furniture had been hastily moved to the walls of the large main room, the duty point’s table commandeered to form a makeshift bench, and Astreiant herself sat behind it, robed in red like any member of the judiciary. There were at least four other advocats as well, all in black and scarlet, and Eslingen recognized one of them as Kurin Holles. The woman with the impeccably painted hands had to be Rathe’s patronne Foucquet, he guessed, but the others were strangers to him, as was the woman in the regent’s respectable black, a silver badge around her neck. Her lips were pursed as though she had eaten something sour, but Astreiant was careful to include her in the proceedings. b’Estorr was there, as well, in dark grey university robes, with the Starsmith’s badge vivid on one sleeve. Rathe stood to one side, hands clasped politely behind his back–very much at his ease, Eslingen saw with relief, and close to the stove, too. Trijn stood with him, dressed in her best green wool, and seeing her, Eslingen wished he’d had sufficient warning to put on his own good coat. He set his basket down as discreetly as he could, and the movement drew Rathe’s eye, so that they smiled at each other across the crowded room.

“–seems to be fully resolved,” Astreiant was saying. She touched the faceless doll that stood on the table before her, the visible symbol of the queen’s authority, a gesture that looked more tender than was strictly necessary. “The advocats Foucquet and Holles have spoken on behalf of the accused, and the Soueraine de Ledey herself has declined to pursue the point. We have also heard testimony from both the points and from–other parties currently under restraint– that the landseur Aubine had taken actions that were intended to bring harm to Her Majesty the queen. This testimony has been accepted by this court, and by the Soueraine de Ledey. Therefore, I find Adjunct Point Nicolas Rathe blameless in this death, and release him to the company of his fellows, to enjoy all rights and privileges of a free man of this city, and an adjunct point under Her Majesty’s seal.” She paused, smiled suddenly. “I am also authorized, as Her Majesty’s representative, to offer this small gift in some recompense for the inconveniences he has suffered.”

She nodded to a liveried page, who came forward with a bulging purse. Rathe accepted it, a strained expression on his face, and Eslingen had to suppress a chuckle. Rathe prided himself on never taking fees, but he could hardly refuse this–and it was hardly a fee, Eslingen told himself sternly. Compensating a man for time he’d been unjustly imprisoned could hardly be considered a fee.

Astreiant rose to her feet, and the rest of the people crowding the room made their obeisance. Eslingen bowed with them, hoping to catch Rathe’s eye again as he straightened, and the page struck her staff on the stone floor.

“The session is hereby ended.”

The formality dissolved into excited conversation, and Eslingen shouldered his way through the crowd, nearly tripping over someone’s lapdog. The woman–one of the advocats–scooped it up, glaring, and Trijn grinned at him.

“Well, Lieutenant, I’m glad the girl found you.”

“So am I.” Eslingen looked around, unable to suppress his surprise. “That’s it? You didn’t need my testimony?”

“You’re Rathe’s leman,” Trijn answered. “They knew what you would say.”

That made a certain amount of sense, and Eslingen nodded, looked at Rathe. “What now?”

“Adjunct Point?”

The voice was at once strange and familiar, and Eslingen turned to see a tall woman in the stone‑grey of northern mourning. She looked vaguely familiar, too, and then he saw the badge at her collar, and recognized Aubine’s sister.

“Maseigne,” Rathe said warily. “I’m sorry…” His voice trailed off, and Eslingen could guess what he was thinking. How did one offer sympathy for killing someone’s traitor brother, particularly when that brother had been more than willing to kill them?

The woman smiled faintly, as though she, too, had read the thought. “I wanted to say… You, and Lieutenant vaan Esling, you gave him a kinder end than he deserved. My, our, grandmother was a proud and hateful woman, and for no other reason than that she could be, it was her right–her obligation and her blood duty to be harsh on her kin and heirs, to make sure they were fit for what she would leave them. Our mother was not, so it was up to us. I tried to shield him, and when she was dead I tried to give him the life he wanted–it wouldn’t have hurt anyone, certainly not our name. But it was too late then.” She shook her head. “I wish I’d never let him go to the university, but he wanted it so…”

Her voice trailed off, and Rathe shook his head. “He made his choices, maseigne. I’m sorry if I sound harsh, but he made his own way.”

Ledey nodded, but she hardly looked convinced. “All my grandmother did was in the service of our name. My brother’s ended that, very effectively.”

“Surely not ended,” Rathe said.

“No?” Ledey gave a bitter smile. “This is more than scandal, Adjunct Point, this is treason and murder and attempted murder. My family will continue. But I think the name of Aubine needs to be buried with my brother.”

It was her right, of course, as head of the family, but Eslingen shivered, hearing an echo of the grandmother’s iron will in the soueraine’s implacable voice. He bowed automatically as she turned away.

“She’s right.”

Eslingen and Rathe turned to b’Estorr. “It’s a pride that needs burying–in his way, your landseur was every bit as prideful as his wretched grandmother,” the necromancer said.

“You didn’t know him,” Eslingen protested softly, and b’Estorr shook his head.

“No. But forgive me if I feel less than charitable toward someone who did his best to kill two friends of mine.”

“You just didn’t want to be bothered by our ghosts,” Rathe said, and b’Estorr smiled.

“Not after this ghost‑tide, no, thank you.”

“Istre–” Rathe sounded unusually hesitant, and both Eslingen and b’Estorr looked at him. “Come up to my workroom, please, both of you.”

“Won’t we be missed?”

“In this throng?” Rathe asked, nodding toward the crowd of pointswomen and men, advocats, intendents, and regents. Obediently, they followed him up the stairs to his workroom, chill from having been uninhabited for almost three days. When he closed the door, he looked at b’Estorr.

“I think you mentioned once before that if the university had a working copy of the Alphabet, no one would be able to find it?”

“I was mostly joking, but you have no idea what the cataloging is like in the older parts of the library,” b’Estorr replied, almost warily.

Rathe nodded as though satisfied. He picked up from the small table three books. “I want you to lose these as best you can. Aubine’s copy, the one Aconin stole, and Leussi’s.”

b’Estorr looked at the three simple, cloth‑bound volumes, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You could simply burn them.”

Rathe shook his head. “If, Metenere forbid, we should ever need their knowledge again, you’ll know where they are, you’re the only person I can trust with them, Istre, who has the wit and training to deal with them. Take them, and lose them in the library, so no one can use them like this again.”

“Done,” b’Estorr said simply. He took the three books, tucked the small volumes away under his coat. “And, Nico?”

“Yeah?”

“I also told you that this–” He nodded toward him and Eslingen. “Did not feel like folly. Thanks for proving me right. My reputation would have suffered terribly,” he said with a quick grin, and was gone.

Eslingen let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “I never know if I want to kill him or not.” But he was smiling.

“Think of the ghost.”

“Good point.” He looked at Rathe. “What now?” he asked again.

“Home,” Rathe said. He looked tired– the cell couldn’t be that comfortable, Eslingen thought, in spite of all the care we took.

“The baths?” he suggested, and Rathe grinned.

“Yeah, that, too. But later.”

“Can we go?” Eslingen asked as they made their way back down the stairs, looking around the still packed room, at the press still crowding to speak to Astreiant.

“I doubt we’ll be missed,” Rathe said, but looked at Trijn.

She spread her hands. “Be off with you. I don’t have any need of you–take a few days for yourself, Rathe, but I’ll expect you back at the new week.”

“Thank you,” Rathe said, and turned for the door.

Eslingen followed him, pausing only to collect the basket, and together they made their way across the rutted courtyard. Outside, the streets were mostly clear of snow, and the sky had the seashell haze of clouds that promised warmer days. Rathe looked up with satisfaction, breathing deep, his breath frosting the chill air. They made their way back to Rathe’s lodgings in companionable silence, crossed the frozen remains of the garden–no sign of hedgebroom anywhere, Eslingen thought–and climbed the stairs to Rathe’s single room. He had kept the fire going, not wanting anything of value to freeze, and Rathe gave a contented sigh as he crossed the threshold.

“It’s good to be home,” he began, and stopped abruptly, looking around the single large room. “Philip. Where are your things?”

Eslingen paused, blinking, set the basket on the table, and stooped to stir the embers back to life. “Oh. I rented a room of my own, didn’t want to keep sponging off you.”

“Philip–” Rathe’s eyes were worried, and Eslingen abandoned the pretense, contrite.

“I rented the two rooms next door–you know, the little ones that no one wanted. The landlady said that we could knock out the old connecting door, come the spring.” He paused. “If you want to, of course.”

Rathe stood for a moment, then, very slowly, smiled. “Considering everyone already thinks we’re lemen, I suppose we might as well.”

Not quite an invitation, Eslingen thought, but the simple acceptance was more than good enough for now. “Don’t let the gossips push you into anything you don’t want,” he began, and Rathe rolled his eyes.

“Idiot.”

Eslingen smiled, satisfied. He reached for the basket, brought out the bottle of wine he’d bought in the hope that Rathe would be released today. “Good. I don’t have a bed of my own. Let’s drink. It’s not every day you’re let out of jail.”

“Did you see the masque?” Rathe asked, and Eslingen laughed, almost spilling the cup he was filling.

“No. I never did.”

“All that work, and you didn’t go back?”

Eslingen shook his head. “I was too tired, and my head hurt and–frankly, Nico, I couldn’t stand the sight of another bunch of flowers, no matter how harmless they were. But Siredy says it went off very well.”

“Siredy?” Rathe asked.

“I ran into him yesterday morning,” Eslingen answered. “He and Gavi have been seeing something of each other, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know.” Rathe accepted a cup, relaxing, and Eslingen lifted his own in a toast.

“The health of the realm at the turn of the year.”

“And a quieter year to come,” Rathe answered. The room was warming nicely now, the fire roaring, and he settled himself easily in his usual chair. Eslingen stretched a hand to the stove, hoping the wish would come true. “Will you stay with the Masters?”

Eslingen paused, shrugged. “Why not? They want to keep me on. And it can’t be this–exciting–all the time.”

Acknowledgment

Thanks to Frank Mohler of Appalachian State University, whose presentation on the development of scenic spectacle at the 1999 Southeastern Theatre Conference in Greensboro, North Carolina, gave us entirely too many ideas.