On impulse Glynn stopped the first servitor whose eye she caught in the passage to double-check the directions she had been given, and also to see how a servitor responded to an approach from an unknown servitor.
‘You must be new in the palace,’ the young man answered in a friendly enough fashion. Then he gave her the same directions as the legionnaire, though he advised her on the garden level to take the last set of steps rather than the first she came to. ‘Some of them are in pretty bad shape,’ he confided.
Glynn thanked him, again aware of the weariness that was the result of her attempt to manipulate the legionnaire. If only using her mind like that did not deplete her so much. Feinna must use the ability in such a way that it did not hurt or tire them; if only she could learn the trick of it. The feinna link responded to this thought with the information that feinna sought to transform emotions only when dealing with their younglings, or to provoke a mating challenge or to summon or accept or reject the overtures of a mate. In short, they used their abilities only with their own kind because they relied upon the recipient possessing the same ability. It was similar to the way in which the feinna birth link required both youngling and adult offering the link to share the same ability. In Glynn’s case, she had the matching ability only because the She-feinna had altered her mind. Of course the human minds that she had tried to affect had no corresponding ability. It was as if she were trying to yell at a deaf man, or make frantic signals at someone who was blind. The fact that she managed it required far more energy than it ought to do, and that was why she felt so drained after each attempt.
Glynn came abruptly to the end of the passage. Outside the day was bright and fresh with the scent of greenery and flowers, although there was only a building on one side and a stone wall on the other, above which could be seen what appeared to be the very top of trees. They must grow on the garden level, which meant that the wall alongside the lane must run right along the very edge of the level. Her spirits lifted at the thought of walking through a garden, and she might have been content for a moment, but for the feinna back in the Iridomi compound, and the poor bird that she was supposed to obtain for sacrifice. There was no use in telling herself that any animal provided by the kitchens would have been intended for food, and would have died whether or not she brought it to the Draaka. The feinna part of her mind continued to argue firmly that one living thing should not be sacrificed to save another. Yet she could not sacrifice the feinna for this unknown animal.
Suddenly a door in a building opened and two green-clad legionnaires stepped out onto the path directly in front of Glynn. She hunched over and tried to look half-witted as they glanced at her, then they bent to examine one of the thick, smooth sticks used as chits on Keltor. She edged past them and continued, thinking that the loose, drab skirt and shirt she wore had the advantage not only of hiding her athleticism, but also of making her sexually unappealing. The door legionnaire had been an exception. Ironically, in presenting herself as weak and mousy to him, Glynn had aroused his dominating instincts. Sometimes you really just couldn’t win. Wind had said that, too.
At last she came upon a set of steps curving downward. They were walled too, and steep and long enough that her knees and legs ached by the time she reached the bottom. To her disappointment, there was only another lane, this time bordered by the cliff rearing to the level above, and another stone wall. Above this soared the trunks of the trees she had seen from above: the Ramidani strain of veswood trees. There seemed to be no other sort of tree on land-poor Keltor. It was no wonder that there were legends about the origin of the tree that, for some reason, grew differently upon the different islands. The trees would not grow at all on rocky Acantha, while on Fomhika they took the form of mighty but crooked-trunked giants with huge fat branches sprouting thickly from the ground up, and very dense foliage. Here the tree grew tall and straight-trunked, and although branches grew profusely from the trunk, they started higher up and were thinner.
Glynn guessed the difference in growth had more to do with the islands than the trees, since people born on the different islands also developed quite different abilities. The Legendsong saga said that the abilities possessed by the septs had been bestowed by Lanalor on each of the chieftains he selected to rule the islands he had conquered. But the Legendsong seemed to be as much saga as history, religious document as philosophy, and Keltans appeared disinclined to seek beyond it for answers to the questions posed by the world around them. The fantastical nature of some of the sections of the Legendsong roused no skepticism in them, for Keltans were content to accept mystery alongside practical knowledge. It occurred to Glynn that her own world was the opposite. The lives of its inhabitants had been stripped of mystery. In their hunger to know everything and answer everything, they had lost the ability to cherish mystery.
Nothing is sacred now, Glynn thought, and was saddened.
A brown-clad servitor emerged from a gate in the stone wall carrying an armful of what looked at a glance to be sether. He stared curiously at Glynn and she turned and walked smartly in the other direction, unable to relax until she was able to turn a corner. There were now trees growing on both sides of her which suggested that there was more than one walled garden if this path would bring her to the edge of this level. Although she could see little, she slowed down, relishing the smells of greenness and growing things. The air buzzed with invisible insects passing over the path from walled garden to walled garden, and the vivid flyts that flickered in the branches of trees paid no attention to the walls. Watching the antics of what must be a mating pair, Glynn found herself wondering why the garden level had been so divided up.
It took her a moment to register that she was saving scents and sounds as casually as if they were a collection of shells picked up from the beach. A piercing shriek from overhead distracted her and she looked up into the button-bright red eyes of a white-faced monkey. On impulse she dug into her pocket and took out the now soggy piece of fruit and threw it up in the air. The little animal snatched it deftly, then chittered at her and shook its tiny fist before biting into the fruit. It looked for all the world like a crabby little old man scolding her and she burst out laughing. The creature gave what sounded exactly like a scream of outrage, bared its teeth at her, and vanished back into the foliage.
‘Ungrateful wretch!’ Glynn laughed.
Then she noticed a break in the wall ahead. Half expecting another set of steps, she found herself looking into one of the walled gardens. The gate swung open at her touch, and Glynn could not resist entering. The grass beneath her sandalled feet felt infinitely soft and smelled exactly like the grass of her world, though in colour it was more blue than green. Glancing around, Glynn was surprised to see walls in all directions and she realised that the garden was quite small. Obviously there were not just a few enormous walled gardens, but many smaller ones, and she wondered why anyone would bother creating a series of gardens, rather than one open park.
In the centre of the garden she had entered was a circular bed where flowers grew in an intricate coloured pattern. Glynn would have loved to linger to admire it, but she had to get to the kitchens and so she retraced her steps. Continuing along the path between the walls, she finally came to a set of steps leading down. They were moss furred and crumbling in places, and belatedly Glynn remembered that she had been warned to use the last steps. Not wanting to waste time, she made her descent carefully and slowly. Nearing the bottom of the steps, she smelled the unmistakable reek of boiling meat. Of all the ways of cooking meat, that had to be the most revolting. Worse, she began to feel the pull of her connection to the feinna, which meant she was nearing the outer limit of the link.
Fortunately, as soon as she began to walk along the path, the pull decreased, which meant she must be heading towards the Iridomi enclave, though she was now two levels below it.
She followed the meat smell to a courtyard where a stream of red-clad servitors laden with trays was hurrying in and out of a door w
hich could only be the kitchen entrance.
‘They’re just serving a meal up in the big hall,’ a voice said behind Glynn.
She swung round to find a slim, blonde girl clad in red leaning against the wall of the building and smiling quizzically. Her bodice was badly stained and, seeing the direction of Glynn’s gaze, she shrugged ruefully. ‘I tripped. The over cook is going to be furious to hear he will have to produce another batch of paradise sauce.’
‘You fell on the steps?’ Glynn guessed.
‘Not this time,’ the girl said ruefully. ‘One of the white flyts swooped me in the big hall. I didn’t realise it was out of its cage. It was a lovely sauce too,’ she added regretfully.
‘What will happen to you?’ Glynn asked.
She smiled. ‘Nothing. I am the only one in there who can stir a sauce without it going lumpy and a whipping would make me unfit to work. But the over cook will yell and make dreadful bloodthirsty threats. But do not look so alarmed. He is quite nice under all the roaring and shouting,’ the girl said easily. ‘I am Opel.’
‘I’m Glynn,’ Glynn said, then immediately regretted giving her own name. ‘I have been sent by my mistress to get a pelflyt. She … uh … is afraid of getting fed spoiled meat and has brought her own slaughterman.’ She could not say that the animal was supposed to be sacrificed.
But the girl looked almost as shocked as if she had said it. ‘You had better not tell the over cook that your mistress fears he would serve up spoiled meat. He would take it as a deadly insult. If I were you I would go back and tell your mistress that all meat is delivered up from the citadel stalls, and that there are no live animals in the palace.’
‘I can say that only if it is true. She … she might check, you see.’
The girl frowned. ‘Well it is not true, of course. There are pens within the palace where beasts are kept and fattened or fed special diets to flavour the meat. However I spoke the truth when I said the over cook would be outraged at your suggestion that he would serve bad meat. He could have you and your mistress thrown into the cells for casting stains on his reputation, if you make the statement and then offer no proof. Even if your mistress is too important to be charged, it would still cause a terrible fuss.’
Glynn wished that it had been true that there were no live animals in the palace, then she could genuinely have gone back without the pelflyt.
‘What sept are you bonded to?’ Opel continued, nodding at her grey clothes.
‘Acantha, but I am Fomhikan,’ Glynn said. She adopted what she hoped was a credulous smile of excitement, determined to get information from the friendly young woman. ‘I am glad to have come here, even bonded. I want to see the whole palace. I have heard it is magnificent. Especially the soulweaver’s apartment.’
Opel’s eyes narrowed, ‘Do you desire a weaving from the soulweaver, then?’
Glynn was dumbfounded. ‘I … What do you mean?’
The girl shrugged. ‘How else would you see the soulweaver’s apartment except during an audience?’ She pressed her lips together for a moment and regarded Glynn seriously. ‘In these times, the soulweaver is not in favour. She should not have gone away from the citadel so often or for so long for it gave her enemies the chance to spread rumours and brew up scandals against her.’ Her eyes went past Glynn and she straightened up. ‘They have finished serving. I must go in.’ But at the door to the kitchen she turned back, saying softly. ‘I do not mean to tell you your business, but you are clearly new to the palace and you had better be careful what you say and to whom, or you will end up in the cells.’
‘Cells?’ Glynn echoed in genuine bewilderment.
Opel’s voice dropped and she said rather fiercely, ‘I do not believe your Bleyd guilty of anything, you understand. I served him and the mermod enough times to know he was honest, but with his disappearance just before the judging and now the things being whispered about the soulweaver being involved in the poisoning attempt … well, you can see how a Fomhikan asking about the soulweaver might be thought worthy of interrogation.’ She did not wait for a response, but entered the kitchen leaving Glynn to follow.
The kitchen was an enormous gallery with great doors opening to adjoining galleries, all with barrel-vaulted ceilings and stone-flagged floors, and all lined with huge roaring cookers. Stairs led up to open lofts housing racks and racks of dried fruits, prepared and smoked meats, herb bunches and what looked to be puddings. The smell of foods in the process of being cooked was so strong and so varied as to be almost nauseating. None of the dozens of servitors moving about between the cookers and chefs, all clad in red or red-trimmed clothes, so much as looked at her. There was an air of intense concentration and hive-like industry and Glynn wondered how she was to find the over cook among so many bustling people. A man, red-faced from exertion, came hurrying past her to the tables to bang down a broad tray of pies fresh from the ovens, but Glynn decided that he was not the choleric over cook of Opel’s description. She decided to ask the man about the over cook, but before she could do so, he had disappeared. Glynn looked around, hoping to spy Opel, but suddenly there was a roar of fury. A tall, cadaverous man with glaring blue eyes was striding wrathfully across the kitchen towards her. She froze in fright but he passed by her to take hold of Opel with one long-fingered hand. Shaking her like a rag doll he announced that she was a clumsy aspi with the brains of a waterflyt. Then he reached into his belt, withdrew a lethal-looking chopper which he began waving about his head, shouting that he would boil her in oil and chop off her hands if she dropped any more sauces.
Opel snivelled convincingly, but to Glynn’s amazement, when the over cook released her, she looked amused. The other servitors also seemed largely unmoved by the torrent of abuse and violent threats, which suggested that the over cook’s bark really was worse than his bite.
Glynn decided that she had better speak while she had the chance. ‘Uh … excuse me.’
The cook swung to face her, his expression baleful and impatient. ‘Who are you to be standing in the midst of my kitchen gaping like a lackwit!’
‘I … I’ve been sent,’ Glynn stammered, thinking that the awful mans voice was loud enough to constitute a weapon.
‘Sent! Sent? Sent by whom? Sent for what?’
‘For a … a pelflyt, Sirrah.’ Too wary after Opel’s words to mention tainted meat, Glynn grasped at the only other reason she could imagine for anyone wanting a live animal. ‘I … my mistress wants one of them for a pet.’
The over cook’s eyes virtually bulged. ‘You come here for a pet!’ he roared.
Glynn sensed the kitchen go still, either in wonder or amusement, but it was too late now to wish she had said something else. ‘She … she wishes to have one as a pet so that her servitors can … can copy it for a mask,’ Glynn jabbered, praying he would just order her out.
But, suddenly soft-voiced, he asked, ‘Why come to me with such a brainless request, girl?’
‘It was … it was thought that perhaps you keep pens of beasts,’ Glynn said.
‘It was thought so, was it? Doubtless by your esteemed mistress?’ He paused and Glynn held her breath, terrified that she would be asked to name her mistress. ‘Very well. I will send a pet for your mistress …’ There was an ominous quality to his voice now.
‘I was told to bring it back with me,’ Glynn said quickly.
The over cook scowled. ‘I do not jump at the whims of your mistress, Girl. Go away and come back later. I will see what I can do. Now get out of my kitchen!’
Outside, Glynn was at a loss. One bit of her was relieved to be able to put off the decision about the flyt. She probably ought to return to the Prime and hope that she would not be sent back. On the other hand, she would be wasting a perfect opportunity to find out more about the soulweaver. She decided to go back to the garden level and see if there was someone she could engage in conversation.
Heading for the garden she had entered briefly a little earlier, she stumbled on a broken step, jarring
her knee painfully. She limped some distance, cursing and rubbing her leg, then realised she had gone the wrong way. Noticing a gate half-hidden under an overhanging creeper, she approached and pushed at it. There was a slow tearing sound from the foliage and she hesitated, knowing that she ought to look for a garden that was more regularly used, but in the end, she could not resist the mystery and entered.
Far from being wildly overgrown, the garden behind the gate was in reasonably good repair, save that the blue-green Keltan grass reached up to her calves and had almost obscured what would once have been a white serpentine pebble path. The garden looked neglected rather than abandoned, and she decided there was probably a second, more commonly used gate somewhere. She went over to what remained of the winding pebble path. In one direction she could see shrubs growing in sprawling clumps, the branches heavy with fiery blossoms. In the other direction the path curved towards what looked to be an ornate fountain.
The heavy musk of the flowers was almost intoxicating. Veswood trees lined the garden, obscuring the wall and giving the impression of limitlessness. Stones crunched loudly under her sandals as she made her way towards the fountain, and she slowed to admire it. Built around a stem of stone, it rose to a wide, flat-rimmed bowl from which another stem arose which became a fantastical sculpture of a woman swimming with a flock of very large flyt. More of the lavish red blooms grew from hidden fissures in the sculpture and climbed up to form part of the sculpture as a garland for the woman’s hair. It was such a strikingly beautiful melding of stone and water and live flowers that Glynn felt it could only be the work of a Fomhikan plantsinger who was a true artist.
This close, she realised that the fountain was not the destination of the path. It ran on towards a huge, free-standing mural, partially obscured by the creeper that had been allowed to grow over it, and partially hidden by the angle at which it stood. Glynn followed the path and came to stand before a strikingly fine mural of the Unykorn. Made to appear larger than a life-sized horse, the legendary Firstmade of the Song was depicted as physically powerful, but there was nevertheless a fineness in the long legs and arched neck suggesting a delicacy beyond the human capacity for such things. The Unykorn’s body had been placed in profile, but its head was turned so that it seemed to be looking out of the mural. The strength evident in the muscles beneath the snowy coat, and a suggestion of dangerous potency in its purplish eyes, contrasted curiously with the tenderness in the Unykorn’s expression; the vulnerability of the lowered horn. It seemed to Glynn that the designer had intended that all of its fantastical beauty and power should appear to be yielded up to whomever stood at the end of the path.