Achoo charged through the gate and I followed after. “Achoo, berhenti!” I shouted as we came out of the thick tunnel and into the sunlight of the vast outer bailey. She halted halfway across, looked at me, and turned to run closer to a gateway in the castle’s inner wall. “Berhenti!” I cried. I was no fool. We might have come this far, but we would never be allowed into the inner bailey without someone to vouch for us. “Kemari, Achoo,” I said, pointing to the ground beside my foot. “Pox and murrain on it all,” I muttered to myself, hating the need to stop.
Achoo and I had been through this before, though never in houses so great. Every noble demanded his amount of bum-kissing before he would allow the king’s law to be enforced, if he was behaving. They thought, if they delayed us, that it bought them time to rid themselves of evidence. They never realized that they could hide very little from my beautiful hound.
Horses clattered in the tunnel, reminding me to be grateful that I was afoot and not being deafened as I rode in.
“Tunggu, dukduk,” I told Achoo, and crouched beside her. She sat and sighed. She knew what this was as well as I did. We had come into other hounds’ territory and had to introduce ourselves before we would be permitted to continue. She was accustomed. She did not like it. No more did I. Scents get muddled while we wait for orders to be shown and locals to be appeased. One day I would like it to be so a Dog might flash her insignia anywhere she went and everyone, commoners to lords, would stand away.
The guardsmen, who were so invisible when Achoo and I had seemed to be locals rushing in, came out to greet my lady, Tunstall, and Farmer. The mage held Lady Sabine’s flag, the foot of the pole tucked into his left stirrup, as casually as if he were always her bannerman. Tunstall halted at half a horse length to her left, his eyes promising trouble to any who did not treat her with courtesy.
She did not get ill treatment here. As the guards looked at her banner—a chance bit of wind puffed it straight out at that moment—they straightened up and bowed. One of them ran off through the gate to the inner courtyard, dodging geese. Another put two fingers to his lips and whistled up three stable lads, who’d been loitering near the smithy. They bowed to my lady and offered to take the horses. One of them jumped as Pounce leaped down from the packs on Saucebox and trotted over to me. Farmer grabbed my shoulder pack from Saucebox’s back before the horses were led to the stable.
One winter’s night, over hot cider, Lady Sabine had told Goodwin, Tunstall, my friends, and me about her family. The Macayhills weren’t particularly wealthy, but they were related to nearabout everyone. It came from their house being old enough to be listed in The Book of Gold and, my lady said, throwing enough fillies to ensure marriages with everyone who mattered. She’d named Queensgrace that night among the other holdings where she had kin.
Lady Sabine pointed me out now to the guards. I took it as my sign. “Achoo, tumit,” I said, and walked over to the group. Farmer handed over my pack when I reached him.
Two of the guards returned to the shadows by the gate after bowing to my lady a second time. She nodded, then turned to watch the boy who had Drummer’s and Steady’s reins. “You know how to handle a warhorse?” she asked, more lordly than I’d ever heard her speak.
“Don’t you worry, my lady,” said the guardsman who remained. “Our chief hostler trusts that lad with any horse in the stable. Ah, here comes Niccols. He’ll make you comfortable.”
From the guard’s introduction, I knew the soft-bellied cove who strode toward us from the inner gate was the steward of Queensgrace Castle. His scarlet tunic sported some nice yellow and blue embroideries at the hems, and he could afford a matching small round yellow hat. A ring of keys jingled from his belt.
I ignored the introductions as my lady told the steward, Niccols, who we were. There were banners that hung from a balcony that overlooked the inner courtyard. Chasing Achoo as I’d done, I had not read the flags that flew over the castle. These I could not mistake. One was the blue shield of the Conté house with the royal silver sword-in-crown, topped by a silver crescent with its horns up. Prince Baird was here!
Beside that banner hung another, a red buck deer on a green field under what looked like a yellow strip that was crenellated and laid upside down. Niccols was leading us to the inner gate, where we would pass straight under the banners. I called Achoo to heel. When I looked to see if Tunstall knew what they meant, I discovered Farmer at my elbow. Tunstall was trying to get within earshot of the steward and Lady Sabine without seeming to do so.
“That’s Baron Something-or-other of Aspen Vale,” Farmer told me. “The label, the three triangles with a line laid over the points, indicates the older son. The other one, the same flag but with the mark of the second son, belongs to Master Elyot of Aspen Vale.” Farmer grimaced. “He is a very powerful mage—the pride of the City of the Gods. And being from Corus, I suppose you already know Prince Baird’s coat of arms.”
I nodded. “I’m thinking this makes our luck good,” I told him, keeping my voice low. “With so many guests about, they’ll be too busy to watch us.” I grabbed for Achoo’s collar as she trotted away from me, but it was too late. She’d picked up the scent again.
She knows as well as I that we can’t go where we please in a castle. We must present our papers to the master or mistress first and get their approval, or they will howl the gods’ own red murder at the next high court.
I took the lead I always wear clipped to my belt and freed it. “Achoo!” I called softly. “Berhenti, you ill-bred wench! Right now, berhenti, or I’ll make you into a shawl for Farmer!”
Achoo looked back at me. When she saw the lead in my hands, her ears and tail drooped. She slumped as she stood.
“Curst right, you’re going on the leash! You know this sarden game better than me, you swine’s get, and looking woeful buys you no beans!” I reached her and threaded the lead around her collar as she looked pitiful for any who watched. “Pretending you don’t know how to act in some clench-arsed noble’s place, when you’ve been in more of them than me! Now tumit, and no more sauce from you, or you get cold eels and vegetable broth for your supper!” She does not care one bit for cold eel, nor for broth made of anything that is not meat and does not have legs. I had to be sure that she understood. From time to time she deliberately ignores me. It is the nature of four-legged dogs and two-legged Dogs alike, to challenge the leader from time to time. Each such challenge must be met forcefully, or the Dog, hound or human, will not obey other orders.
When I caught up with the others, Niccols was telling my lady, “—understand we are pressed for space with His Highness, the baron, and Master Elyot staying. I’m certain the mistress will find a place for my lady in women’s quarters, and proper garb for supper tonight—” I wanted to punch him in the kidneys for the look he gave my lady’s riding clothes. He babbled on, “Your, ah, attendants will sleep in the great hall. I will try to ensure they have pallets—”
“Niccols, apparently you did not listen to me before.” Lady Sabine’s voice was chilly and clipped. “I am not in charge of our company. Senior Corporal Tunstall is in charge. We are not here for last-minute hospitality.” She looked at Tunstall.
He stepped forward. “We are on a Hunt,” he informed the steward. “I have documents from the Lord Provost, which I will show Count Dewin and his lady. We require an immediate meeting with His Lordship to that end. Depending on what we discover and at what time, we may not remain.”
“And if we do, we shall do so together,” my lady said firmly. “In a stable loft if necessary.”
That put Niccols into a complete fidget. Mating pigeons flutter less. The count and his lady were out hawking with the guests, he said. We must await their permission to search the castle, he told us firmly. He sent one servant to the kitchen and another for maids. Before we knew it we’d been placed in a fine armory off the main hall, among a collection of very good weapons and armor. A cushion was brought for Lady Sabine to sit on at the table in the center
of the room, while we commoners made do with our own rumps on the wooden benches. Niccols assured us over and over that he would come for us as soon as the count returned, then skittered away to do other chores.
I must end here. My eyes burn from the scant light, and there is still so much more to write of this very long day. I will take up the report again when chance offers.
the continuation of the events of June 19, 249
Commencing upon our being left to our own devices in a small armory
Queensgrace Castle
We hadn’t been sitting long when the door opened and a maid shooed in two lads of eight or nine years and a gixie of ten. Each carried a big, heavy tray laden with food, pitchers, and cups. These they placed on the table with care. The maid bustled around them, setting out her own burden of spoons and napkins. The young ones were not dressed nearly so well as she. They had only undyed linen tunics with short sleeves, pale brown in color and needful of a good wash, perhaps even several good washes. They wore no shoes. Their heads were ill-combed, and an iron ring clasped each child by the left wrist.
“Does my cousin require so many slaves?” Lady Sabine asked the maid.
The young mot ushered the slaves toward the door and curtsied to my lady. “Oh, no. There was a slave train passing through as Prince Baird and the men from Aspen Vale came, if it please you, my lady. They had a lot of green folk. The dealers thought it would be a good thing if they stayed and loaned us some of their stock. To give the slaves a bit of training in a noble house, you see, get them used to the stairs and all. They’ve been that helpful, with all the men-at-arms and lords that came with His Highness. My lord’s going to buy some. Is my lady interested?”
I held very still as Lady Sabine raised her brows. Our prince, Prince Gareth, was still here, as a slave. Right here. Farmer’s eyes blazed. Tunstall clenched his fists. Yet we dared not utter a word. If Count Dewin’s court mage placed listening spells anywhere, it would be in the rooms where he placed his guests.
“I shall consider it,” my lady told the maid. “My thanks. You may go.” She flipped a copper noble to the maid, who caught it and left with plenty of thank yous and my ladys.
Tunstall frowned at Lady Sabine. “Is that how you like to be treated?” It was just talk for the benefit of the listening spells, or so I figured. I had my own plans. Even if we were spied upon, Tunstall and I had found a way I could look about.
I took the leash from Achoo’s collar, working under the table. Having never done this with my lady or Farmer, I had no notion of how they felt about idling with the chance of being refused the Hunt. I did know how Tunstall and I had managed being tucked away like this in the past. I gave Achoo the hand signal we had worked out, also under the table. When I straightened, Farmer was giving me the fish eye. When I glared back at him, he offered me a cheese waffle with butter.
Achoo went to the open door and pawed at it as I had signaled her to do.
My lady had picked up a turkey leg and was answering Tunstall’s question about the treatment she’d received. “Don’t be a dolt, Mattes,” she told him. “I can’t tell them not to. They get in trouble if their lords catch them speaking to me improperly.”
I stuffed half of the waffle into my mouth and pointed to Achoo. “She has to go,” I mumbled. None of them were paying any heed to me, Farmer’s attention having been caught by my lady’s words. That was how I liked it.
“Never mind that,” Farmer said to her and to Tunstall. “Those slavers are still here. He may still be here. They may well give us the slip while we wait.”
Achoo and I walked out of the room into the great hall. There were no guards set to watch us. Maids, menservants, and slaves hurried here and there with loads in their arms. They were too busy preparing for the nobles’ return to attend to Achoo and me. Pounce came out with us. It amazes me how he can move so as to seem near invisible. He had jumped down from one of the packhorses and trotted along close to Lady Sabine, but the castle’s folk had been too busy watching her to take note of the black cat at her heels. Now he went out the main door to the courtyard.
Despite my excuse for her if she needed one, Achoo was not interested in going outside. She had her nose up in the air. I waited for her, trying not to tap my foot or otherwise distract her. Something had caught her attention and we could not move until she decided what it was. I only feared someone would notice that neither of us belonged there.
She trotted away, bound for the great hearth on the far wall. Easily, hands hooked in my belt as if we took a lazy walk, I strolled after her. She was sniffing around the hearthstones. The scent took her into the opening, where she snuffled around the kindling that had been laid there for the night’s fire. Back out she came, to a basket full of shavings and another of twigs for more kindling, then a third for small logs. That last she smelled only once. Then she went back to the shavings and twigs. She gave them a last going-over, and followed her scent away from them, down the corridor that led from hearth and hall. I followed, my back braced for a shout ordering me to halt. No one said a word.
Achoo took us outside, around the back of the keep. There, between the keep and the inner wall, wood for the castle fires was stacked under waxed cloths. Her scent led her to the kindling stacks, then out again, around the side of the keep.
We crossed a short distance. I thought we were bound straight for the kitchen, an old-fashioned one set apart from the keep, but Achoo changed her mind. She halted suddenly, her head turning to and fro, then took us to the closest building, the chicken coop. A manservant rushed up to the hen yard waving his arms as she sniffed among screaming hens at the nest. I whistled her back to me and flipped a copper to the cove. He went silent and pointed for us to go. We left, Achoo hanging her head. If ever a dog looked mortified, it was she.
I gave her a strip of dried beef. When we were out of the man’s sight, I said, “It’s well enough, girl.” We dodged a flock of outdoor hens. “I know plenty of human Dogs that would just have gone clean through the place and back to the keep, not thinking that boys who go into henhouses are either stealing or fetching eggs for a cook. At least you follow what is truly there.”
Achoo found the main scent and took it to the kitchen. My thought by then was that they’d put the lad to work as a kitchen slave. That explained his being in the great hall. He’d been ordered to help clean out the hearth at some point, mayhap more than once. It explained as well his presence in the chicken coop. Now, in a large and busy kitchen, I waited to the inside of the door while Achoo did her finest work, her nose to the ground as she sorted through all manner of scents to find the one she wanted. Even with herbs and cheeses hung everywhere, four kinds of meat on the spit, and fresh herbs and young onions being chopped, Achoo could not be fooled. My belly might growl as my nose filled with the smell coming from that whole roasting pig, but Achoo cared nothing for that when she was Hunting. She worked around the feet of cooks and helpers and skirted two pups as they wrestled with a thick rope.
One cook swore at her, but she was too busy to do anything. Another cried, “Get that beast away from me!” but she and the others had too much to do other than aim a kick at the nearest animal. Five other dogs sat before the fire, hoping some meat would fall.
I could see that Achoo had our lad’s scent all the time. She finally halted by a small keg that was placed beside the spits of meat.
Of course, I thought, squeezing past two mots who were heaving a good-sized bag of almonds onto a table. Turning the spit is a good task to give a child of four. Everyone can watch him to be sure he doesn’t let the meat burn. I’d done such work at Provost’s House, but there my aunt Mya had wrapped the turnspits in leather so they wouldn’t burn my palms. These turnspits had no such wrappings. Had they given the lad cloths, or had they forced him to turn them with no protection for that soft, noble skin?
The gixie who turned the spit now shrank away from Achoo. She was mayhap six or so and armed with handfuls of rags. If she loosened her grip, t
hey dropped to the floor. As she gathered them, she risked smacking her head on the lower turnspits.
I went to her and helped her pick up the rags. “May I have these for a moment?” I asked her. I found my right glove. “Here. This is big, but it will keep the turnspit from burning you.”
She giggled once it was on, since she could barely fit two fingers where they belonged, let alone the others and the thumb. Still, she could use the palm to hold the spits as she rotated the meat. In addition to the pig and chickens, there were five ducks and two haunches of venison to brown. There were also the watching dogs to run off. She had a little broom for that purpose. They were hunting dogs, high tempered and not at all patient with slaves who would not feed them. I saw bite marks on her legs as well as whip weals on the backs of her arms. The bite marks were not bad, but they must have hurt all the same. “Jaga, Achoo,” I said, and pointed to the spits.
Achoo looked at me with reproach, an owl asked to guard a mouse’s nest. She had been walking the circuit of the kitchen, following our lad’s steps around the tables as she dodged the cooks’ swats and curses. She had also looked down the hall behind the gixie’s turnspit. I had to do something first, so I put Achoo to guard work, gave the gixie my last chunk of cheese, and fetched my small sewing kit. I quickly threaded the needle, thanking the gods once again for giving me the wit to put forth the coin for this small collection of needles, pins, and thread tucked into a leather wallet. In simple repairs to my own kit it had paid for itself within a year of its purchase, and it also allowed me to do small favors that were often repaid in information. I began to stitch the rags together, one on top of the other.