Bastion (24 page)

Jakyr dished him up a bowl of stew, stuck a chunk of bread in it, and handed it to him. “Maybe that portable tub is a better answer then.”

Mags took a bite of gravy-soaked bread. “Well,” he said, “I can tell ye, as some’un who’s had his arms in cold water in winter, that it won’t be but a couple of moments afore your hands start to hurt like fury. And then you start to get cold all
over,
once yer arms get cold. We didn’t have a choice back then but to do it, but I don’t think none of us now could work for longer’n a verse in a drinkin’ song afore we’d have t’quit.” He shivered, feeling chilled just thinking about it. “That mud’ll be packed in there good. It’d take candlemarks t’ get it all out. I’m thinkin’ that’s a job for warmer times.”

Lita gave him an
I told you so
look. She didn’t say it. She didn’t have to. It was Bear who quickly defused things before they started snapping at each other again.

“We got a
lot
of these sleeping caves,” he said. “Any reason why we couldn’t heat up rocks an’ use one of em for a steambath? I liked the one we used back at that inn.”

“Huh. We’d want one far enough away from where we’re actually sleeping that the damp doesn’t get into our bedding, but . . .”

“I hope this doesn’t immediately make you against the idea,” Lita said dryly. “But I like it, I like the idea a lot. I favor steam baths in winter. We could set up the canvas tub in there to use for water for the rocks and to wash in. Plus, steam is good for winter ailments.”

“If we get sick, steam’s good for carrying medicine into the lungs,” Bear pointed out.

“In that case, I appoint you in charge of seeing it done,” Jakyr said, handing Bear his dinner. “Try to find one where the damp will be carried farther into the caves rather than toward the living space.”

“I can do that,” Bear nodded.

Amily looked around, and sucked in her breath. “I never would have thought we could do anything like this,” she said. “I thought—well, I thought things would be harder than this.”

“More primitive, you mean?” Jakyr laughed. “They still will be. When we go out to the villages, Mags and I will still be using the Waystations, and you and Bear and Lena and Lita will be living in the caravan. We just have this very comfortable place to retreat to, and if the weather looks like it’s going to close in, we’ll leave the village to sort itself out for a time and get ourselves back here.”

Amily chuckled a little. “I wouldn’t call the caravan primitive.”

“You won’t have to cook for yourselves if you don’t want to, either,” Jakyr pointed out. “Mags and I will.”

“If you youngsters get on my nerves, I can trade a room at the inn, if there is one, for singing,” Lita pointed out. “That’s pretty standard for Bards. Well, so is trading music for a space on the hearth, but I think I am going to hold out for rather more than that. I’m not exactly the average traveling musician.”

“You have a far better command of music and speech than that. One sharp, scolding sentence from you will have them offering you the inn to go away,” Jakyr replied.

“I’d take that as a compliment,” Lena put in before Lita could respond. “That sort of command would take a Gift.”

“Oh, she has a Gift, all right,” Jakyr said. “The Gift of flaying someone’s hide from his back with a few words.”

Lita was opening her mouth to respond when she was interrupted by the sharp stamping of hooves on stone and two explosive equine snorts. She snapped her mouth shut, as Jakyr’s head jerked up.

:Chosen,:
said an unfamiliar Mindvoice,
:You can stop being an ass, or you can walk to the village in the morning. It’s up to you.:

Mags hid a smile. He’d bet that Jakyr had forgotten that Mags could Mindhear any Herald or Companion. He’d also bet that Jermayan bloody well remembered.

•   •   •

“Why’re we leaving now?” Mags asked Jakyr, as they rode out through the entrance into The Bastion in the thin light of early morning. “I thought we were gonna let the Bards an’ Bear go in first.”

“I don’t think we’ll need them,” Jakyr scoffed. “They can be just as useful finishing up making our headquarters fully functional. More.”

:Someone has his knickers in a knot,:
Dallen sniggered.

Mags couldn’t disagree. But he also didn’t mind seeing what happened if they approached this as if it were just any ordinary Circuit, and not one where the locals considered them intruding strangers. He wanted to see how Jakyr handled that, because that was the hallmark of a good Field Herald.

Mind, Mags was unlikely to be called on to fulfill the duties of a Field Herald . . .

But unlikely things had happened to him in the past.

It took them all morning to get to the Waystation just outside of town. Jakyr had told Mags that the condition of the Waystation, which the locals were required to keep supplied and tended, told you a great deal about the attitude of the locals toward Heralds.

So the condition of the Waystation they approached didn’t bode particularly well for their reception.

It was shuttered up tight, and while it wasn’t dilapidated, it was not by any means in particularly good shape. The pile of firewood beside it was meager. There was barely enough hay for a few days, and it looked and smelled like last year’s. When they opened the Waystation and checked the supplies, it was clear that no one had restocked this one since the last Herald had come through, about six months ago. There were no human supplies there, only grain for the Companions. Last year’s, just like the hay.

“We anticipated this,” Jakyr reminded Mags, as indeed they had. There was still enough green browse to satisfy the Companions without resorting to the dubious hay. They had brought their sleeping rolls and plenty of food for several days. They left the Waystation and proceeded to the village.

Shepherd’s Crossing was two streets crossing the main road, with a village square. A little girl out herding geese spotted them first, in the distance, and they could see her shooing her birds on ahead of her as she ran to report their arrival.

“I want you to keep your mind open for what you can pick up,” Jakyr said, a little grimly, as they watched the little girl disappear into a cottage. “I don’t need to tell you what and what not to do, just Mindspeak me if they’re hiding something.”

Mags nodded. The bells they had hung on their Companions’ bridles when they left the Waystation chimed cheerfully; they were the only thing cheerful hereabouts. The sky was overcast, and the village itself was anything but welcoming as they rode into it.

They were met at the village square by an authoritative man and four others. There was no sign of anyone else, not even peeking out windows or doors.

“Gi’ye afternoon, Herald,” the man said, his closed face revealing nothing.

“Afternoon, Headman Blakee,” Jakyr replied with casual cordialness. “When and where will your people hear the reading?”

“Here and now,” the headman said. Jakyr
tsk
ed.

“You know better than that, and I know you know,” he said immediately. “The law is the law. All your people above the age of ten years are to hear the reading of the King and Council’s Will in the new season. So, when are you gathering them, and where?”

There was some discontented muttering among the men; Jakyr waited while they talked, patient and stolid as an ox, without the least sign of impatience on his face. Mags brought all his shields down and allowed a few thoughts to brush against his, but it was all sullen resentment that every six months some white-clad busybody would show up, interrupt everyone’s working day, and waste their time reading out new laws that almost never applied to them.

“Inn, one candlemark,” the headman said, finally. “Get this over with.”

The inn was obvious by the wheat sheaf tied up over the door. Jakyr nodded acknowledgement, and the Companions moved the few paces over to it.

No one came to take them; Jakyr dismounted and began to lead Jermayan around to the back. Mags followed his example. There was a small lean-to stable and no visible stablehands. Jakyr left Jermayan under saddle but heaped both mangers with hay and a measure of grain—only fair considering the state of things back at that Waystation. Mags brought buckets of fresh water, and the two of them went around front and entered the common room.

The innkeeper took his time in coming over to them, considering there were no other customers at the moment. Jakyr ordered beer for both of them and paid for it on the spot before payment could be demanded.

Technically they were entitled to be served for nothing, and the chit Jakyr would leave would more than cover whatever they got. Obviously, though, the innkeeper would have been unpleasant about the chit. Jakyr anticipated the trouble and cut it off before it arose.

Gradually the room filled. Mags was pleased to see that both men and women were coming. At least the Headman was going to abide by the letter of the law.

At last the Headman reappeared. “This’s all my people,” he said gruffly to Jakyr, his eyes resentful. “Let’s get this over with.”

Jakyr stood up and read out the new laws, slowly and carefully, into the silence. Mags sensed some amusement over things that didn’t apply to these people—regulations regarding the number of goats that could be pastured on common land, for instance, since a village this far out didn’t have or need a commons—and some irritation over things that did, even when the law was a good one, like the yearly marking of borders by a surveyor from the Guard. But he didn’t pick up anything that seemed to require Jakyr’s attention.

As soon as Jakyr finished and sat down, people began deserting the room so quickly that you would have thought he had an infectious disease. Jakyr kept his face expressionless, but Mags sensed his irritation.

“Is that all, Herald?” the Headman asked, starting to move toward the door himself.

“I would be a poor Herald if it were,” Jakyr replied, with the unspoken
and you know that very well,
implied by the silence at the end of his sentence. He let that silence hang for a moment, waiting for the Headman to volunteer, and sighed when he did not. “I’ll be needing the records of your judgments for the last six months, if you please. We’ll be going over them together.”

Well, I
don’t
please!
the man’s thoughts shouted, but with a great sigh, he pulled a large book out of a satchel at his side, and sat down across from Jakyr and Mags.

One by one, with his finger tracing under the words, the Headman read out the date of his judgment and what it was.

“Dannel Brewer beat his wife. Fined four coppers.”

“Why four?” Jakyr interrupted. “The law says eight.”

“Foreby the bitch threw a stewpot at his head,” the Headman growled. “With the stew still in it.”

“And why did she throw a stewpot at his head?” Jakyr persisted.

“Foreby he came in drunk from reapin’.” The Headman said, exasperated.

“Ah.” Jakyr nodded. “I’d have thrown a stewpot at his head, myself. A man can lose a foot, reaping drunk.”

The Headman’s attitude lightened, an almost imperceptible bit. “Which is why I didno fine her. ’Twas a waste of good stew, but he got no dinner, and she refused to cook after he beat her, so I recked fourpence was enough on top of a empty belly.”

“Have they learned better?” Jakyr asked.

The Headman shrugged. “There’s no gettin’ drunk in that house afore dinner time and no more beatings.”

Jakyr nodded. “Next?”

They waded through judgment after judgment, until people began to file back into the inn, obviously wanting their beer and whatever they were accustomed to get with it. Jakyr stood up.

“We’ll begin again tomorrow morning, Headman,” he said formally. “Thank you for your time.”

With that, he headed for the door, with Mags following. It was already dark, and the innkeeper had lit the torch at the front door. They went around back, mounted up, and headed back to the Waystation.

“Anything?” Jakyr asked, as soon as they were clear of the village.

“Nothin’ important,” Mags replied. “We’re city folk with no call to be tellin’ them what t’do. They don’t like that the Guard’s gonna make sure they keep their boundaries straight. Headman thinks you got pride the size of a house, but you just might have a lick or two of sense.”

“I’m flattered,” Jakyr said dryly. “At least they don’t want to poison our beer.”

“It’s mostly they don’t like people outside of their own Lord tellin’ ’em what t’do, and they ain’t too fond of their own Lord doin’ it, neither,” Mags reported. “Guard was right. This’s gonna be a sticky Circuit.”

“I don’t mind, so long as it gets no worse.” They rode in silence the rest of the way to the Waystation, with Mags pondering that in his mind.

•   •   •

In the morning, their session with the Headman over small beer and buttered bread was interrupted by a commotion from outside. Jakyr paid no attention to it, and the scattered bits of thought that Mags picked up told him that the commotion was due to the arrival of the others. He expected all four to come into the inn, but it was only Lita and Lena.

The innkeeper greeted them with a
lot
more enthusiasm than he had Mags and Jakyr, and he and Lena engaged in a spirited bargaining session that nevertheless managed to be quiet enough that it didn’t interrupt Jakyr and the Headman. When they had struck a bargain to Lita’s liking, she and Lena left and came back again with an assortment of instruments. These, they set by the hearth, and the innkeeper fed them.

The Headman’s heart was obviously no longer in defending his judgments like a badger defending his sett. He kept eying Lita and Lena as if trying to figure how good they were just from how they were eating their luncheon (which was much better than the one the innkeeper had offered Mags and Jakyr). And instead of making Jakyr pry out every little detail, he was offering it all in one go, almost blurting it out. Mags caught the corner of Jakyr’s mouth quirking a little. Whether she meant to or not, Lita was making their job much easier.

The Headman heaved a great sigh of relief as they got to the end of his judgment book, shortly before supper. “I’ve nothing to complain about, Headman,” Jakyr said, as the man closed his book and stowed it away in his satchel. “I’ll not be needing to see anyone you called judgment on, unless
they
wish to bring something up before
me.
So I’ll be back in the morning to give them the opportunity. Meanwhile, the Crown thanks you for your cooperation.”