Donnel's Promise (13 page)

‘Wouldn’t say no,’ he mumbled through a mouthful.

She caught Fenn’s eye. ‘Do you suppose Nolan’s all right? We’d have no way of knowing if he got into difficulty.’

‘He’s big enough to take care of himself.’

Risha lapsed into silence, her eyes following Garv as he lit the lamps that hung at either end of the bar. The long northern twilight was beginning to fade.

Croft finished the cake, burped and leant back in his chair. ‘That was one fine meal. If that woman wasn’t already married, I’d offer on the spot.’

‘Ignoring the small matter of whether she’d have you,’ Fenn said.

Dora returned soon after, smiling an acknowledgement to Croft’s effusive praise. ‘Your friend had best be back soon,’ she said as she gathered their plates. ‘You know there’s a curfew after dark?’

‘We didn’t,’ Fenn answered, ‘but someone will likely tell him.’

Risha glanced toward the window. The sky beyond had turned a deep shade of lilac.

‘You’d best hope it’s not the city guard. A night in the cells wouldn’t be the best introduction to Fratton. Though they’re not as bad as they were, or so they say.’

She was halfway across the room when the door
opened. ‘There you are then, just in time. I’ll fetch your meal, shall I?’

Nolan thanked her and sauntered toward them.

‘You took your time.’ Risha’s questions overflowed. ‘Did you see them? Are they well? And Gorth’s news: did they mention it?’

Nolan pulled out a chair and sank into it. ‘It’s never so simple.’ He took the tankard of ale Croft offered.

‘You know there’s a curfew?’ Fenn asked.

‘The guards at the castle gate were quite informative on the topic, if no other. You’ve eaten?’

‘Aye, and worth the wait,’ Croft assured him.

Risha’s impatience got the better of her. ‘How is it not simple?’

He met her eyes. ‘I didn’t see them. Ah, that does smell good.’

‘Believe it,’ Croft said, as Dora placed a laden plate in front of Nolan.

‘There’s seconds if you want and cake to follow,’ Dora said. ‘You met no trouble? We were concerned you might not be aware of the curfew.’

‘If I’d been caught on the wrong side of it, the worst would surely have been missing out on such a meal as this.’

Dora dimpled in response to his smile. Fenn rolled her eyes.

‘Where have you been then?’ Risha demanded, as soon as the woman was out of earshot. ‘You’ve been gone hours. I thought you must have found my father at least.’

‘The sergeant I spoke to was quite specific: no one gets into the Keep without a pass. In other circumstances I’d applaud them — they’ve had enough trouble of late. But it doesn’t help our situation.’

Risha slumped back in her chair. Her father had no idea she was here. She felt like a spring unwound.

‘Can we get a message in somehow?’ Fenn asked.

‘If we knew who to trust.’

Dora returned in the midst of a thoughtful silence.

‘Don’t hurry yourself, but it’s the last slice and Garv was threatening to eat it himself.’ She set a plate in front of Nolan.

Risha drew a breath. Straws were all they had to clutch at. ‘Have you ever met a trader called Marit?’

Dora turned, her head cocked to one side. ‘Big man, with a beard?’

Risha nodded.

‘They’ve stayed here once or twice. Was it him you worked for?’

‘A few years ago now.’ She could feel Nolan’s disapproval, though his expression remained bland. Dora’s eyes were bright and intent as a bird’s.

‘One of the other traders came from FrattonSeat; last time they came through he stayed on here, I heard.’

‘That could be. What’s his name?’

‘Sulba,’ Risha lied.

Dora’s shoulders relaxed. ‘Not a name I know. It doesn’t sound Frattonese.’

Risha endeavoured to look disappointed. ‘Perhaps he’s moved on again. There’s a saying among traders — once a traveller, always a traveller.’

‘I believe it. You might ask Garv about your friend. He gets about more than me.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Risha said.

‘And some people go by more than one name, of course. It can make them hard to find.’

As soon as she disappeared within the kitchen Nolan turned a cool glare on Risha. ‘We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile.’

‘We’re also supposed to be finding a way to get a message to Donnel or Margetta. And she knows Barc, that much is clear.’

‘Indeed. And is that good or bad? We can’t afford to take risks.’

She raised her brows. ‘I’d say we can’t afford not to.’

‘Risk or not, it’s clear Dora knows something,’ Fenn said.

‘So do we,’ Risha said. ‘The Red Door is an inn that Marit believes safe. And that is information worth having.’

12

Fratton's keepers

T
hough it was barely past dawn when they made their way to the outer gates of the Keep a line of petitioners was already waiting. Most seemed to carry passes, but at least half were turned away regardless.

‘Don't do anything to draw attention to yourselves,' Nolan said.

Over breakfast Risha had argued that she and Fenn might stand a better chance of talking their way through the gates, but she was beginning to doubt it would prove true.

When they inched their way to the front, the guard didn't hesitate. ‘No pass, no entry. Step aside.'

‘How do we get a pass?' she asked.

‘Not my problem. Next.'

As they were jostled aside an elderly man spoke softly. ‘Castilian is your best option. Are you traders or looking for work?'

‘Neither,' she said. ‘I'm trying to find a friend who used to work here.'

He looked doubtful. ‘Long ago? The dungeons were cleared when our lady returned.'

‘No, since then.'

‘Then you'll need to get your friend to secure a pass from within.'

‘Is there work in the kitchens, do you know?' Fenn asked.

‘Only for those with a pass.' He moved away as the queue shuffled forward.

Risha rejoined the line at the rear. When they reached the guards she spoke politely. ‘I'd like to see the castilian.'

‘Pass?'

‘I'm new in the city. I haven't a pass. But the castilian will provide one.'

The man looked at her properly. ‘I've seen you already. Curd, you had this one before?'

The guardsman who had already turned her away glanced over. ‘Hour ago. Some people don't know when to give up.'

‘Scat. And if I see you again today, I might lose patience.'

Risha glared at the man's implacable face. ‘But if you won't let me see the castilian, how can he issue me a pass?'

The younger guardsman swaggered over. ‘You've bin told. You ain't getting in. Now why don't you bugger off?'

‘After I see your commander.'

‘Oh, our commander. And he'll appreciate being called down here for the likes of you?'

She pictured Muir's face. ‘Very much, as it happens. Why not put it to the test?'

‘Do I look stupid to you?'

Risha elected not to reply. Fenn's fingers closed on her arm. ‘Leave it. We'll find another way.'

The man leant so close she could smell his breath, which was none too sweet. ‘Tell you what: you got favours
to offer, I might put in a good word.'

‘Is there a problem here?'

The guardsman stepped hastily backward. ‘No
problem
, Sergeant. Just a couple of doxies too thick to hear what they're being told plain and simple.'

Risha's brows lifted at the term ‘doxy' but she kept her tone mild. ‘Good morning, Sergeant. I wonder if you might pass a message to the commander of the guard, to say that Lyse is here to see him.'

‘I already told you—'

The newcomer raised a hand and the man's words abruptly cut off.

‘We don't run errands.' The sergeant spread his legs, thumbs hooked in the sword belt that stretched around his jutting belly. He was florid-faced, bull-necked and looked no more tractable than his guardsmen. ‘Have you got a pass?'

‘No, but if we could speak to—'

‘No pass, no entry.'

‘Come away,' Fenn muttered.

Settling his broad backside against the wall the
sergeant
picked his teeth with a fingernail, inspecting in some detail the debris he dislodged.

Risha glanced at the sky. They had wasted enough time. She moved sideways so that she could see past the guards and through the cobbled barbican.

The sergeant wiped his hand on his jerkin. ‘You still here?'

‘We have a message for your commander,' Risha repeated.

The man spat a gob of phlegm onto the stones. ‘Like I said, we don't deliver messages.' He drew out each word as if he thought her deaf or stupid.

‘I suggest you make an exception. If you don't, you'll regret it.'

The man pushed off the wall. ‘Now, that sounded like a threat.'

‘A poor word choice rather than a threat,' Fenn said, taking a firm grip on Risha's arm. ‘We'll leave you in peace.'

‘Not so fast.'

At his tone the surrounding crowd shuffled back.

‘Making threats against the guard: now that's an offence that can get you locked up.'

The younger guardsman leered. ‘And we could do with a bit of sport after-hours.'

Croft was suddenly at her side. ‘Lay one finger on her and you'll find your balls tied in knots around your neck,' he said pleasantly.

The sergeant's eyes narrowed. At his barked command two more guardsmen appeared from the gatehouse.

A hand closed on Risha's shoulder. It was Nolan. ‘Disappear. Fast.'

He swung her behind him. Fenn caught her as she stumbled and towed her into the crowd. It seemed to melt away around them. Glancing back to find Croft, Risha caught a flash of movement through the barbican. More guardsmen or — her heart lurched. ‘Muir!'

Shucking off Fenn's hand she darted forward. She was within the shadow of the barbican when a heavy arm clamped her torso, her breath catching in a hitch as a hand tightened on her breast. ‘Tasty.'

She kicked backward. The arm that held her loosened and Risha stumbled to her knees. Croft was near buried beneath a welter of guards. Someone shoved her from
behind, sending her sprawling on the stones. A weight landed on her back, a broad hand smearing her cheek into the cobbles.

‘What in Sargath's name is going on here?'

‘Nothing we can't handle, sir. You needn't trouble yourself.'

With an effort Risha got her teeth into the soft side of her captor's hand. He pulled it away with a yelp, his weight on her back shifting. Risha twisted her head to look up.

‘I know you,' Muir said, looking at Fenn.

He was no more than a few feet away. Risha's words dried in her throat. The last time she'd seen him had been after Westlaw's siege of LeMarc's citadel. He'd aged since; he looked worn and thin. A scar, puckered and new, ran across his right cheek.

‘Aye, you do.' Fenn's voice. ‘Our interests are more in accord now than then, though broadly speaking they were always aligned.'

The soldier holding Fenn's arms released her as if stung. She rolled her shoulders and tugged her tunic straight.

There was a general shifting in the men around them. Nolan pulled free of the guardsmen who held him and stepped into Muir's line of vision. Risha saw his recognition register.

‘Captain Nolan.' Muir paused. ‘You're keeping
interesting
company.'

‘More so than you might expect,' Risha said. Her voice came out rusty. The weight on her back abruptly disappeared and she sat up, pushing a hand through her dishevelled hair; it wasn't how she'd thought to meet him.

There was a hiatus of stillness, then Muir strode
forward
and lifted her to her feet. He looked as though he couldn't quite believe what his eyes told him. She offered a shaky smile. His mouth opened; she interrupted his words before they could form.

‘Hello, Muir.' Her breath was suddenly tight in her chest. ‘Did you get my message? I asked them to tell you Lyse was here to see you.' She willed him to understand.

His eyes searched her face. ‘You always did have a tendency to surprise.'

A throat was cleared — Nolan's. Muir's hands fell from Risha's arms, leaving her feeling unbalanced though she was stood firmly on her feet.

‘Are you hurt?' Muir asked.

‘Bruised.' She glanced at the guardsman who'd thrown her — and groped her breast: the memory made her eyes narrow. ‘I believe I'll recover.'

Muir's eyes followed hers. The guardsman stared stoically ahead, the muscles of his throat bobbing spasmodically. ‘Noted,' Muir said softly.

She frowned. What had happened to him, to add that tone to his repertoire?

‘Sergeant.'

‘Sir.' The man's discomfort was clear in the single short syllable.

‘Am I to understand there was a message?'

‘I was endeavouring to ascertain whether you should be disturbed, sir. In our defence, sir, the applicants resorted to threats, sir.'

‘That must have been alarming for a troop of Fratton's finest: a couple of women making threats.' His eyes scoured the group of guardsmen. ‘In future, Sergeant, messages
will be promptly delivered. I, and I alone, will determine their relevance.'

‘Yessir.' The man stared directly ahead, a flush
darkening
his face.

‘We'll speak of this again, Sergeant.' That tone again. ‘Dismissed.'

‘Sir.'

The guardsmen dispersed as rapidly as they could without further loss of dignity.

‘Lyse,' Muir said, his voice soft as a caress, even saying a name not hers. A memory of the winter they'd shared in the stillness of Lacstone Marsh rushed into her mind.

‘It's good to see you, Muir.'

His expression was impossible to decipher. ‘You have me at a disadvantage. And there are better places than this to talk. Though not many,' he added.

Risha made the introductions. ‘Nolan and Fenn you know, and this is Croft, of the Havrean guard. Commander Muir.' The title felt odd in her mouth.

‘First impressions notwithstanding, I bid you all welcome. We have much to talk about.'

‘We do,' Nolan agreed.

‘The Lady Margetta, and others, will be more than delighted to see you.'

‘And I them,' Risha answered.

Muir led them through the barbican into an
irregularly
shaped courtyard. Glancing around the wide space Risha recalled Barc describing the gallows Somoran had set here. There was no sign of it now. Instead, carpenters and stonemasons were at work.

‘The castle suffered superficial damage in the recent disturbances,' Muir said.

‘We heard it was an uprising.'

‘Nothing so serious.'

She wasn't sure she believed him. He met her
dubious
gaze and shrugged. ‘A madcap scheme hatched by a handful of disgruntled courtiers — remnants of Somoran's court.'

‘Acting alone or with outside assistance? From the west, perhaps.'

His eyes roved the courtyard as he answered. ‘Such conversations are better had in private.'

She looked around. There seemed no one near enough to overhear them.

Muir smiled tightly. ‘The first rule of Fratton is “Trust no one”. It is not an easy lesson but, once learnt, I suspect it will prove hard to forget.'

With his jaw clamped and the skin around his eyes taut with strain, he looked older than she knew him to be.

Turning from her scrutiny Muir led them up steep stone steps to a door embellished with curling ironwork. The hall within was boldly decorated in Fratton's green and blue, the broad beams of its high ceiling intricately carved. Muir led them aside to a circular stone stair. At its head a small antechamber gave onto a long gallery that looked out over the lake.

Risha paused at an arched window. Ranks of conifers blanketed the serried hills and headlands.

‘The gallery faces south,' Muir said. ‘On a fine day you can see clear to the southern tip of the lake.'

The watercraft plying the sun-splashed water were dwarfed by the mountains that rose in sharp-toothed ridges above.

‘Standing here you'd never know the city exists. It
feels shut off from the world.'

Muir said nothing.

‘It's beautiful,' she added.

‘In summer. I wouldn't recommend it in winter.'

She had lived with northern cold for fourteen years, and nodded.

Muir led them on through a series of corridors and antechambers before pausing at the foot of a short stair.

‘The place is a warren,' Fenn said.

‘FrattonSeat was built over several centuries, with each addition designed to add complexities and spyholes as much as grandeur,' Muir answered.

Risha studied him. ‘Being here has made you bitter.'

‘Realistic.' His face in the dull light of the stone passageway looked harsh and unforgiving. He turned to include the others. ‘These are Margetta's private rooms — as secure from prying eyes and ears as we have been able to make them. We can talk safely within.'

‘Will you warn her first?' Risha remembered how fragile the girl had seemed, like a baby sparrow fallen too early from its nest.

He nodded. At the head of the stair two guards stood to attention, stepping aside from the door at a gesture from Muir. Nerves began to skitter in Risha's belly.

‘Wait.'

Muir turned.

‘Will my father be here, too?' In the three years since they had met she had spent barely three months in his company. Perhaps this time—