Stained Glass Monsters (2 page)

Relieved beyond words, Rennyn stood away
from the distortion, catching her breath. Done. Done without
notice.

Businesslike, she moved to stand near
the woman's head, and reached into the pocket of her skirt to close
her hand around cold crystal. Her left hand she held against her
chest, as if still catching her breath, pressing the familiar shape
of her own focus against bare skin. A tingle ran over her, and all
the hair on her arms and neck stood up.

She could taste it, could almost see the
forces which warped the air in front of her, through the figure on
the ground to a vast space beyond. She had to lock her knees or
fall, for the weight of the distortion swayed briefly to envelop
her, to press the stone in her pocket hard into the flesh of the
hand which circled it. Her vision blurred, and for the barest
moment most of her was standing in a dark place outside the world,
with a sketch of a village in the distance and a blaze of white in
the shape of a woman at her feet.

An eye-blink was all that was needed.
Rennyn let go of both stones with a sigh, and looked away as if
bored with Falk's new curiosity. Done. Done and done. It was time
to head home.

"My eyes have come over queer, Danel,"
complained the man nearest her. "Let's have lunch now."

A good plan. But Rennyn paused,
surveying the patch of green around her one last time. A fortunate
location, not in the heart of the village. Hedge to the south,
buildings to the north, a tree shading a puddle-pond far to the
east. Closest were the back gardens of a number of houses slicing
southwest, some with fences, some without. A girl had gone into a
small shed at the near corner of one of the lots. Beyond, where the
house should be, was a collapsed tangle of charred timber, the
remains of an old fire surrounded by an extensive and well-tended
vegetable garden.

Chewing her lip, Rennyn left the circle
and counted steps to the rear wall of the shed. Too close.

She could hear movement inside, and
circled the rough building to look in the open door. A narrow bed,
a shelf, a brazier, pots, pans, clothing. It was surprisingly neat
and clean, and barely large enough to accommodate the wary girl who
had turned to look up at her. A delicate and pretty child of
fourteen or so: blonde hair raggedly cropped to short curls, a
sharp little chin and very blue eyes. The straight, dark brows
lowering above them declared their determined rejection.

"Can I help you?" the girl asked,
careful politeness underlain with hostility.

"I – was told you're available to run
errands," Rennyn said, making some quick guesses. The child
obviously lived here, and could probably use the coin.

"Sometimes," the girl said. She made a
general gesture toward the busy crowds. "Not right now."

"Ah. Do you, then, know of anyone who
would be available? It's important to me – I can pay a sennith for
half a day's work."

That shifted her, rapid calculation
flickering through blue eyes. However much money the village might
be making at the moment, little of it would trickle down to the
children set to handing out tickets or playing fetch and carry.

"What's it involve?"

Good question. "I was to meet a friend
in...Morebly." Rennyn lowered her eyes demurely. "My father does
not approve, and it has taken much to arrange. But my family's
plans have changed, and, well – I must send word to him. The Gold
Knight Hostelry. It just requires a note to be delivered before
sunset, so he will not worry."

"Morebly," the girl said slowly. Two
hours' walk away – easily done before dark, but not to return.

"I will add five petthine for your
night's accommodation. Will you do it?"

"I – yes. All right."

Rennyn smiled, projecting relief. "Thank
you. It's so important that he know where I've gone. You need only
leave the note with the hosteller: he will ask if he has received
any messages when he arrives. A moment."

She turned away, groping in the purse
dangling from her wrist. There was a crumpled scrap of paper,
fortunately. She had nothing prepared, but with her back turned she
willed into existence a line of script, something suitably maudlin.
It was even an advantage that the conjuring would fade in a day or
two.

"My family simply won't understand," she
added, handing over paper and coin. "You are doing me a great
service."

"It's no problem, Miss," the girl
replied, with just a hint of underlying scorn. Then she looked up,
sniffing, frowning at the blameless blue sky.

Rennyn paused. "Tell me," she said,
"Were you here when this...apparition arrived?"

"At this very spot," the girl replied
readily, probably having fielded such questions all day.

"What was the weather like?"

"The weather? It wasn't raining, if
that's what you mean. Smelled like it was going to storm, but it
was clear like it is now." The girl sniffed again, looking
puzzled.

Rennyn stole a hurried glance back
toward the crowd. "Ah – I think that's my sister calling me. Thank
you again."

"Good luck to you, Miss," the girl said,
tucking the note away inside her skirt pocket.

Rennyn nodded, and took herself off. An
unnecessary thing, but the idea of the girl sleeping the night in
that shed would have haunted her. Mage-blood, too. It would have
been a waste.

Romantic ninnies were profitable. A
whole sennith, just for a couple of hours' walk. Even with the
crowds come for the White Lady, Kendall wouldn't earn a quarter
that in a week, which made it worth risking leaving her garden
unguarded. And the hosteller hadn't charged her nearly five
petthine to spend the night, either.

The only bad thing about the sudden trip
to Morebly had been the arrival of a coach complete with outriders,
which had passed Kendall just as she joined the drift of gawkers
heading out of Falk. It had taken all her will to press on without
waiting to see the new arrivals, or at least try and get a better
look at the crest embossed on the door. But interesting strangers
weren't worth the chance of not making Morebly before the sun set,
and being outside a circle after dark.

She'd set out as early as she dared on
the return trip, hoping the coach would still be around, but of
course the sun was well up before the familiar roofs of home came
into view. The crowds were already building, even so early. Kendall
was just thinking about how the Mayor had said the White Lady was
the best thing to happen to Falk when she realised something was
wrong.

No chatter. Instead a low murmur tinged
with shock, with the air of carnival totally gone. People weren't
queued at the stalls, or waiting in line to enter the Green. They
were crowded five-deep around the rope circle, staring at something
to their right.

Wriggling through, Kendall caught her
breath. The Back Green had sunk! And the trees on the far side had
been knocked down. The White Lady was still there, not looking at
all different except for being about a foot lower than she'd been
yesterday. Kendall could see a line marking the circle where the
heaviness above her had ended. But now – Kendall copied the person
next to her and held out a hand. The weird force which pinned the
White Lady to the Green had moved all the way out...here.

Kendall finally looked right, to the
line of flattened plants, smashed fences, and splintered wood.

"No–!"

Forcing her way wildly through the
crowd, she ran past strangers standing in familiar yards, and
slammed straight into that invisible weight. She fell forward and
lay there, a crushed, panting bug, staring at the trampled gardens,
and flattened remains of a small garden shed which was everything
she had in this world.

"Kendall!"

Harry Lippon. He pulled her backward out
of heaviness and clutched at her, face all eyes. "You weren't –
you're – you're... Where have you
been
, Kendall?"

But Kendall had no time for Harry
Lippon. Jerking away, she surveyed the remains of her home. It was
only a few feet in, the wreckage fanned out in a spray toward the
outside of the circle. There were people standing in her gardens,
but she didn't see that she'd be able to get them out.

"I've got to get my stuff," she said,
determinedly.

"Stubborn brat," said a hoarse voice. Ma
Lippon, arms folded across her massive chest. "Should have known
you'd turn up in one piece."

Kendall lifted her chin mutinously. She
wasn't going to let Ma Lippon get her claws in her, just because –
just because...

"Ay-eh, and here I was thinking I'd
never enjoy that black glare again." Ma Lippon reached out and
tousled Kendall's hair in the way Kendall particularly hated. As if
she was some toothless babe, some puppy too stupid to take care of
itself.

"When did it happen?" Kendall asked,
stepping out of reach.

"Just on dawn. Where were you, girl? One
of the Sentene went in and checked for your body, and no-one knew
what to make of it when he couldn't find you. Thought you'd been
swallowed up by the Devourer himself."

"Morebly. Just a delivery." Kendall
shrugged irritably, trying to think what she could do now. Get her
stuff, yes, but what then? She wouldn't let Ma Lippon take her
over, like she'd been itching to do these past two years. She– "Did
you say Sentene?"

"Three of them," Harry said, with a
glance at the crowd gathering around his mother. "They arrived
yesterday afternoon."

That must have been who was in the
coach. Sentene were monster hunters, special soldiers whose job it
was to get rid of the nastiest of the Night Roamers. They were said
to be all mages or sword-masters or both, and for three of them to
come see the White Lady meant she must be particularly – what? A
monster?

Kendall glared at the centre of the
Green. Nothing good, anyway. Not from where Kendall was standing.
Snorting, she went as close as she could to the remains of her
shed. Her savings were hidden by the remains of Gran's house, but
she wanted her clothes, and the few precious things she'd salvaged
from the fire.

It wasn't an easy thing. Even taking one
step into the heaviness was enough to put Kendall on her knees, and
holding out a rake to try and claw some of the debris out of the
circle was even harder. But she found herself with many helpers,
and it turned into a competition between the strongest men of the
village and the visitors to see who could cross a few feet of
wood-spattered grass and pick up a piece of clothing. Showing off,
but she had to be glad of them.

Soon enough she had a battered
collection, and retreated away from the crowds to the back wall of
Gran's ruined house to sort out what was still of any use. She set
herself right next to a certain brick and, double-checking that
no-one was near, dug in the dirt beneath until she found a small
tin. Normally she wouldn't risk carrying her savings about, but
things were too strange right now, so she quickly stuffed the tin
into her big carry-bag.

Kendall had just picked up the tattered
remains of her favourite shirt when a step right behind her made
her start. Someone had been watching–? She turned hurriedly and
found herself eye-to-eye with the hem of a long black coat. Staring
upwards, her eyes widened as she found curling lines of red and
gold tracing their way up to the instantly recognisable image of a
golden bird, small and elegant, head looking back over its shoulder
at the great flaming tail pouring down the coat's front. The
Phoenix of the Montjustes, the symbol only worn by the Queens'
men.

There wasn't much else she could see.
The coat was all-enveloping, covering even the hands, with an
outsized round collar so high and wide Kendall couldn't even
glimpse the face from this angle. It was like the coat itself had
walked up behind her.

"Do you have time for a few words?"

The voice was a woman's, reassuringly
ordinary, and Kendall nodded, feeling a little less like she was
about to be turned into a frog or something. When the Sentene
turned and walked away it took her a moment to realise she was
expected to follow. Pausing to grab up her bag left Kendall far
enough behind so that she could see the top of the woman's head.
Carroty-red hair, not at all the proper colour for a soldier who
hunted Night Roamers.

Conscious of the interest of the crowds,
Kendall trailed the Sentene to Micajah's Hostelry. The coach she'd
seen the previous evening was sitting out front, and one of the
outriders, dressed in dark brown and burnt orange, stood by the
door so that everyone would know who was inside.

The Hostelry had been full to
overflowing the previous day, but it seemed the Sentene had turned
everyone out. Kendall followed the woman through the silent
entry-hall into the taproom to the right, eyes widening in awed
interest. All the tables had been drawn back to the walls and a
woman in a dark travelling dress was kneeling in the middle of a
complex circle of weird writing chalked on the well-swept floor.
Magic. The very idea made Kendall's nose itch.

"Here's your stray, Captain," said the
Sentene woman, as Kendall belatedly noticed there was a third
person in the room, standing near the far door. A man this time,
lost in the gloom so that only the Phoenix was properly
visible.

"Put her in the corner for now," the man
said, and Kendall shivered. His voice was strange, whispery and
thinned out. Definitely creepy.

What did they mean by 'your stray'? What
had she done that Sentene wanted to talk to her about anyway? But
still, this was ten times more interesting than anything she'd read
in the newssheets, so Kendall obediently took herself to a chair in
the corner and joined the other two in watching the woman kneeling
in the circle.

She looked totally out of place on
Micajah's floor. Her dress wasn't fancy but it was quality, and her
iron-shot black hair was braided up in a way that Kendall couldn't
imagine spending the time over. She wasn't doing anything much,
just kneeling there with her eyes closed and her hands held loosely
at her sides. But the air felt thick, and made Kendall want to
sneeze. It was a disappointment when, after a long while where
exactly nothing happened, the woman just opened her eyes and let
out her breath.