The Charnel Prince (20 page)

“No. Don’t you see? The boy is bait. It wants us to walk in there.”

“He’s still alive,” Stephen said. “That’s him I hear breathing.”

“Asp—” Winna began, but he hushed her. He walked his gaze through the treetops, but there was nothing but bare branches and a
sigh of wind.

He sighed. “Watch the trees,” he said. “I’ll get him.”

“No,” Stephen said. “I will. I can’t use a bow the way you can. If it’s really hiding in the trees, you’ve got the best chance of stopping it.”

Aspar considered that, then nodded. “Go, then. But be ready.” As Stephen advanced cautiously into the field, Aspar nocked an arrow to his bow and waited.

A flight of sparrows whirred through the trees. Then the forest was eerily silent.

Stephen reached the boy and knelt by him. “It’s bad,” he called to them. “He’s still bleeding. If we bandage him now, we might have a chance.”

“I don’t see anything,” Ehawk said.

“I know,” Aspar said. “I don’t like it.”

“Maybe you were wrong,” Winna suggested. “We don’t know that an utin—or whatever it is—is smart enough to set a trap.”

“The greffyn had men and Sefry traveling with it,” Aspar reminded her. He remembered the footprints. “This thing might, too. It doesn’t have to be smart enough itself.”

“Yah.”

He was missing something—he knew it. It had to have come into the clearing on foot. He had found only the one set of tracks in. He’d assumed it had left on the other side, then taken to the trees.

“
Utins could shrink to the size of a gnat or turn into moss
,” Winna had said.

“Stephen, come here,
now
,” Aspar shouted.

“But I—” His eyes widened, and his head nearly spun from his shoulders; then he lurched to his feet.

He hadn’t gone a yard when the ground seemed to explode, and in a cloud of rising leaves, something much larger than a man leapt toward Stephen.

LEOFF’S FINGERS DANCED ACROSS the red-and-black keys of the hammarharp, but his mind drifted into daymarys of corpses with eyes of ash and a town gone forever still beneath the wings of night. Darkness crept through his fingers and into the keyboard, and the cheerful melody he had been playing suddenly brooded like a requiem. Frustrated, he reached for his crutches and used them to stand, wincing at the pain from his leg.

He considered returning to his room to lie down, but the thought of that small dark chamber depressed him. The music room was sunny, at least, with two tall windows looking out across the city of Eslen and Newland beyond. It was well furnished with instruments, as well—besides the hammarharp, the were croths of all sizes, lutes and theorbos, hautboys, recorders, flageolettes and bagpipes. There was an ample supply of paper and ink, too.

Most of these things lay under a fine layer of dust, however, and none of the stringed instruments had been tuned in years. Leoff wondered exactly how long it had been since the court had employed a resident composer.

More pointedly, he wondered if the court employed one
now
.

When would he hear from the queen?

Artwair had as been as good as his word, finding Leoff quarters in the castle and getting him permission to use the music room. He’d had a very brief audience with the king, who had hardly seemed to know he was there. The queen had been there, beautiful and regal, and at her prompting, the king had commended him for his actions at Broogh. Neither had said anything about his appointment. And though a few suits of clothes had been made for him and meals came regularly to his chambers, in twice ninedays he had been given no commission.

So he had dabbled. He’d written down the song of the malend, arranging it for a twelve-piece consort and then—dissatisfied with the result—for thirty instruments. No consort so large had ever played, to his knowledge, but in his mind that was what he heard.

He’d made another stab at the elusive melody from the hills, but something kept stopping him, and he had laid that aside, instead beginning a suite of courtly dance music, anticipating the hoped-for commission—for a wedding, perhaps.

Through it all, the dead of Broogh haunted him, crying out for a voice. He knew what he needed to do, but he hesitated. He was afraid that the composition of so powerful a work as was forming in his mind might somehow drain him of his own life.

So he fretted, and poked about the music room, exploring the manuscrifts in its cabinets, tuning the stringed instruments, then tuning them again.

He was staring out the window at distant barges on the Dew when he heard a muffled sneeze. He turned to see who was there, but there was no one in the room. The door was ajar, and he could see ten yards of the hall beyond.

The hair on his neck pricking up, he walked slowly around the room, wondering if he had imagined the sound.

But then it came again, louder, from one of the wooden cabinets.

He stared at the source of the noise, fear waxing. Had they found him, the murderers from Broogh? Had they come for revenge, sent an assassin, fearing he might reveal them?

Carefully, he picked up the nearest thing at hand, an hautboy. It was heavy—and pointed.

He glanced back out into the hall. No guard was to be seen. He considered going to find one, and almost did, but instead, he steeled himself, advanced on the cabinet, and brandishing the hautboy, quickly grabbed the handle and yanked it open.

Wide eyes blinked up at him, and a small mouth gave a little gasp. The child within stared at him a moment, as Leoff relaxed.

The cabinet held a little girl, probably no more than six or seven years of age. She wore a blue satin gown, and her long brown hair was rather disarrayed. Her blue eyes seemed guileless.

“Hello,” he said after a moment. “You gave me rather a fright. What’s your name?”

“It’s Mery, please,” she replied.

“Why don’t you come on out, Mery, and tell me why you’re hiding in here.”

“Yes, please,” she said, and scooted out of the cramped space. She stood and then backed away from him.

“I’ll go now,” she said.

“No, wait. What were you doing in there?”

“Nobody used to be in here,” she said. “I would come in and play with the hammarharp. I like the way it sounds. Now you’re here, and I can’t play it, but I like to listen to you.”

“Well, Mery, you might have asked. I wouldn’t mind you listening sometimes.”

She hung her head a little. “I just try to stay quiet and not be seen. It’s best that way.”

“Nonsense. You’re a beautiful little girl. There’s no reason to be shy.”

She didn’t answer, but stared at him as if he were speaking Vitellian.

He pulled another stool up to the hammarharp. “Sit here. I’ll play you something.”

Her eyes widened further, and then she frowned, as if doubting him. “Truly?”

“Truly.”

She did as he said, settling on the stool.

“Now, what’s your favorite song?”

She thought for a moment. “I like ‘Round the Hill and Back Again.’”

“I know that one,” he said. “It was a favorite of mine when I was your age. Let’s see—does it go like this?” He picked out the melody line.

She smiled.

“I thought so. Now let me play it with two hands.” He started a simple bass line and played through again, and on the third pass added a counterpoint.

“It’s like a dance now,” she observed.

“Yes,” he said. “But listen, I can change it into a hymn.” He dropped the moving bass line and went into four-part harmony. “Or I can make it sad.” He shifted into a more plaintive mode.

She smiled again. “I like it like that. How can you make one song into so many songs?”

“That’s what I do,” he said.

“But how?”

“Well—imagine you want to say something. ‘I want some water to drink.’ How many ways could you say that?”

Mery considered. “Some water I want to drink?”

“Right. How else?”

“I’d like some water to drink, please.”

“Just so. Politely.”

“I want some water,
now
.”

“Commanding, yes. Angrily?”

“Give me some
water!
”
She suppressed a giggle at her feigned rage.

“And so on,” Leoff said. “It’s the same with music. There are many ways of expressing the same idea. It’s a matter of choosing the right ones.”

“Can you do it with another song?”

“Of course. What song would you like?”

“I don’t know the name of it.”

“Can you hum it?”

“I think so.” She concentrated, and began humming.

Two things struck Leoff immediately. The first was that she was humming the main theme from the “Song of the Malend,” which he’d just written down only a few days before.

The second was that she was humming it exactly in key, with perfect pitch.

“You heard that in here, didn’t you?”

She looked abashed. “Yes, please.”

“How many times?”

“Just once.”

“Once.” Interest went quicker in his chest. “Mery, would you play something on the hammarharp for me? Something you used to play when you came in here alone?”

“But you’re so much better.”

“But I’ve been playing longer, and I was trained. Have you ever had a lesson in music?” She shook her head.

“Play something, then. I’d like to hear it.”

“Very well,” she said. “But it won’t be good.” She settled onto the little stool and spread her tiny fingers on the keyboard and began to play. It was just a melody, a single line, but he knew it immediately as “The Fine Maid of Dalwis.”

“That’s really very good, Mery,” he said. He pulled up another stool next to her. “Play it again, and I’ll play with you.”

She started again, and he added only chords at first, then a walking bass line. Mery’s smile grew more and more delighted.

After they were done, she looked at him, her blue eyes glittering. “I wish I could play with both hands,” she said, “the way you do.”

“You could, Mery. I could teach you, if you would like.”

She opened her mouth, then hesitated. “Are you sure?” she asked.

“It would be my honor.”

“I’d like to learn.”

“Very well. But you must be serious. You must do what I say. You have an excellent ear, but the way you’re using your hands is wrong. You must place them thusly—”

Two bells passed almost without Leoff’s realizing it. Mery picked up the exercises quickly. Her mind and ear were quite amazing, and it delighted him to see her progress.

He certainly didn’t hear anyone approaching, not until they were rapping on the open door.

He swiveled in his chair. The queen, Muriele Dare, stood there. She wasn’t looking at him, but at Mery. The girl, for her part, hopped down quickly and bent her knee. Belatedly, Leoff overcame his surprise and tried to do the same, though his splint spoiled the effect.

“Mery,” the queen said in a soft, cold voice, “why don’t you run along?”

“Yes, Majesty,” she said, and started to scuttle off. But she turned and looked shyly at Leoff. “Thank you,” she said.

“
Mery
,” the queen said, a little more forcefully.

And the little girl was gone.

The queen turned an icy eye on Leoff then. “When did Lady Gramme commission you to teach her child music?” she asked.

“Majesty, I know no Lady Gramme,” Leoff said. “The child has been hiding here because she likes music. I discovered her today.”

The queen’s face seemed to relax a bit. Her voice softened incrementally. “I shall make certain she bothers you no more.”

“Majesty, I find the child delightful. She has an excellent ear, and is quick to learn. I would teach her without compensation.”

“Would you?” The chill was back, and Leoff suddenly began wondering who exactly Lady Gramme was.

“If it is permitted. Majesty, I know so little of this place. I do not even know, frankly, if I am employed here.”

“That is what I have come here to discuss.” She took a seat, and he stood watching her nervously, the crutches tight under his arms. In the hall, a guard stood at either side of the door.

“My husband did not mention hiring you, and the letter you had from him seems to have left your possession.”

“Majesty, if I may, the fire in the malend—”

“Yes, I know, and Duke Artwair saw the letter, and that is good enough for me. Still, in these days, I must take great care. I made inquires about you in various places, and that took some time.”

“Yes, Majesty. Of course I understand.”

“I do not know much about music,” the queen said, “but I am given to understand you have an unusual reputation, for a composer. The Church, for example, has censured your work on several occasions. There were even allegations of shinecraft.”