The Cup and the Crown (10 page)
As Lord Worthington came through the doorway, Richard saw him turn to the messenger who’d guided him there and give him a friendly nod. Not a bow, most certainly not a bow, but an acknowledgment that the boy had walked across town on his account and thanks for doing it.
That was one mistake too many. The shy smile had been one thing—unlikely, to be sure, though perhaps he didn’t yet realize what a lowly sort of fellow Richard was. But to give the messenger a second thought, let alone a nod and a smile—
that
had been bloody careless.
Why, you precious fool,
Richard thought as he shut the door behind Tobias,
you’re no more a lord than my Charley is!
THE MAN WAS APTLY NAMED:
Richard Strange. He bowed and scraped as though the king himself had come to stay. “Here is your bedchamber, milord.” “Here is a small tray of humble food, milord.” Yet he said it all with an edge of—what? Irony?
Malice?
Probably both, Tobias decided.
It was galling to accept food that was so grudgingly offered. But Master Pieter, for all his attention to ancient history, and maps, and magnifying domes, had neglected to offer them any dinner, and Tobias was famished. So he did eat, though he tried not to seem overeager about it.
The little dog kept sniffing at his boots—he probably caught the scent of horses—and he reached down quite naturally and scratched him behind the ears.
“Come away, Charley,” Richard said, scooping up the dog and holding him in his lap. “You mustn’t bother the great gentleman.”
It was all Tobias could do not to scream—or stalk out of the house, slamming the door behind him. But instead he drew a deep breath and continued to eat while his host watched—as though Tobias were some kind of loathsome but fascinating creature: a large, hairy spider or a slimy water-leech bloated with blood.
Finally Richard leaned forward and posed a question.
“If it wouldn’t be too probing to ask,
your lordship
—where lies your estate? I know sommat of Westria, as I was born there.”
“It’s in the south, on the River Seren. Where in Westria were you born?”
“At Bergestadt, in the north. So your estate, my lord—is it a
large
place? Do a bit of hunting down there?”
“No, not large,” Tobias said. “And I’ve done a little hunting. Not much.”
“I see. Lots of dogs in your kennel? I have a particular interest in dogs, as you can imagine.”
Tobias set his slice of cheese back on the tray and studied Richard openly. “A small kennel,” he said, “on my small estate
.
”
“You could build it up, my lord, buy yourself some purebred stock, get yourself a first-rate huntsman. Money is of no importance, I’m sure, to a great nobleman like you.”
Tobias closed his eyes in despair. It was as though the man suspected him of lying and was trying to catch him out. And though he wasn’t especially proud by nature, he hated being mocked. So he carefully moved aside the tray and folded his arms on the table.
“You can stop calling me ‘my lord,’” he said.
“Ha!” Richard cried, exultant. “I
knew
you weren’t a lord the minute I saw you!”
“Then you were mistaken, for I am a lord. And I really do have a rather nice, rather small estate on the bank of the Seren River. But I wasn’t born a gentleman, as you rightly suspected. I was given my lands and title by royal decree for doing the king a favor.”
“What sort of favor?”
“Saving his life. Before that, I worked in the stable yard.”
Richard was grinning now. Not the gardener’s boy, but close enough. “So what shall I call you if not ‘my lord’?”
“My name is Tobias.”
“Well then, Tobias, I’ve been appallingly rude, and I beg your forgiveness. It had nothing at all to do with you, just a misunderstanding—and an old ghost that haunts my soul sometimes and makes me foolish. Can we start over again? All forgiven, all forgotten?”
“Of course we can.”
Tobias looked away, thinking, then turned back to his host again, resolved to speak plainly. “Richard, I’m afraid I may need your help.”
“I think you very well might. But I won’t know for sure till you tell me your situation—how you came to Harrowsgode and why they let you into the city.”
Tobias ran his fingers through his hair, grabbing a clump and giving it a tug. He’d done this since childhood whenever he was nervous or afraid—as he was now. “We were sent to Austlind by the king of Westria to buy a special cup made years ago by my lady’s grandfather, William.”
“What lady?”
“Her name is Molly, and she likewise served the king and was raised to great estate. She was a scullion before, if you wish to know.”
“It doesn’t matter in the least,” Richard said, solemn now. “So it was just the two of you on this journey?”
“No. We had a knight to protect us as well as a translator, and Molly’s lady companion. They’re still in the village.”
“All right. Go on.”
“We went to Faers-Wigan first; that’s a crafts town where the grandfather lived in his later years. But when William died, his family having fled to Westria, the entire estate reverted to the crown. There was nothing left for us to find.”
“But?”
“William wasn’t a native of Faers-Wigan; he was already full-grown when he arrived. Molly learned that he’d come from the far north—”
“—a place called Harrowsgode.”
“Yes.”
“But how did you manage to find it? Did someone give you directions?”
Tobias gave a little snort. “North. By the sea.”
“And yet you found your way across a pathless plain and discovered that clever little cleft in the mountain?”
Tobias picked up a strawberry and nibbled at it thoughtfully. “A raven led us,” he said.
“You’re joking.”
“No.”
“And then they invited you into the city, though it’s closed to foreigners. This is all quite fantastical, Tobias.”
“All the same, it’s true. Molly’s one of them, remember. Descended from the Magnus clan by way of her grandfather. They seemed right eager to have her.”
“That much I understand. But what about you?”
“Well, Molly and I are . . . um . . . betrothed.” He still couldn’t say that without blushing. “She refused to come without me.”
“And where is she now?”
“Staying with a distant relative, Claus Magnusson. But I don’t know where he lives, nor how to contact her; and I’m beginning to be afraid. . . .”
Richard nodded as if in agreement. “Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there’s a lot I need to tell you. But bear with me a moment. It grows dark, and my eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
He set Charley down on the floor and went to the sideboard for a small silver pitcher. He carried it over to one of the peculiar candlesticks that sat on the table. Tobias had noticed them earlier and wondered what they were—for at the top of each one, where candles should have been, was a shallow silver cup; and resting in each cup was a stone. You’d think they were something precious, being displayed like that, yet they looked like common river stones.
Tobias watched as Richard poured a thin stream of clear liquid into each of the cups. In the time it took to draw a breath and let it out again, the stones began to glow, filling the room with a soft, greenish light.
“Coldfire,” Richard explained. “Don’t know how it works exactly, but it’s a great improvement on candles. Safer, you know, less chance of setting yourself and your house on fire.”
“I’m amazed.”
“They’re very advanced, these Harrowsgode folk.” He put the pitcher back on the sideboard and returned to his seat. “That’s better,” he said. “I can see you now.”
He sat for a moment, gathering his thoughts.
“I’m afraid that what I’m going to say will be rather hard to hear. And there’s a lot to tell.”
Tobias nodded, dread creeping over him.
“You’ll have noticed how the Harrowsgode folk keep to themselves. But they set a great store on wisdom, and they want the best of everything. So they send a few of their people—they call ’em Voyagers—out into the world to learn about new things and bring back all manner of treasures. They’re big on books and maps, but it could be anything, really: seeds for new plants, precious stones, musical instruments, paintings, scientific devices. Ideas, too: ways of doing things that are different from their own.”
He paused, rolled his neck, and shook out his shoulders. “I
am
getting to the point.”
Tobias waited.
“Sometimes they bring back people, foreigners like me. They want us for our particular skills: the knowledge of how to make fine, hand-knotted carpets, or fluency in a language that the Harrowsgode folk don’t know. In my case they wanted my ratting dogs and my knowledge of how to use them.
“There are about thirty of us here. They give us nice houses to live in and pay us handsomely—more money than we need, really, in case you were wondering about my silver tray, and the cups, and whatnot. But we all live here in the Neargate District, and we don’t have the freedom of the city. I’m the sole exception since I can’t do my work unless I go wherever the rats are.”
Richard sat up straighter now and looked Tobias hard in the eye.
“So that’s the bargain. In return for wealth and comfort, we commit to spending our lives here, passing on our skills so the Harrowsgode folk will have them when we’re gone.”
“Are you saying—?”
“Foreigners never leave Harrowsgode. I shall die here, Tobias, and so shall you.”
“But why?”
“Because people talk. And if word ever got out about this hidden city with its great, rich silver mine, and its abundant harvests, and its hoard of priceless treasures—all unprotected, you see, for they have no army—well, you can imagine what would happen. And so they rely on secrecy, as they have for hundreds of years.”
“But—”
“I’m not finished, Tobias. There’s more. You saw how glad they were to have your lady here, especially as she’s one of the Magnus clan. Why, that’s like—”
“—royalty?”
“That’s it. She’s very special. So naturally they’ll want her to marry one of her own, someone carefully chosen. Not an outsider, Tobias.”
He waited.
“That makes you something of a problem, don’t you see? What to do with the foreign gentleman the lady has sworn herself to? They’ll go about it as they do everything here—with tact and discretion. They’ll keep you apart, bring her into their charmed circle, and try to win her over. Then when the moment seems right—”
“I understand, Richard. You don’t need to say any more.”
“As for the other three—the rest of your party . . .”
“What about them?”
“They’ll be the first to go.”
Tobias buried his face in his hands and let despair wash over him. For one brief moment he lost hold of the fierce determination that had sustained him all his life—helping him bear the death of his baby brother, then his parents, and finally sweet little Mary; keeping his wits sharp in the midst of a royal slaughter so he could get the prince to safety; and giving him the strength and endurance to battle an army of demons and go on fighting long past the point of exhaustion. Now he just felt hopeless. . . .
“Mind you,” Richard said, “I won’t say there isn’t a way out of this predicament.”
Tobias looked up, all attention.
“It’s just that at the moment I don’t exactly know what it is.”
MOLLY STOOD IN THE CENTER
of the large, handsome room she’d been given at the Magnussons’ house. With bare toes she probed the softness of a downy silk carpet while Ulla, her lady’s maid, unlaced the sides of her gown. When it was loose, the girl offered Molly a hand as she stepped out from the circle of russet-colored wool that had dropped to the floor. Ulla folded it carefully over a bench as though it were something fine, then went to work on the buttons that ran down the bodice of her kirtle.
Molly blushed to think of Ulla trying to make her garments presentable again: brushing them, airing them, mending them, scrubbing out the stains. She might be a servant, but it was highly doubtful that she’d ever handled anything so shabby in her life. The clothes had been humble to begin with—they’d dressed as common travelers so as not to attract the attention of thieves—and Molly had been wearing them for many, many days. And for all but one of the past five nights, she’d slept in them out on the ground.
Maybe she should tell the girl to burn the blasted things. She had plenty of money to buy new clothes for the trip back to Westria.
The buttons undone, Ulla helped Molly off with her kirtle and then her shift. As it passed over her head, Molly caught the stench of her own unwashed body. Finally the maid untied the laces of her underdrawers—and there Molly stood: on a silk rug, in an elegant room, completely naked.
She would never get used to it, standing there like a wooden saint while a servant took her clothes off and then put new ones on. She’d much rather have done it for herself, but that wasn’t how ladies behaved. So she stayed where she was, arms held away from her scrawny frame, while everything happened again in reverse: on with the fresh underdrawers; then the hose, held in place with garters tied right below the knee; now the clean shift that went on over her head; then another helping hand as she stepped into her finer kirtle and all the buttons were fastened up the front; and over that her good gown—the one she’d brought to wear in Faers-Wigan, since only people of quality shopped there—which was fastened with a wide belt, buckled in the back. Finally, Ulla knelt at Molly’s feet and helped her on with her little satin slippers.
“I’ve brought you some ribbons for your hair, lady, if you’d like to wear them. They’re the same blue as your gown. Would that please you?”
“Very much,” Molly said, thinking back to the afternoon of Princess Elinor’s wedding.
It seemed ages ago, though it had only been a matter of months. Winifred had done up Molly’s hair for the occasion, weaving the ribbons Tobias had given her through the braids as she went. When she had finished, Winifred stepped back to admire the results and declared that Molly was a perfect beauty—and why had Winifred never noticed that before?