Wrede, Patricia C - Mairelon 01 (10 page)

           
"I
told you he had something better to do!"

           
"Eight
for a main," announced the second of the gamblers. "Shoot
again."

           
"Robert's
coach is just turning in at the lodge," said the man who was watching the
far side of the hill. "He'll be here in a minute or two. I hope he has
sense enough to leave the rest of his party there. We don't need any bits of
muslin giggling over the ceremony."

           
"Good,
that's everyone but Meredith," said the man with the flask. "We can
start without him."

           
"Not
tonight," the watcher said without turning.

           
"Burn
it, Jon, are you going to make us stand here all night?" the man with the
flask expostulated. "Meredith may not even come! He's missed meetings
before."

           
"Two
guineas on the fader's point," said one of the dicers coolly.

           
"If
you don't like it, Austen, finish your flask and go," the watcher said.
"But remember that you swore an oath--"

           
"I
didn't know it was going to mean standing out in a cold wind in the middle of
the night, scorching my boots at a great stupid fire while you prose on at
me!" Austen said in tones of deep indignation.

           
"If
your boots are scorching, you've only yourself to blame," said a cheerful
voice, and a new figure climbed over the far edge of the hill and into the
firelight. His arms were full of something that strongly resembled a very large
bundle of laundry. "You don't see anyone else standing close enough to the
fire for ashes to fall on his coat, do you?"

           
"Ashes!"
Austen leaped backward, brushing at his
cloak. He peered closely at his garments,
then
gave
the newcomer a reproachful look. "Burn it, Robert, if that's your idea of
a joke--"

           
"Don't
get in a stew about it," Robert advised him. "Here, take your robe
before I drop the lot of them in the mud."

           
This
thinly veiled warning caught the attention of the rest of the group, and for
the next few minutes they crowded around the newcomer, laughing and shoving and
tugging at the bundle in his arms. Kim glanced at Mairelon, to see whether he
had had his fill of watching this strange gathering. By now it was too dark to
make out much of his expression, but he seemed to be concentrating closely on
the hilltop group.

           
"Who
are those coves?" Kim whispered.

           
Mairelon
glanced down as if he had just remembered her presence. "A pack of
imbeciles," he answered. "And if I'm not mistaken--ah, yes. See for
yourself."

           
Kim
looked back at the hilltop. About half of the men were pulling long, baggy,
light-colored robes over their heads. "They look like Bedlamites to
me," Kim muttered. "Who--"

           
"Ssh!"
Mairelon said as the man called Jon said something to Robert that Kim did not
catch.

           
"No,
I didn't," Robert said, evidently answering Jon's question. "The
girls and the robes were almost more than I could manage as it was. I left it
with Meredith after the last meeting."

           
"And
Meredith's still not here." Jon's voice sounded grim. "If he doesn't
come, you're for it, Robert."

           
"How
much longer are you planning to wait, Jon?" one of the white-robed men
asked. "Have we got time for a few more throws?"

           
"Can't
you think of anything but your dice?" Jon snarled.

           
The man
gave a cheerful, unrepentant shrug. "Well, there's the doxies at the
lodge, but I have the feeling you wouldn't like that much of a delay."

           
Some of
the others laughed. Jon looked as if he were about to explode, but before he
could deliver whatever rebuke he had in mind, Austen said, "There! Isn't
that him?"

           
Heads
turned, and someone said, "That's Freddy, all right. Nobody else sits a
horse that badly; you can spot him even in the dark."

           
"Hurry
it up, Meredith!" Austen shouted.

           
"Quiet,
you fool!" Jon said, rounding on him. "Do you want to be heard from
here to the village? Do you want people to come spying on our Sacred
Rites?"

           
"Oh,
really, Jon, don't get carried away," Robert said. "
There's
a dozen light-skirts in the lodge who can see us
from the windows if they want to bother."

           
"They
are here by our permission," Jon said loftily.

           
His
dignified effect was spoiled by someone at the back of the group, who snickered
and said audibly, "I should hope so!"

           
Jon
glared around him, but could not locate the speaker. He turned away, and a
moment later another figure came panting over the crest of the hill. Robert
handed him the last of the robes, and he struggled into it hastily while the
others pointed out the difficulties his tardiness had caused them.

           
"Didn't
mean to be so late," said the newcomer in a muffled voice from halfway
inside his robe. "I . . . had to make a stop on the way here."

           
"There
will be time to hear your explanations later, Meredith," Jon said.
"Now we must begin.
To your places, gentlemen!"

           
The
white-robed figures spread out in a circle around the fire and drew the hoods
of their robes up over their heads. It made them look suddenly eerie, almost
terrifying, and Kim shivered slightly. One of the anonymous figures raised his
arms above his head, and Jon's voice cried loudly, "By the Sacred Oak, and
Ash, and Thorn! By the Three Wise Birds and the Three Generous Kings! By the
ineffable Name
Itself
! The rites of the Sons of the
New Dawn are now begun!"

           
The
white-robed figures lowered their heads and began a strange, droning chant. Kim
shuddered again as sonorous phrases drifted down the hill, and she jumped when
Mairelon touched her arm.

           
"I'm
going to see if I can get a little closer," Mairelon said, looking at her
quizzically. "You can wait here, if you're feeling jumpy."

           
"Wait
here, with them frog-makers up there mumblin' spells?" Kim whispered
indignantly. "What do you take me for?"

           
Mairelon
snorted. "Spells? Don't be ridiculous. That's the most preposterous
rigmarole I've ever had the misfortune to have to listen to. Don't let it worry
you."

           
"Why not?"

           
"Because they're mixing magic at random, from the sound of it.
Half of it's Welsh, half of it's Scottish, and half of it's cribbed from
someone's classical education, with a few things that are entirely out of
someone's imagination thrown in for good measure. They'll never get anywhere if
that's the tack they're taking."

           
"That's
too many halves," Kim said, frowning. "And whatever it is, it sounds
pretty impressive to me." The words didn't have the crystalline quality of
Mairelon's magic, but they had a portentous power of their own that was just as
striking.

           
"That's
because you've never read Homer in the original Greek," Mairelon said. His
attention had returned to the hilltop, where the white robes were now marching
solemnly around the fire. Kim reached for his arm, anticipating his next move,
but she was an instant too late. Mairelon slipped out of the trees and started
up the hill, crouching low to avoid the firelight. With a sigh and a string of
mental curses, Kim followed.

           
To her
relief, Mairelon did not try to sneak all the way up to the edge of the
hilltop. He stopped about halfway up the slope, near enough to hear every word
clearly but still well below the level where a casual glance might see a
careless silhouette. Kim stopped beside him and flattened herself against the
ground. Mairelon looked at her, then, with visible reluctance, did the same.

           
The cold
and damp seemed to penetrate Kim's clothes almost instantly. She ignored the
discomfort as best she could, knowing from years of Mother Tibb's somewhat
irregular training that an unnecessary movement was likely to attract unwanted
attention. Beside her, Mairelon lay just as motionless, and Kim tried to
distract herself by wondering where he had learned the trick. Had someone told
him about it when he went off to spy on the French, or had he figured it out
for himself the hard way?

           
The
chanting stopped at last, and Kim heard Jon's voice announce, "So is the
beginning ended, and the Central Mysteries begun."

           
A murmur
of agreement rose from the assembled figures. As the muttering died, Jon went
on in a much brisker tone, "Tonight we are to dedicate the Sacred Dish,
the first of the Four Holy Things. Austen, you're the Bearer; George, you and
Quembly-Stark can do the Escorts, and Robert can act as--"

           
"Uh,
Jonathan, I'm afraid there's a bit of a problem," someone put in
tentatively.

           
"You
forgot to bring the dish, didn't you?" Jon snapped. "Well, I'm not
putting off the ceremony again just because you have a bad memory, Meredith.
This time you can just ride home and bring it back."

           
"That'll
take hours!" someone else objected. "Especially if he came on that
broken-down nag of his; the creature can't move above a trot even with a good
rider in the saddle."

           
"As long as we can wait down at the lodge instead of up here
in the wind, who cares?" another of the men retorted.

           
"No
reason to wait at all," Meredith said. Cautiously Kim raised her head. As
she had expected, all eyes were on the bland and rather foolish-looking
Meredith. "I can't get the thing, you see," Meredith explained.
"So there's no point in my going back, and no reason to wait."

           
"Can't
get it?" Jon's voice rose. He put back his hood and glared at Meredith.
"What do you mean, you can't get it?"

           
"I
just can't," Meredith answered with dogged stubbornness. "That's all,
and there it is. No use going on at me about it; might as well finish up and go
on down to the lodge."

           
"Explain
this . . . this recalcitrance!" Jon commanded.

           
"Yes,
Freddy, just why
is it
that you can't bring the dish
out tonight?" Robert asked.

           
"If
you must know, I haven't got it any more," Meredith said. "Now can we
go down to the lodge and eat?"

           
Jon goggled
at him, all but speechless with rage. "You haven't
got
it?"

           
"Got
a problem with your ears, Jon?" Meredith asked with interest.
"M'grandfather's been having a bit of trouble that way, but you expect it
in a man his age."

           
"What
have you done with the Sacred Dish?"
Jon grated.

           
"Lost
it in a card game," Meredith said. "Debt of honor, pay or play, you
know. So it's gone."

           
"How
dared
you!" Jon shouted, waving his arms for emphasis. "That
dish was ours, the property of the entire Order! How dared you even
think
to appropriate it for your own
uses!
"

           
"Actually
it wasn't," Meredith said almost apologetically.

           
"Wasn't
what, Freddy?" Robert asked.

           
"Wasn't
the property of the
Order.
Bought it myself, never
been paid. Logically the thing was mine.
All quite in
order."
Freddy Meredith nodded, as if to emphasize the logic and
propriety of his actions.

           
Jon
turned a fascinating shade of purple and opened his mouth. "Freddy's got a
point, Jon," Robert said hastily. "If he didn't use the Order's funds
to buy it with--"

           
"What
funds?" Austen put in. "This Order hasn't got any funds; nobody's
paid their subscription fee in over six months.
Including
you, Jon."

           
"There,
you see?" Freddy beamed.

           
"You idiot!"
Jon said. "Do you know how long
it took me to locate that platter? We must get it back!"

           
"It's
quite all right, Jonathan," Robert said. "We'll just buy it back from
whoever won it from Freddy. Who did win it, by the way? Not Lord North, I
hope."

           
"No,
no, I don't play at his table," Freddy assured him. "Been around long
enough to know a flat from a leg, you know. No, I was playing whist with
Henry."

           
"What
does Henry Bramingham want with the silver dish of the Sons of the New
Dawn?" someone asked.

           
The grass
beside Kim quivered as Mairelon tensed, but she could not tell what had
provoked the reaction from him. Surely it couldn't have taken him this long to
guess that the "sacred dish" these culls were so nattered about was
the Saltash Platter he was looking for?

           
"Only
stake I had left by the end of the night was the platter," Meredith
explained. "Henry cleaned me out. Last hand, that went, too."

           
"Who
cares?" someone else said. "It's obvious that we're not going to
dedicate the Sacred Dish tonight, so let's finish up here and get inside where
it's warm."

           
This suggestion
produced a round of enthusiastic cheers, and the entire group threw off their
robes and started down the hill despite Jonathan's grumbles and the glowering
looks he continued to throw at the oblivious Freddy Meredith. None of them
bothered to check the far slope of the hill, so Mairelon and Kim escaped
detection. Even so, Kim did not really relax until the last sounds of merriment
were muffled by the solid closing of a door.

           
Kim sat
up at last, feeling cold and stiff, and realized that Mairelon was still lying
prone against the side of the hill. She crouched again hastily and hissed,
"Somethin' wrong?"

           
"What?"
said Mairelon in a normal
tone.
"No, nothing's
wrong; I'm thinking, that's all."

           
"Think
about gettin' us back to camp," Kim advised. "Or Hunch'll be comin'
after us with a rope, like as not."

           
"Oh,
Hunch won't start worrying until well after dark," Mairelon said, still
without moving.

           
Kim
looked at him with profound exasperation. "It
is
well after
dark," she pointed out.

           
"Then
we'd better get back to camp quickly, hadn't we?" Mairelon said. He pushed
himself away from the hill with his hands, twisted sideways, and slid down the
slope feet first. Kim scrambled after him, muttering curses. She was beginning
to understand how Hunch had acquired the habit.

           
Getting
back to camp took nearly as long as Kim had expected. Mairelon got lost twice,
forcing them to retrace their steps in the dark. Kim did not enjoy these
detours. The noises of insects and the occasional rustling movement of small animals
made her jump, where the calls of lamplighters and the rumble of the heavy
drays would have been soothing. Stumbling over an uneven clump of grass and
falling into a bush was somehow different, and more unpleasant, than tripping
on a broken cobblestone and landing in a pile of litter. Even the darkness had
a different quality, a clarity and depth that bore no resemblance to the foggy
blackness of the back streets of
London
.

           
Hunch met
them on the road. He was carrying a lantern and frowning heavily, and both ends
of his mustache looked distinctly damp and ragged. "Master Richard!"
he said in evident relief when Mairelon came close enough to be identifiable.
"You ain't 'urt!"

           
"What?
Of course not," Mairelon answered. "Why should I be?"

           
" 'Cause
you 'adn't got no reason for a-goin' off and
not tellin' me, if you ain't been 'urt," Hunch said, recovering rapidly.
"Leastwise, I don't see as you did."

           
"That's
because you don't know where we've been," Mairelon said in his most
reasonable tone. "You really ought to have a little more faith in me,
Hunch."

           
Hunch
snorted expressively. "All right, where 'ave you been?"

           
"Finding
things out," Mairelon said.
"Among them, the reason
why our friend Shoreham has such a low opinion of the Sons of the New Dawn.
As well as a hint to the current owner of the Saltash
Platter."

           
"And
'oo might that be?"

           
"According
to the ersatz druids whose undeniably imaginative ceremony we observed this
evening, Henry Bramingham. Not the best of news."

           
" 'Enry
," Hunch said, frowning. "I ain't
sure--"

           
"Later,
Hunch, if you please.
Later, and preferably warmer, drier,
and much less hungry.
I hope no one has stolen our dinner while you've
been swanning about out here."

           
"You
'ad ought to be sent to bed without any," Hunch grumbled, "and that
dratted girl, too."

           
"Really, Hunch!"
Mairelon said in a shocked tone
before Kim could do more than gasp in outrage. "And all this time I'd
thought you were worried about the proprieties."

           
Hunch's
tangled efforts to refute this deliberate misinterpretation lasted until they
reached the wagon. Kim was sure that this was exactly what Mairelon had
intended, and while she would normally have been annoyed at his high-handed
method of taking over her battle, this time Kim was grateful. She was cold and
tired, and her hands and face bore scratches that stung when she thought about
them. She was in no condition for an argument with Hunch.