The Seeker

  I looked around to see Katlyn giving Domick an apologetic look. “He has been frightened for Brydda; we both have. But dinna fear for your friends, Domick. No one checks papers, save at the main entrance to Aborium. And it is even possible Brydda can help you find th’ refuge ye seek.”

  Katlyn looked at me and smiled. “Now … food and drink to travel.” She turned to her store cupboards.

  “How are we to find your son?” Jik asked timidly.

  Katlyn smiled over her shoulder at him. “Ye mun go to the Inn of the Cuttlefish and ask for Brydda Llewellyn—that is the name he calls himself. Wait then, and he will come to you.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Domick asked.

  Katlyn’s back faced us, but it seemed to shrink. “Then that will mean he cannot come. The journey takes two days. If you leave very early tomorrow morning and travel steadily, you will arrive at Aborium at daybreak. That is the best and safest time to enter the city. Tradesmen from outlying regions come then, when the gates are opened.”

  “It is a walled city?” Domick asked sharply.

  “The gates are open freely and unguarded in the daylight hours,” Katlyn assured him.

  She turned to us suddenly, her face serious. “I dinna think ye will come to harm seekin’ Brydda out, but take care just th’ same, for there are other dangers on the west coast besides the Herders and the Council soldierguards. Those Brydda helps to run away do not account for all the disappearances from the city.”

  “Slavers …,” I murmured.

  Katlyn’s expression altered subtly. “You have heard of such things?”

  “I heard a story while we were in the Druid camp. A man whose father had been to sea. I didn’t know if it was the truth or not.”

  “Many things that seem impossible are true of Aborium. In its own way, it is worse than Sutrium. There the Council rules, but Aborium belongs to the Herder Faction, for that is where ships from Herder Isle and Norseland dock.” Katlyn was silent for a time, her eyes anxious. She shook her head and said, “Dinna linger there, is all I’m saying.”

  15

  WE ARRIVED AT Aborium two days later.

  Bypassing Morganna on Grufyyd’s advice, we traveled on a lesser road. Only when we were near Aborium did we venture near to the coast.

  From a distance, the city was curiously ugly. Sprawled along the shore, it seemed to be made up of smaller versions of the square skyscrapers we had seen under Tor. Above the rooftops hung a dense, bleary mire of smoke.

  “I don’t like the look of this place,” Kella murmured.

  “All such places where the funaga live like rats in a nest stink,” Avra observed with a disparagement that would have pleased Gahltha.

  The mare was more interested in the sea, which truly provided a dazzling setting for such a grimy jewel. Being mountain bred, she had never seen so much water and was fascinated by it.

  We had meant to arrive outside Aborium at dawn, but the loss and slow repair of a wheel delayed us. By the time Kella, Jik, and I had repaired it, the day was drawing to an end. I did not want to enter the city by night, so we made camp on the shore. We would enter Aborium as Katlyn had suggested—at dawn with the tradefolk.

  We used the last of the wood Grufyyd had provided to build a small fire in the dunes above the high-water line in the sand so it would not be seen by soldierguards in watch-huts along the top of the city walls. Kella began cooking pancakes from the coarse flour Katlyn had given us while Pavo reorganized the cart, concealing the all-important maps that were to lead us to the Beforetime library in a concealed pocket in Avra’s halter. I had brushed down the mare and was putting out grain and a bowl of water for her when the sun fell into the sea in a blaze of colored glory.

  Avra went down to the water’s edge, and on impulse I followed her and took off my boots. Stepping into the water, I sighed with relief as the cold soothed my scarred feet.

  “There is a story among the equines that there is a land beyond the sea where there are no funaga, and beasts rule themselves,” Avra sent. We stood for a time in silence, half-mesmerized by the murmurous sighing of the waves on the shore.

  Returning to the fire, I found the others seated, staring into the flames with the dreamy expressions a fire always seems to evoke.

  We ate the pancakes slowly and fell to talking of Katlyn and Grufyyd.

  “I wonder what their son will be like,” Kella said.

  “Like Grufyyd. Big and soft-spoken. A man of few words,” I guessed.

  “Perhaps he will be like Katlyn, short and plumpish and always smiling and singing,” she suggested.

  Pavo smiled. “More like a bit of both. And what will he make of us? I doubt he’ll be as free and easy as his parents. He can’t afford to be.” We all looked at the city behind its wall.

  I felt my own smile fade. “I trust them, but we know nothing of this son. I’ll keep my judgment until we meet.”

  Kella bridled angrily. “If he is Katlyn’s son, how can he be other than honest?”

  Pavo gave her a reproving look. “The guildmistress is wise to be cautious,” he said with a faint emphasis on my title. I caught his behindthought that the trip had made Kella too outspoken.

  Jik shifted uncomfortably beside me, disturbing Darga, whose head rested on his knee.

  “I wonder if Domick has found lodgings yet?” Kella asked.

  I was tempted to tell her what I had seen in Domick’s mind when he had bid us farewell, despite his coolness with her. Then I realized the knowledge would only intensify her regret at his loss. Better not to meddle.

  “Much better,” Darga sent laconically.

  I stared at the dog in amazement. He had passed through my shield with an ease that astounded me.

  “My mind grows stronger,” Darga sent.

  I was about to answer this when a blinding realization struck me. In my excitement, I shouted, “What if the Talent is not human?”

  “What?” Kella asked, looking at me as if I had gone mad.

  “I meant, what if the Talent that registered on the Zebkrahn isn’t human? What if it’s a dog or an equine?” I said.

  “Does it matter?” Avra inquired coolly.

  I was taken aback. Did it matter? If we were to accept animals as equals and allies, this must lead eventually to animal rescues. Sobered, I shook my head.

  “I’m an idiot. Of course it doesn’t matter,” I sent.

  “Gahltha hoped it would be a beast, to break the funaga prejudice,” Avra sent, mollified.

  “Prejudice?” I said.

  “The worst prejudice is that which goes unrecognized,” Darga explained. “You think you treat us as equals, but in your deepest heart, you regard the funaga as superior. In part, this is because you yourself are powerful. But that does not make the race of the funaga better than that of dog or equine.” Darga’s gentle criticism cut like a knife. I was not certain I believed the funaga admirable as a race, but there was some truth in his accusation. And how could one fight such an insidious prejudice?

  “You are less prejudiced than most of your race,” Darga sent. “But Gahltha hoped we would find a beast mind to rival yours. He believes that is the only way to alter the funaga’s deepest attitudes, even at Obernewtyn. Perhaps he was right.”

  “It might be a girlfriend for Darga,” Jik sent with a shy grin. The others had not been part of our silent beastspeaking.

  “We’ll know soon enough,” said Pavo.

  “How many hours do you calculate from here to the hidden library?” I asked.

  Pavo considered. “Half a day, if the distances shown on the map are consistent. I hope we will not be delayed too long in Aborium.”

  Coming to the side gate of the city just after sunrise, I was startled and unnerved to see how many soldierguards were posted. There was no mistaking the yellow cloaks they wore as a badge of office. But though they looked searchingly at our faces, they neither spoke nor sought our papers. Just as unexpected as the guards were the huge crowd of people and
carts clamoring to be let in the gate. Many of those waiting were laughing and singing, and one girl did a cheeky jig to the calls and encouragement of her friends. I was puzzled by the crowd’s high spirits but reassured, too. Surely a city that had so many eager visitors could not be such a bad place.

  The sun was well risen by the time our cart was allowed to enter, and we made directly for the seafront and the Inn of the Cuttlefish. Grufyyd had given us directions, but it was harder than we had expected to follow them, for we were swept along by the crowd past the turns we had wanted to take. The city was of a tortuous design, so there was no working our way back. Streets ran off in all directions, bisecting, curving, and turning back on themselves.

  “If we can find the water, we can work our way along,” Pavo suggested. We were loath to mark ourselves strangers by asking the way, but morning passed into afternoon and still we were lost. I did not even remember how to get back to the gate. “No wonder people come in and never come out,” I said wearily. “They probably can’t find their way.”

  “We’ll have to ask,” Kella said.

  I asked a woman, then a boy and another woman. All claimed not to know the inn. That struck me oddly. Aborium was large, but Grufydd had said the inn was big and well known. Still trying to decide what to do, we continued to be carried along within the milling crowd. Jik warned us that Avra was on the verge of panicking at the way people were pressing all around her.

  “Let’s get out of this,” I said, and directed Avra to force her way to the edge of the crowd and take the next turn away from the throng.

  “I didn’t know there were so many people in the Land,” Kella said in a shaken voice, when we had reached a quiet side lane.

  I looked at Jik, who wore a puzzled air. “There were not so many when I was here.”

  We came to the end of the lane and stopped in dismay, for it ended at an enormous central square. Here people swirled and butted one another like goats in a pen. I could hear laughter and strains of music, and the smells of food and warmed drinks wafted to our noses.

  “It’s a moon fair!” Pavo said, slapping his forehead. I laughed aloud in relief. That was the reason for the number of people waiting to come into the city. And the people of whom we had asked directions were strangers, too.

  Avra managed to take a turn just inside the square, and we halted the cart in a quiet byway. A foul stench filled the air.

  “What is that?” Kella asked in a disgusted voice.

  “Seaweed,” Jik said with a grin. “We must be near the wharves.”

  “Fancy having an inn near such a smell,” Kella muttered. Then she noticed me climbing down. “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll have a look for the inn on foot. It will be easier than trying to maneuver the cart.”

  “I will go with you,” Darga offered, and jumped down.

  “Darga will come back alone if anything goes wrong. If he does come back without me, go back out of the city and wait for me where we camped last night,” I said.

  Kella and Jik looked aghast, and I laughed. “Nothing will happen, but we must have a plan just in case.” They looked only slightly reassured.

  I set off, ignoring the slight pain in my feet. The gypsy caravan, the raft, and the cart meant I had done little walking, and they were much better, though still tender. I hoped I would not have to walk too far on them. I was glad of Darga’s company, though once or twice I noticed people looking at him so oddly that I wondered if I was breaking some city law, letting him walk unchained.

  I looked around, trying to see someone who appeared to belong in Aborium. Spoting an old woman struggling with a load of washing down an alley, I hurried to catch up, hoping kindness would beget kindness.

  “Mother, let me help you,” I offered.

  She gave me a long measuring look before letting me take one of the handles. “ ’Tis good of ye, sure enough,” she said. “I dinna mean to be so slow at takin’ yer offer, but a moon fair dinna improve manners, an’ a helpin’ hand is rare at any time. What be yer name, lass?” she asked, squinting at me.

  “Elspeth,” I said.

  “Well, I’m Luma,” she said cheerfully. “I live just round th’ next corner. I went out to gan th’ wash an’ were near swept away wi’ moonies. It gans worse every year,” she added despondently. She prattled on as we walked, complaining bitterly about the damage done to the city during the fairs. At a narrow door, she set down the basket to find her key.

  “No doubt it’s been picked from me,” she said, searching all her pockets and folds in a haphazard way. “I’m from th’ highlands. There ye dinna have to lock yer door, but in a city, leavin’ it open is a right invitation to any robber.” At last she found the key. Bidding me help her a little further, she told me to call Darga in.

  “Things have a way of disappearin’ in Aborium,” she said confidingly.

  Stone steps led down directly from the front door. We carried the basket awkwardly between us, down the stairs and into a large, rustic kitchen.

  “What an effort,” gasped Luma, panting and fanning her red face. “Ye’ll have a glass of cordial to wet yer whistle?” Taking a squat jug from the cooling cabinet, she poured two mugs. “ ’Tis me own brew I’m givin’ ye, though I’ll thank ye nowt to speak of it after. We are bound by lore to buy th’ Herders’ bitter cordials, an’ makin’ it is an offense.” She drained her glass with relish and watched me drink mine.

  “Ye be a moonie? I’m sorry for all that I were sayin’ of them, but it gans on a body’s nerve to have so many at once.”

  “I’m a traveler on my way to Murmroth. I only called into Aborium to deliver a message,” I said.

  Luma beamed. “An’ I might ha’ guessed it. Ye look to have too much sense to be part of that nonsense. Who do ye carry a message to? ’Tis nowt of my affair or care, but I know most folk hereabout, an’ might save ye some trouble.”

  I took a deep breath. “He’s staying at the Inn of the Cuttlefish.”

  She nodded thoughtfully, her eyes on Darga. “A fine creature that, for all he puts me in mind of th’ Herder breed.”

  “I’ve heard they use dogs to protect the Isle,” I said.

  “An’ th’ cloister here in Aborium. But who in their right mind would want to break into one?” She looked at Darga again with faint unease. “Yet he’s a match, though small an’ th’ wrong shape. Well, th’ inn ye seek is just a step from here. Ye dinna say who ye were lookin’ for.”

  “A seaman,” I stalled.

  She cackled. “A seaman? Ha! Well, what else would ye find a man doin’ in a seaport? I myself ha’ two strappin’ sons, an’ my bondmate were a seaman, too, Lud rest his head.”

  “The man I’m looking for is called Brydda Llewellyn,” I said.

  The color drained from the washerwoman’s face.

  “What is it?” I asked quickly.

  She smiled, a horrible false twist of her lips. “ ’Tis naught. I were thinkin’ somethin’ else for a minute. I hardly heard ye. I dinna know th’ name.”

  “She is afraid,” Darga sent as the old woman took me onto the street and pointed the way to the inn. I felt her eyes boring into my back until I was out of sight.

  “What happened?” Darga asked when we had gone out of her sight.

  “I don’t know. One minute we are talking like two sisters, and the next she looks as if I murdered her best friend. And all after I mentioned the name of Katlyn’s son.”

  “He is well known?” Darga suggested.

  “I don’t know what it means, but I don’t like it.”

  The inn was not far from Luma’s house, and rather than being the grand place I had half imagined, it was a modest establishment with a faintly dingy air and peeling paint. Along the front was a stone veranda where men sat in the fading twilight talking in low voices. Wishing I had reached the inn before dark, I told Darga to wait in the street. “If I don’t come out within an hour, go back to the others.”

  “Better not to go in,” h
e sent.

  I glanced down at him, wondering what he sensed. “I don’t want to, but I promised.”

  The men on the porch fell silent as I approached. I asked for the manager of the inn in what I hoped was a confident voice. One of the men jerked his head toward the door.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  The reception room was dim and cool. For a moment, I could see nothing and blinked, trying to accustom my eyes to the lack of light.

  “What do you want?” asked a sharp voice. I jumped and heard a snicker of laughter. A woman and two men were sitting near the window, silhouetted against the fading pink sunset.

  I swallowed dryly. “I’m … looking for a man. I have a message to deliver.”

  “What is his name?” the woman asked coldly.

  I made myself speak, though I was regretting not listening to Darga. “Brydda Llewellyn.”

  A match flared and a lamp was lit on the table, illuminating the narrow, ratty face of the manageress and the hard, wary faces of the men.

  The woman smiled, a folding rather than a curve of thin lips. “Brydda lives at the inn, but he has been on his boat this last moon. He will be here tomorrow morning. I can let you have a room for tonight.”

  Again the sour smile, and as she rose, dark satin skirts rustled around her feet like a nest of snakes. “Come with me,” she commanded, and I dared not refuse. The inn was larger than it looked, and I was filled with unease as she took me downstairs where there were a number of bedrooms. The room she gave me was halfway down a hall and had a narrow window, level with the street. It was sparsely furnished.

  “This is the only room we have free. Best if you keep to it until morning. The men who stay here are not used to having women around. I’ll send water for you to wash and some supper.”

  Forcing a smile, I went across and tested the springs of the bed. “It’s been a while since I’ve slept in a bed,” I said casually. “I don’t mind a bit of rest.”

  “I’ll lock the door so you’re not disturbed. Ring the bell if you want anything.” She nodded smugly and departed.

  My false smile fell away the minute the door closed, for I had no doubt I was a prisoner. The moment I tried to leave, the thinly veiled pretense would end. I pushed a bench to the window and climbed up to peer out. There was no possibility of getting out that way. I could fiddle locks, but I could not magic myself through the ground. I sent a call to Darga.