Caught in Crystal

  Kayl reached the top of the stairs and stopped short. Pale lights flickered across the door of Corrana’s room, like the cold shine of light on the scales of invisible snakes. They were so faint that if she had been carrying a lamp, she would have missed them. The pattern was a warding; Kayl had seen enough of them to recognize it at once, though she herself was no magician. She stared at it, feeling angry and a little frightened. She had a momentary urge to pound on the door, but she suppressed it. Annoying a sorceress, even a minor one, was seldom a good idea, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that Corrana was rather more than minor.

  After another moment’s consideration, Kayl turned and went back the way she had come. The warding spell was doing no harm, and it was unlikely that anyone else would notice it. She was climbing into bed, having hidden the money-box in the safety hole beneath it, when the thought struck her. What was Corrana doing that she felt a need to guard her door with spells in a town as small and quiet as Copeham?

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  KAYL WAS AWAKENED NEXT morning by the sound of Mark and Dara squabbling outside her door. She frowned, as much at her own tardiness as at the noise of the quarrel. Normally she was awake well before either of the children. She pulled her under-tunic on hastily and went out to see what the problem was this time.

  “There!” Dara said as Kayl approached. “I told you she’d wake up if you kept shouting.”

  “I wasn’t shouting!” Mark shouted. “You were the one who—”

  “Quiet,” Kayl said sternly. “How many times have I told you to be careful in the morning? You’ll wake the guests.”

  “That’s what I told him, and he—”

  “But Mother, she won’t let—”

  “I said, quiet.” Kayl waited a moment, then continued. “Now, one at a time please. What’s this all about?”

  “He wouldn’t stop—”

  “She thinks I—”

  “Stop! Dara, suppose you explain your side of it first.”

  “We woke up early, so we decided to surprise you and do the morning chores before you got up,” Dara said. “Only Mark wanted to start with taking wash water up to that weird lady who came yesterday.”

  “She’s not weird!” Mark interrupted. “She’s a sorceress.”

  “How do you know she’s a sorceress?” Dara said scornfully.

  “Everybody said so!”

  Kayl intervened before the battle could resume. “So Mark wanted to carry water up to Corrana’s room. What then?”

  “She wouldn’t let me!” Mark burst out.

  “It’s too early,” Dara said. “And you can’t go waking up guests just because you’re curious about them.”

  “I wasn’t going to wake her up,” Mark said in tones of wounded innocence. “And I wasn’t curious. I just wanted to make sure we did everything right. She’s important.”

  “If she’s so important, I should be the one to take the water up,” Dara retorted. “You always spill.”

  “I do not!”

  “That’s enough,” Kayl said. She looked from Mark to Dara and sighed. It was just like them to plan a pleasant surprise for her and then end up arguing about which of them should do what. And she didn’t care for Mark’s apparent interest in Corrana. She’d have to tread carefully, though; if she simply forbade him to hang about the woman, he would immediately begin thinking up ways to do so anyway. She looked back at Mark. “I’m afraid Dara’s right, Mark; it is too early to be carting things up to the rooms. I’m glad you’re worried about giving good service, but I don’t think waking up a guest is the way to impress her.”

  “I wasn’t going to—”

  “If she’s a light sleeper, you may have done so already,” Kayl said.

  Mark frowned rebelliously, but he could hardly deny it after the furious argument had wakened Kayl. “Well, maybe.”

  “I think you should draw a jug or two and heat it up over the kitchen fire. Then it’ll be ready as soon as Corrana wakes.”

  “Can’t I—”

  “No.”

  Mark glared at her, trying to decide what his chances were of winning a continued argument. The verdict was apparently not favorable. He turned the corners of his mouth down in a ferocious pout and started for the back door, stomping his feet as hard as he dared.

  “Mark!”

  “What?” His tone was half-sullen, half-belligerent.

  “You will not continue pounding through this inn like an overweight otterlan. Understand?”

  “I can do what I want to!”

  “And I can find some other way for you to work off your temper. Splitting firewood, for instance.”

  Muttering angrily, Mark turned away. “What was that?” Kayl said.

  “I said, all right!”

  “And don’t bang the door!” Kayl called after him. She listened until he was outside, then looked at Dara.

  “I tried to tell him,” Dara said defensively before Kayl could say anything. “I really did! But he won’t listen to me. He never listens to me.”

  “Maybe you should try being a little less dictatorial.”

  “But, Mother—”

  “Mark doesn’t like being told he’s wrong, particularly by his sister. Try to be a little tactful.”

  “With Mark! But he’s, he’s…”

  “He’s younger than you are, and more impulsive. I don’t expect him to worry about waking the guests up before he starts a shouting match; I do expect it of you.”

  “I’m sorry, Mother,” Dara said, flushing.

  “You’re old enough to stop and think before you get into things like this.”

  Dara looked after Mark, her face thoughtful. “It’s hard to stop and think when Mark’s yelling at me.”

  Kayl could not help smiling. “I know, dear. But try, please.”

  “All right,” Dara said doubtfully. Kayl gave her a hug and sent her off to start making breakfast. Then she went back into her room to finish getting up. She hoped fervently that the rest of the day was not going to be as difficult as its beginning.

  It was worse. Dara burned the porridge and tried to cover the taste with honey and too many herbs; the result was all but inedible. Mark filled his jug to the brim, so that water sloshed over the top as he staggered back to the inn with it. The overflow made the back steps and parts of the hall treacherously slippery. He ended by dropping the jug as he was trying to fill the kettle. Since he had not bothered to move the kettle away from the brick stove, this drowned the fire and set the kitchen awash in ashy gray water.

  The mishap was the excuse that began another fight between Dara and Mark. Kayl squelched the argument firmly, then set them to cleaning up the mess. In the process, Dara discovered that the jug had cracked down one side when Mark had dropped it. This came close to starting another fight; Kayl ended it by scolding both children. She then packed Mark and the jug off to see if Bryn, the village’s general handywoman, could mend the crack.

  As he was leaving, Dara came in from the serving room and announced that the leg on one of the benches was broken and it was a miracle the thing hadn’t collapsed under a customer the previous night. Kayl sighed, called Mark back, and told him to ask Bryn to stop by later and look at the bench if she could. Mark considered visiting Bryn a treat; he went off in high spirits, swinging the water jug so wildly that Kayl wondered whether it would survive the trip.

  Kayl emerged from the kitchen to discover two of her guests standing at the foot of the stairs, impatiently awaiting their morning wash-water. She soothed their irritation as best she could, but she had the dismal feeling that the two customers would make it a point to avoid breaking their future journeys at Copeham.

  Just as she finished with the customers, the first of a string of curious villagers stopped by. The visit was ostensibly to see if Kayl needed an egg or two, but the man’s eyes kept straying toward the staircase that led to the guestrooms. Kayl got rid of him as politely as she could, and retired to the rear of the inn.


  She was barely in time to catch one of the unhappy early risers attempting to slink out the back with all his baggage and an unpaid bill. An acrimonious discussion ensued, during which Kayl was able to release a good deal of her pent-up frustration. There was very little else she could do; Copeham did not have the facilities to deal with reluctant patrons, and Prefect Islorran had long ago made it clear that he had no interest in such petty grievances.

  The man left at last, having paid barely half of what he owed, just as Mark arrived with the news that the water jug was beyond help and they would have to buy a new one. His contrition was almost as difficult to deal with as his earlier fit of sulks had been. Kayl took advantage of it to send him off to the market for a new water jug and a basket of vegetables. The errands would keep Dara from starting another argument with him for a while, and with luck, they would also keep Mark out of Corrana’s way for most of the day.

  Finally, Kayl found a moment to sit down in the empty serving room and try to relax. She was just beginning to recover from the hectic events of the morning, when a cool voice from behind her said, “Good morning, innkeeper.”

  Kayl jerked, then turned her head. Corrana was standing at the foot of the stairs, regarding her with a mildly questioning expression. She was wearing her black costume once more, and her hair was braided into a crown about her head. There was no sign of the badge of the Sisterhood. She made a dramatic and somewhat ominous figure, but Kayl was too tired to be intimidated. Her only thought was that Corrana looked out of place in a village inn.

  “Forgive me, lady,” Kayl said. “I’m afraid you startled me. Is there something I can get for you?”

  “I thank you, but no, there is not. I have come, instead, to give you something.”

  “Oh?”

  Corrana smiled. “Your fee for this night’s lodging.” She moved over to Kayl’s side and set seven coppers on the table.

  Kayl looked at them. “Tonight’s fee.”

  “Is there some problem? It is as we agreed.”

  “There is no problem. I was… surprised, that is all. Most visitors prefer to pay at the end of their stay.” Kayl thought of the man who had tried to leave, and added under her breath, “If they pay at all.”

  Corrana laughed. She lowered herself gracefully to the bench on the other side of the table and said, “It seems you speak from experience.”

  “More so than I’d like,” Kayl admitted.

  “You need have no worries in my regard. I shall keep my part of our agreement.”

  “I meant no criticism, lady; far from it. I appreciate your promptness.”

  Corrana nodded but did not speak. She sat all but motionless, watching Kayl from under half-lowered eyelids. One long, slender finger traced absentminded circles on the top of the table.

  Kayl found herself becoming irritated. This woman wanted to play games; let her take a dose of her own brew. “Why are you in Copeham?” she asked abruptly.

  Corrana’s eyes flickered. “I enjoy travel, and I have already seen the villages near my home.”

  “One village is very like another.”

  “Perhaps. But the people who live in them are not.”

  “True.” Kayl suppressed a twinge of uneasiness. She was beginning to regret ever starting this conversation. She was groping for a graceful way of ending it, a task made more difficult by the slightly predatory quality of Corrana’s smile, when the front door opened and Dara stuck her head in.

  “Mother? Oh, excuse me; I didn’t mean to interrupt. But that man of Prefect Islorran’s is here, and I think you’d better come talk to him.”

  “In a moment, Dara. You will excuse me, lady, I’m sure.” Kayl stood, nodded politely, and picked up the seven coppers still stacked on the tabletop.

  “Of course,” Corrana said. “Perhaps we can continue our conversation some other time.” Her eyes flicked to the door, and then away. She rose and glided unhurriedly to the stairs.

  Kayl breathed a small sigh of relief and turned her mind to her newest problem. The tax collector wasn’t due for another week, so Islorran must want something special. She sighed again, and went outside.

  Islorran’s messenger was a short, fat man with bright eyes half buried in his puffy face. Kayl had dealt with him several times in the month he had spent as Islorran’s secretary; his officious air never failed to set her teeth on edge. She could only hope his tenure as Prefect Islorran’s secretary would be even briefer than that of his predecessor, who had been summarily dismissed after barely two months of service.

  “Sorry to have kept you waiting, Utrilo,” Kayl said as politely as she could. She came up behind Dara as she spoke and gave the girl a tiny sideways shove with her hand. Dara bobbed a curtsey and faded out of sight around the corner of the inn as Kayl went on. “I was with a customer.”

  “Quite so, quite so. And that, of course, is precisely what I have come about,” Utrilo said, puffing out his chest. “Pre-cise-ly.”

  “Be good enough to explain.”

  “So I shall, so I shall. Though you may not find the explanation good.” He snickered at his own wit, then coughed, but his sharp eyes never left Kayl. “Ahem. Word has reached the Prefect Islorran that there is someone staying here, someone very interesting indeed.”

  Kayl was torn between anger and a strong desire to laugh at the man’s posturings. “I do not pry into the business of my guests,” she said after a moment. “If there is someone among them whom the Prefect might wish to see, I am not aware of it.”

  “Ah, but there are some persons of interest who are easily identified.”

  “I don’t think I understand you,” said Kayl, who was all too afraid she did.

  “I will be quite plain,” Utrilo said ponderously. “The Prefect Islorran has heard that there is a great worker of magic staying here, at your inn. Perhaps,” he paused as though for dramatic emphasis, “perhaps even a Shee.”

  Anger was quickly overcoming Kayl’s sense of humor. “No Shee have come through Copeham in more than five years, as the Prefect knows quite well,” she snapped.

  “Yes, yes, of course. But simply because something has not happened, does not mean it cannot happen.” He regarded her with a complacent smile, but his eyes were cold and hard. “And there are laws about such travelers, you know.”

  “I know the Prefect’s laws,” Kayl said even more waspishly than before. “And you may be sure that if a Shee had come to my inn I would have reported it as the Prefect requires. Along with my opinion of such foolish laws as that one.” From the corner of one eye, she saw a movement at one of the upper windows of the inn. Corrana, perhaps? Well, let her listen if she chose. Inquisitive woman.

  “I am sure Prefect Islorran will be delighted to hear that, Mistress Kayl. Simply delighted.” Utrilo’s smile widened into a toothy shark’s grin. “But are you quite certain you have seen no Shee? You realize that failure to notify the Prefect could result in the confiscation of your property.”

  “I am well aware of that, Utrilo,” Kayl said between her teeth. Islorran and his previous secretaries had never taken much interest in Copeham’s inn, except to make sure the taxes were paid promptly. Utrilo, however, was another matter. In the few weeks that he had been in Copeham, there had hardly been two days running in which he had not found some excuse to visit the inn and criticize its management or make increasingly open threats regarding fines, penalties, and confiscation. Kayl had concluded that he was trying to demonstrate his competence and dedication to Islorran. She wished very strongly that he would find some other way of doing so.

  Utrilo’s smile did not waver. “And you still maintain that no Shee arrived here yesterday?”

  “I have never seen a Shee with black hair or black eyes, and the only person who arrived yesterday has both.”

  “There are dyes…” Utrilo said with less confidence.

  “A Shee, dye his hair to avoid notice by humans? Don’t be ridiculous. No Shee would bother.”

  “As you clearly
know so well, Mistress Kayl.”

  “As anyone who’s ever met a Shee knows, including the Prefect. They’ve never thought much of humans, and I doubt that all these regulations have improved their opinions any. Not that I blame them.”

  “That is precisely the point,” Utrilo said pompously. “Prefect Islorran knows how unwise it is to allow a few people to flaunt their disregard for the law.”

  “How nice for the Prefect,” said a new voice from behind Utrilo. “Presumably that is why his son was not even fined when he got drunk last month and broke half the pottery in Pesek’s shop.”

  Utrilo jumped and whirled with a speed that was amazing in one of his bulk. Behind him, showing pointed teeth in a fierce smile, stood Bryn, woodworker, handywoman, and one of the few Wyrds still remaining in Copeham.

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  UTRILO RECOVERED HIMSELF QUICKLY and his eyes contracted to slits. “Ah, Mistress Bryn,” he said with a false heartiness. “What an unexpected surprise! Oh, but a pleasant one, I do assure you.” For a moment Kayl was afraid he was going to reach out and pat Bryn’s head as though she were a child or the cat she resembled.

  “I’m glad you find it so,” Bryn said. “Good afternoon, Kayl. Mark said you had a job for me?”

  “One of the benches inside has a cracked leg. It’s hanging on by a splinter; I’m lucky no one heavy sat on it last night.” Kayl glanced at Utrilo.

  “Yes, I heard you had quite a crowd,” Bryn said. “It’s just inside?”

  “Leaning up against the wall on the right,” Kayl said. “I didn’t want to chance someone sitting on it.”

  “Good. It shouldn’t take long,” Bryn said, and started for the door.

  “Just a moment, Mistress Wyrd,” Utrilo said.

  One of Bryn’s large, foxlike ears twitched. Unhurriedly, she turned back to face Utrilo. They made an interesting contrast, the fat, red-faced man in a loose robe of dusty linen and the small, brown-furred Wyrd in her plain leather tunic. Bryn looked less than half Utrilo’s size, though she was not too much shorter than he was, but she was clearly unimpressed by Islorran’s fat, city-bred secretary. “What is it?” she said in a bored tone.