He made a very good human.
At first, when they'd just come down into the inn's common room, she had been able to watch him watching others, his responses a half-heartbeat too slow as he gauged others' reactions. Made judgments. Learned. Soon he no longer glanced at her to see what emotions his expression should indicate. He didn't wait for her to answer when somebody asked him a question. It was together that they wove their story of how their farm had been destroyed by a dragon and how, with no family surviving, they had made their way to Griswold. When somebody asked why they hadn't gone to Saint Toby's, which was closer, Alys gave the same answer she had to the guards, "No work," but Selendrile added, "Well, that and..." And he let his voice drift off, so that everybody looked at Alys, as the more talkative brother, to finish the thought.
"That and...," Alys repeated, wondering what, if anything, Selendrile had in mind. He sat chin in hand, elbow on tattle, and in the flickering light of candles and hearth, his purple eyes appeared soft and gentle though she knew they were really hard and cold. She had taken note of the way the women in the room watched him, as though pretty eyes and a sweet smile were any indication of what a person was. She decided he didn't have anything in mind but was only trying to make things more difficult in order to watch her squirm. "Saint Toby's is not a nice place," she said with a sigh, which seemed to her to be appropriately vague and totally dull, but suddenly everyone, even Odelia's older sister, was waiting for her next words.
Alys rolled the cup of ale that had come with their dinner between her palms. Didn't anyone notice that Selendrile hadn't taken a bite of his meal, had never once sipped from his cup? "The thing is—"
"And this is very hard to talk about...," Selendrile interrupted, which might have passed among the listeners as explanation for her hesitation, but put her no closer to what to say.
Still, she looked at him appraisingly. If he wasn't determined to see her make a fool of herself, what was he up to? Alys realized she'd been so intent on explaining themselves, on fitting in, that she'd come close to losing sight of their purpose here. Explaining how Atherton had falsely condemned her would do no good. The people here had no more reason to believe her than her own townsfolk, especially if they'd been recently harassed by a witch of their own. On the other hand, if she couldn't get the Inquisitor in trouble by accusing him of what he'd done, she might get him in trouble by accusing him of something he hadn't done. "The thing is," she said, "someone stole things from the chapel in Saint Toby's."
It seemed to her that stealing from the Church had to be the worst of crimes, and from the expressions of the people around her, they agreed. Except for Selendrile. She couldn't tell what he thought.
"The poor box was ripped out of the wall," she continued, "the silver candlesticks snatched right off the altar."
"Who would do such a thing?" someone asked in a voice of awed horror.
"Inquisitor Atherton—"
Selendrile gave her a swift kick under the table. While Alys tried to be unobtrusive about rubbing her ankle, he said, "Inquisitor Atherton came to Saint Toby's to see about some girl who was accused of witchcraft."
"Not," Alys stressed, "that there was any real—"
Selendrile sat abruptly back in his chair, dragging his hands across the table so that he struck his cup and sent it spinning into her lap. "Sorry," he said blandly as she jumped to her feet and wiped ineffectively at the wetness.
And what was that look supposed to mean?
"Anyway," he finished her story for her, "what with all the commotion of the theft and the witch trial, nobody from Saint Toby's was in a hospitable mood. We were rushed out of there so fast we didn't have a chance to tell them about the dragon. And then, coming here, we had no way of knowing if we'd left the thieves behind us in Saint Toby's or if they were about to waylay us on the road."
One of the townsmen shook his head. "Leave it to Atherton to get caught up in a witch trial while thieves are happily stealing the shirt off your back."
This seemed a fine opening to Alys, but Selendrile tipped his head at her the way he'd first done when he'd been in dragon shape. "My brother and I have had a very long, hard day." His voice had just the right edge of weariness to it so that Alys could have sworn that he'd just lost his parents and everything he had in the world in the past two days.
The crowd parted for them, though Alys could hear the background murmur of people saying, "Terrible thing," and "What's the world coming to?"
She waited until they were back up in their room before turning on him. "What was that for?" she demanded, hands on wet hips and aware of how she stank of ale.
He flashed one of his colder smiles. "I didn't want you accusing him."
"I thought that was the whole point."
"Better to play naive and let people draw their own conclusions." He held his arms out straight and slowly turned.
Checking to see if the room was big enough for him to resume dragon shape, she realized. It wasn't. Which was probably a good thing; she doubted the floor would have held his weight.
He sat down on one of the sleeping pallets and looked up at her as he took off his boots. "What do people say when they're about to go to sleep together?"
"We are not about to go to sleep together," she informed him in a voice that was too loud, suddenly aware of how close the narrow room forced the two pallets to be.
"Well, I'm planning to go to sleep." He took off his shirt. "Of course, you're welcome to stay awake if you choose."
"Stay away from me," she warned, as furious as afraid. "Just stay over there away from me."
He managed the same innocent look he'd done downstairs for the women of Griswold.
But she knew better.
She turned her back so she wouldn't have to look at him and lay down in her damp, smelly clothes, as close to the far wall as she could get. "They say 'good night,'" she told him.
But he was too busy laughing to answer.
IT WAS MIDDAY when Alys woke up, and Selendrile was gone. Wonderful, she grumbled to herself, and went downstairs without waiting for him.
Her meal was the same as last night, except this time the soup was served cold and the bread warm. "So where's that handsome brother of yours?" asked the woman who was working in the kitchen. The mother of the two girls? Alys wondered, unable to decide whether the woman had been one of those present last night, or whether Selendrile's reputation had already begun to spread.
Alys shrugged and took her bowl out into the common room. Only a few people were here this early. She recognized a couple of faces, and smiled and nodded back at the greetings she got, but chose a table by herself.
What am I doing? she asked herself. She couldn't just continue to blunder around, hoping that things would fall into place and that Selendrile would pull through and help her when she needed it. She forced herself to think of Atherton—though her mind had a tendency to shy away from the turmoil of angry feelings he stirred up. Assuming the best about him, he might have been unaware that Gower and his family were lying to get her father's shop and land. Assuming the best, he might have been so eager to solve Griswold's dragon problem that when he'd found a maiden to offer to the dragon he hadn't cared.
Alys tried to focus her feelings of rage. All right. She and Selendrile had made up their own lies, had said that someone had stolen from the little chapel in Saint Toby's at just the time Inquisitor Atherton had been there. Would the people of Griswold draw the conclusion that Atherton himself had been the thief? Possible, she decided, but not definite. Would they believe it if she and Selendrile could get some of Selendrile's gold into Atherton's possession? She thought back to the faces of the townsfolk last night, when she had first mentioned the Inquisitor's name. She hadn't been concentrating, because Selendrile had been attacking her with foot and ale. Still, she didn't think she'd seen any smiles, any softening of their expressions the way she'd have seen if somebody had mentioned Father Joseph's name in Saint Toby's. And at least one in their audi
ence had complained about Atherton's preoccupation with witch trials. Surely he couldn't be popular. Not with his high-handed manner and the amount of satisfaction he obviously got from condemning people to death. She remembered the large gemmed crucifix that would be as showy and out of place in this town of simple homespun and rough-carved furniture as it had been in her own village. Surely the people here must resent him, and surely resentment was the first step toward convicting him.
The second step was hers.
The second step was confronting Atherton.
Chapter 8
ATHERTON'S HOUSE was behind the church, off the main street. Alys knocked, knowing that if he wasn't home, her plans would be delayed even more, but the idea of seeing him again—of letting him see her—was almost enough to send her back to the Green Barrel to wait for Selendrile. She braced herself, but still wasn't prepared.
The Inquisitor himself flung open the door without her having heard footsteps approach. "What is it?" he asked, standing close enough to spit on. He hadn't changed at all. Which, after two days, shouldn't have surprised her. But the knowledge that he had condemned an innocent victim to be devoured had left no physical trace on his face. His pale brown eyes regarded her coldly. Surely she hadn't changed either, and he would see through her silly disguise.
She tugged her cap lower over her forehead. "I ... I ... "
"What is it?" he repeated, patience gone in die span of two stammers.
He didn't know her after all. Her plan, such as it was, was safe. So far. It wasn't much to go on, but it was all she had.
She found speaking easier if she didn't look at him, and she lowered her gaze to the dusty street. "I come from Tierbo," she said, trying to match the regional accent to disguise her voice. "There's a man there what got himself possessed. Done speak in voices, he does, and throw fits. He got a gleam in his right eye what ain't normal and his left eye's all clouded over and turned up in his head like. My da says, 'Better get the priest,' he says, 'before somebody gets hurt.' Will ya come?"
"Tierbo," Atherton repeated. It was a seaport, a good three days away.
"My da says give this to you, for your church here." She reached into the bag of silver Selendrile had brought and grabbed a fistful of the coins. When she looked up from handing it over, she knew she had him. "There be more," she said, "what they were still collecting when I left."
Atherton nodded slowly. "Tonight's the vigil of Saint Emmett, Griswold's patron saint. Be here first thing tomorrow morning, and look you don't keep me waiting."
Now that she had started, Alys wasn't willing to delay. She saw Atherton start to move his arm—he had it up against the doorway as though to block her lest she try to forge ahead into his room. In another moment he would slam the door shut, dismissing her. She said, "Right, that's what my da said."
She watched him weigh his choices. He tightened his grip on the door, but asked, "What did he say?"
"Not to keep him waiting. He's in a terrible rush, the possessed man's that violent. That's why Da sent my brother over to Wendbury, to ask the priest there to come, too—see?—figurin' someone's got to get there first." The implication she hoped he'd come away with was that only the first would get the extra money.
Atherton considered. Then, as though doing her a favor, "All right, all right," he said. "If the man's that bad off, we'll set out tonight. Meet me here directly after the vigil service." Alys was nodding, but he repeated, "Directly. I'll have my things packed and a horse ready to go, and I want no nonsense from you."
"No nonsense," Alys agreed.
Atherton looked doubtful, but he said nothing more. He just—finally—slammed the door in her face.
ALYS SPENT THE REST of the afternoon wandering about the town of Griswold, hoping to find Selendrile and meanwhile talking to the merchants about what work was available, lest anyone become suspicious. Nobody had seen Selendrile since last night, but she did get three job offers.
As evening set in, her mood shifted from annoyance to anger to worry.
Then, as she passed a dark, narrow alleyway, she heard someone say, "Psst."
Hoping that it had nothing to do with her, Alys ducked her head and walked faster.
"Psst! Little boy."
Alys glanced into the darkness only long enough to see that there were far too many shadows. But apparently that was long enough. She heard a quick, startled laugh. Then the voice—a woman's—called, "Little girl disguised as a boy."
It was no use pretending she didn't hear or that it wasn't true. From the corner of the alley with the darkest shadows she caught a movement—a gnarled white hand beckoning. Alys looked around to make sure nobody on the street was watching and stepped into the alley.
Part of the shadows resolved themselves into the shape of an old woman with a shawl over her head. "Well, well, my sweet one," the woman said. But despite her gentle words, Alys flinched when she raised her hand to brush Alys's cheek. "What's such a pretty child doing dressed in nasty boys' clothes and with her lovely hair all cut off? Are you in trouble?" The woman smiled gleefully. "You are." She tapped the side of her own nose with a crooked finger. "I can smell people in trouble. You've gone and gotten yourself in bad company, haven't you?"
Not as bad as this, Alys wanted to say, but the words caught in her throat, and Alys was afraid that might be because they were untrue. She took a step away and felt the rough wall at her back, snagging her clothes and hair.
"You better get out," the old woman warned, "before you get in too deep."
"Yes," Alys said, easing toward the mouth of the alley, toward the open street. "Thank you for your advice."
"Advice is free," the woman said. "Would you like my help?"
Alys shook her head and the woman laughed. Alys felt the edge of the corner building, realized she was back on the street. Was the woman going to follow her? Prevent her from leaving? Yell out the truth about Alys to all the world?
But the woman did nothing, yelled nothing, only continued to laugh. "I'll be here if you change your mind," she called after Alys. "Here or in the glen behind the waterfall. I may well be your only chance—if you don't wait too long."
Alys ran the rest of the way back to the Green Barrel Inn, but she didn't go there directly, just in case she was being followed. She ran past it and circled to the right, then the left, temporarily lost herself, and only then ap proached the inn. At the door she stopped and looked back.
Silly, she told herself for the nagging feeling that the witch was watching her from the evening darkness. The witch was too old to run, and besides, Alys would have heard her. Still, it was a relief to enter the Green Barrel's brightly lit common room, especially when she saw Selendrile. He was sitting at a table by the fire, where the flames cast their glow on the long blond hair he'd gathered at the nape of his neck. For a moment she forgot how annoyed she was at him, until she noticed his impatient look, as though he'd spent all afternoon looking for her.
Which she didn't believe for a moment.
She sat down next to him before speaking so that not everybody in the room would overhear their business. "Where have you been?" she demanded.
He smiled, as though to say she didn't really want to know.
Which she didn't. "Don't do that again. I was worried."
"About me?" His tone was insincere, which made her answer: "About the plan," though she hadn't liked the thought he could be hurt or in trouble. He sat back on the bench and smiled. "What about the plan?" he asked.
She couldn't answer, because the cook came out then, carrying bowls of smoked-mutton stew, which she set before them on the table.
"None for me, thank you," Selendrile said, never looking at her.
"You don't eat enough," the cook scolded him, "that's your problem."
At which point he did look at her.
Any appetite that Alys may have had dissolved in that look. "Let's go to our room," she said, scrambling to get to her feet, to get away. "Come on, Selendrile."
 
; He got up slowly, with a smile for the cook, which she no doubt took as charming.
In their room, Alys talked fast to get his mind away from the path she was sure it was taking. "I went to see Atherton," she said, and saw a shadow of surprise. "I told him I was from Tierbo and that we needed him there for an exorcism. He agreed to come. I'm supposed to meet him after the vigil service tonight to take him there."
"When is a vigil service?" he asked.
She suddenly wondered if he knew what a vigil service was. Or an exorcism, for that matter. "Sundown. Which means it already started, so we'll have to hurry. My plan, since you weren't there to help, was to put the rest of the gold that you brought into his saddlebags, and then somehow get people to notice. I hoped that they'd think he'd been stealing from them, maybe." It sounded so lame, so ridiculous.
Instead of saying that, he pulled a large leather bag out from under his bedding.
So that's what he'd been doing, at least part of the day. It was more gold, much more. He'd also brought a pair of silver candlesticks, a delicately engraved silver goblet studded with emeralds, and a little golden plate—which, if it wasn't a paten meant to hold the Eucharist during Mass, certainly could pass as one. She tried not to gawk like a peasant at court, but judging from his half smile she hadn't quite pulled it off. "I take it these are from your ... ah..."
"Hoard."
"...hoard," she repeated, wondering why she felt guilty saying it if he didn't. "Good." Good? He'd stolen these things, how could she be saying "good" about that? "I can put part of this in his saddlebags and then make a little slit, so some of it spills out on the street while everybody's watching him leave for Tierbo. I saw that his house has a small upper window. I couldn't fit through, but if you could get in and hide the rest of this in Atherton's room, it'll seem as though he's been stealing for a long time."
He nodded, following her reasoning. "If you can toss the bag up into the room, I can turn into a bird, fly in the window, change back to human, hide the things, resume bird shape..." He considered. "Of course, if I walk into the church without any clothes, somebody's sure to notice. You always do."