Mastiff

  My partner advanced until he was but three inches from the mage. He was half a head taller than Master Farmer, heavier in the shoulders, chest, and legs. In his Dog’s uniform he was overpowering. “Don’t play the lovable lout with us. We’re Lower City Dogs from Corus. We’ve seen it all, we’ve heard it all, and we’ve hobbled it all. What kind of name is Farmer, anyway?”

  Master Farmer grinned. He looked like a very looby. “It’s my mage name.”

  Tunstall was about to spit on the beautiful rug when I cleared my throat. He caught my glare. I don’t care where he spits normally, but not in a palace. He coughed instead. “Mithros’s spear, what kind of cracknob picks a mage name like Farmer?”

  The mage shrugged. “Most of the mages that taught me would say I acted like I had my feet in the furrows and my head in the hayloft. I thought maybe there was something powerful, them thinking the same thing, so I took Farmer as a mage name.” He looked at me. “I’ve been wondering lately, though, do you think mayhap they were making fun of me?”

  I scratched Achoo’s ears. Why would Lord Gershom summon such a playactor to so important a Hunt as this one boded to be?

  Tunstall shrugged as if he settled his tunic more comfortably on his shoulders and stepped back. “Don’t ask us,” he said. “We’re city Dogs.”

  “I’m a city Dog, too,” Master Farmer said cheerfully. “I never had pets. At home we ate them.” He crouched next to Achoo and me. This close, he smelled a little of spices and fresh air. “Is that why you bring your pets along? So no one will eat them?”

  I am not edible, Pounce said. I couldn’t tell if Master Farmer heard. I didn’t think so, not when he didn’t even blink.

  Achoo was thumping her tail just a bit, telling me she wanted to make friends with the dozy jabbernob. Pounce sauntered over to him and looked up into his face. Master Farmer stared at him for a moment. Then he said, his tone less ignorant and silly, “Now there’s something new. You don’t often see a purple-eyed cat.” He held out a hand. Pounce sniffed it for a moment, then bit one of his fingers. “And that’s a lesson to me,” said the mage, grinning. “Have you a name, Ebon Cat of the Amethyst Eyes?”

  Once again he was speaking like a cove of sense. “I don’t know what that means, but his name is Pounce,” I said, frowning at the cat. “And he’s not normally so rude.” To make up for Pounce’s bad manners, I said, “You should greet Achoo, since you’re to work with us. Bau, Achoo.” Since Achoo kept wagging her tail as she smelled Master Farmer’s fingers, I said reluctantly, “Kawan.” He seemed harmless enough. Lord Gershom trusted him. That had to be enough for me.

  Achoo had rolled over so Master Farmer could scratch her belly when we heard a mot’s voice raised outside. “Gershom is here and he told us he brought his Hunters!”

  A lower voice answered. I couldn’t make out the words.

  The mot cried, “Pox take ceremony! I’ll see them now! I need to see them now!”

  The quieter voice spoke again.

  The mot snapped, “These people serve the law. I don’t think I need a chaperone in their company!”

  We all stepped back hurriedly as the door opened. A lovely, delicate mot came in and closed the door behind her. She had masses of brown curls that hung down to her waist. A few jeweled pins hung from them. Her maids were lax, letting her go about with her hair undone like that. She had large, golden brown eyes, a delicate nose, a soft mouth, and perfect skin. Her under tunic was white linen so fine it was almost sheer, her over tunic a light shade of amber with gold threads shot through it. Strips of gold embroidery were sewn to the front and the left side of the tunic, vines twining around signs for peace and fertility. Golden pearls hung from her ears, around her neck and wrists, and in a belt with a picture locket at the hanging end. Pearls were sewn to her gold slippers. Gold rings with emeralds and pearls were on her fingers, save for the heavy plain gold band on the ring finger of her left hand.

  I write all this, remembering her beauty purely, though she was smutched with soot from top to toe. Even her face and hands were marked.

  Tunstall had seen her before this at a closer distance than I, but we all guessed her identity. We were kneeling before the door was closed. “Your Majesty,” the coves said. My throat would not work.

  “Oh, please, please, get up,” she said, her voice softer now. “I can’t stand ceremony at a time like this. Please. Look, I’m sitting down.” It was true, she’d settled in one of the chairs. A smile flitted on and off her mouth, which trembled whatever she did.

  Pounce walked over and jumped into her lap. The queen flinched and then stroked him. I’d been about to call him back, but I waited, watching. Pounce turned around and coiled himself, not letting her see his strange eyes. As she petted him her shoulders and back straightened. Her trembling eased. “I’d thought all the animals had fled, or been …” She looked down for a moment, then turned her gaze to Achoo. “A scent hound? Is he yours?”

  I looked at the men, but they, great loobies that they were, stood there dumbstruck. Tunstall flapped his hand at me. He wanted me to talk to Her Majesty! But one of us had to, and Achoo was staring at me with pleading eyes, her tail wagging. She knew the pretty lady wanted to admire her.

  “Pengantar, Achoo,” I said. I turned to Her Majesty, without rising from my knees. From talking to folk who’d been broken by something terrible, I knew I would be more of a comfort to her if I sat below her eye level. Having Achoo come over made it reasonable for me to stay where I was. As the queen offered her hand for Achoo to smell, I explained quietly, “Achoo’s a female, Your Majesty. We’ve been partners three years now.”

  The queen looked at me, and at the men. “Partners?”

  I pointed to Tunstall, then at my uniform. “Achoo, Tunstall, and me, we belong to the Provost’s Guard. Senior Guardsman Matthias Tunstall, I should say. I’m Guardswoman Rebakah Cooper. And this is Master—”

  He bowed. “Farmer Cape. I am a Provost’s mage from Blue Harbor.”

  The queen frowned. “Surely we need a court mage for this?” she whispered. “I know His Majesty and the Chancellor of Mages fight over the plan to tax mages, but surely at a time like this, duty to the realm is more important.” She looked at Master Farmer. “I mean no offense, but I am used to depend on court mages.”

  I thought Master Farmer would take offense, having known too many prickly mages, but instead he only smiled at the queen. “Court mages are all very well, Your Majesty, but they do not often work in the cities and the wilderness. I have done both, as Lord Gershom knows. And he may well replace me with a court mage. I imagine he would like more information before he makes such decisions.”

  “That seems most sensible,” Her Majesty replied. “I had not thought of it that way.” She returned her attention to Achoo. She’d not stopped stroking Pounce, either. “I’ve only met the scent hounds we use to hunt. How does one partner a Provost’s Guard?” she asked.

  I hoped she knew the answer when she felt better, since the purpose of a Provost’s scent hound seemed obvious to me. Seemingly she wasn’t thinking straight just now. Her eyes were far too wide, as if she’d seen things, unbearable things. Remembering the bodies in the garden, I doubted that our pretty queen had ever encountered anything of the like. “When someone is missing, or something’s been stolen, we give Achoo a scent of it,” I explained. “Then she goes off and finds it. I run with her to keep her on the scent and to summon help, should she need it. Tunstall guards us.”

  The queen leaned forward and gripped my arm hard. There was more strength, or desperation, in her fingers than I expected. “It’s true, then? You are the ones who must find my son?”

  I sat back on my heels, trying not to let my shock show itself on my face. Tunstall looked down. Master Farmer turned away entirely. Now we knew why my lord had fetched us. In all this mess, His Highness Prince Gareth, the sole heir to the throne, was missing.

  I collected myself. “Your Majesty, we’ve yet to hear our orders. It would
help if you were to tell us what happened here. We only came a short time ago, and we’ve been told nothing. When did all this happen?” I emboldened myself and took her hand as if she were one of my sisters. “It looks fresh—the marks of burning, and the dead.”

  She looked at the men. “Please take your seats. If you find my baby, you may ask anything you wish of me, so please, sit.” She smiled at me. “These two animals, they’re proof you have a tender heart. My little prince, cruel strangers have him.… ” Tears spilled down her face.

  I always carry a score of cheap handkerchiefs on my person, in my breech pockets and a pocket I’ve stitched inside the front of my tunic. I fished one of them out now. I was shamed by its rough quality, but I saw no handkerchiefs on her person. She would not leave off scratching Pounce, so I dabbed the tears and not a little soot from her lovely cheeks.

  “Oh—oh, Goddess, I’m being so foolish,” she whispered, and took the handkerchief from me. Pounce glared at me. She dried her eyes and wiped her nose, then tucked the cloth behind Pounce and began to stroke him again. The two coves, watching her graceful hand caress the cat’s gleaming fur, sighed. Now it was my turn to glare at them, beauty-dazed cracknobs that they were.

  “My lord the governor of Blue Harbor invited His Majesty and me to a party in our honor yesterday,” Queen Jessamine began. “It started around noon. There were nobles from Blue Harbor, the fiefs around Port Caynn, even Arenaver. It was the usual welcome to us that they give every year when we return to the Summer Palace. Roger—His Majesty had a wonderful time. I did, too, of course,” she hurried to say, which led me to think that the king liked big parties more than did the queen. “But I was a little unwell. His Majesty was good enough to return home with me at midnight.”

  “Who went with you to this party, Your Majesty?” I asked quietly.

  “My maids. Our personal mages. Half of the King’s Own,” she replied. “The other half always stays—” She choked at that point and seized the handkerchief, weeping into it.

  I straightened, looking around for a pitcher of water or tea, something to give her to drink. Master Farmer fumbled at his belt and unhooked a flask, then handed it to me. “I’ll be right back,” he said quietly, and left us. I uncorked the bottle and sniffed the contents. It was wine. I hesitated, but reminded myself again that Lord Gershom must have trusted the cove entirely, to bring him when things were dire.

  “Have a bit of this, Your Majesty,” I said, putting the flask to her lips. “You must catch hold, you know. You’ve got to tell us the tale if we’re to go about finding His Highness.”

  Tunstall got down on his knees beside her chair, too. “Cooper’s right, Your Majesty,” he said, his deep voice soft. “It’s hard to Hunt when we don’t know what happened.”

  “I understand,” she said, and took a swallow. “Have—have you worked with Master Farmer long?”

  Tunstall and I looked at each other. “We just met,” I said. “Lord Gershom chose him. I’ve known my lord a long time, and I think he would have brought a mage he knew well for this.”

  The queen took another swallow from the flask. “If Lord Gershom vouches for him, then I will trust in his skill,” she said quietly. “After all, neither Ironwood, that’s His Majesty’s mage, nor Orielle claim the skills to hunt raiders. Orielle is my own mage,” she explained. “Perhaps they do not teach tracking skills to mages in the University of Carthak or the City of the Gods. I know their oath of duty calls for Orielle and Ironwood never to stray a hundred yards from my lord king or me, but surely this is different?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Tunstall said. “We have no understanding of the skills learned by such important folk.” I waited for him to say, “And our mages are scummer,” but he did not. Perhaps he didn’t want the queen to know most Provost’s mages weren’t very good. I doubted very much that my lord chose a scummer mage for a royally ordered Hunt.

  To change the subject, I asked, “Your Majesty, have you a picture of His Highness?”

  The queen’s lips quivered. She took a deep breath, blinked several times, and picked up the oval locket that swung at the end of her pearl belt. “Here. We just had it done a month ago for his fourth birthday.”

  Tunstall and I leaned closer. The portrait was of a solemn-eyed boy with reddish-brown hair and skin as pale as the queen’s. He had his mother’s eyes and mouth, and the king’s hair and beaky nose.

  The door opened. In came Master Farmer with a flagon and some cups. “Here we go,” he said cheerfully, placing them on a table at Her Majesty’s elbow. “It’s lemon water, which I thought might do Your Majesty more good than wine just now.” He poured her a cup and handed it to her. Then he poured cups for the rest of us and passed them around. I sipped the contents carefully. I’d had lemon water only once before. Holborn had insisted on buying some for me last summer.

  The memory bit me deep in the belly. I thrust it out of my mind and savored the drink. Master Farmer took a chair as Her Majesty and I set our cups aside. I gave her a fresh handkerchief and nodded to see if she would pick up the thread of her tale.

  “We knew there was trouble when we found no one at the gate on the main road. Captain Elfed wanted to leave us there, but His Majesty said that our mages might be needed. The mages refused to leave us—I told you, they are forbidden to do so. In the end, we all came. We saw the fire soon after that. The mages put it out, but Captain Elfed says everyone must have been dead before the fire started. I went straight to the nursery. I promised Gareth …” She took a drink of her lemon water, then made herself go on. “It’s where the fire started. The mages say Lunedda is not there—his nurse. If she is gone, I won’t believe anything’s happened to him. But his mage—Mistress Fea was melted.” The queen’s lips trembled. “I only knew her by her—her hair, and the seeing glass she wore around her neck, and her rings. The rest was … ooze.”

  “Forgive me, but was everyone melted?” Master Farmer asked while Tunstall and I drew the Sign against evil on our chests.

  The queen shook her head. “Only Fea and the head cook. He was a mage, too. The rest were blasted, or killed with ordinary weapons, or burned in the fire, even the animals. I had two of the sweetest little dogs.…” She wiped her overflowing eyes on the back of her wrist, like a child. “Not bold warrior girls like Mistress Achoo.” Achoo knew she was being praised and wagged her tail. When the queen lowered her hand, Achoo licked it.

  There was noise at the door. Men came in. The first was King Roger, a handsome, tan cove in his early forties with gray eyes. Like the queen’s, the king’s eyes were red and swollen, though they were dry now. His reddish-brown hair flipped up around the sides of his head in runaway curls. I spotted a few gray hairs, mostly at the sides. His black silk hose and blue silk tunic were streaked with ash. He’d washed his hands, but his nails were dirty and there was soot in the creases yet, as if he’d been digging in fire-blackened ruins. There was a broad streak of ash on his cheek. I’d seen him in parades. Like the queen, he had an air about him that made him the center of the room.

  Master Farmer slid straight from his chair to his knees.

  “Achoo, turun,” I whispered. Achoo lay flat on her belly, her head down between her forepaws.

  Only the queen and Pounce stayed where they were. Her Majesty offered him her hand. “My love, I have been telling them what happened,” she explained. “How we found … things, when we came home last night.”

  His Majesty looked at the three of us. “Rise, please. There isn’t room enough in here for kneeling.” His voice was pleasant to hear, musical in a way. I did not look at him as I got to my feet. All I could think as I stood there was the jokes from the days before his second marriage. “Randy Roger,” “Roger the Rigid,” stories of merchants’ daughters, soldiers’ daughters, noble daughters, Player queens, courtesans, and trollops. Tunstall’s lover, the knight Sabine, had earned herself a spell of patrol in the gods-forsaken eastern hills when she offered her king physical violence if he didn’t k
eep his hands to himself. Her late Majesty, Queen Alysy, had lived with all his canoodling by turning a blind eye and a deaf ear. Word was that since his marriage to Queen Jessamine, he had yet to stray. From the look he had given her before I lowered my eyes, I could tell the word was true. The king loved his young queen.

  “His Majesty has also been telling me what was found.” That was my lord Gershom’s comfortable drawl. I glanced up at him. I’d never seen my lord afraid before, but he was frightened now. “It seems to me that we are best served if my team can set about finding where the raiding party came from, and where they went to.”

  “It is perfectly obvious.” That third voice was coming from the plump, white-haired fellow I guessed to be the king’s personal mage, the one who had met us at the door. Like any mage in service directly to the Crown, he would have been trained at the City of the Gods or, rarely, the Carthaki university. I suppose that being acknowledged to be at the height of your craft would put a smug set on your face, but I didn’t like this fellow all the same. I would have broken the vows he’d made to go hunting for the missing child the moment he was gone, not told Their Majesties my vows forbade me to do it.