Clandestine Circle

Chapter Eight

The confusion was over and the crowd had dispersed by the time Linsha and Durne were helped back to the pier. A few guards nursed bruises and cuts from the rain of missiles, but only Commander Durne had been seriously hurt.

Linsha walked back to the barrel where the ship’s cat still sat complacently on the logbook. She bent over to pick up her weapons, but she felt her legs begin to tremble, and before she could stop herself, she slid down with a thump and sagged back against the barrel. A reaction to what she had done settled into her bones and left her cold, shivering, and utterly spent. The cat jumped down into her lap and began to sniff her uniform tunic with great interest.

Meanwhile, five of youths had been caught, being too drunk to ran far, and they knelt in a terrified row with their hands on their heads in front of a squad of angry City Guards. Their ringleader, the fisherman’s son, knelt with the rest and bore a darkening bruise on one eye and a look of frightened defiance. He sank back onto his heels in obvious relief when the commander walked unsteadily to the pier.

Lord Bight wasted no time. He strode to the fisherman’s son, grabbed his shirt, and hauled the youth bodily to his feet. The boy’s jaw went slack and his eyes bulged in fear; any hint of defiance fled his broad face.

“Boy,” the lord governor roared, “my guards tell me you are responsible for this fiasco. You will tell me in twenty words or less why you and your friends did something so stupid. And it had better be the truth, or you will spend a week in the stocks on top of your punishment for disturbing a public meeting, assaulting my guards, attempting to murder my commander, and inciting a panic.”

The boy made one feeble attempt to speak, then his eyes rolled up and he fainted, from fear or spirits no one knew.

The governor dropped him in disgust and stepped to the next young man, a scrawny, dark-haired boy of about seventeen in the rough-weave clothing of a farmer. He stood over the youth, his brow dark and his eyes like a furnace.

“It was supposed to be a joke,” the boy blurted before the governor said a word. “Just a joke! We didn’t intend to kill anyone.”

Lord Bight looked down at his prisoner like a lion about to pounce. “A joke?” he said in a voice as rough as a growl.

The boy blinked and plunged on. “Yes, my lord. We were laughing and roughhousing among ourselves when this man came up to see us. He had a bottle of dwarven spirits—smelled like mushrooms, you know. And he, uh, talked to us and gave us that jug.”

“He said the speechifying had gone on long enough. How about a laugh to break it up?” offered another boy of about eighteen.

“A laugh?” repeated the governor harshly. He planted his fists on his hips and glared at them. “I almost lost two of my guards.”

A younger boy started to snivel. He was so hunched over he looked like he wanted to melt into the planks of the pier. “We’re sorry, Your Excellency. Really we are. We didn’t think.”

“Well, you’d better start thinking now. Who suggested throwing things?”

“The man did,” said the third boy, eager to be helpful. “He said we should give the guards a scare.”

“What did this man look like? Did any of you know him?”

They all shook their heads. “Kinda tall,” offered the youngest.

The others pitched in, hoping to assuage the governor’s anger.

“And black hair.”

“No. Brown. And he had a beard.”

“You dolt. Those were just heavy sideburns.”

“Enough!” Lord Bight’s order cracked like a whip. His voice took on a relentless certainty no one could disobey. “You will give your statements to the City Guards, including the names of the rest of your accomplices. The magistrate will charge you for malicious conduct and inciting a riot, and the guards will hold you in the dungeons for one week, which should give you plenty of time to think.”

The five boys looked appalled, but not one said a word.

“If I ever catch you doing anything like this again, I will send you to the volcanic mines. Is that clear?”

There was a chorus of “Yes, sirs!” and the City Guards took the boys away.

Commander Durne grinned wearily at his governor. “I don’t know what scared them more, you or the thought of the dungeons.”

Lord Bight sighed and rubbed his jaw. “Both, I hope.” He took a deep breath and as quickly as it came, his anger disappeared, to be replaced with a sad resignation. “This has been a hard day for us all. Perhaps I was a little hard on them.”

Durne touched the newly healed gash on his aching head. “One week? I thought you were very fair.” He looked thoughtfully at the empty boardwalk, the dark side streets, and the wharves stretching away on both sides. “Who do you think this mystery man could be? Is he just a troublemaker, or did he have a darker purpose?”

“Good question to ask, if you can find him.”

“I will see what we can do.” His eye came to Linsha, sitting by the barrel with the cat in her lap. “Did she really jump off the pier to rescue me?” he asked, still amazed by the courage it must have taken to leap into the harbor at night to save a drowning man.

A faint, knowing smile played over Hogan Bight’s face and was gone before Durne noticed it. “Aren’t you glad I did not take your advice?” he said lightly.

Together they walked to Linsha’s barrel, and Lord Bight offered her his hand to help her to her feet. “Once again, you impress me, young Lynn. Not bad for your first day as my bodyguard.”

Linsha managed a bow without falling over. She was so tired she could barely stay on her feet. “Thank you for your help, Your Excellency.” She looked down at the cat in her arms. “What do I do with her?”

“Ah, yes. She seems to like you well enough. Take her to the palace stables, and if the captain of the Whydah survives, he can reclaim her.”

Linsha chuckled. “I fear the cat likes me because I smell of rotten fish.”

Lord Bight shot a glance at his own clothes and at Commander Durne’s wet and rather fragrant uniform, and his eyes twinkled. “What an excellent way to begin a friendship.” He wheeled around, calling for his horse, and strode off to prepare to leave.

Durne paused before joining him and said, “Thank you, Lynn.” He stopped there, not knowing what else to say. It wasn’t often he was obligated to another person for his life, especially to a lovely, bedraggled woman.

Linsha merely nodded, her eyes fastened on him. She noticed for the first time that beneath that wet uniform the commander had broad shoulders. Intrigued, she let her eyes roam lower and noted his wide chest, a trim waist… she suddenly coughed, and her cheeks grew hot. Good gods, what was she thinking about! To hide her unexpected embarrassment, she saluted and said, “You’re welcome, sir. And I am sorry about your sword.” Ducking her head, she picked up the logbook and hurried to find Windcatcher, leaving Durne looking perplexed.

The squads re-formed as before and rode off the pier into the quiet streets. As they clattered onto the paving stones of the road, a dark shape glided serenely overhead and slid into the darkness between two buildings.

“Did you see that?” one guard said to Linsha.

She smiled to herself and patted the cat sitting on Windcatcher’s withers. “It was just an owl.”

The day had turned into the furnace of midmorning when Linsha finally awoke. For a time she lay in the strange bed and stared at the strange ceiling and wondered where she was. Sleep still clung to her mind like a hangover, and her body felt too lethargic to move. She dozed a bit in the increasing heat, and the next time she opened her eyes, she remembered where she was and why.

The room she occupied was painted white and shone in the bright sun that gleamed through a narrow window across from her bed. The brightness helped to disguise the fact that the room was very small, hardly more than a cell. At least, she thought, rolling over and sitting up, she didn’t have to put up with roommates. In a barracks full of men, that was a blessing.

Someone knocked at her doorway and stuck a head past the thick curtain that served as a door. “Oh, good. You’re awake,” said a fair-haired woman. “My name is Shanron. I was sent to see if you wanted something to eat.”

Linsha put a hand to her empty belly. It had been a long time since her supper with Elenor. “Yes, that would he fine,” she said gratefully.

“Good. There are clean clothes for you over there. We, uh, took the liberty of burning your old uniform for you. You’ll get a new one this afternoon.”

The lady Knight laughed at the expression of disgust on Shanron’s face. “Thank you. I was going to bury it in the refuse pile.” She looked down at herself and saw she was wearing an old shirt that once belonged to Elenor’s husband. She vaguely remembered shedding the wet and reeking uniform and pulling this shirt on before she fell asleep, but nothing else. Her hand went to her hair.

Shanron interpreted her motions correctly. “No, you didn’t have a chance to clean up last night. We have a bathing room downstairs, if you’re interested.”

Linsha stood up. “Show me the way,” she said, the relief clear in her voice. Taking her clean clothes and an old linen towel, she stepped out of her room to follow Shanron.

Once in the corridor, she was able to see the whole woman, the only other woman who served with Lord Bight’s personal guards. Shanron’s mother had been a slave in a house of pleasure just before the Chaos War; her father was anybody’s guess, although from the gold of her hair and the pale skin that refused to tan, Shanron guessed he was a southern barbarian. Like the warriors from the south, her body was taut with long tendons and smooth muscles, and of a height that enabled her to look down on quite a few men. She had a pleasant smile that she used often, and she seemed pleased to have another woman in the barracks.

Shanron set off down the hallway in a long, swinging stride and talked as she went. “Commander Durne told me you are to have the day to settle in and learn the schedules for duty and training. Tomorrow you will be evaluated by the weapons master and the horse master so you can be added to the duty roster.” She ducked through a doorway and headed downstairs. “The main barracks are down here. Our rooms are on the top floor, under the roof really, with the rooms for the cooks and servants. It gets hot, but it’s more private.”

Linsha caught a quick glimpse of a long corridor with rows of partitioned cubicles before she had to hurry on after Shanron down another flight of stairs.

“In there,” Shanron went on, pointing to the wall to their right, “is the undercroft. Mostly storage, but it is my favorite place.” She stepped outside through an arched entry and gestured broadly toward a narrow gate in the high wall behind the barracks.

“A gate?” Linsha said in confusion.

“No. What’s beyond it.” Like a child with a secret, Shanron waved at her to follow and strode toward the gate.

The blare of a horn startled Linsha, and she wheeled around to look across the parade ground toward the governor’s palace.

“That’s just the horn to change the sentries on the upper battlements. They can’t stay up there too long in this heat. Come on before you burn your feet,” Shanron called.

Linsha realized the other woman was right. The parade ground was grassy, to cut down on the dust around the palace. But the paths around the big courtyard were stone, which held the heat like an oven. Already her bare soles felt the effect. Quickly she hopped after her guide across the path and through the gate. From hot stone, her feet stepped onto warm grass, and she slowed to a stop and looked around in wonderment.

They had entered a garden redolent in the morning heat and filled with the heavy scents of gardenias, jasmine, and roses. Thick vines covered the walls, and groves of acacias, golden raintrees, and birches offered scattered oases of shade. A reflecting pool sat in the center, cool and inviting, and rimmed with a wall of blue granite. White lotus flowers floated on its surface. To the right sat a small domed building, its entrance shaded by a loggia of carved wood.

“This is one of Governor Bight’s gardens,” Shanron told Linsha. “Being a bodyguard has its privileges, and this is one of them. That is the bathhouse,” she said, pointing to the stone building. “Enjoy. I shall be out here lounging by the pool and guarding the door until you are finished.”

The lady Knight walked under the loggia and stepped into the stone building. Beyond the door was a lattice of carved wood that matched the loggia, and behind it was a pillared room with a domed ceiling and a sunken pool perhaps ten feet around, three feet deep, and filled with gloriously clean water. The room was light and airy, hinting at windows somewhere, but Linsha couldn’t see them through the curtains of white gauze that hung between the pillars. A light breeze played through the building and danced with the gauzy hangings.

Linsha couldn’t believe her luck. She hadn’t had a real deep-water bath since her arrival in Sanction. She’d always had to make do with a basin of water or a quick, and expensive, rinse off in one of the public bathhouses offered by some of the inns.

An attendant came to help her undress and to find the scented soaps and oils, then withdrew at Linsha’s request and left the Knight to her bath in solitude. To Linsha, after days of heat, humidity, dust, toil, and last night’s dunking in the dirty harbor, the cool water was blissful. She soaped and rinsed and soaped and soaked until her skin wrinkled and her hair was squeaky clean.

Reluctantly she left the pool at last and dressed in the loose, flowing robe and baggy pants someone had left in her room. The clothes were lightweight and comfortable for hot weather and fit her well enough. And they were much more feminine than anything Lynn usually wore.

She walked out of the bathhouse into the brazen sun and stopped so fast she almost stumbled. Commander Durne had one foot on the low wall surrounding the reflecting pool, and resting his elbow on his bent knee, he leaned forward to talk to Shanron. His pose was casual, friendly, and relaxed; his smile was full of humor and charm. Shanron reclined on the wall in front of him, her long legs stretched toward him, her weight resting on one arm as she dangled a hand in the water. They laughed together as friends, but were they intimates?

Linsha was amazed and dismayed by a pang of jealousy that flared out of nowhere. It was no matter to her what their relationship happened to be. She was too busy, and in too precarious a position, to even consider harboring feelings for anyone, let alone her commander. She fixed a smile of tranquil welcome on her features and joined the two by the pool.

The commander turned his pale aquamarine eyes to her.

Linsha had seen those eyes convey many emotions, but it surprised her to recognize the pleasure, surprise, and interest she saw there while he slowly appraised her.

“There is more beneath that rough exterior than one would imagine,” he said.

The remark sent a chill sparkling down Linsha’s spine. Should she be flattered or wary? Did he simply mean she cleaned up well, or could he see beyond the disguise of Lynn the alley-basher to another woman? She had to remember he was a potential threat, a stranger and a loyal official in the government of a man her order had sent her to investigate. Just because she risked her life to save him didn’t mean there could be any emotional attachment.

Linsha abruptly twisted her fingers into her linen towel and tore her eyes away from his face. “Did you say something about a meal?” she said to Shanron. The words came out too quickly to her ears, but she hoped no one else would notice.

Shanron lifted her long frame from the wall and climbed to her feet. “A little better than a bath in the harbor, isn’t it?”

The sincere smile that warmed Linsha’s face brightened her eyes and brought a rose blush to the freckles that dotted her cheeks. “It was utter paradise.”

Ian Durne blinked and looked at her again thoughtfully, disarmed and diverted by a loveliness he hadn’t noticed before. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, then snapped shut with a second thought. Abruptly he drew himself together. His light eyes turned away. He nodded to the two women. “I will leave you to your duties.”

Shanron returned his nod. Since she wasn’t in uniform, she wasn’t required to salute. If she noticed anything unusual about Linsha’s or Durne’s behavior, she kept it to herself. As she led her companion toward the big kitchens and the eating hall she told Linsha the functions of some of the other outer buildings, the granary, the smithy, and the brewing house. She pointed out the location of the privies, the training hall, and the central well and introduced Linsha to the half a dozen guards they passed. She dropped no hint of a friendship with Durne, and Linsha didn’t ask. The lady Knight was happy to let the subject drop.

The eating hall was filled with guards coming in for the noon meal. They made Linsha welcome and had her repeat the story of her jump into the harbor in her own words. Her reputation, under scrutiny as a new recruit, rose several notches, for Commander Durne was liked by his men and commanded their respect.

Linsha hungrily ate of the simple but hearty food, and afterward she begged a plate of scraps from the cook to take to the cat. He grumped about feeding useless strays, but after listening to several of Linsha’s heartfelt compliments, he gave her a bowl of stew meat and some fish scraps.

Outside the hall, Shanron took her leave. “I’m on sentry duty this afternoon,” she explained, “but I will see you tonight. Go to the armorer, over there, to see the tailor about your uniform and talk to Captain Dewald. He’s filling out the duty roster. Oh, and squires may not leave the palace grounds without permission and only in the company of another guard. So no shopping without me.” She waved and hurried off to don her own uniform.

Linsha carried her scraps to the stable and was pleased to see Windcatcher happily settled in an airy stall with a full hayrack and fresh water.

An old groom ambled up to greet her. “She’s a fine mare. Glad to have her. That for the cat? No wonder the captain wanted to save her. She’s caught three rats already. She’s up in the hayloft. And go quietly! We have an owl up there. Just appeared, so don’t scare it off.” He winked at her and ambled off without waiting for a reply.

Bemused by the groom’s rapid-fire announcements, Linsha chuckled to herself. She found the ladder to the hayloft on the far right of the long row of stalls and climbed slowly up, balancing the two bowls of food in one hand. The loft was hot, dusty, and close. Stacks of hay filled the loft almost to the roof beams in some places and made intriguing hills and valleys where it had been forked into racks below.

Linsha moved deeper into the interior and peered around in the dim light. She whistled softy, the cry of a mourning dove, and from somewhere in the shadowy rafters came a reply. She tried to spot the owl, but Varia’s russet coloration and barred feathers made her very difficult to spot in poor light.

A shape detached itself from a beam and came floating down toward her. “There you are at last,” called a whispery voice. “I have been waiting for you.”