The Lost Heiress

3

Between the kings the Interrex shall come; come from the dark and to the darkness go.

Apocalypse of Tamar

“CARYS!”

The girl grinned at them in the dimness. “Hello, Raffi. Still hungry?”

“You know her?” Rocallion was staring in astonishment. “But she’s one of the Watch!”

“Her name is Carys Arrin. As for what she is, only God and the Makers know.” In the half-light Galen reached out gently and took the beads from her fingers. “So it was you who found them.”

“Luckily for you.” She glanced back at the door. “But we haven’t got time to talk. The Watch commander is called Braylwin. He’s fat and lazy, but he’s got a mind like a razor and he’s sure there was a keeper here for Flainsnight. I’m not exactly the apple of his eye, either. So I want you out of here.”

“You think we’d betray you?” Galen said quietly.

“Under torture, yes.” She stared hard at him, her short brown hair swinging. “Look, I can get you out if you come now. I’m guard leader for two hours, and everything’s quiet. The patrol will stay here at least a week, Galen. You might not get another chance.”

Galen blessed the beads, pulled them on, then stiffly crawled out of the cell and stood up. “Of course we trust you,” he said, as if she’d asked.

Bewildered, Rocallion stared up at him. “Are you sure?”

Raffi grinned. “We think so.”

“Think!”

“Hope.”

Carys was already at the door, peering around it. In the darkness she seemed taller, her hair shorter. The crossbow was slung at her back. She said, “We go down the corridor, then the cellar stairs. Can the cellar door be opened from inside?”

Rocallion shrugged. “The Watch have got the keys.”

“I’ve got the keys. There’s a guard in the courtyard; I’ll talk to them while you get by. Down the lane is a byre, by the gate—it’s been searched already. We’ll meet there. Agreed?”

She’s used to giving orders, Raffi thought.

Galen nodded. It was hard to see his expression in the dimness. Glancing back, she said suddenly, “Make sure you wait for me, Galen, because I’ve got something to tell you. Something important.”

As he stepped forward into the lamplight from the corridor, they caught his wolfish smile. “I know that.”

“You would!” For a moment she grinned. Then she was out the door. Galen pushed Raffi after her, then came himself, with Rocallion silently at the back.

The corridor was empty, lit with one lamp. Far off in the house someone laughed. They clustered at the end while Rocallion took his keys from Carys and fumbled for the right one; as soon as the door opened they slipped through.

It closed behind them with a click.

“Be careful,” Rocallion’s voice echoed. “There are steps in front of you leading down.”

Raffi found them, edging cautiously. He knew they were in the cellar—it was bitterly cold and smelled of beer casks. Twice at the bottom he walked into barrels. Finally Rocallion pushed through from the back. “Let me go first.”

There was no light and Galen made none; it would have been fatal if the door above had opened.

When Raffi caught up with Rocallion, the back door was already unlocked. Infinitely carefully, the franklin opened it and looked out. Under his arm Raffi saw the dim courtyard, dark gables, a single star overhead.

A murmur of talk came from somewhere nearby. Carys pushed her way silently to the front. “Take care,” she breathed. Then she squeezed past them and went out into the night.

They waited. Raffi felt the cold drift of the leaf-fall on his face, heard the hiss of it against the roofs of the manor-house. The night was unusually still, as if held in frost, though far off in the woods an owl called, and nearer something squeaked, like a jekkle-mouse.

The voices had gone. Instead only Carys was talking, loud and furious. He could hear the anger in her voice, and was amazed again at the way she could lie, and pretend, and act.

“Go now,” Galen whispered. They slid carefully out into the blue shadows, edging along the wall.

The leaf-drift had fallen all day. Here in the lee of the wall it was a bare sprinkling, so that their feet cut dark prints; Galen scuffed them out hurriedly. They sprinted between buildings, under the low eaves of a barn. As they flitted through a gate, Raffi glimpsed the red glare of a fire, heard Carys’s sharp orders. She wanted a sharper watch kept. And she wanted those dice! Now! Raffi grinned, his fingers slipping over the cold of the gate bar.

In the lane they could run, but the ruts were full of frosted puddles that tilted and splintered, wheezing as they broke. The ground was rock hard and even the firethorns had leaf-dust all over them; the storm had brought a sudden sharp frost, the first this year. Raffi shivered, his breath smoking in the sudden glint of two moons that drifted from the clouds.

Galen pulled him into the hedge-shadow. “This byre. How far?”

Rocallion caught his breath. “Just ahead.”

They could see the low edge of its roof, among branches. This end of the lane was banked with leaves; a great wall, well-trampled, as if cows had forced a way through. The pungent smell of fireberries was rank.

Rocallion put his hands on the door-bar, but Galen stopped him. “Wait.”

In silence the keeper stood, one hand on the wall. They both knew he was sending sense-lines inside.

“I thought you trusted her?” Rocallion whispered.

“We do. And we don’t.”

Then the keeper nodded, and they lifted the bar and hurried in. The byre was empty, deep with old straw. A rat rustled away. Breathless, they crouched in the cold; Raffi buried himself in straw.

“Maybe I should go back,” Rocallion murmured.

As he said it the door creaked; Carys slipped in and stood there. She folded her arms and grinned at them. “I’m glad you stayed.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it,” Galen said gravely. “But won’t they miss you?”

She came over and sat by them, taking the crossbow off and tossing it down. “Them! They’ll be glad to see the back of me.” She hugged her knees. “So what have you both been doing? How did you get out of the city?”

“The Sekoi have ways,” Galen said carelessly. “After that the three of us came north and paid a little visit to a thief-lord named Alberic.”

She laughed. “We know about that. He’s after you.”

“Is he?” Raffi was alarmed.

“Some of our spies have reported that he’s sent men out, asking questions. You should be careful.”

“I intend to be,” Galen said drily. “Did you hear how Raffi climbed up the wall of his tower?”

She giggled. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Neither did I,” Raffi muttered, remembering the terror of the swinging rope, his raw hands.

Carys was silent a moment. Then she looked up, her eyes bright. “I’ve got some information you’ll find . . . interesting. It’s highly secret.” Her glance flickered to Rocallion.

He caught it, and stood up. “Your packs are hidden in an old well out near here. I’ll get them for you.”

When he had gone she got up and checked the door, then came back and crouched. Excitement was streaming from her; Raffi could almost see it, and he struggled up in the straw, his skin tingling.

“Listen,” she said. “Last month, up in the hills, an old woman was being questioned.”

“Questioned?” Galen looked at her grimly.

“I can’t help their methods. In any case, she suddenly came out with some amazing information, probably to save herself. She told them she once worked in the Emperor’s palace. When the Emperor was killed at the fall of Tasceron, the young man next to him, whose body was too badly burned to be sure about, was assumed to have been his son. According to the old woman, this wasn’t so. The son, the Prince, escaped. He lived for many years in hiding in a village named Carno. He married, and seven years ago he had a child. The old woman lived with them. Her name was Marta. No one else knew who they were. But then a Watchpatrol came for slave laborers for the mines at Far Reach. They took the parents, and the old woman, though she was no good to them. No one seems to know what happened to the child.”

“And the Prince?” Galen said.

“Dead. We checked.”

They were silent. Then Raffi breathed out slowly. “So the Emperor had a grandchild.”

Galen pondered, his eyes glinting. “This is excellent news, Carys, if it’s true . . . Boy or girl?”

“That was one thing she wouldn’t say.”

“A new Emperor!” Galen stood up and limped around in excitement. “It’s a miracle! And it fits. When the Makers come back everything will be restored.”

“You’re still sure they’re coming?” Carys asked quietly.

“You were there. You heard them.”

She shook her head, rueful. “I heard something. A voice. But look, Galen, if you want this Interrex of yours—”

“What did you say?” The keeper whirled around, staring at her, his eyes black. In the shadows his face was suddenly hooked and sharp. The Crow’s face.

“I said Interrex. It’s Braylwin’s joke. It’s from your Book.”

He glanced at Raffi. “Once again.”

Carys frowned. “What do you mean, again?”

“It was the Word. On Flainsnight. The word the Makers sent.”

For a moment she looked at Galen so still and strangely that he felt something flame up in her, some doubt or anger. Then she said bleakly, “Well, anyway, if you want this Interrex you’d better find him fast. Or her. Because we’re already looking.”

“We?”

“The Watch. And the reward is big, believe me.”

Galen came close to her, suddenly. “Leave the Watch, Carys! Come with us.”

“I’ve told you I won’t. You could be all wrong, Galen. Mistaken about everything.”

He smiled coldly. “Was the Crow wrong? When you saw the House of Trees break into leaf, when you heard a voice from the stars, was all that a mistake? You know it wasn’t.”

The silence was bitter.

Then, abruptly, the door banged open and Rocallion backed in, two packs in his arms and Galen’s stick thrust through his belt. A gust of leaf-dust swirled in with him.

Carys stood up. “I’ve told you. You must do what you want about it. If the Watch find the child they’ll kill it, that’s for sure.” Then she laughed at them, eyes bright. “I’m not really with the Watch, Galen. I’m for myself, I told you that. There are things I want to find out, and being on the inside is the best way. Braylwin’s lazy; he spends every winter in the Tower of Song, and I want to go with him, because that’s where all the Watch records are kept. I need to know who I am. Where I came from. But you must find the Interrex. That word was for you.”

She was at the door, but she stopped when Raffi blurted out, “You haven’t told us how you’ve been.”

“Under suspicion.” She kicked the straw absently. “I put in a report about Tasceron. It was a masterpiece of lies—you’d have loved it, Raffi. But someone must guess I’m holding back. I was hauled off surveillance and assigned to this Braylwin. For the time being I’m stuck with him. He’s as sly as they come. And odious.”

“Be careful,” Raffi muttered.

She nodded.

Galen gave Rocallion a hurried blessing; the young man knelt hastily in the straw.

“Go back with her,” Galen told him. Then, turning to Carys, he said, “Get him into the house. I don’t want him in trouble for this, Carys. He’s done nothing but save our lives.”

“Don’t worry.”

Rocallion shook Galen’s hand, then Raffi’s. “Good luck, keepers,” he said.

“And you,” Galen answered. “Both of you.”

From the door Carys gave them a strange look. “I’ll survive. But if you find this child, Galen, will you let me know? Will you trust me enough to tell me where it is? You’ll need the Watch kept away.”

For a moment he stared at her darkly. Then he said, “You’ll hear from me, Carys.”