Читать книгу Lady Knight - Tamora Pierce - Страница 10

Riding with Third Company of the King’s Own, Kel had spent plenty of time slogging through mud and slush. She was used to that. It was her frequent riding companions, Prince Roald and Sir Nealan of Queenscove, who sometimes made her wish her family had stayed in the Yamani Islands. The bitter conditions were echoed by the moods of both young men. They were betrothed and in love with the women they were to marry. They moped. Kel tried to make them think of other things, but the moment conversation lagged, they returned to the contemplation of their Yamani loved ones.

Kel felt sorrier for Prince Roald. Two years older than Kel, the prince was to have married Princess Shinkokami in mid-May, before the arrival of word that Maggur had taken the Scanran throne. Instead of an expensive ceremony, he and Shinko had decided to put their wedding off. Both showed cheerful faces to the public, saying they had traded rose petals for arrows to arm their soldiers, but to their close friends their disappointment was plain.

Neal, usually dramatic in love, would not talk about his lady, Yukimi, at all. It was such a change from his normal behaviour that Kel was convinced he truly loved her Yamani friend. Before, he’d made high tragedy of his beautiful crushes and his own heartbreak, but not this time. Not over a plump and peppery Yamani.

With Roald on one side and Neal on the other, Kel had to wonder about her own sweetheart, Cleon of Kennan. They hadn’t seen each other in over a year. A knight two years older than Kel, he was stuck in a northern border outpost, where he had been assigned to teach the locals how to defend themselves. He’d been unable to get or send letters during both winters. Had he forgotten her? She wasn’t even sure if he knew she’d survived her Ordeal.

I’ll write to him when I know where I’m to be posted, she promised herself. Maybe we’ll even be assigned to the same place. I’d like that.

She smiled at the idea. They’d never got much time alone: something had always interrupted. Perhaps by now he’d be over his impractical idea that he wanted them to marry before they made love, as proper young noblemen did with proper young noblewomen.

Nothing would come of waiting to marry. Years ago, Cleon’s mother had arranged his marriage to a young noblewoman with a fine dowry. Cleon thought that, given time, he might convince his mother that Kel would make a better wife. Kel was not so sure. As the youngest daughter of a family that was not wealthy, her dowry was small. She was also not ready to marry. She’d only just earned her shield; there was so much to do before she could think of settling down. Cleon loved her, wanted to have children by her. She wanted love and children, too – someday. Not now. Not with Scanra ready for all-out war against Tortall. Not with a future that included Blayce the Nothing Man.

Romance wasn’t the only thing to think about, but it was more pleasant than reality. Knights used their powerful mounts and the wagons of armour, tack, and weapons to break trail through snow and ice, clearing the way for the foot soldiers of the regular army. It was slow going.

At least Peachblossom, Kel’s infamous, temperamental warhorse, behaved. He was a strawberry roan: reddish hide flecked with white, and red-brown stockings, face, mane, and tail. Eight years with Kel had cured him of his tendency to attack others. It was only when they got held up and he was bored that Kel caught him eyeing Neal, his favourite target. When that happened, Kel excused herself and rode ahead to join Lord Raoul or Lady Alanna.

To everyone’s relief, the countryside offered dry quarters for the military. War parties rode north so regularly that local farmers made extra money by letting soldiers bed down in their barns. Officers and knights slept at crown wayhouses. These large inns provided snug quarters and plentiful food, doubly welcome after a day in the cold and wet. Often villages encircled the wayhouses, offering shops and more places to find shelter for the night.

Each day as she walked into the comfort of a wayhouse, Kel hoped the Stormwings that flew above the army found only cold, damp perches for the night. She wished them ice-covered wings and frostbite in their human flesh. Each morning she saw the flash of their steel feathers and heard their jeering calls as the army marched on. And each morning their numbers were as great as they’d been the day before.

Kel had been on the road ten days when they stopped in Queensgrace for the night. The Jug and Fire was the largest of three wayhouses there, so large that even first-year knights had rooms to themselves. By the time Kel got to her room after tending her mounts, a hot bath awaited her. She soaked until the mud and ice were out of her pores, then dried herself, dressed in clean clothes, and went down to eat with her friends. Except for the conversation of the villagers, who had come to see the nobles, the only sounds were the clatter of cutlery and occasional quiet requests for butter, salt, or the refill of a tankard.

Kel finished and thrust her plate back with a grateful sigh. A bowl of winter fruit sat on the table she shared with Neal and her year-mates, reminding her of her horses. They deserved a treat after that day’s work. She scooped up two apples and excused herself.

A shortcut through the kitchens meant she was outside for only a couple of yards rather than the width of the large courtyard. It also meant she entered the stable unnoticed, through a side door rather than the main entrance.

The long building lay in shadow, the lanterns being lit only around the front entrance. The horses dozed, glad to be under shelter. Kel was letting her eyes adjust to what light there was when she heard the hard whump! of leather on flesh, and a child’s yell.

‘I tol’ ye about foolin’ around the horses when there’s work to be done,’ a man snarled. He stood two rows of stalls over from Kel, his back to her. He raised his right hand; a leather strap dangled from his fist. ‘You’re supposed to be in that kitchen washin’ up, you thankless rat turd!’ Down plunged the hand; again, the sound of a blow as it struck, and a yelp.

Kel strode quickly but silently across the distance between her and the man. The next time he drew his arm back, she seized it in one iron-fingered hand, digging her nails deep into the tender flesh between the bones of his wrist.

‘You dare—’ the innkeeper growled, turning to look at her. He was bigger than Kel, unshaven and slope-shouldered. His muscle came from hoisting kegs and beating servants, not from eight years of combat training. His eyes roved from Kel’s set face to her personal badge, a grey owl on a blue field for House Mindelan, and below it, Kel’s own ornament of crossed glaives in cream lined with gold. There were two stripes of colour for the border – the inner ring cream, the outer blue. They meant she was a distaff, or female, knight.

The innkeeper knew who she was. That information spread quickly everywhere Kel went. ‘This’s no business of yours, lady,’ he said, trying to yank free of her. ‘Look, he’s allus ditchin’ chores, never minds his work. Likely he’s out here to steal. Leave me deal with him.’

The boy, who sat huddled in a corner of the empty stall, leaped up and spat at the innkeeper’s feet. He then bolted across the aisle and into the next stall.

‘No!’ shouted Kel, but it was too late. The boy slipped in manure and skidded to a halt under Peachblossom’s indignant nose. ‘Peachblossom, leave him be! Boy, he’s mean, get out now!’ While the gelding had learned to live near others like a civilized creature, he could not be approached by just anyone.

Peachblossom lowered his muzzle to sniff the ragged scrap of humanity before him. The boy waited, perfectly still, as the big gelding whuffled through his guest’s hair and under his arms, then gently lipped the boy’s nose. Kel waited, horrified, for the shriek of agony that would come when Peachblossom bit.

The shriek never came. Peachblossom continued to inspect the newcomer inch by inch.

‘Milady, you oughtn’t go between a man an’ his servants,’ the innkeeper said, trying to be agreeable. ‘I’ll never get him to do proper work now.’ He tried to wrest his hand from Kel’s grip. She tightened her muscles, digging even deeper into his wrist. He couldn’t shake her loose, and he was afraid to anger a noble by striking her.

As he struggled, Kel inspected the skinny urchin who had so bewitched Peachblossom. The shadows around the lad’s deep-set blue eyes were not all from lack of sleep. There was an old black eye, a newer bruise on one cheekbone, and a scabbed cut across his sloping nose. The boy glared at the innkeeper, his chin square and determined. There were new welts on his arms and back visible through holes in his shirt. A slit in half-rotten breeches revealed a long, recent bruise. He was barefoot, his feet red and chapped. His matted hair might be blond if it were clean.

As she watched, he reached up and gently stroked Peachblossom’s muzzle.

Horse magic, Kel thought. It has to be. And this idiot treats a lad that useful like a whipping boy. She looked at the innkeeper. Fury boiled in her veins, but she kept her face calm, allowing no emotion to escape. It was a skill she had perfected. ‘Tell me he is not your son,’ she said mildly.

The innkeeper made a face. ‘That stray pup? We took him in of charity, fed and clothed him, and gave him a home. He works here. I’ve the right to discipline him as I please.’

‘You would lose that right if he weren’t forced to depend on you. He’d be long gone.’ Her voice was still pleasant. Her inner self, the sensible part, shrieked that she had no business doing what she was about to do. She was on her way to a war; boys took much more looking after than sparrows, dogs, or horses.

‘Let him starve? That would be cruel,’ the man insisted. Looking at him, Kel realized that he believed it. ‘He’s got no family. Where can he go?’ demanded the innkeeper. ‘But he can’t just leave work. Boys need discipline. Elsewise he’ll go as bad as the feckless Scanran slut that whelped him an’ left him on the midwife’s step.’

‘If he was left with the midwife, how did he come to you?’ Kel asked.

‘She died. We bid for the boy’s indenture. Paid for seven years, we did. Been more trouble than he’s worth, but we’re gods-fearin’ folk, an’ charity be a virtue.’ The man looked piously towards the ceiling, then at Kel. ‘Forgive my sayin’ so, milady, but this be no affair of yours.’

Kel released him. ‘I think the district magistrate would find your treatment of this boy to be very much his affair,’ she informed the man. ‘Under the law indentured servants have some rights. What did you pay when you bid for his services?’

‘You can’t buy his contract,’ protested the innkeeper. ‘It ain’t for sale.’

Kel wrapped both hands in his tunic and dragged his face down to hers. ‘Either tell me, or I visit the magistrate tomorrow, and you’ll have no say in the matter,’ she informed him. ‘This boy is an indentured servant, not a slave. Accept my coin now, or have him taken with no payment tomorrow, it’s all the same to me.’

When the innkeeper looked away, she released him, knowing she had won.

‘Two copper nobles,’ growled the man.

‘One,’ said the boy grimly. ‘Only one, an’ I been workin’ for ’im for three year.’

‘Lyin’ little rat!’ snapped the innkeeper, darting to Peachblossom’s stall. The gelding lunged without touching the boy at his feet and snapped, teeth clicking together just in front of the innkeeper’s face. The man tried to run backwards and fell, ashen under his whiskers.

Kel looked in her belt purse. She wouldn’t have paid a copper bit for ten boys in that condition, but she wanted to be rid of the innkeeper. She held up two copper nobles. ‘I’ll take his indenture papers before you have this. Get them, right now.’

The man fled the stable.

Kel sighed and walked into Peachblossom’s stall. ‘You’re getting slow,’ she informed the gelding. ‘Time was you’d have had his whole arm in your teeth.’

Peachblossom snorted in derision and backed up.

‘Not that I’d mind,’ Kel admitted, looking at the lad. ‘A good bite would keep him from hitting people with that arm for a while. But I suppose it would make a fuss.’ She propped her hands on her hips, disgusted with herself. Why had she done this?

Even as she asked herself if she’d run mad, she knew that she couldn’t have done anything else.

Kel inspected the boy. Clothes, particularly shoes, were required. His present rags would have to be burned. He needed a bath and a haircut. He probably had lice. Shaving his head and scrubbing him with lice-killing soap would eliminate that problem. He didn’t look old enough to need shaving anywhere else. And he needed a healer.

Kel looked over at Hoshi’s stall, where Jump gnawed a bone. Chances were that it had not been intended for his supper, since there was quite a bit of meat on it. She only hoped the inn’s staff didn’t know who the thief was.

‘Jump, will you get Neal, please?’ Kel asked the dog. Jump thrust his bone under the straw, then trotted out of the stable. The boy followed the dog’s movements with wide eyes but made no comment that might draw Kel’s attention.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked. ‘And how old are you?’

The boy retreated under Peachblossom’s belly. He watched her warily from between the gelding’s forelegs. After a moment he said, ‘Tobe, miss. Tobeis Boon. I think I’m nine.’

Kel repeated, ‘Boon?’

The boy nodded. ‘Auld Eulama said I musta been a boon to someun, though she didn’t know who.’

‘Eulama?’ asked Kel.

‘Midwife as reared me, best’s she knowed.’

Kel scratched her head. ‘Whose opinion is that?’ she enquired, intrigued by his frank way of talking. ‘That she did the best she knew?’

‘All Queensgrace, lady. They all say’t. Way they talk, it din’t do me much good.’ It seemed Tobeis – Tobe – was as intrigued by Kel as she was by him. He inched forward.

Kel indicated the boy’s guardian. ‘It’s not so long ago that I convinced him not to savage everyone in reach. I’ve known him eight years. I was sure he’d kill you.’

‘Aww, he’s a good un.’ Tobe wrapped a casual hand around as much of Peachblossom’s right foreleg as he could manage. ‘Ain’t nobody likes Alvik – me master there.’

Here came Alvik himself with a writing board, a quill, an ink pot, a sheet of grimy paper, sealing wax, and a candle. Kel briskly signed Tobe’s indenture papers, handed over the coins, and watched the innkeeper also sign, then seal the document. As soon as Kel had the completed bill of sale in hand, Alvik fled. He passed Neal and Jump on their way in.

‘You know, Mindelan, our lives would be easier if the dog just broke down and talked,’ Kel’s friend announced. ‘I was winning that card game.’ He glared down at Jump. ‘There was no need to grab me.’

Kel smiled. ‘If you’re not bleeding, he was being nice, and it’s not fair for you to play cards with ordinary folk.’ To Tobe she explained, ‘He remembers all the cards dealt.’

Neal looked to see who she spoke to, and stared. ‘Kel, that monster has a boy under his belly.’

‘That monster hasn’t touched him,’ replied Kel. Neal had every reason to expect the worst of the big gelding. ‘Will you take a look at the boy? Tobe – Tobeis Boon, this is my friend Neal.’ She didn’t give Neal’s titles, not wanting to make the boy uncomfortable. ‘Tobe, my friend is a healer. I want him to look at you.’

‘Not while he’s in there,’ protested Neal.

At the same time the boy said, ‘He’s no healer, just some noble.’

Neal glared at Tobe. ‘I’m a healer and a noble.’ He looked at Kel. ‘What have you done now, Mindelan?’

Kel shrugged. ‘I need a servant. Tobe seemed to want a change, so I hired him away from the innkeeper.’

‘You mean he’s another of your strays,’ Neal pointed out. ‘Didn’t that griffin teach you anything?’

‘Griffin?’ Tobe asked, scooting a little forward of Peachblossom’s legs. ‘You saw a griffin?’

Kel smiled. ‘I’ll tell you about it if you’ll let Neal have a look at you.’

Tobe eyed Neal with considerable suspicion. ‘Folk like him don’t touch the likes of me.’

‘If you knew how I spent my squiredom, you’d know the likes of you are most of what I ended up touching,’ Neal informed him. ‘I can get rid of your lice and fleas,’ he added as Tobe scratched himself.

‘Cannot,’ retorted the boy.

‘Can too,’ Neal replied. ‘The handiest spell I ever learned.’

Convinced that Neal would talk the boy around, Kel went to see about having a hot bath drawn and carried up to her room.

‘Miss, you shouldna bother with that un,’ the maid she paid for the service commented. ‘He’s a gutter rat, as like to bite a helpin’ hand as not.’

Thinking of Peachblossom and the baby griffin she’d once cared for, Kel replied, ‘If he does, it won’t be the first time.’

When Neal brought Tobe to her room, Kel was just donning the oiled canvas cloak and broad-brimmed hat she used to keep off the rain. Under the cloak she wore a quilted coat made by her former maid, Lalasa, now a dressmaker. Lalasa had spared no effort on the coat for the mistress who had given her a start in business. By the time Kel had tied the cloak around her neck, she was sweating.

‘Here he is.’ Neal pushed open Kel’s door to admit Jump and Tobe. ‘Did you order supper for him?’

‘I remember that much from my own healings, thank you,’ Kel replied. ‘I appreciate your seeing to him, Neal.’

Her friend waved a hand in dismissal and left, closing the door. Kel regarded her new servant. ‘You see that?’ She pointed to the tub that sat squarely in front of the hearth. ‘It’s a bath. You climb in and you don’t climb out and eat before you’re clean. Scrub all over, understand?’ Hanging on to Tobe, she saw that Neal had done well: the boy’s weals and scabbed-over cuts showed now as pink, healthy, new skin. ‘There’s soap in that bowl. Use it,’ she continued. ‘The little pick is to clean under your nails. Remember your hair, your ears, and your private parts.’ She released him.

The boy went to the tub, stuck a finger in the water, and glared at Kel. ‘It’s hot!’ he exclaimed.

‘Don’t expect hot baths every night,’ she told him, straight-faced. She could see that he was dismayed at the thought of washing in hot water. ‘But you’ll do this on your own, or I’ll do it for you, with a scrub brush. My servants are clean.’

Tobe hung his head. ‘Yes, lady.’

Kel pointed to the bed, where she had set out drying cloths and one of her spare shirts. ‘Dry with those and put that on for now,’ she said. ‘Don’t wear your old things.’

‘Not even me loincloth?’ he asked, horrified.

‘You’re getting fresh ones. Clean ones,’ she said, immovable. ‘I’m off to take care of that now. When you’re dry, wrap up in a blanket and look outside – the maid will leave a tray with your supper by the door. I got a pallet for you’ – she pointed to it, on the side of the hearth opposite the table – ‘so you can go to bed. You’ll be sleepy after a decent supper and Neal’s magicking.’

‘Yes, lady,’ replied the boy. He was glum but resigned to fresh clothes and a bath. He glanced around the room, his eyes widening at the sight of her glaive propped in a corner. ‘What pigsticker is that?’

Kel smiled. ‘It’s a Yamani naginata – we call it a glaive. I learned to use one in the Islands, and it’s the weapon I’m best with. Clothes, off. Bath, now, Tobe.’

He gaped, then exclaimed, ‘With a girl lookin’ on? Lady, some places a fellow’s got to draw the line!’

‘Very true,’ Kel replied solemnly, trying not to grin. ‘Don’t give Jump any food. He’s had one good meal already tonight.’

Jump, sprawled between the tub and the fire, belched and scratched an ear. His belly was plump with stolen meat.

Kel rested a hand on Tobe’s shoulder. ‘You’ll do as I ask?’

He nodded without meeting her eyes.

Kel guessed what was on his mind. ‘I’ll never beat you, Tobe,’ she said quietly. ‘Ever. I may dunk you in the tub and scrub you myself if I come back to find you only washed here and there, but you won’t bleed, you won’t bruise, and you won’t hobble out of this room. Understand?’

He looked up into her face. ‘Why do this, lady?’ he asked, curious. ‘I’m on’y a nameless whelp, with the mark of Scanra on me. What am I to the likes of you?’

Kel thought her reply over before she gave it. This could be the most important talk she would have with Tobe. She wanted to be sure that she said the right things. ‘Well, Peachblossom likes you,’ she answered slowly. ‘He’s a fine judge of folk, Peachblossom. Except Neal. He’s prejudiced about Neal.’

‘He just likes the way Neal squeaks when he’s bit,’ Tobe explained.

Kel tucked away a smile. It sounded like something Peachblossom would think. ‘And for the rest? I do it because I can. I’ve been treated badly, and I didn’t like it. And I hate bullies. Now pile those rags by the door and wash. The water’s getting cold.’ Not waiting for him to point out that cooler water didn’t seem so bad, she walked out and closed the door. She listened for a moment, waiting until she heard splashes and a small yelp.

He’s funny, she thought, striding down the hall. I like how he speaks his mind. Alvik didn’t beat that from him, praise Mithros.

At the top of the stairs, Kel halted. Below her, out of sight, she could hear Neal: ‘… broken finger, half-healed broken arm, cracked ribs, and assorted healed breaks. I’m giving your name to the magistrate. I’ll recommend he look in on you often, to see the treatment you give your other servants.’

‘Yes, milord, of course, milord.’ That was Innkeeper Alvik’s unmistakable voice, oily and mocking at the same time. ‘I’m sure my friend the magistrate will be oh so quick to “look in on” me, as you say, once you’re down the road. Just you worry about Scanra. They’ll be making it so hot for you there, you’ll be hard put to remember us Queensgrace folk.’

‘Yes, well, I thought of that,’ Neal said, his voice quiet but hard. ‘So here’s something on account, something your magistrate can’t undo.’

She heard a rustle of cloth. Alvik gasped. ‘Forcing a magic on me is a crown offence!’

‘Who will impress the crown more, swine? The oldest son of Baird of Queenscove, or you?’ asked Neal cruelly. ‘And did my spell hurt?’

‘Noooo,’ Alvik replied, dragging the sound out. Kel imagined he was checking his body for harm.

‘It won’t,’ Neal said. ‘At least, as long as you don’t hit anyone. When you do, well, you’ll feel the blow as if you struck yourself. Clever spell, don’t you think? I got the idea from something the Chamber of the Ordeal did once.’ Neal’s voice went colder. ‘Mind what I say, innkeeper. When you strike a servant, a child, your wife, your own body will take the punishment. Mithros cut me down if I lie.’

‘All this over a whore’s brat!’ snarled the innkeeper. ‘You nobles are mad!’

‘The whore’s brat is worth far more than you.’ Neal’s voice was a low rumble at the bottom of the stairs. ‘He’s got courage. You have none. Get out of my sight.’

Kel waited for the innkeeper to flee to his kitchen and Neal to return to the common room before she descended. It was useless to say anything to Neal. He would just be embarrassed that he’d been caught doing a good deed. He liked to play the cynical, heartless noble, but it was all for show. Kel wouldn’t ruin it for him.

It was a long ride to the wagonloads of goods for those made homeless by the Scanrans. Her lantern, hung from a pole to light Hoshi’s way, provided scant light as icy rain sizzled on its tin hood. Other riders were out, members of the army camped on either side of the road for miles. Thanks to their directions, Kel found the wagons in a village two miles off the Great Road North. They were drawn up beside one of the large, barnlike buildings raised by the crown to shelter troops and equipment on the road. In peaceful years local folk used the buildings to hold extra wood, grain, animals, and even people made homeless by natural disasters.

The miserable-looking guards who watched the wagons scowled at Kel but fetched the quartermaster. Once Kel placed money in his palm, the quartermaster allowed her to open the crates and barrels in a wagonload of boys’ clothes.

The wagon’s canvas hood kept off the weather as Kel went through the containers. Tobe looked to be about ten, but he was a runty ten, just an inch or two over four feet, bony and undersized from a life of cheap, scant rations. She chose carefully until she had three each of loincloths, sashes, shirts, breeches, and pairs of stockings, three pairs of shoes that might fit, a worn but serviceable coat, and a floppy-brimmed hat. If she was going to lead Tobe into battlelands, the least she could do was see him properly clothed. The army tailors could take in shirts and breeches to fit him properly; the cobblers could adjust his shoes. Once she had bundled everything into a burlap sack, Kel mounted Hoshi, giving a copper noble to the soldier who had kept the mare inside a shelter, out of the wet. As the rain turned to sleet, they plodded back to Queensgrace.

In Kel’s room, Tobe sat dozing against the wall, afloat in her shirt. When Kel shut the door, his eyes flew open, sky-blue in a pale face. ‘I don’t care if you was drunk or mad or takin’ poppy or rainbow dream or laugh powder, you bought my bond and signed your name and paid money for me and you can’t return me to ol’ Alvik,’ he told her without taking a breath. He inhaled, then continued, ‘If you try I’ll run off ’n’ steal ’n’ when I’m caught I’ll say I belong to you so they’ll want satisfaction from you. I mean it! You can’t blame drink or drug or anything and then get rid of me because I won’t go.’

Kel waited for him to run out of words as water trickled off her hat and cloak onto the mat by the door. She gave Tobe a moment after he stopped talking, to make sure he was done, before she asked, ‘What is that about?’

‘See?’ he cried. ‘You forgot me already – me, Tobeis Boon, whose bond you bought tonight. I knew you was drunk or takin’ a drug or mad. But here I am an’ here I stay. You need me, to, to carry your wine jug, an’ cut the poppy brick for you to smoke, an’, an’ make sure you eat—’

Kel raised her eyebrows. ‘Quiet,’ she said in the calm, firm tone she had learned from Lord Raoul.

Tobe blinked and closed his mouth.

Kel walked over and blew into his face so he could smell her liquor- and drug-free breath. ‘I’m not drunk,’ she told him. ‘I take no drugs. If I’m mad, it’s in ways that don’t concern you. I went out to get you clothes, Tobe. You can’t go north wearing only a shirt.’

She tossed the sack onto her bed and walked back to the puddle she’d left by the door, then struggled to undo the tie on her hat. Her fingers were stiff with cold even after grooming Hoshi and treating her to a hot mash.

When she removed the hat, a pair of small, scarred hands took it and leaned it against the wall to dry. Once Kel had shed the cloak, Tobe hung it from a peg, then knelt to remove her boots. ‘I have clothes,’ he said, wrestling off one boot while Kel braced herself.

‘I saw,’ she replied, eyeing the heap they made on the floor. ‘I wouldn’t let a cat have kittens on them. I ought to take Alvik before a magistrate anyway. Your bond says you get two full suits of clothes, a coat, and a sturdy pair of shoes every year.’

‘It does?’ he asked, falling on his rump with her boot in his hands.

Kel reached inside her tunic and pulled out his indenture papers. ‘Right there,’ she told him, pointing to the paragraph. When Tobe frowned, she knew Alvik had neglected something else. ‘You can’t read, can you?’ she asked.

‘Alvik said I din’t need no schoolin’, ’acos I was too stupid to learn,’ Tobe informed Kel, searching for a cloth to wipe her boots with. He was practised at this: the innkeeper had taught him to look after guests’ belongings as well as their horses, Kel supposed.

‘Lessons,’ she said, folding the papers once more. ‘After we’re settled in the north.’ She yawned. ‘Wake me at dawn. We’ll try those clothes on you then. And I’m not sure about the, the’ – she yawned again – ‘shoes. I’m not sure these will fit. If we stop on the way, perhaps …’

She looked around, exhaustion addling her brain. Her normal bedtime on the road was much earlier than this. She eyed the door, her dripping hat and cloak, her boots, Tobe.

‘Lady?’ he asked quietly. ‘Sounds like you mean to do all manner of things for me. What was you wishful of me doin’ for you?’

‘Oh, that,’ Kel said, realizing that she hadn’t told him what duties he would have. ‘You’ll look after my horses and belongings, and in four years you’ll be free.’ A will, she realized. I need to make a will so he can be freed if I’m slain. She picked up her water pitcher and drank from the rim. ‘For that, I am duty bound to see that you are fed, clothed, and educated. We’ll settle things like days off. You’ll learn how to clean armour and weapons. That ought to keep you busy enough.’

He nodded. ‘Yes, lady.’

‘Very well. Go to bed. I’m exhausted.’ Unbuttoning her shirt, she realized he hadn’t moved. ‘Bed,’ she said firmly. ‘Cover your head till I say you can come out. I won’t undress while you watch.’

She took her nightshirt out of a saddlebag and finished changing once Tobe was on his pallet with his eyes hidden. In the end, she had to uncover him. He’d gone to sleep with the blanket over his head. Kel banked the fire and blew out the last candle that burned in the room.

The killing device moved in her dreams. Blayce the Nothing Man watched it. He pointed to a child who cowered under his worktable: it was Tobe. The metal thing reached under the table and dragged the boy out.

Kel sat up, gasping, sweat-soaked. It was still dark, still night. The rain had stopped. She was at an inn on the Great Road North, riding to war.

‘Lady,’ Tobe asked, his voice clear, ‘what’s Blayce? What’s Stenmun?’

‘A nightmare and his dog,’ Kel replied, wiping her face on her sleeve. ‘Go back to sleep.’

The rain returned in the morning. The army’s commanders decided it would be foolish to move on. Kel used the day to finish supplying Tobe, making sure that what he had fit properly. Tobe protested the need for more than one set of clothes and for any shoes, saying that she shouldn’t spend money on him.

‘Do you want to make me look bad?’ she demanded at last. ‘People judge a mistress by how well her servants are dressed. Do you want folk to say I’m miserly, or that I don’t know my duty?’

‘Alvik never cared,’ Tobe pointed out as he fed the sparrows cracked corn.

‘He isn’t noble-born,’ Kel retorted. ‘I am. You’ll be dressed properly, and that’s that.’

At least she could afford the sewing and shoe fitting. She had an income, more than she had thought she’d get as the poorly dowered youngest daughter of a large family. For her service in the war she received a purse from the crown every two weeks. Raoul had advised her on investments, which had multiplied both a legal fine once paid to her and her portion of Lalasa’s earnings. Lalasa had insisted on that payment, saying that she would not have been able to grow rich off royal custom if not for her old mistress. It was an argument Kel had yet to win. And it did mean that she could outfit Tobe without emptying her purse, a venture Lalasa would approve.

The rain ended that night. The army set out at dawn, Tobe riding pillion with Kel. Once they were under way, Kel rode back along the line of march until she found the wagon that held the gear of the first-year knights, including Hoshi’s tack, spare saddle blankets, weapons, and all Kel needed to tend her arms and armour. She opened the canvas cover on the wagon and slung the boy inside with one arm.

‘There’s blankets under that saddle, and meat and cheese in that pack,’ she informed him. ‘Bundle up. It’s a cold ride. I’ll get you when we stop for the night.’ She didn’t wait for his answer but tied the cover and returned to her friends.

They ate lunch on horseback as cold rain fell again. Knights and squires huddled in the saddle, miserable despite broad-brimmed hats and oiled cloaks to keep the wet out. Kel had extra warmth from Jump and the sparrows, who had ducked under her cloak the moment the rain had returned.

They were crossing a pocket of a valley when Neal poked Kel and pointed. In the trees to their left, a small figure moved through the undergrowth, following them. Kel twitched Peachblossom off the road and into the woods, cutting Tobe off. He stared up at her, his chin set.

‘I left you in the wagon so you wouldn’t get soaked,’ Kel informed him. He was muddy from toes to knees. ‘Are you mad?’

Tobe shook his head.

‘Then why do this?’ she asked, patiently. ‘You’re no good to either of us if you get sick or fall behind.’

‘Folk took interest in me ’afore, lady,’ replied the boy. ‘A merchant and a priestess. Soon as I was gone from their sight, they forgot I was alive. Sometimes I think I jus’ dreamed you. If I don’t see you, mayhap you’ll vanish.’

‘I’m too solid to be a dream. Besides, I paid two copper nobles for your bond,’ Kel reminded him. ‘Not to mention what we laid out for the sewing and the cobbler.’

‘Folk’ve given me nobles jus’ for holdin’ the stirrup when they mounted up,’ Tobe informed her. ‘Some is so rich, a noble means as much to them as a copper bit to ol’ Alvik.’

Kel sighed. ‘I’m not rich,’ she said, but it was for the sake of argument. Compared with this mule-headed scrap of boyhood, she was rich. It was all she could do not to smile. She recognized the determination in those bright blue eyes. It matched her own.

She evicted the sparrows from the shelter of her cloak and reached a hand down. When he gripped it, Kel swung the boy up behind her. ‘Not a word of complaint,’ she told him. ‘Get under my cloak. It’ll keep the rain off.’

This order he obeyed. Kel waited for the sparrows to tuck themselves under the front of her cloak, then urged Peachblossom back to their place in line.

Neal, seeing her approach, opened his mouth.

‘Not one word,’ Kel warned. ‘Tobe and I have reached an understanding.’

Neal’s lips twitched. ‘Why do I have the feeling you did most of the understanding?’

‘Why do I have the feeling that if you give me a hard time, I’ll tell all of our year-mates your family nickname is Meathead?’ Kel replied in kind.

‘You resort to common insult because you have no stronger arguments to offer,’ retorted Neal. When Kel opened her mouth, Neal raised a hand to silence her. ‘Nevertheless, I concede.’

‘Good,’ Kel said. ‘That’s that.’

‘You got anything to eat?’ enquired a voice from inside her cloak.