Sir Apropos Of Nothing Part 24

"Astel," I said tersely, "I don't think you know what the truth is anymore."

"And you think you do?"

"No. I just don't care what it is."

We walked the rest of the way in silence.

Entipy, standing behind the table, looked at me with open curiosity as I hustled toward her. "We've leaving," I said as soon as I got within whispering range.

"But the party is still going. We won't be paid our-"

"Devil take the sovs. We're going. Now."

I realized that her eyes were wandering toward the front of my breeches. I looked down and saw what she was looking at. There was a bulge there, more noticeable than I would have liked. She looked up at me, her face a question.

"Jewels," I said in a low voice.

"Family?"

"No. Real." I glanced around, made sure no one else was watching, and then shifted them around so that the "package" was less obvious.

Then she comprehended, and with conspiratorial shock she whispered, "You stole stole them?" them?"

"No. Extorted. Let's go."

She didn't understand, but she didn't have to. The party was still going in full swing and as a result our hurried departure drew no attention. I was walking as carefully as I could, trying not to jingle or send anything else out of position, considering I had jewelry and money secreted all over my person, and in the hidden compartment of my staff.

The sounds of the party receded into the distance as we made our way toward the servants' exit. Down a curling flight of stairs that seemed to take forever to navigate, down, and then toward the door that would put us out into the night and freedom. It was at the end of a long hallway that felt as if it was a hundred leagues away. I had never felt so frustrated over my lame right leg as I did at that moment, since I was in such a hurry to just put as much distance between us and the castle as possible. To hurry out of there before someone could shout . . .

"You!"

I recognized the voice instantly as the steward, summoning us from behind. We were ten feet from the door, from freedom, and before I could turn I heard the steward continue, "There he is, milord! Apparently he's trying to sneak out."

"Servant!" came a gravelly voice, and I knew at that moment that we were dead, because it was Shank's voice. Entipy sucked in her breath sharply; she likewise knew that matters had taken a decided turn for the worse. I had been trying to reposition the bag of jewels that were among the riches the unwilling Astel had provided for me; they'd been slipping again in our hasty departure. But it didn't seem to matter now. I gripped my staff with both hands because I felt as if I was going to faint.

Close in my ear, Entipy whispered, "Should we run for it?"

"Why bother?" I returned. True, there was a remote chance we would make it out the door. But it wasn't as if there was an invisible barrier that would prevent Shank from following us the additional three or four feet we might manage to put between ourselves and the castle. Better to surrender now with what little dignity remained to us . . . especially considering that any claims to dignity I might have had would soon be lost in screams of agony as Shank did . . . well, whatever he was going to do.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" demanded Shank.

Slowly I turned to face him. Even at this moment of utter doom, I couldn't help but try to stammer out a lie. "Milord, I . . . my . . . partner here," and I indicated Entipy, "has need of a . . . uhm . . ."

Shank looked below my waist and grinned, and then laughed. "Hah!" he said. "I see what she has need of . . . and you appear only too eager to provide it. Go and argue with the l.u.s.ts of youth, eh, steward?" And he clapped the steward on the back. The steward staggered slightly, but righted himself and nodded gamely. Then the dreaded Warlord Shank turned back to me and reached into the folds of his tunic. For a moment I was certain that this was it-that he had finished with games and was about to pull out a dagger and simply slice my throat. Instead he pulled out a glittering coin: a duke. "I realize I am remiss in not having given you a gratuity for aiding my wife. Here." And he flipped it to me. I caught it and stared at the coin, astounded, resting in my open palm. The face of the warlord scowled back at me from the coin's surface. "They are newly minted," he said. "You are one of the first to have one. See the reverse." I obediently turned the coin over. Astel's face smiled back at me.

"Once upon a time," he growled, "I would not have cared about such niceties. But if I am to husband a countess, one must observe certain social . . . traditions."

"As you say, milord." I could barely keep the astonishment from my voice.

"Steward? Have they been paid for this evening?"

"N-no, milord, but it is not customary to pay those who have not worked the full evening . . ."

Without a word the warlord yanked his sword from his scabbard and lopped the steward's head off. It rolled across the floor and b.u.mped to a halt against the wall before the body had time to realize it was headless and flop, obediently, to the ground. Entipy and I stood rooted to our places.

"I despise excuses," said Shank. He pulled out a second duke and tossed that to me as well. "This will attend to it, I take it?"

"More than, milord."

"Smile, young ones!" bellowed Shank, and I realized at that point that he was more than a little inebriated. "Smile on an evening of rejoicing! And know that you have been honored by providing service to the future wife of the dreaded Warlord Shank."

"Milord," I said extravagantly, "believe me when I say . . . that I took no greater joy in this life than when I was servicing your bride-to-be."

And we got the h.e.l.l out of there.

Chapter 20.

Considering the circ.u.mstances under which we'd come there, I was surprised to realize that Marie was actually sad to see us go.

I was somewhat concerned over the fact that-even though the calendar indicated that the fierce Outer Lawless winter should be subsiding-it still seemed unseasonably cold and nasty. Nevertheless, the roads were merely inhospitable rather than impa.s.sable, and my every instinct was telling me that now was the time to get on our way. As successful as I had been in obtaining an impressive bounty from Astel, I did not want to count on the notion that I was impervious to retribution. On the one hand, she might not want to take any chances mucking with me, since she had no idea how deep into her inner circles my "agents" ran, or even whether I was indeed backed up by the G.o.ds themselves. On the other hand, she might sooner or later get up enough nerve to hire someone privately to dispatch me. Make it look like an accident or some such. It all depended upon how comfortable she was with the fact that I was wandering around with full knowledge of who and what she was.

So it seemed inc.u.mbent upon me that we vacate the area sooner rather than later.

Naturally I didn't trust anyone in the area, but of all the people I didn't trust, the burly Marie was the one that I didn't trust the least. I felt it would be better to have someone act as an intermediary if at all possible, and so I prevailed upon her to arrange for the purchase of two Heffers for us. Heffers were fairly useless for traveling off the beaten path, but it was my intention to try and stay with the roads, and there they would do just fine. It was a calculated risk, of course. Staying to the main roads might make us prey for highwaymen. But endeavoring to penetrate the woods would make us prey for all manner of predators, and-all things considered-I'd rather take my chances with human thieves.

Marie openly scoffed at the notion of purchasing two Heffers outright until I presented her with enough funds not only to obtain the animals, but also to leave something for herself to cover her efforts. When she demanded to know how such riches had fallen into our hands, I simply smiled enigmatically and said, "The Warlord and his bride-to-be were most pleased with our efforts." She seemed interested in inquiring further, but decided to let the matter drop.

So it was that, early one morning, with no clouds in the sky, the sun creeping up in the east, and a sharp nip in the air, we set out on the main road that would lead us to the commweaver known as Dotty.

"Wait," I said. "How will we know Dotty's home when we get there?"

"Oh, believe me," she laughed, "you'll know it a'right. It's a bit . . . unusual-looking." She wouldn't say anything beyond that, though.

Marie saw us off, and as we prepared to ride away, her gaze took us both in as she said, "I know for a time there I was hard on ye. But I think you're both the better for it . . . especially you," and she pointed her stubbly chin toward Entipy. Entipy shrugged slightly, which for her pa.s.sed as conversation. "You make a good couple," she added.

"Do we?" I inquired, inwardly amused.

"I see it in the way ye look at each other. Antic.i.p.ate each other's thoughts and words. A good couple and a good team. Good luck to the both of ye."

Then she drew her wrap more tightly around herself, turned, and headed back into the inn. Entipy and I looked at each other . . . and laughed.

It was the first time we'd actually shared such a thing, a laugh. It felt . . . surprisingly natural.

We headed off down the road, keeping the Heffers at a brisk trot. We didn't exchange any words, but somehow the ensuing silence felt different from such previous instances. It was not an uncomfortable or angry silence such as we had known before, but instead a comfortable one. As if we had become so at ease in each other's company that there was no need to try and fill the void with useless verbiage.

The ride to the commweaver's home was pleasantly incident free, and I could only hope that it was a good augury for things that were to come. As the Heffers trotted along, I kept dwelling upon what Marie had said, and her apparent confidence that we would know when we had arrived at the weaver's home. Well, when she's right, she's right, because about midday we turned a corner in the road and I knew, beyond question, that we had come within range of the commweaver's house.

In many respects it was ordinary-looking, almost mundane. All the shutters were closed, and I could swear I saw multicolored lights dancing within that might have been fairy lights. What made it clear that this was the home of an unusual individual was the large structure situated atop the roof.

The only thing I can say is that it was akin, in its shape, to an enormous cup. It lay lengthwise along the roof, the open end facing the road. The cup was sufficiently large that I could easily have climbed into it, and had room for Entipy to join me therein. I couldn't begin to conceive what such an odd structure and object could possibly be used for. It seemed to be constructed out of some sort of hammered sheet metal, which meant that it was likely heavy as h.e.l.l. I wondered how in the world Dotty could possibly have gotten it up there, and realized that it would probably be better if I didn't know.

It wasn't just the sizable gleaming metal cup that caught my interest, though. It was what was behind it or, more precisely, attached to it.

I didn't spot it at first. The thing with magic is, you have to look at it indirectly. Catch it just out of the corner of your eye so that you have an idea of what it is you're going to be looking for when you stare at it straight on. At least, that's how Tacit explained it to me once, and considering that he claimed to have been raised by unicorns, I had to go with the a.s.sumption that he knew what he was talking about.

That was exactly what happened in this instance. I'd been staring at the cup, then looked down at the house itself and-as I did so-caught a quick glimpse of something that I hadn't seen before. I looked back at the cup, holding in my mind the image of what I'd thought I'd seen and, as a result, was able to see it more clearly.

It was what I can only describe as magical thread, the type that weavers use. It was gleaming red, and it was attached to the far end of the cup, floating gently in the breeze although it was hard to believe that something as pedestrian as wind could have an effect on something so magical. It was drifting lazily, like extensions from a willow tree, and even though I was looking directly at it, it would vanish from sight every so often before returning to my view once more. There was something that appeared to be a steady pulsation that was running along the thread's length. I had absolutely no idea where the thread might have been anch.o.r.ed at the other end, because the thread extended above and beyond the trees and out of sight.

Entipy noticed I was staring. "Strange cup," she commented.

"Do you see it?" I whispered.

"Of course I see it. The cup's right there," said Entipy, obviously a bit impatient. Her horse shook its head and whinnied in impatience. It had no idea where it was going, but this simple standing around on the road was not to its liking. The other Heffer started following suit, displaying similar impatience.

"Not the cup . . . the thread."

"Thread?" She frowned and tried to see what I was referring to. Finally she shook her head. "Sorry . . . I just don't see what you're talking about."

"It's all right," I said after a moment. "I'm probably just imagining it."

"Well, don't start imagining things," she said tartly. "That way lies madness, and if you're going to be of any use to me, you're going to have to be sane."

Now, that sounded more like the Entipy of old, and I couldn't say I was especially glad to have her back. I bowed with a look of mild annoyance on my face, and then snapped the reins of my horse briskly. The Heffer let out a brief whinny of annoyance and started forward, followed by the other.

When we arrived at the small house, we dismounted and tied the animals up to a hitching post conveniently set up outside the house. There were other hoofprints around; clearly she did a brisk business. I walked up to the door and then hesitated before knocking. I still wasn't thrilled about having any sort of business with weavers, and knocking on the door of one seemed ill advised, as if we were begging for trouble.

"Well?" Entipy prompted impatiently.

Having no ready answer to "Well?," I rapped with what I hoped sounded like authority.

At first there was no sound, not even the noise of feet scuffling across the floor to answer my knock. I wondered what the h.e.l.l we were going to do if, for some reason, Dotty was unable to help us. What if she was ill or, worse, dead? She'd hardly be in a position to provide us aid then, and I didn't have the slightest idea where to find another commweaver in these parts. Before I could decide what to do, however, the decision was made for me. The door swung open and there was no one standing there. For a moment I a.s.sumed it to be some sort of magical door, but the far more earthbound answer presented itself when a woman stepped around from behind it, obviously having been responsible for pulling it open. At least, I think she was a woman. She might have been a toad or frog with delusions of humanity. G.o.ds knew the resemblance was there. She had a wrinkled face, and eyes that darted around as if searching for pa.s.sing bugs that she could lay claim to. Her hair was little more than white straw, and her skin was leathery and cracked like an old boot. Her tongue stuck out suddenly and, with the toad imagery in my head, I took a quick step back lest that tongue lash out, wrap itself around me, and yank me into her expanding jaw.

"Who're you?" she said.

"I'm Apropos."

"Of what?"

"Of nothing."

Her voice sounded both nasal and shrill, and I was getting a headache just listening to her for ten seconds. I couldn't begin to imagine what prolonged exposure to her would be like. Her gaze flickered to Entipy. "And who's this one?"

"Marie," said Entipy, glancing in my direction, and I realized instantly that Entipy was being wisely cautious. This was a weaver, after all. They were not to be trusted, because their priorities were always a mystery to mere "norms" such as we ("norms" being the occasionally contemptuous term weavers were heard to mutter under their breaths). Entipy's name was unique, and we didn't need it ringing a bell with the commweaver and suddenly finding ourselves beset by Shank's troops, alerted to a royal hostage in their territory.

The old woman looked from one of us to the other and back again. I wasn't sure if she believed Entipy's quick lie, but after a moment she shrugged and I realized she simply didn't care. That was fine by me. "What d'ya want?" she demanded.

"You're the commweaver called Dotty?"

"Mayhap. What d'ya want?"

"Well, obviously," I said, trying to rein in my impatience and only partly succeeding, "we want to send a message to someone."

"Really. Where might they be?"

"Isteria."

"Isteria. Long distance." Her lips puckered and unpuckered several times very fast, as if blowing a succession of kisses.

"Can you do it?" asked Entipy.

"Henh." It was not so much a word as it was a noise, sounding like a gargling of phlegm. "I could . . . if I were a commweaver . . . which I haven't said I am yet . . . haven't said I'm a weaver at all . . ."

"If you're not a weaver, why do you have a magic thread connected to that great b.l.o.o.d.y cup on your roof?"

That sure caught her attention. Entipy might not have been there at all for all the attention that the commweaver was paying to her. The old woman's full attention was on me; she looked at me with dark, unblinking eyes. "So . . . you saw that, did you?" she said with a hiss. "What color did it appear to you?"

"Well . . . it was red . . ."

She shook her head impatiently. "Purple. In actuality, purple. Still . . . seeing it as red . . . you've something of the adept about you, it seems. Who did you say you were again, boy?"

I was starting to be uncomfortable that I'd told her my real name, but there was no going back on it now. "Apropos," I said again.

"Henh. Come in. Come in, Apropos, and . . ." She paused and looked Entipy up and down as if she knew the princess was hiding something. " . . . Marie."

We entered. The main room, when all was said and done, looked relatively normal, or at least more normal than I would have expected it to look. It seemed more like a large kitchen than anything else. There was a falcon crouched on a stand. Unlike others of its kind, it was neither hooded nor anch.o.r.ed to the spot. Instead it hopped around at will, glancing here and about at whatever snagged its interest. At one point our eyes met, and I couldn't help but feel that it was sizing me up and trying to determine whether I would provide an interesting meal. Apparently not, since it quickly lost interest in me and turned away. There was a small attachment to its leg that instantly made the creature's use clear: It ran airborne messages for Dotty on a purely local basis. She saw me studying her hawk, but said nothing.

There was a pot bubbling in the corner, which the old woman shuffled over toward, and she took down a ladle as she removed the lid. I clapped my hands to my ears as a cacophony of high-pitched noises-which sounded like chimings of bells as incarnated in the throat of children-filled the room. Entipy was likewise discommoded, but the old woman seemed utterly nonplussed. She stirred it two, three times and then covered it again, the heavy lid cutting off the sound. She looked back to us, saw the confusion on our faces. "Baby Spells," she said by way of explanation.

"So you would be Dotty, then," I said.

"Henh. I would be, yes. And would you be someone who can actually pay for my services? The middle of the day is more expensive than evening. The most casts are going through at that time, so it's the most effort."

"I don't think we especially want to wait, so now would be the best time," I said. Entipy nodded in agreement. "As for remuneration . . ." I reached into my purse and pulled out a fistful of coins, and placed them on the table in front of her. She regarded them with raised eyebrow.

" 'Tis enough. 'Twill serve," was all she said. "And what would your message be, pray tell?"

I resolved that our phrasing had to be careful. I had no desire to broadcast that the princess was with me, since I had no idea how trustworthy Dotty might be, nor did I know for sure that no one would be able to tap into the lines of communication. Apparently, however, Entipy was thinking exactly along the same lines, for she spoke up before I did. "Inform Queen Beatrice," she said slowly, "that the package Apropos was supposed to deliver her is intact here in the Outer Lawless regions, but travel conditions indicate an escort would be preferred to avoid thievery. A rendezvous is highly desirable."

I nodded approvingly. For no reason my mind wandered back to the Lady Rosalie, whom I'd had to brace myself for every time she opened her mouth. Entipy, on the other hand, was a very different animal. Very different. I was actually finding that she was somewhat reliable when it came to matters requiring wit or quick thinking or pressure under fire. At first I had considered her to be so unpredictable that she was dangerous, and there was still some element of that. But of all the women I'd met in my life, she was rapidly becoming the only one that was remotely akin to dependable in a pinch. Not that I trusted her implicitly . . . but then, who in the world could I say that of?

Dotty nodded, jotting down a few notes with a quill pen. "I a.s.sume you wish to receive an answer. Could take a day or more."