The High King's Tomb
Page 59
When she returned to the Golden Rudder’s stable yard, she found Fergal leading a fully tacked Sunny out onto the street.
Karigan halted Condor. “Where are you going?”
Fergal’s face paled when he saw her. “I’m going back. To Sacor City.”
“Oh?”
“You want to be rid of me, don’t you?”
“What I want seems irrelevant to you,” Karigan said. “What I’d like is for you to start acting like a Green Rider.” She swung her leg forward over Condor’s withers and slipped to the ground.
“I heard you didn’t even want to be a Green Rider,” Fergal said with heat in his voice. “You don’t even care about the messenger service. You tried to leave. I at least want to be one.”
She considered him long and hard, the darkness of his eyes, the rings beneath them no doubt from the exhaustion of trying to drown himself and fretting over her reaction. “It’s true,” she said. “I did not plan to be a Green Rider. Most who end up in the messenger service don’t. I grew up expecting to follow in my father’s footsteps as a merchant, and that’s all I wanted to be, but I hadn’t counted on the Rider call. What is untrue is that I don’t care about the messenger service. I care about serving the king and doing the best job I can. I care about how Riders are perceived in the world, and most important, I care about the people who serve with me. I have seen far too many of them die.”
Silence fell between them as Fergal sorted out her words. “I thought going back to Sacor City would be for the best.”
“Maybe for me, but not for you.” When he frowned, she continued, “Look, running away doesn’t help anything, and I should know—I’ve done enough of it myself. If you’re going to be a Rider, you need to face up to your mistakes and learn from them. Otherwise, you might as well surrender that brooch you’re wearing and forget about being a Green Rider. Believe me when I say there are far worse things out there to deal with than me, and if you can’t deal with me?” She shrugged.
“I want to be a Rider,” he said, fingering his brooch.
“Then,” Karigan said, “put Sunny back in her stall and go have some dinner. I want you at full strength tomorrow morning for travel. Then when you’re finished, go back to your room and look in your mirror, and perhaps you’ll see a Rider staring back at you. If you do, we’ll leave together. If not, you can return to Sacor City and explain yourself to Captain Mapstone.” When Fergal did not move, she added, “That’s an order, Rider, and if you ever attempt to drown yourself again, or anything as remotely idiotic, I shall see you removed from the messenger service so fast you’ll be on your way to your father’s knackery the day before yesterday.” With that, she led Condor into the stable.
These encounters were emotionally fatiguing and she wondered how the captain dealt with so many under her command, guiding their impulses, punishing their mistakes, and handling their personalities. She hated to lie to him about taking away his brooch and returning him to his father, but she knew of no other way of convincing him to behave.
Inside the stable she rubbed Condor down, noting most of the stalls were full, which they had not been when she left. Carriage horses and saddle horses, all of fine lines and breeding, munched on hay or watched her and Condor. The Golden Rudder looked to be busy this evening.
Fergal finally returned with Sunny, to Karigan’s relief, and started to untack her.
Good, she thought. He took time to think things over. She patted Condor, and without a word to Fergal, left the stable for the inn.
Stepping up into the kitchen she found “busy” to be an understatement. She had to dodge cooks wielding dripping ladles and servants bearing platters of roast beef and boats of gravy, flagons of wine, and boards of cheese. She ducked and danced and back-hopped her way out of the kitchen and into the foyer.
“Whew,” she murmured, wiping her hand across her brow. She would see about getting her dinner later when the chaos died down. For now she’d retreat to her room. She paused to listen a moment to the talking, laughter, and clinking of tableware coming from the great hall and thought it could be a party at any grand house, but it was not, for this was a house of a different sort.
The bell jangled at the door and Rona hurried to answer it. Karigan bounded up the stairs two at a time, hoping to avoid being seen. She did not wish it to be generally known that Green Riders were staying at the Golden Rudder, though she suspected it was likewise true for most patrons of any brothel. Her father had kept his secret well enough.
When she reached the landing, she careened into the arms of a man who reeked of whiskey.
“Well, my lovely!” he said. “Come to entertain me instead of Loni?”
Karigan tried to extract herself from his embrace, but he only tightened it. “I’m not your lovely,” she protested.
He puckered his lips to smooch her, but she twisted her face away. “I don’t work here.”
“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” the man said.
Karigan was ready to put into use some of the defensive moves she learned from Drent, but Trudy appeared just in time, striding down the corridor at a great clip, skirts swishing and arms swinging at her sides.
“Master Welles!” she chided. “You must release Karigan this instant—she’s a guest.”
“But I like her,” the man said.
Karigan grimaced as his whiskey-laden breath flowed into her face.
Karigan halted Condor. “Where are you going?”
Fergal’s face paled when he saw her. “I’m going back. To Sacor City.”
“Oh?”
“You want to be rid of me, don’t you?”
“What I want seems irrelevant to you,” Karigan said. “What I’d like is for you to start acting like a Green Rider.” She swung her leg forward over Condor’s withers and slipped to the ground.
“I heard you didn’t even want to be a Green Rider,” Fergal said with heat in his voice. “You don’t even care about the messenger service. You tried to leave. I at least want to be one.”
She considered him long and hard, the darkness of his eyes, the rings beneath them no doubt from the exhaustion of trying to drown himself and fretting over her reaction. “It’s true,” she said. “I did not plan to be a Green Rider. Most who end up in the messenger service don’t. I grew up expecting to follow in my father’s footsteps as a merchant, and that’s all I wanted to be, but I hadn’t counted on the Rider call. What is untrue is that I don’t care about the messenger service. I care about serving the king and doing the best job I can. I care about how Riders are perceived in the world, and most important, I care about the people who serve with me. I have seen far too many of them die.”
Silence fell between them as Fergal sorted out her words. “I thought going back to Sacor City would be for the best.”
“Maybe for me, but not for you.” When he frowned, she continued, “Look, running away doesn’t help anything, and I should know—I’ve done enough of it myself. If you’re going to be a Rider, you need to face up to your mistakes and learn from them. Otherwise, you might as well surrender that brooch you’re wearing and forget about being a Green Rider. Believe me when I say there are far worse things out there to deal with than me, and if you can’t deal with me?” She shrugged.
“I want to be a Rider,” he said, fingering his brooch.
“Then,” Karigan said, “put Sunny back in her stall and go have some dinner. I want you at full strength tomorrow morning for travel. Then when you’re finished, go back to your room and look in your mirror, and perhaps you’ll see a Rider staring back at you. If you do, we’ll leave together. If not, you can return to Sacor City and explain yourself to Captain Mapstone.” When Fergal did not move, she added, “That’s an order, Rider, and if you ever attempt to drown yourself again, or anything as remotely idiotic, I shall see you removed from the messenger service so fast you’ll be on your way to your father’s knackery the day before yesterday.” With that, she led Condor into the stable.
These encounters were emotionally fatiguing and she wondered how the captain dealt with so many under her command, guiding their impulses, punishing their mistakes, and handling their personalities. She hated to lie to him about taking away his brooch and returning him to his father, but she knew of no other way of convincing him to behave.
Inside the stable she rubbed Condor down, noting most of the stalls were full, which they had not been when she left. Carriage horses and saddle horses, all of fine lines and breeding, munched on hay or watched her and Condor. The Golden Rudder looked to be busy this evening.
Fergal finally returned with Sunny, to Karigan’s relief, and started to untack her.
Good, she thought. He took time to think things over. She patted Condor, and without a word to Fergal, left the stable for the inn.
Stepping up into the kitchen she found “busy” to be an understatement. She had to dodge cooks wielding dripping ladles and servants bearing platters of roast beef and boats of gravy, flagons of wine, and boards of cheese. She ducked and danced and back-hopped her way out of the kitchen and into the foyer.
“Whew,” she murmured, wiping her hand across her brow. She would see about getting her dinner later when the chaos died down. For now she’d retreat to her room. She paused to listen a moment to the talking, laughter, and clinking of tableware coming from the great hall and thought it could be a party at any grand house, but it was not, for this was a house of a different sort.
The bell jangled at the door and Rona hurried to answer it. Karigan bounded up the stairs two at a time, hoping to avoid being seen. She did not wish it to be generally known that Green Riders were staying at the Golden Rudder, though she suspected it was likewise true for most patrons of any brothel. Her father had kept his secret well enough.
When she reached the landing, she careened into the arms of a man who reeked of whiskey.
“Well, my lovely!” he said. “Come to entertain me instead of Loni?”
Karigan tried to extract herself from his embrace, but he only tightened it. “I’m not your lovely,” she protested.
He puckered his lips to smooch her, but she twisted her face away. “I don’t work here.”
“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” the man said.
Karigan was ready to put into use some of the defensive moves she learned from Drent, but Trudy appeared just in time, striding down the corridor at a great clip, skirts swishing and arms swinging at her sides.
“Master Welles!” she chided. “You must release Karigan this instant—she’s a guest.”
“But I like her,” the man said.
Karigan grimaced as his whiskey-laden breath flowed into her face.
