Well, that was clear enough. And it was a good thing that he and Nikolas had left the Companions under saddle and bridle. He hauled himself up into the saddle, then held out a hand to Senla, pulling her up behind him. She weighed next to nothing. He revised his estimation of her age downward. ::All right, you. Ghost us outa here. Make damn sure cain’t nobuddy see us.::
He felt Dallen’s smirk. ::As if I couldn’t. Hold on.::
“. . . so when they murdered Giels, I knew they were gonna come after me,” Senla sobbed, both hands wrapped around a mug of wine she held onto as if she were afraid she was going to drop it. “I told Peg. She told me she’d help me, but I had to leave, I couldn’t bring trouble on the House.”
Cleaned up, she was an entirely different person. Prettier, in Mags’ estimation. He guessed she was about three or four years older than he was—but although in some ways she acted and thought as if she were much more experienced than her age, in others she was rather childlike. Annoyingly childlike. He had never quite realized how much he liked being around girls who thought for themselves instead of passively sitting there and waiting to be told what to do.
“Did you ever see these men?” Nikolas asked her.
She shook her head. “Giels told me that they spoke no language he recognized, and he’s guided people all over the south, right down to that city the horse-people go to when they want to sell horses. Katashin’a’in, that’s what it’s called, I think.”
Nikolas and Mags exchanged a look.
“He told me they had a lot of things he thought were poisons,” she continued. “They’d put out baits when they thought he wasn’t watching, and they’d check to see if the animals that took ’em had died. That was why when he just dropped dead in the street, I knew they had done it.” She shivered. “I knew they knew about me, and I figured they’d guess Giels had told me about them.” She started crying again. “Mistress Peg, she always likes her girls to make a nest egg an’ get married, and Giels, he always said that was what we’d do. ‘You make a nest egg, an’ I’ll make a nest egg,’ he’d say, ‘An’ when we got enough that we can have that little tavern, you’ll quit, an’ I’ll quit guidin’, an’ we’ll sell beer, an’ you’ll wait on the custom, an’ we’ll have a grand old time of it.’ That’s what he said, and now—” She burst into tears.
Mags patted her hand, awkwardly. He wished that Giels had told his girl a little more than he had. Right now, given that there was a dead body in a Healer’s hands and the Healer couldn’t identify the poison used to kill the man, it was reasonable to figure this was the same lot as the ones that had tried to murder Mags and the King earlier this year.
That was really not good. Poison was definitely an assassin’s weapon. Everyone around the King would have to be even more careful and alert about what he ate and drank now.
Giels had been commendably close-mouthed if he was trying to protect her. The only things she knew was that they were “foreign” and that there were no fewer than three of them.
“All right,” Nikolas sighed. “Haven is not safe for you. We’ll have to send you away.”
She mopped at her eyes with the handkerchief he gave her. “Where?” she asked timidly.
“I don’ know yet,” Nikolas admitted. “You’ll be safe enough here for a few days. I’ll be back later today with someone who’ll help you figure out where you can go and what you can do. Until then, don’t let anyone in. All right? Open the door only to me. That was why I had food and drink brought up for you. You won’t starve in the time I’m gone.”
The girl nodded bleakly. Mags felt horribly sorry for her. But what could they do, really? They couldn’t bring the guide Giels back. He hoped that there was something she could do besides sell herself, but in her rambling story she’d said more than once that she’d joined Mistress Peg’s establishment when she’d come up from the country because she’d hated being a servant. So what else was there for her?
He and Nikolas went down to the stables and retrieved Dallen and Rolan, after changing into uniforms in the secret room. “What’re we gonna do wi’ ’er?” he asked Nikolas on the way back.
“I have no idea, and fortunately, that is not my problem,” Nikolas replied, with just a hint of irritation. “Personally, I cannot think of anything she’s suited for. I’ll be bringing old Lord Kennely down with me after I get some sleep. It’s his job to work out problems like this when we have someone whose life is in danger and who is assisting the Crown. He’ll figure out what her skills are, find a place for her to go outside of Haven, and see to it she gets there safely. At least she doesn’t have a huge family that has to be resettled along with her.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he rode. “I tell you, Mags, it’s times like this that I am mortally glad that I am not the one that has to make these decisions.” He sighed. “I don’t regret rescuing her. I just wish she’d told us more that is useful.”
“Well... least we know one thing sure,” Mags pointed out. “We know we got more’n the first lot ’ere now.”
“Yes. And we know that this second lot is definitely not handicapped by being unable to read their orders.” Nikolas’ tone was grim. “You and I are going to have our work cut out for us now.”
Chapter 7
“Where’s Lena?” Mags asked Bear as the latter sat down next to him with a tired thud. Mags passed him the bowl of butter and the loaf of bread without being asked. Across the table, Pip passed over a bowl of pickles, and Gennie stood up to snag a plate of cheese before it vanished down to the other end. Bear made himself a little ploughman’s lunch and tucked in. “Driving herself to silliness in this heat,” he said, in between bites. “Seriously. When she isn’t in class, she’s either playing or writing. And when I manage to drag her out, all she can talk about is Marchand’s pet and sit there and fret because she wants to hate him and can’t. Turns out the feller is all right, dead serious, dead grateful to Marchand for finding him. His family don’t have two pins, they’re from some stony spot on the Border, and he’d been learnin’ on any sort of instrument that anyone would let him borrow. Now, coming up to Bardic, that means his family gets that family-stipend, which I guess is more money than they’ve ever seen, and he gets, well, Bardic.” Bear finished what was on his plate and reached for the bowl of baby carrots—a rare treat, since you only got them when the young carrots were thinned out to allow the biggest to grow. “Off stage he’s shy. Shy! Unbelievable.” Bear shook his head. “So of course she can’t hate him, so all she can do is try and figure out how to make Marchand take notice of her instead of the pet. I keep trying to tell her that she’s wearing herself out for nothing, but she doesn’t listen.”
Well, that put an interesting complexion on things. Mags felt his thoughts disengage from the problem of find the foreigners to concentrate on Lena. And he snagged a few baby carrots to munch on himself while he thought.
No use in my tellin’ ’er nothin’, he thought. She b’lieves me when I’m with ’er an’ then fergets ev’thin’ I tol’ ’er when I’m agone.
::Exactly so,:: Dallen replied. ::Erm—not exactly. She would listen to you, as you said, but doubts always set it as soon as she is alone. But remember what you are trying to do about her and Bear.::