From there it was a short trip down the stairs and out the door. The coolest place he could think of to have their impromptu picnic was a kind of cave-grotto down by the river. Most of the time it was entirely too damp to be pleasant, but he was pretty certain it would be nice today. And he didn’t particularly care if someone else was there, either.
Which was just as well, because there was: a couple of young highborn fellows from the Palace, one in brown linen with all the edges piped in red, and one in a dull green of much better quality than the first. They were engaged in a spirited game of hares-and-hounds, laid out on one of the little stone tables this place held. They looked up when the two Trainees came in, waved in a lazy fashion, pointed at the other side of the grotto, and went back to their game.
The cool in here was a fabulous relief from the heat outside. There was just a bit of a damp smell, but with an overtone of green that made Mags think it came up from the river. Moss thickly carpeted the floor, the artifical “cave wall” of the grotto was cold to the touch, as were the stone benches on either side of the three little stone tables. Mags set the basket down and took a seat as Lena did the same.
By this point Lena was mostly over her shock. She won’t b’lieve it, a-course, not e’en when ’twas th’ Dean hersel’ what tol’ ’er she was thet good. Not once she starts t’thinkin’ bout it. Which would be where Bear would come in. Once Bear started showing her what the Dean had just told her, Lena just might, slowly, start to accept that it was nothing about her that made her father treat her like something he’d scraped off his boot. No, it was all about Bard Marchand and what Bard Marchand wanted.
I gotta figger out whut ’e’s getting from thet boy . . .
Mags unpacked the basket. There was a lot of food. More than two people could eat, and only one of them was going to actually be eating. There was so much that it caught the attention of the two fellows at the portable game board. They looked, and looked away, looked, and looked away, and finally one of them caught Lena’s eye.
“I suppose you’re going to eat all that?” that one finally said, wistfully. “Erm... we got up too late for luncheon, and the Palace Cook told us to ‘take your lazy carcasses out of my kitchen, dammit.’ ”
Mags was amused at that. They could, of course, go down into Haven and have whatever they wanted at any inn in the city. Or they could go visit the stately manor of some friend, who would have father, mother, or housekeeper order them up something. Clearly, however, they were disinclined to move very far in this heat.
Prolly figgered on waitin’ till Cook fergot ’bout ’em, then gettin’ a page t’fetch summat fer ’em.
That startled Lena into speech. “Oh, no!” she laughed breathlessly. “Please, come help yourselves.”
With glee, they did, coming over, and when Mags assured them that it was all right, that he had already eaten, taking everything that the two Trainees pressed on them. They were very polite about it and thanked them both profusely before returning to their game with their booty.
“Lissen,” Mags said, when the young men were immersed in the game again, munching on the food in one hand while they moved counters with the other. “I didn’ come over t’ git ye in trouble wi’ yon Dean. I come over t’git yer help wi’ Bear.”
Immediately her brows knitted with concern, her own woes set aside for the moment. “Is it the whole business of fixing Amily’s leg?” she asked, and then answered herself before he could say anything. “Of course it is. He has to be worried sick about it. He’s in charge, which is an awfully big trust and an awfully big responsibility. It’s bad enough that it’s a fearfully dangerous thing to do, but Amily is our friend. That just makes it all worse.”
Mags nodded. “Now look. Reckon them what’s in charge got a pretty good hold’uv this. I think, akchully, thet th’ reason they put Bear i’ charge ’ere, is on account ’f a coupla thin’s. They wanta gi’ ’im th’ chance t’ show ’is pa ’e’s got th’ stuff. They wanta put ’im inna place where ’e ak’chully sees fer ’isself thet ’e’s got th’ stuff. Aye? Gi’ ’im whatchacall—self-confidence. I don’ think they knowed ’ow much ’e’s like t’fret hisself t’pieces on account’a ’e cain’t think’v answers. Eh? Then ’e cain’t think’v answers on account’a ’e’s frettin’ hisself t’pieces. Jest goes roun’ an’ roun’. I kin ’ep ’im some, an hev, but the frettin’ part, I cain’t do nothin’ ’bout thet. So. Thet’s where ye come in.”
She nodded, slowly. “I can see that. I need to make sure he eats, because—” her eyes flickered to the strangers for a blink. “—he’ll take it better from me than from you.”
Good girl, Lena! “Aye. ’E’ll say I’m bein’ a nanny an’ ’e’ don’ need one.” He grinned at her. “ ’E’s said as much already.”
“And I need to make sure he sees some sun and thinks about something other than Amily.” She smiled. “And, of course, when he starts complaining about his family, I listen and let him run on and then tell him that they are idiots and don’t deserve him. Which they are, and they don’t. so it won’t even be a little lie.”
“Teach him hare-and-hounds,” said one of the young men at the game board, unexpectedly, turning and looking at Lena. “Or if he already knows it, play it with him. I know they teach you Bards the game straight off—I’ve lost plenty of pocket money to you Trainees. It’s a good excuse to come down here in the cool. If we’re here, we can even trade off partners. If you don’t mind that, that is?” He looked up and flushed a little, as if realizing he had been just a bit rude for eavesdropping, and even more for butting in on the conversation.
But Lena beamed at him. “That would be a lovely idea—Lord—?”
“Charliss,” said the speaker, with a foolish grin. He was a very affable looking fellow, with blond hair that flopped a bit into his deepset blue eyes and a generous mouth that looked as if he smiled a lot.
“Moron,” said his friend, who was a thinner, slightly harder version of the first young man, aiming a cuff at him. “Lord Pig With No Manners.” Now he turned toward the two of them. “And after you were so nice as to feed us too. I’m Grig. No Lordishness attached. I’m the poor-and-pitied cleverer cousin, assigned to make sure Char keeps from putting his foot in his mouth too often.” He sighed and shook his head. “As you can see, it is a never-ending and utterly thankless task. And yet, I endure.”
“Grig, Lord Charliss.” Lena somehow managed to give an impression of a curtsy while still sitting. “I’m Trainee Lena, this is Trainee Mags.”
The two young men started, their eyes popping, taking Mags completely aback. “The Trainee Mags?” gasped Charliss. “The Kirball player? For South team? The one with the Companion that runs like a cat with twelve paws?”
::A cat with... twelve paws? That’s an ungainly image,:: Dallen snorted.
“Erm—aye?” he said.
The two young men exchanged a gleeful glance. “Benter is never going to believe us,” said Grig, grinning as if he was never going to stop.
“Oh, he’ll believe us. He’ll just never forgive us,” replied Charliss, with the air of someone who had just taken all his opposing player’s hounds in one go. “So, Trainee Mags... just what strategy would you recommend to get on a Kirball team?”
So thet’s where th’ wind blows! “We-ell,” he said, with a glance at Lena to make sure it was all right with her to start this particular conversation—because, after all, he had come here with her, not them. “T’start with... ye gotter git th’ right horses . . .”