“All right,” Bear agreed. “But where does that leave me?”
“Where’d it leave ye afore ye got tapped fer Amily’s fixin’?” Mags countered.
“Well... .” Bear rubbed the back of his head ruefully. “Keeping Lena from feeling bad, as much as I could. And classes. And doing my work with the healing kits. I feel bad for putting some of that aside, but I have the basic kit now, and that part is out of my hands . . .”
“Aight. So figger ’stead’a runnin’ ’round tryin’ t’be three people, ye got leave t’jest be one fer a change.” Mags punched his shoulder, lightly. “Wish’t I c’d say th’same.”
::Mags,:: Dallen interrupted. ::Time to go. Nikolas has arranged that leave.::
“I gots t’ git,” he said, feeling both a bit of thrill and a lot of apprehension.
“. . . and not to go to class,” Bear said after a moment, studying his face. “You’re going to be down in Haven all the time now.”
“Mebbe.” Mags shrugged. “Dunno yet. Mebbe we’ll move inter thet shop fer a while. I dunno. Might could be e’en Nikolas dunno. Jest know I gotta go now, cause we gotta be down there long afore sunset t’day. I gotta start huntin’ fer this new lot.”
Bear gave him a long and measuring look. “These people almost killed you,” he said, somberly. “Three times, they almost killed you. And the ones that almost killed you, you say weren’t as skilled as these new ones.”
“Aye, I figgered thet part out,” Mags said dryly. “Might’ve been no bad notion t’have some other Gift, aye? Too bad we don’ get t’pick, I’d’a picked one thet made it so I had t’be treated like King hisself.”
“And what Gift would that be?” Bear asked.
“Dunno. Kingdom’s Luck? Thet a Gift? Whatever, I’m th’ one thet kin hear these lads, so I’m the one gotta go.” He honestly wished it could be anyone but him right now. Or better yet, that there were two of him.
Bear made a face. “Just—”
“Don’ say ‘be careful,’ aye? I ain’t goin’ inter this plannin’ on doing stupid shite.” Mags gave him an evil stare.
It had the desired effect. Bear laughed a little. “Point taken. And I suppose you had best get on your way before Nikolas gets annoyed with you. Go on, I’ll—try not to let my imagination get the better of me. I’ll definitely keep Lena sane, and try to do the same for Amily.”
Mags thought about advising him to do—or not do—any number of things. But in the end—would any of it do any good? Probably not. “I’ll let ye know when I kin, what’s what,” he said instead. “Iffen ye see me t’morrow, least ye’ll know I ain’t fightin’ fer bedspace wi’ bugs down i’ Haven.”
And he had to leave it at that.
He met Nikolas at the stable and knew immediately by the size of the packs that Dallen and Rolan were carrying that he would not be seeing his friends over lunch—not tomorrow, and maybe not for a while. A moment later, Nikolas confirmed his guess.
“I can’t say that I will be terribly unhappy at not having to deal with my daughter for a while,” the Herald murmured as he tightened the girth on Rolan’s saddle, and made sure that everything was comfortable for the Companion. “Maybe by the time I am back up here, she’ll have decided that I am not the worst father in the Kingdom.”
“I—” Mags tried to think of something to say, and couldn’t. He finally just shrugged. “Ain’t nothin’ I kin say, sir. Iffen yer unner orders, well... an’ I reckon ye cain’t even tell me thet much. An’ iffen ye cain’t tell me, aye, ye cain’t tell Amily. I don’ like it, an’ she don’ like it, an’ it ain’t fair, though. Ain’t like we’d tell any’un, an’ any’un thet thinks we would’s daft.”
Nikolas just gave him an opaque look. “Let’s just say that events in the past have proved that Foreseers sometimes interpret what they See incorrectly, no one wants to chance that happening this time, and leave it at that. Amily will get her leg mended as soon as can be managed, and Bear will be the one overseeing it. I just can’t tell you, or her, or him when that will be. Now let it go. That’s more than I should have told even you.”
“Yessir,” Mags replied, and got into the saddle. “So... any notion ’ow long we’ll be livin’ o’er yer shop? Attic’s like t’be mortal warm t’sleep in. I dunno, might could wanta think ’bout sleepin’ elsewhere?”
“We’ll actually be living in a squalid little basement—or rather, what was a squalid little basement before I smoked out all the vermin and made some improvements,” Nikolas told him, though he didn’t look at all happy about this. “I couldn’t do too much without exciting attention, however, so it will be rough.”
I don’ think ’e ’as the least little idea of rough, Mags thought to himself, but with more amusement than bitterness. Maybe it was a good thing that even Nikolas forgot, now and again, just who he was talking too. “ ’Tis a basement. Be cooler than attic. Might could be cooler nor up ’ere. Dunno whut yer room’s like, but mine’s been a-getting’ warm.”
“There is that,” Nicolas admitted, and hoisted himself into the saddle as well. “So, off we go to our grand adventure of sleeping in a cellar, bathing in a bucket, and eating dubious sausage and hoping it isn’t so dubious that we need a Healer afterward.” He shook his head, and Rolan echoed the gesture. “Oh, the grand and glamorous life of the King’s Own! I’ve more than half a mind to kidnap Marchand and show him what our work is like on an intimate basis. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so cursed jealous of me.” He led the way out of the stableyard and onto the road.
Jealous? Huh. Thet might ’splain a few things . . .
“Oh, I wouldn’ do thet, sir,” Mags said aloud as they passed through the gate and moved down among the Great Houses. “Fust time ’e felt a mouse run o’er ’im i’ th’ night, ’e’d bloody scream so loud ’arf Haven’d think we was stranglin’ a cat. Then, there goes us bein’ all quiet-like.”
“It would be worth it,” Nikolas said, fervently. “Can you imagine his face?”
“Oh, aye.” Mags chuckled. “Huh. Mice. Cain’t say I like hevin’ m’ face run over i’ th’ night meself. Reckon we better git us a cat?”
Nikolas sighed. “Yes. I’m afraid so. It’s been a while since I smoked the vermin out. The bugs haven’t returned, not even the black beetles in the cellar, but there isn’t much there to attract them. Mice are another matter, and they’re probably back already.”
::I’ll help you find a good mouser,:: Dallen said.
“Aight,” Mags said. “I’ll sort it.”
Nikolas cast a ghost of a smile his way. “I rather hoped you would.”
“Here’s the problem. This cellar was really only meant as another escape route, or a place to hide while someone searched the shop,” Nikolas said aloud, as he shoved the crate that Mags usually sat on aside, revealing a hatch.
’E’s talkin’ out loud ’stead’a Mindspeakin’. Which prolly means he don’t want me t’chance getting a liddle bit of whatever ’tis ’e ain’t s’posed t’ tell us. ’cause ’e knows I kin git stuff that kinda spills over. Well, if that was what Nikolas wanted to do... it wasn’t as if Mags had any grounds for objecting. He thought about it carefully, and decided that he didn’t mind. Because Nikolas knew that Mags knew that Nikolas—Mags caught himself before he started snickering. Hellfires, ain’t like he’s insultin’ me. Jest doing whut he was tol’ t’do. Furthermore, Mags had the oddest feeling that if Nikolas thought for one moment that Mags actually needed to know what was going on, he would violate those orders and tell him.