He kept his tone light to cover his disappointment—and his growing unease. He couldn’t help but get the feeling that time was running out to find the Agents and their plants. They had to be planning something soon, he just felt it, like a storm about to break.
Bear snorted. “As if—” he began, as they passed through the gates with a wave to the Guards standing sentry, who looked only slightly cooler than Bear.
That was when whatever he had been about to retort was lost in the stampede of Heraldic Trainees bearing down on Mags.
Dallen backed up quickly to avoid having Amily jostled. The Trainees were all talking at once, asking him if he’d heard, if he knew—since none of them bothered to say what it was they were so roused to a fever over, all he could do was shake his head.
That was when Gennie and Pip came fording through the throng, good-naturedly pushing the rest out of the way until they got to Mags.
“Where have you been?” she demanded. “We’ve been looking all over for you ever since the announcement!”
“Off wi’ frien’s.” Mags said, gesturing vaguely toward Haven. “Wha’ ’nouncement?”
“Well... it seems that half of Valdemar has gone mad for Kirball,” Gennie told him, so excited she was bouncing a little on her toes. “But they don’t just want to see it, they want to play it too.”
“Wait—” it was Bear who spoke up before Mags could, frowning and combing his fingers through his hair in agitation. “That’s insane. The only reason hardly anyone gets hurt now is because you’re playing it with Companions. That field is a nightmare! You go using ordinary horses, and you are just begging for broken bones and maybe someone killed!”
“Everyone knows that,” Pip replied. “That’s why the Guard’s been working with some of us to come up with a simplified version—one that uses a flat field and doesn’t need Heralds. We’ve been training two Guard teams for a moon or so now. We even have two versions, one with riders and one using all foot.”
Bear stopped making his hair stand on end. “Ah,” he said, calming down. “Oh. Well . . .”
“The point is,” Gennie interrupted, “The King himself authorized a Kirball Festival! He’s going to have us demonstrate our style and then have Guard teams demonstrate the new styles! He’s checked with the Healers and the Guard, and everyone agrees that we can start training again even though there’s a lot of summer heat—with precautions, Bear, so don’t start making your hair look like a hedge—and have the Festival in time for the start of Fall Quarter! Isn’t it fantastic?”
Mags didn’t quite know what to say. “Aye,” he managed. “Fantastic.”
Fantastic t’ think there’s three enemies up ’ere, we dunno who they be, there’s at least two more down i’ Haven we cain’t find, an’ we’re gonna do... games.
::That was my reaction,:: Dallen said, ::until Rolan pointed out that the Agents will certainly think we are unaware of their presence, will certainly try to take advantage of this opportunity... and... ::
Mags waited. Dallen’s Mindvoice was... smug. Really smug.
::And?:: he prodded sharply, when Dallen had let the silence go on for too long.
::And he as much as admitted that yes, you were correct, there are three operatives up on the Hill somewhere, no, they still don’t know who they are, and they are hoping to use this Festival as the means of smoking them out.::
On the one hand... that was absolutely insane. No one in his right mind would do something like this . . .
On the other hand, the three—spies, operatives, whatever they were—did not know that the Heralds knew they were there. The Hill was going to be thrown into a games-mad frenzy for the next moon or so. Schedules would fly right out the window, people would become unpredictable in actions and habits, and that would put the Agents under a tremendous amount of pressure. They might snap under it. They might make mistakes.
They might reveal themselves.
“It’s fantastic!” Mags said with more enthusiasm. “Which teams’ll be a-playin’?”
“All of them. East against South, us and North,” Gennie said with great satisfaction, rubbing her hands together with glee. “This is going to be amazing!”
It’ll be amazin’ iffen I kin get through this next moon wi’out droppin’ over wi’ exhaustion. An’ ne’er mind them Agents tryin’ t’kill me iffen they ever figger out I’m lookin’ fer ’em.
Helping Bear was completely out of the question now; there was no way he would be able to do that and keep up with the training schedule that Gennie had imposed on them.
Training was in the morning, before the full heat of the day was on them, and with all four teams needing field space, they were beginning at dawn. The Dean had thrown up his hands in defeat as soon as this Festival had been announced. Those Trainees who were on the teams had been put into their own classes, which were more like big tutoring sessions, lasted all afternoon, and dealt with all subjects together. Instead of attending formal classes with lectures, each of the players was given daily assignments by his or her regular instructors and was expected to turn them in completed by dinner. Teachers came and went during the afternoon, and the Trainees were expected to help each other. Strangely enough, it worked well, at least as far as Mags could see—though he could also see the potential for slacking off, so he doubted this novel approach was going to last past the Festival.
But this approach pretty much decreed an end to his “snooping” up on the Hill. He simply did not have time. By the time dinner was over, the Collegia kitchen staff and the few servants were gone—because their working days began before dawn and ended as soon after dinner as possible. He had no reason to be poking his nose over into the Palace staff and absolutely no reason to be found among the courtiers. The Guard had been tolerating his presence by day, but by night, those who were not on duty were not in the least interested in socializing with a “boy”—and at any rate, most of that socializing was going on down in two or three specific taverns in Haven, where, again, he would stand out rather than blending in. If he’d had time, he might have been able to slip in posing as a potboy, but by the end of the day, he was far too weary to spend his evening delivering drinks and clearing tables.
The closer the time came for the Festival, the more agitated he felt. He was getting nowhere alone. He had no idea if Nikolas and the others had had any more success than he had—but he rather doubted it.
Finally, the week before the Festival, he made up his mind. So far as he knew, he was the only person, Herald or Trainee, who had exactly the right combination of Gifts to find the Agents, if they could be found at all. He’d had one brush with their minds; in theory at least, he should be able to find them at a middling distance... if . . .
He thought about this all through the afternoon tutoring session, and instead of going to supper and sitting down with the rest, he went out to Companion’s Field to consult with Dallen.
::Whatcher think?:: he asked, without preamble, when Dallen ambled up to the fence and put his nose over it. While occasionally it was a bit irritating to have Dallen “looking over his shoulder,” so to speak, virtually all the time if he didn’t specifically work to keep the Companion out, this was one time out of many when it was a distinct advantage that Dallen knew what he had been considering.