So did the head cook, who snorted again. He, at least, was not at all impressed. Then again, he must have been serving here for—
:Almost thirty years that I know of.:
“I’ve seen things move around here many a time, girl. A Herald with the Fetching Gift can move things just by thinking about it.” The head cook shook his head. “You’ve got no call to go bringing ghosts into it, when there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. Like as not, it’s one of the Trainees, pulling pranks. They aren’t supposed to do that sort of thing, but boys will be boys, and those mercenaries are a hateful lot. I couldn’t fault the boys for making ’em sweat.”
“But a Herald has to see what he’s moving, right?” the maid demanded. “He can’t just decide to move things without knowing what they are and where they are, right?”
“Ah ...” She had caught him off guard, it seemed. He would like to pretend he was an expert in such matters.
“I believe that is true,” he said finally. “I believe that in order to move something, the Herald has to be able to see it.”
“And there were no Heralds anywhere about!” she exclaimed. “They couldn’t have seen in the window. Those awful men keep that closed up as tight as tight, and I have never seen anyone in their rooms but them.”
“And why split a helm?” mused the cook. “I can’t imagine what that was supposed to mean. Truly, this is baffling.”
“Unless you were a vengeful spirit and were sending a message,” replied another, silent until now. “Well, I wouldn’t care to be in their shoes, I can tell you that. I would not be at all surprised to find out they had some dark secrets, that lot. And a lot to hide. And maybe someone they wronged badly enough to come looking for revenge from the grave.”
There was more, much more, of the same. Mags didn’t hear all of it, since he finished the pots with a speed that the scullion must have found gratifying, and slipped back out of the kitchen again.
:Well ... that was interesting.:
Mags didn’t pause on his way to the stables—he didn’t have time. He’d have to hurry to change back into his Grays and be at the dining hall in time to meet Bear and Lena. But he definitely caught something in Dallen’s mind-voice.
:You’re thinking on something.:
:It does sound like someone with Fetching. And the cook is wrong, you don’t have to see what you want to Fetch—if you did, the Gift would not be very useful. You just have to know where it is and what it looks like.:
:Aye, so?:
:The thing is what the ax did, not that it moved. It flipped end over end and landed hard enough to split the helm. You would virtually have to be there to see in order to do it. Unless. . .
:Oh, get on with it!:
By now he had reached the stables. Dallen whickered a greeting as he passed. He dived into his room and began frantically wiggling out of his clothing and into his Grays.
:If someone with the Fetching Gift worked with someone who was a FarSeer, then he wouldn’t have to be in the same room:
Mags stopped, one boot on, the other in his hand. :But who?:
:A good question.:
Chapter 17
Bear seemed to have had no real improvement in his attitude since that afternoon, and he might have thought he was covering it well, but so far as Mags was concerned, he wasn’t. Mags would have given just about anything to have a topic of conversation that would distract his friend from whatever was bothering him, but most of the interesting things he had done over the holiday would only have opened up more questions than he was able to answer.
“Ever been down into th’ city?” he finally asked, as Bear toyed with his food and they both waited for Lena.
Bear shook his head.
“Herald Caelen said t’ go.” He shook his head. “Never seen that many people in m’ life. Never seen that much stuff neither.” After the Midwinter Eve vigil and Midwinter Day celebration, he and Marc and Dia had gone back to the Midwinter Market—and since he now had some money to spend, he’d gotten something for Lena and Bear. He’d brought the presents with him to—he hoped—cheer them up. “Since Jakyr give me coin, got ye somethin’.”
He pulled the cloth bag that held the present out from under the cloak folded on the bench beside him. Bear finally seemed to wake up a bit.
“Mags, you shouldn’t—you shouldn’t spend money someone gave you on presents for others—”
“Why not? ’S mine now, right? S’pose to get things as make me happy? Well, gettin’ you an’ Lena somethin’ makes me happy.”
With a nonplussed look on his face, Bear opened the bag, revealing the sheepskin mittens that Mags had gotten him.
“I hardly know what to say—this is exactly what I needed!” Once again, Mags got the feeling there was more behind that statement than he could properly comprehend. But some of it slipped out. “I think you know me better than my own family, and we haven’t been friends for more than a couple of moons.” The last was tinged with bitterness.
:Oh, dear ...:
:Mebbe families ain’t all shiny an’ flowers.:
:Sometimes not even with the best of intentions.:
Fortunately, what could have been a very uncomfortable moment indeed was salvaged by Lena’s arrival. She did not look happy, but she didn’t look as miserable as Bear was.
She helped herself to the food, but Mags could not help noticing that she took less than half of what she usually did. If only he had something he could talk to them about, something to distract them!
Oh, wait—he did!
“Ye know them nasty bodyguards? Them furriners?” he began. “Well, hang if they ain’t actin’ strange.”
He went on to tell them what he had overheard, then what he himself had seen. Bear and Lena both perked up—with a certain amount of very unsympathetic comments—as he gave some pretty elaborate descriptions of their behavior, helped out by Dallen.
He didn’t have to figure out how to tell the story of the “haunted” ax, though. Lena suddenly looked as if something had occurred to her.
“Oh, Havens!” she exclaimed. “I wonder if—”
“What?” Bear asked before Mags could.
“Well, there is a rumor going around that the Palace is haunted. Some wild story about weapons flying off of walls and cutting things in half. I wonder if this has anything to do with why those bodyguards are so nervous?” Her eyes sparkled. “I wonder if it is the ghost of some Royal Guardsman who is offended by them?”
“Where d’ ye hear these things?” Mags asked, both amused and puzzled. Amused because at least he wouldn’t have to figure out some way of telling the story without revealing how he had learned it.
“Bards hear everything, because anything could lead to a new song,” she replied, now actually eating instead of shoving her food about on the plate.
“And Bards gossip worse than a pack of old women,” Bear added, but with a smile. “Do you really think it’s a ghost?”
“Well, I ’spect they do,” Mags put in. “They sure act like it.”