At Pen’s prodding, Bosha went on to describe more details of the architecture and the residents’ daily rounds of work and prayer. He seemed a remarkably observant man. Pen was getting less and less surprised at this.
“And how do the prelates of the Daughter’s Order feel about their goddess’s house being used as an imperial prison?”
Bosha cocked his head. “Interesting question. But since the imperial court is one of the main financial supports of the retreat, I don’t suppose they can refuse the duty.”
“The visitors who go in and out—are they counted?”
“Yes. There is a visitor’s book, which gets marked off. And rechecked at sunset, when the drawbridge is raised for the night. The ladies do value their privacy.”
Pen sat back and rubbed his knuckles across his lips. Des, do you see any possibilities?
Do you even remember who you are talking to, lad? and that was, without question, Learned Ruchia’s voice that scoffed at him. I can see six offhand, but let’s start with the quietest. The one that involves setting the place afire being the very last resort.
I should think so! Pen shuddered at this hypothetical offense to the Lady of Spring.
Let me ask Nikys a few questions.
Pen yielded control of his mouth to his demon, and turned. “Nikys, what does your mother look like? Is she tall, short, fat, thin? Skin color, eyes and hair?”
“She’s a little taller than I am, and, um, not so round. Her coloring is much like mine.”
“Is she very level-headed in emergencies?”
“Well, she raised Adelis and me.” Nikys’s enchanting grin, too seldom seen of late, flickered. “Following my father around to various army camps, to boot. I’m too young to remember the one time we were all in the baggage train when it was attacked, though I’ve heard the stories. Drema was always the practical one, of our two mothers. Florma was the nervous one.” Their children’s old nicknames for Idrene and Lady Florina. “I think my mother would have liked to be more nervous, at times, but the role was taken. So she mostly ended up reassuring us and Florma all together.”
“I see.” He glanced at Lady Xarre’s cane, propped against her chair. “How fit is she, physically? Can she walk, run, climb, ride?”
“Fit enough. She’s only just fifty now. She can do all those things, though not like a young man, of course.” She mulled. “Maybe not what you mean by climb. Not even when she was young. Me either. Stairs we can manage.”
Des hummed aloud. “I think a substitution removal might just work, here.”
“Beg pardon?” said Nikys.
“Two women pilgrims enter the precincts to make prayer. A woman and her niece. Mm, cousin. Friend, anyway. We find Madame Gardiki and exchange clothes, and other things as needed. Later, two women sign out again, and make their way to their boat. Except the woman left in the cell is not Madame Gardiki. I escape at my leisure, and rejoin you.” Pen wasn’t sure whose voice was speaking, now.
“What?” said Nikys. “You don’t look anything like my mother!”
“It’s not as if we could leave you. That would be like trading a gold coin for a gold coin.”
Tanar said tentatively, “Might I do?”
Lady Xarre and Bosha both replied, instantly and in unison, “No!”
Tanar ducked her chin, peeved. “I would like to do something. I could be the only person here with the right to drink from the goddess’s well, after all.”
“No,” Bosha repeated. “There must be nothing whatsoever to connect this escapade with the Xarre household. Or with my sister Hekat at the Order, for that matter. She’s the only member of my family I could ever stand, and vice versa. I am wholly loth to risk her.” He frowned back at Tanar, and at Pen. “And if you are imagining involving me any further in this, may I point out that I am a line leading straight back to both.”
“Yes, you are much too physically memorable,” agreed Pen. Although evidently an adept and ruthless bodyguard, which was an undoubted value.
“So are you,” Nikys pointed out.
“Appearances can be changed. In both directions. Sometimes by quite simple means. My hair and skin could be colored, or we might obtain a blond wig. I have Mira’s clogs in my luggage, which could boost your mother’s height to mimic mine. Eyes, well, who notices eyes?”
“Yours?” said Nikys. “Everybody.”
Pen was a little miffed when all in the room nodded solemn agreement.
But Bosha pushed off from his wall. “I might have a solution for that.” He trod off to his bedchamber, and returned with a small case in his hand. He opened it to display a pair of spectacles in fine brass frames, but the lenses were dark green glass.
“Oh!” said Pen, bending to peer closely. “That’s very clever! I know a lens-grinder in Martensbridge who would like to know about that. Not that the sun is a great hazard in the cantons, although sometimes the sun on the snow is blinding.”
“You have sun and snow at the same time?” said Nikys in some wonder. “What a strange country you come from, Pen.”
Pen noted that slip of the tongue, Pen, and cut off a smile.
“They were a gift from Lady Xarre,” said Bosha. “When I first became a retainer of the household. Because my eyes watered and hurt in the noonday light. In twenty-six years before that, no one had ever thought of offering me such an aid. I’ve no desire to give them to you, but if it will get you out of here faster, I will.”
“They can be replaced, Surakos dear,” murmured Lady Xarre.
A hand-on-heart silent nod of thanks. Ah, no, that wasn’t irony, was it.
Pen picked them up with care and tried them on. The lenses were flat, thankfully, without any headache-inducing distortions. He blinked around at his viridescent audience.
“If you want unmemorable,” said Nikys, “that’s not it either.”
“So much the better. People will remember the spectacles but not the face behind them.”
“Maybe… So would you be Mira again?”
The other three people in the room stared at him curiously, and Bastard’s tears—or belly-laugh, whichever—that wasn’t a story he wanted told here. Or anywhere. “Not Mira, gods forfend, not at the Daughter’s Order. Learned Ruchia. She’ll know what to do, for one thing.”
Nikys nodded, satisfied. Everyone else kept staring.
“Dyes,” said Tanar after a moment. “Now that is something I might help with!”
VIII
Nikys had been in Tanar’s stillroom before. Penric had not, and looked surprised when he was shown past Bosha’s bedchamber through the next door down to find the workbench, the shelves crammed with neatly labeled jars and notebooks, the chests with dozens of tiny drawers, and the neat array of tools. The room even featured a little stove with a vent to the outside. Tanar opened the shutters to let in the light; only a window, here, no balcony.
“This is as well-stocked as any apothecary shop,” said Penric, gazing around. Nikys expected he was qualified to judge.
“Yes,” said Tanar cheerfully. “I first became interested in the art when I made Sura teach me how he concocted his, hm, medicines. Then I followed Karaji around and had her show me how she made all the dyes for the household’s spinning and weaving. Then Mama permitted me a real apothecary as a tutor—she came out once a week for, oh, almost three years. So I can make all the household’s remedies. I’m better at it than Sura, now.”
The retainer gifted her with a conceding eyebrow-lift—proud teacher?—and she tossed her head in pleased reply.