Reluctantly, his demon unfolded within him, still surly from her fright. Cajoler, she muttered, but lent him her powers. The first door on their right was both locked and unpeopled, so he opened it to scout the terrain.
As he’d guessed, it was a dormitory cell for lay dedicats. Two narrow beds, simple furnishings, an upright loom against one wall with a colorful prayer rug in progress. A small window through two feet of solid rock gave a fine sea view, and a draught of pure air. Cool, serene. Less delightful in the winter, no doubt. Significantly, no area for the preparation of food.
“The dedicats must take their meals in a common refectory somewhere,” he whispered to Nikys. “Suggests your mother’s may be brought to her.”
He locked up after them, then ran a survey of the rest of the doors, which numbered fifteen.
“There are three doors both locked and with someone inside,” he muttered to Nikys. He pointed them out. “Could be dedicats ill, or resting up for night duties. You pick.”
“Me!”
“Yes.”
She huffed in doubt, walked up to one, hesitated, then moved to the next. “Try here.”
He didn’t insult her by asking Are you sure? She had as good a chance at guessing as he did, and maybe better. But as he unlocked the door, swung it open, and shepherded her in ahead of him, he braced for a cry of Oh, dear, this isn’t the garderobe, sorry! and a quick retreat.
It only got as far as “Oh—!” before she broke from him and sprinted forward.
Pen came after and eased the door closed. “Keep your voices down,” he warned.
A woman lying on a cot turned toward them. Her face was first weary, then wild, as she rolled to her feet and held out her arms in time to receive the pelting Nikys.
“Oh, gods, Nikys! Did they take you, too? I thought you were safely in Orbas! Oh, gods, no…” The mutual embraces held power beyond the mere grip of them, and Pen stood witness in shy silence. No such reunion would ever be his again, his own mother being three years in the cold ground of a country that scarcely still seemed home. Tears started in Nikys’s eyes, if not the same as before. Or maybe more closely related than Pen thought.
“No, no, I’m not a prisoner,” Nikys gasped into her mother’s ear, both women’s sets of hands frantically feeling up and down as if to assure their owners of the other’s life, health, hope. “We’ve come to get you out of here.”
“What?” Idrene stood back, though not letting go of her daughter’s shoulders.
Penric smiled and advanced, feeling dimly that the first thing a man said to his intended’s respected mother probably shouldn’t be Quick, take your clothes off! “I am so pleased to meet you, Madame Gardiki. I’m”—he hastily dumped every confusing and irrelevant honorific—“Nikys’s friend Penric.”
Nikys looked at him. “Yes,” she said. “You are.”
Madame Gardiki gave him an utterly baffled smile, reminding him of the false cordiality they’d offered to the Xarre mastiffs, as he laid the spectacles on the washstand, tossed his sack on the bed, shrugged down his draperies, and undid the blue scarf around his neck.
“Plan is you are to exchange clothes with me. You go with Nikys. Two pilgrims enter, two pilgrims leave. I stay in your cell and pretend to be you for as long as I can.”
“But how do you get out?”
“I have a scheme.”
No, you don’t, scoffed Des. It’s all improvisation from here.
“He’ll manage, Mother,” said Nikys. He hoped that heartening confidence wasn’t feigned.
“He? …Oh.” She stepped back a pace as he continued to disrobe, pulling off his belt and shucking the dress up over his head. With Ruchia’s loose, demure clothing, they hadn’t bothered with stuffing a breast-band. He was down to his trews when he realized what a bizarre figure he must present. Sky-blue eyes glittering out of a ruddy face, black bun on his nape, chest hair a smattering of gold, piebald with richly colored arms and shins but thighs and torso milk-white.
Nikys, thankfully, took over the task of coaxing Idrene out of her own clothes. “It’s all right, Mother, Pen’s a physician.”
“Yes, and I’m an army wife, but I’ve never seen anything like that.” She seemed to have grasped the escape scheme at once; her distraction was all for Pen. “A physician, really? He seems too young.”
“I’m almost thirty-one,” Pen told her, waiting to pass along his garments. His torso was narrower than hers, and longer, but Cedonian styles were forgiving. Nikys excavated down to her mother’s shift and tossed her dress his way, taking Ruchia’s in trade.
Given Idrene Gardiki’s still-handsome appearance at fifty, she must have been stunning at twenty. No wonder the old general had been beguiled. Not to mention young officer Rodoa before him. Her loose black hair had a mere smattering of gray in it, and Pen had kept his draperies over his head throughout, so that substitution shouldn’t be a problem. It would only take a moment to wind a similar bun. At least they’d matched her skin. Her features were sharper than Nikys’s, if not much like Pen’s, but the green spectacles would hide a lot. The bodice of Ruchia’s dress would be better-filled, but not unduly so. The clogs would still leave her wanting an inch or two of height, but if they avoided the two welcoming acolytes on the way out, and chanced a different donkey-lad for the trip down, she should pass. Pen had made sure to speak as little as possible. Check, check, check…
“Tell me what your daily routine has been in here, Madame Gardiki. I must know what to expect.”
“Fear and boredom, mostly. I’ve been here three weeks—I’ve been scratching the days on the wall down out of sight behind the bed. Five gods, dear Nikys, how did you get here so fast?”
“We had help. You’ll meet some of it in a bit. I’ll tell you all the rest later.”
“Do they carry in your meals on a tray?” asked Pen. “Who brings it?”
Idrene nodded. “Yes, three times a day. They haven’t been starving me, except of news. I’d only just heard, at home, that Adelis had been arrested in Patos, and—dear Mother’s mercy, was he really blinded? Because the men who came to arrest me said he’d fled to Orbas, and there was no word of you at all, and nothing made sense.” Nikys guided Ruchia’s dress over her head. “Darling, I’m going to trip on this hem.”
“No, we brought shoes. Keep going.”
She shoved her arms through the wide sleeves, and went on, “A dedicat brings the tray, but there are always these two large women with her who aren’t of the Order. None of them talk to me, though I think the dedicat is curious.”
“Always the same women?” said Pen.
“Usually.”
“So they’d recognize I wasn’t you if they saw me closely?”
“Yes, probably…” She eyed him as he adjusted her belt around his waist. “Yes. Although you make a convincing woman in general.”
“I’ve had practice.” Pen grimaced. “How soon are they due back?”
“Sunset.”
“You two should be almost back to Guza by then. I might be able to fake my way through one meal. Maybe more.”
“How will you catch up with us? Where will you catch up with us?” said Nikys, a distraught edge leaking into her voice.
“Akylaxio, I hope.” A larger seaport up the Cedonian coast from Guza. “But if Bosha can find you what seems a good safe ship there heading north, don’t wait for me. Keep going. It might be as late as Orbas.”
“We’re going to Orbas?” said Idrene faintly.