She turned away, groping in the purse dangling from her wrist. There was a crumpled scrap of paper, fortunately. She had nothing prepared, but with her back turned she willed into existence a line of script, something suitably maudlin. It was even an advantage that the conjuring would fade in a day or two.
"My family simply won’t understand," she added, handing over paper and coin. "You are doing me a great service."
"It’s no problem, Miss," the girl replied, with just a hint of underlying scorn. Then she looked up, sniffing, frowning at the blameless blue sky.
Rennyn paused. "Tell me," she said, "Were you here when this…apparition arrived?"
"At this very spot," the girl replied readily, probably having fielded such questions all day.
"What was the weather like?"
"The weather? It wasn’t raining, if that’s what you mean. Smelled like it was going to storm, but it was clear like it is now." The girl sniffed again, looking puzzled.
Rennyn stole a hurried glance back toward the crowd. "Ah – I think that’s my sister calling me. Thank you again."
"Good luck to you, Miss," the girl said, tucking the note away inside her skirt pocket.
Rennyn nodded, and took herself off. An unnecessary thing, but the idea of the girl sleeping the night in that shed would have haunted her. Mage-blood, too. It would have been a waste.
Chapter Three
Romantic ninnies were profitable. A whole sennith, just for a couple of hours' walk. Even with the crowds come for the White Lady, Kendall wouldn’t earn a quarter that in a week, which made it worth risking leaving her garden unguarded. And the hosteller hadn’t charged her nearly five petthine to spend the night, either.
The only bad thing about the sudden trip to Morebly had been the arrival of a coach complete with outriders, which had passed Kendall just as she joined the drift of gawkers heading out of Falk. It had taken all her will to press on without waiting to see the new arrivals, or at least try and get a better look at the crest embossed on the door. But interesting strangers weren’t worth the chance of not making Morebly before the sun set, and being outside a circle after dark.
She’d set out as early as she dared on the return trip, hoping the coach would still be around, but of course the sun was well up before the familiar roofs of home came into view. The crowds were already building, even so early. Kendall was just thinking about how the Mayor had said the White Lady was the best thing to happen to Falk when she realised something was wrong.
No chatter. Instead a low murmur tinged with shock, with the air of carnival totally gone. People weren’t queued at the stalls, or waiting in line to enter the Green. They were crowded five-deep around the rope circle, staring at something to their right.
Wriggling through, Kendall caught her breath. The Back Green had sunk! And the trees on the far side had been knocked down. The White Lady was still there, not looking at all different except for being about a foot lower than she’d been yesterday. Kendall could see a line marking the circle where the heaviness above her had ended. But now – Kendall copied the person next to her and held out a hand. The weird force which pinned the White Lady to the Green had moved all the way out…here.
Kendall finally looked right, to the line of flattened plants, smashed fences, and splintered wood.
"No–!"
Forcing her way wildly through the crowd, she ran past strangers standing in familiar yards, and slammed straight into that invisible weight. She fell forward and lay there, a crushed, panting bug, staring at the trampled gardens, and flattened remains of a small garden shed which was everything she had in this world.
"Kendall!"
Harry Lippon. He pulled her backward out of heaviness and clutched at her, face all eyes. "You weren’t – you’re – you’re… Where have you been, Kendall?"
But Kendall had no time for Harry Lippon. Jerking away, she surveyed the remains of her home. It was only a few feet in, the wreckage fanned out in a spray toward the outside of the circle. There were people standing in her gardens, but she didn’t see that she’d be able to get them out.
"I’ve got to get my stuff," she said, determinedly.
"Stubborn brat," said a hoarse voice. Ma Lippon, arms folded across her massive chest. "Should have known you’d turn up in one piece."
Kendall lifted her chin mutinously. She wasn’t going to let Ma Lippon get her claws in her, just because – just because…
"Ay-eh, and here I was thinking I’d never enjoy that black glare again." Ma Lippon reached out and tousled Kendall’s hair in the way Kendall particularly hated. As if she was some toothless babe, some puppy too stupid to take care of itself.
"When did it happen?" Kendall asked, stepping out of reach.
"Just on dawn. Where were you, girl? One of the Sentene went in and checked for your body, and no-one knew what to make of it when he couldn’t find you. Thought you’d been swallowed up by the Devourer himself."
"Morebly. Just a delivery." Kendall shrugged irritably, trying to think what she could do now. Get her stuff, yes, but what then? She wouldn’t let Ma Lippon take her over, like she’d been itching to do these past two years. She– "Did you say Sentene?"
"Three of them," Harry said, with a glance at the crowd gathering around his mother. "They arrived yesterday afternoon."
That must have been who was in the coach. Sentene were monster hunters, special soldiers whose job it was to get rid of the nastiest of the Night Roamers. They were said to be all mages or sword-masters or both, and for three of them to come see the White Lady meant she must be particularly – what? A monster?
Kendall glared at the centre of the Green. Nothing good, anyway. Not from where Kendall was standing. Snorting, she went as close as she could to the remains of her shed. Her savings were hidden by the remains of Gran’s house, but she wanted her clothes, and the few precious things she’d salvaged from the fire.
It wasn’t an easy thing. Even taking one step into the heaviness was enough to put Kendall on her knees, and holding out a rake to try and claw some of the debris out of the circle was even harder. But she found herself with many helpers, and it turned into a competition between the strongest men of the village and the visitors to see who could cross a few feet of wood-spattered grass and pick up a piece of clothing. Showing off, but she had to be glad of them.
Soon enough she had a battered collection, and retreated away from the crowds to the back wall of Gran’s ruined house to sort out what was still of any use. She set herself right next to a certain brick and, double-checking that no-one was near, dug in the dirt beneath until she found a small tin. Normally she wouldn’t risk carrying her savings about, but things were too strange right now, so she quickly stuffed the tin into her big carry-bag.
Kendall had just picked up the tattered remains of her favourite shirt when a step right behind her made her start. Someone had been watching–? She turned hurriedly and found herself eye-to-eye with the hem of a long black coat. Staring upwards, her eyes widened as she found curling lines of red and gold tracing their way up to the instantly recognisable image of a golden bird, small and elegant, head looking back over its shoulder at the great flaming tail pouring down the coat’s front. The Phoenix of the Montjustes, the symbol only worn by the Queens' men.
There wasn’t much else she could see. The coat was all-enveloping, covering even the hands, with an outsized round collar so high and wide Kendall couldn’t even glimpse the face from this angle. It was like the coat itself had walked up behind her.