Then Arno spoke. “They’ve been fine,” he said. His voice was dry; his face held no flicker of astonishment. “We’ve been expecting you, brother. Here’s your wife.”
Galen took a step back. He looked wary at once; his face darkened. A woman ran out of the crowd, tall and fair-haired; she flung her arms around him and kissed him. “You’re back! And early too!” She came to Raffi and Carys and grabbed their hands. “You both look half starved. I’ve got some fine chickens roasting for you, just as you like them . . .” Talking and laughing and not letting them answer, she led them briskly between the houses, away from the crowd. Glancing back, Raffi saw the Watchmen dismounting, the sergeant giving orders.
Around the corner Galen stopped the woman. “What’s going on!”
She shook her head impatiently. “I should ask you that! How could you just walk in here with them! And why haven’t you been answering me? For two days I’ve been trying to make you hear.”
He stared at her, his dark eyes narrowing with delight. “You’re a keeper!”
“Of course I am. Now in here. Quickly!”
She pushed them through a low doorway into the house. Straightening, Raffi saw a long room with another beyond it, a bright fire crackling, a complicated arrangement of spits with three chickens being turned by a very old woman who grinned at him, showing only one tooth.
“Is this them?” she asked.
“Yes.” The tall woman looked back through the slit of the door. “No one seems to be following. The Watch are back.”
The old woman spat. “God curse them.”
“Arno will keep them busy. Go and keep an eye on them.”
The old hag winked, and pulled a shawl around her head. She slid silently through the door.
“Can we trust her?” Galen asked.
“Of course I can, she’s my mother. Now, leave your pack. Sit down. The first thing is to get you something to eat.”
Raffi watched her slice the meat. Suddenly he knew he was starving. The hiss of the grease dropping in the flames, the smell of it, tormented him. As she worked, the woman said quickly, “My name is Lerin. I was a scholar of the Order. My master was taken and killed.”
“His name?”
“Marcus Torna.
Galen nodded somberly. “I knew of him.”
“I escaped. I don’t think the Watch knew he had any pupils with him. I had nowhere to go, so I came home. Here. Ten years ago now. The people here are my family. They despise the Watch, more so now than ever. Those men were here three months ago. They took ten children, all under five, for their filthy Watchhouses. God knows what will happen to them.”
She thrust a plate of meat at Raffi. “Think of it! Our own children, drilled and trained and warped into our enemies. The brightest, the cleverest!” She paused, staring at Galen. “What future do those children have? Their mothers are distracted with grief.”
He shook his head heavily. Carys sat staring at the fire so hard that Raffi nudged her. When she looked at him, just for a moment, something flickered in his mind, a drift of pain. As he reached for it, it was gone.
She glared at him. “Leave me alone, Raffi.”
The woman looked at her suddenly. “Who are you? I didn’t know about you.”
“We met her,” Galen muttered. “On the downs.” He sat down on a bench, as if he was suddenly weary.
Lerin glanced at him. Then she stood upright, the knife still in her hand. “Why didn’t you answer me, keeper? I have sense-lines—good ones—flung right out into the downs. Two days ago you walked through the first. I searched for your mind. I was nearly a Relic Master—only a few more months with Marcus and I would have made the Deep Journey. I know what I’m doing. Why didn’t you answer me?”
Galen lifted his head. He faced her across the room, the fiery shafts of the last sunlight slanting between them. “I think we should talk about this later. Alone. Many things have happened. But I am who you think I am. Galen Harn. Relic Master.”
For a moment they looked at each other, and the sun faded. Then the woman’s face changed; Carys thought she seemed astounded, and then horrified. “Can it be . . . ?”
“Later!” Galen looked away into the dark. “I’ll explain later.”
Journal of Carys Arrin Karnosnight 11.16.546
I thought Raffi would burst, he ate so much. Mind you, so did I. Now he’s asleep and so is Galen. After the meal everyone was too tired to talk. Tomorrow, the woman said. The Watchpatrol may have moved on then. She’s out, but the old woman is somewhere about.
Something’s wrong. He has to ask Raffi for information. The villager’s name. Why didn’t he know it? Why not answer the woman’s mind-call?
Maybe he’s a fraud. Maybe the powers of the Order are nothing—and yet she would know that.
Maybe he suspects me.
He’s a harsh, strange man, and sees far. And yet he went deliberately into danger. I don’t understand what’s happening here. But I’ll find out.
All right. The real reason I’m writing is that I can’t sleep. Why did she have to say that, about those children? Did I come from a village like this? Was my mother distracted with grief? I always thought, before, that Watchchildren were orphans . . . I never thought . . .
This is stupid. I’m going to sleep.
Note: Information about Lerin would be useful to the Watch. I don’t think I’ll send it.
14
What does the keeper know?
The secrets of the world.
To whom does the keeper speak?
God and the Makers.
What does the keeper fear?
Nothing but despair.
Litany of the Makers
“TASCERON!”
Lerin stared at them in amazement. “Galen, you can’t go there! It’s madness!”
He brooded across the firelit room. Outside, the cold rain fell heavily, splatting the pocked track into mud. Washed, full of food, and after the best night’s sleep he’d had for months, Raffi watched the keeper anxiously. Galen was gaunter these days, his hair long and ragged, his hawk-nose jutting, eyes dark with obsession. Now he turned the cup of ale on the table, tracing the pattern on the leather.
“Maybe it is. But there are reasons for it. The first is the girl’s father.”
Carys blinked. For a moment she had forgotten her own story.
Lerin looked at her and shook her head. “I’m sorry, but that’s . . . well, you have to face facts. He may well be dead already.”
“I don’t care,” Carys said. “I’m going to find out!” She glanced at Galen. “Tell her your other reasons.”
He drank, and set the cup down. Then he said, “I’m looking for a Sekoi. Brindled fur, with a zigzag under the eye. A man called Alberic wants him.”
“Why?”
“Alberic has a relic of ours. A crystal box that emits light. That can kill.”
Carys tried not to stare. She leaned back in the soft comfort of the chair, hoping he’d say more about it, but Lerin didn’t seem very surprised. “And he says he’ll give it back in return for the Sekoi?”
Galen shrugged. “So he says. I doubt it.”
“Then why bother looking for the creature at all!” She came and sat on the bench opposite him, her long red skirt trailing in the soot. “Keeper, you can trust me. Tell me your real reason. No one goes to the Wounded City for nothing.”