The King's bastard

Stupid. He wasn't thinking clearly.

Above his own hurried breathing, Fyn heard a soft sniffling. He knelt to peer into the shadows under the bunk. Master Wintertide's servant was hiding there, weeping.

'G-go away!' the boy sobbed.

Fyn smiled despite his exasperation. 'You're being silly. Come out.'

'No.'

'You can't stay there all day.'

The six-year-old wiped his nose on his sleeve. 'Can, if I want to.'

'I was Master Wintertide's servant, once,' Fyn said.

'Really?' The boy wriggled closer to get a better look at Fyn. 'That must have been a long time ago.'

'Ten years,' Fyn agreed. 'When I was scared and all alone, he was kind to me.'

'He was kind to me, too. And they just took him away.' The boy gulped back a sob. 'Healer Springmelt didn't even let me say goodbye.'

Fyn knew how that felt. Springmelt? When Fyn was Master Wintertide's serving boy, Springmelt was one of the acolytes who'd tried to bribe him. Now the healer spied for the history master. That explained how Hotpool knew the manner of Wintertide's death. Wait a moment… 'When did you say they took his body?'

'Just now. Didn't you see them in the hall?'

Fyn's head spun. If they had only just taken the master away, the healers would not have had time to examine him and determine the cause of death. How had Hotpool known?

Catillum's words came back to him. Poison is the preferred method to remove rivals. The only way for Hotpool to know what had killed Wintertide was for him to have killed him with a poison that mimicked a heart attack.

When Galestorm had said the old must make way for the young, Fyn had not thought he meant the old were to be murdered. Fyn sprang to his feet, heading for the door.

'Where are you going?' The boy scrambled out and ran after him. He tugged on Fyn's arm.

Looking down into that tear-streaked face, pity stirred Fyn. 'Go to the cook and see if he has any hot soup left.'

'Hot soup won't bring back the master.'

'No. But going hungry won't bring him back, either.'

The boy smiled slowly. 'That sounds like something Master Wintertide would say.' He slipped his hand into Fyn's. 'I'm ready.'

But Fyn wasn't. There were dangers out there that he hadn't foreseen. 'You go. I want to stay here for a bit.'

The boy nodded wisely and went to leave, then turned back. 'I'm Lenny, named after the kingsheir, Lence.'

Fyn smiled. 'Go get something to eat, Lenny.'

'I will.'

Strangely cheered by this conversation, Fyn leant his forehead against the dressed stone. It was cold and helped him think. Springmelt was Master Hotpool's tool. A healer could kill as well as heal. Fyn's eyes burned with angry tears. He could not bear to think of his old master suffering. But there was no time for grief, or anger.

The faction headed by Master Firefox wanted to undermine the abbot so they had removed his most respected supporter. Where did that leave Fyn?

He must tell the mystics master. He wouldn't even have to skim Springmelt's mind. Murder would be easy enough to prove. Poison had to leave a trace in the victim's body. All Fyn had to do was tell Master Catillum, who would tell the abbot, who would order the healers to test for poison… the healing master was loyal to the abbot. At least Fyn thought that he was.

A weight lifted from Fyn. Wintertide's body would prove how he died. This time the murderers would be punished and Lonepine's spirit would be satisfied.

But Springmelt had removed the body. What if they planned to get rid of it? Without the body, he could not prove Wintertide had been poisoned.

Quick as a thought, Fyn ran along the hall and up the steps, taking the shortest route to the healing wing. He almost ran into Feldspar on the stair.

'You've heard about Master Wintertide?' Feldspar asked, then read the answer in his face. 'Oh Fyn, I'm so sorry.'

Fyn only nodded. He found Feldspar's honest sympathy hard to bear and had to clear his throat before he could speak. 'I'm going to the preserving chamber.'

'You'll never get in. The healers won't even let the mystics see how they prepare a body for Halcyon's Heart.'

'I just want to be sure Master Wintertide's body has been delivered,' Fyn explained. Once the master's body was with the healers, Springmelt wouldn't be able to hide anything without someone knowing.

He went up two floors to the healers' chambers, meaning to slip inside and ask someone if it was too late to say good-bye to Master Wintertide's body. If it was, he would be safely in the sacred preservation chamber. But Springmelt must have been watching for him and was blocking the entrance.

'Where's the healers master?' Fyn asked.

'He is too busy to see an acolyte, even if the acolyte is Fyn Kingson.' Springmelt said, making 'Kingson' an insult.

'Has Master Wintertide's body been brought in for preservation?'

'Of course,' Springmelt snapped. Fyn glanced past him, trying to see if this was true. Springmelt moved to obscure his view. 'But you can't go in. Even I'm not allowed into the sacred preserving chamber.'

That was good news. Master Wintertide's body would be preserved before it was placed in Halcyon's Sacred Heart with the other dead masters.

Springmelt smirked. 'If you want to do something useful, pray Halcyon finds a place for Wintertide in her eternal garden.'

'I will.'

But Fyn planned to do something much more useful. He went straight to Master Catillum's private chamber, only to learn that he was in a meeting with all the masters. Fyn knew they would have to select a new boys master, but did they have to do it so soon? Who would they recommend to the abbot? He imagined all the masters sitting around a table putting forwards candidates from the ranks of Wintertide's assistants. The balance of power depended on who became boys master. He shivered, knees weak.

Sinking onto the step of Catillum's chamber, Fyn rested his forehead in his hands. The bell hadn't even rung for mid-morning prayers and he was already exhausted.

What should he do? He was only one acolyte, a soft-hearted coward who hated to see anyone hurt. He should leave the abbey now. Right now. It would be so easy to go down to the kitchens, steal some food then and away…

But he could not forget Wintertide's kindness. His old master deserved better. Lonepine deserved better.

'Fyn, what are you doing on my door step?' Master Catillum asked.

He stood up, his decision made. 'I have something to tell you, something that can't be said out here.'

For a moment he thought the crippled master would send him away, then he sighed. 'I suppose I had better hear it.'

Safely inside, Fyn unburdened himself to Catillum. '…so Hotpool could only have known that Wintertide died of a heart attack if he administered the poison which caused it. Springmelt gave him the poison. I'm sure of it. All the abbot has to do is insist the healers master test Master Wintertide's body. Then you can offer to skim the minds of those who saw Wintertide in the last day and — '

Master Catillum shook his head reluctantly.

'What? Why not?'

'The masters are walled. I could not break their walls without breaking their minds.'

'Springmelt — '

'Is their one weakness. But if it looks like we are about to move on them, Springmelt will have an accident. And besides, there is another flaw in your plan to expose the poisoners.'

'And what is it?'

'The healers master supports Firefox. If we ask him to do the tests he won't find poison.'

'But… but we can't let them get away with Master Wintertide's murder!'