Socia looked out into the darkness and wondered where Kedle’s people were. They were supposed to be watching.
Another minute of nothing happening. Able to come up with no alternative but a shout, she reached into her bag and fished around for her crystal. She raised that overhead while fingering her beads, willing the crystal to shine.
The crystal began to glow.
Connecten soldiers trudged out of the darkness several minutes later. They were not happy. They would rather be sleeping somewhere warm. They were not, apparently, especially concerned about the welfare of the Widow. There were just a half dozen of them, far too few to invade Arngrere.
Socia controlled her anger. “If I have to do this over I will be one unhappy Countess.” Next time there would be no fast and easy-though for now Stephan of Bley ought to suspect nothing more than mass desertion.
The soldiers did not recognize Socia. They did not believe she was who she claimed. Still, they were no more rude than they had to be. Socia kept the boys close as the soldiers moved them toward the Connecten camp. Ten minutes later they were inside a warm house, where some of Kedle’s officers did recognize her.
Few were willing to believe that she was the real thing-even if she was a dead ringer for Socia of Antieux and had the Countess’s country accent. They saw a trick by Anne of Menand.
“Weren’t you warned that I would be opening the gate?”
Humprie of Belbois shook his fat head. “The Widow’s friend, Lady Hope, advised us to watch the gate. We did. A band of deserters came out. We rounded them up.”
The boy who understood the Connecten dialect stirred nervously.
Socia said, “The gate is open. The Arnhanders are huddled around their fires. Go round them up. Go liberate Kedle.”
“I don’t think that would be wise,” a man said. “It has to be a trap.”
“Where is Lady Hope? Get her in here.”
“She went away after she told us we should watch the gate.”
Socia could think of no way to convince these men. She became angry. She grabbed her crystal. She gripped the necklace with her other hand. “You will listen! You will believe! You will act now or your sons are going to grow up without an inheritance!”
Eyes got large. Men looked at one another, baffled. Then, one by one, they rose and did as they had been told, albeit as though sleepwalking. But then they began to believe. Soon Kedle’s captains were bustling around like this was all their idea.
And then the newcomers were alone beside the fire with no company but one grizzled veteran nursing a deep arm wound.
The boy Socia could understand asked, “How did you do that, ma’am?”
“Magic.”
* * *
The Instrumentality arrived an hour later, not in her maddening form. “Where is everyone?”
“Gone to rescue Kedle.”
“I thought thou hadst reserved that mission to thyself.”
“I adjusted my goals. You did a bad job telling these idiots what was going to happen.”
The Instrumentality shrugged. She did not care. “It is working out. I went to visit my aunts. There was shouting involved. I learned things of interest to thee and the Widow.”
Socia thought it might not be long before the Instrumentality could converse like she belonged to the present century. She now used a modern sentence structure, in the main, along with fewer archaic verb forms. Of course, she clung to the antiquated second person. That might never go. That might be customary in her mother tongue.
Socia was vaguely aware that languages were in flux. Changes had begun with the fall of the Old Empire.
“Why am I thinking about that?” she asked herself, then realized that she had dozed off. “I’m sorry. I missed most of that. Exhaustion is catching up.”
“Never mind. I will tell it again when the Widow gets here. I visited the ascendant who was trying to attract thy attention.”
“That eagle just wanted my attention?”
“Yes. He was curious. It won’t happen again.”
That smelled like a cartload of goat dung, but Socia was not interested in the ascendant’s motives if, in fact, he did stop chasing her. “That’s good.” She really did need some sleep.
“There. The conquest of Arngrere is complete. The villain Stephan hath been brought low and the Widow freed. She will be with us ere long.”
Socia grunted and went to sleep. The last thing she saw was the amazement of the boys. They should be all right. Kedle’s officers had not demanded an explanation of who they were. They were with her. And the Widow would be back soon.
Sleep felt good, especially so close to a hearty fire.
* * *
Someone shook Socia. She wakened. A sallow, wasted Kedle lay beside her, on a litter that had begun life as a low table. Socia stirred. The chair in which she had been sleeping was miserably hard. She was rested enough to complain. “Kedle?”
“It’s me. Free. Thanks to thee. What the hell are you doing here?”
“I am a clever dancer.” Which made no sense but she was still trying to wake up. “We could toss you back.” She concealed her worry. Kedle looked awful. She was in pain. She had received little medical attention. Stephan of Bley had seen no need. The Widow would be burned after a quick show trial presided over by the Patriarch Serenity.
Would she walk again?
“I’m here, Kedle. You’re free. These handsome young men were very helpful. Find them work that doesn’t require them to use weapons. And talk to Lady Hope. Make her tell you what she really is.”
“I already know, Socia. She can’t really keep her mouth shut-if you’re clever and give her a chance to brag.”
The Connectens who entered Arngrere found fewer than forty men inside, none in a mood to fight. They had lost hope of seeing help from Anne of Menand.
Socia asked, “What now?”
“Now I eat. I sleep. I get used to the idea that I’m free again. Hope helps me heal. When I can I’ll go after Anne’s dogs again.”
“You could end up dead, dear heart. Look at you now.”
“I’ll fight them till they put me down, Socia.”
“Suppose you win?”
“Win?” That possibility, apparently, had not entered Kedle’s mind.
“Talk to our supernatural friend. She has an interesting suggestion. Meantime, I need more sleep. Then I need to get back to Antieux. Guillemette could start thinking she’s the real Countess.”
* * *
Socia settled on the roof of the Archimbault establishment. She found Kedle’s father standing vigil. Raulet was vague, confused, and exhausted by anxiety. His grandson, little Raulet, had just brought him a light repast and heavy, bitter tea. The child was not awed by her shape change but was very interested in what he got to see before she clothed herself.
She impressed the elder Raulet as well.
The boy asked, “Did you see my mother?”
“I did. We got her away from the bad people. She’s all right.” Over his head she said, “She had a hard time. One leg was crushed when a horse fell on her. But she’ll recover.”
The old man’s relief was palpable. He looked like he could die happy. Then he pulled himself together. “We need to get you back to the citadel. Guillemette and Escamerole can’t go on pretending that you’re sick.”
“True. I need to get back into the fray. But not till I sleep for a couple of days.”
“That won’t happen. We were scared that you would be gone another day and miss your meeting with Queen Isabeth’s envoys. Guillemette couldn’t fake her way through that, even with the Master’s help.”
So Brother Candle was helping cover her absence. That crafty old busybody.
Socia wondered what that business about envoys meant but was too exhausted to pursue it. All she wanted was a swift transit to the comfort of her own bed.
She did spend a moment cautioning Archimbault. “The boy saw things he doesn’t need to share with anyone. Can you control his tongue?”