On shaking limbs, the ragged person stood upright and took another step toward the gate. A stream of unknown talk fell from his tongue, ending with a question and the only word Alistair recognized. “Etanun?”
“He keeps asking that,” said the first guard, puzzled. “Can’t understand it. Does he think Etanun lives here or something? Daft foreigners.”
Alistair studied the dark face before him: the delicate features, the great, soulful eyes. “Etanun?” the child repeated and put out a hand in supplication.
“Etanun is not here,” Alistair said slowly, ignoring the looks the two guardsmen gave him. “Not for centuries. He vanished when the House of Lights was closed.”
The urchin licked bloodless lips, swallowing rainwater. Quietly, he said once more, “Etanun?”
“You see, my lord,” said the second guard. “An idiot. Can’t understand right speaking. Shall I send him off with the butt of my lance?”
Alistair drew a long breath. “A child,” he whispered.
But the child in his dream had blue eyes.
He shook himself sharply and grinned at the two guards. “He looks harmless enough. Why not let him through? He’ll freeze out there for certain; he’s obviously not accustomed to our northern climate. A spell by the kitchen fire will do him good, and perhaps Cook can find use for him.”
The guards grumbled but Alistair was his uncle’s heir. So they opened the gate, and the mouse of a child scrambled through, babbling in that strange language. It sounded like thanks, Alistair thought.
“Well, little mouse,” he said, smiling down at the child. “Seems you’re inside now. We’ll try to find a place for you.”
The urchin, still shivering, smiled back, displaying white teeth in a flash across that dark face. A frown quickly replaced the smile, however, and he ducked his head. “Etanun,” he said firmly, then added something that sounded like, “Cé Imral.” A skinny hand pointed up.
Alistair looked as indicated. To his surprise, he saw that the clouds were beginning to clear away and the rain was lessening. In a clear patch above, still gleaming faintly, was the blue star.
Alistair turned abruptly back to the child, who was gazing at him in earnest supplication. “Change to come, eh?” he said. Then he shrugged and laid a hand on the thin shoulder. “I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I hardly think you’re going to bring disaster upon Gaheris.”
He ordered the guardsmen back to their posts, ignoring their feeble protests, and led the brown stranger across the courtyard and on to the scullery entrance. Down a flight of stairs, into the pungent warmth of Gaheris’s kitchens they proceeded, where Cook reigned like a fat king over a kingdom of drudges and kitchen maids. All was noise and bustle and hurry as preparations were made for the coming day.
“Here, Cook!” Alistair called.
The huge man, red from standing over a spit, turned to him. “What can I do for you, my lord?” He made his lumbering way through the throng of workers to bow before his young master. “Have you eaten yet this morning?”
“No, I’m not hungry.” Alistair drew the urchin forward. “I want you to give this child food and work.”
Cook eyed the child. “A foreigner,” he said and sneered. “I don’t like the looks of that one. Too brown by half.”
“I don’t care,” said Alistair coolly, his hand gripping the child’s shoulder. “Give him a place in your kitchens until I say otherwise.”
Growling but obedient, Cook reached out and took hold of the child’s arm, dragging him away from Alistair and propelling him into the kitchen. “Wait,” Alistair said, and Cook looked grudgingly back at him. “See to it that the kitchen boys leave . . . leave him alone. You understand me?”
Cook turned from Alistair to the child, giving him an up-and-down appraisal. Then he shrugged. “Whatever you wish, my lord.”
The urchin, eyes round with terror, stared up at the burly cook. He pulled suddenly out of his grasp and pushed his way back to Alistair on the stairway, grabbing his hand and falling to his knees before him. “Etanun!” he cried. “Etanun!”
Alistair shook his head. “There is no Etanun,” he said. “Not anymore.” He bent and gently touched the urchin’s wet head. “I’ve done what I can for you, little mouse. You’ll be safe here.”
With these words, he left. And the urchin remained kneeling upon the dirty kitchen floor.
———
Growling, Cook thumped back across the room and took the child roughly by the collar. “I have no need of another drudge,” he growled. “But orders are orders, and the young master is bound to check on you at least once. What shall I do with you in the meanwhile?”
He looked around, ignoring the little person’s struggles to escape his grasp. Inspiration struck, and he bellowed across the kitchen din: “Scrubber! Come here, scrubber!”