His cup stopped halfway to his lips. “Where?”
“Near Ollala,” she said. “A traveling camp found it abandoned in the woods. No horses, no cortege. They added it to their caravan.” Her lips curved a little. “You should have seen it, Cas. Twenty-five rickety old wagons, and in the middle of it all was a royal carriage, painted blue and gold, pulled by donkeys.”
Traveling camps were common in Oliveras. Extended families moving from town to town to sell goods and services, staying no longer than the passing of a season. The picture Lena painted was a vivid one. Cas could have been sitting beside her on a horse, watching the caravan go by.
He said thoughtfully, “They told you it had been abandoned?”
“Yes. They let me search it too. I looked all over. Above the carriage, beneath the benches, in case there was some sort of hidden compartment.” She reached for a battered leather bag on the floor by her chair. Pulling out a sheaf of papers, she said, “I found this in a box strapped behind one of the wheels.”
Cas set his cup down with a clatter. “Is that . . . ?”
“Blood? No,” she assured him. “I thought so too at first. I think it’s tomato soup. See?” She held them out.
Cas took the papers. A huge red stain had marred the top page and seeped into the parchment below so that the sheets had stuck together. He sniffed. It might have been tomato. He could not say for certain. It did not smell like blood. The words along the edges were still readable. He glanced at the stack of parchment on the table, the one Lena had tapped to death earlier. The handwriting, heavy, masculine, was the same.
“This is your grandfather’s.”
“Yes. He liked to work and eat at the same time, and he wasn’t the neatest of men.” She smiled briefly. “I don’t know why it was separated from the rest of his belongings. I can make out some of it.” She pointed to the corners that had escaped the stain. “See here? I think it’s his copy of the ships’ inventory.”
The pages looked well and truly stuck. Cas tried to tug them apart. Lena’s warning hiss stopped him. He asked doubtfully, “Can they be separated?”
She whisked the pages away from him. “I’ll try steaming them apart tonight. I haven’t shown them to Jehan or my brother yet. I wanted to see if I could read it first.”
“Did you find anything else?”
A shrug. “A ladies mirror and a pair of spectacles. I left them with the camp. I paid them too, since they were so helpful.” Her expression darkened. “Helpful as a bum rash, it turned out.”
Cas’ brows rose. “What happened?”
“I fell asleep by the river. The same morning I met you. I only meant to take a short nap. I had plenty of time to ride to Palmerin, change, and still be part of the naming ceremony. But when I woke, my horse was gone. Someone in the camp must have followed me.”
“How do you know it was one of them?”
Lena was quiet. “I could smell him. Or her. Whoever. The pipes they smoked were distinctive. They smelled like burned lavender.”
His mind turned dark, imagining all the ways she could have been hurt, killed. His words came out brusque. “This is why you have a man-at-arms.”
“Don’t you start too. Rayan was already quite vocal about it.” Subdued, she sipped at her chocolate. “I’ve spoken to Jehan and Lord Ventillas. Trying to learn what happened once they arrived in Trastamar. But I think they keep things from me. Because they can’t bear to speak of it. Or they are trying to spare me. Or . . . they think I will not do their stories justice. I am not my grandfather, after all.” Pushing her cup away, she lowered her forehead onto the table. “I’m sorry,” she said, her words muffled. “You’ve come to look for a book or a quiet spot away from all your guests, and instead you’re forced to listen to my tale of woe. Tell me to leave. It won’t hurt my feelings.”
She was a pitiful sight. Face on the table, arms hanging straight down at her sides. A stack of tomato-stained parchment by her head. After a moment, a very long one, Cas said, “I’m a man-at-arms.”
Lena lifted her head. “What?”
“Lord Ruben was a neighbor. I was his page when I was a boy, and then my brother’s shield bearer. King Rayan knighted me a little over three years ago. Which makes me a man-at-arms.”
“That is very informative. Why are you telling me this?”
Cas did not quite know himself. “I need to see to something in town. You, I think, need to get out of this keep. Come with me.”
Silence fell, followed by a toneless “You feel sorry for me.”
“I’ll feel sorry for you if I want.”
The corners of her mouth lifted, reluctantly. He had repeated her words back to her. She remembered. “You’re going into town?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“May I ride your mare?”
Cas looked at her. “Yes,” he said finally.
Her smile grew. “Then I accept. I’ll meet you in the stables.” As if something had just occurred to her, she asked, “Why did you come here? Were you looking for a book?”
Ducking his head, Cas headed for the door. It was easier to answer when he did not have to face her. “No. I was looking for you.”
12
Is it just me,” Lena asked, “or is this city uncommonly clean?”
Cas had noticed it too. As they made their way through the streets, Lena on his mare, Cas on a much larger palfrey, its coat shiny and black, he saw things he had missed before. Where was the blood puddling outside the barber-surgeon’s shop? Where were the swarms of flies? And the horse dung? He had never seen so few steaming piles on the ground. Navigating around them used to require his full concentration. This afternoon, all he had to dodge were the handful of spirits wandering by, their expressions full of confusion and loss.
He said, “We’ve never been as filthy as Elvira—”
“Insults!”
Cas smiled. She had cheered considerably since leaving the keep. “But I don’t remember it being this clean either. We have a new city inspector. I heard he’s very particular. This could be his doing.”
Their cloaks kept the wind at bay, chillier now that the sun hid behind clouds. They slowed their horses when they reached a square busy with marketers. From their covered booths, merchants sold everything from fresh vegetables and secondhand clothing to pretty songbirds locked in their cages. A fountain stood in the center, water shooting upward from the mouths of four stone lynx. City dwellers gathered around the fountain’s edge. Eating, laughing, minding young children. The aqueduct rose just beyond the square, double arches and ancient, weathered stone.
Lena sat up straighter in her saddle. “What are those?” she exclaimed.
Beside the fountain, three mammoth frying pans had been placed over open fires. Each measured ten feet in diameter, like the cookware of a fairy-tale giant. Three men stirred the contents with wooden spoons large as boat paddles. They wore loose white shirts and rough trousers that stopped below their knees. Despite the cool weather, their feet were sandled. Faded kerchiefs held back long black hair.