“No, but … you have always said we kill for justice.”
“When we can, Girton.” She refused to meet my eye. “You cannot cling to childish ideas for ever. What use are high ideals if we end up feeding the pigs? What good can we do then?” I had never heard her so vehement before. When she spoke again her voice was calm and as dead as any priest’s. “So, as well as looking for an actual suspect you should keep an eye out for a likely one. This Rufra for instance. It’s easier if you don’t like them.” Before I could think about what that implied she gave me a dazzling smile. “Next door on the right,” she said, walking away. As I was about to knock on the door she reappeared at my side, as if she had materialised out of thin air.
“Remember, you’re an innocent from the country. Play that part.”
“I am doing.”
“You were, Girton. But now when you’re not mooning about you have a strut in your step like a boar fresh to the rut. I don’t begrudge you any joy, but it’s not in keeping with what people will expect.”
I turned, ready to tell her she was imagining things, but the corridor was empty apart from the priest of Xus standing at the far end. He gave me a small bow of his head and walked out of sight.
My master was right: Neander ap Vthyr, the priest of Heissal, was not as pious as his fellows. He was not wearing a mask for a start, and had pushed his bright orange hood back off his head. He had a face like the sourlands, his features sculpted from hollows, ridges and the shadows which grew between. Tiny wisps of orange material stuck to the stubble on his skull and waved in the breeze squeezing in past a loose pane in the windows of his untidy room. He glanced up and smiled.
“Well, you must be Girton ap Gwynr,” he said, lifting the open cover of a book with one finger. He raised the cover to the point where it was balancing and then pushed it with his fingertip, letting it fall closed with a bang. “I am pleased you chose to see me.” He offered me his palm to kiss, which was the traditional greeting of a high priest to a supplicant, and I was unsure how to act as he was not a high priest. I kissed his palm. It was dry and when I licked my lips I could taste salt and something sweet. “Sit, Girton ap Gwynr.” His smile barely reached the corners of his mouth and failed to change the barren landscape of his face. I perched on the dusty stool he pointed at.
“Priest of Heissal,” I began.
He tried to smile again.
“Please, call me by my name, Girton. We have no need to be formal.”
“Thank you,” I said, and waited. He had not given me his name and he let the silence drag on.
“Of course! I have not told you my name; I just presumed you would know of me.” I did, but I didn’t want him to know that or to appear too knowledgeable. “I am Neander, Neander, once an ap Vthyr. Of course, I gave up such loyalties when I took up my calling.” He raised a hand, “I know, the ap Vthyr name has some dark stories attached to it but I am not like the rest of my family. I am only a man in search of spiritual truth.” He took a small knife from his desk and started to clean under his fingernails with it. “I do not believe we have had an ap Gwynr in the castle before. You are from far to the west, yes?”
“The east,” I said.
“Of course, of course. The east, how foolish of me. I am an old man and I often make mistakes.” He leaned in close to me and sniffed the air, taking two great lungfuls of breath through his hatchet-shaped nose. “You have a curious perfume, Girton ap Gwynr. Has anyone ever told you that?”
I sniffed under my arms. “I have been training, Neander. It was hot.”
“Of course,” he said slowly, “of course. I have never been under force of arms but it looks exceedingly strenuous.” He put his knife down. “Tell me, did Heamus bring you to us?”
“No, my father judged me to be the least useful of his children—” I looked down at my club foot in case he had not noticed “—so I was sent as hostage until he can raise the money the king wants.”
“Your family are rich, I hear.”
“My father breeds mounts.”
“I have seen your creature. He appears to be a fine animal.”
“He is.” It was difficult to hide my enthusiasm for Xus.
“I expect he is a fine animal in a fight.”
“Yes,” I said, before catching myself. “Well, Xus himself has never fought but his bloodline has proved fearsome under my brothers.”
“Fearsome,” he said quietly. “With money, good mounts and such privacy your father could build an army and no one would know.” He leaned in close to whisper to me. He smelt of old vellum and ink. “It is hard, to be far away and without your family. Should you need a friend feel free to come to me.” He sat back again. “Are you ambitious, young Girton? Castle Maniyadoc is a fine place for an ambitious boy to advance.” He laughed then, but it was not the laugh of someone amused. It was the laugh of someone trying to set another at ease. Had I been the innocent I was pretending to be it may have worked—but false humour and smiles did not come easily enough to the priest for him to fool me into liking him, or seeing him as a surrogate father. All it did was make me uncomfortable.
“Do you want me to sign your book?” I said, to fill the gap in our conversation.
“Book?” he said.
“Your book of names.”
He remained silent for a moment. Staring at me with eyes the green of grass. “Of course, of course. When Heissall awakens and the day is of equal lengths with the night—” he stood and started sorting through the books on his desk “—then Heisall will look in the book and find your name. Should a hedging curse you with hunger—” he moved aside a bottle of alcohol “—then think of your name written here and be sated.” He moved another book and picked up the book underneath. A bottle had left a ring on its cover. “Here we are.”
He lay the book down and opened it at the day’s page. There were very few names, which I thought odd. Heissall, the god of the day, is one of the more popular gods. I signed the book and left Neander’s messy room. As I walked back to our rooms my master materialised out of the darkness by my side, making me jump.
“I wish you would not do that.”
“I am Death’s Jester. It is expected.”
“It was not expected by me.”
“Did Neander give up anything?”
“He sniffed me. Then complimented me on my smell, said I had a curious perfume.” My master’s eyes flashed in the dim light of the corridor.
“He did?” she said thoughtfully, letting her words die away. I had no idea why she thought it important.
“He makes my skin crawl.”
“Well, that is unpleasant but not a motive, Girton. Was there anything we can use?”
“He, not so subtly, tried to pump me for information about my family. Then hinted at how my father’s land could be used to raise armies and told me if I needed a friend to go to him.”
“He openly asked about raising armies? Did he mention treason?”
“No, but that was the subtext.”
“So you think him suspicious.”
“Yes.”