Angry for not thinking the encounter through properly I returned to our room. I was unlocking the door when my master appeared, as if from nowhere, at my side and pushed me in.
“Girton, Heamus is busy with Adran and Aydor this evening between eight and nine. It would be a perfect time to search his room. Spend this afternoon familiarising yourself with the servants and slaves’ shifts around his quarters.” Her words were cold and to the point.
“Break into his room? But he is my—”
“Have you forgotten why we are here?” she hissed. “It is not to make friends.”
“No, Master, I have not forgotten,” I said, then added, “Leiss may have killed Kyril.”
“The stablemaster?”
“Yes, Kyril had threatened Drusl. Leiss and he had almost come to blows and Kyril came back with his friends later and they beat Leiss.”
“The stablemaster strikes me as an unlikely sorcerer, Girton. Did you find any signs of magic in the stables?”
“Nothing.” I had not looked. I had been too busy enjoying being nothing but a boy for a few moments. I do not know what possessed me to lie about it as my master can read a lie the way a general reads land or a swordsman reads the movement of an opponent’s feet.
“Nothing,” she repeated. “And how hard did you look? Or were you distracted by your friends?”
“I …”
“Don’t lie to me again, Girton. If you have not done something tell me so.”
“I’m sorry, Master.”
“Don’t be sorry, do better.” She sat on the bed. “I understand this may be hard for you, Girton, I do. You have never had the opportunities most boys your age have and you have had some—” she searched the air for the right word “—difficult news. But our lives are in danger. Queen Adran could lose patience with us at any moment.”
“I am sorry, Master. I will look properly tomorrow, I swear it.” Resentment bubbled within me.
“Good, now will you search Heamus’s room?”
“Yes, but—”
“What?”
“May I attend the First of Festival with Rufra this evening?” My words were so quiet I was surprised my master could hear them. She, in her turn, was quiet for a long time.
“If I say no, will you obey me?”
I stayed silent, frightened that if I spoke the simmering anger I had felt since she had told me about the magic within us would burst out. Meeting Rufra for First of Festival seemed like the most important thing in the world, even though I knew it was a small thing. Then she was in front of me, moving across the room with the Speed that Defies the Eye. Her skull face was all I could see, huge and unreal. Her eyes searched my face.
“I will not stop you, Girton,” she hissed, “but you would do well to remember that these people who think themselves your friends do not know you. They are friends with a fiction and you need to keep in mind what you really are.”
Then she was gone.
I remained in our room, in a black mood, and must have spent at least half an hour pacing backwards and forwards talking to myself about how unfair life was, and it was. Eventually I realised that if there was a rogue sorcerer loose in the castle then we were all in danger, including the people I said were my friends—Rufra and Drusl. What this could have to do with a plot to assassinate Aydor I had no idea, but my master clearly thought the two were linked. Also, and whether this is a failing or not I have never been sure, I have always struggled to sustain a dark mood and my master has drilled into me that the best way to banish darkness is to occupy yourself. With that in mind I left our room, proceeded to Heamus’s room and set about memorising the paths of the servants and slaves in the corridors around it.
Heamus lived on the second floor of the castle in an inner room. It was a quiet area with little traffic, though annoyingly what traffic there was seemed completely random. I walked past Heamus’s door a few times, and each time I took a moment to examine the lock and listen at the door. Someone was at home. I could hear the scratching of bootnails on the floor. Once I had done as much as I could, and knowing I had time to spare, I decided to visit the kitchens and see if I could find something to eat.
On my way down the tight spiral staircase I heard the echo of tears. This was not an unusual thing to hear in the castle—not a day passed without some slave being beaten, some servant being reprimanded or a blessed lady being caught in a web of romantic intrigue—but there was something haunting in the sound. I found myself drawn to it, winding my way down the stair and through a stiff and seldom-used door. Behind the door I entered a disused part of the castle. Dust lay thick on the floor and rose in gauzy clouds as my feet disturbed it. Dim light struggled in through layers of cobweb and illuminated a smudgy, but well-used, path through the dust. I followed the path and the sound of sobbing through grey rooms. Old tapestries wept loose thread into mouldering piles; chairs and tables were being slowly digested by woodworm. The sound of tears faded and grew as I walked, making it difficult to follow and leaving me wondering if it was real at all. Maybe this was some hedging, luring me to it in hope of a deal for my life. In such a quiet and decrepit part of the castle hedge spirits were much easier to believe in.
I rounded a corner and walked straight into Neander, the priest of Heissal. I did not immediately recognise him as he had covered his flowing orange gown with a nondescript brown cloak, waxed against wind and moisture, but there was no disguising the harsh landscapes of his face.
“Girton!” he barked. He was clearly as surprised to come across me as I was to come across him. “What are you doing here?” The raptor claw of his hand darted out and closed around my wrist as tightly as an iron cuff.
“I … I was running an errand for Nywulf and I got lost. Then I heard crying.” Running an errand for Nywulf was a good excuse, and one commonly used by squires who were not where they should be.
He looked me up and down, and it felt as if his blue eyes drilled into my mind in search of lies, though if he had the power to do such a thing I am sure he would quickly find himself lost among the web of untruths I had woven.
“Did you think the crying was your young lady?”
“No.” A blush rising to my face. “I have no young lady. Why would I think that?”
He examined my face, looking for a lie.
“In my experience young men are often unable to think of anything but young ladies.” He tried a smile. “I was much the same in my youth.” His grip tightened a little and he cocked his head to one side. “What is this errand you are running for our squiremaster?”