“Well, speak, Girton.”
“First, I came across Neander in a disused part of the castle.”
“Why was he there?”
“Ministering to his flock, he said, but I have seen how empty his book of names is and do not believe him.”
“Good work, Girton. It does sound odd. Since we have been here I don’t think Neander has been near his buried chapel.”
“There is more. In Heamus’s room I found a five-tailed whip and a strangely shaped knife.”
“Did the knife have a kink a third of a way along the edge, so it curled in on itself?”
“Yes. But that is not all. I found a vellum covered in symbols that made me feel …”
“Ill?” she asked, and I nodded. “The Landsman’s Leash.” She looked like she wanted to spit. “Little wonder you found it unpleasant; it is a filthy thing. The Landsmen use the knife to carve the symbols into the flesh of magic users.” I shuddered at the thought. “It stops a magician accessing their power. Other parts of it cause pain or fear, but little is known as the Landsmen guard their secrets as fiercely as we guard ours. If Heamus has a copy it may be he has not left the Landsmen at all. On the other hand, they could be souvenirs and mean nothing. He was a Landsman for a long time.”
“But that is not all, Master.” I told her about the letters and Heamus’s love affair as a young man.
“That is interesting,” she said. “If these letters were all from the same women it gives him a motive, for revenge against the king at least.”
“Maybe he assists Adran in poisoning the king?”
“Possibly. Though she needs no help on that count.”
“But he lost a child too.” I felt guilty about throwing suspicion on a man I liked, but when I thought about the symbols and how it must feel to have them carved on your flesh a large part of my guilt vanished. “A child for a child. The death of Aydor would not be a huge leap to take for a vengeful man.”
She nodded slowly and chewed on her thumbnail. “You are right, Girton, absolutely right. It seems Heamus is another we must keep a close eye on.” She gathered her blanket around herself. “But our suspicions are for tomorrow, Girton.” A little light entered her voice and she took a slip of vellum from inside her black jerkin and gave it to me. It was a signed letter from the queen allowing me to go through the keepyard gate that night. “Go and meet your friend. Leave what you are here for tonight. Go to First of Festival without burden. Be nothing but a boy. Do nothing but enjoy yourself.”
Chapter 14
A long snaking queue of well dressed men, women and children destroyed any chance I may have had of meeting Rufra. When I got near the front I interrupted an argument the guard on the keepyard gate was having with a well dressed woman and showed him my letter from the queen. He looked it over and then looked me over and, grudgingly, let me through before returning to his argument. Traditionally, First of Festival is a holiday and everyone in the castles and towns Festival visits, guards included, but not tonight. Adran had decreed the castle guards would be on duty to protect the heir, and as I walked away it sounded like the guard was enjoying ruining First of Festival for others as it had been ruined for him.
Festival was arranged as concentric circles of tents and caravans with a wooden wall enclosing the centre and gateways into the greater Festival at each compass point. That afternoon the first livestock had come in, and in the outer circles the smell of animal droppings mingled with woodsmoke. I had seen Festival before but only from afar; this was the first time I had ever visited it and I don’t think I had ever been anywhere as busy or unfamiliar.
Outside the gate there was no sign of Rufra, but the night was thick with the smell of woodsmoke and the sound of music and excited people. Inside Festival’s wooden walls, huge fires had been lit to keep the chill at bay, and the tents and caravans threw capering shadows. I searched around the Festival gate for any sign of Rufra in case he had waited inside, but it was half past the hour of ten, and I had not really expected him to have waited so long for me, so I headed into Festival alone hoping to run into him. It was strange to move through the night without my master and without having to worry about being seen. Clouds had come in to block the stars and moon and where the light of the fires did not reach, the darkness was absolute. I understood why Festival worried Queen Adran now. It was a perfect place for an assassin, and I imagine the queen had made sure Aydor was locked up tight in his room. People loomed out of the night: a thankful wrapped in sacking, a Festival guard in black and red, groups of blessed from the castle in their ragged finery.
Meat was being roasted, and soups full of spices bubbled away in huge cauldrons, the scents mixing with the fragrant smoke of fires sprinkled with herbs that made them burn with strangely coloured flames, blue, green and red. A huge bonfire in the centre of Festival attempted to scorch the sky. It had been fenced off to stop drunk people falling into it and was surrounded by a ring of stalls and entertainments. The Festival Lords’ huge caravans loomed over the people; black and red flags hung limp in the still air, the palisade walls had been painted with the symbols of Adallada, queen of the dead gods, on one side of the huge gate, and of Dallad, her consort and the god of balance, on the other. Outside the high king’s palace these symbols were seldom seen and were a silent reminder of the Festival Lords’ power. Hedgings, some horned, some made of twists of branch and grass, danced around the feet of the gods, in supplication to the masters they had served before the wars of balance.
I continued to search for Rufra, but in the heaving mass of people I had little chance of finding him. Stilt walkers moved through the crowd handing out drinks, and fire breathers shot huge plumes of flame into the air. Hucksters shouted their wares; cymbal bands played loudly to scare away hedgings; singers wailed along with them, and together with the roar of the bonfire it was almost impossible to hear anything. Whichever part of me faced the huge fire was always too hot, while whichever side faced away was too cold. All together Festival was as exciting as it was uncomfortable.
I bought a stick of spiced meat from a Meredari trader with bone-white skin, and a cup of alcohol to replace the one I had just finished then wandered aimlessly among the stalls looking at things I had no money for: bright materials, small statues of the Festival Lords in traditional dress, dolls made from corn stalks and so many different types of food it made my head spin.
Another drink.
Was this what it was like to be normal? To not have a care?
My face sweated and the world became a whirl of colours.