J. Calvin Pierce, page 6
At the edge of the city of Ambermere, on a quiet unpaved street by the river, was a modest shrine dedicated to one of the obscure but potent goddesses of the Elder Truths. It was set well back from the road, among a grove of fruit trees.
The rays of the afternoon sun were just beginning to reach the small building, warming the stones of the ancient walls. Inside, the cooler air of the morning lingered. In front of the altar, a middle-aged woman with her hair wrapped in a bandanna applied a small broom to the floor.
Renzel never rushed at her work in the shrine. She felt whatever was done there was done in the presence of the goddess, and should be done with care and reverence, in the manner of a prayer. She thought, in fact, that anything done in the shrine was a sort of prayer, even if it was only the caretaker sweeping and polishing. Each bend and taper of the worn wooden rail before the altar she had rubbed to a glow, so that the humble material itself appeared to have received the blessing of the goddess.
She was surprised to hear the sound of voices through the open door. Midday visitors were not common except at times of public worship or festivals, nor had guests begun arriving for the long-awaited wedding of the Peerless Iris, Royal Daughter of the Beloved Monarch.
Nonetheless, of the two who entered, one was a stranger, a dark-haired girl. Or perhaps a woman just beyond youth; Renzel couldn’t tell. For one thing, the dim candlelight at the altar was reflected in the girl’s eyes in an unusual and distracting way.
She might be suspected of being an early-arriving royal visitor to the wedding, but for her clothing, which was plain, and her companion, not one to be found in the company of royalty.
Renzel put her broom aside.
“Good day, Mistress Hannah,” she said to the older woman, nodding politely to the other.
The witch returned her greeting distractedly and looked, Renzel thought, very much as though she wished she were elsewhere. Perhaps the dark one was royal, and liked to disguise herself, as the king did. Or might she be a witch of rank? Renzel didn’t think so.
The two visitors fulfilled the minimum obligations of respect to the altar of the goddess, then strolled around the small shrine examining the ornaments and decorations. When they had finished, the girl came to Renzel.
“You are the priestess?” she asked. Renzel was still holding her polishing rag. She found the girl’s eyes disturbing—something about the way they caught the light. Though not given to flights of fancy, Renzel found herself imagining what it would be like to look into the eyes of a wolf.
“No, miss. I tend the shrine.” Out of courtesy, Renzel tried to hide her disapproval. It pleased her when the shrine was admired, but when a visitor came only to admire it, that showed, in Renzel’s view, a lack of respect for the goddess.
The woman—girl?—looked again at the altar and the other appointments. She smiled at Renzel.
“You tend it well. It is exactly as it should be. I will visit it again soon.”
They had left before Renzel could decide if the stranger was an impertinent child or a visiting duchess. The witch, who had been known to linger for a comfortable chat, barely muttered a word of farewell on her way out.
Now Renzel, done with her chores, had leisure to worry about her niece, also a dark-haired beauty. How long was she to be absent, sending no word apart from the relayed messages from a palace functionary? Companion to the princess, she was, and off with her without a word of warning, but “expected back imminently,” she and the princess both. Renzel wished as she had many times in recent days that highborn girls were more plentiful in the city. Then her niece could admire the palace from without like the rest of the commoners rather than being a permanent resident there.
It had been put out by the palace that the Inimitable Iris Who Shamed Perfection had decided to spend the last weeks before her nuptials in seclusion and might not reappear until the eve of the event itself. The populace, apart from a number of merchants inconvenienced by her unavailability, and the royal dressmaker, who seemed to have achieved a permanent state of hysteria, were content that the Dazzling Iris should absent herself during her last days of virginity if that was her whim. But the populace had not had its niece vanish without a word, and did not have to endure explanations that always seemed to sound as though they were being improvised.
The door opened to admit the priestess. Her silk frock appeared to glow in the dim light.
“Are you still here?” she asked in a sharp tone.
“Yes, madam. Making the shrine tidy,”
“The shrine is tidy enough. You are to be working in the house today. I have guests coming for the wedding, as you know very well.” She looked around the shrine. “I don’t know what you find to do in here every day. You should devote more time to the domicile of your priestess. I need attention over there. You do not have to swipe at every mote of dust with your cloth, while I am without anyone to do anything for me.” She walked up to the altar without ceremony, which never failed to shock Renzel, no matter how many times she witnessed it, and picked up the coins from the wooden bowl.
“Not much here,” she said with a hard look in Renzel’s direction.
Renzel said nothing. It was a religious obligation to respect the priestess, and Renzel took religious obligations seriously.
The priestess strode to the door. “I expect the house to be finished by tonight,” she said. “When I permitted you to stay after the old priestess died, I explained that whoever cares for the shrine must care for the priestess as well. When you neglect me, it is like neglecting the shrine, or the goddess.”
Shocked again, Renzel could only nod. The priestess had absolute power over the shrine. Renzel could care for it only by her leave. In any event, whatever the priestess said was right by definition. She continued as priestess, the faithful had to presume, on sufferance of the goddess. And had she not been invested more than four months ago?
And of course with a new priestess some changes were to be expected. She had wasted no time in removing Renzel from the cottage behind the residence to a small room within it.
“I want you in my house, so you will be near when I have need of you,” she had explained. “It was not proper in my predecessor that she allowed you the use of the cottage. The cottage is too big for you. A small room in the residence is enough. You must remember that it is a great honor to serve the goddess, even in the meanest capacity.”
Renzel smiled. The fact that she spent more time in the shrine than anyone, and that she was allowed to care for it, was all that was really important to her. She had never been asked to act as a servant to the old priestess, who had in fact tended the shrine herself before her great age made it necessary to have help. But Renzel would do what she had to. She allowed herself the space of a few deep breaths before following her mistress through the door.
The bartender was seated, with his knees drawn up to his chest, on the bar itself. He was a small, sandy-haired young man, and looked, in the dim light, like an elf in a picture book.
The word bar could be read on the floor, drawn there by the sun as it slanted past the neon tubing in the dirty window. The bartender, appreciating the marvel of the city sun penetrating to street level, however briefly, concentrated on the phenomenon. His Brotherhood taught that nothing was without its meaning, and it was through concentration that meaning could be sought.
At a large table in a corner seven men talked quietly, their murmurings punctuated occasionally by soft laughter. None were young, a few were old. One, a rather fat man who was dozing in his chair, appeared to be of great age. He was bald but for a fringe of wispy white hair and wore a thinning unkempt beard. Like all the men at the table, he was dressed in nondescript casual clothing that looked well used and comfortable.
The street door opened, admitting a surprising quantity of noise from outside, and a young man dressed in a business suit. When the door closed behind him, all the sounds of traffic and machinery were gone again, as though the bar were located in a deep woods somewhere far from civilization.
The bartender withdrew his attention from the shadow on the floor.
“Greetings, Jackson,” he called. “You look just like a local.” He slid himself to the edge of the bar and dropped lightly to the floor.
The newcomer took a seat.
“If you remember, Errin, I am a local. And speaking of locals, I have been meaning to ask why we don’t have a rebuff at the door.”
“No one seems to think it necessary. Gavas says an unnecessary spell is a bad spell.”
“Yes, Gavas always seems to have an axiom, when he’s awake. Has anyone come through since I was here last?”
“No. Nothing has happened. Mistress Hannah makes her regular trips.”
“That can hardly be considered news.”
Errin shrugged. “Oh, I forgot. There is one thing. I am to have help. In fact, she is late.”
“She?”
“A barmaid.”
“Not a local?”
“No, connected with some Order or another. An apprentice of some sort, I suppose. Who knows? Imagine, someone junior to me.” He struck a pose of exaggerated dignity.
“Mitzi,” he said sternly, “a glass here for Master Jackson, and be quick about it.”
“And,” Jackson added in a low voice, “a pillow for Master Gavas.” They both burst into laughter.
They were still recovering when a heavy door at the back of the room opened with a low-pitched moan from the hinges.
Errin leaned toward Jackson. “Perfect for a witch,” he whispered, at which they both began to laugh again.
“As you see, my dear, not all wizards are old, or dignified.”
Hannah stood with a dark-haired girl at her side. The young men bowed.
“This is Miss Elise,” she said. “This is Master Errin and Master Jackson. It is Master Errin you will work with, I believe. Master Jackson is a traveler and only stops from time to time.”
They presented Elise to the others. Even old Gavas got to his feet to greet her properly, at which Jackson caught Errin’s eye.
“It’s because she’s so pretty, and I’m so old, young sir,” he said in his cracked voice, astonishing Jackson, who had imagined he was being subtle. “Pray you find out someday what I mean.” Like many of the utterances of Gavas, this one was ambiguous.
“Come,” said a gray-haired man of middle years, “you must sit and join us.” He addressed Hannah, already on her way to the street door. “Mistress, won’t you linger and tell us what you’ve been up to lately? I had dealings with one of your Sisterhood when I was last away.”
“Thank you, Brother Mervin, but I am late for a meeting with the adept I am trying to cultivate. I hope she is still waiting. I must fly. Figuratively speaking, of course.”
After they had joined in a glass with the table, Elise and the two young men returned to the bar.
“You see,” said Jackson, glancing toward Gavas, “he is asleep again. I confess he is sometimes sharp, but I do not see what use he is asleep. Even in the small things I do, I would be grateful for some help sometimes.”
“Well,” said Errin, “I will speak to Gavas for you. Perhaps he will go with you.”
“That is not what I meant. But what about you? Now that Elise is here, maybe they mean to release you. You are long since ready.”
“No. Thank you, but I think they mean for me to be an apprentice forever. You heard what Mervin said about beginning Elise’s instruction. Not,” he said, turning to the girl, “that it will not be my very great pleasure to do so. You must not take our chatter too seriously.” He jumped up onto the bar and dropped to the other side.
“I will prepare us some tea, and you can take advantage of the presence of Master Jackson for some instruction at the hands of an expert.” He busied himself at the end of the bar.
Elise smiled at Jackson. “Please do not trouble yourself,” she said.
“Oh, it’s no trouble. We all like to talk,” he said, making a gesture that took in everyone in the room. “Are you familiar with the Orders and Sisterhoods and so on? It really doesn’t do to be confused on that subject. There is no telling who might pass through a place like this. And not just the travelers of the Middle Regions. An arch-wizard was here once, openly, and stayed for half a day. I actually saw him, and spoke to him. I had wondered before that if there really was such a thing as an arch-wizard.”
Elise looked at him questioningly.
“Well, not doubted, exactly. Arch-wizard is really just another name for necromancer. But it is one thing to tread the paths that I do, or even that you just did in order to get to this place from Ambermere, but to pass through other Regions … It is as though Errin were to tell us he had spent last night at the bottom of the river.”
Errin appeared with three cups of tea.
“As promised,” he said. “And I didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?” asked Jackson.
“Didn’t spend last night at the bottom of the river. But since Master Hugo was minding the store, so to speak, I did spend the evening in Ambermere. And,” he said with a flourishing gesture, “I saw the king. In fact, I stood right next to him.”
Jackson looked puzzled for a moment. “Oh, that’s right,” he said. “He’s the one with the disguises.”
“Asbrak,” said Errin. “The Fat. I didn’t even notice him at first. Everyone recognizes him, of course, but they just ignore him. Anyway, there were some musicians and a pair of jugglers performing at a crossing on the avenue. The jugglers did some amazing things. And not magic, either, not a trace. Just skill and concentration.”
Jackson nodded in the direction of the street. “I’d like to see the mayor try walking around this city alone at night.”
The front door opened and the room was flooded with noise.
Jackson watched as three men approached the bar. He turned to Errin.
“Locals,” he said. “I think Gavas should have to wait on them.”
They had only been out for forty-five minutes, according to Judy’s watch, and already they had startled three or four men, and completely terrified one jerk who had been walking a dog of his own.
“You’re a real good dog, Monster, real good.” Monster, a veteran of attack training and many months of Judy’s walks, held his position. The two of them took up the entire sidewalk on this quiet side street. Judy was not petite, and Monster, who unlike his mistress was all muscle, outweighed her by a couple of pounds.
Judy looked admiringly at Monster’s new collar.
“Spikes!” her uncle had said, touching them as though to verify the evidence of his eyes. “Now I know you’re nuts. What the hell does that dog need spikes around his neck for?”
“In case some other dog attacks him.”
“What dog’s going to attack him, the Hound of the Baskervilles?”
Judy looked interested. “The hound of what?” she asked.
“Never mind. It’s from a book.”
“Oh,” she said with no enthusiasm at all.
Judy was pleased to see that even on a cloudy evening, the spikes were noticeable, especially when they walked under a streetlight. She decided to take Monster downtown tomorrow. Saturday was a good day for a downtown walk. People would be sure to notice his collar as they jumped out of the way. She wrapped the leash around her wrist one more turn, still leaving plenty of slack. The leash was a stout cord of braided leather, purchased when Monster graduated from the choke chain.
“That’s a hell of a leash,” the clerk at the store had commented.
“I got a hell of a dog,” had been Judy’s reply.
A block ahead, she saw someone cross to the other side of the street. She crossed immediately, leading the big dog between the cars and vans parked at the curbs.
There was not enough light for her to tell at that distance if the man had noticed Monster. Sometimes people crossed the street to avoid passing him. Those that didn’t, usually slowed down, and then gave Judy and her dog wide berth.
The man was getting closer. When he was nearly to them, Judy flicked the leash with her wrist. Monster bared his teeth and snarled at the approaching man, who jumped back in a very satisfactory way.
“That’s enough, boy,” she said as they passed the astonished pedestrian. “Just a warning to let them know you’re here, that’s all.”
“What the hell’s the matter with you, lady?” shouted the man from behind her. Judy’s heart began to pound. She turned, pulling on the leash. Monster growled and moved toward the man.
“You looking for trouble, mister?” she said in a loud voice. “You keep bothering me, and I’ll turn him loose.” Monster pulled on the leash, straining toward the man, who was backing up. Judy took a triumphant step forward.
The man retreated.
“I’m not bothering anyone,” he said angrily.
Judy advanced another step.
“You better get away from me,” she said with conviction. “I mean it.”
As the man turned with a curse and walked away, quickly, Judy had a mental image of Monster unleashed, chasing him down.
“One of these days,” she muttered, “some bastard’s going to push me too far.” She turned.
“Heel!” she said with an angry and unnecessary tug on the leash.
For the next twenty minutes, the walk was boring. Judy was getting ready to call it a night when she saw the wino at a lighted intersection two blocks ahead. Though not fond of moving fast, she quickened her pace. She was able to slow down a moment later when the man began to walk in her direction.
“Here he comes, Monster,” she whispered. Her pulse quickened again. One of these days she was going to have to turn the dog loose on someone. Who knew when?
The man, dressed in rags, crossed the next street. He didn’t turn off. Judy took a deep breath. He was half a block away. Her pulse quickened. If he had noticed them, he didn’t show it. He was walking right toward them. Probably half-drunk. Judy almost grinned. She knew a way to sober him up.
“He better not act up,” she said fiercely to her pet. It was almost time. She made sure she was taking up all of the sidewalk, moving Monster a little to the right.
