Fly Up into the Night Air (7 page)

Stilian

When they had finished their climb from the river, the boys came to a rocky open pasture where sheep and goats were busy trimming the late season grass. After the pasture came a short stone wall with gate in it and a sign which read,
Welcome to Grayholme
. In smaller letters under that, it continued,
Please shut and latch the gate behind you
. Ahead of them, they could see the town nestled below the mountainside, between a rocky slope and the steep drop to the rushing Bug. But there was another mile of fields, now barren and waiting for the thaw, before they came to another gate. This one was higher and had a watch tower on it. To his disappointment, Stilian saw no warriors manning the gaps in its battlements. If Grayholme had enemies, she had forgotten them. Once again, they unlatched and passed through the gate, noting another warning carved into a piece of wood and nailed into place.
Please close and latch the gate behind you. Do not, under any circumstances, allow the goats to follow you into town. They wreak havoc in the market. Thank you for your cooperation
." Kit laughed, and bowed Stilian through the gate, intoning "After you, sir!"

Houses started inside the second gate. The first ones were wood, with carved lintels and bright blue doors and shutters. Farther into town, a slightly larger set of old stone houses, also with characteristic blue doors and shutters, surrounded a central market square. In the waining year, the market boasted only a few merchant's stalls. Stilian saw one covered with striped awnings, where he saw a barrel of apples and boxes of tiny cabbages and rutabaga.

Beyond the market, there were streets of fancy houses and businesses, their stonework decorated in bas-relief. At the highest point under the face of a huge stone outcropping, Stilian saw an imposing edifice that could only be the school of Grayholme. It was made of the same stone as the houses in the square; a clear gray that sparkled when the sun hit it. The building looked like it had grown into its current shape over many years. It was mostly four stories high, with various additions and afterthoughts. The roofs were green, as at Blue House. (This condition had led to some confusion for Stilian until Judge Hugh explained that Blue House was named for the color of a judge veritor's tunic, not for the copper roof. When Stilian protested that the roof was green, not copper-colored, it led to an explanation about verdigris that left Stilian wishing that he had kept his questions to himself.) There were dormers growing from the sloping sides of the roof. Three large wings with various smaller outcroppings surrounded a central courtyard, which was enclosed in the front by a stone wall with an ornate gate. Next to the gate, there was a small gatehouse. This was where Stilian and Kit announced their arrival, and asked to see the mistress.

* * *

Mistress Thalia Moor was met on the way from her office after three bells. A bemused gate warden who told her that two boys were at the courtyard gate asking for her. "They look to be about fifteen summers each, and bright as a pair of oranges. Said their names are Stilian and Kit."

"What have we here? Two wondering waifs come to the doors of Grayholme demanding that we accept them into school?" Thalia cocked her head to one side and looked at the boys as they stood by the gate. "Where are your escorts? Hugh would not have sent you from Blue House on your own."

Words tumbled out of Kit in a rush. "The drays are too slow. We left them this morning at the station, at the bottom of the hill. They'll be here soon. Our driver, Bran, said we could run ahead. He gave us this letter for you. He said to ask for the mistress. I think it's from Judge Hugh, but he didn't say." Stilian was too busy gazing around to say much of anything.

In response to Thalia's expectant look, Kit punched Stilian in the arm. "Give her the letter, Still!" Stilian reached into his pack and brought out an oilskin-wrapped packet. Thalia recognized Hugh's writing on the cover, and smiled at the thickness of it. "Todd, why don't you take the boys to the kitchen and ask the cook to get them something to eat. I'm sure they're famished after their hike up the Ramp. Have the cook send them to my rooms when they're done." She tucked the envelope under an arm. "That will give me a chance to read this."

With the boys on their way, she crossed to the south wing and took the stairs up to her rooms on the second floor. They were plain and cluttered with papers, books, and mementos from former students. Two tall, multi-paned windows let in the light and framed a view of the Gap and Southern Coastals that could still take her breath away when she opened her eyes to it in the morning. A door on one side led to her sleeping room. On the other side, she had a small parlor, with a fireplace and couch that she could use for entertaining guests. Hugh always complained that her rooms were too cold and tried to get her to take a suite facing the courtyard, but she would never give up the view. She sat down to read.

Dear Thalia,

How I miss you, my bonded, and wish our duties did not keep us apart so much. I am left feeling your bright light only in my dreams. Blue House engages my mind, but my heart lies with you at Grayholme. I count the days until I will see you again, in the thaw.

If I am fulsome, it is the business at hand, which has warmed these old bones. I send you Stilian and Kit for schooling at Grayholme. Their applications are enclosed. Kit seems young at first glance, particularly given his open, exuberant manner, but he is surprisingly wise in the ways of the world. His mother brought him to apply two weeks ago in much the normal way--if three or four years earlier than most. How sensitive he is! It is such a natural part of him that he often forgets that what he feels is not accessible to others. If Kit were our only catch this season, it would be an extraordinary one. But we are blessed with Stilian as well.

Stilian has had a more difficult transition. His sensitivity came on early, and at the worst possible time for a boy. He grew up in a tiny farm house in the northern foothills with his father and four brothers. His mother died when he was very small. From what I gather, the boys lived close, sleeping in a tiny loft together. When he started to feel everything his brothers did ... well, you know how boys are at that age. He must have wrung himself out! Unfortunately, his father is both ignorant of the Canny and religious. With many rural priests still teaching the faithful to be wary of any sexual experience outside of the act of procreation--and that only in the marriage bed--you can imagine the man's response when he found out what was happening. I'm afraid Stilian was abused.

Which brings me to another issue: I believe that Stilian and Kit are well on their way to bonding. I cannot know precisely how far their journey has taken them or to what degree their closeness has led them to physical intimacy. I do know they have kept us up nights, despite our housing them on an empty floor as far away everyone else as we could put them. How they shine when together! It has been like sleeping with the lantern lit. I'm afraid they will be as exhausting as twin infants, until they learn to shield. If indeed they bond, they will have to come to terms with the nature of their relationship. Stilian, in particular, will need help in getting over the shame his father has beaten into him. I need not tell you your job. I entrust them to your care.

Until we are together again, I shall hold you in my heart.

Hugh

Thalia folded the letter and put it on the desk in front of her. "My love, what gifts have you sent me now?" she whispered. There was enough suspicion and distrust of the Canny. Sometimes she caught herself wishing that they didn't have to deal with the added burden of early bonding. In a society that typically arranged marriages to ensure the greatest possible economic or political benefit, bonding for love was socially disruptive--particularly when the partners were of the same sex. But the strength and intimacy of the connection that linked the Canny could not be denied. To do so would be to reject the very gift that made them who they were. Thalia closed her eyes and sat silently until she felt the boys coming to see her.

Harte

Griff sauntered behind Brin Greer and his companions. They appeared to enjoy their promenade along Dock Street, exchanging repartee with the various men, women, and children who offered their services along the way. Eventually they arrived at a prosperous establishment with well-lit windows and gaily painted doors and shutters. From inside, Griff could hear the sound of music and laughter. Greer's party knocked on the door and were admitted immediately. Evidently, they were known or their arrival anticipated.

After the door closed, Griff circled the building. Through one window, men and women danced together before a small string band. Through another, he saw gaming tables surrounded by gamblers and onlookers. A third window looked in upon a busy kitchen, with a red-faced chef and serving staff bustling in and out. Griff sighed. Madam Truman's was not a place where the watch were welcomed. Eventually, he found a moderately protected spot in an alley across from the front door where he could observe, drew his cloak tight, and settled down to listen to his stomach growl.

* * *

Soloni dropped lightly onto the couch next to Harte and draped his arm along the top of the back. "Now, I hope you will not be offended by directness, but who is this boy you are so eager to find, and what makes him of such interest to one of your station?"

"He was witness to a crime--a beating. I have reason to believe he has since been threatened. I would see him away from this place and into a safer one."

"Forgive me, but there are many such crimes committed in the area. Am I to believe that the town council has suddenly determined Dock Street's citizens worthy of protection?"

"I am pursuing this case on my own authority."

Soloni's eyebrows rose. "That is perhaps even more improbable. What did this boy do to so grasp your interest?"

Harte straightened his neckcloth. "Nothing. I made a promise, that's all."

"To whom?"

"Another boy, the one who was beaten. He died this morning."

Soloni narrowed his eyes. "I see. I suppose that kind of promise is not easily broken by one such as yourself."

Harte tugged at one sleeve, impatiently. "What do you mean, one such as myself?"

"There is no need to be offended. I meant to compliment you."

"Why do you care what I want with the boy?"

"Mr. Walford. While we may do it imperfectly, we try to protect our own here." Saloni stared at Harte, his expression uncompromising. "And while I discourage young men of Peli's age from coming here, I understand their need to do so. They are part of our family."

"Then you know who I am looking for."

"Yes, I expect my staff to report to me such matters as concern our little community. Word of your first visit eventually make its way to me. Unfortunately, it did not do so until after you had departed, or I might have saved Peli the trouble of speaking with you, or should I say, the trouble of being seen speaking to you."

"He saw the beating. I would have had to speak to him."

Soloni smiled gently and placed an ankle on one knee. "Quite. Perhaps you would be interested to hear that there may have been other witnesses. Some of them might actually know the man who did the beating."

"I would speak to them."

"Yes, but would they speak to you? I think not. They are older and wiser than Peli."

"Perhaps. But somebody must talk, if I am to present the case to court."

"Do you really think it wise to pursue such a case? What good can come of it? Any accusation is likely to result in more attention to this community than it wants. I confess, I'm having difficulty ascertaining your motivation for such a course of action. Have you some grudge against this man?"

Harte looked up at the carving on the beam above the couch, which depicted a pair of nude hunters pursuing a herd of deer. They ran in a crouched position as if reading a trail and carried spears over their shoulders. "Isn't what he did to Raf enough?"

Soloni sighed. Uncrossing his legs, he leaned forward. "Perhaps I have become too cynical. If Peli were to come into your keeping, what would you do with him?"

"Sister Grace of the Sisters of Mercy Hospital has expressed a strong interest in protecting him."

"Sister Grace. Oh dear."

"Do you know her?"

Soloni closed his eyes. "We have had occasion to be ... allies. We do, after all, share some of the same goals, although our methods tend to be rather different. She can be somewhat rigid." He opened his eyes to regard Harte. "Are you certain the boy would thrive under her care?"

"My friend, Griff, vouches for her. I believe she is tolerant. It was she who brought Raf to my attention."

"Really! Now that's interesting. Perhaps I have misjudged Sister Grace." Soloni stood up. "I will consider what to do about Peli."

Harte remained seated. "I believe you know who beat Raf. Will you not tell me?"

Soloni dropped his head to one side and looked down at Harte. "Would you have me betray my own commitments, so that you might honor yours? I think you must discover him for yourself."

"What commitment could you have to protect this man?"

Soloni tossed his head impatiently, dark hair flying. "You really are impossible."

"The man stamped on Raf's genitals with hobnailed boots." Harte rose slowly. "Have you no guidance for me?"

Soloni winced. "You defeat me. I will do this: if you tell me what you find, I will, if I may, confirm or deny it. That is all I will do."

"That, and tell me where I can find Peli."

Soloni threw up his hands. "Sir, I must rest. You exhaust me."

Harte allowed himself to smile. "Thank you. You have been most helpful."

Soloni led Harte back down into the tavern and left him at the bar, saying only, "If you need to contact me, leave a message at the bar. Someone will notify me."

Griff arrived shivering, soon after Harte returned to his place at the bar. "Do you suppose they serve mulled wine here?"

"I don't think it would do much for your image," said Harte.

Griff smiled. "I should care what these fellows think of me?"

Harte gave Griff a long look. "You seem to care what I think."

"Hah! You mistake caring for a desire to avoid harder labor."

"Well, the work here was hard labor tonight."

"The place is certainly full of hard laborers."

Harte sniffed. "I hardly noticed."

"No? If they stare any harder, they'll burst their britches."

"Burst out laughing, mayhap."

"Didn't you say something about a hot drink?"

"Before you belabored me with your comments."

"Do you find me hard to work with?"

"Only barely."

After they stopped laughing, Harte asked, "I must tell you. I met the most extraordinary man tonight!"

Griff raised his eyebrows.