Redoubt (14 page)

“Well, if it ain’t the lad!” exclaimed Constable Baltis, a grin splitting his homely
face. “We thought you and the Weasel’d come into a pile of money, packed up and left
us!”

The men here did not know that the Weasel and his nephew were King’s Own Nikolas and
Trainee Mags—but they
did
know that the Weasel and his nephew were agents for the Crown.

They also knew the nephew wasn’t mute.

“Brought you lads loot,” Mags said, pulling the bag out of his tunic and hefting it.
“The bad lot’s been busy over the wedding. Which one of you wants to take it to the
Sergeant?”

“I will,” Baltis volunteered. “Is it tagged?”

“As usual. You know the Weasel is as fussy as an old hen about that,” Mags said, getting
a laugh. Nikolas always tagged every piece he turned over to the Constables with the
name of the thief that had sold it on the paper it was folded into. The Constables
as a whole thought this was overdoing it a bit. They
knew
who the thieves were, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was catching them in the
act, or at least with the goods on them. Once Nikolas had a piece of stolen goods,
it was too late. They couldn’t arrest the thief without revealing that Nikolas was
an agent.

“Water?” suggested one of the others, holding up a dipperful. “It’s still hot enough
out there—”

“Aye, thenkee.” Mags took the dipper from him and drank, filling it twice from the
little pottery barrel they all got their drinking water from—thoroughly boiled, for
the water from the pumps in this part of town was not safe to drink without boiling
first. The barrel was damp on the outside; a little of the water worked its way to
the surface and evaporated, keeping the water still in there cool.

Baltis came back with a slip of paper from the Sergeant, which was all Mags needed.
“Be careful out there,” he said, giving them a sketchy salute as he turned to go up
the stairs.

“You too!” Baltis called after him, as he passed into the attic and felt for the release
for the hatch. “Don’t want to pick you up with a broken neck come morning!”

He paused with one hand on the Constabulary chimney and looked up at the stars. This
fall he was supposed to learn how to navigate by them. That was something he never
would have
dreamed
of in the mine. He was on the day shift, and night was time for sleeping—the mine
kiddies lived in a perpetual state of hunger and exhaustion, and in winter, you could
add “cold” to that. He couldn’t remember more than one or two times he’d even bothered
looking up at the sky at night—at least, not when it was clear, as it was tonight.
The stars did nothing for you; they wouldn’t feed or warm you, they wouldn’t help
you find food, they were just incomprehensible bits of light in uncaring darkness.

Had
anyone
at the mine paid any attention to the stars? Not that he remembered.

:Does a dog?:
Dallen asked, unexpectedly.
:You were treated like abused animals, small wonder you hadn’t any energy to spare
for thinking past mere survival. Oddly enough, your early life might turn out useful
one day. If you are ever in the regrettable position where you
must
concentrate on mere survival, well, you’ve had practice in it. And you’ve had practice
in concentrating all your effort on it.:

Well, now he had to concentrate all his effort on getting safely back to the shop.
This was going to be an easier proposition than getting out to the Constabulary, however.
He wasn’t going to have to roof-run the entire way, just get over
there,
to a house actually owned by the Crown and used by Nikolas and his agents for a variety
of purposes. Just now it stood empty, but even if someone had been staying there,
it would still serve Mags.

The route off the roof of the Constabulary was a bit tricky and involved the longest
leap of the night. The good thing was that the roof he was to land on had a nice flat
bit that fetched up against a cornice, so he could tumble his landing and end up tucked
against a bit of flat wall. After that, it was clear running; from this roof to a
taller one with a steep pitch—but it was wood shingles rather than stone slates, and
not at all slippery, The challenge was to get across it crabwise, but since he wasn’t
actually running, it was only that, a bit of a challenge. The next roof was hardly
more than a hop, and the next only a bit farther away than that. The one after that
was the roof of the house he wanted, only he didn’t want to get into it tonight. He
went to the edge on the darkest side, felt for the drainpipe at the corner, and hung
by his hands over the edge until he found the place where it was strongly fastened
to the house with his feet. Then he transferred his grip to the pipe and let himself
down hand-over-hand until his feet touched the barrel at the bottom. He positioned
his feet on either side of the barrel, balanced there for a moment, then jumped off.

He slipped around the corner of the house to the street side and peered about to make
sure no one was within sight of him. Then he walked out into the street as if he had
been walking along there for some time.

Well, “walked” was relative. No one here acted as if they were walking the street
in broad daylight—poor as the neighborhood was, anyone making trouble during the day
would probably find himself piled on by everyone in the area. There was strength in
numbers, and if you wanted to be able to count on people coming to your rescue, the
folks here knew they had better just come to anyone’s rescue. There was a reason why
the Constables patrolled constantly at night, and even so, they were well aware that
what they mostly did was keep the criminals moving. So what he was really doing was
moving at a brisk pace and making it clear he was watching all around him. Between
that—which told thieves he was not going to be caught unaware—and his shabby clothing,
he didn’t look like a very good target.

He got back to the shop without any incident and presented Nikolas with the receipt.
Nikolas pocketed it without a word, then went to the door and took a brief look up
and down the street, then grunted audibly as if in disgust.

Mags knew what he was up to. The Weasel was now a man who no longer needed to keep
his shop open at all hours if he didn’t care to. If there was anyone lingering out
there, trying to make up his mind whether or not to pay a visit, this would signal
that he’d better do so quickly, because the Weasel was tired and wanted to go home.

They waited a little while longer in the crowded, narrow shop, but the little bell
over the door didn’t so much as vibrate.

“That’s enough for one night,” Nikolas said, finally. “We’ll try again . . . oh, say
in two nights.” He left a note to that effect for his two “assistants” in the lockbox
in the floor where the shop cash was kept. If anyone turned up with something special,
they would pass the word when the Weasel himself would be keeping behind the counter.

“It is too bloody hot to be in that box,” Nikolas said aloud as he locked up. Mags
figured he was doing so for the presumed benefit of anyone who might be watching.
Then again, he could just have been doing it to stay in character, since the Weasel
continued complaining about the heat as the two of them trudged away. Mags didn’t
respond to any of it—he was supposed to be deaf as well as mute, after all. But the
Weasel was on occasion a man who liked to hear the sound of his own voice, especially
when he had something to complain about.

The Weasel was right about the heat, though. It was almost midnight, and breezes didn’t
get very far in the tangle of tightly packed buildings in this part of Haven. Paved
streets or pounded earth, they all held heat and radiated it back all night. This
time of year was about the only time when having your room in a basement or a garret
under the eaves was a good thing. If you were up high you at least had a chance of
catching a breeze, and if you were in a basement the earth would keep you cooler,
even if you did share your space with more than your share of black beetles and rats.

And the rats could be dealt with by keeping a cat, after all.

:Makes me glad I don’t fit into a basement,:
Dallen remarked.
:I’m surprised with all the heat there aren’t more fights.:

Well, Mags knew the answer to that one. When you were working every waking hour, heat
that might make someone with more leisure quarrelsome only debilitated you.
:Prolly around the alehouses,:
he replied.
:Round here, people just wanta get t’sleep.:

And that was hard enough to do up on the breezy hill. He mopped at the back of his
neck as he trotted after a complaining Weasel and was glad that he was going to be
there shortly. A good wash under the cold water from the pump, and he’d be ready enough
for sleep himself. Well, that was one thing that Haven provided for all its citizens
anyway, plenty of water for free. There was a pump on every corner, and buckets too,
in case of fire. So many buckets, in fact, that not even here did anyone bother to
steal them.

:I believe I am going to start having you open the shop alone some nights,:
Nikolas said unexpectedly.

:Wait—what?:
he asked, dumbfounded.
:After Lena and Bear—:

:You made an ethical decision, but it was also a rational one. As Dallen pointed out,
for right now, really, the only people that are affected are they themselves. Rational
and ethical—that means ‘mature’ to me. Honestly, if it weren’t that you are so far
behind most of your peers in all the classes you need to catch up on, I would be considering
if I should put you in Whites in a year or so.:

That made him falter in his paces for a moment, and he ran to catch up. Nikolas glanced
aside at him, and Mags saw he was laughing silently.
:Oh, don’t look so stricken. You’ll be a Kirball hero for some time yet. At least
two years, you have that much in academics to catch up on. I only wish you were as
good at Court politics as you are at this sort of thing.:

Frankly, Mags was just as glad that he wasn’t.

:Uh,:
he ventured, finally, deeming it a good point to change the subject.
:How mad is Amily at me?:

:A little less than I and for the same reasons. She’s angrier at Lena and Bear, and
then, not much.:
Nikolas gave him another look, and in the light from a streetlamp, Mags saw him smiling
slightly.
:I think everyone will be less angry with them once Bear’s father learns of the marriage
and puts in his inevitable appearance. I’ve asked some of my little birds to give
me advance warning this time.:

:To warn Bear?:
Mags ventured.

Nikolas snorted.
:Oh, no. I want to see him handle this himself. That alone will tell me if he’s made
a mature decision.:

:Why, then?:

:I want to gather an audience. I might even be tempted to sell tickets.:

* * *

Even on the Hill it was hot—hot enough that no one could be bothered to put much energy
into anything that required physical effort. Even the Weaponsmaster had caved in to
the heat and was limiting training to short sessions, sending the class down afterward
to swim the river, bank to bank, like running laps around the salle, only a lot more
pleasant in this heat. Those who did not know how to swim had learned in short order.
Many classes, especially those in the hottest part of the day, had been moved outside,
down by the river. Even the courtiers had abandoned the Court, opting to go off to
their own country estates or visit those of friends. The Hill was practically deserted
except for those who needed to be here to conduct the business of the Kingdom.

The cooks had declared a moratorium on “cooking,” switching most of the kitchen work
to the early, early morning when things had cooled down. But as hot as it was, no
one really wanted to
eat
anything warm, and with lots of fresh fruits and vegetables, cold meats and bread
satisfied just about everyone.

This, far more than the three days of the wedding, felt a lot like a holiday for Mags.
Everyone was a little lazy, including the teachers. The good will generated by the
wedding still lingered, which meant everyone was inclined to forgive a little laziness.

Lena and Bear had settled into Bear’s quarters, but otherwise nothing really changed.
They seemed determined to prove that they had made the right decision, and not even
those most critical found anything in their behavior or their lessons to complain
about. Amily seemed relieved . . . and, somewhat to Mags’ bemusement, gave no indication
that she was particularly envious or that she was harboring a secret longing to get
married herself.

He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or wary. He certainly didn’t want to bring it
up. He didn’t feel in the least as if he was ready for something like that. To be
honest, when he looked at some of the other Trainees, he still felt terribly, terribly
behind and very young—and in no way ready to go any further with Amily than he had
already.

And as for Amily, it seemed to him she was waiting for something—and even she wasn’t
sure what it was that she was waiting for. Probably not the best reason in the world
for getting married, to do so because you didn’t know what else to do.

He was flopped down in the grass watching the river and listening to Bard Tharis wax
eloquent on the history of King Anders, which seemed to be a specialty of his, and
wondering mostly why the weather during that worthy’s reign seemed to be entirely
composed of snowstorms of monumental proportions, when he heard a familiar Mindvoice
in his inner “ear.”

:If you want your ticket, my young apprentice, you’d better get it now.:

He blinked a little startled. Ticket? Why would Nikolas be talking about a tick—

:Heads up!:
Dallen said excitedly.
:Trouble in a Temper is pounding up the Hill at a pace that is rather cruel to his
horses, and little does he know what he’s in for!: