The Whisperer (17 page)

The old woman introduced as Nanny had arrived to daub his bruises with a harsh-smelling balm, and then proceeded to wordlessly but expertly bind his ribs tightly with lengths of linen. Lute was fascinated at the way she sucked her toothless gums during the entire procedure.

‘Thank you,’ he said to her as she prepared to leave but Nanny remained silent.

Her bandages didn’t take the pain away completely but they lessened the discomfort when he moved.

The dwarf opened a small chest that he kept on the crudely fashioned mantelpiece and from it withdrew a small vial full of liquid. ‘Sip this,’ he said, handing Lute the tiny narrow glass bottle. ‘A few drops, that’s all,’ he warned.

Lute had done so and miraculously the pain dissipated to the point where it no longer troubled him, other than a soft reminding ache. He could handle that and in the meantime a huge bowl of a darkly delicious stew had been placed in front of him and he could smell the fragrant spices and herbs that had gone into the dish. A hunk of bread was provided, thickly smeared with bright yellow butter.

‘That’s watered cider in that cup,’ Bitter Olof added, as Nanny silently left. ‘Get some down you.’

Lute did as he was told, swallowing half the glass of the cool, sweetened liquid. He noticed a small pot of purple-coloured
granules by his glass. His expression must have formed a question because Bitter Olof explained, ‘They’re vaygo seeds. You chew them.’

‘Why?’

‘They’ll deaden the pain for you, boy.’

‘But the liquid—’ he began.

The dwarf reached for the vial. ‘That’s very potent stuff. I can’t have you taking too much of it. These are less speedy in their relief, I’ll grant you, but safer and effective enough.’

Lute stared at them and then back at the dwarf.

‘Go ahead, don’t you trust me?’

‘Does Pilo?’ Lute asked, but he was not referring to the seeds.

‘Why do you ask that?’

‘Well, he’s why I’m here, isn’t he? If I hadn’t mentioned his name I suspect Little Thom would have left me by the side of the road.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘So Pilo’s name was a password of sorts.’

‘Pilo and I go back a long way, lad.’

‘Are you friends?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘What then?’

‘We have an understanding.’

‘That doesn’t sound terribly friendly.’

‘It isn’t.’

‘Are you going to hurt me?’

‘Have I so far?’

Lute shook his head. ‘You’ve been most gracious,’ he admitted.

‘Then eat my stew, drink my cider and later chew the seeds and get some relief from your injured rib. It will hurt even more in a few hours.’

Lute put the seeds into his pocket.

‘They should last you. Chew them twenty-five times at least and then spit out the husk. We’ll practise after you’ve eaten.’ Lute nodded. ‘So talk to me about Pilo. Where is he?’

‘First you must tell me who you are to him.’

‘So you
don’t
trust me?’

‘Bitter Olof, I have to tell you that over the past day I’ve come to realise I can’t trust anyone, least of all someone who seems to have offered me kind hospitality but in truth has abducted me.’

Lute heard a low rumble and only realised as it became a little louder that it was the dwarf chuckling.

He was astonished. ‘Well, it’s true isn’t it? If I wanted to leave right now, you wouldn’t let me, would you?’

Bitter Olof shrugged. ‘Little Thom would shadow your every move.’

‘Exactly. So first tell me what you are to Pilo.’

‘I’m his sworn enemy.’

‘What?’ Lute nearly fell off the chair he was sitting on.

‘It’s true. He despises me.’

‘But…but he told me to ask only for you.’

‘Did he now?’ the dwarf said, more amusement in his voice. ‘I wonder why?’

‘He didn’t say. He simply told me to find The Shepherd’s Rest and to ask for you.’

The dwarf looked at him thoughtfully, frowning. ‘Who are you?’

Lute remembered Pilo’s warning not to give the truth of his identity if he could help it. ‘I told you I’m Peat, a stablehand, I—’

‘I don’t believe you,’ Bitter Olof said, cutting across his words.

‘Why not?’

‘I’ve just told you that Pilo and I are hardly friends. Ask yourself why he would entrust the life of someone he cares enough about to lend his horse to, to the person he considers his lifelong enemy. It doesn’t add up. So who are you? The truth now!’

The dwarf was clever. Lute felt cornered. ‘I have nothing to say on that.’

‘But you can tell me who you are.’

‘I did.’

‘No, you told me what Pilo told you to tell me, or at the very least you’ve told me what you think I might believe. I’m tired of being thought of as dumb. I’m actually much smarter than I look,’ the dwarf said testily.

Lute blinked, unsure of what to say. He wasn’t ready to tell Bitter Olof his true status. He bought himself some time. ‘Why are you enemies?’

‘Ah, now that is the right question, young Peat. How is your side?’

‘The clear liquid worked. There is no pain. I’m numb in my ribs.’

The dwarf grinned. ‘Numb everywhere else too, I imagine. It won’t last so when it begins to hurt again, chew the seeds.’

‘You were about to tell me why Pilo would suggest you as the best person to count on when clearly it would seem to be quite the opposite.’

‘I suspect your friend has told you to seek me out because he values your life too much to risk it with anyone else. I can offer you the protection that he can’t—that no-one else can, in fact.’

‘But why would he believe you would offer that protection to your enemy’s friend?’

‘Probably because I owe him a blood debt.’

Lute gave a low whistle. He had not expected anything like this. ‘A blood debt. That’s expensive.’

‘Indeed, and so he must think incredibly highly of his mere stablehand to use up that debt on your head. What can you possibly mean to him?’

Lute shrugged.

‘I warned you earlier that I am smarter than I appear. It pains me constantly that people make risky judgements about me based on my looks and short stature. Do not make that mistake.’

‘I…I’m not.’

‘Those who don’t know me think I must be dull because I’m not as tall, not as handsome, not as lean or as desirable. It makes me feel very bitter indeed.’

So that’s how he came by his name, Lute realised. Bitter Olof!

‘Finish your stew, Peat,’ the dwarf said sourly. ‘And then we’ll talk some more.’

Griff found Tess at her wagon. He gave her a look of enquiry; he didn’t need to say anything.

‘It was easier to leave them alone,’ she said. ‘None of the creatures are happy with me,’ she added sadly.

‘It’s not you, Tess. It’s Tyren. Davren knows this. He just can’t get past his frustration, his anger at being caged. He will forgive you anything.’

‘And Helys has turned so pale, she’s almost white. Rix says we’re going to lose her.’

‘We’re not going to lose her. We’re going to leave. You have to trust me. Now go to bed as normal but be ready. I’ll come for you in the early hours. Take only what you can carry easily.’

She looked uncertain. ‘But what—’

Griff took Tess by her shoulders. ‘Listen to me,’ he said, his eyes imploring her to trust him. He opened his mouth to tell her his plan but instead a sharp pain hit him that felt like someone was cutting a slice into his mind. And what came out of his mouth were the words ‘
Bitter Olof!
’

He staggered, dizzy.

‘Bitter what?’ Tess asked, frowning in surprise.

‘I don’t know,’ Griff said, holding his head now. ‘I don’t know why I said that.’

‘What does it mean?’

‘No idea.’

‘Someone thought it, then?’

Griff nodded. ‘Perhaps, it came through with great force.’ Then he shook his head.

‘Was it the Whisperer?’

He frowned. ‘It has his signature.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Well,’ he shrugged, unsure how to explain it. ‘I know what
your
thoughts feel like in my mind. I can tell it’s you immediately.
Most of the time I don’t concentrate on any of the information coming to me, or how the people they’re coming from feel or even how they look in my mind’s eye. But for people I care about, I do. I recognise the Whisperer now. It was definitely him.’

Tess nodded, her brow creasing in thought. ‘Is that all that came through?’

‘Yes, in a sort of blinding flash of thought,’ Griff said, then pulled a face of disappointment, adding: ‘I was too late to hang onto the connection with him.’

‘Well he seems to be in your head quite often now. I imagine the next time is not far away.’

Explaining his plan could wait. ‘Go to bed, Tess. Just act as normally as you can. I’ll see you in a few hours.’ Griff strode away before she could ask any further questions.

Although the pain was presently just a dull ache, the dwarf suggested he try the seeds and keep the relief as topped up as he could. Lute did so, chewing twenty-five times before moving to the fire to expel the sticky mass that the seeds had become. The globule hit the flames and exploded into a purple flare, burning brightly for a few moments.

‘Feel anything?’ Bitter Olof asked.

‘My tongue and cheeks have gone numb.’

The dwarf nodded. ‘That’s good—that’s how it begins. Give it a short time and everywhere will be numb. But you can still talk,’ he warned.

Soon Lute felt as though his entire body was devoid of any feeling. The remains of his meal had been cleared and the cider was drained.

Now Bitter Olof regarded him with a baleful stare, finally sighing. ‘We can sit here all night, if necessary, but I am not prepared to help anyone unless they’re being honest with me. I have told you the truth.’

Lute crossed his arms to mimic the dwarf. ‘First you must tell me about the blood debt between you and Pilo. Then I shall tell you all that I know.’

The dwarf nodded, took a sip of wine from the clay goblet he cradled in his pudgy fingers. ‘It is because of me that Pilo’s family is dead.’ Lute hadn’t expected anything quite so direct. His
mouth opened in shock but Bitter Olof prevented him from saying anything, raising his hand. ‘Or that’s how he sees it.’

‘What happened?’ Lute urged.

Again the dwarf sighed. ‘What do I look like to you, Peat? What do you think I do for a living? Be honest.’

Lute shrugged, hesitated, before he decided to be truthful. ‘A bandit?’

Bitter Olof clapped his hands with disgust. ‘You see! Everyone has a bad opinion of me. It’s because I’m a dwarf isn’t it?’

‘Well—’

The little man didn’t wait for Lute to finish, continuing to rant. ‘I tried to be honest. I was a clever and profitable merchant for many years and yet no-one trusted me and I know it’s because of how I look. No wonder I’m bitter!’

‘I’m guessing that Pilo did trust you, though?’ Lute asked, hopeful to win back some trust and get the dwarf back on track with his explanation.

‘That’s right, he did. He was one of the few people in the realm who truly understood that looks can be deceiving.’ The dwarf’s tone was filled with loathing.

‘And?’

‘He and I became partners of sorts. He was bodyguard to various merchants and I became a sort of middle-merchant, who supplied the goods for sale. I became invisible you could say. The merchants bought the produce that I secured and sold it on at a higher price. We were a successful partnership.’

Lute stood. It was no longer painful to do so and he poured another goblet of wine for the dwarf, who was clearly surprised by the gesture, but nodded his thanks, adding: ‘Pilo and I were very good friends.’

‘How were you involved with his family’s death?’

‘Pilo was unexpectedly called away to the north with a rich merchant who needed his protection. He had made a promise to his wife that he would not leave her alone until their child was walking. I think she’d had enough of his realm-roaming ways. She was young, very beautiful and didn’t like to be alone.’

‘Did she not have family?’

‘Odele came from a wealthy family, who disowned her when she married Pilo. He wasn’t good enough for her, according to her parents. But she ignored their threats and went ahead with the marriage all the same and so they cut her off from her fortune. Neither she nor Pilo cared, for their love was strong, but her beauty and people’s belief that she brought wealth with a dowry made her vulnerable to others who wished to take advantage of both. So once tiny Ellin was born, Odele made Pilo promise he’d stay close until the little one was a bit older.’

‘Why did he say yes to this job, then?’

‘The man was very rich and offered Pilo four times what he would normally earn and for just a brief trip away. It was too good to resist. Pilo had wanted to move his family from the town they were living in to another, more prosperous town closer to Floris. He took the job but he asked me to provide his family with protection.’

Lute frowned. ‘Wait a minute, I understood that Pilo’s family was killed in an accident.’

Bitter Olof shook his head. ‘It was made to look that way but our enemies—the people who hated that he and I were enjoying such success with our business—decided to bring him down a peg or two. They watched his movements, saw that he was away and…well,’ he sighed, ‘the worst occurred.’

‘They were murdered?’ Lute asked, both astonished and horrified.

The dwarf nodded.

‘But what about your people? Where were they?’

At this question, Bitter Olof looked down into his goblet, studying its contents for a while. The silence lengthened and Lute felt as though he was holding his breath in anticipation. Finally the dwarf answered, his voice solemn and even more bitter than Lute had heard him sound previously. ‘I had no idea that the threat was so real. I thought Pilo was being over-protective to tell the truth. He was just a bodyguard, not that important.’

‘Sounds to me like he was far more than a bodyguard, Bitter Olof. In fact it seems that he and you were prosperous enough to come to the attention of all the wrong people.’

‘We were. I thought I had it all covered, though. I was stupid enough to believe that if they ever acted on those jealousies, it would be against Pilo or myself.’

Lute grunted. ‘No. Not at all. If you want to get someone’s attention and make sure they do as you want, you threaten those they love the most.’

‘You sound as though you speak from experience, Peat,’ the dwarf said, intrigued.

‘Perhaps I do. Go on, please tell me the rest.’

‘Not much more to tell,’ Bitter Olof admitted, shrugging slightly. ‘If I’m being honest, I think it was meant to be only a warning. Odele and the child were not meant to die. But things went wrong and no-one was there to protect her. I didn’t think she needed such close supervision and so I took Little Thom off her guard when I needed his help elsewhere. That’s when it happened.’

‘And Pilo has never forgiven you.’

The dwarf shook his great head. ‘Worse. I fled when it happened but he has threatened to kill me if he so much as lays eyes on me.’

‘But he knows where you are.’

‘No. I live here now, in secret. Very few know about it. But Pilo knows that other people are always listening and that word will get back to me. He would have known that if you asked for me at the inn, someone would let me know a boy was looking for me and that it would take my interest enough that I would try and find out more.’

‘Except Little Thom stumbled onto me.’

‘That’s right. I know Pilo won’t forgive me, but I’m hoping that time will make him forget the potency of his threat. Perhaps life at the palace has softened him slightly.’

Lute gave the dwarf a sympathetic look. ‘I don’t think so. There is nothing soft about Pilo, Bitter Olof. But I also don’t think you have to worry about him hunting you down.’ Lute heard the
catch in his voice. He was determined he wouldn’t shed another tear. He needed to act in a manner that would make his father—and Pilo—proud.

‘Why not?’

Lute took a deep breath. ‘I think he might be dead.’

At this, Bitter Olof dropped his goblet, which shattered on the stone floor, dark wine spilling like blood beneath his dangling feet. He stared at Lute through hooded eyes, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘You think?’

‘I can’t be sure,’ Lute admitted. ‘But it looked that way to me the last time I saw him.’

‘So you were not transferring a horse for your master at all—because he is dead.’

‘No. That was a lie.’

‘What else is a lie?’

Lute hesitated. Bitter Olof ignored the mess below him as he dropped to the floor and angrily pointed a finger at Lute. ‘Listen to me now. Whatever our differences of recent years, there never were two closer friends. Yes, I would be forced to try and kill him if he attacked me and I had half the chance. And Lo knows Pilo could easily kill me if he found me. But you need to understand that this news you bring breaks my heart. I loved Pilo. Tell me everything.’ He poured himself some more wine.

Lute hesitated.

Bitter Olof pressed harder. ‘I told you, I won’t help you if I can’t trust you. Pilo hates me but he trusted me enough to send you to my care. Now tell me who you are, and what this is about. I’ve told you my story.’

It was Lute’s turn to tell his sorry tale. ‘My name is not Peat. It is Lute.’

‘Ah,’ Bitter Olof said, nodding now. ‘Like the Crown Prince.’

‘Indeed,’ Lute said, swallowing hard.

The dwarf raised his wine. ‘Long live the crown!’ and then it suddenly dawned on him. ‘Lo strike me, you’re him, aren’t you?’

‘I am,’ Lute said, embarrassed.

He watched as another goblet shattered on the stone floor.

Griff was hiding in the bushes watching his brothers laughing with Chauncey and Jasper. How they’d persuaded both men to join them remained a mystery but Griff felt a surge of affection for Phineas and Matthias, who were performing a daring and seemingly drunken new balancing act. If he didn’t know better he would imagine both of his brothers were so intoxicated they could barely focus but having watched from his dark hiding spot for the past two hours, he knew that it was not Phin or Mat that was doing the drinking but the two men. The four of them were lit up brightly around a small camp fire they’d set up.

He’d had to stifle his own amusement watching Mat accidentally on purpose miss his own mouth and spill a glass of the strong brew down his shirt, then his brother exploded into manic, apparently liquor-fuelled laughter at his own stupidity when he did precisely the same thing with his next glass. Phin, he noticed, continuously had the glass to his mouth but Griff could see his eldest brother was swallowing little and whenever the men looked away, he’d tip the contents of his cup into the grass beneath him.

Chauncey and Jasper meanwhile were roaring drunk; laughing, arguing, bellowing, drifting into and out of dozes. Phin kept shushing them for fear of bringing Master Tyren from his wagon but there had been no interruptions so far and Griff held his breath, knowing it couldn’t be long now before Chauncey collapsed.

He watched Mat stagger over, giggling, trying to shush himself, to refill Chauncey’s cup. He challenged Chauncey to tip it down his throat in a single gulp.

‘You get the rest of this bottle, Chauncey, if you can do it.’

‘Do it, boy? I was drinking the famous Drestonian Dragonjuice before you were born. That stuff will set your body on fire. I’ve drunk a whole bottle of it in one sitting,’ he boasted. Griff didn’t believe him. Dragonjuice was famous throughout the realm for its powerfully intoxicating qualities
that often resulted in nightmares. Most people had never tasted it because it was so incredibly expensive, distilled from the rare grebble berry that grew in the mountainous north, which was sweet for just a short time—twenty-six days he’d heard—and then it turned sour. Griff listened to Chauncey’s bragging, which was rapidly deteriorating into a slur of words that made little sense.

‘Harr!’ Mat said, giving the roar that meant ‘good health’ and which people called out when having a drink together. ‘One gulp, remember, Chauncey and it’s all yours.’

Griff smiled. Mat hadn’t realised he was suddenly speaking perfectly good Drestonian—his own pretence at being drunk forgotten—as he watched the show’s manager tip back his head and pour the liquor down his throat.

‘Vashi!’ Chauncey said, the traditional response to ‘Harr’ and then he fell backwards into a drunken sleep. Beside him Jasper was already snoring loudly, his lips vibrating as each loud roar was produced.

Mat poked Chauncey. The man didn’t stir.

Phin, suddenly alert, gave a whistle. ‘He’s out cold.’

Mat carefully reached for the key that hung at the fat manager’s hip and as his fingers touched the metal, Chauncey grunted and turned on his side.

Griff, watching, could barely breathe for the tension.

Mat signalled to Phin. ‘You do it,’ he mouthed silently.

Phin nodded, raised himself and tiptoed around Jasper until he could squat near Chauncey. He glanced at Mat, who nodded. Griff knew they were both probably thinking about what sort of trouble this was going to lead to. Nevertheless he saw Phin unhook the ring of keys slowly from Chauncey’s belt before he turned and hurled them towards the bushes. Griff deftly caught them, then mimicked drinking from a bottle and acting tipsy. The boys understood. They nodded and gave him soft smiles that made his heart ache, especially as he realised he could not hug them farewell. He hadn’t imagined he would leave without saying goodbye properly but that was exactly
what he had to do. He lifted a hand into the air and his brothers did the same.

‘Be safe,’ he saw Phin mouth and he tried to look brave by sticking his thumb in the air.

There was nothing else to say or do but turn and leave. So he did, casting a prayer to Lo that he would protect Phin and Mat from Tyren’s wrath.

Griff broke into a jog and very soon was running as silently as he could back to the wagon where he hoped Tess was awake and alert, ready for their escape.