Thornlost (Book 3) (23 page)

It wasn’t that Cade was heartless. His love for his little brother, for Mistress Mirdley, for Blye—he
could
feel. He wouldn’t be capable of priming a withie if he couldn’t feel. Mieka’s job was to take those feelings and use his own to build on them, focus them, accentuate them, use them to beguile their audiences. But with Cade there was always the caution, always the control. Not even Black Lightning’s disgusting play had shaken him, though it had shaken everyone else who’d seen it. But not Cayden, not he.

Well, Mieka told himself as he trudged up Croodle’s back stairs and fell onto a bed, at least Cade had learned how to laugh. On first meeting him, Mieka hadn’t been entirely sure Cade knew what laughter was, leave alone how to do it.
Took me awhile, though
, he mused.
Clever and mad… that’s the ticket.
And on this thought he finally drifted off to sleep.

Late that afternoon, Cade, Rafe, and Jeska yielded to Mieka’s persuasions and accompanied him to the nearest baths. There were a dozen or so of these scattered throughout the city. Some were just ranks of wooden tubs, but some boasted marble pools and three different temperatures of water. One could loll in water cloudy with minerals, herbs, or, in the really expensive places,
milk. In some places the rubdown girls were for hire; in others, they provided a massage but nothing else—though Mieka had found on previous visits that a bit of cajoling usually overcame their professional scruples. Not that he’d ever had to pay for that sort of thing ever in his life, of course, or ever would.

It was a glorious summer day as they walked the two blocks to the baths. Neither the most exclusive nor the least, decorated with a few fallen columns nicked from elsewhere to give it an impression of age and dignity, there were two mineral pools for bathing (one cool and one hot) and rooms with individual tubs where a patron could select the type and temperature of the water. On Croodle’s advice, Mieka had chosen the hour when most of the bath attendants took their break, before everything was cleaned up following the men’s afternoon hours and just before the time allotted to women. Whether it was Touchstone’s name or Croodle’s that got them special treatment—or the simple fact that the girl on duty was young and responded with giggles to mild flirtation—they were escorted at once into the changing room. Rafe chose a private bath; Mieka, Cade, and Jeska plunged into the hot pool. The masquer immediately began swimming lazy laps.

“Nice,” Mieka remarked as he floated on his back within easy reach of the side railings; he could swim, but not very well. His voice echoed up to the arched ceiling, painted deep blue with silver and golden stars. “All to ourselves! Makes me feel a right prince, it does, with half the world to command.”

“I’ll take the other half,” said Cade, who sat on a step, waist-deep in hot water. He waved a languid hand. “And an age of marvels shall ensue!”

“Free whiskey,” Mieka said at once, “and a real theater in every town!”

“At reasonable prices. Women will be allowed to craft whatever they like, as professionals
with
a hallmark.”

“
And
attend the theater openly.” He gave the matter due
consideration, then added, “No more anguishing over having to do any of The Thirteen at Trials.”

“Vered’s got you thinking about that, has he?” Cade grinned. “What grand ideas you and he have got! I’d settle for hot cinnamon mocah every morning for everyone as wants it—”

“And whatever the Archduke wants, by law he’ll never have it!”

“Talking of law,” Jeska said, “while you’re sorting out the world to suit yourselves, do me a favor and put an end to all writ-rats.”

Cade frowned. “Trouble with Airilie’s mother?”

It took Mieka a moment to remember that Jeska, too, was the father of a little girl. Mieka had seen her a few times, but never met the mother, to whom Jeska had not been married.

“I’ve gone through her accounts and my accounts, and they don’t add up straight. She says she’s not received even half what she’s owed. Kearney’s clerk says she must be mistook. But she has lawyers now, y’see.”

“I’d been wondering,” said Cade, “about all those letters you keep getting. The ones with the seals and ribbons.”

Mieka growled low in his throat. “D’you want me to send Jed and Jez to loom over them until they give in?”

Jeska swam towards them, muscular arms taking long, slow strokes. “Beholden, and it’s a lovely image to hold in my head, but no. I won’t have it said that I’ve shorted my daughter of her rights.” He stopped near them and submerged, then surfaced with his hair slicked back from his face. It immediately began to spring up in curls again. “Can’t believe how big Airilie’s getting,” he said wistfully. “And but for a few days every few months, I’ve missed all of it.”

“They grow,” Mieka said. “No stopping it, whether you’re there to watch or not.” He hesitated, because his next question was highly personal and Jeska had never been all that forthcoming about his private life. “Not to be nosy, but—why
don’t you and your mother have the raising of the girl? I mean, the law being what it is, with fathers having all the rights to the children and such—”

“That’s only if the parents are wed and then divorced,” Cade told him. “He’s on the document as legal father, and Airilie has his name.”

“Mum saw to that,” Jeska said. “One of her cleaning clients was a justiciar, and she got his advice. Wanted us both to have the right to see her only grandchild.”

Mieka sighed. “But now it’s come back to bite you in the bum. Not that you wouldn’t have supported them anyways, of course,” he added hastily. “And talking of your bum, are you feeling better?”

“You promised
girls
,” Jeska grumbled, sparkling blue eyes giving the lie to his tone. “Girls with lovely soft hands, rubbing whatever I want them to rub. Where are the girls?”

The girls—well, one girl, petulant at being interrupted during her dinner break until she saw her client—duly produced, Jeska vanished into one of the private rooms. Mieka and Cade lingered for a while in the water, then braced themselves for the required plunge into the cold pool. Emerging with shivering swiftness, they wrapped themselves in towels and went in search of their clothes.

The wood-paneled changing room was empty. Every shelf, every hook, every bench.

No shirts, no trousers, no stockings, no boots, no nothing.

They had just turned to face each other when Jeska wandered in, went to the shelf where he’d left his clothing, and stood there for a moment staring at it.

“Not him,” Mieka concluded. “Rafe.”

“Rafe,” Cade echoed in a tone that promised grim vengeance.

Not if Mieka found him first. Hitching the towel tighter round his waist, he strolled out to the reception area, smiled
sweetly at the blushing giggler, and said, “Whatever the man with the beard paid you, I’ll double it.”

“Nobody p-paid me, Y’r Honor,” she stammered. “I’d be losin’ me place, I would, to take extra from a customer!”

Cade called from the inner doorway, “But you
did
see a bearded man walk out of here with more clothes than he came in with? Carrying them, I mean?”

She nodded. “I didn’t think much on it.”

If she’d bothered to think at all, Mieka told himself; she didn’t look the sort to have the wherewithal for much thinking.

She cast an anxious glance at the wall clock and said, “Beggin’ Y’r Honor’s pardon, but it’s nigh on time for the ladies—”

Right on cue, the front door opened and a brace of respectable middle-aged women in large, fussily feathered summer hats entered. With another of his most adorable smiles, Mieka dropped his towel.

“Gracious!” one of the women cried, unabashedly looking him down and up and then about halfway down again.

The other didn’t bother with the down-and-up part. “Hired a new bath boy, have you? I quite approve.”

Not much in this naughty world could bring a blush to Mieka Windthistle’s cheek, but these brazen ladies had managed it. He scooped up his towel and fled for the changing room. Cade followed, looking torn between laughing at Mieka and setting plots to kill Rafe. Jeska merely looked bleakly determined.

“There’ll be nothing to wear, count on it,” he said. “Nothing of our own and nothing to borrow. But it’s only two blocks to Croodle’s.”

“You’re joking!” Cade exclaimed.

“No. I’m not.” Taking a deep breath, he secured his towel as best he could and marched into the hall and out the front door.

Resigned, Mieka and Cade followed him.

Two blocks of whistles, laughter, shocked faces, cheers, and
lascivious propositions later, they were scrambling up Croodle’s back stairs. Halfway up, they bumped into Jeska, who didn’t seem able to move.

One glance up at the landing told Mieka why. The second-most-beautiful girl he’d ever seen stood there, delicate black brows slightly arched above eyes as big and brown as a doe’s. She was tall and slender, with a heart-shaped face, full lips, high cheekbones, a broad nose with thin, flaring nostrils, and skin the color of a cup of hot mocah mixed with a dollop of milk.

“Your pardon, I’m sure,” Mieka said to the girl, pushing past the unmoving masquer. A quick glance at Jeska’s face showed a man so utterly gobsmacked that he didn’t even remember how to breathe. “Slight problem with our clothing—won’t take up a moment of your time—”

Cade followed, and when they both stood on the landing near the girl, they looked down at Jeska. His towel was securely in place, but there was a bump in front. Mieka clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a giggle. Cade snarled Jeska’s name, and when there was no response, he jumped down the few steps and hauled him up by the arm, stumbling and slack-jawed.

“Sorry,” Cade mumbled as they passed the girl, who was biting her lips together, dark eyes twinkling. They were in their room with the door almost shut before she began to laugh.

Mieka would have joined in, but was distracted by the sight of Rafe lounging in a chair by the window, at his knee a little table bearing a tray with four pints of ale. He waved graciously, like King Meredan acknowledging a crowd of cheering subjects.

“Make no mistake,” Cade intoned. “You
will
die for this.”

“You can’t kill me tonight, we’ve a show in four hours. Have a drink, whyn’t you? And I’ll tell you who I saw on my walk back from the baths.”

Mieka grabbed up two glasses and shoved one at Jeska. “Here. Down this, and then go do something about downing
that
.” He
nodded to the now very obvious result of staring at the girl.

Rafe had noticed. It was difficult not to notice. He smiled sweetly and observed, “I see you’ve met Kazie. She’s only just arrived this past spring from the Islands, and she’s Croodle’s cousin, so hands to yourself, Bowbender—and, like Mieka, I do mean that literally.”

Having emerged from his daze, Jeska glared at them all, took a few swallows of ale, and snatched his clothing from a chair. “To Hells with you, then,” he said, and betook himself off to the garderobe down the hall.

“Who’d you see?” Mieka asked, discarding his towel and stretching out naked on his bed.

“The little blond. The one from the Keymarker. Again. She saw me, as well, and hurried the opposite direction.”

“Delusional,” Mieka said sadly. “How
will
we break it to Crisiant and his mother?”

“I saw her,” Rafe insisted.

“Of course you did,” Cade agreed. “And when you find her again, you can hire her to protect
you
.”

* * *

S
omething was wrong with this audience. Mieka suspected it almost from the start of “Hidden Cottage,” but he knew it for certain sure when nobody laughed at the pig.

He’d been casting worried glances at Rafe since the evil sisters spirited away the beautiful bride. By the time the young lordling went in search of her, Mieka was watching Cayden as well. Nothing was different from how they usually played the piece. Jeska was spot on with his lines and gestures. Mieka created and Rafe managed the magic with all their customary skills. But Jeska was having to work hard at winning the audience—something he
never
had to do. Rafe was having to struggle with the flow of magic—and not because it was irregular or Mieka was bungling
it. Cade was knot-browed, hands gripping his lectern as his gaze swept the audience again and again, searching for Mieka knew not what.

People simply weren’t responding. Moreover, they knew they ought to be responding, and were becoming restless.

Mieka didn’t have the skill to probe the audience the way Rafe and Cade were doing. All he could do was his work, although the temptation to ratchet up the intensity of the magic was nigh on irresistible. The bluethorn meant he could do it if he chose. He held off, sweating and baffled, until all at once there was a roar of laughter and everything was suddenly, simply, completely fine.

They got through to the end of the playlet and the applause was, as he’d come to expect, deafening. If the audience didn’t note the grimness of the smiles as Touchstone took their bows, mayhap it was because Rafe had left lingering laughter in the hall.

There was no laughter on their walk back to Croodle’s.

“That performance,” Jeska said wearily, “was
not
fun.”

“That performance,” Cade announced, “was interfered with, and by somebody with only half an idea what he was doing.”

“It wasn’t a ‘he’!” Rafe snapped. “I
told
you I’d seen her—and now look what she did to us tonight!”

“Erm…” Mieka plucked at Cade’s sleeve. “What exactly happened? I mean, I felt it, but I’m not sure what was going on.”

“Nothing like what she did at the Keymarker. This was—it was like a wall between us and the audience. Nothing was getting through. Oh, bits and pieces here and there, but—no, it wasn’t a wall, like,” Cade said, searching as always for the right words. “More of a—”

“Like somebody’d wrapped the audience in wool,” growled Rafe. “Things were getting through, but nowheres near the way they ought.”

“I couldn’t get them to laugh,” Jeska muttered. “Not like they usually do.”

“Not your fault, mate,” Mieka reassured him.