Valdemar 03 - [Collegium 01] - Foundation (5 page)

Maybe that was what had emboldened Davey in the matter of snitching sparklies.

He slipped back to his seam before the brothers noticed that there wasn't any tapping coming from his. And as he carefully pried stones out of the wall, he shivered and wondered.

Most of the time the kiddies were too tired to do anything but sleep when they piled into the sleep-hole. But that didn't keep them from knowing stories about all kinds of horrible things. The Pieters boys had their own store of tales that they told out, pretending to tell them to each other, but really doing it to scare the kiddies working the seams. Most of the stories were about awful things down here in the mines. There were the ghosts of anyone that had died down here, and Mags knew of some few. These ghosts went about looking for someone who was the exact age they had been when they died—and when they found him, they would tear him apart trying to figure out a way into his body.

There were the Knockers, twisted-up little dwarfs no taller than your knee, but monstrous strong. They would wait until everyone was preoccupied and then just snatch a kiddie, grabbing him in his seam before he could utter a sound, bashing his head in with his own hammer, then dragging off the body to eat.

There were the Whisps, ghost-lights that would lead you into dangerous parts of the mine, then drop a rockfall on you. They'd do it by putting you to sleep, then getting you to walk in your sleep to where they were going to kill you.

There were the Horrors, that got into your head and made you crazy, like the night-shift cripples. When the Horrors got you, all you saw was black things coming at you, all claws and red eyes, and you'd drive your head against the wall of the shaft to try and get them out, or you'd make a cave-in yourself to try and stop them, or if they managed to bring you above the ground, you'd throw yourself down the well to be rid of them.

But every one of those was a monster
in
the mine. What about out of it? What was roaming about out there that was so scary the Pieters boys wouldn't name it, wouldn't describe it, and didn't have any bragging ideas on how to get rid of it?

Suddenly, he didn't want to leave at the end of the shift.

And it wasn't just because the sluice water would be so cursed cold.

No, he was afraid that whatever
it
was, it would be up there, Some sort of devil. Mags didn't believe in gods, but he believed, most fervently, in devils.

And if a devil had come here, there was likely only one person it had come for. Well, two, maybe, except the boys were saying that Cole Pieters was driving the thing off himself, so it hadn't come for Master Cole.

All right, then. It had to be coming for Mags. Because Mags was Bad Blood. It would grab him and drink his blood to make itself stronger. And then it would carry him away to torment him forever.

No, he did not want to leave the mine now.

But of course, he had no choice.

T
HEY heard the commotion before they emerged from the mine, but it didn't sound like monsters were invading Master Cole's property. It sounded more like the day some fool from the local highborn had come nosing about, or at least trying to. He'd brought an armsman with him, but it didn't do him any good. There was two of them, and a half dozen of Cole Pieters' sons, and if they didn't know how to use swords, they didn't need to, as anyone around would know they were damned good with their crossbows. Master Cole had run the man off then, and no mistaking it. He hadn't come back either.

Cole had been hollering about his rights then, and he was doing so now. His voice echoed harshly down the mine shaft. “I know my rights! Ye can't just swan in here and make off with whoever ye choose! These are
my
workers, homeless criminals every one, signed for and turned over to me to use as I need until their time runs out!”

Criminals?
Now Mags knew that was a lie, and a big fat one, too. None of them were criminals, not even he. No one had been signed over by gaolers. Everyone here was here through no fault of their own . . .

“Evidently,” drawled a new voice, sounding lazy, but with a hard edge of anger beneath the words that Mags doubted Master Cole was hearing. “Evidently you don't know your rights as well as you think you do, Cole Pieters. I
do
have the right to ‘swan in here' and take whomever I please. You are the one violating the law, denying a Companion access to his Chosen, and preventing a Herald from exercising his duty.”

Mags relaxed. He didn't really know what a Herald or a Companion were, though the latter sounded dirty, and he really didn't care. As long as it wasn't monsters come to tear him to pieces, or devils to torment him, he didn't care.

He emerged, blinking as usual, into the bright light of noon. And there was something of a standoff going on in the yard between the mine and the house and its outbuildings.

There was a man all in white, with two white horses, standing right at a barricade hastily thrown up across the lane leading to the yard. Behind the barricade were Cole Pieters and all of his sons, just like the time when that other fellow had come snooping. Only this time the crossbows weren't trained on the stranger, much to Cole Pieters' obvious fury, as he kept looking back at his sons.

“Pa,” said Endal Pieters, his voice flooded with uncertainty, crossbow pointed at the ground and not even cocked. “Pa, that's a Herald. That's a
Herald,
Pa!”

“I can see that!” Pieters snapped. “And the man's daft, and so's his horse! There's nothing here for them to take! I ain't letting go of any of you, no more your sisters, and there's nothin' in
that
trash—” he waved at the emerging mine crew, “—that any of them should come calling for! This is just an excuse to come snooping where they ain't wanted, and they can turn around and—”

“Pa, it's a
Herald—
”

“I don' care if it's the King hisself! I know my rights!” Pieters' face was getting very red indeed. Mags wondered if he was finally going to have that apoplectic fit he'd been threatening to have for years now.

Well, Pieters might or might not know his rights, but the kiddies knew when to stay out of the way. The mining crew going in scuttled across the yard and down the shaft as quick as could be, while the outgoing crew scuttled toward the eating shed as fast as they could. It didn't do to fall under Master Cole's eye when he was like this because if he saw you, then you would be the next thing he took out his anger on when things settled down. It was especially true if he saw you looking at him.

So they all kept their heads down and got across the yard as quick as they could, heading for the colorless daughter waiting in the shed for them, and the equally colorless cook nervously ladling out bowls of soup. And it was a sign of how bad things were that there was no one to take the little sacks from them, the sacks that held their sparklies.

Mags caught Davey looking sly then, and he knew that Davey was thinking up some deviltry to be sure. And right enough, Davey was just about to snatch Burd's little sack from him, when up came Jarrik and took it from him, then took Davey's with a dirty look. Mags was quick to hand his over before Jarrik could even put his hand out for it. He couldn't be rid of it soon enough. Then he headed off across the yard as Jarrik headed for his brothers and the standoff at the gate.

But at that moment, everything changed again.

“That's the one!” the man shouted imperiously, every trace of lazy drawl gone. “Him! You there! Boy!”

Startled, Mags looked to see who the man was shouting at, and to his bewilderment, saw the finger pointing straight at
him.
And one of the horses began rearing and prancing and carrying on like it had a burr under its saddle, tossing its mane and flagging its tail.

Bewilderment turned to panic as all the rest turned to stare at him. Mags looked from side to side for a place to hide, but there wasn't anything. He was caught like a mouse in the middle of a kitchen floor, with hungry cats on every side of him.

“I didn' do nothin'!” he squeaked. “I bin workin'! I bin workin', I tell ya! It ain't me!”

Truly, he had never seen this man or anyone like him in all his life, so how could the fellow be so sure it was
him
he wanted?

“I will be
damned
if ye take my best worker!” Pieters roared. “Ye kin take yer damned horses and be off with ye, or so help me—”

But the man had an even louder voice than Pieters, and the boys were all looking very alarmed now. “You
will
turn over that boy to me, or I'll bring the Guard here and turn over every stone in the place and find every last lie and every last penny you've cheated the Crown out of and every last mistreatment of your servants you've done since you were in swaddling clothes!” he shouted, as Endal plucked at his father's sleeve and begged, “The Guard, Pa! He's gonna call the Guard on us! We cain't hold off the Guard! Be reasonable!”

And that was when things got very strange indeed.

Jarrik pulled Endal away from their father, and shoved him toward Mags. “Get him! Bring him here!” Jarrik growled, and then motioned to two of his brothers, who surrounded their father and bodily shoved him off to the side, arguing with him in harsh whispers.

Meanwhile Endal had crossed the yard, seized Mags by the ear, and was dragging him toward the man, with Mags hissing in pain the entire way.

Endal only let go of his ear when they were within touching distance of the man and the horses, if the barricade hadn't been in the way. Mags had never been this close to a horse before. Not a real horse. The mining carts and machinery were all pulled by donkeys, and he had never been allowed near the stables, nor the Pieters boys when they were mounted.

These horses were big. Very big, They smelled sweetly of cut grass and clover, with overtones of leather. Truth to tell, now that he was this close to them, they scared him. Something that big could mash his foot flat with a silver hoof and never notice, knock him down and trample him and move along without even noticing.

He stared down at the ground, unable to move, while the men shouted over his head. What could this fellow, this Herald, want anyway? He hadn't done anything! He never left the mine!

This . . . couldn't be about his parents, could it? But what did he have to do with what they'd done? He'd only been a baby. . . .

“This boy is coming with me.” The man was not shouting now, but he didn't have to, the anger in his voice was like a bludgeon. “You try and stop me, and so help me, I will do exactly what I said I would. The Guard will be here. They will tear this place apart. If you have done one thing wrong, we will find it. And then you will be for it,
Master
Cole.”

There was some urgent whispering as Mags stared and stared at his own two feet, until he had memorized every dirt-encrusted line, could have measured out his clawlike toenails in his sleep, knew he would be seeing them perfectly even if he closed his eyes. He couldn't make out what the whispering was about, but it sounded as if the boys were getting their way with the old man. Finally Cole growled, “Then you'll be paying me for him.”

The man barked a not-laugh. “Pay you for him? Slavery is illegal in Valdemar, Cole Pieters. You can be thrown in gaol for owning slaves, or selling them.”

“I've spent a fortune feeding and clothing this boy!” Cole sputtered. “Eating his head off, taking my charity, giving back naught—”

“A fortune, is it?” The angry drawl was back. “What kind of a fool do you take me for? I'm neither blind nor ignorant. I can see from here what kind of slop you feed these children. A good farmer wouldn't give it to a pig. And if there is a rag on their backs that isn't threadbare and decades old, I will eat it. As for shelter, where are you having them sleep? I don't see a house big enough for them. Are you keeping them in the barn? In a cellar?” His tone got very dangerous, and Mags shivered to hear it. “Exactly what
have
you been spending all the money given to you for the keep of orphans on?”

What money?
Mags thought dazedly. But Cole was right on top of that one.

“What money?” he sneered. “Nobbut one person wanted these brats. No fambly wanted 'em, no priest wanted 'em. And their villages couldn 'ford another mouth to feed. Charity! It was my own charity that took 'em in, useless, feckless things that they be! My charity that feeds 'em, and me own kids going short—”

“Oh that's a bit much even for you, Cole Pieters.” There was a growl under the drawl. “If you are going to claim all that, then I think perhaps a visit from the Guard
and
Lord Astley's Clerk of Office would be a very, very good thing.”

There was a great deal more of that sort of thing, most of it so far over Mags' head that it might as well have been in a foreign tongue. But the man was winning.

Mags only wished if he could tell if that was a good thing or a bad one. Usually he would immediately have said that anything Cole Pieters was against was going to be good for
him,
but now, he wasn't so sure.

Finally, Pieters literally picked Mags up by the scruff of the neck, hauled him off the ground like a scrawny puppy, and shoved him over the barrier at the man, shouting “Take him then! Take him, and be damned to you!”

Without a word, the man mounted one of the two horses, reached down to grab Mags' arm and picked him up like so much dirty laundry, then dumped him on top of the other horse.

Mags froze stiff with fear, his hands going instinctively around the knobby part of the thing he was sitting on, his legs clamping as hard as they could to the horse's sides. But—but—but—