The Mackenzie nodded briskly, removing the surgical mask that had fallen around her neck over the thin golden torc.
“Yes. ’Twould be my guess, do you see, that he threw himself down looking all wounded and hurt to be carried in, planning to get up when nobody was looking in the hurry and chaos. Blood on clothing is not the most uncommon of things about here, I’m observing. It’s the Mother’s own luck that I happened to do a quick triage check; and there the spalpeen’s back was, not sliced or cut or stabbed at all. So I grabbed the creature’s nose and poured the dose down his throat.”
Now what?
Guelf felt like a parrot lived in his brain; or that an ax had cut it in half. One side of it was reacting with an instinctive rage. The other…
Was he sent to contact me? I can’t tell. And the man is unconscious and going to stay that way… damned officious Mackenzie. Better send him on to the Grand Constable. The Witch-Queen might easily learn too much. I can’t kill him or keep him, that would make people suspicious right away!
“Right. Father Stanyon, my thanks for defending our interests and referring this decision to me. I’ll take the advice of our ally. Who should take charge of the prisoner, witch?”
The Mackenzie gestured to the men standing by. Both of them were notably hard-faced, and the clothes under their armor were a uniform brown. Scratches and dings and a spray of something reddish-brown dried across one didn’t disguise the snarling face-on bear’s head.
“Those are a couple of Larsdalen men; they came with us. They’ll get the prisoner to the Grand Constable or Lady Juniper, if I ask. Lady d ’Ath is with Odell west of here, at Biggs Junction; our Chief is at Dun Juniper. Mac an donais! Just get the creature out of here, and fast would be best. He smells, and in more ways than one.”
Guelf bowed, a short gesture. “He’s all yours, gentlemen; take him to the Grand Constable and report all you’ve heard. Just give me back the clothes; I hope to identify the man he killed. One more notch on the blade.”
“Come, Odo, we need to say good-bye to Terry and check on Chezzy.”
Guelf sighed gently as he turned away. If the man had been his contact, it was a good thing the Mackenzie had intervened. Good in the short term, at least. A bubble of fear was starting to burn down under his breastbone; fear worse than a spear point coming for his face.
The Mackenzie nodded. “I want him out and harmless. We’ve been warned that the Cutters sometimes possess powers dangerous to ordinary folk, so.”
Father Stanyon crossed himself and murmured a prayer.
The Mackenzie gave him a sardonic look. “We’ll hog-tie him and send him on to the Grand Constable… but he goes drugged. I know more about magic than you do. By definition. And the first and the last and the heart of it is paying attention.”
Guelf looked at Father Stanyon.
He was one of Pope Leo’s men. Very strict, but very brave, and honest… Well, so am I! I just know more Now what? I want to say good-bye to Terry, check up on Chezzy and go to sleep. God, I must sleep!
“Sir Guelf…”
Guelf Mortimer began to start up from his bedroll and draw his sword where it lay near him across his saddle, but forced himself to be still instead.
Am I dreaming? Did I hear that?
It was very dark, but the steel might be seen. He knew that voice: Alex Vinton, Odard’s manservant. But there was nobody here, nobody at all.
God. I keep waiting for provosts with a warrant for arrest. Or to turn around and it’s that bitch d’Ath, smiling. Or one of her pupils. Or I just don’t wake up. Did the man talk? It’s days now… of course he’d talk! Everyone talks when you hold their head under water the fiftieth time! Did he know my name, that’s the question.
There was just a hint of light on the rolling ground around him, starlight teasing with almost-sight.
Or maybe… maybe they don’t talk. The Ascended Masters…
The whisper hung in the star-spangled dark. The moon hung low in the west, this late in the night; a few days past full. Guelf turned, thrashed a second, kicking off his blanket, and staggered up to his feet and away from the sleeping men, past the one sentry.
“Back in a minute,” he mumbled, fumbling with his trews.
“Aye, my lord,” murmured the sentry back.
The latrine was ten paces farther on and a new dark shadow was lying on the far side of the little ditch where the excess dirt had been piled up. The bright moonlight distorted expected shapes and humps.
“Sir Guelf?”
“Vinton?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Guelf controlled his anger. Yelling at the man was not going to help right now and would wake the men behind them. They were all Loiston Manor men, but you never could tell. Chenoweth had had words with all of them before they’d left.
“What news?”
“The Ascended Masters say you are to return to Gervais as fast as possible. A spy has found you and the Lady Mary out and we couldn’t intercept either the spy or the dispatches. They’ve been in the hands of the Regency for several days, now.”
“What’s happened with my damned nephew?”
An odd sound came from across the ditch. “Captured with the Princess by the CUT. I freed him; the fellowship freed her. The little nephilite whore sent the news to her bitch of a mother.”
“Does my nephew know?”
“Good question. You’ve been standing here too long. I’ll meet you on the Woodburn Road after you’ve helped your sister burn the papers. That’s the most important thing; those documents would tell the enemy too much.”
Strange, he thought, letting a stream go into the stinking trench. I’m really going to do that. I can’t really tell why I’m going to do it, though.
The thought floated away. There was a rustle and Vinton was gone. Guelf shrugged before making his way back to the men. He didn’t lie down, but paced quietly near the sentry instead.
His mind was moving, thinking, planning, but the forepart of his brain refused to analyze it. Now and then he’d feel another surge of fear, as if he were floating over one of the waterfalls in gorge of the Columbia, weightless, rushing out into space and turning and turning with the rocks below, and then it would slip away again.
I must get back to Gervais, Guelf thought and spat reflexively. No, the longer but more sure route is my best bet.
Dawn came soon, touching the eastern horizon with a paler color. He grabbed one of the bicycles and spoke quietly to the sentry.
“I’m uneasy about our railroad team. Something woke me up. Tell Sergeant Gavin to carry on as planned and I’ll rejoin you late tomorrow.”
“Sir Guelf, do you think you should? Alone?”
If anything was lacking to convince him that his cover had been ripped, this questioning of his orders was it.
“I’m not losing seven good men just because I’m too timid to follow up my instincts. Carry on.”
He wanted to snap, to yell, to roar at the impertinence of the man
… But he didn’t want to wake up Sergeant Gavin.
Let the interfering old relic sleep. If I’m gone, he’ll wait for me to return. Besides which, he really needs to get the scouting done, not waste time chasing a wild hare called Guelf!
CHAPTER TEN
