Finder: First Ordinance, Book One Page 2

  "See that you do." Hirill nodded to the stablemaster and stalked away while I trotted behind, on my way back to the kitchens.

  "Find it?" Wolter thought to ask after a while. The soup had still been waiting in the floor for me when I returned to the kitchen, so I'd set to cleaning the rest of it up with a stifled sigh. I nodded at Wolter's question while I dumped a heavy pot in the washtub to soak.

  "She always does," Irdith cackled. Had she any idea how I loathed her? If she'd heard what I had that afternoon, she'd have hobbled straight to Tamblin as fast as her arthritic joints would allow. She, no doubt, would have reported that Hirill and the stablemaster had mentioned hearing from Amlis, his second and less-favored son, as if that were a common occurrence.

  "Snow coming," Wolter's chief assistant scrubbed his boots on the step before walking onto clean flagstones in the kitchen. Jerking my head up, I stared at him. Using the gift I had, I searched for the information, determining that it was true.

  We were in the second moon-turn of the year, in which the weather was often the coldest and most unpredictable. Snow was definitely coming, even this far south. We seldom saw the white powder (in my experience, anyway), and when we did, it was generally a light dusting that melted away with the dawn. This would prove worse.

  "You think it has something to do with," Wolter cut his question off quickly, turning his head to see that Irdith was dozing in her chair by the hearth. She truly was asleep; I used my gift to determine it.

  Many times, I wondered how Irdith imagined she was fooling anyone—she did little work, was past the age to do any, and still managed to dress better than anyone else inside the kitchen.

  "Yes." Chen's reply was soft and accompanied by a nod from Wolter's short, thin assistant. Chen was softer around the edges than Wolter, and had darker hair with deep-brown eyes. He was quite watchful, his eyes never missing anything, including the mischief three kitchen boys often cooked up with their porridge.

  Silently I cursed the ability I had that allowed me to know things about people but not about events. Yes, I could find things if I knew what I was looking for. Events, historical and otherwise, evaded me unless I knew exactly what to search for. And, since nobody would ever say anything past what Wolter had almost said, I didn't know what it was. The other thing I cursed was the inability to see anything in my visions concerning myself. It frustrated me constantly and ruined many a day.

  "Finder, finish the dishes and you may go for the day," Wolter snapped, causing Irdith to jerk and wake with a snort. I nodded at the head cook, pleased that he'd made Irdith jump and went to finish washing pots and pans.

  * * *

  "She'd be perfect. You never have to tell her anything twice. I know most of the kitchen help see her as mute, deformed and stupid, but only the mute portion of that statement is true, my Prince."

  Chen bowed to Amlis, who'd invited the assistant cook into his chambers late that evening, on the pretext of asking for watered wine to help him sleep. Chen had carried a bottle of his best red and a pitcher of water to the Prince's chambers to serve the King's youngest son himself.

  "Garth in the stables suggested it to me this evening, when I went to check on my horse," Amlis sipped from his glass. He favored his mother, with dark-brown hair and blue eyes, whereas Timblor looked much like his father, with black hair and dark eyes.

  "It was a wise suggestion, my Prince. She cannot carry tales if she cannot speak or write."

  "Agreed. Garth will be rewarded if this is successful." Amlis offered Chen a seat near the fire. Winds were whipping around the castle walls and chilling the inhabitants more than usual during the winter. Snowflakes were flying, but nothing had settled on the ground for longer than a few seconds before sailing off again. Chen accepted the seat—and the warmth—gratefully.

  "Her talent for finding things will surely be an asset," Chen acknowledged.

  "Why is it that I have had no news of this before, or that she is still in the kitchen when she displays this sort of ability?" Amlis asked.

  "Her inability to speak, coupled with Wolter's threats. He wouldn't allow it before, but then a Prince of the Realm has never asked for her services before. Wolter was terrified she'd be taken when Yevil tore a boy apart who stole his purse—she found the purse for Yevil, albeit unwillingly. If Irdith hadn't shoved her forward and announced that Finder could locate the purse, the girl would never have volunteered. It's as if she knew something awful was coming and attempted to hide behind Wolter." Chen accepted the offered glass of wine from Amlis, sipped from the crystal goblet and sighed in satisfaction.

  "How old was she, then?"

  "Twelve, I think, if Irdith's calculations are correct."

  "Where did she come from? I've not heard of that kind of talent before."

  "No one knows. She was dumped in the kitchen at the age of two—again according to Irdith—and the staff was informed that her parents were dead."

  "Do you have approximate dates?" Amlis suddenly sounded interested.

  "No. Neither Wolter nor I were in the kitchen at the time. The only one still here is Irdith, and we don't wish to stir that nest if we can help it."

  "Agreed," Amlis drank more wine thoughtfully. "I'll come for her tomorrow, after breakfast."

  "Be prepared; she cleans the hearths and her face and clothing will be filthy."

  "I'll order a bath and my tailor. She'll be dressed as a page before the day's out."

  "Wolter will be furious when I tell him, but I hope Finder will serve you well, my Prince. And remember, Wolter will have her back immediately if you do not find her work satisfactory."

  "I understand."

  * * *

  "Finder?" Wolter's voice startled me and I jerked, dropping the small shovel I used to scrape ashes from a fireplace. I knelt upon a minor noble's hearth, my last of the day before carrying slops and tending to other duties. Turning quickly I gaped, not at the head cook but at the one standing behind him.

  Without introductions, I knew I was staring (rudely) at Prince Amlis. "Finder," Wolter's voice was tinged with anger, "Prince Amlis has need of a page. As there are few young men available now, it is acceptable for a girl to take that position if requested. Amlis has asked that you serve him."

  Blinking, I weighed information and my options. Jumping from the cooking pot into the fire came unbidden to my mind before I nodded. Truly, what else could I have done? The Prince commanded; I was compelled to serve.

  "May I have a word with Finder before she leaves, my Prince?" Wolter asked politely. Inside, I knew he was seething, but he would never show that to a member of the royal family.

  "Of course. I will be waiting outside," Amlis strode through the chamber door.

  "Finder," Wolter knelt next to me and pulled me to his side. "You have no idea of the intrigue, and I have no time to teach you. Watch your back, always. Not everything is as it seems." I nodded mutely at his words as he rose, patting my shoulder awkwardly. "Don't get yourself killed, girl," Wolter growled and let me go.

  * * *

  "Follow me." Amlis' first command was curt. I trotted obediently behind the Prince as he made his way through a warren of hallways that gradually became wider and more richly decorated, until we arrived in the Royal Wing, a place I never thought to set foot.

  Chapter 2

  Hot water and a bathing tub were unknown luxuries to me before that day. Both waited, with a terse "Clean yourself up," from Amlis' cousin Rodrik. I knew from gossip that Rodrik, several turns older than Amlis and a trained master of the sword, had traveled from Vhrist with twelve men-at-arms to keep the Prince safe on the road.

  Vhrist lay on the northern edge of Fyris, and I wanted more than anything to ask Amlis what the mountains there looked like. Asking questions could never be an option for me—trouble waited at the end of that road. Amlis handed me to Rodrik the moment we'd stepped inside his suite, then walked into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

  Rodrik eyed me with a substantial dos
e of distaste before leading me into a much smaller room that held a narrow bed, a washstand, a fireplace and little else. Rodrik was compact where the Prince was lean and lithe, and I imagined the muscles that rippled beneath his close-fitting shirt had been gained in sword practice. I was seventeen and somewhat naïve, but that didn't make me stupid.

  "After you've bathed, there's a shirt on the bed. That'll cover you until the tailor arrives. He'll have something you can wear until clothing is made." Rodrik shut me inside the windowless bedroom, which I assumed was now mine. Shivering for the first time since the ordeal began, I wondered how this would affect my future.

  Stepping into hot water and almost moaning my appreciation, I lowered my body into the tub and allowed the heat to soak into my bones for the first time in memory.

  Soap smelling faintly of vanilla had been provided, along with a cloth that bore no holes or stains. I washed—both my body and my hair—several times; making sure every bit of grime was removed. Rodrik, I figured, would send me right back to the tub if I failed to pass his inspection.

  Only when the water cooled did I leave the tub, hurriedly toweling off and dressing in the crisply ironed shirt that lay across the small bed. It hung to my knees, covering me well enough as I walked to the door and opened it quietly.

  "Ah, here's our new page." I'd kept Amlis waiting. A slight flush stained my cheeks—I hadn't expected him to leave his bedroom to wait outside until I made my appearance. Why hadn't Rodrik pounded on my door like any good man-at-arms, and threatened bodily harm if I didn't hurry? Wolter would have.

  "Come out so we can get measurements," Rodrik snapped. Opening the door fully, I stepped into Amlis' reception area, to see three men gaping at me. After several moments, Rodrik shut his mouth with an audible snap. "Get Denis. Quickly," he barked at a servant who stood near the door.

  Was something wrong with me? I learned from my gift that Denis cut hair, trimmed nails and did other small things for the nobles. My hair, which had grown nearly to my shoulders, was about to be cut. Again.

  "Hmmm," Nirok the tailor walked around me as we waited for Denis, studying my small frame. More ancient than Irdith would ever be, Nirok was stooped but refused a cane. His head was nearly bald but his eyesight had somehow remained sharp and his hands steady.

  A girl, slightly younger than I who bore the same nose as the tailor, had come with him. She carried his measure-tape, pins and other sewing needs inside a large, quilted bag. "Want standard uniforms?" Nirok asked.

  "Three, and two dress uniforms," Amlis replied. "The bootmaker is coming after you're done. He can measure while Denis cuts hair."

  "The haircut will help," Nirok nodded as he began to measure my arms, waist and legs. "When I put my hands here, it means nothing, young woman." He set the tape near my crotch, making me jump. He measured quickly down past my ankle and relayed the measurements to the girl.

  "Have something brought to eat," Rodrik instructed a servant. "No meat for Finder, she doesn't eat it, according to Chen and Wolter." His eyes sought mine; I nodded briefly, still trying to calm the quivering that threatened after Nirok touched me so intimately. "They'll know what to send for her," Rodrik nodded the servant out the door.

  I couldn't eat meat, actually. It made me ill. Irdith had slipped meat or broth into my food at times, and every time I became nauseous. Wolter warned her the last time she'd done it, three turns before. The illness had kept me from my duties for more than a day. I was never sick, otherwise, and Wolter guessed immediately what had happened.

  "You like that?" Amlis eyed my lentils with distaste while cutting into roasted chicken with a jeweled knife. Shrugging at his words, I lowered my eyes and ate.

  Denis had come earlier, cutting my hair away until it was barely two finger-widths in length, the shortest it had ever been.

  "We must make you look as much like the boys as possible, you understand," Rodrik had stood before me, fists on hips as Denis snipped away, my hair falling all around me. Had I looked pitiful as he cut? I certainly felt that way and had, every time the stablemaster had come before and chopped it away. The physician had sent him every time, after he'd cut away the bone spurs.

  "I've never seen this before," Denis held out a clump of my hair. Once clean, it was gold in color, streaked with strands of silver and copper. Shaking his head in confusion, he let the hank drop to the floor. At least he didn't do the cut over Amlis' expensive rugs; hair was nearly impossible to get out of a rug.

  "Better," Rodrik tousled what was left of my hair, making me shrink away from him. None touched me as he and Nirok had. Since I was small, the only contact others had made with me was to strike me after I made a mistake. I had no idea what to do when someone touched me in any other way, or how to interpret it.

  * * *

  "You'll run errands for me, and we'll devise a system of hand signals," Amlis informed me later, as we sat inside his private study. I'd never seen anything so fascinating before and could only imagine what the King's study and library looked like.

  Shelves of books lined the wall behind a beautifully carved, cherry wood desk. Amlis was seated behind the desk while Rodrik sat off to the side, near a window framed with heavy, blue velvet drapes.

  I could see wedges of snow against corners of real glass panes, fit so tightly and so well within the window that not a single draft found its way inside. A thick rug in the royal colors of red and blue lay beneath the desk and chairs. The fireplace covered the wall at my back and it filled the room with warmth. Perhaps being of the royal family did have its advantages.

  "Finder, this means you have a message for me," Amlis tapped his mouth with an index finger. "This," he touched his left earlobe, "means I must come immediately. This," he pulled his right earlobe, "means we are in danger. Do you understand?" I nodded. I was tested. He asked me to give the signal for each and I complied.

  "Good. I think we're ready to start. Carry a message to my brother, asking him to join me for wine tonight," he said, pulling a piece of parchment from a desk drawer and dipping a feather quill into an inkbottle that resembled a ram's head. The quill scratched across parchment as he wrote, his letters even and shapely upon the pale surface.

  "Wait for a reply, I've asked him to send one back with you," Amlis folded and sealed the message with wax. I watched in fascination as he pressed a heavy, gold ring he wore into the softened substance, leaving a royal imprint in the blue wax. Red was reserved for the royal heir, blue for any remaining siblings. Blinking at Amlis, I handled the message carefully and left his study to deliver it. Using my gift, I found my way to Timblor's suite with no trouble.

  * * *

  Rodrik's sigh almost exploded after Finder left him and Amlis behind to deliver the message to Timblor. "By Liron's testicles, man, I never expected that," Rodrik breathed.

  "Neither of us did. How did she keep that from those louts in the kitchen? I have never seen anything that lovely. Thank goodness cutting the hair helped, and her knees and ankles are now covered."

  "I hope the fact that she's mute helps instead of hurts. If I hear of anyone touching her," Rodrik clenched his fists.

  "No one will dare unless it is my brother or my father; she wears my livery, after all," Amlis rose to pace the length of his study, staring blindly at the books behind his desk. "And if either of those dare, there's not a damned thing we can do."

  "She's as skittish as a newborn foal, too. Did you notice?" Rodrik lifted from his chair and gazed out the window. Snow had fallen off and on all day. "Have you read anything about a snowfall this heavy so far south? Have you, cousin?"

  "Fyris is being poisoned again, Rod," Amlis raked fingers through his hair, pronouncing a slight curl in the thick brown wealth. "Father has never seen it, until now."

  "Every fifteen turns, according to the records," Rodrik agreed. "We have the only remaining written records in Vhrist, and those are hidden. If your father learns we still have them," Rodrik didn't finish.

  Every written record had
been torn away and burned after Tandelis died, leaving the throne of Fyris to Tamblin. Most of Fyris' population thought Tandelis had been taken by illness. Amlis had been barely five years of age at the time, his brother Timblor, nine. Timblor had witnessed Tandelis' death, as had his and Amlis' mother, Queen Omina. She'd explained to Amlis the events leading to his father's ascension carefully when he was fourteen, and she refused to come again to Lironis. Tamblin didn't force the issue with his estranged wife—they'd come to an agreement. She wouldn't be forced to return in exchange for her silence.

  "What will we do if the land fails?" Rodrik turned his gaze on Amlis.

  "I will go north—and beg," Amlis replied softly.

  * * *

  "Ah, my brother's new page," Timblor accepted the message I held out. His fingers cracked the delicate seal and half the blue wax dropped onto Timblor's bed cover. Surreptitiously I watched it travel a short distance and fall into a wrinkle of expensive fabric as Timblor, dark haired and eyed, squirmed into a more comfortable position before unfolding the note to read.

  "Brin," Timblor snapped his fingers. Brin, Timblor's page and personal servant, brought parchment, ink and a quill immediately. Brin was past the age to be serving as a page, but as there was a shortage of boys of the proper age, it made sense that he stay with Timblor.

  He was nearly of an age with the Prince, but his square face was utilitarian at best, with a thin line of a mouth, heavy black brows and thick, black hair. A few freckles dusted pale skin, most of them littered across the nose.

  I had the idea that Brin didn't smile often, but neither did I. Perhaps he thought, as I did, that there wasn't much to smile about. He was also a hand shorter than Timblor, and more sturdily built. Timblor was wide across the shoulders from much sword practice, narrow at the waist and hips, his thighs strong from riding horseback.

  These things I knew, not just because I was finally seeing the reality, but from firsthand accounts from many maids who'd dallied with the Prince. I was now in the presence of the one who regularly seduced chambermaids.