CHAPTER
10
Jex spoke briefly in the middle of the night, in a voice so faint that Maja strained to hear it.
“There is a touching point near Barda. An island off the coast. Angel Isle.”
The sun was barely clear of the horizon and the dawn still dew-fresh when the old groom came riding up the hillside, accompanied by a uniformed functionary and two servants leading pack mules. Maja was already awake, so rose and staggered down to meet them with her finger to her lips.
“Morning, missy,” said the groom, grinning. “Thought you’d be fancying a bit of breakfast.”
“Lovely,” she whispered. “I’m starving. But please don’t wake Ribek. He pretty well killed himself, running up the hill last night. Shall I get Saranja?”
The functionary interrupted with a pompous cough.
“You have two hours,” he said. “At that point a delegation from the Court of Proctors will arrive to greet and thank you for your services to the City of Larg. It would be appreciated if you and your friends are ready to receive them.”
“We’ll do our best.”
“Furthermore, I am instructed to enquire of you how the City may best reward you for the aforementioned services. We will need to know your names. Perhaps you had better wake your friend.”
Saranja was always snarly first thing, and wasn’t at her most gracious as she spelled the names out and the functionary wrote them down. He became steadily huffier, and barely controlled his astonishment at the idea that they couldn’t wake Benayu and they’d need a litter for him.
“I will inform the Court of your requirement,” he said stiffly, and bowed and turned away.
“Could have asked a bit more than that, missy,” the groom whispered to Maja. “Gave me a medal and a purse of silver without me so much as hinting.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the functionary, already fussing over his horse’s harness, making it clear he was too important to keep waiting.
“I’d better be off,” he said. “You’ll be coming back to Larg one day?”
“I hope so.”
“Look us up, supposing you do. We’ll have a lot to talk over.”
He trotted off, cupped his hands to give the functionary a leg-up into his saddle, and then swung himself up as nimbly as if he’d been thirty years younger.
They rode away down the hill, the groom keeping a respectful half length behind the functionary. The two servants stayed and unloaded the mules. There were fresh logs for the fire, fodder for the horses, cooking utensils and two hampers.
Maja opened one, found a long, narrow, crusty loaf, still warm from the oven, and broke a piece off to keep her going till breakfast was ready.
Ribek groaned, yawned, stretched and sat stiffly up.
“I’ve been dreaming of sausages,” he grumbled. “Still am. Fat chance up here.”
“It isn’t our kind of sausage,” said Maja through an unfinished mouthful. “But it’s lovely. Here.”
She offered him her plate.
“Still dreaming,” said Ribek, and helped himself. Happily she watched him munching like a well man.
“Jex spoke to me last night,” she said. “He sounded terribly weak. But he says there’s a touching point near Barda. It’s called Angel Isle.”
He nodded, but his mouth was too full of sausage for him to answer.
“Do you think it’s all right to move Benayu, supposing Sponge will let us touch him?” said Saranja as they watched the procession climb the road. “I mean, does he have to stay where he is till he’s got all his whatever-it-is back?”
“Anima, I suppose,” said Ribek, wiping the grease off his mouth and fingers and rising to his feet. “This sort of thing—it comes from another universe, Benayu says. Maybe our ‘here’ doesn’t matter there.”
“Anyway, Zara would have told us,” said Maja, rising too and moving with the others to the roadside to meet the procession.
A mounted herald in a splendid surcoat, with a banner sticking up from his saddle, led the way. Behind him came six Proctors, and several other dignitaries, all on horseback, and an armed escort on foot. The morning sunlight glittered off their spear points in the clean hill air. The travelers waited respectfully for the riders to dismount.
The herald lifted a trumpet to his lips and blew a strange, unmusical note: Paaarrrrrp! He took a scroll from his pouch and started to read.
“Plenipotentiary delegation from the Court of Proctors of the Sovereign City-State of Larg. Occasion: Award of the Freedom of Larg to the following. Saranja Urlasdaughter, please step forward.”
She did so, head high, as if born for this moment of glory. The President opened one of the boxes, took out what looked like a gold medal on a chain and hung it round Saranja’s neck.
“Saranja Urlasdaughter,” he said, “by order of the Council of Proctors I hereby invest you with the state and all the ancient privileges of a Freewoman of Larg.”
He handed her the scroll, and then almost managed to startle her out of her hero mode by kissing her soundly on both cheeks, but she recovered enough to thank him and say she was very honored and shake his hand.
Ribek when his turn came walked forward with a different kind of swagger, halfway to a dance step, took his kisses as if this sort of thing happened to him most weeks, and winked at Maja as he returned. If she’d been told beforehand that this was going to happen she’d probably have been overwhelmed with shyness, but she managed to carry it off. The President spoke to her in a gentler voice, his kisses were feather light, and he held on to her hand for a moment after he’d shaken it.
“How old are you, Maja?” he asked.
“Twelve, sir.”
“I thought so. I have a granddaughter just your age. If ever she achieves half of what you have done for Larg I shall be proud of her indeed.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Benayu had the same pronouncement read over him. His medal was laid on his chest, but he didn’t get kissed—perhaps because it would have been a hands-and-knees job, and Presidents don’t do that.
Another Proctor stepped forward, opened yet another scroll and started to make a speech.
“Last night will live in the memory of Larg as long as our walls remain, and with it will live the names of these chance-come strangers, who are now strangers no more, but…”
And so on, for some while. When he was finished, servants came round with trays of sweet fizzy white wine in silver goblets, and there were several toasts, after which they stood around finishing their wine and chatting. Ribek was in his element, and Maja stayed close by, not talking much but enjoying his enjoyment. The man who’d lettered the scrolls came up and explained what the Freedom of Larg meant. They got a month’s free board and lodging whenever they passed through, and if in old age they decided to end their days in Larg, the city would keep them in comfort till they died. Furthermore, Larg had treaties with all the seaports up and down the coast, and if they showed their scrolls at any of these they’d be treated as honored guests and helped on their way.
“I don’t suppose Barda’s one of them,” said Ribek. “I think it’s just a fishing village—or used to be.”
“Yes, we have a treaty with Barda. It’s certainly a regular seaport, and has been for many years. It’s still famous for its oysters, but it’s a great deal more than a fishing village these days. After all, Larg must have been a fishing village once. It’s a fair distance north. If that’s where you’re heading for you could consider taking a sea passage, though the season of storms is approaching, and after what we saw last night…”
“That sounds helpful,” said Ribek. “I’d love to be able to listen to the sea.”