Deflated, the merchant named a price, there was a little haggling, and the merchant placed the ring in a small satin bag and handed it over in exchange for several coins.
“Now, Trainee, as you have saved me from being cheated, I would like to treat you to luncheon. Would you permit me?”
Mags gaped at him. “Ah ... er ...”
:It’s all right, open your shields a bit and you’ll see,: Dallen advised. Mags followed his suggestion, and let the man’s surface thoughts wash over him for a little.
And Dallen was right; this was nothing more sinister than a kindly man who was grateful for Mags’ help. And it did not hurt that Mags was a Trainee. Mags got the distinct impression that the man was getting a bit of a thrill to be around a Heraldic Trainee.
He ducked his head. “Was doin’ no more than I should, sir,” he said modestly. “But thankee. ’Twould be kind on ye.”
The man smiled broadly and held out his hand. “Soren Mender,” he said. Mags took the proffered hand and shook it.
“Trainee Mags,” he replied. He liked the man’s face. Seamed with wrinkles, which all looked as if they had been formed out of good humor rather than bad temper.
“Well, Trainee Mags, there is a nice little tavern just over that way—” the man pointed to Mags’ right, “—and if you’ll come with me, I suspect you could wrap yourself around the outside of something hot and filling.”
Mags laughed. “’Spect I could, Master Soren,” he replied. “Lead on.”
Chapter 12
Mags was no fool. He knew very well that Master Soren could be harboring intentions that were not good toward him.
But they were going to eat in a public place, he had done Master Soren a favor, his own brief glimpse at the man’s thoughts revealed no guile, and Dallen vouched for the man. All of these things counted for something; Dallen vouching for him counted enough that Mags felt reasonably safe.
And Soren gave him none of the signals he would have thought showed danger. They sat down, one on either side of a small table in the window, where the sun streamed warmly through the hand-sized, thick glass panes. The girl brought them hot cider, poured from the same thick pottery pitcher; Soren gave him no recommendations for food, and ordered the same when Mags asked for meat pies.
“So, you mined gemstones?” Soren asked, when the food arrived. He tilted his head to the side a little. “Aren’t you rather young for that?”
Mags surprised even himself with the bitterness of his reply. “Master Cole what owned the mine reckoned th’ smaller, th’ better. For fittin’ inter tunnels.”
Soren chewed his lower lip. “I will take it that this was ... not a good situation.”
Mags hesitated. Should he tell his story to this stranger? No one had told him not to. And now that he was here, in Haven and at the Collegium, could even Cole Pieters and his friends touch him? By now they surely had figured out that he was the one who had acted as informant for everything. They would have to be thicker than even he thought not to have done so.
Mags nibbled thoughtfully on a bit of crust for a moment, then slowly began to tell Soren just what it was like to work for Cole Pieters. Without the murders; he was relatively certain that the Heralds would not want him telling about those.
And Soren had a very interesting reaction to it all. He didn’t get angry, as Jakyr had, nor did he act as if it didn’t matter because it hadn’t happened to him. Instead, an expression of grave sorrow slowly moved over his face, and the more he heard, the sadder he became.
Finally, he sighed. “I wish there was a way that all this could be made up to you, and your fellows, Mags. That man stole so much from you—years of your lives that you will never get back.” He shook his head mournfully.
Mags could only shrug. “
“’Tis what it is,” he replied.
“But I never dreamed there could be something like that going on in Valdemar. It ... offends me.” He paused, and Mags wondered if he should say something. Then Soren nodded his head as if deciding something. “Now that I know that they do ... Mags, what would be a good way of keeping youngsters from falling into such places?”
Why is he asking me? Mags wondered, feeling stunned. He opened his mouth to ask that very question, but what came out was not that at all. “Mebbe you c’d do somethin’ with the law,” he heard himself saying. “Make it bad t’ put kiddies to work or som’thin.”
“It would have to be the ‘or something,’ Soren mused aloud. “We don’t want to penalize farm folk who rely on their children and extra hands. But, yes, I see your point, and I think that would be a good start.” He straightened up again, and nodded decisively. “Well, my young friend, is there anything more I can do to thank you?”
Mags shook his head, blushing. “Ye went well over, feedin’ me. All I did was wut I should do, aye? Bein’ a Trainee an’ all.”
“Well, I don’t need to ask you why you are still here with Midwinter Festival upon us, so ... let me do this. If you haven’t anything better to do, you are welcome to join our ongoing festivities.” Soren smiled at him, but not in any kind of patronizing fashion. “We don’t hold parties as such; we keep an open house, and if people are inclined and like-minded, they more-or-less form parties. Here—” He took a small card out of a pouch at his belt, borrowed a pen and ink from the taverner, and wrote out some directions in a careful hand. “Here you are,” he said, handing it to Mags. “You can simply arrive, and feel free to bring a friend or friends. The only part of our celebration that is set in stone is the Midwinter Day Feast, and a Midwinter Eve ceremony. All the rest is freeform.”
Mags waved the card to be sure that it was dry, and tucked it safely away. “I ‘spect I’ll have to get permission,” he said, feeling a great interest in seeing this “open house.”
Soren nodded. “And I expect that will be no difficulty for you. All right, Trainee Mags,” he said, standing up and offering his hand. “It has been a very great pleasure to be in your company, and thank you for the timely intervention—”
“Jes’ a moment, Master Soren,” he interrupted, suddenly thinking of something. “Kin I see th’ ring again?”
With an odd glance, Soren obliged him. Using a ray of sunlight that the windows were inadvertently concentrating, he turned the stone this way and that, peering at the flaw. Finally, he turned the ring upside down and looked at it from the back.
“Ha!” he exclaimed. “Lookit yon. She looks like a bird, flyin’. That there makes it more satisfyin’, eh? Still a flaw, but now turns into an asset kind of flaw.”
“A bird?” Soren leaned closer, peering at the stone. “By the Havens, it does! You have helped me out twice today, my young friend, and now I am truly in your debt!”
Mags blushed again, a deeper crimson than before, and handed back the ring. “Ye won’t say that if I c’n come to yer party, Master Soren,” he replied with a laugh. “’Cause I c’n eat a lot!”
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Herald Caelen looked at the small piece of stiff paper with a look of absolute astonishment on his face. “Mags ... do you know whose address is on this card?”