He nodded. “Got a errand first, but it’s t’ see a friend. Nobody’s bothered me ’tween classes or in classes.”
Yet.
He pushed the thought down.
“All right then, we’ll meet you here before lunch. Joy will set it up with Dallen.” Gennie headed off, and Mags scooted out the door and aimed for the Royal Kennels.
Marc was feeding the gaze-hounds, and turned toward him with a worried frown when the dogs alerted on the stranger and he spotted that it was Mags in the building.
“Mags—”
“I know, I know,” he replied hastily. “Thet is t’ say, I know things’r bein’ said ’bout me, but nobody’ll tell me ’xactly what it is. Marc, I gotter know what them Foreseers saw. ’Xactly what they saw. Iff’n there’s any detail, mebbe I kin figger out if I got any real connection wi’ it.”
Marc nodded, a lock of his red hair falling over his forehead. “All right, I can talk to Lydia and she can find out easily enough. Amily probably can too, and she’s up here with her father. I’ll talk to both, and have Amily get hold of you to tell you what she found. No point in passing things through too many hands, or having too many of us all asking the same questions. It all gets muddled.”
“It does that,” he said. His head hurt, trying to puzzle through all of this.
Marc sucked on his lower lip. “Amily can make out as if she’s asking on behalf of her father, and that will get her the stuff straight from the Foreseers.”
Mags nodded, still wishing he could talk to them himself. There were supposed to be Foreseers among the Heralds, weren’t there? It wasn’t a common Gift, but surely there should be one . . .
“Bugger,” he said aloud. All this, and he still had classes to deal with. And Kirball. He felt like a juggler with only one arm.
His unofficial bodyguard turned up at lunch, just as Gennie said they would, and universally declared that his habit of eating a very little before practice was a wise one. Gennie sent Pip off to the kitchens to explain what they needed, and shortly Pip came back with a heavy basket “for afters.” There were pocket pies in there. Dallen was going to be thrilled.
The people in the dining hall who were not in Grays or Whites outnumbered those that were, and this time, despite the presence of the others around Mags, there was a lot of buzz of sullen conversation around them. And a lot of narrowed eyes and black looks.
Finally Halleck seemed to tire of it all. He stood up; Mags had no idea that he was going to do anything other than, well, leave, when his voice suddenly roared out like an angry boarhound.
“All of you. Shut up!”
Shocked silence descended. The attention of every person in the dining hall was riveted on the Trainee. And Halleck was not a small young man; he was at least as tall, if not a little taller, than any other Trainee, and he had a truly impressive set of shoulders. Halleck looked around belligerently. “You people are like a bunch of nasty-minded old village gossips, you know that? Like a bunch of vipers. Hiss, hiss, hiss, and all that happens is you stir each other up over nothing. The Foreseers saw this. The Foreseers saw that. Well for one thing, the Foreseers have been too damn chatty about this, and they should bloody well know better. You don’t go flinging dung around and act surprised when it hits innocent people. For another, my Gift is Foresight, and you know what I saw?”
He waited.
Silence.
“Nothing. That’s right. Nothing. I haven’t Seen a damn thing since then either, and it is not for lack of trying. I’ve done everything I can to get a glimpse; nothing. Now don’t you think, me actually knowing Mags and all that, if he had anything at all for us to be worried about, I would have Seen something?”
More silence.
“Sometimes we See really detailed stuff. Mostly, we don’t. The farther off it is, the more confused and unclear it gets, and the more we see things that are more like symbols of what’s going to happen than the actual event. Now will you people stop acting like a crowd of hateful, vicious old gossips with too much time on their hands and too much venom on their tongues and start acting like responsible Trainees? People your Circles can be proud of instead of wincing every time your names are mentioned? Yes? No?” He waited for an answer.
Mags could still sense hostility and plenty of it.
“Bah, remind me never to rely on any of you for anything that actually requires thinking,” Halleck spat, and sat down again.
“Well done,” Gennie said warmly. He grinned at both of them.
Then he turned to Mags. “I’ll tell you the truth, Mags. Foreseers—especially all the ones attached to Temples and the like, which is, so far as I know, all the ones who saw anything about the King and a foreigner—like to make out that they know more than they do.” Halleck rubbed one eye, ruefully. “I guess it kind of comes with the whole priestly thing. Direct information from the gods and all that. Most of the ones that I know of are honest enough not to actually make stuff up, but then you get other people jumping to whatever conclusions they care to. I suppose it could all be construed as a kind of test of people’s character.”
Mags nodded.
Halleck shrugged apologetically. “Mostly what we get is glimpses. And those glimpses are exactly like glimpses you yourself would get if you were rushed past an event, fast, a little confused, and not all that clear. That is hard enough, but once a little time has passed—the visions become memories and memories get mixed up, blurred, changed by what other people tell us.”
Mags nodded. Pip piped up. “That’s why they tell us to get witnesses to give statements as detailed as possible right away. The problem with memory is that it’s often mistaken.”
“Eyewitnesses tend to see what they expect to see, too,” Halleck reminded them. “Now, Foreseers do get special training so that we try and concentrate when we get a vision, and more or less turn off the thinking parts of our minds, but who knows what it was that gave those others the ‘feeling’ that the person with the King was a foreigner?”
“Enough of all this. We have practicing to do,” said Gennie. “And I want to find out how many of the others can join us at meals. If we put enough teammates between Mags and the idiots, at least they’ll be smart enough not to gossip in front of us and we can all eat in relative peace.”
Mags sighed. “Relative” was the operable word here.
He thought about hiding in the Guard Archives to study, because he was all too aware when other Grays and Heralds came into the stable. Some of them didn’t know, or had forgotten, that he lived out there—but most of them knew it, and it made them uneasy. But then he thought better of the idea. According to Tam and Liam, the two “not-quite-Guardsmen,” there was plenty of speculation going on among their fellows about “what should be done about that Trainee Mags.” He really didn’t want to find himself cornered by Guardsmen who had decided that “what should be done about him” was to be locked up or sent out of Haven altogether, on the theory that if he wasn’t in Haven then what had been Foreseen wouldn’t happen.
Nice theory anyway. Because after all, the Foreseers couldn’t tell where their vision had taken place, so he had heard. He could be sent out of Haven only to encounter the King by another accident.
It reminded him of a kind of morbid song Lena sang to him and Bear once, about a man who had his fortune told, and it was that he would meet Death in the village square the next day. So he flung himself on a horse and rode like the wind until at a few drips short of the appointed hour, and he dismounted in front of an inn in another city. Thinking he had escaped, he turned, and ran right into Death who said in surprise, “Oh thank you, you saved me a trip!” and took him.