“Why?” Skif asked. “Why didn' you just tell 'em t' make you a Herald straight off?”
“And knowing nothing of Heralds or Valdemar? Stubborn I am often, stupid, never. Much I had to unlearn. More did others have to learn of me. Selenay, after Talamir, was my friend and advocate — after them, others. More than enough work there was here, to keep me at the Collegium, replacing the aged Weaponsmaster. More than enough reason to stay, that others have me beneath their eye, and so feel control over me in their hands.” He smiled sardonically. “Did they know what I learn for the Queen here, it is that they would send me out to the farthest Border ere I could take breath thrice.”
Since Skif had seen him at work, he snickered. Alberich bestowed a surprisingly mild glance on him.
“Now, your turn, it is, for answering questions,” he said, and Skif steeled himself. “But first of all, because I would know — why choose to be a thief?”
An odd question, and as unexpected as one of Alberich's rare smiles. Skif shrugged. “ 'Twas that — or slave for m'nuncle Londer. Wasn't much else goin' — an' Bazie was all right.”
His heart contracted at that. All right! What a niggardly thing to say about a man who had been friend, teacher, and in no small part, savior! Yet — if he said more, he put his heart within reach of this Herald, this Alberich, who had already said in so many words that he would use anything to safeguard Valdemar, the Queen, and the Heralds…
And that's bad, how? whispered that new side of him.
Shut up! replied the old.
Skif became aware that a moment of silence had lengthened into something that Alberich might use to put a question. He filled it, quickly. “Bazie was pretty good t'us, actually.” He paused. “You gonna Truth Spell me again?”
Alberich shook his head. “What I did was done in need and haste. Much there is I would learn of you, but most of it will wait. And what I would know, I think you will tell freely for the sake of your friends.”
So now, for a second time, Alberich asked questions about Jass and Jass' master, this time helping Skif to pry out the least and littlest morsel of information in his memory. This time, though, the questions came thoughtfully, as slow as the heat-heavy air drifting above the riverbank and cloaking it in shimmer, each question considered and answered with the same care. Alberich was right about this much. In this case, Alberich's goals and Skif's were one, and the two voices inside him were at peace with one another.
The light had turned golden as they spoke, and the heat shimmer faded. There had been a long time since the last question, and Skif slowly became aware that lunch was wearing thin. As his stomach growled, Alberich glanced over at him again, with a half-smile.
“You know your way about, I think,” the Weaponsmaster said. “Tomorrow we will meet, and you will begin your training with me, and with others.”
Then, with no other word of farewell, Alberich rose and stalked out, his Companion falling in at his side like a well-trained drill partner.
* * * * * * * * * *
“You've been mighty quiet,” Skif said to Cymry in the silence.
:You were doing perfectly well without me,: she replied, with a saucy switch of her tail. :Well Here you are, left perfectly alone on the Palace grounds. You can go and do whatever you want; no keeper, no guardian. You could go climb to the Palace roof if you wanted to, bearing in mind the Queen's Guard might catch you. Or hasn't that occurred to you yet?:
It hadn't, and the revelation hit him like a bucket of cold water.
“You sure?” he gasped.
:As sure as I'm standing here.: She switched her tail again, but this time with impatience. :They trust you. Isn't it time you started to trust them? Just start, that's all.:
An odd, heavy feeling came into his throat. Once again, the sense that something portentous had happened, something that he didn't understand, came over him.
It was more than uncomfortable, it was unsettling, in the sense of feeling the world he knew suddenly shift into something he no longer recognized.
“I'm hungry,” he announced, hastily shunting it all aside. “An’ I reckon I saw some ham an' bacon in that pantry.”
Cymry whickered; it sounded like a chuckle. :I reckon you saw more than that. Go on, come back and meet me here once you've stuffed yourself.:
Skif got up, and now that he was moving again, he felt every single bruise and strain from yesterday's ride.
Was it only yesterday? It felt like a lifetime ago…
As he got up, he actually staggered a little with stiffness. Cymry moved quickly to give him a shoulder to catch himself on, and after he'd steadied himself, he gave her a self-conscious little kiss on her forehead.
:Go on,: she said playfully, giving him a shove with her nose. :Just don't eat until you're sick.:
You didn't become a successful thief without learning the layout of a place on the first time through it. Nevertheless, Skif couldn't help but feeling a little self-conscious as he made his way across the grass, overshadowed by the silent building. And he couldn't help looking for those who might be looking for him. But there were no watchers; Cymry had been right. And when he left the heat of the outdoors for the cool of the great kitchen, he discovered it just as deserted as it had been when Teren brought him.
He opened the pantry doors and stood amid the plenitude, gazing at the laden shelves and full of indecision. Bacon or ham? White bread, or brown? It was too hot to eat anything cooked-up fresh, besides being far too much trouble, but there was an abundance of good things that could be eaten cold. His mouth watered at the sight of a row of ceramic jars labeled “Pikld Beets,” but the discovery of a keg of large sour cucumber pickles made him change his mind about the beets. There were so many things here that he had only tasted once or twice, and so many more he'd seen, but never tasted —
But although Cymry had warned him playfully about eating himself sick, he was mindful of that very consideration. Too many times he'd seen people in his own streets do just that, when encountering unexpected abundance. After all, none of this was going to disappear tomorrow, or even later tonight (unless he ate it) and he wasn't going to have his access to it removed, either.
When this Cook gets back t'work — Oh, there was a thought! If there was so much here ready for snacking, what wonderful things must the Cook prepare every day? Visions of the kinds of things he'd seen in the best inns passed through his mind — minced-meat pasties, stews with thick, rich gravy, egg pie and oh, the sweets…
Eventually he made his selections, and put a plate together. He ate neatly and with great enjoyment, savoring every bite, finishing with a tart apple and a piece of sharp cheese. Then, as he had when he had eaten earlier with Teren, he cleaned up after himself and put everything away.
A glance through the windows above the great sink as he was washing up showed him that the sky had gone to red as the sun set. There would be plenty of time to spend with Cymry, and at that moment, there was nothing in the world that he would rather have been doing.
Back up and out he went, under a sky filled with red-edged, purple clouds, passing trees just beginning to whisper in an evening breeze, through the quietude that seemed so strange to him after the constant noise of the city proper. Cymry waited for him where he had last seen her, watching the sun set and turn the river to a flat ribbon of fire.