“How did you get them to help?” Neil asked Vaseto as she led him across the square.
“I told them I would reveal the hidden space in their wagon where they were carrying their contraband.”
“How did you know about that?”
“I didn’t,” she said. “Not for certain. But I know a thing or two about Sefry, and that clan almost always carries contraband.”
“That’s good to know.”
“They also owe me a few favors. Or did. We just used up most of them. So don’t waste this chance. Keep that wig on. Don’t let your straw mat show.”
Neil plucked at the horsehair mummer’s wig that had been pulled over his own close-cropped hair. “I don’t care for it,” he muttered.
“You’re a true beauty with it on,” Vaseto told him. “Now, try not to talk too much, especially if someone speaks to you in Hansan or Crothanic. You’re a traveler from Ilsepeq, here to visit the shrine of Vanth.”
“Where’s Ilsepeq?”
“I’ve no idea. Neither will anyone you tell. But Espinitos pride themselves on their knowledge of the world, so no one will admit that. Just practice this: ‘Edio dot Ilsepeq. Nefatio Vitellian.’”
“Edio dat Islepeq,” Neil tried experimentally. “Ne fatio Vitellian.”
“Very good,” Vaseto said. “You sound exactly as if you don’t speak a word of Vitellian.”
“I don’t,” Neil said.
“Well, that explains it. Now come, let’s find your girls.”
7
Ambria
“I like that one,” Mery said absently. She was lying stomach down on a rug, her legs kicking up behind her.
“Do you?” Leoff asked, continuing to play the hammarharp. “I’m pleased that you like it.”
She made fists and rested her chin on them. “It’s sad, but not in the way that makes you cry. Like autumn coming.”
“Melancholy?” Leoff said.
She pinched her mouth thoughtfully. “I guess so.”
“Like autumn coming,” Leoff mused. He smiled faintly, stopped, dipped his quill in ink, and made a notation on the music.
“What did you write?” Mery said.
“I wrote, ‘like autumn coming,’” he said. “So the musicians will know how to play it.” He turned in his seat. “Are you ready for your lesson?”
She brightened a bit. “Yes.”
“Come sit beside me, then.”
She got up, brushed the front of her dress, and then scooted onto [missing]. “Let’s see we were working on the third mode, weren’t we?”
“Uh-huh.” She tapped the freshly noted music. “Can I try this?”
He glanced at her. “You can try,” he said.
Mery placed her fingers on the keyboard, and a look of intense concentration came over her face. She bit her lip and played the first chord, walked the melody up, and on the third bar stopped, a look of sudden consternation on her features.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I can’t reach,” she said.
“That’s right,” he said. “Do you know why?”
“My hands aren’t big enough.”
He smiled. “No one’s hands are big enough. This isn’t really written for hammarharp. That bottom line would be played by a bass croth.”
“But you just played it.”
“I cheated,” he said. “I transposed the notes up an octave. I just wanted an idea how it all sounded together. To really know, we’ll have to have an ensemble play it.”
“Oh.” She pointed. “What’s that line, then?”
“That’s the hautboy.”
“And this?”
“That’s the tenor voice.”
“Someone singing?”
“Exactly.”
She played the single line. “Are there words?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I don’t see them.”
He tapped his head. “They’re still in here, with the rest of it.”
She blinked at him. “You’re making it up?”
“I’m making it up,” he confirmed.
“What are the words?”
“The first word is ih,” Leoff said solemnly.
“Ih? That’s the servants’ word for I.”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s a very important word. It’s the first time it’s been used like this.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m not sure I do myself.”
“But why the servants’ language? Why not the king’s tongue?”
“Because most people in Crotheny speak Almannish, not the king’s tongue.”
“They do?” He nodded.
“Is that because they’re all servants?”
He laughed. “In a way, I suppose so.”
“We all of us are servants,” a feminine voice said from the doorway. “It’s only a matter of whom we serve.”
Leoff turned in his seat. A woman stood there. At first he noticed only her eyes, cut gems of topaz that glittered with a deep green fire. They held him mercilessly, and kept his throat tight for too long. He broke the gaze finally.
“Lady,” he managed, “I have not had the pleasure.” He reached for his crutches and managed to stand and make a little bow.
The woman smiled. She had ash-blond hair that hung in curls and a pleasantly dimpled face that was beginning to show some age. He reckoned her to be in her mid-thirties. “I am Ambria Gramme,” she told him.
Leoff felt his mouth drop open, and closed it. “You’re Mery’s mother?” he said. “I’m very pleased to meet you. I must say, she is a delight, and a most promising student.”
“Student?” Gramme asked sweetly. “Who are you? And what do you teach, exactly?”
“Oh, my apologies. I am Leovigild Ackenzal, the court composer. I thought Mery would have mentioned me.” He glanced at the girl, who looked innocently away.
The smile widened. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard of you. Quite the hero, yes? For your part in the business at Broogh.”
Leoff felt his face warming. “If I did anything commendable, it was by sheerest accident, I assure you.”
“Humility isn’t particularly fashionable in the court at the moment, but you do wear it well,” Lady Gramme said. Her eyes drifted down his frame. “You are cut from good cloth, just as I’ve heard.”
“I . . .” He stopped. He had nothing to say to that, and he tried to gather his composure. “I’m sorry, milady, I thought you knew I was giving Mery music lessons. I mean her no harm, I assure you.”
“The fault isn’t yours,” Gramme replied. “Mery simply forgot to tell me. Didn’t you, Mery?”
“I’m sorry, Mama.”
“As you should be. Fralet Ackenzal is an important man. I’m sure he doesn’t have time for you.”
“Oh, no,” Leoff replied. “As I said, she’s a wonderful student.”
“I’m sure she is. But at present my funds do not allow for the cost of tutoring.”
“I ask for no compensation,” Leoff said. “My expenses at the court are taken care of.” He waved his hands helplessly. “I would hate to see her talent go to waste.”
“She has talent, you think?”
“I assure you. Would you like to hear her play something?”
“Oh, no,” Gramme said, still smiling. “I’ve no ear at all, I’m told. I trust your judgment.”
“Then you won’t mind?”
“How could I refuse such a kind gesture?” Her lips pursed. “But still, it puts me in your debt. You must let me make it up to you somehow.”
“That’s not necessary,” he said, trying very hard to keep his voice from breaking.
“No, I know just the thing. I’m having a small fete on Saint Blight’s Eve. You’re new here, and could do with some introductions, I’m sure. I insist you attend.”
“That’s very kind, lady.”
“Not at all. It’s the least I can do for someone who indulges my little Mery. There, it’s settled.” Her gaze shifted. “Mery, when you’ve finished your lessons, come to my apartments, will you?”
“Yes, Mama,” the girl replied.
“Good day to you, then,” Gramme said.
“Good day to you, Lady Gramme.”
“You might call me Ambria,” she replied. “Most of my friends do.”