Tarja thanked him for his assistance and went looking for the child himself. He didn’t blame the sergeant. If the God of Thieves had taken it into his head to lead Mikel astray, there was little Monthay could have done about it.
He leaned forward and patted Shadow, wondering where a small Karien boy and a mischief-making god could be hiding in the vast camp. Nowhere there was work to be done, that was certain. They were unlikely to have gone north toward the border. Not only was it dangerous, there was no entertainment in that direction. The Keep was just as unlikely, as was the Hythrun camp, where Mikel’s brother was, or the neat Defender’s camp, where surely somebody would question their right to be there. He glanced south at the follower’s camp thinking there was plenty of trouble to be found there. He turned Shadow and let her pick her own pace, hoping he was heading in the right direction.
There would be a town here soon if the war dragged on much longer, he thought as he rode through the vast camp. Already some enterprising merchants had set up rickety wooden frames to house their commercial endeavours between tents that ranged from the ramshackle to the truly spectacular. The larger tents belonged to the Court’esa’s Guild. They had moved in within days of the Defenders. All these lonely men out here in the middle of nowhere was an opportunity too good to be missed. Half the court’esa here could probably retire in luxury by now and those that couldn’t would not have long to wait.
Tarja debated stopping by the largest tent to speak to Mistress Miffany. If Jenga surrendered, the court’esa were in real danger. Miffany was a generous, rotund little woman who had worked in the Citadel as a court’esa when Tarja was a cadet. She had inherited the business from Mistress Lyndah, when the sour old bitch had finally died – making everyone in the Citadel who knew her breathe a sigh of relief – and had set about making life pleasant for as many Defenders as possible since then – at a reasonable price, of course. Tarja liked her and had no desire to see her, or her girls, stoned by the invading Kariens.
On impulse, he turned toward her gaily-striped tent. If he could do nothing to stop the surrender, he could at least save a few lives. That Jenga would surrender was a very real possibility. The Lord Defender had stretched his loyalty about as far as it was likely to go. From the moment he had defied Joyhinia in Testra, he had been fighting a losing battle with his conscience. The order to surrender, while unpalatable, was probably easier to live with than treason.
A grubby child ran forward to hold his mount when he arrived. He dismounted and threw the child a copper rivet, before pushing back the flap, bending over to enter the tent. Inside, a number of women looked up hopefully at his captain’s insignia, smiling at him with open invitation. Tarja smiled back, but otherwise ignored them. Miffany hurried forward as soon as she recognised him, obviously happy to see him.
“Tarja!”
“Hello Miff,” he said, kissing her cheek. “You’ve lost weight.”
Miffany laughed delightedly. She was almost as wide as she was tall.
“You tease! I look like a pudding, and you know it, but it was nice of you to say so. Did you want a girl?” Miffany was never one to beat around the bush.
“No, I wanted a word with you. In private.”
Curious, but unconcerned, she turned to her girls. “I’m going to take a turn of the camp with the captain, here. Becca, you’re in charge until I get back.”
Miffany slipped her arm though his and led him outside.
They headed south between the tents down what could only very loosely be described as a street. The tents had been placed with little thought to the traffic in the camp and they were forced to step over tent pegs and dodge muddy puddles as they walked. Miffany clung to his arm with a smug grin that broadened to an outright smirk as they passed by the tent of one of her competitors.
“There’ll be tongues a-wagging in there, soon enough,” she predicted.
Tarja smiled. “We could stop outside on the way back while I declare I’ve never had better.”
“You are such a sweetheart,” she laughed, squeezing his arm.
“Have you done well since you’ve been here, Miff?”
“I’ll say! I’m rich enough to buy myself one of those posh little villas on the riverfront in Brodenvale. War is good for a business like mine.”
“Then perhaps you should think about retiring.”
She looked up at him suspiciously. “You’re taking a sudden interest in my welfare.”
“I care about you.”
“You’re sweet Tarja, I’ve always thought that, but you’re a captain. One of Jenga’s closest officers. You didn’t come all this way to suggest I retire without a damn good reason.”
“Isn’t caring for you enough?” he asked with a hopeful smile.
“Much as I’d like to kid myself that is the case, Tarja, I’m not a fool. What’s really going on?”
“I can’t say, Miff. All I can do is suggest that you quit while you’re ahead.”
The chubby court’esa thought for a moment and then nodded. “How long do we have?”
He could have hugged her for being so astute. “A few days. A week at most. Your profession won’t be looked upon kindly after that.”
“I owe you for this, Tarja.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Miff. Consider it a debt repaid.”
“What debt?”
“I was fourteen the first time I came to Mistress Lyndah’s. You didn’t laugh at me.”
She chuckled at the memory. “I was a lot thinner in those days. You were a sweet boy then, Tarja, and you still are, in my book. Tell me, do you plan to act on your own advice, or stay here and let them kill you?”
Her blunt question startled him. “I haven’t decided yet, but I don’t plan on letting anybody kill me.”
“Well, that’s something, I suppose. You know, I’ll need some guards when I leave. I’ve quite a haul in the chest under my bed. Not looking for a job, are you?”
He shook his head. “Sorry, but I’ve got other things demanding my attention.”
“Ah well, it was worth a try. I’ll ask young Dace. He seems to know everybody in the whole damned camp.”
Tarja stopped dead, almost jerking Miffany off her feet. “Dace? A fair-haired lad about so high? Wears the worst collection of cast-off clothing you’ve ever seen?”
“That’s our Dace,” Miff agreed. “How do you know him?”
“I came here looking for him.”
“I thought it was too much to hope that you came here just to see me,” she sighed.
“Where can I find him?”
She shrugged. “Who knows? He’s a sweet boy too, but every time he appears, something goes missing. He hangs around with a Karien boy. They turn up every now and then, looking for a meal.”
“And you feed them, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Do you have any idea where I can find him? It’s really important.”
Miffany thought for a moment and then nodded. “Try old Draginya, the herb woman. She lives over by Will Barley’s tavern tent. She’s a weird old buzzard, always praying to the Primal gods and muttering to herself, but I’ve seen Dace with her now and then. She might know where he is.”
Tarja bent down and kissed Miffany’s plump cheek. “You are the best.”
“Then how come you’re leaving?” she called after him.
Tarja would have found Draginya’s tent simply by following the smell, even if Miffany had not described its location. The tent was crammed with dried herbs and a smoking brazier that gave off an aroma unlike anything he had smelled before. The old woman was wrapped in several tattered shawls against the cold and she looked up with rheumy eyes as Tarja bent almost double to get through the tent flap. He straightened up once he was inside, his head brushing the roof of the tent.