If Crows Know Best (Mage of Merced Book 1) Read online

  I followed her up, down and around street and alley for most of two hours. I had begun to doubt her grasp of our errand, when she sat and barked outside the sawyer’s on the southern edge of town. The mill’s noise assaulted our ears, loud with shouting men peeling logs, stripping off branches and sawing planks. Straining teams of mules dragged the heaviest logs across the yard, while chains and pulleys hoisted others. The sharp smell of pine sawdust swirled everywhere, my nose could detect nothing else, but Wieser would not budge from her calm regard of the site.

  Where would a small boy be best kept? Out of sight, and surely no one able to hear him with all this noise. I could see the largest central building which housed the saw works, but men walked in and out of it constantly. Two smaller shacks stood behind, one farther up a slope and surrounded by stacks of wood. I spoke to Wieser, and told her we would check the farthest shed first. We made our approach by circling around from the back of the property.

  No Keltanese guards were in evidence, but I saw the door had been secured with a heavy hasp and padlock. The sawyer might secure tools and such within, I reasoned. But when I looked to Wieser, she commenced sniffing under the door and wagging her tail. I checked to be sure we were still out of sight of the men working below, and came around the side to pull myself up to a tiny window. Cloth had been tacked up as a curtain, but I could see inside through a gap at the bottom. In the dim interior, I could make out three shapes, one smaller and two larger, huddled on straw on the floor. A strong odor of pisspot leaked through the gap.

  I let myself down from the window, and went around to the side closest to the huddled forms. I crouched there and knocked on the wall. “Psst,” I called, none too loudly. “Are you the harbourmaster’s kin?”

  A moment passed, then, “Yes, yes. Who’s there? We are his wife and his son’s wife. And grandson, too.”

  “I’m Judian. I’ve come to help you get away. I’ll come back at dark—”

  “No, the guards come at dark when the mill stops. They gag us then, so we can’t call for help in the quiet hours.”

  “I’ll have to get you out now, then. I’ll be right back.” I told Wieser to stay, then walked back around and into the mill yard through the front entrance. I tried to look as if I knew my destination, walking with purpose and not wandering. I looked for some tool to break into the shack.

  I found a pry bar, and had just picked it up when a sour-faced, jowly man called out, “Boy, you!” and pointed at me. I went over to him, what else could I do? He shoved a fistful of papers at me.

  “Take these to that blockhead Nagmus. And tell him not to take all day sending them back to the ship after he’s done with them!”

  I took the papers and set off toward what I prayed was where a person might expect to find Nagmus, within the large building. This seemed to be right, because the man called after me, “And don’t tell him I called him a blockhead!”

  He won’t hear it from me, I thought.

  I set the papers under a jug of water on the first workbench I passed, and left the building by a different door, carrying my pry bar. I made my way to the backside of the shack without further trouble.

  Once there, I set about pulling away the boards to make a hole large enough for the prisoners to crawl through. In only moments I saw three anxious faces peering out.

  “You are the answer to all our prayers,” the older lady said, weeping.

  I couldn’t have that. “You must be quiet, please. We are going to sneak off the property here, but then we have to walk through town to a safe place.”

  I saw with a sinking heart as they emerged one-by-one that they were in their nightshifts and light shawls. Perhaps they had been taken away from their beds when the soldiers came. “I have trousers for the boy,” I said, handing them over. “You ladies will have to wrap yourselves in your shawls as the country women do, and tuck them round the middle. Here, rub some soil on the shifts so they look more gray than white.”

  They did as I bid without speaking, the boy timid but silent as his mother helped him into his breeches. If luck and the gods were on our side, we could be taken for country peasants making our way through town on some errand. The ground around the shack was hard packed, but I made sure no dog prints could be seen. It would not do to have the Keltanese seeking a dog involved in the prisoners’ escape. I had seen too few large dogs about town to think Wieser and I would not risk being identified as potential culprits.

  I bade them gather sticks when we passed through the brush on the slope, and carry armloads of them as we walked. The boy held his mum’s hand, and carried a handful of sticks as well. I took him to be nearly three years old, and small for his age. Wieser walked beside him, touching him gently with her nose when he dawdled.

  About half the way back to Guthy’s the boy had enough. He began to cry, his feet hurt. He had on some sort of cloth shoes that rich townfolk must wear in bed. The ladies’ version of the flimsy shoes began to fall apart, but they walked on hugging their sticks to their chests with their eyes downcast like proper country matrons. I picked up the little boy, and while I carried him, I told him my dog was named Wieser and she was taking us to a place he would like. He left off crying and just sniffed now and then, keeping an eye on Wieser over my shoulder.

  We turned up on Guthy’s back stoop, and I felt I could breathe again. “I did not really plan this,” I began as I ushered the three past an astonished Honni. The little boy went at once to peer over the edge of the kitchen table where brown loaves were cooling. Honni managed to stammer out a call for her mistress, who came trotting in response to the urgency in the girl’s voice.

  As the next moments involved a lot of female gibbering and wailing, I cut a hunk of bread and slathered it with butter. This I gave to the boy, saying, “What’s your name, then?”

  “Toohe,” he said around a mouthful. “Mummy,” he pointed. “And Granna.” I led him to the hearth to sit by the fire. Wieser came and sat beside him, and I heard him say to her, “I do like it here.”

  Guthy became a ways undone, and could not decide whether to offer wash water or food to the women. I watched her dither for a short time, then felt her indecision had continued long enough.

  “We’ll need clothing for them, and serviceable shoes of some sort. Maybe you can find something? Honni can give them a bit to eat, and then they can wash up,” I said, since nobody seemed able to sort it out. This at least set folk in motion, Guthy bustling above stairs and Honni setting plates on the table.

  “Do you know anything about where my husband is?” the boy’s mum asked.

  “Really, Madelon, we must thank the young man first for rescuing us. We have been in such straits, we forget our manners. I do apologize,” said Granna.

  “I’m afraid you’re not wholly rescued yet. We must still get you away from here. I don’t know about your husband, Donah. My dog tracked the boy by his scent on the trousers, and found you besides. If I can get something with your husband’s scent, we can seek him next,” I said.

  “The soldiers would not leave him with us, they thought he could break down the door or escape some other way. They said he was too valuable a hostage to throw in the harbour, but—but—” Here she broke down in sobs. Guthy reappeared with skirts draped over her arms, shed them instantly on the end of the table and came to pat the mother on the shoulder.

  “Here now! Judian will find him if anyone can,” Guthy soothed her.

  “See, it’s Wieser who—” I started.

  “How are you getting them away?” Honni wanted to know. “You c-can’t think to walk them out the town gates?”

  “I cannot leave without my husband!” Madelon cried.

  “Now, he said he just needed some of Nevra’s clothes. How did you come by Toloun’s trousers?” asked the older lady.

  “I thought he said his name was Toohe? Is that just a fond name?” His mum nodded to me. “Anyway, Orlo Suerat brought me the clothes.”

  “Nanny Suerat’s boy? The one who
runs errands for cook? Does he know how my husband fares?”

  “Vonna, you must calm yourself, you’ve been so worried about all of us,” said Madelon in her turn at comforting.

  “Orlo says your husband is frantic about your safety, but well enough himself,” I managed to put in. There came a rapid triple knock at the back door, and Honni rushed to open it. Orlo stood on the stoop, and I had the pleasure of seeing his eyes bulge at the sight of the ladies and boy.

  There was a blissful moment of silence before all the women started talking at once, but this time they were buzzing at Orlo and not me. He put up his hands and tried to back away, but Honni took hold of his wrist and pulled him the rest of the way into the kitchen.

  “Donah Folio, Donah Folio,” Orlo said, nodding to each in turn. “Yes, I can get some of Donar Nevra’s clothes for Judian. And I will ask cook to put some message in with Harbourmaster Folio’s food tray that you are safe.”

  “Tell nanny, too.” Toohe added.

  “I will. She’s been missing you plenty.” Orlo looked at me. “Tell me later how you managed this. What are you going to do with them now?”

  “Can they be smuggled out of town underground?” I asked.

  “That may be possible. I could get them below tonight, and see from there,” Orlo said.

  “Get me the man’s clothes, and I’ll go out with Wieser while they clean up and rest. I’ll help you get them to the tunnel after dark.” I looked at all the faces staring at me as I spoke. How had I waded into this? I resolved to consider my actions more carefully, in future.

  By the time Orlo returned with another bundle of clothes for Wieser to smell, the newly washed ladies had been dressed in plain dark skirts and shawls less fine than their own. Each wore simple slippers of sturdy leather, though Donah Vonna’s were quite snug. I told her how to go about stretching them, but by the quizzical look she gave me, I judged such things were done for her, not by her.

  Honni slipped out to her family’s house for a shirt and rough weave trousers for Toohe. She said he would draw less attention barefoot, at his young age, which scandalized the ladies but suited him.

  I left with Wieser as soon as I gave her the scent, since it was late afternoon already. If we had to do another rescue, time would be short to get it accomplished before we needed to escort the others to the underground. It did not take her nearly as long to find her target this time, though. She led me to the back of the warehouse where our soldiers were held. I surmised she did not take me to the front because of the Keltanese guards leaning on the doors, watching the street.

  “It’s no good,” I told the others when I returned to Guthy’s. “We plan on setting the men free from there, but I can’t do it today. We need a better plan than what I came up with at the sawyer’s. It’s bricks and mortar, not wood, and there are guards besides. We don’t even know how many are held there.”

  Young Donah Folio despaired the most at the news. The harbourmaster’s wife now remained stoic though it was her son who was imprisoned still. Orlo said in my ear that it could be possible for the smugglers to tunnel below the warehouse and get the men out that way. He laid a finger to his lips as he moved away.

  The old salts filtered in from the waterfront as the sun began to sink. They were enlivened by word of the rescue, and deferential to the harbourmaster’s lady-folk. One of the sailors set about carving a wooden ship for Toohe, while the others sat with me in an upstairs room to compose a reply message. The one who had been a signal master was able to quickly render their report as short and long strokes to say: two guards each wagon.

  It was not that we didn’t know all the wagons we had seen so far had two guards, but that we didn’t have our wagon yet to travel and ambush the wagon carrying what we wanted to steal. We did not need cargo information until later, and tonight’s message was more for practice.

  It took them longer to convert this missive into an innocuous letter, to be decoded at home. After much scratching at grizzled chins, a particularly toothless fellow took up his quill to write of his regard for Virda, and how he longed to see her again soon. The message was cleverly embedded within. What he intended Virda to make of the accompanying sentiment could only be guessed at, but the man’s eyes twinkled.

  I took the message down to Gargle, and tied it to his leg as before. Guthy and Honni had fixed the pellet to send him home, and I spoke the words carefully while old sailors, Guthy, Honni and the freed hostages all watched from the kitchen window. Gargle found this audience only his due, and strutted up and down the porch railing. “Just you fly home to Annora, now, and enough showing off,” I finished, poking him in the shoulder as he passed. He gave a look at my finger and then a look in my eyes before flapping away. I would not say he appeared chastised. More like sulky, I reckoned.

  We had all been fed and it was dark out under the waning moon when Orlo came to guide us below. Toohe had fallen asleep clutching his toy boat, and had to be carried by his mum. Guthy found a bit of old counterpane to wrap about him, since the sea breeze had grown chill. Vonna Folio may have been a grander lady than most, but she still clasped hands with all the old sailors and hugged Guthy, and Honni, when we left. Madolen Folio, burdened with her son, spoke warm words of thanks to each in turn.

  Orlo moved with especial caution as he led us along the alleyways. Tonight no fog concealed us, and so we kept close to the walls in deeper shadows. We stopped once, breaths caught and backs pressed against the stones, while a pair of guards went stomping past. Orlo waited until their guttering, flaring lantern light faded around the corner before we traveled on.

  When all were safely in the tunnel mouth, with Orlo lighting the lantern there, I took my leave. “Will you find your way in the dark?” fretted Madolen.

  “I have Wieser to guide me,” I said, petting the black head at my side.

  “Words cannot express our gratitude, young Judian. When we are reunited with my husband, you can be sure he will reward you and yours,” Donah Vonna said.

  It would have been rude to say I was counting on it. So instead I said, “May you be reunited soon, gods’ willing. Keep safe and I will do what I can to speed Donar Nevra on his way to you all.” Orlo rolled his eyes at me, but followed that with a wink. He led them down the passageway.

  Wieser and I evaded more patrols on the return journey to Guthy’s, but none spotted us as we practiced fading into the darkness like wolves. Wieser no doubt better than I, being entirely black.

  I found Honni angry with me again when we arrived. “You will m-make me run mad, I do swear. I’ve been sure you were dead half a d-dozen times already tonight.” She scrubbed furiously at the kitchen table.

  “I’ve only been gone just as long as it takes to walk there and back,” I complained, and Wieser whined at my side.

  “Easy for y-you to say!” she snapped, and wheeled away to go into the keeping room. Wieser and I exchanged glances, mine the more puzzled, and went up to bed.

  As before, Honni’s anger spent itself overnight. She fixed food for my journey home and said she was sorry I had to leave so soon. I gave up looking for sense in her, and made my farewells to Guthy and the old salts brief, so I could get on my way.

  Next, we would wait until dark of the moon in hope of our wagon’s delivery.

  CHAPTER 31

  As fate and the gods would have it, rain fell the night our wagon was to be brought; one of those chill spring rains that seep down the neck of a tunic and soak from inside out as well as outside in. Wils and I had trudged down to the forge with Miskin and Beckta, leaving Perk, Joren and Cobbel by the fire with Gevarr and the women. I told Wieser to stay by the hearth, but brought the trio of crows along as spotters. We carried the remaining gold we owed in a leather pouch, which Wils had charge of, being bossy as Gargle at his worst.

  Bar Estegg the smithy let us in to stand out of the weather. He told Wils on returning home that he saw nothing of any battles, and tonight talked further with us about his experience with the troop
s. He marched west with them, and then back east, and when the Keltanese proved to have beaten them to the harbour, his portion of the conscripted army had fragmented and scattered to make their way to their separate homes as best they could. He heard no news from the fort on his route, and had not been with other local men. The miller had not yet returned; Bar believed some had been taken captive, but didn’t like that to get about for fear the miller’s wife would hear.

  Ticker wanted to come out and wait with us, but his mother said he was too young to truck with smugglers and shooed him inside. She watched through a crack in the door, and I caught a glimpse of her baby, grown fat and with more teeth than some of Virda’s old salt admirers.

  At nearly midnight, Gargle called and the others pecked at the window. The wagon rolled through the mud around to the back of the forge, the team’s harness jingling. Bar waved the driver into the bay with his lantern, and we all stared. Even in the weak lantern light, the wagon almost glowed, a bright sky blue. Black and yellow curlicues chased and twined along the sides. It appeared to have a hut built on the back, rather than a plain bed. The sort of wagon the Travellers lived in on the road. Except those I had seen were pulled by one horse. This larger wagon was pulled by a pair of tall, heavy legged, feather-hocked golden horses, with flaxen manes and tails. Though soaked and muddy, they were clearly an especially distinctive team, and a bit too large for their harness.

  Two outriders on plain bays followed the wagon in, and the driver, who proved to be Zaffis, threw off his oiled-wool cloak and jumped down into the wagon. He reappeared at the back, swinging open the small door, and swept aside a canvas covering to reveal the kegs of beans and our load of lumber.

  “Where’s my young bargain-striker?” he boomed. “Ah, there you be, amazed at what we’ve fixed for you. Which is your brother?” He rubbed his hands together and looked at us standing on the straw.