Chapter 166: Thirteen Names

Someone knocked on my door shortly after sunrise. I ignored it. They knocked again, and I pulled Dream Haven over my head. There was a third knock. Persistent people are a design flaw in the world.

"Vortex."

Sorel. That made ignoring her less practical.

"Alive," I said.

"The Crown is here."

I opened one eye. That was considerably worse than breakfast.

***

There were twenty-three new people in Merrow’s courtyard. I counted, because nobody had given me anything better to do: twelve Crown soldiers, six officials carrying enough paper to frighten me, three healers, one woman in a dark blue coat with a silver Crown pin, and one man whose whole purpose seemed to be standing beside her and writing down everything anyone said. The woman was the magistrate. Elizabeth had been right; apparently magistrates existed so that princesses didn’t have to become them. I approved.

Lord Merrow stood by the central steps with two Academy guards behind him and four Crown soldiers in front. He had changed his clothes. I found that offensive. I was still wearing yesterday.

James appeared beside me and looked at Merrow. "He slept."

"Probably."

"That’s irritating."

"Very."

Sophie came down the steps behind us. "You both slept."

"Not enough."

James looked at me. "You went to bed before I did."

"I had a pillow."

"That isn’t the same thing."

"It is if you’re talented."

Daphne came last. I looked at her, and she looked at me, and I looked away, quickly enough that nobody noticed. Probably. Her wrists were wrapped beneath her sleeves. She was moving normally; not perfectly, but normally. I didn’t know whether the difference mattered, and the System had been exactly as helpful on that subject as before.

[Good morning.]

’Don’t start.’

It didn’t answer, which was excellent.

***

Renn met the magistrate by the carts, and they spoke quietly for several minutes. She read his written report first, then examined the carts, then the broken window, then the section of courtyard where Daphne had introduced architecture to Gravity. Her eyes stayed there for a while. Daphne looked at the sky. I respected that.

Finally the magistrate turned toward us. "These are the students?"

Renn nodded. "All five."

Her eyes went from Elizabeth to James, Sophie, Daphne and me, and came back to Elizabeth. "Your Highness."

"Magistrate."

There was no bow and no awkwardness. They both seemed to know exactly how much respect the moment required, which is why I avoid politics.

The magistrate looked back at Renn. "I want separate statements."

James sighed, quietly, but not quietly enough. She looked at him.

"A problem?"

"No."

"Good."

He waited until she had turned away. "I dislike her."

"You dislike paperwork."

"They’re related."

He had a point.

***

My statement lasted forty-three minutes. I knew because there was a clock on the wall, which felt deliberate. The man who wrote everything down sat at a desk that had belonged to Merrow yesterday. The magistrate sat across from me. I had Dream Haven. She had objected once, and I had explained that the healer had told me to rest. She asked whether the healer had specifically prescribed an enormous pillow at an official interview. I told her he hadn’t specifically forbidden it. We reached an understanding.

"Start with the cellar."

"I’d rather start later."

"No."

It had been worth trying. So I told her: the food, the call from the north wing, the guards, the cellar, thirteen prisoners, eleven adults and two children, the collars, the injuries, and the conversation about moving some of them to the western road.

"Exact words, where you remember them."

That was harder, but I gave her what I had. "The ones going to the western road." "And the small ones?" "They stay." "Collars?" "Off before transport."

The pen stopped. Not hers; the clerk’s. She noticed too. "Continue."

I told her about leaving and coming back, showing the prisoners Lyssairia’s token, the carts arriving early, the three guards coming down to start the transport, the key, the collars, the Tigers upstairs, the fighting, Merrow, the window, and his mistake. "You weren’t supposed to come out."

She made me repeat that one twice, and then asked who had heard it.

"Most of the courtyard."

"Names."

I gave her the ones I knew: Renn, Sorel, Elizabeth, James, Sophie, Daphne, several Academy guards, Merrow’s guards, the freed prisoners, and the Tiger warriors.

"Convenient."

"For us."

Her eyes lifted. "That isn’t what I meant."

"I know."

She went back to the paper. "What did you take Lord Merrow to mean?"

"That the Tigers weren’t supposed to leave the north wing."

"Why?"

"Because that’s what he said."

"And what did you believe their purpose was?"

"I don’t know."

"An ambush?"

"Maybe."

She looked at me for a moment, and I realized Renn’s habits had spread further than I’d thought.

"What evidence supports that possibility?"

That was a better question. I told her about the copied convoy route and the marked stretch of road, the prisoners who were to travel without collars, the staged signs on the western road, and the First Princess’s convoy being scheduled to use it the next morning.

"And the carts?"

"Tiger marks."

"The same mark you saw in Marrowfield."

I stopped, and she noticed.

"Commander Renn included that," she said.

Of course he had. "Yes."

"What did it mean to you then?"

"Nothing yet."

"And now?"

"Still nothing I can prove."

That seemed to surprise her. "Nothing at all?"

"It belongs to something involving Tigers."

"That’s an inference."

"Yes."

She leaned back, and for the first time in forty minutes I liked her. "Good."

"What?"

"Most people become more certain after frightening events."

"That seems inefficient."

"It is." She looked down at the report. "Why did you show the prisoners a beastkin token?"

I had wondered how long that would take. "Because I had one."

"That isn’t an answer."

"It usually works."

"Not here."

I took the wooden token out of my storage ring and set it on the desk: small, cat-headed, its edges softened by years of my fingers. The magistrate didn’t touch it.

"Who gave you this?"

"Lyssairia Veyra."

"Beastkin?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Across the western border."

"When?"

"Nearly four years ago."

The clerk looked up. The magistrate didn’t. "Why?"

"She thought I might need it."

"You were twelve."

"Yes."

"Across the beastkin border."

"Yes."

There was a pause. "That is going to become a different interview."

"I was afraid of that."

She very nearly smiled. Then she looked at the token again. "And the prisoner recognized it?"

"Yes."

"What did that recognition earn you?"

"Her attention."

"Trust?"

"No."

She liked that answer. "How do you know?"

"She told me. ’That earns you my attention. Nothing more.’"

The magistrate nodded. "Good."

I took the token back. "Can I leave now?"

"No."

***

Elizabeth’s interview lasted longer. James’s was louder. Sophie’s covered the greenhouse and the timing of the trays, which sent two of the magistrate’s people off to question the servant who had carried food upstairs. Daphne’s lasted twenty-one minutes. I knew because I was sitting where I could see the clock through the open door.

She came out and sat down beside me, not close, but close enough. I looked at her, and she looked straight ahead.

"Twenty-one minutes," I said.

"Yes."

"What did she ask?"

"Questions."

I waited. She didn’t go on. I should have expected that.

We sat in silence, and after a while I realized I was doing it again, looking at her wrists. Daphne noticed without turning her head.

"Still attached."

"I can see that."

"Then stop checking."

"I wasn’t."

She looked at me, and I stopped checking.

***

The Crown soldiers searched the estate properly. We had searched like students trying not to get caught. They searched like people who intended to make someone explain every locked door afterwards. Cabinets were opened, and ledgers were carried out. Merrow’s steward was brought out twice and looked worse each time. The north wing was sealed. The cellar was left untouched except for two Crown examiners, a healer, and a sketch artist; apparently evidence needed drawings. I hoped nobody asked me to pose.

The carts got even more attention. One officer crawled underneath the first, another measured the wheel tracks, and a third opened every compartment. Nothing dramatic happened. There was no hidden weapon rack, no body, and no note explaining the whole conspiracy in convenient handwriting. I was disappointed, and so was James.

"I expected more," he said.

"From the cart?"

"It has a tiger on it."

"So?"

"That should mean something."

"It probably does."

"What?"

"I don’t know."

James stared at me. "You’ve become Renn."

That was deeply insulting. I considered fighting him, but Sorel was watching, so I decided against it.

***

Before midday, the older woman sent for me again. This time the message came from a Crown healer.

"She asked for the boy with the wooden cat."

"That’s unfortunate phrasing."

He looked at Dream Haven under my arm. "She was specific."

The east guest rooms no longer looked as though they belonged to Merrow. The curtains were still expensive and the beds were still too large, but blankets had been dragged between rooms, food trays were everywhere, and one of the children had arranged three pillows on the floor and gone to sleep in the middle of them. I approved of her priorities.

The older woman sat by the window, with a clean bandage on one forearm and the child who had clung to her yesterday asleep against her side. She looked better. Not well, but better. She watched me come in, and then looked at the healer.

"Outside."

He hesitated. "I’ll stay by the door."

"Outside."

He looked at me, and I shrugged, which didn’t help him. Eventually he stepped into the corridor and left the door open. She waited until he was gone, and then looked at Dream Haven.

"What is that?"

"A medical device."

She stared at me. I sat down.

"Nobody believes me either," I said.

Something moved at the corner of her mouth. It wasn’t quite a smile; perhaps the memory of one. Then it was gone.

"You came back," she said.

"Yes."

"You said you would."

"Yes."

"You did not know if you could."

"No."

She studied me, and I didn’t know what answer she was looking for. Eventually she looked down at the sleeping child.

"I asked for you because of the token."

I reached for my storage ring, and she shook her head.

"I know you have it. Lyssairia gave it to you. She would not give that to a human for nothing."

I didn’t answer. Nothing I could say would improve the conversation. Her fingers moved once through the child’s hair.

"She lives?"

"She did when I left."

"Nearly four years."

"Yes."

It was a long time, too long for me to promise anything more, and she accepted that.

"Do you expect to see her?"

"I don’t know."

"You are going west. To the signing."

I looked at her.

"Merrow’s men talked," she said.

They would have. "Possibly."

"You are a bad liar."

"I’ve been told."

"By her?"

"Among others."

The almost-smile came closer this time, and then went away. She looked toward the door.

"The Crown will send us back."

"Eventually."

"West."

"Probably."

"No."

I waited. Her face had changed. She didn’t look frightened. She looked set.

"They cannot."

"Why?"

"Because the man upstairs was one of ours. Not my clan. But ours."

"You understand?" she said, when I didn’t answer at once.

"I think so."

"Say it."

That was unpleasantly like Valerian. I chose the simplest version.

"You don’t know who on the beastkin side you can trust."

Her shoulders eased slightly. "Yes."

The child stirred against her, and without thinking she put one hand over the child’s ear.

"They will ask what clan. What road. Which people. Who should receive us."

"The Crown will."

"Yes."

"And you won’t tell them."

"I will tell them what happened."

"That’s different."

"Yes."

"Why tell me?"

She looked at the pocket where the token was. "Because she trusted you once."

That was a heavy thing to set on someone before lunch. I didn’t like it, and not because it was wrong. I didn’t like it because I understood.

"What do you want me to do?"

"If they send us west, tell them not to hand us to the first beastkin wearing authority."

"That’s vague."

"It is true."

"Those are different things."

"They can be both."

That was fair.

"And if Lyssairia is at your signing," she said, "tell her we are here."

"Who are you?"

That stopped her. I had asked it without thinking. Not her clan; her. In all the time we had spent getting thirteen people out of that cellar, I hadn’t learned a single name.

She looked down at the child, and then back at me. "Saera."

"Saera," I repeated.

"Yes."

"And the others?"

"You do not need thirteen names."

"I might."

She studied me, and then reached for a folded sheet of paper beside the bed. Someone had given her paper, and there were names on it, thirteen of them, written carefully, some in a script I couldn’t read and some in human letters underneath.

"You wrote this?"

"The girl did." She nodded toward another bed, where a young woman was asleep with one arm over her eyes. "She knows your letters better."

I looked at the list. Yesterday, thirteen people had been a number: useful for planning food and exits and routes. Now the number had names. I folded the sheet once, and then stopped. It probably mattered that I didn’t fold it again.

"I’ll keep it."

Saera nodded. "And Lyssairia."

"If I see her, I’ll tell her."

"Tell her about the mark."

I looked up. "The tiger mark?"

"Yes." She was quiet for several seconds. "Where did you see it before this house?"

"Marrowfield."

Her face tightened. "You are sure?"

"Yes. On a wall."

She looked toward the window. "Then it is further east than I thought."

"What is it?"

Saera shook her head. "No."

That was unexpected. "You asked me to tell Lyssairia."

"Tell her where you saw it."

"What does it mean?"

"I know what it meant where I came from."

"Which was?"

"Men who arrived before people disappeared."

It wasn’t an answer, but it was enough to make my chest hurt for reasons that had nothing to do with Barrier.

"Slavers?"

"Sometimes."

"Soldiers?"

"Sometimes."

"Which clan?"

She looked at me. "That is why you tell Lyssairia."

I disliked circular conversations, but she wasn’t refusing because she wanted control. She was refusing because she didn’t know enough. I recognized that.

"Fine," I said.

She looked at the paper in my hand. "Do not lose the names."

"I won’t."

"You carry a pillow into investigations."

"That has never once caused me to lose paper."

She stared at me. The child against her side woke slowly, looked at Saera, then at me, then at Dream Haven, and her eyes stayed there. I knew that look.

"No," I said.

The child looked at Saera, and Saera looked at me. "She wants the pillow."

"I know."

The child went on staring. I sighed, and let Dream Haven expand. She moved faster than anyone with dried blood under her nose the night before had any right to, and thirty seconds later she was asleep again, on my pillow. I sat on the floor.

Saera watched me. "You are strange."

"I’ve been told."

This time she smiled, only a little, but it counted.