‘I thought locating the lad would be easy. It wasn’t. I thought scooping him up and carrying him off would be simple. It’s not. We do need pigeons who will home-fly here, so find a breeder and arrange to have at least a dozen eggs sent to our safe house in Marquenet, and another dozen here for our shrine. Once the squabs have matured we can swap them so they can fly messages. Getting messages to the Sanctuary quickly is important, but if we do actually become ensconced here, our brethren will need to get messages to us quickly as well.’ Denbe nodded his agreement. ‘While I look for a pigeon breeder around Beran’s Hill, and sniff around to see what the boy has been up to since I last saw him, you take a quick trip down to Marquenet to send word to Elmish we will take things into our own hands after your soldiers arrive.’
‘Pigeons,’ said Denbe. ‘As I said, I hate sending word by birds. So many things can go wrong.’
‘And as I said, that’s why you send more than one. How many do we have down in Marquenet that can fly to the Ithra enclave?’
‘We’re down to three.’
‘Well, then, send all three. Inform Elmish of the situation here, in as few words as possible.’
Denbe scowled. ‘Another reason I don’t like pigeons. You can’t explain much on a tiny piece of paper.’
Catharian chuckled. ‘True.’
Denbe didn’t look amused. ‘I’ll leave now. You look for a pigeon breeder.’
Catharian nodded. ‘You take the horse to Marquenet. I’ll spend the night here, then Sabella and I will walk into town tomorrow morning, the poor friar and his apprentice.’ He shook his head. ‘Piccolo, here. At least he’s never seen me, as I only saw him once from some distance in a large crowd when he was with Delnocio.’ He forced a smile. ‘All will be well. Now, you’d best leave.’
‘Fare you well,’ said Denbe.
‘You as well,’ replied Catharian.
They went back into the hut and Denbe gathered up his travel bag and took Catharian’s horse.
The false monk of Tathan sat down opposite Sabella and asked, ‘What do you know about the Order of Tathan?’
‘Nothing,’ said the young woman.
‘Well,’ said the older man, laughing. ‘Let’s discuss theology over a meal. All right?’
She found that amusing.
Catharian realized that was the first time he had ever heard the young woman laugh aloud since she had come to the Sanctuary as a child.
HAVA LINGERED IN THE MARKET as the two men who were staying at her inn moved away. She had left the inn under the supervision of the girl Millie, unofficially Jusan’s betrothed. Apparently everyone just took it for granted, including Millie and Jusan. She was a tiny bit of a thing, but she knew the inn and she was under instruction if anything of consequence arose that she was to come straight to the market and find Hava.
Hava wandered over to the vendor who had just been speaking with the two men and looked at his wares, some heavy woollen shirts, trousers, scarves, and capes, some treated with extra lanolin to repel water, which were useful for work outdoors in foul weather and for travel.
‘Hello,’ said the merchant, a stout man who favoured a rust-orange shirt and a wide leather belt which was attempting to prevent his stomach from completely drooping by means of a big brass buckle; it hardly looked comfortable to Hava, but he seemed oblivious to it digging into his gut. His hair was a grey-shot thatch of light brown that was in desperate need of a comb and he sported a few days’ beard stubble.
Hava smiled. ‘Hello. I’m Hava. My husband and I—’
The man laughed, his blue eyes sparkling in his sun-freckled face. ‘I know who you are. You and your man bought the Three Stars from Gwen.’ He smiled as he added, ‘Beran’s Hill isn’t such a big a town that we haven’t all seen you around the last few weeks. I’m Pavek. Now, what can I do for you?’
‘My husband and I came from a place warmer than here in the winter, but even then we didn’t get this much rain. So we need better clothing.’
Pavek chuckled again. ‘Wait a few months until the real rainy season starts. The smart buyers get their gear now, so they’re not scrambling at the last minute. It will be cold!’
Hava nodded, realizing the man had just confessed that business was slow. ‘My husband doesn’t have a decent cloak. He works inside most of the time but given that he’s travelling to Marquenet to stock up on some things we can’t secure here he’ll be out in the open on a wagon, getting drenched, if the rain comes suddenly.’
‘I have just the thing,’ said Pavek, holding up a large, dark grey cloak with an attached hood. ‘Feel that!’
Hava ran her hand over the material and nodded. There was a slightly oily feeling to the wool, so it would repel water for some time. ‘I know from experience that wet wool is the worst thing to be wearing in the cold.’
‘I thought you said you came from a warmer land?’
She kept her smile. ‘My father was a horse trader and we travelled a lot.’
‘Ah,’ said the merchant with a nod of the head.
Hava spent a few minutes looking at other items but had already decided to buy the cloak. It gave her a reasonable excuse to be in the market, and besides it was true that Hatu had nothing to wear outside in foul weather.
The climate in their home island was fairly constant year round, rarely getting cold enough to notice. Rains came regularly, but they were of short duration and warm. Occasionally a storm would come through, lasting a day or two, but they were not often extreme.
Here the weather from the coast came down from the Ice Floes and the Westlands, and it could be very cold. Mostly the climate was temperate, but when it wasn’t, fireplaces were ablaze and warm clothing and heavy boots were the order of the day, according to what Gwen had told her. Short-sleeved shirts, simple cotton trousers, and sandals, common in Coaltachin, were unheard of in Marquensas.
After settling on a price for the cloak, Hava asked Pavek, ‘The two men you were talking to who left as I arrived …’
‘Yes?’
‘They’re staying at our inn, but truth to tell … well, they keep to themselves and I’ve barely spoken two words to them.’
‘That’s odd,’ said Pavek. ‘All they did was chat. Didn’t buy a damned thing.’
‘Odd,’ agreed Hava.
‘They kept talking about travellers who might have passed through sometime recently. A man or a woman, boy and a girl, they couldn’t seem to make up their mind. They only mentioned one thing they agreed on: the man, woman, or child would have bright red hair, copper and gold in the sunlight.’
Hava feigned indifference as she picked up a woollen scarf, which was actually quite nicely made. ‘Quite a few people with red hair around here, aren’t there?’
‘Aren’t there?’ agreed Pavek. ‘I think they’re idiots looking for the legendary Firemane child.’
Hava made an instant decision to pretend ignorance. ‘I’m sorry, the what?’
‘You must come from a long way off. The legend of the Firemane … well, it’s an eastern kingdom, or was,’ began the merchant. He then launched into a quick retelling of the legend of the fall of Ithrace, and the rumour of the lost child. There was even something about a curse involved, he claimed.
Hava was relieved to hear a jumble of facts and fancy that bore little resemblance to what she and Hatu had learned from the baron.
Pavek finished by saying, ‘There’s word that the King of Sandura will pay a man’s