Alunadai, Week 28 – 22nd Ralal, 1st Noris 1209
Oedran
GHOSTLY FIGURES moved in an intricate dance of unknown destinations; mocking the decay of humanity, the inanimate world around them was in sharp focus. Landis’ mind’s eye strolled amongst them: hunting, searching. No-one came into focus: he didn’t know any of them, hadn’t heard descriptions. He passed through throngs and along streets and into alleys, some barely more than unroofed rooms in size. Houses squeezed together, caking river mud - or what he hoped was mud – stuck to ancient cobbles and cracked paving stones. Two child-sized shadows raced around, pushing past adults. The uncanny silence filled his mind. He stilled. Gradually, people slid into focus. Women talking in a doorway, no, arguing; the older with hands on hips clearly telling the other to take a long hike over a short cliff, the other, with arms flailing, explaining exactly what she thought to that idea. Men, leaning on the wall, taking bets on who would win. Children mimicking them all. He focused on the details, the alley nameplate, the front steps, brushed clean, the door posts needing care, the symbols denoting their occupants’ professions scratched into doorposts or painted on the walls.
Even in the spectral state, he blanched. Above the door with the arguing women was a symbol he feared. As he noticed it, he noticed the older lady’s eyes scanning the alley, her arguments falling silent. He pulled back quickly to his study, draping a cloth hurriedly over the scrying bowl. He emptied the water from it and stowed it away.
Shaking, he collapsed onto a chair. She’d sensed him, she’d known he was there watching. Who was she? Had the ancient scrying bowl he’d borrowed from Ceardlann magnified his presence as it magnified his skill? Maybe Ira had been right when she lent it to him, maybe there was something unknown about it still. His heart caught in his throat. He wished she was present to talk to, to confide in. She’d kept his secrets so well he feared he didn’t know how to keep them himself any longer.
The mark he’d seen in Seeping Close haunted his mind. What was an unscrupulous scryer, a so-called black-scryer, doing in his lordship? Why would any scryer sell their services? Legends said there were never more than a handful of people alive with each of the Ullian Spirits but hues were more numerous. Scryers were probably the most abundant of the hues, but Landis was willing to bet there were no more than fifteen in any province with one. He’d always believed there would be, at the most, three in Oedran: himself, the intelligence regiment’s and one other. Had he just found them?
Reaching for pencil and paper, he tried to sketch to clear his mind, but he was sketching the alley, the symbol, a black six-pointed star in an eye. Cursing, he threw his pencil down. He’d have to discover why she was in his lordship. Could she be the one who’d been following him?
He had to deal with the situation. His bylawman could terminate the tenancy agreement on some pretext; however, that would appear highly suspicious. He had to be subtler and plan for the longer term. He debated with himself for twelve minutes or so, completely failed to hear a knock at the door and was surprised when William entered unbidden. Landis made up his mind.
* * *
Six minutes later, in response to a summons, the warden knocked and entered the study to find Landis writing letters. He inclined his head slightly. “You wished for a word, my lord?”
Landis looked up. “I did, Sandbine. Nothing to worry about. Can you let Gibb know I want a word when he gets back from his rounds? I’d also like to see the tenancy lists, please.”
Sandbine hesitated. “Of course, my lord.”
Landis chuckled to himself as the man left. He was from a Denshirian merchant family and had started work within the Landis staff as a scrivener. Landis could remember Sandbine helping him with his lessons, so that meant the man had worked for them for over thirty years. He really should be used to their eccentricities but he never quite managed equanimity over them.
A few minutes later, the warden returned with a clerk loaded down with the lists and a footman carrying an extra table to put them on. When Landis had waved them to set everything down at the side of his desk and the footman and clerk had left, Sandbine hesitated.
“Is there anything I can do to help, sir? Some of these are cumbersome.”
Brightly, Landis said, “No, thank you, Sandbine. I am more than capable of managing cumbersome things.”
Only uncertainty and concern met the wry observation. “If you’re sure, my lord. Is there anything else I can help with?”
“No, thank you. That’s all. Don’t look so worried. What’s the worst I can do?”
The warden merely inclined his head before leaving, his silence speaking volumes.
Waiting until he was sure that the warden wasn’t returning on the pretext of having forgotten to mention something, Landis turned to Seeping Close. Unsurprisingly, no-one had declared themselves as any type of scryer. The occupations helped to determine his tenants’ rent. He never wanted to charge more than a family could reasonably afford, and had been understanding if an accident had meant the breadwinner couldn’t work for weeks. He’d waive their rent but he might call in the debt in other ways.
He studied the names of the other occupants of the alley but recognised none of them. Tapping his fingers on the desk, he idly drew other symbols and the black-scryer one. Trying to think, he looked out of the window. The twins were getting on each other’s nerves in the garden. They were certainly growing up quickly. They spotted him and waved, as though they had just been talking pleasantly together. He simply shook his head at them and turned back to his desk. He wasn’t fooled.
A couple of minutes later, running feet stopped outside his study and whispering ensued.
Welcoming the distraction, he said, loud enough to carry to their ears, “You know, you might as well come in and discuss whatever is so important on this side of the door.”
Tentatively, the door opened; Julius put his head around it and then Julia’s appeared. Landis motioned them inside. Normally kept well away from the study, they entered hesitantly.
“What mayhem are you two up to then?” asked Landis.
“Nothing, father,” replied Julius innocently.
“I used to try that line on your grandfather. He never believed me, so why should I believe you?”
“Because, for once, it is the truth, father.”
“I like the fact you added ‘for once’. Shouldn’t you both be studying?”
The twins looked at each other. “We’ve finished for the day, father,” they replied in unison.
“Shall I check?”
Julius shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Finish off properly later and I might forgive you for so blatantly lying.”
Julia smiled a sweet, deceptive, smile. “Thank you, father. What are you doing?”
“Checking the tenancy lists over. It’s not the most exciting job.”
She walked over to him and draped her arms around his neck. “Are you hunting for anything?”
“No, just checking that they’re in order.”
Her gaze fell on the lists on her father’s desk and she suddenly asked, “I wonder if Becka Tolse realises that her name is an anagram of ‘to see black’? It would be funnier if it were ‘to see red’ but, then again, her name wouldn’t be Becka Tolse in that instance, would it?”
Mercifully, there was a knock on the door, so Landis didn’t have to reply to his daughter’s musings that had just provided him with the answer he needed. Instead, he said, “I think that knock will be our chief bailiff. Run along and tell your mother you’re dining with us when the King visits later this week.”
It hadn’t been the chief bailiff; it had been William delivering a letter from the Palace. Once he’d left, Landis studied the lists for the Seeping Close again. This time, the name did jump out at him. Becka Tolse: a widow from South Anapara. He stared at the name and smiled slightly. Julia was quick.
The next mystery was why Becka Tolse was in his lordship. The list said she’d been a tenant for five years. Long enough for Scanlon or his agents to have found her. Whatever she was up to, she was up to it in his lordship because scrying close to home was easier. Her name could be an unfortunate coincidence, but Landis had an inner certainty it wasn’t. It was far too dangerous for him to investigate further by scrying.
The bailiff arrived half an hour later. “You needed a word, m’lord?”
“I did, Gibb. How often are these lists updated?”
“Every season, m’lord.”
“How do you check people’s professions?”
“Ain’t easy to, m’lord. We tend to find out over time when they’ve lied. Their rent’s backdated for as far as we can prove.”
Landis inwardly noted the information. “Right. When was the last update of this list made?”
“Beginning o’ winter, m’lord. They’re as accurate now as they can be? Why? Is there summat wrong?” If there was, the bailiff wanted to get his hands on whoever had informed Lord Landis before informing him.
Landis smiled. “I’m merely curious.”
That didn’t reassure the chief bailiff. No lord was ever that curious. “Right, sir.”
Landis decided to ignore the disbelief. “Next question, have you ever seen any of these?” He tossed the sketch of the symbols over.
“I’ve seen them all in me time. The eye’s rare, sir. Never ‘ave found out what it meant. The anchor’s pretty common, ‘specially down by the river.”
“Yes, I thought that might be the case. I found the eye in an old book once. It means a black-scryer. I expected it would be non-existent, but you tell me you have seen it?”
“Aye, sir, but I’ve been walking the streets o’ the city for o’er thirty years now.”
“True. I wonder what other signs there are. I know there are signs for most of the magical hues and spirits. From what I recall, the book is fragile, but I’ll have the relevant portion copied for you. Now, you will please document and record every sign you come across in my lordship – on a map, if it will make your lives easier. I’m curious about the different trades that use them and the number of people who advertise their professions in such a way. Basically, I want to know of any symbols you find. Don’t worry about sparing my blushes.”
“Very well, m’lord.” He had long ago ceased to ask any but the necessary questions. The fewer enquiries he made, the more likely he was to find out something, eventually.
Landis obliged. “I wish to stop non-declarers and rogue traders but don’t let that get out. Just pass it off as another of my eccentricities.”
“Very good, m’lord. I’ll let the lads know. We’re all on a different beat.”
Landis noticed that his chief bailiff hadn’t asked what eccentricities. “Thank you. For curiosity’s sake again, I’d like a map with the men’s routes on them when you hand me the information a week before the Munlumen.”
The bailiff relaxed. A week before the beginning of spring gave him more time than he’d been expecting.