George Martin - Rogues

Beneath the water, a careful observer might note the young man’s legs looked somewhat … odd. But it was shady there, and everyone knows that water bends light strangely, making things look other than they are. And besides, birds are not the most careful of observers, especially when their attention is focused elsewhere.

An hour or so later, slightly damp and smelling of sweet honeysuckle soap, Bast climbed the bluff where he was fairly certain that he’d left his master’s book. It was the third bluff he’d climbed in the last half hour.

When he reached the top, Bast relaxed at the sight of a hawthorn tree. Walking closer, he saw it was the right tree, the nook right where he remembered. But the book was gone. A quick circle of the tree showed that it hadn’t fallen to the ground.

Then the wind stirred and Bast saw something white. He felt a sudden chill, fearing it was a page torn free from the book. Few things angered his master like a mistreated book.

But no. Reaching up, Bast didn’t feel paper. It was a smooth stretch of birch bark. He pulled it down and saw the letters crudely scratched into the side.

I ned ta tawk ta ewe. Ets emportant.

Rike

Afternoon: Birds and Bees

With no idea of where he might find Rike, Bast made his way back to the lightning tree. He had just settled down in his usual place when a young girl came into the clearing.

She didn’t stop at the greystone and instead trudged straight up the side of the hill. She was younger than the others, six or seven. she wore a bright blue dress and had deep purple ribbons twining through her carefully curled hair.

She had never come to the lightning tree before, but Bast had seen her. Even if he hadn’t, he could have guessed by her fine clothes and the smell of rosewater that she was Viette, the mayor’s youngest daughter.

She climbed the low hill slowly, carrying something furry in the crook of her arm. When she reached the top of the hill she stood, slightly fidgety, but still waiting.

Bast eyed her quietly for a moment. “Do you know the rules?” he asked.

She stood, purple ribbons in her hair. She was obviously slightly scared, but her lower lip stuck out, defiant. She nodded.

“What are they?”

The young girl licked her lips and began to recite in a singsong voice. “No one taller than the stone.” She pointed to the fallen greystone at the foot of the hill. “Come to blacktree, come alone.” She put her finger to her lips, miming a shushing noise.

“Tell no—”

“Hold on,” Bast interrupted. “You say the last two lines while touching the tree.”

The girl blanched a bit at this but stepped forward and put her hand against the sun-bleached wood of the long-dead tree.

The girl cleared her throat again, then paused, her lips moving silently as she ran through the beginning of the poem until she found her place again. “Tell no adult what’s been said, lest the lightning strike you dead.”

When she spoke the last word, Viette gasped and jerked her hand back, as if something had burned or bitten her fingers. Her eyes went wide as she looked down at her fingertips and saw they were an untouched, healthy pink. Bast hid a smile behind his hand.

“Very well then,” Bast said. “You know the rules. I keep your secrets and you keep mine. I can answer questions or help you solve a problem.” He sat down again, his back against the tree, bringing him to eye level with the girl. “What do you want?”

She held out the tiny puff of white fur she carried in the crook of her arm. It mewled. “Is this a magic kitten?” she asked.

Bast took the kitten in his hand and looked it over. It was a sleepy thing, almost entirely white. One eye was blue, the other green. “It is, actually,” he said, slightly surprised. “At least a little.” He handed it back.

She nodded seriously. “I want to call her Princess Icing Bun.”

Bast simply stared at her, nonplussed. “Okay.”

The girl scowled at him. “I don’t know if she’s a girl or a boy!”

“Oh,” Bast said. He held out his hand, took the kitten, then petted it and handed it back. “It’s a girl.”

The mayor’s daughter narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you fibbing?”

Bast blinked at the girl, then laughed. “Why would you believe me the first time and not the second?” he asked.

“I could tell she was a magic kitten,” Viette said, rolling her eyes in exasperation. “I just wanted to make sure. But she’s not wearing a dress. She doesn’t have any ribbons or bows. How can you tell if she’s a girl?”

Bast opened his mouth. Then closed it again. This was not some farmer’s child. She had a governess and a whole closetful of clothes. She didn’t spend her time around sheep and pigs and goats. She’d never seen a lamb born. She had an older sister, but no brothers …

He hesitated; he’d rather not lie. Not here. But he hadn’t promised to answer her question, hadn’t made any sort of agreement at all with her. That made things easier. A great deal easier than having an angry mayor visit the Waystone, demanding to know why his daughter suddenly knew the word “penis.”

“I tickle the kitten’s tummy,” Bast said easily. “And if it winks at me, I know it’s a girl.”

This satisfied Viette, and she nodded gravely. “How can I get my father to let me keep it?”

“You’ve already asked him nicely?”

She nodded. “Daddy hates cats.”

“Begged and cried?”

Nod.

“Screamed and thrown a fit?”

She rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. “I’ve tried all that, or I wouldn’t be here.”

Bast thought for a moment. “Okay. First, you have to get some food that will keep good for a couple days. Biscuits. Sausage. Apples. Hide it in your room where nobody will find it. Not even your governess. Not even the maid. Do you have a place like that?”

The little girl nodded.

“Then go ask your daddy one more time. Be gentle and polite. If he still says no, don’t be angry. Just tell him that you love the kitten. Say if you can’t have her, you’re afraid you’ll be so sad you’ll die.”

“He’ll still say no,” the little girl said.

Bast shrugged. “Probably. Here’s the second part. Tonight, pick at your dinner. Don’t eat it. Not even the dessert.” The little girl started to say something, but Bast held up a hand. “If anyone asks you, just say you’re not hungry. Don’t mention the kitten. When you’re alone in your room tonight, eat some of the food you’ve hidden.”

The little girl looked thoughtful.

Bast continued. “Tomorrow, don’t get out of bed. Say you’re too tired. Don’t eat your breakfast. Don’t eat your lunch. You can drink a little water, but just sips. Just lie in bed. When they ask what’s the matter—”

She brightened. “I say I want my kitten!”

Bast shook his head, his expression grim. “No. That will spoil it. Just say you’re tired. If they leave you alone, you can eat, but be careful. If they catch you, you’ll never get your kitten.”

The girl was listening intently now, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“By dinner they’ll be worried. They’ll offer you more food. Your favorites. Keep saying you’re not hungry. You’re just tired. Just lie there. Don’t talk. Do that all day long.”

“Can I get up to pee?”

Bast nodded. “But remember to act tired. No playing. The next day, they’ll be scared. They’ll bring in a doctor. They’ll try to feed you broth. They’ll try everything. At some point your father will be there, and he’ll ask you what’s the matter.”

Bast grinned at her. “That’s when you start to cry. No howling. Don’t blubber. Just tears. Just lie there and cry. Then say you miss your kitten so much. You miss your kitten so much you don’t want to be alive anymore.”