Diana Jones - The Crown of Dalemark

“No,” said the Countess. “And we are not telling you where he is.”

Mitt watched her long jaw shut like a trap. “I used to think,” he said, “that the earls in the North were good. But you’re as bad as the ones in the South. Go to any lengths, all of you! You’re telling me to kill someone for you or my friends suffer. Right?”

“Let’s just say – if you want to see your friends again,” Keril suggested.

“Well, you’re wrong,” Mitt said. “You can’t make me do anything. I don’t care two hoots for any of them.”

The two implacable faces just looked at him.

Mitt managed a careless shrug. “We happened to ride on the same boat, that’s all,” he said. “I swear it.”

“You swear it? By which of the Undying?” Keril asked. “By the One? The Piper? The Wanderer? She Who Raised the Islands? The Weaver? The Earth Shaker? Come on. Choose which and swear.”

“We don’t swear like that in the South,” said Mitt.

“I know,” said Keril. “So it won’t hurt you to swear to me by the Earth Shaker that Navis and his children mean nothing to you. Just swear, and we’ll forget the whole matter.”

Their faces tilted towards Mitt. Mitt looked away, at the dark painted eyes of the Adon, and tried to make himself swear. If Keril had chosen any other of the Undying, he thought he could have done it easily. But not the Earth Shaker. And that showed how frighteningly much Keril knew. Even so, perhaps he could swear about Navis and Hildy and let on he meant Ynen too? Navis, cold fish on a slab that the man was, still didn’t seem to like Mitt particularly; and as for Hildy, after her last letter, Mitt could almost swear he hated her. But he had shown he was worried about Ynen, like a fool, and there was no way he could even pretend to dislike Ynen or let these two earls hurt him.

“Is Ynen all right?” he said.

“Perfectly, at the moment,” said the Countess. She never told lies. Mitt was relieved, until he realised that she and Keril both had the same look, satisfied and unsurprised. They knew he had given in. They had expected it.

“I warn you,” Mitt said, “if there’s murdering needing doing, I can see two ripe cases for it here in this room. So who do you want killed? What’s so special that you need to go to all this trouble with me to have it done?” Keril’s eyebrows went up. The Countess seemed surprised. Good , Mitt thought. Find out how important it is from how rude they let me be . “Do you take me for a fool?” he said. “If it was lawful, you both have lawyers to burn, and if it was ordinary, you’ve hearthmen to do it by hundreds. And I’d lay good money you have spies and murderers better than me any day. So it stands to reason it must be politics – you wanting to lay this on Southern scum like me.”

“You said it, not me,” Keril replied. “Politics, it is. We want a young lady out of the way. She’s very charming and much too popular. The whole of the west coast, including Dropwater, will follow her as soon as she gives the word.”

“Flaming Ammet!” protested Mitt.

“Be quiet!” said the Countess. “Listen!” She said it like the snap of a steel trap. End of rudeness , thought Mitt, and swallowed what he had been going to say. It hurt, as if he had swallowed an apple whole.

“Noreth of Kredindale, known as Onesdaughter,” Keril said. “I expect you’ve heard of her.” Mitt shook his head, but it was from amazement, because he had indeed heard of Noreth Onesdaughter. The story of the One’s only human child was one of the many, many stories he had heard round the small coal fires in Aberath this last winter. He had thought that like other stories, it was from times long ago. But Keril, in the most matter-of-fact way, went on to speak of Noreth as alive here and now. “Unfortunately,” he said, “she’s extremely well connected. The Kredindale family go back to the Adon’s daughter Tanabrid, whose mother was of the Undying. Noreth is cousin to Gardale and Dropwater – though Stair’s wife at Adenmouth is the aunt who brought her up – and she’s a distant cousin of mine too—”

“And mine,” said the Countess. “Pity the girl’s mad.”

“Mad or not,” said Keril, “Noreth claims that her father is the One himself. As her mother died when Noreth was born, there’s no one to contradict her, and this claim gives her a huge following among the ordinary people. She makes no secret that she thinks she’s born to become Queen of all Dalemark – North and South.”

“And that fool in Dropwater backs her,” said the Countess.

So that’s it! Mitt thought. They’re scared for their earldoms. So they get me to stop her and then blame it on the poor South! “Just a minute,” he said. “If she’s who she says she is, no one can do a thing about it. And someone who’s from the Undying on both sides isn’t going to be easy to kill either.”

“Quite possibly,” Keril said. “That’s why we were so interested in what we heard about you from the Holy Islands. Reports from there suggested that you could well ask the Undying to help you.” Mitt stared at him, shocked at how much Keril knew and how coldly he was prepared to use that knowledge. Keril leant forwards. “We don’t want yet another false king and yet another ruinous uprising,” he said. Mitt saw he really meant it. “We don’t want another war with the South. We want Noreth quietly stopped before she can lay her hands on the crown.”

“The crown?” said Mitt. “But nobody knows where that is. They tell stories here about how Manaliabrid hid it.”

“She did,” said Keril.

“Noreth,” said the Countess, “says that the One will show her where it is.” Mitt looked from one face to the other and suspected both of them had a fair idea where the crown was hidden. “The girl claims the One talks to her,” the Countess added disgustedly. “I told you she was mad. She says the One has promised her a sign to prove her claim and that this year at Midsummer she will become Queen. Silly nonsense.”

“She’s in Dropwater at the moment,” Keril said, “acting as law-woman for her cousin, but our information is that she’ll be going to her aunt in Adenmouth for Midsummer to drum up support there. We’re sending you to Adenmouth too.”

“And,” said the Countess, “you’re to go there and stop her. But don’t do it there. We want this quiet.”

“We advise you to join her as a follower – you shouldn’t be noticed among all the others – and then look for a suitable opportunity,” Keril said. As Mitt opened his mouth, he added, “If you want to see Hildrida and Ynen again, you will.”

“But Midsummer’s the day after tomorrow!” Mitt protested. A stupid thing to say, but he had been looking forward to the feasting in Aberath.

“It’s an easy day’s ride,” said the Countess, who rarely went anywhere except by carriage. “I shall give out that you have my leave to go and visit Navis Haddsson in Adenmouth. You will go first thing tomorrow. You may go away and pack now.”

Mitt had been taught that you bowed on leaving the presence of an earl, but he was too disgusted to remember. He turned and blundered his way across the dimness of the library, past the books and the glass cases that held the Countess’s collection: the necklace that was supposed to have been worn by Enblith the Fair, the ring that once belonged to the Adon, a flute of Osfameron’s, and the withered piece of parchment that went back to the days of King Hern. Behind him he sensed the two earls drawing themselves up in indignation.

“Mitt Alhamittsson,” said Keril. Mitt stopped and turned round. “I remind you,” Keril said, “that a man can be hanged when he is fifteen. They tell me your birthday is the Autumn Festival. Noreth had better be dead before then, hadn’t she?”