Catherine Fisher - The Lost Heiress

“Well, you wouldn’t have cared about me!”

“Raffi . . .” Galen growled.

“The Sekoi wouldn’t! It was the gold, that was all that mattered! I knew! I could feel it!”

The Sekoi glowered, its fur puffed out, but it folded its long arms calmly across its chest. “Oh you could, could you?”

“Yes.”

“Clever. Not many keepers can read the Sekoi.”

Galen scowled. “That’s enough.” He tipped the dregs of his drink angrily into the flames. “I don’t know what went on. I only know Raffi feels betrayed and you”—he glanced at the creature darkly—“you feel some sort of regret.”

The Sekoi shrugged. “I have nothing to regret.”

“Thanks to me. However, the boy is right. We need to know where we stand. In my experience, the Sekoi have always hated the Watch.”

“They enslaved us,” it spat.

“They did. But the Order . . .”

It waved a hand irritably. “We have no quarrel with the Order, Galen. We are friends, you and I. And the small one. I would not betray you.”

“Nevertheless.” Galen pushed the damp hair restlessly from his face. “I know the Sekoi. About gold, you can never be trusted. Your loyalty to that goes beyond any friendship with us. I understand that. The boy is too young to know yet.”

The Sekoi squirmed. Finally it said, “It may be. Some things are too sacred to speak about.” It looked up, its yellow eyes sharp in the flame light. “I’m sorry, Raffi, Galen is right. I am your friend and always will be, but we have our own beliefs, and gold is . . . vital to them. I can’t explain why. Galen says we cannot be trusted. I would say, regretfully, that may be, but we are all of us on the same side.”

“And if the Watch offered you enough gold to give us up?” Raffi snapped, rubbing his arms savagely. “What then? You’d do it, would you?”

The Sekoi was silent. It scratched its tattooed fur thoughtfully. At last it said, “Let me put it this way. If I was in trouble, you would help me, yes?”

“Of course I would! I’d never—”

“Yes. Yes. But if the price of rescuing me was to give up the secrets of the Order? All the hidden knowledge? To betray your master, all the Makers? Would you do that, Raffi, just to save me?”

Raffi felt foolish, confused. Glancing at Galen was no help. He ran his hands through his hair, dragging out leaves. “I don’t know,” he said at last.

“No, you don’t. It would be a fearsome choice. Always, you would try for some other way out.” It leaned forward, toward the flames.

“You must understand that we Sekoi also have our secrets, our beliefs, and the purpose of the Great Hoard is one of them. It may only be a metal to you. To us it is more, much more. It is our deepest dream. And every one of us is sworn to add to it, coin by coin, ounce by shining ounce until . . .” It stopped and smiled. “Well, I can say no more. But you understand? For a second, back there, when he asked me for the gold, I was on the edge of that fearsome choice.”

Raffi was silent.

The flames crackled, glowing against the smooth brown boles of the beeches. And quite suddenly, out of his confusion and annoyance, he saw Carys, walking up some endless stairway, around and around, carrying a torch of pitch that dripped and crackled. She looked at him sideways, and she was scared, her eyes alert. “The Interrex!” she hissed. “Keep your mind on the job, Raffi!”

And then all he was staring at was a beech tree.

“What was it?” Galen had hold of him already. “What was that! That was Maker-sent.”

Raffi took a deep breath. The Sekoi watched them both with interest. “Some vision?” it murmured.

“I saw Carys. Climbing a stair. She reminded me about the Interrex. That was all.”

Galen bowed his head. “My fault. We should have been moving faster!”

“But you couldn’t. And where, anyway?”

“At least I know that. The only way to find out where the child is, is to make a pilgrimage to the well. Artelan’s Well.”

He touched the black and green beads at his neck. “I hear your rebuke, Flain.” Suddenly he looked exhausted. He leaned back against a tree and said, “Tomorrow. We leave tomorrow.”

“You should sleep.” The Sekoi came and laid its long hand over his forehead, and then at his wrists. Galen shook it off, but it grinned. “My cure is working. You’re less hot.”

“I wish I were even a little hot, Graycat.”

The growl came from the darkness; turning, they saw Godric was awake and watching them. The Sekoi snarled, “That’s not my name.”

But it threw Godric his cloak, a firm bundle that he had to catch hastily. Unruffled, he shook it out and wrapped it around himself. “Much better. And something to eat?” He rubbed one hand over his beard, watching Galen closely. “You owe me that, keeper, after nearly killing me with your relic.”

Galen gave a weary nod.

Raffi took the last of the berries over and dumped them down.

Godric gazed at them in disgust. “Flainsteeth! Is this all you people eat? Alberic’s dog gets more than this!” He looked up. “You should have let me take you prisoner, lad.”

Raffi tried to look uncaring. “Keepers have higher things to think of than food.”

“Ha!” The big man roared noisily. “By God, Galen Harn, your boy’s either well-beaten or an idiot. Pass me that satchel, Graycat. It looks like I’ll have to start feeding my captors. It’s a new one, I’ll admit—Alberic will love it.”

With a scowl at Galen, the Sekoi rummaged through the pack for weapons, then hurled it over. Godric pulled out some fruit and small packages. They were wrapped in fresh calarna leaves and smelled superb.

“Venison. Smoked and stuffed. From the market.” He filled his mouth and pushed a package at Raffi. “Go on, boy, eat some. You’re just skin and bone.”

Raffi shook his head doggedly, but Galen’s voice muttered, “Do as he says.”

Astonished, Raffi looked around. Galen was still leaning against the tree. His shivering seemed to have stopped, but he looked gaunt and weary. “Go on. Eat.”

Godric wiped grease from his beard with the back of one hand. “You too. And you, Cat.”

“We don’t eat meat,” the Sekoi said haughtily.

“I’d heard that.” The big man hauled out a wine flask and drank noisily. “Afraid you’d like it too much, eh?”

Raffi was barely listening. The meat was delicious, rich and tender and sweetened with herbs and salt; he swallowed every mouthful slowly, savoring the taste, licking every scrap off his fingers.

Godric watched him in real wonder. “Here,” he growled, “have more.” He glanced over at Galen and said grimly, “I’ll tell you this, keeper, we may be thieves, but we take more care of our own than you do.”

Galen watched, his dark eyes level and unmoved. All he said was, “We move on tomorrow. We’ll leave you tied here, your weapons in that bush. You’re near the road. You can shout. Eventually someone will hear you.”

“Probably the Watch!”

Galen nodded gravely. “Your problem. Tell Alberic that he won’t find us and that he will never get the box back.”

Godric snorted. “It’s you he wants!”

“Tell him. And next time he won’t find his men left for him.”

“Next time he’ll come himself.” Godric drank heavily and stretched out his legs. “You’ve made a bad enemy in the dwarf, keeper. Alberic has a puny body but big ideas. He rules because everyone’s afraid of him. He’ll ride out here with the whole thief-band when he knows you’re here. And he won’t go back without you.” He laughed loudly. “In pieces, probably.”

“We’re used to being hunted.” Galen rolled over, wrapping the coat around himself. “Will you watch?” he said to the Sekoi, sounding bone weary.