Chin up!
Nick, the mysterious patient X
Sam folded the letter, smiling. At least Nick had come out of that awful night without any real harm, and with his sense of humor intact. It was typical of him that the Dead had only triggered his scientific interest, rather than a much more sensible fear.
“All well?” asked Touchstone, who had been waiting patiently. At least half the onlookers had lost interest, Sam saw, withdrawing farther down the corridor and out of sight, where they felt they could talk.
“Father,” said Sam, “did you bring me some clothes? My school stuff must have been ruined.”
“Damed, the bag, please,” said Touchstone. “Everybody else, outside if you don’t mind.”
Like two flocks of sheep that have difficulty mixing, the people left in the ward tried to get out while the people in the corridor tried to help and actually made it more difficult. Eventually, they did all get out, except for Damed—Touchstone’s principal bodyguard, a small thin man who moved alarmingly fast. Damed handed over a compact suitcase before he left, shutting the door.
There were Ancelstierran clothes in the bag, procured—like Touchstone’s and the guards’—from the Bain consulate of the Old Kingdom.
“Wear these for now,” said Touchstone. “We’ll get changed at the Perimeter. Back into sensible clothes.”
“Armored coat and helmet, boots and sword,” said Sameth, pulling his hospital gown off over his head.
“Yes,” said Touchstone. He hesitated, then said, “Does that bother you? I suppose you could go south instead. I must return to the Kingdom. But you might be safe in Corvere—”
“No!” Sam said. He wanted to stay with his father. He wanted the heavy weight of his armored coat and the pommel of a sword under his palm. But most of all, he wanted to be with his mother in Belisaere. Because only then would he really be safe from Death . . . and the necromancer who he was sure even now waited in that cold river, waiting for Sam to return.
Chapter Nineteen
Ellimere’s Thoughts on the Education of Princes
After two weeks of hard riding, bad weather, indifferent food, and sore muscles that were slow to re-adapt to horseback, Sam arrived in the great city of Belisaere to find that his mother was not there. Sabriel had already been and gone, called away again to deal with a reported Free Magic sorcerer cum bandit chief, who was attacking travelers along the northern extremes of the Nailway.
Within a day, Touchstone was gone, too, riding to sit at a High Court in Estwael, where an ancient, simmering feud between two noble families had broken out into murders and kidnappings.
In Touchstone’s absence, Sam’s fourteen-month-older sister Ellimere was named co-regent, along with Jall Oren, the Chancellor. It was a formality really, since Touchstone would rarely be more than a few days away by message-hawk, but a formality that would greatly affect Sam. Ellimere took her responsibility seriously. And she thought that one of her duties as co-regent was to address the shortcomings of her younger brother.
Touchstone had been gone only an hour when Ellimere came looking for Sam. Since Touchstone had left at dawn, Sam was still asleep. He had recovered from his physical wounds, but he still did not feel quite himself. He grew tired more easily than before, and wanted to be alone more. Fourteen days of rising before dawn and riding till after dusk, accompanied by the hearty humor of the guards, had not helped him feel less tired or more gregarious.
Consequently, he was not amused when Ellimere chose to wake him on his first morning in his own bed by ripping back the curtains, flinging his window open, and ripping the blankets off. It was already several days into winter in the Old Kingdom, and decidedly cool. The sea breeze that came roaring in could even be accurately described as cold, and all the feeble sunshine did was hurt Sam’s eyes.
“Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!” caroled Ellimere, who had a surprisingly deep singing voice for a woman.
“Go away!” growled Sam, as he attempted to snatch the blankets back. A brief tug-of-war ensued, which Sam gave up when one of the blankets got ripped in half.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Sam said bitterly. Ellimere shrugged. She was supposed to be pretty—some even considered her beautiful—but Sam couldn’t see it. As far as he was concerned, Ellimere was a dangerous pest. By making her co-regent, his parents had elevated her to the status of a monster.
“I’ve come to discuss your schedule,” said Ellimere. She sat down on the end of the bed, her back very straight and her hands clasped regally in her lap. Sam noted that she wore a fine, bell-sleeved tabard of red and spun gold over her everyday linen dress, and a sort of demi-regal circlet kept her long and immaculately brushed black hair in place. Since her normal attire was old hunting leathers with her hair care-lessly tied back out of the way, her dress did not bode well for Sam’s own desire for informality.
“My what?” Sam asked.
“Your schedule,” continued Ellimere. “I’m sure that you were planning to spend most of your time tinkering in that smelly workshop of yours, but I’m afraid your duty to the Kingdom comes first.”
“What?” asked Sam. He felt very tired, and certainly not up to this conversation. Particularly since he had indeed planned to spend most of his time in his tower workroom. For the last few days, as they’d got closer and closer to Belisaere, he’d been looking forward to the solitude and peace of sitting at his workbench, with all his tools carefully arranged on the wall, above the chest of tiny drawers, each filled with some useful material, like silver wire or moonstones. He had managed to survive the last part of the trip by dreaming up new toys and gadgets he would make in his little haven of calm and recuperation.
“The Kingdom must come first,” reiterated Ellimere. “The people’s morale is very important, and each member of the family must play a part in maintaining it. As the only Prince we’ve got, you’ll have to—”
“No!” exclaimed Sam, who suddenly realized where she was heading. He jumped out of bed, his nightshirt billowing around his legs, and scowled down at his sister, until she stood up and looked down her nose at him. She not only was slightly taller than he was, but also had the advantage of wearing shoes.
“Yes,” said Ellimere sternly. “The Midsummer Festival. You’re needed to play the part of the Bird of Dawning. Rehearsals start tomorrow.”
“But it’s five months away!” protested Sam. “Besides, I don’t want to be the blasted Bird of Dawning. That suit must weigh a ton, and I’d have to wear it for a week! Didn’t Dad tell you I’m sick?”
“He said you needed to be busy,” said Ellimere. “And since you’ve never danced the Bird, you’ll need five months’ practice. Besides, there’s the appearance at the end of the Midwinter Festival, too—and that’s only six weeks away.”
“I haven’t got the legs for it,” muttered Sameth, thinking of the cross-gartered yellow stockings worn under the gold-feathered plumage of the Bird of Dawning. “Get someone with tree-trunk legs.”
“Sameth! You are going to dance the Bird, like it or not,” declared Ellimere. “It’s about time you did something useful around here. I’ve also scheduled you to sit with Jall at the Petty Court every morning between ten and one, and you’ll have sword practice twice a day with the Guard, of course, and you must come to dinner—no ordering meals to your grubby workshop. And for Perspective, I’ve assigned you to work with the scullions every second Wednesday.”
Sam groaned and sank back on the bed. Perspective was Sabriel’s idea. For one day every two weeks, Ellimere and Sam would work somewhere in the palace, supposedly like the ordinary people there. Of course, even when they were washing dishes or mopping floors, the servants could rarely forget that Sam and Ellimere would be Prince and Princess again tomorrow. Most of the servants dealt with the situ-ation by pretending Sam and Ellimere weren’t there, with a few notable exceptions like Mistress Finney, the falconer, who shouted at them like everyone else. So Perspective was usually a day of drudgery performed in s
trange silence and isolation.
“What are you doing for Perspective?” Sam asked, suspicious that Ellimere would skip it now she was co-regent.
“Stables.”
Sam grunted. The stables were hard work, particularly since it would probably be a day of mucking out. But Ellimere loved horses and all the work around them, so she probably didn’t mind.
“Mother also said you were to study this.” Ellimere drew a package out of her voluminous sleeve. It wasn’t immediately recognizable, being wrapped in oilskin and tied with thick, hairy twine.
Sam reached for the package, but as his fingers touched the wrapping, he felt a terrible chill and the sudden presence of Death, despite the spells and charms that were supposed to prevent any traffic with that cold realm, woven into the very stone around them.