Foxhunt Page 21

  Her eyes fixed on the wall and she frowned. A wolf pelt hung up in pride of place next to Faol’s weaponry, all grey and brindled. That didn’t look like false fur.

  Splodge made a yowl of complaint. “Me too,” Orfeus agreed in an undertone, but loosened her grip, which had gone reflexively tight. Faolan turned, frowning a question. Orfeus nodded at the pelt, summoning up a smile that came out wintry and sharp. “You people have a lot of nerve.”

  Faol lifted a hand to the grey fur, just the barest tip of his finger. He kept his claws well away. “This wolf died of natural causes,” he said softly. “In captivity, waiting for humans to somehow find a way to bring its habitat back.” His hand dropped to his side, fist clenched, claws out. “The last wolf in the wild died half a century ago.”

  “Forgive me,” Orfeus said, resigned. She dipped a little bow. “Of course you know a lot about wolves, you egomaniac.”

  Faol scowled dark and brooding. “That’s not why…” he said and then shook his head. Waved his hand in disgust. He turned without any more explanation and prowled into the next room, which Orfeus couldn’t see into unless she craned her head too obviously.

  At least in the visible area there were no bear traps or spike pits, so it was probably safe to stop confining her animal so much. Orfeus bent closer to the ground and carefully released Splodge. Splodge, being a cat, did not go along with this plan, jumping lithely from her arms and onto the ground before she bent halfway down. The cat walked around sniffing at things.

  Faol returned, silent and gruff, and put a bowl of water on the ground. He placed another bowl beside it, empty for now. Then he stretched silently, and pulled off his armour, one piece at a time, unlatching it and tossing it to the side. Orfeus watched thoughtfully, as Splodge went and sniffed at the water.

  Faolan was not tall, but held so much tension in that burly back that Orfeus was surprised something hadn’t snapped. Aside from her armour, there was little in the room that would look out of place a thousand years ago. Faolan would look most herself draped in furs or hide armour, like something from the fairy-tale age of woods and wolves and wells.

  Faolan turned and caught her staring. Orfeus met his eyes, chin up and lips pressed together, offering no defence. Faol shrugged as if restless and said, “That’s not what we mean by watching someone’s back.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Orfeus said. She looked at the bowls on the ground a little doubtfully. Faolan had not outright offered —merely assumed, merely bulled her way through and expected Orfeus to follow. Of course Faol did kindnesses gruffly and without room for negotiation. “I appreciate it, Wolfy, truly I do, but I’m having trouble debating myself into trusting you with any animal.”

  Faolan cocked his head. “Explain?”

  “You kill things,” Orfeus said patiently. “For fun, as far as I know. You eat meat. You practically live for meat!”

  That first thing was quite the accusation to level at someone who insisted he was honourable, but Faolan didn’t comment. “I live for a lot of things,” he said. He stooped, holding out his opened hand. “But cats are hunters.” After a wary moment, Splodge pressed its nose to her fingers. A grin stretched the Wolf’s face like it wasn’t sure if it was meant to be there. “She’s safe with me.”

  Splodge, the traitor cat, rubbed her face against his hand insistently. And Splodge was devoutly a her now; animals of course had no gender but Orfeus couldn’t attempt to deny her attachment by calling her it any more. Faol scratched her chin ferociously, scratched her behind the ears, stroked down her back as Splodge purred, and he was grinning the whole while. He looked odd with a grin.

  Orfeus wouldn’t for a moment trust Faol with her life, so it was strange she felt utterly certain she could trust him with her cat.

  “There’s things in my room, meat, a litterbox. You can – I’ll bring them by. Can I ask one more favour?” she added, as a thought occurred to her.

  Faol ceased the petting and looked up, his eyes sharp. Orfeus’s stomach lurched. Tai would have been a better bet, if that had been possible. She had no idea what in the hell Faolan might want in exchange.

  Orfeus touched her earring, then shook her head at herself and just pulled the damn thing out. She slipped it into her pocket. Maybe she could trade, though she just wanted to throw the foolish bit of metal away. “I don’t want to talk to Luga again, as he’s terrifying,” she said. And she didn’t want him asking questions about why exactly she was taking a leave. “Could you pass along that I’m happy to wear one of your little cult earrings now?”

  Faolan slowly stood up. “When will you return?” he said slowly.

  Was it a when, or was it an if? Or was it a not if I can help it? She honestly didn’t know. Planning for the future was for when the present task was done. She’d always been good enough at playing by ear.

  Orfeus shrugged tellingly.

  Faol sniffed, and took the hooked fang out of his ear. “Then you’ll need to be able to stay in contact,” he said, and held it out on the palm of his hand. “For now you can have mine.”

  Orfeus paused. This felt too big a favour, or a gift, which was even worse. And she didn’t particularly want to wear something of Faolan’s, however nice her back was.

  But if Faol was offering, Orfeus would take what she could get. Right? That was what she did. Orfeus straightened her chin, tried not to think about the implications and reached out. The metal was cold, despite lying close to Faol’s skin and neck and his dark tangle of hair. Faol’s clawed hand with the gauntlet lying hooked into her skin, but it was a hand held out and open, ready with a gift.

  Orfeus should not be relying so much on someone she didn’t trust.

  There were a lot of things she shouldn’t be doing. She fixed the communicator into her ear.

  Faolan stooped again and patted Splodge, who tolerated this for a moment and then walked off to claw at a chair. Faol gave the grimace that might have been meant as a grin and looked up at Orfeus. “If someone tries to get in contact with you, it’ll sting. That’s how you know it’s working.”

  “You made it hurt to communicate with each other?” Orfeus said automatically. “Tide and Sky, if that doesn’t just about sum up everything that’s wrong with you people.”

  Faolan looked down again, still with a trace of smile on his face. “Us people.”

  Orfeus patted Splodge, and turned without more farewell than that. Faolan had already extended his good wishes, in the form of the earring that felt like it burned coldly through her ear. Someone so uncommunicative could hardly take it personally if Orfeus didn’t trouble herself to dispense words on their parting.

  She clattered Splodge’s things on the ground outside Faol’s room, because it was funny. The next day, before she left to ask a few more favours from people who loathed her, Orfeus stopped by the Order’s armoury and chose a sharp new knife of gleaming steel. If it came to a fight this time, she wanted her enemies to bleed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sycamore Coast is a seaside town, lacking the wide port of Saltcote and other more well-known coastal settlements. Relatively respected for its traditional shellfish soup and crusty breads, it is seldom thought of by anyone of importance.

  It is the best town I have been to. The ocean shines a brighter blue than elsewhere, the wind sings better songs. I write this only here in my personal records, for to be honest I don’t want to report it to the others and have this place filed away with all the rest. I live in books and information, like any Elder. It is nice to have something that is still fresh, and living, and in the sun.

  - From the journal of Rivasoa

  * * *

  All things considered, Sycamore Coast was an odd choice. The quartertrain stopped only moderately near here, about nine hours’ walk on a good day. Rivasoa was a perfectly accomplished walker, but it was still a strange choice for someone who stood out to Orfeus as a starkly efficient person.

  Flying over the town from above hadn’t given Orfeus much indication of
where Rivasoa might be, no tall grave Elder figure standing noticeably by the Hub. Impossible to make out any further detail from up in the air, just the general shape of buildings and roads. She landed outside of town, beside the road leading to the closest quartertrain-connected town, Saltcote. Then she headed for the wayhouse, ignoring the stares of the people who saw her. If she couldn’t find the person she was looking for there, at least she could find hospitality and a meal without too much meat in it.

  Rivasoa stood outside the wayhouse, with its door welcomingly open and a sign above proclaiming it the Periwinkle. She was dressed in flowing garments of bright green and yellow, her face grave.

  Orfeus bowed to her. “Rivasoa,” she said, straightening. She wasn’t sure what the tone of this meeting would be. When it came down to it, she wasn’t sure she’d get out of here without several Eldergrove guards leaping out and shouting ‘surprise’, which was why Snakebite was strapped to her hip.

  “Orfeus,” Rivasoa said perfectly civilly. Her eyes scanned up Orfeus and down. “You have joined the Wild?”

  Orfeus wasn’t in her armour, just in rough-spun brown cotton and her hand-dyed jeans, a green cloak over it all. But she was in her mask. She didn’t like being without it, somehow. “I’m infiltrating,” she said. It wasn’t especially a lie, though it wasn’t all the truth either.

  “Shall we go in?” Rivasoa said.

  Orfeus shrugged, and gestured. After you.

  Orfeus followed her into a charming little wayhouse. The air smelled less of salt in here, but the house still declared its township in plenty of other ways. Rows of shells were lined up carefully by the heater. Knotted driftwood rested on shelves next to a couple precious yellow-paged paper books. Orfeus breathed in the air appreciatively. Someone in the kitchen area was making a salad or something similiar; she could smell the vinaigrette.

  A moment after they entered, someone rushed through from the kitchen, a short, curvy person with long curly hair and a periwinkle-blue apron. Rivasoa grinned at the sight of them.

  She turned to Orfeus, smile sparkling bright, and said, “This is Marisa; she is the keeper of this wayhouse.”

  Marisa nodded distractedly, and rushed out from behind the counter, wiping her hands off on her apron. “My love,” she said, and practically hopped up onto Rivasoa.

  Rivasoa, tall, grave, stately Rivasoa, wrapped her arms around the other woman to catch her as she jumped, and then spun around with her laughing. “Yes, yes,” she said. “It’s been less than an hour, you know, dearest.”

  “Yes, but before that you were gone for a week,” said the other woman, fondly, into her neck. She kissed her, then disentangled enough to peer at Orfeus. “Is this her?” Her eyes caught on the mask, but she didn’t mention it.

  “Madame Marisa,” Orfeus said, and sketched a bow. “An honour to meet you.” She cast Rivasoa a curious look. Only a week? This must be where Rivasoa was based when she wasn’t in Eldergrove.

  Marisa grinned and hopped down from Rivasoa’s arms, giving her an admonishing slap on the arm that turned into a fond lingering hand resting there. “You didn’t tell me she was gallant! And you didn’t tell her about me!”

  “Of course I did,” Rivasoa protested.

  Orfeus looked from one to the other, and couldn’t keep a smile from tugging up her lips at Marisa’s infectious cheer. Cheer had been noticeably lacking on the grim base of the Order of the Wild. “She did,” she assured the wayhouse keeper. “One of the first things Rivasoa told me was about her wife.” Mostly, just the fact that she had one. Then again, for Rivasoa, that might be an avowal of love.

  The way she looked at Marisa certainly was.

  “We have business, but I greatly look forward to when I can talk to you later,” Rivasoa said. It seemed a little blunt and unflattering to Orfeus, but Marisa grinned. No doubt she was used to her. To be used to each other, to have someone so loved who loved you so and who stayed… Orfeus shook her head, trying not to think about it. What a stupid thing to be jealous of.

  “You two sit down,” Marisa said, clapping her hands. “I’ll bring you food and you can natter.” She looked at Rivasoa. “That soup you like?”

  “Oh, yes, please,” Rivasoa said. She kept smiling even after her wife was out of view, looking dazed.

  “I understand now why you haven’t already returned to Eldergrove,” Orfeus said.

  “You understand nothing,” Rivasoa said, less frostily than usual.

  They settled down on three-legged stools in a little table in the corner, under a small decorative lute on a shelf—not functional, it wasn’t stringed. Orfeus still eyed it avariciously.

  “You promised me information,” Rivasoa said, with no more dissembling than that. She arranged the folds of her green and yellow garments around her.

  “I promise a lot of things,” Orfeus agreed. “Oh, don’t pout. Shouldn’t you be here keeping an eye on me anyway?”

  Rivasoa frowned. Her hands folded on the table, fingers clenching together. There was no sign of stress on her face, but the tight clasp of her hands spelled it out just fine. “Yes, technically. Though my coworkers were perhaps not best pleased when I lost you in Tinctora.” She looked at Orfeus expectantly. “I burned a candle for you.”

  Orfeus wanted to say, We all lost a lot of things in Tinctora. She just smiled instead, and with a careless gesture said, “I was whisked away by hunters on horses fleet-flying, up to a house in the sky.”

  Rivasoa frowned. “The Wild Hunt?” she said, endearingly perplexed. Then she answered her own question. “The Wild. Must you speak in riddles, Orfeus?”

  “Must you insist on solving me?” Orfeus replied. She leaned across the table. “I’ll keep my bargain, never fear. You promised me information, too, remember?” She spread out her hands. “You first.”

  “You trust no one, in the world.”

  “Yes, so you go first. You’ve taken a step of trust to even meet me here.”

  Rivasoa shrugged a little and didn’t disagree. She had gone out on a limb, and Orfeus hadn’t expected her to. There was more to this woman than there seemed to be, and there seemed on the surface of it to be plenty. Maybe Orfeus had been wrong about the Elders. Or at least about her.

  Rivasoa’s eyes gleamed with wire and thought. “Yes,” she said. “People have gone missing in Eldergrove. That’s part of how I was able to convince the Council to let me continue my excursion.”

  Interesting. She hadn’t expected people missing from Eldergrove in particular, maybe there least of all. Who would dare snatch folk from the cradle of learning itself? Rivasoa had dealt her fair, and was waiting. “I only know of one person missing,” Orfeus said. “From Tinctora, my neighbour. That’s why this is of interest to me.” She paused. “And morals,” she added.

  Rivasoa did not smile, very possibly doubting whether she had them.

  Orfeus sighed and flipped out the data seed. “I have this, as well.”

  Rivasoa’s eyes fixed on it. She picked it up and slid it over one finger.

  Orfeus blinked as the stick seemed to fuse with her skin for a moment. She had forgotten quite how strange Elders were.

  “Very interesting,” Rivasoa said. Her eyes had a slight sheen, far away.

  Orfeus leaned forward, and said, “So who went missing, in Eldergrove?”

  Rivasoa focused back on her, and shook her head. “What will you offer me if I help you?” she said. This was balder than Orfeus had expected from Rivasoa, especially with the chip still firmly on her finger.

  Orfeus sat back, crossing her arms. “When exactly did I ask for your help?” she said. “I just came here for information.” Missing people, deadly danger, this fitted the Order more than Rivasoa.

  Rivasoa shook her head, slowly. “But our goals align, singer.” Orfeus looked away with a pang. She had been that, first, before she was the Fox. Could she be both?

  Did it matter which she was? Really, in her secret heart? Did it matter what she was known for, as long as
her name was known?

  Rivasoa was formidable, in any case, with the access to information that she brought. “You just said our goals align,” Orfeus said. “It’s in your own self-interest.” Maybe Rivasoa spoke the language of selfishness better than she’d thought.

  Maybe not. “Orfeus,” Rivasoa said, and traced eyes over her form with slight distaste. “Hunter of the Wild, I am risking more with this than you are.”

  Orfeus shrugged. “To my way of thinking, I’m risking most of what I have,” she said. “I just don’t have as much left to lose.” She flared out her fingers. “Yet fine. Fine.” She sat back, considering. “You know, I’m still Orfeus the singer where it counts.”

  “Of course,” Rivasoa said. Nothing else. Nothing about how if you pretended to become a thing, you often became it. She was smarter than that, and didn’t need to say it.

  Rivasoa could be useful: a person Orfeus respected, if not a person she liked. A person she was closer to liking now she’d met her wife and seen her smile, a sliver of humanity to her.

  Much more human than most of Orfeus’s new-won near-allies of the Wild. Perhaps it was time after all to let loose of some of her so carefully hoarded secrets.

  Marisa came out from behind the counter, heading in their direction, expertly balancing a carnival of plates. Orfeus leaned forward over the table and said, “You want to know why I can do things I shouldn’t be able to? I’m not born with the Blood. Not enough. It’s injected. That’s how I know Bright.”