Mastiff (68 page)

I jumped, I was so startled. Gareth steadied me as I got to my feet. He whispered, “You’re far better for me to think of than loincloths.”

I bent to straighten my boot and whisper, “Thank you—I
don’t
think.”

He giggled. He actually giggled.

A squire stood beside the king with a quill pen and an ink bottle. Another had brought forward a small table to set before him. Next to the queen stood the Lord High Magistrate.

“We sign this proclamation of the end of slavery in this realm,” King Roger announced. He dipped the quill in the ink and signed his name at the bottom. “And now Prince Gareth, who is a clever lad and already knows how to write, will sign as witness.” He dipped the quill again and offered it to his son. Gravely Gareth took it and signed his name, one letter at a time. I leaned on Achoo, barely able to stand, I was so nervous. I was also awed by Gareth. I didn’t know any other four-year-olds who could write. He’s going to be something when he is king.

“And for my second witness, Rebakah Cooper,” announced the king. He dipped the quill in the ink and offered it to me. “It is she who found His Highness among his kidnappers and brought him out of captivity.”

I thought I was going to faint. Then Gareth said, “Loincloths.” His father looked at him oddly, but it woke me up. I smiled at him and carefully wrote my name below his.

Then came fiddly parts with wax seals and the Lord High Magistrate wielding the Crown stamp. Gareth and I stepped back with Achoo. Pounce settled on my feet as soon as I was in place. He purred and purred, which kept me from throwing up or falling. I could see scowls on many faces, too many. This wouldn’t go down well.

And yet—“We did it, Beka!” Gareth whispered as the king was talking about heralds to ride throughout the land with copies for the lords and the guilds, and copies to be read in the streets. “We did it! We got Papa to end slavery!”

I could have told him that his father couldn’t have done it without the outrage from the plot against the royal family. I even could have said his papa had a real fight ahead of him. Nobles didn’t give up money so easily. In the Lower City there would be some parents with something to say to me, and it would not be “The Gentle Mother prays for you.” How could they make extra coin if they couldn’t sell their children?

I felt Farmer’s big hands settle on my shoulders, steadying me, as I began to grin. There it was, and I would never forget it. This king, and his son, had stopped the sale of children. That was something for one Dog to be part of, wasn’t it?

His Majesty had finished. He and the queen were rising to the reluctant cheers of the crowd. Too many, I’d wager, were counting the cost to their purses.

Then I saw Holborn’s old partner stand, his fist in the air. “Cooper the Mastiff!” he cried. “Cooper the Mastiff!”

In pairs and groups the Dogs tucked into the great hall got to their feet. “Mastiff!” they shouted. “Cooper the Mastiff!”

Other people stood, their fists in the air, shouting, “Mastiff! Mastiff!”

Their Majesties glanced at me. “You have a new nickname,” His Majesty said with a grin. “And well deserved.” I bowed and said nothing. The king knew my nickname!

Gareth came to me and took my hand. Now most of them were chanting the name. Farmer took my free hand and kissed it. “Courage, dearest,” he murmured in my ear. “It will die down—in a year or three.”

“I hope so,” I told Farmer, turning my face up toward his. “Elsewise you’ll have one wrinkly wife. Have you ever seen a mastiff?”

The shouting continued even after we’d left that stage. As we returned home, we were surrounded by folk crying the name. Even Rosto used it, jokingly, when all of us came together for supper that evening.

It wasn’t until Pounce, Achoo, and I were alone in my room tonight after Farmer went for a walk that I had a chance to finish this journal. I will keep no more after this. Reports I will write, but no private journal. What kind of hobbling could I do that is greater? It is better that I stop now, so my descendants will have only great things to read of me.

And the slaves will be free, all of them, by my grandchildren’s time. That is better even than any hobbling.

January 2, 430 H.E.

The Dancing Dove

Corus, Tortall

Ma patched me up well enough after my fight with old Garsay, though I swear she made the stitching harder than it need be. She brewed the blood-fixing tea good and strong and stood over me while I drank every drop.

“Why didn’t you go to one of the better mage-healers?” she asked, folding her arms as she looked at me. “You can afford to do so, now that you’re the Rogue. They’ll beg for your business.”

I slung my unsewn arm around her waist and gave her a squeeze. “Now who’s going to look after me better than my old ma?” I asked her. “Family’s family, when all’s said and done.”

“You mean you don’t know who you can trust,” she told me. “You’re the Rogue now, with the old Rogue’s blood on your hands. Every young buck that thinks you’re weak will be looking to fight you as you did Garsay. And the first folk they’ll want to help them are the healers.”

I was hurt. “I’ve folk I’d trust with my life, and they’d trust me with theirs. You don’t get to this point alone, Ma. And that reminds me, I was thinking there’s a nice little house up on Meadowsweet Way, with plenty of room for a garden—”

“No,” she said, her voice flat. “You may call yourself King of the Rogues, and have gold in your pocket, but I’ll take none of it. I do well enough on my own. I won’t cast you out. We only have each other, after all. But don’t expect me to give you my blessing. You’ve shamed our great ancestress and all she stood for, all
I
stand for.”

“Ma, not this again,” I complained.

But her eyes had gone black clean through. She seemed far taller, with long, waving black hair and arms wound with snakes. I wasn’t there with my ma anymore. The Goddess, my mother’s Great Goddess, was putting her nose in my business. “Do you think it will be easy now? There will come a day when you will wake and sleep with regret and shame over this path you have chosen. Those you thought loyal will betray you. Your entire life will be upended. Your future is nothing you have dreamed, and the fit will not be a comfortable one. I would say you will be miserable until the end, but you are a scamp, and I love your mother. Still, you will have a love that will stick you like pins.”

She gave me the chills. The Goddess has only taken Ma twice that I know of. This is the first time I’ve heard that god-voice turned at me, and I don’t like it. The Trickster is god enough for me. Let her god stay out of my life.

When the otherworld look faded from her eyes, I stood, trying not to show how much it cost me with all my cuts and bruises. She sat on a chair with me helping her. “Take care, Mother,” I said, and kissed her cheek. I chose not to tell her about the guards I was moving into the lodgings and houses around her. No one would try to make me kneel with threats to my family, as Garsay had made the Rogue before him do.

I stopped at the shrine beside the door. I ignored the Mother Goddess figure. She frowned at me in any case. My business was with the family shrine. All the way at the top was ancestress Rebakah and her black cat. I quickly replaced them with copies I’d had made, and tucked the real ones in my pocket. I meant to put them up where my honored Provost’s Guard ancestress could watch her descendant, the Rogue of all Tortall. It is a joke I’ve been laughing over for years and hope to laugh over for many more.

Proud of himself, limping only a little from his ferocious battle with the former King of Thieves, George Cooper left his mother’s house and sauntered down the street. Two fellows, both carrying swords, joined him on either side. Ahead of him and behind him, other guards took their places, ensuring that no one decided to attack the newest thief-king while he was still recovering from his rise to the throne.

In the shadows of an alley ahead, a purple-eyed black cat watched George Cooper approach.

You are indeed a clever fellow
, Pounce—who would one day soon be called Faithful, and had many more names besides—thought as he watched the youngest Rogue in all Tortallan history saunter along.
And your cleverness will be much needed in the time to come. But it does not serve my wishes that you remember that your Beka’s counselor was a purple-eyed black cat. You’re wary of god-touched people, and the sight of me might scare you away from the one who will upend your life. So—forget the purple eyes, George Cooper. Your ancestress had a black cat that went everywhere with her. No more, no less
.

May 24, 430 H.E.

The Dancing Dove

Corus, Tortall

I write with the figure of the old huntress’s cat watching me. I used to think there was something odd about it, something almost magical, but no. It’s just a very well-made carving of a black cat. Whoever cut it even made the tiny face look a bit clever. Of late I’ve gotten in the habit of carrying it with me in my pocket. Ancestress Rebakah has her shelf high over my head, but I don’t think she grudges the cat’s company to me.

I met the oddest little fellow today, Alan of Trebond. He’s come to start as a page at the palace. He’s got a tough oak burl for a minder, Coram Smythesson. That one’s a smith and former soldier and no fool at all. He warned young Alan I’m a thief. The lad, being full of spirit and sauce, didn’t mind that at all. My Sight was all around him, making him glow like fire. There’s something about him.… I think we might do one another good. I told him so. It’s laughable, a little lord like that and me doing good for each other, but my Sight doesn’t steer me wrong.

He’s a redhead. I hope it’s true, about redheads and tempers. He’ll need one, the way those pages and squires pick on each other. And he’s got purple eyes. I never saw the like.

On his desk, in the pits that served the cat figure as eyes, twin sparks of purple glowed, then vanished.