The Robin and the Kestrel (39 page)

There was music of various sorts all around him; many, many of these volumes had something to do with magic. Some of it was pleasant; some absolutely entrancing, the kind he could get lost inside for hours.

But he didn't have hours, and he wasn't looking for anything pleasant.

Then he heard it; a thin, evil trickle that could not by any stretch of the imagination be called a melody. A discordance of which the pendant was only a small part.

He turned and followed it; it led him to a panel on the back wall, to one side of one of the enormous bookcases. It was a panel like many others in the room, but when he tapped it slightly, he thought it sounded hollow.

The only trouble was, he couldn't open it.

He tried everything he could think of; pressed anything that looked like it might be a release, and all to no avail. Gwyna took her turn at it, but her skill was not in this, and she was no more successful than he was.

He was about to make another attempt, this time at forcing the panel open, when he felt a presence behind him.

He turned; Gwyna whirled at the same instant.

Brother Reymond stared at them in dumb shock, his mouth agape with surprise.

Robin didn't wait to see what he'd do; she muffled his mouth with both hands, as Kestrel grabbed his arms. Together they wrestled him around and stuffed him in a corner.

He looked at her; she looked back at him. "Now what?" she mouthed at him.

He shrugged. "We t-try to convince him," he whispered back, then looked into the frightened eyes of the Brother.

Robin only rolled her eyes skyward, and tightened her hold on Brother Reymond's mouth.

Afterwards, Jonny wasn't certain how long it took him to convince Reymond simply to stay quiet until he had heard them out. It felt like forever, and he was certain that Robin's arms were aching with strain by the time Reymond nodded a frightened agreement.

Things went a little faster, after that. She told him in detail about the Skull Hill Ghost, and the curious exception he had insisted on making to his promise. Then Kestrel told him about Padrik and his Healing Services.

Reymond's eyes grew larger and larger, the more they spoke, but his mouth betrayed, not fear, but dismay. When Robin related her little stay with the Patsonos, his brows drew together in anger—but when Kestrel finally told him about the demon-summoning, and the fate of Orlina Woolwright, he could hardly contain his agitation.

"Dear and gracious God!" he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper when they were done. "I never thought—I didn't want to think—but this explains all those visitors to the Abbot, the ones who seem to be in a trance, and who disappear, never to be seen again! They
all
wear pendants like that one"—he indicated the wrought-iron pendant in Kestrel's hand—"and that alone would convince me that you are telling the truth! But I have learned other things since you were last here . . . ."

"Like what?" Robin asked harshly, as his voice trailed off. He flushed with shame.

"About your Ghost," he said, unhappily. "I have found manuscripts that told me he was bound there by the first Abbot, some fifty years ago or so. I also learned that there are other manuscripts that would tell me more, much more, if only we could find them."

"What do you mean?" Robin asked, her face puzzled. "Are they lost? Were they taken away?"

He shook his head, growing more and more distracted with every word. "No, they were hidden, somewhere in this Library, but I cannot for the life of me find them, and I have been trying—"

Jonny cleared his throat, very delicately, and Brother Reymond started. "C-could they b-be b-behind this p-panel?" he asked, touching the offending bit of wood.

Brother Reymond looked at the panel curiously—then suddenly lost all his color. He reached out with trembling fingers, and did something complicated among the carvings.

The panel swung open. Behind it was a deep recess; in the recess was a bound manuscript.

They all reached for it at the same time, but Brother Reymond's reach was longer and he got it first. He removed it from the recess, hands shaking—but he did not hold it as if it was something precious, but as if it was something vile that he did not wish to contaminate them with.

He took it to a reading stand and lit the lamp from one of the vigil-lights. As the steady flame illuminated his face, he began to read, scanning the contents quickly.

"This is what I was looking for," he whispered. "This is the journal of the first Abbot of Carthell. He was a mage as well as Abbot, but he had been rejected as a Justiciar, and the rejection made him an angry and bitter man. He saw this appointment as an exile—I have read his first journals, and they are full of bile in the guise of piety."

He turned away; Robin moved belatedly to stop him, but he was only relocking the door. "Now we will not be disturbed," he said. "There may be some other restless souls abroad tonight."

He returned to the manuscript and scanned a little further. "Ah, here it is.
I
have uncovered a new spell, one that will bind the spirit of a being to a particular place, and make it to do the will of the binder.
There, that's what we were looking for.
I
must have a living being for this, for the spell will not work on the dead, not even the newly dead.
Dear and blessed God, he is contemplating murder here!
There are many travelers upon this road who are not human. I mean to use one of those. It would indeed be a grave and mortal sin to kill a human, but these monsters and monstrosities are beyond the Church pale and law, and therefore, it is no murder to do one to death."

Reymond was so white that Kestrel feared he might faint at any moment, but his voice was strong enough as he turned the pages.

"Here is the spell itself—no, I shall
not
read it, I had rather burn it! Here he selects his victim—
I
have succeeded! My spell has worked beyond the wildest of my dreams! I drugged the creature's food, and carried him out to Bare Hill upon my own donkey; there I wrought the spell which slew and bound him all at once—and the spirit arose a hundred times more powerful and deadly than the monster had been alive!"

Reymond's eyes flickered across the pages, as his voice filled with agony. "Here he tells how the Ghost he created killed at his command, destroying 'sinners' he sent to it for penance . . . here he tells how it also began to kill anyone who dared to cross its Hill after sundown. Look, here is the list of victims that the Abbot sent—and here the list of those who died 'accidentally'! One of them is the Priest of Westhaven who tried to banish the poor creature! And he says—oh, monstrous! Horrible, horrible—"

Now his voice broke, and he buried his face in his hands for a moment. Kestrel dared to place a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer some sort of wordless comfort. Reymond's shoulders shook, and when he removed his hands, his face was wet with tears.

But his voice was strong again. "This
fiend
wrote here, in his own hand, that he told the Priest only 'some things were better left to the hand of God,' and the Priest ignored his warning. His
warning]
That was no warning—that was not even an attempt at a warning! This man was a monster, a demon in human guise—"

He shook his head, violently. "And to not only leave that abomination in place, but to continue to
use
it! This is
not
the Church I joined; these are
not
the deeds of a good and God-loving man! This man was a monster of the basest sort, and the current Abbot is no better, cloaking his crimes, using what the other created!"

Robin broke the silence that followed his outburst. "Was Padrik educated here?" she asked, quietly.

Reymond nodded. "We thought it a matter of pride, that he should rise to be High Bishop," he whispered brokenly. "And now I find it to be not a cause for pride and rejoicing, but for shame . . . ."

"My people have a proverb, that two bad grapes don't mean all grapes are bad—but two spoiled grapes contaminate the whole bunch," Robin told him. "He and the Abbot together are doing terrible things in Gradford—"

"And if they are not stopped, those terrible things will spread." Reymond's back straightened, and his expression went from horrified to determined. "We must put this right, the three of us," he said, finally, and firmly. "I am not a mage, myself, but I have studied magic in the course of my work for some time. I may be able to free this poor spirit—I must study the binding spell, vile as it is. If there is a physical link, I need only break it to break the binding spell. If the spell can be broken at all, I can do so within the next two days. I can wait here for those who Padrik may send, and free them once they reach die Hill, by taking their pendants as you took Orlina's. And if I can, I will go with further victims to the Justiciars at Kingsford, lay this before them, and ask them to deal with Padrik."

Kestrel silently applauded the man's courage—he
knew
that the Ghost had killed dozens of people, and yet he was willing to dare its anger to free it! And then, not content with that alone, he would go petition the Justiciars as well, a long and uncomfortable journey in the heart of winter. His regard for Reymond rose, and he tried to put his admiration into his eyes, for he knew that his words alone would not convey it, poor and limping as they were. Now,
this
was a man of the Church who could restore his faith in the Church's honor!

"Y-you are a
g-good
man, B-brother R-Reymond," he said, warmly. "As g-good—as the f-first Abbot was evil."

Reymond blushed, and smiled shyly. "Thank you for those kind, but inaccurate words," he said softly. "I don't know if anyone could be good enough to counteract this evil."

"D-don't ever b-believe that, please. E-ever."

Robin had gone into the Scriptorium for pen and paper when Reymond made his declaration; she had been scribbling furiously ever since. Now she blew on the ink to dry it, folded the note, and handed it to Brother Reymond. "Give this to the first Gypsy you see on the road and tell him it
has
to get to a Gypsy named Peregrine, immediately," she told him. "I've left notes in other places for him, but you may be my fastest courier. When he reads it, he'll deal with the Clan that is helping Padrik with his frauds."

Reymond nodded gravely, and put the note carefully inside the pouch hanging on his belt beside the keys to the Library. "And what of you?" he asked, faltering just a little. He clearly wanted to hear them say they intended to
do
something, but he also was obviously afraid that they weren't going to.

Robin smiled, a smile that dazzled the poor man. "We're going to do the obvious," she said, simply, an abrupt turnaround from her earlier attitude that took Kestrel completely by surprise, and left him open-mouthed with amazement. "We're going back to Gradford, to see if we can't expose him as a fraud without getting ourselves thrown in gaol or hung. If you can free the Ghost, that's the least we can do."

Reymond blinked, and well he might. That was a tall task for anyone—

"Can you do that?" he asked.

Robin shrugged. "We can try," she replied.

Jonny grinned, with a combination of relief and approval that made him want to cheer. "One th-thing w-we c-can do," he said, "is m-make sure as m-many p-people as p-possible learn P-Padrik is p-playing t-tricks. And w-we c-can p-prove it by s-showing that anyone can d-do them."

"Oh, now that is an excellent idea!" Brother Reymond applauded.

"That's probably one reason why he's forbidden public entertainment," Robin mused. "If some sleight-of-hand artist duplicates one of his 'miracles,' people are going to start wondering out loud." She frowned at that. "It's a pity we couldn't arrange a show."

"H-he m-may have f-forbidden p-public entertainment," Kestrel said slowly, "b-but he
can't
s-stop p-people from d-doing a t-trick or two t-to amuse th-their f-friends in p-public!"

Robin visibly brightened, and snapped her fingers. "Now
there
is an idea! And by the time any Constable gets there, well, the party has broken up and there's no one to arrest! I can think of a
lot
of people who would like to be in on that plan!"

So
can I,
Jonny thought, remembering Ardana's girls, and wondering if any of the unofficial Houses would welcome a trickster as entertainment instead of a musician. For that matter, a party made up of a few of the young ladies and their favorites could well wander the inns every couple of nights . . . or better yet, every couple of afternoons, so the ladies would not be losing any income.

With all the lovely ladies in such a party, eyes would naturally be drawn to it. And when someone offered to do a trick for the amusement of the group—

Oh, yes, that would work very well indeed.
Very
well.

He was so lost in his own musings that he missed part of what Robin was saying.

"We'll leave at dawn, and we should reach Gradford in a few days," she was saying to Reymond. "I know where we can leave the wagon, so we aren't recognized, coming in a second time."

"And I will do my part as soon as I believe I have mastered the binding spell," Reymond said, solemnly. "That will be two days, at the most. I
will
work this release by daylight; I am not brave enough to face your deadly spirit by night." Then he blinked. "You are braver than I, friends. The only foe I face is one who will likely help me if he can, when he learns my task. You face an entire city."

I
wouldn't place any money on the odds of the Ghost helping you,
Kestrel thought, and shrugged. "Th-that m-many p-people c-can work against each other," he only observed.

"May it be so," Brother Reymond said, making the words into a benediction. "Go with the blessing of God, my friends. I shall see you to the kitchen gate; no one will question
my
walking about so late."

"Thank you, Brother Reymond," Robin said, then grinned. "From a good heart, the blessing of your God is worth a thousand from anyone else—and I have the uneasy feeling we're going to need all the blessings we can get!"