Chapter 8

ATHERTON'S HOUSE was behind the church, off the main street. Alys knocked, knowing that if he wasn't home, her plans would be delayed even more, but the idea of seeing him again—of letting him see her—was almost enough to send her back to the Green Barrel to wait for Selendrile. She braced herself, but still wasn't prepared.

The Inquisitor himself flung open the door without her having heard footsteps approach. "What is it?" he asked, standing close enough to spit on. He hadn't changed at all. Which, after two days, shouldn't have surprised her. But the knowledge that he had condemned an innocent victim to be devoured had left no physical trace on his face. His pale brown eyes regarded her coldly. Surely she hadn't changed either, and he would see through her silly disguise.

She tugged her cap lower over her forehead. "I ... I ... "

"What is it?" he repeated, patience gone in die span of two stammers.

He didn't know her after all. Her plan, such as it was, was safe. So far. It wasn't much to go on, but it was all she had.

She found speaking easier if she didn't look at him, and she lowered her gaze to the dusty street. "I come from Tierbo," she said, trying to match the regional accent to disguise her voice. "There's a man there what got himself possessed. Done speak in voices, he does, and throw fits. He got a gleam in his right eye what ain't normal and his left eye's all clouded over and turned up in his head like. My da says, 'Better get the priest,' he says, 'before somebody gets hurt.' Will ya come?"

"Tierbo," Atherton repeated. It was a seaport, a good three days away.

"My da says give this to you, for your church here." She reached into the bag of silver Selendrile had brought and grabbed a fistful of the coins. When she looked up from handing it over, she knew she had him. "There be more," she said, "what they were still collecting when I left."

Atherton nodded slowly. "Tonight's the vigil of Saint Emmett, Griswold's patron saint. Be here first thing tomorrow morning, and look you don't keep me waiting."

Now that she had started, Alys wasn't willing to delay. She saw Atherton start to move his arm—he had it up against the doorway as though to block her lest she try to forge ahead into his room. In another moment he would slam the door shut, dismissing her. She said, "Right, that's what my da said."

She watched him weigh his choices. He tightened his grip on the door, but asked, "What did he say?"

"Not to keep him waiting. He's in a terrible rush, the possessed man's that violent. That's why Da sent my brother over to Wendbury, to ask the priest there to come, too—see?—figurin' someone's got to get there first." The implication she hoped he'd come away with was that only the first would get the extra money.

Atherton considered. Then, as though doing her a favor, "All right, all right," he said. "If the man's that bad off, we'll set out tonight. Meet me here directly after the vigil service." Alys was nodding, but he repeated, "Directly. I'll have my things packed and a horse ready to go, and I want no nonsense from you."

"No nonsense," Alys agreed.

Atherton looked doubtful, but he said nothing more. He just—finally—slammed the door in her face.

ALYS SPENT THE REST of the afternoon wandering about the town of Griswold, hoping to find Selendrile and meanwhile talking to the merchants about what work was available, lest anyone become suspicious. Nobody had seen Selendrile since last night, but she did get three job offers.

As evening set in, her mood shifted from annoyance to anger to worry.

Then, as she passed a dark, narrow alleyway, she heard someone say, "Psst."

Hoping that it had nothing to do with her, Alys ducked her head and walked faster.

"Psst! Little boy."

Alys glanced into the darkness only long enough to see that there were far too many shadows. But apparently that was long enough. She heard a quick, startled laugh. Then the voice—a woman's—called, "Little girl disguised as a boy."

It was no use pretending she didn't hear or that it wasn't true. From the corner of the alley with the darkest shadows she caught a movement—a gnarled white hand beckoning. Alys looked around to make sure nobody on the street was watching and stepped into the alley.

Part of the shadows resolved themselves into the shape of an old woman with a shawl over her head. "Well, well, my sweet one," the woman said. But despite her gentle words, Alys flinched when she raised her hand to brush Alys's cheek. "What's such a pretty child doing dressed in nasty boys' clothes and with her lovely hair all cut off? Are you in trouble?" The woman smiled gleefully. "You are." She tapped the side of her own nose with a crooked finger. "I can smell people in trouble. You've gone and gotten yourself in bad company, haven't you?"

Not as bad as this, Alys wanted to say, but the words caught in her throat, and Alys was afraid that might be because they were untrue. She took a step away and felt the rough wall at her back, snagging her clothes and hair.

"You better get out," the old woman warned, "before you get in too deep."

"Yes," Alys said, easing toward the mouth of the alley, toward the open street. "Thank you for your advice."

"Advice is free," the woman said. "Would you like my help?"

Alys shook her head and the woman laughed. Alys felt the edge of the corner building, realized she was back on the street. Was the woman going to follow her? Prevent her from leaving? Yell out the truth about Alys to all the world?

But the woman did nothing, yelled nothing, only continued to laugh. "I'll be here if you change your mind," she called after Alys. "Here or in the glen behind the waterfall. I may well be your only chance—if you don't wait too long."

Alys ran the rest of the way back to the Green Barrel Inn, but she didn't go there directly, just in case she was being followed. She ran past it and circled to the right, then the left, temporarily lost herself, and only then ap proached the inn. At the door she stopped and looked back.

Silly, she told herself for the nagging feeling that the witch was watching her from the evening darkness. The witch was too old to run, and besides, Alys would have heard her. Still, it was a relief to enter the Green Barrel's brightly lit common room, especially when she saw Selendrile. He was sitting at a table by the fire, where the flames cast their glow on the long blond hair he'd gathered at the nape of his neck. For a moment she forgot how annoyed she was at him, until she noticed his impatient look, as though he'd spent all afternoon looking for her.

Which she didn't believe for a moment.

She sat down next to him before speaking so that not everybody in the room would overhear their business. "Where have you been?" she demanded.

He smiled, as though to say she didn't really want to know.

Which she didn't. "Don't do that again. I was worried."

"About me?" His tone was insincere, which made her answer: "About the plan," though she hadn't liked the thought he could be hurt or in trouble. He sat back on the bench and smiled. "What about the plan?" he asked.

She couldn't answer, because the cook came out then, carrying bowls of smoked-mutton stew, which she set before them on the table.

"None for me, thank you," Selendrile said, never looking at her.

"You don't eat enough," the cook scolded him, "that's your problem."

At which point he did look at her.

Any appetite that Alys may have had dissolved in that look. "Let's go to our room," she said, scrambling to get to her feet, to get away. "Come on, Selendrile."

; He got up slowly, with a smile for the cook, which she no doubt took as charming.

In their room, Alys talked fast to get his mind away from the path she was sure it was taking. "I went to see Atherton," she said, and saw a shadow of surprise. "I told him I was from Tierbo and that we needed him there for an exorcism. He agreed to come. I'm supposed to meet him after the vigil service tonight to take him there."

"When is a vigil service?" he asked.

She suddenly wondered if he knew what a vigil service was. Or an exorcism, for that matter. "Sundown. Which means it already started, so we'll have to hurry. My plan, since you weren't there to help, was to put the rest of the gold that you brought into his saddlebags, and then somehow get people to notice. I hoped that they'd think he'd been stealing from them, maybe." It sounded so lame, so ridiculous.

Instead of saying that, he pulled a large leather bag out from under his bedding.

So that's what he'd been doing, at least part of the day. It was more gold, much more. He'd also brought a pair of silver candlesticks, a delicately engraved silver goblet studded with emeralds, and a little golden plate—which, if it wasn't a paten meant to hold the Eucharist during Mass, certainly could pass as one. She tried not to gawk like a peasant at court, but judging from his half smile she hadn't quite pulled it off. "I take it these are from your ... ah..."

"Hoard."

"...hoard," she repeated, wondering why she felt guilty saying it if he didn't. "Good." Good? He'd stolen these things, how could she be saying "good" about that? "I can put part of this in his saddlebags and then make a little slit, so some of it spills out on the street while everybody's watching him leave for Tierbo. I saw that his house has a small upper window. I couldn't fit through, but if you could get in and hide the rest of this in Atherton's room, it'll seem as though he's been stealing for a long time."

He nodded, following her reasoning. "If you can toss the bag up into the room, I can turn into a bird, fly in the window, change back to human, hide the things, resume bird shape..." He considered. "Of course, if I walk into the church without any clothes, somebody's sure to notice. You always do."

Alys felt her cheeks get warm.

Selendrile smiled that dragon smile, which always made her afraid she was missing something obvious.

She said, "I'll bring your clothes and hide them behind the church. Join me as soon as you can."

He nodded and Alys tried to think if they were forgetting anything. "All right," she said slowly. She put her back to him before he could get his shirt up over his head.