If I Were a Herald

Chapter 23

Wanted Man

Nawyn: Your reaction makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. A craftswoman is always pleased to hear her work is appreciated.

Fireblade K'Chona: I think the Vrondi are only in Valdemar. Or, well, they're elsewhere, but the spell Vanyel wrought only works within Valdemar's borders. So they don't watch people elsewhere. Or at least they don't let them know they're being watched. I haven't really mentioned religion much, but the me in the story is still pretty much Christian, which is actually quite a bit like the worship of Sunlord Vkandis. It comes up a bit later. Religion just isn't all that important in a place where I'm the only one who even knows about Christianity. I suppose I could go add some good scenes about me discussing how there is only One True God—except I don't really believe that. I think all religions are equally valid, and I'm going to follow and worship my God and do what He says, and other people can follow and worship the deity/deities of their choosing. "Thou shalt have no other gods before me" does not mean "There are no other gods." In fact, by my interpretation, it means quite the opposite. Anyway, that's my philosophical/religious rambling for the day.

Mildew assailed my nostrils. Mixed with that scent was dried blood and stale sweat. Disgusting. A groan sounded nearby. Reluctantly I opened my eyes. The sight wasn't much better than the smell. Rotting hay made a sketchy carpet, warding off the chill of the chipped and stained stone of the floor. Rusty metal bars blocked the way to the stone corridor. Yet more bars prevented escape through the single small window, set above the level where my head would be if I had the will to stand. Between me and the window lay a man with blood-soaked clothing. My mind struggled to remember who he was, and how the two of us had come to be in this cell.

:He's a pirate. You saved his life: Lyrna prompted. :Then you passed out. Swooned because of his manly presence.:

"Oh shut up, horse," I muttered.

My companion (small "c") stirred and opened one eye. "Ye say som'in'?"

"Uh, no, just talking to myself." I'd have to get out of the habit of talking to Lyrna aloud, and fast. Taileffer the minstrel didn't have a Companion. "Trying to figure out how to get out of here."

:Bardic immunity will protect you. Yendo will verify your identity.:

Well, that took care of me, but what about Jacoby? I'd just saved his life; I couldn't very well leave him here to an uncertain fate. My heart twisted at the thought of him dangling from a gallows tree.

"Ye got any ideas?" Jacoby asked. "This place looks purty solid to me. If I had a knife maybe I could pick the lock." Unspoken was the fact that he didn't have a knife. They'd taken his weapons when they locked him in the cell.

His, but not mine. At least not all of them. I still had a pocketknife on my keychain, and a set of lockpicks strapped to my inner thigh. Ah, the wonders of carrying concealed weapons. One to find and ten to keep. They'd found the pair of daggers in my boots, but hadn't conducted a thorough search. Then again, a person on Earth could sneak drugs through airport security if he hid them in his underwear.

:If you pick the locks, they'll just search for you until you're found: Lyrna warned. :You don't want to have to hide from the law.:

True enough. Which meant that picking the locks would only be used as a last resort. As it was, I had an idea. A crazy idea, but one that could get both me and Jacoby out of prison safely.

"Yo! Guard! I need to talk to your superior officer," I called. The snoring guardsman jerked awake. A bottle of something—presumably ale—fell out of his hand and spilled onto the floor. The stale scent just added to the general reek of the place.

"What are ye doin'?" Jacoby demanded.

"I have an idea. Just follow my lead. But first, tell me—how did you come to be injured?"

:Your idea is insanity: my Companion (big "C") protested. :They're never going to believe you—and if they do, it'll blow your cover.:

:That's a chance I'm willing to take.:

"I was fightin' a guardsman," Jacoby said with brutal honesty. I winced. That could put a definite spoke in my wheel.

:Just leave the pirate behind. Or, if you insist on helping him, give him the lockpicks, then claim Bardic immunity for yourself.:

:No. It took me forever to find a good set of lockpicks; I don't want to lose them.: It was a weak excuse; even I knew that. Lyrna's response was scornful.

:Your mission is more important than a set of lockpicks.:

:I don't care! I'm not leaving him behind. We're both getting out of here, or neither of us is.:

"Is there any possibility that the fight was a… misunderstanding?" I asked hopefully.

"Oh, aye. I don' like killin' guardsmen—makes the others wan' me all the more. I don' mind women wantin' me—or the occasional handsome lad—bu' guardsmen are somethin' else."

"Yeah, yeah, get on with the story," I said distractedly.

Jacoby continued, "This 'un stuck me somethin' good afore I ran 'im off. 'E was purty drunk, an' jus' lookin' for a fight."

"Great. That's all I needed to know." As long as he hadn't started the fight, had done nothing more than defend himself, my plan had a slim chance of success.

:Seriously. As soon as the two of you are out of that prison, just jump his bones, to borrow one of your phrases. You'll feel much better after you do.:

I proceeded to tell her, in explicit detail, just where she could stick her matchmaking nose.

The guardsman returned with the ranking officer. Different colors from the guardsmen of Valdemar, and with an entirely different attitude. This one could maybe even be bribed. At least, he had the look of a man who enjoyed more than the wages of a guardsman, even an officer, could afford. And those who could be bribed could also be threatened.

"I demand that you let us out of here. We are Heralds of Valdemar, on a secret mission to save your town from an evil overlord." Beside me, Jacoby stiffened, then relaxed as he realized I was just acting a part. Or so he thought.

My words were met with a sneer. "And I'm the King of Hardorn. Tell me another one."

I've got some oceanfront property in Arizona. From my front porch you can see the sea. I've got some oceanfront property in Arizona. If you'll buy that, I'll throw the Golden Gate in free. The old country song ran through my head. "Oh, I'll tell you. If you jeopardize our mission, I will personally make sure you go through seven kinds of hell. And my Companion will trample you into the dust. If, however, you let us go, I'll see you compensated for the inconvenience."

:There are nine hells, love: Lyrna said. :Or six, depending on your religious persuasion.:

:Oh, right. Where I come from, we only have one. Although it has levels—different circles. I can never remember how many. It's either seven or nine.:

Now he was interested. "Compensated? How so?"

"I have an account back in Valdemar. You have my word that a reasonable amount will find its way back to you."

His eyes narrowed. "I don't trust you. You're not Heralds. They wear white."

I sighed in pretend exasperation. Well, half-pretend. "We're undercover, you nimwit."

The officer jerked his head at Jacoby. "He's in here for attacking an officer of the Guard. You're in here for aiding him. Whether or not you're Heralds doesn't matter."

"That man attacked me!" Jacoby said indignantly. "I did nothin' to provoke 'im."

Ack. His accent could easily give us away. I'd have to keep him quiet until we were safely away from this little hellhole.

"You want proof?" I demanded. "I'll be happy to call my Companion so she can kick your face in. Do you really want to cause an international incident?"

Something in my tone must have convinced him I was serious—even though I wasn't, really. I couldn't risk such blatant proof that I was a Herald. People would notice and remember. "No, that won't be necessary," he hastened to assure me. He nodded to the regular guard. "Go ahead, let them out." To us, he warned, "You'd better stay out of trouble, because next time I won't let you out. Oh, andone cold crownshould be sufficient."

A whole gold crown? Extortionist. Foolish, too. He'd do better to ask for twenty silver pieces. They'd be easier to explain. But I wasn't going to tell him that. He deserved to be caught. "Sure. I'm glad we understand each other."

Once out of the cell, I gathered my effects from where they had been hung. Last of all was the pair of knives my dream-pirate had given me. I held them lovingly, running a finger along the sharp steel of one gently curving blade. The hilts were intricately done with a design of a ship.

"If ye ever get the chance, come to Evendim." he'd said. "I would love to meet ye when both of us are awake." Here I was now. But with no way of knowing who he might be, I might as well have been back in Haven. Ah, well. It was just a dream. He's probably not really the kind of person I'd like to have as a friend. And—ye gods, the awkwardness! No, better far if we never meet face-to-face.

Jacoby looked at me strangely as I slipped the knives back into my boots. "Where did ye get those?" he asked, and he sounded exactly like Captain Jack Sparrow.

"A friend gave them to me," I replied evasively. Why did he care where I'd gotten the knives? "Remember? Back in Valdemar," I added, a subtle reminder that we were supposed to be Heralds.

Jacoby followed me out of the prison. His longer legs easily kept up with my quick strides. Just go away, pirate. I got you out of prison. Now leave me alone. Something—fear, or maybe anticipation—prickled up my spine. Safely away from the prying eyes of the guards, Jacoby grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around.

"What was that abou' us bein' bleedin' 'Eralds?" he demanded roughly. "Be ye a Herald?"

I forced a laugh. "No, of course not. What sort of Herald would help a pirate get out of prison?"

"Why not just claim Bardic immunity for yerself? Or are ye not really a minstrel?"

:Yeah, why not: Lyrna asked.

"Oh, I'm a minstrel. In fact, I trained at the Bardic Collegium in Valdemar. And Bardic immunity wouldn't have gotten you out of prison. I just spent a lot of blood trying to save your worthless life. I didn't want all that to go to waste. So take care of yourself. And keep out of trouble."

"What abou' yer threat to 'ave yer Companion trample 'im? Ye sounded serious."

"I'm a good actor. Undercover Herald, indeed! What on earth would a Herald be doing in this backwater town? It's not even in Valdemar." My heart pounded in my throat as I waited for his response.

That earned me a reluctant smile. "I suppose yer right. Yer just a good actor." With one last puzzled glance at my feet—the daggers again?—he turned and walked away.

For me, being free of jail meant going back to the Gentle Doe for another night of performing. I looked up in the middle of "Shadow Stalker" when the fading light of the sun suddenly cut out. The image that greeted me nearly caused me to stumble over the fingering. Illuminated by the bloodred light of the setting sun, a man stood in the doorway, his silhouette achingly familiar. For a minute I thought—but no, that was a dream. He moved closer, into the lamplight. The flickering flames reflected off his face. Jacoby. What the blazes was he doing here?

He sat down at one of the corner booths and continued to favor me with a smoldering gaze. Did he know? Could he know? No, I decided. I'd been mistaken for a boy often enough when I wasn't putting forth any effort, culminating in one amusing episode wherein a perceptive little girl called me "lady" while her father tried to convince her that I was, in fact, a guy. So no, he couldn't know that I wasn't the lad I appeared to be. But there was still some serious sparkage going on, and it wasn't all coming from me.

Not that I had nothing to do with it. Having a guy that hot just staring at me was doing strange things to my anatomy. My face felt warm, like I'd had too much to drink, when so far I'd had only water.

:Three guesses as to why: Lyrna prompted.

:My guess is that there's a downside to looking like a cute guy.: So far my disguise had kept me from unwanted attention. But apparently Misty's books had actually been a fairly accurate representation of the sexual habits of the people of her world.

:Who says his attention is unwanted:

:I say.: I Sent Lyrna a mental glare. :Keep your matchmaking nose where it belongs, or I'll shove it up your arse.:

The song over, I took my bows and went to the taproom for a drink. Not water, this time. Something stronger. Whiskey sounded good.

"Whiskey?" Yendo asked, surprised. This was the first time I'd asked for alcohol. Booze and undercover work just didn't mix. But I had a feeling I was going to be drinking fairly regularly for as long as Captain Jacoby was in port.

"I can handle it," I assured him. "Trust me, I'm going to need it."

"What's wrong?" he asked, handing me the drink.

"Oh, nothing," I said airily. "Nothing I can't handle. Just need a bit of liquid courage, that's all." I downed the glass in a single gulp. "Thanks. I think now I can go face the audience again."

At midnight my shift was over. I got down off the stage, being careful not to stumble. A bit tipsy, that's all I was. Not drunk. I could still recite the alphabet backwards—okay, so I could do that when I was falling-down drunk. And most people couldn't do it sober. But I could also walk a straight line—a slightly better indication of my state of sobriety.

Captain Jacoby cornered me on my way toward the stairs. The tavern was nearly empty now; no one to interfere if I screamed.

:Think tangled sheets: Lyrna suggested.

Wonderful. It looked like I would get no help from my Companion. "Look, pirate," I began in what I hoped was a reasonable tone of voice. "If you're gay, you're out of luck." I fastened my gaze on his lips, but that was dangerous territory. They looked so kissable. Tempting. Like sin.

His brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Gay?"

"Shaych," I corrected myself. "I mean shaych. Me, I'm not shaych." I made the mistake of meeting his gaze. Kiss me.

Jacoby grinned. "Yer reactions say otherwise, lad."

Oh, this is so ironic. It'd be bloody hilarious if I weren't scared shitless.

"How old are ye, songbird?"

"Twenty-three," I replied. Just turned. I'd missed my birthday party on my way toward Belt. "That's old enough to kick you into next week."

"Really." His head leaned closer to mine.

Up came my knee. It contacted his groin, right where I'd meant it to hit. Where it hurt. He drew away, cursing fit to blister the paint on the wood. Half those words I didn't even know. And that couldn't be Valdemaran.

:Chosen, you just made a big mistake.:

Yeah. Tell me about it.

So that's the beginning of me and Jacoby. Clash of personalities. And my Companion has decided to play matchmaker at a most inconvenient time. What did you think?