barrow. “But you can’t—” Jenna began, then fell silent. She had to avoid
anything that sounded like the terms of a bargain. “I mean,” she corrected, “that
the bishop would never go the barrow himself. Perhaps a meeting here at the
inn.”
Brechia gave a quick nod. “Arrange it.”
#
Jenna brought tea and porridge up to
Herrin’s room when dawn had scarcely broken. “Wake up. We have to talk,” she
said, coming through the door.
Herrin raised his head blearily from the
pillow. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“No, it’s early in the morning—that’s
why I brought you a nice breakfast. And we really do have to talk. I know of a
way to lay the barrow dead to final rest.”
That brought him fully awake. He hopped
out of bed in his nightshirt and came to the table by the window where she had
laid out the porridge and rudleberries. “You found something of Gran’s?”
“Not directly, but...” Jenna gave a
sigh. “Gran knew how to talk to the barrow dead, so I—”
“You conversed with the damned!”
“Keep your voice down,” she snapped. “And
yes, I talked with one of the soldiers cursed to haunt the barrow. She told me
it’s all about stolen gold.” Deliberately she waited, knowing that should
trigger a reaction in a gold hunter, if that’s what her brother was.
“She?” Herrin sputtered. “A woman can’t
be a soldier. It’s all against the natural order and...”
Jenna let him ramble on, relieved that
he was reacting to gender and not gold. Finally she interrupted. “Apparently
the natural order was different in her day, but that’s not the point. If the
gold is returned, the barrow dead can rest in peace, so they are willing to
trade the barrow gold for the stolen gold that was taken south to the cathedral
and—”
Herrin gave a sudden start. “St. Kyre’s
golden altar service? The one that sits in the cathedral vault and is brought
out on High Days?”
Oh. “Then all you have to manage is”—she
spoke rapidly to get the worst of it all out at once—”bringing the altar
service from St. Kyre’s for the exchange. I’m sure some goldsmith can create an
equally wonderful altar service out of the new gold. You can even say that you
need the pieces for a Church-mandated exorcism—all of which is perfectly true. How
could the cathedral say no to that?”
“Probably with a sharp sword through my
heart,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Jenna, none of that is going to happen.
The Lord Bishop would never turn over St. Kyre’s altar service. He has his own
plan for obtaining the barrow gold anyway.”
“Which is?”
“No idea. But I know he’s interested in
negotiation. Where and when?”
“Tonight. Here,” Jenna said. The word “negotiation”
sent a chill up her spine. It was just bargaining under another name.”
“And even if I had St. Kyre’s gold at my
beck and call,” Herrin continued, “you realize, don’t you, that the damned can
only want a consecrated altar service for unholy reasons?”
“I doubt that,” she said, but was
thinking furiously. It was a little odd that the stolen gold just
happened to be a consecrated and very famous altar service. Was she just being
stupid? All she had was the word of an unquiet spirit... and she remembered
what Gran said about trusting dead men. Or women.
#
As the afternoon crowd thinned out with
the coming of evening, Jenna’s unease grew. Brechia had a plan, the bishop had
a plan, and the two were probably on a collision course. Her stomach knotted
just thinking about it as she hung out freshly laundered clothes in the garden
behind the inn. Then just before sunset, the Lord Bishop rolled into the
stableyard with his Knights of the Holy Retribution.
Jenna kept hanging and rehanging clothes
to keep from going back inside. Her instinct said to flee and leave the Church
and dead to each other. But Herrin was inside. She couldn’t just leave him.
Finally at dusk, she went inside,
leaving laundry
anything that sounded like the terms of a bargain. “I mean,” she corrected, “that
the bishop would never go the barrow himself. Perhaps a meeting here at the
inn.”
Brechia gave a quick nod. “Arrange it.”
#
Jenna brought tea and porridge up to
Herrin’s room when dawn had scarcely broken. “Wake up. We have to talk,” she
said, coming through the door.
Herrin raised his head blearily from the
pillow. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“No, it’s early in the morning—that’s
why I brought you a nice breakfast. And we really do have to talk. I know of a
way to lay the barrow dead to final rest.”
That brought him fully awake. He hopped
out of bed in his nightshirt and came to the table by the window where she had
laid out the porridge and rudleberries. “You found something of Gran’s?”
“Not directly, but...” Jenna gave a
sigh. “Gran knew how to talk to the barrow dead, so I—”
“You conversed with the damned!”
“Keep your voice down,” she snapped. “And
yes, I talked with one of the soldiers cursed to haunt the barrow. She told me
it’s all about stolen gold.” Deliberately she waited, knowing that should
trigger a reaction in a gold hunter, if that’s what her brother was.
“She?” Herrin sputtered. “A woman can’t
be a soldier. It’s all against the natural order and...”
Jenna let him ramble on, relieved that
he was reacting to gender and not gold. Finally she interrupted. “Apparently
the natural order was different in her day, but that’s not the point. If the
gold is returned, the barrow dead can rest in peace, so they are willing to
trade the barrow gold for the stolen gold that was taken south to the cathedral
and—”
Herrin gave a sudden start. “St. Kyre’s
golden altar service? The one that sits in the cathedral vault and is brought
out on High Days?”
Oh. “Then all you have to manage is”—she
spoke rapidly to get the worst of it all out at once—”bringing the altar
service from St. Kyre’s for the exchange. I’m sure some goldsmith can create an
equally wonderful altar service out of the new gold. You can even say that you
need the pieces for a Church-mandated exorcism—all of which is perfectly true. How
could the cathedral say no to that?”
“Probably with a sharp sword through my
heart,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Jenna, none of that is going to happen.
The Lord Bishop would never turn over St. Kyre’s altar service. He has his own
plan for obtaining the barrow gold anyway.”
“Which is?”
“No idea. But I know he’s interested in
negotiation. Where and when?”
“Tonight. Here,” Jenna said. The word “negotiation”
sent a chill up her spine. It was just bargaining under another name.”
“And even if I had St. Kyre’s gold at my
beck and call,” Herrin continued, “you realize, don’t you, that the damned can
only want a consecrated altar service for unholy reasons?”
“I doubt that,” she said, but was
thinking furiously. It was a little odd that the stolen gold just
happened to be a consecrated and very famous altar service. Was she just being
stupid? All she had was the word of an unquiet spirit... and she remembered
what Gran said about trusting dead men. Or women.
#
As the afternoon crowd thinned out with
the coming of evening, Jenna’s unease grew. Brechia had a plan, the bishop had
a plan, and the two were probably on a collision course. Her stomach knotted
just thinking about it as she hung out freshly laundered clothes in the garden
behind the inn. Then just before sunset, the Lord Bishop rolled into the
stableyard with his Knights of the Holy Retribution.
Jenna kept hanging and rehanging clothes
to keep from going back inside. Her instinct said to flee and leave the Church
and dead to each other. But Herrin was inside. She couldn’t just leave him.
Finally at dusk, she went inside,
leaving laundry
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