‘The Abhorsen could, though. He can go into Death can’t he?’
‘Yes,’ admitted Bel. ‘But it wouldn’t be that easy to find out. If she was killed at the dinner then she would have long since passed the Ninth Gate. So it would be a matter of questioning certain … things … that lurk in the Precincts between, maybe even go as far as the Sixth or Seventh Gate. Tyriel would never do that. Risky even for a practised Abhorsen.’
‘You mean he wouldn’t get off his horse long enough to do something useful!’
‘It isn’t just that,’ said Mogget. He had found a dandelion and was intent on delicately removing each petal with a single out-thrust claw. ‘He’s afraid of Death, afraid of being the Abhorsen. That’s why he never comes here, because everything reminds him of what he’s meant to be. Out hunting, he can forget.’
‘What?’ asked Clariel. ‘That can’t be true …’
Her voice faltered, because she could see from Bel’s face that he shared Mogget’s opinion. The Abhorsen was afraid of Death, and was shirking his responsibilities.
‘He’s a coward?’ asked Clariel. That would explain why he was so slow even planning to take action against Kilp …
Bel shook his head.
‘No … he’s as brave as anyone in the hunt, braver. He’ll ride anything, face down a boar or a bear … but he won’t do anything the Abhorsen is supposed to do. Nor will Yannael. I guess they’ve been able to avoid it, because nothing has threatened them or the Kingdom. Tyriel’s been the Abhorsen for nearly fifty years and I doubt he’s ever been called to deal with anything. So he has been able to forget it all and devote himself to hunting. That’s why I’ve been training myself, so there is a proper Abhorsen when one is needed.’
‘I thought it was just an overly developed case of curiosity,’ said Mogget. ‘The kind that kills cats. Myself excepted, of course.’
‘I wondered why he would just throw me in here and leave,’ said Clariel. ‘But do you think this means he won’t go and help the King at all?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Bel. He looked wretched, as if he was personally letting down the King. ‘I think he will eventually, because it’s not really Abhorsen business – I mean because it’s not to do with Death, or the Dead, or anything like that. But the hunt takes up all his mind, and until the Summer’s End Hunt is done … nothing will even be got ready.’
‘Is the King really safe in the Palace?’ asked Clariel. ‘Kilp has a lot more guards. A lot more.’
Bel shrugged unhappily. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What about Princess Tathiel? Any signs of her showing up?’
‘Not that I know of,’ said Bel. ‘What are you laughing at, Mogget?’
Clariel had never seen a cat laugh before, and wouldn’t have known that’s what it was if Bel hadn’t spoken. She thought Mogget was preparing to throw up a fur ball, since his shoulders were shaking, his eyes were closed and he was making a kind of rasping noise in his throat. He continued for a few seconds after Bel spoke, then said with dignity, ‘I find many things amusing. Abhorsens who are afraid of Death, princesses who shirk their inheritance … It’s all quite funny.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Clariel. She balled her right hand into a fist and slapped it against the open palm of her left, making a very satisfactory thudding noise. ‘If I were … If I were either the Abhorsen or the Princess, I’d just get on with doing my job.’
‘Would you?’ asked Mogget. ‘What is your “job” then?’
Clariel didn’t know how to answer that, at least not immediately. When her parents had been killed she had lost her clear and obvious place in the world, but it had been a place she had intended to leave behind anyway.
‘I am a hunter,’ she said slowly. ‘I belong in the Great Forest. It’s the only place where things make sense to me … where I make sense. But perhaps that’s only what I want to be, and I must become something else instead.’
‘You’ll get to the Forest,’ said Bel encouragingly. ‘I mean, it may be a while, but I’m sure Kilp will be defeated, and then everything will go back to normal. Like I said, I’ll fly you to Estwael –’
‘How can you be so sure Kilp will be defeated?’ demanded Clariel. She stepped close to Bel, her eyes angry. ‘No one’s doing anything! What about Aunt Lemmin? If they … She’s just a herbalist. She’s kind and wise and she always looked out for me … They’ll put her in a hole like they did to me, or worse! Someone has to do something!’
‘Don’t get angry,’ pleaded Bel. He took a step backwards, making calming gestures with his hands.
‘I’m not going berserk,’ said Clariel, through gritted teeth. ‘I can control the rage.’
‘She’s got a book about it,’ said Mogget helpfully. ‘Mind you, you should have seen the berserk that wrote it. Huge she was, and if the sendings didn’t bring her wine fast enough, she’d pick them up and snap them in half and throw the pieces on the floor.’
‘How do you snap a sending in half?’ asked Bel, easily distracted by some even more arcane knowledge than usual.
‘When fully manifested, they are solid, as are their accoutrements,’ said Mogget. ‘They may be attacked, torn apart, broken up. If properly made they can be put back together, some can even reform themselves. It’s all covered in Simple Sendings, I think –’
‘How interesting,’ said Clariel. ‘I’m going to leave you two to your lesson. Mogget, I want to talk to you later.’
‘Clariel! No, wait, I came to see you,’ said Bel hastily. ‘I can’t stay. Tyriel told me I mustn’t –’
‘Go then,’ said Clariel. She had spoken truly about not going berserk, but she was angry. Not with Bel, but with her grandfather, and the King, with all the useless people that had let things get so out of control that her parents could be killed, and an innocent like her aunt Lemmin could be swept up, taken away from her home …
Clariel stopped in mid-stride, so quickly that Bel, starting after her, almost ran into her back.
‘Kilp must want Aunt Lemmin as a hostage,’ she said. ‘To make me go back to the city.’
‘Very likely,’ said Mogget. ‘I am interested in this Kilp fellow. Few Governors of Belisaere have had much intelligence, by any measure. Um, perhaps if you could just leave me those fish?’
‘Do you know when she was arrested?’ asked Clariel. She was thinking about where her aunt might be. If Kilp had sent the order for her arrest the night Jaciel and Harven had been killed, then Lemmin might already be in Belisaere, already in a prison hole.
‘No. I suppose I could find out,’ said Bel. ‘But there’s nothing you can do for her anyway, Clariel. I’m sorry you’re stuck here, but there are worse places …’
His voice trailed off as he saw Clariel give him a look similar to the one the chief cook at Hillfair used when confronted by a joint of meat that had become seriously maggot-struck.
‘Please do find out,’ she said coldly. She looked at Mogget and threw down the fish. ‘And tell my grandfather that even if he isn’t going to do anything, I am.’
‘But you can’t do anything,’ called out Bel, to her rapidly retreating back. ‘Look, I’ll ask him, I really will. I’ll be back tomorrow, maybe we can work out something …’
Clariel did not reply. She stalked into the house, went to her room to get The Fury Within and stomped up the stairs to the west roof garden. Unlike the one in her parents’ house in Belisaere, this garden had green plants. Mostly white rowans in large terracotta pots but also some smaller shrubs she didn’t know, with broad green leaves and tiny yellow flowers.
The garden offered a great vista over the river to the hills beyond, only slightly marred in Clariel’s opinion by the roofs and towers of Hillfair when she looked to the north. Ignoring that side, she resolutely dragged the comfortable bench with its blue and silver cushions around to face the south, towards the mist-cloud of the waterfall, opened her book and began to read.
She paid careful attention to the instructions in the tome
. It had already helped her a little, and she was determined to learn more. The rage frightened her, and Clariel knew she must bring it under control. The book said it was possible to raise it when she willed, and dismiss it in such a way that she was not left so exhausted. But it was not as simple as just reading how to do it. The book offered techniques, things to practise, ways of thinking. But it would take time, and work, and strength of will.
The sendings brought lunch to Clariel when she did not answer to the repeated gongs or the increasingly broad gestures of her attendant sending. It was composed of one of the fish she had caught, evidently rescued from Mogget. This had been grilled with ginger, pepper and some spice she didn’t know, set atop a salad of grains and greenleaf, accompanied by a lightly sparkling clear wine she had to admit was delicious and refreshing.
Reading in the roof garden was also relaxing, but she refused to let either lunch or the pleasant surroundings lessen her fixed decision that she had to get out of the Abhorsen’s House.
It was clear that no useful help would be forthcoming for the King. No one would be going to rescue Aunt Lemmin. Kilp would just get away with what he was doing.
Someone had to do something.
I have to do something, thought Clariel.
She put the book down and walked over to look down at the river roaring past; and then switched her gaze over to the northwest, in the rough direction of the far-off Estwael. As always, the call to the Great Forest was strong in her heart. She yearned to be there, but it was further away from her than ever.
The Abhorsen wasn’t going to do anything. Aunt Lemmin was in danger. Aronzo would certainly treat her badly and she couldn’t bear that thought. Kilp might also be able to capture the Palace and the King.
But even presuming Clariel could get out of the Abhorsen’s House, what could she do on her own? She wasn’t a powerful Charter Mage, not a Charter Mage at all really. The fury, presuming she could govern it better, did offer something if it came to fighting a few foes – but she would not be fighting a few foes.
Bel’s words rankled, though she had to acknowledge there was some truth in them.
But there’s nothing you can do.
Truth, but not entire.
There was a power she could wield. It had been on her mind ever since the Islet, a slight, gnawing thing that wouldn’t go away. It had been reinforced by the sight of that silver bottle in the Paperwing, the bottle under Tyriel’s arm, the bottle that was somewhere in the House even now.