The Prince of Lies (Night's Masque, #3)(32)
It began to rain as he walked along St Olave’s Street, and by the time he reached Horseydown his hat and cloak were heavy with moisture. He was glad therefore to find Adjaan back in her cabin with the doors closed and a brazier warming the air. The outspeaker looked a little plumper than he remembered, with a distinct swell to her formerly flat bosom. Was this some masquerade to make herself look more human?
“Catlyn-tuur. Please, come in.”
Mal kicked off his muddy boots and stepped over the threshold. As the outspeaker turned to let him pass, Mal could not help but stare at her bulging belly. Adjaan laughed and stroked the broad curve stretching her tunic.
“Have you never seen a woman with child before?”
“Forgive me, honoured one. I am still getting accustomed to seeing a woman here at all.”
“As are my menfolk,” she said with a sigh, and knelt by the brazier.
Mal hung up his hat and cloak and joined her.
“What brings you back to us?” she asked. “I heard from your theatre friends that you had fled the city.”
“You know Shakespeare?”
“I like to acquaint myself with all your storytellers.”
Mal drew forth the package of waxed cloth tied with string and laid it on the matting between them. Adjaan cocked her head on one side.
“A gift?”
“Not exactly. Please, open it, and tell me what you think.”
Adjaan did so, revealing the crumpled handkerchief still wrapped around the glass rod. She peeled the fine linen away and held the rod up before her eyes. The deep blue crystals caught the light of the hanging lamps, seeming to glow from within like lightwater exposed to air. Adjaan sniffed delicately at the encrusted end.
“Siiluhlankaar. Interesting.”
“What is it?”
“I do not know the English name. We call it ‘sacred poison stone’, because its making from ore gives off deadly fumes, but its colour makes it precious to us. Where did you find it?”
Mal told her about the alchemical workshop. She nodded thoughtfully.
“Siiluhlankaar has an interesting nature; it behaves a little like iron, even though it contains none.”
“Like iron, but not iron? That explains a lot.”
“It does?”
“My brother has an idea that the guisers may be trying to counteract the effect of iron on dreamwalking.”
Adjaan’s eyes widened, and she laid a hand on her belly in instinctive protection. “Do you think so?”
“I really don’t know, honoured one. But I mean to find out.”
“I will do whatever I can to help, of course, though alchemy is not my field of study.”
“May I ask what is?”
“Language, of course. That is why I asked to come here to be my clan’s outspeaker, against all our traditions. I wanted to learn your languages and discover if they are related to our own.”
“And are they?”
“Alas, no. Not that I can discover. Everything about them is different.”
She fell silent, stroking her belly. Mal wondered if the child within was a reincarnated skrayling, or waiting to be the vessel for one. Was that why she was really here? If one of the elders was too infirm to travel across the ocean, this might be his only alternative to extinction. And if more skrayling women came, might that not also be a solution to Sandy and Kit’s problem one day? He dragged his thoughts back to the present. It would be many years before either of them was ready to reincarnate.
“Fascinating as such a subject is, honoured one, I am more interested in the siiluhlankaar.” Mal held out his hand for the glass rod and Adjaan passed it back to him. “Do you know anyone who could tell me more about it?”
“There are few tjirzadheneth on this side of the great sea, and alchemy is only one craft of many. Still, I shall ask.”
“Why would you need to seek among the reborn, honoured one?”
“Do you forget so much, Catlyn-tuur? Alchemy is the province of women, as with all crafts.” She laughed softly. “I am sure Erishen has been a woman at least once in his many lifetimes.”
Mal hid his embarrassment by carefully wrapping up the glass rod once more.
“Thank you, Adjaan-tuur,” he said, getting to his feet and bowing.
Adjaan looked up at him, her amber eyes grave. “I am only sorry I could not do more.”
“One more question, if I may, honoured one? Will any more skrayling women be coming over the ocean, to England or Sark?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I merely wondered if you were considering a permanent settlement. Since you are having a child here.”
She shook her head. “These are your lands. We do not wish to take any of them from you.”
“Not even a small island, freely given?”
“Lent to us only, I think. It is surely still your Queen’s, to bestow where she wishes.”
He had no answer to that, so he bowed and withdrew. Still, it had answered the question he had not asked. If Erishen and Kiiren wanted to become skraylings in their next lifetime, they would have to risk their lives on a voyage back to the New World.
CHAPTER IX
With Mal gone the house felt strangely empty, even though he had been but one man out of a household of more than a dozen. However, Coby was far too busy with spring chores to sit and mope. The arrival of March brought dry windy weather that was perfect for laundry, then there was the kitchen garden to prepare for the coming year: leeks and parsnips to harvested, beds to be cleared and re-sown with lettuce, spinach, onions, carrots and summer cabbage. Every night Coby fell into bed exhausted and with nothing but the prospect of longer, harder days ahead. Every morning she hoped for news from Mal, though she knew it would take at least two weeks for a letter to reach her.