Shadow Scale: A Companion to Seraphina(47)

She emitted a short laugh, then shouted something in Ninysh to the severe-looking man who’d ridden out behind her. “This is Dr. Belestros, Count Pesavolta’s physician,” Dame Okra explained. “If you want to keep doing handsprings, Abdo, you’d better let this fellow take you to the palace.”

I don’t like her premonitions, fretted Abdo. She prods without permission.

I’m not sure she can help it, I said.

She’s just had one about Moy, said Abdo.

“Moy,” called Dame Okra, “don’t hand the child across; you’ll drop him. Follow Dr. Belestros to Palasho Pesavolta.”

“Of course, Ambassadress,” said Moy, bowing his head to Dame Okra and letting Dr. Belestros ride ahead. Abdo met my gaze as they rode away; I couldn’t read his expression in the darkness.

They’ll take good care of you. I’ll see you tomorrow, I said, relieved that Abdo’s wrist, at least, might find healing. Abdo made no reply.

Dame Okra, having settled the matter of Abdo’s arm, turned her donkey toward our remaining guard. Gianni Patto stood docilely behind the horses, his crooked mouth agape. Dame Okra gave an exaggerated sniff and said, “Is this the newest member of our big ugly family, then? He’s whiffier than you mentioned.”

“I couldn’t find words to describe it,” I said.

“Well, he’s not staying at my house,” said the old woman flatly.

“Technically, he’s under arrest,” said Josquin, reining his horse alongside mine.

Dame Okra wrinkled her snub nose and scowled. “I don’t know where you think the count can keep him. You!” she called to the remains of our escort. “Take this hideous beast-thing up to the palace and quarter it in the count’s third stable, the empty one. No point traumatizing Pesavolta’s racehorses on top of everything else.”

Our soldiers cheered; once Gianni was put away, they’d be free to go home. I felt a pang of homesickness myself, but the bulk of my mission was still ahead of me. I couldn’t linger here if I was to reach the Samsamese highlands by St. Abaster’s Day, and beyond that was Porphyry. Would Abdo have to stay behind while his arm healed?

It felt overwhelming just then, especially if I had to face it alone.

Josquin lingered beside me while the others rode toward the gates. I glanced at him, then looked again because he was staring back at me, his gingery eyebrows raised. “It was a good journey, Seraphina,” he said, bowing slightly in the saddle. “I feel privileged to have traveled with you.”

“I feel the same,” I said, surprised at the lump in my throat. Josquin had become a dear friend; I was going to miss him.

“Best of luck on your road ahead,” he said, winding a finger in his scraggly beard, “and the blessings of St. Nola, who watches our steps. I hope that when you’re finished, when you’ve found all of your kind and the war is over and you have leisure to do so, you will come back and visit us and tell us what adventures you have passed.”

“Saints in Heaven. Breathe, boy!” cried Dame Okra crossly. “And then get gone with your fellows. This one’s not for you, as you well know.”

Josquin stiffened, mortified; it was too dark to tell whether he turned red, but the speed with which he spurred his horse toward the city gate suggested an affirmative.

I may have blushed as well. Who can say? It was dark.

His fellows had not yet entered the city. Gianni Patto had balked before the gate, agitated for the first time since Donques. He dug in with his clawed feet and would not take another step; he roared and tore at his bindings. The guards surrounded him, sensibly dismounting so as not to be yanked off their horses.

As Josquin rode up to help, I said to Dame Okra, “Did you have to be so mean?”

She sneered. “To my weedy great-great-grand-cousin? I’m astonished you care. He was going to lean in and kiss you next.”

She was exaggerating, although my heated face didn’t seem to think so. I waved her off impatiently. “Don’t tell me you had a premonition.”

She said, “There are things one can foresee without a pre … mo …”

I squinted at her. If she hadn’t had a premonition before, she was having an enormous one now: one hand clutched her stomach, and her eyes were glassy.

“Dame Okra?” I said.

She snapped out of her trance, swaying disorientedly in the saddle, and screamed, “Josquin, hold on!”

Josquin turned toward us in confusion, as if he couldn’t make sense of her words. Gianni Patto threw his head back and roared, the loudest, most nightmarish sound I had ever heard a living creature produce. All the horses startled, but Josquin’s bucked and reared. Josquin flailed wildly, but couldn’t grasp the saddle horn in time. He was thrown, landing on the flagstones with a sickening thud.

I leaped from my horse and was running before I had time to think. Josquin’s legs lay crumpled at a gruesomely wrong angle; his face glistened, sweaty and greenish in the torchlight. I knelt beside the herald and took his hand, my throat clenched too tightly to speak.

“Can’t feel my legs,” gasped Josquin, trying awfully to smile. “I know that’s bad, but … feeling them might be … worse.”

The gatehouse guards rushed up with a field stretcher, shooing me away. Josquin smiled bravely one last time as they transferred and lifted him. They carried him away, and I stared after in a mute haze, a buzzing like wasps in my ears.