13

Wolf and Sheep

The demon was the biggest she had ever seen, bigger even than Belias. Its leaking ooze of shadows filled the room from ceiling to floor. Its eyes were two burning pits of grief that burned into her soul as it surveyed her from over the head of its mistress. Or perhaps it belonged to the old man. But no, for it leant over and whispered in the Lady Dantalion's ear.

"Burn them, burn them all."

Its voice was the scrape of nails over a tomb, a crawling ancient hiss. The Mester didn't respond. Perhaps she was unaware of its presence? Perhaps she couldn't hear it?

"My dear?" prompted the Mester, waiting for Candle's response.

"She spoke before," said Locryn, "but maybe she's simple. Or some kind of wight puppet."

"Nonsense," said Delen, rolling her eyes. "We had a long chat, Mester, on the way up. Meraud seems very human to me. I think she's just exhausted and a bit shy."

"Meraud?" asked the Mester, again.

"Sorry, syr," said Candle, tearing her eyes from the demon. She had to pretend she was normal, that she couldn't see anything. Maybe it was a figment of her imagination... She concentrated on the Mester's face. The Lady was looking at her with polite concern.

"Sorry - I'm just tired. I walked a long way to get here. My name is Meraud Loveday."

"Liar," whispered the demon.

A chill of fear raced down Candle's spine. She kept her eyes on the Mester and tried not to clench her fists.

"How did you know the traps were there... Meraud?" asked the Mester. The pause before her name was barely noticeable. It might have been a coincidence

"I can - I can see it."

"What do you mean?" asked the Mester, frowning.

"Where there's magic, there's always a bit of light." said Candle, embarrassed. It was a part of her madness.

"Let me get this straight," said the Mester. "You can see magic?"

 Candle nodded warily.

"I think so."

"That's amazing," said Delen.

"If it's true," said Locryn.

The Mester glanced sideways at the demon, who had not spoken again.

"Easy enough to test," said the Mester, and reached into a drawer. She withdrew a black candle, a silver ring and a piece of parchment. She laid them all out on her desk. Everyone leaned forward expectantly. "Which of these objects is magically enhanced?" she asked. Candle approached the desk, loathe to be closer to the demon but she bent over them, trying to ignore everything in the room but the task at hand. She examined each object in turn and then straightened up.

"None of them," she said. "None of them are touched by magic."

The Mester said nothing, but swept them away and drew out three more which she laid out for Candle's inspection. This time there was a quill, a glove, and a small potted herb from the windowsill.

"And these?" she asked.

 Candle looked at each carefully, considering her response. She needed to guard her words. The Mester couldn't know that she could see her demon, standing there like a twisted, rotten god of the Night Nation

"The quill is just a quill," she said, at last, laying it aside. "But both the basil and the glove have magic in them." The Mester frowned.

"The basil? Tell me how?"

"The glove has a charm worked into the stitching to keep it clean and the herb has recently been spelled with love and encouragement."

"It has?" she asked, in surprise.

"Ahem," said the old man, looking embarrassed. "That was me."

"Thank you, Arthwg," said the Mester, and he blushed. 

"Well?" asked Locryn, impatiently.

"She's right," said the Mester, "What an interesting talent." And she looked at Candle closely. Candle tried not to flinch. It was unsettling having everyone, demon included, look at her. She could feel the sweat running down her back. Her cheeks coloured under the intensity of the Mester's gaze. "Meraud, how old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"And why are you wearing a blindfold?"

"I'm partly blind." said Candle, trying not to look at the demon. "I use my magic to see."

"Liar," it whispered. "Shall I burn her for you?" The Mester paused.

"Are you a demon, or a denizen of the Night Nation," she asked lightly, but Candle could see the muscle in her jaw tensing, "or a demon worshipper of any kind?"

"No!"

At the demon's silence the Mester relaxed and leaned back in her seat.

"Have you ever committed a serious crime? Murder? Arson?"

"No!"

"What a pity," she said musingly. "I was hoping to have an excuse to keep you here with us. I don't suppose you would consider joining the Ancestors Own?" she said, brightly. "Perhaps that's what brought you here in the first place?"

"I - I'm just passing through," Candle said, strangely torn. She had never been asked to stay anywhere. But... she hadn't committed a crime, at least not one worthy of being sentenced to a life of violence as a member of the Ancestor's Own and she could not ignore that demon, leering at her over the Mester's shoulder. "I'm looking for my mother's relatives ... I got lost," she said, "I was...separated from my family." That was true, after all. "I would like to use your moon gate if possible."

"Of course," said the Mester, looking disappointed. "Although the rain looks like it's set in for the night. Please be our guest for the evening."

"That would be very kind of you," said Candle, shoving her hands behind her back. They were shaking slightly.

"This is a place of sanctuary, as well as punishment," said the Mester, looking sad for a moment. "Now if you will excuse me, Delen and Locryn will look after you. Delen you can ask Ia to make her up a bed in the women's dormitory. And Meraud, child, if you change your mind there is a home waiting for you here. Not everyone who serves here is a criminal, you know."

Candle hadn't known.

"Thank you," she said, simply.

She followed Locryn and Delen out of the room and felt instant relief knowing the demon was on the other side of a wall. Which was foolish, for what are walls to a demon? But she was hungry and tired and in no mood to take her chances in the wild of the night. Rain was coming down so hard they could hear it beating on the shutters as Delen led the way to the mess hall. They stepped inside just as the first twilight bell rang out and Locryn pulled shut the double iron doors behind them.

"Thank the Ancestors," said Delen, "I'm so hungry I could eat Locryn." Locryn didn't comment on this pronouncement but instead lead them towards an empty table at the edge of the room. A fire was burning in the great hearth and the hall was alight with a hundred suspended witch lights. They illuminated hundred noisy men and women eating and talking at the top of their voices. The smells were tantalizing and the noise rather overwhelming. Candle tried not to stare as they sat down at an empty table without preamble and immediately helped themselves to bread and stew that was brought to their table by a sullen teenager whose feet were shackled together by chains. He glared at Candle as she looked and she blushed, ducking her head as he clanked away.

"Most of us are criminals," said Delen, who had seen us look. "Murder, assault, arson, you name it. If the Mester trusts us not to give in to our baser instincts she lets us walk around free, but not everyone is so lucky. Some of them are...unstable." Candle wondered what Delen's crime was. It seemed impolite to ask. She seemed so ...normal.

"Go ahead," said Delen, gesturing to the food, a spoon full of stew already in her mouth. Candle slid onto the bench, nervously and copied her companion's actions.

"The really dangerous ones are kept locked up in the dungeons down below. You know, the serial killers, the rapists and the mad ones. Oh and the moonsilver addicts, although that's more for their own safety. The ones she thinks might be a little bit violent have to wear chains. The Mester is a really good judge of character."

"Generally," said Locryn, and Candle could feel his eyes on the back of her neck.

"She hardly ever makes a mistake," said Delen, and the pair glared at each other over their bowls. Thankfully they settled into a grumpy silence, concentrating on their food.

Candle found it strange eating with other people for company. The food was plain, there was no denying it. There was no butter, and none of the more exotic spices that Candle was used to, but the stew was good and it was hot. It filled the hole in her stomach and tasted better than anything she had eaten at her parent's house. Locryn watched her put away bowl after bowl with mild amazement. This act of hunger seeming to cement her humanity in his mind, and he became slightly less frosty.

"I don't think a wight would be so keen on the stew," said Delen, laughing, and elbowing Locryn in the ribs. He grunted and Candle was too busy eating to reply. It was glorious to be warm and full.

Towards the end of her third bowl she slowed down the last twilight bell rang out and the iron doors at the entrance were pushed open. A good natured scuffle developed at the door with groups of people pushing in and out.

Two trail worn men waved at Delen and Locryn then made their way over to their table looking dusty and worn. They plopped their ugly assortment of weapons on the table and sat down on the bench next to Candle.

"So the Mester decided she wasn't a wight, then?" asked the shorter of the pair, who Candle recognised as the man she had met on the trail with Delen and Locryn.

"Yup," said Delen, around a mouth full of bread. She sprayed a few crumbs on the table and Candle had to make an effort not to lean back. Rough manners were the least of her problems. "Although Locryn's still not convinced."

"If the Mester says she's not a wight puppet then she's not a wight puppet," said Locryn quietly.

"Very magnanimous of you," said the leader. He leaned over to shake Candle's hand. It was warm and calloused. "I'm Jory, by the way. What was your name again?"

"Meraud," said Candle, trying to keep her eyes off Delen's masticating gums.

"This is Pasco," he said, gesturing to a tall, white-skinned man to his left. "Pasco can't talk so we have to do it for him." Pasco smiled at Candle and made several gestures with his hands. "He says welcome, Meraud." Candle smiled back at him, hesitantly. "And that you don't look violent."

"Don't say that," said Delen, helping herself to a steaming mug of tea, "it's the quiet ones you have to watch."

­ "Like Nessa," said Locryn, and the whole table groaned.

"Nessa?" asked Candle, curiously.

"Small girl, meek as milk, quiet-like," said Delen. "May she rest in peace. Looked like she wouldn't hurt a fly, bit like yourself in appearance, if you'll beg my pardon. Young. The Mester had her in chains from the get go, and we all wondered why."

"The Mester knows," said Jory, "the Mester always knows. She's a fine judge of character. I assume she's already interviewed Meraud. Yes? No chains?" he looked under the table at Candle's feet. "Phew. We should be safe in our beds tonight."

"What happened?" asked Candle, curious despite herself.

"Well Nessa kept to herself," said Delen, "seemed sweet enough-" she paused dramatically, "-until someone spilled tea on her in the mess one night and we woke up the next day to find him lying in a pool of his own blood."

"She slit his throat," said Jory, unnecessarily. "Stole a paring knife from the kitchen. The cook got into a lot of trouble for not noticing. The Mester was not pleased."

"What happened to her? Afterwards, I mean?"

"Shade got her," said Locryn, biting viciously into a piece of bread.

"The unhinged ones normally go to the Ancestors quickly," said Jory. "You need your wits about you in the fell. We're all just waiting for them to get Delen." Delen stuck her tongue out at him and he grinned. Pasco gestured next to him. "Pasco says, do you know how long you are in for yet? That's his subtle way of asking what was your crime."

"She's not staying," said Locryn.

"I'm just waiting for the rain to stop," said Candle. "So I can travel."

"What a shame," said Jory. "Shades know, we could do with some fresh blood around here. Figuratively speaking of course."

"If you ladies have finished yakking," said, Delen. "I need to take Meraud up to see Ia before it gets too late.

"Let the poor waif finish her food," said Jory, "she looks like she needs it. No offence, lass."

"The poor waif has polished off four bowls of stew and a whole loaf of bread," said Locryn. "I think she'll burst if she eats anymore." Candle blushed as everyone fell about laughing and congratulated her on her appetite. Surreptitiously she tucked some bread inside a pocket for later.

She made her goodbyes and followed Delen out of the rowdy warmth of the dining hall and down a flight of rough stone stairs. She was tired and sleepy, and didn't pay much attention to where they were going.

"Do you want to bath?" asked Delen, brightly. Candle knew she must smell rather bad and didn't take offence. No Havi worth their salt would volunteer to submerge themselves in water more than once a month at most, usually making do with sand and salt scrubs to keep themselves clean. She nodded. "There's a spring at the bottom of the castle. I'll find you a towel."

Candle made short work of washing herself, making sure to curse loudly at the touch of water. Which was a shame because she would have loved to linger in the beautiful natural rock pool. She examined her injured left arm. The wight's fingerprints were still horribly visible in lurid blue and purple, but she felt much better after the wash. Delen had found her fresh clothes and even a fresh strip of linen to replace her sad soggy blindfold.

She was barely awake as Delen led her back through the castle, up several floors and introduced her to the tiny old lady named Ia, who was the housekeeper. They found her an empty bed in the corner of a large dormitory and Ia gave her a pile of freshly laundered blankets.

She said goodnight and wriggled under the warm pile of blankets, listening to the other women in the dormitory talk quietly as they got ready for bed. The rain was driving hard against the window panes but the room was warm and cosy. What a difference, she thought, it made to have a safe place to call one's own. Even if it was in a castle full of the violent criminals, serving out their sentences. No one from high society would be caught dead in a place like this, she thought, happily, snuggling deeper into her blanket.

Candle soon fell asleep, listening to the rain, feeling safe and warm.