Hart's Hope Part 12

Orem smiled a little and shrugged. How could he know?

"Do you water his wine? Never. Do you refuse him, or give him half a gla.s.s? Never. No, you add the strongest gin you can find, so that the next gla.s.s puts him out, and then you gracefully stand beside him and bid his guests good-bye in his name, one by one, and they all touch his hand as they leave, so that in the morning you tell him, 'You shook hands with everyone as they left.' No one thinks ill of him because it was done gracefully, and though he knows the truth of what you did he doesn't mind because that's the way it's done. We are what keeps all going smoothly in Inwit. Who do you think serves in the palace? We, the fifty families. We are the only servants of Inwit and have been from the beginning. Back when G.o.d was still telling his name to strangers, we were pa.s.sing the bread and bearing the meat. Does the House of Grell need a boy for stairs? I have a nephew. Does the House of Bran need a woman for children? My wife does children and teaches them dancing, too. My family is the Family Dyer, and we have a man or woman placed in every great house, and with responsibility, too. Nothing happens on Queen's Road but what we know of it."

My feet hurt, thought Orem. What is your offer?

"Do you think these lords rule anything? Nonsense. We We do. It's one of us who's major-domo, lording the house. Who is his steward caring for his lands, if not one of us? Oh, the master makes his decisions, but who gives him all the information he uses to decide? We are the masters of Inwit, we are the ebb and flow of everything. We give them allowances and they think that they are the ones who pay do. It's one of us who's major-domo, lording the house. Who is his steward caring for his lands, if not one of us? Oh, the master makes his decisions, but who gives him all the information he uses to decide? We are the masters of Inwit, we are the ebb and flow of everything. We give them allowances and they think that they are the ones who pay us! us! They even think they They even think they hire hire us!" us!"

"But the offer you spoke of, what could you need us us for?" for?"

The old man leaned forward and smiled. "Well, you see, while we're off tending to their their estate, what of our own houses? We have lovely houses here, you know, the finest in Inwit, saving our masters' own. Who serves in the house of the servant? That's what we want you for." estate, what of our own houses? We have lovely houses here, you know, the finest in Inwit, saving our masters' own. Who serves in the house of the servant? That's what we want you for."

The servant of a servant. That's my pa.s.s. That's my entry into Inwit. Orem did not feel triumphant at getting work. Instead he kept trying to think if he had ever heard a song about a servant.

"How much?" Flea asked.

"Two coppers a week," said the old man. "Two coppers a week, and an afternoon off, another on holy days if you wors.h.i.+p G.o.d, and room and two meals besides."

"Two coppers," said Flea, awed.

"Here's the best. You'll wed here, you'll bed here, you'll sire here and your sons, sons, your your daughters, daughters, they'll do what you cannot. they'll do what you cannot. They'll They'll wear the livery, wear the livery, they'll they'll learn the words and times, learn the words and times, they'll they'll stand at the elbow of great men and be part of our family, the family Dyer, and do us proud forever. You'll be the sires of members of the fifty families, though you'll never belong to us yourselves." stand at the elbow of great men and be part of our family, the family Dyer, and do us proud forever. You'll be the sires of members of the fifty families, though you'll never belong to us yourselves."

Orem knew then that he must turn it down. He did not understand why, not for a moment. It was work, it was a way to stay inside Inwit, but it was unbearable. His sons and daughters servants, and their sons and daughters, forever and ever, all his children bowing and vanis.h.i.+ng, cooking and vanis.h.i.+ng, cleaning and vanis.h.i.+ng. "No," Orem said. "Thank you, sir, but no."

Flea grabbed at his s.h.i.+rt, pulled so hard that the fabric cut at his neck. "G.o.d's name, Scant, this is it! You don't bargain with pa.s.ses and two a week!"

"The young one's crude but correct," the old man said. "I won't bargain. I know I'm being generous."

"I'm not bargaining," Orem said.

"Then what?" asked the old man.

"Turning you down."

"Then you're a fool," he said contemptuously.

"Yes. No doubt of it."

"What about me?" Flea asked the old man. "Will you take me without him?"

The old man smiled thinly. "At one a week. This one can read. The two a week was for his sake, because you came together."

"One or two a week, fine with me."

"Stay, then, Flea," Orem said. "Thank you for everything. G.o.d's gifts with you." He nodded and stepped from the porch. His father had been a mere farmer, too poor to give a portion to his seventh son, but he had been a freeman, and his son was also free, and he would not bring children into the world less free than he was.

He was out of the alley, striding on into the darkening, deepening fog when he heard footsteps behind him. He knew the runner. "Flea," he said.

"You chewer," said Flea.

"That's as may be."

"Two meals a day and coppers besides. Why not, in the name of my mother's blood?"

"I came to Inwit for a name and a place and a poem."

"I thought you came for work."

"Why work? To keep yourself alive. But then, why live? Not for that. that. Don't blame me. You Don't blame me. You could have stayed." "You chewer. I thought you knew what you were doing. A poem! My father's p.i.s.s!" And Flea spat on the ground for emphasis.

"Then go back."

"I will."

"All right then."

"Tomorrow."

They walked on in silence, and stood together at the door of the Spade and Grave. The fog was deep, the night was on them, all but a faint glow above the roofs; the lanterns were lit pathetically, as if they had a chance to cast a light in air so wet. "What sort of poem?" Flea asked softly.

"A true one."

"Such a poem for you, Scanthips?"

"Why not?"

"Heroes do great things."

"I mean to do them."

"My mother's eyes."

"And there's no hope for a servant of a servant."

"So what now, Scant? Tomorrow you got no pa.s.s."

"Then I'll go out. And come back in."

"When your cheek is healed! Months from now!"

"I'll come back in another way."

Flea shook his head. "I don't know that end of the city. I don't know them as comes in that way."

"Good night, Flea," Orem said. "I'm a fool for sure. Go back to that old man and live well."

"Truest words I ever heard, G.o.d help you." And Flea stepped back away into the fog.

Bargains Orem slept well that night, to his own surprise, and the next day he went downstairs and cheerfully told the innmaster to chew himself, though he still didn't know quite what that meant. Then he went to another inn and ate a copper's worth of breakfast, which made his stomach ache but tasted no worse for that. It was his gesture of defiance after nearly fasting for three days for his coppers' sake.

And as he left the inn, bellyheavy and content, he brushed past a small boy who was loitering at the door, not noticing who it was until he was a couple of steps into the street. Then he turned and said, "Flea!"

Flea looked annoyed. "You could have saved some of that food for me."

They fell into step, heading north toward p.i.s.s Road.

"I thought you'd have breakfast with that old man," said Orem. "I thought you'd given up on me."

"I should have," Flea said. "But I'm so d.a.m.n dumb I believed what you said last night. If you can have a poem, Scant, why not me? I'll be twice your weight when I'm grown. My father hefted an axe for the King, my mother told me. Told me other things, other times, but who knows? Maybe."

"Maybe."

"Bring me along when you go to earn your song. Promise me."

"By my hope of a name and a poem, I promise," Orem said solemnly.

Flea answered nothing. Just silently touched Orem's hand for a moment. And when his touch went, there were three coins in Orem's hand.

"No," Orem said.

"They aren't mine. You might as well have them."

"I can't take your coppers."

"Because I cut purse for them? I'll lie and say I found them if you like."

"You owe me nothing."

"You're going to put me in your poem. So let me help you get it started." And with that Flea ran off into the crowds of p.i.s.s Road.

Orem watched him out of sight, and still watched when Flea was utterly lost to him. He was in debt to a thief inside Inwit and to a liar of a carpenter outside. They were the closest thing to honorable men that he had found.

The line at the gate was as great as the line had been coming in, but that was because it was morning; this time the queue moved quickly on. Name, give over the pa.s.s, show the livid scar on the cheek, then through the door in the gate. For a moment he almost turned back, almost ran to the servants' alley and took a place with an old man, forgetting his childish dreaming. But then the line moved and they pushed him through, and he was glad.

There was Braisy, the weasely man, leaning against a wall watching the discouraged paupers leaving the gate's mouth. Orem walked boldly to the man.

"Five coppers," Orem said.

"A cheerful greeting. Five was all you had three days ago. What do you have now?"

"Five."

Braisy looked at him, eyebrow raised. "Resourceful little chewer, aren't you."

"Five. I want to go in the other way. If there's work there."

"I promise nothing. h.e.l.l, I don't even promise all the way in. I know the first portals, and the names of them as has names. More than you know, that's all. And it's five coppers to there."

"Then let's go."

"Eager little b.a.s.t.a.r.d, aren't you." Braisy licked his lips. "I tell you, maybe you're better to wait out here till your cheek's healed."

"What, trying to raise the price on me?"

Braisy studied him a moment, then smiled broadly. If he had had more teeth, Orem would have thought his smile menacing. "Well enough, then. Five coppers. Now."

"One now, one at the first door, the rest when I'm as far as you can take me, if I think it's far enough."

"Two now, three at the door."

"One now, two at the door, two at the end."

"Done. But show them all."

Orem stepped back and showed the coins from far enough that they could not be s.n.a.t.c.hed away.

"Learned caution, have you?"

"One now." And he tossed the coin. Braisy caught it deftly, weighed it on a finger, and slipped it inside his s.h.i.+rt, under his arm. Must have a pouch there, Orem thought. I need a pouch, too. For safety. There are thieves who know how to s.n.a.t.c.h from a man's wrap.

That was why Orem broke the law to come through West Gate instead of choosing safety as a servant's servant. Tell me, Palicrovol, do you imagine that your son could choose otherwise?

15 The Hole How Orem Scanthips was first recognized as he came into Inwit through the Hole.

A Shadow Does Not Know Him Braisy led him on a twisting journey through Beggarstown that led at last to a tavern far from the twin towers of the Hole. It was not a bright-painted tavern like the Spade and Grave, but a dingy place, decayed outside and filthy and corrupt within. Braisy flashed a coin, and the innmaster nodded. The coin spun through the air. Before the innmaster caught it, Orem noticed that it was silver. Not copper at all. It was then that he became afraid. If Braisy's first bribe was so much greater than the whole fee Orem was paying him, it surely meant that someone else was paying Braisy for Orem's pa.s.sage.

"I need to p.i.s.s," Orem said.

"Not now," Braisy answered. He would not get out so easily. With a tight and painful grip on his arm Braisy hurried him up the stairs and into an open door.

Only a faint light came in through the cracks of a boarded up window. Someone else was in the room. It was too dark to see more than a looming shadow against the crack of light from the window. Heavy breathing from the shadow, and the stench of a foul mouth.

"Name." It was a whisper, and still Orem could not guess man or woman, old or young, kind or cruel.

"Orem."

"Name."

"They call me Scanthips."

"Name."

"Of Banningside. Orem Scanthips of Banningside."

More breathing. The shadow still did not believe him.

"Name of G.o.d it's true," said Orem.