“It’s no place for a girl,” Garth grumbled, protectiveness overcoming resentment.
“Maximilian is going to need both of us,” Ravenna said quietly, and took one of Garth’s hands.
Garth forgot Maximilian at the feel of her fingers. “Ravenna!” he cried. “Your hands are like ice! Come on, we’ve got to go somewhere where you can warm up.”
“Where? Your mother’s kitchen?” Ravenna knew Garth still had not confided in his parents, and a small smile hovered about her mouth as she wondered how Garth would explain a marsh girl to his mother.
“I know!” Garth said, a smile lightening his own face. “Why don’t we try the library? Perhaps we can find the answer to that riddle the Manteceros gave us about making a claim on the throne.”
Ravenna let Garth pull her to her feet. “But you said that you and that monk—Harrald?—had searched every scroll and book that might prove remotely useful and yet found nothing.”
“Ah, yes, but,” Garth said, full of enthusiasm now. Why hadn’t he thought of this earlier? Briefly his free hand played with the medallion as it lay under his tunic.
“But…what?”
“But then I hadn’t heard the verse the Manteceros taught us. I haven’t looked for that in the library before now. Come on!”
Letting his enthusiasm pull her along the all-but-deserted back alleyways, Ravenna still protested. “Will they let me in? A marsh girl?”
“They’re a friendly bunch,” Garth said, waving the matter off, but Ravenna still wondered. Friendliness often faded as fast as a droplet of dew under a blazing sun when confronted with the townspeople’s prejudice about the marsh folk.
But all that the chubby elderly monk who greeted them in the foyer did was look both Garth and Ravenna up and down—seeming to disapprove of both of them—request that they wipe their feet and shake out their cloaks before they entered the main hall itself, then led them through.
“Is Harrald here?” Garth asked hopefully, glancing about the aisles. “Harrald has a winter fever,” the monk said, leading them to a spare table and indicating they should sit down.
“Oh? Perhaps I could help?”
The monk smiled a little patronisingly. “We have the best medical help for Harrald that coin can buy, young man. I doubt that you could do anything.”
Ravenna turned her head aside, hiding the small smile that flitted across her face.
“Now,” the monk folded his hands across his ample belly. “How can I be of assistance?”
Garth opened his mouth, then closed it again. He didn’t think this monk would be as sympathetic to his quest for information about the legend of the Manteceros as Harrald had been—and Garth was curiously reluctant to mention the Manteceros in front of the man.
“Could I have the scroll called A Calendar of Ordeals and Tests?” he asked eventually. Surely the Manteceros’ riddle would be in there.
“What do you want with that old thing?” the monk asked, his brow furrowed. “And can I trust you with it? It’s very ancient, and—”
“I’ll be careful,” Garth said, trying to look as responsible as he could, glad that he’d kept his brown hair short and free of curls. “I know its value and I’ll look after it.”
“Well,” the monk hesitated.
“We will be careful,” Ravenna said carefully, and Garth thought he saw her eyes flash briefly.
“Well,” the monk grumbled irritably, “why didn’t you say so? I’ll fetch it now.”
Garth ignored the retreating form of the monk and stared open-mouthed at Ravenna. Dark circles had appeared under her eyes, and he could see that her mouth trembled. “Are you all right? What…what did you do?”
“Nothing, Garth,” she said softly, and patted his arm. “Nothing. A small trick, that’s all.”
“But you look awful!”
“I’ll be all right in a few minutes, Garth. Really. Look, here comes the monk now.”
The monk carefully placed the scroll down before Garth. “You will be careful, won’t you?” he asked, doubt returning to his face.
“Trust us,” Ravenna said.
“Of course!” the monk cried, and he stalked away, his shoulders stiff with indignation.
At Garth’s side Ravenna’s entire body trembled, and he took her hands, concern in his eyes.
“Ravenna!”
“I’ll be all right,” she whispered hoarsely. “Now, look in the scroll!”
Garth held her hands for a heartbeat longer, then her eyes recovered some of their temper and they flashed dangerously.
Garth hastily let her hands go, lest she bewitch him as well. “I suppose you think to disable every guard between the entrance to the Veins and Maximilian with that little trick,” he mumbled. “Or will your Lord of Dreams take them so deep within his realm they will never wake again?”
She took his jibe good-humouredly, and her expression softened. “Drava would not concern himself with such mundane chores,” she smiled, then waved at the scroll. “Come on. Does the scroll tell us anything?”
Garth carefully unrolled the parchment. Harrald had read it previously, and now Garth strained over the unfamiliar script. It was hundreds of years old, and its author had formed his characters with peculiar curves and hooks that made reading difficult.
“Well,” he grumbled, then bent closer, wishing there were an index or table of contents that appeared on the opening part of the scroll. Slowly he began to work his way through, Ravenna sitting patient and quiet at his side.
“Here,” Garth exclaimed, tapping the parchment after half an hour, “is the reference to two rival claimants and the ordeal that the Manteceros must administer.”
Ravenna bent forward. “Is there anything else? Anything about making the claim?”
Garth frowned, his finger tracing gently down the scroll. He mumbled under his breath and unrolled it further.
“Damn!” he muttered feelingly. “Nothing more. There’s a total different change of subject.” He turned to look at Ravenna and grinned. “How a woman may test which of two brothers would make the better husband.”
Ravenna’s mouth twitched, but all she said was, “Marsh women do not take husbands.”
Garth’s grin widened slightly, then he bent back to the scroll. There was still at least two thirds of it to work through, and he wanted to check every entry, just in case there was another reference to the Manteceros.
And then, he supposed morosely, they would have to check every book in the library one by one, for he and Harrald had already checked the obvious books and gleaned all they could. Somewhere there had to be a reference to the riddle…surely?
Well, checking every book would, at the least, keep them out of mischief until spring and the summons to the Veins arrived.
“It won’t do you any good,” a soft voice said, and both Garth and Ravenna, their heads bent close over the scroll, started violently at the feel of a hand on each of their shoulders.
A tall, thin monk with dark hair that fell over sharp black eyes stood behind them. As soon as he had touched them, the monk had withdrawn his hands and now they were hidden within the voluminous sleeves of his habit.
“What do you mean?” Ravenna asked, irritated and a little unnerved by the sudden intrusion. Neither the monk nor Garth took any notice of her question.
“You!” Garth breathed, profoundly shocked.
The monk smiled, a cold movement that did nothing to reassure either Garth or Ravenna.
The marsh girl looked between the two of them. “What is it?”
“It’s the street trader,” Garth whispered, wondering if he and Ravenna could flee. He shifted his feet beneath the bench. “The one who gave me the medallion.”
“And I still sense it about your neck, young master,” the monk smiled, and this time there was more warmth in his face.
“What?” Ravenna said again, still confused. “Did you say the trader?”
Now the fat monk who had originally brought the scroll appeared behind the thin, dark-haired one.
“Is there anything wrong, Brother Vorstus?”
Brother Vorstus—if that was indeed his name—turned to face his plumper brother. “Not at all, Brother Jorgan. My young friends here have completed their study of the scroll, so perhaps you could return it to its resting place.”
Garth opened his mouth to protest, but Vorstus’ hand was suddenly back on his shoulder, and all Garth managed was a small squeak of pain as Brother Jorgan leaned forward and gathered the scroll into his arms.
“Will you be staying with us much longer, Brother Vorstus?” Jorgan said conversationally as he carefully rolled the scroll.
Vorstus’ hand still gripped Garth’s shoulder tightly; Ravenna noticed that there was a peculiar symbol tattooed onto the back of his index finger. “A few more weeks, my friend. Perhaps until spring arrives. Then I shall undoubtedly find more pressing tasks to the north that need my attention.”
Jorgan was almost finished rolling the scroll. “We shall be sorry to lose you, Brother Vorstus. Your commentary on some of the more obscure works in our library has proved most enlightening.”
Vorstus gave a small bow and a self-deprecating smile. “I but do my best, Brother Jorgan. Tell me, is the rear discussion room still free? I would like to talk awhile with my young friends here.”