No, not haunted. Ylo recalled his oldest brother telling him certain stories about Yewdark, but Yyan had not been spinning a ghost yarn. He had spoken of omens, magic, prophecy, and Ylo himself. Yyan would have been about fifteen then, perhaps, and Ylo about nine, a good age for baiting. Naturally, Ylo had rushed off to complain to his father, and the consul had reluctantly confirmed the tales, while insisting that they had no importance. He had then forbidden all his sons to discuss them and given Yyan the thrashing of a lifetime to emphasize the point. It was that thrashing that had fixed the episode so firmly in Ylo’s memory.
“Haunted by whom? Or what?”
“Oh, I have no idea. It’s been empty for years, because of some fantastic lawsuit. Such a shame, because it used to be such a beautiful place.”
Dear old Lady Eigaze was trying to change the subject, and normally she was far too skilled at conversation to get herself trapped like that—curious! What had she remembered?
Chairs scraped over in the comer. The conference was breaking up. The light was too poor for writing. Beyond the windows, the shore was drawing closer.
“Ion and I called in there a couple of weeks ago,” Eigaze said, in suspiciously vague tones. “On our way back to Hub, you know. One of the horses went lame practically at the gate. The weather was bad, and it was late. We called in to see if anyone we knew lived there now and might offer us a bed for the night.”
“And who does live there now?”
“No one. Well, remember Ukka?”
“No.”
“Onnly’s housekeeper. She’s still there. Old as the Protocol.” Eigaze took another candy so that she could chew and not say more.
“Living there alone?”
“Apparently. Mad as a cornered badger. Ah, Ion!”
The old count sank onto the sofa, carefully not disturbing the sleeping princess. “Yes, my dear?”
“Tell Ylo about that lawsuit. Yewdark must already belong to him, mustn’t it?”
The gaunt old man’s stoop showed even when he was sitting—he leaned forward, always. He seemed to peer at whomever he was speaking to, which gave his conversation a sense of urgency. He smiled wearily at Ylo under his snowy eyebrows. “Well, it certainly belonged to the Yllipos, and Shandie told us he was going to restore their properties to you. So I suppose it is yours, lad. Or it will be, when this mess is cleared up.”
Some mess! That bloodthirsty old scoundrel Emshandar was barely a whole day dead, and how things had changed since then!
“But the lawsuit?” Eigaze said quickly.
“Oh, that? Well, even the closest-knit families have their squabbles, you know. Apparently there was disagreement over who owned Yewdark, and it went to court.”
“So?” Ylo recalled vaguely that the estate had been in the family for a very long time, which meant several centuries by Yllipo standards. Records could become very confused in such cases. There were no family quarrels now, with only one Yllipo left alive.
“Well, when the Yllipo Conspiracy . . . I mean, three or four years ago, when . . .” The old man floundered.
“When Emshandar murdered Ylo’s family,” Eigaze said firmly.
“Well, yes. Most of the property was attaindered, you know. Consequently, the crown succeeded to all existing legal actions. Which meant that the imperor was suing himself in this case.”
“That’s absurd!” Ylo said.
Ionfeu smiled sadly. “But lawyers love such absurdities! The defendant claimed that the imperor could not be sued without his permission, and the plaintiff insisted that the imperor could sue anyone he liked—stalemate! I’m sure the barristers expected to build careers out of it. Anyway, the estate sank into a legal swamp, and it’s just sitting there, deserted. When Shandie asked if anyone knew of a good bolthole for us, Eigaze thought of Yewdark. It’s perfect! Shandie agrees.”
A country mansion on the shores of Cenmere, about a day’s ride from the capital? Ylo nodded thoughtfully. “Isn’t it a little too close to Hub?”
“That was discussed,” the proconsul said, “but King Rap thinks it’s a good idea to stay fairly close, and the warlock agreed. They should know how Zinixo’s mind works, if anyone does. Nowhere is really safe, you know. ”
“But . . .” Ylo felt oddly uneasy at the idea of holing up in Yewdark, and he was not sure why. “This Mistress, er . . .”
“Ukka,” Eigaze said, beaming bravely. “She was your aunt’s housekeeper, and she was left in charge, and she’s still there.”
“Mad, you said?”
“Well . . . odd. She’s lived alone a long time. But she was quite delighted when we told her there was one Yllipo left alive. She’ll be overjoyed to see you.”
“Did she mention the Sisters?”
Eigaze shot a brief glance at her husband. “She . . . she may have done. Who were they, do you know?”
“They were sorcerers,” Ylo said. “At least, I think they were. Sorceresses, I mean. They lived at Yewdark—before Aunt Onnly.” He wished he could remember more of Yyan’s stories. “They prophesied.”
“Prophesied what?” the count demanded.
“Disasters.” Ylo racked his brains. “Disasters that I might or might not be going to survive.”
“What sort of disasters?”
“The destruction of the family.”
“Oh! Well, that did sort of happen, didn’t it?”
“And the overthrow of the Impire.”
Eigaze and Ionfeu turned to each other in shock. That seemed to have happened, too, didn’t it?
2
White Impress was gliding toward a jetty, under cover of a fortunate flurry of snow. There were no other vessels in sight, and the shore itself was heavily wooded. A few gables and tall chimneypots had shown above the trees before the snow started. That, apparently, was Yewdark.
Eshiala stood within the deckhouse, steadying Maya, who had climbed upon a chair to see. Maya was ignoring the scenery, being much more interested in watching the men running around the deck while the sailor woman shouted directions. Blocks squeaked as the sail was furled. Apart from Jarga herself, the faun seemed to be the only person aboard who knew anything about ships.
“Obviously the place is still deserted,” Countess Eigaze remarked with a cheerfulness that sounded forced. “No one’s walked on the pier since the snow started.”
“It doesn’t look as if it’s been used for years,” Eshiala agreed, feeling real joy.
“Candy?” Maya demanded hopefully, having learned that the countess was an unfailing supply of chocolate.
“Ask nicely, dear.” Eshiala thought her child would soon be as fat as the old lady herself.
“Here you are, darling. No, it hasn’t, I expect—been used, that is. You’ll find Ukka amusing. A little strange, but that’s to be expected, living alone for so long. Life will be rather dull here after the court.” She made the statement a question.
“It can’t be too dull for me!” Mother and daughter alone, far from the odious court! Eshiala felt guilty at the prospect, as if the Gods had answered prayers she had not dared to ask. There was going to be one problem, though. No—two problems. She wished that Shandie could stay with them, also.
She really did.
Given time together beyond the reach of pomp and duty, she thought she could learn to know her husband properly, and learn to love him. And he, perhaps . . .
The other problem went past the window at that moment and flashed her a toothy smile. Even unshaven and in nondescript civilian clothes, Ylo was still astonishingly eye-catching.
She hoped she had not returned the smile, but she must have reacted, for she sensed the countess stiffen, as much as anyone of her baggy build could stiffen. The old lady was shrewd, and she knew Ylo. Even if she had not heard of his reputation, she must suspect, surely?
“It will be very dull for all of us,” she murmured thoughtfully.
“Better to be bored than enslaved by sorcery.”
“Yes, of course. Er . . . Ionfeu and I will have to use our own names, of course, because Mistress Ukka knows us. The warlock made out the conferral in the name of Lord Eshern, so Ylo will be Lord Eshern and we shall have to think up another name for you.”
Mistress Nobody, Eshiala thought. They would insist on giving her a spurious title, of course. They all thought of her as impress now, but in her own mind she was still only a grocer’s daughter.
The ship nudged gently against the ramshackle jetty. The king of Krasnegar jumped over the rail, holding a rope.
“The warlock said he would go ashore and scout,” Eigaze remarked. ”We shall have rather a difficult walk up to the house, I’m afraid. As I recall, it is quite a steep path. It will be snowy. Overgrown, too, probably. ”
Stealing someone’s house seemed very wrong behavior, somehow. It was not the way grocers’ daughters were brought up. Perhaps aristocrats had other standards. Even if Yewdark legally belonged to Shandie, as imperor, his grandfather had stolen it when he persecuted the Yllipos. Grocers’ daughters did not comprehend that sort of action, either.