Against The World

Chapter 53: May 28th

The warrant for Rillford arrived with a request that I return home.

I read that part twice.

Magistrate Lorne waited behind her desk.

“Is there a problem?”

“You want me to leave.”

“I want you to let the northern circuit execute its own warrants without a foreign king standing behind every officer.”

“That sounds less personal.”

“It is entirely personal. You are very noticeable.”

I looked down at my plain coat.

“I have been making an effort.”

“You stopped a moving cart without touching it.”

“The children were inside.”

“I am aware. I am also grateful.”

She folded her hands.

“Your evidence has been accepted. The receiving yards will be searched. Captain Sorn’s orders have been copied and dispatched under guard. If you ride into Rillford now, the people we need to question may decide they are defending their town from Greykeep.”

I disliked how reasonable that sounded.

“Who is leading the inspection?”

“Magistrate Ansell. I have known him for sixteen years.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Yes.”

“Does he have enough guards?”

“He will, provided yours accompany the prisoners to the circuit boundary as agreed.”

Alistair stood beside the window.

“I will see them delivered.”

I looked at him.

“You are staying?”

“For the escort. Then I return.”

Lorne pushed another paper toward me.

“The first families are ready to travel to Stoneford. You have a functioning gate there, a reception service at Greykeep, and people who recognize you.”

In the yard, a child laughed.

It was still unusual enough to draw my attention.

Lorne followed my glance.

“Getting people out of a locked wagon was useful, Your Majesty. So is making certain they have somewhere to go afterward.”

I set down the warrant.

“Then we take them home.”

We left Dunmere the following morning.

Some families remained with relatives in town. Others wanted help reaching their own villages.

Forty-three chose Greykeep for the time being.

We did not call them new subjects.

Mary had been very firm about that.

“They are traveling with us,” she told a clerk. “They are not signing away their futures.”

The clerk corrected his heading.

Anwen and Lettie traveled with the first wagon.

The confirmation from Saint Orra’s Rest had arrived before dawn.

The man in the ward was Lettie’s father.

His name was Davren.

He remembered the blue ribbon his daughter wore when the relief officers separated them. Anwen still had it, tied around the handle of their little bundle.

Helena had arranged for him to travel when the healer permitted it.

For the first time since we opened the shed, Anwen smiled without looking frightened immediately afterward.

Lettie asked how long until she saw him.

We gave her the best estimate we had.

Then she asked again before we reached the town gate.

Melody climbed onto the wagon beside her.

“Do you know any counting games?”

Lettie shook her head.

“I know a terrible one,” Melody said. “Mary taught it to me.”

“I taught you multiplication,” Mary replied from her horse.

“As I said.”

By the time we left Dunmere behind, half the children were arguing about whether passing trees counted as landmarks if nobody knew their names.

I rode beside the wagons and listened.

It was a much better sound than chains.

The journey to Stoneford took two days.

Two ordinary, muddy, uncomfortable days.

A wheel needed tightening.

One horse developed a sore shoulder.

We stopped early the first evening because the healer said several passengers had traveled far enough.

Nobody objected.

We were learning how to move at the pace of people who needed help.

At Stoneford, the gatekeeper had our schedule waiting.

Small groups.

Space between transfers.

Names checked at both ends.

Mary crossed first to help receive everyone.

Melody went with the children.

I remained until the last wagon had been unloaded.

Then I stepped through the light.

Evelyn stood on the other side.

For a moment, she did not say anything.

Neither did I.

She came forward and put her arms around me.

I held her tightly enough that she laughed against my shoulder.

“All the pieces?” she asked.

“I checked.”

“Good.”

She stepped back just enough to examine my face.

“You look tired.”

“I have been sitting on a horse.”

“Apparently the horse has been wearing on you.”

I kissed her.

Behind us, someone cleared their throat.

The gatekeeper needed the threshold.

We moved.

Some traditions survived every crisis.

Mary’s reunion was less dignified.

We had barely reached the upper passage when a low, eager chittering came from the courtyard.

Mary stopped.

Her cat ears went upright.

“Oh, no.”

The sanitation guardian rounded the arch at considerable speed.

His metal crown bounced against his chest.

Someone had cleaned him.

Someone had also tied a blue ribbon to the crown.

Neither improvement made him smaller.

Mary took one step backward.

“Slowly.”

He did not slow.

“Slowly.”

Melody caught Mary’s document case just before an enormous furry head pressed her against the wall.

The guardian made a deep, pleased sound.

Mary disappeared halfway behind his cheek.

“I am here,” she said with strained patience. “You can see that.”

His whiskers swept across her face.

“I do not have bread.”

He sniffed her bag.

“I said I do not—”

A small crust fell from a side pocket.

Everyone looked at it.

Mary closed her eyes.

Melody pointed.

“Evidence.”

“That is from the journey.”

“Of course.”

Evelyn covered her mouth.

I failed to cover mine.

The guardian ate the crust, then sat directly on the hem of Mary’s cloak.

She attempted to move.

He remained.

“Please get off.”

He tilted his head.

“The cloak.”

A civic unit passed through the courtyard carrying a drain cover.

“Guardian separation response diminished,” it announced.

Mary stared at it.

“He missed her,” Melody translated.

“I understood.”

“The children have been calling him Crumb,” Evelyn said.

Mary looked around the enormous head.

“What children?”

“The ones who visit the new washing court.”

“Why are they visiting him?”

“He sits behind the rail while the handlers inspect the lower channels. They talk to him.”

“He is not a pet.”

Crumb leaned against her with enough affection to shift her sideways.

Nobody answered.

After a moment, Mary rested a hand between his ears.

“Has he been working?”

“The south collector remained clear through the rain,” Evelyn said. “The crew found two root blockages because he kept returning to the same inspection point.”

Mary stroked his head once.

“Good boy.”

Melody looked delighted.

“Not one word,” Mary warned.

I decided that royal mercy was appropriate.

We left her to the reunion.

The city had changed while we were away.

Not dramatically.

A row of shop shutters had been painted.

The classroom in the western room had opened.

The first covered market stalls stood ready for use.

People still crowded the gate notices looking for names, work, or news of relatives.

But more of them had somewhere to return afterward.

Evelyn walked beside me through the eastern district.

She knew which household had moved into the empty rooms near the infirmary.

Which roof had leaked.

Which baker was taking an apprentice.

I found myself listening without trying to prepare the next decision.

She caught me looking at her.

“What?”

“I missed this.”

“The housing reports?”

“You telling me things.”

Her expression softened.

She took my arm.

“I saved several particularly dull ones.”

“That was thoughtful.”

“I thought you deserved them personally.”

We reached the classroom as the lesson ended.

Children spilled into the yard carrying slates.

One little girl stopped before us and bowed so deeply her slate nearly struck the ground.

Evelyn helped straighten it.

“Careful.”

“Your Majesty, when is your birthday?”

Evelyn blinked.

“Mine?”

“The king’s.”

The girl looked at me.

“Abigail said we should learn the calendar, and someone said kings have birthdays written on it.”

I had not thought about mine in months.

“May twenty-eighth.”

The girl frowned.

“Which month is May?”

Beside me, Evelyn became very quiet.

I looked at her.

Then at the child.

“Where I came from, the months had different names.”

“Is it soon?”

“I honestly do not know what we would call it here.”

The girl considered this.

“That seems like something you should find out.”

Then she ran after her friends.

Evelyn watched her go.

“She has a point.”

“I have survived without a parade so far.”

“I did not say parade.”

“You said it with your expression.”

She looked back at me.

“May twenty-eighth.”

“Yes.”

“And you never mentioned it.”

“Nobody asked.”

Her fingers tightened around my arm.

“I am asking now.”

We consulted the Castellan after supper.

This was not how I had expected to spend the evening.

Evelyn had brought a calendar.

Mary had brought a pen.

Melody had brought herself, which generally meant the situation was about to become less manageable.

“May,” the Castellan repeated.

“Yes.”

“Local designation unrecognized.”

I pointed toward my wife.

“There. Mystery unresolved. We should all go to bed.”

Evelyn ignored me.

“He means the calendar of his birthplace.”

“Comparison requires a dated reference and the structure of the originating calendar.”

I hesitated.

Then I explained what I could remember.

Twelve months.

Their lengths.

The date of my arrival, measured from the birthday I had celebrated just before it.

Mary wrote while the Castellan compared the interval against Greykeep’s record of my first entry.

The golden eye brightened.

“Equivalent annual observance: twenty-eighth day of Flowerwane.”

Evelyn repeated it softly.

“The twenty-eighth of Flowerwane.”

“Late spring?” Mary asked.

“Correct.”

Melody leaned over the calendar.

“That is months away.”

“Excellent,” I said.

“Plenty of time,” Evelyn replied.

I looked at her.

She was smiling.

That was not excellent.

“Time for what?”

“Planning.”

“It is a birthday.”

“Yes.”

“I have had nineteen of them.”

“And I have attended none.”

That stopped me.

She reached across the table and took my hand.

“I would like to attend the next one properly.”

Mary quietly wrote the date into the calendar.

My twentieth birthday.

Here.

With people who knew me.

The thought felt strange enough that I stopped looking for a joke.

Melody broke the silence.

“There should be a cake.”

“A small one,” I said.

“A reasonable one,” Evelyn corrected.

“That means something different to your mother.”

“We will establish dimensions before consulting her.”

Mary nodded.

“A written limit.”

“You are all discussing cake as though it might become a military threat.”

“Have you met Helena?” Melody asked.

Unfortunately, I had.

Evelyn waited until we were alone before asking more.

We sat beside the window in our rooms.

The city lamps glowed below.

“What did you usually do for your birthday?”

“Lately?”

She nodded.

“Not much.”

“How little is not much?”

I turned my cup between my hands.

“A cupcake last time.”

“Only one?”

“There was only one of me.”

She said nothing.

I looked at the dark window.

“It was fine.”

Her hand settled over mine.

“Was it?”

I could have said yes.

It would have been easy.

“No,” I admitted.

She moved closer.

I remembered the candle.

The ridiculous effort of keeping it upright in soft icing.

The quiet afterward.

“I do not need you to replace every bad memory,” I said.

“I know.”

“Or arrange something enormous because you feel sorry for me.”

“I am not planning it because I feel sorry for you.”

She waited until I looked at her.

“I like you. I love you. I would enjoy having a day when I am allowed to be unreasonable about both.”

I smiled despite myself.

“You already take considerable liberties.”

“I intend to improve.”

She leaned her forehead against mine.

“What would you like?”

The question was simple.

Answering it took longer.

“People at the table,” I said finally.

She nodded.

“Cake. Apparently.”

“Obviously.”

“And one meal without reports.”

“I will defend the door personally.”

I laughed.

She kissed me.

We did not choose musicians or decorations that evening.

We talked about food I remembered, presents Caroline had made badly and given proudly, and whether Beatrice could be persuaded to try a chocolate cake if we explained what chocolate was.

That particular question remained unresolved.

For once, I did not mind.

The Rillford report arrived two mornings later.

Alistair brought it through the Stoneford gate after completing the prisoner escort and returning by road to the exchange.

He looked tired.

He also looked satisfied.

That combination made me stand before he spoke.

“The yards were secured.”

Mary reached for the report.

“How many?”

“Seventy-two people found in the receiving compound. More records referring to contracted sites outside it.”

I gripped the back of my chair.

“Alive?”

“All seventy-two in the receiving yard alive. Several require treatment.”

Evelyn closed her eyes briefly.

“And the quarry sites?” she asked.

“Ansell has stopped transfers and sent officers. That part is not finished.”

It was important that he said it.

The relief did not erase the rest.

“Opposition?”

“Some. The local watch held the main road. Once Sorn’s signed orders were presented, the yard manager attempted to leave through a counting-room window.”

Melody looked up.

“Did he succeed?”

“He reached the ground.”

“And?”

“A constable was waiting.”

She appeared pleased.

Mary opened the attached list.

Names.

Some uncertain.

Some accompanied by a trade, an age, or a note saying that the person could not yet answer questions.

But names.

Merrow arrived before Mary finished the first page.

She had been in the courtyard.

Someone had told her Alistair was back.

She stopped beside the table.

“May I?”

Mary handed her the list.

The captain read standing.

Her remaining hand gripped the page so tightly that Mary placed a board beneath it before the paper tore.

At the bottom of the second sheet, Merrow stopped.

“Jalen.”

She read the entry again.

“Jalen Orr. Bellcross. Carpenter.”

“You know him?” I asked.

“He held the western lane while we got the children onto the charcoal road.”

Her voice had become very quiet.

“I thought they killed him.”

Alistair drew a smaller folded note from inside the report.

“He asked the clerk whether a captain with one arm had reached the mountains.”

Merrow looked up.

Nobody spoke.

Alistair handed her the note.

She sat down before opening it.

I turned toward the window and gave her that much privacy.

Behind me, paper rustled.

Then a breath caught.

Mary pulled up a chair beside her.

We did not announce that everyone had been saved.

They had not.

Bellcross’s missing families still filled several pages.

The records pointed to other workplaces and other intermediaries.

Some claims about what had happened remained unconfirmed.

But messages now traveled in both directions.

People who had been searching learned where to send a name.

People found in the yards could ask whether someone was looking for them.

Greykeep’s archive became crowded with clerks, witnesses, and pieces of families trying to fit together again.

Mary organized the work into separate rooms so a person giving testimony did not have to do it before everyone waiting for news.

Evelyn arranged additional lodging through the districts.

The council approved funds for transport and basic supplies.

It cost money we had hoped to spend elsewhere.

Nobody called it wasted.

That afternoon, Anwen and Lettie received word that Davren was well enough for the first stage of his journey from Saint Orra’s Rest.

Lettie asked whether she should wear the blue ribbon.

Anwen tied it into her hair.

I saw them waiting beside the receiving-room window, the girl pressing her fingers to the knot every few minutes.

I wished I could have made the road shorter.

Instead, I sat with them for a little while.

At supper, Mary placed a new calendar sheet beside Evelyn’s plate.

I recognized the date immediately.

The twenty-eighth of Flowerwane had been circled.

Beneath it, in smaller writing, stood several words.

No council session unless essential.

I looked at Mary.

“You have written that rather far in advance.”

“Someone would otherwise fill it.”

“That someone could be you.”

“Exactly.”

Melody leaned across the table.

“I have ideas.”

“No explosions,” Evelyn said.

Melody sat back.

“I had not said anything.”

“You looked inspired.”

Beatrice entered carrying a pot.

“What are we planning?”

“My birthday, against my better judgment.”

“When?”

Evelyn told her.

Beatrice considered.

“Spring fruit, then. Perhaps a layered cake.”

“How many layers?” I asked immediately.

She ignored me and looked at Evelyn.

“I will make notes.”

That worried me more than Melody’s inspiration.

Under the table, my wife took my hand.

Across from us, Mary checked the calendar once more before rolling it away.

For months I had looked ahead and seen stores to fill, roads to repair, people to find.

Those things were still there.

But now there was another mark among them.

A day my friends intended to keep for me.

Outside, someone called Mary’s name.

A moment later, Crumb’s broad nose appeared around the open doorway.

Beatrice pointed her ladle.

“No.”

He stopped.

Mary sighed, stood, and went to meet him.

Melody watched her leave.

“He should attend the birthday.”

“No,” I said.

Evelyn looked at me.

“You said you wanted everyone at the table.”

“I should have asked Mary to draft the terms.”

My wife laughed and leaned against my shoulder.

For the first time since Dunmere, I laughed without having to make myself begin.

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