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Well after the bells rang midnight, they ended their session. Gerek went off to a restless sleep, crowded with dreams that might have been life dreams, they were so vivid. He woke much later than his usual time. He was overtired, but with excitement bubbling underneath the weariness. Before he left his rooms, however, a note came from Lord Kosenmark, reminding him that today was his weekly holiday.
But I don’t want a holiday. Not yet.
He picked up his pen to protest this interruption, then stopped. Any break in routine would be remarked, especially after Lord Kosenmark’s precipitous departure and return the previous day. He studied the note again. One line that served as a warning, a suggestion, an act of newborn trust, all at once.
Gerek folded the note and dropped it into his private letter box. (Because it was a sign of trust, which he wanted to preserve for the future.) He ate his breakfast without appetite. Spent an unsatisfying hour in the library. Soon his restlessness drove him outside, onto the streets he had not visited since the freight wagon dropped him in front of Kosenmark’s house.
Nine short days. The sky and city had changed in that interval. A green haze covered the trees. He sniffed and smelled the scent of newly blossomed flowers and more, of something born of the sea, as if the oceans themselves had seasons. Above, the cast of winter gray had vanished entirely and the sky was now a soft and vivid blue.
His feet took him to the nearest market square, where he bought a plate of grilled fish and rice from a street vendor, hot tea from another. He ate, then wandered onward, remembering more of the city from those past two visits. There, there was the Little University. There was the old bridge to the tenement district, where he’d lived with his tutor, and the rows of cook shops where he took his meals.
By midafternoon, he had circled back to a small park, a niche of greenery with several stone benches that overlooked a vast market near the coast. He settled there with a cup of hot tea from another vendor, grateful for the steady breeze blowing in from the seas. From here, he could see the entire harbor, a grand sweep from the northern hills, inward to the wide mouth of the Gallenz River, then south in a more gradual curve. Ships of all sizes dotted the dark blue waters, their white sails like flecks of foam at this distance. Farther off, a dark line of much larger vessels moved steadily northward. The king’s fleet? A convoy of merchant ships? He could not tell.
Gradually he became aware that someone stood nearby, watching him.
It was Kathe, with a large basket over one shoulder, a smaller one in hand. “Hello,” she said. “I’m glad to see you found the outside of your office.”
Gerek ducked his head. “I could s-say the same about you.”
She laughed. “Not everyone locks themselves in the house like you, Maester Hessler. Besides, there are times I like to visit the market myself, instead of sending out one of the girls.”
She shifted her loads. Recalling himself, Gerek asked if she would like to sit down. He slid to one end, and Kathe sank onto the bench with a happy sigh. “Thank you. This is my favorite bench in the city, I think. I can visit the harbor, shop in the market, then rest a bit and look at the waves before I go back to the house. Unless, of course, I bought fish. It spoils so easily, even in winter.”
She set the larger basket on the ground between them. It was stuffed high with bundles wrapped in paper, and the sharp scents of several different spices tickled his nose when he bent over to inspect the contents.
“N-no fish, then?” Gerek asked.
“None worth buying today. But I did find a new spice shop. I think they might have connections to smugglers. I know it’s nearly impossible to find red peppers at such a cheap price. No doubt they will be gone before my next visit, so I bought all their stock.”
She chattered on about spices, which provinces or kingdoms produced the best quality, and how the recent increase in tariffs had driven the prices to unbearable heights. There was talk of war, even. That could only make things worse. Gerek listened, happy that she did not insist on replies. So it took him by surprise when s
he asked him, “How do you like working for Lord Kosenmark?”
“Good.” He thought of several things to add, but decided against them. “Good,” he repeated, then cursed himself silently for such a stupid reply.
Kathe didn’t seem to notice. “I’m glad to hear that. I know—” She hesitated. “I’m going to say what I shouldn’t. You see, I’ve been with Lord Kosenmark almost six years. Before that my mother and I saw him at court when he visited our old mistress. Even though he’s told me nothing outright, I can guess what he does. We all do, of course, but there are times he’s trusted me with, well, certain things.”
“What are you saying?” Gerek said.
Her cheeks darkened. “I know he doesn’t give you all his letters. And I know he pretended to leave yesterday, then came back right away. I was worried for you. I was worried for him, too, though he thinks he’s invincible, the great idiot. And if you ever tell that I called him a great idiot, I shall smack you with a fish. Anyway, I’m not asking you to tell me your secrets. I’m just glad that you’ve found the right way with him. If … if that is what makes you happy.”
“I had n-no idea I was s-sso obvious,” Gerek muttered.
Her cheeks dimpled in a pensive smile. “You aren’t. But I was curious about you. And you remind me of someone I knew before.”
Unsure what to say, he fixed his attention on the harbor and the seas. The fleet or convoy was already much farther north, heading between a scattering of islands. The pattern of ships and boats in the harbor had shifted, too. It was like a secret code, transparent to those familiar with waves and tides and water craft, but to strangers such as him, the language remained opaque, unsettling.
“You are angry with me,” Kathe said.
“No. I am n-n-not used to people watching me.”
“You aren’t?” A pause. “They should. I don’t know you very well, but I see much to admire.”
He made a quick gesture of denial.
“I do,” she insisted. “You work hard. You are clever with words. No matter what you think,” she said, overriding his second and more vocal objection. “Words are not just sounds, spoken prettily. They are shapes on the page and in our hearts. I’ve always thought—” She broke off and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m babbling again.”
I like your babbling. But he didn’t dare say that out loud.
