Fey 02 - Changeling (7 page)

The building was larger than many kirks in outlying areas.
 
It was serviced by a Danite who lived in the village — another rarity since most Danites in an area this small traveled from community to community.
 
This kirk was still made up of a single room, however, about the size of Stowe's entrance hall in his own manor.
 
A dozen pews provided seating for the locals who came to Morning and Midnight Sacraments.

There were no windows.
 
The walls were covered with a white wash that showed through to the brown stone behind it.
 
The altar was a square table, roughly carved, with slots for holy water beneath.
 
An oversized sword, the symbol of the religion, hung from the wall behind the altar, point downward.
 
The silver reflected the light of a dozen candles.
 
This sword was polished and well loved.
 
When he had stepped close to it, he had noted that it was etched with the words from the Roca's Blessing, ostensibly given before he died.

Stowe didn't count himself among the believers, although he attended Midnight Sacrament at least once a week.
 
The Midnight Sacrament reenacted the Roca's Absorption.
 
The Words Written and Unwritten recorded that the Roca was a man Beloved of God who, when asked to choose between leading his people into a battle they could not win or slaughtering the Soldiers of the Enemy, decided instead to offer himself as a sacrifice.
 
He cleaned his sword with holy water, ran himself through, and was Absorbed into the Hand of God where he spoke on behalf of his people into the Ear of God.
 

Stowe found the idea of the Roca's Absorption a bit preposterous, and the idea that an entire religion could be based on the good words of one man into the Ear of God absurd.
 
But some part of him found the idea of conducting an investigation into the death of the King here, in the kirk, appalling.
 
Obviously, some part of him had religious sensibilities.

It was not a discovery he really wanted to make.

Except for the Danite who was still lighting candles, Stowe currently had the kirk to himself.
 
He had spent the last few days talking with the people who dwelt near the road where the King was assassinated.
 
They had seen nothing.
 
For his work here, he was relying on the Danite who knew of several villagers who had made disparaging comments before the King's arrival.

Stowe was glad for the work, and for the help.
 
He had sent Monte back to Jahn with the body and the news that Stowe would stay until he discovered who had assassinated the King.
 
Finding the assassin kept him from focusing on that moment, that thud of arrow against skin, the soft sound of surprise the King made as he toppled over backwards.
 
Stowe had come into his lordship the same year that Alexander had become King.
 
They had been young men together, ruling a country without the vaguest notion of how to do so, learning together, growing together, making mistakes together.

Stowe never believed he would be left to go on.
 
Alexander had always had a golden aura.
 
Even when his first wife died, leaving him Nicholas to raise alone, Alexander had done so, finding time for his son as well as managing a country.
 
His second wife had given him no children, but much comfort.
 
Her death had been a blow to him, one he had barely recovered from when the Fey arrived.
 

But even the Fey's defeat seemed golden.
 
And the obvious love between Nicholas and Jewel a godsend.

Stowe had never been able to find a wife, let alone find time to father a child.
 
He had spent his years at the King's side, making the King's wishes come true.

Now he was here, sleeping in someone else's mud hut, on the marshy ground of a village that smelled of standing water and sewage, hoping to figure out the secret behind his King's death.
 
Stowe had sent Enford back to Nicholas because Stowe was unable to face the boy.
 
Nicholas was older than Alexander had been when he became King, and wiser in many ways, but the boy and his father had been close.

The news would destroy Nicholas.

The Danite pinched out the candle he had been using to light the others.
 
The kirk was ablaze in light.
 
The white wash seemed cleaner in this kind of brightness.
 

The room was cold, though.
 
The dampness of marshes penetrated here.
 
At least Stowe's borrowed cabin had a fireplace to dispel the worst of the chill.

"I think we might bring them in," the Danite said.

"If we're going to interview them, we should do it separately." Stowe rubbed his hands together.
 
They were turning red with chill, even though it wasn't that cold outside.
 
The dampness in the kirk had to be permanent, and probably quite a relief in the summer.

"They ain't none of them to confess to you," the Danite said.
 
He was a native of the region, and unlike the old Rocaan, had not yet unlearned the dialect.
 
"Twont matter how you approach em."

Stowe suppressed a sigh.
 
He had set up this meeting on the Danite's suggestion.
 
"Then what is the point?"

"To listen.
 
To hear what they ain't saying.
 
Silences they can tell you all."
 
The Danite smiled.
 
His teeth were uneven, and one up front was missing.
 
"And if you listen good, you will learn all you need."

"I trust you will help me with this listening."

The Danite nodded.
 
"Twouldnta wasted yer time should I thought it would come to naught.
 
Twould be best if some of the questioning I did."

"Yes," Stowe said.
 
"I think it would."
 
He waved a hand and headed toward the front where two chairs had been placed in front of the altar.
 
"Let them in, then."

The Danite pushed open one of the double doors and gestured the people outside to come in.
 
About a dozen people straggled inside, men covered with mud to their hips, and women whose skirts were patched and mended so many times that the original fabric was unclear.
 
They looked older than Stowe, although he realized as he watched them move, that many were younger.
 
One woman had a boy in tow, and he had a large boil on his neck.
 
All of the people were so thin they looked skeletal, and only a few had bathed within the last week.

The stench they brought with them was so great Stowe had to swallow twice to keep from losing his breakfast.

They watched him as they came in, keeping their gaze on him even as they scattered into the pews.
 
Now he understood why the pews had no cushions — the stench would remain.

The Danite closed the door and walked up the aisle toward Stowe.
 
The people sat toward the back in groups of two and three.
 
The Danite stopped beside Stowe.

"His lordship Mr. Stowe," the Danite said, looking at Stowe.

Stowe nodded his head in greeting.
 
The villagers did not bow or even nod as was the custom in Jahn.
 
They continued to stare at him, eyes bright in their mud-covered faces.

"I trust you all heard about the horrible murder," the Danite said.
 
"His lordship Mr. Stowe he wants to talk about it."

"Ain't none of us done it," said a man in the back.
 
His hair stuck up on the sides, and his face was so mud-covered his skin looked dark as a Fey's.

"He ain't sayin none of us did," the Danite said.
 
"But we got to find out what happened."

"Can't see why," the boy with the boil muttered, and his mother immediately pressed his head against her breast.
 

"Why?" the Danite said.
 
"You all know why.
 
Twas our king that died."

"Not our king," said the man who had spoken before.

Stowe straightened.
 
He had yet to take the chair that he had set for himself, and now decided he wouldn't.
 
These people were astonishingly forthright.
 
"Who is your king, then?"

"Don't got one," said the man.
 
He jutted his chin out as he spoke to Stowe as if that gave him extra strength.

Stowe opened his mouth to argue, but the Danite brushed against him.

"You follow the Roca.
 
The King what died is a son of a son of a son of the Roca.
 
Same family, you know."

"The Roca does more for us than any king ever done," a woman said.
 
She was sitting on the opposite side of the kirk.
 
Her face was clean and her hair pulled back in a neat bun.
 
Her skin was unlined, but Stowe could see where age would tug it.
 
Exhaustion had already given her the look of a woman used up.

"Yeah," said the man who had been speaking for the group.
 
"We was going to tell the king that when he come.
 
But he didn't."

"He was assassinated on the way here," Stowe said.

"And I wager yer here ta blame us," the woman said.
 
It was as if she and the man had been chosen to speak for the group.

"No," Stowe said.
 
"I'm here to see if you have any knowledge that can help me.
 
Have you seen any strangers about?
 
Any Fey in the vacinity?"

"Fey?"
 
The boy turned his head so that he could see his mother.
 
Still, his whisper carried across the room.

"Them creatures as to why we ain't seen no one from Jahn all these years," the woman said in a whisper just as loud.

"They've never seen Fey," the Danite said.
 
"The war is a myth down here."

It took all of Stowe's diplomatic skills to keep from angrily responding to that.
 
He took a deep breath, then said, "The Fey are not a myth.
 
They nearly destroyed Jahn and the outlying areas.
 
It is a tribute to your King that you have never seen Fey.
 
In Nye, the Fey rule."

"How would we know these creatures?" another man asked.
 
He too was scrubbed, but his clothing was worn through on the elbows and knees.

"They look different," Stowe said, not quite wanting to give away how different.

"Like you?" one of the women asked.

He looked down on himself in startlement.
 
His breeches and shirt were clean.
 
His hair was pulled back and his skin was good.
 
He had never thought how exotic he would look to these people.

"He's just trying to get us to say we done it," the first man said.
 
"Then they'll slaughter us like they done when we tried to get our share before."

"Before?" Stowe asked under his breath.

"The Peasant Uprising," the Danite said.
 
"It started here."

Stowe had forgotten that.
 
To him, the Peasant Uprising was ancient history, the subject of tapestries and wall murals, and nothing more.
 
He hadn't even known anyone who had fought in it — the veterans had all died before he was born.
 
Yet here, it was a living, breathing thing.

"The King was coming here to find out how you were doing," Stowe said.
 
"Whether you had had problems with the Fey, what we could do to solve any other problems you might have.
 
That isn't going to change.
 
Whatever grievances you have, you may tell me.
 
But I do need your help in return now.
 
The most important man in the nation has been murdered, and we need to bring his murderer to justice."

"We don't need ta do nothing," said the first man.

"He weren't important ta us," the woman with the child said.

"Our grievances should be obvious," said the man with the clean face.