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Rudi cocked his head, distracted for a moment. "That's what I was thinking," he said. "But isn't your house an old building? Sam's place."
"Not like this," Liath said, and shivered slightly as she looked around.
"Yeah, it never feels bad there when I'm visiting," Rudi acknowledged.
"It's an old old building, if you know what I mean. It was always a farmhouse, and that means it belongs to the Mother."
He nodded; that made sense. Aoife went on: "Let's go outside, then. We can wait in the court."
She stuck her head through the door and spoke something quietly. Then they went down the dark echoing metal stairwell; on the lower floors they passed a few Corvallans, busy about the town's business-the more easily accessible parts of the building were still in use, and they had a more living smell as well, wool and the hot metal of stoves and candle tallow. At the bottom of the stairs was a swinging metal door with Exit painted on it in flaking red paint.
Silly, Rudi thought. What else would it be? Did people in the old times have to read be-jore they knew what a door was?
They might have, at that. From the stories, they'd been very very odd back then, in the old times. The sign also said an alarm would go off; he chuckled at an image of someone standing there blowing a trumpet or a horn every time the door was opened, or a big brass bell ringing. That probably wasn't what the sign meant, but then the old stuff was often incomprehensible or dumb or both.
I'm glad I live now and not then, he thought, taking a deep breath of the fresher air outside. It still had more smoke and the smell of more people than he was accustomed to. Even Dun Juniper could get stuffy and give him a closed-in feeling, but you could always run out into the meadows. And I'm glad I don't live in a big city like this, either. You'd have to walk and walk to get to the fields and woods!
There were new watering troughs and hitching posts around the asphalt square that filled the hollow of the L-shaped building. Horses were tethered there, and Lady Sandra's carriage-and enough City guards to outnumber her escort of men-at-arms very thoroughly, just in case. The Association warriors stood in a group, with their shields slung over their backs and their hands resting casually on the peace-bonded hilts of their swords. They carefully didn't look at the Corvallan crossbowmen standing behind them, and the crossbowmen carefully didn't point their weapons anywhere near them-but they were spa
The rest of the guards were leaning on their glaives and talking with each other-he could hear a couple complaining how this special call-up was cutting into their regular, everyday jobs and hoping it would all be over soon. Now and then their armor would rustle or clank; most of them were wearing brigandines or chain shirts, but a couple had sheet-steel breastplates and tassets.
A pair in lighter gear were grooming their horses and tending their tack. They looked up and brightened as Rudi walked over towards them. People usually smiled back at him-that was only natural, since he liked most people he met, so why shouldn't they like him? His own smile had a little extra calculation; the two were looking at Aoife and Liath, and hoping to strike up a conversation. Witch-girls had a reputation for being friendly, and this raw windy day was beyond boring. Rudi didn't intend to be bored; he seldom was, and never when there was a horse to investigate.
"That's a good horse," Rudi said, after everyone had exchanged names. "Is it yours?"
He had some dried fruit in his pouch; he offered it carefully in his palm, and the big bay gelding bent its head to eat, the hairs on its lips tickling his hand.
"Yup, Blockhead here's mine. The city rents him from me when we're called up together. My folks have a farm outside the Westgate, and I think he's glad to get a change from pulling a cart."
"Can I help you curry him, Walter?" Rudi asked.
"You know how?" the young man said.
Aoife and Liath laughed. "Oh, brother, you put your foot in there," Aoife said. "This is Rudi Mackenzie you're talking to."
"Aren't all you guys called Mackenzie?" he replied.
His partner winced and tried to whisper something to him as Aoife snorted and looked down her nose. Liath cut in: "I'm Liath Dunling Mackenzie," the younger woman said patiently. "My friend here's Aoife Barstow Mackenzie. The little goblin here is Rudi just-plain-and-simple Mackenzie-the Chief's son. Like the Chief is Juniper Mackenzie full stop herself herself."
"Well, excuse me!" the guard said, smiling and making an elaborate bow. He offered the currycomb. "Go right ahead!"
"I can't handle the top parts without something to stand on," Rudi said. "I bet this fellah here really can canter for miles-look at those legs and the chest."
Walter looked at him, pale brows rising. "Blockhead's not the fastest horse in town, but he's a stayer," he said respectfully.
They all talked horses and tack while the work went on. It was nice to talk with the Corvallans, and in a way it was a relief nobody was older than Aoife- even his own mother tended to go on about the old days far too much. Someone bought a jug of sweet, heated clover tea from a passing street vendor, and they passed it around in ma
It was Mathilda, by herself; she looked up and waved at a window before walking out with her hands tucked in her armpits. Rudi went over to her.
"You OK?" he said.
"Sure," she replied with patent falseness. "They said I could come out here while the grown-ups talked. I didn't like the way their voices sounded."
"Were they yelling?" Rudi asked, frowning. Mom doesn't yell very often, but it's scary when she does.
Her lip quivered again, but she mastered it. "No. It was all quiet, but I was frightened."
Oh, that's worse than yelling, he thought. "I feel bad about it too," he went on aloud, blinking his own eyes and rubbing at them with the back of his hand. "I wish our folks weren't all mad at each other. It makes me feel rotten, like I'd eaten something bad. If we can be friends, why can't they?"
Mathilda nodded. "Me too. I mean, we're never going to be enemies, are we, Rudi?"
"Never! Not for anything, Matti."
"But if I go back home, we'll never get to see each other again," she pointed out. "Not for years and years and years, until we're grown-ups ourselves. And there may be a war."
They stood and looked at each other for a moment, knowing that the quarrels of the adults could do that. Then Mathilda's face lightened.
"We could be anamchara. Then we'd never be enemies, not all our lives."
"Yeah!" Rudi said enthusiastically. Then more seriously: "It's a big deal, being soul-friends, though, Matti. We'd have to share all our secrets, all our lives long, and fight for each other, and all that stuff. If you die in a foreign land, I have to give you your rites, and you for me. Even if our clans are at feud, we have to help each other. It's serious."
Mathilda nodded. "That's why we should do it. Then nobody could ever make us fight." Then she hesitated and a tiny frown appeared. "I don't know: my confessor wouldn't yell at me, would he? Mom just now said I shouldn't do anything that would make the Virgin cry."
Rudi didn't say that no Aspect of the Lady would cry about people swearing friendship; it wouldn't be tactful. But: Mom says you've always got to he careful when you ask the Mighty Ones for something. They may give it to you. Decision: This is a good idea. Really.