Страница 26 из 130
She turned back into the room. They had the top floor of this.. . place… to themselves, which meant four chambers and a narrow hallway, since it was a tall pre-Change brick house; they used this one as common, she and Ritva shared another, Ignatius had the third, and Virginia and Fred had set up together in the last. When the twins turned away from the balcony, Virginia and Fred were sitting at the table holding hands and smiling at each other, their meal forgotten, a brown-haired young woman and a man of nineteen years with skin the color of old oiled wood and tight-curled black hair.
Ritva could feel something halfway between grief and pure pain shoot through Mary. The other Havel sister closed her eye for an instant, and murmured a prayer of those Dunedain who followed the Old Religion: ?Oh, Lady, You descended through the Dark Gate for Your lover, and where You danced even evil?s self was pierced to the heart. All life and love is in Your gift. Bring my man back to me! Lord of the shining mountain, who loves the warrior?s courage and craft, bless my sword that fights for him!? ?So mote it be, sis,? Ritva said.?Now come on and eat something. We?re going to need our strength.?
Fred looked up.?No ideas?? ?Not beyond walking up to the gate and asking them to put us in the next cell,? Ritva admitted as she sat and reached for the bread knife. ?Anthony Heasleroad is a walking argument against hereditary monarchy,? Mary growled.
The two Rangers signed their plates and murmured the Invocation and blessing. Ritva?s mouth twisted a little. In a bard?s tale fear for your beloved drove out everything else, but she could hear her sister?s stomach growling, now that she?d dragged her in and made her notice the body?s needs, and she was ravenous.
About to drool down my jerkin, in fact. Well, the Histories agree that a good di
Fred Thurston winced; he?d ended up on the run because his elder brother did believe in sons following fathers… and had killed their sire to avoid inconvenient elections in Boise. ?Dad always said you couldn?t hand a country down like a farm,? he said. ?Why not?? Ritva said.?It seems to be the way most people have always done it, if you listen to the stories.? ?It does seem natural,? Mary agreed.?After all… most people do what their parents did, don?t they? You learn how as you grow up. I mean, we?re fighters-so was our father, and our mother. And they were both rulers.? ?I just can?t see myself as the picture of a Crown Prince,? Fred said. ?Sorry, sweetie,? Virginia said.?But you are, whatever your brother Martin?s like. Hell, so are Rudi and Mathilda. Seems to be pretty much a crapshoot, whether you go on who your daddy was or on a show of hands. Or those things they had before the Change, bullets.? ?Ballots,? Fred said. ?Oh, way I heard it, sometimes it was bullets,? Virginia said, and gri
She and Fred were both just short of twenty, but her plain strong face looked a little older than her real years to folk raised in the gentle lands west of the Cascades. The winter blizzards and wind-borne dust of summer on the High Plains had taken a little of the life out of her dark brown hair, and started little lines beside her dark blue eyes already.
Remember to use that lanolin stuff, Ritva reminded herself.
The lines showed a little more as the rancher?s daughter smiled and went on: ?I won?t say anything about me bein? a Princess.?
What a sappy smile, Ritva thought, as Fred gri
And Princess just means your father was a King, like Mathilda?s, or Rudi?s and ours, not that you?re anything special in and of yourself. Or your father some sort of a sovereign, at least, Ritva thought. Which Virginia?s was, pretty well. ?In the Histories, it says the Numenoreans handed down the throne to the eldest child-man or woman,? she said. ?Well, dip me in dung and fry me crisp, that sounds good to me!? Virginia said.
Fred opened his mouth, looked at the three women, and closed it again. ?We?ll probably get some sort of job ru
Mary?s mouth quirked, and she fell back into their habit of finishing sentences for each other:?But that was two Ages of the World ago-at least. So probably everyone is descended from them by now.? ?Aunt Astrid thinks we?re more descended from them than most people,? Ritva said.?Because the Histories speak to our hearts, you see.? ?That?s logical. She?s very smart and learned,? Mary continued.
Ritva nodded.?Of course, some people think she?s also crazy.? ?Inspired.? ?Same thing.?
Ritva?s heart lifted a little at her sister?s smile; it was still a bit bleak, but better than nothing. They began to pass plates around; there was a joint of cold roast pork, potato salad, a dish of eggplant cooked with cheese and onions, a loaf of brown bread still faintly warm, butter and pickles and an apple pie, with little pots of ketchup, mustard and hot sauce; their host wasn?t stinting them. The jug of beer was even cold. Des Moines had Stirling-cycle ice machines, so the milk was fresh too; what passed for wine in Iowa was coarse musky stuff not worth the effort of drinking. She cut a slab of the bread and spread the butter; it was soft with the summer night, and almost melted as it sank in.
Mary brooded again as she ate, hardly even noticing the second slice of the really excellent pie, lost enough that Ritva?s head came up a full half second before she noticed the light tread on the stairs below. ?Our host,? Mary said sourly.?Orch.?
Ritva sighed and shrugged. Nobody could really object to the term. There weren?t any bugs in the mattresses in their rooms, but they were stained, and there was a slight smell, and you could hear what went on below; she was fairly sure that a lot of the girls weren?t here voluntarily, or at least they cried and drank a lot when they weren?t working. Technically the two of them should be burning the place down and setting everyone free; that was a Ranger?s oath, to help the helpless and defend the weak, even if what they mostly did for a living was hunt and guard caravans and track down bandits.
But we have to get the Sword. Key to the Dark Lord and all that. I judge this host of ours to be a bad man, but one with some scruples about debt and obligation. ?Hi,? Tancredo said, through the open door, blinking a little at the uniform stare he got.