Witchsign. Den Patrick

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СКАЧАТЬ Kristofine lit an expensive-looking brass lantern.

      ‘Wait here, build up the fire if you like. I’ll make you some tea to warm you up. And I’ll bring a blanket. We should try and dry your clothes or you’ll catch a chill.’

      Kjellrunn could only nod, too stunned to smile. No one had ever fussed over her so tenderly. Marek was a good father, but his was a functional mind, only affectionate when he remembered to make the effort.

      ‘Thank you,’ said Kjellrunn, an uncertain smile on her slender face.

      ‘I’ll be right back.’ Kristofine left the room and her footsteps sounded on the stairs in a series of creaks.

      The sitting room had three armchairs, all draped with blankets and cosy with cushions. Kjellrunn wondered what it must be like to have another room besides the kitchen and a place to sleep. Another door led from the sitting room; the rumble of men’s voices could be heard through timber. She guessed the door must lead to the tavern itself.

      ‘Bad enough he was a half-wit that couldn’t read, but to have the taint too,’ said one voice.

      ‘He was no half-wit, and there’s no shame in not reading,’ replied another. ‘There’s plenty of us that get by without words.’

      There were a few sullen grunts at this admission.

      ‘They say it runs in families,’ said Håkon; Kjellrunn would know his gruff tone anywhere. ‘We need to keep an eye on that girl.’

      ‘She passed the Invigilation,’ protested a woman’s voice. ‘Let her be. She’s just lost her brother.’

      ‘Mark my words,’ replied Håkon. ‘There’s something unseemly about her.’

      ‘You mean unearthly, you dimwit,’ said another voice, and the room filled with mocking laughter.

      ‘Kjellrunn, you’re white as a ghost.’ Kristofine had returned, a blanket slung over one arm. ‘What’s wrong?’

      ‘I shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe for me. I don’t know what I was thinking. Your father told me I wasn’t welcome here.’

      ‘I brought you here,’ said Kristofine, quiet yet defiant. ‘You’ve just lost your brother and you’re wet to the skin. Now come on, off with those clothes and get this blanket around your shoulders.’

      Kjellrunn stared at the woman, just two years between them but worlds apart. She felt tears fill the corners of her eyes once more and stony grief weighed on her chest.

      ‘Come on now,’ whispered Kristofine. Kjellrunn shucked off the wet clothes and pulled the blanket around her quickly. Slipping into an armchair and pulling her knees up to her chest.

      ‘I was sorry to hear about your mother’s passing,’ said Kjellrunn.

      ‘Oh, that.’ Kristofine shook her head. ‘It was a year ago.’

      ‘I didn’t know you a year ago.’ Kjellrunn paused, watching the woman hang her clothes out by the fireplace. Kristofine knelt down and stoked the fire, adding a few logs.

      Why are you being so nice to me? she wanted to ask.

      Kristofine smiled and took a seat in the armchair opposite.

      ‘Strange you mention my mother. I was just thinking about Steiner, he told me that you never knew yours. He said he can barely remember her. That must be hard.’

      Kjellrunn nodded but didn’t trust herself to speak. Hadn’t Verner said that she took after her mother? Hadn’t Marek said the arcane burned people up and hollowed them out? Her mother might well have passed on to Frejna’s realm.

      ‘Why are you being so nice to me?’ said Kjellrunn, so quietly the words were almost lost as the fire crackled and popped.

      ‘I suppose I know what it is to miss someone,’ replied Kristofine. ‘I didn’t always see eye to eye with my mother, but I’d give anything to have her back.’ She leaned forward in her chair, rested her elbows on her knees and laced her fingers together. ‘I imagine you feel like that right now about Steiner. And your mother too.’

      The rumble of voices in the tavern fell quiet and Kjellrunn turned her head, ears straining for a snatch of sound or some clue.

      ‘Come here,’ said Kristofine, and led her to the wall where the timber’s grain formed a whorl, a knot of wood. Kristofine picked at the knot until something came free.

      ‘It’s a cork from a wine bottle,’ said Kjellrunn.

      Kristofine nodded and held a finger to her lips, then gestured to Kjellrunn to peek through the hole in the wall. The view of the tavern was a good one, though Kjellrunn had to go up on her toes to see through the hole.

      Bjørner stood behind the bar, one brawny hand resting on the polished surface. It was the only thing polished about the tavern; Steiner used to joke that Bjørner spent more time caring for the bar than he did himself. Håkon leaned against the wall nursing a pint and fixing an unfriendly stare across the room. Two men in black stood beside the door, cowing the room into silence. Kjellrunn pulled back and gestured that Kristofine look.

      ‘What will you drink?’ said Bjørner, his words too loud and too forced in the sullen quiet.

      ‘They’re Okhrana,’ whispered Kristofine, pulling back from the spy hole.

      ‘Imperial?’ replied Kjellrunn.

      Kristofine nodded. ‘Has your father never told you of the Okhrana?’

      Kjellrunn pressed her eye to the hole again. ‘My father never told us lots of things.’

      The men in black had moved out of sight, but the sidelong looks of the townsfolk told Kjellrunn the Okhrana hadn’t left. She saw the furtive glances and faces lined with worry. Hands grasped at pints and even the most bellicose of the townsfolk became as field mice.

      ‘They are the Emperor’s watchmen, his bloody left hand,’ said Kristofine.

      ‘And the soldiers?’

      ‘The soldiers are his bloody right hand,’ replied Kristofine. ‘The mailed fist used to ensure obedience.’

      ‘And where does that leave the Synod and the Vigilants?’

      ‘They are the Emperor’s heart. The Emperor is one of them, after all.’

      ‘The Emperor is a Vigilant?’ Kjellrunn frowned.

      ‘Does your father tell you nothing?’

      ‘He tells me to brush my hair and wash dishes. He only scowls when we mention the Empire, and the meisters at school refuse to acknowledge anything east of the border.’

      Kristofine peeked through the spy hole once more and then stoppered it with the cork.

      ‘We’ve never had Okhrana here before. In Cinderfell perhaps, but they usually stay at the Smouldering Standard. They never darken our door. Why are they here?’

      ‘Because СКАЧАТЬ