Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [152]
Bec’s eyes stayed wide, but his mouth closed, and he wrapped his arms tightly over his chest. “You don’t mean that, Cauvin.” The boy’s voice was soft. He took after his father when it came to anger: slow and stubborn, not at all like Mina, who raged like a summer storm, or Cauvin himself. “You’re angry because I said that you and Grandfather see Sanctuary the same way, and you don’t want that to be possible.”
“He’s a froggin’ Imperial priest! Froggin’ sure, if the Torch says something’s good for him, it’s not going to be good for me. Can’t be.”
“Not good for you or Grandfather. Good for Sanctuary. That’s different. You agree on what’s good for Sanctuary, whether or not it’s good for you.”
“If something’s not good for me, I don’t care how good it is for froggin’ Sanctuary.”
The Ender steward and the watchmen had settled their differences. Carts were rolling forward. Looping Flower’s lead over his wrist, Cauvin guided her onto the Ridge Road.
He didn’t care about Sanctuary, Cauvin assured himself. He cared about himself, about Bec and Leorin, maybe about Grabar and Mina—on a good day. But suppose the Ilsigi did take over Sanctuary and they did just what he’d predicted? Would he let the Ilsigi burn their mark into Bec’s cheek? Or Leorin’s? Could he do anything to stop them?
Don’t think, Cauvin reminded himself. You’re not made for thinking. You’re sheep-shite stupid and made for doing what you’re told.
In desperation, Cauvin sought gray fog to quiet his mind, but the fog was impossible to find late of an autumn afternoon. Instead, he stared straight ahead and up a bit, at the carved-stone plaque above the open gate. He’d seen it countless times before—two heads in profile facing each other over a symbol made from two swords crossed over a spear, all of them pointed at the ground. The profiles were better than Grabar’s work, but not by much. They both looked alike, and neither looked like a real man.
Cauvin had looked at the plaque countless times. Today he read the inscription—
AT THIS PLACE
AT THE 60TH COMMEMORATION OF
THE FOUNDING OF THE GREAT EMPIRE
KADAKITHIS-PRINCE & THERON IV—EMPEROR
DID DECREE SANCTUARY
A CITY OF THE EMPIRE
BY THE GRACE OF SAVANKALA, HIS LIGHT AND His LAW
The words, Cauvin realized with a start, were Imperial, which made sense, considering what they meant, but it was froggin’ odd to read meaning from words he couldn’t froggin’ pronounce.
The watchmen beckoned Cauvin forward. They’d seen him often enough in the last few days to know him and Flower by sight, if not by name, and passed him through with only a few gibes about the aroma clinging to his boots.
Flower sensed that her stall and her grain weren’t far away. She would have picked up a trot if Cauvin had let her, but a trot would have brought them up against the slow Ender carts. So he kept a firm hand on her lead, which the mule protested by swinging her head hard against his arm. If he’d been in a good mood, Flower’s behavior would have soured it, but his mood wasn’t good and got worse with every stride, every head butt.
When Bec announced, “Grandfather won’t be surprised when I tell him that you think Sanctuary shouldn’t throw in with the Ilsigis. He says he owes you an apology. He says he was right about you the first time and wrong the second, whatever that means. And the only one who thinks you’re a sheep-shite fool is you,” Cauvin had all he could do to keep from striking the boy down.
“I don’t care a frog-sucking damn what the froggin’ Torch says about anything, especially me. I didn’t ask him to haul my froggin’ ass out