Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [199]
“Not yet,” Soldt cautioned. “Not until I’ve taken a look at the corpses. You didn’t move them, did you?”
Grabar said, “No, just left ’em there. If we can’t trust the palace, then what about the priests of Ils … Savankala, too. Somebody’s got to be told, somebody with power to do something. They’ve got my boy, Soldt.” He closed his eyes and shrank a little, as if a great pain had just returned to haunt him. “The Hand’s got my boy. I’ve got to do something more than fetch soup.”
The pain returned to haunt Cauvin as well. He put his arms around Grabar. “It’s not too late.”
“How would you know?” a shrill, familiar voice demanded. “Look what you’ve done, Cauvin. Look what you’ve done to us. To Bec. To Lord Molin Torchholder, himself—”
“Lord Torchholder would blame himself for what’s happened.” Soldt tried to defend Cauvin; Cauvin could have told him not to bother.
Mina turned on Soldt, snarling, “And who are you to be knowing that? Another one of Cauvin’s whoreson friends?”
Grabar freed himself from Cauvin’s comfort. Without exchanging a word, Cauvin knew Grabar was as guiltily relieved as he was not to be the target of Mina’s desperate temper.
Soldt, though, took Mina seriously. “I’m the man Lord Torchholder charged with protecting his heir, your foster son—so a word against Cauvin is very much a word against Lord Torchholder’s judgment—and I’m very confident, mistress, that you would not want to question Lord Torchholder’s judgment.”
Soldt had Mina there.
“Our boy?” Grabar whispered. “What can we do to save our boy? I can’t stay here in the yard, not when I don’t know what’s happening to him.”
Cauvin could have said it wasn’t any easier, knowing what the Hand could do, but said, “I’m going to the palace. I’m going to find an Irrune who’ll listen. I’ll drag froggin’ Arizak over here to see the froggin’ Torch.”
“Not yet,” Soldt insisted. “Lord Torchholder’s risked everything to keep them out of this. If you need to do something, Grabar, take Cauvin’s advice—go to this guard, Gorge. Take him out to the ruins. Vex and I won’t need much time out there.”
Cauvin disagreed. “I’m going to talk to Gorge. He knows me well enough—”
“I want you with me. You know the way it was. You’ll know if anything’s changed.”
Never mind that Cauvin had left the ruins before Grabar, Soldt was a man who could give orders when he had to. Grabar straightened his work clothes and headed off for the guard post beside the palace gate. Galya took the soup bucket from Grabar and herded Mina into the kitchen, where, she said, there was solace tea steeping on the hearth. She returned a few moments later with a strip of bleached linen.
“I imagine you’ll be wanting this. I got it off the boy’s bed,” she said, offering the cloth to Soldt. It vanished within his cloak. “Be careful,” the laundress advised before returning to the kitchen.
“I guess I’m ready,” Cauvin said, when he and Soldt were left alone in the yard.
“Not dressed in yesterday’s shirt. Clean yourself up. Any of those cuts deep enough to worry about?”
Cauvin shook his head. “I’ve only got two froggin’ shirts and this is the froggin’ best between them. Galva gave it to me just yesterday.” He examined his cuffs and saw a few stains, from blood and grime, but not enough to demand washing. “It’s still clean,” he insisted.
Soldt wrinkled his nose. “You’re not. Wash yourself off, at least.”
Little as Cauvin wanted to waste time at the trough, a glance at Soldt’s face convinced him that he’d waste more time arguing. His wounds stung when he dipped his arm in the trough. They bled freely, but not too freely. He intended to ignore them and had the shirt stretched over his head when Soldt ordered him to stop.
Cauvin froze more from surprise than obedience. Soldt dug into the basket Galya had left on a pile of unfinished stone and hauled out a length of snowy linen. He tore it into strips.
“Keeps the swelling down,” he explained as he wound the cloth over Cauvin’s forearm. “And keeps your shirt