Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [77]
“You can’t make anything go away by hiding from it, Cauvin.”
“Shite if I can’t.”
Once again, Cauvin’s voice came from behind Bec, who turned toward the sound and opened his eyes. Cauvin was one stride out from the wall. There was dust in his hair and all over his back, but his face wasn’t all twisted up with anger anymore. Bec dared a glance in the other direction. Grandfather still gripped the staff crosswise. He didn’t look like he was an old man close to dying.
“If no one remembers, Cauvin, if everyone’s silent, then who’s going to stop them next time? They’re not gone, Cauvin. Not all of them. The man who murdered me, he had blood-red hands and red silk wound around his face.”
Bec swiveled in his brother’s direction.
“Froggin’ hell—You’re the one said they were gone. I heard you. Froggin’ sure you didn’t say anything about the Bloody Hand yesterday.”
“And I’m saying I’m wrong, Cauvin. I was wrong ten years ago, wrong two night ago, and yesterday, too. I’m dying of mistakes, Cauvin. The next move falls to you.”
Cauvin’s eyes got small, and for a heartbeat Bec thought his brother was going to fly off in another rage, but he didn’t get red or pale, just very still, like something had hurt him bad inside. When he talked again, his voice was soft.
“This has gone too froggin’ far. I’m not having any-damn-thing to do with the froggin’ Hand. I’m movin’ you to the palace. Let your high-and-mighty friends take care of you … of them.”
“Out of the question.”
“Don’t froggin’ think you can froggin’ stop me.”
Bec didn’t dare look Grandfather’s way. He had all he could do to keep his eyes open as Cauvin took a deep breath and held it a long time, then let it go.
“You froggin’ swear you won’t froggin’ tell my brother anything about the palace, or the Hand, or any other sheep-shite. He starts spouting off at home, his froggin’ mother’ll hang my froggin’ skin on the wall.”
“I wasn’t there, Cauvin,” Grandfather said, all sweet and nasty together.
“Swear, you sheep-shite pud!”
“In Vashanka’s sacred name and for the good of all, the boy’s ignorance is safe with me. What you won’t tell him, neither will I.”
The oath had to be a cheat. It sounded good, but Grandfather had used too many words for it to be simple-honest. Cauvin didn’t hear the holes. Bec could have warned him, but Bec wanted the holes, the tales his brother wouldn’t tell.
Cauvin was satisfied with Grandfather’s promise and ready to move on. “I’m ready to load the wagon, Bec. It’s not a full load. I’m telling Grabar that the mortar’s hard as steel, and I’ve got to come back tomorrow. I’m counting on you to back me.” He looked at Grandfather. “One more day, that’s all, then—” He shrugged. “Think about it, pud—you can’t stay out here. You’ve got to go to the palace—”
Grandfather waved Cauvin off. “I have a plan.”
“For what?”
“For teaching your brother his letters, for saving Sanctuary from Dyareela’s Bloody Hand. What does it matter? I need papers from my chambers in the palace. There’s an ironbound chest beneath my bed—”
“Froggin’ shite, I’m no thief! You need something at the palace, I’ll take you there. You can sleep on your own froggin’ bed. That’s where you belong.”
“You’re not stealing anything, Cauvin—and you won’t get caught, even if you were. I can promise you that. I’ve often needed to meet with people who couldn’t walk through the palace gates. Listen—”
Cauvin didn’t listen, not until they’d had another argument and Grandfather had shaken that blackwood staff. Bec was sure the staff was a wizard’s weapon—or a priest’s—though it didn’t belch fire or lightning or anything like that. Grandfather just held it in front of him and, little by little, Cauvin backed down and listened to Grandfather’s instructions. It had to be sorcery; Cauvin never backed down.
“So, can I go with you to the palace?” Bec asked when he was in the