Page 108 of Stardust Child

Scarcely an hour after sunset, they were marching double time northeast, eating up the miles as if devils were on their heels. And maybe Remin was the only one that noticed when they passed a wagon trace winding away to the north, the road that led to Nandre.

That was the way Rollon had gone.

If he and his men lived, they would be on their way back now. Coming through those maddened, vicious devils. Coming pastthatdevil.

Was that why it had left? Because it sensed easier prey?

As the wagon trace disappeared behind them, Remin fought with himself, calculating the miles, weighing the cost in lives. He had sent Rollon with only twelve menbecausethe chance of success was so low. He was only guessing that Rollon would be on his way back, much less where he might be; the forest was so vast and overgrown, they could pass within half a mile of each other and never know it.

And how many might die next year, if he failed in his quest now?

For an hour, he considered it in silence, and then Remin Grimjaw turned his back, facing resolutely to the north and east.

Toward Crassege.

Chapter 11 – An Authority Among Scholars

It was awkward, reading a letter about someone while he was standing right in front of her.

…commend to you one Lousiton Magne, a valet formerly in the service of Marquis Charval, until he passed away last spring. He was referred to me by the widow Charval, who says that he will be attentive to the last button of his gentleman’s wardrobe. He is an odd man, perhaps a little touched, but he’s there to be your valet, not your bannerman. If he doesn’t suit, send him back.

By now, Ophele knew the hand of Duke Ereguil, backward-slanting and brisk. The addendum was written in the elegant script of Duchess Ereguil:

Remin dear, try not to glower at poor Magne too much. There are many kinds of people under the stars and all of them have a purpose. Perhaps, as you do not care for your appearance, the stars are sending Magne to care intensely for you.

Lowering the letter, Ophele examined the twitchy-looking Magne, who was looking everywhere but at her. She felt a little guilty about reading a letter addressed to Remin, but in this case it might be a mercy that Remin wasn’t here. Magne looked like he was two seconds from rabbiting out the front door.

“I’m glad you’ve arrived safely,” she said slowly, wondering whattouchedmeant, exactly. Simple? “You are Lousiton Magne, come to look after His Grace’s wardrobe?”

“Yes, my lady,” said Magne, his watery blue eyes flicking toward her and away. He was older than Adelan, over fifty maybe, a bent little man with wispy gray hair and hunched shoulders. “I like to make things nice. Clothes. And closets. Everything where it should be.”

“I…like that too,” she said, pity mingling with suspicion. Over the last few months, Remin’s paranoia had rubbed off on her, and she couldn’t help wondering if this evenwasMagne; how difficult would it be for someone to waylay him on the road and then claim his place? But on the other hand, if hewasa simple-minded old man, then she must be very gentle. “It will be hard work, with His Grace,” she said, trying to set him at ease. “He likes to lose buttons.”

“I brought buttons,” Magne said instantly, looking directly at her. “Lots of buttons, and thread, silk and cotton, all colors. I can go get it. I’ll go get it, you can see.”

“No, that’s all right, Magne,” Adelan said, sending Ophele a meaningful look. “I’ve put Magne in the cottage between mine and Sir Justenin’s, my lady. He knows where everything is, so he’ll be able to fend for himself well enough, and he knows to come to us if he needs something.”

“Oh, good.” Ophele was trying not to stare. There had been a maid with skewed eyes at Aldeburke, but Lady Hurrell had dismissed her after only a few days, and Ophele had never met anyone with an…infirmity like this. “Magne, would you like to go see His Grace’s things? And then you can go get your thread and buttons, if you want.”

She felt a little foolish, trooping upstairs with Adelan, Magne, Davi, and Sir Leonin behind her. She hadn’t visited Remin’s dressing room since the day they moved in, and it was even more bare than her own; there was nothing in it at all, saving a single oil lamp and a boot rack by the door, with a pair of his big boots lying on the floor beside it.

The sight made her eyes burn. Suddenly, she missed him so much. When she opened the closet door, she could feel his presence in the same way she felt his absence so acutely in bed. If she had been alone, she would have buried her face in one of those shirts that still smelled of him. Blinking hard, she shook herself. She was being silly. He would be home soon.

“These are His Grace’s clothes,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. The shirts, doublets, jerkins, and breeches were jumbled together pell-mell on the racks, with a pile of boots heaped in the back of the closet. “They need a bit of mending—”

“I will fix it.” Magne all but dived through the door. “Let me fix it, it’s not nice, like this. Shirts go with shirts. Leather shouldn’t mix with cloth. Oh, no, doublets can get crushed—”

“Can they? We’ll put them at the end, then.” Ophele moved compulsively after him, feeling the chaos of the closet as an almost physical pain. “Here’s another shirt, we’ll put the breeches down here…”

“Shirts with shirts,” Magne repeated, wagging his head. “This one is torn. And this one, stained, and a button missing, oh dear, dear, dear…”

“Put those in a pile, you can take them home to fix them,” she agreed, catching the many pairs of breeches he was thrusting in her direction. “You said doublets can get crushed? The quilting on this one—”

“Lookat this!” Magne’s gasp of horror drowned out Ophele’s questions, and his trembling hands lifted the doublet into the light, gazing upon the ragged stitches on its back as if they were some grotesque medical malpractice. “Oh, no. Oh, no no no. The—the thread, the stitch,look,who would do this, it doesn’t even follow the seam—”

“We can throw that out.” Ophele snatched it away, her ears burning. “What about this one? Could you fix this?”

“Yes. With a very small needle. Like weaving.” Magne clutched the jerkin Ophele had handed him, but his eyes were on the doublet she was trying to hide in a growing pile of similarly mutilated garments. “It wasbrocade…”

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