Out of the Darkness

“It is,” he said, and then asked, “Why do you need me to read Jelgavan? I can probably make sense of it-it’s as close to Valmieran as Sibian is to Algarvian, maybe closer, and I don’t have much trouble with Valmieran.”

“Here. I got this today.” Pekka gave him the letter. “I knew you were good with languages. Can you tell me what it says?” A serving girl came up. Pekka ordered the venison and cabbage for herself, too.

“Let me see.” Fernao started to read, then looked up sharply. “This is to your husband.”

“I know.” Pekka had destroyed the envelope with that hateful rubber stamp. “It got sent to me. What does it say?” She wondered, not for the first time, if Leino had had a Jelgavan lover. She could hardly be angry at him now if he had; it would go some way toward salving her own conscience.

Even so, she started when Fernao said, “It’s from a woman.” He continued, “She’s writing about her husband.”

Was the fellow angry at Leino? Pekka didn’t care to come right out and ask that. Instead, she said, “What does she say about him?”

“Says he helped your husband when he was with the irregulars, but now he’s disappeared, and she’s afraid he’s been thrown into a dungeon,” Fernao replied. “She asks if Leino can do anything to get him out.”

“A Jelgavan dungeon.” Pekka winced. Jelgavan dungeons had an evil reputation. Leino, she remembered, had met King Donalitu aboard the Habakkuk, met him and despised him. Helping anyone who’d fallen foul of his men seemed worth doing. She asked, “Who is this fellow?”

“His name is Talsu. He’s from a town called Skrunda-whereabouts in Jelgava that is, powers above only know. I know I don’t, not without a book of maps,” Fernao said. “His wife’s called Gailisa.”

That name meant nothing to Pekka. Talsu, on the other hand.. “Aye, Leino said something about him in a letter. He helped our men slip through the Algarvian lines in front of this Skrunda place.”

“You probably ought to see what you can do for him, then,” Fernao said. Pekka smiled and nodded, glad he was thinking along with her. Leino had done a lot of that; if Fernao could, too-and if she could with him-that struck her as promising. Fernao’s next question was thoroughly practical: “Do you think you can do anything?”

“By myself? No. Why should any Jelgavan want to listen to me? But I’ve got connections, and what good are they if I don’t use them?” Listening to herself, Pekka had to laugh. She sounded very much like a woman of the world, not a theoretical sorcerer from a town that looked southwest toward the land of the Ice People. She’d seen Fernao smile a couple of amused and tolerant smiles in Kajaani, though he’d done his best to hide them.

He nodded vigorously now. “Good for you. At least half the time, knowing people counts for more than knowing things does.”

Pekka’s supper arrived then. She ate quickly, for she wanted to get to the crystallomancers’ chamber as soon as she could. When she walked in, she said, “Put me through to Prince Juhainen, if he’s not too busy to talk.”

“Aye, Mistress Pekka,” said a crystallomancer: the same woman who’d summoned her to this chamber to hear Juhainen tell her Leino was dead. Pekka tried not to think of that now. The crystallomancer went about her business with unhurried precision. After a couple of minutes, she looked up from the crystal, in which the prince’s image had appeared. “Go ahead.”

“Hello, your Highness,” Pekka said. “I have a favor to ask of you, if you’d be so kind.”

“That depends, Mistress Pekka,” Juhainen answered. “One of the things I’ve learned the past couple of years is not to make promises till I know what I’m promising.”

“I’m sure that’s wise,” Pekka said, and went on to explain what Talsu’s wife had asked of her.

“A Jelgavan dungeon, eh?” Prince Juhainen’s mouth twisted, as if he’d just smelled something nasty. “I don’t believe I would wish my worst enemy into a Jelgavan dungeon. And you say this Talsu fellow actually helped our men?”

“That’s right, your Highness.” Pekka nodded.

“And they’ve flung him into one of these miserable places anyhow?” Juhainen said. Pekka nodded again. The prince scowled. “That is not good,” he declared, which, from a Kuusaman, carried more weight than screamed curses from an excitable Algarvian. He continued, “Thank you for bringing it to my notice. I shall see what I can do.”

“Will the Jelgavans heed you, sir?” Pekka asked.

“If gratitude means anything, they will,” Juhainen answered. But his smile was wry. “As often as not, gratitude means nothing at all between kingdoms. Truth to tell, Mistress Pekka, I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know whether anything will happen. But I do mean to find out.” He turned and nodded to someone: to his own crystallomancer, for the sphere in front of Pekka flared and then, to the eye, became once more nothing but glass.