The King's Bastard - By Rowena Cory Daniells Page 0,144

to spurn -'

Fyn tried to push past him.

The master caught his arm.

'Let me go.'

Hotpool's lips pulled back from his teeth. 'You might be a kingson but that does not make you better than us!'

'No, it's what's inside a man that makes him better. And Master Wintertide was twice the man you are, or will ever be. He deserves his place in Halcyon's Heart.'

'And I don't?' Hotpool bristled.

Fyn instantly regretted his outburst. 'I'm sorry, master. I did not mean -'

'You meant exactly what you said.' Hotpool's eyes narrowed, then he smiled cruelly. 'I'll see you regret this when Firefox is abbot!'

Master Hotpool turned, marching up the steps towards the hothouse gardens.

Fyn's heart raced and he felt nauseous. While bending double to catch his breath he heard the history master's voice echo down the stairwell. He was announcing that the boys master was dead, and all work was to cease in his honour. By custom the whole abbey would pray and meditate while the dead master's body was prepared to take its rightful place in Halcyon's Heart.

He desperately wanted to say a private goodbye to his old master so he ran down the stairs, heading for Wintertide's chamber. But, when he entered, he found the bunk empty. For a moment he thought Wintertide's body had been stolen. Then he remembered... Hotpool said the healers had declared it was a heart attack so they must have collected his body and done their examination already.

Stupid. He wasn't thinking clearly.

Above his own hurried breathing, Fyn heard a soft sniffling. He knelt to peer into the shadows under the bunk. Master Wintertide's servant was hiding there, weeping.

'G-go away!' the boy sobbed.

Fyn smiled despite his exasperation. 'You're being silly. Come out.'

'No.'

'You can't stay there all day.'

The six-year-old wiped his nose on his sleeve. 'Can, if I want to.'

'I was Master Wintertide's servant, once,' Fyn said.

'Really?' The boy wriggled closer to get a better look at Fyn. 'That must have been a long time ago.'

'Ten years,' Fyn agreed. 'When I was scared and all alone, he was kind to me.'

'He was kind to me, too. And they just took him away.' The boy gulped back a sob. 'Healer Springmelt didn't even let me say goodbye.'

Fyn knew how that felt. Springmelt? When Fyn was Master Wintertide's serving boy, Springmelt was one of the acolytes who'd tried to bribe him. Now the healer spied for the history master. That explained how Hotpool knew the manner of Wintertide's death. Wait a moment... 'When did you say they took his body?'

'Just now. Didn't you see them in the hall?'

Fyn's head spun. If they had only just taken the master away, the healers would not have had time to examine him and determine the cause of death. How had Hotpool known?

Catillum's words came back to him. Poison is the preferred method to remove rivals. The only way for Hotpool to know what had killed Wintertide was for him to have killed him with a poison that mimicked a heart attack.

When Galestorm had said the old must make way for the young, Fyn had not thought he meant the old were to be murdered. Fyn sprang to his feet, heading for the door.

'Where are you going?' The boy scrambled out and ran after him. He tugged on Fyn's arm.

Looking down into that tear-streaked face, pity stirred Fyn. 'Go to the cook and see if he has any hot soup left.'

'Hot soup won't bring back the master.'

'No. But going hungry won't bring him back, either.'

The boy smiled slowly. 'That sounds like something Master Wintertide would say.' He slipped his hand into Fyn's. 'I'm ready.'

But Fyn wasn't. There were dangers out there that he hadn't foreseen. 'You go. I want to stay here for a bit.'

The boy nodded wisely and went to leave, then turned back. 'I'm Lenny, named after the kingsheir, Lence.'

Fyn smiled. 'Go get something to eat, Lenny.'

'I will.'

Strangely cheered by this conversation, Fyn leant his forehead against the dressed stone. It was cold and helped him think. Springmelt was Master Hotpool's tool. A healer could kill as well as heal. Fyn's eyes burned with angry tears. He could not bear to think of his old master suffering. But there was no time for grief, or anger.

The faction headed by Master Firefox wanted to undermine the abbot so they had removed his most respected supporter. Where did that leave Fyn?

He must tell the mystics master. He wouldn't even have to skim Springmelt's mind. Murder would be easy enough to prove. Poison had to leave