The King's Bastard - By Rowena Cory Daniells Page 0,93

boy volunteered.

Fyn suspected the masters and the abbot were discussing Provings so far. He suspected his presence was like turning up an Unknowable card in a Duelling Kingdom games. If he was put with the wrong master, the balance of power in the abbey hierarchy would be disrupted.

The first prayer bell rang.

Fyn grimaced. He could delay no longer. The gardens master was easy-going, but if Fyn reported for work late he would be insulted.

'I'll leave you here, Joff,' Fyn said. 'Master Wintertide will be back soon.'

He headed for the corridor and the spiral stair.

But before he got there an arm snaked out of the boys' bathing chamber, catching him by the collar of his robe. Jerked off his feet, Fyn was hauled into the bathing chamber, his heels dragging across the damp tiles. Galestorm's face, among others, whirled past him as he was spun around and around, then shoved across the room. The tiles were slick with steam and he fell painfully to his knees, skidding.

The bathing chamber was empty but smelt of soap and small boys. In front of him, Fyn saw a familiar wall mosaic illustrating Halcyon's blessings, stylised grain sheaves entwined with the beasts of the fields. It was reflected in a bathing pool. Steam rose off the water which had been pumped up from the hot springs below.

Fyn's stomach lurched as he came to his feet, turning to face his tormentors. He'd only just returned to the abbey and they were after him already.

Galestorm was with his usual followers, Onetree, Whisperingpine and Beartooth, and this time there was no Byren to come to Fyn's rescue.

'Not so brave, eh, kingson?' Galestorm asked, prowling towards him. 'See, I told you he was a coward. Are you going to beg?'

Fyn did not know what to say. Nothing would satisfy Galestorm.

'Just look at this place.' Galestorm gestured to the bath chamber, then clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. 'Filthy little boys. It needs cleaning. You can start in that corner.' He pointed to the far end of the chamber where grime had caught between the tiles. 'Clean it, with your tongue.'

Fyn stared at Galestorm.

'Are you disobeying a direct order, acolyte?'

Fyn swallowed. They weren't going to let him get out of this.

Galestorm stepped towards him. Desperate, Fyn darted forwards, elbowed Galestorm in the ribs, side-stepped Whisperingpine and shouldered past Onetree. He made for the door, only to be caught by Beartooth.

The big monk pulled Fyn's arms up behind his back and dragged him over to Galestorm, who rubbed his bruised ribs thoughtfully. 'You're going to be sorry you did that. But first I have some advice for you. I hear Master Firefox offered you a place?' When Fyn didn't answer, he nodded to Beartooth, who obligingly jerked Fyn's arms up behind his back.

Fyn bit back a cry. 'He did, but I refused.'

'Very wise,' Galestorm agreed. 'And you're going to keep refusing, because Onetree is going to be acolytes master, I'm going to be the history master, Whisperingpine is going to be clerics master, and Beartooth is going to be weapons master. But if you joined any of those branches that wouldn't be possible. So you go right on refusing.'

'I mean to.'

Galestorm smiled as if he didn't believe Fyn.

'Give him something to help him remember,' Galestorm said and walked out. Fyn ducked, trying to protect his vulnerable parts from the rain of blows.

A little while later, dripping wet and moving carefully, Fyn climbed the stairs. He ached all over and, he suspected, he would feel worse tomorrow.

Returning to the acolytes' bedchambers he changed into a dry smock and leggings, then went up to the hothouses. He was walking slowly as he made his way over to the gardens master, who took one look at him and led him to a quiet corner.

'You're late,' Sunseed said.

'I apologise, master.'

Sunseed studied him. 'They were careful not to leave any marks on your face.'

'How did...' Fyn began, then realised he had been tricked. 'I don't know what you mean.'

'Of course. And I'm not going to ask who did this. Take my advice. Stay with your friends and don't be caught alone. Do you want to go down to the healers?'

Fyn shook his head.

'Then follow me. We must check the starkiss buds. The mystics master thinks they will open tonight.'

Fyn's spirits lifted. Master Wintertide had never missed the blooming of the starkiss flowers and the beating had convinced him more then ever that he needed his old master's advice, for it wasn't possible to