This novel is meant for readers at least 18 years of age. “Here then is your grant,” Gratta said, and the captain stepped before Archenix and held it up, and Archenix leaned forward, squinting at the unfamiliar script of an order under crown. “It is a draft in regent’s Avenian,” Gratta said, “but its import is plain enough, that—” “I read it even now,” Archenix said abruptly, continuing to scan the document. Hambeth watched while Archenix’s eyes swept back and forth quickly until, at the middle of the page, he stopped, squinted more fiercely, drew back his head as if suffering from a confusion of distance, drew near again but found no relief at either resolve, and Camberia’s proud chief looked with puzzlement to the king’s viceroy. “The grant speaks of a device,” Archenix said, “and then I lose the weave.” Gratta stepped up, put his finger upon the sheet and read aloud, “His Majesty the King Loutaine grants to Camberia the device of a single saltire each bar three takes at wide sinister the basement of the field one take above the lock of lower and upper of the lower by hot iron.” “I know mostly these words,” Archenix said, “but they have been planted in an order insensible.” “There is sense here,” Gratta said, “but its meaning may be conveyed with an ashstick if you prefer.” “Hambeth,” Archenix said. Hambeth turned to search the ground for remnants of a fire, noted that townsfolk had gathered behind him to witness the proceedings, or to gaze at Camberia’s newly-bathed possessions, and he raised his eyebrows for aid. No fewer than six fellow citizens scattered, three stooping beside the door of a dwelling near with the remains of a cooking fire, the quickest – a girl no more than twelve – returning with a narrow branch with a blackened tip. Gratta motioned to a captain, and the man stepped to Hambeth, took the stick and turned to Hyacinth, who looked at him with one eye wide and one swollen. The man dropped to his haunches beside Hyacinth’s left leg, peered at her thigh and, using three extended fingers, measured along the side of her thigh, one take up from her knee joint, marking there a crude black “X.” “An X,” Archenix observed drily, “on the left thigh, as would be put by any citizen of Camberia until overwhelmed by mead.” “The words of the grant are exact words,” Gratta said, “written exactly, to protect your wealth. Strike falsely with the iron and you’ll have made three new servants for Frace, where the device is three takes above the lock, or Allegian, where on the wide right lands the device, or in Forevant, where—” “Very good, Your Excellency,” Archenix said. “So it shall be, as it has been marked, and as it seems to have been written by those who use a score of words where two would serve.” “Such are the ways of our sovereign,” Gratta said. “Long may he live.” Archenix looked past Hambeth’s shoulder. “And yonder comes the third girl, and our smith, and one who may speak for them,” he said.
