One late afternoon in the winter, as Tilim and Percia headed home from the Wyndton dance academy, two strange men lingered in front of the Wyndton Arms. Sitting in front of Percia, gazing back every now and then, Tilim saw them mount up and casually ride a ways behind Barley.
As they progressed through the village, Tilim expected the riders to turn off any moment toward a house or a throughway. But they didn’t. They followed Barley, even as the gelding turned onto the less-traveled footpath through the scattered wood and meadows. The strangers both looked big and rough, but they made no effort to close the distance. Tilim didn’t want to scare Percia, and the men weren’t actually causing trouble, so he kept an eye on them but said nothing.
When Barley turned into their own lane and quickened his pace, eager to reach his stable and feed, the strangers continued straight on. This road didn’t lead anywhere special—it just continued to two farms farther on and petered out after an abandoned orchard—so Tilim puzzled over whether these outsiders could possibly have some business with their near neighbors.
The distraction of company for dinner drove the occurrence out of his mind.
As soon as he entered the cottage, Lemle shouted, “TIL-im!” jabbing him with fake punches, as if he hadn’t seen him for years, when they’d met only last Waterday. Sometimes Lemle and Rooks embarrassed him in front of his pals, but Tilim could relax with them here at home. He snuck under Lem’s longer reach to tap him a good one in the belly.
“Ouch!” Lem pretended.
“Stop that nonsense and wash up quick,” said Mama. “I’ve got rabbit pie, and it’s bubbly hot.”
Percia came in from stabling Barley, and they gathered around the table.
“Mighty good eats,” Rooks complimented the cook. Everybody watched to check that the old man ate with appetite tonight. His hands shook nowadays and his body had shrunken. Tilim knew that Lemle worried about his uncle’s health.
“I baked a second pie—that one’s just got onions and carrots—for you two to have cold tomorrow,” Mama said. “After supper, Tilim, I want you to fill the woodbox.”
“He doesn’t need to do that, missus,” said Lemle. “I can manage.”
“No, he does. It’s awful nice of you two to stay here to take care of the chickens and horses while we’re away. Least we can do is leave the cottage in good shape.”
“When’s the duke’s carriage coming?” asked Rooks.
“The note said midmorning,” Percia answered, passing their guest more of Mama’s bread. “Why do you think they invited us to stay at the manor house for a week? Lordling Marcot won’t be there. And it’s not as if we’re actually friends.”
“Oh, Percia!” scolded Lemle. “Don’t act innocent. Now that you’re engaged, Duke Naven and his wife want to get in good with you. You’re gonna outrank him, I wager.”
“Yes,” said Mama, with a bit of an impish grin. “A lady outranks a duke.”
“So strange,” muttered Percie, shaking her head to indicate that the changes her upcoming marriage would bring had yet to really sink in.
They had a jolly time at dinner exclaiming over the village gossip that Lemle spread. Mama liked to know everyone’s business, though often she protested they shouldn’t talk about their neighbors. Percia had once explained to Tilim that speaking behind their backs was Lemle’s way of getting a measure of revenge for the way the townsfolk treated him.
Then Mama served a special custard that wobbled on its plate, and Lemle compared it Goody Gintie’s hindquarters, which made Tilim sputter with laughter and spray his milk across the table. Mama pretended to be cross, but he knew she was having more fun than she would at the manor house.
Suddenly, Percia interrupted the merriment. “Do you hear anything? I hear horses, riding fast.”
Tilim dashed out into the yard—but all was still. Maybe there was a bit of extra dust hanging in the air.
“What did you hear, Percie?” Tilim asked when he came inside. “There’s nothing doing outside.”
“Really? I guess my ears must have deceived me.”
That set Rooks and Mama to discussing the ways they couldn’t hear as well as they could when they were young, with Rooks morosely confessing that he could no longer hear the chirps of baby birds. Tilim almost told everybody about the men from Wyndton, but feared he would sound like a ninny.
After dinner Tilim laid out a pallet in the front room, because he’d given Rooks and Lemle the room under the eave, while Percie had moved into Mama’s bed. But instead of lying down right off, he stared into the fire, pondering the upcoming move to Cascada. Although he knew he would miss his friends, he was excited at the prospect of living in the capital, rather than in a remote hamlet. Would he see real soldiers? A real circus? Travelers from other countries?
Baki stiffened and emitted a low growl. Tilim stared at him in shock: this was the first time he had heard the dog actually growl. For all their assumptions about Baki being a fierce guardian, the old black mutt had been lethargic all these years. He ignored fox barks and coyote howls. A caller to the cottage might merit a cursory sniff or two before the dog resettled himself. Generally, the dog didn’t even bother to stand up for visiting children, and once when Dewva’s toddler tripped over his own feet and fell right on top of him, Baki had just wagged his stumpy tail twice and gone back to dozing.
But now Baki leapt to his feet, fully alert, hackles raised and lips pulled back. Whatever bothered him had not passed by.
Tilim rushed to the back door and lowered its crossbeam, then did the same with the front door. His own small-sized sword hung in his bedroom. He raced up the stairs and grabbed it from its scabbard on the wall.
“What is it?” said Rooks. His voice sounded wide-awake. Either old men don’t sleep well, or he had paid more attention to Percia’s report of fast horses than he had appeared to.
“Baki scents danger,” said Tilim.
“Lem, wake up! Wake the others,” called Rooks. “Go, boy,” he said to Tilim.
Tilim ran back down the stairs, sword in hand. Now he could hear the crunch of boots in the yard. He saw the front door’s latch raise and the intruder discover the beam-barred entry. He heard a muttered oath in the darkness.
Smash!
Someone was trying to break into the cottage’s front door!
Smash! Crash! It sounded as if an ogre were throwing his shoulder against it.
The door wobbled. Tilim had no idea how old or sturdy the beam might be; his father had been the one to see to such things. Heart pounding, Tilim placed himself just to the right of the doorframe, where he could stab the intruder when the man walked in. Baki crouched low, every nerve intent on timing his spring.
Smash! Crash!
The door broke off its hinges, and three large men rushed in, their shapes and weapons catching the gleam of the firelight. Mama and Percia, hearing the noise, had rushed out on the upstairs landing, Percia screaming, “What is this? What’s happening?”
Baki took the first villain, springing into the air, latching on to his throat, and bringing him down by his own weight and the force of his attack. Tilim struck out at the second with all his strength, skewering him in his lower back with the good steel that Marcot had gifted him. The third tripped over his fellows sprawled on the ground, then regained his feet and rushed to the staircase.
On the landing, dressed in only his night shift and bare feet, Rooks had pushed in front of the two women. He held a dagger, and though his left hand trembled noticeably, that which gripped the blade remained steady. Tilim could see a small smile playing on his mouth.
Baki’s man lay motionless. Tilim’s target, merely injured, grabbed for and caught Tilim’s ankle, seeking to pull him off his feet and down to the floor. With effort, Tilim yanked away from his attacker’s grasp, pivoted around, and stuck him again in the shoulder.
“Ai-ee! Fuck!” cried the man on the floor, pushing himself up to his knees with his good arm. “Loish! I’m hurt! A fuckin’ kid! Loish!”
Tilim looked up. “Loish” didn’t heed the cry for help; he was intent on reaching the second floor. He took his chance on the old man and the dagger, bounding up the steps. At the last instant Rooks slipped sideways under the thrust of the intruder’s sword to stab at him with his dagger, catching him in the pit of the arm that held the weapon. The big man’s sword fell down to the first floor with a clatter, while the intruder staggered forward one more step, grabbing Percia’s hair, pulling at her with all his strength.
Percie screamed. Mama beat at the man’s wrist, and Lemle yanked Percia by the waist back from the stranger’s grasp.
Then the man’s hand fell nerveless, and he crashed facedown on the stairs. He slid down a few steep risers with loud thumps. Rooks sat down heavily on the step behind himself. Mama enfolded Percia in her arms.
While Tilim was watching this drama, the intruder he had injured had staggered out the front door, leaving a dark streak behind him. Baki ran after him, his claws scrambling on the wooden floor; a short scream pierced the darkness of the yard, then stillness.
Tilim’s head started swimming. He sat down in a chair and put his head between his knees so he wouldn’t black out.
Dimly he heard Rooks say to someone, “There don’t seem to be any more comers.”
“Lock her in the bedroom, Lem, and stand guard,” said Mama. And in a moment his mother crouched on the floor next to Tilim, rubbing her hands up his legs and arms.
“Mama, I’m not hurt,” he said. “No need. Quit it, will ya?”
“Are you sure, Tilim? Are you sure?”
“Yeah, just a little dizzy.”
“Missus, I feel dizzy too,” said Rooks. “A drop of brandy would not go amiss.”
Mama poured them both a finger of brandy. She lit all the lanterns and stoked up the fire for more light. Tilim was able to lift his head upright, though he didn’t want to try standing.
“Mama, I want to come out!” called Percie.
“No, Percie. I forbid it. Stay in my room with the chair holding the door.”
Lemle helped Rooks to rise. “Are you hurt, old codger?”
“Nay,” said Rooks. “Pah! Amateurs. Twice my weight and I took him down with one strike. Your uncle’s still got some grit in him.”
“Your name should have been ‘Grit’ instead of ‘Rooks,’” said Lemle proudly. “And what about your pupil? A nine-summers boy fighting off a brawny man!”
“Yeah! How about that!” agreed Rooks cheerfully. “Don’t guess I can take any credit for the dog, though.” He swallowed down the rest of his brandy and smacked his lips.
“What was this all about?” Rooks said. “When has this ever happened in Wyndton? Not in all my years!”
Mama’s hands worried her nightdress. “Oh, I wish Wilim was here! This can’t be happening.”
“Now, missus, calm down,” said Rooks. “Send for Hecht. He’ll know what to do. I feel a mite tuckered. How about bed, Nevvie? Help an old codger back to bed after all this excitement?”
Rooks chuckled and slapped his knee. “Feels awful good to know I’ll wake up in the morning and that miserable son of a bitch won’t.”
Lemle settled Rooks back in bed, and then he rode off to fetch Hecht, the village peacekeeper. Tilim could have gone, but he really didn’t want to leave his mother and Percia in case there were any more of these intruders lurking around. And truth be told, he still felt a mite shaky.
“Tilim, I’m going to wait down here for help to arrive. I’ll have Baki with me,” said his mother. “I need you to go up to my room and lie down next to Percie. She’s miserable alone up there. Can you do that for me?”
“Don’t you want me to stay with you, Mama?” said Tilim.
“I’ll call you if I need you,” she answered. “Keep your sword handy. But Son, would you take off your boots? And here, let me wipe you off a bit.”
She washed and washed Tilim in the kitchen bucket. The water grew quite red. He cautiously tiptoed around the dead man sprawled on the stairs and went into Mama’s room with Percia. Percie made a fuss over how brave he was and all, till he told her to hush up. He lay down on the bed next to her, held her hand to comfort her, and—woozy from the liquor—fell asleep.
In the morning Tilim heard the rest of what happened in the night. Hecht had come to the house, and when he’d found the tracks of four horses coming and going, he had raised a posse of locals. Hecht figured one of the scoundrels had stayed with the horses, but he had too much of a head start. The posse came back empty-handed and none the wiser about the motives of the four ruffians.
They’d moved the bodies and Mama had scrubbed the floor by the time Percia and Tilim came downstairs in the morning. The house looked a bit disordered, but not scary.
Because this was a major crime, Duke Naven and Captain Walmunt, the head of his personal guard, were sent for. No one could recall anything like this happening in Androvale—four armed strangers attacking a cottage! It was not as if they owned anything valuable. Were the intruders after the womenfolk?
Now Tilim had to tell Hecht his story about noticing the strangers following them, and the owner of the Wyndton Arms was questioned. All he knew was that one of the men asked about Percia, claiming he knew her from her years in Gulltown.
Duke Naven and Captain Walmunt arrived around midday. The captain put on a grim face about the whole business. He said he was proud of Baki, Tilim, and Rooks, but he didn’t focus on their heroism quite as much as Tilim would have liked.
The duke kept repeating to the air, “A nasty business! A nasty business! In my duchy. I won’t have it, I tell you; I won’t have it!”
After some hours of this, when no progress was made on the investigation, Duke Naven turned to Mama. “Missus, when was your family fixing to travel to Cascada for the wedding?”
“Around Planting Time, sir,” she answered.
“Pack your things,” he ordered. “All of you, all your things. My men will help. You are going to stay at the manor house for the six moons until you sail, so the duchy guard can keep you safe.”
“But—my school,” Percia protested. “My mother’s loom. Tilim’s little friends and Rooks and Lemle. We can’t just leave all that behind.”
“No?” said Duke Naven impatiently. “Were you going to take your Wyndton life to the palace when you marry Lordling Marcot? Girl, you made your choice.”
Percia crumpled in on herself. In that moment, Tilim hated Duke Naven.
“But we weren’t about to abandon it all in a tick, neither,” said Mama, her hands on her hips and her eyes taking on a look that Tilim knew could mean trouble for anyone who crossed her.
Duke Naven must have recognized the danger he faced from Mama, prepared to do battle. He raised his hands in exasperation. “All right. All right. I watch out for my people. I’ll leave two men to keep an eye on you for two weeks. But I can’t station soldiers in one cottage forever, you know.
“Finish up your business here. All your business and all your goodbyes. At the end of the time, I’ll send a wagon to fetch you.”