Twenty-Three

Having shown Lughor all the important things like the servants’ stairs and the staff privy, Broad left the warrior in the anteroom of the Duke’s private apartment. It was after sundown and the youth was eager to let Shade out of the ring to stretch his shadowy legs.

“You’ll never guess who’s here,” the lad enthused while Shade spilled from his confinement.

“Lughor,” the soul-taker said flatly.

“You guessed!” Broad was dismayed.

“You forget,” said Shade, “I can still hear what goes on out here when I’m in there. Even when you’re on your tod. Remember that.”

Broad blushed. “But yeah, Lughor’s here. I got him a job as a relief bodyguard. Well, sort of.”

“Really?” Shade’s insubstantial nose wrinkled sceptically.

“Well, not really,” Broad admitted. “But it’s nice to see him again.”

“Is it?”

“Yes! It’s always good to see a familiar face.”

“Going to piss on him again, are you?”

Broad’s blushes redoubled. “No! Well, I hope not. And all right, so we don’t know much about him and he is a bit stand-uppish.”

“Offish!” Shade corrected.

“He is a bit offish-uppish,” Broad resumed. Shade marvelled at his denseness. “But I think it’s good to have the big fellow around again. Something’s coming - I can feel it - and we’re going to need him with us.”

Shade frowned. “What’s coming?”

“I don’t know; something.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“That may be true but something big is going to happen here. Trust me.”

“I do,” Shade sighed. “And that’s what makes me an idiot too. Now, come on; there’s an old woman on the south side of town who’s going to kick the bucket tonight and I don’t want to miss her.”

***

This is big! Lughor paced the floor of the anteroom - it only took him three strides before he had to change direction. If I do it now, while he’s through there, splashing about in his bath, I won’t have to unleash the two hundred. Then I could sneak out, the way the kid showed me, down the back stairs and no one would be the wiser. Accidents happen, especially around bathtubs... I just need to go in there and push his stupid head under the water for a moment...

And if by some chance I am suspected and pursued then I may let the dragoon take over. None shall escape!

It did not appeal to his warlike nature, all this sneaking around like a thief in the night. There was no honour in it - Hah! When was the last time he had done anything honourable?

There was no challenge in it; he supposed that was closer to the truth. More than vengeance, Lughor craved glory.

He craved redemption.

Fat bloody chance. May as well just drown the bugger like an unwanted kitten and then piss off.

He was roused from his embittered contemplations by knocking at the outer door. A man stepped in; Lughor drew his dagger and himself up to his full height. He was struck by the irony of protecting the Duke against all comers in order to reserve the honour of killing the bastard for himself. There was that word again: honour.

“I said,” the man repeated, his hands in the air to show he was unarmed, “His Grace will like to hear what I have discovered.”

“Oh?” said Lughor. “Why is that? Who the bloody hell are you?”

The smaller man stood his ground. He lowered his hands and hooked them behind the lapels of his liveried weskit. “I am Frent. I am the master of fireworks.”

The announcement cut no ice with the warrior. “His Grace is in his bath,” he sniffed. “He gave strict instructions not to be disturbed.”

“But-”

“So whatever it is can wait.”

“But-”

“Is there a problem?”

A woman stood in the doorway. Lughor’s jaw dropped like a broken drawbridge when he saw her and the bones in his legs seemed to have been replaced by jelly. She slinked into the anteroom in a tightfitting dress of scarlet satin, her hair bouncing in long, black tresses. She addressed the fireworks master, apparently ignoring the giant.

“Master Frent,” she smiled. “What has got your breeches in a bunch this time?”

“I - I - I think I should tell the Duke.”

The woman pouted as though insulted. “I am the Duke’s wife. My ears are his ears; his concerns my own. Come now, you can tell me.”

She steered him out into the corridor and pulled the door shut. “Now, what is it?”

Frent fumbled with a ledger. “It’s all here, my lady.”

“What is?” She smiled and touched his hand. Frent reacted as though stung by nettles.

“Storage records. Supplies. I sign them in and I sign them out.”

“How thrilling.”

“And it’s like this, you see: something has gone missing.”

“What?”

“It’s been going on for a twelvemonth as far as I can see.”

“What, man?”

“Here, see!” His finger traced a line across several columns of closely-written entries. “Gunpowder! Whole barrels of it! Gone!”

“Gone powder!” Carith Drombo laughed - a hollow sound.

“So you see it is imperative I inform His Grace at once.”

He made to return to the anteroom but her voice stayed him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?”

Frent frowned. “My lady...”

“Think about it,” she purred. “His Grace will want to know why it has taken you a twelvemonth to bring this serious matter to light. He could be forgiven for believing you to be an incompetent and unworthy of your exalted position...”

Frent gaped. “My lady! I have never-” His indignation would not permit him to complete the sentence.

“Leave it with me,” she prised the ledger from his fingers and whipped it behind her back. “I will investigate and clear up this discrepancy and His Grace need never be troubled.”

The fireworks master’s anger dissolved into relief and gratitude. “My lady, I-”

“Run along,” she shooed him away. He scurried along the corridor like a squirrel freed from a snare. Carith returned to the Duke’s anteroom and almost walked into a wall of man-muscle.

“Out of my way, dolt!” she snapped. She gasped as her wrists were seized by huge hands. Lughor lowered his face to hers.

“Callie!” he croaked, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s me!”

Carith Drombo had never been more surprised in all her long life.

***

“You have changed,” she said. “Beefed up.”

“You haven’t,” he marvelled.

They were walking through the cloistered gardens, out of earshot of the attendant guards. “Your clothes are of finer quality but you haven’t aged a day.”

“Oh, you!” she laughed dismissively and brought the focus back to him. “It looks good on you. You must be very strong.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” he muttered but she heard it.

“What does that mean?”

“I’m a changed man, Callie. That night in the farmhouse - I am sorry if you do not wish to talk about it.”

“That was a long time ago,” she shrugged, although to her it was the blink of an eye.

“When I woke up, you were gone and everyone - my entire dragoon - was dead. Torn to pieces. I looked for you.”

“Why? So you could finish what they failed to accomplish?”

“What? No! I would never - What became of you? I thought you were dead too.”

Carith Drombo made a nonchalant, expansive gesture but her mind was racing like an overwound clock. She had never imagined she would have to explain herself and especially not to Lughor, son of Lug.

“Providence sent an angel to my rescue,” she said.

“A what?”

“Well, some passing sorceress must have heard my cries. She raised up some kind of storm to save me from those rapists. I wonder that you were spared.”

“I wasn’t,” said Lughor bitterly. “Your sorceress,” he sounded sceptical, “left a terrible curse upon me and countless people have died because of it.” He looked at his hands as though seeing them for the first time. “Those men - their strength, their brutality - is within me and I cannot always control it. But there is no justice. Not for me. All who obstruct me end up the same way. Why would she do this to me?”

“Who?”

“Your passing sorceress.”

“Perhaps she had a higher purpose. Perhaps there is some good to be done that will take the strength of two hundred men.”

“No,” he said. “I think it is to punish me for not saving you.”

And there he was, the uncertain young man again and Carith recalled she had felt something for him once. She touched his arm. “What brings you to the palace?”

“I work for your husband now - oh, are you happy at last, Callie? Does he treat you well? Tell me if he does not and I shall - I shall - Damn it, I can conceal nothing from you. I came here with the intention of murdering the Duke but I will not go through with it if it should cause you a second of distress.”

She stared at him. “Why would you possibly want to murder my husband?”

“I - hardly know anymore. I had some misguided notion that he was to blame, being the figurehead of the army - it sounds stupid now. And it does not matter, now that we are together again! Not that I am suggesting - oh, stars, no! But I should be content to serve you, my lady, in any way I can. And if you were to look on me as a friend, then I could not hope for more.”

She looked him up and down. “I see that I have misjudged you. All this time I believed you were party to - what those men tried to do to me. I should have realised you would never - I should have interceded - with the sorceress, I mean - and told her you would never-”

She broke off and hung her head.

Lughor marvelled at the untouched beauty of her. “Some kind of dye, I suppose.”

“What?” she was puzzled.

“Your hair. There is not a strand of grey.”

She laughed and tossed her tresses. “Now, please don’t ask me to divulge my beauty secrets for then I should have to kill you.”

He laughed too, enchanted by her dark eyes all over again as if the decades that parted them had never taken place - which was easy to believe, given how unchanged she was, her loveliness undiminished.

They walked on, not quite arm in arm but almost.

“Hang on,” he came to a halt. “Don’t you mean you’d get a passing sorceress to kill me?”

“Oh, yes! Of course!”

They took another turn of the garden, the warrior in a stupor of renewed infatuation and the witch wondering if there were ways to capitalise on this unexpected reunion.

***

“I’m sure he’s not a bad man. Not really.” Carith, spending Lughor’s off-hours walking with him, was keen to sow poisonous seeds in his mind. “It’s probably just the way he was brought up. You know, to see women as inferior. I try not to let it hurt my feelings; it’s just his manner, I keep telling myself that.”

Lughor grunted. “He doesn’t deserve you. If I-”

He broke off, lest he say too much. He and Callie could never be together while the Duke lived... While the Duke lived...

She patted his hand, as though reading his turbulent thoughts. A little more of this and the big ox would be completely subjugated to her will. It worked in her favour to have him kill her husband. No fingers of suspicion would be pointed in her direction and, if he was caught either he would let loose his two hundred men and effect his escape, or he would be executed for the crime. It was win-win. Carith Drombo knew as well as she knew her own name that lovesick Lughor would never implicate her.

Satisfied that he was truly on side, she turned her attention to the more pressing matter of the renewal. It must take place that evening, the night before her anniversary. The moon would be full. It would be a shame to lose Milassa; the girl had been a discreet and loyal servant since her recruitment but Carith had Gonda now, waiting in the wings. Tonight the fork would see a lot of work: it would play its part in the ritual and it would tear out the tongue of that naïve goose girl-

Hang about...

Carith had an idea. Perhaps she would not have to ensure Gonda’s silence in a physical way. Perhaps her loyalty and discretion could be ascertained through the little boy. She seemed inordinately fond of the child even though he was no fruit of her womb. Do people do that, she wondered? Actually care about others when there is nothing to be gained in return?

The world is peopled by fools.

The girl was in her room, sitting on the bed with the boy on her lap. She was singing sweetly to him - he seemed to be taking no notice at all but looked calm enough so perhaps that was the point. Tongueless, the girl would be as mute as one of her geese - or am I thinking about swans? Whatever. There would be no more singing and that would be a pity. Carith resolved to try coercion as her preferred technique.

“Just lovely, my dear,” she beamed at the girl. “But I think Liggy needs a nap now; there is something I should like you to do.”

“It’s Tiggy,” mumbled Gonda. She carried the boy to his cot. He offered no resistance; her song had truly worked wonders. “What can I do for you, Mistress?”

Carith jerked her head toward the door. “It’s a bit tricky,” she whispered. “I must first know that I may trust you unreservedly.”

“As sure as eggs,” smiled Gonda, disingenuously.

Carith scowled. “Why do you say that? Why do you bring eggs into it?”

“It’s just a saying. Like ‘giddy as a goose’.”

Carith sighed. Without a tongue there would be no more of these alarming, if hackneyed, sayings...

“Accompany me to my quarters,” she led the way out. “I’ll send Lughor in to keep an eye on Ziggy.”

“Tiggy!”

“They know each other, do they not?”

“Sort of. They’ve met - if that’s what you mean.”

“Good. Although I doubt the big man will be able to sing as sweetly as you, should the need arise.”

“No.”

Gonda followed the grand lady into her private apartments, through the parlour and into the bedroom. Here, Carith pulled aside a heavy drape to reveal a hidden door. She looked the goose girl in the eye.

“Once more: I may trust you?”

“Wholeheartedly,” said Gonda. “Cut my tongue out if I breathe a word.”

Carith marvelled at her. “What a curious thing to say!”

“Blame my dad, Miss. He taught me all manner of nonsense.” A wave of sadness washed over the girl’s pretty face. “I miss him something rotten, Miss.”

Something rotten! There was no doubt that was what Glenward had become. Carith turned away from the girl and opened the door, revealing a stone staircase that spiralled down and down to the very depths of the cellars and beyond.

“Come,” Carith commanded. “And mind your step; it can be rather slippery.”

“Yes, Miss.”

Down and down, she followed. The air became chilly and dank. The sound of dripping water brought to mind the idea of a cave or - what was that place? That ruined citadel in the middle of the wood?

The stairs led to an underground chamber, illuminated by burning torches. The chamber was circular and at its centre was an altar, a stone table smooth and narrow. Carith stood at its head and signalled to the girl to position herself at the foot.

“You must not breathe a word about this place.”

“I - I won’t,” Gonda smiled. “Every wife should have a hidey-hole.”

Carith frowned. Peculiar girl. “I am serious. If you cannot be trusted to hold your tongue, I shall hold it for you.” She unhooked a fork from her belt. Gonda brightened at the prospect of imminent toast.

“I won’t utter a peep, my lady,” said Gonda. “Shall I slice the bread?”

“What bread? What are you babbling about?”

“The fork,” Gonda nodded at it. “Aren’t we having toast? And tea!”

Carith was astonished. “You think this is some secret cubbyhole where I come to get away from my husband? A den?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Not in the sense that you think. In a few short hours, this place will be the site of an important ceremony, one in which I would like you to play a key role.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you! You have met my maidservant, Milassa.”

“Yes. She’s a quiet one.”

“She has served me well but you are to replace her. Are you strong enough, do you think, to hold her still?”

“I suppose. Is this wrestling? Is that what this is about?”

Carith wondered whether she should have the girl’s tongue out right there and then to pre-empt any further asinine questions. “I don’t anticipate she will put up much of a struggle but you will hold her ankles. Sometimes they kick out.”

“They?”

Carith smiled. “All will become clear in a few short hours, my dear. Now, you had better get back to that sweet little boy. I would hate for him to miss you. And remember: not a word. I would hate for that sweet little boy to come to any harm.”

She ushered the girl back to the staircase. Gonda was still puzzling through that last remark as she wound her way back to the apartment. Yes, you think about it, Carith Drombo smirked behind her. Think about your precious Miggy.

She felt sorry for Milassa - or rather she felt sorry to see her go; she had been a loyal and efficient worker.

***

Tiggy was in an agitated state when Gonda got back to him. He was alone in their room, sitting on the floor, twitching and mewling softly. Gonda scooped him up into her arms and pressed her lips against his neck. She sang to him until he calmed down, containing her own fury. Where was Lughor? Where was Milassa? Tiggy had been left in their charge and they both seemed to have disappeared.

As if Gonda had called to her out loud, the maidservant burst in. She was breathless and her face was flushed. She curtseyed an apology. Gonda shook her head, unwilling to lose her temper in front of the child. To make amends, Milassa fetched warm drinks and biscuits, her eyes sad and pleading.

“No harm done, I suppose,” Gonda conceded. “Just don’t do it again, will you?”

Milassa shook her head rapidly and emphatically.

“Milassa,” Gonda invited the maid to take a seat. “What’s all this business with the cubbyhole at the bottom of the stairs?”

The maidservant looked nonplussed.

“You know: that room with the stone table and the burning torches. Her Ladyship said something about holding you down? What’s that all about?”

Milassa looked grim but determined. The tiniest smirk played at the edge of her silent lips.

“Milassa, if she’s making you do something you don’t want to do, you can tell me. Well, you can try to. Perhaps I can speak up on your behalf.”

Milassa reached out and took the goose girl’s hand. She squeezed it and stroked the back of Tiggy’s head. She shook her head and ran from the room.

“Something’s going on here, Tigs,” Gonda whispered in his ear. “But don’t worry; I won’t leave you again.”

***

Carith bathed and then insisted that Milassa do the same. The maidservant was as compliant as ever. Things looked set for a straightforward and uncomplicated renewal. Just as it should be.

Her limbs felt heavy, tired - from the hot water, she supposed, and then remembered she always felt sluggish like this just before the moment came. A gentle reminder from her body that time was running out, that she would age and wither - and rapidly too! - unless new blood, new virgin blood, was used to replenish her youth and vitality.

The goose girl was a worry; Carith decided to take precautionary measures. Lughor would do it. She sent for him and gave him his orders. He bowed low and was still taller than most people in doing so.

He went directly to the goose girl’s room. She answered the door, her face pink from her own bath, the ends of her hair still wet.

“Hello, Lughor!” she beamed. “Lovely to see you.”

Lughor frowned; no one had ever said those words to him before and meant it. She stepped aside to let him in. “I’ve come for the boy,” he said, gruffly, business-like. “Oh.”

He was surprised to find Broad Shoulders on the floor, playing with the child, making rudimentary soldiers march up and down.

“All right, big man,” the youth grinned. “Come and join us. We’ll have a war.”

Gonda was worried. “What did you mean, you’ve come for the boy?”

“Her Ladyship,” said Lughor. “Wants him looking after while you do that little job for her...”

“Little job?” said Broad. “What little job?”

“Oh,” Gonda made a vague gesture. “You know: women’s things.”

Broad screwed his face up. Tiggy laughed.

“It’s quite all right,” she addressed Lughor. “Broad’s here. He’ll look after Tiggy.”

“I have my orders, Miss.”

“Oh, come off it, Lughor,” she swatted at him. “No offence. Tiggy just likes Broad better. Better than me too, I shouldn’t wonder. It’ll be fine.”

“I’ve squared it with the Duke,” said Broad, knocking one soldier over with another. “You can start your shift a little early; he doesn’t mind.”

“Oh...” Lughor was at a loss. He wanted to follow Callie’s - Her Ladyship’s - instructions to the letter.

“You know His Grace,” Broad continued. “Anything to keep the wife happy.”

Ah, thought Lughor. The Duke also wants to keep Callie sweet. Can’t say that I blame him. He’s the luckiest man in all the realms.

He nodded goodbye and left. The Duke would be preparing for a ride around the grounds about now. Good. Lughor could do with fresh air. Clear a few cobwebs. He headed to the stables to seek the sturdiest horse.

***

“I’m going now, Tigs,” Gonda said from the doorway. Tiggy was captivated by Broad’s toy soldiers and didn’t seem to hear her, but Gonda knew that did not necessarily mean he had not. She waved to him anyway. “I’ll be back soon. Tuck you in.”

She headed to the mistress’s apartment. Whatever was going to happen, she just hoped it would be over quickly so she could get back in time to tell Tiggy a story. The boy seemed to be more - present, lately. He didn’t seem to keep drifting off as much as he used to. Where do you go to, Tiggy, the goose girl often wondered? What goes on behind those big dark eyes?

Carith Drombo nodded curtly at Gonda’s arrival and without saying a word opened again the door to the secret staircase. Gonda followed her down, taking great care not to let her pristine white shift brush against the mildewed walls. Milassa was already there, lying on the altar stone, placid, collected, and calm.

“You must do as I say,” she told the goose girl. “And remember what I said about telling no one.”

Gonda nodded. The veiled threat against Tiggy hung in the air between them. She saw that Milassa’s ankles were bound by white ribbon. Gonda looked into the maidservant’s eyes. Milassa smiled but her eyes were steely; Gonda had never seen that look before.

Carith stood at the maidservant’s head and muttered incantations. Gonda strained to hear but could make no sense of any of it; it was not a language she had heard before. The mistress’s eyes widened, indicating that Gonda should get to her appointed task of holding down the maid’s ankles. Gonda did so, taking care not to hold them too tightly or to press down too hard.

Carith took Milassa’s wrist in her hand and pushed one of the tines of her elaborate fork into the pale, yielding flesh. Milassa’s legs stiffened but she lay still. Gonda watched in mounting horror as the other prong went into the mistress’s arm. Carith Drombo threw back her head, laughing, exulting, revelling in this strange and unnatural act. Gonda could not take her eyes off her, even though she was dimly aware of Milassa’s legs shrinking beneath her hands.

At last, it was over. Carith grinned, triumphant. Gonda gasped, for the maidservant was no more. Where she had lain, an empty skin, a papery girl-shaped husk, that crumbled to dust as though the weight of her gaze was too much for it.

Gonda was horrified. Carith laughed and smirked. “So now you have seen it. You must never speak of this or you know what I shall do. Now, you are to be my maidservant. Find me young women like this one to keep me alive and you and your precious boy shall be spared.”

Gonda backed away. “She - she found me in the marketplace! She brought me back here! That was meant to be me on that stone, wasn’t it?”

“That was the original plan, yes,” Carith admitted. “But things change. Milassa understood that.”

“What changed? Why her and not me?”

“You sound disappointed!”

“No; I just want to know what changed your mind.”

But Carith was in no mood for exposition. She waved the girl to be quiet and went up the stairs, three and four at a time, keen to make the most of her rejuvenated energy.

Gonda followed, eager to get back to the little boy. What nightmare have I brought you to, Tiggy? Out of the house fire and into the madhouse! I’ll get us out of this, I swear!