Five

“Where have you brought us?” said Shade, stretching and looking around. He was a stringy silhouette against the darkening sky, a blot on the bright streaks of crimson and gold.

“Farm,” said Broad, as if it wasn’t obvious.

“And what are you, the guard dog?”

Broad frowned. Then he remembered the collar and chain around his neck. “Oh, this,” he shrugged. “This is nothing.”

“So let’s go.”

“I can’t, can I?”

“You can’t break that chain?”

“Haven’t tried. I owe these people a rabbit.”

“And for that you let them chain you up in the yard? I knew you were soft in the head but you have outdone yourself this time.”

“They need me to help them plough.”

“So why don’t they let you in the house? This is most undignified.”

“There are young women in there,” said Broad. “It would not be seemly.”

“Humans,” Shade shook his head. “I could swoop in there, feed on a couple, see if I can find the key.”

“No!” Broad cried. “Keep out of there. I’m sure, once I’ve paid off my debt, they’ll let me go.”

“Yes, I’m convinced,” Shade was sarcastic. He pulled at the chain. Broad fell over.

“Ow! Stop it!”

“Just yanking your chain!” Shade laughed.

“Well, don’t!”

Shade pulled a face. The back door opened. He melted into the shadows. The eldest of the peasant’s daughters came out.

“Hello, Broad,” she whispered.

“Hello,” said Broad.

“You asleep?”

“No.”

“Good.”

She crouched on the ground beside him. She reached out to tickle his throat and stroke his hair. “You’re a big boy, aren’t you? Strong.”

“Am I?” said Broad. “Never really thought about it.”

“You come from good stock,” the girl appraised him. “Many more at home like you?”

“No!” Broad snapped. He turned away. The peasant girl patted him on the back.

“There, there,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Listen, when the time comes, promise me, I’ll be first.”

“First what?” said Broad.

“Hah!” said Shade from the shadows. Broad sent him a quizzical look. The girl frowned: what was he looking at?

“Oho!” said another voice. One of her sisters had arrived. “I should have known you’d be out here, breaking the rules.”

The first girl stood up to face her accuser. “What? Out here in the dirt? That might be your style but it isn’t mine.”

The second girl gasped and launched herself at her sister. With hair-pulling and nails-scratching, they rolled around. It was all Broad could do to keep out of their way. He backed against a wall.

“Nice girls,” muttered Shade.

“Droosa! Philemony!” The peasant roared from the doorway. His pitchfork was very much in evidence. “What the stars are you doing?”

The girls ceased their rolling around and composed themselves.

“Nothing, Daddo,” said the elder.

“Droosa started it,” averred the other. “Coming out here to get a head start.”

“I never!” Droosa cried. “Daddo, believe me; I was just seeing our guest was still here. The chain is rusty and his arms are strong. So very strong...”

“I’m disgusted with the pair of you,” the peasant snarled. “Get you back to bed. Yon fellow needs cleaning first, and then we’ll see what’s what and who’s going first.”

“Oh, but, Daddo!” Philemony protested. The peasant showed her the back of his hand as threat of hitting her with it. The girls took last, lingering looks at Broad, before trudging past their father and back into the house.

The peasant grabbed Broad’s chain and pulled him out into the open. The prongs of his pitchfork were around the youth’s neck.

“You shouldn’t have released that rabbit, son,” the peasant sneered humourlessly. “But I’m kind of glad you did.”

Chuckling, he patted Broad’s face and went back to his bed.

“Peculiar family,” was Shade’s assessment, when they were alone again. “What is all this business about cleaning you up and taking turns? I would have thought you’d need a wash down when you’ve finished ploughing not before.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Broad conceded. “But I reckon one day in the fields will clear me of my debt.”

“I don’t know,” said Shade, floating closer to a window in the eaves. “I say we go with my plan to have a feed and get the key.”

“No!” Broad pleaded. “I have made a promise.”

Shade sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t do that. You and your promises. Nothing but trouble.”

He rose into the sky.

“Where are you going?” Broad whispered.

“Not far,” came the reply. “I can’t very well, can I? With you chained up like the family pet.”

“Sorry about that,” said Broad. “But you can go one night without a feed, can’t you?”

I can, thought Shade. But I prefer not to. You never know when my abilities might be called upon.

He did a tour of the property, as far as the perimeters, before the pull of the ring brought him back. These people were tenants, eking out a meagre living from substandard soil, and probably paying over the odds to the Duke for the privilege. They would be better off if I swooped inside and ended the lot of them, the poor sods.

But no; Broad had made a promise to do what these people wanted. If they were dead it would release him from that promise but he would never forgive Shade for intervening. And I’m the one who’d be stuck with him and his resentment. He’d never let me forget it.

Shade restrained himself. He went back to the youth whose fate was entwined with his own and returned to the ring. An early night won’t kill me, he supposed.

There’s not much that will.

***

Upon his return from his secret morning assignation, the Duke had taken to his apartments and would brook no visitor. Not even his valet was admitted. Ridiculous, declared Carith! If my husband is unwell, he must be attended!

What are you up to, she wondered outside his door? She refrained from knocking - another ludicrous idea that she should knock. Have I not freedom within my own home? She tried the handle; the door was locked.

Hang the man!

Carith did not like it when it was made apparent to her that her husband had a mind of his own and would engage in activities of which she knew very little, if anything. And when you discovered one - like an ant in your kitchen - it could only mean there were more, unseen and unknown, hidden away somewhere.

Well, she would get to the bottom of it. She couldn’t have the fool sneaking around the Principality getting up to all sorts and thereby jeopardising the sacrifice - which was now less than a month away. So, so close!

If I had my way, he would remain in his quarters until that day. At least I would know where he was.

These thoughts preoccupied her so much that the entire day was wasted. The Duke’s advisors kept appealing to her, with scrolls and documents tucked under their arms. There were letters to be read, replied to and despatched. Could she not do something to entice His Grace from his confinement? Or, if he was so desperately ill, could he not appoint a proxy until such time as he made full recovery?

A proxy!

That was a capital idea.

“I hereby appoint myself proxy to His Grace the Duke,” she announced, giving rise to consternation among the bewigged advisors. “After all, anyone may wield the ducal seal, may they not? Weighty issues can wait until my husband may be consulted, but I, a mere woman, I grant you, have some proficiency when it comes to the more mundane matters. Do I not run a household, and what is the Principality but a larger household?”

The advisors dared not answer. They backed out of her presence, promising to return when His Grace was in better health.

Fools.

Carith toyed with the seal, ornately carved as any chess piece. She looked at the emblem, tooled in reverse. That sums us up, my darling, she grinned to herself. Our marriage is backwards. It is I who should be in charge.

When evening came, hunger induced the Duke to unlock his door. Carith was swift enough to intercept a tray the valet was about to deliver.

“I shall take that,” she smiled, dismissing him with her thanks. She let herself in and approached the bed. The Duke, still in his riding clothes from his earlier excursion, was sitting on the bed, looking ashen and pale. “Poor darling! Are you strong enough to take a little something?” She lifted the cloche. “Oh! Salted meat and peppered eggs!”

“I asked for them especially.”

“You should have said. I would have prepared-”

“Come now, dearest; you and I both know you are too busy to be bothered with such an insignificant task.”

She looked at him carefully. Was he hinting at something? Was he letting her know that he knew she did not prepare his breakfasts herself? That it didn’t matter?

She perched beside him and cut up the meat. He allowed himself to be fed, seemed, in fact, to enjoy it. All men like to be mothered, she reflected. Mothered but not smothered. Although the plump pillows behind him did look exceedingly tempting...

“Bah,” he complained on receiving a forkful of egg. “These are not as good as yours.”

“Really?” she sniffed at the dish. “She has forgot the pepper! That is why! I shall fetch you some at once.”

“There’s no need-”

But his wife was already sweeping from the room. She crossed the corridor to her own apartment and seized on the pepper pot that invariably adorned her husband’s breakfast tray. It was a beautiful thing, with intricate carvings and a mechanism for grinding the peppercorns before they were dispensed in a fine spray. It was one of the few reminders Carith had of her homeland.

“My sentimental darling,” the Duke had said when first he had seen it. “A pretty thing!”

“Do you mean me or my pepper pot?” she had laughed.

“Both, I suppose,” he’d said. Every morning since then, he had applied liberal helpings of pepper to his eggs - the eggs she claimed to prepare for him every day.

She handed him the pepper pot and he seized it with gratitude, twisting its neck so fine black dust rained on his supper.

“That’s better!” he cried, tucking in with gusto. In a trice, the dish was clean and he seemed in heartier spirits.

“Something upset you today, my husband,” Carith arched an eyebrow.

He shook his head, dismissive. “Oh, just a funny turn. Teach me to go gallivanting before my breakfast!”

Indeed. She pursed her lips, prompting him to say on.

“Got a little overheated, I expect. Felt a little faint. Came straight home. Feeling better now. Stars bless peppered eggs, eh?” He reached out for her hand and squeezed it. She, for her part, permitted it. “All that’s missing now is a couple of whizz-bangs to finish the night off properly!”

He jumped off the bed and hurried to the window.

“Darling, no!”

“Just a couple. When the hour is struck. Let the people know their Duke is alive and well. Send them off to bed with happy thoughts!”

Make your mind up, she scowled. He caught her dark look and laughed.

“I know; I know what you would say. Me and my fireworks! I own it: I am addicted to the things. Such a marvel gunpowder is! But isn’t it better, darling, for it to be put to use for something beautiful rather than the murder and mayhem of war?”

“I suppose so. But people will already be in bed. Some of them get up before first light. They have farms to tend. Where do you think your beloved eggs come from?”

The Duke pouted like a sulking child but his eyes told her he wasn’t serious. He skipped around the chamber, a mass of energy with no direct purpose.

“Let us drink!” he cried. “Let us drink to peppered eggs! The best restorative known to man.”

He took her hands in his and pulled her to her feet, intending to wheel her around while he sang a tuneless waltz. Carith resisted, claiming a headache of her own. She made to leave but returned to snatch up her precious pepper pot.

“These things don’t fill themselves,” she told him. “Go to bed, my darling.” She blew him a kiss from the door and was through it and had closed it again before he could send her one back.

The Duke’s good mood faltered upon his wife’s departure and the memory of the morning’s visit to that vile Smedlock threatened to surface again - like - like lumps in the wizard’s infernal broth.

Shuddering, the Duke returned to the window. He opened it and stepped out onto the balcony. He looked up at the clear night sky and imagined a fireworks display, describing the upward flights, the explosions and the dispersals with his hands, while blowing out his cheeks and lips to make the accompanying sounds.

Fireworks were the best thing he could think of. And soon - very soon, if that wretched, filthy wizard performed his task aright - the Duke would have genuine reason for celebration, and then the Principality would see the biggest and best display there ever was!

***

Smedlock hurried through the forest. A foul-smelling powder kept the wolves from troubling him and a dimly-glowing orb hovered in the air before him, lighting his way. The path to Tullen Spee was overgrown, almost lost for good, and several times the orb tried to lead him through tree trunks that now blocked the route. Diverting around an oak, the wizard’s foot splashed in a brook and he swore. The orb waited patiently for him to catch up and resume his intended course.

What he would find when he reached the ruins, he did not know. The navarin was all gone and there was nothing of Bradwyn left to flavour another batch.

Cursing his ancient legs and weary lungs, the wizard pressed on, deeper into the forest, having to swat fronds and branches from his face. A few years ago - well, a good many, truth be faced - he could have made the trip in seconds flat, soaring through the air. Age and infirmity pressed this more pedestrian method upon him, and until such a time as their effects could be halted and reversed, he was stuck with it, and had to shift himself as best and as quick as he could.

At this rate, he could be at the crumbling citadel by dawn. All the better to see what’s there for me to see, he reflected.

Onward, orb! And try not to lead me off any ravines or cliffs that may have come about since you were first made.

***

Gonda and the boy stayed where they were, high on the parapet, shrouded in shadow. The ancient wall shielded them from the westerly wind and, as long as the night remained a dry one, they would be comfortable enough. She encouraged the child to sleep but, while her own head was bobbing on her neck and she struggled to fight off slumber, whenever she looked at him, his eyes were open wide, staring both at and through her. It was unsettling to say the least.

“Get some sleep, kid,” she advised, turning away. She could still feel his eyes on her, like spots of heat on her skin. “Long way to go come the morrow.”

Not that she had a particular destination in mind but the greater the distance between them and the village, the better. Others would come, looking for those who had failed to return, and she would be more eagerly sought than before. A child-snatcher and now a mass murderer! Never before had the tending of geese seemed more appealing.

She made the boy lie against her so they could share body heat, cloaking him in her shawl. It still smelled scorched and singed from the house fire and she hoped it would not trigger nightmares in the boy’s sleep. If he ever got to sleep, that is.

“All right, kid, I give in; you keep watch and I’ll get the shuteye,” she decided. “And I can’t keep calling you kid. You must have a name - Can you tell me your name?”

She knew better than to wait for an answer that would never come. She permitted herself to drift off, feeling the soreness and tension leave her limbs and the cares of the day recede from her notice - albeit temporarily.

The boy watched his saviour sleeping. His face was blank and expressionless. There was no hint of curiosity in his eyes, no fear, no tiredness. He watched her, like the doll she kept from childhood on the chair beside her bed, its wide eyes unblinking, watching all, seeing nothing.

Nothing will disturb us - the boy was sure of that. Even the wolves will keep at bay. They will not enter this place to devour the bodies of the men who had flown so gracelessly over the wall.

He remembered the fire, its heat and its lights, the almost playful flicker and the smothering smoke. He remembered hands breaking through the flames and lifting him up and out of his cot. Then there was water and the chase. And now here they were, both a long way from home.

Several leagues away, Lughor was reading the stars and trying to get his bearings. In one direction lay the ruins of Tullen Spee; in the other, the palace at the heart of the Principality. Which one should he visit first? Which one would serve his ends best?

He tied up the horse he had acquired from the hamlet - the only thing to get out of that place with its life - and bedded down for the night. It was a decision that could wait until first light: the next step in his path to retribution and vengeance for his home town of Trysp.