by Jon Jacks
‘I do my lady?’
Imp tried to sound as innocent as she could. But she was deeply worried; how much had the queen managed to learn about her in that brief moment her Knowing had flowed around inside her?
Probably a ridiculous amount, if the queen’s ability was everything she’d heard people claiming it to be.
‘Do I detect that you’re getting above your station, girl?’
The lord eyed her suspiciously. Once again, Imp couldn’t be sure just how much such a high ranking lord would be able to sense her ability at Knowing just by observing her.
Those of a high ability were supposed to be capable of detecting even the very lowest Knowing skills in a person, for it surrounded the entire body in a faded aura. This, indeed, was given as a reason why the young trainee officers could ensure they only ever killed slaves on their night-time missions – for slaves, of course, were denied the otherwise universal right to eat buisoar meat.
Imp had flattered herself that, in her reading of the texts forbidden to people of her level – texts she’d purchased secretly, using whatever money she could put aside, spending it on nothing else – she had begun to master the talent of hiding her admittedly relatively limited Knowing abilities.
What use was such a talent against the Knowing possessed by the high-born, however? Their natural abilities, ensured through years of breeding, had also been enhanced by perfect diets and the best training.
‘Of course not, my lord!’
Imp congratulated herself on managing to say this as if she were affronted by such a dreadful suggestion.
‘She is a butcher’s girl, remember, Lord Krag.’
Imp was glad to detect a faint hint of amusement in the queen’s lightly-handled admonishment of the lord.
‘And just how good is this butcher, your majesty, to produce a girl of such obvious impudence?’
The lord, of course, was far from amused.
‘My lord, my father supplies the local Imperial Colleges of Knowing…’
Imp realised that in defending herself she was probably only irritating the lord even more.
‘Hah, well there you have it, Lord Krag!’ As the queen chuckled, her great white stallion stirred impatiently from side to side, eager to be off galloping once more. ‘He is a fine butcher after all!’
‘Hah, some fine butcher, your majesty!’ With a wave of his hand, Lord Krag drew the queen’s attention back to the members of the hunt still being helped to untangle themselves from the nets by the netters. ‘All he’s caught for himself today are the most enraged lords and ladies in the county!’
‘And yet our little butcher’s girl is covered in blood…’ the queen observed.
‘This is true, you majesty,’ Imp replied, ‘for my father has caught a large buis–’
‘Then why weren’t the nets taken down earlier?’ the lord snapped, his fury increasing the longer the conversation went on.
‘It has only just been caught, my lo–’
‘Only just caught?’
No one required the Knowing to instinctively know what the lord was thinking.
Freshly butchered buisoar meat was worth a fortune to anyone who could lay even a partial claim to the beast’s capture or killing.
Although general hunts were accepted as a right and privilege of the highborn, the hunts by the lords for buisoar meat – driven as they were by the extra impetus of greed – were almost universally frowned upon.
It was rumoured that the people who suffered the Disappearance had just been unfortunate enough to become an unwitting victim of one of these raucous, chaotically brutal hunts. Only these high lords would have the resources and connections to ensure someone seemed to have just simply vanished off the face of the earth.
‘So,’ the lord added with an air of certainty, ‘it was our hunt that chased it your father’s way? Is that what you’re saying girl?’
Imp could see that he was tempted to use the Knowing on her to make sure she gave the answer he was seeking. The laws thankfully prevented its use on anyone involved in a buisoar’s recent killing and butchering.
Besides, their huge difference in positions within the empire’s hierarchy was more than enough in itself to persuade Imp that there was only one answer Lord Krag was expecting. Not to give him that answer would be foolish beyond belief.
‘No, my lord,’ Imp answered foolishly. ‘My father caught it purely with the help of my brother.’
*
Chapter 4
1,000 Years Later
Desri had hoped that her father had also noticed Barane’s mischievous smirk at the end of their angry exchange regarding the sale of the meat.
She had felt sure that Barane intended to use his position as a cadet within the Officer Training Academy to take his fury out on Jaben; to legally kill him, as a supposedly essential part of his training.
It seemed ridiculous, of course, to accuse the boy of such incredibly evil thoughts – and when Desri had voiced her concerns to her father, he had indeed said it was ridiculous to presume someone would take such malicious revenge over such a minor argument.
Desri had to admit it was highly unlikely that even someone as obviously disreputable as the arrogant Barane would seek someone’s death to avenge his humiliation. Even so, when her father sent Jaben and Maven out one night later that week – with the aim of collecting a large set of fresh blooms for a wedding party the tavern would be hosting in the morning – Desri made an excuse to walk with them.
‘I need to drop something off at my friends out that way too,’ she’d lied.
As her aura as a Knowing citizen would be obvious to the cadets, her presence with Jaben and Maven would protect them from any attack orchestrated by Barane. Only unaccompanied slaves could be attacked.
When they reached the florists without experiencing any unusual incident, Desri could have flattered herself that her presence had indeed scared the cadets off from attacking. However, another, more logical part of her mind admonished her for giving in to the ridiculous fears of an obviously overactive imagination.
It wasn’t, after all, as if her father was so uncaring that he would send his slaves out on a possibly dangerous task.
Despite his drinking, despite the horrid things he had said about Jaben and Maven’s daughter, Clearen, he wouldn’t wish any ill on them. It wasn’t just because of the financial loss, either. (The Officer Training Academy’s ‘Triple E’ payments were notoriously paltry, and only obtained anyway after lengthy discussions proving that a slave’s vanishing was indeed down to a training exercise.)
Desri’s father Granem had in fact delighted in the way Clearen’s beauty and charm had drawn people to his tavern; just as, at one time, her mother Maven’s own entrancing looks had drawn them in.
Granem had grown to accept Maven’s nocturnal activities (provided it didn’t leave her too tired to complete her other tasks) as an extra draw for the men populating his bar, as well as a perfectly acceptable way for the Frendens to earn the money that might eventually buy their freedom. Yet before she had eventually Disappeared, Granem had worried for a while that Clearen would follow her mother into this after-hours entertaining of his clients, having seen her grow up from being little more than a child.
Desri, of course, knew that this was never going to happen. Clearen, like Cranden, was regard as being far too precious by Jaben and Maven. Besides, also like Cranden, Clearen had for a long time being thoroughly ashamed of her mother’s sordid activities.
But Clearen, unlike Cranden, had eventually come to understand that their mother wasn’t an unthinking whore, their father wasn’t an unfeeling fool. Far from it; Maben was hurt immensely by what she had to do, while Jaben anguished endlessly about what she was having to put herself through.
This, after all, was the only way they had a hope of purchasing freedom for their children.
Maven was, in her way, the perfect mother.
Jaben was similarly the perfect father.
> They loved their children, loved each other.
Yet they had been prepared to sacrifice that second love for the benefit of the first.
While the Frendens were inside the nursery, collecting the specially prepared blooms, Desri pretended to visit her ‘nearby friend’s house’. There being no ‘nearby friend’s house’, of course, she had simply walked on a little farther for a while, turning back towards the nursery with the intention of waiting outside until the Frendens appeared once more – whereupon she would appear by their side, remarking on the coincidence that they’d both finished their tasks at more or less the same time.
She was waiting far longer than she had expected. Eventually, she decided she would enter the nursery after all, if only to see if there were any problems with either the blooms being provided or the terms of their purchase.
The most beautiful, most precious flowers were scattered everywhere across the floor.
And, lying beneath a particularly gorgeous clump, were the lifeless bodies of both Jaben and Maven.
*
Chapter 5
1,000 Years Earlier
Safely removing all the nets strewn throughout the wood, together with the butchering of the buisoar and the loading up of its boxed parts onto the cart, took quite a while to accomplish.
By the time Imp, Hoak and their father were at last on their way home, the sun had begun to set. The dim light of early evening was already spreading its grey cloak over everything around them.
By a sharp curve of the muddy track they were following, they came across a carriage that – probably in too much haste – had slid into the shallow ditch that collected water running off the road. Despite constant urging by the drivers, the team of magnificent horses were struggling to pull the heavy carriage clear, the wheels refusing to gain any traction on the water-soaked soil.
The outriders’ mounts had also been lashed to the carriage, beautiful horses that foamed at the mouth as they were whipped and whipped into making further exertions. Even so, the carriage constantly slid back into the ditch, at times threatening to topple onto its side.
‘Perhaps we should show them what a couple of butchers can do for them, don’t you think, Dad?’ Hoak chuckled, giving a proud flex of undulating arm muscles.
Drawing up alongside the floundering carriage, Hoak and his father Jarek leapt down, crying out offers of help that were gratefully received by the team’s frustrated drivers.
Imp remained seated on the cart, admiring the elaborately carved carriage, its beautifully and colourfully painted livery. Peering inside beyond the windows’ crimson velvet curtains, she saw that the lord who owned this magnificent contraption hadn’t deigned to lighten the load by stepping out, let alone offering his help.
As if abruptly Knowing that he was being observed, the lord suddenly glanced Imp’s way.
It was Lord Krag, glowering at her every bit as furiously as he had when they’d finally parted in the woods earlier.
‘I think this butcher’s whelp doesn’t understand she’s treading on dangerous ground!’ he had almost spat as he’d irately whirled his horse away.
Now rudely, stupidly, ignoring him, Imp hopefully searched the carriage’s interior for any sign that the queen was still with him; but no, Lord Krag was the only passenger.
Hoak and Jarek’s combination of strength and practical knowledge of where to give the carriage lift and help was already producing results. The wheels at last were beginning to rise up out of the lower, wetter parts of the ditch and grip the coarse grass growing nearer its lip.
Almost alongside one of the larger rear wheels, Hoak wasn’t just straining with all his great strength to lift and push the carriage clear but also using a foot to uproot and kick stones beneath the wheel, giving the metalled rim something extra to bite into.
Thankfully gripping at the stones, the carriage violently lurched forwards. Taken a little by surprise, his hands slippery from the mud thrown up by the wheels along the carriage’s side, Hoak uncontrollably tumbled forwards.
As Hoak fell, his head struck brutally against the step by the door – and he slipped beneath the carriage, falling before the great wheel eagerly searching for purchase.
*
Chapter 5
1,000 Years Later
Desri’s father received full payment for the loss of both Jaben and Maven, with no questions asked, no denials that the cadets of the Officer Training Academy were responsible for their deaths.
Far from it: the letter accompanying the payment apologised for any temporary inconvenience caused to Granem’s business, but hoped he would also be ‘gracious enough to celebrate the admirable aptitude and obvious potential’ of the young officers involved: particularly as ‘the exercise’s success revolved around the leading cadet’s elaborate planning and subterfuge’.
Of course, the letter didn’t give any details as to who this ‘leading cadet’ might be.
Desri, of course, thought she could guess who it had been.
She wondered how she could tell Cranden what had happened to his mother and father. He might be ashamed of them – unfairly, Desri believed – but she was sure he still loved them.
She tried to write a letter explaining the circumstance a number of times. Yet each time, despite the great expense of the paper involved, she screwed up her efforts and cast them aside.
Would he, as the payment letter enthused, ‘appreciate the military expertise displayed in the way a key to the nursery had been obtained’? Even as a military man himself, would he think, like the writer of the letter, that the ‘masterstroke’ had been ‘the ploy of sending a false message purporting to be from the nurseries, stipulating that an evening collection of the blooms was essential to ensure freshness.’
Desri realised that the many attempts to write her own letter were becoming too increasingly painful for her. How much more painful, she wondered, would it be for Cranden to receive and read it?
She wasn’t even sure that any correspondence she sent would reach him.
She hadn’t received any letter from him, after all.
In fact, there had been no news at all of the expedition to the pass leading to the Blue-table Plain. The whole regiment appeared to have simply vanished off the face of the Earth, much as the people suffering the Disappearance seemed to leave no trace or clues as to why they had simply ceased to be.
Strangely, Desri’s father took the loss of Jaben and Maven far harder than she would have expected, especially in his present condition of being almost permanently drunk. At first, she couldn’t understand why this would be the case: then it dawned on her that their murder simply confirmed to him his suspicion that her mother had disappeared under similar conditions – only ones the Academy weren’t prepared to admit to, the killing of a Knowing citizen being illegal.
And that, of course, made his wife’s disappearance even worse. For no one would ever tell him the truth.
There would be no apology, no explanation, offered for his wife’s vanishing. That was only given when the victims were slaves: and you even received compensation for their loss! That’s how important their removal was regarded!
If Granem had kept his complaints for Desri’s ears alone, it would have been bad enough. His drinking was rapidly becoming even worse. He felt so embittered by life, so unfairly treated by it, that he could hardly drag himself out of bed on a morning: and when he did, the first thing he reached for was another drink. He couldn’t find either the energy or the will to even start any of the many tasks that needed completing around the tavern. Business was suffering badly.
The more Granem drank, of course, the more he voiced his complaints, his beliefs of the corruption of the Academy and the state, haranguing anyone foolish enough to stay and listen to his mix of almost unintelligible rambling and furious accusations.
Thankfully, most of his increasingly few regulars simply warned him to keep his thoughts to himself; it was dangerous, they nervously hissed, to claim a r
espected body like the Academy would knowingly murder people.
The only person surprised when the soldiers eventually came to take him away was Granem himself.
Of course, the soldiers claimed, he was not being taken because of his wild accusations, as many might presume; he was being taken for his own wellbeing, as the poor man was clearly mentally unbalanced and required treatment before he could be allowed back into society. Indeed, a doctor accompanied the small band of soldiers sent to take Granem away. He sadly pronounced that there was no choice but to commit Granem to an asylum, where his condition would be both more understood and tolerated.
Unfortunately, Granem, as usual, was drunk.
He fought back, resisting what he saw as his arrest, fearing it was all just a ploy to eventually remove him completely. Just as they had his wife.
In the chaotic squabble that followed, there was a flash of what some thought might be a knife, others a deliberately broken bottle – but whatever it was, it led to the same result.
As the men sought to protect themselves from this unexpected attack, a sword was unsheathed. A sword that was only intended to be used as a threat. But, rather, accidently cut deeply into a lunging Granem.
It took Granem a week to die from the painfully festering wound. Days in which his crazed ramblings simply became worse until, in his last, dying breath, and clutching Desri’s hand tightly, he warned her ‘to beware the queen; she can never be trusted!’
Ironically, in view of Granem’s accusation that the state refused to admit liability for his wife’s death, the authorities took full responsibility for his own death. The state offered Desri ‘the most highly regarded and sought after recompense that can be awarded from amongst the full range of compensation available for those orphaned by unfavourable circumstances’.
They expected her to present herself to the admissions board of the Officer Training Academy within the next two months, her place within the corps now effectively guaranteed.
*
Chapter 6
1,000 Years Earlier
