Raven's Edge

by Alan Ratcliffe

  She’d be the first to admit that she didn’t feel at home within the close confines of a castle. Her world was that of the open road, of forests and hills and nothing above save the boundless sky. Skulking around a confusing labyrinth of identical stone passages unsettled her more than she cared to admit, the unfamiliarity of her surrounds and the sense of not belonging to this world serving to hamper her instincts and usually unassailable self-assurance. Ever since returning from the wilds she’d felt slower... duller somehow.

  No longer. Her instinct told her this chase was almost over. She believed she now knew the identity of her adversary and had caught up with him at last. The fact he remained at the scene of his crimes told her he believed himself above suspicion, that he had no inkling of her pursuit. And that meant he was fallible.

  The walls and passages of the castle faded away. All that was left was her and her quarry. It mattered not whether they were inside a duke’s castle or a moonlit forest. The hunt remained the same.

  Or nearly the same. Faced with planning her next move, Raven was in something of a quandary. In the wilds, she would camp down close to her quarry, biding her time and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. But being within a bustling castle and disguised as a servant made her too conspicuous to simply loiter nearby.

  She chewed her lip, thinking. At any moment the steward or a senior servant could happen past and drag her away to some other mundane task, and the opportunity would be lost.

  Better, then, to look busy.

  Loath as she was to take her eye off the doctor’s door for even a moment, she trusted that he would remain within for a few minutes at least. Walking as quickly as she could without breaking into a run, Raven retraced her steps. Before long she found the maid she’d spoken to before. It didn’t take long to convince her the housekeeper was asking for her, and the flustered girl even thanked her as she offered to take care of her bucket and scrubbing brush before scurrying away.

  Armed with these supplies Raven hurried back. After quickly pressing her ear to the doctor’s door to reassure herself he was still within his chamber, she carried the bucket to the end of the passageway, knelt down, wetted the brush and began to scrub at the flagstones.

  She worked slowly, labouring so long over every stone she left them gleaming. Had Mrs Possett happened along at that moment she might have rethought her earlier appraisal, such was Raven’s apparent dedication. But the housekeeper couldn’t have been further from Raven’s mind. All that occupied her thoughts was the door and the masked figure on the other side.

  * * *

  She remained there for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. It was impossible, however, to know for sure exactly how long she remained on her knees in the passageway, inching her way forward stone by stone.

  All Raven knew was that shortly after she’d begun the sun had broken through the clouds, sending a lance of bright light through an unglazed window to rest on the floor in front of her. She’d stared awhile at the motes of dust dancing lazily through the shaft of golden sunlight, mesmerised by their unhurried, dreamlike motions, before bending to her task once more. For unknown hours she’d chased the light across the flagstones in the world’s slowest pursuit, scrubbing each one as the light moved on to the next, gradually working her way towards the doctor’s door.

  Then, at some point in the afternoon the shaft of light disappeared altogether, leaving her with no way of gauging the passage of time save the empty, gnawing ache in her belly. Not a morsel of food had passed her lips since she’d broken her fast just after waking with a hunk of stale bread and a shrivelled apple she’d discovered at the bottom of her pack. But with the object of her chase so close wild horses could not have dragged her from her vigil by then.

  Raven straightened and wiped a sleeve across her brow. Even at such a glacial pace it was hard work, and from the pain in her knees she wasn’t sure whether if she needed to get to her feet she’d even be able to do so. She glanced at her hands, hardly recognising them as her own. They were red and swollen, the fingers puffy and hooked into claws.

  She was just weighing up her need to take a break against the risk of the doctor emerging from his room when once more came the sound of approaching footsteps. Wincing at the pain, Raven retrieved the scrubbing brush from the bucket and bent over to her task once more.

  The difference between the doctor’s footsteps and this latest arrival were immediately obvious. These were lighter, more urgent, as if their owner had somewhere they needed to be in a hurry. The sound came from behind her, and only a few moments later she heard them step into the passageway. There they hesitated and Raven heard a small intake of breath, before the patter continued.

  Without turning her head Raven glanced up as a figure wearing the familiar livery of a maid passed her and headed to the doctor’s door. She stopped before it, and Raven caught a glimpse of a girl about her age. She observed as covertly as possible as the girl bent down and put her hand to the crack underneath the doctor’s door. Between her fingers was something small and white, and then it was gone. That done the girl hurried away in the opposite direction and disappeared around the corner.

  Certain the girl wouldn’t return – she’d looked so nervous she seemed to have been on the verge of fainting on the doctor’s threshold – Raven scrambled to her feet. Her fears about her ability to do so after so long on her knees proved to be true, and she grimaced as she limped over to the door. She went to press her ear to the wood once more, but there was no need. Just as she reached it there came the scrape of wood against stone, and the same tread she’d heard earlier. The footsteps approached the door from other side and stopped. Looking down Raven saw the line of light beneath it broken by a shadow. She held her breath, suddenly overwhelmed by the realisation that she and the adversary she’d hunted across the duchy were separated by little more than the thickness of the door. Her heart pounded in her ears, the beat of it so loud she felt sure it would betray her presence.

  From beyond the door came a silence that seemed to stretch into forever. The air between her face and the door felt thick all of a sudden, charged somehow. It was the same feeling as before a storm, the sense of the world waiting for something momentous to occur. He knows I’m here, she thought. She became convinced that at any moment the door would fly open and she’d be forced to react. But she wasn’t ready for that, not yet. In her maid’s dress she could not hope to keep up if he chose to flee. It would be even worse if he chose to attack as her swords were stashed away in the cellar with her clothes.

  Just then the shadow shifted and she heard the soft crinkling of paper. Of course, the maid’s note! For surely it could have been nothing else. It was possible the girl had written it herself, but it was unlikely a young serving girl would be able to read or write. More likely, then, that she had been tasked with delivering it on behalf of another.

  After a few moments more the shadows retreated and there were more footsteps as the room’s occupant moved away from the door. Raven took the opportunity to do so herself, tiptoeing back to the bucket and scrubbing brush. She stood a little while longer, waiting for the unpleasant prickling sensation to leave her legs as the blood flowed properly once more.

  Her mind raced. A note, then, but saying what? It was possible it was wholly unrelated to her investigation – a romantic assignation, perhaps? But something told her otherwise. Perhaps it was the look on the maid’s face as she delivered it. She’d been afraid, but was it a fear of being discovered... or something else?

  In other circumstances she might have chased after the girl and questioned her, but it was highly unlikely she knew anything useful and Raven was more determined that ever to keep watch on the doctor’s door until he left.

  When she was able to do so without pain, Raven knelt down beside the bucket once again and began to scrub, her eyes firmly fixed on the door’s plain wooden face.

  * * *

  As darkness fell, Raven still maintained her vigil. Aside fro
m a few bustling servants and a young page who’d come to light the torches, she’d seen no other living soul. The doctor’s door had remained closed the entire time, and only the occasional muffled cough or soft tread of a boot reassured her he still resided within.

  At least she was no longer scrubbing the floor. She’d reached the end of the passage before the end of the afternoon, despite her unhurried pace. But even if she’d wanted to continue her knees and wrists had given up the ghost long before. Then there was the fact that, hours earlier and with bladder bursting, she’d discovered an alternate use for the bucket.

  Raven had taken up a position partly hidden by shadows at the corner along the passage, ready to duck out of sight if the doctor’s door opened. As the hours had passed without discovery she’d grown less cautious, and if anyone happened along now the gathering darkness would help conceal her.

  Far worse than the fear of being caught were the doubts now crowding her mind. Midnight was surely not far off, and the wait had gone on too long. What if she was wrong? What if the doctor was innocent, and the note entirely innocuous? Perhaps even now he lay in bed, his mind unburdened by guilt, where he’d remain until morning? Raven blanched at the notion of spending another eight or nine hours in the passageway. But more than that, what was she to do if it wasn’t the doctor? She had no other leads.

  Yet something kept her there. She’d learned to trust her instinct on the road, and right now it was sounding warning bells. It told her that the doctor was involved, and she held on to that certainty to ward off the lingering doubts.

  Then, just as she was debating whether to risk making use of the bucket again the doctor’s door eased open at last. As she heard the creak of hinges, Raven ducked around the corner, the discomfort in her bladder forgotten. She heard it click shut again and peered around the wall, in time to see the dark figure stalking along the passage away from her.

  Raven waited until he was almost out of sight before following after, thankful for her soft-soled maid’s shoes. In the wild they’d be useless, likely disintegrating in the first puddle they stepped in, but for a stealthy pursuit they were perfect.

  In different circumstances, Raven might have admired the confidence with which the doctor moved through the castle’s maze-like passages, that had so flummoxed her that morning. A little too confident, if anything. He strode with purpose, long legs carrying him with deceptive speed, and at points she had to break into a trot to keep up.

  At first she’d assumed he would make for Kester’s chambers, but after only a few turnings the black-cloaked figure ducked through a doorway leading to a winding stair. Raven listened as footsteps echoed upwards. Where is he going? she wondered, before starting down the steps.

  Down and down they went. Raven paused at the arch leading to the castle’s main floor, but the doctor’s footsteps still echoed up from below so she resumed her descent.

  When they reached the bottom of the stair, Raven recognised where she was well enough; after all she’d spent much of the morning skulking about the castle cellars. By night, however, the cavernous kitchens were almost unrecognisable. The battalion of bustling porters, maids and potboys had disappeared, as had the score of bellowing, sweat-stained cooks. The acrid stink of smoke remained, though the hulking ovens were cold and dark. After centuries of roaring, belching fires it was baked into the stone.

  Though the light was dim, her eyes caught the movement of a dark shape in the shadows ahead. Then the shape passed into the halo of light from a burning torch, revealing the black-cloaked figure of the doctor. Raven hurried after, catching the occasional scent of food still hanging in the air, the ghosts of tantalising meals prepared earlier that day.

  The doctor’s path was taking him towards the locked room where Kester’s food was prepared, and Raven wondered whether that was his intended destination. But the cloaked figure strode past without so much as turning his head.

  They passed through the vaulted kitchens towards another stair, this one leading down into the castle’s under-cellars; the wine cellar, filled with rows upon rows of barrels and casks of ale, mead and – yes – wine, and below that the dungeon. She’d not ventured that far into the bowels of the mount upon which the castle was built, but had overhead servants whispering about it in hushed tones. She thought perhaps the doctor would head down once more, for such places seemed perfect for clandestine business, but instead he made for a door that led outside.

  As the doctor pulled it open and passed through hardly breaking stride, Raven rushed forward, desperate not to lose sight of her quarry. Before she’d gone three paces, however, she was brought to a jarring halt, her wrist caught in an iron grip.

  “There you are!” crowed a triumphant voice.

  Raven turned and looked straight into the wild-eyed stare of the formidable Mrs Possett. Raven tried to yank her arm from the housekeeper’s grasp, but she was held tight. “Let me go!”

  “You’re not going anywhere, you little slattern.” Incredibly, the woman’s grip tightened. It seemed Mrs Possett’s legendary iron fist was not just a turn of phrase. She twisted Raven’s arm, making her gasp. “We found all those sheets scattered about the courtyard. I’m going to see to it that you scrub and press every last one, even if it takes all night!”

  Despite the pain shooting up her arm, Raven decided to try reason. “You don’t understand,” she began, “I have to-”

  It was the wrong approach. The slap arrived from nowhere and rocked her head to one side. New, stinging pain seared her cheek, which quickly faded to a dull, sullen ache. When her vision cleared she looked up again and saw the housekeeper’s wrinkled lips curl into a malicious smile. “I’ll be cold in the ground before I let one of you little strumpets get smart with me,” she hissed.

  Perhaps it was the smile. Perhaps it was the words. Or perhaps it was the desperate knowledge that her quarry was slipping further away with every moment she tarried. But most likely it was a combination of all of these that saw Raven’s foot lash out. She aimed a savage kick at the housekeeper’s knee, hearing the gratifying crunch of something vital giving way. Mrs Possett’s vicious smile was wiped from her face in an instant as she folded like a paper doll. She slumped to the ground with a piteous groan, the pressure around Raven’s wrist released immediately.

  She turned and dashed for the door, no longer caring how much noise she made. Either the doctor had already heard the commotion or he was already out of earshot, and neither possibility was good. As she yanked the door open, she spared a fleeting glance back. The housekeeper still lay in a crumpled heap on the flagstones, and the sound of faint sobs reached her ears. Truth be told Raven felt wretched for leaving her in such a state, even though she’d likely be up and about again and harassing the staff in a day or two.

  But there was no time to lose. She pulled the door closed behind her, and found herself standing at the bottom of a short flight of steps. All was dark; above her head the moon was hidden behind a blanket of clouds.

  Raven would have preferred to take a few moments to let her eyes adjust to the darkness, but to do so would mean losing the doctor, possibly for good. She dashed up the stairs, stumbling over a couple in the gloom but somehow keeping her balance. At the top, she looked anxiously around in all directions, and was just in time to see a flicker of movement far ahead. She hurried forward as quickly as she dared, aware that the silence of the night would magnify the sound of her rushing footsteps.

  In fact she was pulled forward as much by eagerness as fear of losing her quarry. The hunt was nearing its end. It was close, she could almost feel it.

  Though she cautioned herself not to become distracted, scenarios started to play out in her mind. Would he admit his crimes, or plead innocence? Would he beg, or try to justify himself perhaps? When confronted, would he flee or attack? So many possibilities... and she’d seen them all play out before. Usually she knew enough about her target to make at least an educated guess as to how they might react to capture, but the doctor
was an enigma still, his motives a mystery.

  Those fantasies came crashing down moments later.

  In the distance, the black-clad figure rounded a wall, turned the corner and vanished from sight. Raven trotted up to the same point, but found no sign of him. Confused at first she walked on a few paces, and came upon another wall, this one covered with a flourishing covering of ivy. She glanced to her right, where the path emerged from the tumbledown stonework. It was the only way he could possibly have gone, but there were no movements among the shadows, no sound of footsteps.

  Raven hesitated, unsure what to do. To charge off in the wrong direction was as bad as staying put, worse even. The next moments stretched into forever.

  Then, a sound. It was only fleeting, but unmistakable. A cough, just a clearing of the throat really. If you’d not been waiting for such a sign, it would be instantly forgotten. Oddly, though, it came not from the path to her right, but from the direction of the wall in front.

  Raven stared at the wall, brow furrowed. She lifted a hand and pressed it to the ivy. To her surprise it went right through where it should have hit stone. She raised her other hand, and pulled the green tendrils apart. Behind was a small opening, concealing a deeper darkness beyond.

  Long ago this area behind the duke’s castle may have been the foundations of a much older building. Probably it had burned down, or been dismantled for materials when the new castle was built, these crumbling walls all that remained. Back then, this opening would likely have been a doorway, its small size another hint as to its antiquity.

  Raven pushed through to the other side, nearly falling headfirst down a flight of steps beyond. Fortunately she recovered in time, although she reached the bottom rather more quickly than intended.

  She went onwards, creeping now. The same instincts that told her the doctor was the one she sought now alerted her that others were nearby. She tiptoed on and on, wincing every time her feet unwittingly knocked against a stone unseen in the darkness, sending it rattling over the floor. Then came another sound, one that stopped her in her tracks.