Witchy Winter

by D. J. Butler

  But the young queen’s quest to save her unknown siblings had dredged up other memories, more painful still, more riddled with guilt. A liaison with a powerful man—her first, and her greatest mistake. Telling that same man of the birth of their child—her second error. The child, as she had expected, would be cared for, because his father was wealthy and, after the fashion his culture expected, generous.

  Her own banishment had been a surprise.

  And the final act, after the murder, had played out in a beguine cloister not far from the path she rode now. When the local sheriff came to investigate, she had found herself faced with two unpleasant possibilities: that the beguines would believe her accusers and take action against her, or that they would believe Cathy’s own defense, half-lies and half-shaded truths, and put themselves at risk for her sake.

  She had chosen the third path, and fled.

  That flight, years ago, had taken her downriver to New Orleans. She’d tried teaching, but there were too many schoolmarms whose native language was French. She’d tried the practice of medicine, until the first threat of legal action against her terrified her into stopping.

  Finally, she’d drifted to rest at Grissot’s.

  They pulled to a stop beside a knee-high stone to the side of the path. By agreement, Alzbieta Torias’s Firstborn spearmen marched at the front, followed by Alzbieta and her party, and then Sarah and hers—though, after the events of the night before in the Wallenstein, Alzbieta and her Firstborn companions might properly be said to comprise a portion of Sarah’s party.

  Not a portion that should be trusted. Cathy kept a close eye on the Handmaid of Lady Wisdom.

  Sarah and her friends rode slowly, because the Firstborn went on foot.

  The beastkind brought up the rear.

  Uris leaned on the spear he had taken to using as a walking staff and nodded at the stone. Looking at it more closely, Cathy saw that it was vaguely humanoid in form. At least, the stone looked like the top half of a person, carved with very general features. It had a head, with a small protrusion where a nose should be and two shallow depressions representing eyes. It also had sloping shoulders, and possibly faintly incised lines distinguishing an arm on each side from a chest in the center.

  “Stones such as these mark most boundaries in the seven kingdoms,” Uris said. “You might have remarked them around the Serpent Mound.”

  Sarah nodded. “I see.”

  Despite her mutual oath with the Firstborn, then, she was following Cathy’s advice to play her cards slowly and keep her own counsel. Good. She, like Cathy herself, had seen no such stones on Wisdom’s Bluff.

  “Looks like a little man,” Calvin Calhoun said. Then he blushed. “Or woman, I reckon.”

  “You’re right,” oathbound Yedera said. She smiled at Calvin in a way that made him blush even more. Cathy thought she saw a flash of irritation in Sarah’s unbandaged eye. “What it definitely doesn’t resemble is beastkind. These are Adam-stones, and they mark the places of mankind.”

  “Are there Eve-stones as well?” Cathy asked.

  “Shhh.” Alzbieta looked slightly offended.

  Cathy resisted the impulse to slap the other woman.

  “Is the Adam-stones’ purpose to mark the Ohio as different from the Great Green Wood, and the lands of the Heron King?” Sarah asked.

  “If you mean to ask whether our people adopted these stones upon coming here,” Alzbieta said, a breeze blowing the silk veil of her sedan as if the fabric was moved by her words, “or whether they brought them from the Old World…perhaps that isn’t a question to be discussed in this place.”

  What was she hiding?

  The Polite mage Sherem had recovered consciousness, but not his wits. He lay curled up at Alzbieta’s feet, muttering to himself.

  Sarah nodded and removed the bandage from her head, revealing her powerful eye. She scanned the Adam-stone at length, and the path on either side of it.

  “What you seein’, Sarah?” Cal blushed again, perhaps thinking he was speaking too familiarly.

  “I see that the world is more complex and interesting then ever I knew.” Sarah replaced her patch. “I take it we now enter Cahokia?”

  Uris nodded.

  “Thank you, Uris, Yedera, Alzbieta. Let us continue.”

  As they passed the Adam-stone, Jacob Hop brought his horse parallel to Bill’s, opposite Cathy. Cal and the string of horses fell slightly behind; Sarah rode ahead, beside Alzbieta’s palanquin.

  “I have an observation, Captain,” the blond man said. “It’s of a military nature. I fear Mrs. Filmer may find it boring, but I think it’s a good idea to discuss it as soon as possible.”

  “Fear not.” Cathy kept an eye on Sarah as she spoke. “I am easily entertained.”

  Jacob Hop laughed. He was an odd one. He seemed perpetually delighted with the world, curious about everything, and imperturbable. Just a few days earlier he had been the flesh and blood vessel of a violent god, and all his life before that he’d been deaf and mute. What was going on in Jacob Hop’s brain?

  “It is to do with the beastkind, and how to talk to them,” Jake said.

  “Chikaak may interpret for us,” Bill rumbled. “I suppose that is no worse than passing orders through any other sergeant.”

  “Until the day when Chikaak becomes unavailable,” Jake said. “If he is dead, or badly wounded, or on an errand, we may find ourselves unable to communicate with many of our warriors.”

  “You’re thinking we should choose an additional sergeant?”

  “I’m thinking about your horn.” Jake pointed at the instrument swinging at Bill’s side. It was made of yellowing ivory, trimmed with bands of gold. “Why did Simon Sword give that to you?”

  Bill growled. “The Heron King did a number of things I do not yet understand, Jake. I am not certain I ever will understand them. But what he said was: ‘You are my friend, Bill, like it or not. These warriors are my Household Guard, and not ordinary soldiers. I rejoice at giving them to you because they have not had a more able commander. You will, however, want this.’ Those aren’t exactly the words, you understand, but that was the gist of it. And he handed me the horn.”

  “You remember his words quite distinctly,” Cathy said.

  “It isn’t often one converses with a god,” Bill said. “Or a twelve-foot-tall bird-headed monster, as the case may be.”

  Jake nodded vigorously. “The horn goes with the beastkind. Do you see? Because their language is purely tonal.”

  Bill sighed. “What?”

  Jake considered. “I think I’m speaking good English, ja?”

  “Try explaining a different way,” Cathy suggested.

  Jake cocked his head to one side. “Ja, I do that. Have you noticed that when the beastkind communicate with each other, they used different…kinds of sound? Voices? What I mean, Ferpa will make a sound like a cow lowing, and then Chikaak will answer with barks like a coyote, and they still understand each other?”

  “This hardly helps me, Jake,” Bill said, “since I understand neither of them, and if I place my hands into my armpits, flap my elbows like a bird’s wings, and hoot like a baboon, neither of them will understand me.”

  “Yes, but it’s the…toonhoogte.”

  “Bless you,” Bill said. “Or rather, gesundheit, as they say among your people.”

  Jake shook his head. “No, listen, it’s like this.” He whistled two notes, one high and one low. “You hear the different toonhoogten, yes?”

  “He means pitch, Bill,” Cathy said.

  Bill turned in the saddle to stare at Jacob Hop, the movement making him wince. “Pitch? As in music?”

  Jake nodded. “Ja, dat’s what I mean. Music.”

  “I chose pistols over the parlor arts many years ago, Jake. You’ll have to spell it out for me more clearly.”

  “Think of it this way. For you, this animal is a horse.” Jake leaned forward to pat his mount’s shoulder. “When you say it, it’s like that, horse.
When you write it, you write H-O-R-S-E.”

  “You mean horsey, Jake. Horse does not need an E on the end of it. Too many letters in writing are an extravagance, especially for a military man.”

  Cathy refrained from comment.

  Jake persevered. “But maybe for Chikaak, if he wants to communicate horse to Ferpa, horse is this.” He whistled, two high notes, then a note of lower pitch.

  “Chikaak doesn’t whistle,” Bill said.

  Cathy could no longer restrain herself. “Bill, you are being perverse. Jake’s saying that if Chikaak wants to communicate the idea of a horse, he makes those notes by barking. And then if Ferpa wants to signify a horse, she does so by mooing the same melody. They understand each other, though they cannot produce the same sounds.”

  “Hell’s Bells,” Bill said. “You mean they are singing to each other, all the time.”

  “The ideas they share with each other this way must be simple,” Jake said. “But ja, dat’s exactly what I think.”

  Bill fairly bounced in his saddle. “Have you asked Chikaak to confirm this notion of yours?”

  “No,” Jake said. “But last night, when he and I worried there might be treachery planned, we agreed a signal. I suggested a whistle of three tones, because it was a sound any beastkind could hear and understand, even from far away, and he agreed.”

  “Heaven’s curtain, friend Jake. What you’re telling me is that not only have you discovered how to send military signals to the beastkind, but you’ve already put the new system into practice.”

  “I would not say it’s a system, not yet.”

  Bill stared off into the woods ahead, eyes blazing. “We must make a list of all the commands we’ll commonly need. The simpler the list, the better, friend Jake. Let’s try to get it down to a dozen, to start with. Twenty at the absolute most. We’ll drill them tonight.”

  “Ja,” Jake agreed. “And we should involve Chikaak. He can help us choose words the beastkind already know.”

  “Melodies, friend Jake.” Bill leaned over to clap the Dutchman across the back. “Melodies.”

  * * *

  “Tell me how you came to have contacts among the Hansa.” Jake had dismounted and now led his horse, so they could talk. He smiled amiably at the old man Uris. The Firstborn walked almost stepping on Jake’s feet, he was so close. Jake didn’t understand quite how the man’s oath to Sarah worked, but he found he was extremely uncomfortable with the thought that Uris might be compelled to help him.

  He’d rely on that in a pinch, for Sarah’s sake.

  For his own sake, he wanted to make friends with the man.

  “You mean, how did I manage to hire a gang of Hansard dockworkers to attempt to kidnap Her Majesty?” For a moment, the Firstborn looked like a much younger man, holding a golden sword in both hands. Jake blinked and the image disappeared, and once again the man was…

  What was his name?

  Uris.

  “I was trying to be more tactful than that, but ja.” Jake nodded. “Are you a Hansard yourself? Is it secret lore, or can you share it?”

  “There are League passwords and countersigns,” Uris said. “I don’t know them. But I have a great deal of experience working with the Hansa, as anyone must do who advises the nobles of the seven kingdoms.”

  “Ah,” Jake said. “Tell me more. I sailed with my uncle as a boy, but only on the Atlantic coast and in the gulf.” He thought, having puzzled through his shattered memory. Also, when he’d sailed as a young man, he’d been walled off from the rest of mankind by a combination of his being a deaf-mute with his uncle’s bitter resentment toward him.

  “Out of New Amsterdam?”

  Jake nodded.

  “The Hansa towns are scattered up and down the Mississippi and the Ohio Rivers,” Uris said. “German Hansards on both rivers. Dutch Hansards on the Ohio, especially the upper Ohio and around the Forks, though you may know that already. That’s Haudenosaunee territory, but you Dutch have always got along well with them. The odd English Hansa town here and there. Really, Hansa is a nickname, and it’s borrowed from the Old World. The Hansa towns are the towns that join the Trading League by signing the Trading League Charter.”

  “The Charter has a longer name?”

  “Yes, Hanseatic something. It probably has the names Mississippi and Ohio in it, as everything else does. I forget.”

  Jake considered this. “Members of this League agree to trade with each other on favorable terms.”

  Uris snorted. “Yes. Also, they share a list of League enemies, and banned persons, who may not stay the night in a Hansa town or trade with a Hansard. A true Hansard, of course, being a League Trader, and the Charter specifies qualifications for advancement to the status of League Trader. The requirements are onerous.”

  As he spoke, Uris seemed to grow taller, and then seat himself on a throne, and then assume the head of a bird. He was Jake’s father, explaining the world to Jake and urging him to choose to renounce his nature and seek the paths of peace.

  Only Jake knew that the man he was talking with was not his father, not Peter Plowshare, but Uris, counselor to Alzbieta Torias.

  He was the Hanged Man.

  As if looking through the card, Jake saw a frame of knots about Peter Plowshare, and then Peter was suddenly gone, transformed again into the man Uris.

  Curious.

  “A certain amount of wealth?” Jake asked. “Years of experience? Number of employees? Committed capital?”

  Uris shot him a sidelong look. “You are Dutch. Yes, I suppose all those things. I don’t know the details, not being a Hansard myself. I’ve been told that there are unwritten qualifications and traditions regarding admission as well, that are passed on verbally and memorized by League Traders.”

  “That sounds like a lot of work to maintain,” Jake said.

  “I suppose. But they band together for mutual defense, and the Hansa towns collectively are as strong as any of the seven kingdoms. Maybe as strong as any two, or as strong as the three or four weakest. And the trust between any two Hansards allows fast and quick trading, as well as the ability to move quickly and hide, when necessary.”

  “They send no Electors.”

  Uris broke into a grin. “Some would say that’s only fair, given how little support they give the Empire. You’ve heard the saying, paying taxes like a Hansard?”

  “Meaning, avoiding taxes entirely?” Jake guessed.

  Uris touched his own nose, a gesture of understanding. As they walked, the counselor moved closer and closer to Jake, until they were practically standing in each others’ shoes. Jake resisted the urge to jump away.

  “But if their trading is successful, it can only be because they bring new trade goods, or higher-quality goods, or cheaper goods to those who buy from them,” Jake said. “That benefits the people of the Empire.”

  “Ah, you Dutch,” Uris groaned. “You’re as bad the Scots. Who doesn’t benefit from this trade is Thomas Penn, don’t you see? Who cares that people in Chester have cheap shoes and people in Youngstown can afford to eat pecan pie?”

  “You don’t know any passwords,” Jake said. “You just walked out and asked where you could hire kidnappers?”

  “I walked to the docks,” Uris said. “I’d have paid less were I Hansard myself, no doubt, or maybe I’d even have had the assistance for free. But the worst of it isn’t the cash I paid.”

  “Your friend Sherem,” Jake guessed.

  Uris sighed heavily. “It’s too much to call him my friend. But he is my fellow servant. He was the most brilliant of Her Holiness’s servants, learned in history, geography, languages, and music, as well as in a wide range of arcane arts. And now he’s an idiot.”

  “Calvin did not mean to, I’m certain.”

  “I am to blame.”

  “Surely not.”

  “Consider,” Uris said. “This is what I do with my years of experience, the dust accumulated on my boots from all my travel, and the dried blood of men under my
nails, is it not? I consider. I consider and I advise. Consider then with me. First, I said I had gone to seek a doctor for Sherem, who was still stunned from Her Majesty’s sleep spell.”

  “I thought perhaps he was feigning his dizziness.”

  “He wasn’t. Her Majesty, he told me, more than makes up in raw power what she may lack in finesse or training. But rather than seek the physician my friend needed, I hired men to attack you.”

  “Did you counsel with him first? Did he agree?” Jake imagined throwing the witless Polite across a wooden altar and ripping his heart out with his bare, feathered hand.

  “Yes and yes, and irrelevant,” Uris growled. “I should have known better. Second, my plan required the already dazed and wounded man to exert himself beyond the bounds of reason.”

  “His sleep spell. He must have felt he was getting a just revenge.”

  “Yes. But it was my idea. And I regret it. And third, after the Appalachee had—quite within in his rights—bludgeoned Sherem over the head, I delayed. I let my friend lie untreated while I tried to bluff, lie, and cajole our way out of the predicament in which my plan had landed us.”

  On an impulse, Jake put an arm around Uris’s shoulder. They both stopped walking, and the older man didn’t pull away. “Listen, counselor. You served your lady to the best of your ability. Your fellow-servant knew the risks, approved your plan, and had been injured. It could just as easily have been you who took a blow to the head, and you would now be lying in the palanquin, talking to yourself.”

  “Hard truths provide hard comfort,” Uris said.

  “Is that a saying as well?”

  “It is now.” Uris sighed.

  “Hard comfort is better than no comfort,” Jake said. “That can be a saying, too. And consider this: Sherem isn’t dead, and may yet recover. Cathy Filmer is a healer of some skill, once a devotee of St. William Harvey. And my queen is a great magician.”

  “Our queen,” Uris said.

  Jake smiled and hugged the other man again.

  * * *

  Calvin tried to decline Bill’s invitation to join the military discussions in the afternoon in order to be closer to Sarah—he told himself he didn’t quite trust the Firstborn, but that wasn’t really it. But Sarah was having none of it, and sent Calvin and Uris both down to participate in the planning. The two ended up watching from the trees, between the beastkind fighters on the one side and the tethered herd of horses on the other, a few paces away from each.