Masks

by E.M. Prazeman

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mark sat unsteadily at Colonel Evan’s breakfast table in a large sunroom by himself the next morning. His head kept floating away and fine tremors still shivered through him, but he felt more sober than he had in a long time. Bright sunlight passed through a double-dozen tall, narrow window panes to light the cream and pale blue room, making it airy and pleasantly warm without overheating. Heavy white shutters waited by to seal out the afternoon heat without closing off the light.

  He wondered if he’d dreamt the colonel reading to him late last night.

  He’d seen the cook, briefly. The elderly, long-haired gentleman dusted in flour had brought him some fresh bread, butter and jam and left without saying a word.

  Mark picked at his food. The cook brought in an opaque orange liquid. Mark sipped. Orange juice? He’d had oranges. Argenwain could afford them on a fairly regular basis, but it had been a long time. He liked them well enough, but this was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted in his life.

  The cook also left a small plate of thinly-sliced ham. The ham on bread with the juice ... what the captain had said about fresh food came back to mind.

  But to sail ....

  And selfishly risk Dainty because he’d fled his indenture. She traded between the mainland and the islands.

  The Church will never give me up.

  Unless he paid that indenture off somehow.

  Never sell the masks, Gutter had told him, but Mark contemplated just that while he ate, barely pausing to catch a breath between hungry mouthfuls. Assuming it was possible, if any jesters heard of it, they might shun him. He didn’t care if they did. Unless Gutter had a friend here he wouldn’t hear of it, and he was the only jester whose opinion mattered to Mark one bit.

  “Good morning.” Colonel Evan wore matched slate clothing with a white, sparsely ruffled shirt and cravat, again with a matching hair ribbon. Was it style or a lack of imagination?

  Mark had to take a moment to swallow. “Good morning. I wasn’t sure you were coming, so I started without you.” His hands shook and his wounds had begun to wake up from the gracian, but at least his hunger had eased. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an actual meal.

  Trudy came in carrying the bag and Mark’s body tightened up so much he regretted drinking all that juice. She set it on the table at Mark’s elbow and left.

  The bag had become an ugly, battered thing, and not just because it had been dragged through snow.

  “You sailed in on Dainty,” Colonel Evan said. “Her captain and I had a few words, and he sent over some of your effects. Clothing, cloaks, shaving kit, et cetera.” He sounded cold and annoyed.

  “Thank you.”

  “There are two sets of colors. From two dead jesters, is my understanding. And two masks.”

  Telling him that one of the masks belonged to him wouldn’t make things look any better.

  “You’ve fled an indenture, according to Captain Shuller. An indentured jester. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  Mark was very tempted to embrace whatever assumption the colonel might make about him. He had no way of knowing whether his training had been a real jester’s training anyway, and the letter could have been forged. He had no idea why Gutter would forge the letter when a letter of recommendation by his own hand could have served, but he might have.

  “You’re very quiet, Mr. Seaton. If that’s your actual name.”

  “You want the truth? I’m only here to deliver a message.”

  Colonel Evan gave him a dark look. “Then deliver it.”

  Mark opened the bag. It took him a bit to find the book and the ring among the neatly-organized things, only because they’d been placed at the bottom when the colonel had repacked his bag. He stood up from his chair and moved to the table’s side so he could place them within the baron’s reach. “These are for you.”

  Nothing happened for several heartbeats. Finally the colonel picked up the code book and flipped through it. “I’m waiting.”

  “That’s all I have. Obsidian, the jester who’d meant to bring these things to you, was killed retrieving the signet ring. I don’t know if he knew any more than I do. I had hoped, actually, that you would have something for me.”

  The colonel impatiently tossed the code book onto the table with no indication that he cared that people had died because of it. “And what might that be?”

  What he’d gathered of the colonel’s reputation and what he’d seen of the man so far was compelling, but that alone wouldn’t have convinced Mark to tell him anything. The cold truth was that Mark had no one else he could trust except for Gutter, and Obsidian had already begged Mark to avoid Gutter in this matter. He had to rely on a dead man’s words, not just in the matter of the code book and ring, but in regard to Gutter, Mairi, Mark’s parents ... all the mysteries that had brought him here. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I ramble. There’s no easy way to present all I know and suspect.”

  Mark began with Obsidian’s arrival and the strange, urgent requests he made. He had to backtrack to explain about his indenture, and Gutter, and Mairi, and his mother’s murder and his father’s disappearance. He stood on shaky legs, feeling unnaturally calm as he related details of events that had sent him into fits of rage and grief only a very short time ago.

  “I’m sorry,” Mark concluded, “that I don’t know anything more about this. I wish I did.”

  The colonel braced against one hand on the table, his fingers steepled over the surface. His other hand came to rest on his hip where a pistol would usually hang.

  Mark tried to read the colonel’s expression, but he couldn’t detect anything beyond a deep and dark concentration. A seasoned soldier, a hero if what he’d seen so far was true, could condemn Mark to death without a flicker of emotion. Mark’s heartbeats shortened and huddled together. He managed to stand straight, but only just. Without his story to carry him, his legs once more threatened to buckle under him.

  At last the colonel straightened up. “Have a seat.” The colonel didn’t look at him as he passed by to the cook’s door. “Norbert, I’ll have my usual breakfast.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  The colonel settled at the table’s end opposite Mark. “Your story confirms my suspicions.”

  At last.

  “I learned at church that you claimed that you carried a message, and Captain Shuller also mentioned that you had an important message to deliver. He told me that you seemed like an honest and gentle-spirited young man caught in a very dangerous game. The captain spent quite a bit of time with you—somewhere about three or four weeks I gather—”

  Mark nodded.

  “—and he has a reputation as a capable and honorable man. On the islands, there is no higher compliment. He wondered if there might still be hope in employing you on his ship.”

  Mark’s heart leapt.

  “But from what you’ve told me, that would put Captain Shuller at great risk, a risk he shouldn’t have to take. He has his share of runaways and defaulters on his ship. They’re from a different time and different circumstances. Prize money has freed them from their continental requirements.

  “There is no prize money to win these days.” The colonel paused as Norbert brought in a sliced orange, orange juice, toasted bread and mustard drizzled over a hard-boiled egg chopped with ham.

  Something about the colonel’s tone calmed him, though he knew he had no reason to believe that he’d avoid arrest, deportation, or even summary execution as a spy. He felt hollow, and shaky. If he had a touch of gracian, just to ease his body enough so that he could think—

  No, gracian wouldn’t ease the real source of his pain.

  He’d lost Dainty. He should have given up all thought of her by himself, and he’d been working his way in that direction anyway, but the colonel had essentially forbidden him from returning to her. Mark grasped at the possibility of getting a recommendation for another vessel that didn’t traffic with the mainland, but
it seemed unlikely anyone would take him after he’d killed two islanders and stood in court as a jester.

  “No comment, master jester?”

  Mark’s head jerked up. “I—I’m not sure I can claim—”

  “I am. Let me ask you this. What was the name of the judge who presided over the murder case where you sat as witness?”

  “Judge Wellman.”

  “What is his natural hair color?”

  Mark thought back to his eyebrows and the amber eyes and perhaps the slightest wisp at his ear that hadn’t been covered by his wig. “A light brown.”

  “What color are the horses that draw my carriage?”

  “You have a blood bay and a black.” He saw where this was going. “Yes, I have a good memory.”

  “An exquisite memory. You notice details and retain them with uncanny clarity, despite the fact that you were very ill. What is the female jester’s name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The colonel smiled. “I thought you might have overheard it. She’s often spoken of. Still, I don’t feel my point is disproved. You have enough mathematics to attract employment to a line of work notorious for its difficult calculations. Your comment about botany gave away your studies in natural science. I’m sure the arts and history have been included in your education. You’re very well groomed, polite, deferential, but not weak. And your character is forged well beyond the strength of steel. I’ve weathered gracian withdrawals myself. I would have been proud to acquit myself as well as you did when I offered you that quarter dose. Though I maintain you still chose foolishly.”

  Too many compliments with too much purpose. “Why are you saying these things to me?”

  “I’ve rebuffed hundreds of offers.” The colonel stood and wiped his mouth. “Letters, elaborate personal presentations and introductions, recommendations, invitations from the finest schools in the world. They came flooding in after the war made us a nation, and made me the son of Perida’s governor. I refused because I believe a nobleman should have no need for a jester. If there is unpleasant work to be done, he should do it himself in as lawful and noble manner as possible.”

  Mark felt like he’d floated partway out of his own body. He wanted to stop the colonel before either of them said something stupid, but his mouth wouldn’t work.

  “The result, however, is that I have few allies and no political influence. I never thought I’d want any influence, but ... this.” He picked up the little code book. “This is yet another sign of danger.”

  “War?” The word rasped out. Obsidian had feared war.

  “War would be the preferable outcome, Lark.”

  Lark.

  The jester’s named invoked with the colonel’s voice changed something inside Mark. His last shreds of freedom bled away, and in its place something new and heavy took its place, heavy but strong.

  He didn’t want it, but he realized that he could use it. Even if he’d sailed away on Dainty, he couldn’t run away from Gutter and the church forever. But if he unraveled the secrets ... Mairi’s loss, his parents, Obsidian’s death, the book, the signet ring, everything ....

  He could win his life back, but only as a jester. Only a jester could settle all those accounts with justice.

  If Gutter wanted Lark, he’d have him, but on Mark’s terms, under a lord and master’s eternal protection. If Mark bonded his soul with this man, Gutter could never force him on whatever path he’d chosen.

  No doubt he’d intended to bind Mark’s soul to someone steeped in something terrible ....

  Apparently the colonel had been lost in thought as well. When he spoke again, he kept his gaze low, emphasizing his long lashes. “I think Cathret is poised to retake the islands, and they won’t need to send ships and soldiers this time. Vyenne, Hasla and Osia would give it a try if they thought they had a chance. I’ve been helpless. Servants and former soldiers, no matter how clever or brave, are ill-equipped to help me discover and counter whatever plots might be unfolding. Our government is young, fragile and untested. I don’t think we’ll survive an orchestrated political attack unless all of us who truly believe in freedom rally together. To discover who my true allies are, and join them against our enemies, I need a jester.”

  He did need a jester. The islands, to maintain their freedom, needed the famed colonel at his full powers.

  Hells. Obsidian ... was Obsidian going to offer himself to the colonel? Was that why he didn’t want Gutter to know that he had the book and the ring? Were they proof of something, or tools that the colonel would need to arm himself?

  Did Obsidian mean to offer to me in his place if he died?

  He’d never know. He could only decide for himself.

  Mark stood as straight as he could, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. Father, forgive me. “I accept.”

  Dressed in his best clothes, Mark used a borrowed cane to help him limp the length of the dock where Dainty was berthed. Clean-shaven, his hair not only brushed but curled, white gloves on his hands and bows covering the buckles on his shoes, lace starched to a bright white, he eventually made his way to her gangplank and waited for someone to notice him.

  Mr. Johns saw him first, and looked away but not in time to hide a roll in his eyes. He turned back with a smile. “May I—” And then his eyes widened. “Mark? Or should I say, master jester!”

  Mark smiled and climbed the plank, careful not to catch his heels on the strips of wood in the center. The slightest misstep and he’d be rolling down the plank in agony. “Mr. Johns.” He gripped hard when Johns offered to shake hands. “It’s good to see you.” His arm wound had already begun to burn, but the pain was worth it to see Johns again.

  “Captain Shuller is ashore.”

  “Oh.” He tried not to let his smile fade.

  “But come aboard! He’s expected later this evening. You’re just in time. We expect to leave tomorrow early. The hold is full and most everything is in order—”

  “Mr. Johns.” Mark hadn’t expected anyone to be so happy to see him and it hurt him more than he’d braced for.

  “I heard about the ambush. Four on one. It was in the papers and everything. I had, none of us had any idea. I could tell you were a sharp one, but—”

  “Mr. Johns, I have business I have to attend to, so I can’t stay.” Colonel Evan might or might not be watching him, but Mark felt the pressure of his stare like a heavy hand ready to pull him back to his future master’s elbow.

  Mark wanted to remove a hat to show added respect to the first mate, but he didn’t have one yet. The one he owned was in no shape to wear except as a joke.

  I don’t know what’s in worse shape—my hat or my body.

  “Are you all right?” Johns asked. “You look awfully pale.”

  “I’m fine, thank you. I just wanted to tell the captain, and you of course, that I won’t be joining you.”

  Mr. Johns let out a short laugh. “We figured as much, but the captain had his hopes up. He was sure you’d decided to leave the life for ho—that is, more simple work.”

  “You can say honest. I won’t be offended.” He’d never seen Johns, who’d been reserved toward him, so openly friendly. Maybe he was just expressing his relief that Mark wouldn’t come with them, being polite and kind now that he knew he wouldn’t be saddled with Mark’s presence. “And I had set my mind to it, but I—I can’t.”

  “Why, master jester, don’t tell me you’re sorry we’ll be sailing without you. I’m ashamed at what we all served you, and some of the things we’d said and done when you came aboard. I really mean it. Anyway you know you’ll always be welcome.”

  “I’ll miss you, but you shouldn’t miss me. I could have brought you trouble, and I still might, so be careful if you return to Reffiel or go to Seven Churches by the Sea.”

  “I’ll tell the captain if you’re not able to warn him yourself. We’re obliged. Me especially; I’m doubly obliged. For Mr. Roadman, master jester sir.”

  “What abo
ut Mr. Roadman?”

  “He’s my very good friend from before the war,” Johns cried as if it was obvious. “Half the crew knows him. He’s ... well, you know, the war. He hasn’t really been himself since. Lost most of his family: both parents, his uncle, his brother, sister and three cousins. His aunts and cousins on his mother’s side still give care to him I hear. Anyways, I knew him when we were fishermen. He still fishes, but the rest of us, we sought our fortunes on traders. I figured, since I learned the ropes, why not? But I couldn’t convince him. He swore he’d never sail again. In fact, halfway through he transferred from the navy to the army. Fought under Colonel Rohn Evan himself. Never got no rank, but I’ve heard it said it was ‘cause he turned it down.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “He’s not much of a talker, not anymore.”

  Mark offered his hand and Johns shook it. “I really must go,” Mark told him. He couldn’t keep the colonel waiting, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay on his feet. “It may be that I might make it here again tonight, but I doubt it.”

  “Business.” Johns nodded. “I’ll let the captain know.” He grinned, his teeth very bright against his dark skin. “Please come to dinner. It’ll be roast pork, gooeymup and pineapple for the whole crew. A real treat. The cook’s ashore minding the pit now. If you haven’t had roast pork done the island way, master jester, you’re missing something wonderful. Even the high horsemen are mad for it.”

  “Could I bring a friend or two?” Maybe if he invited the colonel and Mr. Roadman ...

  “Hells yes.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Mark gave him a short bow, which made Mr. Johns blush, and limped down the center of the plank. Part of him was relieved to be away from the barrage of words and emotions and everything else. The other part got smaller and colder the farther he got from Dainty.

  Mark stopped beside the colonel on the unimaginatively named Bay Street that curved along the docks. Their carriage waited across the way. As much as he longed to run back and sail away on Dainty, something about standing with the colonel felt natural and surprisingly good.

  “You’ve said your goodbyes?” By the sound of his voice, time hadn’t tempered the colonel’s annoyance at what he no doubt considered a waste of time.

  “We’ve been invited to dinner. Roast pork, pineapple, and gooeymup, whatever that is, done island-style in a pit.”

  The colonel paused as if he was actually considering it. “I think we ought to spend the evening at Hevether discussing our options.”

  “We’re going to be bound for life. Marriages get a reception. Shouldn’t we?”

  “I’ve been told that traditionally we’re to gather with our own kind for an evening of toasts, if the couple is so inclined,” the colonel said dryly. “Either option is unwise. Your condition is too delicate.”

  A laugh burst past Mark’s pain and bubbled out, washing away his sadness. “Am I your dainty little bride?”

  “That’s enough.” He headed for the carriage.

  Mark would have pressed it except that, much as he appeared to be irritated, the colonel seemed amused and it wouldn’t do to spoil his humor now.

  Something else suggested he let the moment pass.

  If Gutter had asked, Mark would have told him he saw grief in the colonel’s eyes just before he turned away.