A Child of Great Promise: An Altearth Tale

by Ellis L. Knox

  Her eyes narrowed and her hands clenched. Not entirely trusting her voice, she hissed at him like a cat.

  Trumbert uttered a strangled sound. “You need a lesson in humility.” He pointed to the floor. “You will clean up this mess.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because you caused it! Because I said you must!” The Prevôt was becoming shrill. “Because it is penance, not so much for what you did but for why you did it. You did it to shame me.”

  With that, the old man turned and headed for the door, where the wizard still stood. Trumbert began apologizing before he was halfway there.

  Talysse sighed. Exhaustion was setting in, as it did when she stretched herself. She began gathering the torchères and lining them against a wall. She pretended to be busy until Trumbert and Saveric left, the Prevôt still apologizing.

  The moment they’d gone, Detta slipped into the room. She hurried over to Talysse.

  “Oh, Lyssie,” she said in her gravelly voice. “What have you done?”

  “Much harm,” Talysse replied. She gestured with one hand. “I don’t even know how to clean this.”

  The gnome patted her hands. “Well, we scrub the scorch marks, file ’em if need be. As for the wax, we chip it up.”

  “Could you sound a little more discouraged? This is going to take hours.”

  “Mess it up is always quicker than clean it up,” Detta said. “I’m just glad you aren’t scorched your own self.”

  Talysse sighed. “What do we use to chip with?”

  “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere!”

  Talysse watched Detta trot off. A dark patch showed on her light brown fur, near the shoulder. Had the fire reached the gnome? The idea of Detta being hurt because of her made Talysse queasy. Gnomes were loyal, whatever else people might say about them, and Detta had imprinted on Talysse from their first meeting, becoming Aunt Detta, though the word tante meant something more like a mix of friend, defender, and sister, not just an aunt. Detta would walk through fire for her. Maybe had just done so.

  The gnome soon returned, carrying a bucket, cloths, and two wide-bladed chisels. She handed one to Talysse as if it were a prize. “Now to work!” she said.

  “Did you burn your back, tante?”

  Gnomes don’t blush, but they do lower their shoulders in a kind of reverse shrug. “Only some dirt,” Detta said, speaking to the floor as she worked. “Washes right off.”

  Talysse chose not to pursue it. She got to her hands and knees and began working. The exultation of her rebellion was draining away quickly. Her arms felt heavy.

  After half an hour, they had filled the bucket twice over, but had hardly made a dent in the wide, waxy lake. Talysse was coming up with ways to talk her way out of the work when a large, brutish man in chain mail and heavy boots entered the room. He was tall, with a look of boredom on his scarred face that suggested casual violence. He gestured at her.

  “Lord Trumbert sends for you.”

  Lord?

  Without ceasing to scrape at the floor, she said, emphasizing the title, “Prevôt Trumbert has told me to clean the common hall.”

  “You are summoned,” the armed man said indifferently. “Let the gnome do the work. That’s what they’re for.”

  Talysse rose to her feet, a snarl curdling in her belly. Detta touched her on the arm.

  “Peace,” the gnome said. “There will be plenty of work left when you return. Let us not aggravate the Revered Master any more than we already have.”

  She swallowed the snarl. “I’ll be along,” she said to the man, gesturing his dismissal.

  “We’ll accompany you.”

  We? She glanced at the doorway. Two more men stood just outside, similarly armed and grim-faced. One was hardly older than herself. The other had a huge red beard that hung down to his belly. Talysse looked at Detta, who mouthed “Go,” and returned to her scrubbing.

  She followed the man outside, her stomach churning. First he tells me to clean it up, then he sends this brute to tell me to come to his office. But I see what’s going on. Trumbert did not summon me, that wizard did. He’s the one who is giving the orders now. I wonder why.

  As she crossed the yard to the tower, she noticed other armed men as well. They seemed merely to lounge, but every one of them carried a weapon. She counted six in all. For all her disagreements with her patron, she was sure Remigius did not know of any of this, and would not approve.

  She felt she was being led into captivity as she entered the light-tower door.

  The tower stairs were dark, lit only by narrow windows. Briefly, she thought she might whirl around and dash between the guards, but there were three of them. She slowed her pace, dreading what might come.

  Trumbert’s chamber was halfway up, on the fourth floor. She was surprised to find herself a little winded by the fourth level. Maybe she had expended more energy in her Demonstrandum than she thought.

  Ahead, the chamber door stood open. Lamplight cast a yellow glow across the stone floor of the landing. She hesitated at the threshold, fearing to go in. She put defiance on her face, as she often did when threatened. A gloved hand pushed her roughly inside.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Come Away

  Trumbert’s chamber had all the attributes of a room intended more for show than for use. Everything was carefully arranged, like set pieces on a stage. Bookshelves covered one long wall, all finely bound, neatly stacked, and coated with a fine layer of dust. A wide fireplace gaped darkly on the back wall; it would not have been out of place in a baronial hall. The Prevôt’s desk was as wide as a man is tall, covered with books and papers, arranged with careful attention to casualness. The floor was covered in carpets; not an inch of wood showed anywhere. Thin windows like arrow slits opened on one wall, but they were shuttered. All light came from finely matched glass lamps that burned in the four corners of the room, throwing quartets of shadows over the carpets.

  Trumbert made a show of clearing his throat and arranging his tunic. His chest puffed up.

  “Here we are again,” he declared in full voice, as if addressing a court. “You have damaged the common hall, terrified our people, and brought shame to Saldemer Cenobitum. And you have done so in front of a guest. Before we go any further, you owe him an apology.”

  Talysse narrowed her eyes. Her shoulders hunched.

  “No.”

  Trumbert’s hand spasmed, sending a book toppling to the floor with a sharp crack. The Prevôt jumped, then shook a fist at Talysse. “You miserable miscreant! I’ll set you on kitchen duty for a month for this. Bread and water until you learn discipline and respect!” The shaking of his fist spread to his entire body.

  “You want to strike me, don’t you? Well, come out from behind there and try it.” Talysse hoped she kept her voice cool, but she too was shaking inside. Yesterday, freedom had never felt so close, only a leap away. Today, her home felt like a prison.

  The wizard stepped forward, and for the first time she noticed his limp. That black cane with its crimson veins was more than decorative; he leaned heavily on it with each step. She wondered if it might also be a magical staff. And what he intended to do with it.

  “Prevôt,” Saveric said in a mild voice, “might I have a word?”

  Trumbert glared at Talysse. A look of satisfaction stole across his florid face. She felt endangered, as if she’d just stepped on a viper’s nest.

  “I’ve indulged you for too long,” Trumbert said. “Remigius as well. He will not save you this time! I’m done with him, and I’m done with you, orphan.”

  The word fell like a tree on her heart. Orphan. Children without parents could be placed in a cenobitum, if they had a patron. Or parents could “donate” their child, as a form of abandonment. However it happened, from that moment, the cenobitum itself became the child’s family. To be expelled meant to be, once more, an orphan.

  Tears sprang into her eyes, though she tried to blink them back. Her stomach clenched, then rolled da
ngerously. As much as she struggled at Saldemer, it was her only home. She wanted to leave it, but she did not want to be thrown out. Despair crashed down on her in a giant wave. She fought it back in the only way she knew—with anger.

  “I’ve done no wrong. You cannot cast me out.” Her voice cracked and she stamped her foot, both of which made her more furious. She wanted the outrage of an adult, not the pouting fury of a little girl.

  Trumbert grimaced as if in pain. “You have done no wrong? Hah! I have an entire book of wrongs done by you.”

  She had a sensation of walls closing around her. Every word from Trumbert brought them closer.

  “I can banish you. I have every right, no matter what your patron might say. You fight with your peers, argue with your teachers, and openly defy the authority of the cenobitum. My authority!” He swallowed, for his voice was beginning to shriek. “I should cast you out. I have every right.”

  A sound like pounding surf was in her ears, all but drowning his words. What was he saying? Impossible things. She fought the urge to plead for mere punishment. Walls rose. Doors slammed.

  “May I speak with Mlle. Talysse, Prevôt?” Saveric’s voice came like rustling silk from the shadows. It sounded strangely warm, like sand under a summer sun.

  Trumbert recoiled as if the voice were cold seawater. He wrestled a smile onto his face.

  “Certainly, Magister,” Trumbert said, still trying not to cringe. “Monsieur will no doubt wish to question the girl about her behavior today.”

  “No,” Saveric said. “That is of no importance to me.”

  “Naturally not,” Trumbert said, managing to fawn at the same time as he shot an evil glare at Talysse.

  Saveric stepped into the light. He wore the same clothes as earlier, but the steady glow from the lamps shed a light that softened his sharp features. He regarded Talysse with a steady, assessing look. Talysse shifted, wondering by what measure she was being judged.

  She frowned. She hated being judged.

  Saveric seemed to decide something, for he nodded once, then swept his gaze along the length and breadth of the room.

  “I must say, your quarters are richly appointed, Prevôt,” Saveric said. His smile was constructed to show admiration. He let the compliment hang in the air like bait. Trumbert rose to it.

  “I thank you. For all that we are at the very end of the world, I see no reason why one should live like a troll. Will you have some more wine?”

  “I will not. I am too preoccupied by this table. Is that cup truly silver?”

  “It is,” Trumbert said. Talysse noted now the Prevôt’s shoulders hunched slightly and his head swiveled as if searching for an exit. She didn’t know why Trumbert should be nervous, but she was glad of it.

  “And the table itself. Marvelous craftmanship—the wood is of the finest quality.” Saveric appeared to be wholly taken up by the room’s furnishings. She wondered why this meeting had taken such an odd turn.

  “Both gnome work, plainly, but local or imported?”

  “Imported,” Trumbert replied. Grudgingly, Talysse thought.

  “As I thought. From?”

  “A shop in Milan.”

  “Aha, that was it. I thought I detected an imperial influence. And this carpet, it cannot be anything but silk, can it?”

  “It is silk, Magister.” Trumbert’s reply came from him like a confession.

  “And those are but a few of your treasures. Your collection of books would rival a Chapterhouse library.” The wizard limped to a shelf and pulled out a leather-bound volume at random. He blew on it and a little cloud of dust puffed out.

  “Not all have been consulted recently.” He coughed delicately. Still facing the shelf, he spoke as if to the books. “Each of you must have cost a silver penny or two. Taken all together, you’re worth a fortune.”

  He turned and gestured, pointing with his ebony staff. “Carpets, desk, tapestries, silk, silver, gold. Even yourself, Prevôt. Sumptuous.”

  There the wizard stopped. Trumbert stepped back and fumbled at words without managing to say anything. Talysse was starting to like this foreigner.

  “It all seems rather grand, don’t you think? Are your patrons so very rich? And generous?” He layered the word with incredulity.

  “Th-they have been most kind, Magister.”

  “Have they indeed? The cenobitum itself is austere enough to please an elf.”

  “We follow the teachings.” Trumbert leaned away from the wizard and clutched his hands to his belly.

  “Excepting yourself, it appears. Or is there another possibility, one wonders.”

  Saveric finally lowered the cane. He began to pace in front of Trumbert’s long desk, back and forth. Trumbert weaved in counterpoint, like a child caught out by his parents.

  “Here is my theory,” Saveric said, “which you will either confirm or refute—I am ready to hear either. Do not speak until I’ve done.”

  He paced slowly, his face grimacing now and then as he leaned on his right leg. His words were meant for the Prevôt, but his voice swept through the room like a cold draft.

  “You do indeed have generous patrons—I have checked. A certain wizard, my colleague Remigius, it so happens, has been exceptionally generous. Mysteriously so, one might say.” He spoke languidly, but a dangerous strength ran beneath, like a cold river hidden below a meadow.

  “It took little to uncover the truth here: Remigius has been bribing you. This raises ancillary questions of where he has found so much wealth to squander, but I leave that aside for now. We don’t need to answer every question at once, now do we?”

  Saveric had managed to time his pacing so he delivered that last directly across the desk from Trumbert. The other man uttered a high, rabbit-like shriek, recoiling into his robes. Saveric resumed his pacing.

  “All this was obvious from the moment I arrived.”

  Talysse glanced away from Saveric, who had commanded her attention, but now she turned to look at Trumbert. There she saw disappointment mixed with fear. She laughed to herself that he had been caught at something. Good, she thought, now he knows how it feels.

  “But a new question has arisen, quite unexpectedly, involving this young lady.”

  The scorpion looked toward her, and her blood turned cold as sea water. His eyes were as black as his cane.

  “Why has this promising girl remained unknown to all?” The cane weaved as he spoke, the scorpion’s tail. He paced to one end of the desk, then stopped again.

  “Her talents are evident. Only one explanation offers itself.” The cane tilted at Trumbert. “You have kept her hidden.”

  “No, Magister,” Trumbert mumbled, but the words themselves were a confession. Saveric ignored him.

  “Why hide her? Why keep her down? The answer is all around us. If her true power were known, Remigius would take her back, and with her would go his generosity. It is criminal!” He slammed the cane down for emphasis. “Criminal from first to last. A crime for Remigius to salt her away. A crime for you to repress her so. Remigius told you to cultivate her, did he not?”

  Trumbert stood, but his spirit had collapsed. “Yes, yes, it’s all true.” He was nearly weeping. Talysse almost felt sorry for him. A wretched man, but Saveric seemed to enjoy humiliating him, and that bothered her. But what was this about keeping her down?

  “You kept her doing basic lessons—the tasks of a child—year after year, dribbling out new techniques, what, once a month? Once a year? This magnificent creature in your care and you waste her for your own luxury.” Saveric’s voice was insect-dry and sharp.

  Trumbert wept openly now. He pawed at the air like a beggar.

  “Leave him alone,” Talysse said, and her voice sounded choked to her ears. Emotions swirled inside her like a whirlpool. She didn’t much like being called a creature, magnificent or not.

  The wizard regarded her.

  “She speaks at last.”

  Talysse tried to take hold of herself, but her courage was l
ike water between her fingers.

  “What did you mean about basics?”

  She knew the answer before she asked the question, but she had to hear it spoken. The whole room felt tilted, like a badly-built stage that might collapse any instant. She tried glaring, which helped a little.

  Concern suffused Saveric’s face like a blush. “Oh, my dear girl, you have been cruelly used. Or, I should say, cruelly unused. This dullard who cannot think beyond his belly and butt has kept you playing with dolls, giving you child’s games and telling you they are high magics. You could be so much more than you are.”

  The words pierced her like arrows, because they were true. She could be so much more. She had always known this, had always believed she would blossom once she left the cenobitum.

  “He kept me?” was all she could get out.

  “In every sense. As kept as a concubine never allowed out of the harem.”

  She did not know the words, but the meaning was plain from the tone. She looked at the cowering Prevôt. Disgust and pity tempered her outrage. That’s done. The thought came clear as dew. He’s done for and I’m done with him. Something enormous was happening, but all she saw was a door opening that had always been closed and locked.

  “I shall be honest with you, Talysse, because I hope we shall be friends,” Saveric said. “I came here suspecting most of this. Your patron, Remigius? Though once we were friends, he and I have been rivals for several years. He aims for lordship within the Syndicat, and he has kept you hidden, to move you onto the playing field at the right moment, I suppose. I know he sees the possibilities in you. He is wicked, but he is not a fool.” He glanced with contempt at the Prevôt.

  “Why are you here?” Talysse asked. Her voice sounded small to her, so she tried to stand taller.

  “Again I shall be honest, though it may lessen me in your eyes. I am trusting your judgment, you see.” He took a breath, as one does when about to admit to something unpleasant. Her heart raced every time he spoke, as though it longed to run.

  “I came here mainly to expose Remigius. My intent was to reveal the corruption, show my rival as a schemer, and so discredit him to the Syndicat. I know he is dear to you, and it grieves me to reveal him in so harsh a light, but the Syndicat needs to know the truth about him.