by Robert Evert
With frantic fingers, the figure flipped through several more pages, then shot a glance toward the stairwell. Natalie had heard it, too. Somebody was clomping toward them. The man at the table blew out his candle, plunging the room into darkness.
When her eyes had adjusted, Natalie realized with horror the man had retreated into the same aisle in which she knelt. He was so close, if he took just three steps backwards, he’d topple right over her. Holding her breath, she inched away.
The figure in front of her stared intently toward the approaching footfalls. When a light appeared at the top of the stairs, he crouched to watch through the bookshelves. With a muted ring of steel, he drew a curved dagger from his belt.
The bearer of the lantern strode calmly from row to row, first going one direction, then another. Then heavy boots stopped a few aisles away. For many heart-pounding moments, the newcomer removed book after book with slow, deliberate care. Most he returned, but some he didn’t.
The figure in the shadows in front of Natalie flinched. More than once he wiped his sweaty palms across his dark pants and readjusted his grip on the dagger. Then, as the bearer of the lantern strode calmly back to the stairwell, the man straightened, like a dog eager to hunt. When the light disappeared around a corner, the room was plunged into parchment-scented blackness. By the time Natalie could see again, the figure before her was gone.
She waited, giving the man who had been sitting at the table time to either leave the library or to resume his reading. She didn’t want to startle him. The way he’d held his dagger suggested he’d slash first and ask questions later.
Minutes crept by with no sight or sound of anybody. Slowly, Natalie stood and snuck over to where the man with the lantern had been searching the bookshelves. Judging by the gap in the line of leather-bound tomes, he’d taken several. The one to the immediate left of the vacant spot was entitled: Songs Composed by Balen the Bard of Dark Ford, Volume II.
Chapter Three
Natalie slid out of the library window, boots tucked under one arm, a heavy tome on metallurgy under the other. She wasn’t particularly interested in metallurgy—actually, the subject bored her to tears—but she couldn’t find anything on herbs, and she hoped the book might teach her something profitable. Perhaps she could become a smith’s apprentice. How hard could that be? She could hammer things, after all; and it’d certainly pay more than being a stablehand.
Sitting down on the gritty cobblestones, Natalie pulled on one of her boots. She was lacing it, considering how much a blacksmith’s assistant could earn, when she sensed movement in the darkness to her left. She didn’t hear anything, other than the drunken shouts of men from a nearby tavern, but she could feel that something was in the alleyway with her. A cold fear feathered unexpectedly over her skin. Natalie grabbed her things and, getting up with only one boot on, shuffled quickly toward the more populated street in front of the library.
Now she could definitely hear something—a soft scuffing, like boots slipping slightly on wet stone.
She ran.
Whoever was behind her ran as well.
Just as Natalie was about to burst out of the alley, screaming, a cold wire yanked tight around her throat. Choking, she dropped the book and the boot, and clutched at her neck as she was dragged backwards, deeper into the shadows.
The assailant kneed Natalie in the back, then smashed her head into the library wall. Pain exploded through her face. She gasped, crumpling to the ground, blood flowing from a gash across her forehead. The garrote slackened as somebody kicked her in the stomach—over and over until she couldn’t breathe. She curled into a ball, trying in vain to protect herself. Then, in an odd moment of clarity, she noticed the person kicking her wore shoes—the same shoes the figure in the library had worn.
She looked up.
Dim starlight fell across the scowling face of Brago, the adventurer she’d seen earlier that morning standing alone by the park wall. He grabbed her by the hair. “What were you doing in the library?”
Natalie tried to scream, but Brago bashed her head into the ground. More blood streamed into her eyes. She tasted salty dirt.
“What were you doing in the library?” he asked again.
Panting, Natalie cried out, “Nothing!”
Brago pounded her head into the ground several more times. She shrieked, but the garrote immediately tightened, cutting off her air. Eyes bulging, Natalie clawed frantically at her throat.
Brago leaned in, mouth next to her ear. She could smell alcohol and pipe smoke on his breath.
“I’m going to ask you this one last time,” he whispered, “and I’d very much appreciate an answer, if you’d be so kind. What were you doing in the library?”
He loosened the garrote.
Natalie gagged and coughed. “Book!” She gestured feebly to the tome lying in a puddle at the entrance to the alley. “Book! Got book!”
This seemed to be exactly what Brago had thought.
“For whom? Who hired you?”
Her head burning with pain, Natalie thought she misheard. “What?”
Brago smashed her face into the ground again, then crushed a knee into the middle of her back. He pulled on the garrote. Her face awash in blood, Natalie flailed.
“Who…hired…you?”
The garrote loosened. Natalie retched, the remains of her meager lunch splattering across the alley.
“No-nobody.”
Brago grabbed a fistful of her hair and, pulling, forced Natalie to look back at him at an angle that threatened to snap her neck.
“Who hired you?” He pulled harder. “Was it—?”
Natalie bucked and shouted, “Leave me alone!” She swung wildly, unable to see through the blood pouring into her swollen eyes. “Do you hear me? I’m going to kill you! I’ll kill you, you bastard!”
Brago let go of Natalie’s hair and quickly stood up.
Through the searing pain and her own crying, Natalie thought she heard somebody say, “Constable.”
Brago bolted off into the darkness.
“Coward!” Natalie shouted after him. She tried to stand, but fell back against the library wall. She spat blood. “I’m going to kill you!” she sobbed. “Bastard.”
Chapter Four
Natalie staggered up a rutted lane that wound through the wooded hills a mile west of Upper Angle’s outermost walls. Muted yellow light streamed from the windows of her family’s cabin, past tattered curtains and out into the black night. Natalie swore. Her mother was still up. Still soaked with blood, she opened the creaking front door.
“Where have you been?” Natalie’s mother asked in a harsh whisper, limping out of the bedroom where all seven of them slept. “I’ve been waiting—”
She stopped short, hands lifted to her horrified face.
Natalie cocked her head, trying to see her mother through swollen eyes. “Hey, Ma.”
Natalie’s mother hobbled over to her. “What…? What happened?”
“Here.” Natalie handed her the two copper pennies Henry, the stable owner, had given her for the day’s work. They were sticky with blood.
“Never mind that!” her mother cried. “What happened? Who did this to you?” She touched Natalie’s battered face. Natalie winced and pulled away.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Did a boy do this to you? Was it that farmer’s son? Arthur?”
“Artis.” Natalie lowered herself into a chair by the empty fireplace, holding her side and grimacing. “His name is Artis. And his father owns an orchard, not a farm. You should know that by now.”
“Did he—?”
“He didn’t do a thing! He isn’t like that. He wouldn’t hurt a stinging fly.”
“Then who?” Natalie’s mother retrieved a bowl of water and a washcloth from the warped board that served as their dining table.
“You shouldn’t be walking. At least use the cane I made you.”
“Never mind my foot,” her mother said as she appl
ied the wet cloth to Natalie’s face. Most of the cuts and scrapes had already clotted, but the gash across her forehead still oozed. “Who did this?”
Natalie tried to push her away, but her mother persisted, dabbing the cloth around Natalie’s purple eyes. The cool water actually felt good on her burning skin.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Ma.”
“I don’t care if you don’t want to talk about it. You’re going to tell me!”
“Shhh! You’ll wake everybody. The last thing we need is Robbie seeing me like this.” Natalie exhaled, pain stabbing where she’d been kicked repeatedly in the ribs. “How bad is it?”
“It’s bad, hon.” Natalie’s mother teared up, barely able to look at her daughter. “We, we should get the doctor. I’ll—”
“No.” Natalie grabbed her mother’s arm. “No doctors.”
“But, Nat…your face…”
“No doctors. We don’t have the money. Besides, what could they do anyway?” Natalie took the wet cloth and held it to her forehead. Two pulsating lumps were swelling just below her hairline. “Could I have something to drink, please?”
Natalie’s mother brought her a cup of cold tea.
“Tell me what happened, Nat. Please! I’m begging you.”
Natalie sipped the tea. It tasted like blood.
“I went to the library,” she said slowly, “after work. I wanted another book and—”
“Oh, Nat! Didn’t I tell you not to go in there again? They’re going to think you were stealing. Do you know what they do to thieves? You’re lucky they didn’t hang you, or worse!”
“They didn’t catch me, and I’m not stealing. I always put the books back when I’m finished.”
“I wish you’d start listening to me.” Her mother wiped away tears trickling down her cheek. Her voice cracked. “You’re going to end up in a world of hurt one of these days.”
“Trust me”—Natalie rested her head back and closed her eyes—“I’m already there.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“I’m trying!” Natalie flinched, ribs hurting. She relaxed. “I was leaving the library and somebody attacked me. He…he hit and kicked me.”
“Why?” Her mother started to sob. “Who would do this to a poor girl?” Then she stopped. “He didn’t, he didn’t…force himself on you, did he—?”
“No. He wasn’t trying to rape me.”
“Did he take your money? Were you carrying food or something?”
Natalie started to shake her head, then cringed in pain.
“Then why? Why would somebody do this to you?”
Natalie closed her eyes again, trying to will the relentless throbbing to stop. “I don’t know.”
“Did you tell the constable? Did you see what he looked like? You know who did this, don’t you? I can tell. Don’t lie to me, Nat! Who did this to you?”
Natalie carefully lifted the cup to her distended lips and swallowed some more of the weak tea. She opened her eyes, but she could barely see through the watery haze of her own tears. “Do you know who Brago is, Ma?”
Her mother took back the wet cloth and dabbed it across Natalie’s forehead. It came away stained red. “Of course, I do. He’s one of those foolish treasure-seekers who go and—” Comprehension dawned in her frightened eyes. “He—? He didn’t—? Oh, Nat, you didn’t tell anybody, did you? Tell me you didn’t tell anybody that he did this!”
Natalie pushed the cloth away in disgust. “Why? You were just asking if I’d told the constable, like I should have.”
“That’s different. I thought you were attacked by some homeless boy or a ruffian.”
Natalie snorted. “And if I were attacked by a merchant’s son or a nobleman?”
“Now, Nat, you have to learn how things are.”
“I think I know perfectly well how things are,” Natalie replied angrily. “A woman’s life isn’t worth much when a man wants to take it, is that it?”
“It isn’t just women. There’s an order to things.”
Natalie scoffed, despite the pain it sent through her ribs and face.
“Look, Nat, a few years before you were born, back when your father and I were still courting, he had a run-in with a noble. The noble knocked him around real good; broke his nose and knocked out one of his front teeth. Do you think he ran and told the constable? Do you think he’d have been safe from retaliation?”
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
“All I’m saying is, you have to be careful. Listen to me…” Natalie’s mother knelt in front of her. “You’re right, a woman’s life isn’t worth much. But you mean the world to me. I can’t live without you, do you understand? None of us—”
Heavy, lurching footsteps approached from the other room. Robbie appeared in the doorway.
Robbie, the oldest child, hadn’t been born right. He was a twin and there were complications. The other little boy died shortly after birth, but Robbie had lived on. Now at seventeen, he was unable to talk or to do much of anything other than hurt people when he was upset.
Natalie turned away so he couldn’t see her face. “Go back to bed, Robbie. I’ll be in in a minute. Let Mommy and me talk for a while, okay big guy? Go back to sleep.”
Robbie grumbled incomprehensibly.
“Go to bed, sweetie.” His mother brushed away her tears and smiled at him. “We’re almost finished.”
Robbie rubbed his eyes, moaned, then shuffled back into the bedroom.
“I can’t let him see me like this,” Natalie said.
“Natalie, please,” her mother said urgently. “Promise me you won’t tell anybody about Brago. Say it was some street urchin, or somebody.”
“Why? So some poor homeless kid gets beaten?”
“I mean it, Nat. Please. Promise me you won’t tell anybody it was Brago. Promise me.”
“He isn’t going to get away with it.”
“Yes, he will.”
Natalie looked at her mother abruptly, forgetting for a moment the pain coursing throughout her body. “The hell he—”
“I’m sorry, Nat, but he will.” She laid a hand on Natalie’s knee. “That’s just how things are. And the sooner you realize that, the safer you’ll be.”
Chapter Five
“By the gods!” Henry exclaimed as he entered the stable. “What the hell happened to you? One of my beasts didn’t do that, did they?”
Natalie, shaking her head, stabbed her pitchfork into a mound of straw and threw some into an empty stall. A swirling cloud of dust hung in the morning air. A horse nickered.
“Did that boy Artis do that to you? Because if he did—!”
“No!” Natalie pitched another heap of straw. “Why does everybody assume that? Artis wouldn’t lift a finger to a woman.”
“Now don’t be too sure. Men are men, Nat, and when they get their blood up—”
“Men are asses.” Natalie grunted as she pitched more straw, then spread it around the stall. “Present company excluded.”
Henry grimly studied Natalie’s swollen face. “Who did this, Nat? Just tell me and I’ll—”
“And you’ll what?” Natalie drove the end of the pitchfork into hard ground. “You’ll what?”
“Well…” He scratched his bald spot. “I’d—I’d make sure he didn’t do it again, that’s for sure! Hell, if he’s a big chap, I’d get some of my mates and—”
Natalie laughed bitterly. “You’re assuming some peasant boy did this, aren’t you?” She snatched her pitchfork and resumed heaving straw into the next empty stall. At work for only an hour and she already stank of sweat. “Let me ask you this: what would you do if it was a wealthy merchant’s son, or a noble?”
Henry recoiled. “Did a noble—?”
“No. I’m just saying, what if? You don’t understand what it’s like to be a woman. A man could drag any of us into a darkened alley to do whatever they wanted and nobody would lift a finger. In fact”—she stabbed the pitchfork back into the ground—“ho
w many women have been grabbed and fondled, or worse, right on the streets during the day? You men—”
“Whoa!” Henry raised his hands. “Now wait a minute. No, not us men.”
Several horses over by the feeding trough whinnied, thrashing their manes.
Natalie’s wrath ebbed. “All right, granted. Not every man is like that. You’ve been very kind to me and my family, Henry. I don’t know what we’d do if you hadn’t given me this job and paid me more than you ought.”
“You earn every damned penny. I just wish I had more work for you.”
“Thank you, Henry. I do appreciate everything you’ve done.” Natalie twisted her back, trying to loosen her sore muscles. The throbbing in her body was tolerable, but she was stiff, and she still had a lot of work before evening. “You have to admit, though, things aren’t exactly a faerie tale for women around here.”
“That’s why you need a man!” Henry cried, restating a point he’d made more than once. “To protect and take care of you. I know of several—”
“I don’t need a man!” Natalie hollered into the early morning sky. “Why does everybody think that?”
“Hey, I ain’t disagreeing with what you’re saying. Some fellas are horrible. The things they do—well, it don’t bear thinking about. But things aren’t all roses with us, either. Let’s say a noble belted me around—and they do that from time to time, like they do with everybody below them.” He lowered his voice and glanced about. “But what do you think any commoner could do against a noble or a wealthy merchant? It ain’t just women, let me tell you.” He shrugged. “But I’m glad I’m a man with a business. And, glory be that I had sons. Why, if my daughter came home all busted up like—” He motioned to Natalie’s face.
Natalie prepared to scoop up another heap of straw, but Henry laid a firm hand on the pitchfork.
