by A C Rae
Quinn patted Bessie as he waited alongside Pryce, hidden like wraiths amongst the trees. A slight breeze ruffled his cloak as he shifted in the saddle, listening for the sound of wheels bouncing along the dirt track. He adjusted his mask, ensuring it was firmly tied. His dream had firmly fixed itself in his mind, and he still saw flashes of it when he shut his eyes.
Pryce lifted his hand and pointed at the coach rolling over the horizon towards them. “That's the one.” He mouthed. The coach was unmarked, in fact it looked quite simple, certainly not one suited to aristocracy.
Quinn nodded anyway and steered Bessie up the slope alongside Pryce to wait in the middle of the road.
His heart pulsed with the thrill of suspense that was racing through his blood. He smiled at Pryce as the coach came thundering towards them.
“Whoa!” The driver pulled on the reins, hard. One of the wheels bounced sharply into a rut, causing the coach to tip precariously to one side and come to an abrupt stop. The driver stared at Quinn and Pryce nervously, hands shaking as he held the reins tight.
“Thank you, kind sir.” Pryce tipped his hat, and tapped the pistol that was sat in a holster on the side of his saddle. “I would like my companion to have a quick word with your passengers, if you don't mind.”
The driver shook his head vividly.
Surprised at the responsibility of doing more than just sitting and looking menacing, Quinn swung off Bessie and turned the handle of the coach door. He was astounded to find inside not just Lord Winsworth, sat on the far side, but also a young woman, who was busy trying to collect a book which had pitched onto the floor during their abrupt stop.
“Eira.” Lord Winsworth grabbed her arm.
“Father please, I'm trying to reach this book.” She said between gasps as she tried to reach it from under his feet.
Quinn stared at her as she held up the book, triumphant. “Got it.” As she brushed her long brown hair out of her face, she finally noticed that her father was looking over her, and turned to look.
“Oh my.” She held a gloved hand to her mouth.
Quinn cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the sudden notion that she was regarding him, but not in fear. Her brown eyes seemed to be fixing him with a calculated look. He looked over to Lord Winsworth, pitching his voice lower. “You know what I am here for.”
Lord Winsworth shook his head. “I have very little money. Here.” He reached down for a chest that was at his feet, and, reaching for a key on a chain round his neck, began to fumble with unlocking it.
Quinn rolled his eyes as Lord Winsworth flung open the chest to reveal a pistol. He grabbed Eira, and pulled her out of the coach in a smooth motion. He swept her forward to stand in front of him, and slammed the coach door shut.
Instead of being passive as he expected, she struggled out of his grip and hit him round the head with her book.
“Ow.” He rubbed his head, confusedly. “That book is pointy.”
She glared at him as she brandished the book threateningly, turning as her father tried to open the coach door. “Get back in!” Pryce roared, waving his pistol at the door.
“I wasn't going to hurt you.” Quinn insisted.
“Oh really.” She put her hand on her hip. Quinn stepped towards her, trying to make calming movements with his hands outstretched.
“Your father was going to shoot me.” He said exasperated.
“Because you are after his money.”
“Yes, well...” He trailed off, and almost missed her next move.
“Help me.” She mouthed.
“What?”
“Help me.” She mouthed, more obviously this time.
“Er...why?” He moved back, as though she had suddenly been declared an insane witch who could burn him through touch alone.
She moved towards him suddenly, swinging her book round. He grabbed her wrist, the book falling sprawled on the floor, and pulled her roughly towards him. “Why?” He hissed in her ear.
She spoke between gritted teeth. “My father is to marry me off to Lord Cassian. You are literally my last chance.”
“And you running off with us will be the solution?”
She looked up at him, her brown eyes pleading. His lips parted slowly as he fixed his gaze on hers, which quivered as she spoke. “I will pay you. I have money with friends.”
“Like I believe that.” He snorted, shaking his head to gain some sense, before he suddenly felt a pressure in his stomach.
“I have a dagger pointed in your stomach. Take me with you, or else.”
“Oh the Ancestors save me.” He groaned. He pulled her sharply towards him, and dragged her to Bessie. He flung her over the saddle and pinned her down with his hand, as he settled behind her on the saddle. “Look, I'm not stupid, I could tell it wasn't a dagger, it was a stick. I'm only taking you so you don't do something even more desperate. As soon as we get away from here you can clear off- I can tell you're trouble.”
“What in the name of the Ancestors are you doing!” Pryce yelled furiously, abandoning his post guarding the coach.
Quinn ignored him, calling to the coach. “I have your daughter. Never fear, she will come to no harm- I will send the ransom note later. I tell you now, I will be requiring gold- not a pistol in my face, sir.” He spurred Bessie on to race through the trees, Pryce following in his wake. He didn't stop until he reached a clearing far away from the road.
Pryce pulled up alongside him, radiating fury. “You idiot. You moron. You imbecile. What were you thinking! We do not kidnap women!” He gestured at Eira, who had calmly dismounted from Bessie, and was stroking her nose.
“He did not kidnap me. I asked him to rescue me.”
“What?” Pryce stopped mid rant.
“I asked him to rescue me.”
“She is to be betrothed to Lord Cassian.” Quinn explained, which set Pryce off again.
“So you steal the fiancée of the second most powerful man in the kingdom?” He started laughing hysterically. “Every spare man in Aelin will be looking for her; we will have nowhere to go.”
“She could wear a vizard?” Quinn suggested, rather meanly.
“Never.” Eira exploded. “I will not be wondering around with my face masked as though I were a prostitute. Besides you do not have to worry about me. You have taken me from my father as I asked. I will leave for the ports in Tallyn, and travel to the New Land.”
Pryce sputtered. “Alone? A lady of your bearing? You must think we have no conscience.”
Quinn looked at him with a horrified expression. “Surely she will be fine!” Pryce silenced his protestations with a deathly glare. He muttered to himself instead. “She's very resourceful.”
“Then what do you suggest we do?” She gestured wildly.
“I am close friends with a travelling trope of actors. We could join them for a while until the search for you is less heated- and while we think of a better plan than you setting sail on the most perilous journey known to man. Luckily I know where they are- I was invited to visit them tonight anyway.” He wagged his head, slightly despondent as he moved to mount his horse.
Quinn sighed when Eira nodded her assent.
They mounted their horses, Eira being seated in front of Quinn on Bessie, much to his chagrin. Hair billowing in the wind, Eira looked over her shoulder at Quinn. “As you have shown me great kindness, I feel that I must confess- I do not have any money hidden with friends. I am as poor as the lowliest peasant. All my money came from Father.”
Quinn grinned. “We are able to get money easily, my Lady.”
She frowned in a haughty way that made Quinn swallow awkwardly. “I suppose you are.” She held tightly to the reins as Quinn, shaking his head at her tumultuous moods, moved Bessie in the direction that Pryce was headed.
When she was sure that they were not paying attention, she held her hand to her mouth, and blew in circles on it three times before whispering, “Faerblaed.” A small whirlwind spun across the floor, scattering leaves
and dust, wiping their tracks from the ground. When she was sure their tracks were gone, she spurred her horse on to follow them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Nothing lightens up the daily drudgery for a Aeliner than a show at one of the Aelin theatres. The most splendid by far is The Phoenix, almost scandalously close to the Temple of the Ancestors, only deemed fitting since they have the good fortune of having the patronage of King Stephan. However, most of the nobility flit between all the theatres, and all classes of Aeliner can be found in almost any of them.”
Book I, A Guide to Avarria
Quinn pulled Bessie gently to a stop as they reached the sounds of raucous laughter. There was an inviting plume of smoke trailing above the trees, and he could hear the soft strains of a flute as he helped Eira dismount. They walked over to Pryce, who beckoned them.
“We will be safe with these old friends of mine.” He looked to Eira. “Do not fear, although they are boisterous they are good men and no harm will come to you, I swear.” Eira nodded even as she swallowed nervously. She instinctively reached for Quinn's hand, and he squeezed her hand gently in a gesture of comfort before realising whose hand he was holding. He wiped his head surreptitiously on his breeches, disgusted with himself.
Pryce continued, “They are a travelling troupe of players. I am sure we will be able to blend in well with them.”
He marched forward into the trees, and Eira and Quinn tentatively followed.
As the trees thinned out into a clearing, Quinn could see in fact there were four men sat around a fire that had a joint of boar being merrily turned on a spit over it. As the men noticed them, the joyous little tune emanating from the flute cut abruptly short. The men reached for their swords at their sides before Pryce jumped forward.
“Is that any way to treat an old friend?” He asked, feigning hurt, and taking off his mask. Quinn, following his lead, proceeded to take off his mask as well.
The man who had been turning the spit bounced to his feet. “Bless the Ancestors, is that you Pryce?”
“The one and the same! I bring two friends who are under my care. Quinn, and...”
Eira cleared her throat. “Anne, my name is Anne.”
The man came towards her, “Then Lady Anne, we are honoured by your noble presence.” He bent down, and produced a low bow, containing an impressive number of flourishes, before taking her hand and kissing it. Eira smiled warmly at him, a smile that lit up her features and made her look almost radiant. Suddenly, inexplicably, Quinn was surprised to find himself scowling. It soon turned into a fake smile when he noticed Pryce was watching him.
Pryce coughed to hide his amusement. “Quinn, Anne, these are my friends; Jon Herring, Dick Babbage, Will Shakes and Rich Crawley.” Each man bowed theatrically as their name was announced.
Eira could not hide her gasp of surprise. “Dick? As in the Dick Babbage, who performed Faucet last season in the play by the great Chris Marvin?”
Jon, who had kissed her hand, threw his cloak back in a forlorn gesture. “Always, always...” He tromped back to the fire and threw himself down with an affected air. “He gets all the women,” he muttered darkly to the fire. It sparked in response.
Dick nodded. “The one and the same, although Will here plans on taking the title of greatness from Marvin, rest his soul. His writing really is very good. A little bloodthirsty at the moment even by popular standards, but really very good.”
Will grinned. “I've promised Dick a comedy.” He patted a loose pile of papers next to him with ink stained fingers.
Jon, still sulking, pulled a rather evil smile. “I'd like to see Dick use his grand gestures in a comedy. Will- at some point in your comedy, perhaps you could make his character wear an outlandish outfit? Perhaps something in yellow?”
Rich, evidently the peace maker of the group, raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “Jon, the boar needs turning it's starting to burn underneath.” Surprised, Jon grabbed the end of the spit and began turning it again. Rich put his lips to his flute, and resumed his playing.
“Come, join us.” Dick invited them to sit down by the fire. Eira sat down in between Pryce and Quinn, still unsure as what to make of these men. After all, actors hardly had the best reputations, although her concerns were calmed by the fact that she had met Dick.
Unable to hold in her curiosity, she asked, “Why are you not in Aelin? Is it not theatre season?”
“My lady,” Dick grinned. “We have been summoned by the King to perform a play in one of his palaces outside of the city. He has a massive banquet planned, and we are to be the main entertainment.”
Will looked up from his furious scribbling. “We must perform occasionally for the King in return for his patronage.” He explained. He scratched his face, leaving behind ink marks. “I cannot think of a word to rhyme with purple, dammit!”
“Perhaps 'whirlpool', Will?” Jon suggested.
Will looked up at the sky in exasperation. “I am writing our opening speech for the play, and am describing the King. I cannot just frivolously rhyme his purple royal robes with 'whirlpool'!”
“How about,” Jon, not deterred in the slightest, booming out across the clearing. “As you, mighty king, stand there bedecked in resplendent purple. We, your subjects, are at your mercy, as though caught in a whirlpool?”
“For the Ancestors' sake Jon, you can't just bash words together like that, even if you do say them in a deep voice.” Eira hid her snigger behind her hand.
Jon grinned. “That's why you're the one who writes the plays. However if you can't find a word you like to rhyme with it, choose something else rather than mocking my suggestions.” He stuck his tongue out, and proceeded to pull the boar off the spit. “Meat's up.” Juice from the meat splattered over the page Will was writing on.
Will shook his head. “I'm surprised I have written any plays with you about.”
Eira was surprised to discover that she really liked boar straight off the spit. Perhaps her experience was heightened by the fact that she could eat with her hands, did not have to keep dipping them in a bowl to clean them- and better still, if juice dribbled down her chin, she could wipe it off with the back of her hand. There was a comfortable silence as everyone round the fire got down to the very important business of eating. She positively glowed with pleasure, and did not mind when juice dropped on her very expensive dress. For the moment, she was free, and she liked it, even though she had no idea what she was actually going to do in the long term.
As she put her hands towards the fire to warm them, she was startled out of her thoughts by a question aimed her way by Dick. “So my lady, what brings you here in the company of these men? For although they are gallant men towards a lady, they are not so virtuous in their choice of occupation.”
She choked, alternate cover stories whizzing around her head so fast they jumbled together. She had not considered that she would need a cover story, and cursed.
Pryce smiled at her encouragingly. “These men can help us, they can be trusted I swear it.”
Nodding vigorously, her voice still trembled a fraction as she began, but grew stronger and more certain as she continued. “I am not called Anne, I am called Eira. My father is Lord Winsworth and I am running away from him. At his insistence I was travelling to Aelin to seal my betrothal to Lord Cassian, a man I despise with every fibre of my body. I have only met him once before but that one meeting was enough for me to realise his reputation had been earned.” She paused as the actors stared at her incredulously. “I… I mean we were happy. My father is a great man. You must not think harshly of him for I am still not convinced that he is to blame.
You see, I have had a fair number of suitors but my mother, on her death bed made my father swear that, when the time came for me to wed it would be a love match, like their marriage had been. So I have been fortunate enough to turn away all suitors.
However for some reason I have yet to fathom, my father came home early from a trip to Aelin bearing the supposedl
y great news that he had promised me to Lord Cassian. Despite my pleas I was told he had no choice, and as a result I had no choice.
That same night I attempted to flee. He had set a maid outside my door. My every attempt to escape had been thwarted, until these two men,” she indicated Pryce and Quinn, “held up the coach we were riding in. I was hours away from having my fate sealed and seized the opportunity when it came. And upon Pryce's insistence I am here.”
Her story was met with silence as they took it in. Finally, Rich picked up his flute, and played a slow tune; a mournful ballad that echoed around the minds of the troupe and the others gathered there.
“My lady,” Jon smiled, breaking the silence. “We will do all we can to assist you.”
Pryce frowned at Quinn, noticing that he had rolled his eyes. Quinn shrugged in return.
Will smiled from his position, quill paused in mid motion. “I have it! We are short of a boy to play the lady in our play. If we disguise her as a boy she will be impossible to find, and she can fill our empty slot; who would suspect?”
Jon frowned. “She would need to cut her hair. She has such beautiful hair.” He said mournfully.
“Don't be silly. I have a more than suitable wig, you idiot!” Dick laughed.
Eira grinned. “I have never worn breeches. They certainly look very comfortable- and to be in the play.” She drifted off, and beamed at all of the actors.
“And we would not say no to another actor so would be grateful for your help too Pryce.” Will gestured at his ongoing script.
“Well, that settles it!” Pryce smiled. “Quinn, for the time being we will follow my friends until we come up with a better plan to help Eira.”
Quinn shrugged, and stretched his boots towards the fire. “I suppose I could help with the scenery.”
For the first time in her life, Eira slept under a scratchy woollen blanket, on the muddy floor. She shifted several times as she tried to dislodge a stick that was digging into her leg. She resisted the urge to use her magic to make herself comfortable, as there were too many eyes on her.
