by Rob Donovan
“Eventually to my private chambers,” Fyfe said.
“Why do we want to go there?”
“To talk in private.”
Tatanya suddenly felt uneasy. She trusted Fyfe but Saisko had warned her about going anywhere alone with a man. Even one as respected as Fyfe. He must have seen the uncertainty on her face as he smiled and blushed at the same time.
“I want to ask you a few questions about the King and I don’t want to be overheard by anyone. The subject is…” he paused searching for the right word, tapping his index finger to his cheek as he did so. “Delicate.”
“Does anyone know where we are going?”
“No,” Fyfe said.
Tatanya chewed her lower lip. “Then I will not go thank you.” She expected Fyfe to become angry but he merely nodded and scratched his head. “Do you know anywhere we can talk and not be heard?”
Tatanya thought and tapped her finger to her cheek as Fyfe had. It seemed the thing to do to demonstrate you were seriously thinking.
She had been allowed access to most areas in the Palace but she could think of none where they could be seen and not heard.
She was about to admit as much when it came to her. “The gardens,” she said and beamed triumphantly.
“The public gardens?” Fyfe asked raising an eyebrow.
“Yes. We will be seen but no one will hear what we have to say.”
“I am not sure that is the best solution.”
“Of course, it is. Follow me.”
Ten minutes later, Tatanya sat with her legs dangling over the higher branches of one of the yew trees in the palace gardens. Fyfe balanced precariously on a branch below, with each of his feet on two separate branches. He gripped the branch that Tatanya sat on with both hands so tightly his knuckles showed white.
They were roughly twelve feet in the air and below them a couple of servants on their break pointed over and whispered behind their hands.
“It is quite safe,” Tatanya said and to emphasize her point she swung both her legs as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Safe for a young girl maybe, not a fully-grown man.”
“Saisko said Yew trees are amongst the strongest. Look,” Tatanya said and began bouncing on the branch. The branch shook sending dozens of leaves cascading to the floor. Fyfe held on and closed his eyes.
“Please don’t do that,” he said. Tatanya stopped and let out a theatrical sigh. For a man who supposedly taught other soldiers, Fyfe was not acting very brave. Maybe that was why he taught and did not fight. Saisko had once said just because you were knowledgeable at something it did not mean you could do it in practice. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“I want to know what you thought about the King.”
“He’s nice.”
“Describe him to me.”
“Well he is tall, not as tall as you but-”
“No,” Fyfe said. “Sorry, describe his behaviour. How was he in himself?”
Tatanya nodded slowly finally understanding what Fyfe wanted.
“You want to know about the bad man.” Tatanya said. She stopped swinging her legs as if the sudden thought of him sapped all goodwill from her body. She had never seen the man that haunted the King but she sensed his presence. The King was fooled by the one that advised him but Tatanya wasn’t. She could tell he was no good for the King. Saisko had often told her to mind her own business in such matters and so she had not let on that she knew the King spoke to the bad man. But it had made her uneasy.
“Who was the bad man?” Fyfe asked.
“I don’t know. I never saw him. I don’t think anyone did except for the King. I only realised he was there when I caught the King whispering to him one night.”
“But there was no one there?”
“No. No one at all. I am sure of it.”
“Why do you think the man was bad?”
“The King changed just after he spoke to him. He was like two different men. One minute he was a kind man who was confident and the next he was quiet and quick to anger. He was usually angry after he had spoken to the bad man.”
Tatanya saw how sad Fyfe looked at the news. He was obviously fond of the King and he did not welcome her words. “I like the King,” she said, suddenly worried she had got Jacquard into trouble. Fyfe looked up at her and smiled.
“I like him too. He is a good friend of mine. Can you tell me everything you know about the King from the moment you met and what he told you?”
“Everything?”
“If you can remember that much?”
Tatanya jutted out her chin, offended that Fyfe doubted her memory. She began with how she met the King splashing around in the river and asking for some of her berries. She moved on to the barn and the meeting of the townsfolk and how they had escaped. She finally finished with Jacquard’s reluctance to meet Kimber and Miles in the forest and how something had happened that she did not fully understand.
Fyfe let her talk in her own time. He asked the occasional question, usually when she mentioned the time before the King had met her. Tatanya was as honest as she could be without portraying the King in a poor light. They were friends and she wanted nothing bad to happen to him. Jacquard had promised he would take her to the White City with him and look after her and he had kept that promise.
The two servants who had seen them returned to their duties. The novelty of seeing Fyfe up in the tree with the little girl had soon worn off.
“Is the King well now? Tatanya asked.
The question seemed to surprise the chief advisor; maybe because Tatanya had asked it the minute she had finished telling her story.
“The King is very healthy and feeling better each day.”
Tatanya plucked a leaf from the tree and crumbled it in her hands. It crunched as it broke apart and she watched it fall to the ground as she opened her palm.
“Why does he not want to see me?”
Fyfe pulled himself higher in the tree. He tested the strength of the branch below Tatanya and then slowly eased himself into a sitting position. “It is not that he does not want to see you. He has been asking after you in fact.”
“So why can’t I see him?”
“You can, soon.” Fyfe replied. “The King used to be a strong ruler but he has been under a lot of stress lately. Do you know what stress is?”
Tatanya nodded and rolled her eyes. “Saisko says it what people use as an excuse when they can’t do the stuff they should do.”
To her surprise Fyfe chuckled. “Saisko sounds like a hard taskmaster.”
Tatanya grinned. “She is a moody cow.”
Fyfe laughed harder. “Stress is when you have lots of problems to deal with and lots of people depending on you and no matter what you do to solve the problems sometimes you just can’t, or it is beyond your control or you do not have enough time. Sometimes, even though you are aware of this, you care so much about helping that your body can’t cope.”
Tatanya screwed up her face. She reckoned she understood the bulk of what Fyfe had said but it made little sense to her. Why didn’t people just sort things out? She recalled times when Saisko had asked her to pick three baskets each of strawberries, blueberries and blackberries by nightfall, whilst mother had wanted her to sweep the floor and father wanted help in the barn. Tatanya had thought she would never be able to do all of those jobs but she had. She just kept her head down and worked through them; ticking them off in her head one by one. Why did some people struggle with hard work?
She wanted to ask Fyfe about this but did not want to appear stupid and so kept quiet. Besides she did not think the King was the sort of man to shy away from work like Taylum Hersel back home, and the amount of jobs the King must have to do was probably a lot more than Tatanya.
“Did the bad man have a name?” Fyfe asked.
“Jefferson.” The smile faded from Fyfe’s face. “Do you know him?”
Fyfe nodded. “Yes, I knew him well.”
“Who was he?”
“He was the King’s Advisor.”
“Like you are to Prince Althalos.”
Fyfe tilted his head as if the idea had never occurred to him before. “I suppose so yes.”
“But you are not bad?”
“No, I try not to be.”
“But Jefferson was?” Tatanya asked.
“No, he was a very nice man.”
“That is stupid and makes no sense,” Tatanya said, she kicked at a branch below and missed.
Fyfe offered a weak smile. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. Come on,” he said and began to descend the tree. Tatanya followed showing far less fear as she dropped from branch to branch. She had to wait for him each time he lowered himself. His arms trembled as he reached for the branch below and he breathed a sigh of relief every time his feet found solid purchase. She realised he did not like climbing trees.
When he reached the base of the tree he reached up to her and she jumped into his arms. He grunted as she landed in his arms and staggered backwards.
“You are stronger than you look,” he said with a smile.
“Mother is always saying that.”
“Mother? Not Saisko?” Fyfe said.
“My mother has a tongue too.”
Fyfe smiled. “Of course, she does.”
They began walking to the Palace. A lapwing chirped in one of the rose bushes; its purple throat bulging as it spoke. From across the garden another responded. The lapwing cocked its head to one side at the sound, decided it liked it and flew closer to the one that had answered his call.
“How can Jefferson be good and bad? Did he used to be good and then turned evil?” Tatanya asked. It had bothered her since Fyfe had said Jefferson was a very nice man. She was annoyed that she never knew who Jefferson was. Saisko had taught her so many things to do with the King and Frindoth’s history but she had neglected to mention this important man. Tatanya had always thought it was the leader of the Order Iskandar who advised King Jacquard. She did not like not knowing things.
Fyfe stopped suddenly and sat down on one of the stone benches that lined the garden. He did not gesture for Tatanya to sit but she did anyway, sensing that is what he wanted.
“Did you ever hear the story of the chameleon and the magpie?” Fyfe asked. Tatanya shook her head. “Do you know what a chameleon is?” This time Tatanya shook her head reluctantly. She did not like admitting she did not know things. “A chameleon is a large lizard with the special ability to change the colour of its skin. Normally it does this to defend itself from predators. It will turn green in grass or brown in mud so that other animals that might eat it won’t see it. But in this story the chameleon is evil.”
Tatanya folded her feet underneath her as she settled in for the tale. She liked a good story especially one she had never heard before. Fyfe waited until she had stopped fidgeting and then began.
“For many moons the chameleons had always been peaceful lizards. They used their special skill to change their colour for self-defence only. But one chameleon realised things did not have to be this way. Why should the chameleons use their skill to hide away from others all the time? Why should they hunt the crickets, the grasshoppers and other bugs whilst larger prey remained elusive?
So, this chameleon decided to be different. He studied the other animals and learned their patterns. One of the things he discovered was that the magpie was attracted to shiny things. It did not matter if the magpie could find a use for an object or not, if it glistened the magpie had to have it and take it back to its nest.
The chameleon watched this behaviour day after day and soon a cunning plan began to form. Like the magpie with its trinkets, the chameleon decided it had to have the magpie. He told the field mouse that he had seen the most amazing treasure in the plains. He said the treasure was the shiniest metal he had ever seen and how upset he was that he could not carry it home. The chameleon also told the vole, the spider and even the bee. Each of those animals told another animal until the chameleon was sure the magpie would hear about the shiny treasure somewhere in the plains.
Within a few days the chameleon watched the magpie fly over the fields endlessly circling as it searched for the rumoured treasure. When the magpie stopped its search for lunch the chameleon hid itself amongst the grass where it knew the magpie usually flew over. It slowly began the process of transforming to match the tall blades of grass it lay on. The chameleon’s head turned green, its body turned green and so did its limbs. Every part of the lizard turned green apart from its tail. This turned the brightest silver.
Feeling pleased with itself the chameleon closed its eyes and waited, knowing that when the magpie flew over it would see the silver tail and must have it for her nest. Less than an hour later along came the magpie, it cawed in delight at the long, silver strip it had spied in the grass and immediately swooped down and lifted the chameleon high in the air.
As soon as the bird plucked the lizard’s tail in its claws the chameleon whipped its body around and began to bite the magpie’s soft belly. The magpie squawked in surprise and dropped the chameleon. The chameleon fell to the ground and was crushed against some rocks dying instantly. The magpie managed to make it back to its nest where it nursed itself better and was far more cautious over what it picked up in future.”
Tatanya smiled as Fyfe finished the story. “That was good,” she said. “Very good.”
“Thank you,” Fyfe said and he seemed genuinely pleased by her gratitude.
“The magpie is King Jacquard,” Tatanya said. Fyfe nodded. “And he is getting better in his nest.”
“Yes,” Fyfe said.
“Jefferson is the chameleon?”
“Not quite. Jefferson was a good man. He was killed by an evil man called Cordane. Like the chameleon, Cordane could change his appearance. He appeared as Jefferson and deceived everyone, telling King Jacquard lies. The King only recently found out about Cordane.”
Tatanya nodded. “If the King knew this why did he see the bad man and listen to him?”
“That is what I am trying to find out.”
“He killed the bad man in the end. Like the chameleon in the story the King realised he was bad and killed him. He told me he did.”
Fyfe pulled Tatanya to him and hugged her. “Let’s hope so.”
Chapter 7
The innkeeper was already pouring the rum into the two glasses before Norva raised her fingers to indicate she wanted more. He pulled a face as the dark liquid splashed into the glass.
“Idiot,” she muttered. What kind of innkeeper does not like earning more coin? She thought about asking the man this when he brought the drinks to the table but her head was too fuzzy to think beyond the initial question. Was she angry at his disapproval? That sounded like her. She should be angry! He did not know anything about what she had endured. Who was he to judge her without knowing anything about her life? He should be careful what he said to strangers, Norva could end his life in a blink of an eye. Had he said anything to her? She couldn’t be sure?
She closed her eyes and shook her head, from the deep recesses of her mind she thought she heard Clarabelle growl in disapproval. Silly cat, surely Clarabelle could see Norva was entitled to a drink.
“Your drinks,” the innkeeper said. Norva was surprised to see the two glasses in front of her. How had he placed them there without her knowledge?
“Shranks,” she said and was appalled how much she had slurred the word. She attempted to say it again and the word came out even more garbled. She gave up and waved him away with a smile. The innkeeper frowned and then returned to his spot behind the bar.
Norva reached for the first glass and nearly knocked it over. Rum slopped onto the table surface and she let out a cry of despair. She caught the glass and then scooped the rum along the table back into the glass, spilling more of it down her lap then back into the vessel.
She imagined the disapproving look the innkeeper would be giving her and raised the glass above her hea
d to salute him. She then downed the drink. Her stomach roiled and for an awful moment she thought it was going to come straight back up. She closed her eyes and took a few shallow breaths willing herself not to vomit.
“Would you like some breakfast?”
“Shrertainly not,” Norva said and hiccupped. Her stomach rumbled in protest. She had not eaten since she woke and breakfast was probably a good idea. “Wait, yesssssssssh.”
The innkeeper nodded and Norva saw two of him standing by the table. He was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. Strong jawed, piercing blue eyes and silver hair that made him look like a wizard. “Join me?” she said and tried to smile coquettishly but got the impression she had over exaggerated by the look of horror on the innkeeper’s face.
Again, she sensed Clarabelle’s condemnation. “Oh, go and hunt.”
“Excuse me?” The innkeeper said.
“Not you. Are you a panther?” Norva said and then burst out laughing at the confused look on Mr. Handsome’s face. She was still mid-laughter when she keeled over sideways and fell off the stool into a drunken stupor.
***
The green moon filled the view from the window when Norva woke. She looked at it through one squinted eye as she struggled to get her bearings. The moon loomed large as if it was an eye of a giant trying to peer into the room. Her head pounded. The innkeeper had obviously taken pity on her and carried her to a room to sleep off the alcohol. A quick check revealed she was fully clothed and her money pouch was still attached to her belt. The innkeeper had even left her boots on, which she found mildly annoying, and that was stupid considering she would have felt violated if he had taken them off. Her daggers were also where they should have been secreted all over her body. Again, this was surprising as the innkeeper must have discovered at least three of them.
She sat up and took in the room pushing aside recollections of her drunken breakfast. The room was small and basic. The sloping wooden beams across the ceiling told her she was in an attic. Several shelves lined the wall to her left, which held folders brimming with paper. To her right were a large wardrobe and a chest. At the foot of the bed was a small table with a vase on it holding a bunch of daffodils. Beyond the table a staircase led down.
