Again, Michael nodded. Robyn had left the room and closed the door behind him before Michael could bring himself to speak. He shook his head once, brusquely, silently scolding himself for nearly bursting into tears again, and reached for the tray.
He ate quite a bit of the food on the tray and then made use of the bathing room, noticing the rather too-large but very fine night shirt he was wearing for the first time when he saw it in the bathing room’s mirror. He found his own clothes, cleaned and pressed and hanging over the arm of a chair near the window, waiting for him. He squirmed a little, embarrassed by the obvious implication of that fact: He’d been undressed by someone the night before, probably by Robyn. He shook off his discomfort, dressed quickly, and went to join his host.
Michael had never been in a real house before, and he was surprised to find it so thoroughly deserted. He neither met nor sensed anyone as he made his way down the front staircase, through the foyer, and along the right-hand corridor to Robyn’s study. A second surprise was the electric lights spaced evenly along his way. He’d never seen even one before, but here was an abundance of them, and all were lit in apparent disregard for the cost.
He came to the study door and hesitated, suddenly shy in spite of his erstwhile tutor’s kindnesses. But Robyn must have been looking for him.
“Ah, there you are, my dear boy,” he called, and though Michael couldn’t see his face, the smile was evident in his voice. “Come in, and sit down. I know you’ve just eaten, but I had some excellent pastry saved from this afternoon’s tea. Would you like some?”
Michael was surprised to find that he would. “Yes, please,” he whispered after he’d crossed the room to the fireside. He perched nervously on the edge of a very expensive-looking, cushioned chair as he took in the warm comfortableness of the room and smiled at it. Candles glowed around the room in careless profusion, warming the air and the atmosphere far more than harsh gas or even the new electric lights ever could.
“You look better already,” Robyn announced. He was busily transferring an enormous pastry from a well-laden platter to a smaller plate. “You’ll want a fork, yes?”
Michael nodded, his eyes round with surprise. Robyn handed the plate to Michael then poured out two enormous goblets full of some deep red liquid.
“Oh, wait!” Michael exclaimed, dismayed at how rich and expensive it looked. “Couldn’t I have water or tea instead?”
“I think you should drink this.” Robyn handed one of the goblets to Michael who then balanced his plate on one knee and was at a loss over how to handle both the wine and the pastry. “It will help you sleep.”
“But I already slept all day!”
Robyn raised an eyebrow and looked at Michael, a slight frown drawing a line between his pale eyebrows. After a few tics of this, Michael blushed and looked away.
“Drink, please,” the man said. “I don’t want you up all night worrying.”
Michael took a sip and made a face at the unfamiliar, bitter taste, but he obediently drank down some more until he thought Robyn looked satisfied.
And then Robyn began to talk. He talked a great deal, telling Michael all sorts of things, most of which the boy didn’t really understand. Michael laughed when he thought he was supposed to laugh and frowned when he thought he was supposed to frown. In the midst of his stories, Robyn paused several times, urging Michael to finish his pastry and drink his wine.
Having been raised not to waste anything, Michael complied with Robyn’s urgings. By the time both the pastry and wine were finally gone, the boy wanted nothing but to sleep again and was very embarrassed by that.
“I’ve slept all day,” he protested while Robyn led him back to his room. “I shouldn’t have done it. I need to find Pol so I won’t be bothering you anymore.”
“Nonsense! You’re no bother at all.” They reached Michael’s guest room, and to Michael’s surprise, Robyn came in with him. Michael turned to say goodnight, but Robyn dropped to one knee and began unbuttoning Michael’s shirt.
“I can do that,” Michael protested. A blush warmed his cheeks, and he wished he hadn’t drunk so much wine. He felt sluggish and so sleepy, and his mind felt even more dulled and stupid than his body did. He knew he didn’t want Robyn to undress him, but he found he was having trouble getting the words out.
“Of course you can, but I want to help you, my dear boy. You’ve been through so much. You deserve to be pampered.” He reached up and wound a thick strand of Michael’s hair around his finger, looking at it with thoughtful eyes. “They call this color SanClare Black, did you know?”
Michael stared at the man then shifted his blurry gaze to his hair. He shook his head when it seemed Robyn was waiting for his reply.
“After the old SanClare kings. It’s a black so deep the highlights are blue. Difficult to match that when I’m mixing my paints.”
Michael closed his eyes, unable to keep them open a moment longer, and Robyn gave a small laugh. “You’d be very difficult to capture in paint as well, darling.”
He felt the soft caress of his shirt slipping from his shoulders, and he moved his limbs as he was directed, allowing Robyn to finish undressing him. The man’s hands lingered on his arms, telling him nothing at all through the blur of wine and exhaustion, and when Michael swayed and slumped over, Robyn chuckled, his hands shifting Michael’s body so that his head was snuggled on the pillow. He pulled the covers up over the boy and kissed his cheek. A few moments later, Michael slipped into a deep sleep and knew nothing more.
Michael dreamed that night in a chaotic profusion of images and voices. Something or someone seemed to be pulling at him, urging him to run away from someone or something else.
“Leave me alone.” He wanted nothing but to sleep undisturbed. Far away, someone shushed him, and he whimpered, frustrated by the dream’s persistence.
.:Wake up!:. the dream-voice insisted. .:You have to leave right now!:.
“Go away!” He tried to push the dream-voice back. “I don’t want to. I just want to sleep.”
Another voice, soothing and calm, pushed away the uncomfortable one until it went silent, and Michael drifted back into deep, undisturbed sleep.
When he next awoke, Michael heard the bells ringing one of the Great Prayers. He got up and hurried to the window, but the sky outside told him nothing about which Prayer it might be. As was the case almost every day in Queen’s City, it was overcast and raining. But Michael guessed from what little evidence he could gather in this strange part of the city, it must be one of the middle hours. Midday if he was lucky; Seventh Prayer if he was not.
He went over to the bedroom door and looked out into the hallway. It was still almost eerily silent in the house, and he retreated to the bathing room. He’d bathe and dress and be ready the moment he could find Robyn. He’d ask to go to Pol right away.
Maybe the man would let him help in the scullery in exchange for a ride back to Fensgate? He had no idea how much such a thing cost. Perhaps he’d need to promise to come back and do some more work for Robyn.
But as he tied his shoelaces, he wondered if this might be taken an insult to his host. He’s treated me like a guest. Maybe he’d be upset if I tried to barter his help. But what was the proper thing to do? He’d been treated so well, but he knew he shouldn’t presume on the man’s hospitality.
Once he finished dressing, Michael went back down to the first floor, all the while looking for someone to help him find Robyn.
A quarter of an hour later, he finally crossed paths with an annoyed-looking housekeeper. The woman frowned her disapproval at him.
“There you are,” she snapped. “The Magister said you’d be up eventually, but I had no idea you’d sleep the day away again. I thought JhaPel raised children to be better behaved.”
“I’m sorry,” Michael said softly. “I don’t know why I was so tired. Is the Magister here? I’d like to speak to him if I may.”
The woman grunted, only a little mollified by his manners, an
d shook her head. “No, you mayn’t speak to him. He’s out, and I don’t know when he’ll be back. He’s a busy man, you know.”
Michael nodded but felt despair well up inside of him. He’d never find Pol at this rate. But the woman hadn’t finished saying her piece.
“He said he’d talk to you when he got back and that you was to wait for him in the study. If you want to draw, he said, there’s some good paper and pencils laid out on the desk for you. I’m to bring you tea and more if you’re still hungry after.”
“Thank you.” Michael’s eyes widened in surprise at this speech, and he felt deeply unworthy of such courtesy. “He’s a very kind man.”
The woman grunted again and gestured down the hallway. “You know where the study is?” she asked. Michael nodded. “Then go there and I’ll be up with your tea in a bit.” Which answered the bells question. If it was already time for tea, then he must have heard the Sixth Prayer bells.
Michael did as he was told and as quickly as possible. The woman reminded him of Nanna Mabbina and the sooner he was out of her sight, the better he would feel.
He spent the rest of the afternoon drawing various things in the study while still keeping an eye on the sky darkening outside the study’s windows. Michael tried to be patient and concentrate on his technique, but when Seventh Prayer bells rang, he couldn’t help feeling almost angry at having to wait. He was impatient to find Pol. He needed to find Pol, but as the time slowly passed him by, his hopes for being reunited with his friend that evening faded into disappointment.
The house echoed with its unfamiliar sounds, and the fire the housekeeper had started for him hours earlier had burned down to mere embers on the grate. He didn’t dare add any more fuel to it just for himself, sure that it must be expensive. He’d found a throw draped over a chair and wrapped himself in it instead.
He tried to read one of the many books filling the shelves, but though the one he’d selected looked very interesting, he succeeded only in memorizing one particular line in the middle of the page which he read over and over and over again, his eyes returning there every time he looked up at a noise and then back again at the book.
The hours passed, with Last Prayer bells ringing jarringly against his nerves, and still Robyn did not return. Michael ran out of distractions, though he kept trying to find new ones, and, at last, there seemed nothing left to do but think about his last night at JhaPel.
He wished he’d done it all differently. If he hadn’t acted as he had, Abbess Ethene would’ve died quietly and without the horrible taint of magic and heresy he’d forced on her.
I should leave before I hurt Robyn, too, he thought, stomach churning with misery at the memories. That’s probably why he’s staying away, to keep away from my magic. That’s probably why I was abandoned in the first place.
By midnight, he’d worked himself into a forlorn mess, sitting on the floor and crying his heart out until he finally cried himself to sleep.
The fire had burned down to cinders when the sound of Robyn stumbling in the front door and slamming it shut behind him woke Michael.
A loud crash—the sound of something shattering across the floor—followed, startling the boy, and he stayed by the fire, too frightened to go find out what had happened.
“Michael!” Robyn called, his voice odd and barely familiar. “Where’s my little baby boy?”
Michael fought down panic. His mouth went dry at the sound of the man’s voice, and his brain immediately tried to plan an escape. But there was no way out of the study except through the foyer.
“I’m being stupid,” he whispered to himself. “It’s just Robyn.” He climbed to his feet, straightened his clothes, and made his way hesitantly toward the study doors.
“Come out, come out wherever you are!” The man fell into a fit of giggles.
“Robyn?” Michael pushed the door open a crack and peeked out at a bizarre scene. Broken glass, mixed with some sort of strong-smelling liquor, littered the elaborately-tiled floor near the door, and Robyn’s coat lay in a crumpled heap a length or so farther on. His scarf trailed a little bit farther, yet, and Robyn himself sat on his knees just beyond that, convulsed with hysterical laughter. Rain had soaked his hair and drops of water still fell from the ends.
“There you are.” Robyn turned an alarming face toward the boy and giggled. “Waiting up, eh? I knew you would.” He straightened and shook his head, throwing drops of water everywhere.
“I’m sorry,” Michael whispered. Emotions radiated from Robyn like heat from a fire, and Michael felt overwhelmed by them. He’d never felt anything from Robyn, and now there were too many feelings coming at him all at once. He couldn’t sort them out, but he knew they frightened him. He wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go.
“Don’t be, don’t be.” Robyn shook his head again. “Come here.”
Michael looked around the foyer at the mess then looked back at Robyn, a helpless expression on his face.
“Oh! You’re right, ‘course. Isn’t safe, is it? I dropped my bottle.” Robyn shuffled across the foyer on his knees until he was a length away from where Michael stood frozen.
Maybe this is a dream...oh Vail, I hope this is a dream!
“Come here,” Robyn said again. He held out his arms as if for a hug.
“Please, Robyn,” Michael said, but he opened the door a little more and took a few, small steps through it into the foyer.
“Come on.” The man crooked his fingers a few times in encouragement.
“I—I don’t like to be touched.” Michael recoiled from his own words which he feared wouldn’t be well received.
“Of course,” Robyn said, a faint smile on his lips. “Well, come and have a drink with me, then.” He struggled to his feet and walked unsteadily toward the study. Michael moved out of his way, letting the man go ahead of him.
The Voice he’d heard in his dreams spoke again, only this time it was screaming.
.:Run! Now!:.
Robyn wouldn’t hurt me, Michael thought, desperate for this to be true. He’s been nothing but kind to me.
By the time Michael made his reluctant way back through the study door, he found that Robyn had lit several candles and was pouring out two glassfuls of some kind of strong liquor. It was different from both the wine he’d given Michael the night before and whatever it was that Robyn had spilled all over the foyer.
“What is it?” Michael asked when the man handed one of the glasses to him. It even smelled strong and Michael was afraid to drink it.
“Brandy. Very old. Very expensive. Only the best for you, my darling.” Robyn held his own glass out in an off-balance salute. “Now, join me in toasting the end of innocence.”
Michael took a sip of the brandy and winced at the strong taste and burning feeling it left in its wake. “May I please have some water instead?” His voice broke, and he swallowed.
An annoyed frown ran across Robyn’s face and disappeared. “No, my dear. I want you to share this toast with me. Water wouldn’t do for a toast.”
“Please, Robyn. I just want to go find Pol. I’ve been waiting for hours. Couldn’t we go tonight? Now?”
“At this time of night?” The man looked appalled at the idea. He gestured for Michael to sit down and then dropped heavily into the chair across from where Michael still stood. “Don’t think about it. Fensgate is a dangerous enough place in the daytime, never mind wandering around there at this hour.”
Michael couldn’t shake off the feelings of uneasiness and urgency his dreams—and now Robyn’s strange and elusive manner—had left him with.
“But you were out much later than this when you found me.”
Robyn’s good humor vanished, and the very air seemed to turn cold when his voice hit it. “Don’t contradict me, darling. We will go tomorrow. Now, drink your brandy.”
Michael glared at the glass in his hand, frustrated tears stinging his eyes. He couldn’t understand why Robyn wouldn’t take him to the Red Boar or at least
send him there. He’d promised to do it! And I need to see Pol. I need to talk to him!
“Thank you, but I’d rather not.” Michael set the glass down on the table which stood between his chair and Robyn’s. It still held the remnants of Michael’s long-ago tea as well as several books and his drawings.
Robyn said nothing for a long moment, but Michael could tell he was angry. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight and clipped.
“After all I’ve done for you, I think you’re being very ungrateful.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t like brandy.”
“I wish you’d said so before I poured it for you. You may have some water later, but I won’t have good brandy wasted.”
Michael looked into Robyn’s face, and all his disappointment and fear caught in his throat. He needed to find Pol! Pol would make sense of everything for him.
“Didn’t you hear what I said, Michael? I told you to drink the brandy.”
“But I don’t want it!” Michael exclaimed.
Robyn reared up from the chair, his hands slamming down onto the table and shoving its contents off in a motion which looked to Michael as if he were trying to strangle something. The dishes broke into pieces as they hit the floor and papers flew all over the room. Michael leapt away from the table and from Robyn, and gave a little shriek of startled fear.
“Kiska trash!” Robyn lunged at him. Michael flinched and tried to run away from the man’s fury but Robyn caught his arm and held him in a bruising grip. The full force of Robyn’s thoughts and feelings flashed into Michael’s mind as if they were fireworks exploding one after another, nearly knocking the boy unconscious. “It didn’t have to be like this. I was willing to go slowly with you—you seemed so different! So innocent! It could’ve been so special—!”
“What are you talking about?” Michael gasped, so shocked by the man’s sudden violence that the pain from his arm took a moment to register. “I just want to find Pol! You promised you’d help me!”
SanClare Black (The Prince of Sorrows) Page 14
