by F. D. Lee
“If you’re about the suggest we ask the Anti-”
“Can you think of anyone else? He works for the King. He’s bound to have money. I expect there’s pots of it sitting around the castle.”
Melly looked like she’d bitten into a lemon.
“Or you could wait here, while I go…?”
Melly’s expression didn’t improve. “Here?”
Bea joined Melly in surveying the room they’d arrived in. It wasn’t exactly hospitable. They’d found themselves in a basement with no natural light save a few limp beams of sunlight staggering through a low gutter-window. There was an old mirror leaning against the bare stone wall, which was how they’d entered the room, a rocking horse that had lost one of its runners and numerous crates covered half-heartedly with cloth. The air tasted of mildew. On the plus side, it didn’t seem to be a room that was much used. On the minus, it was clear why.
“No, perhaps not,” Bea conceded.
“Why don’t I come with you to meet this mysterious man who’s so enslaved your good sense?”
“It’s not like that,” Bea said crossly, picking up the witch’s suggestive tone. “I just agree with him, that’s all. Why do I have to be infatuated by him in order to think he has a point?”
Melly tutted, but didn’t answer.
“Right then. To the castle,” Bea said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. They walked quietly up the stairs to the basement door, and Bea pressed her ear against the wood.
“I can’t hear anyone,” she whispered.
Melly stepped forward and listened. After a couple of seconds, she nodded her head in agreement.
Bea turned the handle and pushed the door. It refused to open. She tried again, this time leaning her weight against the wood. The door remained steadfast.
Melly reached out, took the handle with a slight smile and pulled. “Sometimes things aren’t as complicated as they seem,” she said sweetly as the door swung inwards. Bea glared at her.
They stepped into a small, empty kitchen. Bea looked around her, spotting another doorway. She walked past the range, ignoring the faint buzz on her skin from the iron, and cracked the door open.
“There’s a hallway and what must be the front door,” she whispered over her shoulder. “I think we’re in someone’s house. Does that mean we’re actually in the town? Are you sure you’ve brought us to the right place? Melly?”
She turned around to see why the witch wasn’t answering, only to find her rooting through the kitchen cupboards.
“What on earth are you doing?
Melly looked up.
“Nothing.” If the expression on the witch’s face had been asked to take the stand, no jury would have acquitted her.
Bea gave her a look.
“Well, I’ve never actually been in a character’s kitchen before. I tend to see throne rooms, or bedrooms. It’s interesting. You can learn a lot from what people put in their cupboards,” she added defensively.
“C’mon,” Bea said, shaking her head.
Melly closed the cupboard door regretfully and they snuck through the hallway and out of the house, into Llanotterly.
The town was buzzing. Everywhere they looked, people were bustling about, busy as bees, no doubt getting ready for the Ball. The streets were cleaner than in Ænathlin, though this wasn’t exactly a difficult thing to achieve. There were public toilets in the back rooms of cheap pubs that were cleaner than Ænathlin. Even so, it seemed to Bea that Llanotterly had been scrubbed to within an inch of its life and then scrubbed again.
Bunting ran in swathes from house to house and shop to shop, all along the street. There was a baker’s a few doors down, its doors swung open. The smell of baking bread and cakes drifted towards them with the lazy amble of a tourist with nothing to do and nowhere to be. A milk cart rattled past them, its rotund driver humming a merry tune. Three young women, one blonde, one auburn, one brunette, came out of another shop, waving ribbons around their heads and laughing gaily at some private joke. A handsome soldier in red livery smiled at them, calling out a compliment to the brunette as she passed.
It was impossible, and Bea said as much.
“It’s the story,” Melly replied, standing amongst the lightness and frivolity like a raven, her auburn hair reflecting the sunlight like a bloody waterfall. “Unlike the Anti-Narrativists, the characters understand how things are supposed to work,” she said archly, pulling a cigarette from her case.
“Don’t do that here, you’ll attract attention.” Bea said, scolding the beautiful elf-turned-witch who was dressed head to toe in black with an antlered crown on her head, Bea’s own glittery dress with its hooped skirt and butterfly motif shaking in time with her wagging finger.
“Oh yes, of course,” Melly said, dropping the cigarette and stubbing it out under the sole of her boot.
“Right then, let’s get to the castle and find Seven.”
Bea scanned the pretty street. There was a gentle stream of people heading further into the town, all laughing and joking. She lifted her eyes to take in the tall walls and short, fat turrets of Llanotterly Castle. It was well made, built for defence rather than for aesthetics. Yet, in the spirit of the day, long banners ran from the crenels, and the merlons were festooned with even more bunting. Nevertheless, as jolly as the castle currently was, there was no disguising the heavily armoured guards that walked along the parapets, long spears in hands and, if Bea wasn’t mistaken, broadswords glinting at their backs.
“I suppose the town square is that way,” she said, nodding her head in the direction the people were moving.
“Best if we go the other way then,” Melly said.
Bea nodded, and they headed off against the crowd.
“You what?”
“Washer-women,” the fat one in the pink and gold meringue dress repeated.
“You don’t look like no washawoman,” Gabe said resolutely, trying to ignore the evil eye the tall one was giving him. She looked like a crow who had discovered the make-up box. To be honest, neither of the women were what he would call ‘normal’. But it was a holiday. Free beer and roast pork attracted all sorts.
Gabe sighed.
He’d been on guard since six, and he wasn’t even supposed to be working today. Not that he minded helping out the Kingdom, no, no, no, but he was already feeling peeved he’d be given the back gate, far away from all the sights, smells and jugs of ale that he knew were being passed around at the front drawbridge. And now there appeared to be two woman who could only be escapees from the psycarium in Cerne Bralksteld trying to get into the castle.
“How do you know what washer-women look like?” the fat one demanded.
Gabe rubbed his chin, giving the question due consideration before answering. “Well, me mum’s a washawomen. So’s me sister.” He paused, rubbing some more at his stubble, and then continued. “N’ me wife. Me daughter ain’t, but she’s only two so I figure that’s a bit young, what with the lye. And where’s your basket ’n’ soap ’n’ all that?”
She looked at him in surprise and then turned to the red-headed one, who shrugged.
“It’s inside,” the fat one said, turning back to him.
“Why’d you leave it inside?”
“So we wouldn’t have to carry it?”
Gabe curled his lip in confusion. “Ain’t you worried the other scrubbers’ll nick it?”
“They wouldn’t do that would they?” she asked, aghast at such failure in the sisterly work-force.
“Yeah, yeah, course. S’ half a mark for’a good chunk o’soap to buy it, and if you nick it you dint need to risk your own skin coz the other bugger’s made it.”
“That’s horrendous.”
“Tell me about it,” Gabe answered meaningfully, leaning on his spear. “That’s the trouble with being a washawoman. You don’t get paid by the crown no more, get paid by the load. Saves ’em money, which young John sends off t’Cerne Bralksteld quicker’n a sailor on shore leave slips a skirt, alright, bu
t then back here we gots the girls all fighting each other over who gets to wash a hanky on account of needin’ the money coz prices’ve gone up due to unforeseen demand from them refugees. S’not a sustainable fiscal system. Any fool can see that.”
“So why does the King send the money away?” the fat one asked, seeming to momentarily forget her hurry.
“Where you been? Taxes, innit? Don’t pay the taxes and we’re next on the Baron’s hit list. Still, ain’t right to set workers against each other.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “That’s why them lot gone into the woods. They reckon that if young John starts cuttin’ down the trees, sellin’ the wood, the Baron will just want more an’ more. Which might be right, or it might not,” he finished, doffing his cap as socio-economist and resuming his role as guard. “I ain’t King or no insarhgent. I’m a guard. And you two ain’t no washawomen.”
“Yes we are, I promise,” the fat one pleaded. Behind her, the redhead rolled her eyes.
“Oh, for goodness sake,” the redhead muttered, shouldering her way in front of her friend.
“Please, sir. We’re, ahaha, guests to the Adviser,” red simpered, her voice infused with a tone so suggestive it insisted.
Gabe had to ignore the other one, who was having some kind of coughing fit.
“What sort of guests?”
“Very special guests.”
Gabe looked from Melly to Bea, trying hard to work out exactly why the King’s weird foreign Adviser would want two such bizarrely dressed women as visitors, each one attractive in their own way, nor why he would have sent them to the back gate….
…Oh.
“Oh,” Gabe said.
“Yes, exactly,” Melly confirmed with a wink. “Now can you let us through?”
Gabe looked wretched. Now more than ever he wished he’d been put on the front drawbridge.
“Well, y’see, I can’t. You ain’t got no ticket, and though I’m not a man to judge another man, ‘special not the Adviser to the King, I got very clear orders and its more’n my life’s worth to disobey ’em on a day like today. Ole Hendry got a right whopping just the other day for letting someone in what he shouldn’t’ve. Here, that was a washawoman, too,” Gabe added, suspicion momentarily overcoming his discomfort.
“But if the Adviser doesn’t see us I think he’d be very disappointed,” Melly purred, twisting a lock of red hair around her finger as she spoke.
“Er…”
“Very, very disappointed.”
Gabe’s Adam’s apple jumped in his throat. “Hang on.”
And with that he disappeared into the castle, making sure to lower the small portcullis behind him.
“Special guests?” Bea asked, studying the witch very closely.
“That’s what I said,” Melly answered, her expression carefully blank.
“Special guests?”
“Are you suggesting we’re average guests?”
“Somehow I suspect that, in this context, ‘special’ does not mean the opposite of average.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Melly said with a dry smile.
Bea’s reply was interrupted by the sound of Gabe’s heavy footsteps returning, accompanied by a faint jingle that she instantly recognised. She wondered for a second if the ground would do the decent thing and swallow her up, but the earth, as is well known, is no gentleman when it comes to saving a lady’s blushes.
“…I have not the time for these insinuations.”
“M’lord, m’not suggesting nothing. See f’yourself.”
The portcullis rattled into life, lifting upwards in jerky movements.
“Are you unaware this is the day of the Royal Ball? There is much to be done, none of which concerns two harlo…. Ah. Yes.” Seven faltered, coming to a sudden stand-still as he reached the two fae.
He leaned against the stone wall, crossing his arms, his expression mercifully hidden behind his silk hood. Bea ignored the burning in her cheeks as he looked her up and down.
“My sincerest apologist, young guardsman,” he said, his voice alight with mischief. “I forgot I requested these two lovely women to, ah, what was it again?”
“Er. ‘Do your washing’. M’Lord.”
Just when Bea thought it couldn’t get any worse, Seven sniggered. There was no other word for it. It was certainly not a laugh. This was short and dirty and completely at her expense – it was, without doubt, a snigger.
“Ah yes. Quite. It appears I have been very dirty,” he said. “I wonder which of you two fine women will be undertaking the bulk of the chore?”
Bea could guess what his expression was behind the safety of his hood. There really seemed to be no limit to the Anti’s brashness. She wondered that seemingly so many of the human women kept falling for him. He was so arrogant. It wasn’t at all attractive.
“I think that task must fall to me, sir,” Melly flirted, and then added, catching Gabe’s eye with a giggle, “I am more experienced than my friend.”
Bea gaped at Melly, completely unable to stop her jaw from dropping. Seven’s hood also centred on the witch, but where Bea was doing her best impression of a startled kitten, Seven’s silk covered head spent a few seconds more looking at her crown.
“Well, let us see, shall we, what you are able to accomplish,” he said, ever the gracious host. “Please, ladies, follow me.”
He offered Bea his arm, which she ignored. She scuttled past him, trying hard not to blush as Gabe gave her a very enthusiastic thumbs up.
Seven led them across the gardens towards the south wing of the castle, slipping between the hurrying servants as they prepared for the Ball. For some reason Bea had only thought about Balls in terms of the Ballroom, but she was quickly discovering that hosting one was a very large undertaking.
The castle heaved with people, especially here. The Penqioan inspired south wing was Llanotterly castle’s most famous asset, and John intended to use it to its best advantage to wow his guests. The jade and gold statues, the intricately painted wallpaper, the impossibly large chandeliers – everything was being worked on by a veritable army of castle workers. It was like walking through an ants’ nest on a public holiday.
Seven led them through it all and up the sweeping staircase to his floor, as if everything happening around him was commonplace. Something caught Bea’s eye, and she paused for a moment to look out of one of the large windows into the front courtyard, where soldiers were stood in little lines practising some kind of ceremony.
“It is not what you were expecting?” asked Seven over her shoulder.
“No… I never thought so much work would go into something like this.”
Seven put his hands on her shoulders and steered her away from the window. She could feel the chill of him through the thin silk of his gloves. Considering how cold he always was, she wondered that he was comfortable in such thin clothing.
“Come, we shouldn’t idle in front of glass,” Seven said, reaching his arm around her shoulder like a lover. Bea looked up at him, startled. He was leaning on her.
“Are you still sick?”
“Bea, come on,” Melly called impatiently from further up the hallway, her expression cloudy as she saw the way the Anti was fawning over her friend.
“I am quite well,” Seven said, but he didn’t shift his weight and Bea realised she would have to put her arm around his waist if she was going to support him. She reached round him and held him steady.
“This Ball is designed to attract investors,” he continued, stroking her shoulder affectionately as they caught up with Melly. Bea didn’t miss the look the action elicited from the witch, and she supposed he’d done it deliberately. For just a moment she wondered what would happen if she refused to play along and let him drop.
“It is in everybody’s interest Llanotterly be seen at its best advantage. You thought perhaps the only purpose was for your story?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I suppose so,” Bea replied. “The guard said the King gives all their reve
nue to Cerne Bralksteld.”
“So he does,” Seven nodded.
“Everyone seems very frightened of this Baron.”
“Cerne Bralksteld’s the stronger city,” Melly said. “They’re right to fear it.”
“Your friend is correct,” Seven said amiably, making sure Melly saw him place his free hand over Bea’s, which rested on his waist. “It would be a foolish ruler who tried to stand up to such an enemy. And yet, in his way, this is what John hopes to do.”
“Then you’re right. He is a fool,” Melly answered.
Seven looked towards her, his expression hidden in the shadow of his hood. “You would submit?”
“I’d save myself, and my people.”
“Perhaps that is what the King believes he is doing. The manufactories are the death of hundreds, and the lives of many thousands more. Such corruption will not be contained for long. Evil metastasizes. And, if I may be so bold, I suspect that you might not surrender so fully. After all, are not you here now? My dear little godmother must surely have apprised you of my nefarious intent?”
Bea waited for Melly to react, but she just turned on her heel and continued down the corridor.
They didn’t stop again on the way to Seven’s room, arriving without further incident. As soon as they were through the doors, Seven let his arm drop from Bea’s shoulder, and she stepped away from him. She doubted anyone who didn’t know to look for it would have notice the way he wobbled.
“Welcome to my lair,” he said, sitting heavily on his bed. He removed his hood and shook out his curls. “Would you be so kind as to close and lock the door?”
“Is this necessary?” Melly asked, but she did as he requested.
“Regrettably. I would not have us disturbed.”
“You seem to be quite good at getting what you want. May I?” Melly asked, pulling her onyx cigarette case from her sleeve and placing a cigarette between her lips.
“Please, allow me,” Seven said, standing up. He clicked his fingers and a small flame appeared at their tips. Melly raised an eyebrow but leant forward, inhaling deeply.
“An unusual skill,” she said.
“I have others,” he replied, sitting again on the bed, leaning back on his arms.
