Pierce was once again riding the Manor grounds with Schell, though this time in a better physical, if not mental state than the last time. It had been a week since their return to the Manor from Ottawa and the destruction of his home. His return had gone unmentioned by everyone, though Drummond’s face seemed to have turned a more violent shade of red. The day after their return Schell had suggested taking the horses out in the mid morning and it had become a routine both men enjoyed. Pierce had not been a great rider when he arrived, but after a couple days of Schell’s instruction he was improving drastically. The same was true of his weapons lessons with MacDuff and the others in the Brown Pack. Already proficient with a sword, he was greatly improving with most of the other weapons.
“Glad you decided to stay?” asked Schell as he halted his horse by the great lake outside Rooks Bay.
“I didn’t have much choice in the matter,” replied Pierce coming up beside him. “But I am glad to be here. It’s starting to feel more real each day.”
“That means you’re not drinking enough,” Schell observed with a laugh and threw him a flask as both dismounted
They had been riding hard, even vaulting a pair of fences, and both riders were ready for a break. The horses were similarly tired and were led to the water for a drink.
Pierce was indeed glad to be here, though no closer to finding out why. Repeated attempts at finding Jane and Lord Lodge had come up empty. In truth he was almost ready to stop looking for them, fearing what he might discover. Without them he was at a standstill in his investigation and had thus begun to fall in to life as a member of the Hunt.
This proved to be an easy proposition. Every member was free to do as they pleased, with a large staff to ensure they were able to do so. Pierce spent much of his time with his pack, trying to learn new skills and be better prepared for his new life. They spent countless hours in the practice rooms training with a variety of weapons, becoming proficient with most. Pierce learned techniques in stalking prey; within the forests on the Manor grounds and by following unsuspecting townspeople in Rooks Bay. The Pack, Pierce included, were surprised to discover how easily he was picking up these new skills.
Many of the other members however were not as keen and enjoyed following other pursuits. Many could be found in the various salons and halls; drinking, reading, eating, gossiping, etc. From time to time a summons would be made for certain packs to attend a meeting in the Hunt Room and those members would then disappear for a day or two.
The Brown Pack had yet to be called again, but MacDuff had assured him that this was normal. Excursions like the one to Ottawa were a regular occurrence and did not necessitate the entire Hunt’s presence. Only the actual hunts included everyone, though gossip had started spreading that another was soon on the way.
“So do you think there’ll be another hunt soon?” asked Pierce, triggered by this train of thought.
“Who can say?” shrugged Schell. “Although I hope the next one is better than the last. We spent two weeks mucking around Denmark, in the Middle Ages.”
“Sounds delightful,” Pierce offered mockingly.
“Doesn’t it?” replied Schell in a similar tone. “Luckily my whip Wolfric was a Viking warrior and knew his way around. If it weren’t for the mead and wenches we found, I might have jumped into the funeral pyre we witnessed on the ninth night.”
“Funeral Pyre?”
“Yes, though not the most impressive I’ve seen,” elaborated Schell. “A village we were passing through was honouring the Chieftain who had just died. They loaded his body and possessions into a longboat, lit it on fire, and set it adrift. Just like the movies”
“Sounds impressive to me,” replied Pierce.
“Well it’s all in the recounting,” observed Schell with a grin. “The village was really a handful of wooden huts, the chieftain a drunk who died from falling off his horse, and the longboat was an oversized rowboat. But that’s a not as good a story. A good story beats a true one ninety nine percent of the time.”
“So you’re saying that most of your stories are exaggerations?”
“I never exaggerate,” countered Schell with a straight face. “But others do all the time and you should take what they say with a little scepticism.”
Pierce cocked an eyebrow at the irony and Schell replied with a shrug, leading both to have a good laugh.
The sun was close to reaching its pinnacle, the rays reflecting off the waves and pebbled shoreline. The wind was light, but provided just enough power to fill the sails of the fishing boats plying their nautical trade beyond. Pierce had noticed that weather such as this was uncommon on the island. Storms seemed to arrive quickly and last days, keeping only the most adventurous inside.
Though both men stood enjoying the unseasonable weather, the sun’s position high above them signalled the approach of midday, prompting them to remount and return to the Manor.
They maintained an easy pace on the return trip, never rising above a trot. Neither rider felt it necessary to spur their mounts any harder as the ground continually rose once on the Manor grounds.
“I believe tonight will be your first official event with the entire hunt,” observed Schell as they passed a stream that bisected the expansive grounds. Pierce merely nodded in assent. “At least you’ve met many of the members already. Plus you’ve been lucky enough to befriend one the hunt’s more popular members.”
“Really?” asked Pierce sincerely. “I didn’t think Senor De La Gena liked me.”
“Very funny,” countered Schell. “Count yourself lucky, when I arrived no one spoke to me for weeks.”
“So what is tonight all about?”
“It’s what we call the Reminiscence. It’s a formal dinner where all the hunt members are required to attend. We wear our traditional clothing and discuss our pasts or where we came from.”
“Sounds a little too intrusive to me,” observed Pierce, feeling a sense of reticence rising within him.
“Don’t worry, nobody’s going to ask you when you lost your virginity or if you’ve killed a man,” Schell interjected calmly. “We mainly speak about the time we came from and simple things from then. What was popular, what we ate, current events. It’s a way for us to retain our old identities.”
“And a dinner helps do that?”
“Patrick, some of the members have been here for ages. Many have lived longer here than in their old lives,” instructed Schell. “It’s easy to lose track of yourself in this environment. Look at yourself now compared to the lost young man who almost got shot in the clearing over there.”
Pierce followed Schell’s glance to the spot where he had interrupted the duel on his second night at the Manor. It was true he was starting feel different. Usually timid and shy, he always tried to go unnoticed. He’d always felt uncomfortable in groups and around women, generally remaining silent if forced into the presence of either. But ever since arriving at the Manor he was slowly shedding this reserved skin. He joked with Schell, led combat training exercises with the Brown pack, and even (according to Schell) flirted with Mme Laflamme. The strange thing was that he didn’t feel any different, let alone losing his identity.
“From your silence I take it you understand what I mean,” observed Schell eyeing him closely. “I’ve found that this place doesn’t really change you though. It creates a free atmosphere for your true nature to emerge.”
“Very profound,” replied Pierce solemnly. “Who told you that line?”
“Inconsequential,” he ignored with a waved hand. “But I’ve found it to be true. Just keep it in mind.”
A Malevolent Manner (Patrick Pierce #1) Page 46
