“But I love lace,” Varnia blurted.
Madame laughed outright. “Lace you may have, but we’ll show you how to use it,” she replied. “We don’t have time to do the sort of appliqué work that I will show you, but Mistress Menders tells me you are an expert seamstress. You’ll be able to enrich your dresses with lace, my dear. Now, let’s take your measurements.”
The packages of Varnia’s new clothing had arrived earlier in the day. Initially she refused to open them publicly, but Kaymar had teased and threatened to model the clothing himself until she finally gave in. Cook would never forget the look on the young woman’s face as she smoothed the elegant garments and at Kaymar’s urging, held them up for everyone to see.
And now she was sitting there in the late afternoon, carefully applying a bit of lace to a bodice, as Madame had shown her. She was wearing her hair as the hairstylist in Erdahn had done it, swirled up on top of her head with volume around her face. It drew out her slanted, Old Mordanian eyes, clear gray and lively. What a difference from the way she had always scraped her hair back so tightly!
Varnia heard Cook’s footsteps on the path and looked up.
During the time in Erdstrom they had been carefully courteous, but were so busy with shopping and other outings that they had really not spoken directly to one another.
As Cook approached, Varnia moved toward one end of the bench, making room for Cook to sit down. She did so and then pressed a small, soft package into Varnia’s hand.
The girl looked astonished and stared down at it.
“That’s for you to put on a special dress,” Cook smiled. “Go ahead, have a look.”
Varnia fumbled the packet open and then slowly drew a length of exquisite Fambrian lace from the folds of paper. It glistened in the summer sunlight like a silvery cobweb.
She didn’t speak.
“I wore that on my dress when I married Tomar’s father,” Cook explained. “It was passed down from my grandmother, to my mother to me. I took it off the dress after the wedding – we didn’t intend a wedding dress to be worn only once and put away, but the lace was far too fine to risk. Lace like that was usually passed down from mother to daughter, but I had a son and his father was killed in one of the wars when he was just a tiny baby.”
Varnia’s eyes were on the lace but she was listening closely.
“The years went by with work and raising Tomar by myself. By the time I married Mister Ordstrom there was no chance of more children. When Tomar married, his wife had her own family heirlooms. So this is for you.”
Varnia swallowed.
“I’ll never marry,” she whispered.
“It doesn’t have to go on a wedding dress,” Cook replied. “I’m sure you’ll have many lovely dresses over the years. You could move it from one to another, with your sewing skill.”
Varnia nodded slowly. Her eyes, sparkling with tears, met Cook’s.
“What is your name?” she asked, her voice husky.
Cook smiled. “I’ve been Cook so long it seems like I forget,” she answered. “Mister Ordstrom calls me Vee, but my name is Valdema.”
“Thank you, Valdema,” Varnia said, smoothing the lace against her deep plum colored skirt. It stood out frostily, every thread intact and perfect. “And for telling Menders I should go abroad with the family.”
“You should go. You’re young and you’re free. What better time to see the world, eh? For all the stay-at-home I am now, I used to long to travel when I was your age. But I married at seventeen – we married young in those days. Tomar was born by the time I was eighteen and life kept going by. I’m content here now, but you deserve your chance just as much as Borsen, Katrin and Hemmett. Go away from here, where there’s been so much pain and find some happiness, my dear.”
Varnia smiled at her.
“I didn’t take your particular spoon,” she said, and actually chuckled.
“I know you didn’t,” Cook replied. “I suspect that devil of a Borsen did and hid it away somewhere. I’ve set Mister Ordstrom to carving me a new one. It’ll take a while to break it in and get it comfortable like the old one, but that’s all right. Now then, fold that away so it doesn’t get spoiled and then you come and give me a helping hand in the kitchen. I want a Surelian flip cake for the dessert and no-one can beat one so light as you can.”
Varnia rose after wrapping the lace, extended her hand and helped Cook up from the bench.
The Shadows, Mordania
5
Corporal Contraband
V
illison walked briskly up the drive, an enormous duffel slung over his shoulder. He banged cheerfully through the front door, stopped off at the kitchen to sample what Cook had on the range and ask her to marry him for the fifteenth time, much to Mister Ordstrom’s glee. Dumping the duffel on the floor, he proceeded to unwrap some of its many bundles and share them around.
“Gods, where did you get these things?” Cook trumpeted, staring at what Villison was laying out on the kitchen table next to her piles of cut vegetables. “That’s Surelian brandy. It’s contraband, boy!”
“I got it in Surelia, of course. Where else would I get Surelian brandy?” Villison replied.
“You went to Surelia? You’ve hardly had enough time to get there and get back!” Cook was standing, arms akimbo, looking Villison up and down, as if she was expecting him to say that he’d flown there. “There wasn’t even a train through here at the time you left!”
“Sure there was.”
“There certainly wasn’t! The train wasn’t due until two days later,” Cook insisted.
Menders could hear them clearly. He left his paperwork behind and started toward the kitchen, intensely curious about whatever the hells Villison had been up to.
“Cook dear, there was a freight train through right after I walked off the place,” Villison explained patiently. “A good run and jump and there’s my ride to the coast in a comfortable freight car. I’m sure my hundred and thirty pounds didn’t make them burn up much extra chabron. If you’re appalled by my crime, I could always mail them a few pieces to make up my fare.”
“Boy, you’ll be the death of me,” Cook said blankly.
“If you don’t want the brandy for the kitchen, I’ll give it to Sawbones,” Villison grinned.
“Now then, don’t be hasty,” Cook said, snatching up the bottle.
“A woman after my own heart. Don’t drink it all now, remember to save some for the Winterfest cakes,” Villison teased, revealing another bottle. “Now you can’t have this one, it’s for Sawbones. I was going to give this other one to Menders, but I observe that he don’t drink much. Since I have something else for him, I’ll give it to Hemmett’s pa, he likes a drink in the evening. Now here’s what I got for my Princess. What do you think of that, Cook dear? It’ll look a treat around her neck.” He held up a strand of Surelian firestones that made Cook goggle.
“Villison, this is all contraband!” she declared.
“Well of course it is, old darling,” he replied with satisfaction. “Don’t worry, I paid for it all.”
“With a soldier’s wage?”
“No, with the money I made from the contraband I took over there, Mordanian wine, kirz, waterstone jewelry. I’m a scoundrel but I’m not a thief. All that contraband nonsense is stupid anyway. Why shouldn’t we be able to buy things and bring them here?”
“Villison, are you insane?” Menders asked from the doorway.
Villison answered calmly. He’d obviously known Menders was standing there but had never given the slightest indication.
“No, just a shrewd businessman. I’ve been trading in contraband for years, on my own time. I’ve got no time for ridiculous laws. It’d help both countries a treat if we were able to trade freely, but some folks just don’t see it. Here, I don’t think you have a Surelian hunting knife with a firestone handle do you?”
Villison tossed a wrapped bundle to Menders and merrily continued unpacking, unfurling another stra
nd of gems, this time Surelian smoke sapphires.
“I thought these just the color of your lovely Eiren’s eyes, so they go to her,” he pronounced gloatingly. “And this here is a little pistol for me good mate Hemmett, wherever he is, probably out chasing women. Take a look at this beauty, Menders.” He unwrapped an impressive handgun and displayed it. Menders took it, feeling as if he was trapped in a bizarre dream.
“This is a Surelian Barga & Sincta 44.04,” he said incredulously. “They’re illegal!”
“Not where I got it. Don’t act like you’re not a man of the world, Head of House, it don’t become ya,” Villison grinned. “Now then, I’ve got a nice bit of Surelian silk for Little Man, who’s upstairs hunched over his sewing machine, I’ll take bets on it, and a box of them sweets our Kaymar is so mad over. He can fight with his man over who gets the best ones. The rest of this will pay for me next trip to Fambré, where I’ll sell it all and come back with more goodies.” Villison ended his rapid patter by hefting the still bulging duffel and heading off toward his room. Menders followed in his wake.
“Where is old Hemmett anyway, I want to shock him into speechlessness with his prezzie,” Villison grinned, heaving the duffel onto his bed and retrieving the gun from Menders.
“He’s taken Katrin over to the school,” Menders replied. “Villison, you have to know that I’m concerned about this.”
“Eh well, no need to be. I been doing it for years,” the little man answered contentedly. “Where do you think Sir gets his Surelian brandy from?”
“Commandant Komroff knew you were doing this? You were doing this when you were a cadet?” Menders said in astonishment.
“Sure! Been doing it since I started at the Academy. Slip out during a vacation break, pop over to Surelia, do my buying and selling, pop back over to school, easy as you please. Then next break, over to Fambre, sell and buy, back home again. No-one ever suspects a little innocent cadet now do they? They think me pack is full of apples for me to gnaw if I get hungry.” Villison chuckled to himself and began stowing his various parcels around the room.
“Now that I’m a proper Mordanian soldier, no-one stops me at customs when I come back home. I just walk through, very upright and correct in me uniform,” he continued. “In Surelia, well, I’ve been bribing those officials for so long it isn’t funny. They know me by sight and wave me on. No danger of me bringing trouble here, Menders, or I wouldn’t do it.”
“I can’t have Katrin’s safety risked, Villison, you know that.”
“Yeah, I should say, being as I’m one of her Guard,” Villison grinned, no sarcasm or disrespect in his voice. “It won’t come here, that I promise. My word is as good as gold. Ask Hemmett, if you won’t believe me. Problem is, Menders, you’ve read all that stuff Hemmett used to write when he was all carried away with how funny things were. Some of it was tripe and lots more was exaggerated. You’re also used to being father to half the young folks here, but I don’t need a father. I had a good one, though he died too young, and I had a loving nursey and a damned nice Mamma too, though she never knew just what to make of me. Always said I was her darling little changeling boy.
“So let old Vil be about his business and know I would never do anything that would endanger my Princess. If they ever do come after me, you don’t know nothing – but trust me, nobody’s coming after me, not with what I know of real contraband smuggling, including the Queen’s bloody Chamberlain, puffed up Surytamian twit.”
Menders sat down in one of Villison’s chairs and eased the door shut.
“You’re joking,” he said.
“No sir, I’m not,” the young man answered, climbing up on the bed. He settled against the headboard and laid out three parcels he’d left out of his duffel. “He’s been running contraband for years, most of the Council too. One of the reasons they keep passing policies against trade – they’re getting bloody rich off of it while they hurt all the little businessmen who could be doing much better if they could trade in foreign goods. I’m small time if they ever decide to put heads on pikes. Very unlikely that is too, considering how the country is being run.”
“How do you know these things about the Chamberlain and Council? I knew about it but how do you know about it?”
“I been around and about, I get to know who people are.”
Menders shook his head. “No, Villison, that’s not how you know them. You wouldn’t have had time to know that much, getting information that way.”
“Ah, smart fellow,” Villison grinned. “All right, me father was the Earl of Barlwaite.”
“What?”
“Do you really think a little street sparrow with an Artreyan accent you couldn’t cut with an axe would be at the Mordanian Royal Military Academy? Menders, you shock me, old fellow,” Villison grinned, having shifted from his lower class Artreyan accent to an upper crust Mordanian twang in the blink of an eye. “I’m higher born than you are, Lord Stettan.”
Menders burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it. He’d been completely duped.
“Here, let me take that from you before you drop it and shatter the handle,” Villison grinned, holding his hand out for the parcel Menders was still clutching. “Didn’t Hemmett ever tell you?”
“No, the bastard,” Menders gasped.
“Ah well, he figures it’s my business,” Villison said, shifting back to his Artreyan street drawl. “Actually, this is the way I really talk. Learned from me nursey, who took care of me because me big brother, Roley – Rolant, really, but we call him Roley – was a sickly child. Poor Mamma was busy with him and doctors and suchlike most of the time. I can sound as high class as you wish, but it’s more natural for me to talk like this. I’m a Lord meself. It’s an extinct title, no land or income. Me family’s got a ton of useless titles to share around, Roley had to take two so they were used up. I do have an income. Roley arranged one for me because he felt that bad about inheriting and me not supposed to have one pennig.”
“Then why the Army? Why military school when you were so miserable there?”
“Wasn’t miserable, just not interested. I would have liked Special Services. I think I’m cut out for it, but it just destroyed Mamma to think of me being trained as an assassin, though what she thinks soldiers do I’m not sure. Throw flowers at each other, maybe. Nice woman but not very bright. I thought the Army would be a good way to make connections, and I was right. It’s just that I find it boring, like school. So I made me own life outside of it all.”
Menders stood and walked over to the window, while Villison occupied himself opening one of his three parcels, extracting a nice length of Surelian lace and spreading it out on the bed cover. He started in on the next bundle, obviously unperturbed by Menders’ silent cogitation. An expensive bottle of perfume was revealed and set beside the lace.
“I need someone like you,” Menders said. “I’m tempted to take you with us to Surelia and wherever else we go, but I need you here. Can you work with Haakel and Miss Dalmanthea? Do you get along? And can you combine working with them with your regular Guard duties? Security won’t be that vital with Katrin gone but it must be maintained consistently.”
“Love them like family,” Villison said contentedly. “Haakel’s a good man and I live for the opportunity to polish Gladdy’s boots. I can do both. Keeping more than one ball in the air at a time is me business. And as you see, I got reason to stay here.” He unwrapped the third, smallest parcel and revealed a jewelry box. He flicked open the lid to display a Surelian greenstone ring set in heavy gold. He handed the box to Menders.
“Petra?” Menders asked, admiring the ring. It was stunning.
“Of course, in time. I’m not about to bump Mister Ordstrom so I can marry Cook,” Villison chortled. “It’s early yet, but I won’t be jaunting off to Surelia again while you lot are travelling, so I’m thinking ahead. She gets the lace and perfume now. I don’t expect to be disappointed, but all ladies deserve a courtship before settling down.”
Menders handed the ring back, feeling as if his head was spinning. Petra was one of The Shadows’ secretaries. She came from one of the estate farms, had attended Eiren’s first school and was Katrin’s close friend. He’d offered for her to travel with them, but she had declined. Now he knew why.
“She is quite young,” he said. “I feel as if she’s under my protection here…”
“Petra’s hard on twenty. Your lady was a good bit younger when she came home with you,” Villison replied.
Menders gave top marks to how rapidly this unlikely young man accumulated information. He’d only been at The Shadows for two months and he probably knew everything about everyone. He would rattle on to people and before they knew it, they were jabbering right back. He was disarming and came off as not paying much attention to you, when everything he heard was being stored away as securely as the packages he’d stashed all around his room.
Why am I trying to give this fellow advice, Menders thought. He’s miles ahead of the pack. He’s had a detour or two, out of misplaced pride, but if Hemmett trusts him so implicitly, who am I to distrust him?
Villison, thinking that Menders was still doubtful about his marriage plans, looked over at him with that lopsided grin pulling his left eye shut.
“When I see something I want, Menders, I get it – and I keep it. Petra’s safe with me, no fear. I’d never hurt her. I’m ready to settle down and Petra likes me. She wants to start a family and so do I. She’d always be taken care of. I have the means to keep her very well indeed.”
“How many peccadilloes of Hemmett’s did you take the heat for?” Menders asked blandly.
“Some. Hemmett didn’t get into too much trouble,” Villison grinned. “He had to work too hard to keep his grades where they were. It was important to him to be first in the class. Not to say that he wouldn’t throw out the occasional idea for mischief or get into it. I wanted him to keep a clean record, so yeah, I took the heat for him. He would look out for me later, because he knew he would get this posting. That doesn’t mean I was using him, now. I’d walk into a bullet for Hemmett. We wanted to work together. It was the best way to be sure we’d be posted together.”
Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series Page 6
