Fletcher (A Prydain novel Book 3)

by AJ Adams

  Feeling me gaze at her, Lind raised her eyes. “Aren’t you having any?”

  “I don’t like sweet things.”

  “I was wondering why you wanted me.” She didn’t miss a beat. “That explains it.”

  I just sat there, totally taken aback. Thralls don’t cheek their owners. Also, it suddenly occurred to me that she wasn’t calling me sir, master or lord, as she ought to. Still, never engage when the horse bucks or bites. Just reward good behaviour. “Absolutely. Now, if you’ve finished, let’s go shopping.”

  She came along without difficulty, and after we stopped in to see Wolf and feed him an apple, it was time for the market.

  “What’s your favourite colour, Lind?”

  I got a blank-eyed gaze. “I never thought about it.”

  Unbelievable! But I went on as if she were perfectly sweet. “You look great in blue.”

  She gave me sardonic look. “Thanks, Ware.”

  Talking to me as if we were equals! It really was too much. I almost snapped at her, but then I remembered that Wolf had me off three times before he decided to accept me.

  I’d never been angry with my horse, but Lind was pushing all my buttons. Seeing she was human, probably, and capable of reasoning, presumably, I resolved it wouldn’t hurt to remind her whips existed. I’d linger when shopping, and we’d take in the day’s flogging. That would give her some much needed perspective.

  Caern is famous for its cloth, so there was plenty of choice. At first Lind was stoic, pretending not to care, but I spotted her quietly admiring an apple green tunic. I’m not fond of that colour, and it’s not great for the road as it shows up every speck of dust, but it was an opportunity to show her how rewarding being my girl could be.

  “Try it on, Lind.”

  You know, the dark hair and eyes went well with it? But the material was too light for the road. It was really a tunic for indoors, and for a Guildsman’s spoilt daughter, not a working thrall. But I saw Lind’s eyes, determined not to care, and I knew what to do.

  “Take it and wear it for special occasions.”

  She was incredulous. “What?”

  “We’ll take the black skirt; it’s the most sensible for travel, and this blue tunic to go with it. The green is for when we stay in the city.”

  With buying tunics, several shifts and then black boots and thick socks, too, I spent a fortune that morning. Lind was quiet, carrying our purchases, neatly wrapped in paper, and I saw she was softening. I was pleased, thinking it would make her more receptive to me but determined to speed the process along with a healthy reminder of the brutal alternatives out there.

  Caern is a busy place, twenty thousand people inside its walls, and so the main market is always busy in the morning. Now, however, there was a little surge, and then the sound of drums. The justiciar was arriving, reading out the day’s sentences. I walked through the press of people, propelling Lind in front of me.

  They had a young thrall up there, caught for stealing from his master, a baker. They’d stripped him as was the custom, and from the bruises, he’d had a bad time in the cells already. He hung from the whipping post, white-faced and frightened. I could see over the crowd, but little Lind was too short. However, she could hear every word.

  “Six lashes,” the justiciar roared. “For his correction, for his shame and as an example to others. Six lashes. And may Wotan have mercy on him.”

  Lind stiffened and began moving backwards. I put my hands on her shoulders, thrusting her to the front. A citizen, plump and prosperous, took a look at my girl and then grinned at me.

  “This should be good. There’s a hanging after, too.”

  Lind was stubborn as a mule, digging in her heels and refusing to move. I had the brilliant idea of taking her by the waist and lifting her off her feet.

  The citizen was laughing. “An example for wayward thralls?”

  The damn fool! At his words, Lind looked over her shoulder and hissed, “Why don’t you fuck off?”

  The man went white and then red. “You wicked wench!”

  My heart sank. I knew how this would go. I could feel my wretched girl powering up. “Tyr’s warty—” I dropped her, whipped a hand over her mouth and muffled the “—cock up your arse” that I was certain was next.

  The plump fellow was vibrating with rage. “Sir! If I may say so, your thrall—”

  “Will be taken home and given the beating of a lifetime,” I promised swiftly, conscious of a squirming Lind, eyes snapping with fury. “A wicked girl, indeed. My apologies, sir.”

  I was pushing out of the crowd, holding on to Lind, muffling her with my cloak, when the order, “Begin the lashing!” roared out. The crowd fell silent and then there was a crack followed by a piercing shriek. Lind jumped. A second shriek and she was ripping away from me. “Cowards!” she screamed. “Curse you all!”

  Faces were turning towards us, and I knew with certain horror that I had to get us out and away fast. If I didn’t, someone would lodge a complaint, of blasphemy maybe, or disturbing the peace, and then the law would demand she be made an example of.

  “Fuckers!” Lind yelled.

  “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” I hissed. “For Apollo’s sake, Lind! Shut up!”

  Lind was a curse away from the whipping post, and maybe she realised it because she shut up.

  The relief that flooded through me was swiftly followed by fury. I half-dragged and half-pushed her away from the market crowd, into a side street, and then again into a small lane. It was gloomy, dirty, but it was deserted, which meant I had the privacy I needed to throttle my wayward thrall.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” I snarled.

  Lind was unrepentant. “Didn’t go to plan, did it?”

  “What?” I was so angry that I’d forgotten my original purpose.

  “Be nice to the new thrall so she’ll want to please you and to make sure she’s obedient, threaten her with a whipping.”

  She’d seen straight through me. I was astounded.

  “Well then,” Lind challenged me. “Go ahead, beat me.”

  “By heaven, I should!”

  “Just try it!”

  We were so intent on our fight that neither of us noticed we were no longer alone.

  “Well now, a lover’s quarrel?”

  The rough voice brought us both back with a jump. He was tall, six feet at least, as broad as a bear, and his two companions weren’t lightweights, either. They were feral, wearing thick leather jerkins and carrying knives. Caern is a big city, and this lot were bottom-feeding scum, preying on the unwary. In my fury, I had led us straight into trouble.

  “Rich pickings,” the leader grinned. “Hand over the purse.”

  I reached for Lind, intending to push her behind me, but she flowed out of the way.

  “And we’ll have the thrall’s pretty bundle, too,” one of the sidekicks said. “Hand it over, precious.”

  “Get lost,” she snapped at him. “All of you can go fuck yourselves!”

  By their looks of surprise, they hadn’t come across a Lind before, either. It made me smile.

  “She’s got dreadful manners,” I said sympathetically. “But she’s right. You won’t get my purse or her parcel.”

  While I talked, I was eyeing them up. They were confident and competent, the big man in front of us and the other two blocking our exit. They were sober, too, and the knives were sharp and serviceable. I regretted my bow, sitting back in my room. I was carrying just a small knife, nothing meant for trouble.

  Oh well. Better finish this quickly. “Lind, stay out of the way.” I kicked out at the big man, my boot taking him square in the chest. I have my boots reinforced. It makes them hard-wearing, and in a fight, if anyone does come close, it gives me an edge. A steel one.

  In battle, men wear armour. As these men wore leather, my boot crushed bones. Blood bubbles were pouring out of his mouth, a sign of broken ribs entering the lungs. I moved around, kicking up again and catching one of the o
thers in the gut. Unfortunately, the third was smart and quick. Instead of going for me, he caught Lind by the arm and put his knife at her neck. “Not so fast,” he snarled. “You don’t want me to cut her now, do you?”

  I hesitated, seeing the blade right over Lind’s jugular.

  “I’ll have her, and I’ll bleed her dry while I’m taking her,” the little thug snarled.

  “No, you won’t, pillock.” Lind leaned away, curling backwards at an impossible angle, and then flipped over his shoulder. “Get him, Ware!”

  My boot was already in his gut. He went down with a moan, and then I was grabbing Lind by the shoulders and yelling, “How dare you speak to me that way, you cheeky little—”

  We were powering up for another fight when two things happened simultaneously. A woman opened a window, saw us and began screaming. At the same time, I noticed the bear’s leather jerkin had ripped open. Underneath, I spotted a raven on a purple background. This was no ordinary thug. This was one of the men who’d destroyed my family.

  All thought of disciplining Lind fled. I looked at that raven, and fury possessed me. This was someone who could lead me to Ranulf. I had no doubt he’d tell me exactly where to find the killer knight, because I’d tear him apart with my bare hands.

  Chapter Four: Lind

  Ware was bloody angry and I didn’t care. Actually, I welcomed it. I was dying for a fight.

  “Be nice to the new thrall so she’ll want to please you, and to make sure she’s obedient, threaten her with a whipping,” I snarled. I wasn’t settling for any of that shit anymore, and I was ready to throw the pretty clothes he’d bought me in his face and then bash him.

  Then those morons tried to rob us.

  I have to say, the fletcher was whip-fast, and the way he kicked up, his foot flashing home at shoulder height, I saw he was almost as limber as me. It took just seconds for him to put down three armed fighters. None of them had even a hope of getting near him. Slight, slender Ware Fletcher was as deadly as a snake.

  He was hopping mad at me still, and then I baited him by calling him Ware. He grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me, “How dare you speak to me like that?”

  I was going to push back—I’m not a sensitive blossom who faints at a fight—but then this woman opened a window, saw what was going on and began screaming.

  I was expecting charm and smarm, but Ware ignored her completely. He let me go and then he was kneeling down, looking at the big thug’s vest, and his face made me freeze in my tracks. This wasn’t Ware being mad at me; this was a different animal altogether.

  The rage I’d sensed on and off in him was out for anyone to see. His lips had thinned, his brows were furrowed, but that was nothing compared to his eyes; they were blazing, the grey almost entirely black with fury.

  I instinctively backed away, expecting him to belt me. But he just thought for a second, and then he was standing up and reaching for my wrist. “Come with me.”

  His grip was like a cuff, and he was moving so quickly that I had to run to keep up. The screaming woman slammed the window shut when she spotted his face. I didn’t blame her. Between you and me, I was afraid, too. The fletcher looked like he was one of the dark ones, straight from Svartalfheim.

  “Halt!” Two men-at-arms were making their way to us, attracted by the screaming, I guess. “What’s going on here?”

  Ware stopped and snapped, “Where is the constable? Three robbers just attacked us.”

  “You don’t need to see him for that.” One of them, a fellow with pimply skin, red as raspberries, was looking Ware up and down. Seeing the expensive clothes, he added, “Sir.”

  “You still have your purse,” the other observed.

  Ware reconsidered and I saw the flame go out of his eyes. The charm switched back on. “I am Ware Fletcher and I need to see Eward Greenwood, the constable.”

  “Master Ware?” Instantly the two stood to attention. “The master fletcher?” Raspberry-face was totally rapt. “The inventor of the four bladed Annihilator arrow that penetrates steel armour?”

  “I am he.”

  “We saw you at Volgard, when you worked for our duke.”

  Then the two guards fawned over him. It was totally sickening. They were all “master craftsman” this and “genius invention” that. Of course, Ware was lapping it up. The pride shone out of him, but he got them straight back to business. “I have left our assailants in the alley behind us.”

  “Dead, sir?”

  “Oh no.”

  The younger guard darted off and came rushing back, raving, “They’re still there. Out cold!” which had the other one saying, “Three against one? Well done, sir!”

  He blew on a whistle, and several other guards appeared. We were escorted to the duke’s palace, with all of them crawling over Ware, who was trying to look humble, but also determined to see his pal, the constable.

  “The constable is inspecting the cavalry,” the doorman said. He eyed us up and down. “Didn’t expect to see you here again, Master Fletcher. By yourself, are you?”

  “Indeed,” Ware said curtly.

  I was missing something. The tension was incredible.

  “Well now,” the doorman said insolently. “You’ll have to wait.”

  I thought Ware would explode. There was the lip thinning, the fiery eyes and his hand tightened on my wrist like a vice. But he just said, “It would seem so. I will wait on the constable, but first I have an errand.”

  That errand was me.

  Ware dragged me back to the smith’s forge at a double quick march. He was so speedy that I was breathless by the time we got there.

  “Sit, stay and shut up,” he pushed me into a chair and disappeared into the back. I hate smiths. Just sitting there was making my collar burn and my hips hurt. You see, smiths are the ones who collar and brand you.

  I’ve got three brands. My first owner, the baker, didn’t bother, but several of the others, pigs all of them, did. So I had a crown-like burn for the jongleur on my right hip and a musket from the smith on my left. Jarvis put a big J right underneath the musket. Now all of them were red hot, just with the memories.

  I sat there, getting mad again, when Ware came back, carrying a parcel. “Come.” The eyes were stormy again, and I didn’t want to get thumped so I did as I was told. He took me back to the inn and straight upstairs to his room. “Sit.” I was pushed onto the four-poster, and Ware was unwrapping his parcel.

  He’d bought shackles. The cuffs were solid steel, a half-inch thick; the chain was even heavier. The bronze padlocks were large and had the mark of a master locksmith. I’d seen their like only once, and that was when they were taking Giant Gerry, the crazy mass murderer, to the gallows.

  “Now wait a minute!” I was trying to push Ware away, shoving at his shoulders, but he wasn’t shifting. He threw me onto my back, whipped off my brand new boots, and then I was shackled. I was furious. “You’re chaining me like a damn galley slave?”

  “I’m busy and I can’t keep an eye on you.” Ware was speaking calmly, absently, even. I had the strange feeling that he wasn’t even seeing me. “My tools can cut through these, but it would take you days.” He put a finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him. “If you mess up my equipment trying, I will beat you.”

  He meant it. There was no doubt in my mind. He was talking quietly, but Ware was incandescent.

  I didn’t get it. He’d been angry at the market and fuming when I cheeked him, but this icy black rage was different. Something about that thug in the alley had gotten to him. God knows what it was, I mean, the man was unconscious when Ware had suddenly lost it, but I wasn’t going to push.

  Call me a coward, but I was remembering the night I’d tried to get out of doing one of that pig Jarvis’ friends, a foot soldier called Dan Black.

  “He gets his kicks from choking me and he’s drunk,” I told Jarvis. “He’ll kill me. I’m not doing it.”

  “Never talk back to me!”

  Jarvis had b
eaten me purple, and then I’d been given to Black for two days as punishment. Looking at Ware, I was remembering the punches that had blacked my eyes and bruised my ribs so much that I passed out every time Black climbed on top of me. I guess it meant I hadn’t been aware of him choking me, but the memory of the pain was flooding back, and it was paralysing.

  Ware looked me over and marched out. Me, I sat on the bed, having a case of the shakes. I was half convinced he’d come back and beat me so I hugged myself, telling myself that I was perfectly fine and that Ware hadn’t done a thing even after I tried to kill him. The problem was that I wasn’t convincing me much at all. All the slaps, punches and canes over the years flooded back.

  “Here’s your supper.” Ware was marching back in, a tray in his hands. “Lind, mind my words. Stay, and don’t even think about causing trouble.”

  I didn’t answer because I was mesmerised by the tray. Bread, cheese, roast chicken stewed with carrots, and a bowl of custard. It was a feast. Ware was a crazed raging maniac, but he wasn’t bashing me. The relief was overwhelming. So was the food. I was drooling.

  “Lind.” The slate eyes were dark. “Did you hear me?”

  “Yes.” I didn’t risk a ‘Ware’ just in case he took the tray back. And despite the Nice Master routine, he might still lash out.

  “Remember: behave yourself.”

  Ware marched off, banging the door shut behind him. There really was no telling what was going on in his mind. He was a complete lunatic. As the chicken smelled heavenly I decided to deal with important matters first. I tucked in.

  As I savoured the chicken, I was thinking that at least life with Ware included really good food, but then I realised that was what he wanted me to think, so I made myself ignore that. Except the cheese was so delicious that it kept sliding back in. The custard was putting in a vote, too.

  As I stuffed my face, I tried to figure him out. Ware had definitely tried to push my buttons, probably thinking he could train me like I was that horse of his. Well, I wouldn’t fall for it. I’d get away from him. The question was how to do it. With the shackles, my plan to steal his clothes and slide out of the city as a boy were sunk.