Fletcher (A Prydain novel Book 3)

by AJ Adams

  Our bodies moved together, lost in time, awash in rapture. I don’t remember coming again. I just floated away, every fibre of my being consumed with passion.

  When I came back to earth, Ware was stroking my hair. Hot, sweaty and smiling, he actually looked handsome in a hard kind of way. “I’ve no regrets,” he whispered. “You’re a treasure, Lind.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself, Ware.” I meant it, too. I was warm, comfortable, fed, and feeling good about myself and my future. I hugged the muscled body impulsively. “I’m enjoying this.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He leaned up and blew out the candle. Then, in the dark, he added grievously, “And stop calling me Ware!”

  Chapter Eleven: Fletcher

  Staying in Caern was a real problem. As I’d expected, I was the target for anyone with a grudge since the dispute. When I walked in the city, I had to carry my bow. That’s unheard of in peacetime, so it had people staring. Lind’s collar marked me, too, so I reckoned being properly armed was the safest option.

  Working for the constable meant people knew where to find me during working hours. The constable sent me two good men, but as the cottage stood by the gates, there was lots of foot traffic. The press of people inevitably distracted the guards, allowing vengeful types to slip by.

  All in all, life was loaded with interest. After I put down that first lot, I had to deal with two brothers seeking revenge for their father, a man out for a burnt down shop, and finally a trio who didn’t bother to state their claim.

  I dealt with them and went about my business, setting up the workshop.

  “It takes about three days to dry new wood properly,” I told Lind. “We use the time to make glue, sort and dye feathers and make sure we’ve enough twine.”

  “Do I do that?” Lind was dying to start work.

  “You help, but I’ve sent a boy to collect some wood for you to practice on.” I was rewarded with a shriek of pleasure. “The essential first steps are to select, cut and strip. Do it well, and I’ll let you see some of my work next week.”

  For three whole days, Lind was angelic. Well, apart from the constant cursing, “Tyr’s warty prick!” and “Freyja’s creamy purse!” that she used freely when she cut herself, got splinters or merely for punctuation.

  My “Lind, don’t curse,” invariably got me a “Sorry” but not much else.

  Her manners were generally dreadful. For the most I got her to stop calling me Ware, but then I realised something else. Lind was pushing me around.

  I noticed it when Eward sent me a message, inviting me over for supper. “He wants to hear of your travels in the east,” Peony, his pretty little thrall told me. “If you can spare the time, Master Ware. We have roast duck tonight.”

  I’d intended to take Lind to the evening market, but the prospect of excellent wine and company lured me into changing my plans. There was bread and cheese and leftover soup, too, so Lind wouldn’t starve. “Tell him I’m on my way.”

  When I went to change my shirt, Lind was there. “Shall I come with you, sir?”

  “No. You stay here and have some supper. I’ll be back late.”

  Her face fell. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

  Instantly I felt guilty. “We’ll go out for chocolate in the morning.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  It would be awkward, as I’d planned to watch the archers practice, but I told myself that Lind had been awfully good.

  As the thought went through my mind, I glanced over and saw Lind grinning. “Enjoy your evening with your friend, sir.”

  That twinge of guilt worked again. I’d be eating roast duck with the constable while Lind made do with leftovers. I would buy her some more sweets. “We’ll buy some marzipan, too.”

  “You spoil me, sir.”

  There was a look in her eyes that told me she was up to mischief. That’s when it dawned on me. Every time Lind called me sir, I rewarded her. How on earth that had happened was beyond me.

  For a moment I thought I was imagining it, but then I looked over the last few days and it was clear. Lind called me nothing at all when we were working. The sirs were only out in full force when she was after something.

  Lind had pushed me into taking her out, buying her sweets, doing whatever she pleased, with just that one little word. It came as a shock, but I had to face facts. Instead of me training her, she’d been manipulating me. It was clear Lind had zero respect for me.

  I thought about it while Eward treated me to supper, an excellent one, by the way, and seeing how his thrall behaved around him, deeply respectful and honestly caring, I decided I’d been right. My girl was a conniving minx.

  I tackled her the second I got home. She’d made chicken soup with carrots, simple but delicious, and as usual, she was polishing it off with enthusiasm.

  “I made glue and sorted a bag of feathers,” she said. Her tone was friendly, but she didn’t get up or offer to help me with my cloak and boots. Not that I wanted it, but she should have done so. It rankled.

  “Lind, respect is also part of the training.”

  “I know. Of course I respect you.”

  “Respect you what?”

  “Lots!”

  “Lind!”

  She put down her spoon and looked humble. “Of course I respect you, sir. You know I do, sir.”

  I listened to the impudent sirs punctuating every sentence with growing anger. “I know what you’ve been doing, Lind. I deserve your respect.”

  Lind looked me right in the eyes and shrugged. “I swore to Tyr never to call anyone master again.”

  Ridiculous, right?

  “What? Aren’t thralls supposed to be god-fearing?” Lind was angry-eyed again, and she did have a point. Everyone from the duke downwards has to respect the gods. If not, there would be no order, and chaos would destroy us.

  But still! I wanted to spank her, really I did, but it wouldn’t do any good. Those little white lines all over her body were proof the floggings had turned her sour. I forced myself to speak lightly. “But did you swear an oath to call no man sir?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Sir will do. A respectful one.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The tone was there, but so were the eyes. It was hopeless. Lind was incapable of respect. I could hardly beat it into her, either. I needed her cooperation.

  I stood there, furious, knowing there wasn’t a damn thing I could do. No matter what she called me from now on, I’d be suspicious. It was intolerable. Maybe I should sell her and just go and buy a tumbler in Tanweld. Surely they weren’t all like Lind.

  “I had some extra time so I polished the oak shafts.” She was rummaging in my workbag. “I used the fine grade paper like you said.” She held up a dozen shafts, each of them perfect. “I groomed Wolf, too.”

  While I’d been enjoying myself, Lind had been working. Not just her own tasks, either. It was my job to groom Wolf. I’d meant to do it in the morning.

  “You’re a damn pest,” I heard myself say. “How am I going to beat you now?”

  Lind stared at me, and then she got the giggles. “Spanking good fun!” she laughed.

  She was so pretty that I took her straight to bed. She was spectacular there, sweet perfection, limber and passionate. “Can I try on top again?”

  “Yes, but this time, turn around.”

  “What?”

  “In the east it’s called a reverse lady rider.”

  “The ladies there ride cocks?”

  “The ones I met, yes.”

  Lind giggled and rode me into heaven. I fell into a deep contented sleep, and the next morning, watching her delight in her hot chocolate, I decided I was pushing too hard for change.

  It had taken years to sour this girl, and it would take more than a few days to rehabilitate her. After all, she was consistently spectacular between the sheets, and while she continued to be dreadfully disrespectful at home, the sirs were in evidence when we went out.

  As long as
nobody else realised what she was really like, I would let it slide. I wasn’t sure of her obedience, so strengthening our bond was a priority.

  I know, I gave up. But I was too proud to admit it.

  I set up the workshop, kept a close eye and tight rein on Lind, and two days later, after repelling more angry citizens smarting from the dispute, we got a visit from the constable.

  “Ware, you’re filling the duke’s jail.” He was smiling, though, and he came flanked with two more guards as well as six servants carrying bundles of ash, yew and oak, some seasoned, some new, some with bark and some stripped. “The justiciar is most upset.”

  “As am I, sir. These vendettas are interrupting our work.”

  “I’ve bought two more of my personal guard. That should secure your perimeter.”

  “Thank you.”

  Eward looked around, spotting Lind, who was stripping branches. Seeing her calm, quiet and intent, he smiled. “Everything going well, then?”

  “Excellent. Lind is a fast learner.”

  At that she looked up, of course. I knew she recognised the constable, and she must have known by his rich robes that she should have stood and made her curtsy, but my difficult girl went back to her work, pretending innocence.

  “A quick study but rebellious to the core,” Eward grinned.

  He didn’t seem to mind, so I ignored my wayward girl and we got down to business. As I’d suspected, he had plenty of good craftsmen.

  “I want to lay in stocks of specialty weapons,” he reminded me.

  “Right, a supply of the armour-piercing Annihilators and the Flamethrowers.”

  “Right.”

  “For the Annihilators, do you want light cavalry armour or knights?”

  “Both.”

  “For the Flamethrowers, slow burners or long distance?”

  “Both.”

  “All right. We should be able to provide you with a decent amount of stock in the weeks we’re here.”

  “You haven’t shown me your newest inventions.”

  “Nobody in Prydain has seen them.” I saw Eward stiffen with attention. Maybe I’d be able to renegotiate our deal. “And much as I’d love to show you, I’m not giving it away at Guild prices. We made a deal for Annihilators and Flamethrowers only. We can talk about my other stock on my next visit.”

  Eward bit. “Wait six months? No, by Wotan, I won’t! Show me and we can talk.”

  At this, I saw Lind raise her head and stare. She was learning how valuable it is to have skills. Good, it would help keep her in line.

  I took out my latest and best invention. “This is a Thunderclap. It looks like an ordinary arrow but it can destroy castles.”

  I said it looked ordinary, but it doesn’t. My Thunderclap is made of oak, dyed black, and the shaft is impregnated with iron pyrites, fool’s gold, so it glitters. The feathers are deep yellow, and the tip is dipped in pyrites, too, so it looks darkly rich and menacing.

  “It destroys castles? How?” The constable was excited just looking at my work.

  “See this taper? The arrow functions in a way similar to the Brighthelme musket.”

  “Does it? Wotan’s hairy balls, but I’d love to have a musket!” Eward exclaimed. “The duke has one.”

  “Does he like it?” The muskets are too rare yet to rival my business, but it’s as well to keep up with the times. “Is it efficient?”

  “Not really,” Eward sighed. “It only fires once, and by the time you’ve reloaded, you’re dead. It’s deadly and easy to use, but you’d need men to cover you in a fight.”

  That was good news. For me, not the duke. “Well, my work combines the best of the musket and traditional archery. My new ‘Thunderclap’ delivers explosive power to the mortar that holds castle walls together.”

  “Does it by god.” Eward was interested, but Lind was practically peeing herself with excitement. “How about a demonstration?”

  “Of course, sir.” I was deliberately casual and determinedly ignoring the puppy eyes my thrall was making. “We’ll need a bit of wall you don’t mind reconstructing.”

  “We’ve plenty of that, as you well know,” Eward said dryly.

  “Okay. Let me get my gear.”

  Lind couldn’t stand it anymore. “Can I come?” Her eyes were wide and pleading. “Pleeeeease?” And then, hastily, “Sir.”

  Eward was carefully blank. Me, I gave her a hard look. “You want to join the constable?”

  She’s by no means a fool, my wayward girl. She took one look at Eward, and then she was up and giving him her best, most humble curtsy. “I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t recognise you. Pray forgive my rudeness.”

  She sounded sweet as honey, and neither of us was fooled for a second. Even so, Eward smiled. “I think the bigger the audience, the better.”

  “Lind will profit from this,” I said casually. “It’s always better for a novice to see the finished product in use. Knowledge of exactly how it’s used helps hone craftsmanship.”

  Eward was staring at me. “She’s your apprentice?”

  Lind was frozen, her eyes filled with worry.

  “I’m training my thrall as my assistant.”

  “An assistant, not an apprentice.” Eward knew the law and understood immediately how I was bending it to my purposes. “Does Guild Steward Duggard know?”

  “How I deal with my thrall is hardly his business.”

  Eward collapsed in laughter. “Wotan’s balls, Ware! He’s already been round to scream about our deal. He’s going to have a heart attack when he hears of this.”

  “Yes, he seems very emotional.”

  “Please Wotan I’ll be there to see when he hears!” Eward didn’t like the Guild steward either. “He’s got a rod up his arse, and he loves to hear himself speak, which means he turns a five-minute meeting into a three-hour debate, every single fucking time.”

  I felt for him. To Eward, constable and soldier to the bone, action was meat and drink. The steward’s penchant for clerking must have irked. Luckily for Eward, word went round that we were holding a small exhibition, and the steward came running.

  We Guild aren’t miserly merchants who squabble over every deal in order to secure some extra coppers, but the truth is that when you create a product, you have to sell it.

  I’m a master craftsman, so my work speaks for itself, but I talk it up as much as I can in order to make the most of my opportunities. That means getting a good audience and then working them up a little. When you’re as good as I am, that’s not too difficult.

  We were standing by an old part of the east wall, one of the few bits still standing, and I was in the middle of my sales pitch when the steward arrived.

  I was just getting round to practicalities. “Constable, could you order your biggest man to try and tear down a bit of that wall?”

  A six foot tall guard who was broad as a bear climbed up a ladder and heaved impressively.

  “Give him a hammer,” I called out.

  A hammer did nothing.

  “A stout citizen to help!”

  It always works wonders to get the general population involved. They can talk up a craftsman better than a raft of Guild awards.

  “I can’t shift it, sir,” the guard called down.

  “Good. We’ve proved it’s solid then.” I took out my Thunderclap, showing it to the crowd of guards, shopkeepers, housewives, servants and a score of kids.

  “Made of oak, hard as the Caern duke’s prick, erm, pride” a gale of laughter, “with a blade as sharp as the Guild steward’s nose for a lost copper!” More laughter, but not from the red-beard himself. “Watch, good people of Caern, as the Thunderclap buries itself in this mighty wall and blows it apart!”

  I took hold of my longbow, nocked the arrow and drew. “Lind, light the taper.”

  To my astonishment, my girl was sparkling in the sunlight. Her hair was shining, her skin soft and glowing. The whistles and cheers made her blush. The colour made her eyes shimmer. The smile wa
s to die for, too. She was gorgeous, and for a moment I was stunned—and solid. The crowd knew, and the cheers were so loud that they must have heard us in Haven.

  Lind tossed her hair, pretending not to care for the crowd’s appreciation, and lit the fuse. We were back in business.

  “Ready?” The smoke from the taper was swirling in the air. “Here we go!”

  I fired at the top of the wall, putting my arrow into a groove between three stones. It sank in deep, there was a breathless hush, and then the arrow burst into flame and the wall blew apart.

  As a shower of dust and rock floated over us, Eward was crowing. “Make me as many as you can!”

  “Our deal was for Annihilators and Flamethrowers.”

  “Make me these, too.”

  “Not for minimum payment, I’m not.”

  Of course he couldn’t resist. “We’ll renegotiate.”

  “Okay.” I would’ve gone home, but the crowd was demanding a treat.

  “Show us a Flamethrower!”

  “Put three arrows into a penny circle!”

  “Can you beat our master bowman?”

  I refused to get into a contest with their own hero, but we set fire to a dummy with a Flamethrower and put a hole in a steel plate with an Annihilator. Afterwards, I put six arrows into a circle painted around a copper. It’s an easy trick if you have a reasonable eye, but as few civilians see archers in battle or practice, they went wild.

  My thrall was no exception. Lind was bouncing on the balls of her feet, excitement oozing out of every pore.

  When we started walking back to the duke’s keep, Duggard joining us, no doubt anxious to secure ten percent of our renegotiated deal, she was dancing by my side, eyes sparkling and a smile brighter than the sun. “That was brilliant! I’ve never seen anything like it. Ware, will you teach me to shoot like that?”

  The steward was instantly pinch lipped. “You cheeky wench! May Wotan hear and punish you!”

  Lind completely ignored him. “Pleeeeeease?”

  “Yes, but stop calling me Ware!”

  “Right, sorry, I forgot. Sir.” I ignored the fact that she wasn’t sorry at all. She was so happy, so filled with delight, that she made me feel indulgent. “We’re going to make Flamethrowers? Really?”