Fletcher (A Prydain novel Book 3)

by AJ Adams

  I was so shocked that I let go of the door and fell into the straw. He was going to hand me over, I was certain of it. I got to my knees and looked out again. Yes, Ware was bowing like a thrall, talking quietly, clearly grovelling. To make it worse, the steward wasn’t bowing even a little. He just stood there like a duke faced by a peasant. A grubby one at that.

  Then Eward was talking, clearly laying down the law, and both the steward and Ware were nodding. The steward was looking faintly smug, but Ware was blank-faced.

  “It’s decided then?” Eward was loud again. “Is justice served?”

  I thought it was over for me when Ware bowed again, humbly, and everyone else stood around, again not bowing back. Yes, Ware was publicly penitent, begging for forgiveness. He’d lost.

  But then the steward and his people marched off.

  I sat down in the straw, my knees weak as water. They’d gone and not taken me. Did it mean I was safe? Or were they sending a jailor for me?

  My heart was going like the clappers again. When they put you in a dungeon, you’re there to be used, and everyone gets to play. I was sick at the prospect of gang rape.

  “Lind, out.” Ware, looking abso-fucking-lutely furious. “Now.”

  I scrambled to my feet. “Will they take me away?”

  “No. Get inside and get on with your work.”

  “What happened?”

  Ware turned on me, looming menacingly, snarling, “Get. Inside. Now.”

  “Yessir, sorrysir.” I got. And once there, Ware went off with the constable. It looked like I was safe. From the whip, at least. Ware, however, might still strangle me. I’d let him, too. I was feeling awfully guilty.

  After feeding Wolf a soothing carrot, I cleaned the place till it was spotless, cooked a bacon and bean stew, made baked apples and then went to the workshop.

  I worked my fingers to the bone, hoping my labour would be taken as penance, but Ware didn’t notice because he didn’t come back. Instead, I got a visit from the constable’s thrall, Peony. I’d seen her before, when she’d been sent with invitations for Ware, but this was the first time we got to chat.

  She was a pretty girl, buxom, with long, glossy blonde hair and big green eyes. A typical looker employed by nobles and the very rich. Most castle thralls are snooty, but Peony was the bouncy, friendly kind.

  “Hi, Lind! Your master will be back late. He says you’re to groom and feed Wolf.”

  “Where is he? When will he be back?”

  Peony shrugged, “How would I know? And who cares?” She eyed my collar. “Is that really silver?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened here? There was a fight, the guards said. Was it about you? Did you really climb down the castle walls?”

  She went on and on, but all I could think of was that Ware must be furious with me. “Did Ware look really mad?”

  Peony stared at me. “What did you call him?”

  “Just tell me!”

  “He’s talking to the constable and some of the rangers. I only saw him for a minute,” Peony said. “He’s lovely, your master. He always remembers my name and asks how I am.”

  Right, Ware at his smoothest.

  “Did he send a message for me?”

  “Yes, to look after Wolf.”

  So no message. He really was mad at me.

  “You’re Lind, right? Does Master Ware really take you to the tavern with him? Did he really buy you chocolate?”

  “Yes.” And I’d not been grateful.

  “I wish he’d buy me,” Peony sighed. Her voice dropped. “How is he in bed?”

  Crap, I really had fucked up. “He’s the best.” But it also reminded me of essentials. “Peony, can you get me some tansy? There’s none here.”

  “Sure! There’s a big patch in the kitchen garden.”

  There would be. We thralls brew tansy tea to make sure we don’t get pregnant. It’s not foolproof, but if you mix it with yeast and do a bit of vigorous jumping up and down, it’s pretty good.

  At least, it’s always worked for me, thank Freyja. Okay, she’s usually the one to go to when you want brats, but being in the business, so to speak, I think she can help you go the other way, too.

  “I’ll come tomorrow,” Peony said. “We’re all dying to hear about Master Ware. It must be so glamorous to be his.”

  I said something noncommittal, and Peony went off. I went straight out to the stable. “Ware’s pissed off with me, Wolf. Do you think he’ll forgive me?”

  The horse enjoyed being groomed, he had his oats and hay, and all the time I was talking, trying to figure out why I was worried. “I hope he doesn’t beat me. But if it’s that or not teaching me, I’d rather he caned me daily.”

  The gods know I was a total idiot back then. I was totally focused on me. I had no thought for Ware at all. I was completely selfish. I wish someone had kicked my butt. It might have knocked some sense into me, considering my brains are probably in my backside.

  Anyway, Wolf had no advice, although he made me feel a bit better, so I went back inside and waited for Ware.

  After an hour, I changed my tunic and after another hour, I changed my shift. By the time the stars were out, I’d worn a path in the floor by pacing and poked the fire so much that the cottage was as hot as a dragon’s lair.

  I imagined Ware was at a banquet, although even master craftsmen don’t dine in duke’s halls, and then I decided that he must be doing green-eyed buxom Peony in the kitchen garden.

  I know: I was nuts. Also, being jealous should’ve told me I had feelings for the man, but I was so uptight that I wasn’t thinking straight. I was busy making up all kinds of scenarios in my head, like what he’d say, and what I’d say, what I’d do if he said he’d beat me, what I’d say if he said he wouldn’t train me, but when Ware pitched up well after midnight, totally sober, I just stood there, my mouth shut and my heart beating like a drum.

  “Is Wolf fed and groomed?” Ware sounded cool yet distant.

  “Yes. Are you—”

  “That will be all, Lind. Goodnight.” Then he went into the bedroom and shut the door.

  I just stood there, feeling devastated. A week before, I would’ve been delighted. Being left to sleep comfortably in front of the fire, fed, by myself, would’ve been heaven. Now I tossed and turned, missing the hard body curled around mine.

  You’re a damn fool, I told myself. A week with a soft owner and you turn into a pathetic eager-to-please thrall. It’s what he wanted. He’s won. He’s beaten you. Look, you’re better than this. You’ve won!

  But I just couldn’t feel it.

  Ware disappeared the next morning without a word to me, taking Wolf with him. When they came back, muddy and loaded with oak cuttings and a collection of herbs, Ware just tossed me his bundle. “Put this in the workshop, and take care of Wolf.” Then he marched off.

  I practically polished Wolf, and the cottage was sparkling, too, so when Ware came back at dusk, I was hoping for a smile. What I got was orders.

  “We’re going out. You’re to keep absolutely silent.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Shut up, Lind.”

  He was pure ice, and when we went out for supper, to the Merry Troubadour, he didn’t say a single word to me. People stared as always and gossiped, but I’ve no idea what they said because I was totally focused on Ware.

  It didn’t help me. We ate in silence, went home in silence, and he shut me out of the bedroom. It was like that for five long miserable days. Ware set me my tasks and continued my training, but his attitude was cool and distant.

  So I got what I wanted: a comfortable home, training for my future and without having to do anything I didn’t want. Ware didn’t even curse me when I screwed up drying some oak by putting it too close to the fire or when he picked up my tansy tea by mistake and almost spat it out because the stuff’s so bitter.

  Instead of being relieved, it totally disheartened me. I didn’t know what to do, so I asked Peony about the gossi
p.

  “Master Ware had to pay a fine,” she told me. “And everyone is saying that the steward got the better of him.”

  Like a complete and utter fool, I focused on the cash. “How big was the fine?”

  “No idea,” Peony shrugged. “Is it true he’s taken you on to be an apprentice?”

  For once Tyr guided my tongue. “That would be illegal. I just help in the workshop.”

  “Wotan hear me: pleeeeeeease let Master Ware see me and take me!” Peony exclaimed. “Are you learning his secrets?”

  “No,” I lied.

  “People are saying the secret of his Thunderclap is the same as in the Brighthelme muskets,” Peony informed me. “The black powder. It’s made from herbs, right?”

  Ware had brought back a bunch of things from his rides with Wolf, but I saw him work, and I knew that all the plants were a ruse.

  Ware’s secret lay in mixing sulphur with a white crystal hidden in his secured chest. The stuff went black, and when he dropped just a grain of it near the fire, it went off with a bang.

  In the brief time I belonged to the Brighthelme smith, I’d seen the black powder, the magic that makes muskets the most powerful weapons in the world.

  I’d be dead if the smith had known, because the driving power behind muskets is a closely guarded secret, but that’s how it is: thralls are invisible, so we tend to know stuff nobody guesses at.

  So I put two and two together. The Beasts had destroyed Brighthelme, so there’d be no muskets made for a year or two, but now it looked like Ware shared their secret.

  Of course, I lied again to Peony, “Yeah, he’s always messing with herbs, but I’ve no idea which ones.”

  Peony went off, and I busied myself trying to figure out how to tell Ware I was sorry he was fined. Of course, I totally fucked that up.

  I started well enough. “Sir, please, sir, I’m sorry.”

  “About what?”

  “That you were fined. I didn’t mean to hit the steward, but he’s such a fucker.” Ware was silent, cold, so I rushed on, inserting both feet in my stupid gap, “Well, you know that, because you went for him, too, so—”

  “Shut up, Lind, and get on with your work.” He picked up his bow. “If anyone calls, I’ll be at the butts.”

  That was on the fifth day, and at that point I gave up. I told myself I was being stupid to want Ware to like me, that I was fine, peachy actually, and to just take what I could get.

  Work hard, learn his secrets and walk, I told myself as I prepared stewed apples and swept the floor. Freedom beckons. It will take a few years, that’s all. You can do that easy-peasy. Especially as Ware won’t beat you, starve you or even yell at you. Life couldn’t be cushier.

  The hardnosed thrall act worked for precisely one hour.

  I was sitting by the fire, debarking some ash, when the constable came in. “Where’s your master?”

  “At the butts, sir.” I didn’t get up or curtsy. I just wasn’t in the mood. Unlike before, the constable didn’t just smile. “If you were mine, I’d whip you.”

  “Sir?” I was really taken aback. He wasn’t talking noble to thrall: it was personal. This was Ware’s friend and he was furious.

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he snarled. “Ware Fletcher is an Esyllt from Llanfaes. He belongs to a family as old and respected as any duke’s. He is master of his craft, the best in the nine cities, maybe even the best in the eastern continent. His character was respected, his reputation spotless, his craftsmanship unrivalled. And because of you, a spoilt, lazy, selfish little she-wolf, he has had to humble himself to the Caern Guild steward, a man not fit to clean his boots.”

  Understanding swept through me. It wasn’t the money; Ware had been hit in his soul, his pride. “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you?” the constable bit back. “I don’t see it. Ware had won the encounter with the steward. All you had to do was obey orders and he could have walked away, triumphant as always. But you didn’t. You fucked it up!”

  “I’m sorry. I lost my temper.”

  “You stupid girl! Ware could have handed you over and kept his honour intact. I told him! But do you know what he said?”

  “No,” I felt myself shrink with mortification. “What did he say?”

  “He said that he couldn’t bear for you to be hurt or shamed.”

  At that, I was in floods. Ware had put himself between me and my fate, twice, and I’d been a complete bitch. Heartless. Selfish. Ungrateful. I remembered feeling clever at pushing him around; now I felt dreadful.

  By the time I stopped weeping, the constable had gone. I mopped myself up, kicked myself in the arse, repeatedly, and finally pulled myself together.

  I’d have to crawl, I decided. An unrestrained, total, utterly grovelling apology. Also, I’d have to figure out a way to make it up to Ware. I thought and thought but I didn’t have a clue on how that might work. I was just a thrall, so it wasn’t like I’d anything to offer.

  I was deep in thought when I heard a crunching sound. At first the noise was just there. Then I heard snorting and another crunch. That’s when it filtered through my thick brain that it was Wolf, eating something.

  I whipped into the kitchen and wailed in horror. Wolf had opened the door, and the cupboard, and he’d liberated the apple sack. The apples were everywhere and he was standing in the middle, snarfing down fruit. Juice dripped down his muzzle and there was mush at his feet.

  Ware’s warning echoed in my mind, “Too many apples can cause colic.”

  “Colic?”

  “A belly ache. But as a horse’s belly is huge, it can kill.”

  My heart was in my mouth. Not only had I ruined Ware’s reputation, but now I’d killed his horse.

  Chapter Thirteen: Fletcher

  There’s no point in trying to break the law; you only get broken bones. The trick is to follow the laws that get you what you want. I got myself out of trouble no problem at all, merely by challenging Duggard. He was far too scared to fight, so he backed off immediately.

  Getting Lind out of trouble wasn’t so easy.

  “She attacked me, we all witnessed it, and the law demands punishment.” Duggard was furious and determined on revenge. “Ten lashes!”

  “Ware, I can get it down to three and I’ll see the justiciar holds his hand,” Eward whispered rapidly.

  “I take responsibility,” I heard myself say.

  “Ware, think, for Wotan’s sake!” Eward cried. “She’s a thrall, and she deserves it!”

  In my mind’s eye I saw the brands and the little white scars all over her back and legs. I couldn’t bear for her to be hurt again.

  “Lind is my responsibility. I will take the punishment.”

  It shows you just how upset I was, because that came from the heart instead of the head. I hate taking quick decisions, it’s not sensible to act without reflection, but as it turned out, it was the best thing I could’ve said, even if I’d considered for a year.

  The second my words sank in, the smith was waving his hands in horror. “We can’t have a Guild member lashed like some common criminal.”

  “Why not?” Duggard snapped.

  Left to himself, the steward would have whipped me himself. However, the others were determined to preserve the Guild’s image.

  “Damn it, man. You can’t be serious.” The tanner was appalled. “We can’t hand one of our own over to the justiciar. It would set a dreadful precedent.”

  Guildsmen are technically servants to the dukes and subject to the law like everyone else, but in practice, we rule ourselves. If they took me to the justiciar now, it was a matter of time before a citizen complaining about cheating, poor craftsmanship or some other issue demanded the same court. Clearly none of us would stand for that.

  “Lind is my property,” I pointed out, “and I’m responsible for her. If my mule kicked you, I’d pay, not the beast. This is the same.”

  They didn’t like it, but it was a reasonable point of view. A
t least, legally.

  “Very sensible,” Eward agreed.

  “A fine, that’s the way to go,” the smith said.

  We Guilds have our own rules, and we enforce them our way. As we all have one thing in common—a love for money—infractions are punished with fines.

  “A fine and an apology,” the smith advised urgently.

  “I agree,” the baker said. “And let’s do it here and now. My damn thrall is still sick from being whipped. We’ve been here an hour already, and my bread needs tending.”

  “I’ve orders waiting, too,” the tanner said quickly. “Yes, an apology and a fine of a silver penny.”

  “Absolutely not!” the steward exclaimed. “He tried to kill me!”

  “That’s already been settled,” Eward said quickly. “This is purely about Master Fletcher making amends for the actions of his thrall. Accept it, man and move on. You’re whining like a girl.”

  In short, I apologised for Lind’s behaviour and agreed to pay a silver penny as compensation.

  “Ware, you damn fool, that will go on your record.” Eward was annoyed. “Your own Guild will demand to know what happened, too.”

  “Yes.”

  “Your duke hasn’t forgiven you yet for your work here during our dispute either, I take it. He wanted blood, bodies and glory, not an efficient victory.”

  “Yes.” I was supposed to storm the wall, sacrificing half of my men or more. Instead, I’d set fire to the Guild House with the help of my Flamethrowers, and while everyone in the city was working to douse the blaze, we’d breached the wall with no losses.

  It was good strategy, but my duke hadn’t liked it. “Clever,” he’d sniffed, “but not noble.”

  “No sir, I prefer live men to dead heroes.”

  We’d not fallen out, but we didn’t like each other. I’d left his service soon after. It’s also why I hadn’t reported the destruction of the farm to him. I know he would have said all the proper things and done nothing.

  Eward knew my duke and I weren’t friends, and now he was worrying. “Your Guild may punish you, too, just to suck up to that halfwit whoreson.”