Fletcher (A Prydain novel Book 3)

by AJ Adams

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “The real point is that people don’t like her working with you. They’re worried every thrall will become armed and dangerous.”

  “There’s no question of that. She’s simply a thrall, serving her master as is proper.”

  Eward gave me a sour look. “Don’t try your shifts on me. I know the law as well as you do. You’re not bending it, you’re twisting it and making damn knots with it.”

  “We’ll soon be gone. The people will forget.”

  “They’d better. If I’d known the trouble she’d cause...”

  “Lind’s working hard, too,” I protested. “Thanks to her, I can give you double the amount of stock we agreed on.”

  But Eward was in a filthy mood. “No doubt you’ll be taking her out for chocolate to celebrate.” As it was exactly what we were doing, I decided discretion was the best approach. Of course, Eward wasn’t fooled. “Thought so!”

  “I need her to get to Ranulf. I don’t want to be left standing outside the walls like the duke of Tanweld’s men.”

  “Speaking of which, I have new information.” Eward poked through some scrolls. “A few weeks ago, the duke’s nephew reported the theft of a jewelled dagger. That same week, a manor house just a few miles from here was robbed of a sacred statue of Wotan, holding a gold-tipped spear.”

  “They’ve turned up at Ranulf’s?”

  “They ended up in Haven. One of our people recognised both items, but it was a Ranulf agent who was selling them.”

  So Ranulf was able to reach into the duke’s very own tower. That was an astonishing—and worrisome—feat.

  “You’re not surprised,” Eward observed.

  “I was thinking he might be behind some of the local thefts. He seems to be very thorough and organised.”

  “Well, it looks like he knows the city, too,” Eward said. “It seems he was originally a Caern man. He was a soldier working for the Guild as a guard.”

  “I see. That explains why he had his devices made here.”

  “Yes, and my duke is furious that one of the Tanweld lords is one of our people,” Eward confided. “I sent him a message by carrier pigeon, coded of course, telling him you have a bone to pick with the rogue, too.”

  That wasn’t good news. Dukes gossip as much as other men, and I didn’t want Ranulf hearing I was planning an attack. Still, Eward was a friend, so I didn’t say anything.

  “There’s one bit of good news,” Eward informed me. “I found a man who knows Tanweld like the back of his hand. He can help you scout for local information when you’re in the city that will take you to Ranulf’s keep. He’ll accompany you to Tanweld.”

  “Excellent. Who?”

  “He’s a foot soldier by trade. His name is Jarvis.”

  Lind’s former master. My heart sank. This was going to be trouble.

  “And there’s another little thing,” Eward was staring at the ceiling, distancing himself from his own words. “Jarvis won’t be working for me this trip. He’s coming along as a member of the Guild delegation.”

  “Is he?” I had a nasty feeling this was bad news.

  “He’s the steward’s new assistant. It seems they’re related, if somewhat distantly.” Eward was twitching nervously. “Tanweld has put in an extra order for wine and cloth. Twenty carts worth actually. It’s worth a small fortune.”

  I had the most awful prescient feeling of doom.

  Eward cleared his throat, saying, “Under the circumstances, Steward Duggard has decided that he will be going, too.”

  Chapter Fourteen: Lind

  After we made up, life became really, really interesting. I bounced out of bed in the morning and practiced with the bow while Wolf and Ware went out together. Then breakfast, a little housework, and then it was workshop time.

  Fletching was one discovery after another. I loved every single second of it, from stripping bark and drying the wood to attaching the feathers. Ware began to teach me smithing, too.

  “This is a portable Magnus,” he told me. “It’s named after the volcano in the eastern continent.”

  “That’s real? There are fire mountains?”

  “Yes, there are.” Ware was smiling. “I’ll tell you about my travels there later. For now, watch how the metal is heated and then hammered into thin sheets.” He handed me the hammer. “Now you do it.”

  I’ve never liked work, except for maybe tightrope walking, but working for Ware was different. It wasn’t just the fun of learning new skills; every hour, every second felt like I was closer to freedom.

  The price was that I had to act the perfect thrall—in public, anyway—but it was easy enough because I didn’t have to mean it. As long as I pretended to be meek, Ware was okay. So I sirred him when people were close, and when we were in private I didn’t bother.

  We spent a lot of time together in the workshop, mostly silently, but sometimes Ware would talk. I loved his travel stories because he had a gift for making faraway places come alive, but he had the bad habit of lecturing me on thrall manners.

  One morning, when he was going on about how respect keeps the community together, I didn’t say anything, but I got up and made my best curtsy to him in a sarcastic way. As I’d hoped, it shut him up.

  “Lind, you have the soul of a revolutionary,” Ware sighed. “How on earth did you survive this long?”

  “My pigs weren’t bright like you. They didn’t manage me; they just sold me when I pissed them off.”

  “I can see why. It’s awfully tempting.”

  It didn’t stop the lectures, but knowing I could stop him whenever it got too much made them bearable.

  Also, I enjoyed Ware’s cool, sarcastic sense of humour, and it helped that he was easy to look after. He was quiet and self-sufficient, not expecting me to wait on him hand and foot.

  For a Llanfaes man, Ware was remarkably calm and controlled. That black rage surfaced every now and again, but it had little to do with me, or at least Ware didn’t take it out on me, so I could ignore it.

  The more I got to know the fletcher, the better we got along. Frankly, I got back to managing him a little again.

  Like that morning when he was out with Wolf and the guards at the gate were hanging about, watching me muck out Wolf’s stall and then practice my archery.

  “Hey you!” Thomas, a tall guard with a dented helmet yelled at me, “Bring me a mug of water, wench.”

  “Get your own!” I yelled back.

  Of course, Dented Helmet swore at me, but I ignored him.

  “You’re nothing but Tanweld scum,” he threatened. “You’ll be thrashed for your insolence.”

  “Oh go polish your spear,” I cursed him right back.

  “Insolence!” Bart, one of his mates screamed.

  “How dare you, thrall?” another one was red with fury.

  “We order, and you jump!” was another opinion.

  “You can all go take a jump in the river,” I said, and then I turned my back on the lot of them and got on with my practice. It was amazing, actually, because I’d been missing the target a lot, but with all the yelling, I put three in the bull’s eye. Pretty good, right?

  Later, of course, they shopped me.

  “Lind, must you get into a fight every day?” Ware sighed. “I had four guards complaining you swore at them.”

  “I only suggested they check their equipment.”

  “Somehow I doubt that. What happened?”

  That’s the nice thing about Ware. Everyone knows that thralls steal, lie and cheat, but he doesn’t assume I’m in the wrong, and he does listen. “They were giving me orders and I told them to shove—to do it themselves.”

  Ware was frowning. “What orders?”

  “I wasn’t really listening. I obey only one man.”

  Of course, Ware wasn’t fooled for a moment. “That’s awfully flattering,” he said appreciatively.

  “I thought so.”

  Ware stood and thought a moment. Then he
grinned and tugged my hair, not in a mean way but definitely admonishing. “Very well. I did say you’d be different from other thralls. But don’t push it. When Eward or a noble gives you an order, you jump to it.”

  “Of course.” That was an easy promise because Eward was always polite, and the other castle people never came near the cottage. “I’ll curtsy and everything.”

  “Thank you very much,” Ware said. “Your assurance relieves my mind.”

  “Thought it would.”

  “Minx.” But he was smiling.

  So I was enjoying myself, and I had the impression that Ware was pretty pleased with how it was working out, too.

  “Either I’m a good teacher, or you’re a fast learner,” he said when he inspected my first dozen arrows. They were plain hunting ones, made of apple wood and with just three feathers, but it had taken all of my spare time over a fortnight to make them. “This wood is beautifully smooth, and the glue is just right.”

  “The heads aren’t too secure, and I didn’t place the feathers right.”

  “Yes, but as a first effort it’s not bad.”

  “You’re being kind. I’m okay at sandpapering arrow shafts, and I can make glue and dye feathers, but I’m shit at putting it all together. Also, my smithing sucks, and I missed the target with my first six shots this morning.”

  “Expertise takes practice.”

  “Right. How long did it take you?”

  “Two years for the basics, and another five to become a proper craftsman.”

  That sounded a long time. “I’d better practice some more.”

  “Come on, we’ll go to the butts. The targets are larger, and it’s not as windy.”

  “Yes, I noticed that. But it’s not like battle, right? I mean, you don’t go around fighting only if it’s a nice calm day.”

  Ware was pleased with that. “Exactly. We’ll practice out in the open as we travel but for now, enjoy prime conditions so you can get to grips with the basic technique.”

  We spent a happy few hours at the butts and the evening making Thunderclaps, and I think it was one of the best days in my entire life. Even better, living with Ware meant lots of good days, one after the other. I never would have believed it, but he was right: I was actually happy.

  Part of the relief from despair lay in bed being a constant delight. It was as good as chocolate. Ware had picked up a lot of tricks on his travels, and as he was generous with it, I was having a blast.

  It made a massive difference to know that every day would end in pleasure and comfort. Like the day we finished the Thunderclaps, we went to bed really late, and I was shattered, but I wasn’t even thinking of trying to get out of it. “Can I be on top again?”

  Ware was messing about with feathers, but at that he stopped. “Sure.”

  “Good. Hurry up and come to bed.”

  He just laughed. “Yes, ma’am!”

  That was the magic of it. Out of bed we were poles apart, with Ware being Guild and me just a thrall. But in bed we were equals. It was the first time in my life that I felt valued as a person, and it was intoxicating. In the candlelight we were just man and woman, bent on leading each other to ever dizzying heights of delight.

  Of course, staying in Caern had its problems, too, mostly with Ware being a target for disgruntled types who remembered the dispute, but he could take care of himself, so I didn’t worry.

  As the weeks flew by and we began to pack up supplies for the road, I did wonder if I was would enjoy the change or not.

  “I’ve bought a pair of ponies to pull the wagon.” Ware was making sure he got in a maximum amount of comfort.

  “I thought Wolf would do that.”

  “Not this time. We’ll be heavily loaded with supplies because we’ll be taking it slowly. We’ve got fully loaded Guild carts guarded by soldiers, but there will be a column of families coming, too, so there will be women and children.”

  That’s quite common now in Prydain. In the past, people travelled the public roads in groups and worried only about bears, wolves, rockslides and floods. However, in my lifetime we’ve had endless disputes. City has fought city, littering the countryside with desperate migrants, mercenaries and troops of rogue knights. So when people want to travel, they tack on to an armed convoy.

  Ware had told the steward he was working as a common bowman, but that turned out to be a bit of a lie. The constable was sending foot soldiers, but Ware was leading the rangers, the armed men who travel ahead in order to scout out threats and problems.

  The rangers pitched up, tall, silent and dark, all men from Haven. They’re a weird lot, rangers. They spend all their time alone in the wilds, flitting in and out of forests and mountains like ghosts. Some say they’ve supernatural powers, like the wizards and warlocks from kids’ stories. Nobody really believes it, but when they’re in town, they’re so menacing that people walk around them.

  Anyway, Ware can be pretty damn cold, too, so when six rangers turned up late one night, standing silently under the apple tree as they got their orders, they got along fine.

  “We’ll move slowly because we’re loaded heavily,” Ware announced. “We won’t do this in a month; it will take an extra week.”

  Nobody said a word, and I couldn’t see any faces because of the long hoods and cloaks, but there was some nodding.

  “We’ll stick to the main road, no shortcuts,” Ware said.

  There was a deep silence, but he took it as agreement.

  “The Little Creek crossing is our weakest spot. Be on your guard.” He handed out arrows, dyed red and with red feathers, three to a man. “These are Starbursts. In an emergency, light one and shoot it straight up in the air. It will set off a red streak of flame that carries for miles. We’ll come running.”

  “You’d ride to a ranger’s aid?” a quiet voice asked.

  “Damn right I would,” Ware said. “So don’t use it when you’re lonely and want a fireside chat.”

  There was smothered laughter, and the arrows vanished under the cloaks.

  He handed out more arrows, dyed green. “These give out green flame. Use them when you know trouble’s coming our way.”

  That was clever. Ware was taking on this job like a pro.

  “I have a special request, too,” Ware said. He leaned in and murmured, which was damn annoying as I couldn’t catch more than, “Duggard’s loose tongue” and “bound to invite attack” and “supplies.”

  Whatever he said, there was a little murmuring, and then the rangers moved back and vanished, seemingly dissolving in the dark. A clip clop of hooves went out the gate a few minutes later.

  “Good men,” Ware said as he came in. “We’ll get along fine.”

  It was curious, because I would have thought the proud fletcher would look down on rangers. I mean, they’re outsiders. Some taverns turn them away, even. But he seemed to like them, and by the way they’d laughed, they liked him back.

  Actually, stuck-up, ice-cold Ware got along with the castle staff, too. Usually nobles look down on commoners, but Ware and the constable were good friends. Although Ware called him sir all the time, they hung out together, talking for hours over a flagon of wine.

  “Your master tells the most exciting stories.” Peony came round with another message that Ware would be late. “They’re talking about fighting battles with elephants!”

  “Men, right? They’re either fighting, or talking about fighting.”

  “My master’s very brave—and so’s yours.”

  I liked Peony, but she wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. “Yes, they’re amazing.”

  Of course, Peony was oblivious to sarcasm. “You must be so proud that Master Ware’s going to lead the rangers. My master says it’s the most important security job there is. They’re planning the route together right now.”

  Like I said, we thralls know everything.

  “The steward is going,” Peony whispered. “Master Ware won’t like that.”

  “Neither do I.”
I could see trouble ahead. “He’ll be a right pain.”

  “Your pig, I mean Master Jarvis is working for the guild.”

  “Fuck me! Don’t tell me he’s coming, too?”

  Peony nodded. “He’s the steward’s second cousin.”

  “So what? It’s not like that makes them brothers.”

  “The steward likes him.”

  “He would. They’re both fat-gut, lazy, poxy-arsed fuckwits.”

  “Wotan’s grace and favour,” Peony whispered in horror. “Be careful, Lind. What if someone hears?”

  “Ware would be out of a penny, and he’d get to practice his apologising again.”

  I spoke like I didn’t care, showing off to Peony, whose eyes were bigger than saucers, but actually I was worried. This wasn’t going to be good. I didn’t want to put Ware into a bad spot again, which meant I’d have to watch my step around Duggard and Jarvis. That wouldn’t be easy.

  Peony was nibbling at the sugared almonds Ware had given me. “My master’s troubled,” she disclosed. “There have been some thefts; the duke’s nephew was robbed even.”

  “Who did it?”

  “Meg, his thrall,” Peony lowered her voice. “He sold her because he’s getting married. She’d been with him all her life. And he was her first.”

  A cold fear ran through us both. That’s the horror of slavery: when you do find a halfway decent home, you’re afraid because you’re always a breath away from being sold.

  And when the master is fucking you, it’s even more likely you’ll get kicked out, because his wife, mother, sisters and other female relatives want you gone.

  Men don’t listen to women, but they hate being nagged. So every now and again they give up a thrall they’re doing to get some peace, knowing they can just pick up another one later. After all, it’s not like we’re in short supply.

  “Meg was sold to a tavern in town,” Peony whispered. “She must’ve told someone about the dagger and how to get to it.”

  “And nobody found out?”

  Peony shrugged. “Who notices a thrall?”

  Ware certainly did. When he came back, he was edgy as hell. “Did you finish the oak shafts?”

  “Yes, they’re in the green bag.”