That Leave-Taking had been a lovely thing, with a chorus of apprentice boys whose voices echoed from the high beams, and the Dean and Warden each giving an address in which my father’s virtues had been enumerated. I had spent the time beneath the stained glass, in a reverie, alternately pierced with sadness at the loss of my family and exalted by the ceremony. The death of my loved ones was a bottomless cavern, but the Leave-Taking had filled the cavern, temporarily at least, with a kind of delight.
Afterward, I had thanked the Dean and the Warden profusely for the ceremony. Now I was returning to the guild hall under somewhat different circumstances.
I walked up under the portico and rang the bell, and while I waited, the lackeys’ leader gave me a suspicious look.
“What is this place?”
“The place where your master’s ring is secured,” said I. The door opened, and an apprentice looked out. I recognized him from the previous night.
“Hello, Roger.”
“Sir.”
I made a sign with my fingers. “I should like to see the Dean or the Warden, if I may. Or Master Onofrio.”
Roger’s eyes widened, and he looked over the three big men looming behind me. “Yes,” he said, a bit uncertainly. “Please come in and wait.”
The door led past a porter’s lodge directly into the main hall. Under the supervision of a pair of apprentices, a chine of beef turned on a spit before the hearth, stews bubbled in iron pots hung over the flames, and the air was savory with the odor of cooking. The lamps had been lit on account of the darkened day, and the light glowed on monuments and memorial plaques to dead masters, and glowed as well on pollaxes, knives, and other instruments of the Butcher’s trade that were hung on the walls.
Roger went to the apprentices by the hearth, and spoke to them in a low voice. They looked startled and glanced in our direction, and then returned for the moment to their work. Roger went out of the room, and we waited, our cloaks dripping on the flagstone floor.
In a few minutes, the Dean came out, a most civil and respectable old gentleman, dressed for warmth’s sake in a long robe of fitch fur, with a fur cap on his bald head. He carried his staff of office in one gloved hand, knobbed on the top like a hand-mace.
“Yes?” he said as he eyed the three lackeys. “You have asked for Master Onofrio?”
“I have,” I said.
“He is being sent for.” He approached and frowned at me. “May I help you in the meantime?”
“I need to visit my box in the strong-room,” I said.
He looked again at my three companions, then nodded. “Very well.” He led us toward the back of the hall, reached the door that led to the undercroft, took a lantern from the wall, and turned. “Goodman Quillifer,” he said, “you may come with me. These gentlemen may wait.”
The lackeys’ leader shouldered his way past me. “We’re coming with him.”
The Dean stared at them down his long nose. “You are most certainly not. You have not the right to enter the strong-room, and are only allowed into the hall as a guest of a member.”
The chief lackey seemed not to have a response to this, and so I followed the Dean through the door, and down a winding stone stair into the undercroft. The light of his lantern glimmered on the pillars and pale low arches that supported the hall above.
“They are robbers?” he asked.
“I know not what they are. The errand that brings them may be legitimate, but they are rude, discourteous, threatening, and armed.”
“So I have observed. Do you actually need the strong-room, or was it a pretense to get away from those ruffians?”
“I truly need to get into my box.”
He took me to the strong-room and opened the iron-strapped door with a key. He entered with his lantern, and I found my box without delay.
“Do you need me to withdraw?” asked the Dean.
“Nay. This will take but a moment.”
I found Utterback’s ring at once and put it in my pocket. Then, after a moment’s thought, I took two more of the rings I had plundered from Sir Basil’s treasure house, and then returned to the hall with the Dean.
During my time in the undercroft, the population of the hall had increased. Three strapping young journeyman had arrived along with their burly master, and stood by the fire speaking casually with the apprentices. Between them I counted three pollaxes, two great carving knives, a cleaver, and a meat axe. As the Dean closed and locked the door to the undercroft, I saw three more enter, a brawny woman and her two journeymen, each with a pollaxe.
I was not surprised. To the apprentice who had answered the door, I had made a secret sign of distress, and my asking for “Master Onofrio” was a signal that called for help. The word for Master Onofrio was even now passing from one butcher shop to the next, and the apprentices mustering under their masters and marching to the hall.
The three henchmen were looking uneasily from the apprentices to one another. While the Dean was re-hanging his lantern, I walked to one of the trestle tables that ran the length of the hall, and I took the three rings from my pocket and placed them on the table. Then—as a pair of masters entered with a train of armed apprentices—I gestured for the lackeys to join me.
They came warily. I saw they had drawn their cloaks back from the hilts of their broadswords.
“You see three rings on the table,” said I. “If you can identify the one you want, you may take it with you.”
The leader took a moment to study the rings, then pointed to Utterback’s signet, which featured a seahorse carved on blue tourmaline. At least he’d proven he was familiar with the item he sought.
“Very well,” I said. I swept all three off the table and returned them to the pocket. “Now if you will sign a receipt that I have delivered the ring as promised.”
The three looked at each other. Behind them, the door boomed as more armed men entered.
“We can’t write our names,” the leader said.
“Then you can make your marks, and I will write your names beneath.”
And calling for a piece of paper and a pen, I wrote:
We, the undersigned, have by brutal threats of violence, housebreaking, and assault, and with contemptible insult and infamous use of language, procured the signet ring of Lord Utterback from Quillifer the Younger of Ethlebight, who we acknowledge rescued it at the risk of his life from the outlaw Sir Basil of the Heugh. We acknowledge the disgrace with which our conduct has disenhanced the reputation of our virtuous employer, the Count of Wenlock.
I made two copies and presented them to the lackeys, who by now were surrounded by a half circle of armed men. The leader looked resentfully at the new arrivals, but in the center of this ring of steel, any thought of defiance had vanished, and he took the pen from my hand and made his mark. His two companions followed his example. I took the papers and the pen.
“Your names?” These being given, I wrote the names beneath the marks, then offered the pen to the members of the Worshipfull Companie. “Would anyone care to witness?”
The Dean inscribed his signature, and added his own seal, as did one of the masters. I then offered a copy of the document to the lackeys’ leader.
“You may give that to your master,” I said. Then I reached in my pocket for the rings, picked out that of Lord Utterback, and tossed it into a far corner of the room. It rang on the stone flags.
“Go snuffle for it, dogs,” I said.
The three glared at me, jaws working, hands twitching closer to the hilts of their swords. Then the leader turned abruptly and began to move in the direction of the ring. The circle around him parted but slowly, and when he was free, he walked stiffly toward his object, and refused to look behind to see whether he was followed.
“They will remember you,” murmured the Dean, close by my ear. “Maybe they will remember you too well.”
I shrugged. “Maybe in future they will remember their manners.”
The Dean looked down at the document befo
re me on the table. “Disenhanced?” he asked.
“It’s a new word. I made it up.”
He smiled. “Will you be joining us for supper?”
“I have a friend waiting, unfortunately.”
He smiled. “Are you sure you didn’t mean ‘disfortunately’?”
The three lackeys had found the ring, and now marched for the front door—though they had to wait, because a gang of armed journeymen were filing into the hall. At last the doorway was free, and the three made their way out.
I rose, and turned to address the crowd of Butchers who had come to my aid. I thanked them for their arrival, told them the reasons they had been summoned, and expressed a willingness, should the occasion ever arise, to aid them in return. I spoke warmly of our brotherhood, and the bonds that united us; I praised their courage, and otherwise flattered them as shamelessly as I could.
“I think I will have a few of our brethren escort you home,” said the Dean.
“I should visit my box first.”
I put the document into the box, along with the two rings I’d taken, and was then accompanied home by three journeymen carrying pollaxes. I had taken a pollaxe from its display in the hall, and we four made a brave sight, soldiering on in the rain like veterans of the wars. I thanked my escort at the door, and carrying my weapon made my way up the stair to where the marchioness awaited.
She broke into a smile as I came through the door, and I was favored with the sight of those little white teeth. She had dressed while I was gone, in the style she favored in her pregnancy. Rather than wear conventional gowns with their farthingales and tight lacings, she had adopted instead an elaborate sort of dressing gown, frogged across the front with heavy braid that held the creation together. These silk and satin fantasies were just as extravagantly ornamented as court gowns, with gems and pearls and paint, but they were much more comfortable for someone in Amalie’s condition. A fact that I found more to my taste was that they didn’t require a ladies’ maid to lace her into the outfit, or unlace her afterward.
These gowns were entirely Amalie’s own style, and had created a sensation at court when she had first displayed them. It was thought that the Queen disapproved, though Berlauda had been perfectly civil to Amalie when they’d spoken, so it was hard to say where this rumor of disapproval originated. As was the case with most court rumors, alas.
She brightened when I came in. I put my weapon aside, barred the door, and took Amalie in my arms.
“No ill effects?” she said. “No violence?”
“None. They got what they came for, and a little more besides.”
She rested her head on my shoulder. “I was worried. I was going to wait another hour, and then go to Roundsilver’s and say that I’d seen you marched away by an armed gang in Wenlock livery.”
I reached for the front of her gown and began to loosen the braided froggings from their silver buttons. “Your concern is commendable. I shall reward you directly.”
I opened her gown and took her in my arms, the sunny warmth of her flesh a welcome contrast to the chill, wet day. A low laugh came from Amalie’s throat.
“You are cold, sir. Let me remove those wet clothes, and put you in your warm bed.”
“A delightful prospect. You are a fine nurse.” My lips grazed the flesh of her naked shoulder, and she shivered.
Overhead, the sky rumbled, and promised another bout of rain.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
* * *
he next morning, I made my way downriver to Innismore, the capital city’s principal port, on a large island on the left bank of the Saelle. The wharves were dark with men and cargo, and the masts and rigging of galleons and round ships laced the slate-gray sky. The Royal Dockyard was boiling with activity, as shipwrights worked to ready the Queen’s Navy for the war. Almost all the warships had been laid up in ordinary, their upper masts taken down and sheds built over the decks to guard against the weather. The great guns, the rigging, anchors, and sails had been stored ashore, and left to rot or rust in warehouses, and so now there was great bustle to make all ready to repel any assault by the rebel Clayborne.
I paid little attention to the royal ships, for I was looking for a private ship that could take me as a passenger to Ethlebight, or at least as near as Amberstone. I had no intention of riding home overland, not over any path that might take me again within range of Sir Basil, or for that matter Orlanda.
I had spoken to several captains and mates, and so far found no vessel bound for the southwest, but still as I walked along the wharfs, I found my spirits lifting. Walking through the port, I felt the pull of home, and delighted in the fresh breeze that carried the scent of the sea to mix with the odors of tar and salt marsh, and the rich perfume of the tide that foamed against the pilings and tugged at the ships until their hawsers stretched taut as bowstrings.
I walked around the sterncastle of a great high-charged galleon, and saw the smaller vessel moored behind. The sight of the yellow ochre strakes touched my memory, and then with a start I recognized the Meteor, the small galleon I had last seen in Amberstone. Meteor, which was owned whole or in part by Kevin Spellman’s family. Meteor, moored fast to the wharf and discharging tuns of wine.
I dodged around a stack of stiff, untanned hides just offloaded from a barge, and trotted up to Meteor’s gangplank. Tackles fixed to the mainyard creaked overhead as they took the strain of a cargo net filled with wine casks, and I blinked up at the sterncastle to see if I could identify the ship’s master. Instead, I saw Kevin, still wearing his tall stiff hat with the brim pinned up on the side. “Hoy!” I called. “Master Spellman!”
He looked in puzzlement, then surprise, then joy. I ran up the gangway as he bounded down the poop companion, and we met on the quarterdeck and embraced. We each burst out with questions, which neither of us answered because each kept blurting out questions without waiting for an answer. Finally, we paused for breath, and I got the first question in after the interval.
“Why are you here?”
Kevin gasped for breath and grinned. “It’s your fault. You sent me the letter telling me that Meteor was in, so I rode to Amberstone to see to the ship personally. The wine was to be delivered to Selford anyway, and I came along both to ensure payment and to see if I could manage a loan to build new ships.”
“The reivers are gone?”
“They made off a day or two after you left Amberstone.” His face darkened. “Left nearly three hundred corpses on Cow Island, folk they decided were worthless as slaves, and who wouldn’t fetch a ransom.”
I felt a shard of ice touch my heart. “Anyone we know?”
“I don’t have all the names, but one was Mrs. Vayne.”
A wave of sadness washed through me. “I bought three baskets of her pearmains the day before the attack.”
“And Master Crook.”
My sadness deepened. “He had no family. I suppose therefore we may keep his library.”
Kevin spread his hands helplessly. “It is a long tragedy, and we have seen only the first two acts. Even if we raise all the necessary ransoms, still our people will be in captivity for months, more likely years, and in all that time no one knows what horrors they will endure.”
We both paused to contemplate this grim and unenviable truth, and then Kevin looked at me. “What of the Embassy Royal? Have you managed to bring us aid?”
My laughter was bitter. “I am the Embassy now! And I have spoken to the Chancellor, and briefly to her majesty, and have managed to pry a few favors from the court—and indeed, brother”—putting a hand on his shoulder—“I have a set of commissions on which I must have your counsel, both for our profit and that of our city.”
His eyes grew puzzled. “You are the only ambassador? What has become of Gribbins and Utterback?”
“That is a long tale. But first, let me ask—have you received a letter asking ransom for me?”
“Ransom?” Kevin was taken aback. “Nay, I’ve received nothing like that.
”
“It won’t have caught up with you, not if you left Ethlebight just after I was in Amberstone. The letter will be in my hand, but you may safely ignore it. And as for the tonsured swine who delivers it, you may knock him on the head with my compliments, or deliver him bound to the sheriff.”
His eyes widened. “I can see there is an adventure here.”
“I have writ you a letter about all that, and I wished to find a captain to deliver it, but then decided to find a captain who would deliver my self instead.” I took him by the arm. “Come, let us go ashore and find a tavern, and I will tell you what has become of the Embassy.”
Kevin gave a regretful shake of his head. “Nay, I have too much business today. I have to see mercers, bankers, warehousemen. . . .”
“I can come tomorrow morning.”
“I will be at the Mercers’ Lodge here in Innismore. Come early, and I will give you breakfast.”
“One final question, then. Will you be returning to Ethlebight from here?”
“Meteor draws too much water for Ethlebight. But if I can raise money and a cargo, we’ll sail for Amberstone, and from there I can ride to Ethlebight, or take a smaller craft.”
“Good. For I think you will want to make that journey as soon as you can.”
“Ay?” He looked as if he were about to throw another half dozen questions my way, and then he stopped himself, and shrugged. “Well, you will tell me tomorrow.”
“Yes. And buy a stock of good gunpowder, for it will come in handy.”
And there I left him to his business, puzzled yet eager for our next meeting.
* * *
I was still on the left bank, in the town of Mossthorpe across the river from Selford, when the skies opened with a great crash, the freezing rain poured down, and I sought shelter beneath the gate of an inn. Somewhat to my surprise, I found that the inn’s courtyard featured a wooden stage, complete with a kind of tower and a balcony, and that the stage had been roofed with thatch to keep the rain off the players. They were involved with a rehearsal, none of which I could hear because of the pouring rain. On the stage I recognized the lean form of Blackwell, the actor I had met at the Roundsilver Palace, and so I sidled around the court until I found shelter by a corner of the stage, and watched the rehearsal. I had not been there long before I realized that I was watching The Red Horse, or the History of King Emelin, which Blackwell had written and which would shortly be performed for the Queen.
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