by Candy Rae
The head groom didn’t answer, he was looking over his shoulder, “where’s that hot mash?” he was demanding in a loud voice.
“Here sir,” said another lad, older and taller than Jak, running, but being very careful not to splash.
“He’s smellin’ it,” said the youngest as the stallion’s whickering head turned towards the appetising odour. “If he were done in he’d just ignore it, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes he would young Jak,” said the head groom with a smile of approval. He had been right to take Jak on, despite his youth and puny stature. Jak had an instinctive knowledge about horses, a knowledge the head groom knew couldn’t be taught.
The man dismissed all the boys but Jak and the two of them fed the horse his mash.
“We must make him eat it slowly,” the head groom instructed Jak, “don’t want to cope with belly-ache on top.”
“I know,” said Jak.
“You’ll make a fine head groom one day,” the old man told Jak.
Jak kept his face bland as he nodded. He had other ideas, other plans.
“Wonder what it was that made his owner ride him to the ground like this,” mused Jak, half to himself. In his world nothing was more important than the welfare of one’s mount, well almost everything. Jak had a secret and he had told no-one about it.
The head groom didn’t answer. He was wondering much the same thing himself.
* * * * *
Upstairs in the inn, inside the private room he had engaged, the stallion’s owner was talking in quick, eager sentences to the man he had almost foundered his horse to meet.
“The artefact, as you suspected is definitely not in Talastown,” he was saying.
“We needed to make sure.”
“I know My Lord. As far as I could gather, it was there once but not for long. It was moved from there sometime during the first half of the seventh century.”
Baron Erik Halfarm was more than satisfied with what he was been told. It was also much as his half-brother, King Cadan of Leith had expected.
“You look as if you knew that already,” said the stallion’s owner. If he felt accusatory feelings towards the Baron he was careful not to show it. His employer was noted for his uncertain temper.
Baron Halfarm nodded again. “Do you know where it was taken?”
“I got some information. Fact is, that’s why I’m a bit late getting to you. I didn’t know for sure, but I got the impression from a couple of people that they suspected it was moved to the Rtathlians of the Lind. Mostly from the older folks that was, those that remembered their grandfather’s talk. Some more devious questioning, it’s a wonder to me what too much ale does to a man. They became less close mouthed about matters that shouldn’t have concerned them.”
“Well?” Erik Halfarm tried not to sound too eager. He didn’t succeed and his spy gave him a quick look.
“Well? Well it appears that everything the Lind think is important goes to a special place, deep inside the rtathlians, least that’s what they told me. After some more judicious buying of strong ale they even told me the where. They called it Gtratin.”
“The Gtrathlin?”
“That sounds like it My Lord. Hope I did right but I decided to make a detour to take a look, I was coming here along the North Caravan Route anyway, eastwards from the Talastown ferry. It’s not a busy route this time of year but it is always well maintained. It winds along easy enough and passes right by, save a couple of miles this place you call Gtrathlin. A Lindish word isn’t it? Vada Supply Stations sit along it, every sixty miles or so and there’s a bigger one there at the Gtratin.”
“Gtrathlin,” Erik corrected, absentmindedly. “So you went there? Did anyone ask any questions as to why you were there?” Erik Halfarm was alarmed and his face showed it. “There must be no suspicion, none at all and the Lind, it’s said they can pick thoughts out of a man’s mind.”
“No worries on that score,” soothed his henchman, “I’ve come across Lind before and no problems. I seem to be able to shield my thoughts from them. I told them I was a notary by profession, I’ve got the necessary paperwork to prove it, on my way from Talastown to Port Lutterell. I don’t know if they believed me, maybe they thought I was a prospector of some kind but even they had to admit the North Caravan’s the easiest route from there to the port. Time is coin I told them and they laughed and agreed. Anyway, I was there, I even got shown round since I said I’d never been there before and was unlikely to be there again. I expressed a great deal of interest, they never suspected a thing. During the tour I made all the right noises and asked umpteen inane questions. Very polite they were and answered every one. Name of Drinan he was and his Lind was called Kathya; they showed me round. I liked them. During the tour Drinan pointed out to me a place he called the cave. Wouldn’t take me close to it, which I thought a bit strange because he showed me round everywhere else. I asked if I could look inside but he refused.”
“Was it guarded?”
“Yep. Two Lind. Drinan said it was guarded round the candlemark. If this artefact you’re looking for is there, that’s where it is, I’m sure of it, can’t be anyplace else, stands to reason.”
“Good,” said Erik, pushing over a purse of coin, “that’s for a job well done. I’ll take it from here.”
“Yes My Lord,” the stallion’s owner smiled as he jingled the coins. With his other hand he handed over the maps and drawings he had made of his journey, of the Gtratha and of the descriptions people had given him of the box the Baron was looking for.
The Baron coughed, he didn’t look at the papers.
“These are your instructions, I want you to take the bay my man bought for you this morning from the stables, go first light. She’s not much of a looker but she’s sound and will get you to Port Lutterell without any trouble,” Erik Halfarm handed over a letter. “This one you take to my wife, tell her I’ll be a bit longer but that I’ll be home by winter’s turn. There’ll be another letter too. You’ll find it in the bay’s saddlebag. It goes directly to the King. Hand it over yourself.”
“I will. My horse?”
“Leave him, I’ll make it all right with the stable hands,” instructed Erik with the indifference of a wealthy man. “I need to disconnect you from him and he is a striking looking animal.”
The stallion’s now late owner didn’t complain out loud but he wasn’t best pleased. However, he was one of the best in the business and saw the sense in what the Baron was saying.
He left the inn at dawn, riding the bay and headed towards Port Lutterell where he intended to take a merchant ship to Leithe. At the port and as instructed, he sold the bay thus even more distancing himself from the Baron.
Young Jak saw him leave and wondered. There was also much talk among the inn servants. Why the man should swop the stallion for an unimpressive bay mare no-one could understand. It was concluded that money had passed hands and that the buyer had paid well to purchase the stallion. He was a beautiful animal. It was further concluded that the man had obviously been in a hurry to get away and that as the stallion, being winded would need a day or so to recover, he had decided to sell him.
Baron Erik Halfarm also left the inn that day, leaving the stallion and his man behind and so careful had they been that no-one even suspected the connection between him and both of his employees.
He did not follow the route to Port Lutterell. He first set off west then turned in a southerly direction, making for an Argyllian village named Stanton.
* * * * *
-8-
VILLAGE OF STANTON - ARGYLL
Chad, short for Chadwick Smallhide, was a thief; a very accomplished and successful thief. In fact, he was so good that he had managed to steal enough to set himself up in a small way; by purchasing a small farm estate in north western Argyll. More importantly, he was so good that he had never been caught divesting his targets of their valuables, nor had he even been suspected.
His house was well built, not over large b
ut big enough for his needs, house servants to attend to his every comfort and farm workers who worked his land. Thus at forty-one he had retired from what he personally called his ‘primary occupation’ and lived a respectable life of comparative luxury. That was not to say that he wouldn’t have preferred to have a lot more coin in his strongbox. Coin had an alarming propensity to diminish and Chad was not enamoured of a future watching the pennies and of a poverty-stricken old age.
His main problem was that he was bored, he missed the excitement of planning and executing the thievings and it was during a particularly boring time when who came to his door but a gentleman with a proposition. The visitor was an urbane and well-educated man in fine yet subtle clothing (of southern make) and Chad found what he had to say very interesting indeed.
He heard his visitor out but shook his head.
“You say this is a dangerous job. I do not wish to undertake a commission of a dangerous nature,” he told the man, opening his hands, palms up, indicating his refusal. His nose was, however, twitching and perhaps the man who had searched him out noticed this.
“I’ll double the fee,” pressed the man, known to his King as Erik Halfarm but who had introduced himself to Chad as someone else, a vassal of one of the Dukes of Murdoch.
Chad shook his head but knew that he would accept if the fee offered went at least a half higher.
“Three times,” he said, “and I’ll consider it.”
Chad was very surprised when his visitor nodded. He should have become suspicious but he didn’t. After all, six hundred gold crowns! A small fortune!
“One box you say?” he enquired.
“Indeed, a plain, hardwood box about one and a half the length of my arm.” The man thumped his open hands down on the table about a hand and a half apart.
“Heavy?”
“Not so heavy. One man can lift it easily. I have detailed drawings and maps.”
“Where exactly is it and how well guarded?”
Chad’s visitor looked evasive and Chad snorted.
“I’m not going to accept this job until I know all the details and that’s my final word. It must be hidden in an out of the way place else you wouldn’t be prepared to pay what you are.”
“Not that far,” Erik temporised.
“Not until you tell me exactly where,” said Chad in an implacable voice.
“If I quadruple the original fee?”
“Now you’re talking.”
Why, he could buy a whole island for that, albeit a small one. Being master of an island appealed to Chad. He was the best thief that had ever graced the planet after all, it didn’t really matter just where and how well guarded this box was. Chad had absolute confidence in his abilities.
“Half up front,” he said.
“No,” his visitor answered, “not possible.”
Chad rose to his feet.
“Then you will leave now,” he said, bluffing (he really wanted this commission).
“Fifty,” the man countered.
“That’s not enough, there will be expenses.”
“Not my problem,” he answered, “you’re being well paid for your trouble.”
“Who is your Duke?” Chad asked, changing the subject and trying to get his visitor off balance.
“Highest in the land.”
“Not quite the highest I would think. Which Duke of Murdoch is it this time?”
“You have worked for the south before?”
“Once or twice.” Chad shrugged, “doesn’t matter who, as long as they pay up. Which Duke?”
“I am not at liberty to say,” Chad’s guest prevaricated.
Chad shrugged again. So one of the Dukes was up to no good again. Some things never did change. Still, it didn’t really matter. “What’s so important about this box?” he asked, “and where exactly is it, you never said.”
“I didn’t did I? It’s in a very difficult place.”
“There’s no strong room in all the lands that I can’t get in to,” Chad boasted. “So what is it and where.”
“You will take the job?”
“I said so didn’t I? Chadwick Smallhide never goes back on his word.”
“Well, I’m authorised to tell you so much about the box’s contents. It proves blood-lineage, papers and the like I believe.”
This confirmed Chad’s suspicions. The Kingdom of Murdoch was about to erupt into civil war again. He thought this bit of information definitely proved he was right. Perhaps there was, or would be another claimant to the throne. He’d heard that the ruler of Murdoch was a queen at the moment, a widowed queen and her heir, yes, another girl. That was it then. Civil war. Still, it wasn’t his problem.
“Where is it? Stewarton? In the repository there? Because if that’s the case I’ll have the very devil of a job getting it.”
“No, not Stewarton. It’s in a cave in the very middle of the Rtathlians of the Lind.”
Chad regarded his employer’s agent in stunned disbelief before exploding, “you expect me to steal something guarded by the Lind? Your Duke must be mad!”
“Are you reneging on your word?”
“No. I am not. I said I will do it and I will, but I’ll need a hundred crowns up front.”
“Fifty is all I’m authorised to pay. You might fail and then my employer will have all the trouble to find someone else.”
“If I can’t do it then no-one can,” boasted Chad.
“They said you were the best,” said Erik in a detached manner.
“I am the best,” Chad affirmed, “but even so…”
“Think of it as a challenge,” the man suggested, “the challenge of your life, you may go down in history as the greatest, richest thief that ever lived.”
“I hope not,” Chad disagreed, “part of the secret of success is anonymity.”
He was going to do this, he knew he was. Now he had heard about the box he wouldn’t be able to rest until he had it in his possession.
“Tell me what the box looks like, not just it’s size.”
The man smiled thinly to himself as he brought a piece of grubby parchment from his pocket.
“This is the picture of the box.”
“Drawn from the original?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
Chad took the parchment.
“When I’ve got the thing where do I take it? South to Murdoch?”
“Galliard.”
“Galliard?”
“My Duke is not the only collector in the world,” the man lied with a smoothness born of long practice, “once word gets out that it has been stolen he is sure that his rivals will try to take it off him. He wants it delivered to him via a circuitous route. There will be a fast ship waiting at Galliard.”
* * * * *
Chad took a long time planning the theft. Good planning he knew was an essential element of success. His employer hadn’t put a definite time on when the box had to be stolen but it was essential he be prepared.
He had been left coin, running expenses amounting to twenty gold crowns. Chad spent wisely but as he planned he realised that thirty more crowns which were to arrive by month’s end would not nearly be enough. He would have to borrow the rest. He knew just the person.
One fine day he put the estate into the hands of his Steward and departed for Stewarton.
* * * * *
STEWARTON - ARGYLL
For a Master Thief, who you know is almost as important as what you know. His employer’s agent had sent him the rest of the crowns as promised and although Chad calculated that this would be more than enough to pay for the expenses he would have to pay out to steal the box he had no intention of using more than a little of it for that purpose.
He intended to let another foot the majority of the bill and one never knew, perhaps he wouldn’t even pay it back. With almost six hundred gold crowns he would be able to go anywhere he wanted to and certainly far enough away from the man he intended to swindle and from the cut-throats he was like t
o send out to find him.
Chad made a visit to Nonder Walmson.
“I need to get to the Gtratha,” he informed him bluntly, “how much?”
Nonder considered the request, eyes narrowing as he calculated the impossible and the possible, the costs and how much he would charge.
“I take it that this isn’t a pleasure trip?”
Chad said nothing.
Nonder Walmson was not surprised. Only a foolish thief would tell another the object of his intentions.
“I suppose you could go on one of these new-fangled pleasure caravans. Believe it or not, but people pay good coin to get bumped along, they call it a holiday! I ask you? For me a holiday is a comfortable seat in front of the fire with good wine my companion. Would cost you about twenty-five gold crowns, but travellers are watched. Bunches of ne’er do wells, sons mostly of rich folk off on a ‘great adventure’ into the Rtathlians. They’re watched ‘cos there’s been some trouble in the past.”
“No. That is not an option.”
“Thought as much. It’ll have to be one of the trade caravans then. Drellor’s the best. If there is such a thing as an honest merchant it’s Drellor. He’s trusted. Makes two trips a year, beginning and end of summer. Then there’s Trendor, but he’s a mite unreliable. Likes his drink does Trendor.”
Drunk men, in Chad’s experience were virtually incapable of keeping their mouths shut.
“Drellor,” he told Nonder, “he sounds about right. How do I go about getting a place in his next caravan?”
“Drellor charges an arm and a leg and is real careful about who he accepts. He says he’s got a reputation to maintain but he pays well for honest and reliable guards, no skimping. Bandits don’t attack Drellor. As I say, he charges a lot of coin but you’ll get there and back with your coin intact. Many feel that’s a fair bargain. Don’t know if he’s got any room left for his next trip though. Last I heard there was a waiting list of applicants. What are your trade goods?”
