Land of the Silver Dragon

by Alys Clare

  I knew where we were going. Keeping very close behind him, I followed him along the passage and through the arched entrance to the corridor that leads down to the crypt. I helped him close and bar the door. Suddenly in total darkness, I was glad of his hand, reaching for mine, leading me on down the steps, left, left again, down more steps, and into the crypt.

  He guided me to the left of the entrance, turning me. I felt the softness of his cot behind my legs and sank down on to it. I heard him move across the floor, and there was a sudden spark from a flint. Then the blessed light of a candle shone out, sending the darkness back into the corners.

  Feeling sick and shivery, I let out the breath I’d been holding. I stared at Gurdyman. He was standing in the middle of the room, quite still, his head slightly on one side. He was listening.

  I could hear nothing but the rapid beat of my alarmed heart. Trying to calm myself, I slowed my breathing. You’re safe, I told myself. Nobody can find you down here.

  Who was looking for me? It did not even cross my mind that whoever it was could be after Gurdyman: I knew he wasn’t. The giant must have found out that someone from the family he was targeting – my family – had come here to this house, and he had followed. Now he was about to break in, so that he could search through my belongings, just as he had everyone else’s. Well, he’d be disappointed because ...

  How had Gurdyman known he was coming?

  Hard on the heels of that question, bursting across my consciousness like a shooting star, came another: Was Gurdyman’s assumption right?

  He was still standing there; still listening.

  I nerved myself to speak. I had to ask; he might be mistaken, and we could be huddling down here for nothing. I drew a breath, opened my mouth ...

  From above us, over beyond the far wall of the crypt – the direction of Gurdyman’s twisty-turny house – I heard a bump, followed by the very faint sound of slow, stealthy footfalls.

  Gurdyman was not mistaken. Somebody was in his house.

  Desperate though I was to ask how he could possibly have realized the intruder was on his way, I dared not utter a sound. Instead, I tried to work it out for myself. Perhaps Gurdyman had been out on some mysterious nocturnal errand, and seen a suspicious stranger lurking nearby. He does go out at night, and I know better than to ask where he goes and what he does. He did once mention a sacred well, and a secret midnight meeting of black-cloaked magicians, but I’m all but sure he was teasing me.

  I was comforting myself with this pleasantly reasonable solution when I realized something: the cot on which I sat was warm from Gurdyman’s body. He had not been outside; he’d been right here in the crypt.

  How else could he have known? Had he heard the intruder in the alley? No, that didn’t seem likely, for down in the crypt we were deep underground. It was only just possible to hear the intruder above us now, as he paced through Gurdyman’s house.

  Something else occurred to me. The first sound made by the intruder had not come from the front of the house, where the stout wooden door opens on to the alley. It had come from the rear, where, between it and the narrow alleyway beyond, the little open courtyard is enclosed by a high wall.

  A very high, thick wall, which merges on either side with the rear walls of the neighbouring houses, and which is even topped with thatch, as they are.

  No man, surely, could have scaled it and dropped down into the courtyard without serious injury. Could he?

  This man was a giant, I reminded myself. He was long-legged and very strong. Very probably, he was capable of feats beyond the scope of normal men.

  My fear overcame me. I crawled to the back of the little cot and curled up with my back to the wall, draping my shawl over my head and face so that only my eyes were visible. It was a senseless act, really, for if the intruder found the hidden door, he’d be down here in a flash and no shawl in the world would hide me from him.

  As if he had picked up my thoughts, Gurdyman turned to me, giving me a reassuring smile. Very quietly he whispered, ‘Nobody yet has discovered the secret, child, although many have searched the house. Do not be afraid.’

  I repeated those last four words, over and over again. After some time, I realized that the all-but-undetectable sounds from above had ceased.

  Gurdyman looked at me. ‘Can you sleep there, on my cot?’ he asked softly.

  I nodded. Now that the threat had gone – or so I hoped – I was appreciating how tired I was.

  He came across to me, reaching for a folded blanket and covering me with it. ‘Then do so,’ he said. ‘The intruder has gone, but he may still be outside, alert for any sound or movement within the house. It would be wise not to venture back up there until morning.’

  I snuggled down under the blanket. ‘What about you?’ Fond as I am of Gurdyman, I did not welcome the thought of sharing a bed with him.

  He grinned, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. ‘I have much to do,’ he said. ‘I shall be over there –’ he pointed – ‘at my work bench.’ He reached out his hands, placing them either side of my head. His touch was warm and comforting, and I felt my mind fill with calm, gentle thoughts. ‘Sleep, Lassair,’ he intoned.

  I slept.

  SIX

  Gurdyman and I went through his house together in the morning, both of us hawk-eyed as we hunted for clues to what our night-time intruder had been up to. It was all too obvious that someone had gone through the house and its contents very thoroughly. To the casual eye, Gurdyman does not own much – and, certainly, everything of any value or interest is kept safely, securely and secretly down in the crypt – but the overturned benches and tables, and the pots swept down off the shelves, told us that every last item had been picked up and examined. If only it had stopped there. As in the other dwellings he’d searched, the intruder had a heavy hand when it came to putting things back. A couple of pots were broken, and it looked as if a small stack of wooden platters had been trodden on. I watched as, with a small sigh, Gurdyman picked up the detritus.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said impulsively, my heart torn at his expression.

  He turned to me, a cracked platter in his hand, a kindly smile on his face. ‘Why are you apologizing?’

  I gestured at the turmoil. ‘All this.’

  ‘You didn’t do it,’ he pointed out.

  ‘I know, but the intruder is searching the places where my kin live, and now he’s come here, and I—’

  ‘Hush, child.’ Gurdyman put the platter down and came to stand beside me, a hand on my shoulder. ‘We are not responsible for the acts of others. Only our own, and nothing you have done has invited the attentions of this intruder.’ He gave my arm a pat. ‘And it is only inanimate objects that have been damaged.’

  He was right, and his words consoled me. Nevertheless, it was with great trepidation that I climbed the ladder into the little upper room to see what had happened to my own belongings.

  The bed had been searched. The straw mattress sat slightly askew on the wooden bed frame, so presumably the intruder had lifted it to see if anything was hidden beneath it. It also looked sort of crushed, as if large hands had felt all over it for concealed treasures. The pillows and covers had been removed and left in a heap on the end of the bed. They, too, had received the squashing treatment. My few spare garments had been dragged from the bag in which I’d brought them from Aelf Fen, and now lay scattered on the floor. I felt sick as carefully I smoothed them out and folded them. The thought of a violent stranger’s touch on my personal belongings shocked me deeply.

  The leather satchel in which I carry the tools of my healer’s craft had received the most thorough attention. He – I would have sworn on everything I hold dear that it was he – had emptied it and laid every last item out on the floor in three ragged lines.

  Nothing was missing: I knew that with total certainty, for I had packed the satchel myself two days ago. I had removed nothing since, and nor had anyone else.

  I sat down on the floor and set abo
ut repacking my belongings. Then I put the bed to rights. I sank down on to it, deep in thought.

  Yet another family dwelling place had been searched. Again, nothing was missing. The conclusion was obvious: whatever the searcher was hunting for, he still hadn’t found it.

  What would he do next? Would he start all over again, revisiting us all, this time not stopping till he’d torn up floorboards, demolished houses? But that, surely, would be too risky, for this man had killed, twice, and must realize that it would not be nearly so easy a second time to catch his victims unaware, even assuming he continued to evade whatever forces of law and order were now on his trail.

  I wondered fleetingly if Gurdyman would report this break-in to the authorities, and knew instantly that he would not. He was a man who valued his privacy, and it was not in the least likely that he would wish to draw attention to himself in that way.

  If the intruder were to be caught, he would hang, having committed murder as well as his other crimes. Would that not persuade him to be sensible?

  Being sensible meant giving up. As I sat there on my bed in Gurdyman’s house, I sent up a brief and heartfelt prayer that our intruder would do just that.

  Gurdyman and I settled down to a period of intense work. My mind was kept fully occupied during the waking hours, and, exhausted, I slept soundlessly and dreamlessly every night. In consequence, I barely had time to think about the intruder. We had a swift visit from Hrype, who closeted himself with Gurdyman, emerged looking preoccupied, and only in what seemed like an afterthought remembered to tell me that my kin back at Aelf Fen were all safe and well. Morcar, he reported, slowly recovering from his grief and adjusting to the prospect of life without his mother, had gone back to the Breckland.

  If Hrype was out and about again, I calculated, and Morcar had left, then presumably the threat to Edild had gone. I breathed a sigh of relief. It looked as if my prayer had been answered, and the big, red-bearded giant who had been terrorizing my family had indeed given up and gone away.

  Gurdyman introduced a fresh field of study, concerning the extraordinary substance called quicksilver. I was fascinated by it from the start; by its surprising weight; by its shining, glittering appearance; by its ability to shatter itself into beautiful little silver balls, then, if you put those balls together, form itself back into a smooth whole. My fascination was certainly increased by the fact that Gurdyman treated it with such awe. It was, he told me firmly, toxic. In case I was still in any doubt about what toxic meant, he told me that, too.

  Despite its poisonous qualities, Gurdyman told me that quicksilver is used in a particular area of healing; one which, he added, I would no doubt experience myself if I practised my healing craft in the town. Calmly, and without a hint of awkwardness, he explained about the diseases that spread through the act of love. Assuming me to be innocent of such matters, he told me about the sexual hunger of the male sex, whereby a man away from the comforts of his wife’s bed will pay for sex with a town prostitute.

  I knew of such things. Edild explained briefly to me, when we treated one of Lord Gilbert’s visitors who had recently returned from a sojourn in London. Gurdyman, however, went into far more detail. By the time he had finished describing the skin lesions and the pus-filled sores, I was feeling quite faint. It was a huge relief when we turned from theory to practice, and he set about teaching me how to make the quicksilver ointment used in treatment.

  Gurdyman might have been able to concentrate indefinitely, but I couldn’t. After a gruelling week in which I didn’t see daylight except when I was dispatched to go out and buy food and drink, my teacher finally noticed he had worn me out and announced that I might have a break from my studies.

  While we had been closeted in the crypt, full-blossoming spring had at last arrived. We had passed the equinox and April had come in, full of sunny smiles interspersed with soft, warm rain. On my first free day, I hurried out of town and went to stand beside the river. Such was my pleasure in simply breathing in the cool, fragrant air that I might have been ingesting the best French wine.

  Spring had enticed even Gurdyman out of his underground lair, and he had set up a small work bench out in the little courtyard. He was busy on his mapping again; a task for which my assistance was more of a hindrance than a help. After a morning in which I succeeded in doing nothing except irritate him, it occurred to me that now might be a good opportunity to slip home and see my family.

  Gurdyman was so intent on his work that I had to repeat my request before he realized what I was saying. Looking up at me, a frown on his amiable face, he said, ‘Yes, child, that is an extremely good idea!’

  I hurried up to my room to fetch my satchel. I would not take anything else, since I’d only be gone for a couple of days; three at the most. It would make a pleasant change to make the familiar journey without having to carry a heavy bag; having my father to carry it for me had been a rare pleasure the last time I’d made the trip. I went back out to the courtyard to say farewell to Gurdyman, telling him I’d be back soon. He waved a vague hand in acknowledgement.

  As I slipped out of the house, my spirits high as the springtime sun in the brilliant blue sky, I was very grateful for Gurdyman’s preoccupation. I’d been worried that, recalling how my father had insisted on escorting me on the way to Cambridge, Gurdyman might similarly stipulate that I wasn’t to make the return journey unless someone went with me. That, I told myself firmly, was quite unnecessary. For one thing, spring had, as it always does, filled people with the need to get out into the good fresh air, and the roads, tracks and paths would be busy with traffic. There was safety in numbers. For another, the fact that Hrype had felt able to leave his beloved Edild unguarded while he came to visit Gurdyman indicated that he no longer sensed a threat. Hrype was one of the wisest people I knew. If he believed the giant had given up and gone away, then that was good enough for me.

  They jumped me on a lonely stretch of track where there was nobody about to hear or see.

  They must have been observing me for some time, for this part of the journey was a little-used short cut which, I’m sure, few people know about. I knew of it, however, and they knew I used it.

  To begin with, I was so frightened that I couldn’t think. I’d been striding along, reflecting happily how pleased my family would be to have a surprise visit from me, and hoping my mother would have something with which to make a special, celebratory meal. I wasn’t aware of danger until it was almost upon me; I heard a faint sound, and was in the very act of spinning round to see if anyone was there when they attacked.

  They. Yes, I was sure even then that there was more than one of them. Not that I could tell by looking, or by listening. A heavy sack was thrown over my head, effectively blinding me, and a rope was thrown round me just above my waist, pinning my arms to my sides. I heard scuffling sounds as they tried to suppress my struggles, and a sharp yell of pain as my wildly kicking feet caught someone in a tender spot.

  Then I was lifted off the ground, one person supporting my head and shoulders, another, my legs. I yelled as loudly as I could, but the thick cloth bag must have muffled the sound. They can’t have been worried about being overheard, or else they would have gagged me, and after a few moments this fact penetrated through my panic and I stopped shouting.

  They did not carry me far. I tried to count their paces, and thought I reached perhaps two or three hundred. Then I heard water. One of my abductors called out something in a language that sounded vaguely familiar; just a few words, softly spoken, sounding like a query. From quite close and below, another voice answered. Then I felt myself being lowered, and I was set down on what felt to my questing hands like a surface of wooden planks.

  For a moment, I was left alone. I heard them talking quietly and urgently, and thought I counted at least four voices. There was a splashing sound, then I sensed movement. The splashing settled down into a regular rhythm, like rowing.

  Was I on a boat? Yes, I must be. It seemed highly likely, a
s the place where they had jumped on me was quite near a tributary of one of the main branches of the fenland river system. Were we even now setting out along the winding, twisting, secretive waterways of the fens? Oh, oh, if we were, then we were about to lose ourselves in one of the finest hiding places I knew. If a mist came down, as it frequently did towards the day’s end, whatever craft we were on could glide right past my own village and nobody would be any the wiser.

  The fear came back, a hundredfold. Nobody would come looking for me, because nobody knew I was missing. Gurdyman believed I was on my way home to Aelf Fen, where I’d stay for at least a couple of days and probably more. But, in my village, they didn’t even know I was coming.

  Beneath the heavy hood, my eyes filled with desperate tears. With my arms bound to my sides, I could only just manage to lift a hand up to wipe them away.

  After quite a while, there was a gentle thud, as if the boat had bumped up against a jetty. Then I was lifted up and passed from one pair of arms to another, and I felt myself being carried up. Up a ladder? Oh, but supposing the person carrying me slipped, or dropped me? I gave a whimper of fear. Then I was laid down once more, this time on something woolly which had a faint smell that confirmed it was a sheepskin.

  Presently the sounds of rowing started again. They had, I guessed, just transferred me from a small boat to a larger one.

  Time passed. I wasn’t sure how long; it seemed an eternity. At some point, one of the abductors came and put something soft beneath my head. Unless they were particularly cruel, and lulling me into feeling safe when I was far from it, then it looked as though they did not mean me harm.

  Not yet, anyway.