23
~Grim~
We have our bowl of soup in the kitchen of the big house. Then head over to the barn to sleep. They’re well set up there, Gormán and Conn: proper shelf beds, a good hearth, plenty of room. Enough beds for three more men, if they wanted to fit them in.
Conn’s been out searching with one of the other teams, so he comes in with us. Fire’s been banked up, just needs a stir and a log or two. Conn finds a water bowl for Ripple, who’s got a meaty bone in her jaws. Carried it all the way from the kitchen. Given to her by Mistress Della, no less. Gormán looks in a chest, gets out blankets for me. ‘You can have that bed,’ he says, pointing. ‘Conn, find that good mead, will you? A cup before we sleep wouldn’t go amiss.’
‘Where’s Bardán?’ I ask.
Nobody says anything right away. Been hoping I’d forget to ask, that’s my guess. Conn fiddles around with the bottle and cups for a bit. Then Gormán says, ‘Bardán’s to be locked up at night from now on. We can’t use his old quarters anymore; not secure. Tóla’s orders.’
And? I think, but I hold back from saying it. Get on the wrong side of Gormán and he’ll stop telling me anything at all. When it comes to it, I’m just a hired man here. Need to tread careful or I’ll be gone and Bardán will be on his own. ‘So where have you put him?’ Trying not to let it show that I’m angry. There’s room for all of us in here, the two of them, Bardán and me, and a bed left over. He could’ve been warm and dry all this time.
‘Root cellar,’ Gormán says. ‘Other end of the barn, down below. It’s dry. He’s got bedding.’
‘Show me.’
‘He’ll be asleep by now.’
‘Show me, Gormán.’ Didn’t think I looked so fierce, but Ripple growls deep down, like she’d attack if I gave the order, and Gormán takes a step back.
‘If you insist,’ he says. ‘Not much to see. Through here. Mind your head.’
The foresters’ quarters, where we’ve been, are down one end of the barn. Shut off from the rest by a wall. The other part’s bigger. A few cows in there, shuffling around and making sleepy mooing sounds. Smell of straw and dung. Gormán’s brought the lantern. There are shadows moving around on the rafters, eyes catching the light up there, an owl tearing at something in its claws.
‘Down here,’ Gormán says. We’re near the far end. And there’s a trapdoor in the barn floor, with a hand hold cut into it.
‘You’re joking.’ He’s not joking. Red rage boils inside me. I’m a hair’s-breadth from picking the man up and shaking some sense into him. Or worse. I want to go on shaking until I kill him. Breathe deep, Grim. ‘Open it up.’
He creaks the thing open. Pitch dark down there. My head’s full of Mathuin’s lockup, the dark, the screams, the beatings, the stench, the days that went on and on and on. The endless nights. Heart’s beating fit to split my chest open. Skin’s gone cold and clammy all over. Blackthorn tied up by the wrists. Slammer doing unspeakable things. I bashed myself near senseless that day, trying to break down the bars of my cell. Couldn’t get out. Couldn’t help her. Breathe. ‘Give me the lantern.’
There are steps down, six or seven of them. Tight space; if I go down I’ll block out most of the light. I put the lantern on the edge of the trapdoor and go down anyway. The wild man’s not asleep. I can hear him crying. The red rage turns to something darker. It turns black as night and cold as the grave. It’s not Gormán I want to kill; he’s a weak man carrying out orders. The one I want to punish is the master.
‘Bardán? You all right, brother?’ Stupid question.
‘Grim?’ It comes out on a choking sob. I know what he’s feeling. Same thing Blackthorn and I felt at night, in that place, when one of us was falling apart with the burden of everything, and the other one said out of the dark, ‘I’m here.’
‘Where are you, man? Can’t see you.’
He moves; wriggles into the narrow strip of light. Can’t move far, though, because he’s lying on the floor, tied at the wrists and ankles. The smell tells me he’s wet himself. Gormán didn’t lie about giving him bedding, but it’s in a heap and he can’t get it back over himself. Place is cold enough to freeze your bollocks off. Fine for storing vegetables. No spot to put a man.
‘Grim,’ he whispers. ‘Where’s my daughter? What have they done with my girl?’
He must’ve been dreaming, the sort of nightmares a man has when he’s hurt and cold and trussed up in the dark. Only half with me. ‘Don’t worry about that,’ I say. ‘I’m going to cut those ropes. Hold steady, will you?’
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ That’s Gormán from the top of the steps. ‘Master Tóla said –’
‘I don’t give a rat’s arse what Master Tóla said.’ My knife makes short work of the bonds. Ropes have marked Bardán’s skin. Morrigan’s curse, the man stinks. Never mind that. He’ll be feeling numb. Could be hard getting him up those steps. Need two of us. ‘Give me a hand, will you?’
‘You can’t do this, Grim.’
‘Just watch me.’
In the end Gormán does help. Must know that if I get stuck halfway up with the wild man on my back, he’ll be the one who has to explain to Tóla. Wonder how many other poor sods the master’s thrown down here when they got in his road. I’m just glad I don’t have to put Bardán over my shoulder and squeeze my way out. I half push, half lift him up the steps in front of me. Gormán hauls him out the top. Strong fellow, Gormán. A forester would be.
‘Right,’ I say when we’re all out and the trapdoor’s shut. ‘I know you’re not happy. Never mind that. I’ll explain to Tóla in the morning. I’ll tell him it was all my doing and none of yours. Now I want this man properly fed. Given fresh clothes. A proper bed. And not tied up.’
‘He’s a danger to himself,’ Gormán says. ‘And to everyone else. He has to be tied up.’
‘Not while I’m here.’ I know when I say this that I’m binding myself to something I don’t really want to do. Something that’s going to make my life difficult for a while. Can’t see any choice. Bardán’s not safe in this den of wolves. Never will be. ‘I’ll take responsibility for him. I’ll give my word that he’ll keep out of trouble.’
‘He can’t sleep in with us,’ Gormán says. ‘Smell would keep us awake all night.’
I don’t suggest a bath. Pretty sure Bardán would say no to that. Anyway it’s late and we’re all worn out. ‘We’ll sleep next to the cows, him and me,’ I say. ‘Bit of straw to lie on, blanket each, no trouble.’ I know one thing, I’m not leaving him to sleep in with the animals while I’m in one of those cosy beds next door. Anyway, they wouldn’t agree to that. Makes me wonder what they think he’ll do.
‘I’ll be reporting this to Master Tóla first thing in the morning,’ Gormán says. ‘You’re likely to find yourself out of a job.’
‘Not sure I want this one,’ I say, though it’s only half-true. ‘Not after what I’ve seen today.’
Gormán doesn’t comment on that. Sees the sense in giving me what I want, for now anyway. Means we can all get some sleep. Probably thinks Tóla will throw me out first thing in the morning. Even if Ripple and me did help find his daughter.
Young Conn’s a bit surprised when we all appear at the door to the quarters. Does as he’s told, though. I take Bardán out to the privy. Wonder if I’ll be having to do that every time from now on. By the time we get back Gormán’s looked out some old clean clothes that more or less fit, and Conn’s warmed up some food. They let Bardán eat it by their fire. But only because I’m standing there with a look on my face that stops them from saying he’s too smelly, he’s too strange, he’s too wild. Conn gives me a cup of mead, which I drink. Offer Bardán a share but he shakes his head. Only wants water. Then him and me take ourselves off into the part with the animals, and the door shuts, and we bed down in the pile of straw. Ripple circles a few times then settles with a sound li
ke a sigh. I’ve slept in a lot worse places than this. Don’t lie down till I’m sure Bardán’s got his blankets over him. He’s still muttering about his daughter, his baby, his little girl. Don’t want to start talking about that, not now. His wife died in childbirth, didn’t she? That’s what he seemed to be saying up at the hut. Lost the two of them. Must’ve heard Tóla talking, or the others, about Cara being missing, and it all got mixed up in his head, brought back the past, only twisted round so it was somehow not Tóla’s daughter but his girl who was lost. Now’s not the time to try untangling it. Not the place either, here in the dark with the cows all sleepy and the night half-gone already.
Rain’s coming down outside again. Hope Blackthorn’s getting a good sleep down at Longwater. Hope Fann’s still well, and the new little one. And the father, Ross. Not that he did any of the hard work. How would that feel, holding your baby son in your arms for the first time ever? That’d be like sunshine and springtime and smiles and every good thing you could think of all in one. But frightening too. Because that baby’s coming into a world with folk like Mathuin of Laois in it. And Slammer. And Master Tóla, who can’t see a real man under a coating of dirt and sorrow and madness. A man would need to be brave to be a father.
I lie there listening to the rain and thinking about things. Bardán mutters to himself about his daughter, where is she, what have they done with her, they’ve stolen her and so on. Doesn’t seem to expect an answer so I don’t say anything much. Only, ‘It’s all right,’ and ‘Try to sleep now,’ and so on. After a bit he goes quiet and I think he’s dropped off. But no. He starts to sing, under his breath. Heard this song before, bits of it, while he’s watching me work. Only now I listen properly, and he sings the whole thing through.
‘Starling, woodcock, owl on wing
Nightjar, chiffchaff, bunting sing
Goldcrest, warbler, thrush and jay
Redpoll, siskin darting by
Golden feather, scarlet, white
Bright as summer, dark as night
Weave a charm for luck and good
Every birdling in the wood
Feather bright and feather fine
None shall harm this child of mine.’
Bardán’s voice is not the best, and he’s hardly singing above a whisper. But I hear something in that broken sound. I hear a father singing to a baby, singing her to sleep. I hear a man who’s still got something soft and tender in him, even when he’s been beaten down and worn away to a ruin. There’s power in those words, too. Like a charm. Like magic. Wish I could write them down, so I’d remember them all. Blackthorn would like to hear that song.
My thoughts take a sideways slip, and I’m seeing too far ahead. Seeing something in the world of might be, the world of after Mathuin. Not good. Start those foolish dreams and I’ll be over the cliff before you can say Red Giant. And there’s things to do here.
Bardán’s asleep. Breathing slow, curled up under his blanket. Ripple’s wriggled over next to him, keeping him warm. But me? I’m wide awake, staring up into the dark, listening to the cows, thinking how I never slept at night when I was in Mathuin’s lockup, or when I was on the road with Blackthorn, or when we were at court. Always on alert. Couldn’t help it. Used to snatch a catnap when I could, during the day. Managed to do my work. When I first started building the heartwood house, riding to and fro and so on, that changed. Got so tired I was hard put to stay awake long enough to eat supper.
Now here I am, heart racing, jumping every time the timbers of the barn creak and groan in the wind. A bird cries out in the woods, and I’m in that place of Mathuin’s, hearing Blackthorn bite back a scream, hearing Dribbles sobbing Stop it, don’t hurt me, please, please! A cracking sound – the wind, I know it’s only the wind – and I’m hearing a whip on naked flesh, and worse things, and I’m shaking the bars, bashing my head against them, got to get out, got to save her, got to stop this –
‘Grim.’
Bardán’s voice snaps me back to the barn, the straw, the quiet sounds. Rain falling. Cows breathing. Oh, shit. That was real. It was too real. ‘Sorry,’ I mutter. ‘Was I shouting?’ Can’t have been, or Gormán would have been through that door quick smart.
‘Hitting yourself in the head,’ says the wild man.
‘Shit. Sorry.’ Great help I’m going to be if I let that old stuff start eating me up again. ‘Might stay awake a bit,’ I say. ‘You sleep.’
‘You all right?’
I would be, if Blackthorn was here. But she’s in Longwater, and tomorrow night she’ll be back home, and I don’t think I will be. I don’t think I can be, now, until the heartwood house is all finished. ‘Just need to stay awake a bit. Might do some exercises, warm myself up. You sleep, brother. I’ll watch over you.’
There’s a long quiet then. I get up, start some bending and stretching, know I’ll have to do what I used to do in the lockup, keep myself so busy the bad things can’t find space to squeeze in. Harder with Blackthorn not here. But I can do it. I have to. Keep going till it’s light again. Then face up to Tóla.
I’m standing on my hands in the dark, counting up to twenty, when Bardán speaks again.
‘Never had a brother,’ he says, quiet-like. There’s a sort of wonder in his voice. After a bit he says, ‘You’re a good man, Grim. The best. Be safe till morning.’
Morning comes. Bardán’s still sleeping, curled up with his fist against his mouth like a child. I get up without waking him. Take Ripple out through the sleeping quarters. Gormán’s stirring, Conn is just a mound of blankets. I open the door and there’s a couple of fellows on their way up the hill, heading in our direction.
Seems the master’s thought of everything. The two tell us he’s sent them to make sure Bardán doesn’t get up to anything he shouldn’t. And Master Tóla wants to see Gormán and me, straight away. Which is before we’ve even had breakfast. I put Ripple back in with Bardán and tell her to stay. Best I can do, for now.
When we get down to the house we find out why Tóla’s in a hurry. He calls us into his council room and shuts the door. Looks like he’s had about as much sleep as I have, which is more or less none. Looks old and tired and sad. Can’t find it in myself to be sorry for the man, though.
‘I don’t have much time to spare,’ he says when Gormán and me are sitting down. ‘I’ll be leaving shortly to take my daughter back to Winterfalls.’ He doesn’t give us a chance to comment. Which is just as well, since I’m remembering what Blackthorn said about the girl wanting to come home. Thinking about her trying to do it on her own and falling down that hole and having to wait a long time to be found. Remembering her throwing herself into her father’s arms, and him with tears on his cheeks. And now he’s sending her away again. After one night under her own roof. Makes no sense at all.
‘I owe you both thanks for finding Cara and bringing her home safely,’ he says. ‘You’ll be receiving an extra payment in recognition of that service. That my daughter was able to leave Winterfalls unnoticed makes it clear that the arrangements there are inadequate. There must also be an improvement in the speed with which they get messages to me. I’ll speak to Prince Oran’s folk when I’m down there. We can’t have any repetition of what just happened.’ Not a scrap of softness in his voice. He could be stone. How did a man like him manage to father Cara? That girl’s like a creature from an old story, a tree nymph or something. The kind of girl the shepherd or farmer’s son or builder ends up not marrying because he knows she’s too fine for him. Or too different.
‘My gratitude does not entirely outweigh my concern about your behaviour yesterday, Grim.’ Tóla’s got cold eyes. Hard eyes. Those eyes could bore a hole right through your heart. ‘You were very ready to take Bardán’s part. You suggested we had ill-treated the fellow in some way. You indicated that you might withdraw your labour if we did not make changes. I remind you of several facts. One, you are working for me.
Two, you are extremely well paid. Three, you agreed to do the job. I don’t recall anything in our arrangement about your making your own terms and conditions and doing the same for your fellow worker.’
‘What I said. Last night. Yes, it was a good payment. I’ve earned some of it up to now. I’ll repay the rest if we can’t work things out.’
Tóla’s mouth goes tight. Me, I’m wondering why Gormán hasn’t spoken up, told his master about me getting Bardán out of that cellar, cutting his bonds, changing the sleeping arrangements and all. Not a word. ‘It’s not a matter of working anything out,’ the master says. ‘You do the job my way or not at all. I would be sorry to see you go. But I can’t have Bardán going off where and when he pleases, telling his mad tales to half the folk of the district. We’d never get the place built. And yesterday’s episode tells me we need it done soon.’
Morrigan’s curse. Gormán was right about him. He really believes the old tale about the heartwood house, whatever it is. He believes it was fate or a curse or suchlike that put his daughter in danger. Anything bad that happens to Cara before we get the thing finished, he’ll blame us for. Same as he blamed Bardán for his wife dying.
‘Master Tóla,’ I say, working as hard as I can to sound polite, though I detest the man and everything he stands for, ‘you know I said before, once or twice, about getting a few more men in to help. Do the job well, do it quickly. I know you’re not keen. But there are some fellows down at Longwater could handle the work if I was there to help them do it right. And Bardán to tell us all how it fits together.’
‘Fellows.’ He’s icy now. Doesn’t like me breaking his rules. Not one bit. ‘What fellows?’
‘I got talking to some of the lads earlier, while the women down there were birthing the babe. Asked around, didn’t tell them what the job was, exactly, just that it’d be a good stretch of solid work for them, with a fair payment. Sounds like there’d be a crew of six if you wanted them.’
Den of Wolves Page 22
