Clara

by Suzanna J. Linton

  “Gavin, sir.”

  “Well, come on.”

  He led Gavin into the castle. The main hall was mostly empty. Servants here and there were mopping or cleaning the long trestle tables. On the walls hung tapestries depicting the local lord's military accomplishments. Gavin noted the thickness of the walls.

  They climbed a set of winding stairs to the right, a closed door blocking their way at the top. Bayard took out a key on a large hoop and unlocked it. He ushered him into a small room and locked the door behind them. In the room sat a man at a desk. All around him were bookcases stuffed with books, scrolls, and odds and ends. Beyond him was another door and Gavin was willing to bet his lute that the castle's coffers laid behind it. His fingers itched to get to the lock but that was not his purpose here.

  “Steward Warren,” said Bayard, “I think I have our solution to the bard problem. This is Gavin.”

  “Oh?” The man (who looked like a stick with clothes) looked up from his papers. He appraised Gavin with cornflower blue eyes. “Well, let's hear it.”

  Instead of a love ballad, he chose a more serious song about a steward who saved his lord's estate from invaders. He made sure to emphasize how wise and good the steward had been.

  Steward Warren pursed his lips when the music ended. “Clever,” he said. He shrugged. “I'll pay you to play tonight but his lordship will be the one to decide. And let me say that he is a man of refined taste.”

  Refined taste translated to more finicky than a rich heiress bent on marriage.

  Gavin bowed and said, “Thank you, Sir Steward. I'll do my best.”

  “Do that.” And he returned to his papers in a clear dismissal.

  Gavin followed Bayard out, who said, “It's some candle marks before dinner. You're free to come and go before then. Once the sun starts to set, be back here in the main hall. I'll introduce you. You're free to eat in the kitchen.”

  “And where would that be?”

  “This way.”

  He took him to the kitchens behind and below the main hall. Apparently, the castle sat on a slope.

  The kitchens bustled with at least two slaves and four cooks, one of whom was an older woman Bayard introduced as Relly. He explained that Gavin was free to eat whatever was prepared. He thanked the master of ceremonies for his kindness. Bayard nodded in a distracted way and bustled off to do whatever men in his position did when not presiding over a ceremony of one kind or another. Or escorting bards.

  Relly led him to a small table by the fire and sat him down. In a moment, she brought him a bowl of stew and some fresh bread.

  “Thank you kindly,” he said and tucked into the food, which was very good.

  “Where ye from, Gavin?” She sat across from him, apparently glad to have an excuse to rest a moment.

  “Oh, here and there. Traveled most my life.”

  “Ye've been to Bertrand?”

  “Ah, the capital! Wondrous place! Temples that could touch the sky and women lovely as lilies–such as yourself.”

  “Oh, tush!” But Relly looked faintly pleased. “We don't get many a visitor around here, being out of the way and all in these mountains. Why aren't ye in Bertrand yourself?”

  “Ah, I never could stay in one place long enough. Feet get to itching after a time. 'Sides, it occurred to me one day that I had never been 'round here before. Thought I would come and see.”

  “Well, glad to have ye.” Relly took on a wistful look. “Be nice if–” Then she looked away.

  “Oh?”

  “Be nice if a certain young maid 'twas here. She'd hang onto your every word.”

  “That so? Married off, I take it?”

  “Nay. They've got her up in the rooms for some reason.”

  He looked at her quizzically and the woman happily launched into the events surrounding the saving of Lord Dwervin's life. A rumor was floating around that this girl, now referred to as “Mouse,” had known of the attempt before it happened but Relly brushed it off. “I think she snuck up there–never been outside the kitchens much–and then saw something to tip her off. Smart gel, she is; always watching the world with those big eyes.”

  Gavin wasn't so sure himself, but he nodded along. When he finished, he sang a ditty in gratitude and left to go view more of the outside fortifications―-that is, sing to more of the locals–before the evening meal.

  The hall was half full when Gavin came in that evening. A quick scan told him that the lord had a large extended family and he didn't mind letting his guard eat with him. The oldest son was missing; the lord probably wisely sent him to Court. Bayard spotted him from his place by the high table and came down to meet him.

  “Lord Dwervin will be here shortly,” he said. He had changed into the livery of the house, the tunic stiff with heavy embroidery. “He will of course want you introduced and to open dinner with a song.”

  “His lordship is expecting me, eh?”

  “Oh, aye. It's been a long time since we've had a bard and the family wants to hear some new songs.”

  Gavin nodded and mentally ran down a list of the latest ballads. He took out his lute to tune it while Bayard returned to the high table.

  Suddenly, the main doors behind the table opened and everyone stood. Lord and Lady Dwervin came in, followed by the lady's maids. Attached to Lady Dwervin's wrist was a chain that led to the collar of a fourth girl, who walked slightly to the side and behind her ladyship. Was this the young woman Relly told him about? She had a blank look on her face, which Gavin noted had Tieran features.

  Bayard gestured to him and Gavin rushed up, going down to one knee before the lord.

  “Your lordship,” said the Master of Ceremonies, “allow me to present Gavin. He has come to petition to become our bard.”

  “Oh?” Lord Dwervin regarded him. “And who was your last master?”

  “Torvin Hunchton, Lord of the Eastlands.”

  A light of interest sparked in the lord's face. “And what brought you here?”

  “Lord Hunchton enjoys the city a wee too much for me, my lord.”

  “Have you a reference?”

  Gavin fished it from his tunic and handed it over. As Lord Dwervin read it, Gavin looked over to catch the slave's eye. She stared at him with a fixed gaze that went through him. The blood fell from her face, making it impossibly pale. Every muscle in his body tensed and a fine layer of sweat covered him in an instant.

  A Seer, he thought. An honest to Mother Seer.

  He suppressed a swear word and slapped on a pleasant expression, looking back to the floor. Lord Dwervin rolled up the reference and handed it back to him.

  “Rise,” he said, going to his seat, “and stand before us for a song.”

  Gavin obeyed and swung into a song about a lord and his lady, both madly in love with each other. It had been very popular at Court during the summer. When he finished, those there applauded. The lord nodded his approval. Gavin retired to a corner where he played background music. He took the time to study the family dynamic at the castle. He noticed a few interesting things, among those that the slave seemed to have little appetite, drank from a bowl on the floor (which made his blood boil) and refused to look at him. He fervently hoped no one asked her later if she had any visions recently.

  After dinner ended, he found himself entertaining the lord and lady in their solarium. He regaled them with stories and scandals from Court. Lady Dwervin, a shrewish looking woman with light brown hair, peppered him with questions about the latest fashions. Gavin found himself smoothly falling into Court speech. Neither of the nobles seemed to notice or care; it wasn't unknown for a bard to slip from one dialect to another in mid-conversation, as they traveled so much.

  When the interview ended, and after an order from the lord for him to go speak with the steward about salary and accommodations in the morning, Gavin walked down the halls as if angling toward the great hall. He was to bunk with the soldiers tonight but he had no interest in sleep just yet.

  He walked tow
ard the west wing of the castle. No one stopped him to question his motives for being in that part of the castle, which seemed odd to him. If the lord's life had been recently threatened, then where were the extra guards? He mounted a stairwell and went up several flights before coming out to the likeliest level, strolling easily down the hall.

  Finally, he came to a large door with an ivy pattern carved onto it. Across from it stood a plain door. The plain door probably led to the lady's maids' chambers. Gavin paused. How to get the slave on her own? Perhaps this had been a bad idea. Suddenly, the plain door opened and a blonde girl stopped short.

  “Oh, bard,” she said. “You startled me. Can I help you with something?”

  “I was merely learning the halls.”

  “Oh. Well. Her ladyship won't like you up here.”

  “My apologies.” Regretfully, he bowed and turned and began to walk away.

  Suddenly, the girl said, “Wait.” She closed the door without latching it and walked up to him. “I have to run an errand. However, I'm not supposed to leave Mouse alone unchained, but I don't wish to take her with me–”

  “The slave?”

  “Aye.” She smiled faintly. “I know it's a terrible name.” She shrugged. “The other two girls are gone. And, well, I think it would be nice if–”

  “I stayed behind and entertained her.”

  “Aye.” She smiled with relief.

  “'Twould be no trouble, lady.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She curtsied and walked swiftly down the hall.

  Gavin turned and went into the chamber, closing the door behind him and facing the empty sitting room. A door sat slightly ajar and he approached it.

  “Lady Mouse,” he said, stepping in. A girl sitting at a desk jumped to her feet, the chair falling backwards with a clatter. He held up his hands. “I'm not here to hurt you.”

  She backed away, her mouth half-opened as if she wanted to scream.

  “What's your name?” he asked.

  Her face crumbled into a mix of fear and consternation. She mimed something with her hands but Gavin couldn't understand what she was trying to say.

  “Oh,” he breathed, feeling something click. “You're a mute.”

  She nodded vigorously.

  “Then how do you tell people what you see?”

  She opened her palms as if they were a book, then with one hand mimed writing on the palm of the other.

  “You can read and write?”

  She shook her head and pointed back at the desk, where now he saw writing materials.

  “You only started learning.”

  She nodded, beaming widely that he understood her so easily. Gavin scratched the side of his head, feeling as if he had walked into the middle of a ballad without knowing the score.

  “I know you had a vision when you saw me.”

  Her face went carefully blank but Gavin wasn't fooled easily.

  “Are you going to tell your lord about me?”

  She shrugged.

  “What would keep you from doing that?”

  After a long moment, she touched her collar and then mimed taking it off.

  “You want to be free.”

  Nod.

  Emmerich trusted Gavin to make deals in his absence and though a Seer slave was quite the commodity, he saw no reason to withhold freedom from her.

  “All right,” he said. “But only if you tell me what you saw.”

  Mouse mimed having a sword and fighting with it.

  “You saw a battle. Who won?”

  She shrugged.

  “Well, I suppose it was a little too much to hope that this would be easy.”

  Gavin scratched his head, idly wondering what his father would tell him right about then. Probably steal the slave and run. Father's solution was always to steal and run. But he had a job to finish.

  “All right,” he said finally, “here's what we'll do. We'll pretend this night didn't happen.”

  That earned another sarcastic look.

  “Right. Anyway, I'll help you learn how to read and write. One day, I'll give you a signal that it's time for the attack. I don't know what the sign will be just yet but I'll think of something. But when that sign comes, I need you to go down to the kitchens and hide somewhere. I'll find you. Trust no one but me. Understand?”

  Nod.

  “It won't happen until the roads thaw after winter, so we have a nice long wait.” He started toward the door but paused. “What's your real name, by the by?”

  Mouse, looking miserable, shrugged and gestured again at the papers.

  “I see. You haven't learned that far yet. I'm sure you'll get there. Now, I'm supposed to entertain you. Why don't we go into the sitting room and I'll sing you something?”

  Chapter Eight

  Martin frowned down at the map of the valley in his hands. “Is this correct?” he asked.

  “Aye,” replied his Shire-reeve, Justus.

  “Five abandoned villages. Any idea where they've gone?”

  “Some we tracked to large towns, bunking with family, but for the most we cannot account.”

  “And what have you heard?”

  “That the Rebel is on his way, my lord.”

  Swearing under his breath, Martin set the map onto the table and took a deep swallow of mulled wine. A log broke apart in the fire behind him and he turned to stare into the red-orange flames as he rolled the problem around in his mind. Outside, late autumn winds whipped around the castle. The old ones said it would soon snow.

  “I suggest fortifying the castle, my lord,” went on Justus. “And perhaps sending word to your cousins, if I may be so bold. It is lucky we have already sent the lordling away.”

  “Luck has nothing to do with it. When that Rebel took Castle Dartmouth, despite that unnatural storm, I knew I would be the greatest of fools if I didn't send Sigmund away. Any word from our spies?”

  “Other lords and ladies are fortifying. Some are leaving altogether for Bertrand. Baroness Orlind is trying to hurry her building projects but with the autumn ending, she may have to halt work. Even she can't make the men work when there's a harvest to be brought in. I have had word from three sources, one saying the Rebel army is heading straight for Candor City–”

  “Which would be suicide.”

  “Another says he has retreated to Dartmouth to wait out the winter.”

  “Unlikely as well. That valley is the last to thaw in the spring and he'll want to get as far south as possible before winter.”

  “If he intends upon taking Bertrand in the next year.”

  “From the reports you've brought to me, he is brash and daring enough to do it. What of the third report?”

  “That he is heading here but is well-concealed in the mountains.”

  “We are the last major castle before Orlind.”

  “And from Orlind he can prepare and then launch an attack upon Candor.”

  “And with Candor he can control the entire North.”

  The men stood in silence. Martin looked up from the fire to the painting hanging over the mantle. A rare southern-style portrait of his father looked down upon him with all the disdain he carried in life. Lord Dwervin could only imagine what his father would say to him at that moment.

  “My lord,” said Justus, “I recommend seeing to our fortifications, perhaps sending away the lady–”

  “She won't go. If Lady Maria is anything, it is suspicious and conniving. She probably thinks if I sent her away, I'd never let her come back.”

  “What do you make of her keeping that slave on a leash?”

  “I think it's a lark, personally. But I know she's just throwing the girl's status in my face.” He drank the last of his wine. “As if I cared.”

  “It has been over a month since Brellin's treachery and the Seer has not come forward with a vision. There is the possibility that Brellin–”

  “I am quite aware of that. Thankfully, my Steward keeps excellent records and I have a record of a mute kitchen sla
ve being purchased around the time Maria claims.”

  “But what if Lady Maria is part of a plot?”

  Tension filled the room and Lord Dwervin's shoulders tightened. Spluttering, Justus tried to take back his words but Martin held up his hand to stop him.

  “You make a good point,” he said. “But I am already well ahead of you.”

  “My lord, if you thought your life was in danger, then why–”

  “Didn't I turn to you?” He set the empty cup on the table. “Because I wasn't sure of your loyalty.”

  “I will always be loyal to you, my lord.”

  “I know, Justus. Give orders for the walls to be seen to and send out heralds announcing that I am taking young men for my army. Make the usual promises of pay, food, and bunk.”

  “The barracks can take another hundred men, sire.”

  “Good.”

  “Any news from Bertrand, my lord?”

  “Nothing new, I'm afraid. The Sorcerer King is still firmly on the throne and going nowhere. If he has heard about Brellin, he has made no sign of it. Brellin may very well have been working on his own.”

  “But if he did send Brellin? Can we stand against him?”

  “Marduk has enough to worry about than my trying to kill one of the members of his precious Brethren.”

  “But what about when he defeats the Rebels?”

  “We'll worry about it, then. Let us focus on the problem at hand than the problem that may never come. We have no proof, after all, that Brellin was sent by the king.”

  “There is no proof to the contrary, my lord.”

  A knock on the door brought Justus' hand to his sword. Martin only smiled as he said, “Enter.”

  Emerald came in, closing the door softly behind her. Martin gestured for her to come by his side and when she had, he wrapped an arm around her waist. “This, Justus, is my little spy. She has been keeping me informed of all of the lady's comings and goings. You have no need to worry about Lady Maria.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Leave us.”

  Justus bowed and hastily left. As soon as the door closed behind him, Martin pulled Emerald to him for a passionate kiss. When they broke apart, he asked, “Any news?”