Torbrek...and the Dragon Variation (The Torbrek Trilogy)

by Lexi Revellian

  Pethick shook his head. “Not worth my while.”

  “If we throw in the dog’s collar? It’s got jewels in it.”

  Pethick sucked in his breath. “Not much of a market for jewelled dog collars. I couldn’t shift it.”

  “Nine crowns?” Pom thought he could give Gwenderith his crown to make up the fare; it would be worth it to be unencumbered. He would manage somehow.

  “Seven crowns, and that’s my final offer,” said the pawnbroker firmly.

  “We’ll just discuss it,” said Pom with dignity, drawing Gwenderith to the door.

  She was looking anxious. “What shall we do?” she whispered.

  “I think we’ll have to take it. It’s a start, and maybe we could get the rest somewhere. At least you’ll stop sticking out like a sore thumb, and if you can’t get home you’ll need money to live on.”

  “You won’t leave me on my own if you find the Knights?” Gwenderith knew she should be prepared to cope by herself, and not impede Pom, but she was sure she couldn’t, even though she was grown up and he was only twelve. What was the use of having money to live on if she couldn’t get home? It would run out in time, and then what? She had never worked in her life.

  Pom sounded impatient as he said, too loudly, “The Knights’ll probably lend you some money to get home. It’ll be all right, don’t worry.”

  The pawnbroker had wandered nearer, ostensibly tidying up but with an attentive air. Pom hoped he hadn’t overheard them. He scowled, annoyed with himself for forgetting to whisper. Gwenderith saw the scowl. She did not want to be difficult. She did not want Pom to get cross with her and leave her.

  “Very well, let’s take the seven crowns, if you think so,” she said. The life of a princess, she was beginning to realize, consisted of not doing things that ordinary people did every day for themselves without thinking. Things like brushing your own hair, or preparing food. When you had to start doing them for yourself, you were slow and clumsy and people pitied you and got impatient. She had always thought herself fortunate to be a princess, but now she wondered whether it might not be better to be ordinary…

  A short while later they left the shop, Gwenderith wearing a simple grey, white and black dress which if anything emphasized her luminous beauty more than her old one had. However, she no longer looked like a princess. Her hair was loose down her back, as she had given up the struggle that morning to put it up. Pom had insisted on comfortable shoes to go with the dress, in case she ended up having to walk to Garock Holt. He kept the money, since he felt Gwenderith was too clueless to be trusted with it.

  The pawnbroker admired the dress in his hand; fine quality, and hardly worn. A good bargain, though he could have got it for less; he had felt a bit sorry for them, the beautiful girl and the young boy, and had not wanted to beat them down too much. He went through the pockets. Once he had found a gold watch in a jacket he had paid ten groats for…what was this?

  He pulled out Barlanik’s letter. It was folded and sealed with the mark of a leopard, with “Urquin” written on the front. He’d only heard of one man called Urquin, and that was the deposed King Urquin. This letter, if it was to him, might be worth more than the dress in the right quarters. No need to be too precise describing its former owner, no need to mention the dog or the boy; he did not want to get them into trouble.

  He put the letter in a patch of sun to warm the sealing wax, so it would be less likely to shatter when he eased it off, and went to get a candle and a thin-bladed knife.

  Routh stood by Skardroft’s chair as he read the letter by the light of a lamp that evening.

  “It’s dated yesterday – where did it come from?”

  “It was in the pocket of a dress that was pawned today, Sire. The pawnbroker took it to Commander Northwood at Atherly Berrow and asked a small fortune for it. The Commander bought it; he was sure you’d want it.”

  “He’s got sense, Northwood. Who pawned the dress?”

  “A young woman. We’ve got her description; fair hair, and a blue dress that she got in exchange for her own. They are looking for her now to see what she knows, but so far without success. She may have left the town.”

  “That is a job for Corfe. He will get to the bottom of it. Tell him to go to Atherly Berrow directly and see what he can find out.”

  Routh nodded. “Yes Sire.”

  Skardroft turned back to the letter. It read;

  Dear Urquin,

  You will forgive the brevity of this letter, but I have only a few minutes to write it. Edric has told me that he intends, before bringing his troops here, to use them to settle a long-standing border dispute on your northern boundary. This would be disastrous.

  I was unable to convince him of the seriousness of our circumstances here; our position is weak and becoming untenable. Skardroft, luckily for us, does not seem aware of this as yet, but it can only be a matter of time before he is. It is essential that you send reinforcements at once. Even a day’s delay could cost us the war.

  We have been friends long enough for you to know I am not exaggerating the urgency of the situation, or I would not trouble you when you are still unwell. I know that I can rely on you.

  My regards,

  Barlanik

  “Do you think it’s genuine, Your Majesty?”

  Skardroft deliberated. “I do. It has an authentic ring to it. But we will bear in mind that it could have been planted. Meanwhile, assuming it’s the real thing, Urquin may be waiting for his letter. I will see that he gets one. Find me a plausible spy who could pass as an honest woodcutter; one who has chanced upon a letter, and, thinking it might be important, will deliver it to Urquin himself.”

  Skardroft reached for pen and paper and, frequently referring to Barlanik’s original, began to write. By the time Routh returned, he had finished drafting the letter. He passed it to him. Routh read it with a broadening smile before handing it back.

  “Excellent, Your Majesty. And I have found the very man to take it.”

  “The seal is intact; with a little care we can re-use it. I will get my scribe to copy the handwriting, and it can be in Urquin’s hands early tomorrow morning. Then I think we must see if we can take advantage of Barlanik’s untenable and weak position of which we were not aware.”

  Skardroft gave a wolfish smile.

  CHAPTER 23

  Corfe

  Pom decided they would have to spend some of their money on rooms at a cheap inn. Realistically, he knew he was unlikely to get on the track of the Hundred Knights that afternoon, especially with Gwenderith trailing along beside him, and he could not just abandon her. She was so helpless. And most of the money was hers, after all. He could leave her and Muffin safe inside while he scouted round alone.

  They looked in the rougher, less salubrious quarter of Atherly Berrow till Pom selected an inn called The Unicorn and Maiden. It was an ancient, crazy building made from timber and plaster that had warped over the centuries. Its upper floors were bigger than the ground floor, so they jutted over the cobbled street and made its entrance dark. Pom chose it because it seemed to be trying to keep up appearances. The diamond-paned casements were clean and there was a window box with gillyflowers.

  When they went in Gwenderith, who was tall for a girl, had to stoop because of the low ceilings. A woman came out from the kitchens at the back drying her hands on her apron, and when Pom said they wanted her two cheapest rooms, led them up narrow twisting staircases with worn sloping treads to the very top of the building.

  There was an attic for Gwenderith under the rafters, with a view of rooftops, a bed, two sturdy rustic chairs and a table, and next door what amounted to a large cupboard for Pom with just a window and a bed. The rooms were shabby but clean, Gwenderith saw with relief, and the modest meal they ordered of bread, cheese and fruit (because by now they were both starving) was excellent.

  Gwenderith woke the next day refreshed and feeling more cheerful; over a late breakfast with Pom in her room she realized she had n
ot thought about Barlanik for hours. Suddenly she gasped and put her hand to her mouth with a dreadful sinking feeling.

  “What is it?” said Pom.

  “Barlanik’s letter to my father – I left it in the pocket of my dress.”

  “Does it matter? What was in it?”

  “I don’t know. It might be important. I promised I’d deliver it. Oh Pom, would you go back and get it for me?”

  Pom was unenthusiastic. “You can’t deliver it to your father even if you get it back,” he pointed out. “It’ll probably just sit in the dress in the pawnshop until somebody buys the dress, then they’ll throw it away. If I go asking for it, it makes it seem like a big deal and the man may not want to give it to me. I shouldn’t worry about it.”

  Gwenderith got up. “I may be being foolish, but I think I’ll go and ask for it. I don’t see how he can refuse, unless he’s already sold the dress.”

  Pom sighed. “I’ll go.”

  The pawnbroker looked up at the sound of the shop bell to see a tall nondescript man in dusty black clothes. Corfe approached the counter without hurry and said in his quiet voice, “I am here to ask you about one of your customers yesterday; the woman who pawned the dress with the letter in the pocket.”

  “I gave a description to the Commander. Have they not found her?”

  “No, they haven’t, though they have searched most thoroughly, and put a watch on the gates. It makes me wonder whether there is something wrong with the description you gave. Whether perhaps you could give me a better one.”

  Pethick spread his hands. “I gave them all the details I could remember; there really isn’t anything I can add. I’m sorry.”

  Corfe looked at him, then pushed an oriental vase off the counter. It smashed on the floor. The neck rolled to the pawnbroker’s feet. “I’m sure you can come up with a more accurate description if you try.”

  “She’s probably left town! It’s not my fault you can’t find her. That was a valuable vase, you’ll have to pay for it.”

  Corfe picked up a lamp, and turned it in his hands as though admiring the decoration. “Nice lamp, now what is that worth?”

  “Put it down!”

  “Probably not as much as Commander Northwood paid you for the letter?” Corfe suggested, dropping it on top of the broken vase. Without warning he leaned across the counter and took hold of the shopkeeper’s lapels in a surprisingly strong grip. He pulled him forwards and said softly, “Now we both know you were lying when you said what the woman looked like. You’ve had your money. Why don’t you tell me the truth, then I’ll go away? You don’t want me to stay, now do you?”

  The pawnbroker looked into the chilly depths of his pitiless eyes, and told him the truth. “It was a girl, about twenty. Quite tall, long black hair. Beautiful.”

  “What was she wearing when she left here?”

  “A grey dress with black and white bits – mainly grey.”

  “And?” Corfe had let him go and was ambling round the shop, picking things up and putting them down again, but his whole attention was on the pawnbroker. “You can do better than that.”

  “She had a little dog.” Corfe glanced at him. “A white dog. With a jewelled collar. She was nicely spoken.” He came to a stop.

  Corfe looked intently at his pallid, shiny face, the spectacles slipping down his nose. “There’s more. Tell me.”

  “There was a boy with her, twelve or thirteen; he did most of the talking. Shabbily dressed.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Just what they wanted for the dress. She said ten crowns, he wanted fifteen. That’s all I can tell you.”

  “Did you hear them say anything to each other?”

  “No.”

  Corfe had seen his eyes flicker. He moved to a shelf of unmatched glass goblets, their blue, amber, and ruby red stems glowing in a shaft of sunlight. He flipped them with a finger, one at a time, off the shelf so that the crashes punctuated his next sentences.

  “You don’t learn very fast, do you? Tell me what you heard.”

  The shop bell went, and both men looked at the door. Pom stood there, taking in the scene; the pawnbroker who looked ill, the fragments of glass and china glinting on the floor, the lean man in black who seemed to move towards him. It felt bad. Acting on instinct rather than thought, Pom bolted. He ran as fast as he could until he was certain he was not being pursued, then set off towards the inn.

  Corfe came back into the shop, and looked a question at the shopkeeper.

  Pethick nodded unhappily. “That was him. I didn’t understand what they were saying; it wasn’t much, just something about her getting home. The Knights would help, the boy said.”

  Corfe nodded slowly, satisfied at last.

  Near the inn was a small overgrown graveyard, with leaning, lichened gravestones and tall trees whose leaves made a peaceful sound in the breeze. Pom went there to think; should he tell Gwenderith what he had seen at the pawnbroker’s? His gut feeling was that it was something to do with him and Gwenderith, but when he thought about it there was little reason to think that; just the way he’d thought the strange man had started towards him. And he could have been wrong about that. He hadn’t understood quite what was going on; it seemed to him obvious that the man had been threatening the shopkeeper, but that could have been for some reason totally unconnected with them.

  One thing he knew, though; he was not going back there. Gwenderith would have to accept the letter was gone. He did not want to scare her, but neither did he want to make up a lie; he decided to tell her a toned-down version, make it sound less alarming than it had been. Just say someone had been in the shop, and he hadn’t liked the way he had looked at him, and wasn’t going back there. Which was true. He must put her off going back, too; make her see it wasn’t safe. He retraced his steps to the inn.

  Urquin’s skin was grey and every line on his face showed. He sat in a chair with a blanket over his knees, having only recently been allowed out of bed; in his shaking hand he held an open letter with a leopard seal.

  He spoke wearily. “Edric, Gwenderith’s gone and we have to accept that you won’t find her, however long you spend looking. They will have taken her somewhere they think safe from pursuit, and unless you comb every inch of the forest and search every single dwelling, you are just hoping to be lucky; she could be anywhere.”

  “But we can’t do nothing. I have to go on looking.”

  “Look long enough and you’ll find Skardroft’s soldiers, and then I will have lost my son as well as my daughter. I am ordering you to leave it.” Edric opened his mouth to say more, but Urquin prevented him by continuing, “We can only hope for a ransom note. Meanwhile, there is this letter from Barlanik to consider. A forester found it beside the road. Gwenderith must have dropped it. Read it aloud.”

  He passed the letter to Edric, who unfolded it and read,

  Dear Urquin,

  You will forgive the brevity of this letter, but I have only a few minutes to write it. Edric has been telling me of his plans to settle the long-standing border dispute on your northern boundary before bringing his army here, and I confess I was discouraging. I told him that we needed the troops here against Skardroft. I expressed myself strongly.

  However, on reflection, I believe I may have been hasty; a week or two’s delay would make very little difference to the outcome of the war. Our position is sound, and if need be we could even manage without reinforcements. I see no immediate threat from the enemy. It would be helpful to get the border problem resolved, and Edric has my approval for his enterprise.

  We have been friends long enough for you to know that, if the situation were urgent, I would not hesitate to tell you.

  My regards,

  Barlanik

  Edric re-folded the letter and handed it back to his father with some satisfaction. Urquin opened it once more, holding it at arm’s length to focus on the familiar handwriting, remembering the way Barlanik wrote; swiftly, but taking care to remain legib
le, so there could be no misunderstanding.

  “I own, I am a little surprised; your troops have always been an essential part of his plan for the assault on Tarragon.” Urquin’s face was dubious. “But this is quite plain, and I have no doubts of Barlanik’s judgment.”

  Edric said impatiently, “Barlanik’s judgment isn’t foolproof, you know. I think you overrate him. And in this instance, you can see from the letter, he came round to my point of view.”

  “So it would seem. And you are still eager to resolve the border dispute? I have to say, it seems to me less than urgent.”

  “I have the army right here – there may never be another chance as good as this. We’re going to get the whole kingdom back, it’s silly to lose this bit because Skardroft did some deal thirty years ago. They were disloyal subjects; now they can hand it over and like it. We’ll start tomorrow. It won’t take long, then I can go and sort out Barlanik.”

  Urquin did not feel up to arguing with Edric; even thinking the matter over seemed too much effort. “Very well, if you are sure. I will send a messenger to say that is what you are doing.”

  He would trust that Barlanik was right as he usually was.

  CHAPTER 24

  Dragons and Knights

  Pom walked round the city, looking about him and thinking what his best plan of action would be. He had never been in a town before, and to him it seemed enormous, with a dazzling array of shops compared to the basic ones to be found in a village. Some of the buildings were huge, and the streets were paved so you did not get muddy when it rained. The street market was ten times the size of any he had seen. There was a whole section just with animals, some of which were new to Pom. He was watching a big grey bird climbing over its cage roof, when it rotated its head towards him, fixed him with one eye, and said hello. Pom said hello back, thinking it was clever like Xantilor, but the bird went quiet; when he tried to tickle its feathers it bit him, and the stallholder laughed.