by Martin Ash
‘Yes, sir.’ Lani rose and left the room.
The milk was an afterthought on my part, but it served to give Cametta and I a few moments alone – more than enough to conjure a calming rapture. I don’t know why I’d not thought of it earlier. Perhaps I had not understood how affected Cametta was.
The effect was near-instantaneous. Cametta let out a long sigh and her body visibly slackened as the muscles released their spasm. She slumped back in her chair and briefly closed her eyes. I watched with some relief. I’d been a little concerned that my conjuration might have been too powerful; I had used it on only one previous occasion, and that was to calm a spooked mare.
Opening her eyes after a few moments, Cametta lifted her goblet to her lips. ‘That’s better. I’m sorry, you must think me feeble.’
‘Not at all. It’s quite understandable.’
She frowned. ‘I’m still…’
‘I know. It’s hard to take in.’
Lani returned with a small jug of warm milk and honey and a mug. She poured the drink and passed the mug to Cametta.
‘It’s all right, Lani. I’m better now. You needn’t stay.’
Lani withdrew. Cametta looked at me and through me. Tears started at her eyes. ‘The baby. Poor Redlock. What has happened to him?’
I tugged at my whiskers. ‘It’s a mystery. For all we know that may be him.’
She fixed me with a look of horror. ‘That monstrosity? Oh, by the spirits, how?
‘I don’t know. But it would appear that the child has either been abducted by persons or forces unknown, and that thing substituted in its place, or he has been demonically transformed into… into whatever it is that lies there in his crib.’
‘But why? What’s behind it?’
I gave a baffled shrug. We’d been through this already, many times, on the way here, and there were no answers.
Cametta stared blankly. ‘We know almost nothing of magic here, Dinbig. I think when Lord Flarefist regains his senses he may want to ask your advice. Do you think you can be of service?’
Those were the words that brought home to me my position. I had not considered it before. I experienced a sudden quiver of unease in the pit of my gut.
Yes, Lord Flarefist and Lady Sheerquine were all too aware of my unique status here. They might well choose to employ my services in the unravelling of this mystery.
I wanted no part of it. This was not my affair. Who knew how long I might be held up in its investigation? What perils might I be exposing myself to should I become involved? And if I failed to solve the mystery, what then? Emotions were running very high. In the nursery less than an hour ago, following the discovery of the thing in the crib, I’d seen what Flarefist was capable of when his temper got the better of him. No, this was no place for me.
And another thought came. If Flarefist suspected magic – and in the circumstances, not to think that way would be obtuse – then might he not also suspect me?
The danger to myself was perhaps more immediate than I had at first thought.
I drained my goblet and rose from my chair, taking Cametta’s hand. ‘I don’t know if I can be of help. We shall see what transpires. Now I should leave.’
She glanced behind to check that were alone, then whispered, ‘When will I see you again?’
‘Soon. For now, try to sleep. There’s nothing you can do at present.’
I signalled to Lani, who hovered in the hall outside.
I bowed, touching my lips to Cametta’s icy fingers, and took my leave.
~
I went straightaway back to the warehouse where my goods were stored. The night was close, utterly black. Far away overhead the galaxy hung in infinity, vast clouds of milk-white stars cast across the unseeable, moonless sky. On Ravenscrag’s streets small lamps were isolated spheres of brightness, casting scarcely any light. I carried a lantern and my footsteps echoed in the silent streets.
I took some satisfaction in finding that the two men I had assigned as guards at the warehouse were awake. ‘Rouse the others,’ I commanded. ‘Pack everything into the wagons. We leave at first light.’
I would have left immediately but the town gates were barred until morning. I went back to my chamber at the Blue Raven.
Lying in my bed, my mind turned over the events at Castle Ravenscrag.
Upon setting eyes on the creature that occupied his son’s crib, Lord Flarefist had stiffened, then staggered back as though struck by a cudgel blow. Half-recovering, he’d stared in wide-eyed shock for some moments more. Then he looked up. Dazed, his eyes passed around the chamber, but he hardly seemed to see us. Then, as if with sudden purpose, he strode from the nursery.
Gasps of shock, exclamations of horror and disgust as people peered in at the thing that lay exposed in the crib. A lady fell in a faint to the floor. Another had to be helped from the chamber, retching as she went. Then I became aware that something had changed.
I looked up from the crib. All eyes had moved to the threshold where Lady Sheerquine now stood. She was ashen-faced, her eyes fixed rigidly on the cradle at the side of the room. She gripped the jamb of the door with both hands.
Silence descended. Lady Sheerquine started forward into the crowded chamber. Her movements were stiff, as though her limbs had turned to wood. A maid offered support. Her eyes never leaving the crib, Lady Sheerquine disdained her with a twitch of her arm and a queer, harsh sound from somewhere deep in her throat.
Lady Sheerquine approached the cradle and stood over it. One hand upon her chest she reached in and lifted aside the blanket that had again partially obscured the occupant. She stared transfixed, her mouth falling open, then drew back, uttering in a sibilant rasp a single word: ‘Abomination!’
Lady Sheerquine’s fingers grasped the corner of a nearby table, the knuckles turned white. The arm wavered. Her face was ghastly, wholly drained of blood. Her knees buckled and gave way. Lord Condark, who stood beside her, moved quickly, as did her maid. They caught Sheerquine before she hit the floor.
At that moment the air was split by a deafening roar.
I spun around, startled. Lord Flarefist had reappeared in the doorway, his face apoplectic. In his hands he wielded a sword. Hefting the weapon, he launched himself across the room, bellowing with rage, and swung at old Irnbold the astrologer.
‘Deceiver!’ he roared.
Irnbold attempted to throw himself backwards, but he was not quick. He would have died there and then, his blood spattering the nursery walls, had not Lord Flarefist collided with a guest. The blade missed the old astrologer by a hair. It clanged into the wall, chipping stone and drawing sparks.
Irnbold knew better than to stay and plead. He fled. Lord Flarefist wheeled and made off in bellowing pursuit.
Pandemonium, then! None was sure how to respond. I cast around for the farseer, Elmag. I thought she might be the next focus of Flarefist’s wrath. But Elmag had had the foresight to make herself scarce.
I moved to Cametta, who was leaning against a wall, her hand to her brow. I took her arms. Darean Monsard appeared with two men-at-arms.
‘Clear the room!’
A momentary disquiet as he approached, but he merely glanced at us and would have brushed past. I stopped him. ‘Your wife is distressed. She should be taken home.’
He quickly appraised Cametta, and nodded. ‘I can’t leave. Would you take her? I apologise, it’s inconvenient, but in the circumstances…’
‘It is no inconvenience. Think nothing of it.’
I helped Cametta from the nursery. Lady Sheerquine lay upon the floor, her head supported on a pillow. She was reviving under the ministrations of her maid, who passed spirits of salts beneath her nose. Darean Monsard knelt at her side.
‘My lady, we should search the castle for your son.’
‘Yes, search.’ Sheerquine’s reply was vague. Blonna, the wetnurse, sat alone in a corner, weeping.
And the child…
~
As I lay there in my ch
amber in the Blue Raven, I saw again the monstrous thing that had occupied Redlock’s cot. It was a babe, I would say that much. But beyond that simple fact my familiarity with it ended. I was mystified.
A babe of what kind of creature?
Its skin was moist, covered with glistening droplets of some bilious secretion. It was mottled putty grey in tone over most of its surface, with darker grey-brownish mottling here and there. Short, sparse hairs sprouted over lank grey limbs and torso. A raised mass of loose flaps of flesh ran from its crown down the length of its little spine to the tip of its tail. Yes, it had a tail, long and naked, which writhed with a peculiar mindless zest.
The hands and feet were long, each with four tiny clawed fingers or toes. The belly, swollen, bulbous, was paler-skinned than the rest of the body. A shrivelled red umbilical cord extended from the navel.
The thing had a squashed, goblinesque head, almost as large as the squat body, which resembled a toad. It had a short, blunt snout, oozing snot from the nostrils. When its mouth opened I saw glistening bright pink gums, a small grey-purple tongue, and two rows of sharp yellow teeth. It dribbled a whitish fluid into the crib. The brow and most of the face was puckered into multiple folds and wrinkles of damp skin. Two little dark bumps protruded above the ears, like the nubs of horns.
The mattress upon which the baby lay was stained with greenish slime, and a sour odour rose from the creature. I thought at first that it might be blind, for its eyes were closed. But as I stared one eye blinked suddenly open. The iris was pale yellow, the pupil a dark oval slit. It was perhaps then that I received my greatest shock, for though the creature was undoubtedly helpless, when that yellow eye opened it focused with deliberation on me, and its gaze was wholly disquieting. It seemed to appraise me, with intelligence combined with real and calculating malevolence, and its tiny hands reached up and clawed the air as though striving to rip the flesh from my face.
The creature was utterly alien, but it was not some mindless beast.
~
I don’t believe I slept that night. Gradually, after what seemed like many hours, I became aware of a dim grey light dispelling the darkness in my room, and knew that dawn approached. Haggard, I rose and bathed. Downstairs I settled my account with a bleary-eyed landlord and made for the warehouse.
My wagons were assembled, laden mostly with the very goods I had brought here. I’d had time to complete only a few transactions the previous day, and though I’d gained assurances of others, neither goods nor money had yet changed hands. Nor had I had an opportunity to purchase Wansirian goods for sale abroad.
Aboard the leading wagon I growled an order to Bris, and we set off.
Ravenscrag was almost lifeless at this time. The sun had yet to haul itself above the peaks, its light a pearly wash tinged with citron low in the east, partially illuminating a near cloudless sky. I glanced up at the beetling walls of the old castle as we passed beneath.
Minutes later we arrived at the town wall. The gate was shut.
I hailed the sentry. ‘At what hour is the gate unbarred?’
‘Normally at sunrise.’
‘The sun is all but risen now. Are we to be kept waiting while it ambles into full view?’
‘I said ‘normally’. Special circumstances today, sir.’
I’d feared it. ‘What circumstances?’
‘My orders are that the gate be kept barred all day. No one is to leave, nor enter, the town.’
He spoke with a certain pride, quietly pleased to be partaking in this departure from dull routine. There were other guards on the ramparts, more than was usual. They were watchful, observing our exchange.
The gatehouse door opened and Darean Monsard stepped out. Two guards followed. He walked to my wagon with an easy swagger and planted his feet firmly apart and hands on his hips.
‘Master Dinbig. Good morning, sir. I had expected to find you at the Blue Raven but the landlord told me you’d already left.’
He affected politeness but there was insolence in his smile, and his eyes drilled. He was unshaven and his skin was drawn; I assumed he’d not slept during the night.
‘Captain Monsard, I’m on the point of departure, yet your sentry informs me that the gate is to be kept barred.’
‘Such a hurry to be away? I had no idea you planned to leave so soon. Surely you’ve not yet made a healthy profit of us?’
I returned his stare. ‘Is this true, that we may not leave?’
‘It’s so, until further notice. The arrangement applies to all. You will understand, I’m sure, being acquainted with the circumstances.’
‘It’s highly inconvenient.’
Darean Monsard spread his hands with a fulsome expression of sympathy. ‘My orders are to escort you to the castle, sir.’
‘To what end?
‘Lord Flarefist wishes to speak to you. Your wagons may return to the market-place.’
There was plainly nothing to be gained from further argument. I spoke to Bris. ‘You and Cloverron accompany me. Tell the others to return, but not to unload the wagons.’
‘Your men may accompany you,’ said Darean Monsard, ‘But I must insist they first surrender their weapons. And yours too, if you would.’
‘This is highly irregular. Am I under arrest, Captain?’
‘Not at all. You are Lord Flarefist’s guest.’
I was effectively trapped. I nodded to Bris and Cloverron to hand over their weapons, then unbuckled my light sword and knives. I carried a concealed dagger strapped above my ankle, which I considered keeping, then thought better of it. To be searched and found carrying it would not help my situation. A short length of garrotting wire, however, sewn into my belt where none but the most meticulous searcher would discover it, I felt I might safely hang on to. I didn’t favour its use, but on more than one occasion it had saved me in difficult circumstances. Needs must, and as a last resort it should not be dismissed. I felt happier knowing it was there.
I climbed down from the wagon.
Chapter Seven
Darean Monsard took me to a chamber in the private apartments of Castle Ravenscrag, on the second storey of the ancient central keep. Lead-latticed windows, turned lilac with the years, filtered a modicum of early morning light into the chamber. Through a gauze of cobwebs, insect husks and grime one could look out over the cluttered rooftops of the town.
In the middle of the room stood a long table set with three silver candlesticks, each of which held a pair of fat bayberry-wax candles. Lord Flarefist and Lady Sheerquine sat there, one at each end.
Flarefist was hunched in his seat, his hair dishevelled, his gaze inward and bereft. He did not look up at my entrance. His wife, by contrast, sat stiff and upright, spine perfectly erect. Her face was a marble mask revealing no emotion. Her hands rested upon her thighs beneath the table. Her copper hair was swept back from her face and bound severely into a tight bun at the rear of her skull.
It was Sheerquine who spoke first, dismissing Darean Monsard, then addressing me.
‘Please come forward, Master Merchant. Be seated. Our conversation is to be informal.’
I took the only other chair present, positioned halfway along the table. Lady Sheerquine said, ‘Do not make the mistake of taking us for fools.’
‘My lady, I – ‘
‘You consider Wansir a backward nation populated by bumpkins and churls.’
‘Not at all. I – ‘
‘It is a not uncommon view, we are aware. And you are not on trial for calumny. But I would caution you. We perhaps lack some of the sophistications and advances of Kemahamek, or certain nations to the south. But to my knowledge your own country, Khimmur, can hardly claim to be on the same cultural level as these. We know it to be a nation of semi-barbarians, torn by internal strife. I do not think it can justifiably consider itself so superior.’
‘Lady Sheerquine, I would not say – ‘
‘Good, then that’s settled.’ Her pale green eyes held me with a magisterial gaze. �
��Now I would address another matter. During the course of this interview do not think to influence myself or my husband with magic. We lack your knowledge and skills of application, it’s true. But there are those among us who are quite familiar with the auras of magic, even in its subtler forms. Make no mistake, should you attempt to alter our minds with spells you will be found out, and it will not be to your advantage.’
Her expression remained fixed, her body still motionless and stiff. I wondered at the tumult of emotion she must contain behind that impassable exterior. She was in her forties and would bear no more children. She and Flarefist had been married for many years, and her efforts to produce an heir had given birth to three stillborn infants since Moonblood. A fourth had survived birth but lived only a few days, so I understood. I doubted that old Flarefist, even in the unlikely event that he should choose to take a new spouse, would ever sire another son. Our shared understanding of the gravity of their situation hung between us, weighting the air.
As for magic, she might have been bluffing. I sensed a testing of wills here. It’s true, there are some who are sensitive to the presence of magic. Most are practitioners in their own right. Here in Wansir it was possible that magical ability was latent in a small minority of folk. Such persons might well be able to detect the use or presence of magic, even if unable to use it themselves.
Was Sheerquine one of these? The implication was certain, and it would be unwise to discount it as a possibility. Or might others be concealed in some hidden spyhole, watching, listening? I resisted the urge to cast my eyes around.
I wondered to what extent my abilities were overestimated in Ravenscrag. I was a First Realm Initiate of the Zan-Chassin, which does not in itself confer awesome powers. My first spirit ally, Yo, had yet to be given physical form.
Zan-Chassin magic is greatly misunderstood. Many are wary of us for abilities they only imagine us to possess. Our greatest strengths lie in our ability to take leave of the body and fly free of the corporeal world, to interact with the spirit denizens of the realms beyond corporeality, and to commune with the spirits of our dead ancestors. Physically speaking, our highest adepts, though formidable and frighteningly talented in comparison to the average person, do not have the powers that many believe. Such misapprehensions are not without value, of course, and we make little attempt to discourage them.
