by Guy Antibes
“Is there trouble, Hobnail?” An older man, likely a professor, walked up to the clerk.
The man’s name was Hobnail? Perhaps the professor might be a rational person in all of this.
“I’ve gotten permission to enter the Library, sir.”
“Your name, Miss?”
“Miss Sara Featherwood of Brightlings.” Her name meant nothing. “My mother was a Goldagle in Shattuk Downs.”
“A Goldagle, eh? Perhaps Doctor Handy can verify that. Will you wait here for a few minutes?” The professor looked down at Hobnail. “I’ll take that.” He whipped the letter from the student’s hand.
“Won’t do any good. Handy, if anything, knows all of the nobles, he’ll expose you for whatever you are,” Hobnail said.
Sara couldn’t believe the bigotry of the young man. She paced in the small entry hall while she waited. It was the week of Winter’s Rise, anyway, and few entered the library, so why did he have to guard the entrance with so much vigilance? Just when she was ready to give up hope and wonder if the note now graced a trashcan somewhere inside the University, the professor arrived with a very tall burly man. His face bristled with a long beard in a city where beards were out of fashion. A wrinkled ribbon held back his long curly brown hair.
“Miss Featherwood. Sara Featherwood of Belting Hollow? Daughter of Sythea Goldagle Featherwood?”
“I am all of the above,” Sara said.
“Let her in boy. Did you read who wrote the note? Doctor Perry Hedge, a professor emeritus of this institution currently working directly under Duke Northcross, the King’s brother.” He glared at the student. The other professor had quietly left. “Sara, I can call you Sara? Please follow me. I’m actually excited that you visited me. Come, come, come. I’m Obed Handy. Cobbler father generations ago.” Handy laughed as he walked the nearly empty halls of the library. “Keep up. Don’t want you lost.”
As she followed the Royal Genealogist, Sara found that the man was quite correct. After the first few turns and doorways she entered, she had no idea what direction she faced. The University Library was larger than the entire College and School at Obridge.
“Here we are.” Handy stood at a gilded set of double doors. “This is my domain where the genealogies of the world are recorded. I nearly know the foot size of every noble in Parthy.” He looked down at Sara’s feet and laughed. “Maybe not yours!” Obed unlocked the doors and let Sara enter first.
The sheer volume of books, scrolls and folios stunned her—row upon row. Signs indicated what the stacks contained. Her mouth opened in amazement.
“Affects a lot of people that way, Sara. We’ve got some talking to do. There are some mysteries involved with you, my lady. Sit here.” He pointed to an alcove with four comfortable chairs set around a table in front of a fireplace flanked by stained glass windows. Everything had been paneled in wood. Would you like something to drink?” Handy pulled a long tapestry ribbon.
It was nearly lunchtime by the time Sara had arrived at the University. “Some tea and a small pastry, if you have one.”
“I live here, Sara. You ask for it and I’ve likely got it.” He actually winked at her. She pictured the genealogist as a wizened old man. Obed Handy was the very picture she had in her mind of a jolly tavern owner. He made her laugh.
“So, you first. What brings you to my domain?”
“I, uh.” Sara didn’t quite know how to begin. “I want to know more about my lineage. Lady Grianna said I’d be presented to the king and I wanted to know the truth before someone else examined my nobility.”
“And what do you suspect?” Handy leaned forward.
“I don’t know. Something doesn’t make sense. My parents told me that my grandfather disowned her when she married my father, but then he died and left Brightlings to her. It’s all somewhat confusing. I know my mother’s old friend at school and she’s been very circumspect about the event, even my mother’s letters don’t seem to tell everything. I don’t want to bore you, but I’d like to know what happened.”
“Stories are part of my research, Sara. I’ll get a notebook and be right back. I want to hear all of it. So Banna Thresher is a good friend of yours? That’s very interesting. Start at the beginning with your version and then I’ll let you know how that stacks up with mine.”
The mention of Banna’s name startled her. He did know everything. “For me it all started with my mother’s death.”
“Fell down a flight of stairs, if I remember correctly.” He grinned. “I record all kinds of things. I just don’t work on lineages, but record the lives of as many nobles and remarkable people as I can. I know some of your unique experiences, but I’d like a complete picture.”
Sara began at the funeral and presented her story to Handy. He cautioned her a number of times that this would be an official record. He already knew that some of her activities bordered on state secrets. He kept interrupting her and made her produce more details when she glossed over one thing or another.
He laughed when the Duke used the name Pearstone and when he was caught staring at her mother’s picture.
“You know something?”
“I think I do. Finish up.”
The windows were beginning to darken when Sara finished. She didn’t realize that her story made her sweat and took all of the energy out of her.
“Dinner? I’ll send a note to Lady Grianna, not that she’ll read it before noon tomorrow, that you’ll be late.”
“Willa would like to know.”
“Ah. That’s right Willa Waters. She’s in my Worthy notes. An interesting woman.”
“Who don’t you know?”
“All of the nobility and significant servants are in my purview. That’s my life and I love it. A Royal Snoop, but quite a bit different from my cousin.”
“You are related to Duke Northcross?”
“I am. Second cousin, actually. Born on the wrong side of the blanket, as they say. But since my mother, their father’s cousin, was a Passcold, I was raised as if I was more nobly born by a very loving father, Normund Handy, the second son of a landless baron.”
“You’re a second cousin to the king?”
“Quite right. There are enough of us, so it’s not overly unique.” Handy waved his hand to dismiss his connections. “I can talk to you frankly? I have some suspicions that may never be confirmed, but they may startle you. Let’s get some food in our tummies first.” The bell rang again and a servant appeared. Handy ordered for both of them and scribbled a message for Willa.
“Any other questions before we get into your lineage issue?”
Sara nodded. “When my father disinherited me, he said that…”
“He’d risk whatever might crop up in the future, you said?”
“Yes. Is there something about Brightlings?” Sara said. Obed’s nod brought some excitement to their conversation.
“Indeed there is. Brightlings is a property that can be inherited by women without a special dispensation. I suppose it might be that way since there is no permanent title attached. There are wills and stipends and all that, but they are dependent on the largess of the person passing away. Your mother inherited Brightlings upon her birth. The Goldagle family used to lease it out to men who wanted the title of Squire—as you know it goes with whoever inhabits the house.
“Your mother died without a will. It is your father’s property to do with, as he will until you reach the age of majority. Let me see…” He put his hand to his chin. “Eighteen? So two more years and Brightlings and all of its possessions are yours.”
“No one ever told me. My father knows about this?”
“I expect your father would have been told when he married your mother or might have found out when she died.” Handy went silent. “I suspect he found out after, from his sudden change in behavior towards you.”
“So when he remarried, his new wife and he were, basically, stealing from the estate.”
“According to your description, that’s ex
actly what they were doing. Converting real assets into portable ones.”
“Will he steal the money in the Royal Bank of Obridge?” Sara didn’t think of it as her money but the estate’s. Could her father sink so low?”
“Ah, something I know that you don’t. I have a copy of the instruction in my archive… I have lots and lots of legal documents. My cousin wrote the note so that only two thousand a year could be taken from the account. No matter what your father does, or what you do, there will be sufficient funds to take care of Brightlings, even if he takes it into bankruptcy.”
So much of what Ben and Vesty had done, now made sense to Sara. She had never understood the frantic drive to sell, sell, sell. Her father probably didn’t have the right to dismantle the estate or he would have done so. And now he hates her because Sara can throw him out of Brightlings in less than two years. Her already-low opinion of Ben Featherwood descended even further. His behavior made it even more possible for Sara to take over the estate and then she thought of Seb and Enos.
“I can do what I want with the estate when it passes on to me?”
“You can do whatever you want. What is it you’re thinking about?”
“Giving it to my brother Enos. I don’t think going back to Belting Hollow is an option I want to exercise. My father has ruined my reputation, so the town hates me.” Sara began to feel her eyes well up.
“Reputations have been rehabilitated before. Don’t worry about it now. Perhaps your father may be able to rehabilitate his own reputation. Nona Stepper seems to be a strong woman, like your mother, but with a better sense of humor. If they get together all may be well.”
Sara nodded, but wondered if Ben hadn’t already contaminated her. As Handy said, she’d think about it another time. She couldn’t act for another two years and not here in Parth. The dinner arrived and Sara found that Handy not only liked to talk about other people, but he really enjoyed talking about himself. He actually had a number of adventures seeking out information that made her admire the man.
The remnants of their dinner had been cleared away. “Now about you, Sara Featherwood. There’s something I want to check on. I won’t be a minute, but it will, I think, help to clear up some of the timing issues.”
Sara rose from the chair, for she had sat for far too long. The library astounded her. There must be a million books in the place and this cavernous room was just a specialized collection. Access to the library would be a boon for the Women’s College.
She could see why Klark would want to come here, if the University was like its library. Obridge seemed to be so wonderful and its halls seemed to sparkle with learning. Even Willa had walked the halls of the Women’s School. There was a reputation that Obridge had earned, but it didn’t match the University of Parthy in size. Could a Women’s College do the same for all of her country? The women of Parthy deserved it. Perhaps there were times of great change coming, but not the change that Grand Duke Autumn intended. Despite his issues, he had done his part as a patron of the Women’s School. Who would be the patron of the Women’s College? Hopefully the King would do more than just approve the charter.
“Sit, sit. I found what I sought.” Handy waved a slip of paper in his large hand.
Once seated, Handy cleared his throat. “You and I likely have two things in common. First of all, I’m convinced that Ben Featherwood is not, as he claimed himself, your father.”
“Who is?” How could Ben not be her father? Sara’s mind instantly became a cloud of confusion.
Handy waved his hand. “There are… possibilities. You are a five-month baby from the time your parents married. Undoubtedly you were conceived prior to your mother meeting your father and, from what I can tell, they had a one-month engagement. An interesting contemporaneous event happened while all of this occurred.”
“Five months? My mother kept saying I weighed more when I was born than my brothers.”
“Ah, another indication. You were taller than your mother?”
Sara thought back. “By the time I reached twelve, I looked down into her eyes and I’ve grown since then.”
“Your hair?”
“My mother’s was dark brown and straight. She had hazel eyes. My father and brothers have dark, nearly black hair with dark eyes. One brown and the other sort of a dark hazel.”
“And you?”
Sara pulled a strand of her hair down. “Unruly blonde hair, I’d like to think it’s like spun gold. Like yours, curly, and I have blue eyes.”
“You do indeed and they are quite pretty. So, you can see, your father didn’t disinherit you. You inherited nothing from Ben Featherwood. When he lost Vesty, all he really had were the boys. You’re an impediment to his future happiness, so you were kicked out of your home.”
“I thought you are a genealogist, not an investigator.”
Handy laughed. “I have to be a lot of things to figure out what happens in the world. I suppose I consult with Practical Political professors too much, but let’s get back to you. The old dynasty died before you were born… just months before. Some Passcold lives changed when the King took the throne. Duke Northcross and the future king had spent the Fall Term and part of the Winter Term until about Winter’s Rise in Obridge. Their father, my mother’s cousin, had sent them to Tarrey Abbey College to study Practical Politics away from the biases of the University.
“The old king died without a single close heir and the old Duke Northcross was too sick to take the reins, so his eldest son, Tarrent, became king. Both brothers rode through the East Shattuk Mountains to Parth--one to be crowned king and the other was soon made a minister.”
“I knew they were in Obridge at the time,” Sara said.
“They weren’t there as Passcolds, but as the brothers Pearstone. That’s why I chuckled at the name Renall used when you met him in Obridge. Occasionally a tiny bit of sentiment erupts.”
“You’re implying that I am Duke Northcross’s child?”
Handy shrugged. “Let’s think about it. There is a romance. Remember this isn’t the Renall you know today; it is a Renall before he was thirty. Sythea Goldagle is a very eligible woman. Daughter to a Duke, although a provincial, and probably in the height of her beauty. I can even see the brothers fighting over her.”
“The King!”
“Yes, the king, but most likely the younger brother. Tarrent was not even thirty himself at the time. He might have been a bit too old for your mother who wasn’t yet twenty?”
“Just twenty when she wed.”
“And then the unfortunate happenstance with your grandfather dying. No sons. Sythea not in the will—I looked for that too. The estate went to that twit, Hardwell. He has no heirs, either.” Handy shook his head.
“Renall’s devotion to your mother’s picture tells me that he has fond memories of a relationship. Renall has always been a serious man and reclusive. Perhaps losing your mother for the good of the Kingdom of Parthy might have had an awful effect on both of them. I’m providing you with conjecture, here. Renall must leave with his brother. Sythea finds out after he’s gone that she’s carrying you, lovely girl. She’s frantic and must find a suitable husband, of which Ben Featherstone is, just barely. She marries and five months later, you enter the world.
“Your coloring gives you away and is described time and again as a Passcold trait and none of the Goldagles had curly hair, from my sources, which are the Royal records. Your extraordinary height as well, you must be close to six feet in height. Stand up.” Handy rose and confirmed his statement.
“Your father’s height is recorded as five feet eleven inches. Still respectably tall, but Renall is at least my height, six feet five inches tall.
“But why didn’t she follow him to Parth?”
“Perhaps she didn’t think he’d marry her, now that he was brother to the king. Perhaps she thought Renall, or the king, would reject her. It happens enough with unwed mothers-to-be. Why does a mother want a father for their child? A name? Respectability
? Family? That’s something you’ll have to find out for yourself, if you can. Sometimes finding the truth hurts more than the fantasy it replaces.”
Sara turned away. What a tragic love story. It explains the quick wedding and the sequestration at Brightlings. Sythea had been disowned before her father died. No brothers or sisters or uncles or aunts, the line of Goldagles had ended with Sythea Featherwood. Sara had always thought it was because her mother married beneath her. Now a more plausible reason emerged—she was a pregnant bride. She found a suitable husband wandering around the marketplace. None of this matched the image of her mother, but Sythea would be desperate. Could she, an unwanted child, be the source of her mother’s dark moods and bitterness? If that’s what Sythea had felt at first, it didn’t last as Sara knew from reading her mother’s letters to Banna.
Sara didn’t feel diminished by the information. She had been prepared for some kind of irregularity once her father had told her she wasn’t his daughter, but she hadn’t expected this. Banna did confirm that her mother knew the Passcold brothers. Was that why Lord Northcross relented in the Brightlings negotiation? Did the five thousand gold crown award come from him or the King? Did he even know of her parentage?
“There is one other test. You may think me strange, but can you do any magic? Twist a spoon? Make a penny rise a few inches from the table?”
Sara sat back in shock. “I can’t do any of those.”
“I can reveal another secret. Your mother had the gift as well. She could make plants grow. Sythea Featherwood had a conservatory that was green all year long, right?”
Sara had to nod. She thought back to the flowers her mother arranged and put around Brightlings. “Her cut flowers lasted for weeks.”
Obed nodded. “I would imagine if you had two parents with a bit of magic, that you would have to have some. Am I right?”
Sara spied an unlit candle on a side table. She thought of Vesty and how she raped Brightlings. That always made her angry, and then thought of a flame. Pointing her finger, she said, “Ignite!” A large flame blossomed above the candle. Sara moved her finger down and it lit the candle. “Like that?” she said, a bit breathless. “The flames don’t last long, only a few seconds, but they can light a fire.
