He Drank, and Saw the Spider

by Alex Bledsoe

  She winked at me. Her baby burped, on beat. We all laughed as quietly as we could. Isidore wriggled close to me.

  Chapter

  FOUR

  It was dark by the time the last baby had been taken home. The music from outside had grown more rambunctious, and some of the lyrics were so raunchy, they put my own lullaby to shame. But I had no desire to join them: I was content staying in the barn with Beatrice, cuddling Isidore while she slept and stealing kisses like the young courtier I’d once been.

  Strato and his men kept their word and left town. I wondered how their story would play with their superiors. I hoped they didn’t end up back in prison, but so often in the military, no good deed went unpunished.

  Audrey returned to close down the nursery and prepare it for the next day. She folded blankets and arranged the cribs in neat rows. “Nice to see a happy family,” she said to us.

  “The baby’s not mine,” I reminded her.

  She laughed and indicated the way Isidore slept in my arms. “Maybe not by birth, maybe not by blood. But a parent claims a child by love, nothing else.”

  I looked at Beatrice. “Seriously, I can’t take care of her. I’m a mercenary, for God’s sake.”

  “You could change,” she said, and the invitation in her eyes was grown-up and serious. “You might find living here more adventurous than you think.”

  I remembered Janet, the girl I’d loved and lost far too young, and shook my head. “No. I can’t. I need you to help me find someone to take her in.”

  Beatrice continued to look at me, as if hoping her steady gaze would batter down my defenses. She got closer than anyone had, but the blood on my hands, both metaphorical and, at that moment, literal, was too thick and too dear for even the cleanest love to wash away. At last she looked down in defeat and said, “All right. I know someone. They have so many kids, one more won’t make a difference. Bring her along.”

  “Have a good evening, you two,” Audrey called after us. She seemed totally unaffected by the violence she’d earlier helped mete out.

  We emerged from the barn just as the crowd in the courtyard filed out through one of the wall gates, making a singing, chanting line up the hill toward a huge pile of wood. It must’ve taken a while to gather all that from the forest and lug it up here. I remembered one town where, at just this time of year, a human sacrifice was placed inside a big wooden idol and burned alive, to ensure the coming year’s fertility. Fortunately this group seemed far more laid back.

  “Want to go to the bonfire?” Beatrice asked. “There’ll be dancing. Sometimes clothes come off.”

  “No, Beebee,” I said seriously. “I want to make sure Isidore is okay.”

  “You’re the first person who called me that, that I haven’t wanted to punch. Come on, then.”

  “I have a horse. We could ride.”

  “On a night like this?” She laughed and took my free hand.

  We went out a different gate and followed the narrow road across the hills. The sky was magnificent, a wide umbrella of stars with a bright moon in the east. Its light, now that my eyes had adjusted, was brighter than some overcast days. The breeze was just cool enough to be comfortable, and once we left town, the sheep corrals were thankfully downwind.

  A cheer went up from the distant hill as the bonfire blazed to life. Shadowy forms danced around it, and their songs faintly reached us. It had a powerful tug, all right: the lure of a home always did to the deliberately homeless. And the woman beside me certainly added to the allure.

  Beatrice took my arm, careful not to jostle Isidore. “It’s like this a lot, you know. We work hard, but we always remember to play. And pretty much no one ever dies violently. You sure that doesn’t appeal to you?”

  I guess she didn’t know about the impending war. I saw no reason to mention it; its effects might never reach Mummerset. “You just met me.”

  “Yeah, but I’m a good judge of people.”

  “I hope I am someday.”

  “Just trust people to be who they are. If you pick up a viper and it bites you, it’s not the viper’s fault, is it?”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “Remember this, too.” She moved in front of me and, when I stopped, leaned up to kiss me. This was totally different from the fun, almost joking kisses we’d exchanged in the barn. This was a solemn promise kiss, an offering of far more than soft lips on a warm night. She slid one hand along my cheek, her palm warm and soft against my stubble. When she stepped back to look at me, it was with the serious expression of a woman quite aware of what she was pledging.

  I was speechless. In her sleep, Isidore let out a sigh of contentment.

  “Well, at least she liked it,” Beatrice said wryly.

  “Oh, I liked it, too,” I said.

  “But not enough?”

  “That’s asking a lot of a kiss.”

  “There’s more, don’t worry. But first let’s get this little girl to her new home.”

  We continued on across the hills. The windows of several isolated cottages were visible, lit by lamps and hearth fires within, and it was quickly clear which one was our destination. One small corral held three ponies, another a flock of recently shorn sheep. A dog barked and ran to meet us.

  The dog jumped up and began licking Beatrice’s face. “Get down, Varro,” she said, but didn’t mean it. “Behave, or you’ll sleep outside.”

  Suddenly I understood where we were. “This is your place, then?”

  “My family’s. I still live here because, as my mother likes to advertise, I’m not married. And my mom just had a baby three months ago, about the same time this little angel entered the world, if I’m any judge of such things. So Mom can wetnurse her.”

  “How will she take it?”

  “Isidore? She’ll be fine with it. Wait and see.”

  “I meant your mom.”

  “I’m not giving her to my mom.”

  “Well, then who—?” Suddenly I got it. “You?”

  “Just come on.”

  She opened the door without knocking. It was a small dwelling, but there were sleeping lofts overhead and a separate bedroom for the parents, which made it practically a manor house for this area. The stone floor was swept clean, and something truly savory simmered on the hearth. I realized I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

  Beatrice’s mother sat by the fireplace, mending someone’s clothes. The amber firelight took years off her demeanor, and she looked more like Beatrice’s sister than like her mother. “You’re not at the bonfire,” she said.

  “Nothing gets past you, does it, Mom?” Beatrice said as she closed the door behind us.

  Bianca turned to me. “And that, good sir, is the mouth that’s kept her unmarried.” She looked me up and down. “We don’t allow swords in this house, young man.”

  “For God’s sake, Mom,” Beatrice sighed.

  “No, that’s fine,” I said. With my baby- free hand, I unbuckled my sword belt and propped it against the wall outside the door. I felt surprisingly okay without it, a sensation that I hadn’t experienced in a long time. Then I bowed as much as I could holding Isidore. “Pleasure to see you again, ma’am.”

  “Good Lord, this one has manners,” Bianca said. “I knew you’d be running about with some lad or other to night, but I’d assumed it would be that nice Kellington boy.”

  “That nice Kellington boy isn’t as nice as you think,” Beatrice said. “Especially when he gets you alone down in a dark gully. Besides, this was an emergency.”

  Bianca looked at Isidore. “So is this the little one who caused all the commotion today?”

  “This is her. Isidore.” I added, “She’s not mine.”

  “Imagine a man saying that,” she said with a laugh.

  “She’s mine,” Beatrice said.

  Bianca’s eyes opened wide. “Really? Your baby sister Cassandra is no older than this one.”

  “I know. You can nurse them both. I’ll handle everything else. Just like
you’ll have me doing with Cassandra, anyway.”

  Bianca put aside her sewing, stood, and reached out for Isidore. I handed her over. She fussed a little at the change of hands, but Bianca quickly shushed her. “How will you explain this to everyone?” Bianca asked. “Especially to Kurt Kellington?”

  “It’s nobody’s damn business, especially Kurt Kellington’s,” Beatrice said. “And if it comes down to it, I’ll simply tell the truth: She was abandoned at the festival, and I took her in.”

  Bianca looked at me. “Is that how you want it?”

  “I want her to have a good home,” I said.

  “And if she’s not yours, then what is it to you whether she does or not?”

  I explained where and how I’d found her, but did not mention the bag of gold or the strange, glowing blue ball. I also told about the men hunting her. When I finished, Bianca said, “And you expecting me to risk my family for this girl? What if more soldiers come looking for her?”

  “Mama,” Beatrice said sharply. “She’s a baby. None of this is her fault.”

  “And that’ll be small comfort when we’re all skeletons on the floor of this burned-down cottage. You think it’s fair to put your brothers and sister in this kind of danger?”

  “There’s no danger,” I said. “Word will get back to whoever sent the soldiers that Isidore died in the bear attack.”

  “Isidore?” Bianca repeated. “I thought you said this was a girl.”

  “You can name her whatever you want,” I said.

  “And so you think you can trust a soldier to keep his word? Are you naive or just an idiot?”

  I smiled. It was clear where Beatrice got her spunk. “I don’t blame you for being skeptical, ma’am. But I know soldiers, and I know when one’s telling me the truth. He didn’t realize they were being sent to murder a baby, and he didn’t like it when he found out.”

  Before Bianca could reply, the front door opened and a man entered. He had big arms, a barrel chest, and a long beard littered with bits of hay and wool. He said, “Both those worthless sons of mine are off chasing girls at the bonfire, not a one left to help tend the animals. I swear I’ll—” He stopped, blinked at me, and said, “You’re not one of mine.”

  “No, sir,” I agreed.

  “Is that your sword propped by the door?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “This is Eddie,” Beatrice said. “He’s with me.”

  Her father’s eyes slowly opened wide. With genuine, delighted surprise, he said, “You have a boyfriend?”

  Beatrice closed her eyes and blushed a little. “Dad, you’re embarrassing me.”

  “As if having a grown daughter still living at home isn’t embarrassing to me,” he said. He kissed Bianca’s cheek and started to tickle Isidore beneath her chin. “Hey, wait,” he said. “This isn’t Cassandra.”

  “She’s mine,” Beatrice said, and put her hands on her hips.

  He looked at her. “Daughter, I may miss a lot, but I know I haven’t missed that.”

  To save time, I gave her father the quick version of events. He took it all in without changing expression. When I finished he said, “Well, that’s quite the tale.”

  “It’s the truth, sir.”

  “I hate to say that a man with such manners is a liar, but you’ll admit it strains belief.”

  “I can take you to the dead man and the bear if you want.”

  “No, I’ll not be traipsing through the Harm’s Wood at night, even with a man with a sword. I’ll take your word for it. But I can’t take on another mouth to—”

  “Yes, we can,” Beatrice said. “I want this. She’ll grow up as one of us, never knowing any of this, unless one of us tells her. And we won’t, will we?”

  Bianca and her husband exchanged a look. I sensed that whatever else they might think, they did love their spirited oldest daughter and hated to deny her anything. At last the man said, “Well, I suppose one more girl underfoot won’t matter. Give Cassandra someone to play with. She’ll have to do her part around the farm, you know.”

  “I know,” Beatrice said.

  Isidore began to fuss, and Bianca said, “Let’s see if she takes to my milk. If she doesn’t, this is all for nothing.” But the baby nursed contentedly, cooing and sighing as she filled her little tummy.

  I suddenly felt claustrophobic, as if the cottage was shrinking around me. It was nothing physical, of course; it was just that Isidore had been taken into the family, and I was now on the outside looking in.

  Bianca stood, Isidore on her shoulder. “Come along, Beebee, let’s fix up a crib for her. We have to change that name, though. Might as well name her David or Robert. . . .”

  They went into the bedroom and closed the door.

  The father put out his hand. “Owen Glendower.”

  “Eddie LaCrosse.”

  “Pleasure to meet you. Why don’t we step outside while the womenfolk tend to women’s business?”

  “I heard that,” Beatrice called from the bedroom. Isidore began to cry. “It’s only women’s business because you men don’t have the balls to do it.”

  Glendower rolled his eyes. “That girl,” he said, as if it explained everything.

  I followed him out, retrieving my sword on the way. He steered me far enough away from the house that we wouldn’t be overheard. In the distance we could just make out the tunes around the bonfire.

  We stood together silently for a long time. It might’ve made other men nervous, but even then, I was very good at waiting. I knew he was deciding whether or not to kill me, and I seriously hoped he didn’t try, though not from fear. I liked him, I liked his daughter and his wife, and I didn’t want to spill his blood.

  At last he said, “You got the eyes of a killer, lad. You earn your keep with that blade. I’m not often mistaken about such things.”

  “You’re not this time, either,” I agreed. “I’ll be leaving soon, though, so don’t worry.”

  “And yet you come bearing a child.”

  “I haven’t always been a hired sword. Once I was a human being.”

  He laughed at that. “Well, young sir, I think you did the right thing. Bianca may holler and fuss, but truly, the young lass will be no real burden. We’ll raise her as we have our others.”

  “Based on Beatrice, I’d say you’d done a good job.”

  “I don’t know. Might have been better if that one had been born a man.”

  “Well, I don’t think so.”

  He laughed again.

  And then, for no good reason that I’ve ever been able to determine, I held out the bag of gold. “Isidore also had this with her.”

  He felt the weight and whistled. “Lad, that’s the feel of a fortune.”

  “If it is, it’s hers, not mine.”

  “I may have been too hasty in my judgment of you.”

  “No, you weren’t. You had me pegged. Just make sure she never knows this isn’t her home.”

  “Take it to my grave.”

  “Thanks.” I turned to walk away, back toward Mummerset and my horse. The war I came to join was still waiting for me.

  “I think Beatrice expects to see you,” Glendower said.

  “It’s probably better if she doesn’t. She’s more persuasive than you think, and I’m not made of iron.”

  “She also has a temper.”

  “I bet. But I have to get somewhere where people aren’t as nice as you folks before I forget who I am.”

  “Best of luck to you, then. Will you ever pass this way again?”

  “Seems unlikely.” And with that, I walked away into the night. And what I said about returning was true . . . for sixteen years.

  Part II

  Isidora

  Chapter

  FIVE

  Sixteen years later . . .

  You’ve met a lot of kings, haven’t you?” my girlfriend, Liz, said as she drove her delivery wagon toward Acheron, the capital of Mahnoma. She was about my age, mature but in no way old, and
had grown her short red hair out to her shoulders over the winter. Now, in spring, it made her look positively girlish, especially when the wind tickled the loose strands around her face.

  “I’ve met a few,” I agreed. My boyhood friend Phil, also known as Crown Prince Philip, now ruled Arentia. I’d known the legendary King Marcus Drake in the days before his legend collapsed around him. And I’d crossed paths with others, often in my capacity as a private sword jockey. Even the most powerful, it seemed, had dirty laundry and closeted skeletons.

  “I’ve never met one,” Liz said. “What’s it like?”

  “They’re just people. The good ones know there’s no real difference between them and us.”

  “And the bad ones?”

  “They believe there is.”

  I sat in the passenger seat of Liz’s biggest delivery wagon, the one with the high sides and the wooden top that could be bolted down and secured with locks. Fully assembled as it was now, it was like hauling a big wooden box down the road, and inside could be anything from a hay bale to a five-man death squad. In this case, though, it was something in the middle, a package sent up the Gusay River from the ocean and now delivered overland by Dumont Delivery and Courier Service, Liz Dumont head cook and tankard washer.

  We reached the gate into Acheron. The arch itself had collapsed and gone unrepaired, while the stones lay beside the road, overgrown with weeds. The three guards seemed very unconcerned with us at first, content to continue whatever game they were playing on one of the fallen rocks. We were almost through, in fact, before one of them called, “Whoa, hold it, you two.”

  He got up from the card game, spit at the ground, and walked over to our wagon. Other people, on foot and horseback, passed us in both directions without comment. The guard’s uniform was dirty and didn’t fit; it occurred to me it might not even belong to him. He scratched under his chin and said, “In Mahnoma, you want to go for a stroll, you have to pay the toll.”

  “There’s nothing on the sign about a toll,” Liz said.

  The guard smiled. It was one of those vicious little smiles petty men enjoy when they think they’re about to bully someone. “I don’t care what the sign says, Little Red, I say you have to pay.”