“Good bye and take care. We look forward to hearing news of your success!” the lady called from the front of the chateau as the carriage pulled away. The driver sent it rumbling up the esplanade that extended to the river road, and five minutes later they were on the road, heading due south along the eastern shore of the Gamble River.
Chapter 17
The day was uneventful. Kestrel was curious about his traveling partner, but they didn’t stop all day long, and Kestrel chose to stay atop the carriage, his eyes examining the others travelers and the terrain around them, always looking for trouble. He kept his hood up to hide his elven identity.
“You’ll not see much trouble this far north,” Coplin told him in the mid-morning. The driver was a taciturn man who said little. “It’s when we get closer to Uniontown that things get lawless, or so I hear.”
They rode on for the rest of the day, saying little. The landscape was new to Kestrel, for on his previous trip south to Uniontown he’d been a rower onboard a ship that had paddled up-river from Lakeview to Uniontown.
That evening, they reached their destination at Northporte, a quaint village that seemed stable, if not prosperous, and Coplin guided the carriage up to the door, where a groom took the reins.
“My instructions are that you and the lady are to wait out here until I can get inside and make room arrangements for the two of you,” Coplin turned and said to Kestrel. Without further explanation he slid down to the ground, murmured something to the groom with the horses, then was gone inside the inn.
Kestrel sat in mild surprise at the choreography that Marquise Thuringa had arranged for the trip. With a shrug, he pulled out the note she had given him, the note that he was supposed to give to the unseen passenger inside the carriage. Rather that waste the time he had to wait on Coplin, he stepped down to the running board and knocked on the carriage door.
“Yes?” a pleasant voice answered.
“It’s me, Kestrel. We’re at the inn in Northeporte, and Coplin’s gone in to arrange rooms,” Kestrel said. “May I come into the carriage?”
“I’d rather that you didn’t,” the voice immediately replied. “I feel very uncomfortable at the moment,” she added awkwardly seconds later, in an attempt to reduce the sting of the rejection. “I have a note for you though,” she said in a more forlorn tone. The window opened a crack, and an envelope slid out towards Kestrel.
He could see nothing in the dim interior of the carriage, other than a white-gloved hand holding an envelope.
“And I have a note to give to you as well,” he told her. He pulled the envelope from her fingers as he slid his own into its place; it sat there slackly for a moment, then her fingers gripped it and pulled it into the interior of the coach, and the window closed.
It was peculiar, Kestrel thought, as he held his hood over his head and climbed up into his seat on the driver’s bench. The light outside the inn was dim, but his elven vision was sufficient for him to decide to open the note the passenger below had given him.
He unfolded the paper and read:
Dear Lord Kestrel,
You are so kind to watch after our sweet Gail, I know that as you get to know her you’ll forgive me for the little trick I’ve pulled to put the two of you together. You’ve most likely seen her by now, and know of her disfigurement; believe, me once you get to know her, you’ll forget all about it, except when you are looking directly at her, of course.
She was fortunate to have met the Margrave Charles, who had been blinded in a hunting accident just a few months before the two of them met. Since he never saw her, he had no objection to her appearance, but simply doted on her great and sweet personality.
Her aunt will compensate you for providing safe passage to the girl, I assure you, and for the embarrassment of being seen in public with her.
I so look forward to seeing my husband again. Thank you for your pledge to set him free.
You are a great hero to Uniontown’s citizens, even if you are an elf,
Most elegantly yours,
The Lady Marquise Thuringa
It was the most peculiar letter Kestrel had ever read. He sat in the dim light of the inn’s lantern, staring at the paper without seeing it. What in the world it meant was beyond his comprehension. Thuringa had spoken of the Langravine in the most kindly tones the day before, yet now there were references to disfigurement so profound that apparently only a blind man would attend to her.
And she sat just a few feet away. In a matter of moments, she would have to leave the protection of the cart and walk into the inn. Kestrel was astonished at the thought, and perversely curious to see her.
“My lord?” Coplin’s voice startled him, and he turned quickly.
“Here, my lord,” Coplin handed a heavy metal key up to him. “I’ve got a room for you,” the man spoke in a low voice as he stepped up close to Kestrel. “You can go into the inn and go to your room – it’s up on the third floor, away from everyone else. The stairs are straight ahead – just go in through the doors and straight ahead, fast like, so that no one gets a good look at you. Keep your hood up and all,” the man hinted.
Coplin was concerned about people seeing him! Kestrel realized with a start that as much as Thuringa had worried about Lady Gail’s looks, the coach driver was at least as worried about Kestrel’s appearance.
“Should I help the lady up to her room?” Kestrel asked.
“She, uh,” Coplin froze, unable to answer, and Kestrel hopped down from the seat, then rapped on the carriage door.
“My lady, Langravine Gail, can I help see you to your room?” Kestrel called through the wooden partition.
There was silence.
“Do you have the key to her room?” Kestrel asked Coplin.
“I do, my lord, but, is this wise?” the man asked.
The handle to the carriage door jiggled, and they both turned to stare at it.
“Give me the key,” Kestrel spoke in a stage whisper to the driver. “Where’s her room?”
“Next to yours, on the upper floor,” the man whispered back.
The door opened outward, toward Kestrel and Coplin, forcing them to step back.
Kestrel felt an irresistible fascination, both a fear and a compulsion. He wanted badly to see the disfigured woman. A movement caught his eye, and she emerged from the carriage.
Her head was tremendously large! It was extraordinarily large, he thought for a second, and then he saw that she wore a hat, and had a veil that completely enveloped her head – the hat, her hair, her face, her neck were all hidden by the layers of gauzy material that circled around her head.
She stepped down towards the ground, and Kestrel extended his hand to offer her a grip for balance. Her small hand reached out to grasp his, and she placed her feet on the ground. Her face tilted upwards towards his, and he heard a gasp inside the dense material, before her hand loosened its grip.
“Let me show you to your room,” he said, holding his hand still in place a moment more after she had released it. He held up his other hand to display the key he held.
“Coplin, would you bring the bags up to the third floor for the lady?” Kestrel asked politely, then he turned without waiting for an answer, and stepped over to the door to open it wide, and wait for Lady Gail to step through.
She stood hesitantly at the edge of the carriage for a moment, then stepped forward, and entered the inn lobby, with Kestrel right behind her.
There was a bustling business present in the inn, people coming and going between a sitting room on one side and a dining room on the other.
“Move along,” Kestrel urged quietly. “The stairs are straight ahead. He reached a hand up to tug the front of his hood down lower over his face, and held his hand in place to cast shadows over his purple eyes.
The woman in front of him began to walk forward, and Kestrel followed closely behind.
They only needed to take a dozen steps to reach the stairs, and Kestrel counted them as his feet moved beh
ind Gail’s.
The short crossing seemed routine during steps one through ten, but at step eleven, a large man suddenly crossed in front of Gail, a wine glass in his hand.
“What do we have here, a walking laundry order? Or has the gentleman ordered a secret floozy for his room for the evening?” the man asked loudly.
“After you serve the coward behind you, come down and take care of me too,” he told Gail as he stopped immediately next to her.
Her steps faltered, then picked up, and she took the next step, then reached for the bannister and began to climb the stairs.
“What’s the matter, miserable man? Hiding behind your bought woman?” the drunkard gave Kestrel a vicious shove in the back that sent him sprawling forward. Kestrel’s hands fell onto the heels of Gail as she started to climb the steps in front of him, and she screamed as she fell forward, while Kestrel landed on the stairs next to her. His injured arm began to burn with the sting of new stress inflicted upon it.
The crowd around the scene grew silent.
Kestrel flipped over onto his back and sprang up, momentarily ready to fight the inebriated bully.
“No, my lord,” he heard Gail’s voice behind him.
A few voices began to laugh.
“That’s it, let the girl talk you out of fighting,” the drunkard said.
Kestrel closed his eyes. It was unbearable. The humiliation, and the puffed-up bravery of the drunkard were insufferable.
“Here’s the lady’s luggage, my lord,” Coplin spoke up as he entered the hallway from the stable side door.
Kestrel opened his eyes, saw the servant, looking uncertainly around at the scene.
Kestrel reached out and took the bags from Coplin. “Good night. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said to the driver, then turned and stepped onto the bottom tread of the stairway. He painfully lifted his own bag over his good shoulder, then lifted the lady’s bag with his uninjured arm, and carefully offered the open hand to Langravine Gail, helping her up from her prone posture on the steps.
“Good bye, chicken little man. Go upstairs with your harlot,” the drunkard bellowed at Kestrel, followed by a round of jeers from the audience.
Kestrel shook his head, his anger suddenly evaporated into mere distaste.
Gail began to climb the steps again, and Kestrel rose up them behind her. The flight of stars turned at a landing to double back, and rose out of sight of the public rooms below.
Kestrel and Gail climbed silently up to the second floor. Each step jolted his injuries, and he longed to reach the end of the climb.
“We go up one more,” Kestrel announced upward, and Gail obediently stepped up onto the less ornate stairs that rose to the third floor.
The third floor was only a landing, and there were only two rooms available off the landing.
“I can’t see a thing,” Gail said softly in the darkness.
Kestrel stepped around her, his keener vision adequate to see the keyholes. He plunged first one key, then the other into the door on the right, and pushed it open.
“Here’s your room, my lady. I’ll lay your bag over here on the table,” he told her as he stepped into the space.
“How can you see?” she asked. “It’s pitch dark.”
Kestrel placed her bag on the floor, then turned his body to shield his hand from her sight, and touched his fingertip to this thumb, just as Krusima had shown him; he flared a momentary spark of fire against the wick of the candle that sat on the table. The wick immediately caught the flame, and he extinguished his light.
“There’s light for you,” he stood and turned and looked at her.
She was still all wrapped in her veils, but a lock of red hair had slipped through the veils, presumably when she had fallen on the steps after Kestrel had clipped her heels. The hair was the same deep auburn red that was not uncommon among elves – though blond and silver tints were most typical of elven hair, shades of red were ordinary, as were brown and black, and an occasional rare blue. Kestrel felt a spark of comfort – if she had hair like an elf, then she couldn’t be completely hideous, he told himself.
“How did you?” she started to ask, then stopped, and she stepped aside from the door.
“Thank you, that will be all. I’ll see you in the morning,” she told him.
He was dismissed. He readily understood that he was invited to leave her room. With a brief bow, he stepped past her, out of the room, and sidestepped next door to his own room. He jiggled his key into the lock, then opened his door, and carried his own pack into his room. Although the room was dark, he had no need to light a candle, so he sat down on his narrow bed, and pulled off his boots.
He felt a strong wave of nostalgia sweep over him, a wish that he was sleeping in a tree in a forest on a warm summer’s night. The small, cold bed in the human building in the hostile nation held little appeal to him.
“Oh Kai and Kere, I wish you were here to tell me that this is the right thing to do, that it will all be worth the trouble,” he said softly, as he removed his cape and laid down on the bed, hoping for quick and restful sleep.
Slumber came uneasily for him though, as his mind wandered and wondered, and his pains grew and receded. What could be the terrible deformity of the girl next door, he wondered. He grew sleepier as he spent long minutes trying to fathom the mystery, and he began to fall asleep finally, as he wondered if perhaps the oddity was not under her veils at all, but somewhere else on her body. She had stood straight when she walked, so she wasn’t a hunchback, his mind fuzzily told him.
Perhaps the voluminous skirts she wore hid an improbable third leg, he conjectured sleepily. He could imagine the sounds she’d make if she used three legs to walk or run about, he told himself, trying to imagine the rhythm of a three-legged pace, as he somewhat heard a clumping noise on the stairs outside his room. There was the jiggle of a door knob turning, and he tried to understand what it had to do with the three legs.
“Sir Kestrel?” he heard a woman’s voice call softly, and he sensed that he needed to be more aware of the world around him.
There was a sudden scream, a loud one. “No, stop, please!” a woman shouted, and Kestrel sat upright, awake and confused.
“Oh, you’re hurting me,” the woman cried, and then Kestrel heard the crack of a slap, and he jumped out of bed and strode to the door. With a quick pull the door flew open, and he wheeled around the wall between the rooms to look through an open doorway into the room of the Langravine Gail, where he saw a struggle underway.
Kestrel took a step into the room, then leapt up into the air and sprang across the room to land on the back of the assailant, who had both hands busy trying to pin the young woman down on her bed. Kestrel wrapped his arms around the neck of the man and pulled his head backwards as he tried to throttle him; his broken arm was in agony and weakened by the effort, while his shoulder was inflamed as well.
The man gave an angry roar and a gasp, then released the lady and reached back over his head as he rose up off the bed. One of his hands grabbed a hold of Kestrel’s ear, while the other began to pinch Kestrel’s neck for a moment, before it gave a shove that pried Kestrel loose and knocked him to the floor. He hit the floor hard, and his head struck the leg of a table.
“Little puppy, suddenly brave, are you?” the man said in a gravelly voice, and Kestrel knew he was the man they had encountered when they entered the inn. “I’ll take care of you now, and your lady next,” the man said as he reached for his knife.
Kestrel reached up, as he tried to shake his head, but felt a terrible pain from where he had struck the table leg. He focused all his attention of the attacker, who suddenly seemed to be moving in slow motion as he began to plunge his knife blade down into Kestrel’s midsection.
Without further thought, Kestrel instinctively reacted, and released a bolt of energy from his fingers, a bright flash of grayish light that struck the attacker, and instantly petrified him, turning him to a stone figure, whose wickedly pointed st
one knife point hovered just inches above Kestrel’s chest.
“Are you alright?” Kestrel asked Gail. He turned his head to look at her, and saw the look of astonishment on her beautiful features, and then he passed out.
Chapter 18
Kestrel woke up lying on the floor, with dim red light beginning to filter in through the window of his bedroom. His head throbbed with pain from where he had whacked it against the furniture. The statute of the attacker was gone, no longer claustrophobically hanging over him.
Slowly and carefully, Kestrel sat up, one hand on the back of his head. His injured arm was red and swollen, he noted as he pressed it against his chest. His head hurt and his shoulder as well. His hand that held his head came away with fingers that were sticky from damp blood in his hair.
He gasped as he suddenly remembered all that had happened, and then realized where he was. He was no longer in the room of the noblewoman he had sought to protect – he was sleeping on the floor of his own room, and the Langravine Gail was lying asleep atop of his bed!
Kestrel carefully and silently rose to one knee, then examined the woman whose eyes were still shut with sleep. She was wearing a white shift, one that left her arms bare as it hung from her shoulders to her knees. Her long, dark red hair was unbound, and spread upon the thin pillow in a luxuriant field that stood out in brilliant contrast. She had no third leg, Kestrel noted, only two legs that were so nicely muscled they could have been the limbs of an elven runner.
He noted a blanket folded at the foot of the bed, and he rose to his feet, then used his one good hand to unfold the blanket, and gently pulled it across the girl, to cover her from the chilly late winter air that seeped into the room.
“Thank you,” she said sleepily, without opening her eyes, and she gave a little purring sigh.
A moment later her eyes opened wide, and she looked at him. She pressed the blanket against her torso as she sat up, her eyes always studying him.
“I couldn’t stay in that room with him over there,” she said.
A Marriage of Friends Page 20
