Second Age of Darkness

by Diane Lindmark

  "And how the hell did you come to that conclusion?" he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

  "Edmund could only abuse and torture her body. Her mind and her heart never belonged to him; but if you are kind to her, she will think herself in love with you. Then when you take a wife, you will destroy her. If you actually care about not hurting her, you will keep your distance."

  Malachi said coldly, "Queen Roberta, I do not appreciate you lecturing me on my behavior or my morals; but it should please you to know I'd already come to the same conclusion myself. Now if you will excuse me, I am going to go downstairs and have breakfast. Then I'm going to begin to see what I can do to improve this new section of my country for all of my people."

  Chapter 19

  Entering the dining hall, Malachi scanned the room. They had set up a head table on the raised platform. Clearly the large, high backed chair was intended for him; but since no one else had seated themselves at the table and there was no food placed on it, Malachi dismissed it from his mind and found an empty seat next to his head healer, Timothy, and seated himself. Scanning the table, he discovered his brother and Young Alec at the other end, and seated next to Timothy was Richter. "Well, Richter, I'm glad to see you're up and around. How are you feeling?" questioned Malachi.

  "Incredibly lucky to be alive; and a bit astonished at being completely un-bruised or broken after the beating you lads gave me. I'm told I owe this miraculous occurrence to one of your healers, though Benjamin would not elaborate on their identity."

  Malachi smiled to himself as he thought, I have to remember to thank Benjamin in person. It is probably better if it didn't get around that the … He just barely managed to stop himself from falling into their rut of referring to her as that. He was not going to do that. He refused flatly. He would rather call her anything but that. "Well, we're all glad you're still with us."

  Malachi turned his attention on Young Alec. "I understand you were nowhere to be found last night."

  Alec looked up and blushed. "I was unaware I had anything you wished me to attend to. Was I remiss in my duties?"

  "Any time one of my men is missing and no one knows where they are, they are remiss in their duties. So what were you doing?"

  Alec hesitated a long minute before he hedged and said, "I was making a new friend."

  "Does your new friend have a name?" demanded Malachi.

  "Aye, Your Majesty, but with all due respect I would prefer not to discuss this so publicly."

  Malachi smiled. He could respect his little brother's reticence to discuss the intimate affairs of a young lady, but he said sternly, "Very well, we will discuss this matter at my earliest opportunity."

  They had all been sitting chatting amiably for a couple of minutes when the slave entered and started filling water glasses. When she filled Richter's glass, he smiled at her and said, "Thank you."

  She turned and filled Timothy's glass, who just grunted at her. Malachi smiled to himself. Timothy was never his most amiable in the mornings. She moved around Timothy and was just beginning to fill Malachi's glass when Timothy shot to his feet, grabbed the slave's right arm and wrenching it so hard behind her back, it forced her to drop the water pitcher, which shattered at her feet. As she cried out in pain, he forced her around to face him, grabbed her by the throat and said, "Don't drink the water, lads! This wee bitch has been poisoning us."

  Young Alec was in the middle of drinking and spewed the water out.

  Malachi and Richter had both gotten to their feet quickly. Richter grabbed Timothy by the shoulder, saying as he did so, "Let her go! She'd never do anything to hurt any of us."

  Malachi glared openly at Timothy, took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he said in a very calm voice, "If you are correct and the water has been poisoned, which I seriously doubt, I assure you she was not the one to poison it. Now you're hurting her, release her."

  "Malachi, don't be a fool just because this wee bitch rolled you between the sheets last night. Don't mistakenly believe that it meant anything to her. Women can get their jollies off with you one minute and carve out your heart the next, or did you forget that we slaughtered all of their men yesterday?"

  Malachi's head snapped around to where Broderick was now standing. He narrowed his eyes at the little traitor and mouthed, 'I will deal with you later.' Broderick looked down at the table. Malachi turned back to Timothy. "Let's not begin our first day of peace by me killing you Timothy; so don't be impertinent. When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed and I did not ask you to release her, I told you to."

  Timothy did so reluctantly. "I am telling you the wee bitch is trying to poison you, Malachi …"

  Malachi cut him off. "As you pointed out, if she wanted me dead, she could've killed me last night." Malachi narrowed his eyes at the slave as she began examining the glasses. She took a large sip out of Timothy's glass before he had a chance to stop her, then she picked up Malachi's and drank the little bit that was in his glass. He yanked the glass out of her hand. "What the hell do you think you're doing, woman? If the water has been poisoned, do you want to die?" She picked up Timothy's glass which still had water in it and shrugged her shoulders, looking at it confused.

  Timothy shoved her slightly. "If you have something to say, you wee bitch, say it. Don't just stand there shrugging your shoulders."

  Richter shoved Timothy. "You lay one finger on her again; I will gut you, and before you go running your mouth, you stupid bastard, she doesn't talk."

  Timothy shoved Richter. "Just because Malachi trusts you, doesn't mean I do. You're still Edmund's nephew and probably a backstabbing wee bastard. You probably just wanted Malachi to do your dirty work for you, so you can kill Malachi and take his throne. I don't trust you any further then I can throw you." The two men began shoving and hitting each other.

  Malachi sighed, then whistled loudly. Both men stopped and looked at him. "Both of you do me the favor of shutting the hell up! Timothy, you lay a finger on the lass again and I will feed you to Richter." He turned back to the lass. "You don't know how the poison got into the water?" She sighed and shook her head. She took a drink of the water and shrugged her shoulders.

  Richter picked up his glass and took a drink. "No, she's saying it tastes fine. It tastes like what the water from the castle tastes like. I think the problem is your man here isn't used to our water, so it tastes funny to him, so he thinks it's poisoned."

  "Is that possible, Timothy?" questioned Malachi.

  Timothy took the glass from the slave's hand and drank some of it, then he took another sip. This time he held it in his mouth and rolled it around. Spitting it back in the glass, he said firmly, "If this is what they're used to their water tasting like, then it is contaminated. It doesn't taste right. Something is definitely in it and I can't put my finger on it. I may have mistakenly accused the lass of trying to poison us, but that doesn't change the fact that there's something not right about the water."

  Malachi touched the lass on the arm. "Where do you get your water from?" She made a big circle with her arms and then pretended like she was pulling a rope. Malachi touched her arm. "Show me." She nodded and showed Malachi the way. Timothy, Richter, and Broderick all followed.

  The way she took them led them through the kitchen. As they went through, she retrieved a lamp. Arriving at the well, she unhooked the bucket and hooked the lamp to the rope, then began lowering it. When the lamp was nearly at water level, she and Timothy exchanged horrified looks. The other three men were also staring down, thinking it was odd that plants were growing in the well, but it didn't mean anything to them. Finally Malachi demanded, "What is it?" The slave pulled off her shoes and swung her legs over the side of the well. Malachi grabbed her by the arm. "What the devil are you doing?" In answer, she gently gripped his shoulder and leaned him forward a little bit, then she pointed at the stone steps used for climbing in and out of the well. "Oh no, you're not going down there. I will go." She shook her head firmly and pointed to h
erself, then slid over the edge, carefully finding her footing, she climbed down. Malachi pursed his lips together and looked annoyed; then he realized she just defied him and he smiled. He leaned over and watched as she climbed down; then holding on carefully, she began pulling several things out of the well.

  Timothy, who had been watching her, pointed. "Get that one there. It looks like the oldest one."

  She nodded, shifted to the other side, and began pulling. It took several tries before she pulled it free. She looked around. It was going to take several more trips to pull them all free, but she had enough for them to examine. She draped the largest plants over her shoulders, the small ones she carefully hooked inside the waistband of her skirt, then began climbing. As soon as she reached the top, Malachi reached over and yanked her out and set her on her feet.

  Malachi tilted her chin up to face him. "You best be careful, woman. I will accept disobedience in a wife, not a servant." Her eyes went wide and she looked horrified and shook her head fiercely. "Then in the future, you best behave and do as I command you to do, is that understood?" She nodded her head vigorously, then she pulled out all the plants and dropped them on the ground. Kneeling next to them, she began examining them. Timothy dropped down on his knees next to her. The two of them were handling the plants, looking at the leaves and roots. After a long minute, the slave wrote in the dirt, 'antidote?'

  Timothy scratched his head. "Aye, I think we can fix the well. Is this the only well?"

  Richter replied, "No, the castle area has two other wells, but this is the only one we ever use. What is it?"

  "It's a weed. I don't remember its proper name, but its nickname is 'wife's best friend'," replied Timothy.

  "What does it do?" asked Malachi.

  Timothy sat back on his heels, scratched his neck, and said, "Well, its effects vary from man to man, and aye, I do mean man to man, not person to person. As near as I can remember, it has no effect on women, but the effects on men range from disinterest in sexual activity, to an inability to perform, to sterility. Long-term effects can range from violent temper to overemotional weeping, crying, things like that; but the most common is the violent temper."

  Richter murmured under his breath, "Well, that explains why the beatings got worse."

  "What do you mean?" demanded Broderick.

  Richter sighed. "Both Christian and my uncle had become more violent with their women over the past few months." Richter hesitated. If what Timothy had said about Malachi spending the night with the slave was true, he didn't think he'd like to hear that Edmund had nearly beaten her to death eight months ago.

  "Go on," snapped Broderick.

  Richter glanced apologetically at the slave. "I guess about eight or ten months ago, my uncle nearly beat the slave to death. It was a miracle she survived. And the day your messenger arrived, Christian nearly beat Abby to death."

  Broderick grabbed Richter by the shirt and got in his face. "That pathetic weasel of a cousin of yours nearly murders his wife and you don't do anything about it? Your uncle tortures and torments an innocent lass and you don't do anything about it?"

  To Malachi's surprise, the slave got to her feet and pushed between the two of them. She turned to face Broderick and was shaking her hand back and forth, clearly indicating, 'no'. She pointed at Richter and shook her hand. She then made a crown with her fingers, then she ran her thumb across her throat, then she pointed at Richter and ran her thumb across her throat again. Then she made the crown again with her fingers. Richter, Broderick, and Timothy all stared at her like they didn't understand a thing she was trying to convey.

  Malachi laughed. "I think she's trying to tell you, Broderick, had Richter interfered, Richter would be dead. The lass would probably be dead too. Edmund, being the kind of person he was, probably would've assumed they were lovers because that in his mind would probably be the only reason for Richter to have interfered. And even had Edmund thought it was anything else, he did not tolerate anyone interfering in his business, especially not the management of his slave." The slave nodded her head vigorously.

  Broderick grumbled, "Guess that makes sense," and released Richter.

  "Good, now that that's resolved, why don't we get back to the problem at hand. You two can fix the well?" Both of them nodded. "Good, now all we have to do is figure out who poisoned the well, and why?"

  Malachi stared in surprise as the slave bit her lip and looked as though she knew the answer to this. "You think you know who did it, don't you?"

  After a minute she nodded, then she turned to Richter. Gripping him by the arm, she turned him and pointed off in the distance. Richter adjusted to follow her gaze, then he groaned and turned back to the slave. "She's the one who taught you all about herbalism if I remember correctly." The slave nodded. "You think she would've done this?" Again the slave nodded. Richter sighed and turned to face Malachi. "The red roofed building in the distance, it's the pub. The innkeeper's kind of an unscrupulous slime. He has a wife, real nice lady, herbalist, healer. They had a daughter. About two and a half years ago, my uncle, the Captain of his personal guard Jeffrey, and about a half dozen of my uncle's personal guard stopped in at the inn for drinks. The innkeeper's daughter was waiting on their table, not a bad looking thing, not beautiful, but not bad to look at. My uncle paid her father for some entertainment for himself and his men. The lass did as she was ordered to do. From here on, there are a couple of different versions of the story. One of the versions is that she happily did them all, right there at the table. The other one is that she did my uncle and Jeffrey, then decided she didn't like it or didn't want to do anyone else. My uncle told his men he'd paid for their entertainment and so they all got their entertainment whether she wanted it or not. The next morning, the lass was found hanging in the stables. Her mother and father have not spoken a civil word to each other since."

  Malachi stood there digesting that for a long minute. "You know Richter, I think I killed your uncle too quickly."

  "I seem to recall once or twice telling you to make sure he suffered," retorted Richter.

  Malachi turned to his brother. "Broderick, I want guards posted at all of our wells."

  Broderick nodded. "As my King commands." He turned on his heel and left to give the orders.

  "Richter, would you be so kind as to go and get the innkeeper's wife and bring her to your uncle's office, where I will be getting a feel for how things were run around here by reading your uncle's paperwork."

  Richter started laughing. "My uncle didn't do paperwork. He doesn't have an office like you have. If my uncle ever even read a watch schedule, I'll be shocked. My uncle preferred to sit in his Throne Room and bellow orders and expect them to be obeyed. Any paperwork that you're going to want to read is going to be in the Council Chambers. But if you wish me to go and fetch the innkeeper's wife, I will do so gladly. Would you like me to bring her to the Throne Room?"

  Malachi ran both hands through his hair. "Please tell me you're kidding me."

  "Wish I was. My uncle didn't even have an office."

  Malachi said looking at Richter, "Then I guess my first order of business is to find a room to turn into an office. Any suggestions? And we'll deal with the innkeeper's wife tomorrow."

  Richter shook his head. "I've only lived here three years. The slave knows the castle better than anyone. She's been here seven. She might have a better idea; if not, Gertrude might."

  Malachi turned to look at the slave who was already nodding her head. She beckoned for him to follow her. She took him upstairs to the first floor. Crossing to a large set of double doors, she pushed them open and entered the room. Malachi looked around; it was the Throne Room. Taking him through the room, she pulled aside the curtain and opened a door that was concealed by the curtain. Entering the corridor, she turned to her right and went down about thirty feet, and opened the first door on the left. She opened it but did not enter. Malachi looked inside. It was a room with a very large table capable of seating thirty grown men
comfortably. There were a lot of papers on the table. There were also several side tables which were stacked with papers. He looked back at the slave and asked, "Council Chambers?" She nodded. She closed the door and headed a little further down the corridor to the next door. Opening it, she entered. Malachi wrinkled his nose. It smelled dirty. Clearly this room had been unused for a long time. He looked around and his spirits lifted. It was clearly an office. At the other end of it was a very large desk, covered in what were probably at one time white sheets, but were now covered in twenty years of dust. As he continued to look around the room he asked, "How long do you think it would take some of the women to get this room cleaned and ready for use?" After a minute or two of silence, he continued looking around the room making sure not to look at her. Waiting another minute he asked, "How long?"

  After a minute, it became obvious to the slave that he would accept nothing but a verbal answer. It took her several tries to work up her courage. It was much easier last night in the dark. When it finally came out, it was barely a whisper, "Tomorrow."

  Malachi turned to face her. "You can have this room ready tomorrow?" She nodded. "If you can have this room ready to be used tomorrow before you go to bed, I'll get you a present." She shook her head. "Oh, now you're backpedaling. You can't be ready tomorrow?" She shook her head and waved her hands in front of her. "Oh, you definitely can be ready tomorrow?" She pursued her lips together and glared at him. He was deliberately misunderstanding her. "Well, if I'm not understanding you, perhaps you should try using your words. It is much easier to make yourself understood when you speak."

  The slave pointed to the room, then she looked down at the ground. He was staring at her so intensely; it made her feel even more shy than she had earlier. "Tomorrow." As she continued to stare at the ground, she saw his boots appear in her line of sight. She looked up and he was standing right in front of her.