He looks to me, then back to his work on the stove again. “How so?”
I pour the beans from my hands back into their bowl, sieving them without purpose. “I am your prisoner, and you are my supervisor.”
He does not turn, but thinks over my answer before he replies.
“No.” It is gentle but powerful. “You must see that we are equal despite being in different positions. For instance I don’t see it like that; you are my guest, no more and no less. I gain nothing from it, so what is the point of keeping a prisoner?”
“If you gained something from keeping me a prisoner, would it be unequal?”
This time he almost turns. “No.”
“You gain something from keeping me as a guest though?” It is quiet and indecisive. I myself don’t know what I am asking for by requesting explanation.
He does not look at me. “I don’t understand what it is you are asking me.”
I swallow. “Never mind.”
It takes me a moment to find another topic as the heat in my chest wavers. The last conversation we had flickers to my mind.
“Why did you ask me the question of favored fruit?”
He puts down the ladle and I know the answer.
“You were going to the market.”
He watches the porridge then nods. “I am.”
I feel the air being caught in my chest as I forget to breathe. He doesn’t trust me…not after the Hanging Gallows. My throat tightens and I don’t have the nerve to address it.
He turns back to the stove and draws the ladle from its resting place and scoops it into the porridge. I watch his movements absently, and the thought occurs that I had gotten used to his actions. The thought is absent too though, so I do not punish myself for it.
“Gilch.”
He looks up at me and my heart runs away from control. I force myself not to follow it. “I…” I feel my heart speed. “I am sorry for running.”
His eyes watch me and I watch their movement as they run over my features. “I won’t again…and I do want to go outside.”
He continues to watch me.
“I was running from my past…I thought running towards what was present I might wake up…but…I…” I look down remembering the vulnerability I’d felt before he had sheltered me from danger. I remember his body being so close to mine. “I overestimated my handling skills.”
I feel his eyes wandering over me, as though trying to read clearly what I have said. “I do that too.”
I look up and meet his gaze.
“I run from something and it ends up that it is also towards something…and then I overestimate what I can handle.”
He watches me back.
I feel a small flicker in my stomach begin to grow to something bigger and bigger as we continue to watch each other. Finally, he takes accountability and looks to the oatmeal, picking up the ladle once again ready to stir.
“Are you hungry?”
Chapter 17
There is a light breeze and chill in the air as I step out into the street. Nadeje steps after me to lock the door. I wait until he gently passes me and takes the lead. We walk in silence and I breathe in the fresh air around me gratefully. Nadeje winds back and forth between the sides of stands, guiding me and passing around others who also crowd the place. Entering the desired area, he goes first to the fruit stand and makes me smile as he trades four pears from his storage for a pack of wild berries left at the fruit stand. He then leads me to one of the various ink stands where he orders two jars of black.
I watch as we pass my moeder’s favorite stand to gossip at with her friends, the baker’s stand. Currently her favorite baker is arguing with a man whom I do not recognize as one of our people from Leyden. His dress is much too formal and his fashion reminds me of the stories my vader would tell me of his sailings to Holland. I tense as the man fists the table as if frustrated or impatient, and that is when I see the baker look in my direction.
He freezes as though shocked. He must be. I remember that I have been lost to this place since my moeder and sister were taken. The man seems to notice his adversary’s expression, and slowly he turns to follow the baker’s gaze. For some reason, my face begins to burn and I feel too exposed. I scoot closer to Nadeje, feeling protected that way. I glance back at the stand and my heart skitters as I find his gaze still glued to me. I look away, shying from the attention and telling myself there is no meaning in him looking so long. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the man turn all the way, and though I cannot see his face, I feel that it is smug with fulfillment.
I beg Nadeje as we walk on not to cross the street and try to block myself from the baker stand by staying closer to his side. Fortunately, Nadeje meets my wish halfway by not crossing the street, but the other half is unfortunate as he leads me to the butcher’s stand. It is absent of meat, but the remaining sight and smell, even the thought of all the blood after the Hanging Gallows event makes me draw back slightly. I try to ignore it as Nadeje passes a slip of paper from his pocket, but I can hardly breathe.
He notices and seems to understand. “You can move on to the next stand if you would prefer.”
I nod quietly and step quickly to the second stand down from where he is. This would be the pottery stand.
I lightly trace geometric designs over the beautiful ceramic pot I am looking at from the selection of earthenware. I ignore the feeling that I do, alone now, not want the sensations of fear. Then, I feel it. The air is cut off from its normal draught against me as it passes. There is another person standing at my shoulder. I move away to the side to make way for the other shopper, but the man from the baker’s stand steps in beside me. I do not say anything, or walk away, despite the rising want to. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he lifts the tiny pot I had just been admiring before, and traces its pattern with his fingertips. I regain the knowledge that I have not been breathing and try to calm myself.
“Did you know that this pot has six and a half different generations of work on it?”
I hold my tongue and find that I am balancing myself with the table.
“Did you?”
I swallow. “I did not,” I respond politely.
He smiles craftily then sets it back down again. “That is true treasure.”
I hate myself for it. “It depends on what its cost is.”
He turns. “Yes, it does indeed…miss.”
I look up in fear of him addressing me, for this means that he is now requesting an interview
His eyes follow my features for moments too long. “May I speak with you?”
I am unable to see passed him to Nadeje and wish not to have to respond. “We are conversing now,” I meet his gaze and his holds mine so that I feel unable to look elsewhere.
“Away from the stand,” he proposes.
I cannot see Nadeje. This makes me uneasy. “I have been directed to stay here…” I look to him again. “Out of danger.”
His face darkens. “Come.”
Without further explanation he strides towards the center of the square. I do not follow, but search the crowds for Nadeje. He is gone. My heart races with confusion. The man waits a few yards off, but when I do not come, he returns to me instead.
“Ms. Thimlet, correct me if I am wrong?”
I stare at him and back up a little. “Please, I request that you understand that I am not here for open conversation. I am waiting for someone and if I leave they may no…”
He takes my wrist and pulls me after him to the center of the street. I can’t find my voice or the brains to come up with anything to protest. When he stops he does not let go, even as I try to snatch my hand back.
“Lyra, I have urgency to speak with you on behalf of…”
I think I glimpse a Spanish soldier and tug at his hold. “Let me go.”
He grips my wrist tighter and my heart falters. “Lyra, I must speak with you…”
“Please let go,” I beg.
“Your blood runs in only
one place apart from your moeder’s…”
I am shocked by the statement and for a moment lose my ability to speak.
He pulls me closer. “Lyra, your moeder is gone…your sister has not been seen since…you are left…your blood needs to be protected…”
I am too terrified by his words to fight.
“Your profit as a person is too high to even comprehend…if anyone harmed you…” I feel his fingers wrap tighter and his voice grows husky and quiet. “Your birthright is chronicle to this city’s support and safety…you aren’t who you have been raised to believe…”
Another body appears at my side but I cannot seem to look away from the man, hardly taking notice of the other.
“Miss Thimlet.”
Nadeje.
The man looks slowly to Gilch and his eyes obscure. “Spaniard.” He says it darkly.
Nadeje’s eyes fall onto the man’s hand which still retains my wrist and his face hardens slightly, though he maintains a calm tone. “Release her.”
The man’s grip grows painful. “She is speaking with me.”
Nadeje looks to me but seeing my face turns his eyes back onto the man. “I feel otherwise…”
The man does not look at all ready to relent, but with a scowl he releases my wrist.
“Is there something you need?”
The man looks to me. “Only to warn her of whom she chooses to be of importance to.”
I can’t move.
“Meaning that you are of importance and must soon come to understand how…your vader’s blood kin are of importance and you are the last here left.”
I am too stunned to reply.
He looks satisfied. “You shall see what I mean in some time,” he looks to Nadeje. “You Spanish will fall,” he looks him deep in the eyes. “I will be enjoying the after party.”
I realize what he is proposing was to happen and feel a twang of pain in my stomach. I wish him gone. “Please go.”
He looks to me for a moment, pauses, and then bows stiffly. “Ms. Thimlet,” he excuses, and then departs from our place.
Nadeje takes a moment, as though trying to process what the man was implying here. Then, he gently takes my wrist a moment. All goes quiet as his thumb tenderly brushes down the underside of my wrist. He drops it and begins to lead me down the street. It takes a few seconds to do so, but I follow.
The road feels cold and misty by the time we reach his home, and the sun is beginning to set. Nadeje unlocks the door and pushes it open, letting me enter first. I am grateful. I realize I have not eaten in some time as my stomach tightens at the smell of the leftovers from breakfast. I glace to the back door and scan the room, feeling a little cautious after the encounter with the man in the market. Finding nothing to worry about, I step into the kitchen and pull down the shawl from my neck to feel the temperature of the small space.
“Are you hungry?”
I turn to see Nadeje looking at me and nod. I feel as though I should tell him of my lack of acquaintance with the man, but as he turns away I decide it better to wait. He brings the basket of groceries to the table and takes from it the berries and sets them in their place on the shelf. He then takes two eggs from the cabinet where they stay, and also peculiar black things in a jar.
“What are those?”
He looks to me and I gesture to the black granules. “Beans,” he says educationally. “They are a main food in Spain…so is rice.”
I swallow and watch as he empties about a cup of them into a pot and pours some well water into it with the pitcher.
Feeling me watching he looks up. “Do you know how to make eggs?” It is gentle and undemanding.
I nod and step in to help. I rinse my hands and crack the eggs onto the pan, adding salt and pepper. He cleans the rice as I wait for him to light the stove fire. He does, and I set the pan on the rack over the fire to cook. He does the same with the beans. I watch as he fills two cups with pitcher water and sets them aside for us on the table. I step into his room and put down my shawl and return.
“Did you know him?”
I turn as he chops vegetables and throws them into the pot of beans, as he calls them, his gaze on his work and his back to me.
“The man?” He clarifies to my silence.
I look him in the eyes as he turns. “I’d never seen him in my life before the market,” I reply honestly.
He watches me and I feel not understood.
“I am…in doubt of any relation to him in any context,” I say.
It is truthful.
He nods and moves to set two plates on the table.
A few minutes later, we sit down to eat. The beans are good, and though I wish to, I do not ask questions of why perhaps we do not have them growing here in the Netherlands. Instead we eat in silence. After we have both finished, I help to clean, dry, and place the dishes back where they are neatly stacked in the cabinet. When I have completed the task I turn to leave, thinking it beneficial to get rest after today’s market meeting, but then I remember the man and feeling a small pull in my stomach, I turn back to him.
“Mr. Gilch?” He looks up. “Could you…the curtains in your room...they are difficult to fix so that I feel…”
He understands. He rises from his squat by the fire and watches a moment to see it fully extinguish, then starts around to follow me. I feel my skin crawl and toes tingle and decide obstinately to blame it on the cold. I stand aside by the door as he walks in and to the window. I wait as he reaches up to fix the pole at the top. He draws them in once, and out, in, out, and in, testing them. Seeming certain that the work is accurate, he heads back towards the door. I watch him quietly, not moving until he steps passed. I move after him, planning to lock the door, but then I remember. I hesitate. I push it aside.
“Mr. Gilch…”
He stops only a step from both me and the door and there turns to face me. I glance down then look up again at him, feeling shyness prickle in my heart.
“Thank you.”
His eyes watch me softly and I feel my heart beats harden in my chest. I let my eyes linger too long on his and everything inside me begins to vibrate. He gently touches his hand to mine. I feel my chest tighten and yet loosen all at once and I grow stiller. He watches me a moment, his eyes soft and peaceful. He slowly comes closer.
I weaken as his head lowers and he leans. I grow unbearably vulnerable as the air between us lessens to our own breaths, and feel that my skin chills yet warms as he nears me steadily. I feel a light shock yet relief flicker through me as his nose lightly skims down the side of mine. I close my eyes. I forbid myself to feel his fervor, yet also weaken to his warmth. I have to pull away…I feel dizzy…I must move away…I try. I don’t…I can’t move. I try to fight it.
“Nadeje,” I hope that my soft sound might let him understand.
He doesn’t. His arms slowly and tenderly slip around me and mine are drawn up where I find my hands on his stomach. He moves carefully and my heart triples its speed. I am not breathing…am I? I hesitate and resent it a little as his head dips further down. I can’t let it happen…I am no longer breathing.
“Mr. Gilch,” my voice is weak and pleading, no more than a breathless whisper.
He stops. He slowly raises his head from mine. I feel tears wet my eyes as I open them and fearfully avoid his gaze. His arms consciously but unquestioningly release me. In moments I feel suddenly very small and alone.
“Lyra…” I glance into his eyes but look back down. “I meant nothing of…” He steps back but stops. “Lyra…”
“Go, Nadeje.”
It is soft, but I feel too weak to make it any stronger. I feel my words seep into him and my heart hurts. He takes a moment. When I do not move, he is gone.
Chapter 18
The next morning I wake up drowsily and stiffly. I ungratefully rise from bed unsure if the soreness was still from my run the day I ran to the Gallows, or from tossing and turning in lack of sleep.
I feel my heart waver as
I catch the sounds of Nadeje outside. I try not to let it get to me. I turn away from the window and take my time to dress and rinse my face and mouth from my wash basin. I pause a moment.
I look out through the small gap between the curtains around the window and breathe slowly. It is early, but not nearly enough to be dark. There is a pinch in my stomach as I watch a soldier stride past the window and eye a Dutch boy. Two others follow him, looking less official. I step closer to observe them for longer. I watch the soldier’s strides carefully and feel that it is similar to another. I cannot name which. I read his uniform, his boots, and his gate. That is when I realize he is walking in the direction of our door.
I swallow. Should I tell Nadeje? Would it make any difference? Could they be coming for me? Were they Spanish or Dutch? No…Even if it would make a difference…after yesterday’s unpredicted encounter with Nadeje…I feel my heart unwantedly sink in regret and stomach churn sickly. I can’t finish the thought. I quickly tear myself from my lost gaze and harmful thoughts as I start for the kitchen.
I am a foot away when there is a knock on what sounds like the front door. I hear the sound of Nadeje moving and soon after the sound of the front bolt unlocking. I reach for the knob but I am stopped. What if they are here for me? Shivers run down the inside of my skin and I don’t move. I hesitate for the moment when they would come in, for the loud clamor when they would barge in. What if they search for me? What of Nadeje if they are here for me? Fear of the guilt which I know would come from his harm tightens my throat. What if they find me?
Then, I am relieved by the calm sound of men speaking. I move closer to the door and put my ear against the old wood, listening carefully.
“Our leader has given the command to search and now emphasizes the state of the girl…his demand is great, the price large, and the mission fairly easy to accomplish…plus there is an abundant reward in pounds. His intentions have just been given to us after his…urgent business…you might not have heard of it yet. He has ordered our preview of the daughter, so that we can assure him of her current well-being. He directed us that she has been…tended to…and sheltered…in this place.”
Tears of Leyden Page 11
