The doctor seems the most capable. He’s a large and hearty fellow. He delivered the Princess and pronounces her in fine health. He is the least afraid of me. He and the cook are Old Mordanian, like myself.
The cook is a robust woman of early middle age. As to whether she can cook remains to be seen. Lucen Greinholz, the guard, is recently detached from the Royal Regiment. He is of pensionable age but seems a forthright and loyal sort. He alone has family to bring with him, a plain but seemingly pleasant wife and a very spoiled boy of three. They’re Southern Mordanians.
The last of the four is the wet nurse, another Southerner. She seems distant and indifferent, and has yet to strike me as maternal. With no child of her own with her I can but assume she has lost one recently. This may prove to be a problem.
Katrin stirred and began to cry.
“I suspect you may be hungry,” Menders said to the child. “And at this stage, that is not something I am equipped to handle myself.” He settled her in the bassinet that had been provided, then opened the carriage door and walked onto the platform.
He gasped, realizing that they must be well into what was known as Old Mordania, the rugged eastern lobe of the nation. How hideous the cold could be out here, far from the tempering effects of the ocean! Pulling his jacket close, he stepped across the gap and hauled on the door handle of the next carriage, revealing the guard’s startled face.
“Can you send the nurse in, please?”
The big man nodded, the door closed and Menders moved hastily back to the warmth of the Royal Carriage. Presently, the sharp-faced young woman came in, bringing a swirl of snow with her.
Menders took her cloak.
“I’m called Menders. I think she’s hungry.” Menders lifted the baby from the bassinet. The young woman nodded and took the child, then sat on a straight backed chair beside the bassinet with Katrin nestled in her arms.
“I’ll have to feed her,” she said unenthusiastically. “I’m Ermina Trottenheim.”
Menders nodded, standing with his legs braced slightly apart against the motion of the train, his arms folded across his chest.
“I would prefer some privacy.” Mistress Trottenheim scowled.
“Yes, I understand,” Menders replied. “You may proceed.” He rotated on the spot and stood with his back to her. There was a mirror above the sideboard across the carriage that afforded him a view of her. At this stage, with an untried group of people whose motivations and loyalties were not yet certain, he would take no chances.
She undid her dress quickly and put the baby to her breast.
“I find your lack of trust offensive,” she said peevishly.
“Do you?” Menders replied. “You wouldn’t if you bothered to think about it. I have no information about you. The Princess’ safety comes first and foremost with me. Think on this… given your close proximity, how quickly do you think you could break that little one’s neck?”
“I would never do such a thing,” she snapped indignantly.
“Good. I’m glad to hear it,” Menders responded. The child fed in silence for a while before he spoke again.
“You have lost a child of your own recently.”
Her eyes flashed up, surprised. She had not spoken of it and he had made a statement rather than posing a question, so no doubt she wondered how he knew. Assessing situations quickly was one of an assassin’s many skills.
“Born dead five days ago. Who told you?”
“No one. A simple deduction on my part. If you had a newborn, you would have brought it with you. Since you haven’t, yet are able to be a wet nurse, you must have lost a child. Also, you seemed ill at ease which led me to believe you hadn’t nursed before.”
She looked past his shoulder to the mirror on the wall and gasped.
“You said you wouldn’t look!”
“I said no such thing. I merely turned my back to ease your discomfort. But at this stage I am not about to take my eyes off the Princess for a minute.”
Mistress Trottenheim fastened her dress quickly and put Katrin down in her bassinet. Menders sat in the chair before the writing desk.
“Tell me about yourself.” It was not a request and Ermina Trottenheim knew it.
“My husband died in battle three months back,” she said waspishly. “I’ve been a nurserymaid for Princess Aidelia for four years and was given this position because my baby… died and I had milk. I’m in the Royal Family, distantly related.” She looked at him haughtily.
“I’m Royal Family too,” Menders countered. “Very closely related. Second cousin to the Queen.”
“I’ve never been to Old Mordania,” she said after a tense silence. Her tone made it obvious that she considered being sent to Old Mordania the worst fate imaginable.
“I was born there,” Menders responded, looking at the dark window. He could see her reflected in the glass. She was watching him closely.
“I have clothes for the Princess, Mister Menders,” she finally offered, obviously wanting a change of subject. “She’ll need a diaper now that she’s eaten and she’ll probably sleep for a while, so she’ll be fine in the bassinet.”
“Dress her by all means but I’ll hold her when you’re done,” Menders directed decisively. The young woman dressed Katrin and wrapped her in a fresh blanket, then handed her to Menders with open annoyance. He ignored her expression. He was not about to confide his feelings for the child.
“I had best get back to the others,” Mistress Trottenheim said. “There’ll be supper on soon. Shall I send some in?”
“No,” Menders replied, deciding he had better not keep too far removed from the rest of the party. The gods only knew what stories would begin to circulate about him, and he was going to need these people in the weeks and months ahead. “I’ll come forward for it. The Princess will also need attending to at odd hours. It would be best if you and she were in the same carriage. ”
“Surely you don’t mean to have the child fed on demand? She should be on a schedule.” She was looking at him as if he’d gone mad.
“Deprive a hungry baby of food? Surely you cannot be serious.” His tone hardened. Having been deprived as a child himself it was a bitter notion to him, despite the fashion of ‘toughening’ children practiced in the Royal Family and high society.
“Scheduled feeding is how a child should be raised,” she retorted, assuming an air of authority. “It is what the Queen would wish.”
“The Queen is not here. I am,” Menders replied. “I have full authority over the Princess.”
“And you’re an expert on child rearing, are you?” Mistress Trottenheim sniped.
“Since you have no notion of my knowledge and capabilities, I think it would be unwise on your part to make any assumptions at this point.” Menders answered, his tone frigid. “We do things one way. My way. Do you understand?” He removed his dark glasses and stared at her.
She opened her mouth to reply but one look at Menders’ eyes closed it again.
He was sure he had not heard the last of the matter. She was not the type to leave things alone. He replaced his glasses on his nose and began to open the carriage door, then paused with his hand on the big brass handle.
He looked intently at Ermina Trottenheim. She stiffened slightly in response.
“You’ve been nursemaid these last four years to the Heiress, Princess Aidelia?” he asked.
“I said I was.”
“What’s your personal opinion of her?”
“Aidelia? I… well, she’s…”
“This is not a test of your loyalty,” Menders added, sensing her apprehension. “It’s not to see what you might say or not say, with the idea that I would report it to the Queen. This is strictly between you and me.”
After a pause, she lowered her voice and answered,” Well, she’s… strange.”
“How so?”
“She’s… I don’t know how else to say it. Strange. Fits of temper, biting, violent outbursts, hates being touched, goes wild if anyone tries
to bathe her. She’s been like that since birth.”
“Does she seem to be ill?”
“Oh no, not at all. She’s fit as a bull, strong for her age and size. Look.” She rolled up her sleeve and there, just below the elbow, was a bite mark. It was yellow, purple and black. “When I was ordered to brush her hair.”
“A child did that?”
Nodding, she rolled her sleeve down.
“I see.” Menders nodded and gently bit his lower lip. “Thank you Mistress Trottenheim. I’ll be along shortly.” He pulled the door back, and the wet nurse made good her escape.
After closing the door, Menders saw Katrin was slumbering peacefully and sat at the writing desk, picking up the pen again.
The wet nurse is a problem. No question. Snide, bitter, contemptuous – just the sort of person to cause trouble. I will have to consider other options as soon as possible. If she is this difficult with someone she hardly knows, what will she be like upon further acquaintance? Is her behavior the reason why she has been sent away from the Court? Surely other wet nurses could have been sent. Adding a difficult and unmaternal nurse to the Princess’ household – why?
***
Menders studied his reflection in the sideboard mirror. He looked sinister and displeased. No wonder the others were staying in the parlor carriage.
He looked down at his black suit and then at his black greatcoat thrown across a seat nearby. He must have presented a very intimidating figure to them back at the Palace. Of course he had, he’d deliberately cultivated just such an image for years. He had no change of clothing available in the carriage, so he would have to appear in his assassin’s garb, but he would also appear holding a baby, not a weapon. Hopefully that would help break the ice a bit.
Menders rose, pulled on his overcoat and then lifted Katrin from her bassinet. She stirred and mewed in protest.
“All right, all right. Now, it’s under my coat you have to go, because we’re going into the next carriage, and it will be cold on the way.” With that he tucked her against his side, snugging the blanket around her, buttoned his greatcoat and opened the door.
He crossed the platforms rapidly and opened the door of the parlor carriage, bursting inside with a gasp. He shucked off the coat, taking Katrin from its depths and cradling her in his arms.
Menders looked up to see six people staring at him.
“He’s only a lad!” the cook burst out. It was the first time some of them had seen Menders up close. “What madness is it to send a boy out here with a tiny baby girl?” She rose and beckoned to Menders. “Come here, Mister Menders, have some supper. Let me take the little mite so you can eat. A boy your age probably eats seven times a day if I’m not mistaken.”
“I don’t know if she’ll cry, she does anytime I put her down,” Menders said as he walked over to the group, then transferred Katrin to the woman’s arms.
“Spoiling her already?” She smiled at him and he knew that she wasn’t in the least intimidated by black clothing or black looks. “I know a trick or two with babies, so you have a break from being papa and have some of my stew.” She eased back the blanket that covered Katrin’s face and began to coo.
“Isn’t she the loveliest baby,” she warbled as Mistress Trottenheim silently served a plate and set it on a small table at the end of the carriage, nodding to Menders. “Here now, she looks as if she’s already a week old and only born yesterday. Hemmett, see the pretty baby?”
The little boy, who Menders had guessed might be three years old, craned up to see Katrin.
“Gimme the puppydog!” he demanded, holding out his arms.
“She’s not a puppydog!” the cook laughed. “She’s a little girl and your Princess.”
“Gimme the puppydog!”
“A man of single mind, our Hemmett,” said the doctor as he pulled out a chair and sat, setting his own plate in front of him. “Glad you joined us. I’m Rainer Franz, Court Physician – or was.” He was a hearty, blond man, tall, in his thirties.
“She’s a little baby, and you can’t touch her just yet,” the cook was saying to the implacable Hemmett. “When you’re allowed to you must always use gentle hands.”
“Gimme the puppydog!”
“Oh dear. Hemmett, show the baby your toy horse,” said the woman Menders assumed was Hemmett’s mother, though she appeared to be in her mid-forties. She rose to distract the little boy from his determined course to take Katrin in his arms and play with her like a ‘puppydog’.
“Mister Menders,” Doctor Franz said, as Menders ate voraciously, “do you have any idea of the condition of the house we’re going to?”
Menders’ fork stopped halfway to his mouth and he stared at the doctor, looking over his glasses. The doctor blinked but then covered up very professionally, as if he was confronted with people who had white eyes every day.
“I thought one of you would,” Menders said, realizing that he looked like an idiot. “The only thing told me is that the house is called The Shadows and that when the train stops, we’ll be there.”
Lucen Greinholz, the guard, hauled up another chair. He was nearly seven feet tall and appeared to be in his early fifties. Hemmett ran over to him and began to clamber onto his lap. At first, Menders thought the man too old to be Hemmett’s father, but the little boy kept demanding his attention by calling out ‘Papa!’ loudly and poking at him.
Lucen placed a wax-sealed, leather billfold on the table. “We were told to give you this, sir.”
Really, Menders thought. Obviously, no one was in a hurry to bring it to me, we’ve been traveling for hours. The gods only know what they thought might be in this… their writs of execution, perhaps. He was glad the men were coming forward, but the women, he noticed, were still keeping a wary distance.
Menders took the billfold, broke the seals and withdrew a single sheet of paper. He scanned it quickly.
“It’s the charter giving me guardianship of the Princess,” he said, feeling at a complete loss. There was no other information; if money was to be provided, how much and when, where they were going, if the house was habitable, if there was a town nearby – nothing.
Menders looked up at Lucen Greinholz, who shrugged.
“We’ll manage, we don’t have much other choice,” the big man said placidly, as Hemmett thumped his chest repeatedly with a toy horse. “Here now, son, leave off,” he continued with amusement. Hemmett paid no heed, misbehaving with such confidence that Menders knew it was a longstanding pattern.
A look at Doctor Franz was more satisfying, because he was obviously feeling the same frustration Menders did.
“What concerns me is the fact that we have a newborn infant here and might be going to a place where there is no fuel or food,” Menders said.
He put his fork down and looked around the group before speaking.
“Some of you are Northerners but does anyone know the area we’re going to? I was born in Old Mordania, but in the far eastern part. I haven’t been in Old Mordania since I was eleven.”
“I’m from Old Mordanian stock, but born in Erdahn,” Doctor Franz said apologetically. “I’ve never been out here.”
“I was born near here, in Erdstrom,” the cook volunteered. Menders looked over his glasses at her and sighed as he saw her start. She fell silent.
“Would you be so kind as to dim the gaslights?” he said. Doctor Franz reached up and turned down the gas.
Menders swiveled his chair around so that he faced all of them.
“Now,” he said, removing his glasses, “These are my eyes. I know that they can bother people but since we’re all thrown in together I can’t have everyone jumping every time they happen to see them. I don’t see well without my glasses, which have to be dark because I can’t bear a lot of light. I wear them almost all the time. My eyes have always been like this, it’s a quirk in my family.” Menders had become accustomed to the questions people asked about his unusual visual organs and had developed this speech to save time.
He looked from one person to the next, holding each gaze until the initial flinching was over and they’d had time to get used to his peculiarity. There was a general murmuring of interest and the cook said, “I think they’re quite attractive once you get used to them.” Menders couldn’t help smiling at her. He replaced his glasses and the lamps were turned up again.
“Now then,” Menders said to the cook, “What should I call you?”
“Cook is good enough. My name is Valdema Fersten and I was born in Erdstrom some fifty miles from The Shadows. It’s called that because it’s in the shadow of The Giants.”
“Giants?” Doctor Franz asked. Menders said nothing, concentrating on his plate, nodding his thanks when Mistress Trottenheim placed more food on it for him. He knew what The Giants were. They occurred in several places in Old Mordania.
“They’re great stone pieces of bodies, hands, noses and suchlike, poking up out of the ground,” Cook answered. “Like parts of statues, but huge. You can see them from the train line and if the snow’s not too deep we’ll have a look at them today. They’re found in this part of Mordania, more of them the further north and east you go. No-one knows who made them.”
“What about the house?” Doctor Franz asked.
“I’ve never seen it,” she replied. “It’s the only royal house in this part of the country and the furthest one north, they say. There are other great estates around and there is a small village within five miles - or was before I left the area.”
“How long ago was that?” Menders asked.
“Some ten years. I wish I could tell you more,” she sighed.
“Does anyone know if word was sent that we’re coming?” Menders asked, starting to feel a bit of panic.
No-one spoke.
“Gods,” he muttered. For all they knew, they were about to arrive at a frozen waste, with no shelter, no notion of where the house was, nothing. And with tiny Katrin as vulnerable as a human being could be.
He let his mind start churning, sorting through the information he had, precious little that it was. After a moment, he had a plan.
Weaving Man: Book One of The Prophecy Series Page 2
