Weaving Man: Book One of The Prophecy Series

by Tove Foss Ford

  “When we arrive, I will make them hold the train. That way no matter what, there will be shelter for us. Cook, how much food is left?”

  “Plenty, enough for two or three days. I planned for a possible delay. The trains often get stopped or slowed during the winter,” she replied. “And if need be, the train could go on to Erdstrom where there would be an inn and food to be had, if the tracks are clear. Some winters they’re completely blocked for months but this winter hasn’t been hard from the looks of things.”

  “I might need someone to help me convince the driver that we’re going to hold the train,” Menders said to Lucen Greinholz.

  “Oh, I don’t know… you look like you could be very convincing to me,” Lucen grinned. “But whatever help you want, then I’m your man.” He slid Hemmett off his lap, having apparently grown tired of being pounded with a toy horse. The pounding had gone on throughout the entire conversation without Lucen making a move to put a stop to it.

  “Good. Doctor, I’ll need you to help me find if there are any resources there at all or anyone who can tell us where we’re going, if there’s transport available, that sort of thing.”

  Doctor Franz nodded and Menders realized that everyone looked relieved.

  “There now, I told you that he’d have something figured out, they don’t take dolts to be assassins,” Cook said to the group at large. Menders managed to bite back a laugh, then sat back and looked around at the little group.

  “I don’t know what you might think of me,” Menders began, then paused. That wasn’t quite true – he did know what they thought of him. People always thought assassins were murderers, cold blooded killers, madmen. They didn’t know or understand that an assassin was not just a contract killer or thug. An assassin was as highly trained as any specialist in any technical field, and was skilled at espionage, intelligence gathering, subterfuge and sabotage. Assassins killed without compassion, it was true, but also without any other sort of emotional involvement. Menders had always considered himself a sort of surgeon, quickly and carefully removing cancers and infections that threatened the healthy body of Mordania.

  “But the charter I have been given is quite clear,” he continued. “I have full legal authority over the Princess and I am to see to her needs, comfort and security. In those respects I am the final authority.” He cast a sharp glance at Ermina Trottenheim, who looked away. “However, I don’t want you to think that I have that same authority over you. I am not the lord and master and you are not my servants. Instead, I see us all as having been thrown in together. We’ll have to help each other.”

  He watched their faces closely and saw his words had lessened some of their apprehension.

  “But you are still… in charge of things, right?” Lucen asked with concern.

  “In some respects, yes. I am to be responsible for the estate of the Princess, assuming there actually is an estate there to be responsible for.”

  “Good!” Lucen beamed with a relieved grin. “I’ll follow any sort of order you care to give but I’m not keen on giving them myself.”

  “That should work out then,” Menders said. He turned back to the table.

  “How did you come to be sent out here, Mister Menders?” Cook asked.

  “Just Menders, please,” he told her. “I seem to have drawn the dislike of the Queen. I saw a look she gave me as she passed me yesterday.”

  The group looked around at one another, and Cook nodded sagely.

  “Another one then. Me, I got into a fight with that idiot they call a cook at the Palace. Filthy bitch, never scrubs out the pots properly, leaves food out all over the place. The kitchens there are a disgrace. I finally got into a slapping match with the vile woman and that was the end of me, off to the end of the world I go.”

  “I caught a bullet right below the knee two months ago when two fools decided to duel in the Palace courtyard,” Lucen Greinholz added. “I’m just as hardy, but I can’t stand at attention for hours any longer. I’m glad to be away from The Palace. We’re looking forward to a new place.”

  “I had the temerity to suggest that Princess Aidelia carving designs into her arms and legs with a knife isn’t the activity of a normal child.” Doctor Franz contributed bitterly. “Since the Queen ascended the Throne a couple of months back, she’s been getting rid of royal staff left and right, putting her own flunkies in. So here I am.”

  There was a ripple of discomfort as the Doctor mentioned the behavior of the Heiress and a sudden silence, unbroken even by Hemmett’s continual jabbering, settled over the carriage.

  “Mister Menders knows how I’m here,” Mistress Trottenheim said after a moment. She got up at a glance from Cook and took Katrin. “She’s hungry and I have my orders.” She gave Menders a look and went to the end of the carriage, where she was shielded from view by the seats.

  “What do we have with us in the way of supplies, Doctor Franz?” Menders asked.

  “Please, call me Franz,” the doctor said. “No point in formality. I have medical supplies, plenty of them. I had warning a day ahead of time that I would be sent out with the baby, and I depleted the Palace stocks considerably. Medicines, bandages, sutures, instruments – we have enough to see us through anything but a plague.”

  “What about clothing for the baby?”

  “Mistress Trottenheim has that. It’s sufficient for a while, and baby clothes can be made up of anything, old clothing, sheets. There are plenty of blankets.”

  “I have some old baby things of Hemmett’s that she can have,” chimed in Greinholz’s wife. “I’m Zelia. I like to sew, so I can run up anything the little Princess needs. We also brought most of our household goods. There would be enough sheets and blankets for everyone to start with, if there’s nothing ready at the house.”

  Menders gave her a nod of thanks and she smiled shyly.

  “Lemme see your spooky face!” The demand came from around Menders’ knee. He looked down to see Hemmett staring up at him, trying to see behind his glasses.

  “I can’t take my glasses off with the lights turned up. It would hurt my eyes,” he answered. Hemmett decided to remove that obstacle by attempting to climb on the seats to reach the gas lamps, but his mother took him down and bore him away to the end of the car where she started chatting with Mistress Trottenheim. Cook rose from her seat and came to the table.

  “I was told that there are dishes and pots and pans at the house,” she said. “If any of you gentlemen is a dab hand with a gun or crossbow, there should be plenty of game in the district. I can cook anything so long as I have means of heat and some knives to cut it up. So we shan’t starve.”

  “I could say I’m a dab hand with a gun or crossbow,” Menders said. “I’m more experienced with shooting men, but I imagine I could probably hit a deer with a bit of luck.”

  “Best you do then, because I won’t be happy about you bringing me a man to cook,” Cook said, and burst out laughing.

  (3)

  The Shadows

  The train finally stopped in the bright light of late morning, at a desolate wooden platform blessed with one small, forlorn building. An old sign, faded almost to illegibility, proclaimed ‘THE SHADOWS HALT. NO SCHEDULED SERVICE. SIGNAL WITH FLAG OR LANTERN TO STOP TRAINS’.

  It wasn’t a very encouraging sign.

  Doctor Franz went to see if there was anyone inside the building and found it locked. He rubbed at a grimy window pane with his sleeve, then peered inside.

  “Hasn’t been used in years by the look of it,” he called.

  Menders immediately walked forward to the engine, hastening against the biting cold. He climbed up to the footplate, figuring that the driver wouldn’t move the train with one of the passengers hanging from the engine window. Lucen had disembarked on the other side and made his own way forward to the engine.

  “Where are we?” Menders demanded as Lucen Greinholz climbed up and grinned at the driver through the other side of the cab. His grin was very imposing.
/>   “Shadows Halt, sir,” the driver said. “Here, what’s all this about?”

  “We’ve been sent out with no idea if anyone is going to know we’re coming, and we have no idea where we’re supposed to go,” Menders replied.

  “Let us out of here, and we’ll get back in the carriage and have a talk,” the driver said, looking from Menders to Lucen with some amusement. “Don’t worry, lad, I’m not going anywhere. Our orders were that you disembark here, we go on to Erdstrom to turn the engine and head back light. But I’m not about to abandon you, if it seems you’ve been left in a hard spot. There’s no regular service here, you know. We don’t stop, most times. People just leave us parcels and such to pick up and we set out what’s theirs. Papers and mail, and the like. If there’s no-one turning up soon, we’ll carry you up to Erdstrom, there’s plenty of lodging there.”

  Menders drew a private breath of relief that the driver wasn’t some timeserver determined to keep to a schedule and stepped down to the platform. The driver and fireman climbed down behind him, and then scrambled up into the warmth of the parlor carriage.

  “I’ve driven this run for years, when the track is open,” the engine driver explained between gulps of scalding coffee. “The Shadows is about two miles from here. It hasn’t been used by the Royal Family since I started some eight years back. There are tenant farmers on the estate. Sometimes they come to the halt to catch a train. So why are you people here?”

  “We have the Princess with us. The Shadows is to be her home,” Menders said, taking the baby from Mistress Trottenheim and holding her where the driver and fireman could see.

  They rose and bowed.

  “We weren’t told. Just said to run a special express up to Shadows Halt,” the driver explained. “Had no idea you didn’t know what was happening – but that’s the way it is in Mordania these days, isn’t it? Likely someone nearby has seen the smoke from the engine, we’ll hear soon enough.”

  Indeed, it was only a few moments before someone hallooed outside.

  Menders swung down into the bright daylight to see two sledges pulled up at the halt and two men heading his way.

  “You’re the people from Erdahn?” one of them called. He looked relieved when Menders nodded. “We only got the letter about you coming with the child two days back,” he puffed, sliding on some packed ice and jumping off onto snow where he could get better footing. “No idea when, because at the point the letter was written the child wasn’t even born yet, there was no way to know. So we’ve been watching for a train. Sorry not to meet you, but it takes some time to hitch the horses.”

  “There are eight people altogether,” Menders told him. “Two small children, a three year old boy and the Princess, born yesterday. The children can’t stand the cold for long.”

  “Neither can I, let’s get in the carriage,” the man said, blue eyes twinkling intelligently between his heavy fur hat and well-wrapped scarf. “I’m Spaltz, one of the tenant farmers on The Shadows.” He hauled himself up into the carriage. Mister Spaltz was a great heavy boned man, broad more than tall, with huge large-knuckled hands, a genial face and hair the color of burnished copper.

  “So... you would be?” Mister Spaltz said, casting a quizzical glance at Menders.

  “Menders. Guardian of Princess Katrin, second rightful Heiress to the Throne of Mordania.” Menders indicated Katrin.

  “Ah, I see.” Mister Spaltz bowed respectfully to the Princess before looking at Menders again. Menders could not help thinking that the farmer had been expecting a more senior man. “So, I guess it’s you who’ll be in charge then, sir?”

  “So it seems.”

  “Right. My eldest girl and two of the other farmer’s wives have been trying to make some headway with the house, and they’ve got enough cleaned for you not to be drowned in dust or et up by spiders,” he said. “We shouldn’t tarry too long, it’s bad for the horses to stand in this cold. So we’ll save the introductions for later. Best to get these children to better shelter.”

  Mistress Trottenheim gave Katrin to Menders. He felt entirely extraneous as the women flurried around, gathering belongings and chattering about being glad that someone had opened the house and begun cleaning it. They seemed cheerier now that they knew there were actually people around The Shadows.

  “Lemme see your spooky face.” A tug on his trousers let Menders know that Hemmett was at his side. Another tug threatened to half-undress him and because Hemmett’s mother was busily stowing things in a hamper, Menders crouched to the child’s level and obliged him by looking at him over his glasses. Hemmett giggled, not the least unnerved by Menders’ eyes.

  “Spooky face! Gimme puppydog!”

  “This isn’t a puppydog,” Menders said firmly, moving Katrin’s blanket aside so Hemmett could see her. “This is the Princess. No more asking about a puppydog.”

  He had observed enough of Hemmett’s behavior to know that he must make it very clear to the little boy just what would be permitted and what wouldn’t. Menders had spent the second night of traveling in the carriage with the others and had watched as Hemmett refused to lie down to sleep, rifled people’s belongings and sat up playing while everyone but Menders was dozing. He was a child who had obviously never been disciplined. If Menders was going to live in the same house with this youthful wild man, the line had to be drawn, the sooner the better.

  Hemmett goggled at Katrin. “Pretty baby,” he cooed. “Who her papa?”

  “I don’t know, Hemmett,” Menders answered.

  “You’re her Papa.” Hemmett leaned against Menders’ knee and gazed at Katrin. He reached out carefully and patted her blanket.

  “We have to take good care of her, because she’s very small,” Menders said firmly. The little boy nodded. Menders rose from his crouch just as Mister Spaltz, returned with an armful of furs.

  “My wife sent this down so you could wrap the baby in it,” he explained. “Those blankets aren’t going to be enough for this weather, she’d freeze in a minute. Put the fur to the inside, right by the child, then wrap around until they’re all snug, then put the blankets around that. He helped Menders swaddle Katrin with a level of expertise that let Menders know he was no stranger to children. Then he grinned down at Hemmett.

  “Want to ride alongside of me and help me drive the horses, young man?” he asked.

  In Spaltz’s sledge Menders cuddled Katrin close while Hemmett sat beside him, flapping the ends of the reins that Spaltz held further up with heavily gloved hands. It was far too cold for much conversation and halfway through the ride, Hemmett turned and burrowed under Menders’ arm, hiding his face from the chill. Then Spaltz gestured and Menders saw they were approaching a house.

  It was massive, four stories high, turreted and decorated in Old Mordanian style with intricate carving and fretwork. What windows Menders could see were intact. Smoke rose from several chimneys, a comforting sight. The entire building was laden with snow. Thank the gods it looked secure and warm – although he didn’t like the roof. It was forested with chimney pots, elegantly domed spires and steeply gabled windows. Far too easy for someone to hide up there.

  Mister Spaltz drew up to the massive stone steps of The Shadows and Menders hurried inside with the baby, Hemmett clinging to his trouser leg.

  Two women and a girl were bustling about. They stopped suddenly and bobbed awkwardly to Menders. The girl, seeing that the women were mute with shyness, spoke.

  “I’m Eiren Spaltz. Please, bring the baby right into the kitchen, it’s the warmest room now.” She beckoned. The kitchen was more than warm, as three enormous iron ranges were all glowing hot, pots and kettles simmering away.

  “Shall I take the baby for you, sir?” Eiren Spaltz asked. Menders shook his head and placed Katrin on the table, unwrapping the tight bundle of blankets and furs until she was free.

  “What a lovely girl!” Eiren said in surprise. “When was she born?”

  “Only yesterday,” Menders responded, watching as
she adjusted Katrin’s little dress and felt her hands to see if they were warm. The girl was thin and wiry, with red hair in two long braids and a mouthful of teeth too large for her face. She might have been thirteen, but though she was still quite a child, she had an air of experience with Katrin – and Menders didn’t like the idea of Ermina Trottenheim as nursemaid for the Princess.

  “Only one day old and she’s so pretty. Usually new babies are red and squashed,” Eiren said, smiling up at him. “My baby brother was born two weeks since and he’s still like a red monkey.”

  Menders removed his overcoat and hat. “Do you have much experience with babies, Miss Spaltz?” he asked.

  “That she does!” said one of the farmer’s wives, who had come in to look at the baby. “Got five little brothers and sisters and her the eldest. She brought her own baby brother into the world just two week ago and saved her poor mother what was bleeding half to death. Eiren’s a good hand with children, my Lord.”

  Menders saw Eiren go pale. The youngster stopped smiling and bent over Katrin, tickling her belly lightly. There was a question to be answered there.

  The front door banged open and the rest of Katrin’s household blew in with various exclamations, moans and curses about the cold. Eiren and the other women hurried to help with coats, bundles and bags.

  “Grahl’s teeth!” Doctor Franz gasped, his breath still steaming as he blustered in the door. “That’s wicked cold out there, Menders!”

  “Oh, but you should have been here for winter proper!” Eiren laughed, taking the doctor’s coat. “We’re past the worst clasp of it now!”

  “What a cheery thought,” Franz said as he warmed his hands over one of the stoves. Eiren took his coat and gloves. Franz gave her a grin and a quick tug on one of her braids.

  Cook busied herself inspecting the contents of the pantry and the scullery full of pots.

  “This’ll do. We can be going on for a while here,” she said cheerfully but with great authority, gratified that she had discovered a deer hanging in the larder, plus as a sizeable portion of a pig. “Now, Menders, I observed that you like to eat – what sort of food do you like?” she asked, happily inspecting canisters.