The Still

Chapter 7

During the night it stormed. what with thunder, worry about Elryc, and an odd discomfort whenever I thought about Rustin, I barely slept. At first light I stumbled groggy out of bed, splashed water on my face, climbed into the nearest clothes. The day had a chill, welcome relief from the oppressive heat just past. I flung open my door.

On the bench a few steps down the corridor, a soldier dozed; I hurried past.

“Hold. Where go you, my lord?” Bleary, but alert, he got to his feet.

I frowned. It was Fostrow, the man who’d barred my way to Council, and later to my uncle’s chamber. “Breakfast. Upstairs. About the castle.” Who was he to question me?

Fostrow shook his head. “Let them bring your meal.”

“And seal my door, while they’re about it! Have you tested the bars on my window?” My voice seethed.

“Easy, my lord; I but do the Duke’s bidding.”

“Did he tell you to hold me within?” The man had heft, but I knew I could outrun him. Yet it would burn a bridge that later I might have need to cross.

“No, but I must come with you, where you go.” He took his shield from its resting place.

“Oh, for-nonsense. Look, I’ll run to the kitchen and visit Hester. It won’t take-”

“I can’t let you, alone. Particularly outside.”

I sighed, blinked away the last remnants of sleep. It was important to hold back my ire. “I’m the heir, and I depend on my Power. You’ve heard of the True? Good. I tell you True, I’ll go only about the castle. Breakfast first, and then upstairs; my old nurse is leaving service, and I would say good-bye. You have my word I won’t go out, until I’ve come back to get you. My True word.”

He hesitated.

“Fostrow, weren’t you ever young? Don’t make me go to breakfast with a nanny.”

As I’d hoped, it brought a smile. “My lord, I’ll trust you in this. Please, don’t do us both a wrong.” Gratefully, he sat, laid aside his shield.

“I’ll bring you fresh bread.” Before he could change his mind I loped down the stairs, wondering how I would manage a trip to the stables, to see what had become of Elryc. Obviously, I couldn’t visit with Uncle’s watcher in tow. At least I’d freed myself to find what Hester was up to. The Still had its uses, I realized, even before having the wield of it. Even a simpleton like Fostrow realized I wouldn’t risk its loss by being untrue.

Light rain beat a tattoo on the roof of the kitchen, and occasional drops sizzled in the hearth. I wolfed down a breakfast, hardly aware of its nature. What if Hester had already slipped out, telling no one her destination? The High Road through the mountains to Cumber had bypasses and trails aplenty; what if we lost her in its windings?

What if she meant to take Elryc for her own ends, or even meant him harm? Without Elryc, I’d have to face Uncle Mar alone, except for what little help Rust could provide.

A knot congealing in my stomach, I dashed up flight after flight to the nursery.

A housemaid slopped water in the corridor, mop in hand. “Watch your step, my lord!” Her tone was irked.

“Where’s Nurse gone?”

She rested her palm atop the mop handle. “No, it’s ‘When’s Nurse finally going?’ if you ask me. ‘Magret, bring me this. Have footmen bring my trunks from the second storeroom. Watch how you fold that robe, it’s older than you are.’ Fah!” An angry wipe. “She can’t be gone soon enough for me.”

“Magret!” The voice inside the door held a sharp edge. “Where’s the packet of dried foods Cook was to make ready?” The door whipped open. “Leave that confounded mopping and see to it! What do you want, you lout?” A glare, in my direction.

I peered past her shoulder. “Are you alone? Have you packed-”

“Get away from us!” She snatched the mop from the startled Magret, slapped water over my breeks. “Leave me be!”

A sympathetic eye from the housemaid was hardly of help. “I just came to say good-bye.” Now I sounded a supplicant.

“Good-bye, then. Think you I have time for such folderol, if I’m to be at Whiecliff Hamlet tonight, and past Seawatch Rock by morrow? Take your foolishness elsewhere!”

“Imps take your uncivil tongue, and addled head!” I stalked away, wet breeches swishing. “The sooner you’re gone, the happier we’ll all be.”

Her grating voice chased me to the steps. “I’ll miss my Pytor, and Elryc. Proper children were they!”

I stomped down the stairs, startling a houseman with my muttered curses. To think I’d trusted Elryc’s safety to that demented old crone. As soon as Rustin returned, we’d wrest my brother from her clutches.

I hadn’t even been allowed entry to her chambers, to say nothing of private speech. Did she expect me to ask our arrangements while a sullen servant girl took in every word?

I flung open the corridor gate, rousing the guard Fostrow. She’d booted me out like a child, with no hint where she’d concealed my brother, and worse, without agreement on where we were to meet, after. All I knew was that she would leave during light, and … I stopped dead in my tracks.

“Is something amiss, Lord Rodrigo?”

“No. Sorry, I forgot the bread.” I fumbled for my chamber door, barred it behind me.

All I knew was that Hester would spend the night at Whiecliff Hamlet, and the morrow night at Seawatch Rock. Before the housemaid’s very ears she’d given me our meet, making it seem of no consequence, and bustling me away before I could make a hash of it.

“Damn you, Nurse,” I said to the empty room. “Clever, but why make me a fool in the process?” I’d long known that Hester never cared a whit for me. Her parting dart, that Elryc and Pytor were her favorites, had the ring of truth.

I peeled off my wet breeches, fell on my bed. Within a moment I bounded to my feet. If Hester wouldn’t hint at Elryc’s hiding place, perhaps the stableboy knew. I thrust on fresh breeks, grabbed a cloak against the rising wind, threw open my door. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”

Fostrow looked sorrowful. “Then so will I.” He stood.

“Again, I give you my word-”

“Margenthar will clap me in gaol if he sees you larking outside without a keeper. You seem a nice laddie, would you want that?”

“Gladly.”

He seemed unaware of my sullenness while we strode down the steps. I managed to look busy as we traversed the entry hall; Lord willing, no one would notice I was leashed to a watchguard like a toddler on his first outing.

Outside, I blinked in the unexpected wind, threw the hood of my cloak over my hair. The soldiers on guard at the doors wore hemp raincovers over their gear; those at the closed entry gates had a rude lean-to under which they lolled, but Fostrow, I was pleased to note, had no protection from the weather.

“Where do you go, my lord?”

“To take air.”

The front steps ended in a sort of flagstone terrace, one side of which gave way to the clay courtyard I would have to cross, to the stables. On the terrace the ceremonial guard of the door chatted idly with Lanford, chief officer of the gate sentinels.

A scarred, grimy wagon barred our way, parked almost on the flagstone itself.

“What’s that?”

Lanford snickered. “That shrew from the nursery had it hauled here last night. Said she’d claw the eyes out of any man who moved it.”

I eyed the conveyance with doubt. High flat sides of rough-cut timbers; thick wheels on aged axles that cried for grease. The wagon itself was so heavy that once loaded, a team of eight oxen would barely manage to pull it. Worst, the high closed box seat was set gracelessly athwart the frame, and no padding at all; the rump that sat on it would ache almost from the start. And that only if the driver weren’t knocked off his high perch by overhanging branches.

“Where’d she get that monstrosity?”

“It was abandoned behind the stable. I’d feel sorry for her if …” His words trailed off.

“Yes?”

“Pardon, my lord. I know she was your nurse.”

I kicked the wheel. “Would it weren’t so. Go on.”

“She’s rather a … harridan, isn’t she? No need to plant that wreckage here so early as last eve, but no, she said, she’d have the maids lugging trunks and whatnot downstairs through the night, and unless she set the cart in front of the guards’ noses, none of her gear would be left by morning, amid the thieves and knaves of Castle Stryx.” He spat. “Look, noon nigh upon us, and the wagon empty as the day it was made.”

Nothing he told me was much reassurance as to Hester’s good sense, or even sanity. On top of all, parking her hulking wagon in the middle of the courtyard gave her almost no chance to smuggle Elryc aboard.

As I stood morose, Hester herself hobbled down the steps behind us. A band of onlookers exchanged grins of derision as she puttered about her wagon, cloak and shawl drawn tight against the rain. She issued an incessant stream of complaints to the struggling footmen and flustered housemaids.

“Careful with that trunk, dolt! Would you break the straps before it’s seen the wagon? Oh, clever, putting it next to the barrel. At the first rut the cask will-Magret, who told you to bring that drapery? It belonged to my lady; think you I’m a thief like yourself? Put it back-no fold it first; damask will wrinkle like the very demon. Has no one taught you a thing? Faugh!”

No Elryc in sight. Not that I’d expected it.

She banged her stick. “You soldiers, stop gawking and help lift that chest over the rail. Steady! By first light I should have been gone, and look at this mess! Were a single soul in Castle Stryx not lazy as a pregnant sow I’d be long on my way!”

Someone muttered, “And none too soon.”

“I heard that, you gapemouth churl!” She squinted. “Isn’t your mother fat Etha of the laundry? Hold your tongue, or I’ll give her a piece of my mind for misraising her whelps!”

A nudge in my ribs, from Fostrow. “She hasn’t a piece to spare.” Despite myself, I grinned.

“Aye, laugh, all of you. It’s little enough I bring away from the years I served Caledon!” She fussed at a set of leather boxes, making sure they were covered by canvas against the wet.

“There you are.” A hand on my shoulder, Rustin’s. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

At his voice, I sighed with relief. “She has them in a dither. Been packing all night.” I glanced at Fostrow, dropped my voice to a whisper. “No sign of the bundle.” Rust nodded.

We sauntered around the cart. Two of the barrels were large enough to hide Elryc, though he’d be sore cramped. Three trunks were possibilities as well, though if Hester were demented enough to stuff him into any of them, he’d be long smothered and gone. They had no airholes.

Under the cart, then. Across the way, I spotted Genard gawping amid the crowd, and nudged Rustin. The stableboy had been enlisted. What more natural than two urchins, nosing about the wagon? One would slip under, hoist himself into ropes or straps readied for the purpose.

I yearned to bend and look, and thought of fussing with my boot, but didn’t dare risk it. “Rust, go ask that dung beetle about, um, you know.” I whispered to him my suspicions. Rust nodded, drifted off.

Someone sent word to the stables; in a few minutes Kerwyn and another groom led six sturdy dray horses to the thick-hewed wagon.

“Put that star-faced mare in front. Team her with the bay, you simpleton!” Hester, to my surprise, took avid interest in the harnessing, and showed sense in the pairings. Had she truly been a horsewoman, in her long-vanished youth?

The steady soak began to work a chill through my bones, but I couldn’t go inside until I’d seen the cart safely out the gate. At my side, Fostrow shivered, and I felt a moment’s compassion, before remembering he was the Duke’s man.

Rustin poked me in the back.

“Well?”

He shook his head. “Says he knows nothing.”

“He must.” I eyed my neighbors; Hester’s devilments held them in thrall. I whispered into Rustin’s ear the plans Hester had snarled at me, across a wet mop. He nodded.

I returned my attention to the wagon, mystified at my brother’s whereabouts. Finally the last cinch was pulled tight, the reins were in the old woman’s hand. Hester climbed aboard the high box seat. A boot braced against the footboard, the other on the brake, she took one last look about.

“A loathsome place,” she said in her disagreeable scratched voice. “And not one of you fit to hold the hem of my lady’s gown.” She clicked to the horses, flicked the reins, began a slow laborious turn round the courtyard.

I pressed my knees together, wishing I’d visited the privy.

“Come, let’s get out of the chill.” Fostrow.

“Not yet.” The wagon rumbled over the cobbles toward the gate.

Not two steps from where the front wheel splashed in a puddle, Elryc had once slipped and cut his knee, and I’d had to help him inside to wash off the sting. He was a mangy brat, an ill-tempered know-it-all, who harbored Lord knew what designs on my throne. And he sniffled.

Where in the demons’ lake was he?

The huge wagon approached, but the gate didn’t open. Instead, Lanford, the chief gate guard, detached himself from his fellows at the lean-to. “Hold, old woman.”

She spat, catching him neatly on the tip of his boot. “Dame Hester, to the likes of you!”

“Not so fast, crone.” He caught the lead mare’s bridle.

“Get away from my team, and do your work at the gate!” She gestured with the whip.

“Oh, we’ll open soon enough. You’ll hear our cheers long before we’ve seen the last of you. But get off, while we search.”

“Hah! Think you I’d take one pence of my lady’s-”

“Not for coin, for the traitor you raised, brother to the true Prince.” An eye in my direction, a nod.

Hester fixed him with an eye gone iron. “Lanford of the gate, thank Lord of Nature that your face shows your witlessness, else I’d take offense and I’d set the dark word at your throat.” Her hand twitched, as if to make a sign.

Lanford stepped back so fast he almost fell. “Enough of that!” He made the protective sign. “Down off your wagon. You louts, what are you gawking at? Open the barrels!” Two soldiers jumped aboard.

Instead of climbing down Hester scaled the box seat, stood with arms akimbo, let loose a cry I thought was anguish, until I realized it was a shriek of mirth. “Aye, poke through an old woman’s undergarments; you’ll have much to dream about tonight!”

I moved closer, with the rest of the crowd. Evidently, Elryc wasn’t in the barrel; after a perfunctory search the crimson-faced young soldier pressed the lid in place.

“The trunk has a key, simpleton. Try the one under your loincloth; it’s small enough to fit.” The crowd roared with laughter. She fished through a ring, tossed a key at his feet.

He swung open the trunk.

“Carvings from the Sands. One of them is your precious Elryc.” A shrill cackle. “I turned him into that oaken bird.”

“Enough, old woman.”

“Dame. The title is mine by right. Don’t touch that box!”

A sudden hush.

Lanford snapped, “Get it open, quick! Use that pry strapped to the siding.”

From Hester, a smirk. “Don’t open it, I warn you.”

Five feet long, a proper width to conceal a child. I held my breath.

A creak, then another. As one, we surged forward. Hester, on her high perch, kicked at a hand that trespassed.

Furs, old and worn. A woman’s hat. A bed quilt, well made, neatly tended. Two work gowns. No more.

“Try them on, guardsman. Well you’d look in them.” The old woman’s voice was shrill with spite. “They belonged to my sister.”

In silent fury, the two soldiers hammered shut the lid.

She hissed, “Who died of the plague.”

Sudden silence. The one soldier stared in horror at his hands, glanced about helplessly for something on which to wipe them. Hester did a little dance on her box seat, humming to herself. I hoped she’d stop before she pitched headlong to the courtyard.

“Get on with it, you dolts. I have leagues to ride by nightfall!”

Reluctantly, the guards fell to work. Hester aided them with constant commentary, of a virulence such that I began to fear for her life. Fortunately, few boxes left were Elryc’s size.

“On your way, witch!” The rattled young soldier jumped down from the cart.

Hester clambered off her promontory to the bed of the wagon, snatched up a blanket. “Shake it out, my darling; a boy might be inside!”

Over the years I’d seen Nurse in foul temper, but never had she so baited misfortune. I leaned close to Rustin. “Her wits are gone.”

His face drawn, he shook his locks in disapproval of the spectacle. “She brings shame on herself and your House.”

Grumbling, Hester settled herself on the high seat. A flick of the reins. “Hsk, my loves. Now that my lady’s under the earth, no reason to stay.” The gate swung open.

In a few moments she’d rumble down the hill, and with her, the dregs of my childhood. This weathered, half-mad old biddy had tended my hurts, rocked me to sleep, fed me mush until my milk teeth came. Though we’d soon rejoin her on the road, no longer would she be the dragon of my nursery.

I swallowed an odd lump in my throat.

“Hold!” Lanford, at the gate. “You, crawl under, and look.”

Elryc was done for. I clutched at my side, but I wore only a dagger. My sword was still at the fencing master’s, where Mother had bade me store it. If, after they dragged Elryc out, I lunged for the one holding him, perhaps we could race down the hillside, dodging the guards’ arrows. I drifted toward the gate.

“Nothing.” The soldier brushed mud from his breeks.

My breath rushed out in a hiss. Dazed, I watched the ancient cart rumble through the portal.

After, we went to Uncle’s quarters. In whispers, Rust and I had decided Pytor was to be my excuse; I sought leave to visit him at Verein. Once outside the walls, we would find a way to evade our escort.

Mar’s tone was dry. “I don’t recall you cared so much for his company.”

“He is my brother, despite all. And I’m restless. I’ll admit that.”

“It’s a bad time, my boy. Storm clouds gather.”

“It’s been raining all morn-”

“Roddy, please. I spoke metaphorically.”

I shrugged. Mother had never made me study metaphysics.

“Oaf! It’s too dangerous now to let you go riding. Have I made it plain enough?”

“Uncle, Verein is but a night and a day; I rode it with old Griswold, not a year ago.” With an effort, I kept my voice pleasant.

“Aye, when you weren’t heir to a vacant throne.” His fingers drummed an alabaster stand, on which sat a bowl of fresh grapes. “In a few days we’ll be sending a troop across the hills. Wait until then.”

“But-”

“Roddy, I do wish you’d be more sensitive to risk. Your bones are of great value, while you surround them. Others would prefer you separated from them.”

“In which category do you fall?” My temper smoldered and caught flame. “Both, perhaps. While I live, my treasury is yours to loot as regent. After you dispose of me-of us-there’s the crown itself.”

He swept away the bowl of grapes with a crash, leaped to his feet. “What grounds have you to accuse me?”

“None but the obvious. You’ve separated me from my brothers, denied me word with the Seven. Bayard sits waiting at Verein, while I-”

His hand shot out, slapped me hard. My hand flew to my stinging cheek.

“Elena was my sister. Think you I’d kill a son of hers?”

My tone was like ice. “Only if a silver pence were to be gained.”

He rushed across the room, flung open the door, caught me in an iron grip. One hand on my jerkin, the other on the rope of my breeks, he propelled me across the chamber and out to the hall where Rust sat. “Out, until you learn manners! Out, before I have you strapped like the royal brat you are! Begone!” The door hurled shut with a tremendous crash.

Fostrow shook his head sadly as I picked myself up. “You shouldn’t rile him so. Your uncle has a fearsome temper.”

“Guard me, but don’t presume to lecture me!” I set out for the courtyard, my stride so brisk my companions had to scurry to keep up.

Rustin panted, “Roddy, what did he-”

“Bottle it, and shove the cork …” I bit off the rest.

Fostrow a few steps behind us, we prowled the battlements. Torches were mounted, ready to light, and the walls fully manned as if for siege. Ignoring the steady rain I climbed to the secluded spot where it had been my wont to throw over a rope and disappear into the night, until Mother caught me and put a stop to it. Now, the place was within ten paces of a guard’s post.

After a time I slowed my pace. I said softly, “Rust, I feel like a badger in a trap.”

He glanced back to where Fostrow lurked, just out of earshot. “That rampart isn’t the only way out.”

“But this west wall of the castle is. You know how much steeper are the other walls. Why do you smile? From here to that tower are the only places we can safely-”

“We need not scale walls. No, let it wait; later we’ll be alone.”

Upstairs once again, Fostrow trudged along the hall, shivering. “Catch a death of cold, I could. All afternoon in pouring rain, and no chance to change clothes. It’s a long day my master’s set me; early morn ’til Vanire comes at midnight. No warm fire, no dinner, either.”

I snarled, “You have my pity. Better yet, my leave to go.”

He stood hands on hips, glaring. “Be thankful you’re not behind a barred door. From what I hear, Lord Mar would as soon brick you in your chamber!”

“I-we …”

“And I’d volunteer to set the mortar!” His eyes had a dangerous light as he shook the wet from his grizzled hair. “Royalty you may be, but a more brazen young charge I’ve never seen. All day you run me about the castle, upstairs and down, in and out, and delight in my discomfort.”

I paused at the entry to my chamber. “Oh, for Lord’s sake, Fostrow, I only want the freedom I’ve known.”

Fostrow muttered something, shook his head. “And for your sake, Prince, don’t mock Vanire as you do me. Stay your roaming, and your complaint.”

For answer, I slammed my door.

In my room, I relived my conversation with Uncle Mar, pacing with reignited fury, while Rustin sat comfortably on the rag. After a time my diatribe slowed to a muttered string of oaths. I marched from window to door, my fists knotted.

Rust cast his dice. “Tell me when you’re calm enough to hear.”

“Now.”

“Hah.” Another cast. “Why do twos come up so often?”

I thought to launch myself at him, reined myself in. “You’re no friend, Rustin son of Llewelyn, and a wretched vassal to boot.”

“Yes, it’s all my fault.”

“Would you care to eat those dice?”

He gathered them in. “If you can feed me.” Another cast. “Royal brat, eh? An interesting phrase, and apt.”

I threw myself at him while he was still rising to his feet; in one graceful motion Rust caught me round the waist, swung me to the floor, climbed on my chest. His powerful hands pinned my wrists to the flagstone.

“How often have I said you lack patience?” His look was one of sorrow. I bucked, almost heaving him off, but he held his position. “A word of refusal from Mar, a gibe from me, and you froth at the mouth.”

I tried to bite his wrist.

“Oh, Roddy.” He grasped my hair, raised his hand for a blow, instead dropped my head with a thump. “No, you’ve already been slapped today. It does no good.” A lithe spring, and he was on his feet. “I’ll go, if you wish.”

“Yes, and never come back! Leave me to my fate!” I flung open the door. “Better yet join that oaf in keeping guard on me.” I wiped a damp cheek. “Leave!”

He made a house bow, courteous and correct. I tried to catch him with the slam of the door, missed by an inch.

Buried in my bed, I muffled my sobs so Fostrow wouldn’t hear; that would have been the ultimate indignity. When at last I was spent I lay dazed, overcome by the magnitude of my calamity. Rust, my only friend, my sworn ally, was lost forever, through-I hated to admit it-my fit of temper.

Now what would I do? I could resign myself to Uncle’s rule, and the risk of murder. Might I still flee the castle, without Rust’s help? If so, was there any point to it?

Even if I found Hester, I could be of no help to my brother; I’d end up following her to her cottage, to be raised alongside Elryc by a mad old crone. I snorted with derision. Me, a bucolic peasant boy? Better Uncle’s knife in the night.

Still, I was better off outside Stryx than penned here a prisoner. The day was wasting; better I go about my escape. Without Rust’s help, I’d emerge with nothing but the clothes I wore, and perhaps not even a horse.

On the other hand, if I could reach the outer wall, perhaps I could throw over a bundle to retrieve later. Best I scout the terrain below, but for that I’d have to devise a way past my jailer. That depended on his mood. I took a deep breath, unbarred the door.

Rustin perched on the bench, chatting amicably with Fostrow. I gaped; he waved. “Good day, my prince.” Idly, he rose to his feet. “Are you ready now?”

I nodded dumbly. He sauntered back into my room, closed my door. “Ready to listen, I hope.” He sat me in a stiff carved chair. “You act the fool, Roddy. Your innermost thoughts flicker on your face or roll off your tongue. Where’s the guile that once you displayed?”

My tone was sullen. “Why do you berate-”

“Answer, or I’ll leave in earnest.”

I flared, “You’re my sworn vassal, and I call you to my standard! You can’t leave!”

“Ah, that’s another case.” He sat. “I will do your bidding.”

“Tell me what to do.”

“It’s for you to tell me. And, know thou that I would not serve thee, were it not for my oath.”

I recoiled, as if stabbed. “You’d leave me here?”

“Until I see again the one I would gladly serve.” He waited out my silence.

My voice was small. “Rustin, please help.”

“As vassal, or friend?”

“Vassal. Friend. Both.” I wanted to hurl the chair at him, or Uncle, or the window. “Friend. Please.”

“Wash your face.”

I did as bidden, too shaken to protest. After, he pulled up a second chair, sat close, arms folded over his knees. “If fear clouds your judgment and loosens your tongue, we must know it. Tell me True, Roddy. Are you afraid?”

So much he asked of me, I thought I could not give. We of the House of Caledon could have no friend, no confidant. But I was desperate beyond any need I had ever known.

To the floor, I mumbled, “Every waking minute of each day since Mother died.” I shifted under the shame of my confession. “It isn’t seemly, for one of royal blood.”

“Perhaps.” He walked behind my chair, enveloped my shoulders in his strong arms. “Yet I hardly blame you.”

“I’m so alone.” The words came of their own volition.

“Then I will be with you, my prince, and we’ll face fear together.” His hug was like Father’s, of dim memory.

“Rust, take me from this place!” The cry of a supplicant.

His hands tightened on my shoulder blades. “As I live, Rodrigo. Tonight.”