The Last Knight, page 19
The mattress was canvas, stuffed with wool, and the slats beneath it were the best weapon I found, thin enough that I could break them out of their frame, but still heavy enough to stun someone. Only it didn’t matter how many people I stunned, because I was chained to the bed frame, and even if I could maneuver it out the door…
A sudden vision of me running through the keep with the bed frame dragging behind me made me smile. It felt good, despite my bruised face, and ’twas still lingering when the bolt clicked and the door swung open.
I spun, my heart thumping—which was silly, since Lady Ceciel had said she didn’t intend to kill me for a long time.
A girl stood in the doorway. She looked to be about fifteen, big for her age, with a round face and curly, reddish hair. Her jaw dropped slightly at the sight of the room, and the tray in her hands sagged. This made me nervous, for the water, cloths, and especially the pot of salve, were something I’d prefer to see used on me rather than the floor.
“Oh.” Her voice was breathless and childlike. “You’ve messed up the bed.”
I saw no reason to apologize.
Her eyes wandered from the bed to me and she frowned. “You’re messed up too.”
She was one of the simple ones. “That’s all right,” I told her gently. “You’re here to help me, aren’t you?”
“Aye, and like to take all day at it. Get in, girl, do.”
Hackle pushed the girl through the door. He glowered at the ravaged bed, but made no comment. I glared at him, despite the fact that he carried a water jug and a basket that almost certainly held food. The girl might have been persuaded to bring me the shackle key, but there was no way to corrupt Hackle.
He lingered by the door, as Lady Ceciel had. The chain wasn’t long enough to reach him unless I dragged the bed across the room.
He wasn’t inclined to chat, so I focused on the girl instead. Her name was Janny, she’d been with the lady three years now, and she was willing to let me tend my own hurts while she fixed the bed. She’d probably be willing to do anything anyone suggested, including bringing me a saw. That would be why Hackle was there.
I mopped the blood off my face, with Janny telling me when I missed a spot.
The humming energy of magic that touched my senses when I picked up the salve gave me further hope—you don’t waste magica on someone you plan to kill. ’Twas easy to rub the salve into the right places, for my tender nerves told me where I needed it. The pain was already fading as I smoothed a second coat over my swollen eye.
Janny picked up the tray to depart. “You’ll be better soon. The lady’s potions work fine. She’s so smart. She—” An enthusiastic gesture slopped water onto the floor. “Oops.”
She frowned at the damp patch, unsure how to clean it with the tray in her hands. I was about to take the tray, but she solved the dilemma herself.
She stared at the spill and once more I felt the buzz of magic along my nerves, in the exposed skin of my face and hands—but this was different from anything I’d felt before—strong, focused. Not existing passively, as it did in plants, or exercised instinctively, as animals will, but magic being generated…deliberately.
The small puddle evaporated, shrinking in on itself until the floor was dry. Human magic. It seemed so unnatural that I took an involuntary step backward, sitting abruptly when my knees hit the bed.
Janny gave me a sunny smile and departed—her job well done. Hackle’s smile was tinged with malice. To my disgust, I found that I was shaking again.
Three days dragged past. My captors weren’t unkind—with the next meal they brought me a selection of books: a ballad cycle, an account of some explorer’s adventures in the southern deserts, and a treatise on astronomy.
I chose the explorer’s story, though my suspicion that it would prove as fantastical as the ballads proved correct. I might have believed in the strange animals he described—I hadn’t been there, after all. Even the bizarre customs of the savages weren’t beyond the realm of possibility. But no one was as courageous and resourceful as the explorer made himself out to be.
In a real adventure, things went wrong. In a real adventure, you couldn’t escape from a simple stone room and a shackle in a civilized keep full of servants, and had to sit there tamely waiting for your squire to rescue you. In a real adventure fear rapidly gave way to boredom, and you found boredom could wear away your resolve faster than fear. Father would be horribly embarrassed to have a son who couldn’t get out of an ordinary cell.
Hackle always accompanied Janny, who brought my food and emptied the chamber pot. At mid-meal on the third day I asked, politely, to speak with Lady Ceciel.
She arrived about an hour later. She’d obviously been working in an herbarium, for her big apron was marked with soil and sap, and her hands were stained green. Smudges on her face showed that she’d pushed trailing wisps of hair out of her eyes, and the scent of bruised plants encircled her like perfume.
“What do you want, Sir Michael? I’m very busy.”
“I want to put a stop to this nonsense,” I told her. “You can’t keep me prisoner forever—Fisk knows where I am. ’Tis…’tis ridiculous! You have nothing to gain by it and a great deal to lose. Let me go.”
She leaned against the doorsill and folded her arms.
“Oh, I don’t know. While you’re here, I don’t have to worry that you’re plotting to ambush me and haul me off to a hanging. I’ve been investigating, Sir Michael; I know the terms of your repayment. No wonder you’ve been such a pest.”
Hot blood rose to my face, but a question surfaced as well.
“How did you always know where we were? Not the time you had us cudgel-crewed—Hackle’s brother must have warned you. But at first, when you set the boar after us outside Willowere. There wasn’t time for Mistress Agnes to contact you.”
“Oh, that was Hackle’s doing. I’d sent him to tell Aggie I was safely home, and he got there shortly after you and Fisk left. He hoped it would discourage you, but it didn’t work.”
“If you know the terms of my repayment, you should understand that.” I began to pace, ignoring the jingle of the chain. “But what about this last time, in the burying grove? How did you know we were there?”
She laughed. “You won’t like it.”
“Tell me anyway,” I said gloomily.
“It was sheer luck. One of my maids sneaked out to meet a lover. She passed by the grove, saw your light, and reported it. So I sent out the guards.”
Sheer luck. Outrage welled through me, and I sought for some witty, cutting comment. I didn’t find one. “Fisk will hate that.” I sank onto the bed, kicking the chain out of my way.
She laughed again. “We’ve also learned a lot about Master Fisk. You seem very sure he’s going to return with the authorities.”
“Of course. Unless…You haven’t caught him, have you?”
She paused a moment, drawing out my suspense, but she answered honestly, “No. He bypassed my sheriff entirely and set out toward the south. I’ve sent men after him, but they haven’t returned.”
“They wouldn’t have, if he’s…” I broke off, aghast at my uncontrolled tongue. ’Twas probably the result of having no one but Janny and Hackle to talk to.
“If he’s headed for Uddersfield,” she finished calmly. “But what makes you certain he’ll go to the authorities at all? A criminal, a con artist. And indebted. What’s to stop him from running off now that he’s free of you?”
“Fisk wouldn’t do that.” As I spoke the words, I realized that I believed it. “He’s a better man than you think. He’ll come back with the authorities, and then…Lady Ceciel, this is absurd. Let me go now, before the law enforces it.”
“Ah, but the law won’t protect you, Sir Michael. Have you forgotten? I can do anything I like with an indebted man.” She waited for me to reply. When I said nothing, she smiled and went out.
I was so accustomed to the idea that the High Liege’s law protected all his subjects that I had forgotten I was now outside it. How stupid of me. And how stupid of Father to have done this to me. Thank goodness Fisk wasn’t stupid. He would appeal to the authorities on behalf of the simple ones, and Sir Herbert. When they arrested Lady Ceciel for those crimes, I’d be set free.
I have no doubt of him, I reminded myself. The man who’d helped an old drunk up the steps at his own sentencing would never abandon me. Being indebted made him uncomfortable, but I had sensed the beginnings of friendship between us. Fisk might be a con artist, but he wasn’t that clever a liar. Still…
I found myself gazing at the joint at the bottom of the bed frame that held the shackle hoop. As solid as it was, ’twas made of wood. Wood can be ground or sanded away. And at the joint two pieces were pegged together…with a wooden peg.
After some thought I lay down on the floor, braced my hands against the head post, and kicked the bottom of the foot post twenty times. It didn’t seem to have any effect. Then I lay on the bed and kicked the top of the post, twenty times. I rolled back onto the floor, the chain jingling.
’Twas better than reading.
More days dragged past. I worked at breaking the bed frame apart but made little progress, and Janny was replaced by a simple boy, several years younger than she, who said very little.
On the sixth day of my captivity they brought me water for bathing, clean clothes, and a razor to shave my growing beard. Hackle drew his sword and watched me intently every minute I held it. A three-inch razor against a three-foot sword. I didn’t try anything.
The eighth day of my captivity was the first day it would have been possible for Fisk to return. Barely possible, if he’d had perfect traveling weather and a fast horse, and if the sheriff of Uddersfield had agreed to set out instantly. I told myself not to be foolish, and worked harder on the bed frame.
On the ninth day the bed post was beginning to shift in its socket, so I propped the other three legs on books, lay on the edge of the mattress, and tried wiggling the post with both feet. It did seem to shift, but the position was so uncomfortable I couldn’t keep it up for long.
Every time the door opened my heart leapt. In a real adventure things go wrong. I told myself I couldn’t expect Fisk for at least twelve days. Four days to reach Uddersfield, two to get the authorities in motion, four days back, and another two to allow for the unforeseen.
So I was taken by surprise, on the evening of the tenth day, when Hackle told me, “Our men came back.”
“What? The men you sent after Fisk? When?”
The serving boy stared at me, unaccustomed to such vehemence. Hackle’s expression was dour, but something under it looked uncomfortably like compassion.
“Are you going to tell me?” I asked.
“It took ’em a few days to find him. Your man, Fisk, went to the sheriff at Uddersfield, and the sheriff went to Lord Gerald. The lady’s had some dealings with him, you know.”
“We’d guessed she might.” I spoke calmly, but my stomach was beginning to twist.
“Anyway, they knew you were indebted so they refused him. Then Master Fisk sent his horse back to the stable he rented it from—by renting it to someone else, the thrifty rogue—and set off walking east. They didn’t wait to learn more.”
My heart was pounding. I wrapped my arms around my stomach to quell the rising sickness. It didn’t mean he’d given up, I told myself firmly. He’d gone to Lord Gerald’s sheriff and been refused, so he’d decided to try elsewhere. He’d…He’d rented his horse. It would have taken several days to find a rider going to Cory Port. He must have felt he had all the time in the world. He’d given up.
I swallowed hard. He’d tried. He’d gone to Lord Gerald’s sheriff. He’d try another! Lord Leopold’s fiefdom was to the east, and he had no stake in who owned Cory Port, so Fisk had decided to go there…on foot? He’d given up!
The boy was staring at me, eyes wide in wonder. I didn’t want to be stared at.
“What happened to Janny?” The roughness of my voice surprised me.
“Ah, she died, poor girl,” Hackle said absently. “Pick up the tray, lad. I don’t think he wants dinner tonight.”
He was right. I lay on the bed, gazing at the ceiling. The lamp was low, but I never turned it out completely since I had no way to relight it.
Janny was dead. The fact that Fisk had abandoned me suddenly seemed less important. She’d been simple, but she’d also been kind, sweet-natured, and alive. She had a right to all the life she could get, short as it was bound to be. I had to do something. I was deluding myself trying to break the bedpost—even if I freed the chain, there was a bolted door and a keep full of guards between me and freedom. But Lady Ceciel was deluding herself, too. If she was going to kill me she’d have done it immediately, or when she learned Fisk had failed. She couldn’t keep me here forever. I had to get out, go to Lord Dorian, go to the High Liege if necessary, and get some protection for those children. Janny was dead.
Next morning when they brought my breakfast, I told them I had a proposal to offer Lady Ceciel.
She came almost immediately, and she was excited about something; there was color in her cheeks, and she fidgeted from foot to foot in the safety of the doorway. I hated her, but I had to conceal it. I had to get out of there. ’Twas too late for Janny, but the others might still be saved.
I took a deep breath, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. “You’ve heard that Fisk failed with Lord Gerald’s sheriff.”
“Frankly I was amazed that he tried—I mean, a man with his past.”
I ignored the pain of betrayal. “He does seem to have given up, which…well, it leaves me in an awkward position.”
Her lips twitched. “Yes, I can see you might find it…awkward.”
I hated her. I lowered my eyes to keep her from seeing it. “I can’t arrest you. Fisk isn’t going to bring the authorities. So…so I give up. I’m not going to try to take you back, Lady Ceciel.”
I thought I was lying rather well, but when I raised my eyes her smile was sardonic.
“So I’m supposed to let you go?”
“What else can you do? You can’t keep me here forever. And I don’t believe you’d kill me.” That was true—although I didn’t know why.
An expression that was almost shame crossed her face, but then the excitement returned.
“You’re right, Sir Michael, I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to give you an opportunity beyond any man’s dreams.” She stepped forward and leaned over the table, bathed in the lamplight, her eyes intent, like a peddler making a sale. “How would you like to be the first intelligent human to work magic?”
“Not in the least,” I said. “Not that it matters. No humans except…”
The monstrous concept swarmed into my mind and stretched, leering evilly. She waited, watching, while I figured it out.
“That’s what you’re doing.” My voice emerged in a whisper. “You’re experimenting on them. You’re trying to make it possible for humans—normal humans—to work…”
“Magic.” She smiled. “The power the gods gave us, and then took back. But I don’t think it’s a god power. I think it’s something alchemical, and genetic, like the sensing Gift.”
“That’s how you killed them, dosing them with your potions. That’s how you killed Sir Herbert. You needed a normal person to…to…”
Her face changed again. “How I killed them? You think I’d hurt those children?” She stamped her foot. I hadn’t thought anyone did that, outside of ballads.
“How dare you think I’d harm those poor creatures? I help them. I take them in, mostly starving, some of them beaten, all unwanted, all abandoned. I feed and clothe them, and teach them to work at what they can. They’re willing to help me. And yes, I dose them. And I’ve increased their powers!”
She leaned forward, selling again. “Hackle thinks it’s only because I encourage them to work their small magics—growing plants, removing stains, kindling fires—instead of punishing them. But he’s wrong. I’ve made their magic stronger, and it will work on an intelligent person, too. I’m sure it will. I may not have the sensing Gift, but I trained with my sister. I know everything she does about medicine and anatomy, and I haven’t killed one of those children. In fact, I’ve kept some of them alive longer, although I can’t save them forever.
“And if I can give the world magic…think of it! Think what a healer like Aggie could do with magic, healing broken bones and wounded flesh directly instead of through herbs. Think of a judicar who would know if a witness spoke the truth! Of what farmers and craftsmen could do to improve their work, their lives!”
Or what a criminal like Fisk might do.
“I might believe you,” I said, “if you hadn’t killed your husband.”
Her back straightened. Her mouth set, bitterly. “Think what you will, Sir Righteous. It doesn’t matter. You’re unredeemed. I can do anything I want with you.”
“I won’t take your potions.”
“Yes you will.” There was no doubt in her voice—only a flicker of pity, more terrifying than any diatribe. She turned and went out, leaving the door open. I wasted several seconds staring at it before my mind woke up. She’d be back in a moment! I spun and kicked the bedpost as hard as I could.
’Twas solid as a rock, and I almost broke my heel. That’s what it felt like, anyway. I was sitting on the bed, clutching my foot and swearing, when Lady Ceciel returned.
The object she laid on the table was a funnel carved from cherrywood, hard and smooth grained, the narrow end oddly curved. ’Twas designed to be pushed into someone’s throat, and my own knotted so tightly I couldn’t speak. The thought of having that thing forced down my gullet was so revolting, I almost decided to take her cursed potions rather than submit to it.
There were teeth marks in the wood.
I had to swallow several times before I could speak. “It seems not all your victims are willing.”
