The Blue Flames, page 43
It was also there they met a blacksmith who’d been instructed to ask newcomers to the market if they knew a man by the name of Porter. When the Colonists confirmed this—and further proved it by referring to Daniel by his first name—the blacksmith handed them a letter which had arrived several weeks ago.
Two of Daniel’s crewmates had been killed in the attack, and two more taken captive. The names of the unfortunate victims were not given, but Daniel had decided to mount a rescue of their missing friends. Since there was no telling how long the effort might take, all he could do was give them his assurance that once the captives were recovered, they would make straight for Gadham. The note ended with a description of a secret compartment in the stable. When Harriet and Caradoc returned to the house, they found a small chest behind a movable panel in the wall. It contained enough money to see them through the next six months. Despite the grim contents of the message, they found encouragement in it, as well as relief. Daniel would still be coming to help them, and now they had no cause to worry about their funds running out. They grieved for the fallen crewmates, but greater than their grief was their amazement. Two souls had seen fit to sacrifice themselves for a pair of Colonists. Practically strangers. Had Daniel himself not told them, they never would have believed it possible. Harriet and Caradoc both agreed that once the names of their fallen comrades were known, they would be carved into the Memory Tree and honored with eternal gratitude.
The following day, they took to the task of restoring the house with renewed vigor. When the sun shined and there was no threat of snowfall they worked outdoors, mending the roof, painting the shutters, clearing out the old straw in the stables and replacing it with new bedding they’d procured from the market. In no time at all, the place began to look properly respectable. Caradoc even admitted to being disappointed that the house had to be so hidden from view.
Harriet couldn’t find it in her heart to be disappointed by anything. Sparrowhaven had been a lovely place to spend time, but there they had been under a cloud of worry and suspicion. Here in the foothills, a mile north of the Blue Cliffs, there was nothing but beauty. Even in the shadow of the mountains it seemed the sun shone brighter on their little patch of earth than anywhere else in the East Country. There was freedom to do and to be as they pleased.
She bought a new dress from the village market, which proved a welcome change after having only two in rotation for the past several months. And rather than return to the simple upswept bun she usually wore on Riverfall, she began experimenting with different hairstyles. She felt as though she were re-discovering some long-lost part of herself, hidden away when the darkness and tragedy had crept into her life. In fact there was so much lighthearted joy filling her heart, she even found herself singing or humming aloud—and without trying to hide it.
Caradoc was in noticeably high spirits as well, still deeply gratified to have learned of the connection between Darian, the Blue Flames, and the Mistress of the Spektors. They had struggled so long over the mystery of it all, and good luck so rarely came their way that a piece of news such as this gave them real hope that their fortunes were finally changing for the better. It made her even happier to see its encouraging effect on him.
With five fully furnished bedrooms in the house, the arguments over sleeping arrangements came at last to an end. Once the rooms were properly cleaned—and free of rats, to Caradoc’s relief—they were bright and cheery places. In the parlor they found an old piano under a heavy tarpaulin. The keys in the higher registers were beyond their skills to repair and re-tune, but Harriet delighted in the instrument all the same, filling the house with music at least once a day, sometimes for an hour at a time.
While clearing out a pile of old timber in the woods behind the house, they discovered a makeshift shooting range. Paper targets had been affixed to tree trunks at various distances. There were also several old bottles placed atop stumps and in the crooks of tree branches. Not long afterward, they found a small collection of pistols and rifles in a narrow cupboard in the hall.
Soon, a half-hour of shooting practice became part of their daily routine—once they assured themselves the noise wouldn’t attract unwanted attention, which Caradoc tested by riding out to the market while Harriet fired off rounds. She took to a rifle as her weapon of choice and in only a week made impressive progress, or so Caradoc said, though she suspected he was being overly kind. She so looked forward to their time on the range together that she was seldom tempted to think of her tragic mishandling of the pistol during the slaver attack. It was not a time for sorrow and regret. Not when there were so many prime opportunities to best Caradoc’s score with teasing and distraction. She sometimes wondered if the sound of their laughter rang louder than even the rifle shots.
They took turns every other day riding out to the market. The people there were genuinely friendly, with no traces of the usual caution and suspicion. And despite the limited selection, what produce and supplies they sold were of good-quality and reasonably priced. Harriet was thrilled to find a pair of ladies riding trousers, which happened to fit her perfectly. They made a world of difference, not only for her own comfort, but also because she could let Annabelle run at a full gallop with complete freedom. The first time they tried it, Harriet thought the mare might actually leave the ground and ascend into the sky. She soon realized it was merely the effect of her own exhilarated delight.
After one such trip to the market, three weeks to the day they’d arrived at Gadham, Harriet returned to find Caradoc beating a rug slung over a clothesline on the west side of the house. She approached with her hands behind her back and a knowing grin.
“Hello, Tom.”
“Hello, Anne.” He gave the rug a final thwack with the iron rod and stepped back from the ensuing cloud of dust.
“Is that the parlor rug?” she asked.
“It is. You know, this is an incredibly satisfying job. Invigorating. I don’t know why I never tried it before.”
“Well, forgive me for interrupting, but I thought you might be interested to see what I picked up at the market.”
“Oh, yes?”
Still smiling, she brought her hands from around her back and held them out. Cradled in the palms of her riding gloves was a pair of spectacles. A look of surprised awe crossed his face as he stepped closer and took them.
“You found these at the market?”
“Got them from a traveling merchant who happened to be passing through.”
“This is fantastic!” He put them on and withdrew a small notebook from inside his coat which he used to make measurements for repairs. He flipped it open to a random page and peered down.
“Can you see?” she asked.
“Perfectly. It’s like getting a whole new set of eyes.” He placed the frames farther up the bridge of his nose. “But be honest now. Do they make me look like Beatrice?”
“Not at all,” Harriet answered, laughing. “Like a studious professor.”
“I suppose I can live with that. They must have cost a fortune!”
“Not really. The merchant wasn’t exactly interested in coin. At least not after he saw my brooch.”
The mirth faded from Caradoc’s face, replaced by a frown of concern. “Oh, don’t tell me you traded your mother’s brooch for these. That was special to you. Irreplaceable.”
“Parting with it doesn’t mean I love her any less. Besides, I was able to do some good. Put it to use for a purpose far worthier than mere decoration.”
He shook his head and removed the spectacles. “I can’t let you lose it on my account. I’ll ride back to the market and find him.”
She put a hand on his arm to stop him walking past. “He was headed out of town. He’ll be gone by now. It’s all right. Really. No one was holding a knife to my throat. I wanted to do it.”
“It’s too kind a gift for the price you paid.”
“I’ll be the one to decide that. I don’t need a brooch to know my mother loves me, but we do need a navigator who can see clearly—especially once we get back to Riverfall. Keep them. Please.”
He pursed a corner of his mouth as he glanced back down at the spectacles. With a soft sigh, he put them carefully inside the inner breast pocket of his coat. “Then I will cherish them always, with all the care they deserve. I won’t even give you a hug for fear of crushing them.”
“Fair enough,” she said, smiling again.
He reached out and touched his hand to her cheek for a brief moment. “Thank you.”
She nodded. It was all she could do. Her next words had suddenly stuck in her throat. He turned away soon after and picked up the rug beater, resuming his work. She was glad. It meant he couldn’t see her begin to blush.
The rest of the day went quickly. She spent some time alone at the shooting range, then turned her attention to the piano when the sky began to grow dark. Neither activity proved an adequate distraction. It was too difficult to concentrate. Caradoc, meanwhile, had made it his personal mission to clean every rug in the house, including the welcome mats. When this was done, he started dinner; rabbit and cider stew, accompanied by the latest batch of bread rolls Harriet had made only that morning.
They talked about the weather as they ate. About painting the newly repaired garden shed and building a rail fence around the property so the horses could graze more freely. Upon finishing his meal, Caradoc took out his notebook and eagerly donned his prized spectacles.
“This is perfect. Now that I can see six inches in front of my face, I can start plans for the landscaping project.”
“What’s that?” Harriet asked, pushing away her empty bowl.
“Since the house is all fixed up, I thought we’d turn our attention to the grounds. We could plant some ivy and climbing roses. Move a few shrubs around. Build a couple of raised garden beds.”
“That would be lovely.” She folded her arms on the table and glanced out the window. “The village is having a winter festival in a few days. There’s supposed to be music and games. Perhaps we could drop by for a little while?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Good. Oh, I’ve forgotten the blankets for the horses. I’ll be right back.”
The wind had picked up, tossing the snow-covered treetops around the house. She pulled up her coat collar and hurried to the stables. There was plenty of hay to insulate the stalls, and the new walls they had built shielded the horses from the elements completely. But even so, Harriet liked to be assured of their total comfort by draping a blanket over them when the sun set.
She set her lantern on a feed barrel and stroked their noses, speaking softly to them. They seemed drowsy and contented, which made her happy in turn. Once she had set the blankets over them, she picked up the lantern and headed back towards the house.
Halfway there, a shadow trotted out from under the cover of the trees. She let out a choked cry and stopped in her tracks, nearly dropping the lantern.
A large gray wolf now stood between her and the front door. She glanced at the porch where she had left her rifle leaning against the wall. There was no possibility of reaching it in time if the wolf attacked. She had only the lantern, which she tightened both hands around, preparing to swing as hard as she could.
There was no growling or baring of teeth. The great beast simply shook itself of the damp snow which had melted into its thick coat, then sat on the ground and looked at her with its keen yellow eyes. She considered shouting for Caradoc but worried the wolf might take it as an act of aggression. With her heart beating fast, she took a small step to the wolf’s left. If she moved slowly and carefully enough, she might make it to the door. The wolf followed her with its eyes and cocked its head.
The light jangle of metal caught her ear. In the gleam of the lantern light, she spotted two thin chains around its neck. She drew in a sharp breath, hardly daring to believe her eyes.
“It can’t be,” she whispered. Slowly, she knelt on the ground—with no concern for the wet snow—and set the lantern beside her. “Are you . . . a friend of Mavie’s?”
The wolf stood again and paced a few steps closer. Two spyglasses fell forward, clinking against one another.
“Oh!” Harriet said, briefly putting a hand to her mouth. “Oh, thank God!”
The wolf came as far forward as she could reach, then rested on its haunches again. Harriet swallowed her nervousness, stretched out a shaking hand, and lifted the medallions over the shaggy gray head. They were in perfect condition. She clutched them to her breast and looked back at the animal with sheer joy.
“Thank you! Thank you for coming all this way for us! Have you found any of the others? Oh . . . of course, you can’t answer. But if . . . if you want to stay here and rest, you’re more than welcome. I can get you something to eat . . .”
She picked up the lantern and stood. The wolf, seeing its task fulfilled, trotted around her and cut through the snow towards the tree line, staying just far enough from the stables that the horses didn’t notice and fly into a panic. She watched the animal until it was gone from sight, then released a sigh of relief and raised her eyes to the stars with a silent word of thanks. It was over. They were saved. She looked down at the spyglasses again, then turned and rushed towards the house, through the front door, and down the hall. Her heart felt as though it would burst with joy.
As soon as she came to the kitchen, she stopped.
Caradoc stood at the kitchen sink with his back to her. He had started washing the dinner things and was singing softly to himself.
Down, down, don't look down
Cut across the valley 'til you can’t feel the ground
Back, back, don't look back
Let free the mule and throw away the tack
Let free the mule and throw away the tack
The smile faded from her lips. The words died away in her throat. As she looked at him, something stirred in her heart, and she found herself suddenly reluctant to give the spyglasses another thought. Before she knew it, her hand had fallen to her side, and she had slipped them into her coat pocket. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded towards the kitchen table.
“There’s a cup of tea for you, if you like. Fresh from the kettle.”
She couldn’t even find the voice to thank him. As she walked to the table and sat down, he began stacking the dishes on a wooden drying rack beside the sink.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “There’s an ancient Entrian method of training horses that I’ve always wanted to try. You teach them to take commands by voice rather than by reins or whips. After a while, you don’t even need the bits and bridles. And there’s no enchantment involved. I’ve seen it done a few dozen times. I’d bet we could give it a good effort. What do you think?”
She had only half-heard him. She hadn’t even brought the teacup to her lips but sat there running her thumb thoughtfully against the rim. When she realized he was waiting for an answer, she nodded and stumbled towards some semblance of a reply.
“Yes. Fine.”
Crossing the room, he took his coat from the stand in the corner, then looked at her with a frown of mild concern as he put it on. “Everything all right?”
“Yes,” she replied, then shook her head. “Just lost myself in thought for a moment.”
He nodded. “I’m going to get some more firewood. Won’t be long.” He stepped to the back door and opened it.
“Caradoc . . .”
He paused on the threshold. She finally brought herself to meet his gaze.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
She lifted her chin, trying to find the resolve to continue rather than hesitate.
“If the others never find us . . . and if circumstances make it impossible for us to find them . . . if years pass and we realize there’s no hope of contact, no hope of reunion, or at least the hope is so weak it might as well be given up altogether, what would you do? Personally, I mean. Go back to Daniel’s crew? Or perhaps to some other job on a ship somewhere?”
Caradoc’s gaze fell to the floor. A long moment of silence passed, save for the crackling of the fading oven fire. When he looked at her again, there was an odd expression on his face—one she might have mistaken for timidity had she not known him better. He nodded, as if first assuring himself of the answer before speaking it aloud.
“I would do right by you.”
A slight frown creased her brow. “What does that mean?”
“It means . . . whatever you would need it to mean.”
He said it without embarrassment, without doubt, in a tone of meaningful warmth and sincerity. As they held each other’s gaze, she found she could hardly breathe.
He turned a moment later and walked outside, shutting the door behind him.
The wood pile was only a few steps from the corner of the house. Caradoc made it as far as the porch railing before he stopped and leaned over it, shutting his eyes and drawing in a deep breath. Stars had begun to peek through the breaking layer of winter clouds. He gazed up at them, then out over the valley below the foothills. In the dim light, all the world seemed a gray wilderness, stretching away to the horizon in every direction.
Suddenly, a sharp pain struck his heart. He winced and held his hand against his chest, waiting for the spasm to pass. The sound of a shrill gasp caught his ear almost at the same time, along with a noise of footfalls in the snow. He whipped his gaze to the east side of the house. An old, familiar sense of horror filled him even before his eyes fell upon the shadow moving in the dark trees. Stepping softly to the edge of the porch, he narrowed his eyes in an effort to better make out the shape.
