The Bard, page 33
“I am curious, but not that curious.”
As Patrick had predicted, night was just beginning to fall when they finally arrived at the entrance to the castle. As they approached, the portcullis slowly raised and the huge wooden doors creaked open.
“Nice to see you again sir,” a middle aged man said as he stepped into view. “Will you and your friends be staying long?” He was impeccably dressed in a black suit and white shirt and his short dark hair was sleeked back with oil.
“Thank you Willard,” Patrick replied. “I do not yet know how long we need to be here. We have arranged for others to join us, but we are not sure exactly when they will arrive. Please have Feleen make up some rooms.” He looked behind him, contemplated making introductions, then changed his mind. “If you need me, I will be in the wine cellar.” He walked past the surprised man and headed, alone, into the castle.
Willard stared after his departing master’s back for a moment before recovering his senses and turning his attention to the new arrivals. He was a short man of average build, but his bearing showed him as a man with authority. “I am Willard,” he announced, by way of introduction. “Butler and head of the house when Patrick is not at home.” Everyone introduced themselves and were permitted entry through the doors. They found themselves in a cobbled courtyard.
“Where are the stables?” Seth asked, looking around him.
“Do not worry about your horses,” Willard assured him. “We employ a number of gardeners here who also double as stable hands. They will be out shortly.” A door to their left was open and the butler was about to instruct them to enter the main residence via it, when the coffin lid began to move, taking him by surprise.
“Sorry,” Seth apologised. “We forgot to mention Hawk. Hawk, this is Willard. Willard, meet Hawk.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Hawk said loudly, before whispering to Sam, “Where are we?”
“Patrick’s castle,” she whispered back.
“You are a vampire, I presume,” Willard said, slightly flustered.
“Don’t worry,” Sam said to him. “He’s perfectly safe. Never drinks human blood.”
“In that case,” the butler continued, hiding his discomfort well, “please will you all follow me.”
He led them through the open door and down some cool, dimly lit, corridors until they found themselves in the kitchen. It was not as large as any of them had been expecting and was mostly taken up by a big wooden table.
“You are currently in the servants part of the building,” Willard explained, slightly embarrassed at having to take the master’s guests here instead of the main part of the castle. “If we had received some warning, we would have had the visitors’ wing opened up for you.”
“Do not worry yourself,” Ria said, taking a seat at the table. “As long as you have some strong hot coffee we will be fine.”
Willard smiled as a plump woman walked in. She was even shorter than himself and her rosy cheeks glowed. “This is Mrs Willard, my wife and head cook. I will leave you in her capable hands while I find Feleen and see about attending to your horses.”
As soon as he had left the room, Mrs Willard found them some mugs and put some water on to boil. While waiting for the coffee to brew, she explained a little about the castle. Other than her and her husband, Feleen the housekeeper, and the groundsmen, a number of young serving girls lived in the castle. When the master was not at home, they shut up most of the building, except for the servants’ wing, opening up other rooms only when they were needed. Patrick never gave any warning as to when he would be returning, so they were used to having to organise rooms and provide meals on very short notice. By the time they had drunk their coffee, not only were beds made up for them, but bathing tubs had been filled with hot water in each room.
“Take your time bathing,” Mrs Willard instructed, “and I will have some nice rabbit pies with roasted vegetables ready for you when you come down. I hope you do not mind eating here. We will have the main dining room ready for you in the morning.”
Feleen had organised a separate room for each of them and showed them to their assigned sleeping quarters herself. Sam gasped when her eyes fell on the housekeeper. From behind, she looked like a tall, slim young lady, with blonde straight hair almost reaching the base of her back. When she turned round, however, her skin appeared to be covered in pale fur.
Feleen smiled faintly at Sam’s reaction. “I am a minxus,” she informed her. She almost purred as she spoke. “Some say we are part cat, but that is not true.” Sam could understand why. Her ears, though on the side of her head not the top, were small and triangular, just like a domestic cat, and the eyes reminded Sam so strongly of a kitten she had owned when she was younger that she almost found herself calling the woman ‘snowball’.
Quartilla had read about the minxus race, but had never met one. “Is it true the fur covers your entire body?” she found herself asking, then blushed furiously when she realised how rude she was being.
Feleen, however, was not offended. She confirmed that this was true and lifted up the bottom of her long blue dress to reveal her furry ankles.
“Are your people related to the shaten at all?” Sam asked, referring to the race who lived in Yallen in the middle of the Loden desert. They too had cat-like features and furry faces.
The question took Feleen by surprise. “Yes we are,” she replied.
Everyone, except for Hawk and Patrick, languished in their baths for a long time, luxuriating in the warm water. They had been travelling for so long that all of their clothes had become stained, so words could not describe the pleasure every single one of them felt upon finding clean clothes laid out for them on their beds when they first entered their rooms. They had no idea where the clothes had come from or how Feleen had known their sizes, but they were too grateful to question her.
Patrick did not make it to the evening meal. When Ria enquired after him, she was informed that he had locked himself in the wine cellar and was refusing to come out. All of the castle’s residents had eaten before the visitors had arrived, but the cook, butler and housekeeper joined their guests at the table, eager to hear news about their master’s condition. While they ate, the group apprised them of all that had happened. By the time they got to the end of their tale, the three servants looked worried. They had all served Patrick for a long time and had never know him to react to anything as badly as he was to Ellen’s death.
“What will it take to snap him out of it?” Sam asked, hoping one of the three would have more insight into Patrick than her friends had.
“I am sorry to say,” Willard said, his voice full of sorrow, “that I have absolutely no idea.”
Chapter 30
“What do you think you are doing?” Brodin asked as he watched his brother roughly stuff his clothes into his knapsack.
“Leaving,” Tor replied, without looking up.
“Can we not just stay for one more night?” Cirren whined.
“You can do whatever you want,” Tor replied angrily. “I am not prepared to spend another minute under the same roof as that woman if I can help it.”
Brodin sighed. “Why do you let her comments affect you so much? It is not as if you plan to take the throne anyway.”
Tor ignored him, shouldered his bag and walked towards the door. He pulled it open, but found Albian blocking his way, hand raised as though he was about to knock.
“Good, you are all here,” the man said, looking into the room. He sounded distressed.
“Not for long,” Tor said rudely and started to push past him.
“Please wait,” Albian said in a placating tone. “A messenger has just arrived. It is bad news I am afraid.” Tor looked at the bald man, then at his brothers. After everything they had told him earlier in the evening, what could he possibly class as bad news?
“Come in,” he said politely, moving out of Albian’s way.
“It would be better if you all came back to the dining room. Your mother is still there and she is very upset.”
“Just give us the news so I can be on my way,” Tor snapped, not believing for one moment that anything that could upset his mother would be of any consequence to him.
“Very well,” Albian replied, vexed. “A member of Petro’s quest party has arrived. He has travelled a long way and was exhausted by the time he reached us.”
“Petro is here?” Cirren asked in excitement.
“No your Highness, he is not,” Albian replied sternly. “Only a man called Graven. He made his way here as soon as the tragedy happened, knowing Queen Reena would want to know the news immediately.”
“What tragedy?” Brodin asked, not liking where the conversation was going.
“It seems your brother fell down a ravine to his death.”
Tor sank down onto his bed as his legs gave way. “Father have mercy,” he said.
“No,” Brodin shouted, anger overwhelming him. “This cannot be true. Tor found a way for us to continue this quest without any more of us dying. Petro was supposed to obtain the next clue then meet us at Patrick’s castle. He was not meant to die before he got there.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” Albian said before diplomatically withdrawing.
“Well this changes things,” Cirren observed.
“It changes nothing,” Tor said. When he raised his head, tears were in his eyes.
“But we have to stay and comfort mother. We cannot leave now.”
“I can and I will,” Tor replied, getting to his feet. “All she will do is use this news to manipulate us into doing whatever she decides is right, regardless of how we feel. I am leaving right now. I will wait for you both on Shelton Island. Please try not to be too long. I have had enough of this quest and want it ended as soon as possible.” Without waiting for a reply, he strode out of the door.
“What do we do?” Cirren asked, looking to Brodin for guidance.
“We go with him,” he sighed and reluctantly stood up.
“But what about mother?” he cried out in genuine concern as he watched his brother head towards the door.
Brodin stopped and turned to face Cirren. “She is more than capable of looking after herself.”
Unlike Tor, once their bags were packed, Brodin and Cirren returned to the dining room and found the Queen still there. She was speaking with Albian and, if she heard her sons’ entrance, she hid it well. Eventually she looked across at them, her eyes drawn towards their bags.
“You are leaving?” she asked in an accusatorial tone.
Brodin grimaced. “There is no need to take that tone, mother,” he said. “Tor has already departed and we need to leave as soon as we can if we want to catch up with him.”
“Your brother is dead. Do none of you have the decency to stay with me while I mourn?”
Cirren started to speak, but Brodin held up a hand to silence him. “Tor knew you would not be reasonable,” he stated flatly. “It looks like he was right. We are going to finish the quest. Hopefully you will be more approachable when it is finally over. Goodbye.”
Without waiting for a response, knowing he would not like whatever Queen Reena had to say, he walked out of the room. Cirren looked from his mother to his brother and back again, full of indecision. Then he walked forward, hugged her quickly and almost ran towards the door. He sighed with relief when he saw that Brodin had waited for him and he would not have to race down the corridor after him; he hated to make undignified exits.
They found Tor in the stables, watering all of their horses. He knew his brothers well and had been expecting them. He had been confident that Brodin would realise that the decision to depart immediately was the right one and he had no doubt that Cirren would follow on behind. He could not suppress a grin as they walked in. Without saying a word, the three brothers prepared their mounts for departure, adjusted their backpacks and mounted up.
“We need to make a slight detour before we go to the island,” Brodin said after a few hours of silent riding. “In case you have forgotten, I asked a couple of my people to meet us in Zain and Modo went with them.” Zain was a small harbour town in the Jundel province of Emvale. It was the closest populated area to Shelton Island so it made good sense to go there. It would not be much of a detour so neither Tor nor Cirren objected.
As expected, the journey was long and monotonous, with nothing interesting happening to relieve the tedium. When they eventually arrived at the inn in Zain, the three brothers took rooms for the night, longing for warm baths and clean beds.
Life on the island was no more exciting. Sam, for one, hated playing the waiting game and, while the men were happy to eat, drink and gamble amongst themselves, the women craved more stimulation. As Patrick could never be found, they asked Willard for permission to explore the castle and its grounds, which he willingly gave. The castle was vast, with numerous rooms spread over many floors; searching it kept them busy for several days. They started at the bottom, which contained large and small dining rooms, numerous reception rooms and, of course, the main kitchen. Out of politeness, they stayed out of the servants’ quarters. Every room they entered was fully furnished, but they had no idea what condition any of it was in, or in which period from history it had been bought, as everything was covered in large white cloths. Dust lay on every available surface.
“How long has it been since anyone entered these rooms?” Ria wondered aloud.
“Patrick has been on the quest with you for a long time,” Sam pointed out.
“It must be great living in a castle,” Quartilla said dreamily.
Sam nodded her head in agreement, but Ria had other opinions. “It must get very lonely unless it is filled with people. This place needs a family.”
“Has Patrick ever told you much about his past?” Sam enquired, sitting down on a covered chair and sending a cloud of dust into the air. “Was this castle ever fully populated?”
Willard, who happened to be walking past, overheard the question and popped his head around the door. “I can tell you a little bit about the castle’s history, if you would like me to,” he volunteered.
The three ladies eagerly agreed and willingly accompanied him back to the servant’s kitchen, where his wife was brewing coffee and slicing freshly baked bread. Sam smothered a slice with butter and let out a low groan of satisfaction. “This is the best butter I have ever tasted,” she complemented the cook, who glowed with pleasure.
While they snacked, Willard told them all he knew of his master’s past. His grandfather had been butler before him, so Willard had known Patrick for all of his life. He had grown up in the castle. His father had been a groundsman, but soon after his wife died in childbirth he went away, seeking employment on the mainland. The island held too many memories for him and he saw images of his wife wherever he looked. Eventually he could take it no longer and, leaving young Willard in the care of his grandparents, he left.
“I was three years old when my mother died,” he said sorrowfully. “The baby, a girl, also died. My father promised to send for me as soon as he was settled, but none of us ever heard from him again.”
“So how did you meet Mrs Willard?” Sam asked, hoping to turn the conversation to happier things.
Willard smiled at the question. “When I turned sixteen, I left the island for the first time and went in search of my father. I found no trace of him, but I did come across a very nice young girl working as cook and barmaid in her family’s inn. I planned to only stay for one night, but a year later I was still finding excuses to remain there. By that time I was being treated as part of the family instead of a paying guest and so there were no objections when I requested permission from the inn keeper to take his daughter back to the island with me.”
He took a sip of his coffee and his wife took over. “The cook here at the time was elderly and willingly took me on as an assistant. She taught me a great deal and, slowly but surely, I began to take over more and more of her duties until she eventually felt I was good enough for her to retire and live out the rest of her days with her eldest son. He is a blacksmith in Zain. I occasionally visit her. She is still fit and healthy, but the years are really beginning to take their toll.”
“Do you have any family?” Quartilla asked in interest. She found the couple friendly and easy to talk with and wanted to know more about them.
“A son and a daughter,” the cook replied, her voice full of pride. “Our daughter married the son of one of the grounds men and they now run their own farm on the mainland. Our son joined the army and has travelled the world. He is now a captain.”
“But that is enough about us,” Willard said, though he too was obviously proud of his children’s accomplishments. “It is Patrick you wanted to know about.”
He spoke at length about his childhood. Patrick had been around a lot in those days and often played with him, acting more like a favourite uncle than his grandfather’s employer. There seemed to be a constant stream of visitors, friends or business associates, and each new year Patrick would open up the castle to the residents of Zain and would put on a huge celebration for them. He did not leave often, but when he did, it was for months at a time.
“What about women?’ Ria asked, a wicked smile on her face. “I am sure he brought a lot of them back here.”
“Actually, no he did not,” Willard replied. “I have heard all about his reputation, and I am sure most of it is true, but not once did he bring any lady back here and he always slept alone when under this roof. I have no idea why.”
“I do,” his wife said. “This is his hideaway, a place where he can forget that he is doomed to outlive everyone he cares about. He does not want to taint the place with memories that may cause him pain.”
“You may be right,” her husband conceded. “Anyway, Patrick has always been the same. He never changes. His appearance is always immaculate, even when there are only his servants around to see him.”
“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?” Sam asked, hearing the trace of concern in his voice.
