The End of Time

by Avi

  “I’m willing.”

  “Dark, dreary, and long,” she warned, her face now solemn.

  The pain in my chest was enormous. I went down on my knees. “Please, I must go.”

  Halla gazed at me as if I were a puzzle. Her voice softened. “Why so desperate, boy?”

  “I…I wish to live in freedom,” I said.

  “Freedom!”

  I could only nod.

  “Poor creature. Are you threatened here?” she asked. “Trying to escape a beating? A hanging?”

  I had become so frantic I could no longer speak. I could only hope my eyes—welling with tears—spoke for me.

  “There’s something else here,” she said. “You need to speak to me true. I’ll not harm you.”

  “Mistress,” I forced myself to say, “if I don’t go…I’ll be murdered.”

  “Murdered?”

  I nodded.

  “By whom?”

  “Thieves…devils.”

  “Have you done some great wrong?”

  I shook my head.

  I heard her sigh. “Tell me your name again.”

  “Crispin.”

  “Crispin…so be it. We’ve not been able to find any mariners. My father said that if you returned you could come with us—”

  My heart leaped. “Blessings on you, mistress. With my friend?”

  “He agrees. But pay heed, Crispin. We leave tomorrow at dawn, if tide and wind are willing. Our cog is called the Stjarna. That’s ‘star’ in your tongue. My father told me to say you must be there. If not, we’ll leave without you. Understood?”

  All I could do was nod.

  Halla smiled. “In Iceland, loyalty is all. And may two boys, with the help of Saint Nicholas, do the work of one man.” She held out her small hand as if to make the bargain.

  Hardly knowing what to say, I took her hand and kissed it. “We’ll…we’ll be there!” I blurted out, and jumping up, ran as fast as I could back to Master Talbot’s house, only hoping I’d not been missed.

  26

  AS I RACED BACK, I tried to think of the best way I could get in the house without being noticed by the family. It was not a beating I feared but the discovery of my plans to escape.

  I went straight for the front door, the main entryway. As before, a servant was standing there. Others were coming and going, loaded with food and whatnot. I ran straight up and said, “One of the musicians,” and without waiting for permission, plunged past the door. I was not restrained. Without stopping, I went into the courtyard and then sprinted for the banquet hall, hoping to go back to the stable stall in the same way I had come.

  Master Throckmorton was there, surveying the hall. As soon as he saw me, he cried out, “You there, boy! Move these candelabra from here to there.”

  More than happy to oblige, I did as ordered, saying nothing. When I put the candelabra where he desired, he stepped back, only to tell me to move it somewhere else. This he did any number of times.

  In the midst of this task, Elena stepped into the hall. In a glance, she saw the steward and me at work. I paused and looked at her.

  “Good master steward,” she called. “Do you still have need of the boy?”

  “The boy?” said the man, hardly noticing who or what I was. “For a few more moments.” He directed me to move the candelabra yet one more time.

  Elena waited impatiently.

  “There,” he said when I’d done as he bid. “That will be enough. Be off with you.”

  I bobbed my head and went to where Elena waited. She scrutinized me. “You’ve been away a long while.”

  “He kept me busy,” I replied.

  “A self-important man. Now come along.”

  She led the way back to the stable. The rest of the family was there. Rauf, upon seeing me, looked his angriest. Elena stepped in front of him. “You needn’t have worried,” she said. “The steward was keeping him at work.”

  To my relief, Rauf’s anger eased, and I received no more than his glowering look.

  I went to the back of the stall, where Owen and Schim were waiting. I sat down. The boy gazed at me, eyes beseeching news of what had happened. Not even looking at him, I murmured, “A ship is waiting. We must leave at dawn.”

  He let go a long breath, as if he’d been holding it the entire while I’d been gone.

  Woodeth came and sat near us. She said nothing. But it was perfectly clear we would be guarded as closely as possible so we could not get free. In other words, we were to be held hostage until their thievery was complete.

  As I sat there, I considered the three necessary things we must do: flee from these people, get out of the city, and get to the Icelandic boat.

  Great Lord Jesus, I thought, let it be!

  From that moment on, I remained alert for the smallest chance of escape. Alas, no occasion came that afternoon. We were guarded too tightly.

  At one point Rauf offered me those three apples I had bought and told me to practice my juggling—to keep me busy, I suppose.

  Then as night drew on, I realized that the city gates would close at compline. At that point, even if we had gotten away from the family, we would have been unable to leave the city. And then there would be the night watch. Thanks to Rauf, the soldiers would know me on sight.

  To make things more difficult, that evening the first of the wedding banquets was to be held. Since all the musicians were to take part in the festivities, we would be included. I supposed Rauf would make sure to put me in the forefront of the family that I might be widely recognized—much the way he had brought me to the soldiers. So it proved.

  How I despised Rauf!

  When our time to perform came, we advanced to the balcony, which overlooked the hall. We got to it by a narrow, twisting flight of steps, up from the kitchen area.

  The kitchen—hot and smoky with its open fires—was in a continual commotion of food preparation, with cooks, servants, servers, helpers, and cleaners in an unending frenzied storm of work. Some cooked. Some colored the food red, blue, or green, even gilding it with gold! Others shaped food into forms, making it look like a swan, a castle, a ship—all to be eaten. One attached peacock feathers to a bird made of sweetmeats! The perspiring, bellowing steward presided over all like a commander at battle with his army.

  Every course of food and drink was brought to the table by a parade of servants in multicolored livery and was announced by trumpets blaring gloriously. For each change of dish, a different group of musicians was brought out to play. While we waited, we were occasionally offered food left uneaten by the banquet guests. There was much.

  I took silent note that from time to time Rauf wandered off. Where he went, I had no idea. I suspected he was searching about the house. I imagined him taking an inventory of what he intended to steal and entertained hopes he would be caught.

  In all this time, Owen and I were never left alone, not for a moment. That meant the boy had yet to hear what I had agreed with Halla. The news fairly burned within me.

  When the family’s turn to perform finally arrived, we trooped up the steps to the balcony while some Flemish musicians came down. Once on top, we could look and see who and what was there.

  Directly across from us, at the other end of the hall, was the bride-to-be, the first I had seen of her. To my great surprise, she was hardly older than eleven or twelve years—younger than Troth. Seated in the center of a raised table, she was dressed like a lady in a fine silk kirtle of green and blue, with long sleeve tippets touched with lace. Her hair was braided in careful circles over her ears, a bejeweled gold band holding all in place. Yet, for all this womanly attire, I was struck by how girlish she was. Moreover, despite all the festivity, she sat stiffly, staring out at those who sat before her with a look of someone dazed.

  To either side of the girl sat older women. Perhaps one was her mother; I could not tell. There were also men at that front table—garbed in rich finery—all quite old, with forked beards, and one or two bald heads. I presumed on
e must be her father—Master Talbot. I did wonder if one of these old men could be her intended husband. I could not tell. None of the men paid attention to the girl, or she to them. I had never given her—the object of all this activity—any thought before. Now I found myself feeling pity for her.

  Right below us, at the tables, were many guests, sixty or more in number, men and women. None were of the bride’s age.

  The display of clothing and color was dazzling: hats, gowns, capes, sleeves, tippets, furs and feathers, elegant boots, gloves, tunics, long sleeves of more color than I could name. Everything seemed encrusted with gold, feathers, silver, and jewels. Here and there, like sprinkled salt and pepper, were the white and black cassocks of priests. Everyone was talking, a constant bubbling babble.

  As soon as the trumpets had sounded, Elena called upon us to play, and so we did. For the most part, we performed cheerful tunes—the harp, drums, mandola, recorder, and bagpipe—playing well together.

  As I had guessed he might, Rauf ordered Owen and me to go forward. “Owen! Take Schim!” he commanded. “Make him do his tricks. Crispin, juggle! Amuse the bride.” It was, I was sure, another effort to display me to as many as possible.

  We went to the front of the balcony. Owen set the monkey on the rail. He got the beast to somersault on command. Then Owen began to beat his drum. I commenced to juggle.

  The bride looked up, her face transformed from dull indifference to one of glee. She clapped her hands and turned to one of the women seated next to her and pointed up to the balcony—to Schim, I believed.

  When Schim—on Owen’s command—jumped up and down, all the while grinning, the girl bride laughed and applauded yet again. A number of the guests turned and looked at us, pointing, gesturing.

  I turned toward Rauf. He nodded his approval. He had gotten us the attention he desired.

  Shortly after, a new course was announced, and we were ordered to descend from the balcony. A group of other English musicians replaced us and, following the trumpet flourish, began to play.

  Meanwhile, in the kitchen, we were given food and drink and then directed back to our stall. The talk was less about our performance than about the wealth of the guests. The family’s anticipation was blatant as they imagined what lay in store for them. And though they kept Owen and me close, for the most part they paid us little mind.

  Unexpectedly, the harried steward appeared and cried, “Young Mistress Talbot, the bride, wishes the boys—and especially the monkey—to be presented to her.”

  Automatically I looked to Rauf. “Of course,” he said, and rose as if to come with us.

  “Only the boys,” said the steward with a dismissive gesture. “And the beast. Just make sure he’s tethered.”

  Once again I looked toward Rauf. He in turn looked to Elena.

  “You must bring them back quickly,” Elena told the steward. “We need them to perform.”

  “Of course,” the steward replied, eager to leave.

  Elena turned to us. “Go,” she said.

  Owen and I jumped up—Schim on Owen’s shoulder—and followed the rapidly walking steward back toward the house, hardly knowing what to expect.

  27

  WITH THE STEWARD some steps ahead, Owen and I were at last alone. “We need to escape tonight,” I whispered hastily. “The Icelandic ship leaves at dawn.”

  He halted. “But…but how can we get away?”

  “I’m not sure. Owen,” I blurted out, “I’m not exactly sure what we’ll find there.”

  He looked up at me with worried eyes. “But we’ll get away from them, won’t we?”

  I nodded, wishing that I could, at least, be sure of that.

  “That’s all I care about.”

  I said no more.

  We were led, not back to the banquet, but to a small adjacent room. Lit by smoky candlelight, it was unadorned save for some faded tapestries on the wall. The bride-to-be was sitting upon a red cushion in a large, high-backed chair. The chair made her appear even smaller, younger. Her feet did not even touch the ground, but swung with childlike impatience. The two women with whom she had been seated in the hall stood on either side, like guards.

  The steward fairly pushed us through the doorway of the room, made a brief bow, muttered something about pressing duties, and hurried off.

  When we first stepped into the room, the girl had been slumped in her chair. As soon as she saw us, she sat up and smiled broadly, bringing her hands together in a clap of excitement.

  One of the women by her side gestured to us. “You may come forward,” she said.

  We drew closer, pausing when it seemed near enough. Once there we bowed.

  “Is that a monkey?” cried the girl, bypassing all polite talk. Her voice was as childlike as her appearance.

  “It is, mistress,” I replied.

  “I’ve heard of them,” said the girl, “but never saw one. You, boy,” she called to Owen. “Bring him near.”

  A timid Owen advanced a few steps.

  The bride could not take her eyes off Schim. “Is he…is he dangerous?”

  Owen shook his head no.

  “Is the monkey yours?”

  Owen, too awed to speak, only nodded.

  “May I hold him?”

  One of the women by her side put out a cautionary hand. “Mistress…”

  “Don’t tell me what to do!” cried the girl with sudden anger, slapping the hand away. “I’ll be leaving soon enough, and I’ll never see you again. For that, at least, I’ll be grateful.”

  The woman’s face reddened, but she stepped back.

  To Owen, in much a softer voice, she said, “Come, boy, you need not fear me. I’m merely sulky. Bring him to me so I may be cheered.” She held out two pudgy, pink hands.

  Owen stepped forward, took Schim from his shoulder and, still holding to his tether, offered him to the girl. The girl set the creature in her lap. Schim, as was his custom, sat on his legs and gazed up at her with great curiosity, then reached out and touched her lips and nose. The girl laughed gleefully. “Does he have a name?”

  “Schim,” I said.

  “Must you keep Schim tethered?” she asked, cautiously touching the monkey’s fur, stroking it gently.

  “I don’t think he likes it,” I said. “But he might run away.”

  “By Saint Anne,” said the girl with sudden earnestness while gazing into the monkey’s face, “I understand the poor creature’s fate.” She looked from one of the women to the other and said to us, “I’m tethered, too. And for the same reason. I would also run away.”

  Not fully understanding, I said, “We congratulate you on your marriage, mistress.”

  “You need not bother,” said the girl, her lips pouting. “I don’t want to be married! But it will happen tomorrow,” she added when one of the women made a movement to protest. “At the Church of Saint Nicholas. Did you know that my soon-to-be husband is older than my father?” She made a sour face, then leaned forward as if to share a secret with Schim. “I don’t like to even say his name. But then I can’t speak his Flemish language. He smells vile.” She sighed. “But my father wills it so,” she said to me. “My husband-to-be is a rich trader. That’s what matters. Yes, we will marry in the morning. After much feasting and music making—perhaps some dancing—I shall go off to Bruges. By My Lady’s grace, I may never be in Calais again. This monkey, even with his tether, is freer than I am. And you”—she meant Owen and me—“are freer yet.”

  One of the women leaned in. “My lady, you must not—”

  “I want you to go away!” the girl burst out. “I beg you! Can’t I have one last measure of liberty?”

  The two women exchanged looks of alarm.

  “If there be any kindness,” the girl cried, “I should like a moment with my new friends!”

  Flustered, the two moved a step away. “We will be by the door, my lady,” one of them whispered.

  “Farther!” shouted the girl. Then to us, in a softer voice, “Come
closer, so we may talk in private.”

  I advanced to where Owen was standing, right in front of the girl.

  The girl studied Schim with a look of sadness, petting him gently on his head. “If I could exchange places with you,” she said to the beast, “I would. Or,” she said, nodding now at us, “with you.” Her voice became a whisper. “I suppose it’s sinful of me,” she confided, “but I truly can’t win.”

  Owen stared at her.

  “Forgive me,” I said. “Can you not object?”

  The girl sat back in her chair and glanced, with a frown, toward the doorway, where we could see her women hovering. Leaning forward, she whispered, “No one listens to me.”

  She studied us intently. “I should like to be free the way you are.”

  “Mistress,” I said boldly, “we aren’t free.”

  “How can that be?”

  “Our family is not our true family. They…they are holding us.”

  The girl’s eyes grew wide. “Holding…you. Truly? Like…this monkey?”

  I nodded.

  “But surely you can come and go.”

  We said nothing.

  The girl slumped back in her chair. Still holding on to Schim, she stared at us for a long time. We stood there, unsure what to do or say. “The world isn’t kind,” she said, her voice full of sorrow.

  For a moment I thought of Troth.

  The girl became silent, staring off I knew not where. “What will you take for this monkey?” she suddenly asked. “I’ll have him with me. Name any price.”

  “I…don’t want to sell him, my lady,” Owen said.

  “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

  “He’s…he’s all I have,” Owen whispered.

  “Oh.” She sat back, sighing. “Then he, at least, is well loved.”

  One of her women stepped back into the room. “My lady, your father wishes you to return now.”