by Patty Jansen
“It is now almost ten years since the church asked me, in a moment of great distress, to help with the regentship of Saarland. I was surprised and even took it as a joke. I own a moderate estate in Burovia. I am a distant cousin of King Roald and am not favoured by any ruling family. It was just that quality that the caretaker for the crown wanted: not being an enemy of the surrounding countries while not being overly friendly with any of them either. I like to say I have done my job well. I like to say that I’ve done it very well, considering the circumstances I’ve found myself in. I’ve asked for the situation to be made more permanent, and I’ve been told to wait. What I should wait for appears to be immaterial. Whenever I ask at what time a decision will be made, the answer is always to wait. Well, I’ve made a decision, because if I don’t make a decision, no one will.”
He glanced over the gathered nobles, all of whom watched him intently. From the women with the fancy dresses, to the junior princes, to the brother of the duke of Aroden and his family and dainty courtiers, to the wives and servants and all the other people in the hall.
Also the people who stood at the open doors. These were nobles who lived in the city, those people who had gone home after the banquet and now came back for the continued festivities. Nellie spotted the mayor and his daughter, but also Shepherd Wilfridus and a deacon.
The Regent let a long silence lapse to increase the impact of his words. He looked around the hall, his hands clasped loosely over his ample stomach.
When everyone had fallen quiet, he continued.
“Come spring, we will have another gathering like this. Except it will be a gathering bigger than this one. We will invite all the kings and queens, the barons and baronesses, the dukes and duchesses from all the surrounding countries. There will be a banquet better than the one last night, and it will come after a day of official celebrations when I will be officially crowned king.”
At these words, many people in the hall cheered. Some of them jumped up and clapped. Some of them banged on the tables, making the plates and cups dance.
But across the hall, the shepherd yelled, “The Lord of Fire will come to this town before you will sit on the throne!”
He was used to preaching and his voice projected across the crowd much better than the Regent’s had.
The mayor called out, “You insult my daughter and you expect me to bow for you?”
Several people in the hall yelled at the mayor. That he was a traitor, that the Regent had been so good for the city.
Nellie caught the eye of Els and Maartje across the table and the heads of the nobles who were still seated.
“Quick,” she yelled, and hoped her voice didn’t get lost in the noise. “Get everything off the tables before things turn nasty.”
Maartje wrestled through the narrow aisle with the trolley, while Nellie, on the other side of the table, collected a big stack of plates.
Shepherd Wildfridus strode through the hall, his ornate cloak flapping. People ducked out of his way.
He was not the only person making his way across the hall.
Several of Regent Bernard’s personal guards formed a barrier between the Regent and the angry people trying to climb the steps to the dais.
Several noblemen had taken to protecting “their” Regent from the angry newcomers. The mayor was shouting at a merchant to let him through.
Regent Bernard was yelling, “Sit down, everyone sit down!”
Despite the loudness of his voice, it barely rose over the tumult.
Nellie and the two girls worked hard to collect the plates. If someone upset the table and a lot of plates broke, she would be accused of breaking them. The tea cups were especially precious, made of the finest porcelain, and there were not that many.
A number of guards came into the hall and walked through the aisle, telling everyone to calm down and be seated. Nellie met Henrik’s eyes over the heads of the guests. His expression was worried. He came around the table to speak to her.
“Get everything out of the hall as soon as possible. Other townsfolk will be in here soon, and I don’t think it will be pretty. You better get all the pretty tableware out and get yourselves to safety.” His tone appeared cool compared to yesterday.
When she merely nodded, he turned around and went back to telling people to sit down.
“Henrik?”
He looked over his shoulder. A brief flicker of hope danced in his eyes.
But there were others around her, and the apology she wanted to make to him died on her tongue. The heart of the matter was that she wanted to say something to him, but she didn’t believe being angry about Wim wrongfully accused of poisoning was bad. She might apologise for shouting at him, but she would never apologise for that.
So they each went their own ways. Henrik towards the dais and Nellie into the foyer.
A little dream inside her died in the time she took to walk into the foyer. The dream that she had as a girl, that she could have a tall and handsome husband who would go every day to his position in the palace while wearing a uniform with shiny buttons. That he would come home and she would have cooked for him, and he would read from the Book of Verses for her and the bevy of children they would have.
Wake up, Nellie, you’re far too old for that kind of daydream.
Even out in the foyer, the noise coming from the hall was deafening.
Casper was also in the foyer, seated on a couch. He was alone. It looked like the partying had caught up with him, because he rested his head against the side, and his eyes were half-closed.
The baroness Hestia was nowhere to be seen.
Nellie delivered the dirty plates in the scullery where it was still reasonably tidy. Els and Maartje were heating water, ready to wash plates.
She went back upstairs with the empty trolley. One of the Regent’s upstairs servants had discovered Casper in the hall and was trying to wake him up. Casper sat with his elbows leaning on his knees, his hands over his ears. Neither he nor the servant paid Nellie any attention when she walked past.
A big group of local merchants had gathered in one corner of the hall, talking in angry voices.
“He’s a foreigner,” a well-dressed nobleman said as Nellie pushed the trolley past where they stood. “Surely if we are to have a royal family, we can find someone in our city.”
“Yes, someone like yourself?” another noble said.
The men laughed.
And that, ultimately, had been the problem.
When the royal family was killed, none of the local noble families agreed to their rivals taking up the position of Regent. Many of them of them could claim relationship to any of the royal families who were also related to all the guests here. They could all claim rights to the throne.
More and more local nobles arrived in the foyer to ascertain for themselves that the news was true.
At the dais, several people stood around Shepherd Wilfridus, who was still wearing his cloak. His cheeks were red from the cold. Nellie couldn’t hear any of the vigorous discussion that went on, with much waving of hands, between the shepherd and the Regent.
People around her watched.
She overheard a lot of comments.
Many of the guests thought Regent Bernard should be king because it was his right.
A local merchant said if he became king, Saarland might as well become part of Burovia, and that Estland and Gelre would never agree to that.
An old man Nellie recognised as an army commander argued that if Saarland wanted to be at war with any of the surrounding countries, making Regent Bernard king was the way to go.
“No ruler, no house in any of the lowlands or beyond, wants control of the only port city with access to all mainland rivers to be in the hands of their rivals. If control of the city is given to any powerful family except them, they’ll come and seize control of the city. Do we want another siege and occupation by some foreign power? I say we depose the Regent and we give control of the city to a council. No royal fam
ilies, no church.”
Even the workers in the kitchen were talking about the Regent’s plans to have himself crowned king.
“If he plans to have more guests than there are in the palace now, we must buy more plates,” Dora was saying, always seeing the practical side of things.
“There is only one problem with all this,” said Wim, who evidently felt better, because he had been doing odd jobs around the kitchen, and had just come in from feeding the pigs.
“Only one?” Dora laughed.
“Well. The most important one. The shepherd is the only person who can make anyone king. And he will not do it.”
“Someone will hold a knife to his throat,” Dora said, holding up a knife.
“They’ll have to use a sharper one than that,” Corrie said from the bench where she sat with her foot in a bucket of cold water.
Wim said, “Regent Bernard can just reopen the Belaman Church, invite a priest and let him do it. He’s got feet in both camps.”
“Yeah. He’s a foreigner.”
And that was the ultimate verdict. Regent Bernard was a foreigner, and none of the locals wanted a foreigner on the throne, but they wanted their rivals on the throne even less than they wanted a foreigner.
When Nellie went back upstairs, some people had started leaving. They were mostly locals, and Nellie did not miss the anger in their discussions as they made their way through the hall saying that the shepherd should not allow it, and that they should put this self-important man in his place. There were comments about Casper, too.
“I’d die before I’d see that misbehaving brat on the throne,” one woman said.
It was quiet in here, and sounds echoed in the foyer, so Nellie would not be surprised if Casper heard it.
Meanwhile, cheers came from the hall.
What a load of selfish pigs.
Here they all were, eating the Regent’s food and enjoying his hospitality.
They still only thought about themselves, as rich people often did. One does not become rich by being generous to others—that was a conclusion to a story in the Book of Parables. That story showed what she had seen the last few days: the nobles would come here and smile to the Regent when they thought there was an influence to be gained, only to complain if they didn’t get their way.
Rich people were disgusting. They gorged themselves while common people slept in the streets, they started wars that common people didn’t want, about things that common people didn’t understand, just so they could keep the common people busy while they raided the coffers for their own good. And they made rules that people got angry about. If all magic was banned from the city, then who would bake nice bread, who would make the best clothes and who would know about herbs and about the weather?
And so Nellie’s angry thoughts kept going around while she cleared the tables and helped serve tea to whoever still wanted it—and there were plenty of rich, disgusting people who did.
Those people spoke of sticking by the Regent who had done so much good for the city and yet didn’t mention a single good thing he had done.
That man deserved no support.
Chapter 20
* * *
WHEN THE MIDDAY MEAL was cleared away and preparations for dinner done, there would normally be time to rest. Nellie often had a nap, did her laundry or sat in the kitchen talking. Today, she was too busy for that.
She heated the juniper berry concoction and told Maartje to deliver it to Lord Verdonck’s room, with the warning not to go inside and come back immediately.
Maartje was a good girl, so she did as Nellie said.
Did they ask questions, Nellie wanted to know, and Maartje said they didn’t. “I gave the tray to the man at the door and he said thank you. That was all.”
Good girl.
This meant Nellie had time to go to church. It was too early for the service, but she hoped to visit Shepherd Adrianus and give him the box.
She also realised that one reason she felt so angry at the Regent and everyone upstairs was that she had been too busy to eat anything herself. She collected some untouched bread rolls for the poor people in the church and ate one while walking to her room. Already, she felt much better.
Because she had been careful to close the door this morning, the kitten could not get in. It waited outside the door and mewled when she arrived.
She picked the animal up. In the few days since she had started feeding it, the kitten had become stronger. Its coat also looked healthier, and when she held it in her hand, she could feel purring deep within the little body.
“Are you going to be my cat now?”
The kitten looked at her with its dark eyes that were still of indeterminate colour.
Nellie had kept cats before and liked the presence of a little warm body on the bedspread at night, presuming the cat didn’t have fleas. Older cats objected to being combed or washed, but a little kitten would get used to it.
Nellie entered the room. She set the kitten on the floor, making a mental note to get the soap and bowl she needed to wash its fur. She’d have to pick a nice day so she could do it outside.
Then she reached inside the cupboard for the dragon box. Again it was as if the wood felt warm in her hands. She dropped it in her carry satchel with the bread. She would be glad to get rid of this thing.
The kitten miaowed, following her down the corridor. Its little legs were too short to keep up.
“No, you can’t come. I’ll be back.”
And when she was back, everything would be all right again, and she would no longer have to worry about this dreadful thing in her room.
She sped out the back door before someone saw her.
The weather had made up its mind, and the first snow of the year formed a thin layer over the ground, turning the city into a white wonderland.
Nellie walked through the thin layer around the back and side of the palace. From here, she could see over the wall into the palace garden, which had lain forlorn and forgotten since the fateful day the royal family had been killed. She didn’t know whether the Regent just had no interest in gardening or whether he neglected it because he was not officially king and didn’t want to spend his own money fixing up the garden, but it looked terrible. The king’s rose bushes had grown into a tangled shrubbery that badly needed clipping. The bushes were bare at this time of the year, with a few sad rosehips still hanging on the branches.
Nellie had little hope that the garden would ever be as nice as it had been under King Roald’s loving care.
She arrived in the forecourt and went out the front entrance of the palace, past the guards and the stables, where the coaches of the guests from out of town still stood. She spotted activity at Lord Verdonck’s coach, and she assumed his attendants were getting ready to take him back to his estate.
The tea must be working.
The markets were even less busy than usual, and the few merchants who had turned up were rugged up against the cold. Some had even brought stoves to keep themselves warm.
The main church stood watch over the marketplace. The main door was closed, but the side door was open. She assumed that Shepherd Wilfridus was meeting with dignitaries and other people from town to discuss the Regent’s plans to be crowned king.
While Shepherd Wilfridus was the only one who could perform that duty, it would be easy enough for the Regent to reopen the nearly abandoned building of the Belaman Church, declare it the country’s official religion and have the priest perform the service if Shepherd Wilfridus didn’t want to do it. Nellie suspected that even if he disagreed, the shepherd didn’t have the true power to make the Regent cancel his plans.
That was what these men in power did: if they didn’t like the rules, they twisted the rules until they could do whatever they pleased. She had seen that happen more than once.
She hurried past the main church and into the streets of the city. A cold wind blew through the streets, and the clouds were so thick that, although it was too early for d
usk, it was already quite dark.
The weather matched her mood. Everything she loved about Saardam had been destroyed, and no one seemed to have the courage or power to turn it around. Madame Sabine was right: once Saardam had been colourful, but now it was a dreary place.
The doors to Shepherd Adrianus’ church were open, and the faint waft of incense came from within. Nellie entered, clutching the satchel with the bread under her coat.
Several candles burned at the altar, the candles flapping in the breeze.
It was quiet in the church.
At first, she feared the people were all gone, but when she had stood for a little while waiting for her eyes to get used to the dark, soft noises drifted from behind her.
“Oh, Nellie, it’s you.” It was Mina. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come, that you’d been found out.”
A fearful tone hung in her voice as if they had all been quiet on purpose when she came into the church.
By the Triune, something had happened, and these people were all afraid of losing this safe place to sleep.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come yesterday. It was the Regent’s son’s birthday, and he had a big celebration.”
An obscenely big celebration, compared with what these people had to suffer.
She opened the bag and handed out the bread rolls. “I’ll come back and bring more food tomorrow.”
“Oh, I hope we’ll still be here tomorrow.”
“Has anyone come here to bother you?”
But Nellie remembered the conversation she had overheard between Shepherd Adrianus and Shepherd Wilfridus. “The shepherd hasn’t told you that you need to leave?” A feeling of horror filled her. She’d been convinced that Shepherd Adrianus would resist the call for the poor people to leave the church, because allowing them in was the right thing to do.
“The shepherd says we can’t stay. He’s looking for another place where we can be safe, but that’s difficult. We have twelve children between us.”
Mina had distributed the bread to the children after they had washed their hands and now cut up pieces for the adults.