by Patty Jansen
“The churchmen are afraid of magic,” Bert said while coming in to grab his piece of bread. His hands were blotched and red from the lack of warmth. “They think we have magic. They think if we could use magic, then the church would fall.”
That was painfully close to the truth, and also very uncomfortable. One day, Bert would get himself into a lot of trouble for saying all these things out loud. Nellie looked around for a distraction.
“Where is Jantien?” she asked.
Mina said, “She left to collect some work, sewing buttons and fixing pants, that sort of thing.”
“Is there anyone who still pays for that kind of work except the nobles who get proper modistes to do it for them?”
“The sailors pay well,” Mina said. “Soldiers pay well, too.”
And those two groups of men were well known for paying for other services. Her husband had been gone less than a week, and already Jantien was taking jobs fed by despair.
Nellie walked the length of the church to the altar. After a quick prayer to the Triune, she left the church through the side door, walked through the alley to the shepherd’s house.
It was dark out here, hemmed in as the courtyard was by the walls of the church and the walls of the shop next door. Even the windows to the shepherd’s house were dark.
Nellie knocked, turned the door handle—and found that the door was locked.
Her heart jumped.
That had never happened to her in all the times she had come here.
She knocked again, harder this time. “Shepherd, are you there? It’s Nellie.”
For a long time, she waited. Nothing happened, and she listened through the roaring of blood in her ears, but then she heard slow footsteps in the depth of the house. A bolt was drawn back at the door and a moment later, the door opened. Through the small crack, Nellie could see a part of the shepherd’s face.
What a relief. For a moment, she’d thought he’d died or left town, too.
His eyes widened, and he opened the door further. “Quick, come in.”
Nellie did, stepping out of the drifting snow into the hall where the air felt bitterly cold.
“What’s going on? Why is the door locked?”
“Come out of the cold, child.”
He turned around and preceded her to the living room, where it was dark, with only a single oil lamp burning, but at least it was warm. He gestured her to the table.
As he sat down in the glow of the lamp on the table, Nellie noticed how one of his hands was bandaged.
“Are you all right? What happened to your hand?”
“Oh, I burnt myself.” He smiled unconvincingly. “Silly me.”
She waited for him to elaborate, but that didn’t happen. The uncomfortable silence lasted for longer than Nellie liked. Something was going on.
“Why was the door locked?”
“Bad things are afoot, child. I suppose you know Regent Bernard wants himself crowned king.”
“I was in the hall when he announced it.”
“Shepherd Wilfridus was livid. He’s done a lot of work to sort out who could be the closest lawful heir to the throne and he’s not ready to name anyone yet.”
“To Regent Bernard’s defence: it’s been ten years.”
“I know, but are you aware how long it takes to correspond with churches in Burovia?”
Yes, she did. But ten years?
She said, “The people do not believe this takes such a long time. They might want Regent Bernard on the throne. They will be angry with the church.”
“Child, the ascension to the throne is a holy process that has to be blessed by the church and has to be in the interest of the country. We can’t have someone just declare himself king because he thinks he’s worthy of the job.”
He shook his head and said nothing for a while.
She had asked about this several times, but the excuse that more correspondence was needed was starting to wear thin. She trusted Shepherd Adrianus, but it disappointed her that he so pretended to believe this line of reasoning.
She was no great supporter of the Regent either, except something needed to happen, and someone needed to make a decision. “People are impatient,” she said. “Many people are unhappy. If one more little thing happens, it’s likely that fights will break out. People need houses and people need food. Mina says the people sleeping in the church might need to go elsewhere soon.”
“I’m looking for another place for them to sleep. The church is a house of worship. Common citizens hesitate to come inside when it smells of dirty clothes. The church shouldn’t forget that it exists for the common people who come to pray.”
Nellie could hardly believe he’d said that. This had to be some sort of church edict. There had been many of those over the past few years.
“Is this because Shepherd Wilfridus doesn’t want the poor people in the church?”
He gave her a sharp look. And then Nellie remembered that she was supposed to have left his house before he spoke to Shepherd Wilfridus and that she had eavesdropped on him. She wished she weren’t such a bad liar.
She added, “I heard what Shepherd Wilfridus said to you, that he thinks they are thieves. I couldn’t help hearing it because the stairs are right outside the window and he made no effort to speak quietly.”
Shepherd Adrianus shook his head. “Child, please. . . . It’s better you forget about all this as quickly as possible. It’s not at all the way it seems.”
“No, I don’t think he wants to get the people out of the church. I think he is looking for something that was stolen from the church.”
He frowned at her.
“You don’t know of anything that was stolen from the church?”
“Our parishioners are honest. They don’t steal.”
“Not even from Shepherd Wilfridus’ church?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about. Have you heard that people have stolen items from the church?”
“I told you about my father’s book last visit. I know that the dragon box is no longer in the church.”
His face cleared, and his expression darkened. “I also told you to forget about that.”
“So it did get stolen? And Shepherd Wilfridus is trying to get it back?”
“I don’t know how you know about all these things, but I can only plead that you not probe too far and not get involved.”
“It is already too late for that.” Nellie dug in the folds of her satchel and set the box on the table, the lid still securely tied to it.
The shepherd’s eyes widened. He took a couple of shallow breaths. “What—where did you—you must take this thing out of here immediately. You’ll be killed if they find it in your possession.”
“I didn’t ask for this thing, but I took it from someone who has no right to have it. I took it, stole it, if you want, for the good of the people of Saardam. My father wrote about it. My father believed the safest place for it was the church. I want to return it to you. Take it back to the crypt where it belongs.”
“No.” He leaned back from the table as if he was afraid of the box.
“Doesn’t this box belong to the church? Didn’t they buy it fairly?”
He blew out a breath through his nose. “I don’t know what you would call fairly, but I’ve been told that it came to us via the Guentherite order. I don’t know how it came to be in their possession. They may have been offered it in exchange for a meal by a weary traveller who had picked up it by the side of the road, for all I know. But the order realised the value of what they had and they knew that the Church of the Triune had paid top coin for a magical book, so they offered the box for sale.”
Nellie was tempted to ask whether the Guentherite order needed any more money, because they seemed to have plenty already.
“When the box arrived in the church, it sat in the middle of a table in the crypt. At the time, I used the library a fair bit, and saw it there every day. Then one day, it was gone. There were rumours th
at two deacons who were curious had tried to open it and had been attacked by a creature from within.”
“Did they make it angry? Did they tease it or poke it?” When Nellie opened the box, the fire dragon had plenty of opportunity to attack her, but hadn’t done so.
“They said, in their words, that as soon as they opened the lid, the magic spilled from within and the evil soared out. The shepherd locked the box in a cupboard after that. It sat there for a long time, but recently it was stolen.”
“People all over the palace are looking for it. They turn over every room until they have it. They even kill each other for it.”
“I can well believe that. A dragon box is said to lend the owner amazing powers, especially to those who already have abilities. But much of this might only be a rumour, child. This is why I often pay no heed to stories.”
“Except when parts of it are true.”
He gave her an intense look.
“I want to give the box back. I think it’s better for you to have it, because you can return it to the crypt where no one can get their hands on it.”
“I can’t accept it. Take it from me, the church is the least safe place for it. Child, child, please. Do not get involved. Don’t leave this thing here. I don’t want it. I didn’t hear you say you have it. Please, put it back in your bag before someone sees it. I can’t guarantee its safety. I have none of the influence you’re seeking.”
“But what am I supposed to do with it?”
“I would burn it in the hottest fire, together with your father’s book that speaks ill of people in the church.”
“Was my father wrong?”
“Worse. Everything he says is right. There are people in our church whose evil knows no boundaries. Take that thing out of here and don’t come back. Better still, leave the city while you’re still free. Bad times are coming.”
Nellie was shocked. She certainly hadn’t come for this kind of advice. “But what—”
“No, don’t tell me any more about it. You’re a good woman, and ultimate victory will always come to those who are honest. But for now, this is not the place for you to be.”
He would hear no more, so she took her satchel with the box, and put her coat back on, all in silence. She wanted to say so many things:
That if you never said what was right, then wrong would prevail.
That obeying was good until it became evil.
But he was the shepherd, and he knew best, even if he sometimes preached those same things during the service. He would have reasons for telling her this, and if she lived long enough, she would learn those reasons.
Nellie left the room.
The shepherd watched her with a sad expression on his face.
Chapter 21
* * *
OUT ON THE STEPS of the shepherd’s house, Nellie stopped to gather her frayed thoughts.
What in all the heavens was she going to do now?
Well—go back to the palace, because there was always one more meal to be cooked—but she couldn’t hide that dragon in her cupboard forever.
A brief flicker of an idea went through her mind: what if, instead of trying to destroy it or hide it, she tried to use it? If the dragon had wanted to attack her, it had plenty of opportunity when it escaped from the box. It hadn’t scratched her like it had scratched Madame Sabine or Lord Verdonck. More than that, the kitten had been trying to play with it. Nellie believed trust without ulterior motive only existed in animals. If a dog could smell evil on another creature, it would bark and growl. If a cat was spooked, it would arch its back and bush up its tail. The kitten had done none of that. The kitten had tried to play with the dragon. The kitten trusted it, so maybe she should trust the dragon, too.
Nellie saw herself standing in the middle of the great dining hall, ordering a big dragon around. She’d tell it to Go and find this thing that was stolen from this noble’s room, or Chase those rude young people to their rooms, or Make sure that boy doesn’t misbehave again. But then again why should she use her dragon to help the nobles? They could help themselves. She should tell it to Burn all the porcelain to cinders so we don’t have to do any washing up.
That would be funny.
But quick as the thought came, she dismissed it. Who was she to think that once she opened that box, she could get the dragon back in? She knew nothing about its magic. She had seen the fire demons burn the city. A dragon might do the same, and then it would be all her fault.
No way. She would not finish her life in prison.
And she had better get back to the kitchen.
Nellie was not yet across the courtyard outside the shepherd’s house when a great tumult broke out in the church.
There was a bang of a door being flung open and hitting a wall. A man yelled out, and others replied. Then a woman started screaming.
By the Triune, what was happening?
Nellie ran to the side entrance and peeked in.
Several men in dark clothing had entered the church through the main entrance. She counted at least five. They were dragging people out through the main doors, picking up their meagre belongings and tossing them into the street. A woman hung onto a man’s arm.
She yelled, “What have we done to deserve this? Tell us, what have we done?”
The man ignored her, batting her hands off his arm and continuing on his way out of the church carrying a blanket by the corners, filled with pillows and bedding.
Two of his fellows were searching the makeshift beds, upending homemade mattresses and ripping blankets.
A man held a bag upside down and the contents—bronze candleholders and a few mismatched plates and cups—clattered to the floor with a shattering of porcelain.
“Look, that one is a thief!” one man shouted.
“I stole nothing!” a woman yelled. “Those things are mine. I need to sell them to feed the children!”
The man kicked the broken pieces of the plates aside and pocketed the candleholders.
“Those are mine!” the woman screamed. She pulled the man’s jacket, but he stepped away, as if she were some dirty thing.
A young boy called for his mother.
Two other men were dragging a crippled man between them.
“My wife and I have nowhere to go,” he shouted. “I’m a cripple. I can’t work. What do you expect us to do?”
A deep cold fear clamped a hand around Nellie’s heart.
She knew none of the men, but they worked efficiently like mercenaries. They had swords, but they didn’t even use those.
A door closed behind her and when she turned, Shepherd Adrianus came walking across the yard.
Nellie scooted into the darkness of a niche—he’d told her to leave after all. He walked past Nellie into the church, meeting a tall man inside.
Shepherd Adrianus said, “By the Triune, this is a church, what in all of heaven’s name is going on?”
The other man said, “They have to be gone.”
His voice was hard and definite and so aggressive that Nellie shivered. The sound of it was familiar, but it was too dark in the church to see anything except the man’s silhouette. She held her breath and listened.
“I will not be the one to put them on the street,” Shepherd Adrianus said.
“Aren’t you lucky then, that I thought you might react that way? I have brought people who can do this on your behalf.”
“These are your mercenaries? You cannot be serious.”
“The church belongs to the Triune. It is not a poor house.”
“I will not let you do this.”
“You have no say over this. It’s my decision. They will leave. Peacefully or by force. We are dedicated to serving the Triune. We are not an inn for all and sundry who needs a roof over their heads.”
“But we are serving the Triune.”
“Exactly. I’ve heard worshipers are afraid to come to your services, because this building has become a refuge for peddlers of magic and other evil trades. I’ve he
ard stories of honest faithful citizens being accosted by people with magic trinkets for sale. In our church. It has to stop.”
Nellie realised with horror that the second man was Shepherd Wilfridus.
“Then what should I do, just toss these people out onto the street? Is it going to be on my soul when any of them die?”
“This is why there is a poor house.”
“It is full. People cannot find beds anywhere; people do not have the money to pay the rent. Men are being picked up willy-nilly off the street and their families are left with no way to support themselves. There are children here. Would you put children in the poor house with the sick and the destitute and the madmen?”
“I want no more people complaining about the smell of piss in this church. I want our congregation to come in here without fearing for their lives.”
“Their lives! In these hard times, we should look after the downtrodden and protect them from those who think money can buy everything.”
“You know, sometimes I wonder how someone with such a naïve outlook has ever made it as far as you have. If you’d open your eyes, you’d see that those are not innocent people, because if they were, they’d have no trouble finding work, like that obedient little kitchen wench who was just visiting you.”
Blood rushed to Nellie’s cheeks. She clutched the box against her chest, desperately glad that Shepherd Adrianus hadn’t accepted it, and beginning to understand why.
Shepherd Wilfridus was still ranting. “These people are hidden magicians, doomsayers, heretics, deniers. They cannot pay the rent because they have never done a single day of honest work in their lives.”
“I know a lot of these people, and I know that is not true. They are people who have fallen to misfortune, illness, deaths in the family, accidents.”
“So that heretic who continues to preach against the good of the Triune has left?” He was talking about Bert.
“Well, no, but there are many others who—”
“That woman whose husband sold magic has left?”
“She has six children. Do you want me to just throw this whole family onto the street?”
“Not the street, dear friend, the poor house. While we clean up the church and check the rubbish they have collected for things they have stolen.”