by Patty Jansen
“Oh. I see. It’s still about that, isn’t it? You haven’t found it.”
From the darkness of the church, over the shouts of the people came the sound of a slap of skin hitting skin. Like a hand on someone’s cheek.
“How dare you mock me? Our pride is at stake. It was stolen from the crypts, and we still don’t know by whom or the exact day. We have to find it, and if you’re going to stand in the church’s way, you may well find yourself in the poor house with all this rabble you profess to stand up for. Then you get to see what sort of people they really are. I’m done here. You’re warned. The next time I have to come here to discipline you will be the last.”
Shepherd Wilfridus strode out of the door and down the steps, his robes flying.
He didn’t see Nellie at all, but he strode across the little courtyard and into the alley. He disappeared from sight.
Shepherd Adrianus came towards the door more slowly, wiping his face.
Nellie understood the bandage around his hand. A feeling of utter horror filled her.
She whispered, “Shepherd.”
He gasped.
“It’s me, Nellie.”
“What are you still doing here?”
“Let me take you inside the house. I’ll help you.”
“No, please. You must leave. Go back to the palace. Burn that thing before anyone finds it. Forget about all of this.”
“And let those poor people in the church be tossed into the street?”
“I’m sorry. There is nothing I can do.”
“You can tell him it’s wrong and that the church should look after poor people. Show him the parable in the book of—”
“No. He has his reasons.”
“But he’s wrong. These people are not thieves. You know that! You have to stop this. The people have nowhere else to go—”
“No. Please, child, go now.”
That was when Nellie understood. Despite knowing she was right, Shepherd Adrianus still defended the leader of the church.
All her adult life, she had adored and respected him, listened to his sermons and accepted his views as truth.
In the end, he was just a coward.
She faced him wordlessly for a moment. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him this, and wouldn’t have found the right words even if she wanted to.
She figured, half-hoped, that he could feel he understood what she felt anyway and that no words were necessary. Because the sense of betrayal for her was too great to put into language.
Her whole life she had spent doing the right thing in the name of the church, and being obedient was a lie.
This was, finally, what her father had tried to express in his book.
Do not place trust in others to act in good faith because they will not.
Without saying another word, she turned away from the shepherd. She crossed the courtyard, past the open church door, where most of the noise had now moved to the street outside the main entrance.
She strode into the street, turned left towards the palace, and didn’t stop running until she could no longer hear the voices.
There were few people in the street, and she avoided looking at those people who came the other way. Her cheeks were wet with tears—they might think she had fought with a husband.
But this was much worse than a fight with a family member could be.
Her whole life was a lie. If the men she respected wouldn’t do respectable things, then why should she respect the institution that housed them and had been the centrepiece of her life?
But where did that leave her?
She didn’t respect Regent Bernard. He was only interested in eating and drinking as much as possible and grabbing the power of a position that wasn’t his to take.
Shepherd Wilfridus was purely, utterly evil. She had never liked him, but she now knew why. He was obsessed with the church’s influence. Of course he’d never let the Regent become king, because if he did, then he ceded power to someone else.
And all the people she knew, and ones she respected, were too cowardly to even express an opinion about the power struggle.
Everyone except her father.
While Nellie walked, and the dragon box bumped against her leg, she pulled out the pins that kept her bonnet in place. She took off the bonnet. It was ridiculous, but it was more than that: it was a symbol of her unquestioning obedience.
Well, no more.
She was fifty years of age, too old to be told to be a nice little girl.
Not just that, but, unlike Jantien, she didn’t need to protect her children; unlike Henrik, she had no partner; unlike Shepherd Adrianus, she had no position she cared about that she wanted to keep.
She had nothing left to lose.
Everything she loved, mistress Johanna, the little prince and princess, the loveable oaf King Roald, had been taken from her already. And now the final blow had shaken her awake. The church would not care about her. The church cared for itself. So it was time she should care for herself, too.
She flung the bonnet into the stall of a surprised apple seller at the markets.
He called after her, “Hey, miss, you’re forgetting your—”
“Keep it.”
Keep the blasted thing and the life it represented.
And something else.
She stopped in an alley between two of the houses of rich merchants on the other side of the marketplace. In the dark, she fumbled in her bag and pulled out the dragon box.
If the dragon wanted to be free of the box, let it be free.
If the kitten wanted to play with it, then let them play.
If the dragon clawed at people who had ulterior motives for wanting to control it, let it claw their hearts out.
If the dragon belonged to Prince Bruno, and its master was still alive, let them be reunited.
She had no use for the box and no evil plan for the dragon.
She took the lid off.
The dragon must have been waiting because it burst out of the box with a giant whoosh and a blast of fire. Nellie jumped back, hit the wall behind her, and almost dropped the box. Whoa.
The dragon soared past the roofs of the merchant’s houses, leaving a trail of magical sparks, and disappeared into the night.
Nellie listened for inevitable shouts, but all remained quiet, except for the thudding of her heart.
Phew.
Well, if things were that easy, maybe she should have done this earlier. She shut the box and slipped it back into her satchel. A pretty box like that was much better for storing jewellery anyway.
But being all angry and rebellious got much harder when she entered the palace grounds.
For one, the kitchen rules said hair needed to be tucked away or covered.
So she stood in the dark, running her fingers through her knotted hair, attempting to plait it, like Els’ hair. Clearly, the first things she would need for her new box was a nice comb and some hair clips.
There was dinner to be prepared and served and Nellie was quite late already, so she ran to her room, dumped her coat and satchel on the bed and returned to the kitchen.
“What happened to you? Where is your bonnet?” asked Corrie as they passed each other, Nellie on the way up and Corrie on the way down.
“I thought I’d try something different.”
Nellie knew that this reply puzzled Corrie as much as the absence of her bonnet. In all her years of working in the palace, Nellie had never tried something different. Even when she lived and worked upstairs, she had barely ever taken off her regular work clothes and her bonnet.
Being different was quite frightening.
And of course Nellie ran into Henrik at the top of the stairs. He did not raise his eyebrows, but his eyes widened, and from his post at the door, his gaze followed her into the hall where she went to start setting the table for the evening meal.
Breakfast, midday, evening—was there any time of day that these people didn’t stuff their faces?
&nbs
p; Chapter 22
* * *
NELLIE KNEW HENRIK watched her all the way until she reached the hall. A coach was arriving at the palace steps, and he would be required to assist its noble owners up the narrow steps, but he remained at the door to watch her.
She pretended not to notice and took brisk steps so that her plait swayed over her back.
When she was young, Mistress Johanna used to be sassy, and Nellie had watched her often enough to be able to imitate her. It was quite childish, but fun.
Nobody owned her.
Two kings and queens and an evil magician had been her masters. Nothing was new to her.
She had just solved the dragon problem by releasing the creature so it could go home.
Nothing would guide her except what was wrong or right. Her father had known what was best for his family, and she was proud to be his daughter.
But as she set out clean plates in the hall, the sound of angry voices drifted in from the foyer. A woman said, “It’s your fault, and nothing you can say will convince me otherwise.”
That sounded like Madame Sabine.
A group of guards crossed the foyer, carrying something between them: a stretcher with, on it, a person covered by a sheet.
By the Triune.
She sped to the main entrance.
The icy wind hit her in the face. Flurries of snow drifted from the leaden sky.
The guards carried their load to the coach. Lord Verdonck’s coachman held open the door, and the guards lifted the stretcher inside.
Nellie lifted her hand to her mouth. “Is that. . . ?”
She spoke to no one in particular, but a female voice next to her replied. “It’s murder, nothing less.”
Madame Sabine.
“I don’t agree with you on many fronts, but I agree with you there.” That was Adalbert Verdonck. His face was hard with anger. He wore his travel cloak, a hat and gloves.
“Old men have weak hearts,” Regent Bernard said. “None of us, none of my staff in my palace did any such thing as you suggest.”
“Murder,” Adalbert Verdonck said again. “At the hands of someone in this palace, someone you allowed under your roof. I swear I will not rest until I know who did this.”
“Adalbert, please,” Madame Sabine said. “This is a time of mourning and respect.”
“Respect? I have none for you or you.” He pointed at the Regent and Madame Sabine. “You won’t be getting any more of your loans. In fact, I will insist that you pay them back. And you, harlot.” He pointed at Madame Sabine. “Don’t you dare set foot in our house ever again.”
He turned around, bounded down the steps, and shut the door to the cabin. Then he climbed up onto the coach driver’s seat. He grabbed the reins, and the horses started moving.
As the coach pulled away, Adalbert Verdonck shouted, “I’ll find out who did this, even if it takes me the rest of my life. There will be no more money until you tell me who did this. I’ll be back. You won’t get away with this!”
Nobody moved until the coach had gone through the palace gates.
Nellie glanced aside at Madame Sabine.
She still wore her man’s outfit, and if she felt any grief over the death of her lover, she didn’t show it. Her face carried a hard expression that made Nellie wonder what else this strange woman had done with her life.
“Harlot,” the Regent said.
He turned on his heel and walked back into the foyer.
Madame Sabine turned as well and strode after him in huge steps. “Watch what you’re saying, doormat.”
“Don’t you dare insult me.”
“Then don’t insult me, either.”
“You’re still a harlot. I don’t even understand how you could ever get close enough to that disgusting man to share a bed with him.”
“I had practice. I got close enough to you to give you two children.”
“Harlot.”
Madame Sabine swung her hand, but Regent Bernard was quick and grabbed her wrist in an iron grip.
“Don’t you dare try that on me.” His voice was soft and menacing.
Madame Sabine tried to wrench her arm free while glaring at him, but she couldn’t.
He let her worm and squirm, not breaking eye contact.
After she had tried to twist and pull for a while, Madame Sabine said, “Let me go, fat pig.”
The Regent’s face was red.
For a moment, Nellie feared that he would hit her, but Shepherd Wilfridus had come into the hall, and the Regent had enough sense to realise that hitting his wife in front of the shepherd was probably not a good idea.
With a jerk, he let go of Madame Sabine’s wrist. She stumbled backwards and glared at him, nostrils flaring. Then she whirled around and stormed up the stairs.
Casper and Frederick had seen everything from the gallery.
Neither the Regent nor Madame Sabine came to the hall for the evening meal. Casper and Frederick sat at the dais instead, joined by all the noble sons and daughters who were still at the palace.
Whenever Nellie walked past, she overheard Casper boast about what he would do when he became crown prince. Every time, her disgust with this family grew.
The Regent ate himself stupid while people in the city had trouble feeding themselves. Madame Sabine took lovers under her husband’s roof, those two boys grew up while the adults around them behaved abominably. If there was any goodness in their hearts—and Nellie believed all people were born good—it had long since been corrupted by their parents.
She prayed with all her might that Casper would never sit on the throne because Saarland would be well and truly lost.
When dinner was done, and none of the young nobles had made off with a girl to the laundry, none of the nobles had attacked anyone else in the hall with a piece of cutlery, and no one had been insulted or—heaven forbid—poisoned, Nellie joined the other kitchen servants around the table sharing leftover pastries and tea.
She felt exhausted. Most of the guests had gone home and life would return to normal, yet this was only the beginning of further trouble.
“That ended quite well,” Dora said, smiling at Wim.
Nellie said, “Depends on what you call well. Lord Verdonck is dead. His son has sworn revenge on the Regent and will probably call for his loans to be paid back. You call that good?”
“Those are noble’s troubles. Not my troubles.”
“Yes, we’ll be the King’s servants again,” Corrie said. She had also worked for King Roald.
How could they be so indifferent? Didn’t they see the Regent was a disgusting man with no morals? Didn’t they see that Shepherd Wilfridus only thought of himself?
“Tell us what really happened to your bonnet, Nellie,” Dora said. “You’ve never done anything different for as long as I’ve known you.”
“It’s never too late to start,” Nellie said.
“No, Nellie, that answer won’t make me happy. I’ve been your friend all this time. We’ve worked here when it’s been cold and hot, when we’ve both been sick.”
Yes, Nellie remembered that day.
She blew out a breath.
“Sometimes you feel old and useless,” Nellie said.
“Tell me about it.”
“And when you feel old and useless, you think about it, and you know a lot of things you think matter when you’re young don’t matter at all. You toil away in the kitchen every day and you might think if you dropped dead, people would struggle. But they find someone else to cook and carry on, and before long everybody has forgotten you.”
“Yes?”
Dora was a practical woman, and Nellie wondered when her spare me the sermon comment would come.
“But what really matters is when something bad happens, you tell everyone it’s not acceptable and that we should all do something about it. I thought I understood, because I’d seen mistress Johanna do it all the time, but what I didn’t see was that often it’s not the people we call enemies who we need t
o fear. It’s the people to whom we have given our unquestioned trust.”
“Yes, and? What is all that supposed to mean? What did actually happen today?”
“I went to talk to Shepherd Adrianus and while I was at his house, mercenaries came in to forcefully remove the poor people from the church.”
“You mean the ones who sleep at the back, who are homeless? The ones that you sneak out leftovers to?”
“Yes, those.”
“That’s . . . really harsh. It’s winter. Those people don’t have a home to go back to. Did the shepherd say why?”
“Because . . . do you remember how they all came to shepherd Adrianus’ church after they got booted out of the main church?”
“Wasn’t that because someone stole something?”
“Someone did steal something, but it had nothing to do with the poor people. Those poor people were just made scapegoats because Shepherd Wilfridus wanted them out of the church and he needed an excuse to get rid of them.”
Dora frowned. “Isn’t the church all about helping the poor?”
“It is. It’s in almost every story of the Book of Verses. I’ve gone through all of it and checked what it says.”
“So why did he want to get rid of them?”
“Because he’s an evil man.”
Dora gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth. “Nellie! He’s the shepherd. I don’t go to church as often as you do, but you can’t say that about the shepherd. He’s the reason that there is peace in Saardam. He has kept away the kings and barons who would have claimed us as part of their land and he kept the bad magicians away.”
“That doesn’t make him less evil. He is so obsessed with his quest against magic, he will hurt innocent people because of it. Don’t tell me you’re not afraid of the day when guards will tell you to leave because of magic.”
“But that’s not the same. It’s a flair I have for cooking. It’s not magic. I can’t use it for anything else.”
“It’s artisan magic, and to the shepherd, it’s absolutely the same as the conjuring of fire demons. I have seen things . . .” She shuddered when thinking about the books in the crypt. “. . . That would make your blood run cold.”