Fletcher

by P. S. Power

  “I should be fine? Though…” He searched the mind of the boy he was with. A rather untamed child. Willful and entitled seeming, given his rather humble stature in the world he lived in. “Anders is a bit of a brat, isn’t he? That would be hard to maintain now. Farad lived a life of discipline and learning. True devotion to his duties and tasks. Such habits would be hard to let go of. Even if it’s clear that at least some of them must be, in order to survive here.”

  The old graybeard choked, laughing and trying to swallow it.

  “That… Is true, I have to say. About young Anders. We can tell all that care that you were close to death and it forced a realization of mortality upon you? That will be enough for most, I think. Though it might be best if we leave off the portion where you are another person as well, now. That isn’t exactly what I was asked to do here. I will inform those that need to know. If it isn’t brought up, perhaps you could fail to mention it?” He seemed a bit chagrined at the idea. Not displeased to the level of having Anders killed, thankfully.

  That would be a waste of the effort that had been put in so far, after all.

  “I agree. Now… What should we do?”

  The room around them was ill lit, with the window behind him, a square thing with wooden shutters, being opened to allow fresh air in, with heavy curtains pulled over it to block the light. Except where the breeze caught the cloth and lifted it on occasion, allowing light to show under it. Other than that, there was only a simple lamp off to the side, on a low table. It wasn’t the normal way of doing things there. Only for the sick or dying, to allow them what rest they might find.

  In truth, he wasn’t feeling truly well yet. Enough that he might rise to see to his studies, of course. Those, when he thought about them, were most odd.

  Mainly in that, even though there were adults around, people that knew, clearly, that the boy needed a profession or calling to fulfill, none of them had insisted he do much of anything. Earlier, when he was a younger boy, he’d been instructed in letters and basic numbers. One of the youngest Prince’s tutors had even sought to teach him of maps and geography, simply to be pleasant.

  Past that, Anders simply ran errands when asked, there at the castle. A thing that wasn’t going to turn into a job for an adult at all. Worse, the boy didn’t care for the task and malingered, hiding most of the time, so that no one could find him during the hours he might have been working at a useful task.

  Even Prince Erold was better behaved and focused on doing the right thing than Anders was, most days. Truly, he felt the pain of that laziness acutely for a moment. That realization caused him to wince and look away in shame from the Master of Healing in front of him. It was, perhaps, an allowable thing for a Prince to act in such ways, or to seek merriment instead of his studies. For a poor boy of no assured wealth, that was a good path to destruction.

  Master Franken, being a kind man, if a bit too much so toward a certain young boy it seemed, patted his head again. As if he were a child, instead of a near man who needed to be doing something more with his life. Quickly, if at all possible.

  “Rest, for now. I need to get your Mother and fa… And Prince Alpert. To let them know that we were successful. Again, it might be best if we didn’t mention what you spoke on? Ever.” There was worry in his eyes, as if Anders wasn’t the sort to hold to the lie they’d come up with in order to save them both.

  Nodding, which was the custom of these people to signal agreement, he spoke, softly.

  “That will be done. I should be up and about soon, if possible. There is much to see to. This boy, I, hardly have a place in the world. I need to see to finding my way.”

  The man might have been removed from the life of the child he was with, it was true. He also had the weight and wisdom of many years on him. That allowed a certain perspective to be held, even if the ways of Istelan were different and strange.

  “Indeed, my boy. That might serve you well, given your experience here.” The words were projected a bit, indicating someone was coming into the room.

  The woman that entered when he looked past the bearded healer wasn’t Lyse, Mother of Anders.

  Rather, she was the older head maid, Estella. The woman was matronly, lacking in the plumpness that she should have had, given her reach into her fifth decade. A tidy sort who filled her hours with work of one kind or another, mainly there at the castle. Having no children of her own, she’d rather doted on Anders, when he was younger. Caring for him, often in the place of his own Mother, when she was too busy to care for him.

  Now, given his behavior of the last years, the woman had pulled back, no doubt fearing the boy was lost to her. That was a cruel thing, however. A thoughtless one, given that this woman had acted as his own Mother on more than one occasion, when he was a boy. A time not too long before that moment.

  She held fresh towels and cloths to be dampened and pressed to his forehead. It was very clear that the maid had seen to giving him the water he requested, through the night. At least he understood that now, recalling her scent and presence even in the trance he’d held. She smelled of flowers, while the well-aged healer held a scent of smoky incense and something coppery.

  Master Franken seemed bemused by her presence. Not upset at all. There was a look of understanding in him. A sense that he knew what even the rather bratty and annoying boy in the bed had once meant to her.

  Anders smiled up at her.

  “Estella! Thank you, for seeing to me through the night. That water you gave me and the comfort of your presence were all that held me to life, at times. Master Franken says that he expects me to be well in a few days. Truly, I owe both of you my life.” Reaching up, he held his arms open. To embrace the woman. That part of things was strange.

  It wasn’t truly the custom of Farad’s people at all. Certainly not for a historian, who had lived his life in service to time and memory. For Anders it was a signal. That he was taking this woman as a member of his own family. That was, perhaps, proper. She’d been not only kind to himself, but to Lyse. The women were still close, spending time chatting in the evenings, when the day’s work was finished.

  The move was met by a shocked look. Then accepted, since it harkened back to a time when Anders had been younger and less standoffish from her. The reason for that was…

  Farad nearly froze, realizing why the boy had held back from the older woman. Not, as he would have guessed, to protect her virtue or due to uncomfortable feelings for her that had come as manhood approached. Those things were a difficulty of becoming a man, after all and could, perhaps, be forgiven a boy. Especially one that did not know how to cope with such things well yet.

  No, Anders Brolly had, for some strange reason that even he didn't really understand, come to look down upon the woman for being one who served. As if that wasn’t the place of most people in the world. The little fool actually thought that he was better than the hard-working woman.

  When he let her go, he forced a grin.

  “I was just telling Master Franken here that something occurred to me, as I lay there, dying in the dark.” His voice was light and pleasant sounding.

  Estella smiled back, patting his shoulder gently.

  “Oh, what was that, then?” She seemed to be humoring him, instead of worried that he’d nearly died. It had been close, of course.

  So much so that Master Franken had been willing to use unknown magics on him. It had worked, if only barely.

  “Just that I need to start seeking a place in the world. Learning and finding some way to help those around me. Like you and he do here.” He bowed his head, since it wasn’t possible for him to do much else at the moment.

  For all he felt like leaping from the lumpy mattress, a thing that poked at him uncomfortably in places, being filled with clean straw, his head ached enough that he felt ill just from the simple movement.

  His friend and caretaker, Estella, nodded a bit primly then.

  “That sounds like a good thing to see to. I was just speaki
ng with your Mother on that topic the other month. She didn’t want to push, not knowing where you might find your place. Do you have any ideas?”

  The truth was that he didn't at the moment. Anders fancied himself a fighter, even though he lacked training for that, totally. He lacked even the rudiments of sword, spear and bow, which most of the other boys in the area at least played at. Given that he was a boy of the castle, no one was suggesting he learn the common skills for hunting that many more rural children would be given.

  At the same time, expensive tutors in arms were hard to come by without coin to pay them. Given everything, his best bet would have been to befriend those who could have taught him things there. Most weren’t stingy with their knowledge, if a polite and well-spoken person inquired of how things were done. The trick there was that Anders Brolly had been neither of those things in particular.

  Rather than let his face turn to a sour expression, to hide his ignorance, the basic defense that Anders wanted to use, he smiled at the kindly woman.

  “I have a few. It will take effort to gain the training I need. I’m afraid that I haven’t been a very good boy for a time. I’ll have to prove to everyone that I’m worth bothering to teach, before I can request that of them. Especially if I need to beg their aid for free. I’ll see to that.”

  He managed to sound pleasant, even as his head ached rather fiercely at him. It was clear though, and when he moved to stand up, his limbs were limber and strong. Looking down at his arms for the first time, where they pressed past the end of his gray night shirt, it was clear he was very light in color. As much as either of those with him, if not more so, due to his recent illness.

  “I should drink more water. I fear that my head isn’t totally clear yet.” He laughed a bit, making light of his discomfort.

  Master Franken didn’t try to hold him down, though Estella moved in a way that indicated she was considering it. Instead she moved to the table that had the lamp on it and a pitcher made of fired clay, decorated on the outside with pictures. Some of those showed fantastic creatures, with men, covered in armor, fighting them. Mainly with spears.

  The sounds of the liquid pouring into the metal cup was familiar to him, from his old life. His new one as well. The world was dark there, which was due to his poor state of health, not a lack of light. When the cool handle of the vessel was pressed into his hand, he drank it all. The moisture felt good on his lips, which were cracked and dry.

  Master Franken nodded.

  “That’s right. Drink it all. Let me see if I can find some people. They’ll want to see that you’re up already.”

  There was a nod from Estella, who made a face, setting her load of soft towels down finally.

  “You should dress, if company is coming. If you can, that is?” She seemed worried that his ability to stand might be all his energy was going to allow that day.

  That wasn’t the truth. He felt a bit ill, like he might be forced to vomit. Other than that, he was more or less fine.

  “I can do that. I think I have some clean clothing around here, someplace?”

  The lady didn’t insist on helping him, simply putting the cloths away and scurrying from the room so that he could do that in peace. Luckily, he hurried and Anders wore simple enough clothing that he could dress himself.

  Because minutes later, several people came into the room. Including Lyse, and the Prince. His Father.

  Chapter two

  Behind his Mother, who rushed in to hold him, fawning a bit more than was probably appropriate normally but in a way that could be forgiven, considering that death had been at hand for him, Anders considered the others there. Prince Alpert had walked in boldly and moved in, almost as if he was considering an embrace of his own.

  His child had nearly died, which showed on his face. A thing that was a poor plan, for all of them, if Anders’s memories on the topic were correct.

  To forestall that, he bowed before the man could make that kind of mistake. The thing there was that he didn’t do it well. He was trying for the first level of courtly bow. That got the slender fellow standing behind the older Prince, next to Prince Erold, to step in and hit him with a stick.

  Master Belford sneered at him. His black hair seemed greasy and was too long to look manly. The lacquered stick he held was only as thick as a man’s thumb and about three feet long. The end was covered in polished copper colored metal. It stung as it hit, correcting his posture.

  “No! Rear foot at ninety degrees, touching the lead heal, turn sideways then bend. Cup your left arm, main finger out with a cupped hand!” The move got several people in the room to glare at the man.

  Anders just tried again, standing first, then resetting, recalling what was said and placing the movement first in the hall of memories, going over it as he did it, inside his mind. Then he waited for the next round of tapping. Only one came though, to his front leg.

  “Bend slightly there.” The tone was actually softer on the second correction. The first had been nearly violent seeming in its sternness. When the correction was made, the sneer turned into something a bit easier to take. It still seemed haughty and a bit brutal, as if Anders simply wasn’t good enough for the man.

  Still, once it was done correctly, the stick poised to make further corrections, there was a nod.

  “Better. Each time, from now on. Stand straight and bow toward your Mother. Familial version, so both feet facing her, left hand at your side…” The stick was ready, Master Belford not seeming to care that he’d nearly died the night before at all.

  Except that wasn’t truth. The man was being kind, to his normal way of teaching. At least as far as Anders was concerned. It was one of the reasons that Anders had taken to avoiding the younger Prince, even if they were friends. It saved on bruising. He was gentler with Prince Erold, who looked on, seeming ready to strike the man in the moment. The boy was a year older than Anders was. Taller and stronger as well. His spirit was better, being kinder in most situations. Seeing his friend beaten fresh from his sick bed was pushing him, from the expression on his face.

  Doing what he’d been told, bowing as one did to a family member, when in court, a place that Anders had never been at all, even living at the castle, had his Mother doing it back. Her face, lovely under her golden hair, was made up. Painted in the fashion that some of the finer ladies affected there. The men didn't have anything such as that going on. They were all clean shaved, except Master Franken.

  Almost without mercy, even if all the bowing was making him feel ill again, Master Belford waved at Prince Erold.

  “Now, the second courtly bow. Just for practice. Normally the first would serve, given that you’re friends. Rear foot further back. Prince Erold, if you would return that?” It wasn’t a true question. They both did it and no one was struck with the stick.

  Prince Alpert didn’t scold the man, schooling his face instantly.

  “You’re well now, Anders? Your Mother was most concerned that you might perish in the night. Master Franken and myself as well.” He seemed baffled by that, and gave the old man a rather sly look, for a moment. “Your magical gem worked? It seems an amazing recovery.”

  The Master Healer bowed, poorly enough that Master Belford twitched, the stick nearly lashing out at him. A thing that the older man ignored with a soft smile.

  “He’s ill still. Needing to rest for some time. It might truly be weeks before full strength is recovered. Alas, the gem had but one use in it. The light that glowed there dimmed and has vanished now. It was worth it, to save a life.”

  When he bowed again, he did it a bit more cleanly, using the first courtly bow. This time the other Master didn't seem to want to strike him over it. Which had to be on purpose. All of it. The men were, subtly, trying to show the other their place in the world. It was a battle that Anders barely understood. Farad could see it happening, even if the why of the thing made little sense to him. They worked in different fields after all. One not lesser than the other.

&nbs
p; A trainer of men and the saver of lives. Both things were needed in the world.

  The older Prince bowed to the healer then, going low, his rear leg back, showing great respect.

  “Perhaps some payment would be in order, for the loss of such a treasure?”

  Interestingly, the Master Healer shook his head, saying no. Then bowed in return.

  “It wasn’t lost. The treasure is still with us, in the form of young Anders. A thing he seems willing to repay to the world. Already he’s spoken of finding useful tasks to occupy himself. Not that we should push him too greatly for a time. He must be ready to fall over, to be honest about it. The red fever is harsh on a body, even if they live. He’s still with it. Thankfully, it shouldn’t spread from him now.”

  A thing they all knew, or no one would have risked coming into the space with him. As it was, his room needed a good airing out. It reeked of sweat and urine. That had mainly gone into the chamber pot, which would need to be carried to the dumping hole behind the castle, soon. For the moment he ignored it, since it was simply part of the world they all lived in. They weren’t a filthy people but not all of the scents of their land were sweet.

  They hadn’t been in Barquenna, either.

  The room became a bit awkward then. Finally, Prince Alpert bowed to Anders, meaning he did it back, using the second courtly form for it. The man was the Prince, after all. For his part, the man used the familiar form. Which was foolish of him.

  Erold rolled his eyes and Master Belford stiffened, seeming slightly horrified by the action of the older Prince. The man’s dark hair moved a bit as he did it. Then he glared at the others.

  “I nearly lost my son. I think that protocol can be waived this once?” There was a growl in the words, his long face slightly angry seeming over the idea. Lyse took a deep breath, staring at her son.

  Who ignored the move and the words, standing only after the elder Prince did.

  When Anders spoke, he made his words soft.

  “The thought is appreciated, Prince Alpert. I also thank you for your aid in saving my life. All of you.” They all got different bows then, which got him hit with a stick when he did Master Belford.