Fletcher

by P. S. Power

  “Finish the war bow rough, then we’ll pull it. You leaving at mid-day meal today?”

  “I don’t know, to be honest, Master Barkley. If I do, I’ll come back in later, if that’s allowed?”

  Some of the men snickered about it. Barkley glared at them.

  “Don’t mind them. They’re just not up to the work yet. If you get a chance, work strings for us. We’re a little low. Word came from the Captain that ninety percent of what we have is going out inside a week. If we get a chance we need to steam and heat the horn for the bow you’re making. We have the sinew already. Next time we collect it I want you doing the work there. As much as you can. Same on the wood and horn collection. You get stuck out in the field, knowing even that much can leave you armed where most would have no more than a bent branch that breaks the first time it’s pulled.”

  The words had another glare for the guards there who’d laughed a moment before. They just got back to work, with no one bothering him for a while. Making a horn bow, at least the first time, was no easier than a yew longbow. Really, it was a lot harder, in that you had to heat the wood and horn, set the sinew and use the right kind of glue. They had all the needed material, making it easier. Faster as well. Meaning, even if the final shaping wasn’t finished on it, he had that resting, so the glue would dry and the first bend of the War bow taking place. It made sense that the bowyer do that part, since it was too heavy for him to move, even with the pulley system and rope. Not to its full arm span draw.

  It didn’t break, so he followed the memories he had for that, in order. There was another smoothing, where he needed to hold the shape correctly. Then some linseed oil and the thing being left to soak. There was an out of the way rack for that. The wooden thing was made of long pegs, that came out of the wall. These were made of wood as well, and looked light in color, like pine.

  Those guards who were working on bows and arrows left then, for the mid-day meal about the time he was done for the day on the bows. That left him an hour for working on fletching, if he didn’t eat. Unfortunately, that day he was actually hungry, so moved off to see about taking a meal in the low hall. As he walked he muttered his cloth cleaning spell, pointing first to himself, then at a spot along the path. There was a shower of dust and wood splinters that came off of him hitting the place he’d indicated.

  That wasn’t the same as a good washing up, though it did get his clothing tidy seeming. There were two portions to the low hall. The upper tables were for the low lords and ladies. The back of the room was kept for those that were either further down in stature or who might have made a higher claim and simply didn’t wish to be bothered that day. The difference was that up at the top, there were servants that would wait on you, bringing you food and drink on request.

  At the bottom you just walked to the table away on the far side and got what you wanted, with no one bothering you at all. Anders preferred that, since the idea of people waiting on him was embarrassing to the young boy. It was worse for Farad, so they agreed on something, which was rare for them. The boy wanted to take only bread and meat, for instance.

  The old man compromised with a thick vegetable stew, meat and bread. Given he was starving at the moment, it shouldn’t leave him too fat to work. What they didn’t need was a lack of fiber in the diet. That would lead to troubles, if care wasn’t taken. Boys didn’t get that part of life. The elderly simply did. He moved to settle in near the back, only to find his Mother waving for him to join her, at the highest table in the low hall. Smiling, he moved that way, in case she needed him for anything. Answering to his Mother was his main job, even if he’d been pretty awful at it in the last days.

  Next to her was Master Belford, who gestured to the seat next to him.

  “Anders! Well met. I was just asking after you with your Mother. Are you well? We all heard and saw, the events yesterday. You were in the thick of that, weren’t you?”

  Before he could answer, diminishing his part to simply standing there, the woman next to his own Mother, Lady Martya, who was a close friend of Lyse, if a few years her junior, nodded earnestly.

  “I saw it. Those killers came and tried to attack the little Prince. Anders pointed at them, making them stumble and fall back. Then Prince Erold got the new Princess and her ladies to safety. Then this… Monster of fire tried to cook little Anders, only he slapped the white-hot flames away with a flick of his wrist! Then the funny looking Wizard with the long mustache came and fought the evil fire monster and drove it away. The guard killed the rest of them.”

  That left a lot out and added some things that weren’t real. Instead of correct the lady in front of people, Anders looked at his Mother, who seemed worried for him.

  “That makes me sound far more heroic and in greater danger than I was. I spent most of my time screaming in a high-pitched voice. It was very funny sounding.” He was willing to demonstrate for the listeners there, when one of the other men, an older fellow in purple clothing that looked expensive chuckled.

  “Oh, yes. He did scream. Like a little child… One calling out magics at every turn, battling armed assassins as well as any man might. Still, good point, the story would be better if you deepen that register a little if this happens again. Go for a deep manly sound.” The gentleman did it, his tenor dropping into something deep enough it creaked at the edges.

  “I will endeavor to do so… Sir Humphrey.” The man was a knight and a minor lord of some kind. Thankfully Knights tended to be called Sir, when their names were brought up. Even Anders had heard of the man, thanks to that factor.

  The man played still, nodding with a serious gaze.

  “Very good. I’ll listen for the reports of your deep and manly voice, if it ever comes up. Now, who has dirt on the new arrivals? My sources have all been rather tight lipped so far. So much so that I have to sit in the low hall and beg for scraps today. Then, the best information tends to roll down to this place, doesn’t it?”

  Anders didn’t know. The servants were even lower and they didn’t tend to talk about others that much. Well, other servants. Not high lords or their guests. Not openly, at any event.

  Master Belford shook his head.

  “They kept to their rooms last night. Some of the servants braved the hall there early this morning, and their rooms were cleaned and serviced. Your name came up several times there, Brolly.”

  His Mother looked at Belford and frowned.

  “My name? I haven’t even seen these people, so that’s strange. Did… Someone ask after me?” She said the words like that might make some sort of sense.

  Master Belford cut a bite of bread, using the same manners that had been used at the high meals. Everyone else just picked theirs up. Except for Anders, who was certain that the manners tutor would ignore him doing that in the moment, then make plans to beat him later if he were that poorly presented.

  The thin man smiled and shook his head.

  “Not that, Dear Lyse. Your son accessed their hall and took the servants’ tasks for them, when their nerves failed. Meaning you saw the people close up, isn’t that right?”

  The look then was direct. The gaze piercing, in fact. For the second meal in a row, everyone stopped eating, just to stare in his direction.

  He finished his bite of stew, then nodded.

  “It seemed the kind thing to do. They had a long journey, then at the end their hired guards betrayed them, trying to kill their people. The King said that they’re to have the freedom of the grounds, town and even kingdom if they wish it. They don’t all speak our language well or didn’t with me. Duma Clarisse Sett, Eltha Tennet, Lady Sandra and Princess Sweyn all managed nicely that way. I didn’t get to speak to the rest of them at any length. You should send notes to them and suggest a pleasant meal or a walk.”

  No one spoke for a while, until Sir Humphrey did. The man who was in his fourth decade of life, but was fit and solid seeming still, with only lines at the corners of his eyes giving his age away, started to nod.

&nbs
p; “We can’t just send a note to the young Princess. You mentioned others? It would be a bit presumptuous for Master Belford or myself to enquire with them too soon. You ladies might be able to do so, and have it be only a kindness. Lyse, your son has spoken to them, so that seems an avenue to explore. How do we get messages to them? If you think the servants are a cowardly lot when it comes to magic, the message boys are even worse.” The fellow looked directly at the others, not even bothering to glance in the direction of the one person he knew could get the job done.

  “Try Duma Sett first. She has our language well and is a bit older. Not old, of course. So far, she’s seemed a charming woman. An Illusionist? Eltha Tennet is one of those as well. Her student, if I’m informed correctly. Also, a very pleasant person. Martya, you might match up there well. If you write the invitations I can carry the messages around. If I ever have time for such.” To that end he glanced at Master Belford. “Are there lessons today in manners?”

  The man shook his head.

  “We will be missing for some time, if we wait for Prince Erold to be free. Meet with me after mid-meal. We’ll cover high court presentation and high meal again. I notice that you’re managing low meal secondary well enough. I didn’t teach you that.” The man seemed pleased enough with it anyway.

  “In part you did. Mainly in hints. I was lost and followed Prince Robarts to safety yesterday morning. As you did teach me, not two days ago. So, I thank you.” The other man smiled and looked away for some reason. When he looked back, Anders went on. “I should finish up here and see to my other tasks then. I’ll run over in three hours or so, to collect and deliver those? Or would later be better? Sooner can work as well.” He had work to do, which didn’t get him out of making sure his Mother had what she needed.

  Anders the boy inside squirmed a bit at the idea. To him his Mother was there to serve his needs. Comforting him in troubled times and making certain no one harmed him. Farad thought of that one in a very different manner. His was the stronger thought on the subject, so won out.

  The others there seemed to be fine with whatever it was he wanted, including sending the missives the next day or even waiting a week or two. Interestingly, it was Master Belford that corrected them on the idea.

  “We need ears in with them now. There could be treachery afoot here. The more we know, the better off we’ll be if another attack or a war rears its head. Anders, if you would be willing to pick those up at my chambers in three or four hours? That would be most welcome.”

  Everyone else looked at one another, only Martya smiling at the boy. She held her gaze on him long enough that Lyse cleared her throat.

  “That’s a bit overdone. He’s already helping us.”

  The other woman rolled her eyes then and faked a laugh.

  “I was just thinking that he was going to be a handsome man in a few years. Now, we have the festival in four days. What are the plans for that?”

  Domes Day. It was a fun, if minor celebration. Held outside, even if it rained. People danced, listened to songs and held parties, while wearing bright colors and decorating with flowers. The food was often well sweetened and rich, which was why Anders liked it. There was no particular reason to hold the thing, except that the annual accounting was supposed to be finished the day before. That was the whole of it.

  A day celebrated mainly for its lack of bookkeeping duties.

  The idea was thicker with purpose for the others than they had been in his mind. In fact, there were plans made, inside of plans. Some of them were clearly meant to court favor. Others to collect information. None of them seemed to be about simply enjoying themselves at all. Even his Mother’s plan to spend much of the day with him was broken up several times with plans for going off to meet with various people. Most of them men.

  From the way it was treated and danced around, Farad was afraid he’d learned what the occupation of Lyse was. A thing that her rather clueless son had either managed to avoid or had hidden from him. So much so that his language didn't have a word for that kind of woman. Not in his own mind.

  Farad had a term for it. Several in fact. It was a bit less polite than he wanted to be, since the woman was sweet and kind to her son. Clearly, she was also more than a simple whore. The woman sat there discussing ways to collect information. Where the two occupations, spy and concubine overlapped, he feared one would find the Mother of the body he shared.

  If it made her uneasy to have things talked about that way near her son, she didn’t let it show at all.

  Chapter thirteen

  Anders was in the fletcher’s shop for the early portion of the afternoon, trying to work out if it was feasible at all to make twenty arrows at once. It was easily a thing that could be done as far as making twice the glue, having enough cut thread and feathers ready and all of that. The trick would be in doing it fast enough that nothing dried on him before he could use it. There was time taken for each pot of glue, after all.

  True, he was able to dash over and make a bow string while it warmed on the small fire each time, which was also needed. That didn’t get his arrows made for the day any faster. He was on his third set of ten, a little over halfway finished with it, when the air in front of him started to glow, at just above his eye level. It was a pretty blue and green color, that swirled a bit in the air, moving with him as he looked around to find the source of it.

  The Master Fletcher blinked at him and waved in that direction, a bit too calmly. Meaning he was pretending not to fear the strange magic.

  “Are you under attack or… Doing some kind of magic? I’d heard you were learning that.”

  Making a rather sour face, he shook his head.

  “No. I don’t think so, anyway. I think I’m being summoned by the Modroc. I said they could if they needed anything.” He looked at the three staves in front of him then. “I’ll finish these first. I can do them in five minutes each.” That was ambitious and not the speed he’d really been managing so far.

  There was a wave from the other man.

  “Do it then. We can’t leave that sort needing your attention for too long. It could be a major incident, so as soon as you finish here, you’ll need to run over. Luckily no one will blame a message boy for moving too quickly. Hurry!” There was a real sense of urgency then.

  In order to get the arrows done, Anders had to focus only on the task at hand. Concentrating and living half in the fletching hall in his mind, to assure he didn't make any mistakes. He was still slower than one every five minutes. As soon as the last binding was on the arrow in front of him, the Master of the place shouted at him.

  “Go! I’ll clean up here. Remember, your call this day is fifty good arrows. Even if it means not sleeping to get that done.”

  He jogged out of the place, the guards in the other room looking at him as if he might have been kicked out for not doing a good enough job. That was down to the yelling no doubt and couldn’t be helped. The feelings about that inside were two-fold. His younger portion was embarrassed to think they might find him that way. The older portion simply didn’t care. After all, he’d been doing good work and that would end up being known, as long as they could keep it up for a while.

  Besides, he had to think that none of the adult men there would really care about small punishments or mistakes made by what they thought of as a child. That they ever reacted to him at all was simply part of their way to control those inside their society. Their laughter was meant to drive him to greater things, not humiliate him into inaction.

  As he ran there was an effort to remove the wood, dust and glue from his clothing. That worked, though it was difficult to tell if he’d truly done it correctly, lacking any ability to check things out as he dashed into the castle itself. He wasn’t trying it twice, either. Dumping ash, soot, glue residue and dust onto the ground outside was very different than doing the same thing inside the castle hallway.

  Even using magic for it, anyone seeing him would at the very least scold him for it. Possibly wit
h a beating involved. A thing that would slow him down a lot. The blue and green glow, looking lovely as it was, had faded as soon as he began to move in the correct direction, so no one was looking at him too much as he scurried, attempting to catch his breath before getting to the correct door.

  His plan was to approach Duma Sett first, even if it was just as possible that Eltha had called for him. She was in charge of the magics for the Modroc as far as Anders knew. Besides, the younger woman had been tasked with getting him into bed, if she could. That was a bit more advanced than he really wanted to allow for at the moment.

  Even if part of him did find the idea alluring. She was an adult woman though. He not even a half-grown boy. That they went to that place first thing… Honestly, while a bit out of what was correct to the mind of Farad, or even little Anders, the idea probably showed a great understanding of what young men would like, day to day.

  Still, going to the older woman first felt correct and turned out to be the right move. At least when the door opened, and he stood there bowing, left hand extended toward the ladies, they were both inside the space. Along with Princess Sweyn and Sandra. All of them stood and curtsied back at him.

  It was the Duma who smiled first though, the others seeming most serious.

  “Anders Brolly. Thank you for coming in this most timely fashion. We hate to abuse your good will, but tonight is the presentation of Princess Del’eth Nierth Sweyn to your King. We just found out that she won’t be allowed to have an attendant for that? Is that correct? Our plan had been to decorate her face and gown using cast illusion. That won’t work if we don’t have one of us, Eltha or myself, in the room with her. The gown she has is nice enough, I suppose. Not spectacular for the purpose. I was planning something of a show that way. Her face…”

  The girl was standing there, blushing at the mention of her looks, which truly enough, were very nice. Not in high court fashion at all, which was likely the real point.

  Anders bowed again.