“I’ll head back here first thing tomorrow,” Corb says. “I won’t need to take much. Might carry a pack of some sort, big enough for the pup to ride in. A long walk for her. Dau?”
“What?”
“Ask Mongan if one of the stable hands can stay with you until I get back. One of the stronger lads. They know Liobhan. They know all of us. They’ll keep their mouths shut if you ask them. And they’ll be more use to you than some boy fresh out of the kitchen.”
That could be a description of Corb himself, when he took on the thankless task of being my keeper. I don’t remind him of that. Nobody could have learned the job better or proven so stalwart. Except Liobhan, of course; but she already had all the skills she needed, and more besides. Gods, where is she? How can Seanan have made her disappear so completely? And so quickly? What am I missing?
While Corb gets his supplies, I stand at the kitchen entrance with the dog on her leash, talking to Iarla yet again. I explain Corb’s errand. When Iarla offers to find me a replacement, I tell him I will speak to Mongan, since I will be more comfortable with a familiar person as an assistant. Iarla says he has continued to make inquiries about Liobhan, but to no avail. Someone spotted her in the garden with the dog, much earlier, but that was all. And someone suggested she might have left with the musicians, who were paid off and dismissed once Lord Ross’s party rode out.
“Was she seen with them? After she went out with the dog?”
“Not seen, Master Dau. But I’m told your friend loves music and has a fine voice. It was thought she might have . . . grasped an opportunity.”
“It was thought? By whom?” I can’t help sounding fierce.
“One of the men-at-arms who had heard her singing. He said only that she was something of a musician. It was Master Seanan who suggested she might have joined them.”
“And broken the terms of her debt bondage.”
“That would be the implication. You did say you wished to hear any information that came my way.”
“She wouldn’t simply leave, Iarla. She wouldn’t break the terms.” She wouldn’t leave me behind. “I’ve seen nothing of Master Seanan today. When did he make that remark? When did he hear that Liobhan was missing?”
“He came in briefly after Lord Ross had left. I’m not sure where he is now.”
“Thank you, Iarla. I’m sorry if I was less than courteous. I am very concerned. Deeply concerned. I know Liobhan would not walk away with no explanation. Now I’d best see Corb on his way.” I hesitate, then add, “It would be appreciated if you did not mention to others that Corb will be absent until tomorrow. Or the nature of his errand. I hope you understand.”
“Of course, Master Dau.”
At the stables, they’ve all heard that Liobhan is missing. The fellows are quick to offer sympathy and suggestions, but all the places they can think of have already been searched, including the hut down by the cesspool. Stable master Mongan takes charge. He dispatches Fionn to walk Corb down to the gates and see him safely through. I bid Corb farewell and he leaves, carrying the dog. Then Mongan asks for a volunteer to be my helper, and it seems quite a few of the fellows would be ready to do it, but Torcan gets the job.
“Might be overnight as well,” I tell him as we walk to the open area where Liobhan and I used to perform our exercise routine. “And I’m sometimes wakeful.” I’m not sure if Liobhan has left sufficient materials to make up the sleeping draft. Nor am I sure exactly how it’s prepared—Corb is the one who steps in if required. Not that I want to take it tonight. I need to stay alert. But another idea comes into my mind. We did walk to the herb garden this morning, just to see if Liobhan was there or in the stillroom. The place was quiet; there was no sign of her. But I should go back there. I should speak to the monks. They might know something. Liobhan’s on good terms with the ones who use the stillroom. I can’t explain all that to Torcan. It’s best if he learns only as much as he needs to.
“No sign of her around here,” he says now. “Where’s next?”
“The infirmary.”
“Don’t walk so fast, Dau. You’ll strain that ankle.”
The ankle seems of no importance. “There’s no time to be careful,” I snap.
“Rush things and you won’t be able to go on. You know that. Common sense.”
I bite back a snarling response. Like it or not I need a keeper, and making his life miserable won’t help me find Liobhan. And if Torcan speaks to me as if I’m a fellow worker and not a son of the house, there’s a reason for that. The same reason he volunteered to help. He’s seen me at my useless, defeated worst. He’s seen me try to pull myself back up. And he knows Liobhan. I slow my pace. I wish I could as easily control the dark visions in my mind.
As we enter the garden we hear raised voices. It seems Brother Íobhar has returned to Oakhill. The other voice is Seanan’s. They’re arguing about a book and writing in it, and something about the devil. I hear the word father. I assume it is our worldly father they mean and not the one looking down from heaven and making not the least effort to be helpful.
Torcan stops walking and I am obliged to do the same.
“They’re in the stillroom,” my companion murmurs.
This is not the time to be a warrior and charge in armed with accusations for which I have no more evidence than my sound instincts provide. But I am not blessed with an abundance of time and I do want to speak to Ruarc.
“Wait,” I say quietly.
The voices, which were loud—surely too loud for such a conversation—become quieter. But I have good ears.
“Do not think to accuse me, brother,” says Seanan, using a particular tone I had thought reserved for myself. It sets cold fingers around my heart. “I am not subject to the rules of your little establishment, and even if I were, I have broken none.”
“If your man breaks them on your behalf, you have as good as done so.” Brother Íobhar’s voice is surprisingly calm. But I am expert in these matters, and I can hear the uneven note in it. Man of authority though he has become, he’s fighting fear. “How long has this been going on, Seanan? Since the very day we moved our sick and injured brethren here?”
“I have no intention whatever of justifying my decisions to you,” says Seanan. “Talk to Ardgan if you must. Perhaps he can cast light on this. You’ll need to be quick. I believe he is quitting my service in the very near future. It is possible he may already be gone. Unfortunate, but there you are.”
A silence. How convenient it must be for Seanan to make people disappear when they are in danger of betraying his secrets. I have no idea what this is about, but one thing is clear: at long last our middle brother is standing up to Seanan, and if he’s not careful there will be a terrible price to pay.
“Think hard before you act, Brother Íobhar,” says Seanan. The way he speaks this name is an insult. “Your tenancy of these quarters is dependent on my father’s generosity. And you have nowhere else to go.”
“That, surely, would not be decided between you and me, Seanan, but between Father and our prior, Father Eláir.” Brother Íobhar is shocked; that’s plain in his voice.
“We’ll go in now,” I say to Torcan.
“Sure?”
“Yes. No need for you to speak unless you’re asked a direct question, and play dumb if you can, especially where Liobhan is concerned.”
As we approach the open doorway to the stillroom, Torcan murmurs, “Master Seanan,” and then comes my brother’s voice.
“Ah. Brothers everywhere. I cannot escape them. A new assistant, Dau? But, of course, your girl has gone missing. Absconded. Relinquished her delightful duties. Where is your boy?”
I count to five. “One person cannot carry out those duties night and day. I requested additional assistance. Torcan is helping me for now. The arrangement has been approved by the appropriate members of your household.”
&nb
sp; Seanan makes no comment. I wish I could see his face. “Since you already know Liobhan is missing,” I say, working on a calm tone, “maybe you can tell me whether any of your men saw her this morning. She made no mention of a lengthy absence. We’ve performed an extensive search and failed to find any trace. You speak as if she ran away, left this household by choice. If that were really the case, would you not take some steps to pursue her and bring her back? I do not detect any concern in your manner, brother.”
“I believe someone saw the girl speaking to those players this morning, the ones who were hired for entertainment. There was some talk that she might have gone off with them. You want me to send a party of men-at-arms to track your woman down? Are you so attached to the creature?”
I breathe. Beside me, Torcan is a strong presence, though he’s not saying a word. “I imagined you would consider the issue of debt bondage important,” I say. “For me, the concern is that I know quite well Liobhan would not act in that way. If she makes a promise, she keeps it. I believe she may have come to some harm, Seanan. And as you seem to be acting as head of the household in our father’s place, I’m asking you to do something about it. Time is passing. If anyone has harmed her, they will be answerable to me.” I draw breath again. “Do not refer to Liobhan as a creature. Whatever her status in your household, she is deserving of respect. Who was it saw her speaking with the musicians?”
Seanan’s tone changes again. I know he is smiling. I remember that smile all too well. It’s the look of a predator that enjoys toying with the victim, drawing things out as long as possible. “I was right, then,” he says. “You and this girl are closer than you admit. More than master and servant. More than friends. She’s wormed her way into your confidences and into your affections. Influenced every foolish decision, no doubt. You’re better off without her, Dau. Dear God, this is the person who blinded you! And you allow her to share your living quarters and make up your sleeping drafts.”
Before I can find a response, I hear the voice of Brother Íobhar. He must be standing behind Seanan. “Look more closely at your own folk before you accuse Dau’s,” he says. “If anyone is tampering with sleeping drafts, it’s not this young woman. Brother Petrán keeps a close eye on the book; I have his word that she is scrupulous in recording everything she uses.”
“Ah,” says Seanan, quick as a flash, “so she is under investigation.”
“Everyone is under investigation. Every person we know to make use of our resources. Every person who might send another to fetch a particular substance from our supplies.”
“A person might steal,” Seanan suggests. “Anyone with access to your premises might help himself. Or herself. A little slipped into a sleeve or a pouch. Easy, I should imagine. Especially for someone expertly trained in such tricks.”
“This is nonsense,” I say. We’re wasting time; we should be looking for Liobhan, now, quickly. What is this talk of sleeping drafts anyway? Are my brothers referring to my father’s strange behavior, his old man’s state of mind? Can Ruarc be implying that Seanan has a hand in that? I feel a new chill as I realize how easy that is to believe. Does Ruarc realize the danger of speaking out on such a matter? He was never so brave before. “If you will not help with the search for Liobhan, at least give me what information you have. Who saw her speaking to the musicians, and when?”
“How would I know?” I imagine Seanan making a comical face, shrugging his shoulders, spreading his hands wide. “It’s of no consequence to me.”
“Not even when she still has the best part of her period of debt bondage to serve? Not even when she has the expertise to look after me at no cost to the household? Not even when you pride yourself on your ability to act as chieftain, with the control and balance and wisdom such a position requires?”
“Little brother. If she’s gone, she’s gone. Good riddance, I say. She was a meddlesome creature. No wonder she got herself in trouble. It was a mistake to allow her the duties of nurse, and a graver mistake to let her into the house. She couldn’t keep her nose out of other people’s business, could she? This does not rest on me, Dau, but squarely on your shoulders. If you cannot keep your own people under control, it is no wonder these things happen. But then, you are hardly cut out for a position of any authority, are you? Now stop plaguing me with your requests for help and go back to your quarters. You’re a sick man and should rest. Ideally somewhere we don’t need to see you. Take him back!” This barked command must be addressed to Torcan, who tenses by my side but does not speak. I hold my own silence with difficulty. I am in danger of saying something I will regret. I will not give this vile specimen of mankind a single word more to use in his attacks. Not one word.
“Brother Íobhar, I’ll bid you farewell for now,” I say, hoping he is still there. “I wish you and your brethren well in your search for truth. We’ll go now, Torcan.”
I stay strong as we walk back to the house, as we encounter Iarla in the hallway to be told there is no further news, as we make our way to the quarters Torcan will be sharing with me at least until Corb comes back. Even when we are inside with the door safely shut behind us, and nobody else can see or hear, I do not weep. I do not curse. I simply put my hands over my face and stand there while my head fills and fills with visions of horror, of suffering, of dark and loneliness and pain and despair. I do not know if it is myself as a boy enduring this, or Liobhan somewhere right now, or Corb, or Snow, or little Hope, or even the young Ruarc years ago, perhaps too terrified to speak up, perhaps held so fast by Seanan’s threats that he was compelled into the role of assistant torturer, silent, complicit, forced into the same pattern of evil. Gods, was my father as blind then as I am now, that he did not see it? And did Ruarc really just accuse Seanan of doctoring our father’s sleeping draft? Meddling. Seanan accused Liobhan of meddling. Was she asking awkward questions in the stillroom? Or was Seanan talking about something else—the sudden departure of the distinguished visitors? He can hardly suspect Liobhan of a part in that. It’s too soon, and besides, I was the one who spoke to Cormac. Did someone see us out in the field talking? See us and report back faithfully to Master Seanan?
“Dau?” Torcan sounds anxious. “You all right?”
“Mm.” I lower my hands and take a deep breath. “Just thinking hard. I’m sorry you had to witness that unsavory scene.” I start to shiver; I can’t make myself stop. Liobhan. She’s here somewhere, locked up, hidden, trapped. Or she’s been taken away. And I can’t do a thing to help her.
“You should sit down. I’ll light the fire, then I’ll fetch you some food and drink.”
“I don’t want anything.” After a moment I say, “But you should eat. They’ll give you a tray in the kitchen. Since I’ve been ordered to keep out of sight, I will. For now at least.” If I could fly, if I could transport myself to that place where Brocc lives now, if this were a story of wonder and magic, I would speak to the folk of the Otherworld. I would beg to have my sight back. I would set aside my last scrap of pride; I would promise everything that is in my power to give. Then I would find Liobhan and I would tell her . . . Oh, foolish wayward thoughts. Thoughts that belong only in a song. A song in which the handsome blind prince gets a choice: he can have his sight back or he can win the release of the woman he loves. That is to say, the release of his dear, true friend. Which does he choose? If Brocc is writing the song, the man does not hesitate to save his friend. If Liobhan is writing it, the ending is left open, for the audience to argue about when the performance is over. Me? I am no poet. I am no hero. I’m here in the dark and I don’t know what to do.
36
LIOBHAN
The wrist bonds are starting to give when I hear someone coming. They’re moving furtively. I guess that means it’s not a rescue party. I freeze with my wrists against the wire and my heart thudding so hard I wonder if they might hear it. One man murmurs to another; the second responds. Curse it! I should have worked harder,
got the poxy bonds undone, been ready to strike as soon as they came within reach. But I’m as helpless as when I first came to. With the gag on I can’t even spit.
A creak down the other end. Light spills in. The captive birds start screaming, flapping, scratching with their claws. It’s full day. Over my shoulder I can catch a glimpse of open ground beyond the door. Trees. Then the door closes and it’s dark again.
“Open the shutters,” someone says. I’d know that voice anywhere.
The other fellow, the one who isn’t Seanan, obeys, and there’s light again, but not so much. The window is heavily barred. There’ll be no getting out that way for woman or bird. I breathe carefully, harnessing what strength I have, though my options are severely limited. Making the impossible happen is all very well, but the circumstances weigh somewhat heavily against me right now.
I can’t move much. I can’t speak. But right now I can see, so I take a good look at the place while I can. It’s small. Door at one end, two shuttered windows at the side, a cold hearth. Along the other side, cages. In the cages, birds. Or more precisely, Crow Folk. I’m in a tiny space between the last cage and the back wall. While the creatures are flapping about, the men can’t tell that I’m standing up. There’s a bench at the far end, near the door, and shelves with jars on them, and tools in a rack. Knives and other things. A roll of wire. The man who isn’t Seanan is big and broad. I think it’s Ultán, whom I’ve seen with Seanan before, but I can’t be sure because he has a mask on. It’s made of leather and has holes for eyes, nose, and mouth. A torturer’s mask. An executioner’s mask.
Seanan sees me. Strolls at a leisurely pace past the cages of frenzied birds, stops two paces away, and looks me up and down. “On your feet, then?” His tone is pleasant, almost friendly. “Your disappearance caused my little brother a good deal of concern. Seems he has a fondness for you, not entirely appropriate considering your situation. Sore head?”
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