The Blacksmith's Son

by Michael G. Manning

  “I don’t need long, I need a lot more than that. Penelope Cooper, will you marry me?” The genius of my plan was such that she went stock still.

  “What!?” she said.

  “I asked if you would marry me,” I repeated myself articulately, and with great charm I might add.

  “I’m a commoner you idiot,” she replied.

  “So am I.”

  “Not anymore you’re not, you’re the bloody damned Count di’Cameron now,” her words were pessimistic, but her face showed me a glimmer of hope.

  “I could have married you before and no one would have cared, and as far as I know there’s no law to prevent me from marrying anyone I choose.” She wasn’t fighting anymore, so I relaxed my grip.

  “I don’t want to marry you,” she protested, “you look funny.” Her eyes were wet.

  I leaned down and kissed her. She kissed me back, growling a little in the back of her throat. When I came up for air she looked at me, “this has to be the stupidest way to propose to a girl I ever heard of.” I kissed her again and put my best effort into it. “You don’t even have a ring,” she mumbled after that. I kissed her again and she quit complaining.

  Some time later we lay, exhausted. Well, I was exhausted; despite my youth I was in no condition to be engaging in wrestling matches and... other things. It was worth it though. A thought occurred to me, “So was that a yes?”

  She looked at me slyly, “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

  I smacked her with a pillow. That started a war but eventually she yielded, “Fine, fine! Yes, yes I’ll marry you!” She was laughing as she said it.

  Later I lay thinking, in spite of the good fortune I was currently enjoying I still had one rather large problem, Devon Tremont. He had already assaulted Penny, and now he had tried to kill me. I was also quite sure he intended to create a lot of trouble for the Lancasters. Unfortunately I had no idea what to do about any of it. Another knock came at the door.

  Penny had gone down to fetch her things, so it was up to me to answer it. Life is hard sometimes. Dorian and Marc stood outside, “You really are alive!” shouted Marc. I stood back to let them in.

  “To what do I owe the great honor of your visit?” I said mockingly.

  “Does a man need a reason to visit his cousin?” Marc answered.

  “Your father told you then?”

  “Indeed! And he gave me something for you,” he tossed a large pouch to me. I almost dropped it. It was very heavy.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “Two hundred gold marks, Father got most of it off his lordship this morning and he made up the difference from his own purse. The two of them had the most amazing conversation I hear.” He spent a few minutes catching me up on what he had heard.

  “Hah!” I laughed when he finished. “That’s a fine start, but the devil still has much to answer for.” We all agreed on that point, and we spent a while discussing what sorts of unpleasant things might befall Lord Devon before his return home.

  Since that conversation wasn’t really leading anywhere productive I decided to switch topics, “Oh by the way! Have I mentioned I’m getting engaged?” That drew some stares. We talked for a long while after, and I wondered how I would resolve the question of who would be the best man. I decided to put the problem off for another day.

  Chapter 17

  In recent times mages have become much rarer. When mages were more common no lord of men dare rule without magic to back him. With the loss of most of the old bloodlines, wizards are no longer so necessary to those who wield political power, for their enemies do not have magic to use against them. As a result the last few families died out in large part due to assassination, often coming from those they served. Those mages who arise from common stock have ever more to fear, for they have none to support them.

  ~Marcus the Heretic,

  On the Nature of Faith and Magic

  Penny was gathering her things, from the maid’s quarters. It wasn’t a large task, since she really didn’t have much. The two uniforms she left, her replacement might need them and they didn’t belong to her anyway. A few nightgowns, a homespun dress and a few sundries, putting them in a pile they seemed pitifully few. Up until now her life had been a long hard road. Perhaps now things would work out better. She sat down on the bed one last time and looked around the room, letting her mind drift back to the day she had first come to work there.

  The vision took her without warning. A man was walking down a hallway, wearing a brown robe and something about him seemed familiar. In his hands he carried a large clay jar, and by the way he moved it must have been heavy, filled with something. She saw him enter the kitchen, a place so well known to her that she recognized it instantly. The cook looked up and him and went back to work without a word. The man was well known there. The kitchen scullions were out setting up the tables so the two were alone.

  The hooded figure stepped up to the cook and said something but she couldn’t make it out. With a nod the cook stepped out, taking the back door to fetch something from the small garden outside. Once he had gone the man drew back his hood and opened his jar. She recognized him then, and wondered why she was seeing him there. Lifting the jar he poured the contents into a large pot where the soup was simmering, and something told her it was nothing wholesome in that jar.

  The vision shifted then, and she felt somehow that it was several hours later. It was the ball and people were dancing, but something was wrong. She saw herself in a long gown, dancing with Lord Devon and he was laughing, as if at some joke she had just told. Around them people began to double over, retching. Blood was on the floor and people were crying in pain. Devon leaned over to kiss her... and she screamed.

  She woke then, still screaming, her face damp with sweat. Not again! she thought. This can’t be happening. Then she remembered Father Tonnsdale’s story. The night everyone had died at Cameron Castle, and she knew what she had to do. Goddess forgive me!

  She left her things on the bed. She knew the events of her vision were still some time in the future, but she didn’t think they were too far off. Slipping into the hallway she headed for where the villain lived.

  It took her only a few minutes to get there. Such a short time when you know that your life is about to change forever. Just a bit ago she had been happy, looking forward to a life she could not have imagined. She should have known it was too good to be true. She took a moment to consider, she could try to warn everyone, but no one would believe her. That would only leave the killer to find some other time to work his evil. The world was not just, she knew that. Those people learned that lesson sixteen years ago, and still their murderer goes unpunished, she thought. But no longer, she would see to that.

  She was almost to the door when she realized she needed a weapon. The man she meant to kill was too large to attack unarmed. She went back to the great hall and found one of the hard iron pokers used to manage the logs in the fireplace. The long black iron was heavy in her hand. She figured it would do nicely, so long as she could surprise him. She returned to the large double doors that led into the chapel. She opened them, and as she entered she put the hand holding the iron behind her back.

  The chapel itself was empty, but she knew he was likely in the chambers behind the back of the altar. Her heart was beating wildly, but she kept her attention on her task. She found him in his study, leaning over his desk. A small form lay on top of it, quivering. The horror of it almost unmade her, but she held her resolve in an iron grip, a grip as hard as the iron in her hand.

  “Shhh Timothy, just relax, it will be over soon. The goddess needs everything you can give.” Father Tonnsdale kept his hand on the boy’s forehead, holding him down, while the force within him drew upon the boy’s spirit. Timothy was dying, but it was necessary if he was to become the tool Father Tonnsdale needed. A small noise behind drew his attention and he was startled when he saw her enter the room.

  “Penny!” he said, trying to keep his calm.
“Timothy has suffered a fall, would you help me hold him? I think he’s having a seizure!” It was a poor lie, but he was sure she would believe it, at least long enough for him to salvage the situation. Two bodies would be almost as easy to hide as one after all.

  He looked away from her, back to Timothy, hoping to draw her attention to the boy, while his eyes found the dagger that lay on the desk.

  “Certainly Father, I’ll be glad to help you,” she stepped up behind him, and even as his hand reached for the dagger she brought the iron poker down across the back of his head. He dropped like a felled steer, sagging limply to the floor. The back of his head was crushed. She took another swing to make sure the job was done properly. Then she dropped the iron and checked to see if Timothy was alright.

  He wasn’t. The boy was dead, though there were no visible marks upon him. His skin was slack, drawn, as though something had been drawn from within him, leaving him empty. The sight of the boy ate at her conscience. If only I had gotten here sooner, perhaps I could have prevented this as well, she thought. She was still in shock, numb and unfeeling, but her mind was clear.

  I will hang for this, and she knew it was true. There was no evidence that the good Father was anything more than he had always appeared. Timothy’s body would prove nothing. There were no marks to show anything had been done to him. Even had there been, she was the one alive, she was the one who had just bludgeoned a priest to death. She double checked to make sure the priest was dead. No sense hanging for a crime unfinished.

  No one saw me enter. That was a thought with promise. If she could hide the body she might even delay the time until the search for his killer began. She took the older man’s legs in her hands and began trying to move him. “What did you eat?” she said aloud. There was no way she could move the fat bastard very far. He had to weigh in excess of two hundred and fifty pounds. At last she settled for dragging his body behind the desk, where it could not be seen from the door. She lay Timothy beside him, though she felt bad at having to leave him there with the corpse of his murderer.

  Taking the keys from the priest’s pockets she locked the study door behind her as she left, with luck it would be several days before they were found. There were no services for three days so it was possible they might not be missed for a while. Now she just needed to get out without being seen. For some reason she still had the iron poker with her, I should have left it with him, she thought. No matter, she would just replace it where she had gotten it. Trusting to luck she stepped through the double doors of the chapel and into the hallway.

  Luck had apparently taken a vacation. Genevieve, the Duchess of Lancaster was passing as she exited. “Good evening your grace,” Penny said with a small curtsy.

  “Good evening Penny, how is Mordecai doing?” the Duchess asked.

  “Very well, thank you for asking,” she replied.

  “Is that one of the fireplace tools?” Genevieve asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “Yes your grace, I was moving the logs in the great hall, when I thought of a question for Father Tonnsdale. I forgot to put it away before I came. I’ll take care of that now.” Stupid, stupid! That was the worst lie in history! she thought.

  “Did you find him? I thought I might talk with him as well...” asked the older woman.

  “No, I didn’t. I’m not sure where he’s gotten off to, I’ll have to look for him later. If I see him I’ll tell him you were looking for him as well, your grace,” she replied.

  “I appreciate that. Well I’ll let you get to what you were doing,” and the Duchess moved away, down the hall.

  Penny went back to the maid’s quarters, along the way she stopped to throw the iron poker into one of the closets they stored cleaning supplies in. Her mind was racing despite her calm outward appearance. The Duchess saw me, she thought. When they found the body, hopefully in a few days, questions would be asked. Genevieve would remember seeing her, and she had noticed the iron in her hand. There would be no doubt now. It would lead straight to her. I’m going to hang. Her mind kept coming back to that. There was no explanation that would exonerate her. She hadn’t even found the poison. I forgot to even look for it. She considered going back, to search, but discarded the idea immediately. She couldn’t go back.

  Thoughts of escape came to her. She could run, take everything she had now, and just run. But she had no money, no family to hide her, no place to go. If she told Mordecai he would probably help. That wasn’t right, he would definitely help. But what could he do? If he ran with her it would only destroy his own life. He’s the Count di’Cameron now, he’s got everything to lose, she thought, but I am nothing. I can only ruin it for him.

  “I’m going to die for this, nothing can change that. The only thing I can manage is who goes with me,” she said aloud. She might not be able to avert the consequences of her actions, but she could choose who she took with her. Asking for help would only ruin her friends, but the other option was to take the opportunity to make what remained of her life count for more. If she had to choose one other person to spend her life on, the choice became simple. Having made the decision she felt a calm come over her, and she began to plan.

  I was still talking to Marc and Dorian when Penny returned. I was glad to see her, Dorian was busy trying to convince me that beer would speed my recovery and Marc was offering to have several pitchers sent to the room. We were young and hadn’t had much experience with strong drink, so the thought of drinking to excess was a new and exciting concept. But I knew I was in no shape for it. Penny’s presence put the damper on their plan immediately.

  “C’mon Penny, you just got engaged!” Mark suggested, using his considerable charm.

  “Do you see a ring on my hand Marcus Lancaster?” she offered up the unadorned appendage for his inspection.

  “Well no, but you already said yes, isn’t that cause for celebration?” He grabbed her hands and led her into a short mock dance. She couldn’t help but smile.

  “Marc, don’t you dare tell anyone about this! You too Dorian!” she yelled past Marc’s shoulder.

  “Penny my dear! Are you embarrassed to let people know you’re going to marry this ruffian? Perhaps you should reconsider; there are other eligible bachelors still available after all.” Marc puffed up his chest and brushed his fingers across the front of his jacket, a roguish grin on his face.

  The conversation was causing Penny some consternation, and I could see it on her face though she tried to hide it. She glanced downward, as if shy, “Honestly, I’m not ready to announce it yet, I still have to tell my father and I’d rather not set everyone to talking till I’m ready.” Something about her expression didn’t ring true to me, but Marc and Dorian took her at face value.

  “Let her be Marc,” Dorian put in, “weddings are important to girls, we shouldn’t spoil things for her.”

  “Fine, fine, I was only teasing,” Marc answered, looking as though he had been wrongfully accused. He had been a clown since we were children.

  “Dorian,” Penny said, “would you mind doing a favor for me?”

  “Sure,” he answered.

  “I need to talk to Rose, about the ball tomorrow and... other things. Would you mind taking a message for me? To see if she has time this evening?” She smiled sweetly at him. I wished she smiled at me like that more often.

  They both left after that, and I made myself busy eating a tray of food that had been sent up for me. I considered asking Penny about her deception, I was sure she was hiding something, but Rose showed up before I could ask her.

  “You didn’t have to come up right away. I would have come to see you,” Penny said.

  “Nonsense, I was bored anyway,” Rose replied.

  They talked for a few minutes and Penny explained what she had in mind. The Duke’s mention of the ball had apparently caught her fancy, something I would never have expected. She wanted Rose’s advice about how to appear, and other details.

  “Don’t go as Mordecai’s escort, since he’s
not going. Come as my companion,” Rose suggested. “You’ll draw less attention that way, and since he’s not yet known as the Count di’Cameron you’ll get more respect as my friend.”

  “That’s fine,” Penny said, “It doesn’t really matter to me either way. My true concern is that I don’t have a dress. I never expected to attend an event like this, being what I am.”

  Rose smiled at her, “That won’t be an issue my dear. I’m glad you called me first; I have just the thing for you. You’re close to my size anyway.” Rose Hightower was probably the tallest woman at Lancaster Castle, standing five foot eleven inches, but Penny was rather tall herself and stood close to her height. “Mordecai,” she continued, “Penny is going to need some things if you intend to keep her.”

  I looked up, “What do you need?”

  Rose smiled at me, “Ten gold marks should do.” I choked, that was enough to buy a farm, two if you bargained hard. My father didn’t make more than two or three gold marks in a year, if things went very well. She saw my expression, “Hand it over my lord, you aren’t living that life anymore, and if you don’t start thinking of her needs Penny is going to suffer for it.”

  I counted out the money and handed it over and Rose gave me a pat on the shoulder, “That’s a good man. When I’m done you won’t regret it. Just be glad I’m not charging you for my services.”

  They left then, Rose taking Penny by the arm. I swear I could hear them laughing as they walked down the hall. Once they had gotten back to the rooms Rose was staying in she proceeded to show Penny a selection of dresses. She had packed with the intention of being ready for anything.

  Penny was concerned, “These are much too fine for me Rose.”

  “As long as you aren’t better dressed than me, nothing is too good for you my sweet,” Rose said with a twinkle in her eye. “We might have to have the seamstresses in to raise the hem a bit, the length is ok on you, but we need to show a bit more of your ankle for the proper impact.”