The Hidden Witch

by A C Rae

  He stared at the open window, and watched as a wooden pole with a hook on the end swiftly hooked onto his jacket and started to whisk that out of the window as well. Yelling, Quinn jumped up and pulled his jacket off the hook. Sticking his head out the window, he saw a hooded figure look up, startled, with their hands on the pole and Quinn’s breeches hooked over his arm.

  “Hey!” Quinn shouted. He grabbed onto the pole and tried to yank it out of the person’s hands.

  The figure pulled back, and the pole came clean out of Quinn’s hands. Running down the street, pole and owner turned a corner and vanished.

  Pryce walked sleepily into Quinn’s room. “What happened?”

  “I’ve just had my breeches stolen.” Quinn replied mournfully.

  “Ah. I forgot to warn you to keep valuables away from the windows.” Pryce cheerfully smirked. “Never mind, we’ll take you to the tailors tomorrow.”

  Quinn went back to sleep after putting the rest of his clothes firmly in the far corner of his room. He hoped Pryce or Abershaw would have a pair they could lend him.

  Quinn slept luxuriously late into the morning. He would have slept even longer if Abershaw hadn’t come in banging a saucepan to announce that breakfast was ready. Quinn decided that Abershaw was one of those people with an annoying habit of being cheerful in the morning.

  He went down into the kitchen, where Abershaw was busy humming to himself as he cooked sausages over a low fire, holding them into the flames with a fork. He looked at Pryce, who was holding his hands to his ears with a pained expression.

  Abershaw looked up from the sausages with a huge smirk on his face. “Morning, Quinn. No breeches?”

  Quinn groaned. He had forgotten and in his sleepy daze had wondered into the kitchen in just his long shirt.

  Pryce sat up, shaking with suppressed laughter. He managed to point to a spare pair of breeches on a chair near him before bursting into unbridled laughter.

  Quinn frowned as he pulled on the breeches. Pryce was a few inches shorter than him and slightly bulkier. The breeches fell straight down, causing Abershaw to join Pryce in laughing. He laughed so hard that he dropped the sausage he was cooking into the fire.

  “Here you are, Quinn.” Chortling, Pryce handed him some string, which Quinn used to tie his trousers up. “We’ll go to the tailor’s after breakfast. We have a special arrangement with one of the tailors up on Tailor Street. We pay him extra so we can drop in at any time. He’ll give us priority.” Quinn was relieved. The tailor he owed money to worked on the outskirts on the other side of Aelin. Only the best tailors worked on Tailor Street, so he was impressed.

  Abershaw handed Quinn a plate. Quinn looked at it. “What’s this?” The sausage had been placed in between two pieces of bread.

  “I haven’t given it a name yet. It means you can eat the sausage without getting greasy fingers. I was thinking I should call it Abershaw bread. Or shawbread. I’m working on it.”

  Quinn took a bite and nodded enthusiastically. “Thwe bwread and sawsidge go well.” He said. He swallowed. “I like it.” Abershaw grinned.

  Quinn finished his sausage between bread and brushed the crumbs off his borrowed breeches. He went upstairs to fetch his jacket and boots. The boots covered up the fact that the breeches were too short for him but he was dismayed to find that the jacket failed to hide the baggy rear. The string dangled from underneath. He sighed and met Pryce downstairs.

  “Where’s Abershaw?” He asked.

  “He’s remembered that he agreed to meet Lady Elizabeth this afternoon. He thought he’d better pop down Barber Street to get a shave before he goes to meet her, so it’s just the two of us. Come on, I’ll give you some lessons on the way.”

  They stepped out onto the street and Pryce shut the door behind him. Once again, Quinn’s nose was assaulted by the blast of pure Aelin smell and his eyes watered. But amazingly, after a few minutes he found he was starting to get used to it. Pryce pointed down the street. “We’re going that way.” He set off at a measured pace, stopping every now and again to point out places of interest, which, unsurprisingly, were all taverns.

  They stepped out into a square. It was packed with people, and the crowds were not being helped by the coaches that were pushing them out of the way in order to get onto the main road. Quinn staggered as a young boy pushed into him.

  “Watch out, Quinn. If you’d been carrying any money you would have lost it by now. You should avoid letting people bump into you like that at all costs.” Quinn watched the same boy collide with a gentleman, who shook his fist at him. The boy dived deeper into the crowd and disappeared. Seconds later, the man started yelling that his money had been stolen. Quinn was just relieved that the boy hadn’t mistaken the string holding his breeches up for a purse string.

  Pryce stopped outside a shop with a pair of scissors, a spool of thread and a jacket and breeches painted on the door sign. He stepped inside, Quinn following. The door tinkled as they went through, causing the tailor in the shop to look up. Quinn looked at the door. There was a bell just over it so it would ring when they went through. He was impressed. All the shops he had gone into required the person to hang around by the counter, or cough until the shop owner asked in a devastating voice if he required an apothecary. The tailor came over right away, looking Quinn up and down.

  “Breeches?” He asked.

  Pryce nodded. “I think we might as well buy him a whole new outfit. Latest fashion… but not too fashionable! You know what happens to people who walk around wearing the latest expensive clothes.” He turned to Quinn, his hand miming a dagger slicing across his throat.

  “Right you are, Mr Pryce. Certainly.” The tailor bustled over to Quinn with a tape measure and started measuring him in swift, confident movements. He pulled a pencil out from behind his ear and made quick notes on his pad. “I’ll have them ready in a couple of hours. I have the perfect outfit; I just need to make some brief alterations. Luckily I have a pair of long breeches ready-made, I have a taller regular customer.”

  Pryce thanked him. “We’ll be here at about three o’ clock.” He called as they left the shop, bell jingling behind them. “Now,” Pryce turned to Quinn. “Shall we take a walk along to the Temple and the bookshops there? Followed by a spot of luncheon in a tavern? There’s a book on Coney-catching that I think you should read.”

  “What’s a coney?” Quinn asked.

  “An easy catch for an Aelin criminal.” Pryce ignored Quinn’s stuttering. “And after lunch we’ll come back here for your breeches.”

  Quinn had never seen the Temple up close before. The domed roof of the solid white marble structure was visible from well outside Aelin’s walls but up close it was far more impressive. It hurt his neck to try and see the top of it. He gave up looking upwards and looked at the massive doors instead. Above the solid, iron studded wooden doors, were awesome stone carvings of the great warrior Ancestors. Other, lesser ancestors adorned the corners and others stood proud against the bottom of the walls.

  He stepped back as a hooded High Priestess, robed in white, walked past him to begin their climb up the spiralling steps to the forbidden chamber. Only High Priestesses, the Head of the Witches Guild and the King were allowed inside the chamber, where the flame to the Ancestors was kept ever burning. In times of dire need in the past, the King would put a question in the flames. The plumes of smoke and incense would curl up to the Heavens and the Ancestors would answer the question. It was a last resort and so had not been done for generations. The flame was never left unattended in case.

  Pryce stood next to Quinn, who was attempting another look up at the main domed roof, held up by dozens of towering pillars. He cleared his throat, interrupting Quinn’s sightseeing. Pryce pulled him away. “Come on then, the bookshops are just around the corner.”

  Like the tailor shop, the bookshops had a sign, predictably with a picture of a book on the front. Less predictable, however, were what was painted with the books on the signs. One had a p
ainting of a dragon on it; another had a painting of a salamander walking across the book. Quinn’s favourite had a painting of a monkey reading a book.

  It was this one that Pryce walked into. Quinn paused for a moment to look at the board outside the shop with book title pages pinned onto it. He liked the look of one on the top shelf. It promised to show him a side of women that he had never seen before. Pryce stuck his head out the door. “Hurry up. And you’re not buying that. Your father is probably going to kick me about in the afterlife as it is for my influence on you, without me allowing you to buy books like that on top.”

  Quinn followed him, the bell over the door tinkling.

  His eyes took a while to adjust to the gloom inside the shop. There were many shelves, with reams of loose printed paper stacked in neat piles.

  He walked along, studying the labels. There were books on anatomy, astrology and mathematics. He skipped past those, disinterested. He wanted to know where the book from the top shelf was kept. It sounded interesting. But Pryce seemed to know what he was thinking and physically pulled him away towards the main counter. There was a middle-aged man sat there, stitching pages of a book together. He looked up at them, and smiled, eyes creasing.

  “Ah Pryce. Good to see you again. And you are?”

  Quinn stepped forward. “I’m Quinn.”

  Pryce watched them shake hands. Over lunch, they had decided on a cover story for why Quinn was in Aelin with him. “He’s my, er… nephew, come up to visit Aelin from the village where I came from. He’s up here learning about the big City. In fact that’s why I’m here. I want that book on cony-catching please, if you happen to have any spare copies.”

  “From your old village you say? Ah that would explain the string-tied breeches then. I expect you forgot to warn him about the pole hook thieves?”

  Quinn slowly reddened. He had hoped that it wasn’t that noticeable.

  The man rose from his desk, putting down his needle and thread. “Never mind, never mind. It’s those kind of stories that make Aelin interesting. Never a dull moment with Aelin criminals around. Right. The book.” He marched off, and round a corner to some other shelves. “I’m certain I have a few copies left. Just the original copy I presume? It’s proven to be quite a popular genre. There are plenty of books just like it out there now, all full of stories of criminals and their schemes. I don’t stock many of the more moralising ones though. They seem a bit pedantic to me. Too many people struck down by the Ancestors in those ones.” He came shuffling back. “This one’s already stitched for you, with a paper jacket. That’ll be two coppers please.” Pryce pulled two copper coins, stamped with a stag on the front from his purse.

  “See you again sometime. I have a sequel for that book on, err, women, for Abershaw if he wants it.” The book seller called as they left the shop.

  Pryce met Quinn’s accusatory stare, handing Quinn the book. “I have no control over what Abershaw reads. And I’m not too sure his Lady Elizabeth would appreciate him reading that sort of thing either. Let’s head towards the tavern then. If we head towards the tailor shop we might even see Abershaw. His favourite tavern is along there.” Pryce set off down the street. After looking back at the shop one last time, Quinn tucked his new book under his arm and followed him.

  The tavern, despite being called ‘The Club and Axe’, looked fairly charming; the threatening name oddly offset by an attempt to make it look welcoming. It had a cheery red front door and flower filled window boxes.

  Once inside, Pryce walked straight up to the bar and ordered two beers, and two sets of bread and broth.

  While waiting, Quinn took a look around at the clientele. To his surprise, the people inside looked fairly normal; tradesmen having their lunch, chatting about wood carvings and merchants moaning about their latest trade shipment. There was even the occasional respectable looking woman, which spoke volumes for the tavern’s reputation. His eye settled on a solitary figure sitting glumly in one of the alcoves, staring into his beer. It was Abershaw.

  Pryce walked up to Quinn and handed him his beer. Quinn pointed at Abershaw, who suddenly downed his beer in one gulp and moved onto another glass. He had covered the table with empty beer glasses and still had a few more full ones sitting on a tray next to him. Pryce groaned. “I hope he hasn’t done anything stupid.” They walked up to him and sat either side of him. Pryce wasted no time in getting to the point. “What did you do?”

  Red-eyed, Abershaw stared at Pryce. If his eyes were anything to go by, it looked like he was trying to decide which Pryce to speak to. “I’s gone and done it now, Prcyshi.” He swayed in his seat. Pryce grabbed him by the shoulders.

  “What have you done?” He hissed urgently.

  “I’s confeshed all to Elishabeth. She knows I’m a… I’m a...”

  Pryce looked sharply around the tavern. No-one was paying the slightest bit of attention. “Yes! I know what you are! By why the hell did you tell her?”

  “I. I-I..I.”

  “By the Ancestors, spit it out!”

  “I love her.”

  “You do, do you? And does she return your affections? Or is she going to turn you in?”

  Abershaw hiccupped, and spilt beer down his front. “I am. I’m a very shtupid man. Yessh. Shtupid.”

  Pryce sighed. “You proposed didn’t you?”

  “Yessh.” He waved his beer, sploshing beer over Pryce and himself. He banged it on the table, where it broke free from the glass and splashed Quinn in the face. “Why would such a bootiful woman want a shtupid man like me?”

  “Well she must have liked you; otherwise she wouldn’t have let you court her.” Quinn mentioned helpfully.

  Abershaw swung round, knocking several glasses to the floor. Pryce looked at the landlord quickly. “I’ll pay for that.” The landlord went back to cleaning the bar.

  Abershaw grabbed Quinn suddenly by the shoulders. “But she didn’t know what I am. What I’s done.” He gulped. “What if she shays nno?”

  Quinn looked him in the eyes. “But if she didn’t say no straight away, that must mean that she’s thinking about it.”

  Abershaw nodded so fervently he swayed and fell off the seat, banging his head on the table. He slumped to the floor in a wet heap, snoring. Quinn looked at Pryce, horrified.

  Pryce shrugged. “Well he must be alright if he’s snoring.” He stacked the empty glasses on one side of the table. “We’ll eat first and after I’ve settled the bill we’ll take him back home where he can sober up.” He looked down at Abershaw. “It’s a shame really because this incident means he won’t want to come back here again. I like this place too.”

  After finishing their broth Pryce paid the landlord for the food, damages, and some extra on top. “Makes sense to keep him sweet,” he said. “Just in case Abershaw wants to come back again.” He lifted one arm, Quinn the other, and they both dragged him back to the house. They managed to get him up the stairs, both feet clunking at they dragged him up step by step. They threw him on the bed. Pryce rubbed his hands together. “We’ll let him sleep it off. We’ll get your new breeches and things now, it’s nearly three o’clock.”

  Back at the tailor shop, Quinn turned and admired himself in the mirror. The breeches fit exactly; his new jacket was almost exquisite, with fine embroidered edging and embellished buttons. His shirt had just the right level of lace and he even had a neckerchief to tie around his neck. His old clothes had been fancy but they had never been as comfortable as this. The tailor had also made them look slightly worn so he wouldn’t stick out in Aelin too much. Quinn thanked him profusely and thanked Pryce even more when he found out the cost. They were just about to leave the shop when the tailor tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Just one more thing.” The tailor slipped a black mask made from silk into his pocket. “Tie it tightly.” He whispered, with the smallest wink. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

  Pryce and Quinn walked back to the house. “I’d better check on Abershaw. Just to be on
the safe side. Why don’t you go and check on Bessie?”

  Quinn agreed, relieved. He walked up to the stables, where he found that Bessie had settled in very well. She had been fed many carrots by the stable boy, who Quinn couldn’t help liking as he reminded him of Jack from his village. She was happy to see him and accepted an apple. Sitting onto a chair, he told her everything that had happened so far. “So I’m learning about Aelin first,” he finished. “As this is the best place for a highwayman to blend in and make money when times are hard. The City is so large that Wilkins won’t be able to find us here. There are too many Quinn’s living here.” He laughed, dusting off his new breeches. “I’d better see how Pryce has got on with Abershaw then, I’ll be here to see you tomorrow.”

  Quinn walked into the house to find it very quiet. He walked into the main room, to find Pryce sat in there reading. His fingers were over the title of the book, and he put it hurriedly in his pocket when he saw Quinn. Quinn decided to let it go. “How’s Abershaw?” He whispered.

  “Sleeping it off.” Pryce replied. “He did wake up, but all I got from him was gibberish.” He picked up a pack of cards that were lying on the table. “Now, let’s see what you’ve remembered.”

  He was shuffling the cards for a tenth time when Abershaw came down. He refused to talk about Lady Elizabeth and spent the whole evening and night sat in his chair, smoking in silence. Quinn went to bed, head swimming with the pictures and numbers on the cards and dice.

  The next few days, Quinn spent learning almost everything that Pryce knew about Aelin. Apart from the brothels. Pryce insisted introducing Quinn to those would be the one thing guaranteed to call Quinn’s father from beyond the Ancestor veil to heap bloody vengeance down upon him.