by Ila Mercer
Madam then took Lita to meet the other girls.
They were gathered in the entertaining parlour where a cloying perfume hung in the air. The curtains were closed, and pretty lanterns trimmed with sparkling prisms lit the rooms. Under the dusky light, the red velvet walls, beautiful paintings, damask settees and fur rugs appeared opulent but Lita suspected the special effects disguised evidence of shabbiness.
Her attention turned to the girls. There were seven of them, clad in delicate silk undergarments. On their fingers, jewels sparkled, and around their pearly white throats they wore glittering necklaces. They lounged with an air of boredom, like birds in a gilded cage.
None were pointedly unfriendly as Madam Grist introduced Lita to them, but they looked at her with a measure of jealousy. She could not understand it. What did she have that they did not? Some of the girls were as young as Lita but none of them were as old as Madam Grist. All might have been pretty, but Lita did not care for their painted appearance. Though it made their eyes seem larger than they really were, and their lips full and ardent with passion, it made them look lewd, Lita thought.
The doorbell rang mid morning and Madam Grist bustled Lita into the front room with four of the older girls. ‘Wait here,’ she ordered, ‘while I show in our guest.’
Lita perched on the edge of the settee, her hands folded in her lap and shoulders hunched slightly to hide the swell of her breasts.
‘Enjoy the white dress,’ one of the girls said. ‘You won’t be wearing it for long.’
The other girls sniggered.
Lita flushed with shame. She did not know what they meant, but realised now, she was the only girl in the house wearing white. She wondered what it signified.
Madam Grist swept into the room with a nobleman attached to her elbow. He nodded to the other girls. Then his eyes latched onto Lita.
Lita bowed her head and stared at her pale white slippers.
‘Head up, smile, shoulders back,’ Madam Grist hissed, as she alighted next to Lita and then pinched Lita on the leg for good measure.
Lita lifted her eyes and looked at the man but did not smile. She could not have smiled if her life depended on it. The man was dressed as a noble with satin shoes, thick woollen hose, a brown brocaded vest, and a long black cape. He was as round as a beer barrel, had squinty little eyes, and warts across his knuckles. He smacked his lips repeatedly, as if he meant to eat her and Lita shivered with disgust.
‘A new girl?’ the noble simpered.
Lita stiffened at once. She had not imagined that it might happen so fast. What would she do if she found herself alone with this man? She did not think she would have the strength to fight him off.
‘Yes, Senna Globbet,’ Madam Grist replied. ‘But she is not for you.’
Lita felt instant relief.
‘Why not?’ he asked with a slight whine in his voice.
‘Your tastes are… less exotic, shall we say,’ Madam Grist answered, with a little arch of her brow.
‘Oh?’ Senna Globbet said, his interest clearly captured now.
‘No. You take Kirra instead. She’s your favourite, after all.’
One of the girls on a settee under the window rose and sauntered towards Senna Globbet. For a moment, his face reflected his bewilderment and then he gave in as the girl threaded her fingers through his and led him away.
‘Well done,’ Madam Grist said, patting Lita on the leg. ‘You made quite an impression. But, I think we can do better. If you play your cards right, your first rite should go very well.’
Lita had a growing suspicion about the first rite. And it struck a cold little nail into her heart.
The Memory of Maps
When she did not return, he went in search of her with a feeling of dread. He should never have let her go. The map did not matter, but when she spoke of it his heart had skipped a beat. He had not seen a map since his childhood. His grandfather, Senna Jogan, had owned several maps which were kept under lock and key in a glass cabinet. But the maps had all been confiscated by the Order after Yaron’s father died, as part of the embargo placed on the Downs. Those maps had been his grandfather’s pride and joy, and he often told Yaron they were more important than their entire fleet. ‘One day, my boy,’ he had often said to Yaron, ‘those maps will be yours, and when they are, you must guard them with your life, for they can take you anywhere you wish.’
At the time, Yaron had imagined those maps must be imbedded with magic – and that whoever held them need only wish themself to another place. After his mama’s death, he had often thought about how he might break into the cabinet and take one of the maps, so that he might wish himself to the place where his mama had gone.
When Lita told him she had a map, he had been filled with a desire to see it. No, if he was to be entirely honest, to possess it. A map of the trade route to Baaran opened a world of possibility and he knew just how they should use it too.
That was why he had let her go back for it, but now he was worried that his desire to have the map had clouded his judgement.
As he rounded the corner, his heart dived. There in the corner of the courtyard, the Hunter gripped Lita by the arm as he spoke to Senna Worrel.
He was about to storm over to the Hunter and demand Lita’s release, but a firm hand grasped him by the elbow and whispered urgently into his ear, ‘Don’t be a fool.’
He turned to face Sal. She was shaking her head.
‘But I can’t let him take her,’ Yaron hissed in reply, jerking his arm away.
‘You must, and you will.’
Yaron could not believe his ears. He had thought Sal was on Lita’s side.
‘What do you think will happen if you barge over there and take her by force?’ Sal said. ‘He’ll only come back with an army in tow and crush our keep like we were a nest of ants. No. The sensible thing is to let him take her-’ Yaron was about to interrupt but she quickly added, ‘and we will follow… at a safe distance.’
Yaron glanced back at Lita, her shoulders were hunched in defeat and her face was bent to the ground.
‘If I know anything, he’ll be taking her to a House of Paint. A pretty young thing such as Lita will fetch a good price for the Hunter. You can pose as a merchant, one who has a thing for chaste young exotics, and we’ll get her out of there. The Downs will be safe, because there’ll be nothing to link us to Lita’s escape.’
Yaron shook his head. ‘But what if he takes her to the mines? There’ll be no way we could get past their guards.’
‘Trust me,’ Sal said, ‘he’s not taking her to a mine.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I just do, and you’ll have to take my word for it.’
There was something about the way Sal said this, that made Yaron believe her.
‘You said we will follow?’
‘I’m coming too. You’ll need me if you want to find her.’ Her eyes were fixed on Lita and the Hunter. Yaron could not help feeling that Sal knew much more than she was letting on. Just recently he had begun to see that the folk under his roof had all manner of secrets. First, Old Stac with his elaborate wooden carvings, then Lita, and now Sal, with her mysterious knowledge about the Houses of Paint. Before today he had spoken little to Sal, and not once had he thought about her past. Now he felt a curious desire to know everything about her.
Not long after the Hunter left, Sal and Yaron slipped across the courtyard, managing to dodge Senna Worrel, who could be heard yelling for his nephew. It was a good thing he was leaving for a bit, Yaron thought. His uncle would be mad with anger and this way he would have time to cool off.
At the gates, Yaron handed Old Stac a scrawled note, telling Senna Worrel he had gone hunting. He thought his uncle would believe this. When he was younger, Yaron had often run off to the woods after a quarrel with his uncle. Every time, Senna Worrel had sent the Jims to track him down and they often found him within a few hours, but they had never brought him back right away. Each time, they had taken Yaron hunt
ing up in the hills, staying overnight in the hut by the lake. By the time Yaron returned, his uncle had cooled down.
In the orchard, Sal and Yaron found the Jims waiting with two saddled horses. Together they formulated a plan. The Jims would go to the hut by the lake while Sal and Yaron followed the Hunter, and if they were not back in a week, the Jims were to tell Senna Worrel everything.
They mounted their horses, Yaron on a tall dappled stallion and Sal on a sturdy dun mare. Yaron was amused to find Sal astride the horse like a man. But he was pleased too. They would have to ride fast to catch the Hunter and if they did not do so before the crossroads, they would not know which way he was travelling. With a farewell wave to the Jims, Yaron and Sal flicked their reigns and galloped off in a cloud of dust.
Lesser Beings
After the first night in the observatory, Katarin returned to the dungeons each midnight. She unlocked Ari’s cell and together they crept along the corridor, up the spiral stair and through the trapdoor into the glass roofed observatory when there was no moon, or out to the orchards when there was. On moonlit nights he changed into a lion, and she clung to his back as they raced through the woods and meadows.
Though they knew what a terrible risk they were taking, they could no more stop themselves than they could stop the sun from circling the heavens. They were bewitched by each other.
On that first evening, he had not touched her and in her mind, the unveiling of her body had been as symbolic and powerful as a wedding. When he looked on her naked flesh, she felt as though he had truly seen her for all her beauty, imperfections of character, desires and secret yearnings. It gave her a profound sense of union with him, a thing she had never felt so deeply with anyone before.
On their second evening together, they had lain on the soft rug and made love. He had kissed the arch of her foot, her inner thigh, the warm flesh of her belly, her small round breasts, exploring the unchartered terrain of her body with a reverent respect. Afterwards, they had wrapped their arms around each other and shared childhood tales until the first cry of the cockerel. Then they left. He to the dungeons, and she to her rooms.
It was after one such evening that Katarin was finally caught.
‘Where have you been?’ Mika asked, as Katarin closed the door of her room.
Katarin had not been expecting anyone in her chamber. Her heart thumped with surprise. ‘For a walk,’ she said.
‘Liar,’ Mika replied. ‘You’ll have to do better than that if Worrel catches you.’ She moved away from the window to a small table. She lit a candle and in the soft glow of the lamp, she glanced up at Katarin, her face full of worry. ‘Tell me where you’ve really been.’
‘I couldn’t sleep, so I went to the library.’
Mika sighed. ‘You were with the Beast, weren’t you?’
‘His name is Ari, you know that.’ Katarin felt the heat rise in her cheeks and she could not look at Mika.
‘Oh Katarin, what are you doing?’ Mika cried, as she dashed forward and grabbed Katarin by the hands. ‘If Worrel finds out he’ll kill him, and I dread to think what he’ll do to you. How could you?’
‘You’ll never understand. I love him.’
Mika dropped Katarin’s hands. Her eyes were wide with alarm. ‘You can’t mean that.’
‘Why not?’ Katarin asked. ‘He’s kind, gentle, handsome, intelligent.’
‘Even if he is all that, he’s still a Beast. And what about your promise to Worrel?’
‘I told you that’s over. We plan to return to his homeland.’
Mika shook her head.
‘I don’t want a marriage like yours,’ Katarin said, knowing this would hurt Mika. Her friend instantly turned rigid and for a moment Katarin feared she’d been too harsh. Mika nodded and returned to the window to gaze through the lace curtains. Outside, the sky had turned a pale apricot colour.
‘I don’t want you to have a marriage like that either,’ Mika said at last. ‘I’m just scared for you. I’m scared for me. What will I do if you ever leave me?’
‘You can marry again,’ Katarin said.
Mika shook her head violently. ‘I’ll never marry again.’
‘Then come with us.’
‘Dracodia is my home. I don’t want to live with strangers.’
Katarin went to her friend and leaned her head against Mika’s shoulder. Together they gazed out the window to watch the Keep wake up. Old Stac hobbled from the gatehouse to the kitchens, Yaron trotted around the yard on a hobby horse as a maid drew water from the well and the guards marched through the doors of the tower.
‘You won’t tell anyone will you,’ Katarin said, clasping Mika’s cold fingers between her own.
‘Course not,’ Mika snorted. ‘I’d rather cut out my own tongue before I betrayed my best friend.’
Katarin squeezed Mika’s fingers. ‘I knew I could count on you.’
*
The fields of wheat ripened into gold, sheathes grew fat with grain and the cottage folk sharpened their scythes. Midsummer was upon them, and so was the deadline for Ari’s challenge.
The previous evening Katarin had brought the Cartal to the observatory and made Ari read random sections from its pages. Satisfied that he read as fluently as she, Katarin urged him to argue for his freedom, using the sections they had agreed would support his claim. She felt confident that he would win his cause, if Brother Sneet had a mind to be fair.
Now, in the bleak light of day, she felt less certain. Today Brother Sneet was due to arrive at the Keep, meet with Ari, and decide his fate. Her belly fluttered with anxiety; she could not eat the breakfast that had been laid out for her.
She picked up her sewing and sat by the window all morning, her heart thumping every time anyone passed through the gate, but Brother Sneet was not amongst them.
By early afternoon she began to pace her room. Her sewing lay abandoned on the chair. She saw Ari and Lars stroll to the gatehouse and talk to Old Stac, who merely shook his head. Katarin sighed, knowing that Ari must be anxious too.
By late afternoon she stopped peering out the window. She felt restless and decided she would find Lars and ask him if he had any news. She pulled her cloak around her shoulders, for there was a chill in the air now, and marched down to the stables. This was the last place she had seen Lars.
A small tight knot had formed behind her breast bone, and her nerves were jangled from waiting tensely all day. She wondered if something had happened to Brother Sneet on the road. Perhaps he had been waylaid with a broken axel, or worse, by bandits. Though she did not truly wish these things upon Brother Sneet, she was hoping for a practical reason to explain his lateness. Ari’s fate, her fate, depended on his decision.
She was so caught up with worries that she did not notice Yaron at first. In fact, most folk would have missed him all together because he was hiding in the crook of a tree that grew just outside the stable doors. If it had not been for the fact that one of his shoes slipped at the precise moment Katarin walked by, she would not have thought to glance up into the branches.
‘What are you doing, Yaron?’ Katarin called, a smile rising from her lips. He was such an odd child, all seeing, all knowing too, she suspected.
Yaron did not reply. Not that she had expected him to, but he showed her a bird’s nest he had tucked inside his vest.
‘What have you got there?’
Yaron tilted the nest to show her. Inside the nest, lay a dead baby bird. ‘Oh,’ Katarin said, trying to hide her discomfort. ‘A baby bird. It doesn’t look very well does it?’
Yaron shook his head with sorrow.
‘In fact,’ she said, ‘I think it could be dead, don’t you?’
He nodded with mournful eyes.
‘Did you find it like that in the nest?’
Again, he shook his head.
‘Was it on the ground?’
Yaron smiled. Pleased perhaps that she had figured it out so quickly. She realised then that he must get awfully frustrated whe
n grown-ups didn’t understand him. Without speech, life had to be very limiting.
‘You put it in the nest,’ she added, and Yaron’s eyes lit up. ‘And…’ she hesitated. Why would a small boy put a dead bird in a nest and sit in a tree? ‘You are waiting for something to happen.’
Yaron stared at her, almost in disappointment she thought. There was more to it that she was missing. ‘You want the mama bird to come back for her baby…’ Yaron blinked his eyes and sighed. What did he think might happen then? ‘So that she can?’ She gazed at him in puzzlement. What a sad little creature you are, she thought. He was too pale, too thin, too quiet for a child of his age. Soon after his mother died, he had stopped talking, and nobody knew why. With sudden realisation, she understood what he was doing. ‘You think that if the mother bird comes back, she will make her baby well again. Is that it?’
His blonde little head snapped up, his eyes appealing her to confirm his deepest wish. ‘You know, Yaron,’ she said in her gentlest voice, ‘when a person is dead, they can never come back. Not even when you really love them and miss them.’ He blinked at her and pulled the nest tighter to his chest. ‘But you are right to put the baby bird back in the nest, because that’s where his mother will come to look for him. She will want to say goodbye to him.’
A tear rolled down the small boy’s cheek and dripped from his chin.
‘But she won’t come back while we are near the tree,’ Katarin said. ‘So, when you are ready, you will need to leave the nest there for the mother to find.’
Yaron peered into the nest and then back at Katarin. With the greatest care any boy had ever given a nest, he settled it in the crook of the tree and then leapt to the ground. Katarin gave him a squeeze of the shoulders and together they walked hand in hand towards his nursery.
She had not forgotten about her quest and when she saw Lars striding from the gatehouse, she called to him. Yaron turned to face his father and wiped away his tears.