The Wizard Priest

by Patty Jansen

  Oh, for a nice warm bed.

  Several times in the past few nights, Nellie had almost picked up her blanket and gone upstairs where the dragon slept in the hayloft. The children always said his body was warm and that he would let them sleep against his warm flanks. It seemed so much more comfortable than sleeping downstairs.

  Nellie crossed the marketplace between the empty snow-covered stalls, up to the gates of the palace.

  The palace guards stood in their guard boxes. She hoped that one of them would be Henrik because he would let her through without asking too many uncomfortable questions. Or so she hoped.

  But neither of the guards was Henrik. It had been silly of her to hope.

  Nellie debated waiting until she could see him, but that would only make the men suspicious.

  So she pulled the shawl closer over her head and went up to the guard box.

  “I have spices to deliver to the kitchen.”

  She showed them the basket she had brought to carry the leftovers. No one would know the pots in the basket were empty.

  These two men she only knew vaguely. Fortunately, they let her through, and Nellie crossed the snow-covered forecourt.

  It looked like all the guests from the banquet for the birthday of the Regent’s son had gone home. The stables were empty. There were no more coaches standing outside and no more horse boys gathering around a fire laughing and talking.

  The guards at the palace entrance looked bored, standing by the closed doors by the light of a few lamps. One of them was stamping his feet, the other clapping his hands around himself, making his sword rattle in the scabbard and the metal in his belt jingle as he did so. Neither of them were Henrik either.

  Nellie sped past the bottom of the steps, through the familiar lane that ran past the side of the palace and into the back door that let her into the kitchen.

  The moment she entered, Dora turned around.

  “Didn’t I tell you to shut that—Nellie!”

  She had been stirring a pot at the stove, but flung her ladle on the table and ran to the door.

  She enveloped Nellie with a warm, strong hug. “You’re still alive. I was so worried.”

  “No, I’m fine. Life could be better, but I’m fine.”

  Then another kitchen worker came in.

  “I thought I heard your voice.” Corrie ran up to Nellie and hugged her.

  “How is your foot?” Nellie asked. In another time, that seemed lifetimes ago, Corrie had fallen down the stairs and could barely hobble around the kitchen.

  “All good again. You’re coming back? What happened? Sit down. Tell us all about it.”

  “I’ll have some tea, but I can’t stay long.”

  “What? You’re not staying? Your room is still empty.”

  “I know. I would like to stay, but I can’t.”

  Dora asked, “You want the leftovers?”

  “Yes. I’m looking after a group of the children and their mothers who were evicted from the church. We have little food.”

  Dora said, “Let me make you a nice bag, then.”

  She went into the pantry.

  Nellie sat at the table, surprised at how quickly this place felt strange to her. It was so comfortable and not so long ago that she was working here herself.

  Corrie said, “We heard rumours a dragon took you from the palace. Is that true?”

  “Yes, it is. It was not like I had any choice.”

  Corrie gasped. “How big was it? It could eat you.”

  “He’s quite big, but he wasn’t interested in eating me.”

  “Where is that dragon now? We keep hearing rumours about it, that it flies over the city at night and eats people’s cats and dogs.”

  Nellie spread her hands. “I don’t know. He flew off.” Although she would love to put the record straight on cats and dogs. Her dragon did not eat cats and dogs. He got on much better with animals than with people.

  Dora said, “Last we heard, the shepherd said the dragon killed Lord Verdonck.”

  Nellie snorted “The shepherd said that? Why?” The shepherd had been nowhere near Lord Verdonck or the dragon.

  “He said the deacons were preparing his body—”

  “Wait. The Regent let deacons prepare the body?”

  Corrie frowned. “Yes? Is that unusual? It needs to be done before the burial.”

  “Lord Verdonck hated the church. Did his son allow the deacons to prepare the body?”

  “Now you say it, people commented that the stuck-up son had some strong words to say about it. But anyway, what I wanted to say was that when the deacons went to wash him, they found scratches on his leg so large that only a dragon could have made them, and that was how they figured it was the dragon that did it.”

  That would almost have made sense, if not for the fact that Madame Sabine had scratches, too, and she was still very much alive. But that was a secret known only to Nellie.

  She remembered seeing the body being carried out of the palace into a waiting coach. Someone would have had to prepare the body for burial.

  Dora said from the pantry, “Lord Verdonck’s son was real angry and has threatened to take the Regent before the Burovian court for neglecting to ensure the safety of all guests in the palace. That’s a big thing with the nobles, apparently. And I’ve heard it from good sources that many people were at the banquet who shouldn’t have been, and all of them had invitations, too.”

  “If they were invited, then the Regent had himself to blame,” Nellie said.

  “Yes, we all know he’s not the brightest spark,” Dora said. “I don’t know how much of this is true, but it’s said Madame Sabine wanted to do the invitations, but her husband said no, and he passed the task off to the church, because they would have to approve the list anyway.”

  Nellie had heard that, too, and from a more reliable source than just rumours: from Madame Sabine herself. Thinking back to that strange visit to the consort’s room, it occurred to her that Madame Sabine had a much better handle on the situation than Nellie had thought.

  “Whatever you all think, Lord Verdonck had the scratches,” Corrie said. “The deacon told us. He saw them.”

  Dora said, “You don’t die from scratches.”

  “If they go bad, you may. I imagine a dragon’s scratches can easily go bad.”

  Nellie said, “You served at the tables in the days before the banquet. Lord Verdonck was there. If he was about to die from bad scratches, he would have limped, or seemed unhealthy. Did you see anything unhealthy about him?”

  “An unhealthy obsession with Madame Sabine’s bosom, maybe,” Dora said, and they all laughed.

  She came back to the table and poured herself some tea.

  Corrie said, “So do you don’t think Lord Verdonck’s son will be happy that the Regent holds a dragon responsible for his father’s death?”

  Nellie shook her head. “I doubt it. Adalbert Verdonck is many things, but stupid is not one. He hates the Regent with a passion. He demands not just to know whose hand put poison in his father’s food, but who ordered it. He is an angry and powerful young man.”

  Corrie asked, “What is the son going to do? If he demands his money back, what will the Regent do?”

  Nellie shrugged. “Ask the church to loan it to him?”

  Dora said, “The shepherd will tell him that he can have the money, but in return, he has to give up his wish to become king.”

  True. “He could raise taxes.”

  Corrie snorted. “If he does that, there will be a lot of unhappy people in Saardam.”

  “There sure will,” Dora said. “You mess with people’s money at your own peril.”

  Corrie said, “If the Regent declares himself king, then he can do whatever he wants.”

  Dora nodded, clutching her cup. “That’s the long and short of it. And it may well be the start of another winter of discontent.”

  Nellie remembered the last of those winters. She had been with the group of former refugees who
had returned to Saardam after fleeing the city when the Fire Wizard and his magicians occupied the city. They had eventually driven him out, but not without a fight and loss of life.

  “You know who has been asking about you? That guard, Henrik is his name, isn’t it?”

  Nellie’s heart jumped. “What did he want to know?”

  “He was concerned and wanted to know where he could find you. He was sitting right where you are now. I had to tell him I had no idea where you were.”

  “Tell him I’m safe.”

  “But where are you sleeping? Not in the poorhouse, I hope?”

  “No. There are a lot of empty shops and warehouses in the artisan quarter.”

  “Whoa, that’s a creepy place.”

  “It is, but it’s dry and the people who abandoned those buildings didn’t always take all their things with them.”

  “So can I tell him that? You’re in the artisan quarter?”

  “Oh. I don’t know . . .” It felt embarrassing, and she didn’t want Henrik to see her living like a pauper.

  “Why not? There is clearly something going on between you and him.”

  “No, there is not,” Nellie said. “And anyway, I don’t work here anymore, I live with outcasts and homeless people. I’m a pauper. Why would he be interested in me?”

  “Because he is. Why won’t you talk about it?”

  “Because I have better things to do. Like making sure we don’t starve to death.”

  “But he could vouch for you so you could have your position back. I don’t understand.”

  Because they didn’t know about the dragon box. It was tempting to come back here, but Nellie knew it would never last. Once it became known she had stolen the box, maybe she would be blamed for Lord Verdonck’s death. After all, she had visited his room and had given him herbs. If Madame Sabine wanted, she could easily blame Nellie.

  She put her empty cup down. “I better go before it gets light and too many people get up.”

  Dora nodded at the hessian bag that now sat at the end of the table, bulging with wrapped leftovers from the pantry. “Take that. Come back every day if you want. I don’t understand you, but we’ll help anyway.”

  “Thank you.” Nellie hope that one day she could explain everything, and they would all sit around the table and have a good laugh about it. For now, though, that time seemed further away than ever.

  She picked up the bag and went back outside into cold. The wind came straight from the snow-covered forests of the east and bit into her skin. It was going to be a cold winter. The Regent should not squander food from the stores for the sake of buying his way to the throne. They would need that food later in the year.

  By the first of dawn light, Nellie walked through the dark alley around the side of the palace and back into the forecourt.

  The guards at the gate said nothing and let her pass unhindered.

  Nellie crossed the marketplace where a few stallholders had arrived. They were talking to each other in the glow of a street lamp and appeared to be watching something.

  Two men stood at the door to the main church, one with a light while the second nailed a sheet of paper to the church door.

  Nellie stopped next to the merchants.

  “What are they doing?” she asked.

  “You tell me, missy,” a man said, while rubbing his gloved hands.

  The man with the hammer had finished his job. The other man lifted the lantern to look at the paper. And then, satisfied with their job, the two came down the church steps.

  Nellie thought she recognised one of them: he was one of the city guards who worked for the mayor.

  They greeted the group of merchants watching and turned into the street.

  A couple of the merchants climbed the steps and Nellie followed. By now, it was light enough to read the text on the paper, written in plain script.

  It said:

  Declaration.

  Henceforth the following shall be forbidden:

  All activities that involve magic.

  The possession of objects that involve magic.

  The plying of craft that uses magic.

  Persons found to be in breach of these conditions shall be arrested.

  Regent Bernard.

  Chapter 4

  * * *

  NELLIE WALKED BACK through the streets of the city to the artisan quarter. When she came past the shops, people were still unaware of that horrible piece of paper on the church door. That piece of paper that would make their activities illegal.

  Most of the shop owners and many of the carpenters, tailors, bakers and anyone who plied a handicraft had limited amounts of magic. At least the ones who were good at it.

  She wasn’t sure why the Regent’s aimed to get rid of all the craftspeople in the city. If no one was left to bake the bread, how would people eat? If all the musicians left, then who would play at his banquets? Who would cook? Who would build houses? Who would make beautiful furniture? Who would sail ships? Anyone could get a team of sea cows and let them drag a barge up the river, but to sail across the sea, navigate the treacherous sand bars without running aground, that required wind magic.

  Maybe the Regent had a plan that non-magical people he approved of would replace them, but he didn’t appreciate the amount of craft required to be a baker or a carpenter, and that to do well in those trades, a magical affinity with the subject was almost required. Regent Bernard came from Burovia. Wasn’t magic much more accepted there? It made no sense.

  The people opening their shops for the day’s trade knew nothing of the Regent’s declaration. Here and there, guards stood in groups. They were not palace guards in royal livery but city guards in blue, young men who assisted the city council in maintaining safety in return for the city council assisting their families. Not as well-trained, and not as well-equipped either.

  Some spoke to each other. A lot of them were young. One of them was asking a superior questions, and the patrol leader replied in a curt voice: “We wait for that to happen, all right? I told you before, I don’t know.”

  No, they weren’t happy with this latest development. They might have their orders but were probably waiting for the citizens to be given the chance to read the Regent’s declaration and make their own decision to leave. The guards would prefer that, because it meant less work for them and, besides, the prisons were already full.

  Nellie ran into a crowd of onlookers gathered in a square.

  The town crier stood on a stone pedestal ringing his bell. His voice echoed between the surrounding houses.

  “By decree of the Regent, all magic shall henceforth be forbidden in the city. Anyone who has any magical ability, or is in possession of any magical objects, shall now be required to notify the guards and to hand in the offending objects. Their choice is to leave the city or be arrested.”

  The message was short and, when he finished and rang his bell, he was besieged with questions.

  Nellie couldn’t hear what the citizens asked him, but he shouted out, “I am only a town crier. I didn’t make the decision. I’m repeating to you what the palace has told me to say. I don’t know why the Regent made this decision. If you want to know, I suggest you go up to the palace and ask. I don’t know.”

  Several citizens called him an idiot and a sell-out.

  “The Queen would never have allowed this!” a man called out.

  “I agree. Long live the queen.”

  Except the queen was dead.

  The poor town crier looked increasingly uncomfortable. He glanced over the heads of the people to the guards at the edge of the square. They had not moved, so far.

  In the tumult, he raised the paper and started again, because more people were coming out of their houses.

  It was only a matter of time before someone would throw rotten eggs.

  Nellie continued down the street.

  The distressed face of the poor town crier made her think about Henrik again.

  If one got a coveted s
pot in the prestigious palace guards, for how long should you keep the position if you were ordered to do things you found cruel? For how long did you trust that the institution you served had the best interests of the country and its citizens in mind?

  Her father had been in the same position with the church. As their accountant, he saw how the church spent its money. He didn’t agree, but did that mean he should stop being an accountant for the church? Did it even mean he could do that if he wanted? Because he had a family to feed.

  It was all easy saying self-righteous things if you were just a bystander.

  She’d said nothing about the Regent’s banquets either, because she needed to work, just like her father had.

  For now, she had to warn the other women. Zelda clearly had some magic, and probably so did some of the others. And then there was that issue of having a whopping great big dragon in the warehouse and the dragon box that was in Nellie’s bag. They needed to hide all those things, although how she would hide a dragon that refused to go back into its box, Nellie wasn’t sure.

  Nellie turned into the alley that led to the courtyard surrounded on three sides by warehouses. Since she was carrying the bag of bread and other supplies, Nellie was welcomed with cheers.

  A lusty fire burned in the fire pit. Steam rose from the tin that served as kettle and that hung over the fire. The women had set up a temporary table made of two kegs and a couple of planks of wood and had set out bowls in which Mina was ladling porridge for the children.

  Seeing them all lined up and attacking their food as soon as Mina set the steaming bowl before them almost made Nellie cry. These children with their pale faces and bright eyes deserved better than this. They deserved better than to learn how to beg.

  The children finished in no time and scrambled up the ladder to the hayloft.

  Nellie watched them go, still feeling uncomfortable that she had no idea what the dragon ate.

  Mina handed her a bowl of porridge. It was watery in substance, since they didn’t have milk; and they didn’t have sugar, but it was warm and filling.