Will (Book 2)

by S. F. Burgess

  Davlin came to a halt, eyes wide. “Truly?”

  Still a little out of breath, Will nodded. “Why? How old did you believe me to be?”

  Davlin shrugged. “I thought you at least ten years old than me. I stand corrected.”

  Apparently having no idea of the impact his comment had made, he jogged past Will and continued on to the camp.

  Will watched him go, shock and fear rattling around his brain. Is this it? Is this what happens? I look fifty? Really? Caught up in his own terror at the possibilities, he picked up his smaller piece of wood and followed at a much slower pace. Of course, it was possible that Davlin was simply incapable of guessing age—some people were; his mother, for instance, had always been embarrassingly inaccurate. If I looked so old, someone else would have mentioned it by now. This thought reassured him. While Amelia or Conlan might have considered it impolite, Eleanor or Freddie would have brought it up; they were both about as subtle as a shark in a swimming pool. Besides, what if I do look a little older than my age? The last ten years have not been easy. By the time he could hear the hammering and sawing going on in their camp, the fear and shock were retreating, leaving only a vague worry that he shoved to the back of his mind. The here and now. The here and now. The here and now.

  Will placed his cargo on the pile, rubbed the stiffness out of his back, ignoring the sharp pain that flared up his side as he stood, and tried to resist the urge to yawn.

  “Will…”

  It was Conlan, calling him over. Looking around, Will located him standing with Davlin next to the cart, which was now nearly finished. As Will walked over to them, he admired their handiwork. The wooden planks fitted snuggly around the frame they had built into the cart, but with a sensible overlap so that when the untreated wood began to dry out and shrink, their home would still be waterproof. One wall even had a window with shutters. Arran and Teris were working hard to fit the roof over the curved frame and the little three-sided cab they had built to protect the driver if it rained. From inside, Will could hear Eleanor and Kip talking as they worked on the internal fittings. Considering that none of them were professional joiners, the finished result was amazing.

  As he looked over the woodwork and saw Conlan’s influence in the construction, Will felt an unusual burst of nostalgia. His mind was crowded with memories of the long months of his first winter in Mydren, as he and Conlan had built the furniture for their cave and struggled to get to know each other. Little things he thought he had forgotten came back to him: the rare sight of a smile from his young companion when they finished a particularly tricky piece; Conlan’s refusal to let him help when he hit his hand with the stone they were using as a hammer, hiding his pain with a practiced ease that had chilled Will to the core. How changed is the man before me from the boy I knew.

  Conlan smiled a greeting. “Will, I have a task for you, if you want it.”

  “Of course, how can I help?” Will replied, with a desperate hope that he would not be required to lift anything heavy or use his energy.

  “The carts need colour,” Davlin said, pointing at the blank, wooden frame.

  Will grinned. All the players’ travelling homes he had seen were painted with beautiful, bright images. For some of the people the players entertained, these images represented the only introduction to art they would ever have; for others they were just gaudy advertising. But either way, they were a statement about that troupe of players, their ideals and talents.

  “You want me to decorate it?” Will asked, trying hard to contain his excitement.

  “Eleanor tells me your drawings are genius,” Davlin said.

  “Eleanor exaggerates,” Will replied. What else has the little pixie been telling him? “However,” he continued, “I would enjoy painting the carts. Did you have any particular style or design in mind?”

  Conlan shook his head. “Something that includes us all. Oh, and we require a title. Remic has had the papers made out to the fictitious head of our group, Colltim of Nayburn, instead of a troupe name, so we are free to choose anything we wish.”

  “King’s Men,” Will said immediately in English.

  Surprise briefly crossed Conlan’s face before he managed to hide it.

  “Does that mean something in your language?” Davlin asked.

  Will nodded, watching Conlan as he thought it through. “It’s what they call themselves, you know,” Will said, again in English.

  “Yes, Will, I’ve heard the term,” Conlan said, his blank expression not giving any clues as to how he felt about it.

  “Kinngsmenn,” Davlin said slowly, trying to imitate what he had heard. Will gave him an encouraging smile, although listening to English spoken with a heavy Dwarfish accent was a little disturbing, again transporting him back to the early days with Conlan. “What does it mean?” Davlin asked, unaware that Will’s mind was elsewhere.

  “In the language of the Avatars it means, ‘King’s Men’,” Conlan said, embarrassment creeping round the edges of the comment.

  Davlin nodded thoughtfully. “Let us be Kinngsmenn, then,” he said.

  “Should we not ask the others what they think first?” Will asked, surprised that his spur-of-the-moment suggestion had been so readily accepted.

  Davlin shrugged. “They have been calling themselves King’s Men for a while; you will get no arguments.”

  Will had a sneaking suspicion Mickle would have found something to object to, but discovered he had no desire to mention this. Davlin was looking at Conlan, waiting for confirmation.

  “Very well, Kinngsmenn we are,” Conlan said. “But Will,” he added in English. “Don’t put the name on the carts anywhere; I don’t feel like having to explain what the English letters mean. I guess we’ll just have to be a little bit mysterious.”

  It was only later, as he sat making preparation sketches, the paint they had arranged before him, that it occurred to Will that Davlin, having seen him struggling, may have asked Conlan to find Will something less arduous to do. If this was the case, he was not sure how to take it. He was obviously not capable of maintaining the level of activity of some of the others, but he was still able to hold his own, just at a slightly slower pace. And if Conlan had asked him if he needed to switch tasks, he knew pride would have made him refuse. Then again, Conlan may have just wanted the carts painted. Six months ago, Will would have assumed the latter, but in their recent dealings with the Protectors he was seeing more and more evidence of ‘Conlan the Statesman’. While he had never doubted Conlan’s intelligence, Will had not expected him to pick up the skills and diplomacy of leadership so quickly. In this arena at least, he had thought he would be called upon to offer advice and assistance. He smiled at himself. Stupid old man! Conlan has lots of people to aid him—this is what you wanted. He’s not as reliant on you as he used to be.

  Will shoved the hurt he was feeling deep down inside and concentrated on the task before him, giving the wood several coatings of white as his primer, trying not to worry about how much lead it most likely contained. By the end of the day he had painted the entire cart and was out of white paint; he was going to need a different plan for the second cart.

  The next morning he started the main image on the windowless wall of the white cart. As he worked, he listened to Eleanor and Kip talking to each other as they sanded off the nearly finished interior, and eventually his curiosity got the better of him—he could not resist taking a peek inside. He climbed up the three sturdy steps and stood in the open doorway. Eleanor and Kip turned at the movement.

  “Hello,” Will said. “Mind if I take a look?”

  “Please do, brother. This will be your travelling home,” Kip replied a big smile on his face.

  “Caravan,” Eleanor said in English. Kip looked a little confused. “That is what they are called,” Eleanor explained, switching to Dwarfish.

  “Karavain,” Kip repeated, smiling as Eleanor nodded her approval.

  “Would you like an introduction to your Karavain?” K
ip asked again, launching into a description of all the features they had put in before Will had a chance to say no. It was a large space, although it would most likely look a lot smaller once they put in the soft furnishings that Amelia’s team were creating along with the player outfits. Yet even with the Spartan look and fresh smell of new wood, it still felt cosy. The built-in furniture had been carefully thought about, with lots of storage cupboards, drawers and shelves. There was enough room for a wide couch at the far end and a table and seating benches for during the day. And all of this converted into two double beds and two single beds for night use. They had even included a small pot belly stove and tube chimney, on the right of the door, secured firmly to the floor on four widely splayed legs.

  “So that’s what was in those two heavy crates,” Will mused to himself in English, running his hand over the rough metal surface.

  “I will still be doing the cooking,” Kip said, concern filling his eyes, taking a guess at what Will might have said. “This is for warmth and the occasional hot drink at night, perhaps.”

  Will smiled at the earnest young man. “I am sure you will always be doing the cooking Kip. Nobody is as good at it as you are.”

  Kip pulled himself up to his full height, his hair brushing the roof—as Will’s already was—his face full of pride. “Lady Eleanor says this too, but she is just a woman. It is better to hear it from you,” Kip said, flinching back as Eleanor gave him a light punch on the arm.

  “I would trust Eleanor’s authority over mine, Kip,” Will said quietly. “After all, she holds your king’s heart.”

  Kip stood, his forehead wrinkled in thought, eyes fixed on the floor. He spoke slowly and deliberately, not looking at either of them, as if explaining a difficult problem to himself. “Lady Eleanor is strong and powerful, a warrior. She defeated Moylan and he is a good swordsman and she did not cheat—Conlan said so. She is also very smart; pretending to be players to get to the tower was her idea. Conlan is a great king and I have seen him listen to her…”

  Kip’s monotone speech stopped. Eleanor gave Will a look that was half amusement, half annoyance.

  Kip lifted his head. “My king would not choose anybody ordinary to love. Lady Eleanor is special, so she has more authority than other women, and I should listen to her.”

  “Yes, Eleanor is special, in a mildly irritating sort of way, and you should listen to her,” Will agreed, ignoring Eleanor as she stuck her tongue out at him. “But Kip, if you give them a chance, you will find that many women are just as strong and intelligent as Eleanor. You should listen to them, too. Women are not inferior, but worthy of our respect.”

  Kip looked confused. “But nobody else thinks like this…”

  “I think this. As do Conlan and Freddie,” Will assured him.

  “Davlin does as well,” Eleanor added, giving a smirk to Will’s surprise.

  “The idea that a woman can be an equal to a man is not a common one,” Will admitted. “But it is an idea that Conlan is very keen on spreading. You could help him.”

  Kip nodded thoughtfully. “I have to go and make lunch now,” he said abruptly. Will stepped out of the way as Kip walked down the steps and towards the cooking fire.

  Eleanor sat at the table and began sorting through a pile of her things, putting them into a couple of drawers she appeared to have commandeered. She spoke without taking her eyes off the clothes, books and personal detritus in front of her.

  “I’m all for women’s equality, Will, but if your plan is to convert each Mydren man individually, I’m thinking it could take you a while.”

  Will sighed, sitting on down on the freshly sanded bench opposite her. “Not if they all took to the idea as Kip just did. Does Davlin really believe in the value of women?”

  Eleanor nodded. “A couple of years ago his second in command was a great warrior, intelligent strategist and, he claims, someone with the strongest moral character he’d ever met. During a mission, this second in command saved his life, and in the process revealed that she was a woman in disguise. Davlin turned a blind eye to it, judging her on her ability to do the job, not her gender.” Eleanor paused, raising her eyes to Will’s, tears pooling in them. She took a breath and continued. “Unfortunately, somehow the secret got out and she was caught. Davlin argued for her, tried to get them to acknowledge that she was someone they needed, but all this did was cast suspicion on him and his relationship with the woman. They stripped her naked, tied her up in front of the all the Night Paws, and took three hours to flog her to death. Davlin’s position meant he was forced to deliver forty of her lashes himself. She died under his whip. I don’t think he will ever forgive himself.”

  Horrified, Will shuddered in sympathy, and for the first time since they had met, he began to understand why Davlin had joined their cause.

  Eleanor dragged the back of her hand across her face, brushing the tears away. Reaching out, Will took her other hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  “We are going to make things better,” he assured her, doing his best to put the certainty he felt into the words.

  Eleanor gave him a small smile. “But it will be too late for so many.”

  “We do the best we can.”

  She nodded, but stared blankly at the things in front of her. Not wanting to interrupt her as she processed her thoughts, Will waited. His gaze drifted down to the items on the table. Underneath the clothes and other bits and bobs he could see the polished wooden box the jeweller had given Eleanor in Gallendary. His curiosity gave him a kick and he cleared his throat, waiting for Eleanor to look at him before he spoke.

  “I meant to ask earlier—what’s in the box?”

  “Weighing scales,” Eleanor said, pulling the box out and opening it up, revealing a small set of polished brass weighing scales with a variety of little lead weights resting in the velvet lining. They were well crafted and looked expensive, but for the life of him, Will could think of no reason why she would need them.

  “They’re beautiful, but what are they for?”

  “Jewellers use them for measuring gold, silver and gemstones,” Eleanor said.

  “Yes, okay… but what do you intend to use them for?”

  Eleanor smiled enigmatically. “Weighing stuff.” Will raised an eyebrow and held her gaze until she dropped her eyes and huffed. “I had an idea, but I don’t know if it’s going to work yet, so I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up until I test it.”

  “What sort of idea?” Will asked.

  “One I’d like to be a surprise.”

  “Okay, okay, keep your secrets. Just promise me you’re not doing anything dangerous,” Will said, noticing the guilt in the little pixie’s eyes. Eleanor swallowed and sighed. “You are doing something dangerous,” Will concluded.

  “A little, maybe… but I’ll be careful,” Eleanor insisted.

  “Explain,” Will ordered.

  Eleanor’s mouth opened to protest, but shut again when she saw the look on Will’s face.

  “Killjoy,” she muttered. “You’re going to ruin a great surprise!”

  She glared at him, but Will maintained his hard, uncompromising face. Eleanor was too smart and too reckless. If she acknowledged there was danger involved, they should all be worried.

  Huffing again, she nodded. “Okay, do you remember the food you ate when we stayed with the Dwarves?”

  “Vaguely…” Will replied, although the more accurate answer was ‘no’.

  “There was beef…” Eleanor prompted.

  A memory of Amelia giggling as she fed him something popped into his mind, but there was no real memory of the food he consumed. “If you say so,” Will said, confused as to where Eleanor was going with the conversation.

  “Well… did you see any cows?” Eleanor asked.

  “No, I didn’t see cows, I just sort of… well, to be honest, it never crossed my mind where the food came from,” Will admitted. “Why? Is there something special about the beef?”

  “I was a littl
e upset about cows being stuck in a mountain. It worried me, and so I asked the ladies who came to clear up the food where the cows were kept. Turns out the Dwarves don’t have cows—the meat is brought in. So then I wanted to know how they kept it fresh. The lady said the beef was salted, which I thought was odd, because sea salt would be so hard to get…”

  “Eleanor! Is there a point to this?” Will asked.

  “I’m getting there. The answer is they use deposits of a slightly salty mineral found in caves near where the cows graze, to preserve their beef!” Eleanor said with a flourish.

  Confused, Will stared at her. “So?”

  “I’m betting it’s potassium nitrate that’s leached through the water table from the fields above…” Eleanor said smiling, like this was the best news ever.

  The information did nothing to improve Will’s understanding. “So?” he asked again.

  Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Seriously? I thought you were educated!”

  “Better educated than you, thank you very much!” Will snapped. “But all the education in the world doesn’t help when you don’t know where to apply it.”

  “Think about it,” Eleanor insisted. “Potassium nitrate… we know where the volcanoes are for sulphur… I just need to make better quality charcoal…”

  As if a lightning bolt struck his head, Will suddenly understood what she was trying to do. His physical response was instant and violent: every muscle tensed, his stomach flipped, and goose bumps erupted across his body.

  “Bloody hell! Eleanor,” he said, horrified. “You’re trying to make gunpowder!”

  She nodded, a smug grin on her face.

  “Are you mad?” Will asked, unconsciously adding a harsh Dwarfish growl of disbelief to the English. “Mydren has more than enough problems without you giving its people the opportunity to murder each other on a grand scale. We have no right to interfere with the development of this world.”

  Her smile vanished, and Eleanor started at him for several moments.

  “First of all, I was intending to create distractions, nothing more. I don’t think Mydren has the facilities for making weapons-grade gunpowder. I was thinking more about fireworks,” Eleanor said, her eyes flashing amber. “And secondly… did you just quote the Prime Directive at me?”