In a Glance

by Lisa Shea

  Joan put her hand on the saddle, fresh aches hammering at her, and she stared at Ada in confusion. “Aren’t you taking me hostage?”

  Ada returned her gaze evenly. “Isn’t a hostage being taken somewhere she doesn’t want to go? I thought you wanted to go see Cecily.”

  Joan’s hand dropped to her hip, and she gave a low curse as it swept empty air. She had nothing with her – only the thin clothing and boots she had yanked on in order to talk with Linota.

  Still, perhaps she could overpower Ada on her own. She took a step toward her. “So you know where Cecily is?”

  Ada grinned. “Attacking me won’t get you what you want,” she calmly stated. “I only know the next town to go to. If you and I arrive there together, someone will approach me and let me know where to go after that. If you have me tied up, nobody shows. I don’t know who to look for, and the trail goes cold.”

  Joan glanced back at the horse. “I could go back for help.”

  Ada shrugged. “Sure, and Cecily will vanish. Believe me, she’s taken her time with this. She is more than happy to wait another year or two until the next opportunity presents itself. You will never find her by tracking her down.”

  Joan pursed her lips. “You seem to know Cecily well.”

  “As well as anybody could know her,” mused Ada. “I’ve worked with her for four years now.

  Joan’s leg buckled, and she stumbled back against the horse. Ada grinned. “You might not even make it back in one piece,” she pointed out. “Especially with your little group all eagerly heading out in the opposite direction, toward Ravenscar.”

  Joan’s heart chilled. “Is Linota in on it as well?”

  Ada laughed. “Not even Cecily can turn someone that quickly,” she teased. “No, Cecily just made sure to drop some misdirectional clues in Linota’s hearing. I’m surprised that’s the only one the woman picked up on, but she was under a lot of stress at the time.”

  She drummed her fingers along her reins. “So, what will it be? Do you want to have a chat with Cecily and find out what really happened between her and Michael?”

  “How do I know she won’t just kill me?”

  Ada raised her eyebrows. “Kill you? If she’d wanted you dead, you’d be lying in a pool of blood back in that hellhole of a tavern, and I’d be done with my babysitting duty.”

  Joan held her gaze. “Maybe she wants to do it herself.”

  Ada’s laughter was rich, echoing through the forest. “You really don’t know Cecily very well, do you,” she teased. “Cecily, do something like that herself?”

  “Maybe she wants to watch, then.”

  Ada shook her head. “She just wants to talk with you. She has a lot of respect for you, you know. Your training, your experiences.”

  A glimmer of insight arose within Joan. Perhaps Cecily had been using Michael, trying to gain knowledge of his operations. Joan had been at the center of the spider’s web, handling messages and information from all over. Certainly it was several years ago – but undoubtedly there was information she knew that Cecily would find quite useful.

  And, beyond that, Cecily seemed to take pride in turning people to her cause. Maybe she felt that, with a little time and patience, she could even convince Joan to join her.

  If Joan went along with the plan, and left enough breadcrumbs behind her, eventually Hugh and the others would realize that the Mermaid clue was a false one. They would return, track her down, and be led straight to Cecily.

  Joan put her foot in the stirrup, took in a deep breath, then hoisted herself up into the saddle. She held in a groan of pain as she settled down into position. She gave one last, long look to the road behind her.

  Hugh would be furious.

  She knew it with every fiber of her being, and she almost turned, almost headed back to him. But she knew Ada was right. If she left now, Cecily would vanish into the mist. And then in a year, or two, or five, the same thing would happen. Joan would somehow be caught off guard, would be given a chance, and she might be even less well prepared than she was now.

  She had to find out what Cecily knew.

  Nodding in resolution, she kneed her horse into motion, coming alongside Ada. “I am ready.”

  Ada grinned in delight. “Then we’re off!”

  Chapter 13

  Joan groaned in pain as they approached the sixth small, remote village in what seemed like a never-ending chain. Ada hadn’t been joking about Cecily’s attention to detail. It seemed like the entire village had been paid to stay quiet, and the one person who sought them out only knew the next location in the path. Twice they were provided with fresh horses, and each stop offered ale and some quick supplies. But Joan hadn’t slept properly in several days, and her head was throbbing in a steady rhythm.

  Ada smiled cheerfully at her. “You might be in luck,” she commented. “I see a wagon over by that farmer’s house.” She kicked her horse into a trot, moving over to drop to the ground by the surly man. He glanced at Joan for a moment, then nodded.

  Joan reined in next to the two, holding onto the saddle as she carefully slid to the ground. Her body ached as if she’d gone over a waterfall in full spring flood. She didn’t even ask where they were going next, as she had at previous stops. Ada would never answer, and it really didn’t matter much. She had no idea if the seagulls she scratched into the ground with her heel at every stop would ever be seen. For all she knew, a rainstorm would sweep through tomorrow and wash them all away.

  Ada nodded her head at the wagon. “All right, then, we both get in and he drives us for a while. Gives us a chance to catch up on sleep.”

  Joan didn’t argue. She was beyond exhausted. She climbed into the low wagon, nestling in amongst the bags of grain. There were a pair of blankets to one side, and she pulled one over her.

  In a moment Ada was up next to her, taking the other blanket. She closed her eyes, and in moments she was softly snoring.

  Joan had the thought that now was her chance. But for what? Ada had no idea where they were going. Indeed, Ada had made it clear that Joan could turn back at any time. But Joan had no intention of doing that. For now, it seemed, she would have to let the dark-haired farmer bring them further toward their destination.

  Heaviness pulled her down, she closed her eyes, and the world swam away.

  *

  Joan was getting tired of waking up in strange surroundings. Just once she would like to wake in her own bed, with Remus and Romulus nestled at her side, the familiar warp and woof of the tapestry hanging before her. Instead she was bumping along in a stained wagon, a crimson sunset streaking the sky above her, and Ada snoring like a river in full flood.

  She pushed herself up to a sitting position, taking up the ale skin and drinking down a long swallow.

  The driver turned his head. “Nearly there,” he commented with a disinterested look on his face.

  The woods were still thick around them, and the path the horse trod was barely wide enough for the wagon to pass. Joan wondered just what sort of a place they were going to. She rubbed wearily at the aching lump at the back of her head. Despite having slept the day half away, she still felt exhausted.

  The trees opened up before her, and she sat up in surprise. The ocean stretched wide before her in a plain of dusty blue, the shoreline a rocky cliff high above it. Before them was a walled keep perched over the crashing waves. The treeline had been trimmed back a good fifty feet around the outer wall, and the wagon made its way steadily toward the main gate. Alert guards manned the wall, watching them approach, and the heavy doors were pulled open.

  Ada made a groaning noise, then shook herself awake. “Finally,” she said, stretching. “Thought this old cart would never get there.”

  The wagon pulled into a large courtyard which was neat and well maintained. The stables, kitchens, and other buildings were clean and organized. Ada leapt down from the wagon, then put up a hand to help guide Joan down. Joan’s legs still felt wobbly, but she bit back the cry of pain t
hat threatened to emerge from her as her feet met the cobblestones. She had to do her best to present a strong front.

  Ada turned toward the main keep. “C’mon. You and I need a bath, after all we’ve been through. Then we’ll head in to dinner with Cecily.”

  Joan was eager to meet Cecily, to get all this over with, but the idea of a bath called to her with a strength she hadn’t thought possible. She followed along after Ada as they went through the main doors of the keep, then up a set of spiral stairs. The second floor seemed to offer several bedrooms evenly spaced down a long hallway. Ada stopped at one of the doors. “This one’s yours,” she commented. “Mine’s the next one on the right. Take your time, and come get me when you’re ready. I’m sure everything you need is there.”

  Joan pushed open the door, stepped through, and closed it behind her. She slid the bar across its channel, and her shoulders slumped in relief. For the moment, at least, she was safe. Then she turned to survey the room.

  It was elegantly furnished, with crimson curtains and beddings, and a low fire in the fireplace. Candles shone on several surfaces, providing a counterpoint to the glowing colors of sunset outside the window. A wooden wardrobe in one corner stood open; several dresses in various shades of crimson hung within. Before the fireplace was a large wooden half-barrel, nearly full of steaming water. A small table alongside it held a towel, a small pottery urn of wood ash soap, and a variety of brushes and combs.

  Joan glanced back at the barred door, then forward at the large windows overlooking the distant ocean. It seemed perfectly safe here, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had a proper bath.

  She stripped down, easing herself into the warm liquid, sighing in pleasure as the various aches and bruises over the past week met the soothing water. It was a long while before she roused herself to scrub off the layers of dirt and sweat. The process was luxurious. Her fingers and toes were thoroughly wrinkled by the time she finally, reluctantly, drew herself out of the water and toweled herself dry. She carefully inspected her injuries to ensure none needed further attention.

  That done, she slipped on a chemise, then chose one of the dresses; it fit perfectly. She brushed out her hair until it shone. At last she was ready to face whatever lay below.

  Her stomach growled, and she chuckled. Perhaps it was a good thing that food was the next item on the list.

  She slid aside the bar, then walked down the hall to the next door. She gave a sharp rap.

  Ada pulled the door open promptly, nodding a smile at her. The woman was wearing an elegant crimson tunic and looked less the tavern wench, more the noble lady. “Feels good to be clean and properly dressed,” she commented with a chuckle. “Let’s get some food into us. Cecily’s cooks are some of the best I’ve met.”

  They went down the stairs together, stepping into the main hall. The lower tables were full of soldiers and other keep staff. Joan didn’t recognize any from the camp she had raided two days ago. She looked up ahead to the main table, set cross-wise against the end of the hall.

  Cecily sat at the center of the table, waving in welcome. She was a woman of rich curves, her auburn hair shining in the candlelight. She wore a dark crimson tunic with gold embroidery along its hems. She motioned to the seat on her right, and Joan took it. Ada sat down on Joan’s other side.

  Cecily’s voice was warm. “Welcome to my home,” she offered. “You must be famished.” She looked up. “Ah, here comes Catharine.”

  A maid stopped by with a pitcher of mead, filling their mugs. Joan took a sip, relishing the delicious flavor as it traced its way down her throat. Then plates were laid out with roast ham, fragrant turkey, stewed turnips, candied apples, and a myriad of other dishes Joan could not name.

  All thought of talking fled her mind. She filled her trencher, immersed herself in the delicious offerings, and she had finished up thirds before she had become so full that she could not attempt one more bite.

  Cecily leant back in her chair. “If you want to talk now, Joan, I am quite at your leisure. But I might advise we wait until morning, when you are fresh. I can only imagine that you have not had a proper night’s sleep in quite a while.”

  Joan knew that she should begin the questioning immediately. She should find out what was going on and get safely out again. Hugh and the others were undoubtedly scouring the countryside for her.

  But her mind could just not focus on the task. The warm bath, the delicious food, and the rich mead had all conspired to make the thought of that luxurious bed a clarion call in her mind. There was no way she could attend well to an important discussion right now.

  Her eyes drooped.

  Cecily gave a knowing chuckle. “Bed it is, I think,” she commented, looking over at Ada. “I shall see you both in the morning?”

  Ada nodded, standing, putting a hand down for Joan. “Come on,” she prodded. “Cecily will be here in the morning, and you can talk with her as long as you wish. That is why you’re here, after all. First, you need that sleep.”

  Joan pushed to her feet, following along behind Ada through the throng and back up to her room. Again there was no sense of threat or trouble as she stepped in and barred the door. The bath had been removed, the blanket turned down, and she barely got the dress stripped off of her before she had tumbled into the bed.

  The mattress was pure bliss, and she drifted off into a relaxed sleep.

  Chapter 14

  Joan stretched her arms wide, more alert than she had in weeks. She took in the luxurious surroundings of her bedroom with a wry grin. If she were to wake somewhere different every day, at least today’s choice was quite a treat. Cecily must be doing pretty well for herself to be able to afford such a home.

  She rose and opened the curtains, looking out on the rolling ocean. The day was sunny, and the water glistened with gold edges to the waves. Seagulls flew high above, calling out, and Joan smiled. The fresh tang of salt air awakened her further. It was a good sign.

  She went to the wardrobe, finding that today’s selection included a range of tangerine dresses. She wondered if there would be color themes to the days. She chose one, pulling it on over her chemise, then brushed out her hair.

  There was no answer to her knocks on Ada’s door, so at last she made her way down the stairs and into the great hall. The room was mostly empty; apparently most of the keep had already eaten and started in with their daily tasks. Cecily and Ada were sitting at the far table, talking relaxedly with each other, and they looked up with smiles as Joan approached.

  “There you are,” welcomed Ada, sliding a seat down so Joan could sit between them. “Come, the cooks kept your food warm for you. I imagine you must be famished.”

  Indeed, Joan’s stomach had begun to rumble again. The moment the eggs, bacon, and other items were placed before her, she dug into them voraciously. The two women waited patiently while she ate, talking across her about general keep business.

  Finally Joan was finished, and Cecily lifted her glass. “Come, let us sit by the fire. It’ll be easier to talk there.” The three women relocated to a trio of chairs by the large, carved fireplace. A low pile of embers glowed within the grate, offering a gentle offset to the late spring weather.

  Cecily leant back, taking a sip of her mead. “And here we are, Joan. I imagine you have countless questions for me. So, ask away.”

  It was all so different than Joan had imagined. She had thought Cecily would be a hard, sharp-edged woman who ran her stews with an iron fist. The woman before her was smiling, pleasant, with healthy curves and a wide smile. The maids and servants had seemed contented and well cared for.

  Joan’s mind went back to the intelligence she had processed with Master Martin on Cecily and Umberto, on the range of activities the two had been involved with.

  “You worked with Umberto in the Holy Land?”

  Cecily nodded in agreement. “Yes, indeed. When I was young, my father decided he had too many mouths to feed. As soon as I turned thirteen he sold me to
a local stew.” Her eyes shadowed. “It was a Hell on earth. The girls were beaten regularly, the clients were abusive, and the conditions were beyond filthy. After three years I managed to escape, but I found myself starving on the street. I only knew of one way to earn my bread, but this time I found a better employer. I worked my way up through the ranks. I was recruited by another madam, and under her care I realized that a woman could do quite nicely for herself. It all depended on the environment she was in.”

  She took a sip of her mead. “Eventually I was in charge of a five-room brothel in Jaffa. Small, but with some of the most talented women in the region. The men flocked to our doors. Our women were happy, and that shone through in everything they did. The men were willing to pay top dollar for their tender ministrations.”

  Joan leant forward. “So where did Umberto come into this?”

  Cecily gave an elegant shrug. “I wanted to expand my business, and Umberto had both the financing and the knowledge of the area. It seemed a good fit at the time. Yes, I knew he had an unsavory side to him, but don’t all men? I figured I could manage that aspect of the relationship. Over time I had three locations, and then eight. My empire’s reputation was known from Rome to Paris.”

  Joan looked down at the plate at her side, making a show of selecting from amongst the various wedges of cheese laying there. Cecily was working hard to present herself as an honest businesswoman, pulling herself up by her own bootstraps, earning respectability for herself through hard work and diligent effort.

  Joan could see how women would be drawn into this story, would want to be a part of the world Cecily had created. Indeed, for many women, the independence she seemed to promise was all they could dream of. For women in poverty, the elegant furnishings and delicious meals would seem a Heaven on earth.

  However, Joan had seen the reports. She had talked with Master Martin long into the night about how the various intelligence reports linked together. Cecily was far from a beneficent guardian angel. Yes, a select few women had been able to live a life of luxury – for the scant months or years that they were at the top of their form. Then they were demoted to lesser quality stews, eventually ending up in flea-bitten locations that were not far off from the hellhole Cecily had started her poignant story with.