Fletcher (A Prydain novel Book 3)

by AJ Adams

  The steward drew himself up. “I forbid it. You cannot work as a common mercenary.”

  “The Guild has no say over military matters.”

  The red hair and red beard were merging with the red flush of temper that consumed the steward. “We are Guild, man. We keep Prydain civilised. We don’t stoop to the work of peasants. You demean us all by your constant disregard for our position!”

  “I am a fletcher. Working in the field is vital for understanding my craft.”

  “So watch the bowmen and archers practice in the duke’s keep like everyone else.”

  Ware was patient. “It’s not the same. Getting into battle conditions is the only way to understand what’s needed.”

  “You are intolerable!”

  “And the best master fletcher in the nine cities.”

  The arrogance was beautiful. Okay, irritating as fuck, too, but I was enjoying the way Ware was sticking it to the steward. The man was fearless.

  “I will see you thrown out of the Guild!”

  “Well, you can try, Duggard. But I think you’ll find the Llanfaes Guild don’t mind my peculiar ways.”

  Right, because Ware would earn them a fortune and make their reputation. The Llanfaes Guild would be smiling on him.

  “You’re a disgrace!” The steward was on his hind legs and screaming. “You should be whipped and sent to the Haven salt mines!”

  Ware got to his feet, bowing ironically. “It has been a pleasure, Steward. I’ll send you the tithe. Do make sure you send a receipt.”

  Like the Guild steward was some cheap clerk. It was beautifully done, that nasty exit line. I tripped along next to Ware, thoroughly enjoying myself. If Ware was going to slap down Guild members, I’d have a good time. Before I ran away, of course

  As we walked through the city, people staring at my collar, I tried to figure out what Ware was thinking. Despite baiting the steward he wasn’t happy, that was for certain, but he wasn’t mad at me. I was convinced of that when he stopped in a little shop. It was a confectioner, selling cakes, biscuits and marzipan. I was drooling just at the scents.

  I thought he was buying a gift for one of his fancy pals, like the constable, maybe. Then Ware handed me a ginger snap. “Well done for keeping quiet at the steward’s.”

  It was crisp, sweet and spiced, feather light and yet lingering on the tongue. I was licking my fingers, sucking up the last crumbs when it occurred to me that this was part of Ware’s sneaky plan to school me. If it hadn’t been for knowing what he was, I might’ve kicked, but remembering what he was capable of, I hid my thoughts.

  At least, I thought I had.

  “Restraint. I like that too.” Ware was smiling. “A sweet smile is tender beauty.”

  I should’ve bashed the smug bugger with the hammer when I had the chance.

  He knew what I was thinking, I know he did, because he quickly took my hand. “No, don’t say it.”

  I was fuming, but then he was walking fast, tugging me along so that I couldn’t catch my breath, never mind speak. “Come, Lind. We need to inspect our new quarters.”

  He might’ve signed up at standard fletcher rates, but he’d been assigned a lovely cottage, just next to the city gates. “It’s just two rooms, but Wolf will like the garden.” He was in love with that horse. “And the butts are just behind us.”

  “Butts?”

  “The archers’ practice field.”

  I looked at the two rooms, clean but sparsely furnished, the garden with the apple tree, but most of all I looked at the gates. They were tall, well-guarded and closed from dusk to dawn, but just being near them gave me courage. Maybe I could just walk out one morning when Ware was hanging with the bowmen.

  “Come, Lind.” I followed, outwardly meek, inwardly excited. The excitement fizzled when Ware stopped by the barracks.

  “Master Ware.” A grizzled war veteran was bowing but cool. By the look in his eyes, he remembered the Caern-Llanfaes dispute, too. “The constable said you’d come by.”

  “Sergeant Kennard, I am pleased to see you are well.” Ware was cool, and the politeness was purely superficial. “I have contracted with the constable for a month. He suggested I take the guest cottage by the gate, but I need to secure my equipment.”

  “The constable has seconded two men to guard your cottage, and we’ve upped the patrols, too,” the veteran growled. “Nothing will go missing, I guarantee it.” Then he stared at my neck. “I take it that was the Serif of Flamestead’s treasure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Unusual place to keep your money.”

  “Is it?” Ware sounded bored.

  “Well, she’ll be safe enough in the castle,” the sergeant sneered. “Your thrall can wear her pretty collar without fear of losing her head.”

  All the air punched out of my lungs. My knees went weak. Sweat suddenly ran down my back. All those people looking, and it hadn’t occurred to me that if the bloody thing was worth fifty times more than my life, someone might take it. My life, I mean. So they’d get the collar. All it would take was one swipe with a sword.

  Ware shrugged. “Lind stays with me, always. Nobody will touch her.”

  I was trapped. The collar was more effective than shackles.

  “Come, Lind.”

  I was numb, walking by his side, feeling as if every eye on me were a blade at my neck. No wonder he wasn’t beating the hell out of me. Ware had put me down, and I hadn’t even known it. He was cunning, vicious and ruthless, outmanoeuvring the seneschal, the thugs, the Guild and everyone else. Ware Fletcher was lethal.

  While we walked back through the city, Ware was talking, making plans. “We’ve got three days until we start the job. We’ll have dinner at the inn. But first we’re going for a drink.” The iron eyes raked me briefly. “Best behaviour, Lind.”

  Right. I’d be a perfect thrall until I figured out what to do. Maybe if I had some time and tools, I could get out of the collar. I tried to visualise the cutters the smith had used. They’d been huge, with three foot long handles. There was nothing like them in Ware’s toolbox. Even if there were, my arms weren’t long enough to use them.

  Thinking it through wasn’t getting me anywhere. I was also distracted by our surroundings. We were crossing the city again, making our way to the eastern quarter, a poor part of Caern.

  Much of it was trashed, with roofs and walls missing. An effect of the dispute, I thought. Unlike the rich Guild, the poor couldn’t just rebuild.

  After walking through some dangerous-looking lanes, clogged with dirt, broken stone and tile, we ended up in front of an inn. The Giggling Goose was a dump, the type of place pig Jarvis stayed, not an inn for Guild members and certainly not a place to attract luxury-loving Ware. But we went in and sat down.

  The inn was crowded, super busy for a small place. From the way a parcel of men at the bar were talking, it soon became clear why.

  “Well, that’s an end to it. Your thrall will be serving ale in Wotan’s hall now.”

  “Praise the duke for catching the killers!”

  “They screamed for mercy, did you see?”

  “All of Caern saw. It’s been a while since we saw a proper execution, never mind a double one.”

  “It’s a shame one of them croaked under questioning. I’d love to see a triple execution.”

  “Those damn Brighthelme migrants should be kicked out.”

  “Nobody’s safe. I won’t let my wife or daughter out alone.”

  So the thugs who’d attacked us had also killed a thrall. I remembered the knife at my neck and shivered. If it hadn’t been for Ware, I would’ve been in deep trouble or dead, maybe.

  He was raising his voice to cut through the chatter. “Ale for me, and a cider for the lady.”

  Lady. Me. Everyone hushed, took in the collar and then glanced at Ware’s bow. The innkeeper gazed at the rich clothes and decided it was his lucky day. “Yes, sir.”

  Ware joined the group, settling me next to him, and went straight in
to his best oily mode. “Master Innkeeper, I condole on the loss of your thrall.”

  “Yes, it’s a disgrace. There’s no compensation for destroyed property.”

  Fuck! A girl lost her life, and he was thinking it his loss!

  I was fuming, but Ware’s hand was squeezing my wrist warningly. “Shocking. Tell me, what happened? How did she come to be out in that alley?”

  “Who knows?” The innkeeper shrugged. “She ran errands all day long.”

  “How many people could’ve asked her?” Ware asked. “Surely someone knows something?”

  But they didn’t. As I drank my cider, delicious and surprisingly strong, Ware got vague descriptions of various soldiers and travelling merchants, and that was it.

  “I asked everyone,” the innkeeper repeated. “But I never found out who sent her on that fatal errand.”

  “Because if you had, you would’ve made him pay for her,” someone jeered.

  “Too right.” The innkeeper was angry. “Thralls don’t grow on trees, you know!”

  “This one did. Didn’t your mother’s thrall pup her?”

  “Exactly! It cost a fortune to raise her.”

  Bastards! A girl they’d known all their lives, and they had no more feeling for her than they had for a bar stool. I was hot with anger, but with Ware sitting next to me, I had to swallow it. Even so, the rage burned in my chest.

  Then the innkeeper added, “If I’d known that useless girl would get herself killed, I would’ve drowned her at birth.”

  That’s when I lost it. “You should’ve been drowned at birth, you good-for-nothing—”

  I was on my feet and yelling, but Ware tugged me close and threw his cloak over my head. It meant I couldn’t call the innkeeper a prickless wonder, but I guess he knew I didn’t like him. While I struggled to throw off the heavy wool, I could hear the little creep complaining. “She can’t talk to me like that!”

  Ware was standing up, trapping me in the heavy folds and keeping me hard against him. “I’m so sorry. She’s dreadful. She’ll be punished, I assure you.”

  He hustled me out of there, and it wasn’t till we were well away from the inn that he stopped and extracted me from underneath the cloak.

  “Lind, you’re a menace.” Ware’s eyes were cold. “You must learn to control your temper.”

  “He’s a cock-sucking pig!”

  “Yes, and no doubt Wotan will have his arse,” Ware spoke calmly, but his mouth was set, and there was temper coming off him in waves. “But you are with me, and that means you behave, no matter what cheap innkeepers say.”

  I stared at him, noting the hard eyes and the rippling muscles. Suddenly I saw those hurdles go past again. Why the hell hadn’t I shut up? Ware was furious, and I knew in my bones he was going to do something nasty.

  “Sorry.” I should’ve crawled, but it came out sulky.

  It didn’t lessen the anger I saw in him, but Ware nodded briefly. “All right.”

  My immediate fear receded. I hated myself for not standing up to him, but sensible me knew that backing off was better than being slapped stupid.

  “There’s no point in going back,” Ware was musing out loud. “We’ll have to leave it.”

  And that started up a whole new train of thought: why on earth was Ware interested in the death of a poor little thrall? I took a look at the pursed mouth and furrowed brow and decided not to ask. It didn’t seem the right time to find out if he’d been in jail, either, or why he was working cheap for the constable.

  I walked beside him, keeping up with his long strides and staying silent. In other words, I was the perfect meek thrall, and by the time we got back to the Merry Troubadour, Ware was his usual cool self. Well, outwardly at least. I felt like I’d avoided big trouble, and I was pretty cheerful about it.

  We went inside and found it was busy, too. The common table was absolutely packed. All of Caern was out celebrating the execution. Ware got a private table instantly, though, thanks to a bowing innkeeper. “Wine, Master Ware?” he asked.

  “For two.”

  At this point the innkeeper was immune to having me sitting about like a citizen, but he did stare at the collar. There were lots of looks from the common table, too, but pretty soon the drinkers were back to their conversation. Unsurprisingly, it was the same as the one in The Giggling Goose.

  “Our duke’s the best!”

  “But why doesn’t he kick out those filthy Brighthelme migrants?”

  “We’re not safe on our own streets.”

  “We rebuilt the walls after the Llanfaes dispute, but now we’re inviting in rabble? I don’t get it.”

  “Kick out all migrants! That’s what we should do!”

  Ware listened in. Me, I drank the warm wine, rich with spices, and drifted. It had been a long day, packed with all kinds of terror and surprises, and we’d also walked for miles. Frankly, I was tired.

  I knew I should be making plans, but I was enjoying the luxury of a warm fire and delicious wine. I’d not had many fun times, and I just didn’t want to waste it by worrying.

  I told myself I wasn’t giving in. After all, it wasn’t like I could dump the collar on the spot and run. So what I was doing was making the best of things while waiting for an opportunity. That was sensible, I told myself.

  As I had more wine, the voices from the common table drifted over.

  “The innkeeper lost his thrall, though. Someone should pay for that.”

  “She was worth a few coppers, it’s no big deal.”

  I looked up, fuming and found Ware shaking his head at me. “Lind, behave yourself.”

  “But—”

  Ware pushed the wine goblet into my hand. “Drink the wine, and then we have dinner.”

  “Or it’s a whipping and no food for three days?” The jongleur had done that once. It had crushed me back then because I was still a kid. It’s standard practice, though, so after every other owner had done the same, often for nothing at all, the punishment now merely fuelled my anger.

  So I was ready to rage, but Ware took the wind out of my sails.

  “Oh no,” he said calmly. “You’d eat in our room, that’s all.”

  I couldn’t take it in. “What?”

  The common table was now talking food. “Innkeeper, your best roast pork.” They would want that, the pigs.

  Ware topped up my goblet again. “Drink the wine, Lind.”

  I drank. It was rich, sweet and comforting. But my anger flamed when I looked at the rich, red, round faces at common table. “They’re scum.”

  “Screaming won’t change them,” Ware said quietly.

  It was annoying, but he was right. Also, there was that buried rage smouldering away. “Okay.”

  He gave me a long look. “Other thralls call their masters sir.”

  “Yes, but I’m not like other thralls.”

  It just came out. Because of the wine maybe.

  For a moment the grey eyes were thinking and then Ware smiled. The deadpan look vanished as his brows lifted and his eyes sparkled. It made him look quite different, friendly almost. “Well, nobody can argue with that.”

  The common table crowd began to eat and thankfully shut up. I leaned back and finished my wine. Crazy Ware had decided he was in a good mood. I would relax and drink the wine.

  “Will you order your dinner, Master Ware?” The innkeeper was rubbing his hands, delighted to be making a fortune from all the extra guests. “There’s pork, beef, duck, and we have an excellent cream cheese and ripe pears.”

  I’ll never be tired of food. Never, ever. Ware ordered duck for two and more wine. As I drank, revelling in rich fruitiness, I decided that being meek was paying off, which is what he wanted, of course, but I didn’t care. I decided I’d enjoy myself.

  The duck was superb, crispy skin and dark meat, and the cheese was creamy deliciousness. The pears had been cooked in red wine with cinnamon. It was wildly exotic and I loved it.

  The innkeeper had also put down another
flagon of wine, and I was busy working my way down it. By the time I was licking the pear juice from the bowl, I was relaxed and happy. “This wine is great. Is it purple ribbon?”

  “No, it’s younger, but it will be just as good.”

  “Not this lot because I’m drinking it right now.”

  Ware grinned at me. “Slow down, Lind. It’s strong stuff.”

  “Like you. You’re all muscle.” I was buzzing along, totally carefree. I finished another goblet. “Were you really in prison?”

  “Yes.”

  I helped myself to some more wine. It really was very good. “I can’t imagine it. Were there lots of rats?”

  “It wasn’t like that. I had nice rooms and a garden.”

  “Yeah, that’s more like you. You’d slum in silk.”

  Ware was laughing. “Lind, you’re drunk.”

  “I think so. It’s a good feeling.” I touched my collar. “But I don’t like this.”

  “But I do.”

  “I’ll get it off.” Someone ought to shut me up. I had another drink. “And then I’ll run away.”

  “Is that so?”

  His face was fuzzy, but those mesmerising eyes were gazing right into mine. I drained the goblet. “You think this collar will keep me close to you. And that everyone will watch me for you.”

  “Won’t it?”

  “I’ll find a way out. I won’t be a thrall anymore.” It felt good, just saying it. The wine was surging through me, warming my courage. “I’m going to be free.”

  “You’re staying with me, Lind.”

  “I should’ve used the hammer.” My eyes were closing. The room was spinning. “I will, next time.”

  “I hope not.”

  “You think you can train me like that damn horse.” The fire was warm and I was comfy. I closed my eyes and the spinning stopped. “But you won’t get to me.” I sank into the soft cushions. “I’m untrainable.”

  I fell into delicious slumber.

  Chapter Seven: Fletcher

  As revenge tales go, mine was rapidly turning sour. A day earlier I’d been on track, discovering the bastard Ranulf’s name, getting a general location and finding a thrall who’d get me right into his lair. Now I was stuck with a contract, working cheap, for Apollo’s sake, and committed to a second job so demeaning that it would get me into endless arguments with even my own Guild.