Hal sucked his teeth and turned aside abruptly. “Then we can’t stay here.” He paced away, then came back and drew Rose into his arms. “Forgive me. I’ve endangered you thoughtlessly.”
Rose smoothed the stained red leather hugging his chest. “Not thoughtlessly. A still-sleeping dragon and a dream-reader who’s lost her voice? Where else could you go for the sort of help you need?”
Erde waited for Rose to mention how she’d come by all this information, but she did not, and Hal seemed to require no explanation.
“Now, food and rest and a good hot bath for both of you. Of course you’ll stay, long enough to see what help we can actually provide.” Rose looked up and touched a finger to Hal’s jaw. “And long enough to remind this old woman what a man looks like.”
He hugged her to him, laughing. “Why, Rose, you’ll embarrass the young lady.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The denizens of Deep Moor gathered for the evening meal in the communal dining area at one end of a huge kitchen. Brick ovens and grills and spits lined the opposite wall. Windows let in amber dusk light along both sides. Two rows of sturdy worktables dominated the center, and the smoke-darkened beams were a hanging forest of herbs and onions in braided lengths and garlic and dried peppers and delicate nets bulging with winter squashes and potatoes.
Erde had napped and then been introduced to the pleasures of a hot bath. She’d always hated bathing, except sometimes in the summer. Now she realized that the water had never been warm enough, or smelled so fragrant with herbs and the softening oils that Raven poured on so liberally. In some obscure way, it felt sinful. She spelled this out for Raven, primly, shyly, in the dew gathering on the red floor tiles, but Raven only laughed and tossed her a square of fine knitted wool to rub the oils into her skin. She came down to the kitchen feeling reborn, wearing a clean linen shirt from the household stores and one of Raven’s block-printed shifts with the divided skirts. Hal, who was lounging with his feet up on a table and a mug of ale in one hand, sat up in surprise.
“Milady, you look radiant!” He put down his ale and stood, handing her into a seat beside him with courtly formality while Erde blushed and stared at her feet.
Earth had still not returned from his hunt, so while Hal explained about the dragon and his unknown quest, and told the tale of her escape and their journey so far, Erde watched the dinner preparations. She wished Hal had not been so intentionally uninformative about the circumstances at Deep Moor, about who these people were and why Rose knew what she knew. But she could not ask him now, so she settled in to be patient and to observe. It did not occur to her to try to make herself useful until Doritt plunked down a basket of apples and a knife on the table in front of her.
“Well, I’m sure this dragon’s Purpose isn’t to stay and eat up my herd. Here, slice these up. I’ll find a bowl to put them in.”
She sailed off to the far end of the kitchen. Erde stared at the gleaming red fruit. She had never sliced apples in her life, though her grandmother had taught her the proper way for a lady to section a small apple for eating. This knife was much too large for delicacy, but she gave it a game try. Doritt returned, watched her struggles for a moment, then grabbed a stool and drew it alongside.
“Tell you what: I’ll peel and quarter, then you just cut ’em up any old which way, all right?”
Erde observed carefully, admiring Doritt’s deft skill with the knife, and learned the preparation of apples for pie. Meanwhile, she counted: five, ten, twelve women drifting in and out of the kitchen, bringing fresh milk, washing vegetables, slicing bread, stirring the pots. A pair of lithe red-haired twins in their late teens did a lot of the heavy hauling. A chunky laughing woman was clearly the chief cook. Two elderly women wandered in rather vaguely. They were fussed over and treated with great deference by the others, but did not sit by idly. They went right to work slicing up whatever was set in front of them with concentration and efficiency. Erde heard Lily and Margit mentioned often, as one woman or another stepped in to do a task usually assigned to one of the absentees. She sensed in this a fond sort of ritual, as if the frequent naming of the missing women would keep them safer and bring them back sooner. She had also been waiting all afternoon to learn where the men and the servants were. Now she discovered there weren’t any. There were no young children either.
A community made up entirely of women, which wasn’t fortified or walled in any way, and wasn’t a nunnery. Erde had never heard of such a thing. And no help but themselves. In a way, it reminded her of Tor Alte while her grandmother was alive. Of course, there were plenty of men at Tor Alte, but the women had felt easier about themselves under the baroness’ rule. And though they were not at all similar physically, Rose did have the baroness’ same sure authority.
Yet at dinner, she watched Raven tease Hal as she laid steaming platters on the table, flirting with him outrageously, and all the while Rose smiled benignly, nestled into the curve of his arm. Her grandmother would never have stood for that. Erde asked herself again how these women protected themselves. She surmised that there was a lot going on here she did not understand.
The long refectory-style table was as well-worn and shining as the floor. The food was fresh, plentiful, and delicious. There was clear springwater to drink and a pale, dry ale that made Erde feel refreshed rather than light-headed. The conversation was not quite boisterous, but it was lively and certainly informative.
“The honey is from our hives, of course,” Linden was explaining in the mild precise way that seemed to characterize her. “And the candles as well. Raven makes the most beautiful candles, don’t you think?”
Erde nodded. The many candles burning on the table were amazingly tall and thin, and even more astonishingly, they were pink, the blushed color of a wild rose. She thought to ask how one made a colored candle, and readied quill, ink, and the little pile of paper that Raven had supplied her with, rejects from the Deep Moor paper press. But Linden was busy being very serious about the bees and how sensitive they were to mistreatment or neglect. Erde wiped her quill and laid it aside.
Linden, whom she had seen at the spinning wheel earlier, was as pale and dry as the ale, but with its same hidden sweetness. Pale jaw-length hair, pale gray eyes, pale flawless skin, with flush-spots on her cheekbones so distinct they might have been painted there by a rather wobbly hand. Her color bloomed whenever she spoke, especially when she was speaking to Hal, as if the very act itself put her in mortal danger of exposure or embarrassment. It took Erde some time to learn that Linden was Deep Moor’s healer, for she would never boast of such a thing herself. But she had spent the late afternoon examining the she-goat and now, as Raven and a slim older woman named Esther cleared the dishes to make room for the sweets, Rose asked for her report.
Linden placed both hands before her to grip the edge of the table and cleared her throat. “She is fully healed.”
“Healed,” repeated Rose, and Erde wondered how you could pack so much mystery and meaning into a single word.
“So I didn’t imagine all that blood and gore,” said Hal.
Linden focused carefully on the smooth plank in front of her. “There is clear evidence of serious injury, long tears and deep claw punctures. But this must have been at least three weeks ago, from the amount of healing already completed.”
“Last night,” said Hal. “It was just last night, was if not, my lady?”
Erde nodded.
“I don’t see how that’s . . .” began Linden.
“Well, it is. It happened.” With a grin, Hal leaned forward and replenished his mug of ale from an earthenware pitcher. “We have a magic goat.” He eyed Doritt mischievously. “I’ll bet you don’t have one.”
Linden frowned at the tabletop, shaking her head ever so slightly.
“What else occurred,” asked Rose, “between the attack and when you noticed her healed?”
Hal shrugged, then decided to stop pretending that he wasn’t taking this seriously. “We made
camp, we ate, we slept. The goat slept very deeply.”
“All right. Yes.” Linden bobbed her head, staring at her thumbs. “Animals do often go into a kind of trance state when they’re badly injured. But that’s usually to ease their dying.”
“What else?” Rose prodded. “Any other detail?”
Erde reviewed the previous evening moment by moment: the cat screeching and the attack, Earth struggling to turn around within the walls of rock, then the goat streaking in over his back and the dark blood on Hal’s hands. Then what? Then . . .
She grabbed for her quill and paper, and wrote carefully: EARTH WASHED HER.
She was amazed that the ink did not sink deeply into the thin pliant sheet and bleed her letters out of recognition. Apparently, Raven made very fine paper as well as candles.
Linden peered at her message, then read it aloud. The women murmured thoughtfully. The two elderly women at the far end of the table put their heads together in lively muttered discussion.
Then Hal swore softly and slapped his head. “Of course! Where is my mind? It’s very common in the lore to claim that a dragon’s tongue has healing properties!”
The two old women nodded approvingly, though one of them frowned when Doritt said, “I thought their jaws dripped acid and stuff.”
“No, no, that’s just fairy tales . . . or if you listen to what the Church says. The lore says . . . ah, why didn’t I think of it sooner?”
“It will be just so lovely to have a real dragon to study,” ventured one of the old ladies. Her voice reminded Erde of butterfly wings.
Hal bent his head to her. “I plan many hours in your excellent library, Helena, while you’re off dragon-watching.” He offered Erde a crooked apologetic smile. “Won’t he be relieved to know there’s something else he can do.”
“That’s a fine way to talk about a dragon,” Doritt snorted.
Gentle laughter rippled around the table.
“But isn’t it typical?” chided Rose. “A man finds what he’s been searching for all his life, and right away he’s complaining that it doesn’t fulfill his expectations.”
“Well, he doesn’t,” Hal retorted. “Does he yours?”
“I’ve not yet met him,” replied Rose sweetly.
“Don’t worry, he won’t. Maybe someday, but now . . .”
“I think he’s a very nice sort of dragon,” said Raven.
“Nice?” Hal was peevish. “He’s not meant to be nice.”
“Why not?”
“He’s meant to be powerful, magnificent, omnipotent, and . . .”
Rose smiled. “Perhaps he could be all those, and nice, too.”
“What a concept,” remarked Doritt.
HE IS STILL LEARNING, Erde wrote, in a broad admonitory hand. Briskly, Linden passed the paper to Hal.
“True,” he conceded. “I only hope he can discover himself in time.”
“In time for what?” asked Rose.
Hal drained his mug and pushed his plate away with a definitive gesture. “In time to save us from the apocalypse according to Guillemo Gotti. I can’t imagine what else he would have been sent for. Have you heard the priest is raising an army?”
“Oh, yes. To cleanse the world of the likes of us. That’s why we sent Lily and Margit to Erfurt, to find out all they could.” Leaning into his shoulder, Rose turned the thin wooden stem of her goblet between two fingers. “But what if Fra Guill is not the dragon’s purpose?”
“Not? What do you mean?” He sat up straighter in order to gaze down at her sternly. “Are you saying it isn’t? Do you know what his Purpose is?”
“Without talking to him? Of course not. What am I, a fortune-teller?”
Brighter laughter drifted around the table. Raven snapped her fingers rhythmically and hissed, “Gypsies!” Erde wondered what was so amusing.
Hal caught her eye over his shoulder. “This is my punishment, you see. Rank mockery, because I don’t show up to pay homage often enough.”
This drew hoots and catcalls, echoing about the warm candlelit room. Erde had never heard such raucous laughter from women.
“Oh. Homage, is it?” laughed Raven.
“Well?” he challenged. “That is what you want. Isn’t that what you all want?”
“We want a lot more than that.” She ran her finger around Hal’s ear and pinched his earlobe. Hal brushed her hand away, glancing self-consciously at Erde.
Across the table, Linden was giggling, and blushing furiously. The older woman Esther paused behind her with an armload of empty platters, her grin expectant. Rose tickled Hal’s arm. “Don’t get them started, my dear. You know you’ll only be sorry.”
Raven leaned in, her lips soft against his temple. “Sorry? Oh, I don’t think so. I don’t remember you ever being sorry.” Hal’s breath caught as her tongue snaked out and licked his ear.
“Raven,” Doritt murmured. “We have a guest.”
“Oh, pooh,” said Raven, but she eased away from Hal to gather up a final stack of dishes.
A guest. Erde had heard the singular and knew it meant her. Heinrich Engle was no guest here, that much was clear. But neither was he a member of the household. Erde was confused. She did not understand these women’s behavior. She knew her grandmother would have had a name for it, and it would not have been flattering. And yet, Erde could see nothing overtly wrong with it . . . only if you thought about what you’d been told was right and proper.
Hal cleared his throat, then went on as if nothing had happened. “But why do you question the dragon’s Purpose?”
“Not that he has one,” Rose replied, equally unfazed. “Only that it might be other than what you expect.”
“Some Larger Purpose, you mean. Beyond my ken.”
The knight’s deeply humble expression made Rose smile. “Not necessarily beyond, my dear. Just different.”
“Well, Gerrasch said the Purpose was ‘to fix what’s broken.’ A bit cryptic, I thought.”
“No more than you’d expect.”
“From a badger,” muttered Doritt.
Rose smothered a grin. “But what I was referring to is that another candidate has arisen for the job you have in mind.”
“What?” Hal came bolt upright. He looked almost frightened. “Another dragon?”
Raven laughed loudly from the sink. “Well, that got to him!”
“Of course not another dragon!” said Rose.
“Hal, Hal, where have you been?” Doritt leaned forward on her elbows. “Haven’t you heard about the Friend?”
“Whose friend?”
“That’s what people call him.”
“Just . . . the Friend?” He glanced at Rose. “Interesting coincidence. What about him?”
Doritt noted Erde’s puzzlement. “Loyalist code,” she explained. Then Erde recalled Griff’s response to the word.
“Delicious rumors.” Raven waltzed back to her seat beside Hal. She twirled one finger in his bristly hair. “You know how women are.”
Hal scowled and batted her hand away, causing another trill of general laughter.
“They come in from the west,” Linden put in kindly, without looking at him. “The rumors. If you’ve come from the east, they may not have reached you yet.”
“From widespread parts of the west,” Raven added more seriously. “Even as far as Köln. Some claim that’s where he’s from.”
“City boy,” noted Doritt.
“No, that can’t be right.”
“Why not?” asked Linden.
Raven smiled and shrugged. “He just doesn’t sound like a city boy to me.”
Doritt frowned. “What does it matter? You don’t believe in him anyway!”
Erde recalled her grandmother talking of Köln. Köln was a true city. It was said to contain at least twenty thousand people. She had no image of it except that it must be very crowded, but then, she had no image of any city at all besides her fantasy one.
Hal asked, “So why do they call him the Friend, if not
. . . ?”
“Supposedly, it’s because he does all kinds of reckless acts of goodness.”
“Reckless and random,” added Raven. “So they say.”
“Remember that random is in the eye of the beholder,” murmured Linden. “I mean, random is simply whatever you weren’t expecting.”
Raven wagged a playful finger at her. “Oh-oh, Linnie, you’d like to meet this Friend, wouldn’t you?”
“Leave her alone.” Esther came back from depositing her pile of platters in a corner washtub. “It’s me bringing these tales in, mostly. I hear them when I go Outside to the markets.”
“Ah.” Hal sat back. Erde thought he seemed relieved. “The idle gossip of farmwives.”
Esther raised a sharply pointed brow. “And farm men as well, and traveling merchants and big, bully convoy men. The best I had was from a troupe of actors. Their leader said he liked the tale so much and heard it so often, he was working up a play about it.”
“Lily and Margit were to look into it,” said Rose. “Perhaps even try to contact him if such a thing seemed possible.”
Hal grunted, crossed his arms. “But who, if he even exists, is this so-called Friend supposed to be?”
Raven giggled and nuzzled his shoulder. “Poor Heinrich. You’d really prefer to save the world single-handedly, wouldn’t you?”
Hal ignored her, leaning forward to hear Esther’s tale.
“Well.” Esther shoved back her sleeves. She found room on the bench between Linden and Erde, and prepared herself self-consciously, much like the actor she had just spoken of. “The stories tell of a mysterious young man—he is always young and always nameless . . .”
“Because they don’t know his name, or he won’t tell it?”
“Sometimes one, sometimes the other. But nameless any-how, and thus always referred to as the Friend or simply “he,” and in the markets these days, they know who you’re talking about.” Esther’s long slender hands illustrated her words as gracefully as a dancer’s. “Sometimes he’s a poor farm lad, sometimes, yes, a city boy. Sometimes he’s even a prince. Last week, he was a foreign prince!”
The Book of Earth Page 24