William sighed. “When do you think I shall be freed?”
“Another week.” His words were careful, almost shy. “Esquire Morris is lobbying to have you freed, but Lavoussier is determined to make you suffer as much as humanly possible.”
“A week! But ‘tis purely circumstance that ties me to Bishop Kingsley’s death!”
“There’s some kind of complication. Esquire Morris says that they are still taking dispositions of the witnesses and gathering evidence, so they wish to keep holding you so you won’t be able to taint the testimonies.” He tried to put a good face on it. “At least, if someone else dies, they’ll know it’s not you.”
When his brother finally left, William found himself pacing the cell. His neighbor was singing a song about drowning puppies and stew, to which he tried to pay no attention. The cell had one window, higher than most people could comfortably look out. If he wanted to see the ocean below, he had to grasp the ledge and pull himself up a little, but considering his dreams of the previous night he chose not to. I thought I left horror and despair behind me when I stopped sailing. He longed to be back in his kitchen, conducting the simple alchemy of turning raw ingredients into delicacies, surrounded by sweet smells and warmth. I only wanted peace. Was that really too much to ask? A wife and a hearth and a pleasant occupation. He could not understand why he was being plagued so; he certainly would never have harmed the Bishop.
He wished he was free from this place so he would not be stuck here, bored and worried at the same time. The work also tired him out so that he no longer dreamed, and that had been a great comfort. Now that he no longer had that, he was once again haunted by dreams, dreams where he was deep inside the belly of the sea again, his lungs filling with water, and a soft voice sighing his name.
They were not mere dreams, of course, but memories, the fears of his own mind plaguing him even when he would rest, but such daylight rationality did not comfort him, and he wished that he could forget what it was like to fall into darkness, unable to do a blessed thing. It wore on him, made his imprisonment even more unbearable.
His neighbor started to slam his head against the prison bars. He was filthy and unkempt and smelled like a Voren delicacy that was made from fish left stewing in oil in the relentless sun, sour and disgusting.
“Hush, hush. Sir, you do yourself no good,” William said.
He knew the guards would not come, even should the man draw blood, so William reached through the bars, wincing not a little, and patted the greasy head firmly. He sang an old sea shanty; one that was slow and gentle despite being about ladies of dubious virtue, for it was also about the wives they had left behind.
Chapter 6
Desero eleventh, Sapph. Mn. Qtr 1788
Tasmin,
We ran into some rough seas, and have put into port in Galubrey, near the mountains they call the Stairs of Alessyn. It is a strange but very interesting place. The natives mark themselves with blue and green ink in odd spiral patterns and dance along the sea edge at the beginning of every week, in devotion to God.
It is so hot that I can hardly bear it, for the Stairs of Alessyn are part of what I have been assured is a dead volcano, and the island is in the hottest clime in the world . The heat has created many strange birds and beasts and plants, so I have sent you some volcanic stone and soil, some feathers and some plants for your perusal.
They think it odd that we wed by the choice of a spell, but after hearing their romantic tales, I am far more pleased with our way. The unknowing, the trying to find a life mate who truly suits, it all seems impossible. They are fond of stories, and the tales they tell me are filled with pain and betrayal. Why would I wish that for myself?
Yours,
William
They would say, even years afterward, that the Tarnia hag arrived in a whirlwind.
They would be right, in a way. The old carriage had been bought cheaply, for it was missing two of its wheels and one door and was far too small to contain more than one seat. A waste, indeed, and fit only for the wood pile. An extra coin coaxed the lads to strip it of the cracked and broken trim that was once supposed to have been flowers and a crest.
Tasmin did not question the wind sprites. Secretly she thought the load far too heavy for her beloved clan to push, but she secured her cases, two for clothes (her mother insisted she pack more before heading off like a barbarian) and one for her work box, using the leather straps opposite the passenger bench. Her mother handed her a basket filled with provisions, and she strapped that down, too.
“Sweetheart, are you most certain you would not rather ride in the family coach? Your uncle said he would lend you his four horses. Magnificent beasts—you’ll be there in three weeks, if not less!”
She gave her mother a look much like she gave her pupils when they spouted silliness.
“Well, ‘tis a little less dangerous than careening through the mountains of Deschta in a wheelbarrow pushed by you know what!”
Everything was ready, there was no more putting it off. She sat down inside and tied a rope across the one open door. “Wish me luck, mamma. Please. I know William wouldn’t harm a soul.”
Her mother gave her a sad smile, and then kissed her cheek.
Tasmin leaned back, and dug her fingers into the leather handle that hung from the wall. She sang the calling song under her breath, telling them she was ready.
She heard laughter as the wind picked up along the dusty highway. It blew around the carriage, but did not allow any dirt to go inside. She felt the floorboards under her feet lift, and then the carriage dashed forward, out of the village, through the orchard paths where it picked up the last of the fallen leaves, through fields put to sleep for the winter, and down the steep mountain paths. She was grateful she could not see, for she was able to keep the fear from her mind and heart and therefore able to keep the wind sprites happy and calm. In fact, they were thrilled, and gigged madly.
In their happiness, the sprites generated a slight warmth. It was not much, but it kept her comfortable. After a time she got used to the feeling of the carriage, which was more like falling forever than riding along a road. The ride was smooth, but fast.
Finally, darkness fell and everything slowed to a gentle stop in the brush next to a pond. Tasmin took care of her needs, and then drew a spell circle around her transport, one that would not make it invisible, just not seen. She buried herself in her cloak and slept. It was not uncomfortable travel, but neither was it pleasant, and she was glad they only had two more days of it.
It was just afternoon when they approached the town that would soon be her home. She could see glimpses that the sprites sent back to her, and she could smell the sea. They slowed down just a little, so that she could see what they were passing more easily. “Please don’t damage anything!” she cried as the carriage careened far too closely to an approaching cart. “I have to live with these people.” Soon they were barreling into the town square, where the debris that had been swept along in her journey seemed to make the day dark as night. The cart shook to a stop, and the rope that was supposed to give her a little security snapped under the strain. She stepped down from the carriage and found her things being stacked neatly beside her just before the carriage whipped away.
The dirt settled down, the dark strands of her hair came to rest on her shoulders, and it seemed as if she’d appeared out of nowhere.
Everyone stared at her as she went to the fountain to quench her thirst and wash her face and hands. She could feel their gazes like insects crawling over her skin, and so she concentrated on being as normal as possible, trying to make some of the mystique go away.
She realized the susurrus of sound that seemed to trail after her was not the wind, but whispers, and she sighed and winced again. Ah well. At least she wasn’t accused of murder, so William couldn’t really say anything.
She straightened her hair,
wondering if anyone would speak to her and how much she’d just hurt her chances of a reasonable life in this town. She pulled her hood back up, trying to feel a little less vulnerable.
She approached a young man who was pretending to sweep the sidewalk, though the sprites, on their way out of town to wherever they planned to put the carriage, had done the job for him.
“Where do you keep your prisoners?”
The young man blushed and pointed to an imposing building on the other side of the street.
She smiled at him kindly, reminding herself that though these people were used to magic as an abstract idea, it was not something they were exposed to, except on rare occasions. “Thank you very much.”
She picked up her things and went, with great trepidation, to see to her future.
The prison was a large, imposing stone structure that housed the garrison for the port. Solders in red and green uniforms either lounged in groups drinking and playing games, or ran on errands as if the world depended on their speed. One pointed her upstairs, and she went up the carved stone steps to the second floor. Another offered to help carry her things, but she declined with a smile. Through a few narrow windows she could see that the barracks were situated to overlook the port.
A man sat at the desk, a pair of stout oak doors behind him guarded by men with rifles. “I am here to see William Almsley?” she said to him.
He looked up; then opened the ledger, dipping his quill. “Name? Relation?”
“Tasmin Bey, his fiancée.”
He wrote this down. “You may go through the left hand door. That is where we keep those accused of capital crimes. Please leave your bags, miss.”
She curtsied and did as she was bid. The oak door was unbarred and opened, and she walked down the long, dimly lit hallway to the cages that were the cells.
There were four cells in this section, and only two were occupied. She knew immediately which one must be her intended, simply because she knew that William was not sixty years old, nor, she thought, prone to babbling madly about puppies.
The daylight showed him well. Hair a little lighter than her own, almost honey colored. He looked at her briefly, then away, the afternoon sun showing his eyes to be a rather nice, vibrant shade of blue. His face was a little round, yes, but one could not call him fat. He was stocky. Taller than most but not overly so. She smiled a little. Not unattractive at all, as long as one’s expectations were reasonable.
She swallowed, trying to speak, wondering where her voice had gone. “So, what nonsense is this I hear about you poisoning our customers? Really, William, is that any way to run a business?” Her hands clenched nervously, and her chest seemed to ache from want of air.
As he turned, she realized her cloak hood was still up, and she reached up and quickly pushed it back, smiling at him.
It took him visibly aback. He came over to the cell bars and peered at her, then laughed, a huff of disbelief that did not sound altogether unpleased. “I never dreamed you would come.”
“Well. It seemed like the right thing to do. After all, we are to be married.” She gave him a pleased smile. “How did you know it was me?”
“There was no one else it could be, especially with that remark.” He returned her smile, and then shook his head. “You are no longer bound to wed me. Even when I am proved innocent ... and I will be, I swear ... it would do your reputation no good.”
“Oh, yes.” She said, and took a step forward. “And I am already so popular with the townsfolk, being a Tarnia hag and all that. Why, widowers are lining up outside the barracks, hoping to coax me away from you.”
He laughed again, and she decided she rather liked his smile. It took him from being a bit plain to being rather handsome. She had no illusions about her own looks, so hoped, despite her resolve not to care, that she did not disappoint his eye, either.
She put her hand through the bars, and he took it, pressing a hard kiss on the back, and an equally fierce one in the palm, and her toes curled, and she knew, like she knew right from left, that she had made the right choice.
“It is good to see you, William,” she said with feeling.
“And you. At long last, I get to see the woman the babe has become. I can hardly credit my good fortune.”
“And I can hardly credit the accusations levied against you. What insanity is this? You of all people!” Shaking her head, she saw a barrel nearby. She went and dragged it over, and sat, arranging her skirts around her.
He ran his hands though his short, slightly curly hair. “To be plain, I am accused of murdering a man whom I have no reason to harm. The evidence is a box of chocolates that I most heartily deny making.”
“That is all? You cannot be serious! No witnesses? No records of some sort of dispute between you and the Bishop? That is what they use to keep you imprisoned?”
“Indeed. My lawyer is trying to find out the reason behind this, but thus far has had no fortune in getting me freed.”
“You will forgive me if I say you are in desperate need of a new lawyer?”
He shrugged, as if he thought she had a point, and then said, “He is my father’s lawyer. Seeing me freed is in his best interests. He’s also very good so, I am assured, if there is a way out then he will find it.”
She sighed, and they were silent for a moment. Perhaps he is thinking, as I, that this is hardly what we expected our first conversation to be about. With that in mind, she attempted to steer towards the future, at least as much as she could.
“So, where do you keep your spare key?” she asked him.
“Spare key?”
“For your shop. As it has been closed for three weeks now, I feel that one of my first tasks it to get it open again.”
He shook his head. “Tasmin, that is very kind of you, but ‘tis of no use. No one will come. They will be too afraid of being poisoned, especially since you are a mage from the North. They will be afraid of you.” He sat on a chair inside the cell and rested his wrists on the cross bars of the gate.
“Blunt as always, I see. Well, I shall be blunt as well.” She curled her hand around his, and he seemed to take comfort from it. “Most people adore two things beyond reason. Scandal and chocolate. And I intend to capitalize on both. They will not be able to help themselves. In fact, I may need help. Do you suggest anyone?”
He was silent for a long moment, then, “My own family won’t be able to help. Andrew is too busy helping the lawyer and running the business, and his wife would probably burn the place down by accident. There is, however, a woman I met on my travels, Cecelia, Mistress Deitson. Perhaps you remember? She’d married one of my officers and they settled in Azin Shore a year or so before I did. Her husband is dead, so I have hired her to tend the counter and do the sweeping up for me, for I do not care for that part of the business. If you wish, you may find her at Miss Dovlington’s Boarding House for Employed Ladies.”
The small, over-imaginative, and self-conscious part of her was not sure she cared for this at all, but did not wish to say so for fear of appearing jealous or silly. Plus, she needed the help. “Is she very capable?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Well, I shall send someone to fetch her when I need her.” She pulled a package from her cloak. “I suppose I should give you the cake that I brought you.”
He took it eagerly and unwrapped it, smelling it. “How did you get it past the ogres at the gate? You are truly going to be a most excellent wife.” He offered her a piece, which she demurred, then began eating it eagerly.
“Do they feed you much?” she asked, as he broke off a piece and held it out to his neighbor, who stopped gibbering enough to take it and devour it with much less delicacy.
“A stew and some bread for lunch, whatever is in the barracks’ kitchens. But that is only once a day. In the evenings, if you have family, they are expected to bring dinner, to less
en the burden on the good people of Azin.”
She looked at the neighbor. “And what if you don’t have family?”
“You hope that the bloke in the cell next to you has a soft heart and a mutton head,” he said ruefully.
“Then I shall have to remember to bring plenty of food with me tonight.”
“So you will come back?”
“Of course. But I shall leave soon and get myself cleaned up and settled in from the trip. My mode of travel was fast but not always as clean as one would like.”
“You did manage to make the trip with marvelous speed. I thought you flew.”
“After a fashion.” She grinned at his expression. “Anyway, do you have any suggestions as to where I should make my berth? That is the sailing term for it, aye?”
“Indeed.” He returned her smile, then, a little uncomfortably, “I have bought the whole building in which our shop resides. You could, if you like, stay in our apartments above.” She was surprised that he would suggest such a thing, not by her own objection, but from her understanding that the Southern people could be terribly prim. Her face must have betrayed her surprise, for he rushed to say, “I do understand that you should not stay in our home before we are truly wed, but it may be less uncomfortable for you, and it might not be untoward to have someone taking residence again.”
“So you don’t think your mother is going to sprinkle rose petals upon my path and sing my praises?” Tasmin said wryly, and he sighed, which was all the answer she needed. “Please, I am only trying, foolishly, to lighten the mood. I will be pleased to sleep in the place that my intended has chosen for us.” She recalled that his mother was, in William’s own words, “exacting because life has not always been kind to her.” He had never said why, but she felt badly if he thought she was mocking the older woman.
He managed a smile. “I know, and think it most good of you, but I cannot help feeling sorry. Our marriage was doomed to be hard in the beginning, simply because our people are so different, but now the weight of these events will make it even worse. I would not have pulled you into this mess for all the world.”
The Chocolatier's Wife Page 3