Chapter 09
Debris Flew Everywhere
Early the next morning Bronwyn decided to explore a part of town he didn’t often visit. Button, perched on his shoulder, looked from one scene to another, taking in all the activities.
They crossed the bridge leading from the castle and made their way along George Street. He walked in front of the Scintillate Theatre and paused to read the billboard. The latest play starred Breckin Dole. He scowled at the name: it stirred dreadful memories. On a night long ago too many mugs of ale had numbed his senses whilst the woman he loved clouded his mind. Her betrayal of his innocence left a deep scar. He’d never forgive her.
Button reached to touch the billboard. Bronwyn pushed the monkey back to his shoulder. “No. Don’t dirty your hands. I did and have regretted it since.” He walked on.
Further ahead, the bustling Maskil Market with its tempting venues beckoned him. He couldn’t recall the last time he had browsed through the stalls. Dozens of vendors crowded the marketplace, and he soon became lost in a sea of people. He then remembered petty thieves frequented the market. Although he didn’t have many coins, he slipped his hand into his trousers pocket to guard the few he carried.
The sound of music permeated the air with merriment. Bronwyn enjoyed the atmosphere as his eyes swept across the many displays of the food, clothing, weapons and other wares. He picked up a side pouch which fastened to a belt. After bartering with the vendor, he walked away satisfied he had snagged a bargain. At another stall, a woman tried to sell him a cloak, but he didn’t buy it. He never wore a cloak. When he came to a fruit stand, he stopped to gaze upon the different varieties on display.
As he bartered over pears, Bronwyn felt Button lean too far. Fearing for its safety, he pushed it back onto his shoulder.
“No monkey on my stand,” said the vendor. “It’ll soil the fruit.”
“Button, stay still.” The dwarf reached into his pocket for a coin and found it empty. “The Orc’s Curse!” He looked around, wondering who’d be so daring to steal from him, a corporal with the Aruam Castle Guard.
“No money! No pears!”
“But a thief stole my money!”
The vendor reached for the sack of pears. “You should be more careful.”
Button stretched towards the apples, but Bronwyn pushed it back. It attempted to reach in another direction but again his hand stopped it. Button leapt from his shoulder and onto the table.
“No! No!” said the vendor. “No monkeys on the table!” He swung the sack of pears at it, and Button darted.
“Button! Come back!” Bronwyn raced after the monkey as it jumped from one table to the next. He bumped into several people, knocking items from their hands. “Sorry. Sorry,” he blurted and kept running. His eye on the monkey, he didn’t see the female in his path, and together they tumbled to the ground. As they struggled to separate, he realised it to be Alaura.
“Watch where you’re going, you clumsy imp.” Alaura pushed herself up using him as a crutch then gave an extra shove to throw him off balance. As she brushed the dirt from her dress, she watched him regain his composure and jump to his feet.
“Thanks a lot,” he said sarcastically. Of all the people he could have bumped into, why did it have to be this face-slapping wench. “If I lose it, it’s your fault.”
“Do you always blame others for your misfortune?”
Bronwyn rolled his eyes. “Are you always so charming?” She turned to leave, but he grabbed her arm. “Aren’t you going to help me catch it?”
“Catch what?” She yanked her arm from his grip.
“The monkey.” He pointed at the hairy-armed creature swinging on the overhang of a stall about a hundred feet away.
“Oh my! How could you lose her?”
“I’m busy tripping over people and being pushed around by you.”
Alaura frowned. “You’re a sad excuse for a castle guard. You can’t hold onto a five-year-old child. Don’t stand there. Let’s go.” She sprinted through the crowd.
Her attitude irritated him. Still, he followed.
The pair ran through the market and burst into the open street. Button ran well ahead of them, almost out of sight. Alaura didn’t hesitate; she appeared to know where the monkey headed and dashed into an alley. Her speed and agility as she manoeuvred around objects strewn about impressed Bronwyn. He had difficulty keeping up and pushed himself harder, until she came to an abrupt stop. He halted beside her, bending over to catch his breath.
“You should run more,” said Alaura. “Around things. It improves dexterity.”
He ignored her jibe. “Where are we?”
Pointing to a shoddy building, Alaura said, “Isla’s dwelling.”
Bronwyn looked around with renewed interest. The dwelling nestled in the poor part of town harbouring the low-life of society. Garbage littered every corner. Broken furniture, rags and old dishes were scattered around the trash pile near the back door. The small fenced-in stall, which had obviously housed an animal, was strewn with droppings and various pieces of matter he didn’t care to identify. The whole place smelt more like a stagnant swamp than a home. “Isla’s dwelling,” he repeated under his breath. “It’s amazing anything could live in this.”
The monkey stopped near the back door next to what appeared to Bronwyn to be a large blood stain. “What’s it looking for?”
“She’s looking for her meeme.”
“Didn’t her mum die in child birth?”
“Not Maura.” Alaura grimaced. “The ewe which tended her.”
“The ewe?”
“As a newborn, Keiron put Isla outside with the sheep. The ewe had a lamb and she tended to Isla, too.”
“Well, it’s plain…” he caught Alaura’s stare; she spoke the truth, “crazy.” He put his hands in his pockets and took another look around. He couldn’t imagine living in this vile place.
“You see, Corporal Darrow, Isla didn’t have the luxury of an adoring family who coddled her near a warm fire. She didn’t have fresh food or clothes lovingly stitched by a mum’s hand.” Alaura turned to face him. “Her life is nothing like yours. She’s a child of neglect.”
Bronwyn swallowed hard. His upbringing contrasted sharply to Isla’s. “So she’s here looking for the ewe. Where is it?”
“The men who broke into Catriona’s dwelling killed it.”
“How do you know?” He stared at the monkey as it traced a finger through the dirt.
“I watched over Isla that night.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “You stayed here by yourself? Spying?”
“My duty is to tend to Isla,” she said, avoiding eye contact.
“Your duty?” While distracted, Bronwyn inspected her. She wore her usual shapeless brown dress which hid her delicate curves. Her long hair hung loose, concealing her slightly pointed ears and slight features. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she cloaked herself. But who would seek Alaura of Niamh?
“You can stop staring. I stayed only for Isla. I had nothing to do with the theft at the castle.” She glared at him. “I’m not a thief.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“They came looking for Keiron. When they didn’t find him, they looked for Isla. They killed the ewe to send a message to Keiron.”
“Where was Isla? Catriona’s?”
“No. She remained hidden inside.”
“She saw the dead ewe?”
Alaura sighed. “I don’t think she realises it’s dead.” Her voice lost its sharp edge, and she looked at him. “She misses the ewe, and because she doesn’t know it’s gone, she’ll look for her.”
Bronwyn stared at the monkey. He found it hard to imagine a five-year-old child beneath all the hair. “I didn’t know,” he said, feeling a pang of guilt. “This is no life for a child. She deserves better. You know, she misses you, too.”
Alaura glanced at him sideways.
“She asked for you. I did what I could to ease her fears, but she w
anted you not me.”
“Isla trusts very few people.”
Observing the monkey, trying to see the child, Bronwyn found the small figure blurry. He lifted his hand to shield the sun from his eyes, but he continued to see an undefined image. Was the nauseating stench making him ill? He looked at the back door of the dwelling: the image appeared sharp, clearly defined. His eyes returned to the monkey. He squinted, attempting to bring its shimmering aura into focus.
Alaura noticed his peculiar expression and turned to see what he watched. “Goodness! Do you have her clothes?”
“What clothes?”
“Take off your jacket.”
Bronwyn disliked her domineering tone. Why did she want his jacket? He ignored her and continued to stare at the marmoset. It changed slowly. Dumbstruck, he watched as the monkey blurred and shimmered, at last transforming into a naked child. He quickly removed his jacket and held it open. Alaura placed the hauflin in his arms and wrapped the jacket around her.
“She’s bigger than I thought,” he said. Isla filled his arms as much as his four-year-old nephew.
“Marmosets are small—much smaller than a hauflin child.”
Bronwyn gazed upon the girl. The same brown eyes which followed his every move for the past two days stared up at him. When he’d awoken this morning and found the monkey hiding in a cupboard eating from the bag of nuts, he had chuckled at its shenanigans. He lifted it out of the cubby and sat it on the bed to eat while he dressed. In spite of the predicament in which he found himself, he enjoyed the short time they had spent together.
Now, as Bronwyn took in each feature of Isla’s innocent face, he let go of his negative feelings. It felt magical to know the monkey he carried with him for two days had always been this beautiful little girl. His paternal instincts awakened, and he held her near. The overwhelming desire to protect her caught him off guard. He shivered, remembering the danger she had experienced. If the henchmen had seized her, no telling what they’d have done. Did Lady Dasia mean for him to protect Isla?
Suddenly, a large piece of wood crashed through the boarded-up window near the backdoor. Pieces of debris flew everywhere. Bronwyn and Alaura jumped.
A crooked old woman, a dwarf, poked her head out of the opening and eyed the strangers. “Get or I’ll fetch the dog fer yew! This be my dwelling now!”
Bronwyn placed a protective hand over Isla’s face, at the same time placing himself between Alaura and the woman. “We mean no trouble.” He tightened his grip on Isla then ushered Alaura from the alley and led her to his quarters. Once inside, he placed the child in her arms. “I’ll get her clothes.”
“Can you get warm water, too? She needs a bath. She smells like you.”
Bronwyn stopped and smelt under his arms. “I don’t smell.”
“I didn’t say you smelt bad. She has your…odour. Anyway, she hasn’t had a bath for a few days.”
Still unconvinced she didn’t think he smelt bad, he looked around the room for bath supplies. He lit a fire in the stove and placed a kettle of water on top to warm. “I think I saw a small basin in the water closet,” he said, adding tinder to increase the flame.
Alaura found the basin and placed it on the floor near the wood stove.
As Bronwyn waited for the water to heat, he watched the woman talk to the child. “These are fresh clothes I put on this morning,” he said.
She scrutinised his outfit. “You look different when you’re not in uniform. If I didn’t know better, I might mistake you for a civilian.”
He tugged on his shirt. “I suppose,” he said. “I’m not used to wearing regulars.”
The water warmed and he poured it into the basin. Alaura removed the jacket from around Isla and lowered her into the bath.
Bronwyn placed the kettle on a trivet. Turning back, he saw red marks on Isla’s buttocks and lower back. He grimaced. “Where did they come from? It looks as though she’s been beat with a stick.”
“Her das,” said Alaura. “Keiron abused many.”
Bronwyn’s shame came immediately when he remembered the incident in the Private Audience room, when Isla spilt water on his clean uniform. She had good reason to believe he’d strike her. He inwardly vowed to work harder to control his anger. He didn’t want the child to fear him.
When Alaura finished bathing Isla, she wrapped her in a towel.
He watched as Alaura scanned the room, looking for a place to sit. She frowned at the chesterfield, and he didn’t blame her. “Here. Sit on the bed. The mattress is new.”
She hesitated.
“It’s okay,” said Bronwyn. He sensed sitting on his bed made her uncomfortable. Nevertheless, she settled on the edge near the foot and dried Isla.
“What’s the crate for?”
He shrugged. “It’s an old crate.” He stepped into the water closet to dispose of the bath water.
When he returned, Alaura frowned at him. “Did Isla sleep there last night?”
A sheepish grin spread across his face. “I’ll get a more appropriate bed. I didn’t think she’d be this big.” In fact, he had only bargained on caring for a monkey, not a hauflin child.
“There’s a shop on Masonry Lane which sells beds for children of all sizes.”
Bronwyn nodded.
“You’ll have to train Isla to sleep in her bed. She’s never had one of her own.”
He glanced at his pillow. Was this why she had curled up next to him instead of going to the crate? He released a heavy sigh as he thought about the special attention the child would need. “I’m not sure…No, I know I’m not the right person to care for this child. She needs more than I can give her.” Overwhelmed, he sat on the bed next to Alaura, folded his hands together and rested his elbows on his knees.
“Isla needs a caregiver with a passion for children to help make up for the years of neglect,” said Alaura.
He could see she didn’t think him to be that person. Sadly, he agreed with her. His gaze fell upon the floor. “I’m a single man. I can’t do this by myself.”
“No one said you had to.”
Bronwyn looked at her. The sparkle in her eyes held his attention. What did she offer?
“Families don’t exist in bubbles. Families with both a meeme and a das get outside help. Teachers, grandparents, aunts and uncles and friends lend a hand. It’s the collaboration of all these individuals which help a child grow and prosper.”
“Will you help?”
Alaura smiled and embraced the child. “I’d take her every day if I could. Certainly, I can manage several days a week.”
“That’d be great. Do you think Catriona will volunteer, too?”
“You’ll have to apologise a hundred times on your knees with a dragon patty on your head if you want her help.”
Bronwyn cringed, recalling what he had said yesterday. Alaura of Niamh had brought out the worst in him. He had to mend the hole in their relationship if he expected her help. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. My temper got the best of me.”
“Apology accepted. I’m sorry for striking you. It’s not my usual method for dealing with frustration.” Alaura glanced at a small bruise on his cheek. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“No,” he lied. She appeared weaker than her slap dictated. “People with less beauty have hit me harder.” He smiled to make light of it. “You caught me off guard is all. I’ll try to not let it happen again.” The pleasantness with which Bronwyn had become familiar with over the years returned to her features. He believed this face to be lovelier than when her stubbornness and overbearing side dominated.
“I hope we can put our differences aside,” she said. “For Isla’s sake, we should be congenial.”
“How about friends?” They could only be friends; they lived very different lives.
“Friends. Sounds nice.” Alaura coddled the child. “Isla, you have a new das. He’s much nicer than the old one. This one is in training, so you’ll have to forgive his mistakes.” She winked at her. “
This is going to be your home for now, but you’ll still see me every day. Okay?”
Isla nodded and wrapped her arms around Alaura’s neck. “Isla safe?”
“Isla is safe.”
“It feels like you’re her mum,” said Bronwyn.
“Meeme. Hauflins call their mums meeme. Dads are called das.” Alaura reached for Isla’s clothes. “On second thought”—handing the clothes to him—“Isla’s new das should dress her.” She plopped the child on his lap, catching him off guard.
“I don’t think this will be where my problems lie,” he said.
Isla sat quietly, looking up at him while he dressed her. When he put her shoes on, she tried to kick them off, but he tied them tight enough so they’d stay on.
“Isla has fine clothes,” said Bronwyn. “Did you buy them?”
“I made them.”
“They’re beautiful.”
“Thanks. I make items—shirts, vests, pouches—and sell them at the market.”
“My sisters have their own dress shop. Maybe you could sell items there.”
“Your mum introduced them to me a few years ago. I buy many of my supplies from them, and they sell my items on consignment.”
“I wasn’t aware of this.” How did Alaura know so many members of his family yet he had never spoken with her?
“I suppose you wouldn’t. Your mum says she seldom sees you.”
Bronwyn hadn’t realised so much time had passed since he last visited his parents’ dwelling. But his mum knew. The youngest of her brood of seven, she considered him her baby. Surely he had outgrown the humiliating title by now.
“I must go.” Alaura stood and started for the door. “I have an appointment.”
Bronwyn followed with Isla in his arms. “An appointment? Outside of Maskil?”
She turned. “Why do you ask?”
“Curious.” He didn’t want her to think he watched her movements. “I’m often on the wall when you pass through the gates. I wondered where you went. Linden Woods? Moon Meadow? Or perhaps the Foothills?”
“Moon Meadow. I have a friend there.”
Searching his memories, he imagined the most likely dwelling she’d visit. “Beathas of Ailsa?”
“How did you know?” She eyed him suspiciously.
“Beathas is an old friend of my parents. But you probably know this. I visited her many times when I travelled with my dad in my youth. Given your craft, she’d be the most likely person you’d visit.”
“In your youth? You make yourself sound old.”
He grinned. “There are days, I feel as if I’ve kicked around a hundred years instead of twenty-five.”
“Then you should concentrate on enjoying life more instead of wearing out your uniform.”
“Maybe you could teach me how.” Bronwyn felt his face flush, and he bit his bottom lip. His words hadn’t come out right. This beautiful woman wouldn’t be interested in him. She probably had a dozen men trailing her, vying for her attention.
Alaura gazed at him sideways with one eyebrow raised. “I’m sure you’ll manage on your own.” She opened the door and paused to look back at them.
Bronwyn sensed she had yet again sized up his qualities as a caregiver. A gentle smile creased her lips. She leant forward, kissed Isla on the forehead and patted him on the arm. “I’ll see you both tomorrow. In the meantime, introduce your mum to her new grandchild.” She winked then slipped from the room.
Seven Years Later…
Shadows in the Stone Page 18