by Erme Lander
An apprentice came to find her while she helped Enos that morning, she was wanted by Varian. Enos looked pained, then shrugged and told her to go. She found him in a small room tucked into the depths of the hospice. Varian was an old sharp faced man, with the hairiest arms Mika had ever seen. She was informed that he expected her to be with him at the same time every week.
She sat with another apprentice and a journeyman she vaguely knew. Given a sheet of paper and a pen, she was told to make notes while Varian interviewed the returning Medici. Mika had been aware of the constant stream of Medici coming in and out of the hospice, Belindros wasn’t the only one that travelled. An overview of the country could be gathered from the amount of information they gathered. Reports of disease and new cures dismissed or written down for experimentation.
Varian was a hard taskmaster and without Belindros’ saving grace of wit. The apprentices were expected to discuss the details afterwards and make intelligent comments. Mika was behind most of the others, she’d not even heard of some of these countries or their histories with Ackbarr. No allowances were made and she came out frustrated at her lack of knowledge. As Varian had said, his dark shaven face stony, she would be expected to make all sorts of decisions as a Medici, sometimes with only half the facts and she needed to learn to use her brain.
Jon also came back that afternoon sour faced and sulky. The other boys had looked down on him, teasing him over his size and lack of learning. The tutors had leant on him to produce the required standard. Any enquires brought out a vile level of language from him.
Mika held her breath and watched as he sat in the study that evening and stared blankly at his book, holding his pencil in a tight fist as he tried to work through the problems set. She told him that she’d expect him to continue his reading with her in the morning and nearly ducked as his arm twitched. She got her own books out and studied alongside, despite the afternoon with Varian having given her a headache.
“How is your ferret getting on?”
Mika was watching Belindros make up an order. “Better than Orai,” she hedged.
He snorted, she knew he’d be keeping abreast of the situation. If it didn’t work out, then he’d be the first to tell her and expect her to deal with it. “I’d stew your ferret, only there’s not enough meat on him to make a meal.” She relaxed, not yet then. He changed the subject, “Look these up while I mix them boy and tell me what you think.”
“Can’t I help?”
“Not with this, the book’s on the desk. Thimal, look it up.”
She obediently found the correct herb and read out the properties. “How are they going to be used?”
“These ones are for steeping in hot water, the patient drinks it.” Belindros explained. “The Sweetroot is for smoking. Here, smell.” An aniseed smell, sweetly potent. He watched her carefully as she flinched away.
She read, “Sweetroot, causes dulling of the senses, befuddlement in small doses, to be used in cases of delirium.” Mika peered over, curious at the amount in the pan. “How much are you using per dose?” He showed her and she checked the book, “That’s twice the amount recommended, you could drop a horse with that much!”
“My, aren’t we the expert? My client has been using it a while, he needs a lot these days.” His face was impassive, “I’d use Corettle but he refuses to go near it...” He rubbed his eyes into the crook of his elbow, carefully keeping his face away from the herbs.
“Who is the client?”
“Never you mind. Someone important. However, if I drop dead tomorrow, the ingredients are on that list there. The ingredients and quantities are not to be meddled with.” The drugs were packed into a small box and sealed with Belindros’ personal seal. “I will deliver them later and no, you are not coming with me.”
Belindros had left to deliver his order. She wondered vaguely who it was while she attempted to continue Jon’s lessons, most people collected their own prescriptions. Jon was restless, looking out of the window and fidgeting.
“Jon, Belindros was asking about you. I need you to behave, to learn.” Mika’s frustration boiled over. Jon muttered into his shirt and she was reminded of her own reactions to her mother’s nagging. She swallowed her guilt and tried again, “I know you can do all these things, you need to show the masters as well.”
He looked rebellious, “They sit there and ignore the other boys messing around, then when I do something wrong, they yell at me.”
“Do you give them cause to yell?”
Jon shrugged, twisting himself into a knot. “They think I’m stupid.”
“You remember the things I tell you. You’re far better than Orai.” She thought, “I think you need to come with me to the hospice tomorrow, the other apprentices have their boys there. You should be there too.”
“Do you get yelled at?”
“Not yelled at, but Varian isn’t nice. Anything I say or write has to be just so.” She thought hard, “Maybe in a way it’s good. I need to be sure of what I’m doing, make educated guesses, not just blurt things out under pressure. And I will be under pressure at some point. I need to be able to think. So maybe, he’s doing me a favour.” She still wasn’t sure, although Jon looked impressed with her explanation. Privately she thought Varian was just a nasty old man who’d taken a dislike to her.
Chapter 14
Jon pointed out, “Your hair, it’s not as light as I thought it was. It’s gone dark at the roots.” Mika swore and took out the package given to her by the barber. She mixed it in a small bowl as he’d told her. Jon watched, looking sceptical and commented on the disgusting smell.
“Can you help? I can’t see.” They were sitting in the courtyard and for once it was quiet. Jon recoiled, pulling a face. Squeamishly, he dabbed at her head, making rude remarks about his eyes stinging. A competent set of hands took over, she glanced up and quickly shut her own eyes as they began to stream. Marta had pushed Jon to one side.
“There, you’ll need to stay in the sun for a bit. Scrub the mud off these for me while you wait. There’s the sand timer, wash the bleach off then.”
Relieved, Mika sat in the sun and washed the vegetables, in between smacking Jon’s hands away as he stole them to toss into his mouth. After she’d rinsed the bleach off, her head tingled and Jon pulled faces at the smell until she threatened to dunk him.
“You’ve gone blond again boy.” Belindros made the comment halfway through her session with him. She shrugged in what she hoped was a boyish manner. He grunted and lost interest, “Well, it’s probably for the best. You’ll be attending me at the palace this evening. Best robes tonight boy.”
Mika wore her best set of robes with delight. The long Medici apprentice robes suited her height and disguised her figure further. She gazed around the palace as they entered, trying to keep an eye on where they were going at the same time. Belindros lectured her on etiquette while they walked. She was to serve him in certain ways, to watch and imitate the other boys. She got the impression he didn’t enjoy the palace dinners and wondered why.
She’d not been inside the fortress before, the apprentices were kept in the hospice unless they had a reason for going elsewhere. The inside was built to impress, narrow staircases leading upwards into the gloom and smokey flares adding to the smell of people. The great hall was truly enormous, a fireplace at each end, tapestries showing battle scenes and long tables with places set ready for the guests.
Belindros moved to an area close to one end. A servant intercepted him and showed him to a place. She was motioned to stand behind Belindros’ chair, ready to help serve him the titbits he preferred. Other boys standing behind their masters waited to help in the same way. The hall filled rapidly, nobles and their pages being shown where to sit. The murmur of conversation didn’t quite fill the echoing space.
She started as Belindros stood, others were standing and looking towards the dais. A movement in the gloom and a man came out, in middle years, swarthy in the Ackbarr way and Mika realised she w
as looking at the King. This was the man who threatened her country. Not large, a calm face under his beard. He didn’t look like an aggressor. She noticed the nobles bowing, the pages kneeling and made to copy when a hand came under her arm. She looked at Belindros and he shook his head.
“Medici,” came the quiet comment. She wasn’t expected to kneel. Uncomfortable with standing while others knelt, she inclined her head as a gesture of respect and was relieved when the nobles began to sit. The conversation bubbled up again as servants began passing around platters and wine.
Mika stared around the dark hall. The King sat high on the dais. Others made quiet conversation to him, bending their heads and flattering. He was not young, but there was a younger woman sitting close by, few spoke to her. Mika felt for her, remembering her time at her wedding, sitting with people staring. She wondered if that was his oldest daughter or his new wife. Could be either. She took a pitcher from a passing servant and filled Belindros’ cup.
She blinked as she spotted the man from the menagerie. Jace, the King’s Advisor for War was sprawled in his chair, close to the King. She wondered where the cat was. A space was around him as the smoke curled out of his mouth, a cylinder of herbs held lazily between two fingers. Conversation was muted in that corner. Every so often the King would lean down and make a remark and the man would reply, smiling.
Belindros muttered a comment and she picked up several tiny sweetmeats for him from the serving boy. She sniffed, certain she could smell the tang of Sweetroot over the smell of food. This must have been who the order was for. Jace was relaxed, his eyes half closed. He was handsome. As dark blond as she’d been before she’d bleached her hair, the cheekbones and long eyes were unmistakable as Cassai. She had a nagging sense of knowing him and tried to work out who he reminded her of. With a shock she realised it was her mother.
Unsettled, she gazed elsewhere, further down the table and nearly dumped the contents of the plate she held into Belindros’ lap. It was her father in his full court regalia. Pale hair against the dark sober clothing, she felt her heart thump in longing. A whispered comment from Belindros. She ducked her head, paying attention to his wishes and minded him, not wanting her father to notice her.
A pause between the servings. An announcement from a portly man whose deep chest flung his words across the hall. The diners hushed in anticipation and Mika was reminded of the crowd in the menagerie.
A man was ushered in between two large guards. Mika wasn’t listening to the words from the steward, she watched the man’s face and clothes. He was bull-like and strong. He bellowed back, his accent so thick it was difficult to understand what he was defying. The King leaned down to Jace, murmured a few words. A question? Jace smiled in return, a sleepy twitch of his lips. He carefully blew the last of the smoke out of his mouth and placed the Sweetroot ashes on his plate. Tension in the hall rose as he stood.
The steward announced into the silence, “You have your choice, die now or fight with the chance to live.” Mika saw Jace through the man’s eyes, a similar height, but not as wide, not as strong. She wanted to cry out to warn him, she’d seen the way he moved. The man nodded, his eyes eager and he accepted the sword when his hands were untied.
Jace’s movements were languid, an inevitable deadliness gathering, like thick honey dripping off a spoon. He dipped his head to the King and stepped forwards into the space between the tables. The man lunged and Jace shifted sideways out of reach. Another lunge, the sword flicking to the side. The condemned man was good, Mika could recognise that from her own training. Gavin could’ve despatched him, but Jace hadn’t even drawn his sword yet. Jace moved again, looking sleepily amused. Mika watched with a growing horror, if this was what he was like drugged with Sweetroot, then what could he achieve with a clear head?
The man paused as Jace finally drew his sword. A mad hope came into the man’s eyes. Mika was frozen to the spot, her mouth dry. Couldn’t he see that he was being played with? His tunic was soaked in sweat, his breathing harsh in the silent room. With no other choice he thrust again and slashed, in a frenzy that went nowhere. Jace was fast, his muscles shifting smoothly to block the attack. Mika flinched from the echoes in the hall, blinked as Jace’s sword flicked out and the man stood still, disbelief on his face.
Jace turned his back and twitched a napkin from one of the diners, wiped his sword and walked away. The man gazed down at his stomach, dropping his own sword as he clutched at the red line seeping through his clothes. Too shocked to speak, his mouth gaped as he slowly crumpled onto the floor. Mika felt sick. It had all been a show. The King proving his point that he had the deadliest swordsman with him.
Without meaning to, she glanced at her father, his face had twisted in disgust as he looked at Jace, now sprawled back in his chair. Jace winked back at him, an unexpected mischief in his face, aware there was nothing her father could do. They were of a similar age, Jace and her father, both in their early thirties. The differences were clear, her father, an ambassador of a small country, here under sufferance. A country with goods Ackbarr wanted and Jace under the King’s protection.
The dinner continued as the mess in the middle of the floor was cleared up. The nobles ignored it, Mika had the feeling it was an often repeated show. Belindros ate little, she suspected that he was as disgusted as she was. He guarded his usually acerbic tongue and was charming to the nobles each side of him, exchanging tales of the countries and people they had in common.
The feasting carried on late into the night. Belindros motioned for her to leave at the earliest possible time. Many still sat hoping for more wine, more food and more entertainment. She tucked Belindros’ cloak around him and followed behind, deep in thought, nearly stumbling into him as he stopped in the corridor.
“Ambassador Koren.”
She jumped, forgetting to keep her head down as she gazed into her father’s eyes. The blood drained out of his face and she remembered seeing her brother’s face in the mirror, the day she’d cut her hair. Unable to think, she automatically gave the traditional bow a Cassai youngster gave to an elder.
“This is Mikon, my apprentice. Mikon, I believe you said your mother was Cassai?” Belindros’ voice was crisp.
She peeped upwards, her father was staring at Belindros, mouth slightly open. “Yes.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
Other people were passing them, staring in curiosity. Her father coughed and recovered himself. He nodded, his face his usual mask, only his eyes showed his confusion. Mika flicked her eyes towards the servant behind him, thankfully he wasn’t one she recognised.
“It is a beautiful night, I intend to enjoy it Ambassador. I take it you feel the same.” Belindros was covering for him.
“Yes. Good night Medici.” Her father bowed to Belindros and left, back taut.
Belindros glanced at her, “Come on boy, back home. I tire easily these days.”
Jon wasn’t in his bed when she got back. Mika muttered a rude word and made a note to tell him off when she saw him in the morning, she couldn’t think straight at the moment.
She came downstairs yawning the next morning, plonked herself down on the bench and took the bread and jam offered by one of the servants.
“Is Jon not up yet?”
Mika looked at Marta, stirring a pot on the stove, “I looked in last night, he wasn’t in his room. Haven’t you seen him?”
Marta shook her head, “Not like Jon to miss a meal.” Mika stuffed the rest of her bread in her mouth and ran back up the stairs to look. The bed was in the same state. She walked slowly down.
“He didn’t sleep in his bed last night.”
“He didn’t mention anything to me.” Gavin looked concerned. For all his teasing, Gavin had developed a fondness for Jon.
Marta offered her opinion, “He may have decided it’s all too much. He’ll turn up.”
Mika shook her head, she couldn’t believe Jon would just disappear. She floundered through the tiredness of the previous evening, “I need t
o look for him.”
“If he doesn’t want to be found them he won’t be. He’ll be back at some point. He’s a street child and you have your lessons to go to.”
Mika opened her mouth to protest when Gavin spoke up, “I’ll take a look around the markets, see if anyone’s seen him.”
Mika walked to the palace in a daze. No Jon. No constant chatter distracting her. She waved at the familiar guards on the gates, barely registering them. She was kept busy at the hospice, autumn had come to Ackbarr and coughs and colds had arrived with it. She scarcely had the time to think about what she did, let alone think about the look in her father’s eyes. Her father, here. She’d dreamt of finding him in Ackbarr, not dared to hope she would. She jumped back into reality, catching a small child who nearly wriggled off the examining table.
Gavin came back with bad news that evening, he’d not found any sign of Jon. She stared at Jon’s empty room. All his things still there, she paused. All his things, he wouldn’t have left food. The bottled preserves were still on the shelf. Jon had a weakness for them and would beg extra from Marta in return for good behaviour. Jon would have taken those bottles with him, no way would he have left them.
She remembered a man sitting close by the gate to the compound yesterday and Jon looking everywhere but in that direction. He’d rushed into the compound, dragging her in behind him. The man had appeared drunk. She’d not looked twice, despite people not normally sitting in the streets here. Her suspicions rose. She was positive Jon hadn’t gone voluntarily.