by M. C. Elam
“She be waiting. Ah, there’s my relief coming now.” He waved his hand and called to the big sentry. “About time you was showing up, Billy. I got a pint calling to me down to Chandler’s. Now remember, you ain’t allowed inside the gate.”
“Aye, Sergeant Clay. I remember.”
Clay banged hard on the barracks door for Maudie.
“Tyndall here and one other be the only gents inside tonight, Billy. Take care you mind your manners.” He opened the gate, stepped through, handed the big iron key over to Billy Runderly, and limped off swinging the lantern to light his path.
“Billy,” Christopher nodded.
“Aye, sir.”
Men must be right about Tyndall, thought Billy. Here he was, nice as you please, waiting to pass a little time with his whore. A grin spread across the sentry’s ruddy face, and his eyebrows disappeared in the shock of blond hair that fell across his forehead.
“We meet once more,” said Christopher, his voice stiff.
“Aye, we do.”
The smile disappeared, replaced with an apprehensive grimace, and Christopher realized Billy feared he would speak poorly of him to Sergeant Willis. Why, he’s just a boy come too early to a man’s body, thought Christopher.
“I bet you hail from Ascalla,” said Christopher.
“Aye, sir, that be true. Come from Baline. Owlmen caught my brother and me.”
Christopher nodded.
***
The door creaked open at last, and in the light from the barracks, Maudie’s bulk cast a long shadow across the yard all the way to the gate where Billy stood.
“Evening, sir, come right on in.”
“Thank you, Maudie. I was just passing the time with the sergeant’s new man. We met for the first time tonight. A good man, I think; he helped me find my way.”
“Billy, that you in the dark?” she said.
“Aye, Maudie. Standing my guard just like Sergeant Clay ordered.”
“Take care now. I’ll bring you a bowl of stew after bit.”
“Aye, Maudie. Thanks be to you.”
Christopher slipped past Maudie into the corridor, satisfied Billy would recognize he intended to keep the earlier shakedown a private matter.
Maudie let the door close, dropped the cross bar, and turned to Christopher. A huge grin played across her thick lips, and she wagged a finger at him chuckling.
“You be a smart one, Mister Christopher. He take a bribe from you?”
Christopher said nothing.
“Never mind, I know he did. They all do if they can. Used your head to let him know you’d be keeping mum about it. He won’t forget either. Them words told Billy you weren’t no squealing pig.”
“Thank you, Maudie. I’ll call to you when I’m ready to leave.” He couldn’t help but smile at her comparison. Perhaps some men did do their share of squealing.
Clean floors and a coat of whitewash that did much to illuminate the narrow corridor, made the barracks seem more like a large inn that catered to overnight travelers. Incense and the smell of cinnamon masked the reek of decay that hung over the compound. They passed a large central room called the arena where a few women lounged on daybeds arranged around the perimeter. Ever alert for a patron, they called out to him. Most of the women ensconced here were well beyond the prime age for permanent patronage, their existence reduced to pleasing one-night visitors. Christopher no longer thought of them as whores. Despite the suggestive nature of the invitations they proposed, they were victims. He turned back on his step, and entered the arena, unaware Maudie followed.
“If you’re of a mind to offer a night’s wage, Mister Tyndall, best I take it, afore there’s a cat fight. They’ll be clawing and punching to get the whole of it. Can’t give them real coin. Credit works better,” she said.
“I was going to offer a bit of silver to each of them, Maudie,” he said.
“That be a fine gift. I can see it gets marked in the book, right and proper.”
The women hooted and jeered, disappointed.
“Ladies,” he said. Christopher made a courtly bow, handed the silver pieces to Maudie, and turned back into the corridor.
Number sixteen was somewhere ahead and to the right. He found his way and knocked softly before inserting the key and turning the handle. Warm candle glow softened the trappings of the little room and made the surroundings seem less ordinary. Lady Millicent sat in a rocking chair mending the three-cornered tear in a brown, wool skirt. Christopher crossed the room and took a knee, bowing his head.
“Come, come Christopher. None of that,” said Millicent. She put the mending aside and leaned forward touching his shoulder. “Sit beside me that we may talk. What word do you bring of my Ellyanna?”
Christopher moved to a nearby chair and withdrew a small scrolled parchment from the inner sleeve of his robe.
“She wrote to you milady. The words may be private, something she wished to keep between you.”
Millicent smiled and untied the scroll. Her gray eyes scanned the document for a long moment before she held it to a burning candle. The parchment flared briefly and burned to ashes. Millicent dropped it to the floor, stamped out the last embers, and turned to Christopher.
“She announces she is with child.”
“Yes, milady.”
“For the third time since that black-hearted tyrant forced her to his bed.”
“I am sorry, milady. I can do nothing to save her from his callous nature. I cannot even raise my voice to defend her.”
Millicent reached for his hands. “And for that you harbor feelings of guilt.”
He nodded.
“You have nothing to be guilty about, Christopher. We have had the same talk since first you found me. I know what happened the night of the banquet. Elly loves you, and you proved your love for her that night. Take the guilt from your heart. A martyr is of little use to those who live after.”
Christopher nodded. “I know you speak true, milady. Still, my spirit takes no ease as long as we are trapped here. She talks of how his putrid stench sickens her.”
Millicent stiffened. "She shows no signs of disease?"
"None milady. Your potions keep her well. She drinks one each time he beds her. And all she knows is that she does so at your bidding." He took the straight back chair across from her.
“We will go home one day.”
“How can you be so sure, milady?”
“My heart tells me, faith, and something deeper. Now there is much we need to speak of tonight.”
“Aye, I brought enough gold to secure your safety for a year, but Sergeant Willis said something had changed.”
“Yes, Clay is quite right. Now let us speak as friends and be done with formality. I am Millicent and you are my dear friend, Christopher. First, some wine.
She retrieved a decanter and poured them each a healthy goblet. Full-bodied and rich, the wine tasted of bright days, loyalty, trust, and the perfume of Glynmora.
“Good, is it not?”
“Yes, but how came you by such a rich vintage?”
“Clay Willis promises favors for favors. He secured a whole shipment for our use.”
Christopher moved the goblet away. “Milady, he did not offer you?”
“Of course not.”
“Still, the wine turns sour on my tongue.”
“Be not so quick to condemn. All that you see in this place, every small comfort, a cake of soap, a comb, even a cracked mirror, we owe to Clay.”
“But the woman he offered for the wine, what about her?”
“I am sure she would tell you she approves if you could ask her. The merchant was her son.”
Christopher looked puzzled.
“The woman is gone now.”
“She died?”
“So it would seem on the ledger, but no, she walks free on her home soil, thanks to Clay Willis.”
“I am a fool, milady.”
Millicent smiled. “One who admits a foolish choice courts the knowl
edge of kings. Now enjoy the drink with an easy heart. You may need libation to get through the next hour. What I have to say may seem unbelievable, but I can offer proof to support my claim.”
“Proof enough in your word, Millicent.”
“I knew about Ellyanna’s pregnancy before you arrived. I know that she twice miscarried and her third conception is a last chance before Peter casts her aside. We cannot let that happen. He will bring her straight to the pens.”
“Did she write of the other times as well?”
“No, Christopher. She speaks only about now.”
“Then how could you know?”
“You must promise to keep all I say locked inside. No one save you must know.”
“I do not understand.”
She took his hands in her own. “Promise, now. Swear it.”
“I swear.”
She searched his face and found the earnest conviction she sought.
“I am not what you think. I come from an ancient line. Some say tales told to pass the time on a rainy night gave birth to our existence. I am of the shadow people, Christopher.”
“Milady?”
She ignored his questioning tone.
“My mother, was a daughter of Anutaya, Mother of the Earth.”
“Milady, I mean no disrespect, but tales of shadow people are for children.”
“I expected your doubts.” Millicent stood and turned away from him. “I see I must find a way to convince you. Humor me by closing your eyes.”
“But…”
“Just close them, please.”
A somber ambiance rushed his mind like a flock of black-winged nighthawks. Wind grazed his cheek with icy fingers that reminded him of a mountain trail in winter. The present dimmed, and his spirit shifted further from the little room, away from his earth-bound flesh and spiraled higher. Silhouetted against a snowy terrain two travelers slogged through knee-deep drifts following a white wolf. Cold pierced his skin. He knew the danger of the trail in winter, but those who followed the wolf did not feel the cold or fear the ice and snow because each step of the journey brought them closer to home.
The smell of feathers and warm straw clouded the image. A sharp jolt forced him back into his skin.
“Milady, can you smell that?”
“Reach into the pocket of your doublet, Christopher. Tell me what you find.”
“I need not look, milady. I know what is there.”
“A blue feather, a feather you carry with you everywhere?”
“Yes, but how did you know?”
“I put the feather in your pocket while you walked through the crafters’ square outside the bird shop.”
She turned to face him.
“Open your eyes.”
“Why, you are not Lady Millicent. You are the woman from the street that I bumped into the day I found the bird shop.”
“Look again.”
His vision blurred and he rubbed his eyes. When he focused again, the bird woman stood inches away. Her milky eyes peered from a face etched by a thousand deep wrinkles.
“How did you get here? Where is Lady Millicent?”
“Here, Christopher.”
The image of the bird woman rippled and danced like the surface of a quiet lake when a pebble disturbs the water. The ripple stilled, and Lady Millicent stood in her place.
Christopher shivered despite a resolve to hold his composure. “How did you do that?”
“Power of suggestion, Christopher, I did not change. I wandered through your mind, and you saw what I wanted you to see. Check your doublet pocket now.”
He reached into the pocket, felt nothing, and looked down to search again.
“What happened to the feather? I had it a minute ago.”
“You never had a feather, Christopher. I put the idea of the feather inside you to give credence to the bird woman. The feather helped you believe she spoke to you of my whereabouts. I needed you to find me. Think, why didn’t you show the feather to Ellyanna?”
“The idea never occurred to me.”
Millicent shook her head.
“Elly recognized the bird woman. She needed nothing more than that. The feather worked to convince you that what you saw was real. Perhaps you need it still. Look in your pocket again.”
The feather licked the tips of his fingers, and he jerked his hand away.
“How can you do this? Why? And who were the people on the mountain in the snow? I walked with them. I felt the snow on my face. Milady, I must know.”
“Whom do you think they might be, Christopher? Name what you saw and answer the question you ask me.”
“Our escape from Lawrenzia.”
Millicent nodded.
“But I saw only two people.”
“Yes, I know. Two will escape. You doubt what you see?” she shook her head.
“I am sorry, milady. I cannot help but doubt so fantastic a story.”
“I ask so much of you now, but Ellyanna’s pregnancy makes the need more immediate.”
Millicent moved to pour more wine. Christopher took up the goblet and put his hand over the top. She nodded and refreshed her own instead.
“If what you say is true, why did you not appear as yourself that day in the city?”
“I feared my concentration might not be strong enough to keep my image for you alone. If a sentry saw me and word went back to Peter…” she shrugged. “I chose the blind woman because I knew Elly would remember her. I speak truth, Christopher. Shrouded in mystery, perhaps, but sometimes truth must hide in order to survive.” She filled his goblet despite his earlier refusal. “Am I less in your eyes because of my gifts?”
“You are the same to me as ever, a fine lady. But shadow people, even with everything you say, that part is so hard to believe.”
She knelt at his feet. Wide eyed he moved to help her stand. She shook her head and loosened the tight coil of blond hair at the back of her neck. A stray lock fell across her face, and she pushed it back behind her ear.
“Look at my ear, Christopher. Look at both of them. What do the tales tell about the ears of shadow people?” She touched her own ear and drew her finger along the outer ridge from the lobe to the tip. “Soft points, right.”
“Yes, I have heard that in stories.”
“Then look.”
Christopher could see the slender tapering fold. Her ears did come to a soft point at the top but not abnormally so, not so much that if she wore her hair to reveal them, anyone would consider her different.
“Ellyanna has the same trait?”
“Less noticeable but, yes. With each generation removed, the physical trait fades.” She twisted her hair back into a smooth coil and secured it at the back of her neck with long bone hair sticks. “I feared Peter would see she bore the unusual trait.”
“I doubt he would realize the significance, milady,” Christopher said. “I noticed nothing unusual in Elly’s appearance.
Millicent stood and moved back to the rocking chair.
“Do not make the mistake of underestimating the enemy, Christopher. He is sly and devilishly clever. Remember, he lured us here. Now drink your wine. I must tell you about Ellyanna.”
“She does not know her heritage?” Christopher asked.
***
Before Millicent could answer, a shriek shook the walls, and Christopher came to his feet. He searched the room for something to protect them. His eyes fell on a broom standing in one corner. Before he could pick it up someone knocked softly. They waited. The knock came again. Christopher snatched the broom and stood behind the door. Millicent raised her hand and motioned for him to keep quiet.
He nodded.
“Who is there, please?”
“Maudie, open up quick.”
Millicent unlocked the door and opened it. “Maudie!”
Blood covered Maudie’s arms, her hands and soaked her skirt front. Even her plump cheeks gleamed red with blood. Millicent pulled her into the room.
“By the gods
, Maudie. What happened? Where are you hurt?”
“Nay mistress, was me that let off that screech, but I’m not hurt. The gent that come before Mister Christopher, he done it. Cut Bianca. Cut her face real bad. Then she got hold of my shears and stabbed him right through the chest. You got to help. I think he be dead. Please, you got to help. She’s kilt him sure.”
“Where is Bianca now?”
“I locked her in down the hall where we keep the stores. She be bleeding all over the place. Hallway looks like a slaughter pen.”
“How bad is she?” asked Christopher.
“Cut in the face but nowhere else. Bad though, she be bleeding so much. Don’t know where so much blood come from so fast.”
At Millicent’s urging, Maudie sank onto the side of the bed.
“Where is the gent?” Millicent asked.
She poured fresh water from a pitcher into a ewer, dampened a soft linen cloth, sat down beside Maudie, and began to wipe the blood from her face. The simple act calmed the woman, and her shaking eased.
“Last I saw, he be on the floor in Bianca’s room.”
“Here is what you must do, Maudie.” Millicent rinsed the cloth, pressed it into Maudie’s open hand, and closed her fingers around it. Wash the blood from your face and change your clothes. Then fetch Sergeant Clay and bring him to Bianca’s room.”
“Sergeant Clay be off down to Chandler’s.” She dropped the stained cloth in her lap and began to wring her hands again.
“Maudie, everything will be all right, but you must do exactly as I say. Who is on duty at the gate?”
“Billy Runderly be the one on the gate.”
“Runderly could go to the tavern and bring Sergeant Willis back,” said Christopher.
“No, no. We can’t ask him to fetch Clay. That would draw attention. Word travels fast as quicksilver around the compound. No one must know what has happened if we can prevent it. Billy’s a good boy. He’ll keep mum.”
Millicent was right, of course, but trust Billy Runderly? Christopher wondered. “You’re certain?”
“I am. His brother, Devon, runs the stable. You’ve seen him.”
“Aye, but…”