Among Wolves

by Nancy K. Wallace

“Of course,” Devin answered, folding the letter and placing it in an envelope. He laid the missive aside to give to Marcus.

  Adrian went down to the kitchen and beckoned Devin toward the table where Gaspard was engrossed in a game of solitaire. Marcus had settled by the fire, cradling the tiger cat.

  Devin laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Who’s winning?” he asked.

  Gaspard gestured at the cards. “No one, at the moment. Care to join me? Adrian’s luck has run out and he refuses to play anymore.”

  “Perhaps, later,” Devin replied. He wanted to borrow Adrian’s harp and practice this afternoon while Armand was out.

  “Later, Armand will come back and you will shift into study mode,” Gaspard replied petulantly. “Can’t you spare me a few minutes of your time?”

  Devin sensed veiled animosity beneath his invitation. “Of course,” he answered. “Give me a moment with Adrian.”

  Adrian removed a small brown velvet sack from his pocket.

  “I wanted to give this to you while Armand isn’t here,” he said. “I asked Jeanette to make it for you. She made one for me when I was learning the Chronicle and I still carry it.”

  He loosened the ties and spilled out the contents: dozens of brightly colored beads, which rolled and darted on the tabletop. He gathered them into a pile with his hands.

  “Some bards string the beads and wear them on their belts; others fill the bag with pebbles of different colors instead of beads. I suppose you could even use coins, although I wouldn’t want to tie up my money for this.” He sorted them quickly into piles. “You see there are eight kinds: one each for the different types of stories in the Chronicle. You can use whichever color you like, but I usually designate the red ones for the Chansons de Gestes, brown for the beast tales, yellow for the fabliaux, white for the romances, black for the cautionary tales, blue for the religious ones, and green for the historical accounts, and these speckled ones for the legends. I’ve given you one bead for each story. It is simply an easy way to remember the titles. Name them as you count out the beads. I don’t know about you, but if I can remember the title, then that’s half the battle won.”

  Devin gathered the twenty-three green ones in his hand and raised his eyebrows.

  “I hadn’t realized there were so many. Armand only began to teach me the first historical accounts this week. I believe we’ve only finished six. We spent a great deal of time on cautionary tales and romances. I was afraid he would never reveal the rest of these to me, and they are the ones that interested me most.”

  Adrian laughed. “Armand likes to be in charge. If you try to tell him what to do, he is stubborn as a goat. The only way around it is to make him think something is his idea. But don’t let him fool you, Devin. He has been very impressed with your abilities at memorization. He simply doesn’t want you to know it.”

  Devin sat down beside Gaspard. “I seem to make him angry.”

  “He’s angry at what you represent,” Adrian replied. “He feels that Coreé treats the residents of the provinces unfairly.”

  “I would agree with him there,” Devin said. “I said as much today in the letter I wrote to my father.”

  “Perhaps, you could tell Armand that, as well,” Adrian said. “I worry that his outspokenness will get him killed. He wouldn’t be the first bard to be silenced for defying Coreé.”

  Devin took the deck of cards and shuffled them idly.

  “I have difficulty believing that the Council fears the Chronicles so much that they would kill to keep certain information quiet,” he said. “A Master Bard is only the vehicle to pass on that information, but there are other bards who will still repeat the stories that they have learned.”

  Adrian hesitated. “The teaching of the Chronicle is strictly regulated. Did you know that every bard must be registered in his province?” he asked.

  Devin shook his head.

  “Armand took a chance teaching you,” Adrian continued. “For all he knew, you were an agent of the imperial government sent to ferret out any heresy he had been teaching. Ombria’s Master Bard was executed for treason at the turn of the last century because he dared to report events that were at odds with the official government accounts at the time.”

  Devin felt oddly responsible. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. That isn’t a fact that’s widely known.”

  “And you are a historian,” Adrian pointed out.

  In the distance the church bells tolled: one stroke for every year of two men’s lives. Devin shifted uneasily at the sound.

  “Deal!” Gaspard demanded. “Armand will be back soon.”

  Adrian gathered up the beads, funneling them through his fingers and into the little bag.

  “It’s called a storyteller’s sack,” he said. “I thought you might want to know that. Perhaps you’ll want to make a more ornate one someday, but this will get you started.”

  Devin dealt the cards into three hands, aware of Gaspard’s impatience.

  “Thank you very much, and please thank Jeanette,” he said to Adrian. “I rarely have a chance to speak to her alone.” He picked up his cards and winced. He’d dealt himself a miserable hand but Gaspard was grinning.

  “What are we playing for?” Devin asked.

  “Our souls,” Gaspard replied. “I’m out of money.”

  CHAPTER 33

  High Stakes

  Gaspard’s comment indicated that he must have already been in debt when he had asked Devin for money on Sunday. If he’d still needed to pay off Chastel then it would explain his lack of funds today. It made Devin angry that Gaspard had lied to him, pretending he needed money for an impending card game. He knew for certain that Gaspard hadn’t lost his money to Adrian. Armand didn’t allow gambling in his house: when they played around the big kitchen table, the stakes were beans or matchsticks.

  Devin was preoccupied the rest of the day, wondering how to handle it. They were on their way up to bed before he had a chance to speak to Gaspard alone. He waited until Marcus had entered the bedroom they shared, and then walked into Gaspard’s room and casually kicked the door closed behind him.

  “So, why didn’t you tell me that you already owed Chastel money?” he demanded.

  Gaspard shrugged, looking young and vulnerable in the light of the single candle on the bedside table. “I hoped you’d give me enough to pay Chastel off and I’d still have a little leftover to begin to win some of it back.”

  Devin sighed. “So you’ve cleared it up, then?”

  Gaspard avoided his eyes.

  “How much do you still owe him?” Devin asked.

  Gaspard’s response was barely audible. “A thousand francs.”

  “A thousand francs!” Devin gasped. “That’s more than three times what I gave you on Sunday!”

  Gaspard simply nodded.

  Devin shook his head in disbelief. “But Gaspard, when did you lose it all? We didn’t even stay at Chastel’s that long.”

  “You weren’t feeling well,” Gaspard explained, slumping down on the bed. “And there wasn’t a lot for me to do. When Chastel asked me if I would like to play cards with him and Dr. Mareschal, of course, I said ‘yes’.” He laughed self-consciously. “They are both experts, Dev. Don’t ever gamble with either of them!”

  “I don’t intend to,” Devin replied.

  Gambling was a hobby for the idle rich and Devin didn’t see himself as belonging to that category. For the last two years, he had done manuscript restoration at the Académie to avoid making unnecessary demands on his father’s resources. Once he took his place in the Archives, he would be self-sufficient and no longer dependent on his father’s income.

  “They played for much higher stakes than I am used to,” Gaspard continued. “My losses got out of hand very quickly. Chastel seemed amused. He and Mareschal exchanged glances a few times, as though they both knew something I didn’t. At first, I thought maybe he was cheating, but then I began to wonder if he wasn’t getting back at my father for some pa
st loss he had suffered. Chastel even offered, several times, to request the funds from my father if I didn’t have enough ready cash. Surely, you can understand why I couldn’t let him do that? So, I told him you were holding my money for the trip, and as soon as you were feeling better, I would settle up. I thought you would give me what I needed, if I asked.”

  Devin turned away, his hands jammed into his pockets. “And yet you never told me how much you needed, or why you needed it. Was I just supposed to guess?”

  “I didn’t want you to know how much I owed,” Gaspard confessed.

  Devin swung around to face him. “Listen Gaspard, I will gladly buy you food, clothes, or anything else you need on this trip, but I can’t continue to assume your gambling debts. I simply can’t afford to. I will pay this off, but it will leave us short of cash. It will be another three weeks before we can reach a government center where I can make a withdrawal from the account my father set up. I’ve spent less than fifty francs in two weeks to support three of us. You dropped thirteen-hundred in four days! I don’t know how to make it any clearer. You simply can’t gamble any more unless you can raise the funds yourself. I can’t risk losing the money we need to get back home on a card game.”

  “I can win it back,” Gaspard protested. “Give me an extra ten francs now, and I can replace your money by the end of the week.”

  “No,” Devin replied, shaking his head. “Absolutely not.” He grabbed the doorknob and wrenched the door open. “And as far as the thousand francs go, I will pay Chastel myself. It’s time he understood where the money’s coming from.”

  Gaspard followed him, grabbing his arm as he crossed the threshold.

  “Dev, please. Don’t embarrass me in front of Chastel!”

  Devin shook off his hand. “Embarrass you? God, doesn’t it embarrass you not to be able to pay your debts? I’d be mortified.”

  Devin was too angry to go to bed. He started downstairs but Marcus appeared, half dressed, on the top step before he was halfway down.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded.

  “Downstairs,” Devin told him. “I can’t sleep right now. Don’t worry, I’m not going out.”

  “See that you don’t,” Marcus answered before stalking back down the hall to their room.

  Devin heard voices coming from the performance hall. The door was only partially closed and he pushed it open to find Adrian and Armand seated before the fire. Armand shifted, shielding whatever they were looking at from Devin’s view.

  “I’m sorry,” Devin said. “I should have knocked.”

  “It is not a problem,” Armand answered smoothly, sliding something into Adrian’s harp case. “I thought you’d gone to bed.”

  “I did,” Devin explained.

  “You sound upset,” Armand said, turning around. “Is something the matter?”

  Adrian stood up, looping the handle of the harp case over his shoulder.

  “I’ll see you in the morning, Armand. Goodnight, Devin,” he said.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Devin protested.

  “It’s truly not a problem. I was on my way up anyway,” Adrian answered graciously.

  “Good night, then,” Devin said.

  “Come. Sit, Monsieur Roché,” Armand said, patting the stool beside him. “Tell me what is bothering you.”

  Devin slumped down beside him, watching as Adrian walked out and closed the door behind him.

  “I had an argument with Gaspard,” he confided. “Apparently, he spent most of our four day stay at Chastel’s playing cards. He just told me he owes Chastel a thousand francs, and that’s in addition to the three hundred that I gave him on Sunday.”

  Armand grunted. “Gambling is an addiction, Monsieur Roché. Any gambler who denies that is only fooling himself.”

  Devin rubbed at his forehead. His head was thumping. “I will have to pay this off for him because he has no resources of his own at the moment, but I told him tonight that I can’t do it again.”

  “I doubt it will stop him,” Armand replied, lighting a long pipe with a splinter from the kindling bucket. “He will just go further into debt, or worse yet, steal, to support his habit.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Devin said in frustration.

  “There is nothing you can do,” Armand answered. “It is not your problem, it is Gaspard’s. As long as you bail him out, you are giving him permission to continue gambling. By saying ‘no’ and meaning it, you are removing yourself from the equation. Believe me, he will find another means to get the money. I only hope it will be a legal one. I think your friend needs to swallow his pride, and go back to Coreé. He will never survive in the provinces.”

  “We have been friends a very long time,” Devin said, dreading the prospect of fourteen months without Gaspard. “I can’t imagine this trip without him.”

  “I am sorry for you, then.” Armand blew smoke out of his nose, his eyes on the fire. “And Chastel,” he said after a moment, “do you feel any differently about him? It would have been more courteous not to continue offering credit to a man who was already overextended.”

  Devin didn’t answer immediately. “I have always judged a man by the way he treats me personally,” he said at last. “Chastel has given me no reason to distrust him.” However, Gaspard’s hunch that Chastel had fleeced him to get even for a past grudge, continued to nag at him.

  “And yet,” Armand observed, as though sensing his doubts, “you do not really know the man or his family.”

  “So, tell me about him,” Devin said.

  Armand was so quiet that Devin assumed he didn’t intend to answer. Then suddenly the bard turned to face him, his face haggard.

  “Jean Chastel is my brother,” he said.

  Devin’s mouth dropped open. “Your brother?” he gasped, and yet the statement was not that unbelievable. All through their stay at the château, Chastel had reminded Devin of someone. He realized now that it was the affable side of Armand that he had recognized and responded to in Chastel. If Armand’s darker side also coexisted within Chastel’s genial façade, it was a little too disturbing to think about at the moment.

  Armand continued, “I only know all of this because Mäìte told me the night of my eighteenth birthday. She felt it was important that I know my heritage. My grandfather has never spoken of it to me and I doubt that he ever will.

  “Apparently, when my mother was fifteen, my grandfather was nearly crushed by a falling tree. It broke both his legs and no one ever expected him to walk again. My mother took the only job available to help support her parents. She went to work in the château kitchen. She and my grandmother kept it a secret from my grandfather. Emile hated the Chastels because Charles had killed his father. They told him she worked for the baker in Mirrelle, and slept in a room above the shop. Emile had no reason to doubt them. Richard Chastel, Jean’s father, was a bachelor at the time, and it seemed that the Chastel curse was likely to keep him one. None of the high born families wanted to marry their daughters into a family of werewolves.”

  Devin made a disgusted noise in his throat. “Surely, they didn’t believe…”

  Armand clamped a hand on Devin’s knee. “Don’t interrupt,” he said. He sat silently a moment, as though to reorder his thoughts, and began again. “Richard Chastel may have been cursed but he was also lonely, and my mother was very beautiful. After a few months, my mother told Mäìte that she was expecting a child and that Richard Chastel was the father.” He tapped his hand on Devin’s knee. “My mother assured her that Richard had never forced himself on her. My mother claimed they fell in love. Richard even offered to marry her when she discovered she was pregnant. He wanted his child raised at the château.

  “At that point, there was no way they could hide the situation from Grandfather. He was furious, of course. I think, had he been physically able, that he would have killed Richard Chastel with his bare hands. My grandfather insisted that Mother quit working at the château.

  “A fe
w days later, Chastel came to the house. He tried everything he could to convince my grandfather to allow Mother to marry him but my grandfather wouldn’t agree to the marriage. Mother was afraid not to abide by her father’s wishes and so she agreed never to see Richard Chastel again. And so, I was born, Armand Vielle. The village people suspected that Richard was the father but no one dared voice it within my grandparents hearing. And after a while, I think most people forgot that I was a bastard.

  “Richard asked to sponsor me when I was seven. He offered me a room at the château while I was being tutored. My grandparents realized the value of an education, but insisted that I live in the village. And so I was taught to read and write at Richard’s expense.

  “Eventually, Richard Chastel did marry, but his first son was stillborn and his wife seemed too fragile to survive another birth. Again, he approached my family about allowing me come to live with him at the château but Grandfather refused. When the present Jean Chastel was born, Richard finally ceased his campaign to have me legitimized. At last, he had a son and heir to carry on the family name.”

  Devin shook his head. “But none of this was the present Jean Chastel’s fault. From what you’ve said, your mother and Richard were in love. It was your grandfather who prevented the marriage. Just think, Armand, it could have been you living at the château right now, not Jean.”

  Armand raised a hand in annoyance. “Hush or I won’t finish the story!” he threatened.

  Devin apologized. “I’m sorry. I thought you were finished.”

  “Well, I’m not,” Armand growled. “And I’m not even sure why I am telling you this. It’s none of your business anyway.”

  “You’re right; it’s not,” Devin agreed, “but you can hardly stop now.”

  Armand glowered, but continued. “Some years later, on the day of my wife’s funeral, Richard Chastel came here, to this house. I’d lost my wife in childbirth along with our infant son, and I was devastated. I was already a Master Bard and had been married ten years. Jeanette was just three. Richard’s wife had died the year before. He gave me a letter, stating that he was my father, and that I was his first born son, even though I was illegitimate. With it was a copy of his will, leaving half his estate to me and my descendants, the other half went to Jean. He said he had always loved my mother, and that he wanted to see that her children and grandchildren were adequately cared for. He died a few months later.