Navarin, Thunder and Shade

by William Stafford

  While he was dropping off into bliss- and wine-filled slumbers, across the estate, in her cottage, Carith Drombo, was stoking her fire, feeding it papers one leaf at a time.

  The next evening, she noticed her intended was unusually glum. It did not take much probing on her part to get it out of him.

  “I have had some shocking news,” he told her, taking a thirsty swig from his goblet. “My adjutant - that is, he was until yesterday - has been found dead.”

  “Oh?”

  “His neck - broken - his blood - drained!”

  “Stars! How awful!”

  “I blame myself.”

  “You mustn’t, darling.”

  “I gave him his marching orders, you see - or rather, I stopped giving them. I dismissed him, is what I mean. If I hadn’t, he would still be alive.”

  “You can’t know that. Don’t torture yourself so.”

  “You’re very sweet, my love.” He reached for her hand and, for once, she allowed it. She even returned his squeeze.

  “The man had obviously done something to warrant dismissal,” she pointed out. “His death, however unfortunate, is not your responsibility.”

  “I suppose... Let us think not of him. Let us dine.”

  “I have so little appetite.”

  The Duke paled. “Oh, no! I have upset your delicate sensibilities. I am sorry.”

  But she stayed in her chair and watched while he dined. Instead of dancing, they played cards. She even let him beat her at most of the rounds. Eventually, his mood brightened and he thought no more of Frankler, nor his warnings, nor his demise.

  ***

  “Good evening, my darling,” she greeted him, planting a prim peck on his cheek. “To what do I owe this unanticipated pleasure?”

  “Oh,” I just thought I’d pop in, you know. It’s been a while.”

  “Has it? Well, we must remedy that. I have asked Milassa to arrange tea.”

  He nodded. She showed him through to her sitting room. It was his palace and everything in it belonged to him, but he still waited until she gave him permission to sit.

  “So,” she smiled, as the mute girl brought in a tea tray, rattling with crockery, “how have you been?”

  “Oh, you know - Listen, I want to talk about our celebrations?”

  “Celebrations?”

  “Our anniversary!”

  “Oh, yes, of course. That. What of it?”

  “I’ve been thinking. I was hoping we could play it down, you know? Just the two of us. A lovely meal, a bit of a dance. Just like in the old days; do you remember?”

  She nodded; she remembered, all right. “Oh, but my darling, I’ve been making arrangements. I’ve got people coming.”

  “People?” In all the time he had known her, she had never mentioned anything about people. Friends, family members, even mere nodding acquaintances, Carith Drombo seemed to have none. “Who?”

  “Oh, just caterers, entertainers, celebrants... No, no, you’re right; I shall cancel the lot.”

  “But-”

  “It should be just the two of us. After all, it’s our marriage, isn’t it? And with no one else around, the sooner we shall get to - well, you know...”

  The Duke swallowed. His tea cup spilled its contents into the saucer. “But, if you have made arrangements, laid out money...”

  “Yes, it would be costly to cancel. People have to be paid whatever happens.”

  “So, you don’t mind then? A bit of a party?”

  “I shall endure it, my darling,” she caressed his cheek ever-so-lightly. “And then, at last, we shall be alone as man and wife.”

  The Duke suppressed a gasp. He stumbled from the apartment bent double, bidding her good night over his shoulder. Out in the corridor, he leant against a wall, thoroughly stunned. Who had agreed to what, he wondered? Had he got what he wanted or had she? He could no longer tell.

  In her apartment, Carith scowled as Milassa tidied away the tea things. The Duke was easy to manipulate - always had been - but there was still the matter of the renewal.

  “Did you find the girl’s father? And the boy?”

  Milassa nodded.

  “Excellent; I shall see them first thing. Oh, and Milassa? Don’t get any fatter, will you? I don’t want to have to use a longer blade.”

  The look of horror on the mute girl’s face was enough to keep Carith Drombo amused for the rest of the night.

  ***

  Glenward stood uncomfortable in his new clothes. His hair was still damp from the bath and he could still feel the pull of the comb that had dragged the unruly mop into a centre parting. His hand held Tiggy’s, who had also been given a new rigout of velvet trimmed with lace. The boy looked blankly at the opulence of the breakfast room. His face was pale and his eyes ringed with shadow; he was restless without Gonda.

  “Dad!” the goose girl burst in and ran to greet them. She threw her arms around Glenward’s neck and kissed him. She snatched up Tiggy and danced around. The boy smiled. “Look at us three, in our finery! And look at this place! Who would have thought we should end up here?”

  “Is that’s what’s happened?” grunted Glenward. “Have we ended up?”

  “Oh, you know what I mean. Look, Tiggy; have you seen the little animals carved around the fireplace?”

  “I don’t like it, my girl,” the gooseherd continued to grumble. “People like us don’t belong in places like this. We should say our pleases and thank-yous and get going.”

  “You can if you like,” said Gonda, pointing at a monkey grinning at the hearth. She made the same face and Tiggy giggled. “I know when I’m well off. Think about it, Dad: if anyone’s still after me, they won’t be able to get me in here. Have you seen the guards in this place?”

  Glenward shook his head. The girl had a point, he supposed, and the breakfast dishes on the long side table did smell delicious...

  “Good morning!” said Carith Drombo breezing in. “How lovely to see you all here! Welcome to the palace. Please, please, help yourselves to the buffet.”

  She nodded encouragement to the gooseherd and joined Gonda at the hearth. “And who is this little gentleman then? What a handsome fellow he is!”

  “This is Tiggy, My Lady,” said Gonda.

  “Quite the little gentleman!” cooed Carith, jiggling his hand.

  “He’s just a little boy,” Gonda reminded her.

  We’ll see about that, smiled Carith Drombo.

  ***

  The Duke had just completed his morning ablutions when the Chamberlain appeared in his apartment and announced there was a couple of men of the watch requesting an audience with His Grace.

  “Dash it all,” muttered the Duke. He had been hoping to break his fast with his wife, a symbolic breaking of that other fast, which had endured for twelve long months. Although yet another helping of those damnable peppered eggs would be a poor substitute for the old horizontal waltz.

  “They say it’s important,” intoned the Chamberlain.

  “That’s what everyone says. Every bloody time. Oh, very well!” He flapped his hands to dismiss the retainer. “I shall be down presently.”

  The Chamberlain inclined his head ever-so-slightly and withdrew. The Duke dusted his epaulettes with his fingertips. It was too early in the morning for ‘important’ but the sooner these rogues were dealt with, the sooner he would be able to get on with his day.

  There were three of them, he noticed, as he descended the grand staircase, when he could have sworn the Chamberlain had said there was a couple. They were waiting in the circular vestibule that awed just about every visitor to step through the front door: two men and a youth. The men looked suitably cowed and humbled by their surroundings; the youth did not. He seemed fretful and preoccupied but there was so
mething about his posture that impressed the Duke even from afar. He had a kind of presence the Duke could only describe as ‘heroic’. Perhaps it was something to do with the broadness of his shoulders.

  “Your Grace,” said the taller of the watchmen. “My name is Dugger and this is my subordinate, Stran.”

  Stran nodded but the Duke did not spare him a glance; he only had eyes for the introspective youth.

  “The accused here is Broad Shoulders,” Dugger continued. The Duke raised a hand to silence him. He walked around the young man. The broad shoulders part was certainly accurate but as for the nonsense about him being ‘accused’ - the youth just did not emanate that kind of aura. He did not seem the type and the Duke, who had tried and sentenced many cases, prided himself on knowing a felon when he saw one.

  “Does he speak?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Mainly to protest his innocence but we brought him here for swift justice - at Your Grace’s leisure, of course - on account of the severity of what he has done.”

  “What you say he has done,” the Duke qualified. “Now, tell me, lad: what’s this all about, this hullabaloo?”

  Broad blinked and seemed to see the Duke for the first time. He tensed, which made the other two watchmen tense up too. The Duke signalled for them to stand down; the youth’s hands were manacled behind him - what harm could he do?

  “Walk with me, lad.”

  “Your Grace!” warned Dugger.

  “This place is riddled with guards stationed in every corner. If you want to see your tax corons at work, here they are.” He smiled at the youth, “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you, lad?”

  “I don’t see why today should be any different,” said Broad. “You’re not going to lock me up or have my head chopped off or anything like that, are you, Your Grease?”

  “I make no promises,” said the Duke with a stern expression but his eyes were smiling. He had decided he liked the youth immensely already and, surely, whatever those buffoons in the watch believed he had done was all a big mistake.

  They strolled along a lengthy corridor of cool marble. Bright sunlight poured through stained glass windows, painting the air with coloured shafts.

  “What happened?” the Duke prompted. “Why did those two see fit to bring you to me?”

  “I told them they needn’t bother on my account,” said Broad, “on account of I didn’t do it.”

  “I see... You didn’t do what?”

  “What they said.”

  “Can you elaborate?”

  “Not with anybody watching.”

  The Duke chuckled. Either the youth was quick-witted or amusingly dense. “Tell me what happened, lad,” he encouraged kindly. “For it is my duty to pass both judgment and sentence - should any be required, of course, which may not be the case.”

  “I can’t, Your Sir-ship. You won’t believe a blind word of it.”

  “Allow me to be the judge of that.”

  Broad stopped walking. He looked up and down the corridor. Dugger and Stran were tiny figures in the distance and well out of earshot, but there were guards with blank expressions every thirty yards or so. “May we go somewhere more private, sir?”

  “Your Grace,” the Duke corrected him.

  “Oh, no, sir! Just call me Broad.”

  “Ha!” the Duke laughed. How he hoped the youth was completely innocent! He had already decided on leniency. He nodded to a guard who opened a door that led to a cloistered garden. He ushered the youth through. “Here we may be overlooked but not overheard.” He gestured to a low, stone bench beside an ornamental fishpond. The burbling of the water would mask Broad’s voice - if he kept it to a whisper. Broad sat, rather ungainly given his hands were behind his back. The Duke sat too but kept his distance; the youth couldn’t grab him but he had no wish to be head-butted or bitten should his instincts about the lad prove false.

  “Now,” he said, “Begin.”

  Broad’s forehead creased as thoughts raced across his mind like dogs after a rabbit. The Duke’s patient smile put him at ease somewhat but he wrestled with what he could say and what he would say. And what he shouldn’t say.

  “They think I let two men go,” he said at last.

  “Go where?”

  “Just go, sir. Free. They were to be hanged this very morning.”

  “So, someone else let them go.”

  “No, nobody let them go.”

  The Duke was puzzled. “But they are no longer in gaol?”

  “No, sir; I mean, yes, sir. They are no longer in gaol. Nor anywhere else, sir.”

  “They are dead, then?”

  Broad hung his head. “Yes, sir.”

  “But you didn’t kill them?”

  “Oh no, sir!”

  The Duke sat up straight as though that would help him to order his thoughts. “But your colleagues think you let those men out?”

  “They do, sir.”

  “Why would that be?”

  “It’s because of this, sir.” Broad twitched his hips. The Duke frowned and edged further away. He glanced around to see if the nearest guards were paying attention. “On my belt, sir. There’s a sack.”

  “I see it,” said the Duke. “What of it?”

  “This is where you won’t believe me,” said Broad. When his shoulders slumped, they really slumped. “The missing men went in the sack.”

  “What?” the Duke blinked.

  “It’s true, sir. It’s a wizard’s bag.”

  “So, you’re telling me you’re a wizard?”

  “No, I’m not, sir! I’m not telling you that because I’m not a wizard. I just have his bag.”

  “So, the condemned men went into the bag - somehow - and that’s what killed them?”

  “No, sir. They were dead before they went in.”

  “I’m missing something. How did they die?”

  Broad winced. “That’s another tricky part. I have a friend...”

  “Your friend killed them?”

  “I’m afraid so, sir. But he wouldn’t have done it if they weren’t going to die anyway. He’s very good like that.”

  “I see...” An idea occurred to the Duke, one which made him feel rather sad. The youth believed he was innocent, but only because he also believed in these fantastic tales about a magical sack and a ‘friend’. The poor fellow is mad, the Duke diagnosed. He needs a doctor not a judge.

  Broad read the pity in the Duke’s expression and was horrified. “It’s true, sir! Oh, I told you you wouldn’t believe me. Take the sack, sir. See for yourself.”

  The youth looked so downhearted and disappointed, the Duke felt compelled to indulge the fantasy a little further. “Is your friend in the bag?”

  “No, sir! He’s - somewhere else.”

  “I see... May I?” Slowly, he reached toward the lad’s belt.

  “Careful, sir. It’s dangerous. Don’t put your hand in it!”

  “Right...” The Duke unhooked the sack from the belt and held it before him. It was a sack like any other - not that His Grace had much truck with such things, but he had glimpsed several like it in the stables. Those had contained oats; this one appeared to be empty.

  “You have to turn it inside out, sir, for it to work. But take care not to get anything in it, not so much as a fingertip, or you won’t see it again.”

  “Right...” The Duke pushed the bottom of the bag upwards with his thumbs, working them up until the sack was inside out. Now it was plush and velvety. Intricate stitches caught the light. The Duke gaped. “Is that-” he peered more closely at the needlework. It looked like - to his untrained and inexpert eye - the thread was made of that rare and most precious element, goldinium! Hence the sack’s magical properties!

  The Duke’s mind raced. What, a
m I believing the youth’s tale? What if this is just ordinary gold thread?

  “Try it,” the youth suggested. “Put something in it.”

  “Like what, for example?”

  “Something you don’t need.” They both cast their eyes around. The Duke stooped and picked up a pebble from the edge of the pond. He dropped it into the sack, felt the weight of it go in - and disappear. He inverted the sack and shook. The pebble did not fall out again; the pebble was gone.

  “Do you see?”

  “I see!” said the Duke. He picked up a second pebble and dropped it in. “Aha! Where do they go?”

  “I don’t know,” Broad admitted. “They just go.”

  “But a pebble is one thing. I take it those two men were larger than your average pebble.”

  “Quite a bit larger, sir. The bag is magical, sir.”

  “Yes...” The Duke jumped up. His eyes scanned around for something else to try. Suddenly, he plunged his hand into the water and pulled out an ornamental carp. The fish gaped and wriggled as he dropped it into the sack. The sides of the bag undulated as the carp hit the bottom and then hung flat. The fish was gone.

  But the Duke was unsatisfied. “Stand up!” he commanded. Broad, without the use of his hands, struggled to his feet. His face clouded with fear; the Duke laughed. “Relax; I’m not going to put you in the bag.”

  Instead he put the open maw of the sack around the edge of the bench. He jumped back as the bag yawned and proceeded to swallow the stone bench in its entirety.

  “It’s like a snake,” the Duke marvelled. “I have heard of a python that dislocates its jaw so it may swallow something larger than its own mouth. A pony, perhaps.”

  The sack, having finished its appointed task, closed. It was restored to its usual size. The Duke approached it with wonder and trepidation.

  “I see... I can see how the bodies of two grown men could go in... And your ‘friend’ put them in, you say?”

  “Yes,” said Broad. He could hear the special emphasis the Duke was putting on the word but perhaps it was better to be thought a madman and a murderer than to betray his friend.