by Martin Ash
He was tiny and pink, with puckered skin and a fine growth of bright red hair. His wet-nurse, a large-boned peasant girl named Blonna, who until recently had lived on the outskirts of the town, cradled him in her ample bosom. She cooed gently, hot-cheeked and self-conscious as the guests crowded around, giving good voice to their feelings.
Lady Sheerquine was not yet in evidence. Lord Flarefist, ebullient and proud, raised his hands and called for silence that he might speak.
‘My friends, lords, ladies, honoured guests, be in no doubt that this is a great and historic occasion. My son has been born, in accordance with the predictions of my most expert advisors. Here he is, at long last! The heir to Ravenscrag!’
Another rousing cheer from the hall. Lord Flarefist took the babe from his wet-nurse. Irnbold stood beside him, garbed in another preposterous costume, this time in flowing purples, blues and reds, a customary matching wimple framing his face. His small chest was thrust forward, his face abrim with pride. Close by was Elmag, the far-sighted: bearded, snaggle-toothed and smiling. Other family members surrounded them, including Hectal, Lady Sheerquine’s feeble-minded twin brother. Discreetly to one side stood Moonblood. She wore a gown of cornflower blue, sashed in silver at her slender waist. Her white hands hung before her, fingers loosely linked, her pale face quite radiant, yet with an unreadable expression in her eyes.
Lord Flarefist cast aside the linen blanket that was wrapped around his son. Clasping the infant in one hand and a golden goblet of wine in the other, he endeavoured to clamber up onto the table. The wet-nurse stood wide-eyed with horror, her hands at her mouth. Two servants rushed to help the old lord. Wine spilled over table and floor. One of the servants relieved him of the goblet.
Eventually Flarefist was aloft, though he looked none too sure on his feet. He lifted the baby high with both hands, peering around at the upturned faces.
‘My son, lord-designate of Ravenscrag.’ The child had woken. He kicked his tiny legs and waved his arms. His thin wail cut through the dense, smoky atmosphere. Flarefist chuckled with delight. ‘His name, fittingly, is Redlock. As you can see, he has inherited his mother’s fine head of hair. My friends, I call upon you all to fill your goblets if they are not already full. Raise them in a toast to my son, Redlock, future Lord of Ravenscrag!’
The toast was duly made, with more raucous cheers and clapping from the guests. Lady Sheerquine appeared at a portal at the foot of a stairway which led up to the private family apartments. A tall woman, stately and proud, almost heavy, she was pale and drawn after her labour. Her mouth was pursed and she hardly seemed at her ease. Her long hair, lustrous red and turning to grey, was unbound. It fell around her shoulders and the jade green robe she wore. A maid accompanied her, holding her arm.
Lady Sheerquine’s eyes fell upon her husband. She froze for a moment, aghast, then strode forward, tiredness forgotten, shaking off her maid. ‘Flarefist, get down off there at once! What do you think you’re doing, you foolish old goat! Give me the child before you drop him! Do you want him to dash his brains out on the floor?’
Flarefist turned obediently and bent to hand over the precious bundle. Taking her son, Sheerquine summoned the wet-nurse. ‘Take the baby to his nursery.’
‘There are guests yet to arrive who will wish to see him,’ protested Flarefist.
‘Blonna may bring him down again later. But you will not handle the child, Flarefist. I’ll have no more of your antics. After all this time, that you should act so irresponsibly! Have you lost all sense?’
Flarefist no longer listened. He hailed his guests, ‘My wife, the brave and beautiful Sheerquine, who has brought me all I have ever wished for. A toast, friends! A toast to Lady Sheerquine!’
As goblets were lofted once more, Flarefist called out again. ‘And now, make merry, eat and drink your fill, and make this day one to be remembered for all time!
Helped down from the tabletop, he disappeared into the gathering, throwing arms around shoulders, slapping backs, kissing cheeks. With regal dignity Sheerquine took herself to a carved oak chair and sat, stony-faced yet strained and distant, as though her thoughts dwelt on imminence unknown.
Servants filed into the hall, bringing trays and platters bearing roasted haunches of vension, a spitted pig, roasted quails, pigeons, finches, pheasants and geese. More platters came with a host of accompaniments. The guests took their places at long tables set around the hall, and the feasting commenced.
Later there was music. I took the opportunity to request a dance with Cametta. She accepted with grace, leaving her husband Darean Monsard downing ale with a number of cronies. Her eyes sparkled as together we paced out the steps of a courtly pavane; the memory of that afternoon spent at her home lingered like honey held upon the tongue.
‘When can we meet again?’ I asked as the dance drew towards its close. I noticed Moonblood upon the floor, dancing expressionlessly with a tow-haired youth.
‘I’m leaving the banquet within an hour or so,’ replied Cametta. ‘Darean will be here until the early hours. Come to my home again.’
‘Concerns of business keep me here. I don’t know when I’ll be able to leave.’
‘Tomorrow Darean is on duty again at noon.’
‘Good.’ I escorted her from the floor. ‘I’ll come around midday, with more goods for your perusal.’
‘And bring your magic, Dinbig.’
‘As if I’d leave it behind!’
Moonblood now stood alone at the side of the hall. Her eyes were cast down. Some distance away I saw the youth with whom she’d danced. He stood with Lord Ulen Condark and his wife, Lady Magleine, and cast frequent glances in Moonblood’s direction.
I crossed the hall as the musicians struck up a galliard, and approached the young girl. ‘May I remind you of your earlier promise?’
She looked up, reddening slightly, then smiled and placed her hand upon mine.
‘Why so downcast?’ I enquired as we followed the sprightly dance.
‘Am I downcast, sir? I thought the opposite.’
‘Call me Dinbig, please. We’re not on ceremony. You display some animation now, but moments ago you stood solitary and sombre, despite the happy birth of your brother. Prior to that I observed you dancing with a not unhandsome young gallant. Yet you appeared to lack enthusiasm.’
Her eyes flickered with a hint of smouldering resentment across the hall. ‘Ilden Condark. He has a wart on his nose and his teeth are green.’
‘None of us are perfect.’ Ilden was Ulen Condark’s third and youngest son.
‘I don’t really dislike him, though we’ve hardly met,’ Moonblood said upon reflection. ‘But I don’t want to marry him, nor any other my father chooses.’
‘Marry him?’ I nodded to myself. I could see how Lord Flarefist’s mind worked. Marrying his only daughter off to a scion of House Condark, even a younger one, would have many advantages. ‘Then what of other young notables? There’s no shortage of them here tonight.’
‘Clodpolls and donkeys.’
‘All of them?’
Moonblood pulled a pettish face. ‘I don’t wish to be married. I’m too young.’
‘Quite so. But simply as companions – do you find them all unsuitable?’
‘I don’t lack companions. I have Rogue, and now Misha, and other dolls. I have my books, and…’ Her look became distant, then she brightened suddenly. ‘How did you know, Dinbig? How did you know to bring me Misha? She is perfect!’
‘I simply recalled that when we last met eighteen months ago I was struck by your fine collection of dolls.’
‘And you remembered all this time?’
I smiled. ‘I remember clearly that you had them ranged before you upon a step. You were reading them a story. My only concern was that you might since have grown up so much as to have left them behind.’
‘Oh no. I love them all. And Misha will be princess among them.’
‘When I saw her I thought she would make a fine addition to your c
ollection.’
‘Oh, she does. She does.’
The music changed to a slow basse dance.
‘And what, then, of your newborn brother, Redlock? He’s a beautiful babe, is he not?’
Moonblood smiled, but it was half-hearted. ‘Yes, he is. But I wouldn’t be in his place for the world.’
‘Why so?’
‘He inherits only trouble and debt. There’s much resentment among my distant relatives.’
‘House Condark?’
‘My father says they believe Ravenscrag should be theirs. I don’t understand these things.’ Abruptly, she changed the subject. ‘Dinbig, is it true that you are very rich?’
‘Only modestly so.’
‘And famous?’
‘Again, I may be known in certain quarters.’
‘And have you travelled everywhere?’
‘It’s true that I’ve seen much of the world.’
‘How did you come to make your fortune?’
‘I worked hard, seized opportunity wherever it presented itself, and created it where it did not. I concede that a modicum of luck may also have played a part.’
‘Is it also true that you know magic?’
‘I know something of a certain kind.’
Moonblood was all eagerness now. ‘What can you do? Can you change things? Can you turn a mouse into a shining white stallion, or make winged slippers that can fly? Can you teach me how to talk to fairies? I would like to change things. I would like to make things better.’
I laughed. ‘I know of none who can do these things, save perhaps those enchanted beings who inhabit faraway Qol.’
‘Qol? The land of Enchantment? Does it exist?’
‘Who knows? It is one land I have never tried to venture to. But the magic I know is of a diffent kind, not of that land.’
‘But will you teach me? Is it easy to learn? I would so love to learn magic.’
‘Fortunately it is not so easily taught, nor grasped. Few gain so much as the fundamentals, even after years of dedicated study. And none gain mastery, for magic is a mystery, a force far greater than we, and one that we do not wholly understand. That said, I sense you may have a natural affinity for the art. Regrettably, though, I’m not the one to teach you.’
She frowned. ‘Why not?’
‘Zan-Chassin magic can be taught only by highly-trained practitioners in secret schools in Khimmur.’
Moonblood formed her lips into a thoughtful pout. ‘Khimmur is a long way from here, is it not?’
‘It is.’
‘Then surely no one would know were you to teach me just one small spell.’
‘As I said, Lady Moonblood, it is not so simple.’
‘But I would tell no one, Dinbig! I promise!’
‘One day perhaps you might come to Khimmur and enter one of our schools. You would learn from adepts far more knowledgeable than me.’
I could not explain the dangers of Zan-Chassin magic. Its power comes almost exclusively from the realms beyond the corporeal world. Extant there are strange spirit-denizens which, once subdued, can bestow privilege and rare abilities upon the aspiring adept. But many seekers have died, been lost or driven insane pursuing these goals. For this reason initiation into the Zan-Chassin is a long and graduated process.
Trifling raptures have at times been taught to the unqualified by unscrupulous initiates in return for coin or some other favour, often with catastrophic consequences. The Zan-Chassin Hierarchy frowns upon such practices, and the perpetrators, when discovered, are generally stripped of rank and ability, and expelled.
‘Can I?’ queried Moonblood, then her face fell. ‘But my parents would never allow it.’
‘I would not be so certain of that.’
‘I’ve tried so hard to learn.’
‘You have? With what result?’
She hesitated, looking away. ‘None. It’s too hard.’
I smiled. She mused for a moment, then, beseechingly, ‘Will you not perform a single trick for me?’
‘Perhaps later. Now is not an appropriate moment.’
I changed the subject, and enquired about the brooch she was wearing, the same she had worn when we met the previous evening. If I could acquire others like it at a reasonable cost they would fetch a good price elsewhere. ‘I’ve never seen one like it. It looks particularly delicate. Finely made but a most unusual design.’
‘Yes, it is unusual.’
‘May I ask where it came from?’
She looked away. ‘It was a present… from a friend.’
She did not seem to want to enlarge on the subject. The dance ended. I bowed and escorted her from the floor.
Lord Flarefist’s voice cut through the hubbub. He had climbed back onto the table. His hands were raised for quiet, his cheeks florid. His knees were slightly bent and servants stood by the table, one on either side, ready to grab him should he inadvertently step off the edge.
‘Friends,’ called the old Lord of Ravenscrag. ‘Many of you have only quite recently arrived, and missed the presentation of my son and heir, Redlock. Be not disappointed! I have commanded this minute that he be brought back down for you all to see.’
He slewed around to face the open portal which led upstairs, alongside which I happened to be standing with Moonblood. At that moment I caught a strange sound from somewhere overhead – a distant, muffled shriek.
Seconds later it came again, closer this time, on the stairs. A high-pitched wail, then loud hysterical sobs. A woman, in distress.
I turned to the doorway. There were footsteps on the stone stairs, hurrying towards us. A moment later the wet-nurse, Blonna, rushed into the hall. Her face was streaked with tears, her hands at her head, hair all wild.
She threw herself onto the flags before Lady Sheerquine and Lord Flarefist, who was being helped from the table.
‘What is this, maid?’ demanded Flarefist. ‘What on earth has gotten into you?’
‘He’s gone! He’s gone!’ wailed Blonna.
‘Who’s gone? Where?’
‘Your son, sir! My lady! Redlock! He’s gone from his crib!’
‘Well, he can’t have gone far, he’s a baby!’ Helped by two servants, Lord Flarefist stumbled from the table and began to advance towards the stairway.
Lady Sheerquine sat glued to her seat, her body rigid. The blood drained from her face as she stared at the prostrate nurse. Blonna, raising herself onto one elbow, stretched out an arm towards Flarefist’s retreating back.
‘There’s something else, sir! In the crib! It’s not him! Not Redlock.’
Flarefist turned back in irritation. Then his face changed as the full import of Blonna’s words penetrated his drunken haze. He swayed, then lunged again for the stairs.
There was a surge towards the doorway. Moonblood slipped through behind her father, Irnbold the astrologer hard upon her heels. In the confusion I managed to follow. We climbed the stairs, passed along a short corridor, entered another. Past doors on right and left, then into the chamber that was the baby’s nursery.
To one side of the room stood a wooden crib. Flarefist halted beside it, staring down at the striped blanket which had covered his child. The blanket moved. From beneath it came a snuffling, gurgling sound.
I peered over Irnbold’s shoulder as Lord Flarefist leaned over the crib and, hesitant now, reached for the blanket. His hand shook as he took hold of the blanket’s corner and drew it back.
Lord Flarefist stiffened. He gave a strange, throttled gasp.
Upon the little mattress a baby lay, stretching its tiny limbs into the air.
But it was not Redlock, heir of Ravenscrag and all its properties.
Nor was it human.
Chapter Six
It was Cametta who alerted me to my wisest course, which was to get out of Ravenscrag immediately.
She did so inadvertently. I had escorted her back to her home while her husband, Darean Monsard, remained at the castle endeavouring to restore order. Cametta was fr
aught from the sudden dreadful turn the evening had taken. There was no thought of lovemaking. I simply acted as chaperon, quite publicly, so that none would have cause for suspicion.
Cametta talked almost ceaselessly on the short journey from the castle. She talked about this and about that, circumnavigating the awful scene we had witnessed, then suddenly leaping to address it, disbelieving, distraught. I felt I should not leave her immediately, and so accompanied her indoors and sat with her in her parlour.
Cametta’s maid, Lani, her face puffy with sleep, brought aquavit. The heat of the day had passed and the night had grown a touch chill with a breeze springing up from the north. Lani brought a shawl for her mistress.
Cametta sat hunched in her chair, clutching a handkerchief in one hand, the fingers of the other clasping her goblet. She was pale and trembled uncontrollably, her eyes red with tears. I had deliberately left the parlour door open, to be visible to those few members of the household staff who were not in bed, so I could offer her nothing more than words as comfort. Her teeth chattered and the muscles of her jaw and throat were visibly taut as she tried to still them.
‘Sip your drink. It will help you relax,’ I urged her gently.
Cametta raised the goblet and took a large gulp. She gasped at the sudden fire in her mouth and throat.
‘Dinbig, what was it?’ she implored me for the dozenth time.
I had no answer. I stared into the empty hearth. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’
Cametta closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to rid her mind of the image that filled it. She gave a small cry; her hand went to her mouth and she gagged.
I called Lani. She came immediately and knelt beside her mistress, taking her hand. ‘There, there now. Calm yourself, ma’am. Here, have another sip. That’s it. That’s the way.’
She turned her eyes to me, diffident but questioning and concerned. ‘Perhaps I should send for the physician, sir.’
‘I don’t think that will be necessary, Lani. Mistress Cametta has witnessed a rather distressing event – as have we all. But I think she will be all right in due course. Perhaps a little warm milk and honey might help.’