by Martin Ash
My own environment-altering abilities were not particularly impressive. No one need have worried that I might bring the walls of Ravenscrag crashing down upon their heads. The rivers would not flood – at least, not by my doing – the mountains could not spout fire. No plague of boils or cankers would be visited upon the people of Ravenscrag as a result of any mistreatment I might suffer here. They could lie safe in their beds at night, more or less free of intrusions by vengeful demons, if they but knew it. And I hoped they didn’t.
As for influencing minds, it was probable that I could do that. I sensed that I might walk free from this chamber, leaving Lord Flarefist and Lady Sheerquine giggling like loons. But if Darean Monsard waited outside with half a dozen guards? I could hardly overpower all of them, and any effects I might create would be shortlasting. The conjuring of raptures, though it becomes second-nature, nonetheless requires unusual concentration. It is taxing and quickly depletes mental energies. I would at some point find myself unable to conjure more.
Conceivably, I might even walk out of the castle and town gate, but my wagons, goods and men would be left behind. And I would be alone in the forest, hunted and probably caught eventually, or destined for the belly of some dire creature.
It seemed wiser to remain here, at least until I’d learned the lay of the land.
‘Have no concern on that score,’ I assured Lady Sheerquine. ‘I am not here with ill-intent; nor would I abuse your hospitality.’
She raised a sceptical eyebrow, just minimally, but gave the smallest nod.
‘However, I should point out that I have been brought here – if not precisely against my will, then at least it’s fair to say with little choice in the matter.’
‘We merely requested your presence, Master Merchant. If Captain Monsard was a trifle heavy-handed in the prosecution of his orders, I apologise. He lacks a certain subtlety of manner at times, I know. But he is after all a soldier, not a diplomat.’
‘Quite. It was, however, made plain to me that I was not to be allowed to leave the town.’
‘And surely no explanation is required? You know the circumstances!’
‘I do. But what is my part here?’
‘You cannot guess?’
Lord Flarefist spoke now, before I could reply. His voice was distant, tremulous, tragic. ‘My son is gone, Bigdin.’
He had turned reddened eyes to mine. In his face was no trace of the impulsive fury of last night. He looked feeble and drained. In a night he had aged a decade. I face an old and broken man.
‘You have my deepest sympathies, my lord. I know how much your son means to you.’
‘He is gone.’
Flarefist’s tears spilled forth without shame. I could hardly bear to look at him, such a forlorn figure he had become. His wife sat as before, her eyes fixed now upon a spot above her husband’s head. Again I sensed the terrible struggle, the colossal denial within her. She was, in her way, magnificent.
‘We called you here to ask for your help, Master Dinbig.’
Sheerquine’s voice wavered infinitesimally, betraying her. Lord Flarefist had pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and was blowing his nose.
‘My help? In what manner can I help you?’
‘I think you know the answer to that. You possess unique skills and abilities, at least in comparison to we of Wansir. I have made an academic study of your Zan-Chassin craft. I know that you excel in information-gathering skills. We would ask you to employ those skills to aid us in finding out what has happed to Redlock, our son.’
‘Lady Sheerquine, my talents are – ‘
‘ – greater than our own, at least in this respect. But the choice is yours, Master Dinbig.’ There was a sudden harsh emphasis in her tone. ‘You will be rewarded, should you accept. We are not wealthy, but we can guarantee you favourable trade concessions here in Ravenscrag, and throughout Wansir. Perhaps some gold might be added as a further incentive.’
‘I see.’ Under more usual circumstances I would have demanded a high price for my services, but I suspected there existed little scope for negotiation in this instance. Moreover, I was conscious of old Flarefist hanging on my words. I knew already that I could not walk from this chamber and leave him without hope. I was disconcerted by his sudden decline, and deeply moved. But before I said anything more I wanted to discover precisely what my position was, how free was the choice of which Sheerquine spoke. ‘And if I decline?’
Sheerquine’s pale eyes returned to hold me in their gaze. ‘Your wagons and goods will be impounded. We have not quite decided further than that.’
‘That is unlawful. I’ve committed no crime.’
‘What about kidnapping? Or conspiracy to kidnap?’
‘What? You know that’s not true!’
‘We know nothing, Master Dinbig. That is precisely our dilemma.’
‘I should, then, remind you that I am an emissary of my country. My king would not look favourably upon such an act.’
‘Khimmur is far away, sir.’ Sheerquine stared at me in silence for some moments, then added, ‘However, we have considered the position, and it is true, we would prefer to avoid repercussions. An alternative, then, might be that you are allowed to escape. Your subsequent demise in the forest would be a most unfortunate accident.’
‘In the circumstances it would look suspicious.’
‘Does King Gastlan value you so highly that he would dispatch an army merely out of suspicion? Can he even do so without placing himself at risk from his own intransigent warlords? Would his forces be granted passage through foreign lands to get here? And what of the colossal expense? Are you truly worth so much to your country, Master Merchant?’
I said nothing.
‘But let us not dwell on unpleasantries,’ Sheerquine continued. ‘There’s another alternative. Possibly the most reasonable.’
‘I am intrigued to hear it.’
‘It’s simply this: some knowing person might choose to have a quiet word in the ear of Captain Monsard. He would, I have little doubt, react with customary fire when he learns what there is to be learned.’
They knew! Cametta and I… Our secret was no secret!
Sheerquine permitted herself a trace of a smile as she observed my reaction. ‘Regrettably, it would be impossible for us to prevent him responding as any cuckold might be expected to do. The perpetrator’s body would of course be returned to its homeland, with a letter of explanation and deepest regret. I think any king or ruler would understand when he learnt of the full circumstances. He would surely acknowledge the inappropriateness of any form of retaliatory action. The greater tragedy, of course, is that Captain Monsard, once informed, would almost certainly turn his wrath upon his wife as well as her paramour. It would be a pity. I am fond of Cametta. But…’ She gave a small shrug.
I don’t know whether Lord Flarefist had been listening to all this, but he chose this moment to raise himself shakily from his seat and lean fully along the table. He extended his thin arms and grasped my hand with both of his. He looked imploringly into my eyes. ‘Will you help me, Dinbin? Will you bring back my son?’
‘Lord Flarefist, I can offer no guarantees.’
‘But you will try?’
‘Your incentives are persuasive. I will do whatever I can.’
‘Good man! Good man!’ He settled back into his seat, dabbing at his eyes but smiling. ‘I said to Sheerquine that you are a good and honest fellow. I told her that we could rely upon you. I know a good man when I meet one!’
‘There are conditions,’ I said.
‘We will hear them,’ declared Sheerquine imperiously.
‘I know nothing at present of what has happened.’
‘You know as much as we.’
‘Perhaps. But I must insist upon the freedom to interview whomsoever I wish, whenever I wish, yourselves included. This may prove to be a very difficult task and I confess I do not know where to begin.’
‘Granted.’
‘Is Irnb
old still living?’
‘He managed to secure himself in his apartments, and so saved himself from my husband’s wrath. He has not yet emerged but I will see to it that he is available whenever you desire to speak to him.’
‘And Lord Flarefist slew no others?’
‘None, though one or two he injured and others he clapped in irons.’
‘They must be allowed to live.’
‘Of course.’
‘Are any of the injuries grave?’
‘No. They’ve all been attended to by Markin, the physician.’
I thought I detected something evasive in her manner. I asked, ‘Who are these persons?’
Lady Sheerquine gave a dismissive motion of her head. ‘The names escape me.’
I regarded her for a moment, unhappy with her reply. I would have left it, though, but she seemed to relent, saying, ‘Lord Condark did receive a glancing blow.’
‘Lord Condark?’ I looked from her to Flarefist and back again.
‘It was nothing.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it. But even if his injury is slight, can the same be said for the consequences that may follow?’
Lady Sheerquine made no reply. Her husband showed no interest, seeming absorbed in his dejection. I let the subject drop, saying, ‘I must be permitted to go wheresoever I wish.’
‘You will have the freedom of Ravenscrag, though your movements will be monitored. Don’t think to run – we will know and we will catch you. As I said earlier, it would be unwise to underestimate us.’
‘If I doubted it earlier, I do so no more, Lady Sheerquine. And if I wish to leave Ravenscrag in the course of my enquiry?’
‘You will apply to us directly. And you have been allocated rooms here. Your belongings are being brought from your wagons.’
‘Then, if you’ll allow me, I will leave you and apply myself immediately to the task. Ah, one other question.’
‘Speak.’
I spoke in a low voice, in deference to Lord Flarefist. ‘In all honesty, I’m not entirely optimistic of success in this venture. What, then, if I’m not successful?’
Lady Sheerquine allowed herself a moment’s contemplation. ‘Let us deal with each contingency as it arises, shall we?’
I rose from my seat. Sheerquine spoke again, and this time her tone was softer. ‘Master Dinbig, please understand what this has done to us. We act out of desperation. We want our son.’
She almost smiled, and I found myself at a loss to reply.
‘A servant will show you to your chambers.’
‘And you can keep the silver,’ said Lord Flarefist, beaming through tears.
‘What silver, sir?’
‘Ah, you’re a wily one! You know the silver. The silver you took last time you were here.’
‘No, no, Flarefist. This isn’t the fellow,’ interposed Lady Sheerquine quickly.
‘It isn’t?
‘No, that was Linvon or some such name. He took the silver.’
‘And this isn’t him?’
‘No.’
‘Who the devil are you then? And what are you doing here?’
‘This is the Khimmurian sorcerer and merchant. Master Dinbig. He’s the fellow we discussed during the night.’
Flarefist frowned. ‘But he’s going to find Redlock?’
‘Yes. That has just been settled.’
‘Ah. Good fellow. Good fellow.’ He looked at me again. ‘But you’re a juggler, aren’t you?’
‘No, sir. I believe that may have been Linvon, also.’
‘And he took the silver?’
‘So I understand.’
Flarefist nodded and pursed his lips. ‘The bastard!’
I bowed and withdrew.
~
In the corridor outside I was approached by Hectal, Lady Sheerquine’s feeble-minded twin brother. He came from a side door and sidled up next to me.
‘Fooled you, then?’
‘Who?’
‘My sister, and the remnant.’
‘Fooled me in what way?’
‘They’ve got you working for them, pretending they don’t know.’
Hectal gawked up at me. He was a slightly-built fellow, ugly, lumpy, his face contorted into an expression of pained mockery. It resembled his sister’s in some respects, but somehow unsettling and more of a caricature, with none of the keen intelligence in the gaze. He grinned inanely, shifting along beside me with a listing gait, his body twisted and bow-legged, giving the impression of a hunched back. He raised a bony finger to one cheekbone and drew down the lower eyelid. ‘Don’t you know what’s happened? To the little one.’
‘Redlock? Do they know?’
Hectal cackled gleefully.
‘How do you know I’m working for them?’ I asked.
‘You have to.’
‘I see.’
‘You don’t know anything, do you?’
That much, at least, was true.
‘Well, I shall tell you something: You won’t understand her fate, nor know the blood.’
‘Whose fate? What blood?’
Hectal cackled again, loud and staccato. ‘Now I’ll tell you some somethings that are true, and some somethings that are not true.’
‘And how shall I know which are which?’
‘Oh, this is the beauty of it! You won’t!’ He quivered with delight. ‘Listen, this something is true, if you believe me: Condark knows!’
‘Ulen Condark? He knows what?’
‘Hee-hee-heee! Nothing! Ha-ha-ha! Nothing! He’s a fool, just like me! Now, here’s a something else: Condark’s forces will come here.’
‘Why so?’
‘Because of what has happened. Flarefist. Gone too far.’
Hectal scratched vigorously beneath his armpit, ducking his balding head into his shirt as he sought out the culprit causing his itch.
‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘Do you know anything that might actually be of use to me – that is, of use to your sister in her desperation?’
He withdrew something to tiny to see from his armpit. He held it close to his eyes between finger and thumb, inspecting it with simian intensity. He popped it in his mouth and chewed rapidly. ‘Oh yes, I do. I do. Here’s another something for you: the baby is not dead. And here’s another something: the baby is going to smell good when it’s cooked.’
‘I see. Well, thank you, Hectal. You’ve been a great help.’
‘I have another something. This one is a very good one.’
‘What is it?’
‘I see things.’ He raised his finger to his eye again. ‘I hear. I watch. I know.’
‘Hmm. And that’s all?’
He touched my arm. ‘A something for you: tonight is the last of darkmoon.’
‘I’m aware of that.’
‘Hmmmm. But another one comes before you know it. The Shadownight approaches.’
I halted. ‘The Shadownight? What is this?’
But he gave a queer laugh and was gone, darting down a passage which led I knew not where.
Chapter Eight
My new chambers were adequate if a touch austere. They were set high in a round tower in Castle Ravenscrag’s west wing. Through small windows I was able to look out over walls and between towers onto the forests and heights. The chambers were accessed by a single flight of narrow winding stairs.
I was assigned a servant, named Radyerd, whose duties I naturally assumed included reporting on me. At my request Radyerd brought me a breakfast of bacon and bread, honey cakes, dried apricots and ale.
The sun had risen and a shaft of bright light penetrated my room. I stood at the window, deep in thought. In the distance the trees rippled under a warm breeze. The rap of marching feet came from below. By craning my neck I was able to peer down onto the parade-ground one hundred feet below. There a squad of soldiers paced half-heartedly through drill. A couple of labourers piled wood-faggots and brush in the middle of a nearby courtyard set away from the main thoroughfares of the castle.
> I decided I would begin my investigation by speaking to Blonna, the wet-nurse.
Blonna, as far as I was aware, had been the last person to set eyes on Redlock. His abduction – or transformation – had taken place while he was in her charge. Informing Radyerd of my intention, I descended from my tower.
Brief enquiries revealed that the wet-nurse had not been clapped in irons. She was, however, confined to her room, which was adjacent to Redlock’s nursery. As I made my way there I remarked mentally upon the mood of the castle. The expectation of the preceding days was gone, as was the gaiety of the previous evening. Servants passed by with eyes downcast, hurrying tensely about their duties. Guards were apparent in some number. I saw no sign of Ravenscrag’s guests.
Outside Blonna’s door an elderly sentry propped up the wall. He barely glanced up as I approached. Apparently word of my new station had been passed, for when I announced myself and my purpose he produced an iron key-ring from his belt and dutifully unlocked Blonna’s door.
Her chamber was a tiny cell, barely large enough to contain its furnishings of pallet, small table and wooden bench. Still, she had probably counted herself fortunate to have her own
room at all. The majority of castle menials bedded where they worked, on floor, bench or table, in kitchens, sculleries, stables…
Blonna was seated on the bench beneath the single slit window. At her feet was a small wooden tray containing a bowl of porridge and a mug of water, both untouched. She looked up as I entered, her eyes red, face pale and streaked with dried tearmarks. She was obviously distraught, and fearful at the sight of me.
‘Blonna,’ I said softly, ‘I am Ronbas Dinbig. I have been asked by Lord Flarefist and Lady Sheerquine to make enquiries into the dreadful circumstances of last night. I would like to ask you a few questions.’