Brimstone

by Skinner, Alan

  She was hungry, so she went down the stairs to the kitchen. It was simple, like all kitchens of its time, though at least,’ thought Jenny, ‘it is a kitchen. The cottage in the forest was one big room with two sleeping alcoves and a fireplace for cooking at one end. The kitchen had a work bench, in the middle of which was a water pump – connected to a water barrel outside – a preparation table, a stool, a larder for dry provisions, a buttery for cheese and liquids and a solid door. She opened it and found herself looking at a small rectangular yard. Most of it was taken up by a herb garden, and it was surrounded by a high stone-and-mortar wall. She stepped into the yard. There was a small gate set into the wall. She opened the gate; on the other side was a narrow lane with a similar high wall on the other side. Obviously, the houses in the adjacent squares shared a laneway, which served for deliveries – and, judging by the smell, a convenient privy for beggars and the desperate.

  She went back inside and looked in the pantry. Antrobus was obviously well paid for his work. The shelves offered more than she expected and he even had two sets of metal plates. Jenny had never eaten from a metal plate; at home they had a set of trenchers her father had made: small squares of wood scooped out in the centre. As she put together her supper of dark bread, salted pork and cider, she wondered whether her food would taste of the metal.

  Jenny went into the front room. There was a large oak settle facing the hearth, with two large upholstered chairs on either side, forming a neat square in front of the fireplace. In the middle of the square was a low sturdy table. She decided on one of the chairs and ate with her plate on her lap. She didn’t bother to light a fire and the house felt cold and gloomy. She thought of her mother and father, sitting in the small cottage, eating their supper, and sadness flooded through her. Though the fire would be burning in the hearth, she knew that the cottage would be cold with their sorrow and they would eat in silence.

  She took a bite of the bread. Vale’s baker was a good one. The bread was soft, rich with rye and wheat. Her first bite made her realise how hungry she was and she ate quickly. As she bent over her plate, she thought of the woman she had nearly trampled and she wondered what could have caused the emptiness she had seen in the woman’s eyes. Perhaps she didn’t have even bread to nourish body and spirit. Jenny felt a pang of guilt and, for a moment, her hunger faded. But conscience, like the moon, is both fixed and fickle. Her guilt waned as her hunger waxed, and she continued her meal. Before long her plate and cup were empty. She took them back to the kitchen.

  Jenny found a lantern and decided to explore the house. She went back to the front door so she could get a full picture of the layout. The house was much bigger than it looked from the outside. The front door opened into a hallway. Ahead and to the left was the staircase, and past that, she could see another door. To the right was the door to the sitting room. Directly off that was the kitchen. She had already seen that, so she went to the door beyond the stairs and opened it. It was a study, filled with books and papers, though the desk in front of the fireplace was relatively tidy. She resisted the temptation to look at the books and Antrobus’s papers. She closed the door and went up the stairs.

  On the next floor was the bedroom in which Antrobus now slept, and two smaller bedrooms. She wondered which of those would be hers. The thought made her sadder still. No matter where she slept, she decided, it would only ever be where she lived; it would never be home.

  Fighting back tears, Jenny walked up the second flight of stairs.

  The whole level was a single, strange workroom. There were no crucibles, tubes or flasks, as she would have expected; instead, there were maps of the stars, astrology charts, telescopes, and a model with a large ball in the centre surrounded by six smaller balls, each a different size. Next to it were other instruments Jenny had never seen before. The strangest of all was a large wooden stand, the same height as herself. The stand held two round wooden frames, one behind the other, and within each of the wooden frames was a large disc of thick curved glass. Jenny stood in front of the foremost disc. She could barely distinguish objects on the other side of the glass and when she saw her reflection, her head was small and misshapen.

  Someone’s not going to get paid for their work,’ she thought. What’s the use of glass you can’t see through and that changes the shape of things?

  There was something odd about the room and it took Jenny a moment to realise what it was. It was considerably smaller than the combined rooms below, and yet from the outside the front wall of the house appeared to rise straight upwards. She noticed a door to the side that faced the square, and opened it.

  In the moonlight Jenny could see that the walls at the front of the room had been cut off about four feet from the floor. Even the ceiling of this part of the room had been removed. It occurred to her that this was Richard Antrobus’s observatory.

  Jenny knew something of the stars. Her father had often shown her the sparkling points in the night sky; he had told her the names of many, as if each was someone familiar, and would always be there even if everything else in the world changed. He had shown her groups of stars which he said formed the shape of a person or animal, but Jenny had to admit that many times she couldn’t see the shapes her father did. So she had made her own shapes from the stars and given them her own names.

  Her mother had told her that many healers used the stars to decide what ailed a patient and what cure to use. But Lucy had not been allowed to learn how to use the stars because she was a woman. It had been the only time when Jenny had any idea that men and women were seen differently.

  Jenny had never been able to work out how the stars could affect people. She knew they were far away; Probably hundreds of leagues, she thought. It was like believing that the wind in the treetops of Queerwood could rustle the leaves of a forest in her mother’s country at the other end of the world.

  Leaving the observatory, Jenny went back down the stairs to check on Antrobus. She pushed open his door and peered in. He lay still and quiet on the bed. She went to him and felt his cheek. It was only slightly warm, and she was relieved he hadn’t fevered. His chest rose and fell gently and regularly. Jenny knew that, with rest, Antrobus would make a quick recovery.

  She left the room, pulling the door to. It reminded her that she still had Antrobus’s keys in her pocket. She wondered whether he locked the door at night, or just when he was away. She couldn’t see the point of locking the door when someone was inside, so she left the keys in her pocket and the door unlocked.

  Her mind went back to Antrobus’s study. She descended the stairs and entered the study, closing the door behind her. There were two candles in sconces on the walls, and a candelabrum with three candles on the desk. She ignored the candles on the walls and lit the ones on the desk. She was surprised that the candles were beeswax, not tallow. Tallow candles gave off an unpleasant smell and smoked, but were much cheaper. It was another indication that Antrobus was not poor and that he preferred to work in comfort.

  In the candlelight, she saw the shelves of books. Jenny was staggered by the number of books and she wondered if every book in the world had found its way to Antrobus’s study. There were books bound in thick, sturdy leather and heavy, solid binding; books in delicate brown calf leather, with red and gold letters; books bound by string holding together two thin covers of wood; there were books without covers; handwritten books and books produced on a press. Lifetime after lifetime of thought to be shared in a fraction of another’s lifetime.

  Ewan Swift had taught his daughter to read, write and make sense of numbers but she had seen only one book before this; a book she had read a hundred times. Now she was overwhelmed by the number and variety of books on the shelves. Most were written in the same foreign language, one that Jenny didn’t understand, and some in a script that she wasn’t even sure was a language. On such books the lines flowed like long elegant ribbons. There was even a book written in the strange symbols she knew were from her mother’s faraway country. />
  She refrained from taking any of the books from the shelves. It was her curiosity about Antrobus that brought her back to the study, not a desire to read. This room, she decided, is where Antrobus would be what he really was. It would be where she would find clues about the man who was to be her master for the next seven years.

  Jenny went to the desk. There were the usual inks and quills, a sheaf of blank writing paper, a small wooden tray containing red and black sticks of wax, though no seal. It would seem that the most she would learn about Antrobus was that he was neat, educated and actually a bit boring.

  The creaking of a floorboard startled her. She held her breath and listened. Again she heard the sound. It seemed to be coming from the front room. Jenny walked quietly to the door and opened it slightly. The noise came again, a soft footfall on the stairs now. Perhaps, Jenny thought, it is Antrobus. But perhaps not ... Jenny left the study and crept up the stairs. At the top, she paused and listened but no sound came to her ears. She walked quietly to Antrobus’s door and peered inside. It was too dark to make out whether the alchemist was still in his bed, so Jenny tiptoed inside until she could see him, still asleep, letting escape an occasional snore.

  There was someone else in the house. Closing Antrobus’s door, she made her way up the next flight of stairs to the top room. Feeling her way in the dark, she went through the room and out to the observation area at the front. There was no one there.

  A sound from inside startled her. She peered into the house and saw a figure move slowly through the room. The shape stopped and turned towards Jenny. She felt the blood pumping through her body as her heart pounded in her chest. Then the figure wheeled and fled. For an instant, Jenny hesitated. Then she dashed into the room and down the stairs after the intruder. She was barely down the first set of stairs when she heard the creak of the front door and the sound of footsteps on the stones in the square.

  She skipped down the remaining stairs. She stumbled and nearly fell at the bottom but regained her balance and sped to the door. It was wide open. She paused for a heartbeat, then she ran through the doorway and into the square.

  It was empty. In the quiet of the night, Jenny listened, but there was only silence and stillness. Watchful, she went back into the house. She closed the door, drew the keys from her pocket and locked it.

  Jenny could feel her heart racing. She returned to the study and snuffed the candles. Then she went back to the front room. The warmth of the day had given way to the chill of evening and Jenny shivered. She wished she’d lit the fire earlier. There was little point now. She curled into a ball on one of the large chairs in front of the cold hearth and fell asleep.

  Chapter 3

  The Chancellery

  ‘Come on, girl. Wake, now.’

  Jenny heard the voice and a gentle poke on her shoulder. She blinked and pulled her feet from under her and set them on the floor. Her neck was stiff and her body felt cold right through to her bones. She straightened her knees and grimaced.

  ‘Did he make you sleep here? With no fire nor blanket? That man has no sense at all. You poor thing. Where is he? I’ll trade words with him. He’s got no more manners than a forest lawyer.’

  Jenny’s eyes finally focused enough to see the person who was going to give Antrobus a piece of her mind. Standing over her was a middle-aged woman wearing a bunched cloth cap on her head, an apron over her simple dress and a friendly smile on her face.

  ‘It wasn’t his fault. I fell asleep in the chair,’ said Jenny.

  ‘Not his fault! You’re a guest, even though I expect you’re that lass he fetched for his new apprentice. He left you here and went off to star-gaze, I ’spect, and forgot all about you. Well, I’ll tell im when I see ’im, said the woman.

  Jenny got up from the chair. ‘Good morning, missus. I’m Jenny Swift.’

  The woman chuckled. ‘Don’t missus me, lass. I’m not your missus. I’m not anyone’s missus these days. I’m just plain Annie. Annie Grimpledge. I come in each day to do for him.’

  ‘Please to meet you, Annie,’ said Jenny. ‘What’s a forest lawyer?’

  Annie laughed. ‘Someone who thinks they know better’n everyone else what’s a good law and what’s a bad law and runs off and lives in Queerwood to make their own.’

  Jenny’s father had often warned her to stay away from certain parts of Queerwood. ‘There are outlaws in the forest. There are some good men among them, but for the most part they’re thieves and brigands,’ he had told her. Somehow, Jenny liked Annie’s description better.

  ‘Now, Jenny, I’ll get a fire going here, then make sure the master is awake,’ Annie said.

  ‘We should let him sleep, Annie. He lost a lot of blood,’ Jenny said, and then told Annie what had happened the day before.

  ‘No!’ exclaimed Annie. ‘The poor man and poor you! What a welcome to Vale! Come with me. I’ll show you where you can wash. And there’s chamber pots in all of the bedrooms up there.’

  Annie’s care and good humour did much to make Jenny put aside her sadness and the resentment she felt towards Antrobus. By the time she had washed and made herself ready for the day, Jenny was in better spirits.

  She decided to check on her patient. She went to Antrobus’s room and knocked softly.

  ‘Come in, come in!’ Antrobus yelled. ‘I’ve been waiting.’

  Jenny entered. The alchemist was propped up on his pillows, reading a piece of paper. He put the paper on his nightstand. ‘I seem to have survived your attentions,’ he said. His voice was weak but his eyes looked lively enough; far more alert than Jenny had expected. ‘It doesn’t seem to have bled much.’

  ‘That’s good, though I should check your bandages,’ she replied. She bent to examine the injury. As she did, a gruff and irritable voice came from the doorway.

  ‘And what are you doing, girl?’ the voice demanded.

  Jenny turned to see a short, portly man, dressed in a knee-length black surcoat and a small pinched hat, and sporting a bushy, wedge-shaped beard. When he saw Jenny’s face, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  ‘Who are you?’ he snapped. He looked past Jenny to the alchemist. ‘What is this ... this ... person ... doing, Antrobus?’

  ‘As much as you could do, Styche, I dare say,’ Antrobus snapped back. ‘The question is, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I was asked to come to attend to you,’ said the doctor haughtily. ‘I was told you had been badly wounded. An arrow, or some other foolishness, I believe. I forsake my other patients and find you being tended by this child. A foreigner, to boot.’

  ‘You’re a narrow-minded old fool,’ Antrobus growled. ‘This young lady is my apprentice and she’s no foreigner.’ He waved his hand at Styche. ‘Jenny, this is the physician, Styche.’ Antrobus sounded the name to rhyme with itch. ‘Styche, this is Jenny Swift.’

  Styche bristled. ‘Styche,’ he said through clenched teeth, pronouncing it to rhyme with stick. ‘Doctor Styche.’

  ‘A fig for your degree!’ retorted Antrobus. ‘You might be an educated quacksalver, but you’re still just a quack!’

  ‘Ha! The pot calling the kettle black. You’re a tinpot cheat paid in silver for peddling lead and calling it gold.’

  Jenny listened nervously, expecting an all-out shouting match. Then she noticed the corner of the doctor’s mouth twitching through his broad beard and relaxed. She was discovering that the rituals of friendship are many and varied.

  ‘Humph!’ Antrobus snorted. ‘Well, as long as you’re here, you may as well make yourself useful.’

  Styche grunted and went to the bed. Without another glance at Jenny, he examined the bandages, pinched Antrobus’s arm and flexed his fingers. After issuing several ‘Hmms’ and a selection of various noises through his nose, he stood upright and fixed his eyes on the girl.

  ‘Swift, eh? Was your father that foolish clerk who went off with Lord David and brought himself back a strange foreign wife?’ He didn’t give Jenny a chance to answer but pressed on.
‘Went to live in Queerwood, didn’t he? Well, I shouldn’t wonder. Probably ashamed of her and of himself.’

  ‘My father was not ashamed!’ Jenny cried angrily. ‘He loved my mother and was proud of her! Don’t you –’

  ‘Stop your mouth, girl!’ ordered the doctor. Jenny fell silent but she could feel the anger rising in her.

  Styche nodded towards Antrobus. ‘Did you tend him?’

  Jenny gave a sullen nod of her head.

  ‘I suppose your mother taught you?’

  Once more Jenny nodded.

  ‘Come, girl!’ the doctor snapped. ‘Don’t sulk! I suppose she taught you all those foreign medicines; strange plants and herbs that don’t grow in civilised lands. Remedies for people with coloured skins and unnatural features.’

  ‘Remedies that have cured a great many people living within the lands of Vale!’ Jenny replied angrily. ‘Medicines that you know nothing of, and that cure people you’ve probably never seen and would certainly not stoop to treat! And she didn’t need to go to any university to know how to do it!’

  Styche’s eyes flashed and his eyebrows came together. Jenny’s stomach churned and her chest pounded. For a mere apprentice to speak to a master, let alone a learned and respectable man like Styche, was a serious transgression. She stood silently, waiting.

  Styche stared at Jenny. She counted the heartbeats while his eyes fixed on her. Then his frown dissolved and he grinned.

  ‘She has spirit, Richard!’ he declared to the patient. ‘And her father’s pride, no doubt.’

  He turned to her. ‘You did well, Jenny Swift. He has lost far less blood than I would have thought possible. From the smell, you put some salve on the wound when you dressed it. Tell me, from the start, what you did.’

  Jenny studied the doctor for a second, unsure at the change. Then she glanced at Antrobus and saw the small smile on his face. All the anger flooded out of her and she told Styche all she had done.