by Evren, S. K.
Light began to slip its way into the cell through the windows. Drothspar could hear shuffling feet out in the hall and the opening and closing of doors. He heard someone stop outside the door and pause. A soft rap sounded at the door.
“Petreus, are you up?” came a hoarse whisper from the other side. “Petreus, time for morning prayer,” the voice hissed. The man in the hall kicked the bottom of Petreus’ door then shuffled away.
Drothspar looked back toward the bed. Chance sat upright on the floor, woken by the man at the door. She looked curiously at Drothspar. He shrugged his shoulders in reply. Chance got up quietly and came over to the desk.
“What was that?” she asked looking at the door.
“Someone wanted to wake Petreus for morning prayer,” he replied. Chance shivered as she listened to Drothspar’s voice, but tried to cover it by rubbing her shoulders.
“Gets cold in here in the mornings,” she said, rubbing vigorously. “Will he get in trouble if he doesn’t go?”
“No more than usual, I imagine. He was never very good about making morning prayer—even when he was leading it.”
A muffled grunt came from the bed. Petreus slept with his face in the pillow. Chance and Drothspar stared at him. Drothspar poured a glass of wine and set it on the desk.
“Is that a good idea?” Chance asked, her voice suspicious.
“Probably not,” Drothspar replied, “but it will ease his headache.”
“Won’t he just feel worse later?”
“Yes, unless he drinks a little more.”
“Isn’t that sort of a vicious circle?”
“Oddly enough,” he said, “you can make it work if you’ve had the practice.”
“Doesn’t sound very appealing,” Chance observed, her stomach lurching.
“It’s not, and it really isn’t a good idea, but it will work.”
Petreus turned restlessly in his bed, muttering in his last moments of sleep. Cool autumn sunlight was streaming into the room, illuminating the floating dust, when Petreus finally opened his eyes. He opened and closed them several times before shading them with his hand.
“Wine,” he pleaded in a rasping voice. Drothspar inclined his head and Chance took the glass over to her uncle.
“Um, thank you Sasha,” Petreus said, taking the glass in a shuddering hand. He drank the wine slowly, smacking his lips and shaking his head.
“Good morning, Uncle,” she said, taking the empty glass from his outstretched hand.
“Good morning,” he said hoarsely, “well, morning at least. We’ll see about the ‘good.’” He looked over at the desk. “You really are here, aren’t you?”
Drothspar nodded.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been a better host.” Petreus swung his legs over the side of the bed and steadied himself with his hands. “Could I have a little more of that wine?”
Chance gave him a dubious look but poured another glass.
“Thank you again, Sasha,” he said, taking the glass eagerly. “Has Steadword been by yet?”
“Someone came by to wake you for morning prayers,” Chance offered.
“That’s him,” Petreus nodded. “He tries to wake me up every morning. Annoying man, he really is. He takes a perverse pleasure in watching me suffer.” His forehead furrowed in thought. “Need more pastries,” he muttered. “What are you going to do today,” Petreus asked rubbing his temples with both hands.
“I want to see Ythel,” Drothspar said in his rasping voice.
Petreus looked up, startled. “You were serious?” he asked, suddenly wide awake. “How do you plan to get in to see him?”
Drothspar raised his arm and pointed a bony finger at Petreus.
“You aren’t serious,” Petreus said. “Ythel hasn’t had a thing to do with me since he sent me off from the cottage! You’d have a better chance if you marched up there without your robe on! You could convince him you were the angel of death come for his soul…”
Drothspar nodded and stood up to leave.
“Wait, wait,” Petreus exclaimed. “I was just kidding… Would be interesting to watch, but he’d probably have his guards hack you into kindling on the spot.”
Drothspar sat back down.
“Besides, I already told you I’d go… didn’t I?”
Drothspar nodded.
“I need some time to pull myself together,” Petreus said, “maybe slip out and wash up a bit, too. Can you wait?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” Petreus said as he pulled a set of robes out of his cabinet. “I’ll see if I can’t find you some better robes while I’m at it.” He smiled to himself and nodded. “I’ll be back in a little bit.” He stopped at the door. “You’d better lock this after I leave,” he said. “I’ll give the secret knock when I get back.”
Drothspar nodded and Petreus slipped out the door.
“What’s the secret knock?” Chance asked curiously.
Drothspar knocked twice quickly, paused, knocked twice quickly again, paused, then knocked once more.
“Nice rhythm,” Chance observed.
“We worked it out when Petreus was carrying messages to Li,” Drothspar told her.
“Why?” she asked.
“Petreus doesn’t like to be disturbed sometimes. He won’t open his door unless he knows who’s there.” He thought about it. “Mostly, I think he just likes to play.”
The sun had slanted across the floor before they heard the secret knock. Petreus’ hair was still wet and water was beading down his face. He had a broad grin and he carried an extra bundle of dark brown robes.
“Steadword came down for a bath after prayers,” he said smugly. “I took his towel, too,” he added, waving the towel back and forth.
“Great,” said Chance, snatching the towel from his hand, “we can use it for extra padding.”
Drothspar and Petreus got dressed while Chance flipped through an illuminated manuscript. Drothspar removed his old robes and slipped into his new ones. The new robes fit better over his smaller, fleshless frame. Once Petreus had finished dressing, he helped Drothspar with the padding. Chance sighed loudly, exaggerating her sense of boredom. Drothspar, unable to sense the passage of time, wondered how much she was exaggerating.
“There,” the old man said, adjusting Drothspar’s shoulders. “What do you think, Sasha?”
“Wow,” she said, turning away from a highly illuminated drawing of a craftsman. “Very nice. That robe fits much better than the last one.”
“Drothspar was a bigger man than Steadword,” Petreus explained, “in many ways. He would have let me borrow his robe. Of course, stealing it from Steady was much more fun.” His face broadened into a grin.
Chance got up and inspected Drothspar more closely. She pushed and pulled at the cloth. The rough adjustments reminded Drothspar of visits to the tailor when he was younger… and alive. He stood patiently, as he had back then. He turned when they turned him and endured all the final touches.
“Excellent!” he heard Petreus say.
“Try the hood,” Chance suggested.
Petreus pulled up the hood as far as he could. Chance clucked her tongue disapprovingly. The hood covered the sides of Drothspar’s skull, but not much more. Petreus tugged at it a few more times as if trying to stretch it.
“It’s not going to work,” Chance commented.
Petreus snapped his fingers and dashed to his cabinet. He rifled through his own clothes, reaching deeply to the bottom of a pile. After a few moments of searching and discarding, he produced a dark brown mantle. He slipped it over Drothspar’s head. It covered Drothspar’s shoulders and included a very deep cowl.
“These haven’t been in fashion for some time, but older people will recognize them. Works wonderfully, doesn’t it?”
“It’s perfect,” Chance agreed, “but what was it for?”
“Funerals,” Petreus said, smiling at the opportunity to explain and listen to himself talk. “You see, several brothers would stand
on either side of the coffin wearing these hoods. Symbolically, the hoods reserved judgment of the deceased for the Divine by hiding the priests’ faces. The hood covered those unworthy to judge while the soul presented itself before God.” He raised his hand to make another point while Chance rolled her eyes at Drothspar.
“Personally,” Petreus continued, “I think the hood’s symbolism evolved out of a practical need. Priests, in general, are a judgmental lot. We compare this to that to get another. I think the hoods were necessary to hide the expressions of the attending priests from those attending the funeral services. I mean, if dear uncle ‘Gladbus’ was a thief and a procurer, you didn’t necessarily want the priests reminding you of that while you were paying for his services. Anyway, the priests didn’t move during the ceremony, so it wasn’t necessary for them to see clearly. The hood was a perfect answer.” He smiled proudly as he finished his presentation.
“I see,” Chance said.
“Of course,” Petreus said thoughtfully, “the tradition of the priests standing still may have evolved after the hood came into use…”
“Petreus…” Drothspar said in his haunting voice.
“Yes?”
“Are we finished?”
“Um… sure.” Petreus looked at Chance quickly for support.
“You look wonderful,” Chance said with exaggerated admiration.
“Shall we then?” Drothspar invited them.
Chapter 27 – Ythel
Petreus led Drothspar and Chance out of his cell and through the dormitory. Their pace quickened as loud voices relayed accounts of a man, naked and dripping water, running through the halls. Smirking brothers winked at Petreus as he passed. The same men quickly bowed their heads as they caught a glimpse of the hooded Drothspar. Low whispers speculated on who might have died before rushing off to investigate the commotion.
Petreus, Drothspar, and Chance left the dormitory and crossed the courtyard in the brisk autumn air. The branches of the trees were bare to the world and reached in silent supplication toward the heavens. Drothspar’s new shoes, rummaged from underneath Petreus’ bed, slapped against the stone pathway. The sound echoed back sharply as it bounced off the surrounding walls.
The cathedral was quiet as they entered, but not empty. Here and there the faithful knelt in prayer. Two young brothers tended candles in the sanctuary, going about their work in silence. Several women threaded glittering beads through their fingers. Chance noticed an older man kneeling before the statue of the craftsman. She met its eyes once more before it was out of sight.
Two men in shabby clothes knelt by the entrance, their hands outstretched. The men looked furtively at Petreus, Drothspar, and Chance, then stared quickly at the floor. They muttered something in hopeless voices and Chance dropped a small coin in each of their hands. They wished her the blessings of the Maker as she followed Petreus and Drothspar out through the cathedral doors.
“Brisk morning,” Petreus observed as Chance caught up with them. He rubbed his arms and stamped his feet. His eyes blinked in surprise as he watched the two beggars emerge quickly from the cathedral. “How much did you give them?” he asked curiously.
“Enough,” Chance replied, her face flushing with embarrassment. Drothspar turned to watch as the two men rushed out of sight.
“Hunger must have been gnawing at their bellies, the way they’re hurrying off.” Petreus looked at Chance’s rosy cheeks. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed by your generosity, Sasha. The Maker blesses those who give without thought of reward.”
“My father says I only encourage them to be indolent,” she said, feeling the need to defend herself.
“He’s wrong,” Drothspar said. Petreus looked at the girl and nodded once before leading them through the city.
The Old Arle Square was bustling with activity. Merchants hawked their wares from push carts, their urgent voices calling to passers-by. Artists hung their paintings for display on the northern wall of the Ratter. Landscapes and portraits vied with dashes of color and imagination as their painters argued over the limited space of the wall. Vegetables, house-wares, and trinkets of all kinds were offered to the midday shoppers. Mothers examined goods carefully while managing to keep their children out of trouble with a word, a grasp, or a stern look. Most of the women in the square had scarves tied around their heads to ward off the chill, and the children all had rosy cheeks.
The public houses were already open and men were walking in and staggering out. City guards walked slowly through the square, encouraging order with their presence. Drothspar was amazed at the life moving all around him. He had nearly forgotten the pace of the city in the years he had been gone. Petreus moved through the crowds with an agility born of practice while Chance literally swam through the sea of bobbing heads and shoulders. Drothspar concentrated on staying with them, feeling nervous in the press of the crowd.
Walking was easier once they left the square. Petreus navigated the streets efficiently, and they soon found themselves outside the Ythel estate. Drothspar looked at the familiar grounds and felt the rushing pain of memory. This had been his wife’s home. She had been a child here, grown up here, lived here. He had taken her away. He had pulled her from her home. He felt invasive as he looked through the wrought iron gates to the manor beyond.
“Do you still want to go inside?” Petreus asked.
“I have to,” Drothspar answered quietly. The answers he needed were inside. He turned to look at Petreus. “Yes, I do.”
“Okay,” Petreus said, nodding. “I have no idea how this is going to turn out, so be prepared for anything.” He looked meaningfully at Drothspar and Chance. “Anything.”
Petreus pulled a chain outside the gate and a bell sounded near the manor. A liveried servant approached the gate, his eyes widening as he recognized Petreus.
“Yes, my Lord Priest?” the servant said.
“Good day, Dobbins,” Petreus greeted the man. “I need to see the master of the house.”
“Ah, yes, my Lord. Permit me to see if the Master is in.” He turned to leave, his face doubtful.
“Dobbins?” Petreus called after him.
“Yes, my Lord?”
“Please impart to your Master that my need is quite urgent and my purpose keen to his desires. Tell him, from me, that I would not lightly intrude upon him in his home, remembering well our last… meeting.”
“I will try, my Lord.”
“Dobbins!’
“Yes, my Lord?”
“It really is important.” Petreus put aside the formulaic speech and spoke to the servant plainly. The man looked quite taken aback and his eyes widened further.
“I shall try, my Lord Petreus.”
They waited for some time outside the gate. The sun traveled overhead and the shadows stretched out along the ground. Drothspar tried to think of how to approach his father-in-law but nothing came to mind. Chance examined the grounds while Petreus paced and muttered to himself.
Dobbins returned to the gate accompanied by three of Ythel’s personal guard.
“The Master has consented to see you,” he told Petreus. “These men will escort you to the sitting room.”
“Thank you, Dobbins.”
“Petreus, the Master was not pleased to hear of your arrival,” Dobbins said candidly. “I beg you, be brief—and careful.”
Petreus nodded his head slowly.
“Thank you again, Dobbins. I’ll do my best.”
Dobbins turned and walked alone back to the manor.
“My Lord Petreus,” one of the soldiers said stepping forward, “who are these who accompany you?”
“Captain,” Petreus said, inclining his head in greetings, “this is Brother Steadword, a priest of my Order.” He extended his arm to Drothspar who bowed politely. “And this is my niece, Sasha. She has brought me the news that I come to share with your Lord.”
“I see,” the captain said. “Follow me then, if you please.”
The captain led them to the
manor where Dobbins waited to open the door. They passed inside and were taken to a sitting room to await their audience with Ythel.
“This is going much better than I thought it would,” Petreus admitted. “I thought we’d be turned away at the gate, or told to return in a week’s time.”
Drothspar looked around the familiar sitting room. It had changed little since he’d last been there. He remembered waiting impatiently for Li to appear, his living heart hammering in his chest. The same portraits of long dead patriarchs lined the walls. The room had been decorated to impress upon visitors the prestige and nobility of the Ythel family and the great honor granted to those who received an audience.
Chance sat comfortably in an armchair by the window. Light streaked in across her shoulder and spilled over the polished wooden furniture. It glittered from the gilded frames of the pictures and spread over the marble tiled floor. None of this impressed her. She had grown up in her own family manor and had played in just such rooms as a child.
Petreus looked at his companions expecting congratulations for his efforts. He stared meaningfully at one and then the other before snorting reproachfully. He reached into his robes and pulled out a small silver flask. Unscrewing the cover, he took a long swallow. He extended the flask to Chance, but she shook her head politely.
After what were certainly hours, the captain returned.
“My Lord of Ythel will see you now,” he told them brusquely.
“Excellent, Captain, excellent.” Petreus did not look as excited as he sounded. He looked at his niece apprehensively, staring deeply into her eyes. She returned his gaze, acknowledging his unspoken warning. She winked impishly at him, causing him to frown slightly. She couldn’t appreciate the situation, he thought to himself.