by Rachel Ford
It was just as well, as it provoked a pout. “I didn’t. And you can go to hell, fish boy. I didn’t even finish one flask. I’m not drunk. And it’s bullshit I have to have a babysitter.”
“Yes ma’am. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You should be sorry.”
“Yes ma’am.”
I fell quiet for a space after that, not deigning to speak to him – no doubt, to his relief. Still, though my thoughts were dulled, my mind was in overdrive. It was true. I hadn’t drank much. The KP – dammit, Lil – had set an example enough the night before, to warn me away from overindulgence.
“It must have been Freylor,” I said after a while.
He glanced over at me, alarmed, I think, by the excitement in my tones. “Ma’am?”
“That Southern son-of-a-bitch: he must have put something in my drink.”
Halibut’s eyebrows raced for his hairline. “Uh…why?”
“To get me drunk.” He was staring at me with so much disbelief, I snapped, “Dammit, keep your eyes on the road. I don’t want to die. But turn around.”
“You know I can’t do that, ma’am.”
“Halibut, listen –”
“Burton. It’s Burton, ma’am. Burton Hablet.”
It seemed close enough to me, but I decided not to argue the point. “Listen, Burton: there are lives at stake.”
I heard a low sigh escape his lips. “You’re almost home, Squire Derel. Let’s just get you home, and then we can talk about it –”
“Don’t patronize me,” I snapped. “I know you think I’m drunk.”
“You are drunk, ma’am.”
“I’m not drunk. That piece of shit put something in my drink. And I think Frilk did it to Phillip too. Just like he did the KP yesterday.”
“If the KP was poisoned, wouldn’t she have said something?”
“She doesn’t know. Godsdammit, don’t be dense.” My frustration was mounting, and his patience was ebbing. “I’m telling you, they’re up to something. Yesterday, Frilk was on her tail all night. She said she only had one glass of wine. I thought she must have lost track of how much she drank.”
He sighed again, but I ignored him. An idea was taking shape, and the sheer adrenaline pumping through my veins seemed to be keeping me focused.
“I think he must have put something in her drink. And tonight, Freylor was right beside me. He must have done the same.”
Now, I frowned, an objection coming to mind. “But he was following me yesterday too.”
Burton pulled into the lane leading to the Callaghan estate. I saw the familiar fields rush past in the dark, illuminated by the spindly beams from the headlamps. The motion made my stomach quiver, and I turned back to the squire.
“I was drinking water. That’s why. Yesterday, I was drinking water. I would have tasted something, if he’d put it in my drink. Don’t you see, Halibut? It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Umm…right.”
“Don’t ‘right’ me. I mean it.”
“Why would he want to put something in your drink?”
This was a question for which I had no good answer, and I chewed on my bottom lip as I pondered it. I was still pondering it, still chewing on my lip, when the skimmer pulled to a halt.
With a sigh of relief, the boy said, “We’re here.”
“I told you, we have to go back.”
“I have orders from KP Callaghan. I’m sorry, ma’am, but I have to follow them.”
We argued for a few rounds, but he was unmoved, offering nothing but a reminder that he had his orders, and an insincere apology.
“At least tell her. Promise me, Halibut: promise me you’ll tell her.”
“Tell her what?”
“Tell her what I’m telling you.”
He pulled a face, as if I was mad. But when I threatened not to leave the skimmer without his solemn pledge, he acquiesced. “Fine, fine. I promise. I’ll tell her you think you were poisoned.”
“Drugged, not poisoned. And I know I was.”
“Right. I’ll tell her you think you know you were drugged.” I scowled at him, and he shrugged. “Come on, ma’am: let’s get you inside.”
“I don’t need help.”
“Respectfully, Squire, Callaghan won’t like if I let you bust your lip open on the walk in.”
He was impudent, and fish-faced, and smelled of horse. He was a descendant of elves and goblins, more troll than man. I was going to tell Callaghan what a great fool he was, and then he’d be sorry. At least, these were the pearls of wisdom I shared as he hefted my weight over his shoulder and carried me more than I walked toward the keep.
He handled this new barrage with as much good grace as he’d conducted himself so far, offering the occasional, dry, “You’re too kind,” or, “Flattery will get you nowhere, ma’am.”
Pausing on the step, he struggled to balance me on my unsteady legs, and open the door. Then, he hauled me over the threshold and into the hall beyond, calling, “Hello?”
“Claxton,” I slurred at the same time. “Claxton, where are you?”
He picked up on the name, repeating, “Claxton? Mister Claxton?”
“Claxton’s a lady, fish boy.”
A snort preceded a crotchety voice from a few rooms over, declaring, “No one’s ever accused me of that, Miss Ana.”
I heard her footsteps, and I tried to find my feet. “Claxton, help me.”
She was entering the room, candelabra in hand, still talking. “You’re home early, though. What’s…” She trailed off, her eyes flashing with concern. “My gods. Ana!”
In a moment, she was beside me, setting the candles down on an end table and glancing from me to Halibut. “What’s wrong with her? What’s happened?”
“She’s drunk,” he said.
“I’m not, Claxton. This damned fool won’t listen. The KP’s in trouble.”
“Lil?”
“That’s right. They slipped something into her drink last night.”
“Who did?” Claxton’s tone was sharp and alarmed. “When?”
“Ma’am,” Halibut put in, “Squire Derel is…well, not in her senses right now. She’s been saying they poisoned her and Phillip.”
“Not poisoned. Drugged, dammit, fish boy: I told you that already.”
He pulled a face. “The KP had me drive her home.”
“Lilia’s alright, then?”
“No. Claxton, you need to listen to me: Lil’s not alright.”
At the same time, he nodded. “Right as rain, ma’am. She went back to the social.”
“Ah.”
I felt my heart sink as Claxton’s expression relaxed. “No. You have to believe me. I know I sound drunk. But I swear on Ilyen’s grave, Claxton: I didn’t even have a full flagon of mead.”
“If it’s alright with you, ma’am, I’ll leave her in your charge.”
She nodded and slipped my other arm over her shoulder. “Thank you, Squire, for getting her home safely.”
“Of course. My pleasure. Have a good evening.”
“You too.”
The pair of them ignored my protests and my pleas. It was only when the front door closed that Claxton addressed me again. Her tone was sharp. “Ana: get ahold of yourself, child.”
“You don’t understand.”
“No, because you’re not making sense.” She led me to a seat in one of the drawing rooms and sat me down. “Now, start over. And calmly this time. You say Lil was drugged yesterday?”
“Yes. You saw her, Claxton.”
“She looked drunk to me.” She threw a critical glance over me. “Like you, right now.”
“I swear, Agnes, I didn’t even finish one mug of mead. You can’t get drunk on a mug of mead, can you?”
“No. You can’t.”
“I’m telling you, Freylor slipped something into my drink.”
“How? Why?”
“I don’t know why. But he was beside me all evening. He fille
d my flagon, when the mead first came out.” I shook my head, and it swam with the motion. “He’s been agreeable – too agreeable, following me around. But I think this is why.”
The old woman surveyed me curiously. “Well, you need coffee.”
“I need to get back to the KP. She needs to know.”
“You need coffee,” she repeated, firmly this time. “Lil won’t believe you. Not if you come stumbling in, incoherent and rambling like you are now.”
I felt my cheeks flush, and I halted my protests.
“I’m not sure I even believe you.” She held up a hand as I went to argue again. “I didn’t say I don’t. But I need to sober you up. And then we’ll talk it through again.”
Chapter Twenty-Four – Callaghan
Lidek had raised questioning eyebrows when I returned alone. “Ana wasn’t feeling well, so I got someone to take her home.”
“Ah.” He nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “She’d probably feel better if not for the overattentiveness of a certain person.”
“Probably,” I demurred. “Where’s the coffee at, though? I need a cup.”
He nodded again, indicating a nook on the beverage table set aside for the brew. I’d missed the setup at first from this vantage, as it was directly across from me, behind the central support pillar. “I’ve moved from alcohol to caffeine to get me through the night. Aging is not all it’s cracked up to be, Lilia.”
I tried to attend to the evening, to the small talk and pleasantries. But the truth was, my mind was with Ana. Some part of me wondered if she’d meant any of what she said. No. That was just the liquor talking.
Still, I couldn’t quite shake my conflicted hopes. In my heart, I hoped that it was more than that. My pulse would quicken at the thought, and I considered what I would say if she intonated something of the same when sober.
And in my head, I hoped we’d laid the topic to rest once and for all. I knew all the reasons why I wanted it to be nothing more than an alcohol-conjured fantasy, for her sake as well as my own. My life had changed enough these past weeks, without introducing variables like romance into the mix.
And what happened when Ana’s three months were up? Would she stay in Shire’s End for me, with the wide world and all its opportunities beckoning? Of course not. And I wouldn’t want her to.
No. It was better to let it lie there. I’d get over it. Hell, I’d liked her, but I’d been able to suppress the thought until tonight. It wouldn’t be easy, now that I recognized it, now that I’d been shaken from my happy ignorance. But I could do it again.
And Ana? Well, she was young. She’d move on soon enough, literally as well as figuratively. And I’d be nothing more than a memory.
“KP?”
I started at the sound of a voice at my elbow, drawing me from my morose musings. It was Squire Burton. “Squire. How’s Derel?”
He pulled a face, but kept his tone respectful, “A little under the weather, ma’am. I left her with Mrs. Claxton.”
“Ah. Thank you.” She’d be in good hands with Claxton. Not the gentlest, perhaps, but good hands all the same.
“Uh…KP?”
“Yes?”
“I, uh, promised her I’d tell you this. It’s a little…well, she’s quite drunk. But I promised.”
My heart skipped a beat, and all my thoughts of a moment before flooded back. “Oh. Let’s step outside.”
He nodded. “Good thinking, ma’am.”
We headed out of the reception area, and far enough down the hall to be out of earshot. I turned back to him, my pulse hammering. “What did she say?”
He shifted in place. “Remember, she’s really under the weather. But she thinks she’s being poisoned, or drugged, or something.”
“What?” This nonplussed me entirely.
He nodded. “I know. By the Southerners. Freylor and Frilk. Says she isn’t really drunk; she barely drank anything.”
“Oh.” I remembered her telling me the same.
“Sorry, ma’am. I know it’s crazy talk. But I promised I’d tell you.”
I nodded slowly, trying to ignore what I was feeling – was it disappointment? – and concentrate on the issue at hand. “Right. Look, Squire, I appreciate you telling me. But I expect your full discretion in this matter. You understand how sensitive the situation is, and how, if something like that got out, it could be misconstrued? Especially if it got back to our friends from the South.” I fixed him with a hard gaze. “There would be international implications.”
He went a shade paler, then nodded briskly. “Of course. No one but you, me and Derel will ever know.”
I scrutinized him just long enough to make him squirm, then nodded. “Good. I knew I could trust you, Burton.”
Discomfort made way for relief on his features, and then pride. “Yes ma’am.”
I nodded again. “Alright. Well, you discharged your duty. You should get back to the celebrations.”
“Yes ma’am,” he repeated.
We both returned, and he eased back into the festivities with no trouble at all. There was a food table here – as if we hadn’t eaten enough already – and he headed there directly, indulging with a gusto that seemed to indicate he thought he was making up for the time he’d lost in working with Derel.
I was not so easily distracted. I felt every ounce of guilt and shame for Ana’s conduct fall on my shoulders. I had set the irresponsible example the night before. Not deliberately – gods, I’d had no idea. I still didn’t understand how I’d wound up drunk. But I had, and that was the material point.
And then, even the business with the kiss I’d bungled. I could have handled that better. I could have been gentler. I could have been kinder. If I’d been less of a coward…
Maybe then she would have taken it in stride. Oh Ana. I half hoped she’d forget all of this tomorrow morning, that she’d wake with a headache and a vague memory of drinking too much, and nothing more.
I was lost to these thoughts, sipping my coffee absently, when I heard someone shout. I glanced up, startled by the anger in those tones. A kind of semi-circle was opening in the far end of the room, as people skittered away from the commotion.
And I felt my heart sink. There were two figures there: SKP Valarian and Phillip Aaronsen.
The former shoved the latter, saying, “Say again, maggot?”
Phillip nearly stumbled but regained his footing. In a moment, he’d returned to the Southern knight, shouting something I couldn’t quite make out and swinging a clumsy haymaker in his direction.
Fuck. What the hell’s going on?
Valarian was steady on his feet and blocked the punch with an upraised arm. At the same time, he delivered a series of swift jabs to the squire’s torso, finishing with one to the head that knocked Aaronsen flat on his behind. I saw blood run down the boy’s face.
I was already covering the distance between us, shoving through people, but at the sight of that crimson stream, I elbowed through the crowd a little faster and harder. I reached them as Phillip struggled to get to his feet, and Valarian moved in for another round.
I positioned myself between the pair. “What the hell?”
“Your cur attacked me, woman.”
“He called the KP a coward,” Phillip said, still trying to get to his feet. “Said he deserved to die.”
“You should put a leash on it, if it can’t be allowed in public. Before someone puts it down.”
“You can try,” Phillip declared, managing to rise at last. “You son of a Southern whore.”
Valarian’s eyes flashed, and he stepped forward. I stepped to intercept, at the same time shoving my squire back. He wobbled under the pressure but didn’t quite lose his footing.
“Get out of my way, woman, or I’ll flatten you too.”
“He’s drunk, Valarian. And he’s a child. Let it go.”
He was face to face with me now, so close our bodies brushed. He was huge and towered a good half a foot over me at least. I had to angle my h
ead upward just to maintain eye contact, and he stared down over flaring nostrils at me. But I didn’t flinch.
The whole evening, all of Alduran’s hard work, had just gone to shit. I couldn’t begin to guess the diplomatic repercussions, or the career implications for myself and Aaronsen. But in the moment, all I could see was my drunk squire, a boy who had had too much mead, bleeding and tottering on his feet to defend the honor of his dead knight; and this great bull of a man, who had been aching for battle for days, chomping at the bit for a chance to let into him again.
“I won’t warn you again, bitch.”
“Stand down, Southerner. I’m not asking.”
The gasps and murmurs around us had morphed. Now, we were surrounded by interested parties. Alduran and the Commander were there, and so were Freylor and Frilk.
“SKP!” the latter was saying. “Stand down. That’s an order.”
“Callaghan, get that boy out of here. Now.”
“My gods. Squire, get the hell out of here.”
It was a mass of noise and confusion. I heard it all, but my focus stayed fixed on the knight before me. His eyes blazed, his nostrils flared, and his chest heaved, loosing heavy, mead-laden breaths into me.
I was aware of Phillip being led away, struggling and protesting all the while. Then Freylor tried to take Valarian by the arm, but the Southerner shook him off. The second attempt was more successful, and he drew him back a few steps. Lidek did the same with me, opening about three meter’s worth of space between us.
Our eyes remained locked. The fact was, in the moment, I could have gone toe to toe with Valarian. I might have got my ass kicked. He was bigger than me, and he’d been desperate for a fight since he stepped foot on our soil. But he’d laid hands on my squire and disparaged the dead. He’d shown nothing but contempt and hostility for the North.
And it was about time someone whittled his towering carcass down to size. Or so, in my angered state, I thought.
It was not to be, though. Frilk said in sharp tones, “SKP, have you lost your mind? What in the gods’ names are you doing?”
Now, he rounded on his own man, demanding of the civilian, “Did you not hear what I said? That boy struck me first?”