Weaving Man: Book One of The Prophecy Series

by Tove Foss Ford

  “Everything,” Menders said with conviction. Cook laughed.

  “Well then, you like to eat, I like to cook, we’ll get on famously,” she declared. “I knew you had the appetite of a younger boy, you don’t even look like you’re finished with your growing yet. However, while the others are looking around, I do want to ask you something. Why would a very pleasant and decent young man like yourself become an assassin?”

  “What makes you think I’m pleasant and decent?” Menders asked, perching on the edge of the table and lifting Katrin to rest against his shoulder.

  “All I have to see, young man, is how you love that baby there, to say nothing of being concerned for the welfare of all of us and very kindly tolerating Hemmett’s nonsense, which can be trying to say the least.”

  “Yes, well … unlike many other boys sent into Special Services work, who are chosen and told that they will undertake the training, I volunteered to become an assassin.”

  She shook her head in bewilderment.

  “I can’t say I see it, but I suspect you had your reasons. I certainly won’t hold your being an assassin against you, and after all, you won’t be assassinating anyone now.”

  Menders couldn’t help laughing. Who knows, he thought to himself. I will do whatever it takes to keep this little child safe. But for Cook’s sake, he made light of it.

  “No, I’m sure I won’t be. Cook, do you think that deer and pig are from these farmers’ winter provisions?”

  “Very likely. They’ve been hanging a while, you can’t just shoot a deer and carve off a chop right away, meat has to age,” she replied.

  “We can’t simply take it and leave them with nothing,” he said.

  “I’m sure they’ve kept something back, and you’d insult them by refusing their gifts,” Cook cautioned him. “Take your weapons out tomorrow and assassinate a couple of deer with them, take them by these farmer’s houses in exchange. That’s the way people do things out here.”

  Only some do, he thought, remembering how his father, on a country estate similar to this one, treated his tenant farmers with callous indifference.

  “It’s a good custom when living in the big house to be of service to the people who live on the estate. It’s best to have something ready on the stove all the time, so that not only can young assassins have something to eat whenever their stomach starts growling, but so can anyone from the estate who needs a meal.” Cook was chattering away, oblivious to Menders’ thoughtful silence.

  “Would you see to that?” Menders asked. At that very moment, his stomach began to rumble.

  “There’s soup there done enough to eat,” Cook responded gleefully, much amused by the sound.

  “I shall endure for a while and take a look around the place,” Menders replied with as much dignity as he could muster, while his stomach added an obligato of growls. He started for the door with Katrin, snatching a slice of bread from a cut loaf lying on a bench. Cook saw him and he could hear her laughing after him.

  The entryway was cobwebbed and dusty. A great clock stood in solitary splendor opposite the huge, double front door. Its wooden casing was burled heartwood, darkened with age, the large brass pendulums and balance weights hanging unmoving behind the grimy glass door, like ancient lost treasures seen through a murky sea. The vast face was faded; the ornate hands of aged and darkened bronze stood motionless at three minutes past two. Cut outs in the clock face showed much of the inner workings, but it was obvious the brass and bronze gears and cogwheels had not turned in many years.

  Menders opened the clock’s glass door. Inside was a key, thick with dust. He set the balance weights and by stretching up, could just reach the hands to set the correct time. He slid the key into its slot and began to wind.

  To his surprise, the winding gear moved with relative ease. The spring tightened, Menders gently set the pendulum in motion.

  The old clock began thrumming out a slow and steady thump, like a giant mechanical heart.

  Time began to move in the dark old house. Katrin cooed. Menders smiled at her and with the clock pulsing away, he began inspecting their home.

  Cobwebs hung in the corners like lace curtains, dust was thick on the floor and windows were grimy. Menders looked into several rooms. There was a considerable library, though the smell of musty books was so overpowering that he did not linger. There was a room furnished as an office that he particularly liked, where the Head of Household would see to the running of the estate.

  And he was the Head of Household, and what he knew of running estates was… nothing.

  Katrin whimpered and he was suddenly very sure that she needed a clean diaper.

  “All right then, Little Princess, we’ll find your charming wet nurse and the diapers, shall we?” he asked, looking at the dust on the floor, seeing the multiple footprints that had gone up the massive wooden stairs. He followed them upwards, hearing voices as he came to the first floor.

  This was apparently where the bedrooms were located. There was much movement, laughter and gossip as the women chatted while flinging open cases. Lucen pried open crates and boxes and Franz sorted through piles of medical supplies while Hemmett went gamboling about and got in everyone’s way.

  “There you are,” Zelia Greinholz said cheerfully as Menders stepped into the midst of them.

  “We’re looking for diapers,” he answered.

  Mistress Trottenheim came and took Katrin from him. The baby’s whimpers rose to yowls of protest.

  “You’re spoiling her terribly,” she said with venom. “I’ll see to her.” She walked away into an adjoining room. Menders followed her silently.

  Mistress Trottenheim started when she found him behind her in her bedroom.

  “I’ll be here until we can get the nursery sorted out. It’s on the next floor up, and it’s a wreck. I’ll see to her, thank you.”

  “I’ll see where you have the diapers and other things and I will see how you change her diapers, thank you,” Menders responded.

  “Mister Menders, it isn’t necessary for you to carry her about and do these things. I’m her nurse,” she sniffed.

  “Do you want to be her nurse?”

  Caught by surprise, she immediately answered, “No.” Then she flushed red and glared at him. “Do you want to be her guardian?” she snapped waspishly.

  “Yes. I want to be her guardian. What concerns me is that you don’t really want to be her nurse. I can certainly understand why and I’m not naïve enough to believe that someone else’s baby can replace yours, but I want this child to have all the love it is possible for her to have.”

  She turned away and busied herself by changing Katrin. Though she was not ungentle, she handled the baby briskly. Katrin began to wail. The nurse fastened the diaper and then tried to hand the baby back to him.

  “She’s hungry,” he said, as Katrin sucked her lips in between shrieks.

  “It isn’t time for her to eat yet,” Mistress Trottenheim declared.

  Menders stared at her. “If she’s hungry now, feed her now.”

  To his annoyance, she opened her mouth to retort. He whipped off his glasses and glared at her without blinking until her gaze dropped and she flushed red.

  She angrily put Katrin to her breast. Menders was gratified to see her surprise when the ravenous baby latched on vigorously.

  “The other people here will consider you quite highly placed, and I will not have you being blatantly rude and disrespectful to me,” Menders said as the baby suckled and Mistress Trottenheim looked thunderous. “If you truly don’t want to be here, and don’t want to be her wet nurse, I won’t insist that you stay longer than it takes me to find a replacement. Until then you will have to be civil to me and I will do the same for you.”

  “I didn’t say I wanted to leave,” she retorted.

  “No, you didn’t, but I won’t have her nursed by someone who resents her,” Menders answered. “You are free to return to Erdahn. You’re the only one of us who is able t
o do so, because you were assigned to be her wet nurse and nothing more. Claim to have lost your milk and your responsibility is over. I can’t shed my responsibility. The Doctor and Greinholz can’t either, neither can Cook. But you’re free to go.”

  She did not reply. When Katrin finished, she handed her back to Menders, buttoning up quickly.

  He positioned Katrin more comfortably in his arms and began to leave the room.

  “Mister Menders, you don’t have to take her with you everywhere,” Mistress Trottenheim said behind him. “She can go in her bassinet for now, until the nursery is cleaned. Or I can take her.”

  He turned, and gave her a very small, very cold smile.

  “I have asked everyone to call me Menders. You are the only person here who refuses to do that. After seeing how you handled her while you changed her diaper, I am in no hurry to leave her in your care.”

  He was glad to see her look away in confusion.

  ***

  An inspection of the first floor found that he had been left the largest bedroom. Menders took a jaunt around it with Katrin held against his shoulder while he rubbed her back. He’d seen the nurse do it before and had also noticed that she’d neglected to do so after the baby’s recent feeding. Within a few seconds, Katrin released a gusty belch and he laughed softly.

  “So she thought she’d hand me a baby with a bellyache and then triumph over me when I didn’t know what to do, eh Little Princess?” he said, snuggling her into the crook of his arm again. “She doesn’t know old Menders, does she? Probably thinks because I’m a man I can’t possibly pick up a trick or two through observation – or that I’ll overlook her deliberately placing you in the position of being uncomfortable and ill.”

  The bed hadn’t been made up yet and was covered with heavy canvas as protection from dust. Menders made the mistake of touching the heavy bed curtains just as Eiren, passing in the hallway, saw him and said frantically, “Don’t touch the curtains, sir!”

  A shower of dust made him sneeze violently and then Katrin sneezed too. He fled sheepishly into the hall, while Eiren took Katrin and rocked her until he stopped bending and sneezing like some sort of bizarre clockwork.

  “I think the first thing we’ll do is get the bed curtains outside and beaten,” he gasped, wiping at his streaming eyes. “That is, if it gets warm enough.”

  “Oh yes! It should warm up nicely in the middle of the day,” Eiren giggled, much amused by his performance. “We’ll get a ladder in and haul them all out. There just wasn’t time after we swept all the spiders from the kitchen.” Spontaneously she cuddled the baby close and kissed the top of her head. Menders watched as he wiped his eyes and nose with his handkerchief, his mind working.

  ***

  From Menders’ Journal:

  The rest of the household have retired, and I will not be far behind them. It has been an exhausting but productive day making the bedrooms habitable, so that we could fall into clean beds from exhaustion.

  Doctor Franz declared war on cobwebs and was a comical figure, flailing about with a broom, swathed in a huge apron he found somewhere, his head wrapped in a cloth. Much giggling from the ladies. By the end of the day he’d rousted most of the cobwebs in the living quarters and was very proud of himself.

  Lucen Greinholz is worth his weight in gold when it comes to miserable, dirty tasks, particularly in removing nests of mice from drawers, which caused much consternation when discovered, to say nothing of shrieking, again from the ladies.

  I have spent the day on top of ladders, scaling woodwork and crawling across beams to unhook and re-hook hangings, drapes and curtains, being the smallest of the men, and the most agile, thanks to my training. I have only been so dirty once before in my life, in that hiding in a ditch incident I don’t care to remember.

  I find the members of the Princess’ household to be cheerful and ready to make the best of our situation, with the exception of Ermina Trottenheim, who continues contemptuous and moody. I can excuse some of her behavior because of her situation, but I foresee nothing but trouble coming from her. The other women, including the wives of the estate farmers who helped out today were shunned by her, or ordered about peremptorily until I put a stop to it. She is going to be a problem, and the sooner I make her disposable, the better.

  With that end in mind, I have engaged Marjana Spaltz, the wife of Mister Spaltz, estate farmer, in the post of wet nurse for the Princess. She has a surfeit of milk, and would be pleased to help out. I have also hired her daughter, Eiren, as the first of the Princess’ nursemaids, and have been told that there are several other likely girls on the estate who would be glad for a similar position. Eiren is exceptionally bright and naturally fond of children, though I was told in confidence by one of the farmers’ wives that she was badly frightened by her mother’s recent delivery. She is tender and loving with Katrin and I believe will be an excellent nursemaid for her.

  Menders rubbed his eyes and put down his pen. Enough journal for one day. He rose and made a trip down the hall to look in on Katrin, who was tucked into her traveling basket in Mistress Trottenheim’s room.

  He found the wet nurse getting into bed.

  “Am I to have no privacy?” she snapped.

  “I was just looking in on the Princess.”

  “She’s asleep, which I soon hope to be.”

  Menders walked into the room, picked up the basket and a handful of diapers, and walked out. He wasn’t leaving his baby there.

  “What will you do when she starts screaming for the breast at three in the morning?” Mistress Trottenheim shot after him.

  “I’ll bring her here,” Menders answered back over his shoulder. “So I wouldn’t sleep too soundly, if I were you.”

  He closed and bolted the door of his room, setting the basket on the desk. Katrin was awake now and gazing up at him.

  He lifted her out and got into the bed holding her.

  “Why don’t you just sleep here with me tonight, until we get your nursery sorted out,” he said conversationally. “I think you’ll find it much more comfortable than in that basket on the desk.” He made a little nest for her on the empty half of the bed, where he could reach her easily, and blew out the lantern on the nightstand. His body slowly relaxed and he sighed, reaching out to touch Katrin’s head.

  He leaned over and kissed her tiny, velvety cheek.

  “Everything is all right – sleep well, Little Princess,” he whispered.

  (4)

  Strange and Violent Waters

  I have declared a rest day after two solid weeks of cleaning and refurbishing the portions of the house that we will be using. Much of the house has been sealed off, access doors locked and spiked shut, chimney flues closed and latched. It would be nearly impossible to access The Shadows in any clandestine way.

  Everyone went back to bed after breakfast, except for Cook, who is happily thumping away in the kitchen, kneading bread. Mister Spaltz stopped by and took Hemmett back to his farm with him, giving us all a much welcome break.

  The nursery is now clean and habitable and as Eiren Spaltz and Kata Brogen are able to begin work, Katrin will be sleeping there. She has been in my room, and I must admit that I will miss her, though having a full night’s sleep will be welcome. At the moment she is snugged up here in the bed beside me, asleep after some play where I dangle my watch for her to look at. She can’t quite follow it with her eyes, but she can focus on it. Franz tells me that this is advanced behavior for her age.

  Mistress Ermina Trottenheim will now be extraneous and it is my intention to have her leave for Erdahn at the earliest opportunity. She has not attempted to fit in or endear herself to anyone, and her attitude toward me is cool and contemptuous. She shows no interest in the baby and nurses her begrudgingly. Katrin is uncomfortable with her as a nurse. So Mistress Trottenheim will have her walking papers once the new routine is settled.

  After setting his journal aside, Menders stopped off at the kitchen and then went toward his
office with a handful of cookies and Katrin in her basket.

  He was distracted by noises from Doctor Franz’s office and detoured. The doctor was there, rattling around with some bottles.

  “Can’t sleep in the daytime either?” Franz asked with a grin.

  “Never really could.” Menders set Katrin’s basket securely in one of Franz’s armchairs. He described the plan for Mistress Trottenheim to be sent back to Erdahn and Franz nodded in agreement.

  “Franz, do you know why they sent Katrin here?” Menders asked. He had formulated his own theories but now wanted some input from others.

  Franz sighed and sat down, gesturing for Menders to do the same. Menders set his handful of cookies between them and Franz pounced hungrily.

  “I have a pretty good idea,” the doctor replied. “I’ve deduced much of it, but can’t prove it. Katrin’s father wasn’t in the usual run of Prince Consorts. They’re generally chosen for or by the Queen for the sole purpose of conceiving a child – and they tend to vanish conveniently afterward, so they don’t get ambitious and try to seize power. He wasn’t a Prince Consort at all, frankly, but someone who was at Court for years. The Queen knew him from the time they were youngsters and I believe she was in love with him. This was quite an irregular situation. My suspicion is that Katrin’s been sent here to be forgotten.”

  “I have begun to think that Katrin is here so that she is protected from her sister,” Menders replied.

  “It’s possible,” Franz conceded. “Who can say, really, what moves through the mind of the Queen? She drifts from crystalline lucidity to drunken dullness at a whim.”

  “Being banished up here may be to our benefit,” Menders replied.