Rowankind (3 Book Series)

by Jacey Bedford

  “That sounds like a worthwhile project, Mr. Rackham, in another time and another place.” I cocked my head on one side to listen.

  They were still singing, only now there was distinct enthusiasm in their voices as they launched into another verse.

  Jesus, our Lord, arise

  Scatter our enemies

  And make them fall

  Let Thine almighty aid

  Our sure defense be made

  Souls on Thee be stayed

  Lord, hear our call.

  The Troll—Sir Roderick, Mr. Rackham had called him—was squeezing his way through the door, and I could hear Corwen, stuck on the other side of the obstruction, calling my name. “I’m all right,” I shouted back. “Stop the mob if you can. Give me time.” I turned back to Mr. Rackham. “The townsfolk are marching down Kirkgate, singing hymns even as we speak. And there’s another mob gathering at the north end of the bridge with staves and pitchforks.” I didn’t mention the rolling pin and the skillet. “They mean your troll harm.”

  “Sir Roderick,” Mr. Rackham addressed the creature as he squeezed through the doorway. “Did you hear what she said?”

  I noted with surprise that my true gender had not gone unnoticed.

  The troll grunted. He couldn’t quite stand up inside the lofty room, so he went down on one knee. “It’s my bridge. My books.”

  “Which is more important, the bridge or the books?” I asked.

  The look on his face said both.

  “If you want to fight them to the death for the bridge, I can’t stop you, but you’ll likely die, and so will a lot of them.”

  “They are only humans.”

  “But it was humans like them who wrote and printed the books. They made up the stories you love.”

  “Hmph.”

  “She’s right,” Mr. Rackham said. “So very right.” He crossed over the floor and reached up to put a slender hand on the troll’s shoulders. “You can take your favorite books with you.”

  “You come, too.”

  “I think I’ve taught you enough. With a bit more practice you can read the books for yourself.”

  “Hmph.”

  “And we can get you more books,” I said. “As many as you can read. Lots of stories.”

  I could hear voices at the far end of the bridge, now—voices of the mob and Corwen’s baritone telling them to stay where they were, reinforced by Hartington.

  “Come on. We’re out of time. Mr. Rackham, you go first. Seeing you’re still alive will give the crowd something to think about.”

  Rackham gave the troll one last, sad look and stepped into the spring sunshine on the bridge. I followed him out. Behind me, I could hear the troll throwing things around in the dim interior. I hoped it was the sound of him packing.

  “No one has been hurt here,” Corwen said. “Let us all go in peace and we’ll take your problem with us.”

  “He’s called Sir Roderick,” Rackham said softly. “He didn’t have a name when he came, but he liked that one.”

  Behind us, a thump which was a sack of books landing in the roadway, followed by the sound of grunting, signaled that the troll was once more squeezing through the chapel door and out into the light.

  A roar of awe and horror rippled through the crowd. I supposed it wasn’t every day they saw a huge, naked green troll with a sack of books over his shoulder. Some of the women screamed. The one with the skillet shouted, “Get him, lads,” and the crowd surged forward around the vicar, clearly visible in their front rank until overtaken by his deputation.

  The troll dropped his books and, with a roar, ran at the advancing mob, head lowered and his arms out wide. Those at the front hesitated. Some tried to turn back, but those behind them kept pushing forward. David must be in that mob somewhere, but I couldn’t see him. The troll came level with Corwen and Hartington and they all glanced sideways at each other, exchanging understanding glances.

  “Wait here,” I told the librarian and ran to catch up with the troll, taking my place beside him.

  Mr. Rackham ignored my order and followed me. There was a ripple of approval as he appeared to be walking toward the crowd, and then another of disapproval as he allied himself with us and the troll.

  “Go on. What are you waiting for? Get him!” someone shouted. Three men, more foolhardy than the rest, ran forward. The troll didn’t hesitate. He grabbed one and threw him in an arc over the bridge parapet to the left. A splash followed. The second one he hurled to the right as if he were no more weight than a doll. This one bounced off the parapet and tumbled into the river. It was fast-flowing but shallow, easy enough to drown in if you were unconscious. The third man, seeing what had happened to his two companions, turned and bolted, only to run into a wall of townsfolk inching forward more cautiously, but in a determined manner. The vicar had pushed to the front, and just behind him I saw David.

  David didn’t seem to have to push at all, but suddenly he was in the front rank of the mob. He beckoned me forward with both hands. I didn’t think he wanted me personally, but something he knew I could do. I created a wind, building it from the cool breeze of a spring day to a brisk gale blowing against the advancing crowd. Hats went flying, and some of the people in the front staggered. One enterprising chap called for them to link arms to steady each other. The vicar’s cassock billowed like a sail. I sent a cheeky wind to blow it up and over his head, revealing breeches and boots beneath. He staggered backward, fighting his way out of the folds of cloth, losing his balance in the process and falling into the men behind him.

  David walked casually across the divide, unaffected by the wind.

  “Why not get our friend away across the bridge?” David said to Hartington and Corwen. “We’ll hold the mob here.”

  Corwen glanced at me, so I waved him away with both hands without letting the sharp wind drop. This level of intensity took a lot of energy. I didn’t have much spare capacity for conversation. David couldn’t give himself away as Fae without angering the Council of Seven, but I was sure he had a plan.

  As Corwen, Hartington, and Mr. Rackham pulled the troll away from the front line, David conjured an illusion that all three men and the troll were still standing in their original positions.

  “Can you keep this wind up from a distance?” David asked.

  “Yes.” I sounded more confident than I felt. I didn’t tell him how much it would take out of me.

  “Strengthen it and back away. Follow the others.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m Fae.”

  “You’re still my little brother?”

  He grinned. And jerked his head in a gesture that said, go! “I’ll catch up with you.”

  I walked backward across the bridge, keeping up the wind. I was feeling distinctly light-headed when Corwen caught me around the waist.

  “I thought you’d gone?”

  “Without you?”

  I relaxed into him. “This takes more out of me than it used to do.”

  Before I’d freed the rowankind, I’d held an enormous store of wind and weather magic. I’d given most of it back, but still had a small portion of what I used to have. Keeping up this level of wind, however, was a lot more tiring than simply conjuring a steady breeze to fill the Heart’s sails.

  “I’ve got you.” Corwen whistled for Dancer, scooped me up into his arms, and lifted me into the saddle.

  David came trotting across the bridge, leaving behind the illusion that we were all still facing the mob.

  “That should hold them for a while. I think we can go now. Ross, one more big push. Scatter them like ninepins, then you can stop.”

  One more big push might be beyond my capabilities. I was almost at the end of my strength.

  I took a deep breath as if I was about to blow the wind from my own lungs, then I redoubled my effo
rts and hurled one last enormous gust at the crowd, scattering them backward as if they were paper dolls. The day seemed to dim, and the next thing I knew I’d slid from Dancer’s saddle. A small shuffle between David and Corwen and I was now in Corwen’s arms, riding on Timpani with Dancer alongside.

  “Definitely time to go,” said Hartington. “Are you with us, Sir Roderick?”

  The troll patted his bag of books. “Where are we going?”

  “To the Okewood or to Iaru. You choose,” Corwen said.

  “Where the books are.”

  “David said there could be books in Iaru if we needed them.”

  “Iaru, then,” said Corwen.

  “Who are you people?” Mr. Rackham stared at David, who had regained some of his Fae luster. I suspected because he’d simply forgotten to tone himself down. I cleared my throat, and David, catching on to my meaning, slowly faded to ordinary again.

  “We’re no one in particular,” my little brother said, adopting his best innocent look.

  The troll and Mr. Rackham parted company as friends with a handshake and a few whispered words which I deliberately did not eavesdrop on.

  “I’ll wait until dark to go back,” Rackham said. “Take good care of my literary friend.”

  “We will,” Hartington assured him.

  “If you’re short of literary friends, you might pay more attention to Mrs. Bates,” I told him. “She was most concerned about you.”

  “She was?”

  “She was.”

  17

  Family

  WE HURRIED BACK to Chevet, to the gate to Iaru, and there we said farewell to David, Hartington, and Sir Roderick for the time being. By now we’d all begun to use the troll’s new name, and it no longer seemed strange to us. Hartington said he’d see Sir Roderick settled, so the three of them headed deeper into Iaru.

  “I can ride now,” I said, and planted a kiss on Corwen’s chin. “But thanks for the lift.”

  “Sure?”

  “Yes, I’m feeling much better. Stronger.”

  He eased me down to the ground, then dismounted himself and boosted me into Dancer’s saddle.

  “You shouldn’t wear yourself out. What about the baby?”

  What about the baby? Did she suffer from me exhausting myself magically? I didn’t know, but it was something I should ask Aunt Rosie.

  “I’ll rest when we get home.”

  This time I meant Denby House, our other home.

  Corwen and I retraced our steps through the gate, coming out into the little wood by Deverell’s Mill.

  It was late in the afternoon, the sky already darkening to dusk as we turned into the long driveway. Thomas heard us coming and appeared in the stable yard with a lantern, his face crinkled in a smile.

  “Mr. Corwen and Mrs. Rossalinde! Good to see you. Let me take your horses.”

  “Hello, Thomas, thank you.” Corwen dismounted and came to help me down from Dancer, but I was already sliding from the saddle. Instead, he unfastened my valise from the saddle straps. “Everything all right?”

  “As quiet as can be,” Thomas said.

  “Good news, indeed.”

  “That it is, sir. Quiet is how we like it.”

  Given the recent events, he was right. Quiet was good.

  Poppy met us at the front door. She bobbed a formal curtsey to us both and then flung herself into my arms. “Oh, Ross, how wonderful to see you. Did you write? Is Mrs. Deverell expecting you? The ladies are in the dining room. Let me arrange for two more places to be set.”

  “Thanks, Poppy, good to see you, too, and no, we weren’t expected. We found ourselves in the vicinity, so we took the opportunity to call.” I looked down at my breeches. “I need to get changed and washed before I’m ready to join anyone for dinner, but I’ll be back down in a moment.”

  “Your room’s always kept ready. I’ll have Mary bring up some hot water and light a fire to take the chill off.”

  I gave Corwen a little shove. “You still look respectable enough to say we’ve been troll-hunting. Go and say hello to your mother and sister while I make myself presentable.”

  He pecked me on the cheek, and I grabbed the valise from him and stepped smartly up the main stair to the room which had been Corwen’s and was now Corwen’s and mine.

  By the time Mary came up with hot water, I was already out of my breeches and into my shift and short stays.

  “Do you need me to do up your laces, madam?” Mary asked after putting down the hot water.

  I could manage on my own with a little wriggling, but it was nice to have someone to tug my lacing into place. I ran my hand down my stomach, still flat. The current fashion for high waistlines would be a boon in another few months. I washed my hands and face and shook my dress out. It was Fae made, and the creases from traveling dropped out of it as if they’d never been. It was a bib-front dress, so I shrugged into the bodice and let Mary pass the strings around me and tie them. Instead of pinning the front, I had tiny buttons to secure it. A cream fichu tucked into the neckline completed the outfit.

  “You look very nice, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Mary.”

  “Would you like me to do your hair?”

  That was servant speak for your dress is presentable, but your hair’s a mess. I’d had it tied in a cue with a hat jammed on top of it all day, so I wasn’t surprised.

  “Coil it into a knot, Mary, nothing fancy.” My belly rumbled, saying I was half-starved.

  Mary giggled as if I’d said something funny, and in less than five minutes had my hair looking neat.

  I arrived in the dining room to find Corwen already seated with a plate of lamb in front of him. He grinned up at me. “I thought you wouldn’t mind if I started without you, since we’re eating informally.”

  “I told him he should wait.” Corwen’s mother stood to take both of my hands and draw me into a kiss on first one cheek and then the other. “I don’t know what kind of manners he has in the Okewood, but when he’s here in my house—”

  “It’s all right, Mama. We don’t stand on ceremony much when we’re alone together. I really don’t mind, as long as he’s left some for me.”

  “There’s plenty.” Corwen’s sister, Lily, all bubbly dark curls and a ready smile was waiting behind his mother to hug me. “I’m pleased to see you looking so well, sister,” she said.

  I slid into my chair and helped myself to lamb and potatoes with green beans and buttered cabbage. It was a simple meal, but delicious, and I had a second helping. I was eating for two.

  Of course, their first question was about Freddie.

  “He’s well, physically,” Corwen said, “but still not . . . ” He paused and waved his fork in the air, searching for the right word, as if he could stab it. “Stable. He’s not stable. He has outbursts of temper which would be bad enough if he was a man, but as a wolf he could kill someone.”

  “Oh, my poor Freddie. I wish I could go to him, comfort him.”

  “Give him time, Mother.”

  “I’m not sure I’ve forgiven him yet.” Lily turned to her mother. “He could have killed you, Mama. If those teeth had been any closer to an artery . . .”

  “But he didn’t, and here I am, and I still love him. You must tell him, Corwen.”

  “Write it in a letter. I’ll take it to him.”

  “Who does Freddie love, Corwen?” Lily asked. “What about his friend, the one who went away.”

  No one ever spoke of Freddie’s special friend. His sexual proclivities were just as likely to get him hanged as his shapechanging magic. No wonder Freddie was a mess. Damned twice over in the eyes of the law.

  “Roland,” I said. “That’s Freddie’s friend’s name. I believe his family is in Gloucestershire.”

  “Roland? I don’t know about Roland, but there’s a lett
er came for Freddie last week from someone called Betsey, whose return address is close to Stroud. That’s in Gloucestershire, isn’t it?”

  “Did you open it?”

  She shook her head. “I sent it on to your fox-girl, so you could receive it on Freddie’s behalf. Did I do the right thing?”

  “If this Betsey and Roland are connected, we’ll see if it spurs Freddie back to humanity again.”

  We’d decided it was still too early to tell Corwen’s family I was increasing, but after dinner I left Corwen talking to his mother, and Lily and I sought out Poppy. I’d hardly had the opportunity to speak with her on our last visit, so it was good to be able to spend an hour in her company.

  She and Stephen Yeardley had converted three small rooms up in the attics to an apartment with a sitting room, furnished with a hotchpotch of items that might have been in storage for a hundred years or more. Next door there was a bedroom for them and baby Alice, and a tiny alcove room for Robin, who had shot up in height so much that I almost didn’t recognize him. Good food and clean air had done the scrawny workhouse boy an immense amount of good.

  Alice woke for a feed while Poppy and I were talking, and Stephen brought her in for Poppy to nurse. Afterward, Poppy asked if I’d like to hold the baby. It seemed like a good idea. As I took the thriving five-month-old in my arms I wondered what it would be like to hold my own happy, healthy baby.

  Poppy looked at me with Alice, and I knew right away that she’d guessed.

  “It’s still very early,” I said.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.” She hugged me.

  “We weren’t going to tell anyone yet, but do you think it might help Corwen’s mother to know?”

  “I think it might give her something to hold on to for the future.”

  “Change of plan, then. I’ll talk to Corwen.”

  I spent the first part of the night alone. After staying up late, talking, Corwen went out for a run with Lily. They rarely got the opportunity to run together, so I didn’t begrudge them the time. Corwen was a Yorkshire wolf, and the moors were simply too tempting. He shrugged out of his clothes in the bedroom, and in an instant changed from naked man to a silver-coated wolf. Lily met us on the landing, dressed in a long gown. I walked down to the side door with them and dropped Corwen’s father’s old banyan on the bench in the porch, so Corwen didn’t have to walk through the house naked on his return. Though, I suspected, it wouldn’t shock the servants. They had all worked for the family for a long time, and even if they hadn’t been let in on the secret officially, they knew better than to ask questions they didn’t want answered.