But just like the Mappa Mundi, scattered among the wildly out-of-scale places and landmarks, Vadim’s maps were peppered with images of similar weirdness—depictions of odd-looking people keeping company with freaky multi-headed animals, and weird sea creatures who were part-human and part-fish.
As well as countries and mer-people, there were many areas of blankness upon those vellum scrolls, an indication of all the unexplored territories still waiting to be properly ‘discovered’. In some places, faint brown scribblings had been meticulously scratched onto the crackling parchment, meanings even Vadim struggled to decipher, so badly had the passage of time faded their ink.
Whatever it said, it didn’t take a great leap of genius to work out that the mysterious symbols and markings were the Erde equivalent of ‘Here be dragons’.
Just then, Effie entered the room. On seeing that Martha had company she bobbed a quick curtsy, once again assuming the role of a humble servant. Although Martha had repeatedly begged her not to, it proved to be a waste of breath.
“Shall I bring in refreshments, m’lady?” Since coming home to Edgeway, Effie seemed different. Broken in a way that Martha would never understand.
“Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you, Effie.”
The young maid had no answering smile for her mistress. Instead, like a pale gray mouse, she scurried away to do Martha’s bidding.
Beatrice frowned. “Has she still not spoken about… what happened?” she asked quietly once Effie had retreated, silently closing the door behind her.
“Not a word. I want to help her, Bea, but I don’t know how.”
When Effie had first arrived back in Edgeway, almost from the very second she had stepped through the main gate, her mask of self-control had shattered into a zillion painful fragments. Fortunately, Agatha had been there, giving the poor girl the sympathetic ear and warm hug she so desperately needed. At the very least Effie had confided some of her sorrows to the older woman.
With Effie’s permission, Agatha had told Martha about the loss of the baby and of the subsequent break up with Fergus, in the hopes that by doing so it would protect the girl from having to face a barrage of questions she was in no fit state to answer. The last thing the poor thing needed was an inquisition when she’d already suffered so much.
“Perhaps Agatha might try speaking with her again?” Beatrice said softly, staring at the door Effie had so recently gone through. “Private grief has its place, but I fear too much may be unhealthy. Surely you sense it building within her, pushing for release like an abscess full of hot pus ready to burst?”
“Of course I do.” Although Martha might have chosen a less disgusting analogy to describe it. “Look, Bea’, if Effie doesn’t want to talk to us, like it or not, we must respect her wishes however much we don’t want to. It’s the least we can do.”
Unlike the two of them, Effie had always been an extremely shy and private person. She certainly wouldn’t welcome anyone trying to make her open up, no matter how well-intentioned their motives might be.
No. Effie would talk to them when she was good and ready. In the meantime, all they could do was shield her from the unkind tongues of the castle gossips and make it clear that they were there if she needed them.
It wasn’t always easy, though. Keeping schtum. Sometimes friendship wasn’t magic. It really did suck.
As they quit Haldenberg for the final time, Vadim exhaled a heartfelt sigh of relief.
After weeks of preparation, they were at last on the homeward turn of their journey. Although they’d been made most welcome in Haldenberg, Vadim was more than ready to go home. To Martha and their children. How badly he had missed them. Taking out the locket his wife had given him, he briefly pressed it to his lips before tucking it back safely beneath his shirt.
Although they were leaving, Haldenberg hadn’t been abandoned. Nor had the people who’d sheltered the royal family for so long been forgotten.
At Rodmar’s express command, Hortensia had appointed a steward and other trusted retainers to govern the city in the king’s absence. Having families of their own living in Haldenberg, the majority of the palace staff had also elected to remain behind and serve the steward and his family. Most had no desire to follow the royal entourage on their journey into the unknown of the frozen north. Except for a few loyal soldiers, the city’s garrison had decided to keep their posts.
All things considered, the absence of the royal family would hardly be felt at all by those they left behind. Indeed, their lives should continue as they always had.
Now that they were finally heading home, it took all the willpower Vadim possessed not to set a blistering pace. In all good conscience, he could not. For not only were they escorting the queen and her family, but they were escorting a snaking line of wagons, too, each one laden with the royal family’s most prized possessions—items they’d vehemently refused to leave behind, which meant that their journey would be frustratingly slow.
Would the king ever return to these lands? If he did, Vadim hoped it wouldn’t be any time soon, otherwise he would be obliged to accompany him. But at least by coming on this quest he and his men had fulfilled their current obligations to their new king. Surely Rodmar would ask no more of them for a while?
One thing was certain, if there was a next time, Vadim wouldn’t be leaving Martha at home. The twins would be older by then and would do well enough without having their mother to coddle them.
Unlike himself. He was in desperate need of coddling.
With the arrival of each new sunrise and sunset, he missed his wife more and more. With every fiber of his being, he longed for her—ached for her—craving her company as a drunk hungers for wine.
For so many years, Vadim had lived quite a solitary existence, but he had never felt deprived. Indeed, he’d always enjoyed being alone. Not any longer, though. Martha’s arrival had ruined the appeal of constant solitude. Now, bereft of her presence, he felt hollow. Rudderless, even. Perhaps he ought not feel that way but there it was. There was no point denying it to himself.
How curious that the timely arrival of the right person should have so much power; the ability to change the course of a man’s entire life by simply… being there.
Without knowing precisely when or how, Vadim had slowly become dependent on Martha’s company. Not only was she his lover but his greatest friend, too. Her sunny smile and disrespectful ways roused him to live, preventing him from slipping back into the habit of becoming too serious. Over the course of this journey, being without Martha for so long, he’d reverted, gradually slipping back into the persona of the shadow man he had once been.
And he didn’t like it. Not one bit. He liked being the new Vadim—Martha’s Vadim.
“Hold up there for a moment, Vadim,” Reynard called out from somewhere on the road behind him. “You’re going too quickly. Look. We’re outpacing the carts again.”
Vadim exhaled and gently turned Tarq about. “Sorry, Reynard. I was leagues away. Perhaps you’d be good enough to head the column for a while.”
It didn’t require a great feat of mind-reading for Anselm to guess where Vadim’s imaginary leagues had taken him.
“I never saw any man as smitten with a woman as Lord Edgeway is with his countess.” Fergus said, apparently having arrived at the same conclusion.
“Oh?” Anselm turned to look at the young man as he he rode beside him. “What about you and Effie, eh? At one time, I thought your love affair might well have put Vadim and Martha’s in the shade.” It was a bold play and a risky one, bringing up the subject of Effie, but it was past time that someone did.
“Perhaps.” Fergus’s smile slowly faded as he lost himself in memory. “Once, maybe. Long ago.”
At least he hadn’t chewed Anselm’s head off. Encouraged, he said, “I know you think me a dreadful old woman, always interfering in the lives of others, but I ho
pe these recent months have proved that I’m not quite the utter blackheart you believed I was—”
“No.” Fergus’s smile returned, weak and slightly watery, perhaps, but it was there. “You’re even worse.”
“Insolent whelp. Why do I bother with you?” Suddenly Anselm was deadly serious, all teasing set aside. “So what will you do, Fergus? We’re on our way home now. I think it’s time for you to consider your options.”
Fergus snorted. “What options?” he demanded bitterly. “My wife hates the very sight of me. My esteemed father, meanwhile, wishes me to put aside the vows I made to Effie in order to make some new ones with another woman. A woman I do not want.”
“But what about you, Fergus? What is it that you want?”
“What do I want? Ah, that is the question.” He smiled grimly. “I don’t know… for none of this to have ever happened? For me, Effie, and our baby to be living happily somewhere with the blessing of my father and under his protection?”
Letting go of his reins, Fergus fisted his hands tightly into his dusty red hair, growling in irritation. “I don’t know what I should be thinking or feeling, and that’s the truth of it. Everything is such a bloody mess. All I know is how I feel now, here in this very moment, and every part of me yearns to be with Effie again. What the hell am I doing here, anyway? If right was right, I would be back home with her and our child, caring for them… loving them, b-but now… ” His eyes glittered bright blue with unshed tears. “I-It’s all g-gone, Anselm. Everything’s r-ruined!”
How well Anselm knew that particular feeling. Moving his horse a little closer, he leaned over and awkwardly patted Fergus’s arm. “There now,” he said. “Given enough time, most things can be repaired.” Poor fellow. Not for a gold pig would Anselm have traded places with him.
As he touched Fergus, a flash of future memory briefly illuminated a scene within Anselm’s mind. ’Twas a tableau of a family. Fergus and Effie were sitting together by a welcoming fireside, smiling at one other as they each bounced a plump child upon their laps. Meanwhile, an older version of Reynard was working at a nearby bench, busily whittling a wooden sword for the stout little boy who sat wide-eyed beside him. A child with flame-red hair.
Then, as soon as it had come, the vision was gone again.
Anselm smiled. “Don’t despair, Fergus,” he said softly, a part of him envying his friend the future he’d just seen; a future just waiting for him to claim it. “There’s still hope, my friend.”
“Hope!” Fergus snorted, dashing away his tears with his sleeve. “What hope do I have?”
“The only question you need answer for now is this one: do you still love her, the woman you call wife?”
“Of course I love her! I always have.”
“Then do you have the courage to go to her, to share the contents of your heart, as painful as some of those remembrances might be?”
“Huh?” Fergus moved away, placing a little distance between their horses again. “What do you mean? Why are you speaking so oddly? Have you hit your head?”
At that moment, Hugh jogged up, rudely barging his horse between the two of theirs. “Listen to him, Fergus my lad,” he advised gruffly. “If you still love that girl of yours, then you’ll hear him out.”
“Hugh,” Anselm growled in warning. Any moment now he would open his great fat mouth and land him in a steaming midden full of shit.
“What? You mean to say… the rumors are true?” Fergus whispered in awe. “He really does have… The Sight?”
Rumors? Anselm scrubbed his face with one hand. Oh, dear god. This was worse than he’d imagined. His great secret was already abroad and spreading like a plague. Hugh, however, seemed quite oblivious to Anselm’s turmoil.
“If you love that lass of yours as you say you do,” Hugh said in a low voice, “then you’ll harken well to Anselm here. You’ll do what he says. Exactly what he says.”
Fergus nodded thoughtfully, obviously churning Anselm’s previous words over in his mind. When he spoke again, a new light burned brightly within his eyes. “So there really is some hope for us, do you think?”
There was no point denying it now, not after Hugh had so royally dropping him in the shite.
“Yes, there’s still hope. But only if you have the courage to do what must be done. Effie is hurting, and only you—her husband—can help her.”
“A-And my father?” Despite everything, Fergus clearly missed his friendship with the stubborn man and still yearned for his approval.
“If you do what is right, everything else will surely follow. Good enough?”
“I could ask for nothing better. Thank you, Anselm. Thank you.” The brilliance of Fergus’s smile was its own reward.
The only pity was that the oracle had not the ability to divine his own future. Anselm sighed and gathered up his reins. But all things considered, maybe that was for the best.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Do you see them?” Anselm asked, leaning heavily upon Vadim’s shoulder as they crouched in the brush. His brother was holding a tubular viewing glass to his eye, trained in the direction of a jumble of boulders at the bottom of a distant mountain slope. “Are they still there?”
“Yes on both counts…” Vadim made a pained sound and shrugged Anselm off his back. “Do you mind?”
“What?”
“Breathing down my neck… jabbing your elbow in my back.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Despite the seriousness of their current situation, Anselm couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease him. “I thought you would be well used to such treatment by now. After all, you are married to Martha.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at Vadim’s lips. “Trust me, brother, you are nowhere near as comely, and your breath is far less sweet.”
His breath didn’t stink, did it? Cupping his hands over his nose and mouth, Anselm exhaled a quick deep breath then inhaled it again. What nonsense. Given their current situation, adrift in the desert, leagues from the nearest town, and being stalked by some mystery foe the state of his breath was perfectly acceptable. The only thing was, he had a sneaking suspicion he knew who was following them so determinedly.
“Are you ever going to tell me who these men are?” Vadim asked, lowering his eye glass.
Anselm was astounded. Were his private thoughts so transparent? What had given him away?
“When I announced that we were being followed you didn’t seem as shocked as everyone else,” Vadim explained, adding mind-reading to Anselm’s private tally of his brother’s skills. “Also, I noticed how you kept glancing over your shoulder. At first, I thought this might have something to do with Princess Miriam, but now I’m not so sure. So, I’ll ask you again, who are they?”
Anselm sighed. As much as he didn’t want to betray the princess’s confidence, he didn’t particularly fancy being stabbed through the heart while he slept, either. Sometimes the truth was the only defense they had. “Pirates.”
“Pirates?” Vadim frowned. “What, here on land? You mean bandits?”
“No. They’re definitely pirates of the sea-faring variety.”
“What are they doing here, so far from the water?” Vadim sighed. “Anselm. What did you do?”
“Well, I may have made their captain the tiniest bit angry.” Holding his thumb and forefinger apart by a hair’s breadth, Anselm attempted to play down the real amount.
“How angry is angry?” Vadim knew him too well.
“Somewhere between slightly-miffed and incandescent-with-rage, I suppose.”
“That angry, eh? Wonderful. That’s all we need.” With a heavy sigh, Vadim rose smoothly to his feet. Eyeglass lowered, Vadim continued to stare in the direction of the rocks, raking back his hair as the hot desert wind billowed it about his face. “Perhaps I might speak with them… smooth things over somehow?”
Straightening up, An
selm dusted down his trews. “I fear you’d be wasting your time,” he said. Well, unless Vadim agreed to hand Miriam over, that is, along the keys to Haldenberg’s treasure vault, which wasn’t terribly likely.
Visibly annoyed, Vadim kicked a small stone and sent it bouncing over the hard-packed sand. “We were only there a couple of months, Anselm. How, in the name of all the Ancestors, did you find the time to start a blood feud with a bunch of cut-throats?”
Even from this distance, Anselm could feel Miriam’s eyes burning holes into the back of his head. Doubtless she was wondering if he would betray her secret shame. “It’s er… all rather complicated.”
“Believe me, I’m more than willing to wait whilst you explain it to me. Indeed, I will not travel another step until you do.” Although Vadim neither ranted nor raved, his eyes burned with fury—an incandescent rage, almost. “Oh, Anselm. Just this once could you not have exerted better control of your baser urges? Would it have mortally wounded you to behave like a knight for a change? What was this disagreement about?” Vadim demanded. “A woman? Gold? What?”
Anselm bristled, his own temper fanned into life by the injustice of the accusations being hurled at him. Vadim might be desperate to get back home to Martha, but that didn’t give him the right to jump to the wrong conclusions and behave like an ill-humored ass.
“Typical! Why, in every situation, must I always be dubbed the black sheep? Have a care, brother for I will not tolerate being spoken to in this way.”
“And what will you do?” Vadim snarled. “Thump me? Have a care yourself, brother, for at this moment, nothing would give me greater pleasure than the opportunity to engage in a fistfight with you. However, such indulgence would not help our current plight.”
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