According to the locals, only once in each generation is a true White Prophet born. Often enough, the child is born into a family that had no awareness that they carried such blood in their veins. If the family is in a region where the White Prophets are venerated, there is rejoicing and celebration. The wondrous child is raised at home until he or she is ten years of age. At that time, the family makes a pilgrimage to the Pale Isle, thought to have been the homeland of the White folk and now the location of the Servants of the Archives, those who dedicate themselves to the preservation of the records and prophecies of the White Prophets. There the child will be greeted with joy and taken into their custody.
It is said that every dream the child relates will be recorded there. Until his twentieth year, he is prohibited from reading any of the preserved prophecies of other White Prophets, lest their information taint the purity of his vision. When he attains his twentieth birthday, his education in the Archives begins.
Then this traveller was told the sad tale of a White infant born in a distant village where folk had no knowledge of the White Prophets. When the time for a new White Prophet to be born had passed with no such child being reported, the Servants of the Archives undertook to read for themselves all prophecies that might relate to such a lack. Their research led them to send messengers to that remote region, looking for the child. They came back with a sad tale of a pale child deemed a freak and an idiot, left to starve in his cradle.
Shakerloom’s Travels by Repple Shakerloom
We returned to Withywoods in the dark and cold. FitzVigilant was not as good a driver as my father or Riddle. The horses knew the way home, but he did not keep the wheels of the wagon in the ruts as my father did, so they rubbed up against the edges of the banked snow and lurched or sawed along. In the darkness and with the road hidden under the ever-deepening snow, I am sure driving the team was more difficult than it looked. I huddled under some blankets in the back of the wagon, worrying about my father, and wondering about the beggar and wishing we were already home. I was very tired and rather miserable at how quickly I’d been abandoned. It did not help that all the way home, Shun and FitzVigilant huddled together on the wagon seat, well bundled in lap-robes, and conversed in low, outraged tones about all that had happened in town. They spoke of my father and Riddle in a way that made it seem they thought me deaf, or dismissed my feelings as unimportant.
They’d seen the incident with the dog, but had hung back to avoid whatever sort of trouble it might bring them. Shun fervently hoped that no gossip in Oaksbywater would connect her to the madman that Tom Badgerlock had become over a dog. She had been humiliated enough by how he had spoken to her in the tavern, in front of everyone! FitzVigilant could not make sense of what my father and Riddle had done regarding the beggar, not why nor how, and that seemed to offend both of them most of all. That they’d been left out of any detailed explanation seemed incredibly rude to them, yet that entire long ride back from the Gallows Hill, they spoke not a word to me. As we jolted slowly homeward, the cold took me in its fist and squeezed me ever tighter. I kept falling into an uncomfortable sleep and then being jolted out of it.
By the time we reached the estate, I was half-sick from the lurching and bumping. I woke a final time when FitzVigilant pulled the horses in before the tall doors of the manor house and jumped down, shouting for a stable-boy. He handed Shun down carefully and told her to hurry into the house and get warm. She wondered aloud why there was no servant waiting on the steps with a lantern to guide her. FitzVigilant agreed that the staff were very lax indeed and needed training. They had known we would return that night. They should have been waiting.
The falling snow had added damp weight to the blankets that had covered me. My muscles were reluctant to move from sitting still and yet not still from the wagon’s lurching. I was struggling to get out from under my coverings as FitzVigilant came to the back of the wagon. ‘Come here, Bee,’ he said.
‘I’m trying,’ I replied. He huffed impatiently, seized the edge of one wrap and dragged them all off me, sending the mounded cold snow cascading over me. I gasped at the shock, and tried in vain not to let it become a sob. He looked appalled at what he had done to me but spoke sternly. ‘Now, don’t be a baby. It’s just snow. We’re all tired and cold, but we’re home. Come here, and we’ll get you into the house and warmed up.’
I didn’t reply. The sharp motion of the blanket had overset my market bag. I felt about in the darkness, trying to gather my precious purchases from the dark wagon bed. They were scattered everywhere now, under snow and the hodgepodge of blankets he had dropped. He probably could not see what I was doing as he said, ‘Come now, Bee, or I’ll leave you here.’
I found a breath and pushed some words out. ‘I don’t care. Please go.’
‘I mean it!’
I didn’t respond, and after standing for a silent moment he turned and stalked toward the house. A stable-boy had come with a lantern, and was standing by to take the wagon and team on to the stables to be unharnessed. He cleared his throat.
‘I’m trying to hurry,’ I said in a choked voice.
‘You don’t need to hurry,’ he said, and suddenly it was Perseverance. He lifted the lantern higher and both light and shadows filled the wagon bed.
‘I just need to find the things Papa bought for me,’ I said. Tears were trying to force a way out of me but I would not let them. He didn’t say anything. He just climbed up the wheel and into the bed of the wagon, where he began to carefully lift blankets and wraps. He shook each one free of snow and folded it before he set it on the seat, and little by little, our purchases were revealed. I gathered them up, putting them carefully back into my basket.
The door to Withywoods opened and closed, and then more shadows leapt and confused me as Revel came bearing a larger lantern. ‘Lady Bee?’ he asked the air, and ‘A moment more, please,’ I replied hoarsely. I was trying. Why did they all wish to hurry me when I was so cold?
He came to the edge of the wagon and watched me finish gathering my little parcels. He looked shocked and disapproving. Yet he nodded to Perseverance in a way that promised he would not forget his service, and the stable-boy ducked his head. When I had all my things, I stood slowly and hobbled stiffly to the tail of the wagon. ‘The big packages belong to Lady Shun and Scribe FitzVigilant,’ I told him as he raised his brows at the remaining baskets and sacks.
‘I see,’ he replied gravely. ‘Boy, I’ll send someone out to fetch those things. Then you may take the team and wagon to the stable.’
‘Sir,’ Perseverance replied. Then, to my utter astonishment, Revel picked up my market bag and then lifted me from the tail of the wagon and carried me to the house. He was a tall man, taller than my father, and he made nothing of carrying me and my packages. I was tired and it was hard to sit straight in his arms. My brow brushed his cheek and to my astonishment, it was as smooth as my own. And he smelled wonderful, like roses but with spice added. I spoke without thinking. ‘You smell so wonderful!’
A smile replaced the concern on his angular face. ‘Such a kind thing to say, Lady Bee. I mix my fragrance oils myself. Perhaps one day you would like to help me do that?’
‘I would!’ I declared with heartfelt enthusiasm.
‘Then you shall. Your mother taught me much of these scents when I first arrived here. It is only fitting that I pass on what she taught me to you.’
I was perched on one of his arms, shaking with cold. He opened the door with his free hand and without a pause, carried me through the entrance hallway and down the corridor, directly to my room. Careful had just finished building up the fire and he set me down in front of it.
‘She is covered in snow! Lady Bee! Weren’t you under the wraps in the wagon?’
I was too tired to explain it. Revel spoke as Careful began to divest me of my wet clothing. ‘She’s chilled through. I’ll have Cook Nutmeg send up a tray of hot food and tea. Can you see to her other needs?’
She looked up at him with anxious eyes. ‘Lady Shun asked me to fetch in her purchases immediately. She wants my help in—’
‘I will find someone else to help her,’ Revel announced firmly. He strode back to the door, paused and then said, ‘Lady Bee, we have not been informed as to what befell your father and Riddle, and I feel much concern that they have not returned with you.’
He knew it was not his place to ask for information but I knew now he was my ally and I shared freely the little I knew. ‘There was a beggar in the marketplace who spoke to me. When he hugged me, my father feared for me and attacked him, hurting him badly. Then he realized the beggar was actually an old friend of his. So he and Riddle used the Skill-magic to take the beggar through the standing stone on Gallows Hill back to Buckkeep Castle, where perhaps he can be saved.’
The two servants exchanged a look over my head, and I realized that my factual account probably sounded completely mad to them. ‘Fancy that!’ Careful said quietly.
‘Well. I’m sure your father knows what he is doing, and Riddle as well. A very practical man, that Riddle.’ The tone suggested that my father was not always practical. It would have been stupid to disagree with that. He whisked out of the door.
By the time Careful had helped me into my nightrobe I was shaking all over. It was my red nightrobe, the one my mother had made. Someone had laundered it and brought it to my room. She took a coverlet from the bed, warmed it before the fire and then wrapped me in it. I didn’t protest but sat in the chair she pulled up to the hearth. There was a knock at the door, and a kitchen boy came in with a tray of steaming food. She thanked him and sent him on his way. As she set it out on a low table for me, I told her, ‘I didn’t forget you. I brought you presents from town.’
Her eyes lit with interest, but she said, ‘Tomorrow is soon enough for that, my lady. Tonight, let’s get hot food into you and then get you into a warm bed. Your face is all red and white with cold still.’ She lifted my grey-and-red shawl, hefted the heavy wool approvingly, and then put it to dry. As she put away my other things from my basket, she found the packages and the trinkets I had bought for her and immediately possessed them, thanking me over again for thinking of her. I thought of the kerchiefs I had bought for Revel. Would he truly like them? I thought of how he had smelled when he lifted me. I knew he would enjoy one of my mother’s candles. My heart hurt at the thought of parting from even one, but I knew I would do it. He deserved it. Careful helped me into my bed and then moved quietly around the room, setting it to rights, humming as she did so.
I think I fell asleep before she left the room. I awoke, probably hours later, to a chamber lit only by firelight. I tried to make sense of the day. So much wonder and terror packed into one day, and then to be abandoned at the end of it! I wondered why my father had not taken me with him, and who the beggar was that he was so important. My father had claimed he was his old friend. How was that possible? There was no one of whom I could ask those questions. All around me, the house was very still. I slipped out of bed and went to the window and opened the shutters. The sky was black and snow was falling thickly. It was very late at night, or very early. And I was hungry and no longer sleepy at all.
I was still chilled from the long ride home, with a cold that seemed to radiate from my own bones. I went to my wardrobe to find a wrap and discovered that someone had added a new robe for me. I took it out, and found it was made of soft red wool lined with wolf fur. And below where it had hung there were soft boots made just the same, but soled with leather. The moment I put them on, I felt both warmer and safer than I had.
I went first to my father’s bedchamber, to see if perhaps he had already returned. I found no comfort there. His bed was empty and the room so rigorously tidy that it could have belonged to anyone. Or no one. ‘This is not his true den,’ I said aloud but softly. I nodded to myself, knowing now where I must go to find my answers.
I padded softly through the darkened hallways. My eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness and I made my way to his private study without encountering another soul. The silence in the house was almost unnatural, as if I were the sole inhabitant. As I approached the study, I rebuked myself for not bringing a candle, for I would need it if I intended to search his private library for clues to my questions. But when I came round the corner I saw that the door was slightly ajar and the warm light of firelight spilled in a sweet wedge on the floor and up the wall.
I pushed the door open and peered in. No one sat at the desk, but a large fire was burning merrily on the hearth. I stepped into the room, asking softly, ‘Father?’
‘I’m right here,’ he replied. ‘I’m always here for you.’ The great grey wolf who had been sprawled on the hearth sat up slowly. He lolled his tongue out over his very white teeth as he yawned, and when he stretched, the black claws of his toes protruded and then retracted. Then he looked at me with his wild brown eyes and smiled.
‘Wolf Father?’
‘Yes.’
I stared at him. ‘I don’t understand.’ I said faintly.
‘You don’t have to,’ he replied comfortingly. ‘Understanding how or why is very seldom as useful as understanding that things are. I am.’
His voice was deep and calm. I moved slowly toward him. He sat very tall, his ears perked, watching me come to him. When I was closer to him, he took in my scent and said, ‘You’ve been frightened.’
‘There was a dog-killer in the market. My father couldn’t save the dog anything except pain. Then he killed someone, and unkilled him, and then went off with him. And left me all alone.’
‘You’re not alone when I’m with you. I’m the father that is always with you.’
‘How can a wolf be my father?’
‘Some things just are.’ He stretched out in front of the fire again. ‘Perhaps I’m the part of your father that never stops thinking about you. Or perhaps I’m a part of a wolf that didn’t end when the rest of me did.’ He looked up at the carved black stone on the fireplace mantel. I glanced at it. It had three faces, my father, a wolf and … I stared for a long moment.
‘That was him. But much older. And blind and scarred.’
‘The Scentless One. Then I do understand why your father went. He would have to.’
‘He wasn’t scentless. He was a smelly old beggar, stinking of dirt and filth.’
‘But having no scent of his own. He and your father are pack. I spent many days in his company as well.’ Wolf Father looked up at me. ‘Some calls you cannot ignore, no matter how it may tear your heart.’
I sank slowly down to sit beside him. I looked at my feet, grey now with little black claws. The robe had changed. The wolf fur that had been on the inside of it was now on my outside. I curled up beside him and rested my chin on my paws. ‘He left me. The Scentless One is more important to him than I am.’
‘That is not so. His need must have been greater. That is all. There comes a time when every cub is left to fend for himself. You’ll do well, if you don’t mire in self-pity. Self-pity only gets you more of the same. Don’t waste time on it. Your father will come back. He always comes back.’
‘Are you sure of that?’ I wasn’t.
‘Yes,’ he replied firmly. ‘And until he does, I am here.’
He closed his eyes. I watched him. The fire was warm on our backs and he smelled good, of wild clean places. I closed my eyes.
I awoke deep into the morning with Careful bustling about the chamber. ‘I’ve let you sleep in, as you came in so late, and Scribe FitzVigilant said that he would begin lessons late today as well. But now you must wake up and face the day, Lady Bee!’
She wore her new beads, and a sprig of holly in her hair. ‘Is it Winterfest?’ I asked her, and she smiled.
‘Tomorrow night. But the kitchen is already cooking for it, and very late last night, some minstrels arrived offering to make it merry for us. Steward Revel decided to allow them to stay until he could ask your father’s permission. In your father’s absence, he conferred with Scribe FitzVigilant, and he said of course they must stay. And this morning Lady Shun sat down with Revel to make up the menu for the feast! Oh, such dishes as she has ordered up! It will be a feast such as we haven’t seen in many a year!’
I felt torn. I was excited to know there would be music and dancing and a great feast and insulted to think that it had all been arranged in my father’s absence and without his permission. My reaction puzzled me. Had he been home, I was certain he would have approved it. And yet, to have those two arranging it all still offended me.
I sat up in bed and asked, ‘What has become of my fur nightrobe?’ For I was wearing my mother’s red woollen nightshirt.
‘A fur nightrobe? Did you buy a fur nightrobe in town? I’ve never heard of such a thing!’ Careful hastened to my wardrobe and opened the door, only to reveal nothing of the sort.
My head was clearing of the night’s fancies. ‘It was a dream,’ I admitted to her. ‘I dreamed I had a nightrobe of wolf-fur lined with red wool.’
‘Fancy how warm that would make you! A bit too warm for my taste,’ Careful laughed, and set about finding clothes for me. She was disappointed that I had not bought new garments for myself while I was in town. She shook her head as she set out one of the too-large tunics and a new set of wool leggings. I let her chatter flow past me as I tried to relegate my experience to the status of ‘only a dream’. It was not a dream such as I had had before; it was much more like the first time I had met Wolf Father in the passages. Who was he? What was he? He was the wolf in the carving, just as the beggar was the ‘Scentless One’.
As soon as I was dressed I left the room but instead of seeking for breakfast, I went to my father’s study. I opened the door to a chill room; the hearth had been swept clean since last it had been used. I touched the cold stones and knew that there had been no blazing fire in here last night. I looked again at the carved black stone on the mantel. Well, that part of my dream had been true. The other man in the carving was definitely the beggar as a youngster. I looked at his face and thought he must have been a merry fellow back then. I studied the wolf as well; the carver had done his dark, deep eyes justice. I suddenly envied my father, having such friends when he was just a boy. Who did I have? Perseverance, I told myself. Revel. And a cat who still hadn’t told me his name. For a moment, I felt as if I could vomit loneliness and sadness. Then I squared my shoulders and shook my head. Self-pity would get me nothing but more of the same.
There was another carving on the mantelpiece, one of wood. It was the wolf only. I took it down. It was hard and poked me when I hugged it, but for a long, long time I held it in my arms. I wanted it very badly, but I set it back where it had been. When my father came home, I resolved I would ask for it.
I shut the study doors, latched them, and then opened the panel to my own den. I went up to my hiding-place and checked my water and bread supplies. More candles, I decided. I felt I might be spending a lot of time in here until my father got back. It would let me be undisturbed, and I doubted anyone would miss me. The cat was not there, but he had left my cloak on the floor. I found it with my foot and then, as I stooped to pick it up, I discovered he had left a half-eaten mouse on it. Wrinkling my nose in disgust, I gathered the cloak and took it back to my father’s study with me. The tiny half-corpse I disposed of in the fireplace. I sniffed the cloak gingerly; it smelled of tomcat and dead mouse. I shook it out and folded it into a tiny packet. I’d have to find a private place to wash it out myself. And then, I resolved, I’d find a new hiding-place for it, one not shared with a cat. He had asked for a basket and a blanket, and I hadn’t yet fulfilled that part of the bargain. Later today, I would. I thrust the handful of butterfly cloak into the front of my tunic, sealed up the secret panel and left my father’s den after a final glance at the wolf.
I found little left of breakfast, but the dishes hadn’t been cleared, so I wrapped a bit of sausage in a piece of bread and ate it with a cup of lukewarm tea. It was enough and I was happy to slip out of the dining room as unnoticed as I’d entered.
Reluctantly, I made my way to the schoolroom. The other students were there and waiting but FitzVigilant had not yet arrived. Perseverance sidled over to stand beside me. ‘Pups are settling in, but one has a bad infection where his tail was lopped off. Whoever did it just whacked it off, didn’t even go between the bones. Just “whack!” with a hatchet, probably. We had to pull bone splinters out of it, and he howled like to split the roofbeams. The man who did it deserved what your da did to him, twice over. So Roder says, and he knows most everything about dogs. Why did your father decide he wanted dogs, all of a sudden? He hasn’t kept any hounds at all, for years.’
‘To keep them alive, I think. Like the donkey.’
‘Well, we wondered about that, too. That old donkey, well, we’ll feed him up and see his hooves get fixed, but we wondered what he was for.’ He looked at me. ‘Was what that town boy told us true?’
I moved further down the corridor, away from the others. ‘A man was killing a dog in the town centre when we were there. To make people want to buy her pups.’ Perseverance’s eyes widened as I told him the whole tale. By the time I was finished, his mouth was hanging open.
‘I’d heard Badgerlock had a temper, and no tolerance for cruelty. Huh.’ He breathed out his astonishment. ‘That was done well. But what’s he going to do with those bull-dogs?’
‘What’s usually done with them?’
He raised his brows as if surprised I wouldn’t know such a thing. ‘Well, some men fight them, dog against dog. Or they do bull-baiting. You know, set them on a bull, to harry him down before slaughter. It makes the meat better, so they say. Same for pig. Hey, maybe we can use them to hunt out some of the wild pig around here. There’s a couple of big old tuskers that have been making a mess of the root-fields for the last couple of years.’
‘Maybe,’ I replied. An idea touched me. ‘Maybe I will ask for one, to be mine.’
FitzVigilant was approaching. He looked very fine today, in a blue coat with a white collar and leggings of darker blue. I realized something I hadn’t before, that FitzVigilant dressed like a wealthy merchant while my father’s garb was closer to that of the farmers who came to Oaksbywater to sell their wares. I looked down at myself. Yes. Closer to a farmer’s daughter than to the child of a noble house. Or perhaps even a farmer’s son. My tutor gave me no time to dwell on that. ‘Well, come along then, come inside and get settled! We’ve lost quite a bit of the morning, so we need to be quick today with our lessons.’
No one seemed inclined to remind him that he had been the last to arrive. Instead we did as we were told, settling quickly. Our teacher seemed distracted and almost irritable, as if we were an annoying task to accomplish and be done with rather than the reason he had been brought to Withywoods. He attempted to teach us all a long rhyme about the various kings of the Six Duchies and what each was remembered for, but instead of teaching it in bits, as my mother had taught me the The Twelve Healing Herbs, he recited all of it for us, and then went round asking each of us to attempt it. Not a one of us made it past the third king, let alone all twenty-three of them, and he professed his disappointment in detail. He recited it again, very rapidly. Larkspur managed to get through four of the verses, mostly correctly. Elm broke down in sobs when FitzVigilant made her stand up and try to recite them. He had fixed his eyes on me, and I felt both determination and dread fill me as I slowly stood to recite.
I was saved by distant angry shouts followed by a booming as if someone were repeatedly slamming a distant door. FitzVigilant looked away from me, scowled, and went to the door of the schoolroom. He looked in the direction of the noise, still frowning. He was starting to close the door when we all heard a long and chilling scream.
The scribe looked alarmed. ‘Stay here. I’ll be back shortly.’
And with that, he left us, first striding and then we all heard his footsteps increase to a run. We exchanged glances. Larkspur fidgeted and then stood up. He took two steps toward the door. ‘He said to stay here,’ Perseverance reminded him. We remained as we were, listening to muffled shouts. Perseverance looked at me and then said, ‘I’m going to go see what’s going on.’
‘Me, too,’ I insisted.
‘No,’ he forbade me, and then as I bared my teeth at him, he added in a more conciliatory tone, ‘You don’t want the scribe to be angry with you, Lady Bee. I’ll go quickly and come right back.’
I cocked my head at him and replied pleasantly, ‘And so shall I.’
‘They’re going to get in trouble,’ Lea confided to Elm in a hopeful voice.
I gave the girls the most scathing look I could muster and then went with Perseverance to peer around the corner of the door. No one was in sight, but the sounds of men shouting was louder. There was a kitcheny sound, as of metal clashing on metal. Perseverance looked at me and mouthed ‘Swords?’ His expression was incredulous.
I thought him silly but could think of nothing else it might be. ‘Perhaps something about Winterfest?’ I suggested.
His eyes lit with anticipation. ‘Maybe.’ Then a man yelled angrily. ‘Maybe not,’ he said, his smile fading.
‘Stay here and be quiet,’ I said to the others who had gathered in the doorway behind me. We stepped out into the corridor. I felt to be sure my mother’s knife was still in my belt. My heart was thundering as I followed Perseverance soft-footed down the corridor. When we reached the bend in the corridor where it joined to the halls of the main house, I felt a great rush of relief to see Revel hurrying toward us. He was carrying something clutched to his middle, something very heavy from the way it made him stagger along. As we both scurried up to him, I called out to the house steward, ‘Is something going on? We heard shouting and Scribe FitzVigilant left us to go see …’
Revel swayed to one side, his shoulder striking the wall. His knees bent and he sank down. He had lifted a hand when he hit the wall, and it left a long bloody streak as he collapsed. The object he had been carrying turned into a shaft sticking out of him. He’d been clutching at it as he lurched along. He looked at us both. His mouth moved, forming words with no breath behind them. ‘Run. Hide. Go!’
Then he died. Just like that, in a moment: gone. I stared at him, fully aware that he was dead and wondering why Perseverance stooped and put a hand on his shoulder and peered into his face, saying, ‘Steward? Steward, what happened?’ He set a shaky hand on Revel’s hand that still clutched the shaft in his chest. He drew it back red.
‘He’s dead,’ I said, and I clutched at Perseverance’s shoulder. ‘We’ve got to do as he said. We have to warn the others. We have to run and hide.’
‘From what?’ Perseverance demanded angrily.
I was equally furious. ‘Revel came here, dying, to give us that message. We don’t make it useless by acting stupid. We obey. Come on!’
I had hold of his shirt and I dragged on it, pulling him with me. We started at a walk and then burst into a run. I could barely keep up with him. We reached the schoolroom and dashed inside. ‘Run. Hide!’ I told them all and they stared at me as if I were mad.
‘It’s something bad. The steward’s dead in the hall, an arrow or something through his chest. Don’t go back to the main house. We need to get out of here and away.’
Lea looked at me with flat eyes. ‘She’s just trying to get us all in trouble,’ she said.
‘No, she’s not,’ Perseverance half shouted. ‘There’s no time. Just before he died, he told us to run and hide.’ He thrust out his hand, scarlet with Revel’s blood. Elm screamed and Larkspur sprang backwards and fell over.
My mind was racing. ‘We go back through the southern extension to the conservatory. Then out into the kitchen garden and across into the kitchens. I know a place we can hide there.’
‘We should get away from the house,’ Perseverance said.
‘No. It’s a good place, no one will find us there,’ I promised him, and Elm finished it for us by saying, ‘I want my mother!’
And that was that. We fled the schoolroom.
The sounds from the main house were terrifying, muffled cries and crashes and men shouting. Some of the younger children were squeaking or sobbing as we left the schoolroom. We seized hands and fled. When we reached the conservatory, I thought that perhaps we could all hide there, but decided that few if any of the others could keep still and concealed if armed men entered. No. There was only one hiding-place where their sobs would go unheard, and loath as I was to share it with them, I had no other choice. I reminded myself. I was my father’s daughter, and in his absence, I was the lady of Withywoods. When I had helped the beggar in town, I thought I was being brave. But that had been for show, for my father to see. Now I had to truly be brave.
‘Outside and across to the kitchens,’ I told them.
‘But it’s snowing!’ Elm wailed.
‘We should get to the stables and hide there!’ Perseverance insisted.
‘No. The tracks in the snow would show where we’d gone. The kitchen gardens are already trampled. Our passage won’t show as much. Come on. Please!’ The last I flung out in despair as I saw the stubborn look on his face.
‘I’ll help you get them there, but then I’m going to the stables to warn my dad and the fellows.’
There was no arguing with him, I saw, so I jerked my head in a nod. ‘Come on!’ I said to the others.
‘And be quiet!’ Perseverance ordered them.
He broke trail for us. The kitchen gardens had been idle for a month and snow banked the mounded straw-covered beds of rhubarb and dill and fennel. Never had the garden seemed so large to me. Elm and Lea were clutching hands and making small complaints about the snow in their house shoes. As we approached the kitchen door, Perseverance waved us back fiercely. He crept to the snow-laden sill, put an ear to the door, listened, and then dragged it open against the fresh mounded snow.
A moment only I stared in at the chaos of the kitchens. Something terrible had happened here. Loaves of freshly baked bread were scattered across the floor, a joint of meat was burning over the fire and no one was there. No one. The kitchens were never empty, not during the day. Elm gasped in horror at her mother’s absence and Lea startled me by having the presence of mind to slap her hand over her friend’s mouth before the scream could escape. ‘Follow me!’ I whispered.
As I led them toward the pantry, Perseverance said softly, ‘That’s no good! There won’t be room for all of us. We should have hidden in the conservatory.’
‘Wait,’ I told him, and dropped to my knees to crawl behind the stacked boxes of salt-fish. To my great relief, the hatch stood very slightly ajar as I had left it for the cat. I pushed my fingertips into the crack and pulled it open. I crawled back out. ‘There are secret corridors behind the walls. Go in there. Quickly.’
Larkspur dropped to all fours and crawled back. I heard his muffled whisper of, ‘It’s pitch black in there!’
‘Go in! Trust me. I’ll get a candle for you. We need to get inside there and hide.’
‘What are these places?’ Elm demanded suddenly.
‘Old spy-ways,’ I told her, and ‘Oh,’ she replied knowingly. Not even danger could curb that one’s spiteful tongue.
Then, somewhere in the far chambers of Withywoods, a woman screamed. We all froze, staring round at each other. ‘That was my ma,’ Elm whispered. I thought it had sounded like Shun. We waited but no more sounds reached us. ‘I’ll get some candles,’ I said. The children crouched down and some ventured behind the stacked crates.
It took all my courage to go back to the kitchen. I knew where the extra tapers were kept. I lit one at the hearth and turned. I nearly shrieked when I found Perseverance and Spruce standing behind me. Ivy clung to a handful of her brother’s sleeve. I looked at Perseverance. His face was white with determination.
‘I have to go find my da. I have to warn him. Or help him. I’m sorry.’ He stooped and hugged me awkwardly. ‘Go hide, Lady Bee. I’ll come back here and shout for you when it’s safe to come out.’
‘Not yet!’ I begged him. Once he left, I would have only myself to depend on. I couldn’t face that. He had to help me stay and hide the others.
He wasn’t listening to me. He was staring at the snow and wet we had tracked across the kitchen floor. ‘Oh, sweet Eda! We’ve left tracks everywhere. They’ll find you all.’
‘No. They won’t!’ I shoved the candles at Spruce and he took them dumbly. I stooped and snatched up loaves of bread. I pushed them into Ivy’s hands. ‘Take these. Go behind the crates and into the wall with the others. Don’t shut the door. I’ll be there in a minute. Tell everyone to crawl along the passage and to be quiet. Quiet as mice. Don’t light more than one candle!’
Even in the kitchen, I could hear the others muttering and mewling behind the wall. Then I heard men’s voices, distant but even so I recognized they were shouting to each other in a language I didn’t know.
‘Who are they?’ Spruce demanded in an agonized voice. ‘Why are they here? What are they doing? Who was that screaming?’
‘That doesn’t matter. Living does. Go now!’ I physically pushed them toward the door. As Spruce and Ivy vanished into the pantry, I seized a stack of napkins from the table and dropped to begin smearing the watery footprints. Perseverance saw my intent and did the same. In a trice, we had changed the tracks to a wandering wet swathe.
‘Leave the door open. They may think we came in and went out again,’ Perseverance suggested.
I pulled it open as he suggested. ‘You’d better go now,’ I told him. I tried to keep my voice from shaking.
‘First, you hide. I’ll push the boxes against the wall to cover where you went.’
‘Thank you,’ I whispered. I fled to the pantry, dropped to my knees and crawled behind the crates.
The entrance was closed. I tapped on the door, and then knocked. I put my ear to it. Not a sound. They had obeyed me and gone up the corridors. And somehow the door had latched when someone had closed it behind her.
I couldn’t get in. Perseverance stuck his head around the corner. ‘Hurry up! Go in!’
‘I can’t. They shut it behind them and it latched. I can’t open it from this side.’
For a long moment, we stared at one another. Then he spoke softly. ‘We’ll move the boxes to cover where they went. Then you come to the stables with me.’
I nodded, trying not to let either tears or sobs break from me. More than anything, I longed to be safely hidden in the walls. It was my place, my special hiding-place, and now that I needed it most, it had been taken from me. Somehow my hurt at that unfairness was almost as great as my fear. Perseverance was the one who pushed the crates snug against the wall. I stood staring at them. Fear was building in me. When I had had a plan, a bolt-hole to flee to, I had been focused and calm. Now all I could think of was that Revel was dead and some sort of battle was going on in the house. In Withywoods. Pleasant, calm Withywoods. Where my father was not. Had blood ever been shed here before?
Then, as if I were his little sister, Perseverance took my hand in his. ‘Come along. Da will know what to do.’
I didn’t point out that it was a long run through the open to reach the stables, nor that I wore only low shoes fit for the corridors of Withywoods. I followed him as we left the kitchen door open behind us and went out into the snow. We ran across the open garden, following our tracks back to the conservatory but not re-entering it. Instead I followed Perseverance silently as he hugged the wall of the manor. We moved behind the bushes, trying not to disturb the weight of snow that mounded upon their branches.
We could hear things out here. A man was shouting in an accent I didn’t recognize, commanding someone to ‘Sit down, sit down, don’t move!’ I know Perseverance heard it and knew that he realized he was leading me closer to that voice. It seemed the worst thing we could do, but still I followed him.
We rounded the end of the wing and halted. Holly bushes grew thick there, their prickly green leaves and bright red berries a sharp contrast to the snow. The layer of prickly dead leaves where we crouched bit right through my thin house shoes. We huddled like rabbits and stared at the sight before us.
There were the folk of Withywoods, gathered like a flock of befuddled sheep in the open drive before the main door of the house. They stood in the snowy carriageway in their indoor clothes, hugging themselves and one another, bleating like frightened sheep. Most were people I had known all my life. Cook Nutmeg held Tavia at her side and stared defiantly at her captors. I knew the minstrels by their gaudy garb. They crouched together, staring about in astonishment. Careful hugged herself, rocking back and forth in misery. Shun’s maid was there beside her, clutching the torn front of her dress closed. She was barefoot. Three burly men on horseback were looking down at the people they had herded together. I thought I had seen one of them before but I wasn’t sure where. Two were not speaking at all, but all three had drawn and bloody swords in their hands. One was still shouting at everyone to sit down, sit down. Only a few were obeying him. Off to one side, two bodies lay face-down in the snow, unmoving, red melting the snow around them.
One was FitzVigilant. I knew that fine jacket, I knew those tailored trousers. I had seen them just that morning and I knew it was him, but my mind would not accept it.
‘I don’t see my da.’ Perseverance barely breathed the words. I nodded. Now I noticed a few folk from the stables, but his father was not among them. Dead or hiding, I wondered.
A woman emerged from Withywoods and walked toward the captives. She looked so ordinary, just a plump woman of middle years, dressed warmly for the snow. She had fur boots, and a thick wool cape and a fur hat pulled down over her ears. Her round face and bouncing brown curls made her look almost cheery. She walked up to the man who was shouting at people to sit down and looked up at him. Her voice carried clearly when she asked him something, but it was in a language I did not know. His denial was plain in any language.
She lifted her voice and spoke to the captives. Her accent was odd but I understood what she said. ‘A boy was brought here, recently. Possibly within the last five years but more likely within the last few months. His skin will be as pale as snow, his hair as white. Give him to us, and we are gone. He might be as young as a child, or a man grown to middle years. We will know him when we see him. He isn’t here, but you must know who we are talking about.’ She paused, waiting for a reply, then added reassuringly, ‘He isn’t one of yours; he has always belonged to us, and we only want to take him home. No harm will come to him, and if you but tell us, no more harm will befall you.’
Her words were measured and calm, almost kind. I saw my house people exchanging glances. Tavia shrugged free of Cook’s arm and lifted her voice. ‘There is no one here like that. The only newcomer here was the man you killed, the scribe. Everyone else has worked here for years, or was born to us, in the village. You already seen the minstrels; they’re the only strangers here!’ Her words tumbled into a sob. The minstrels, already terrified, huddled closer together.
‘You are lying!’ The shouting man accused her. Her face crumpled with fear and she lifted her hands to cover her ears, as if his words were a threat by themselves.
The unexpected son. I knew it with a sudden certainty. These were the trackers the pale messenger had warned us about. They had followed her here, and for some reason they thought to find the boy here. Perhaps they thought my father had already found him and brought him here for shelter.
‘She’s not lying!’ Cook yelled at him, and a few others were brave enough to shout, ‘It’s true!’ ‘There’s no one here that wasn’t born here!’ and similar outbursts.
‘Can you stay here by yourself and hide?’ Perseverance whispered next to my ear. ‘I need to get to the stables and find Da. If he’s not there … I’m getting a horse and riding down to Withy for help.’
‘Take me with you,’ I begged.
‘No. I have to cross all that open space to get to the stables. If they see you …’ He shook his head. ‘You have to stay here, Bee. Hide.’ He bit his lower lip and then said, ‘If my da … if I can’t find him, I’ll come back for you. We’ll go for help together.’
I knew that was a foolish plan, for him. If he got to the stables, he should just ride like the wind for Withy. But I was terrified. I gave a sharp nod. He pushed me down lower. ‘Stay here,’ he hissed, as if I could forget to do so.
He moved to the edge of the holly bushes and waited. The round woman seemed to be arguing with the man on horseback. She pointed angrily at the bodies and gesticulated wildly. Plainly she did not like how he was conducting his search. He was gesturing with his sword and shouting. Then, out of the house came the fog-man. I recognized him from my trip to town. There, he had been a gleaming light in the alley that people avoided. Today, he was a pearlescent mist and in the centre of it, a plump man pale as a ghost. He turned his head slowly from side to side as he walked, and either my eyes deceived me or his eyes were the colour of fog. A strange chill went through me and I shrank as small as I could, pulling my awareness back into myself. Putting up my walls, my father would have called it. I felt blind but if that was the price of invisibility I was willing to pay it.
‘Bee?’ Perseverance whispered, but I shook my head and kept my face turned in toward my belly. I do not know what he sensed but abruptly he took my wrist in a grip like ice. ‘Come with me. Come on. We’re going now. Together.’
But he did not take me toward the stables. Rather, we crept back the way we had come, remaining behind and under the bushes that landscaped that wing of Withywoods. I did not look up but merely followed where he dragged me. ‘Here,’ he panted at last. ‘Stay right here. I’ll go to the stables. If I can’t find my da, I’ll bring the horses here. I’ll be moving fast and you’ll have to run out and jump for Priss’s back. Can you do that?’
I didn’t know. ‘Yes,’ I lied.
‘Stay here,’ he told me again, and then he was gone.
I remained where I was, behind rhododendrons whose drooping green leaves were encased in ice and snow. After a long time, I lifted my eyes and peered about. Nothing moved. I could no longer hear the huddled captives, but the angry voices still teased at the edges of my hearing.
Revel was dead. My father was gone. Riddle was not here. FitzVigilant was dead. At any moment, Perseverance could be dead.
And at that thought, I could not sit still. I was terrified of being killed, but even more terrified that my only ally might be dead and I would not even know it. How long would I sit here under a bush while his life was leaking out somewhere? I started panting, trying to get enough air to keep the blackness at bay. I was cold and thirsty and alone. I tried to think, to not do something stupid simply because I wanted to do something.
I took the dirtied cloak out of my jerkin front. I had not forgotten it. But I knew its limitations. It needed time to take on the colours and shadows. I could not fling it about my shoulders and run and hope to be unseen. Except that snow was white. It would not be perfect camouflage, I thought to myself as I spread it out on the snowy ground beside the bushes. I would be more like a white rabbit or a white fox; anyone with half an eye would see my movement, would see my feet and the tracks I would leave. But it would give me a better chance at reaching the stable than I’d had before.
The angry voices from the other side of the house grew louder, the man threatening, the woman unhappy but not pleading. Insistent, I thought to myself. She would have her way. I heard a scream, a man’s scream this time, and I wondered who had been hurt or killed. It was followed by a woman wailing. And wailing. And all the while, the cloak lay on the snow and mutated from the colour of the darkness inside my jerkin to the colour of the shaded and rumpled snow. I had never before paused to think that truly, all snow was not white. Now I saw that it was grey and dirty pale blue and speckled with bird droppings and bits of fallen leaves.
I crawled under it, not wishing to pull it back under the bushes and risk it taking on the colours of leaves and branches. It was sized for an adult, so there was ample fabric to wrap round me and drape my face. I clutched it at my waist and chin, leaving a small space for my eyes. I looked all around, and saw no one on this side of the manor. I darted from my shelter to the cluster of holly bushes where we had previously sheltered, taking care not to get too close to them. I froze where I was, considering the terrain between me and the stable. Should I crawl slowly across it? Make one fast dash? Earlier, the snow had been a smooth blanket over the low sward. Now I clearly saw the tracks that meant Perseverance had managed to cross it. Suddenly, I knew he had waited for them to be distracted, perhaps by the man’s scream. I did not want to look at the captives. Their situation frightened me and made it hard for me to think. But I had to analyse my chances. The woman was still wailing. Was that enough of a distraction? I stood perfectly still and shifted only my eyes to look at the herded prisoners.
The wailing woman was Shun. She was bareheaded and her gown was torn from one shoulder. She stood before the angry man on his horse and wailed like a mourner. No words, no sobbing, just a high-pitched keening. The fog-man was not far from her, and the plump woman seemed to be trying to ask her questions. I could not help her in any way. Much as I disliked Shun, I still would have helped her if I could, because she belonged to me, in the same way the black cat did or the goose-children did. They were all the folk of Withywoods, and in the absence of my father and Nettle they were my folk. My folk, huddled and bleating in terror.
A moment before, I had been a child fleeing danger. Something changed in me. I would reach the stables, and with Perseverance, I would ride for help. I needed to get there quickly, before he needlessly exposed himself by riding a horse back towards the manor where he thought I was hiding. The fear that had been crippling me melted away and became a wolf-fierceness. I crouched and the next time the woman asked Shun a question, I ran, keeping low and following Perseverance’s trail in hopes of leaving less evidence of my passage.
I reached the corner of the stable and whisked around it and crouched, breathing hard. What next, what next? Go to the back door, I decided, where the stable-boys trundled out the barrows of dirty straw. That would be where Perseverance would come out with the horses. It was the door furthest from the house.
My path took me past the cote where our messenger birds had been kept. Had been. Feathers and bodies, their necks wrenched and tossed to the ground inside their fly-pen. No time to stare at all those small deaths. It was coming to me that whoever these people were, they were completely ruthless and this attack had been planned. No birds had flown to say we were being attacked. The invaders had killed them first.
When I reached the stable doors, I peered around them. A sickening sight met my eyes. Had the raiders come here first, as they had with the birds? Horses shifted uneasily in their stalls, for the smell of blood reached even my poor nose. I was grateful they had not taken the time to kill the horses. Possibly they had not wanted to risk the sound. Someone sprawled in the passageway between the stalls. He wore Withywoods colours. He was one of ours, face down and unmoving. One of mine. I tightened my throat against a sob. No time to mourn. If anyone was to survive, Perseverance and I had to ride for help. We were my people’s last hope. I was not sure how many folk there were in little Withy village but there would be messenger birds there and someone would gallop for the King’s Patrol.
I was finding my nerve to step past the body when I heard a sound and looked up to see Perseverance coming my way. He was mounted bareback on a sturdy bay but had taken the time to saddle and bridle Priss for me. Tears were streaming down his cheeks but his jaw was a hard mannish jut from his boy’s face. He gasped when he saw me, and I quickly let the big hood of the cloak fall back from my face. ‘It’s me!’ I whispered.
Anger flashed in his eyes. ‘I told you to stay where you were!’
He slid down from his horse, muffled his nostrils and led him past the body. He gave me the reins to hold and went back for Priss, doing the same to get her past. When he stood beside me, he seized me around the waist and without ceremony, flung me up on my horse. I scrabbled into place, gathering my cloak in handfuls and stuffing it once more down the front of my jerkin. I didn’t want it flapping and spooking Priss. I was already dreading a hard ride.
He did not trust me with Priss’s reins but kept them as he mounted his own horse. He looked at me over his shoulder and spoke quietly. ‘We’re leaving at a gallop,’ he warned me. ‘It’s our only chance. We ride at full speed and we do not stop. Not for anything. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes.’
‘If someone stands before us, I will ride him down. And you will stay on Priss and follow. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘And this time, you obey me!’ he added fiercely.
I had no time to respond to that for, with a sudden lurch, we were in motion. We went out of the back doors of the stables and across the open sward, keeping the stable between us and the house, heading at a gallop toward the long, winding carriageway. The unbroken and drifted snow beneath the leafless trees slowed us but perhaps muffled somewhat the sound of our passage. It was not enough. As we moved from the cover of the stable and into the open, I heard a startled shout. Strange, how a wordless shout can still be in a foreign tongue. Perseverance did something, and our horses suddenly increased their pace, stretching their legs out and running as I’d never ridden before.
I hung on tight with everything I had, ankles, knees and thighs, my hands gripping the front of my saddle as if I’d never before sat a horse. I heard myself keening and could not stop. There were shouts from behind us, and I heard something, as if a summer bee had suddenly buzzed past me. Then there were two more, and I knew that an archer was shooting at us. I shrank to a burr on my horse’s back and we rode on. The carriageway curved and I felt a moment of relief that the invaders at the manor house could no longer hear us. We galloped on.
Then Perseverance fell. He went down from his horse, hitting the road and then rolling into the deep snow, and the beast galloped on. He still gripped Priss’s lead and she turned hard and nearly trampled him before she sidled to a sudden halt that flung me far to one side. One of my feet lost its stirrup and I hung there, half-off, before I freed my other foot and leapt clear of her to run to Perseverance. There was no arrow sticking out of him, and I thought for a moment that he had merely fallen and we could both be up and away on Priss. Then I saw the blood. The shaft had passed right through him, tearing through his right shoulder. Blood was drenching him and his face was white. He rolled onto his back as I reached him and thrust Priss’s lead rope at me. ‘Get up and ride!’ he commanded me. ‘Run away! Get help!’ Then he shuddered all over, and closed his eyes.
I stood still. I heard the hoofbeats of his fleeing horse, and other hoofbeats. They were coming. The invaders were coming. They would catch us. I knew I could not lift him, let alone get him up on Priss. Hide him. He was still breathing. Hide him and come back for him. It was the best I could do.
I tore the butterfly cloak free and spread it over him, tucking it round him. Its colours were adapting, but not fast enough. I kicked snow over him and then, as the pursuer’s hoofbeats grew louder, I led Priss to the other side of the carriageway. I leapt at her, clawing my way up to the saddle as she jigged and danced in alarm. I got on her back, found the stirrups and kicked her hard. ‘Go, go, go!’ I shrieked at her.
And she went, lurching into a terrified lope. I leaned down, holding tight, not using my reins at all but only hoping she’d follow the road. ‘Please, please, please,’ I begged of the horse, of the world, of everything that possibly existed. And then we were galloping, galloping so fast that I was certain they could not possibly catch us. The cold wind bit me and tears streamed from the corners of my eyes. Her mane whipped my face. I saw only the open road before me. I would get away; I would bring help, somehow it would all turn out all right …
Then, on either side of me, two huge horses appeared. They breasted Priss, and one rider leaned down, seized her headstall and pulled us round in a tight circle. I started to fall off her, and the other rider grabbed me by the back of my jerkin. With one hand, he pulled me off my horse and dropped me. I hit the ground and rolled, nearly going under his horse’s hooves, and someone shouted angrily as white lights flashed all around me.
There was a moment when I knew nothing, and then I was hanging, my mouth full of snow, my head lolling as someone gripped the front of my jerkin. I thought he was shaking me, and then it was the world shaking around me and then it was still. I blinked and blinked, and finally I could see him, a big, angry, bearded man. He was old, his hair between grey and white, his eyes as blue as a white gander’s. He was roaring at me, furious shouts in a language I didn’t know. He suddenly paused and then, in a thick accent demanded, ‘Where other one? Where he go?’
I found my tongue and the wit to lie. ‘He left me!’ I shrieked and I did not need to pretend my distress. I lifted a shaking hand and pointed where Perseverance’s horse had bolted. ‘He ran away and left me!’
Then I heard a woman’s voice. She was shouting remonstrances breathlessly as she ran down the long carriageway toward us. At a distance behind her, the fog-man was coming. He was walking fast but not hurrying. They were quite a distance away. Still clutching my shirtfront, the grey-haired man began to walk back toward her, dragging me and leading his horse, while the other man followed us mounted. We passed the spot where I had concealed Perseverance. I knew the area only by my footprints in the snow. I did not look toward the spot. I lifted all my walls and did not even think of him lest somehow they know my deceit. I was his only chance, and the only help I could give him was ignoring him. I kicked feebly and tried to shout, hoping to keep the man’s attention fixed on me.
Then we were past and closing the distance between us and the hurrying woman. She called something over her shoulder to the fog-man. He pointed at me and warbled back at her happily. The man dragging me shouted something at her, and she responded in a rebuke. He halted abruptly, and then shifted his grip on me so that he held me by the back of my jerkin collar. He swung me up off my feet so that I hung dangling from his hand and shook me at her. She cried out in horror and he dropped me and laughed. When I tried to scrabble away, he put his foot on me and pressed me down into the snow. He said something to her, something mocking and threatening. Her cries turned to entreaties.
I tried to breathe. It was as much as I could do with his foot pressing down on me. She reached us, and her entreaties suddenly became threats. He laughed again, and lifted his foot. She knelt in the snow beside me.
‘Oh, my dear, my darling one!’ she exclaimed. ‘Here you are, at last. You poor, poor thing! How frightened you must have been! But it’s all over now. We’re here. You’re safe now, and we’ve come to take you home.’ She helped me to sit up. She looked at me so kindly, her round face full of anxiety and fondness. She smelled like lilacs. I tried to take a breath, to say something, and instead I burst into tears.
‘Oh, my poor boy!’ she exclaimed. ‘Be calm now. You’ll be fine. You’re safe with us now. You’re finally safe.’
The fog-man had drawn closer. He pointed at me and joy suffused his face. ‘There. That one!’ His voice was high and boyish. ‘The unexpected son. My brother.’ His happiness at finding me washed over me, suffused me and filled me. I could not prevent the smile that broke out on my face. It came to me in a wave of joy. They’d come for me, the ones I belonged with. They were here and I would be safe, never lonely, never frightened again. His lolling foolish smile and his wide open arms welcomed me. I opened my arms to him, so glad to finally be gathered in.