Mistress Telltrue

Copperfox

Well-known member
Well, nobody else is bringing fresh material to Writing Club, so I'll do it!

Somewhere in the late 1990's, while my first wife Mary Scudellari Ravitts was alive in this world, I decided that I would like to write a fantasy novel in her honor. I would base it (very loosely!) on Mary's descriptions of her childhood on Long Island, in the Cold Spring Harbor area, as the fourth child and only daughter of Erman Scudellari and Gladys Havens Scudellari. (And yes, that IS where I was later to borrow the surname for Alipang Havens.) Having four brothers, with only one of them younger than she, Mary lived something of a tomboy existence -- enough so, certainly, to become avid for basketball, swimming and camping. And, for a charming detail, she had a favorite stuffed toy, in the form of a black-furred dog; she called it Mister Bodeen.

Incidentally, Erman Scudellari, the father-in law I never met (in fact, as life has worked out, I never got to meet any of my three fathers-in-law) was an architect. He actually was the contractor who laid the foundation of the Empire State Building. His wife Gladys was what used to be called "lace-curtain Irish": that is, someone of Irish ancestry but NOT impoverished or crude of conduct.

I designed Mary's fictional alter-ego to be something of a Lucy Pevensie type, only a bit earthier. As is the case with much of my fiction, I surrounded her with a society in woeful need of the knowledge of God. In fact -- unlike the actual Long Island in 1950 -- I depicted my heroine's world as having utterly forgotten God, in favor of self-centered occultism and shallow pantheism. So there would be lots of empty "circle of life" talk dripping from the mouths of ignorant characters, which I could gleefully demolish as characters learned that God meant for human life to ARRIVE SOMEPLACE, not just spin its wheels.

As Mary was facing her death from cancer, I promised her that one day I would complete "her" story. Detours, like my two subsequent marriages, postponed that promise; but now that it's been ten years since Mary's homegoing (and now that "The Possible Future of Alipang Havens" is finally finished), I am going to do it, God willing.

Being conceived long before Alipang Havens or Grey Eagle, this story is a "stand-alone." But an author's urge to unify his own work is heightened by my dislike for excessively illogical fantasy premises. What I mean is that too many fantasies offer a world which is too different to BE any version of OUR world -- yet which, at the same time, bears too many resemblances to our world for the reader NOT to ask, "Well, what IS the connection?" My story in my Mary's honor has a world with geography utterly unrelated to our Earth, and with SOME animals also unrelated -- yet with OTHER animals identical to Earth animals. Just saying, "It's just a fantasy" isn't good enough for me. And it is NOT an answer to tell me, "But Narnia also was partly like our world and partly different" -- because Mister Lewis makes it cleat that Aslan created Narnia IN FULL AWARENESS of the overlapping characteristics He was giving it. So Lewis was NOT in the end saying, "Just accept it because it's a fantasy."

The particular environment in which Mary's other self lives had to have started SOME way. Until further notice, my preferred explanation is that, more than three hundred years before the story begins, a "hibernation starship" came from Earth to this planet, a one-way trip for the colonists. They brought embryos of some Earthly animal types with them, plus the seed of Earthly plants. An initial population of maybe one thousand people divided up the usable land, forming multiple nations, not necessarily out of hostility, but in order that different ways of life could develop freely. Within three or four generations (as often happens in science-fiction stories; think of Pern), the colonists began to forget that there was any such place as Earth. But since the SPIRITUAL realm is real no matter where you go, spiritual evils were able to influence people even on an alien planet. Consenting to the influence, the people forgot their Creator.

You may ignore the interstellar-travel part if you prefer, and let this tale stand alone -- as it did when I was writing that portion which already exists. Incidentally, I have my mother, Gail Ravitts, to thank for finding the lost manuscript so it COULD be completed. Now, I hope you will enjoy--




Mistress Telltrue


by Joseph Richard Ravitts
 
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PROLOGUE: Fourteen Years Before


There was plenty of good timber in the Weatherwall Mountains which ran the length of Greatjourney Island. What grew on the southern slopes was familiar hardwoods lower down, and familiar conifers higher up. On the northern slopes, where the northern shore was never very far from the mountains' feet, the trees were.... different. No sorceror seemed able to divine the explanation with certainty, but although the wood of the north-slope forests could also be used, even an average person got the sense that something was foreign about those trees. They were thought to have been there before oaks, chestnuts, pines and spruces had ever been planted on the south slopes, yet the older trees felt less natural in people's minds than the relatively new trees. Oddly-shaped leaves; bark of peculiar texture; they simply looked wrong somehow. But few people other than fishermen and bandits on the run bothered to live on the northern coast, so most people rarely were compelled to give the older trees any thought.

Duke Buntimus Longmarch, and his predecessors ever since wars had subsided and allowed consistent husbandry of resources, had always encouraged the logging industry. Being mindful to plant new saplings in place of the trees they felled, the islanders could regularly sell fine lumber to the kingdoms across the sea, east and west, while still having enough wood for their own uses. Customers from abroad occasionally wanted to buy lumber from the north slopes; islanders would oblige them, since there was no proof of the strange trees carrying any actual enchantment or curse, and no report ever came from the distant lands of disaster striking the purchasers. Yet Greatjourney residents were still never entirely at ease with those northern trees.

Mister Erskud Coldspring, whose occupations in youth had included shipboard carpentry and house-building on land, did not need to waste thought on the riddle of the north slopes. He had a very respectable use in mind for the huge oaks he had hired men to chop down on the south slopes. These oaks, with other timber previously collected, would help him to win the right to marry the woman he loved.

"What did I tell you, Shillibeck?" Mister Coldspring was saying, as they accompanied the last load of branch-trimmed trunks down from the narrow band of foothills. "If these beasts can haul cannons in war, they can drag treetrunks in peace. And here, too, they'll win their present master a victory."

Shillibeck Pineshade, Mister Coldspring's lifelong friend, simply nodded, glancing at the nearest of the draft beasts, which was towing a tree four feet thick. The brontops, as it was called, was like a gigantic, humpbacked rhinoceros; only, the two horns on its snout were side by side rather than one behind the other. Strong as elephants, and able to live comfortably in cooler climates than elephants or true rhinoceri cared for, the brontopses were often used to pull ships onto a beach for repair work. They were just the thing for taking logs down a route where no log-sluices ran, and where enough water to make a sluice practical was not easily available anyway.

Even so, docile though they were, the brontopses shared something of the same oddness as the north-slope trees. Although everyone on Greatjourney Island had at least seen a brontops, while elephants and rhinoceri could not be found closer than the tropical plains of Eversummerland, elephants and rhinoceri still seemed more natural and normal than brontopses in the people's minds. Yet no one could quite say why this was so.

Beneath a high forehead crowned by auburn hair, Erskud Coldspring's dark eyes gleamed with pleasure at the good progress of his plans. Beneath his large, long nose, a broad smile completed his manly, shaven face.

Mister Pineshade was shorter than Erskud, and had less interesting features apart from an impressive beard; but he returned the smile perfectly well. Already a married man himself, he looked forward to seeing his friend steer the same course, much as the two had sailed the same seas in their wilder days.

"Dabrius! Get down from that animal's snout!" The taller man's smile faded briefly, as he spoke to a thirteen-year-old boy who had come along to assist the woodcutters by carrying water and the like. "He has enough to do without carrying you." The boy, Dabrius Ripplesand, had made himself a perch atop the snout of a brontops near the end of the line; he sat facing rearward, so that his back leaned against the upright horns.The patient herbivore did not toss Dabrius off, but Mister Coldspring hated to see a valuable animal overworked.

"The lad did put in a hard four days," Mister Pineshade remarked softly.

"And he's being well paid, Shillibeck, as are the loggers and the owners of these brontopses. But the only payment we can give to the brontopses themselves is food, water -- and considerate treatment."


 
The procession had almost reached level ground. Before day's end, it would be possible to slide the slimmer of the oak logs into a part of Rushing Creek which was just barely deep enough to float them onward. From that point, it would be only another four miles to their destination. With the terrain growing less rough, the worst of the work for the line of brontopses was past. There had been five of these four-day round trips in all; this was the last. A small army of sawyers was already at the worksite, furiously cutting the previously-felled trees into beams and planks. Carpenters then would build with these, according to plans drawn by Mister Coldspring. Such foundation stonework as was necessary for enlarging an already-existing structure, Erskud had already done, and much of it with his own two hands. The younger workmen taking over for him from here would be building a whole new future: the life Erskud Coldspring intended to live with his sweetheart from now on.

"Look there!" Shillibeck Pineshade was pointing straight ahead, at a solitary man approaching them on horseback. "Here comes your soon-to-be father-in-law!"

"If the stars are kind."

"No stars I've consulted have ever been kinder, or more just and steady, than Jedloff Shorecastle."

"True enough. But winter stars are warmer than he's been toward me while I've courted Ladza."

"Come, Erskud, he's only worried for a daughter he loves more than his life. She is twelve years younger than you, after all -- whereas Madame Shorecastle, may the universe bless her, is the same age as Mister Shorecastle. That whole family always did favor marriages that were close in age. Mister Shorecastle isn't utterly set against you, though; he merely needs to feel sure that you care for more than the passing enjoyment of Ladza's youth and beauty."

"Well, in a moment we should see if I can satisfy him on that score."

Jedloff Shorecastle's mare, unlike some horses, was not terrified of the hulking brontopses, only cautious around them. The rider, a long-moustached, high-booted gentleman only nine years older than Erskud Coldspring, smoothly dismounted to walk alongside Erskud and Shillibeck, leading his horse by the reins but letting her stay on the side of him away from the huge draft animals. Jedloff wasted no time getting to the point of his coming; yet there was a natural courtesy in his voice, which made it hard for others to take offense.

"You've surprised me, Erskud. You've worked your way to a secure enough livelihood over the years; but I'd have thought you'd wait to enlarge your wealth further, before sinking all you have into this ambitious construction project I've just blundered upon. The men working down there tell me that you're starting an inn!"

"That I am, sir. If you were at the site, then you saw the vacant limestone stable, whose masonry I've reinforced since I bought it from the Fastrider family. It's just the right size for the heart of the structure I designed; and I was able to hire a traveling sorceror to cast a spell of wholesome cleanliness upon the interior. I'll add two floors in oak above the stone building, while setting up a temporary wooden stable onthe north side. On the other side from the short-term stable, I'll use more wood to build a spacious common room; by being on the south side, it'll get lots of sunshine. If the first year's business is good, I'll move the stable farther outward, placing some utility rooms where it was, and additional guest rooms on the east and west sides. I'm calling it the Coldspring Haven, and it'll be the best inn east of the Ducal Estate. In fact, the Duke himself will help to make it the best."

Mister Shorecastle raised a dignified eyebrow. "How so?"

"Because this house, in its very design, will make easier the task other inns handle so awkwardly: the entertaining of lords, merchants and officers from both Yansifar and Klorvund."

 
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Mister Coldspring was referring to the two kingdoms nearest to Greatjourney Island, which as far as anybody knew were also the oldest civilized nations in the world. Yansifar and Klorvund both claimed to have been first to explore the island, and both claimed rightful ownership. They had constantly battled each other over it for many generations, with neither side gaining the clear advantage. For most of the past century, however, the rival powers had kept the peace through an unwritten agreement, in which the island's Duke paid taxes to both kingdoms, but ruled his duchy with almost no interference from either. Buntimus Longmarch was the third Duke to operate under these conditions, and he had enjoyed a long and prosperous life. Yansifarians and Klorvundish had found they were just as glad not to be fighting each other anymore, since each nation had other foes on its far side. West of Yansifar were two other organized kingdoms which periodically attacked Yansifar when they were not fighting each other; and east of Klorvund were barbarian tribes, with less technology than Yansifar's enemies but with extremely vicious warriors.

"I will have two dining rooms," Erskud Coldspring continued, "one permanently decorated with the colors and symbols of Klorvund, the other featuring those of Yansifar."

Mister Shorecastle, though speaking graciously, had not actually smiled until now. "I see. each nationality will be able to pretend that your inn exists especially for them; and you can count on our Duke being glad to have a place to which he can steer important visitors from either kingdom. This line of thought also prompted your choice of location, I imagine."

The spot on which Erskud had chosen to build his inn was one easily reached from either of the two major highways which ran the entire length of the island, from Duskport which faced Yansifar to Dawnport which faced Klorvund. These vital highways were by far the best-maintained roads on Greatjourney Island, which included magic spells being cast on them from time to time to protect all honest travelers from harm. Both highways lay south of the Weatherwall Mountains. One was customarily used by Klorvundish visitors, the other by the Yansifarians; the second of these was nearer to the southern seacoast. The Coldspring Haven would sit as near as no matter to being exactly halfway between these highways, its location thus not drawing complaints of the owner favoring one route over the other.

"Other inns on our half of the island usually just decorate in Klorvundish fashion," remarked Shillibeck Pineshade, "simply because we're closer to Klorvund here. They never seem to take in the fact that Yansifarians, of he two peoples, are more fond of traveling for its own sake."

"Quite true," said Jedloff Shorecastle, leaning away to pat the neck of his Yansifarian mare. "I'd say that's because they live on flatter land than the Klorvundish do, and they all grow up riding horses."

"We'll be equally ready to host either sort," Erskud resumed, "as well as anyone who comes to us from farther lands. Of course, if our magicians got really serious about making safe passages for ships through the Fanged Sea, we could even look forward to hosting diplomats and merchants from the peoples of Eversummerland. On the other hand, if sea travel between east and west coasts became safer, our island would become less important as a safe route between those coasts."

Jedloff peered closely at the man who loved his daughter. "Do I hear a hint of your desiring still to sail far and wide? That'll be ended, you realize, if you're serious about being an innkeeper."

"I'd like to see more people from far and wide coming here," Erskud replied. "If the black folk to the south could safely sail up to us in large merchant ships on the open sea, without Klorvund or Yansifar charging them tolls along the coastal routes, our direct trade with Eversummerland should more than compensate this duchy for any loss of importance as an intermediate caravan route." He smiled sarcastically. "But goodness, I shouldn't speak harshly about our joint lords and masters! Anyway, I am serious about making a go of the inn -- because I am serious about being in love with Ladza. She brings elegance and insight to my hardnosed pragmatic life. As I believe you realize, this project is my proof to you that I'm dropping anchor for good. This will be my home, if it can be Ladza's home as well; then I will desire no other home, still less any other woman, for all my days."

Shillibeck wanted to add his own arguments in support of his friend, but sensed that a turning point was already being reached. An instant later, Jedloff's expression grew still friendlier, as he reached for something carried inside his waistcoat.

"Erskud, you offer an expensive and life-dominating proof of your love for my daughter. Here, then, is proof of my own desire to trust you and believe the best about you. Do you recognize this?" He held up a small glass vial, inside which a fine bluish powder could be seen.

"Truthbinder dust!" exclaimed the onlooking Shillibeck.

Jedloff nodded, then took one step closer to Erskud. "As you know, this is hard to come by. It isn't often that a blind woman under the noon sun places her foot exactly on top of a flower growing over an honest man's grave -- well, I'm sure you've heard of the process of creating the dust. Most of it that is ever made on our island is used by the Duke to ensure the honesty of his officials, but I was able to obtain this portion back when Ladza was thirteen years old. I've kept it since then, waiting for the day when it could compel some suitor to reveal whether his love was totally sincere. Now...."

Jedloff held Erskud's eyes for a suspenseful moment, apparently looking for the younger man's reaction to the prospect of a truth-test. He uncorked the vial, and then....

Before the startled eyes of Erskud, Shillibeck, and the boy Dabrius who had been eavesdropping in curiosity, Jedloff tossed the magic powder away on the breeze.

"This, Erskud, is my gift of trust to you."

 
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(Must correct; I think I said Jedloff's wife died, but she didn't)

For a little while, then, the only sounds were of windblown autumn leaves, and the continued movement of the timber caravan itself. At last, Erskud found his voice, a more timid voice than Shillibeck recalled ever hearing out of his mouth. "Sir, does that mean that you will permit me to marry your daughter?"

"It does. Mark you, I would not have trusted you blindly; and if you beget any daughters, you will come to appreciate my reasons. But these actions of yours, committing yourself to a responsible way of life, give me grounds for a trust which is not merely wishful thinking. If you had married Ladza while continuing a seafaring life, but had always taken her to sea with you, I would have been uneasy for her safety, but not for your faithfulness. I like this arrangement much better, though. Ladza is a grown woman, and I couldn't keep her locked away forever, but I'm glad that I'll still be able to see her. And I prefer to believe that the trust I just now demonstrated to you is a fertile soil, from which the continuation of honesty in all dealings will sprout."

"So you find that better than a magic powder, Mister Shorecastle?"

"Certainly more enduring." He shook Erskud's hand. "And call me Jedloff." Remounting his mare then, he rode off with no more farewell than, "Finish transporting these logs. I'll see you at the camp you set up around your new home."

Erskud was not one to display his emotions too freely, but the two-way shoulder-clasp he now shared with Mister Pineshade carried a joy understood by both men. "Shillibeck, the stars are kind! I hope this will decide you and your wife to come and work for me at the Coldspring Haven."

His bushy-whiskered friend grinned. "Wild razorhead lizards couldn't keep us away. And I won't even ask you to rename it the Pineshade Haven."

Erskud laughed. "Once our guests become familiar with Leathra's cooking, they are likely to command me to make that name change!"

When they came to the construction site about an hour and a half later, Jedloff was indeed awaiting them. Also present was a large ox-drawn wagon (whose team had been unharnessed and led away, out of the path of the arriving brontopses); this conveyance had brought two of the Shorecastle family's male servants, and three women. The eldest and most richly attired of the women was Jedloff's wife Nishica. The youngest woman -- whose golden hair and thrilling beauty in every part captured al of Erskud's attention, leaving him uninterested in who the unfamiliar third woman was -- was nineteen-year-old Ladza. She obviously knew about her father consenting to the betrothal, for there was no worry to be seen in her. In the sight of everyone, with her parents not objecting, she ran to meet Erskud, favoring him with the first close embrace that had ever been allowed to them.

The third woman, in her middle thirties but with sharp facial features which made her look older, was Miss Hapsie Thrushbill, the common-born sorceress who had sold the truthbinder dust to the Shorecastles a little over six years ago. Obscure symbols covered her costume. She had politely hung back when Jedloff rode in from the caravan and spoke with his wife and daughter after the meeting with Erskud. Now, as they witnessed the happiness of the two sweethearts, she sidled up to Ladza's father and said, "Well, Mister Shorecastle, did my dust bring out the truth?"

"It served its purpose well, Miss Thrushbill."

"So kind of you and Madame Shorecastle to let me be here for this moment, sir. Love truly has its own magic."

"So it has," agreed Nishica Shorecastle, who knew that her husband had thrown the blue powder away unused.

 
Hapsie, who had bent Nishica's ear all through the ride here, now kept hovering near Jedloff. "By the way, sir, while you were off to see Mister Coldspring, I consulted my divining basket, and what should be the first items to meet my hand after I said the cantrips? These!" She displayed a man's bootlace, and a whetstone of the sort used on swordblades. "Rely on it, sir, you and Madame Shorecastle shall have grandsons!"

"If we do, well and good. Still, I would rather have only granddaughters, if they be wise and pure in heart, than grandsons who are selfish, foolish oafs."

"Well said, Mister Shorecastle! If you have granddaughters besides the grandsons I foresee, I'll be delighted to teach them the wise old ways of seed and flame, of shadow and hearth."

Jedloff looked pensive. "Oh, I want my grandchildren to learn wisdom, all right. I want them to learn and learn.... Miss Thrushbill, have you ever felt a strange sensation, as if you and I, all of us everywhere, had forgotten something?"

"Can't say as I have, noble sir. Magic brings me all the wisdom I've ever needed."

"Does the magic tell you where it, the magic itself, originates from? Do you know who was the first person ever to cast a spell? And if there was a first sorceror or sorceress, what was there before there was magic?"

"Ah, Mister Shorecastle, those aren't questions that we need trouble ourselves with. Let the universe attend to them. Magic is just there, like the wind; it's to be accepted, and rejoiced in. Wasn't it my magic, this very day, that let you be certain Mister Coldspring loves your daughter truly?"

Jedloff Shorecastle, who often meditated on the comparative importance of truth versus kindness, was to wonder for years afterward how Hapsie would have taken it if he had told her he never used the truthbinder dust. Nishica never told the sorceress either. Neither of Ladza's parents formed any resolve to reject all use of magic in the future; but their faith in sorcery had not exactly been increased by the fact that Hapsie Thrushbill failed to sense that her powder had not been used.

It mattered more to Jedloff and Nishica that Erskud Coldspring did in fact prove to be a gentle, faithful and reliable husband, and a highly successful provider, to their cherished girl.



(END OF PROLOGUE)
 
Although I don't believe that the End Times are as exhaustively charted in advance for us as popular dispensationalists maintain, my visions of the future are at least affected by the realization that there WILL be a visible Second Coming of Jesus. But I have wondered: if Jesus doesn't return until AFTER colonization of other planets has begun, will He take all OTHER planets under His dominion simultaneously with destroying the Antichrist on Earth?

It seems most probable that He will do exactly that. But it's FUN to imagine that Jesus might leave other planets to continue as they were until after the Millennium of Revelation twenty. Thus, there would still be centuries in which any extrasolar colonies begun BEFORE the brief Antichrist regime could grow.... and end up in a condition like the world of "Mistress Telltrue."
 
Chapter One: Two Fathers Lost


High in a cool autumn sky, much like the sky which had witnessed the betrothal of Erskud Coldspring to Ladza Shorecastle, a tornis wheeled and soared. This was a bird similar to what another world would call an eagle, only somewhat larger and with a longer beak. Given favorable winds, a tornis could fly the length of Greatjourney Island, west-southwest to east-northeast, in a single day. A vigorous man could easily walk the same distance in five days. But the island and its birds beheld frequent coming and going of people from larger lands beyond Greatjourney's shores; and on island or mainland, magic played a constant role in human lives.

Also, sometimes, in the lives of animals -- without their consent. The tornis could not know how or why a pair of human ears had come to be grafted over the inset ears on its feathered head, though it vaguely remembered hearing a human voice shortly before the uncomfortable change had occurred. But the mind which had wrought this magic, the mind which saw through the tornis' eyes, had its own reasons.

The soaring predator was watching a section of the island in which both the coastlines and the spine of small mountains shifted together to the north before continuing on the eastern end. There, flowing south to where it emptied right at the upturning angle, was Rushing Creek; and close to the eastern bank of the creek, midway between the two great human travel-paths, stood the Coldspring Haven Inn. The establishment of the Coldspring family had been kept happily busy ever since it had opened for business by hosting the wedding of its owners; the surrounding pastures had given way to houses and shops, almost a town. Indeed, the region, sparsely populated before the inn's creation, was now recognized as a town-ship by the Duke of Greatjourney. This was the place of interest to the hidden sorceror.

But the tornis' brain, disoriented by the grafted-on ears which were there to exercise magical control rather than to improve hearing, was having difficulty steering. Now it would sweep directly above the inn's courtyard; now it would randomly swerve somewhere else, until its unseen master concentrated hard enough to direct it back on course.

One detour carried the enslaved bird above a lighty wooded hill, where it glimpsed a little human girl, five years old, with strawberry-blonde hair, wearing a red woollen dress and full-length matching stockings. Tornises had been known on a few occasions to snatch away such human offsping to eat; but enough tornises had been slain in retaliation, by arrows and by those mysterious banging objects, that the remaining raptors learned that child-hunting was simply too risky. This girl took no notice of the tornis as she sat in the grass, holding some sort of toy, her head bowed as if in thought or weeping. A long-moustached man in a gentleman's cloak, elderly but hardy-looking, armed with a sword and a light crossbow, crouched beside the girl, speaking in kindly tones. The man, however, did take passing notice of the tornis.

That scene was of no importance to the sorceror. He knew who the sturdy old man was, and could guess who the child was, but they had no present effect on his plans. Forced up to a higher altitude, the tornis made a broad circle, feeling out the speed and direction of the wind at various levels -- to the extent that the sorceror allowed it any discretion in its navigation. Finally settling into a steady course toward the inn again, the enchanted bird flew above a modest road which, following the north-northeast bank of Rushing Creek, passed close to the inn as it connected the island's two great lengthwise highways.

On this road was another sight of no importance to the spying magician: a poorly-dressed woman, coming up the road from the highway on the south, was walking toward the Coldspring Haven. Beside her walked a half-grown boy, carrying on his back a girl even younger than the one on the hill. All three travelers had dark brown hair, and none of them looked well fed.

The tornis was not well fed, either. Its enforced work of observation had kept it from its hunting for too long. But the sorceror controlling it from afar did not care. He needed the bird's aerial viewpoint only a short time longer. After that, so long as he could retrieve his ears from its head, it mattered nothing to him whether the tornis died. Sometimes they did, sometimes not.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Stobia Fairmead, widow of the merchant sailor Vigontus Fairmead, had not eaten anything for two days, except for a couple of edible weeds she had found, giving a larger portion to her son and daughter. Her eleven-year-old son Wildrad had taken a small morsel of bread this morning, to keep up his strength for carrying his sister Yonavere. The three-year-old had been given all the rest of the scanty food they had been able to bring away from Dawnport.

"Thank the stars for that peddler who let us ride on his wagon," remarked the boy, glancing at his weary mother. "You'd never have made it this far if we'd had to walk the whole way, after you hardly eating anything for all of the day before we left home." It never occurred to Wildrad to complain about all the miles he had been carrying Yonavere. And he was too young, and had lived too much among decent people, to realize how grateful his mother was that the peddler had not required any private form of thanks from her for the favor he did them.

"Bird!" exclaimed the three-year-old, pointing up at a low-flying tornis, a rare sight these days. Stobia clutched her walking stick with instinctive alertness, but there was no need for her to fight in her children's defense. The raptor was not interested in them. Wildrad, meanwhile, was grimly pleased that his little sister still was able to take at least a fleeting interest in things unrelated to their troubles. Time enough later for her to grasp viscerally the fact that their Papa had been murdered by pirates -- and that the merchant ship's owner-captain, who normally would have provided for the family of a lost crewman, was also dead.

 
Seeing that the passing tornis was not turning back toward them, Stobia spoke to her son: "There's no harm, and certainly no false pretense, in our looking a little worn out and desperate. The Coldspring family is known to be kind to the needy: not above expecting a little reasonable work in return for feeding people, but in any case never letting anyone starve in their township. In case they need convincing of our poverty, our appearance will argue for us."

"You know best, Mama. But I still think I might have been able to find work in Dawnport."

Stobia looked over her shoulder, toward the Gold Stallion Highway, the route they had followed before turning onto the narrower Rushing Creek Road to make for the Coldspring Haven. "I doubt you would have found any, son, what with the number of Klorvundishmen pouring into our town lately. Besides.... I think it will be a long time before I can bear to look at the sea again, let alone bear the thought of you going to sea, which is the form that work would probably take for you."

Now that she mentioned it, Wildrad realized that his mother had sought to keep her eyes looking landward all the time that the Gold Stallion Highway had led them within sight of the Fanged Sea.

"What's more, Wildrad, remember the Coldsprings' library." Stobia had more than once mentioned to her son her awareness that Erskud and Ladza Coldspring owned a vast collection of books, occupying one of the largest of their inn's more recently-built rooms. If the Coldsprings would take the Fairmeads on as servants, Wildrad might have the opportunity to learn reading and writing, an opportunity never afforded to him before.

With the inn almost in sight at last, a question about that library arose in Wildrad's mind. "Mama, do they have books in both kingdoms' languages?" The islanders spoke and wrote the languages of both kingdoms that claimed rule over them, just as they used coins from both realms. The grassy land of Yansifar was to be reached in two days' sailing from the island's west-southwestern tip; the more mountainous Klorvund was about the same distance east of the east-northeastern tip from which the bereaved Fairmead family had just come. Not everyone on Greatjourney could read, but almost every islander spoke both languages fluently, though there was a natural tendency for people to use one tongue or the other primarily, according to which half of the island they inhabited. Wildrad and his mother thus were talking in Klorvundish.

If Greatjourney had ever had a separate language of its own -- which seemed unlikely, since Klorvund and Yansifar both claimed that their people had been the island's first human presence ever -- the islanders had forgotten their language completely, generations ago.

"I hear that they keep Yansifarian and Klorvundish books on opposite sides of the room," said Stobia. "Not because the two kingdoms hate each other so much as to detest each other's books, but to avoid confusion when an important guest from one kingdom or the other asks for something to read. Be that as it may, I'm hoping that Erskud and Ladza will consent to do something about teaching you to read and write."

"That'll be good if they do, Mama; but it'll be enough if they teach me how to keep us all from starving."

Moments later, the three Fairmeads had something else to think about, as they had to get off the road to make way for a squad of mounted soldiers in black and green uniforms. These were some of the Duke's men, looking to be on serious business, though they did not look as if they would have heedlessly trampled the three pedestrians. Two of these men bore muskets, while the others had lances; all of them wore swords as well.

"Horses!" blurted Yonazere cheerfully.

Wildrad felt less cheerful. "Mama, those men are riding toward the inn! Do you suppose there's trouble there?"

"I can't guess, and your luck-charm wasn't made to see far off. But we'll know soon. We can do nothing but continue as we began."

After the road and the creek took one more bend, the three travelers encountered a fat man riding a lazy-looking horse. The horse had the good fortune to be unburdened by any baggage, because the leather satchel presumably carrying the fat man's belongings was floating in the air a foot above the horse's rump.

"Good day to you, honorable magician," said Wildrad, making a courteous bow (not far enough to spill Yonazere off his back, but low enough to hide an embarrassing rip in the front of his shirt). "Have you just now passed by the Coldspring Haven?"

"Passed, halted, and done business with the Duke's own First Secretary, my good scruffy lad," replied the magician, one of several in the duchy whose chief occupation was making and selling charms for luck, health and protection. The lives of purchasers went well enough as a rule that it could not all be dismissed as coincidence. "Alas, if they had engaged my services sooner, this calamity would never have befallen; but at least my talismans will guard the rest of that unfortunate family from further danger."


 
Wildrad and his mother stared, alarmed enough to forget their hunger. "What are you talking about, sir?" Stobia asked.

"A terrible calamity. Poor Mister Coldspring was murdered in his sleep, just the night before last. It happened while the Duke himself was guesting at the inn -- but don't look so stricken, my dusty friends, our noble Duke is unharmed."

Stobia and Wildrad said nothing more, but turned their stares to each other. The talisman-peddler, seeing that they had no money to spend (and that the boy already wore a humble good-luck amulet, made from a piece of a ram's horn), turned his horse off the road and headed away east. The Fairmeads trudged on toward the scene of murder, because there still was nothing else for them to do.

Son and mother spoke no more, and even Yonazere fell quiet, until the Coldspring Haven came into sight, an impressive but friendly-looking structure of stone and oak. Erskud Coldspring had made it everything he wanted it to be. An attic had been added atop the three-story main body where a stable had once operated; the extensions added on every side were all two floors by now, and what was now the stable boasted a spacious loft (where, it was reported, persons in dire poverty had often been allowed to sleep without paying). A neat wall surrounded all -- though this obviously had not availed to keep everyone inside the inn safe. Stobia had been here once, when Wildrad had been a toddler, and seen the midpoint of the inn's history. Wildrad had no memory of it, and Yonazere had never seen it at all; but the trio's attention was now drawn away from the building itself, to the group of people gathered before the main gate of the property.

There were the soldiers who had ridden past them, along with others in uniforms of red and blue. The green and black uniforms were imitations of the Klorvundish military, while the red and blue uniforms imitated the Yansifarian. Only small details like rank insignia, identical between the two styles, distinguished them from actual Klorvundish and Yansifarian uniforms. In their midst, an elaborate green and white shoulder-mantled civilian official's costume, with a floppy plumed hat, identified no less a personage than the Duke's Lord Warden of the East, whom the Fairmeads had seen in Dawnport more than once: ruler in the Duke's name of the land between the Ducal Estate and the east-northeast extremity of Greatjourney. Near him, in a still more showy livery bearing symbols of the great Longmarch household, was the First Ducal Secretary, the man with whom the itinerant magician had boasted of doing business.

Also present at the gate were three women of differing ages, and a yellow-haired girl of about Wildrad's age; these, wearing clothing that was not ornate but still was visibly of good quality, must be members of the Coldspring household. Stobia thought she recognized the youngest and slenderest of the adult women, whose hair was of identical color to the girl's hair, as Ladza Coldspring -- who, it seemed, now had widowhood in common with Stobia.

"Mother," Wildrad muttered, unconsciously speaking more formally as he beheld such dignified persons, "do we dare even approach them?"

Stobia nodded. "To beg for alms, if not at once to carry out our original purpose in coming here. Yonazere, you must walk on your own feet now." The inn, the hope of continued life toward which they had journeyed, now stood less than two hundred paces ahead. Though their hopes were suddenly cast into doubt, forward they went, after only enough delay for Stobia to run an old comb through her children's hair and her own. With every step, Wildrad felt greater suspense over how the Coldsprings, let alone the gathered soldiers and government officials, would react when they noticed his family approaching.

The Fairmeads were less than thirty paces from all the costumes and uniforms, and still evoking no reaction, when someone came striding from a different direction to join the group at the gate: an elderly but vigorous gentleman, who captured the eye by his cloak, his boots, his long moustache -- and his having more weaponry on his person than was usual for civilians in time of peace. In his arms he tenderly carried a reddish-haired girl somewhat older than Yonazere. This girl clung to the old man's neck with one arm, and to some floppy sort of doll or toy with the other arm. The women by the gate appeared to be expecting the man and the child.

The mostly white-haired gentleman was just passing the redheaded girl into the arms of Ladza Coldspring, when the girl, ahead of anyone else, took notice at last of the Fairmeads. Pointing, she said something that Wildrad could not quite hear; an instant later, practically everyone else thereabouts was looking at the exhausted travelers.

The old man, freshly relieved from carrying the little strawberry blonde, crossed the small remaining distance to the Fairmeads. His face was solemn but not unfriendly. "Is there something we can do for you, strangers? I am Jedloff Shorecastle, father of Madame Coldspring. We are in distress here; but without meaning offense, you look as if you may be in even worse distress."

 
With a little carryover from the previous page.....


The Fairmeads were less than thirty paces from all the costumes and uniforms, and still evoking no reaction, when someone came striding from a different direction to join the group at the gate: an elderly but vigorous gentleman, who captured the eye by his cloak, his boots, his long moustache -- and his having more weaponry on his person than was usual for civilians in time of peace. In his arms he tenderly carried a reddish-haired girl somewhat older than Yonazere. This girl clung to the old man's neck with one arm, and to some floppy sort of doll or toy with the other arm. The women by the gate appeared to be expecting the man and the child.

The mostly white-haired gentleman was just passing the redheaded girl into the arms of Ladza Coldspring, when the girl, ahead of anyone else, took notice at last of the Fairmeads. Pointing, she said something that Wildrad could not quite hear; an instant later, practically everyone else thereabouts was looking at the exhausted travelers.

The old man, freshly relieved from carrying the little strawberry blonde, crossed the small remaining distance to the Fairmeads. His face was solemn but not unfriendly. "Is there something we can do for you, strangers? I am Jedloff Shorecastle, father of Madame Coldspring. We are in distress here; but without meaning offense, you look as if you may be in even worse distress."


"Well judged, kind sir, though I could wish that you were mistaken," Stobia replied. "My children and I learned only today that your son-in-law had perished; and for our part, we lost the head of our household this summer gone by, and lost our home on the heels of that grief."

"My father was killed by pirates," Wildrad volunteered. "His name was Vigontus."

Mister Shorecastle, though he obviously bore sadness of his own, looked sincerely sorry for them. "I see that you have walked some distance with your grief as a burden. Listen, good strangers. I need to have more speech with the Duke's men, before I can talk freely with you. In the meantime, though, there happens to be a great deal of unused food indoors. The guests who would have eaten it today and tomorrow have stampeded away in fright, so perhaps the three of you would be willing to eat up some of it for us. By the time you are well rested, I or my daughter should be free to talk further with you." Mister Shorecastle turned toward the plumpest of the women with him. "Your pardon, Mistress Pineshade, would you please conduct these honest folk to the kitchen, and serve them whatever provender we have that suits them?"

Jedloff Shorecastle said no more to the Fairmeads for the present. But the inn's chief cook, for this was what her apron and her full figure proclaimed her to be, took over for the old man whom she clearly respected highly.

"You poor, tired travelers! Come on in with me, by all means! It's perfectly safe inside now, no matter what fools think; the negative things have moved farther off along the circle." Stobia, Wildrad and Yonazere followed her across the courtyard. Plump or not, the cook had the strength to open one of the heavy, beautifully-carven entrance doors easily enough.

"Introductions! I'm Leathra Pineshade, a widow much longer than you, my friend, or than Madame Coldspring. One comes to accept it. Death is a part of life, all riding in the same circle. But famine you need not accept, not here."

Yonazere uttered her first words since their arrival at the inn, her voice barely audible: "Got honeycakes?"

"Yes, we have, little dearie, those and other good things."

"We have no money to pay," Stobia was quick to admit. "We came your way, hoping to find work, not yet knowing your misfortune."

Leathra patted Stobia's shoulder. "I can speak for the surviving owner of this house when I say that no one, in any case, will expect you to pay for the meal you shall soon be eating, nor for your breakfast tomorrow if you stay the night -- unless it be payment to tell me your names."

"Oh! Excuse my poor manners!" Mistress Fairmead gave her name and those of her children, then added: "Before this inn was ever built, my husband sailed for a time on a ship with Mister Coldspring, who was the second mate then. We were hoping that Mister Coldspring would remember the acquaintance." This much related, Stobia allowed herself to look around the interior, as Wildrad was already doing.

The spacious foyer was decorated with tapestries and curios from lands farther off than Yansifar or Klorvund -- a diplomatic touch, avoiding complaints of favoritism with guests from both Yansifar and Klorvund using this entryway. Wildrad, not yet familiar with this strategy on the part of the ownership, would have asked why there were two dining rooms letting off of this foyer, instead of a single common-room up front as at most inns; but a more disturbing detail caught his attention when he happened to glance behind him. The double door by which they had just entered had looked intact from the outside; but inside, the wood of both halves was badly gouged and splintered, as if by mighty claws, or by two or three men with hatchets. Before he could ask about this, however, Leathra Pineshade was urging them on into the kitchen. That is, into the right-hand kitchen, since each dining room had a kitchen of its own.

 
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Leathra resumed speaking: "Ladza Coldspring isn't one who would slight the families of her husband's old shipmates. And, as you can see from the absence of kitchen workers, all of our help ran away when the guests did. I'm the only worker to've stayed on. But you, friend Stobia, look smart enough to understand that manslayers move on elsewhere after committing a crime. So, if you're not afraid to live and work in a hostelry where murder was done, I think you'll find us needing new hirelings every bit as urgently as you need shelter and the means of sustenance. Even if Madame Coldspring should choose to sell the inn, the next owner will still have the same need for workers. Thus, we can help each other equally. But what you've already been promised of dinner and breakfast is not dependent on your staying beyond tomorrow."

While saying these things, she was showing her guests a washbasin, then seating them, and serving out sausage, bread, cheese and turnip greens-- not that she begrudged the Fairmeads the more costly foodstuffs which were on hand, but she judged that quickness of feeding was the most important thing to Stobia, Wildrad and Yonazere. "After you eat a bit of meat and a bit of greens, and drink a little apple cider, we'll find you a honeycake," she advised the three-year-old.

"Are you sure that Madame Coldspring expects no more danger here?" Stobia asked. "Or, meaning no offense, are we of interest only because the former workers are not expected to return?" The destitute widow was not going to utter the alternate possibility on her mind: that Ladza Coldspring felt so vindictive against those who had forsaken her, that she would not give them their jobs back now even if they did return.

Leathra glanced around, as if she expected the soldiers to come in and rebuke her for talking so much. "It's the loss of the help. Now, it's true that poor Ladza will always feel grief henceforth, beholding the house where her true love perished; and she with her daughters could simply return to her well-to-do parents and live in security and comfort. But the particular circumstances of Erskud's passing argue strongly against any hazard of the evil visiting us here again. Therefore, I am almost entirely certain that the Coldspring family will remain here, and remain in business."

"I can well understand the sadness this place will now give to its hostess," remarked Stobia. She remembered endless days of staring out to sea, before the news came that Vigontus was dead-- followed by the sea becoming intolerable to look at. "But I believe that such a determined man as my husband used to say Erskud was, would want the business he had built to continue. And my son and I can do much to help it continue serving this township. Wildrad carried his sister on his back almost all the way from Dawnport to here; he'll be no slacker at work which helps to earn our keep."

Leathra made a point of feeling the boy's muscles, and smiled. "I have no doubt that Wildrad and his mother will be as good a pair of workers as this inn ever saw. But let me tell you what happened here, Mistress Fairmead; then we'll see how you feel about staying on."

Wildrad looked at Yonazere, as if wanting to say that maybe the little girl ought not to hear what was coming. But his mother, guessing Wildrad's thought, said, "She has already lost her father; she cannot be any more distressed by hearing of the passing of a man she never met." Then Stobia, while not ceasing to eat, looked at Leathra Pineshade expectantly.
 
"Duke Tembicus, travelling with only a few servants and guards -- those guards would be among the soldiers you saw as you approached here -- was on his way to Dawnport, to gather the latest available news of the regiment he'd shipped out to help Klorvund against the Plateau Barbarians. He stopped here for a night, not for the first time certainly, though I think it was only his third time here since he succeeded Buntimus."

"This younger Duke moves around a lot, doesn't he?" interjected Wildrad. "We've seen him several times in Dawnport."

Leathra nodded. "Only been Duke for three years, and some of his time before becoming Duke was spent getting educated in our neighbor kingdoms. As our new liege-lord, then, he wanted to become a familiar face to islanders. I'd not blame him for hiding out from now on, though!

"Since Tembicus was travelling without his wife and children this time, he decided he would indulge in more strong drink at the Coldspring Haven than he reportedly partakes in his palace. In fact, a great deal of strong drink. He commenced raising such a ruckus, what with singing idiotic songs, dancing on the stairway landings till he nearly fell on his head, that it was a tossup which was more worried: the guards for the reputation of their master, or Madame Coldspring for the reputation of her house."

"But people get drunk and make noise all the time at the inns of Dawnport," said Wildrad, whose father had done so, albeit only a time or two.

"Meaning no malice to your former neighbors, my boy, those places are not like the Haven. You now sit inside a house intended for well-mannered folk. Note that I did not say wealthy folk as such, but well-mannered folk. The guests we favor are such as can take as much pleasure from our library as from our wine cellar and our beer barrels. Anyway, there was the Duke's prestige to think about. So Ladza asked Erskud to do something to muffle the scandal, while she took their two daughters to the Shorecastle house for the night." Leathra shuddered. "At least, the fact that Ladza, Bebsha and Marsudel came to no harm as they took to the road by night, adds to my certainty that the evil was not seeking out the Coldspring family. The stars favored my dear Ladza, though she feels little joy from that right now."

Stobia waxed a little impatient with the plump woman's rambling. "Please tell us, now, what was this evil that passed by the landlady and claimed the landlord?"

 
"It was only seen fleetingly," replied Leathra. "And it seems that, for a mercy, poor Erskud never saw it coming at all." She wiped her eyes, then went on:

"Mister Coldspring caused the Duke to be put to bed, not in the Ducal Suite but in the Coldsprings' own bedroom, since Ladza was away for the night. Then Mister Coldspring put on Tembicus' fancy clothes, and pretended that it had been he doing all the drunken cavorting, after supposedly being given the suit as a gift. The soldiers escorting the Duke played along with it. Those of the patrons who had been seated close enough to see clearly that it had been Tembicus making an idiot of himself, realized why the landlord was offering this pretense; and since Mister Coldspring was so well liked, everyone agreed without need of discussion to pretend that they were fooled. By the Duke sleeping in Erskud and Ladza's room, any new outburst of noise from there would seem to confirm that it really was Erskud being so obnoxious.

"Mister Coldspring sang some of the Duke's tavern songs over again, to make the charade more convincing for those who were deceived. Then he made sure that no one saw him entering the Ducal Suite when he retired for the night. It was left to me, with the wine steward, the beer steward, and the hostler of the stable, to finish the night's work and see the clientele settled for the night, while the guards assumed their posts. The scheme was doing much more to salvage the Duke's dignity than the dignity of the Coldspring Haven; but Mister Coldspring was confident that having Tembicus in his debt would be more useful in the long run." Leathra gulped, as new tears formed.

"Long after midnight, there was a disturbance in the stable; horses could be heard screaming. The hostler, with one of the Ducal guards, ran out to investigate. As soon as they entered the stable, something sprang on them from behind and knocked them both senseless. That which struck them, as we later discovered, had just slain one of the horses, and sent the rest fleeing outside. Then it--"

The cook lost control, and Stobia elected not to press her. All three Fairmeads passed the time to good purpose by eating more while Mistress Pineshade wept. At last she was able to resume.

"The creature was magical, no two ways about it. Some who saw it say that it was merely a man wearing the head and hide of a bear as a disguise, but no man could have broken a horse's neck using only his hands-- unless he had an enchantment upon him powerful enough to be just as remarkable as an enchanted monster. And no man could have walked away after such a sword-stab as one of the guards dealt out to the creature. I take the word of those who say that its actual bodily shape was like a bear with the booted legs of a man.

"It made straight for the Ducal Suite, which is one floor up, wounding two men who barred its path on the stairs but not pausing to finish them. The soldier who succeeded in hurting it was the last one in the creature's way, since the escort couldn't omit to have men stationed in the room where the Duke really was. Before those other men had time to respond effectively to the attack, the creature crashed through the door of the suite, and slew Erskud in his sleep." (A pause to pull out a handkerchief and blow her nose.) "We're positive that he never woke up to see death coming, since he had drunk more than his usual before saying goodnight, as part of the show he was putting on.

"The thing that murdered him clearly had enough wits to find a certain place, but we don't know whether it had the wits to understand that the man it had killed was not Duke Tembicus. It left in a great hurry, leaving a stream of its own blood behind. Making no attempt to slay anyone else, even when another soldier scored a cut on it as it passed, it burst out the front door. Whatever was the magic that kept it going though gravely injured itself, it fled at amazing speed for having only two legs to run on. The blood ceased to pour from its body; none can say if this was because it had magic to halt its bleeding, or if the magic was even stronger, and could keep it running even after it had bled to death. In any event, no hound has been able to track the creature farther than perhaps twenty paces beyond where its blood stopped leaking onto the ground."

Wildrad spoke softly: "I never heard of any monster like this, even in stories."

"Nor does anyone else appear to have heard of any like it. But the Duke's command is going forth to all diviners and seers on Greatjourney, to cast every possible spell that might reveal the monster's origin. As far as anyone is aware, no magician living on this island wishes harm to the Duke; so the hidden foe who conjured the monster must be foreign. For lack of any better guess, the soldiers and officials you saw as you arrived all suspect that the Plateau Barbarians of the East are behind it. They would, for sure, hate us for helping to oppose their invasion of Klorvund; but no one thought till now that they possessed magic potent enough to reach beyond the mainland and conjure a beast to slay our Duke."

 
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"Then are you certain," Stobia inquired, "that Erskud Coldspring was not the real quarry of the sorceror who sent this monster?"

"As certain as one can be in the midst of such a mystery. Of what importance was Mister Coldspring to any wizard? No, it was Duke Tembicus whom that enchanted bear sought. The rest of us here, with the Duke fled away, are grief-stricken but safe. So you shouldn't fear to stay here and help us carry on the business of living. The wheel must roll on, though the road give sudden jolts."

"I want to stay and work here, goodwife," said Wildrad, "though I can't speak for my mother. But do you have any other possible helpers? Especially for your stable? I'm not afraid of tossing hay, carrying water and shovelling manure, but I've never been in charge of handling horses. Nor has my mother."

Leathra patted Wildrad's arm. "An intelligent question. Fate granted Shillibeck and me a son, Hathruck by name. Horses are exactly his work -- but at a stable clear over in Duskport. We have sent word to his employer, begging leave for Hathruck to come to us and run our stable for three months. But there has not yet been time for any answer to come. In a pinch, Ladza's father, whom you have met, will find stable hands for us. Thus, my fine lad, your workload if hired here will not be beyond all reason."

Stobia Fairmead, meanwhile, glanced at Yonazere, who appeared unaffected by the gruesome narrative Leathra Pineshade had just recounted. The three-year-old's main concern was to stay awake long enough to eat the promised honeycake.

Wildrad now addressed his mother. "If there are magic-raised monsters about, we could run into them as easily in one place as in another."

"True, son. Rather than a monster which might return here, we must think of the starvation which will befall us if we have no means of supporting ourselves. Mistress Pineshade, if the lady of this house -- or for that matter, anyone she sells the house to -- is willing to hire and harbor the three of us, Wildrad and I will gladly take our chances working here."

Leathra's round, gentle face beamed. "Well, you seem like the sort of folks I'd be pleased to work with, even if we weren't in such a bind for our part." Pausing as if hearing a voice, she looked toward the door by which they had come from the foyer. "What ho, I believe Bebsha and Marsudel are coming inside. If I didn't already say so, those are Erskud and Ladza's two daughters. Bebsha's the elder. Poor little Marsudel, not much older than your girl here; I don't think she understands at all what happened to her father."

Yonazere having finished her dessert, Stobia pulled the sleepy child into her lap. "Neither does my own little one understand about her own father, and she's had more time to take it in than your Marsudel has yet had. As for that, I don't understand why these things have to happen either."

Leathra sighed. "As well ask why good things happen, friend Stobia. Life is the way it is. The universe is the way it is."

Into the kitchen stepped the yellow-haired, blue-eyed girl whom the travelers had noticed outside: a copy in the making of her mother's refined loveliness. Holding Bebsha's hand was her reddish-haired little sister, the girl whom Jedloff Shorecastle had carried down from the nearby hill. Marsudel's face bore too long a nose ever to be considered a delicate face, but she had the potential for her own type of good looks. With her free hand, Marsudel carried a stuffed toy dog made from a soft black material, with bright blue-green eyes. The redhead's own eyes were hazel.

Behind the two Coldspring girls, the eldest of the adult women who had been standing at the gate now poked her white-haired head into the east kitchen. "Travelers, I wish you peace. I'm Nishica Shorecastle; it was my husband who greeted you outside the courtyard. We'll speak more later. Attend to your own needs for the moment."

 
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The first thing to be noticed about the speaking voice of Bebsha Coldspring was her evident effort to sound mature and sensible. "Mistress Pineshade, have you finished telling our new friends everything that occurred here?"

"Yes, I have, dear. All of it, sparing nothing."

"Good." Bebsha lowered her voice. "Grandpapa reckoned you'd tell them the whole story, and now he can truthfully tell the Lord Warden that he revealed nothing about the stupid, useless Duke getting himself soused." The bitterness in the eleven-year-old's blue eyes was chilly and fierce; but it was not directed against the Fairmeads, with whom she now exchanged introductions. "I'm sure that Mama will choose to continue running the Haven. So, if you people are decent workers, and unafraid after what Mistress Pineshade has told you, there'll surely be a place here for you."

"Many's the time I washed and mended the clothing of half the crew of a ship returned from sea, among other jobs," replied Stobia. "My son has helped a cooper to make barrels, and a sailmaker to cut and stitch canvas. Show us what's needed, and we'll give satisfaction to the limit of our strength."

"Excellent. There may even be work for your daughter. Don't be alarmed, I don't mean anything horrid, only that she might run small, safe errands on the premises, thus learning the hostelry business as she goes. My grandfather, whom you've met, will have men of his estate helping out at this and that while we recover from our sorrow and shock. And my mother's brothers, as well as Mistress Pineshade's son, will come to us from Duskport when they can. Adding this to what you contribute, we should get on.... no thanks to that winekeg on two clumsy feet!"

"Be careful how you speak about the Duke, dearie," Leathra cautioned the grief-stricken girl. Marsudel glanced at her sister and at the cook alternately, without comment; then turned her eyes toward the Fairmeads, still without comment.

Bebsha dropped formality with the cook, whom she obviously loved well. "Don't worry, Leathra. I won't tell those toy soldiers that I wish Papa were alive instead of their precious Tembicus Longmarch. I'll just tell Grandpapa and Grandmama that the Fairmeads will work here." Nodding to Stobia, she departed the east kitchen, leaving her younger sister free to make acquaintance.

Looking at Yonazere dozing on her mother's lap, Marsudel asked, "Goodwife, does your daughter like to play with dolls?"

By way of answering, Stobia drew forth a small, worn rag doll from a pocket of her dress. "Yes, Yonazere loves dolls, though she only owns this one. The doll's name is Kibbyboo."

"That's a handsome dog you have there," said Wildrad. Assuming that Marsudel, as a girl, would have assigned a female identity to her toy, he added, "What's her name?"

Marsudel cocked her head slightly, as if mimicking a teacher in mid-lecture. "He's a boy dog. His name is Bodeen. Bodeen, shake hands with Wildrad." She put forth one of the dog's cloth paws, which Wildrad obligingly clasped. "Papa gave him to me. Now that Papa's gone away, I have to keep Master Bodeen with me all the time, or he'll howl and cry. Bodeen has to un'stand that Papa lives inside us now. I tell him and I tell him, got to hold Papa right here." She patted the stuffed animal's chest. "Don't un'stand how Papa jumps around to be in all of our insides, but Grandmama says he does it."

"My Papa had to go away, too," Wildrad told her. "I hold him in my heart, too. And I have something he gave me, just like you have from your Papa. See this tip-section of a ram's horn that I wear on a cord around my neck? Inside it there's a little tin spoon, and one of my own baby teeth, all packed in dirt from the place where I was born, and sealed shut with wax from the first candles that ever lit my nursery with me in it. It's to bring me good luck."

Marsudel inspected the folk-magic talisman. "I wish my Papa had one of these. Lots of stuff like this now in the Haven, but it was too late for my Papa." Hugging Bodeen, she stared blankly into space. Leathra Pineshade gathered Marsudel into her embrace.

Relief from any serious awkwardness in the moment came with the entry of Ladza Coldspring. Childbearing had diminished the grace of her slim figure, but she still was hauntingly beautiful. She was also as gentle of speech as any lady of the highest rank.

"Goodwife Stobia Fairmead, I am the surviving proprietor of this inn. I understand that you have not let yourself give in to the unthinking fear which drove away our help, and that you and your son desire employment. Frankly, I need you at least as much as you need me. You must realize, though, that we have no fortune-telling power to predict how soon business will get back to normal. The Lord Warden, acting in the Duke's name, has given us a quantity of silver which will maintain us for a time, including paying your wages. But there is no certainty that patrons will return in their former numbers sooner than that money runs out. My father has means of his own, and will not hesitate to assist us also; I'm only warning you to expect that we may be sharing hard times for awhile."

"You need not deplete the Duke's silver on our account, Madame Coldspring. If my children and I have so much as food and shelter, and one decent change of clothing each, we will already be much better off than we were this morning."

 
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Madame Coldspring laid a friendly hand on Stobia's shoulder. "My husband would never approve of my taking advantage of someone else's destitution. Wages there shall be, while we can pay them."

"You are as generous as reputation makes you, madame. But there is something of great value you can give to us even if you give us no coin at all. We would feel ourselves richly paid for any amount of toil.... if, together with simple food and shelter, someone in this household would teach Wildrad to read and write, and Yonazere in her turn, if we are still with you when she's a bit older."

These words distracted the bystanding Marsudel from her sadness. "Mama and Papa started to teach me reading, before Papa had to go away." As Wildrad was the first to look in her direction at this, Marsudel directed her next words to him. "You can learn with me."

During this, Bebsha unobtrusively rejoined the group in the east kitchen.

Ladza Coldspring said to Stobia, "Tell me how this sounds to you. I'll give you three silver pieces to start, which you can save in case the inn fails utterly and you need to move on. I will undertake your son's education while we wait to see whether business returns to normal; and if it does return to normal, I will teach your daughter also."

"Are you sure you'll have time to teach both Marsudel and Wildrad yourself?" Leathra Pineshade inquired of her employer. "Don't forget, you're assuming sole headship of the Haven."

"Well I know it, Leathra dear. But my parents and Bebsha, with my brothers and your son if they can get here, will all help. Among us, we'll see that Marsudel and Wildrad learn their letters, in Klorvundish and Yansifarian. Yonazere too, provided the inn survives long enough."

The boy impulsively left his seat to kneel before Ladza, whose beauty had grown almost superhuman to the eyes of gratitude. "A thousand thanks, great lady! I am your loyal servant for life!"

The boy's new patroness favored him with a bleak smile. "Or for the life of this inn. It's possible that even if the Haven founders and sinks, the three of you could come with us and enter my father's service, but I cannot bind him to that. Fate will tell. Anyway, this place is henceforth your home while it lasts. Tomorrow or the next day, we should be able to start fitting you into the reading lessons. Klorvundish first, naturally."

Leathra had sat down during this, to find Marsudel immediately hopping onto her lap. Now the strawberry blonde slid off again, went to Wildrad, and tapped him on the arm. "We'll do good at learning. Our Papas will help us from inside us!"

No one was prepared for the outburst from Bebsha.

"Inside us, inside us! That's all I hear! Maybe I should be eating twice as much food, if Papa really is living inside me. No, four times as much food, because Grandmama and Grandpapa Coldspring must have come with him. Why is everyone so stupid? I want Papa to be really here!"

"Mind your tongue!" her mother began to scold. But Bebsha retorted, "Why, do you think Duke Wineskin has a sorceror listening in?" --and whirled furiously out of the kitchen.

Going by their experience thus far, the Fairmeads would not have thought Ladza capable of the retaliatory fury which launched her in pursuit of her firstborn. "You come straight back here, you insolent--!" Seconds later, duelling cries of anger from just out of sight were coming to the ears of all in the kitchen, though there were no sounds to suggest that the mother had laid violent hands on the daughter.

Wildrad had been waiting for days for the moment when his baby sister would fully feel the impact of their father's death; waiting for the necessary cloudburst of unrestrained grief. Even with the scene just played out before them, that moment still did not come for the dozing Yonazere. But the angry shouts did set off Marsudel's torrent. Without a word, and without moving from where she stood, the five-year-old howled in anguish, and wept as if she had seven hearts and all of them were shattered.

And what Wildrad had been waiting to do for Yonazere, he found himself reflexively doing with his new employer's second child. Scooping Marsudel up in his arms, he hugged her to his shoulder, stuffed animal and all; and her little arms went unquestioningly around his neck, as if she had been waiting all her life to have a caring elder brother.

 
The sound of Marsudel's loud sobs called a truce in the verbal battle between Ladza and Bebsha. The girl quietly went outside, where she mentioned to her grandparents that her little sister had seemingly found her tears. Ladza returned to the east kitchen, saw Marsudel already being comforted, and felt embarrassed that another had been quicker than she to provide this tenderness. But of course, Wildrad had been closer at hand; and the look Ladza gave him as he passed Marsudel to her conveyed appreciation rather than resentment.

In fact, so as to leave no doubt on that score, the landlady leaned back toward Wildrad and kissed him, which set hm to blushing furiously.

Ladza's mother Nishica, responding to what Bebsha had reported, now also rejoined them in the kitchen. "Well, the poor thing needs to cry it out."

"All part of the ever-turning circle," agreed Leathra. "If you please, madame, is Mister Shorecastle finished speaking with the Duke's men?"

"He is. Lord Goldspade asked whether the inn was to be sold--"

Wildrad reacted. "Lord Coldspring? Your family is in the Ducal government as well?"

"No, young man," said Nishica. "That was GOLD-SPADE. The name sounds similar, only by coincidence; no connection."

"Ramquin Goldspade is the Duke's First Secretary," Ladza explained, while still calming Marsudel. "He may have been pointed out to you when you arrived.... There, there, darling, Bebsha didn't mean it..."

Nishica picked up the explaining from there: "The Secretary's lordship is an honorific lifetime title, not hereditary. He's married to Lady Javoya, sister of Tembicus. He said just now that, if Madame Coldspring does want to sell, he will see to it that its availability is made known to every potential buyer on Greatjourney, and to several decent fellows in our neighbor kingdoms."

Still holding her child, Ladza found a smile. "Mother, if you would be so kind, you may tell Ramquin that I will not sell unless I have no other choice. For the stars have sent us new help: workers whom we trust to be wonderfully diligent and faithful."

Nishica Shorecastle glanced a little dubiously at the Fairmeads, but went to do as her daughter had asked without arguing.

"Madame Coldspring," said Stobia, "is there any work you wish us to begin right now?"

"When you have finished eating, and put your daughter down for her nap, yes. There is a servant sleeping-room beyond that yellow door over there; your family can use it for the present, and your daughter should sleep well there. That being attended to, there are brooms and dustpans in the storage closet to the right. The second story corridors need sweeping. Soldiers and magicians have been tracking all manner of dirt through the house, ever since...." Having barely managed to quiet Marsudel, the golden-haired widow abruptly gave in to weeping of her own.

Leathra Pineshade undertook to hold her close. Marsudel dropped from that embrace and landed on her feet, but hovered near with one hand grasping a fold of her mother's long skirt.
 
Close to being ready to leave in opposite directions, the Ducal Secretary and the Lord Warden drew away from the Shorecastle retainers to exchange a few mutters.

"I think that someone in Yansifar is behind this," declared the Warden, his hat and its plume swaying. "Their latest plot to have our island all to themselves."

"We know so little, that I can't rule out the possibility," replied the Secretary, frowning. "But beware of letting your official judgment be distorted by the fact that your position has you dealing mostly with Klorvundishmen, and you like them better. Keep in mind that the murder of this innkeeper happened on the half of Greatjourney farther from the west kingdom, which is why it's you and not your counterpart investigating it now."

"If anything, the location of the attempt on the Duke argues for Yansifar being guilty. They're smart enough to try to avoid making their guilt obvious, and to avoid exposing our Western Warden to suspicion if he's in their pay."

"That is a large 'if,' sir. And perhaps it's time I told you that the Western Warden has dropped grim hints before now that he thinks you are in the pay of Klorvund."

"What nonsense!"

"Until I have more basis for suspicion than the two of you disliking each other because of your past rivalries over women, I shall consider it nonsense to accuse either him or you of treason."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Meanwhile, in the east kitchen, Wildrad crouched beside Marsudel. Tapping a finger on the cloth dog Bodeen, he said, "Master Bodeen, do you know what I think? I think that if Erskud Coldspring could walk into this house in his own flesh-and-blood person right now, he would be very pleased to find out that his family is going to keep his inn running, just the way he meant it to be."

Marsudel turned to look Wildrad in the eye most solemnly. "Yes, Bodeen thinks the same thing."

Madame Coldspring soon recovered her composure enough to give Wildrad another smile. "Young man, I agree with you and Bodeen. There will be one change, though. I will accept an offer made by Lord Secretary Goldspade in the Duke's name, to double the height and thickness of the wall around our property, at the Duke's expense. For it appears that mainland wars will no longer leave us untouched. A serious ramparted wall, with stronger gates, should help to make travelers on the two highways feel safe guesting with us again."

"They'll come back," insisted Leathra Pineshade. "Our spoke of the wheel's at the bottom of its turn right now. With the arrival of the most worthy Fairmeads, we can only rise upward from here. Life keeps rolling forward."

"A question before we do that sweeping," Stobia put in. "Is there a way that we might pay our respects to the departed? I mean, has Mister Coldspring, I mean, has a resting place been chosen?"

Ladza selected words, in a rapid alternation of the Klorvundish and Yansifarian languages, intended to pass far above the heads of the two little girls present. "Owing to the authoritative conjecture that extraterritorial malefactors engineered the recent misdirected assassination, the sovereign of our modestly-proportioned landmass dictated the diverting of the cadaver in question, so that thaumaturgical processes performed upon the aforesaid anatomy may approach the greatest possible probability of scrying the culpable instigator's identity. Corporeal interment shall proceed no sooner than three days hence."

Trying to act as if none of these words had been over her head, Stobia said, "What's the world coming to? I only hope that honest people can muster enough magic among them to make it safer for Yonazere and Marsudel to grow up."



END OF CHAPTER ONE
 
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Chapter Two: The Haven Continues


"Are you sure the ceiling will stay up, with such a long wall knocked out from under it?" Wildrad asked the manservants of Jedloff Shorecastle, as he was assisting them by moving rubble out of the way. They were taking apart the wall which had separated the two largest guest rooms on the third story. The resulting enlarged chamber would become the new Ducal Suite; for the room directly beneath it, where Erskud Coldspring had been murdered, was locked, never to be used again.

"A reasonable question," replied one of the workmen; "but don't worry. We're keeping these two upright beams in place as pillars. Madame Coldspring is thinking over how she'll want them decorated. Whatever adornment is chosen will doubtless include warding-charms against both evil and ordinary mishaps. Now, give me a hand over here, and we'll saw these planks in half, so they'll be short enough for us to get out the door and carry downstairs...."

"Sir, if it please you, why not pass them out the window, slide them down the lower roof, and so drop them to the grass? Then you can keep them full length, in case Madame Coldspring may have more use for them?"

A second worker exclaimed, "Well thought of, lad!" Then the first man said, "I confess, I'm more accustomed to caring for Mister Shorecastle's wheat fields than to carpentry, though I've never cut off any of my fingers at either occupation so far." By implementing Wildrad's suggestion, they could show very satisfactory progress in the remodelling when it came time to quit work for the funeral.

Everyone within the Coldspring Haven's walls was free to attend this solemnity, because no overnight guests had returned, though some travelers had ventured to enter for meals in passing. The surviving Coldsprings, the Fairmeads, Leathra Pineshade, and the Shorecastles with their hired servants, were joined by a cluster of sympathetic neighbors on a hillside facing the inn -- the same hill where Marsudel had done some of her grieving, under her grandfather's vigilance, on the day the Fairmeads had come. On the hillside, a hole had been dug to accommodate a coffin in a vertical position: the custom for burials on Greatjourney Island, whose land area was limited though not crowded. The Lord Warden of the East had come back to officiate at this farewell.

"Fellow subjects of the House of Longmarch," he began, "We have gathered to commemorate the life of Erskud Coldspring, one of the most rightly respected gentlemen to dwell in the east of this island in living memory. In his time, he traveled to Klorvund, Yansifar, Nexoba, Viglarsh, and other lands; but that heart-bond we all have with our native soil called him home. to wed his true love, and to create a cordial place of shelter for others whose destiny still bade them travel...."

The shock of her husband's death had by now subsided enough (though the cause for the slaying remained undiscovered) that Ladza Coldspring could feel something besides pure agony at the memories evoked by the Lord Warden's words. She tried to slip an affectionate arm around her elder daughter's shoulders, but Bebsha jerked clear, having no intention of being comforted. Bebsha still would not speak of it openly, but it was ever on her mind that her father would never have made his fatal exchange of place with Duke Tembicus if her mother had not acted so scandalized over the Duke's drunkenness. The girl's mind refused to see her own outrage against the Duke's drunkenness as having anything in common with the feeling she was condemning in her mother.

The Eastern Warden continued: "The circumstances of our friend's departure were such as to sharpen the sting of loss that we feel. But I ask you all to reflect that Erskud never saw or felt that which ended his life. As far as his own awareness was concerned, the final hours of his time in the world passed in peace, bringing him the satisfaction of knowing that he was skillfully carrying out the hospitable duties he had assumed as his life's work. I have always felt that the quality of a man's life can be seen, if only by himself, in its concluding moments. The peaceful contentment in which Erskud entered his final sleep was a fitting reward for the good-natured life he had led."

"Well, I like that!" hissed Wildrad in his mother's ear. "Does he mean that my father was less good than Mister Coldspring, just because my father did see and feel what killed him?"

Glancing around anxiously for signs that anyone else had heard her son, Stobia whispered back, "He's just coming up with whatever he can to comfort the family that's holding the funeral. He'd have come up with something different if he'd been eulogizing your Papa. Now be still!"

"His life touched so many lives," the Warden went on, "that we can scarcely consider him departed. He lives on in the happy memories of all who knew him; he lives on in his outstanding hostelry, with its magnificent library; he lives on in the township that grew up around him, owing its existence as a social entity to the beginnings he made; and above all, of course, he lives on in the two lovely daughters his wife Ladza bore to him. Therefore, let us not mourn, but celebrate all that Erskud meant and still means to us!"

"If he tells us to smile," growled Bebsha to her grandmother, "I'm going to throw a rock at him!" Fortunately, though she had spoken more loudly than Wildrad, Nishica was able to calm her down before anyone took adverse notice; and soon there was something else to draw the attention of those assembled on the hillside.

 
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