Soul of the Fire

Chapter 42

Fitch hurried along the dimly lit corridor. Rowley had told him it ‘was important.’ Morley’s bare feet thumped against the wood floor. It sounded odd to Fitch, now. Having never worn boots, it had taken Fitch time to get used to the way they sounded. Now bare feet sounded odd to him. Beyond odd, it was a sound that reminded him of being a shoeless scullion, and he didn’t like to be reminded of that part of his life.

Being a messenger was like a dream come true.

Through the open windows the sounds of the music at the feast drifted in. The woman with the harp was playing and singing. Fitch loved the pure sound of her voice as she sang along with her harp.

“Got any idea what this is about?”

“No,” Fitch said. “But I wouldn’t think we would have messages to take this time of night. Especially when there’s a feast going on.”

“I hope it doesn’t take long.”

Fitch knew what Morley meant. They’d only just settled down to get drunk. Morley had found a nearly full bottle of rum and they were looking forward to getting drunk out of their minds. Not only that, but Morley had a washgirl he knew who said she’d like to get drunk with them. Morley told Fitch that they should let her get drunk first. Fitch was panting at the implications.

Besides that, and just plain liking to get drunk, he wanted to forget his talk with Beata.

The outer office was empty and had a hollow quiet to it. Rowley hadn’t returned with them, so there was just the two of them. Dalton Campbell, pacing slowly with his hands clasped behind his back, saw them and waved them in.

“There you both are. Good.”

“What can we do for you, Master Campbell?” Fitch asked.

The inner office was lit by lamps, giving it a warm feeling. The window was open and the light drapes glided to and fro in a light breeze. The battle flags rustled a little in the breeze.

Dalton Campbell let out a sigh. “We have trouble. Trouble about the murder of Claudine Winthrop.”

“What sort of trouble?” Fitch asked. “Is there anything we can do to fix it?”

The Minister’s aide wiped a hand across his chin.

“You were seen.”

Fitch felt an icy wave of dread tingle up his back. “Seen? What do you mean?”

“Well, you remember you told me you heard a coach stop, and then you all ran off to that pond to dunk yourselves.”

Fitch gulped air. “Yes, sir?”

Dalton Campbell sighed again. He tapped a finger against the desk as he seemed to consider how to put it into words.

“Well, the coach driver was the one who found the body. He turned back to get the city guard.”

“You told us that already, Master Campbell,” Morley said.

“Yes, well, I have only just learned that before he left, he had his assistant remain behind. The man followed your trail through the wheat. He followed you to the pond.”

“Dear spirits,” Fitch breathed. “You mean he saw all of us swimming and washing ourselves clean?”

“He saw you two. He’s just now named your names. Fitch and Morley, he said—from the kitchen at the estate.”

Fitch’s heart was hammering out of control. He tried to think, but panic was welling up around his ears faster than he could tread it.

Good reason or not, they would still put him to death.

“But why didn’t this man say something before, if he saw us?”

“What? Oh. I guess he was in shock over the sight of the body, and all, so he—” Dalton Campbell waggled a hand. “Look, there’s no time to discuss what’s already happened. We can’t do anything about that, now.”

The tall Ander pulled open a drawer. “I feel terrible about this. I know you two have done good work for me—for Anderith. But the fact remains, you were seen.”

He took a heavy leather pouch from the drawer and plunked it down on the desk.

“What’s going to happen to us?” Morley asked. His eyes were the size of gold sovereigns. Fitch knew how his friend felt. His own knees were trembling as he tried to imagine how they would execute him.

A new terror rose up inside his throat, almost pushing out a scream. He recalled Franca telling him how that mob put a rope around her neck and pulled her up to build a fire under her while she was strangling and her feet were kicking in the air. Except Fitch didn’t have any magic to help him get away. He reached up and felt the coarse rope around his neck.

Dalton Campbell slid the leather pouch across the desk. “I want you two to take this.”

Fitch had to concentrate to understand what Dalton Campbell had said. “What is it?”

“It’s mostly silver. There is some gold in there, too. Like I said, I feel terrible about this. You two have been a big help and have shown me you are to be trusted. Now, though, with someone having seen you and able to identify you as being the ones . . . you would be put to death for killing Claudine Winthrop.”

“But you could tell them—”

“I can tell them nothing. My first responsibility is to Bertrand Chanboor and the future of Anderith. The Sovereign is ill. Bertrand Chanboor could be called upon to become the new Sovereign any day. I can’t throw the whole land into chaos over Claudine Winthrop. You two are like soldiers in war. In war, good people are lost.

“Besides, with emotions over this running so strong, no one would listen to me. An angry mob would drag you away and . . .”

Fitch thought he might faint. He was breathing so fast he was near to passing out. “You mean we’re to be put to death?”

Dalton Campbell looked up from his thoughts. “What? No.” He pushed at the leather pouch again. “I told you, this is a lot of money. Take it. Get away. Don’t you understand? You must get away or you will be put to death before the sun sets again.”

“But where will we go?” Morley asked.

Dalton Campbell waved a hand toward the window.

“Away. Far away. Far enough away that they well never find you.”

“But if it could be cleared up, somehow, so that people knew we was only doing what had to be done—”

“And raping Beata? You didn’t have to rape Beata.”

“What?” Fitch said with a long breath. “I would never—I swear, I would never do that. Please, Master Campbell, I wouldn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter what you would never do. As far as the people after you are concerned, you did it. They’re not going to stop so that I can reason with them. They won’t listen. They think the same people who raped and killed Claudine raped Beata, too. They won’t believe you, not when a man can identify you as the ones who killed Claudine Winthrop. Whether you raped Beata or not doesn’t matter. The man who saw you is an Ander.”

“The people after us?” Morley wiped a trembling hand over his pallid face. “You mean to say there’s people already after us?”

Dalton Campbell nodded. “If you stay here you will be put to death for both crimes. Your only chance is to get away—and fast.

“Because you’ve both been such dependable men for me, and served so well in the cause of Anderith culture, I wanted to warn you so you could have a chance to escape, at least. I’m giving you my life savings to help you escape.”

“Your savings?” Fitch shook his head. “No, sir, Master Campbell, we’ll not take your savings. You have a wife and—”

“I insist. If necessary, I will order it. The only way I’ll be able to sleep at night is knowing I could at least help you in this small way. I do whatever I can to take care of my men. This is the least I can do for you two brave men.”

He pointed at the leather pouch. “Take it. Split it between you. Use it to get far away. Start a new life.”

“A new life?”

“That’s right,” Master Campbell said. “You could even buy yourselves swords.”

Morley blinked in astonishment. “Swords?”

“Of course. There is enough there to buy you each a dozen swords. If you went to a new land, you wouldn’t be thought of as Hakens, as you are here. In many places you would be free men and you could buy yourselves swords. Get yourselves a new life. New work, new everything. With money like that, you could meet nice women and court them properly.”

“But we’ve never even been out of Fairfield,” Morley said, near tears.

Dalton Campbell put his hands on his desk and leaned toward them. “If you stay here, you will be put to death. Guards have your names, and are no doubt searching for you as we speak. They are probably right on your heels. I pray to the Creator they didn’t see you coming up here. If you want to live, take the money and run. Find yourselves a new life.”

Fitch snatched a quick look over his shoulder. He didn’t see anyone or hear anyone, but they could be on them at any moment. He didn’t know what to do, but he did know they had to do as Dalton Campbell said and get away.

Fitch swept the leather pouch off the desk. “Master Campbell, you are the best man I’ve ever known. I wish I could have worked for you for the rest of my life. Thank you for telling us they’re after us and giving us a start.”

Dalton Campbell reached out with a hand. Fitch had never clasped hands with an Ander before, but it felt good. It made him feel like a man. Dalton Campbell gripped Morley’s hand, too.

“Good fortune to you both. I would suggest you get some horses. Buy them—don’t steal them, or that will give them your trail. I know it will be difficult, but try to act normal or you will make people suspicious.

“Take care with the money, don’t waste it on prostitutes and rum or it will be gone before you know it. If that happens, you will be caught and you won’t live long enough to die from the diseases the whores give you.

“If you use your heads with the money, spend it frugally, it will keep you in good stead for a few years, give you time to establish new lives wherever you find you like it.”

Fitch reached out and shook hands again. “Thank you for all the advice, Master Campbell. We’ll do as you say. We’ll buy horses and then get away.

“Don’t you worry about us. Both Morley and I have lived on the streets before. We know how not to get caught by Anders wishing us harm.”

Dalton Campbell smiled. “I suppose you do. May the Creator watch over you, then.”

When Dalton returned to the feast, he found Teresa, sitting in his chair, engaged in an intense conversation with the Minister. Her lilting laugh chimed above, while Bertrand’s chuckle rumbled below, the middling drone of the feast. Hildemara, Stein, and the merchants at the other end of the table were engrossed in their own whispered discussion.

Smiling, Teresa reached out and took Dalton’s hand. “There you are, darling. Can you stay now, please? Bertrand, tell Dalton he works too hard. He has to eat.”

“Why, yes, Dalton, you do work harder than any man I’ve known. Your wife is frightfully lonely without you. I’ve been trying to keep her entertained, but she isn’t interested in my stories. She is quite polite about it, even though she only wishes to tell me what a good man you are when I already know it.”

Bertrand and Teresa encouraged him to return to his seat as she moved back to hers. Dalton held a finger up to his wife, imploring patience for just a moment longer. He moved around and put one hand on the Minister’s shoulder and the other on Hildemara’s as he leaned down between them. They both tipped their heads in.

“I have just now received new information that confirms my suspicions. As it turns out, the first reports of the crime were sensationalized. Claudine Winthrop was in reality murdered by just two men.” He handed the Minister a folded piece of paper secured with a wax seal. “Here are their names.”

Bertrand took the paper as a smile spread on his wife’s face.

“Now, please listen carefully,” Dalton added. “I was on to them, but before I was able to arrest them they stole a great deal of money from the kitchen account and escaped. An intensive search is already under way.”

He lifted a questioning eyebrow as he looked to each face to make sure they understood he was fabricating a story for a reason. Their own expressions told him they grasped the unspoken meaning between his words.

“Tomorrow, when it pleases you, announce the names of the men on that piece of paper. They worked in the kitchen. They raped and killed Claudine Winthrop. They raped a Haken girl who works for the butcher, Inger. And now they have robbed the kitchen account and run.”

“But won’t the Haken girl have something to say?” Bertrand asked, worried she might deny they were the ones and turn the finger to him, if forced to talk.

“Unfortunately, the ordeal was too much for her, and she ran off. We don’t know where she went, probably to live with distant family, but she won’t be back. The city guard has her name; should she ever try to return, I will know about it first and personally see to her interrogation.”

“Then she isn’t here to contradict the conviction of the murderers.” A scowl returned to Hildemara’s face. “Why should we give them the night to escape? That’s foolish. The people will want an execution. A public execution. We could give them quite the show of it. Nothing like a good public execution to satisfy people.”

Dalton took a patient breath. “The people want to know who did it. Bertrand is going to give them the names. That will show everyone the Minister’s office discovered the killers. That they ran before the names were even announced proves them guilty.”

Dalton drew down his own brow. “Anything more than that could bring trouble in the form of the Mother Confessor. That is trouble beyond our ability to control.

“An execution would serve no purpose and bring great risk. The people will be satisfied with knowing we have solved the crime and the killers are no longer among them. To do more would risk everything as we stand in the doorway to the Sovereign’s chamber.”

Hildemara began to object.

“The man is right,” Bertrand said with authority.

She relented. “I suppose.”

“I will make an announcement tomorrow, with Edwin Winthrop at my side, if he is well enough,” Bertrand said. “Very good, Dalton. Very good indeed. You’ve earned yourself a reward for this one.”

Dalton smiled at last. “Oh, I have that all planned out, too, Minister.”

Bertrand’s sly chuckle returned. “No doubt, Dalton. No doubt.” The laugh turned to a belly laugh that even infected his wife.

Fitch had to wipe tears from his eyes as he and Morley rushed down the halls of the estate. They went as fast as they could without running, remembering what Dalton Campbell told them about trying to act normal. When they saw guards, they quickly changed their route to avoid being seen up close. From a distance, Fitch was just a messenger and Morley an estate worker.

But if they saw any guards, and the guards tried to stop them, then they would have to bolt. Fortunately, the ruckus of the feast covered the sound of their feet on the wood floors.

Fitch had an idea that might help them escape. Without explaining, he pulled Morley’s sleeve, urging him to follow.

Fitch turned them to the stairwell. They took the steps two at a time down to the lower floor.

Fitch made two turns and in short order found the room he wanted. It was deserted. Carrying a lamp, they both slipped inside and shut the door.

“Fitch, are you crazy, shutting us in here? We could be halfway to Fairfield by now.”

Fitch licked his lips. “Who are they looking for, Morley?”

“Us!”

“No, I mean, from the way they’re thinking, who are they looking for. A messenger, and a kitchen scullion, right?”

Morley scratched his head as he kept looking at the door. “I guess.”

“Well, this is the estate supply room—where they keep some of the livery. Before a seamstress fitted me up with my uniform, I got one from down here to wear till she was done with mine.”

“Well, if you got your uniform, then what are we doing—”

“Take off your clothes.”

“Why?”

Fitch growled in frustration. “Morley, they’re looking for a messenger and a scullion. If you put on a messenger’s outfit, then we’ll be two messengers.”

Morley’s eyebrows went up. “Oh. That’s a good idea.”

In a rush Morley stripped out of his filthy scullion clothes. Fitch held out the lamp as he searched the shelves for outfits of messengers for the Minister’s aide. He tossed Morley some dark brown trousers.

“Do these fit?”

Morley stepped into the legs and pulled them up. “Good enough.”

Fitch pulled out a white shirt with ruffled collar. “How about this?”

Fitch watched as Morley tried to button it. It was too small to fit over Morley’s broad shoulders.

“Fold it back up,” Fitch said as he searched for another.

Morley tossed the shirt aside. “Why bother?”

“Pick it up and fold it back up. You want us to get caught? I don’t want it to look like we was down here. If they don’t know someone took clothes, then we can get away better.”

“Oh,” Morley said. He plucked up the shirt and started folding with his big hands.

Fitch handed him another that was only just a little too big. In short order Fitch found a sleeved doublet quilted with an interlocking cornucopia design. The edges were trimmed with the distinctive brown and black braided-wheat banding of Dalton Campbell’s messengers.

Morley poked his arms through the sleeves. It fit fine.

“How do I look?”

Fitch held up the lamp. He let out a low whistle. His friend was built a lot stouter than Fitch. In the messenger uniform Morley looked almost noble. Fitch never thought of his friend as good-looking, but now he was a sight.

“Morley, you look better than Rowley does.”

Morley grinned. “Really?” The grin vanished. “Let’s get out of here.”

Fitch pointed. “Boots. You need boots, or you’ll look foolish. Here, put on these stockings or you’ll get blisters.”

Morley hauled up the stockings and then sat on the floor while he matched up boot soles with the bottom of his foot until he found a pair that fit. Fitch told him to pick up all his old clothes so no one would know they had been there and taken an outfit, if they even discovered it missing—there was a lot of livery stored in the room and it wasn’t orderly enough to tell if one outfit was gone.

When they heard boots in the hall, Fitch blew out the lamp. He and Morley stood frozen in the dark. They were too terrified to breathe. The boots came closer. Fitch wanted to run, but if they did they would have to run out the door, and that was where the men were.

Men. He realized it was boots from two men. Guards. Guards making their rounds.

Once again, Fitch felt panic at the idea of being put to death before a jeering crowd. Sweat trickled down his back.

The door opened.

Fitch could see the man, standing with his hand on the doorknob, outlined in the dim light from the hall. He could see the sword at the man’s hip.

Fitch and Morley were back a ways in the room, in an aisle between shelves. The long rectangle of light from the doorway fell across the floor and came almost right up to Fitch’s boots. He held his breath. He dared not move a muscle.

Maybe, he thought, the guard, his eyes accustomed to the light, didn’t see the two of them standing there in the dark.

The guard closed the door and walked on with his fellow, who was opening other doors in the hall. The sound of footsteps receded into the distance.

“Fitch,” Morley said in a shaky whisper, “I’d be needing to relieve myself something awful. Can we get out of here? Please?”

Fitch had to force his voice to return. “Sure.”

He made for where he remembered seeing the door in the pitch blackness. The light of the empty hall was a welcoming sight. The two of them hurried on to the nearest way out, the service entrance not far from the brewer’s room. Along their way they dumped Morley’s old clothes in the rag bin near the service dock.

They heard the old brewer singing a drunken song. Morley wanted to stop and lift something to drink. Fitch licked his lips as he considered Morley’s idea. It sounded good to him, too. He surely would like a drink right then.

“No,” he finally whispered. “I’d not like to be put to death for a drink. We have plenty of money. We can buy a drink later. I don’t want to be here a second longer than necessary.”

Morley nodded reluctantly. They rushed out the service doors and out onto the dock. Fitch leading, they hurried on down the steps—the steps Claudine had come up the first time he and Morley had their talk with her. If only she’d listened to them, and done as Fitch warned her.

“Aren’t we going to get any of our things?” Morley asked.

Fitch stopped and looked at his friend standing in the light coming from the estate windows.

“You got anything worth dying for?”

Morley scratched his ear. “Well, no, I guess not. Just a nice carved stick game my pa gave me. I guess I don’t have much else but some of my other clothes, and they’re just rags, really. This outfit is better than any of them—even my assembly clothes.”

Penance assembly. Fitch realized with a sense of joy they would never have to go to penance assembly again.

“Well, I don’t have anything worth taking, either. I got a few coppers left in my trunk, but that’s nothing compared to what we’re carrying now. I say we get to Fairfield and buy some horses.”

Morley made a face. “You know how to ride a horse?”

Fitch looked around to make sure there weren’t any guards about. He gave Morley a gentle shove to get them moving.

“No, but I reckon we’ll learn fast enough.”

“I reckon,” Morley said. “But let’s buy gentle horses.”

As they made the road, they both looked back over their shoulders at the estate for the last time.

“I’m glad to be away from there,” Morley said. “Especially after what happened in there today. I’ll be glad not to have to go into that kitchen again.”

Fitch frowned over at his friend. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t hear?”

“Hear what? I was off in Fairfield delivering messages.”

Morley grasped Fitch’s arm and brought them to a panting halt. “About the fire? You didn’t hear about the fire?”

“Fire?” Fitch was baffled. “What are you talking about?”

“Down in the kitchen. Earlier today. Something went crazy wrong with the ovens and the hearth—the whole thing.”

“Wrong? Like what?”

Morley lifted his arms up as he made a roaring sound with the spit in his throat. His arms spread, apparently to imitate flames expanding outward. “It just flared up something awful. Burned the bread. Got so hot it split a cauldron.”

“No,” Fitch said in astonishment. “Did anyone get hurt?”

A fiendish grin spread on Morley’s face. “Gillie got burned real bad.” With an elbow he jabbed Fitch in the ribs. “She was making a sauce when the fire went crazy. She got her ugly prune face burned up. Her hair was afire and everything.”

Morley laughed with the satisfaction of one who had waited years for recompense. “She probably won’t live, they say. But at least as long as she lives, she’ll be in a horrible pain.”

Fitch had mixed feelings. He felt no sympathy for Gillie, but still . . .

“Morley, you shouldn’t be glad an Ander got hurt. That just shows our hateful Haken ways.”

Morley made a scornful face and they started out again. They ran the entire way, diving into the fields whenever a carriage came along the road. They hid in the wheat, or the sorghum, depending on which side offered the most cover. There they lay and caught their breath until the carriage passed.

In a way, Fitch found the experience of running away more a liberation than a frightful flight. Away from the estate he felt less fear of getting caught. At night, anyway.

“I think we should hide in the day,” he said to Morley. “In the beginning at least. Hide in the day somewhere safe as we go along, and where we can see if anyone is coming. We can travel at night so people won’t see us, or if they do, won’t be able to see who we are.”

“But what if someone finds us in the day when we’re sleeping?”

“We’ll have to stand watches. Just like soldiers do. One of us stands watch while the other gets sleep.”

Morley seemed to find Fitch’s logic a marvelous thing. “I never thought of that.”

They slowed to a walk as they neared the streets of Fairfield. There, they knew how to disappear as effectively as they did in the fields when a carriage came along the road.

“We can get some horses,” Fitch said, “and still make some distance tonight.”

Morley thought a minute. “How we going to get out of Anderith? Master Campbell said there are places where it don’t matter that we’re Haken. But how we going to get past the army at the border with the Dominie Dirtch?”

Fitch gave the shoulder of Morley’s doublet a tug. “We’re messengers. Remember?”

“So?”

“So, we say we have official business.”

“Messengers have official business outside of Anderith?”

Fitch gave that some thought. “Well, who’s to say we don’t? If we say we have urgent business they can’t keep us until they send word back. That would take too long.”

“They might ask to see the message.”

“We can’t be showing secret messages to them, now can we? We’ll just say it’s a secret mission to another land we can’t name with an important message they aren’t allowed to see.”

Morley grinned. “I think this is going to work. I think we’re going to get away.”

“You bet we are.”

Morley pulled Fitch to a halt. “Fitch, where are we going to go? Do you got any idea about that part of it?”

This time it was Fitch who grinned.