Dreamer's Pool by Juliet Marillier
‘I backed the cart in, so the load was just outside the doors. You sure you want to hear all this? Can’t think why.’
‘Go on. Where was Branoc while you were doing this?’
‘Standing there in the yard with his eye on me. I offered to carry the bags up, thinking he’d want them high and dry in the loft, and he said he’d do that himself later. I was glad enough; saved me the extra work. Looked narrow, not easy to get the load up there. Branoc took the ladder away to make more room down below. Then I –’
‘Wait. He took the ladder away?’
‘Mm-hm. Here, drink your tea, you look like you’re seeing ghosts. I unloaded the sacks, stacked them on the floor.’
‘With Branoc still watching?’
‘He’d gone off by then. When I finished I went back out. Most folk give me a bite to eat after a long trip, but I didn’t like the feel of the place. Decided to take the cart down by the lake to have my bread and cheese. Branoc came back over, I asked him for Scannal’s payment, he went off to get it. He paid me, I left.’ He stared into his cup for a moment. ‘One more thing. Rats.’
‘Rats?’
‘Up in the loft. Heard them scuttling around. Mentioned it to Branoc, joking-like, and he took offence.’
Rats. Black Crow save me. ‘Grim,’ I asked carefully, ‘this loft, the one Branoc didn’t want you to climb up to – did it have any kind of opening? I don’t mean where the ladder came down, but toward the front of the barn. A window, a trapdoor, a crack in the boards.’
Grim stared at me. ‘You mean up above where the cart was? But . . .’
‘Was there anything?’
He frowned in concentration. ‘Might’ve been a window at the front. It’s a high barn, there’d be quite a bit of room up there. You saying . . . ?’
‘That the kerchief might have come down from that window onto the cart, and you might not have seen it until you got back to Scannal’s. That’s possible, isn’t it?’
Grim frowned into his brew. ‘Could be. But why? Who’d be up there, and why would they drop a kerchief? If they wanted me to look up, why not just call out?’
‘Perhaps they were afraid Branoc might hear.’ The chill sensation was being replaced by a terrible anger. A miller, a miller’s daughter, a baker. By all the gods, I hoped I was wrong about this. ‘When folk are truly frightened, when they’re cowed and beaten down, asking for help can be almost impossible. You and I know that, Grim.’
‘You’re saying the rats weren’t rats at all,’ Grim said in a shocked whisper. ‘The fellow’s got something else up there.’
‘Someone.’ I wished I had asked Emer what the traveller boy’s name was. Aedan. Art. Aillil. ‘Grim, there’s a girl missing from Silverlake. The miller’s daughter, Ness, a friend of young Emer’s. It’s commonly believed she ran away with her sweetheart, one of the travellers, and took her father’s life savings with her. That same night the miller was killed in a nasty accident, which folk put down to him being upset and careless. Emer swears her friend wouldn’t do what they say she did. But nobody will believe her.’
‘Except you.’
‘I wish I didn’t, Grim. But I think N is for Ness, and A is for whatever the traveller lad’s name is, and Branoc may have someone in his loft who needs rescuing fast. Tell me, how quickly could you fetch us a horse and cart?’
He gave a shocked whistle. ‘Not today. And maybe not tomorrow. Couple of horses, I could manage. Why would you need a cart?’
‘If that girl’s been up there all this time, who knows what state she’ll be in? Possibly unable to walk, almost certainly not up to riding, even as far as Silverlake village.’
‘We can’t go in with a cart,’ Grim said. ‘That’d be sure to make Branoc suspicious. Be different if I had a delivery to make, but he’s got all the flour he needs for a while.’
‘Ah. You may not have an excuse to go up there, but I do.’ I pointed to the pot of salve Emer and I had made. ‘Branoc sent a message asking for a remedy, something for strained arms and shoulders. I could just send it with a boy. Or I could deliver it myself, along with an offer to massage away the pain.’
‘Too risky. Let me take it.’
‘This needs the two of us, Grim. And I want to do it today. If I’m right, and Branoc has got the girl, I don’t want her to spend another night as his prisoner. Let’s get her out of there.’
‘We could tell the prince or that man of his,’ Grim said. ‘Ask him if he’ll send folk to see if it’s true. They could get the girl back home quicker than we could, and they could send men-at-arms to deal with Branoc.’
‘Only one problem there, apart from the fact that I’ve good cause not to trust princes and the like, especially where women in trouble are concerned. Emer said everyone refused to believe her when she told them Ness wouldn’t have run away, and that was despite her being Ness’s closest friend and a sensible girl. Our tale sounds far-fetched; it sounds like we’ve put together bits and pieces that might mean nothing at all. I can’t see Prince Oran being in a hurry to send folk storming over to Silverlake on the evidence we’ve got. If there was time, I’d walk over to Winterfalls and ask Emer if Ness’s sweetheart has a name beginning with A; I’d ask if the lad ever gave Ness a red kerchief. I’d ask if Branoc the baker wanted Ness for himself, and if she turned him down. But that would take time. It would mean leaving this until tomorrow, and I’m not going to do that; I can’t. Anyway, what if I’m wrong? What if we gather a whole army of folk and descend on Branoc’s barn, and it turns out what’s up there is rats after all?’
‘Mm. And if he heard folk coming and guessed why, he might panic and hurt the girl. He might do anything. It’s an odd story, miller crushing himself with his own grindstone. Sounds too freakish to be true. Maybe it never was true. Maybe the miller was murdered.’
‘Not so much of a bonehead after all, are you? So, if you can get the horses and get them quickly, here’s what we’ll do.’
21
~GRIM~
Turns out she can ride, even with a blanket saddle and not much of a halter. Just as well. The two horses, I borrow from a fellow who owes me a favour. Fixed his roof a while ago, knew he was struggling, told him to forget paying. While I fetch the horses Blackthorn puts together what we need: her healer’s things, a bag of oats, a couple of blankets, a coil of rope. I’ve got a knife on me, and so has Blackthorn. That part of the plan bothers me. Knife or no knife, while I’m getting the girl out Blackthorn’s going to be on her own with Branoc. If he sees what’s up, she’ll be in trouble.
I tell her this when we’re on the road. She says not to worry, she’s faced up to worse before. If she needs me she’ll yell for help. All very good, but what if I’m halfway down the ladder with this girl when she does? What am I going to do, drop the girl and rush in to save Blackthorn? Maybe we should have gone to the prince after all, I tell her. She says nonsense, who needs men-at-arms? She’s looking at me when she says it, and I feel funny. Someone like her trusting me to do the right thing, that’s new to me. Could take some getting used to.
We ride fast. The day’s nearly half gone, and what we have to do needs doing in daylight. I start wondering if we’ve made a stupid mistake, but Blackthorn’s got her jaw set and her eyes angry, as if she might burst if she doesn’t save this girl before dark, so I just keep on riding and hope for the best. Stick to the plan, she’s told me, and we can do this. Oh, and make sure you don’t frighten the girl. Hah! Big lump like me crashing through the door of a loft, when someone’s been locked up in there for who knows how long – anyone in their right mind would be scared. And this is a little girl. I say why not change places, she rescues the girl, I deal with Branoc, and she tells me again why that won’t work.
We keep on riding. In the middle of the afternoon we go through Silverlake settlement without stopping, and here we are, down the hill a bit from Branoc’s barn, in a spot w
We follow the plan. Horses tied up under the trees, healer’s bag in her hand, other supplies on my back, the two of us walking up quiet-like. I stop a bit short of the barn, keeping in cover. Blackthorn goes on. She looks as if she’s never been scared of anything in her life. This is the bit of the plan I hate – seeing her go off where I can’t protect her. Makes my gut ache. Stupid.
I sneak around to a spot where I can see the courtyard. Branoc comes out before Blackthorn can knock on his door; it’s like he’s been watching. They talk a bit, then the two of them go into the house and the door shuts behind them. Don’t like that. But it’s the way the plan works.
I wait a bit, because that’s what she said to do. Give her time to get Branoc sitting down and having his aches and pains tended to. Then I go up to the barn. Problem: the doors are bolted. Hard to slide the bolts open without making a racket. I do it slowly, inch by inch, and my heart’s doing a bit of a dance, a fast reel it’d be. I swing the doors open and I’m in. Seems a good idea to close them over behind me, so I do, but not all the way. Might need to get out fast.
Problem: the ladder’s not there. I think of calling out, but no, Branoc might hear, and even if he doesn’t, there’s what Blackthorn said about folk sometimes being too scared to ask for help, maybe too scared even to squeak. I go back outside, look around, find the ladder lying down against the wall. Fetch it in, put it in place. Think of Blackthorn in there with that man. Hope she’ll use the knife quick and hard if she has to.
I climb up. Creak, creak, every step loud enough to wake the dead. Hope the thing doesn’t break under me. In my head are the fellows from Mathuin’s lockup, the ones I couldn’t get out and the ones I did get out who ended up dead anyway. Poxy. Dribbles. Strangler, poor bastard. Frog Spawn. The other fellows down the end. Life’s cruel sometimes. I’m at the top, on a flat bit, and in front of me there’s a wall with a door in it, like there’s a storage room up here. At the front. Over the spot where the cart was, that day. Shit. Looks like Blackthorn may have been right.
This door’s bolted too, on the outside. Bastard. I stop to take a couple of breaths, not wanting to go in there with my face all hate and anger. Then I slip the bolts and pull the door open.
It’s darkish and for a bit I don’t see her. Then there’s a shaky gasping noise, and she bursts out crying. Shutters on the window; I throw them open and light comes in. There she is, just a young thing, all bruises and big eyes, and she can’t come out of the shadowy corner because around one wrist and one ankle she’s got shackles, and there are chains joining them to rings in the wall. She’s sort of crouching. Looks like she’s too tired or hurt to stand up, but the wrist chain’s too short for her to lie down. An oath bursts out of me, a bad one, then I get a hold of myself.
‘It’s all right,’ I say. ‘You’re safe now. I’ve come to get you out.’
Didn’t bring any tools; didn’t think I’d need them. Might be some down below, but I don’t want to leave her on her own. Her gown’s all ragged and dirty, and there’s a stink from the bucket in the corner. A filthy mattress against the wall, with a blanket. Guess he undoes the shackles at night. A cup, empty. Nothing else.
‘Picked up your kerchief,’ I say, moving closer, trying not to scare her. ‘Sorry we didn’t come sooner; took a while to work out.’
‘I’m Ness,’ she sobs. ‘Daughter of Ernan the miller. My dad – where’s my dad?’
Black Crow save me. She doesn’t even know. ‘It’s just me and my friend today,’ I tell her. ‘Got to get these shackles off you; hold still for a bit.’
Fellow’s done a thorough job, curse his poxy hide. Hard to get the things off without hurting her. And I’m worried about how long it’s taking, since Blackthorn’s down there with him. If he comes out before I get Ness away this could turn even nastier than it already is. I try to prise the leg shackle open with my knife, but it’s going to be too slow. In the end I take hold of the chains and haul until the rings break off the wall. They come crashing down and a shower of rubble comes with them, and it’s loud, too loud. Ness sort of falls against me, then clutches onto me, sobbing against my chest.
‘Right, let’s get you out of here quick,’ I say, wanting to cry right along with her. I don’t even bother with the blanket I’ve brought, I just pick Ness up and carry her down the ladder, rings, chains and shackles dangling and dragging. Which is awkward, but I don’t trip myself up and I don’t drop her. Inside I’m cursing Branoc with every foul word I know, and that’s more than a few.
‘He’ll come,’ Ness whispers. ‘Branoc. He’ll hear us and come.’
Just what I’m thinking, but I want to get these chains off her before we go anywhere. Feels wrong to leave them on, and anyway they’ll slow us. I put Ness down on her feet but she can’t stand up, so I sit her on a bench. I find a crowbar and a hammer. See her flinch when I bring them over. My heart’s going fast, not a dance now, more of a charge into battle. I try to take deep breaths, to slow myself down. Need steady hands for this. Girl’s been hurt enough already, got to do it right the first time.
‘Put your arm along here, like this.’ I show her, laying my forearm along the bench. ‘And hold as still as you can. Just a little tap with the hammer and this’ll be off. Promise.’
She’s scared but she does it. I break open the shackles, first the wrist, then the ankle, and she’s free. Arm must hurt a lot after being held up like that. Leg can’t take her weight. Who knows what else he’s done to her? But she smiles at me with tears dripping down her face and her nose running, and it’s the best thing I’ve seen in a while.
‘What’s your name?’ she asks.
‘Grim. Hop up, we’ll get you straight home.’ I pick her up again, thinking I shouldn’t have said that, seeing as her dad’s dead and the mill’s a ruin, but too late now. ‘Down to the village first. My friend’s a healer, she’ll fix you up. Hush now.’
I kick the shackles and chains out of the way. Go over to the door, open it a bit. She squeezes her eyes shut when the light comes in though it’s not a bright day. Next part of the plan’s tricky. Need to get her to the horses, wait for Blackthorn to walk down, then put Ness up in the saddle and take her to the settlement without Branoc noticing that someone’s been in the barn or that his prisoner’s not there anymore. He’s hardly going to come racing after us once we’re down there telling the story of what he’s done, with the girl to prove it’s not lies.
I’m holding Ness up with one arm and closing the barn door with the other when I hear him. ‘You! What are you doing?’
There’s a warmth against my leg, a smell I recognise. Ness is so terrified she’s wet herself. Branoc’s striding out his front door, red in the face, and there’s Blackthorn coming after him with her bag in her hand.
‘Done you a favour,’ I call out. ‘Cleared those rats out of your barn.’
‘You bastard!’ He’s heading straight for me, rolling up his sleeves. ‘You thieving bastard, you can’t take her! She’s mine! She’s my wife, you bonehead!’
I take a step forward and he stops walking. ‘You scum,’ I say. ‘You filth. I’m taking her away. Now. Unless you fancy a fight.’
Branoc looks me up and down, then he turns real quick, and before I can do anything he’s got Blackthorn pinned in front of him with her back to his chest and her arm twisted up behind her. She hasn’t had time to grab her knife.
‘Try anything and I break your woman’s arm,’ Branoc says. ‘Now let my wife go and back off slowly.’
‘Wife, hah!’ Under my breath I say to Ness, ‘You’re safe. Trust me.’ I look over and there’s Blackthorn looking back at me, not nodding or anything, but I know what she wants me to do. ‘There,’ I say, letting go of Ness, who staggers and collapses on the ground. ‘Now you let her go.’
‘One, two, three,’ mouths Blackthorn without a sound, and as I charge forward with a big
22
~ORAN~
‘My lord?’
Aedan was at the door of my small council chamber, where I had been attempting to sort out a pile of neglected correspondence. I had no scribe at Winterfalls; up until now there had been no need for one. As the mistress of the house, Flidais should have been dealing with most of these letters – congratulations from distant family connections, invitations to hand-fastings or other celebrations, suggestions that she and I might visit one or another chieftain’s household. At present, her headaches prevented this. If she was not better soon, I would need to seek assistance elsewhere. I hardly liked to ask Donagan to do it. ‘What is it, Aedan?’
‘My lord, the wise woman, Blackthorn, is here, with that fellow Grim and a young woman from the village.’
‘Can’t you deal with them?’ Seeing the look on the face of my loyal steward, I set down my pen and stood up, realising as I did so how long I had been sitting hunched over the letters; my back and shoulders ached. ‘I’m sorry, Aedan. I know you would not have disturbed me without good cause. What do they want?’
‘The wise woman says it’s urgent, my lord, and she’s asked to see you in person. Something about Branoc the baker and a missing girl. And a murder at Silverlake.’
‘A murder! Very well, I’ll see them now. Bring them in here, will you? And call Donagan for me.’ Accusations of unlawful killing would be best heard before a witness, and Donagan was the most reliable witness I could think of. ‘And make sure there’s a man-at-arms out in the hallway, please.’