Chapter 3.2

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I came to as the soldiers were dragging me down the steps. They pulled me up, and slammed me into the wall. Several more times they tripped me or simply pushed me into the stone, until finally dropping me on the cold floor of the torture chamber. I lay there, bleeding and wondering why Lord Guerney even bothered to keep torturers.

"Duke! Jesse! Get yer lazy bones up!" yelled the Captain of the Guard.

The torturer’s apprentice stumbled through a door and pushed greasy hair out of his eyes. "What do ye want?"

"The Lady Laurice has run off, and this monk knows where. Lord Guerney wants to know it by breakfast."

Jesse rubbed his head, looked at me, and frowned. "Duke’s out."

"Where’d he go?"

Jesse shrugged. "With a wench. He’ll be back, soon enough. Her husband is jealous."

"Get to work on this fool as soon as you see him." The Captain hauled me up by my protesting arms and locked my wrists into chains that hung from the ceiling. I was too short for them, and hand to balance on my toes while the iron cut into my wrists. Before the soldiers had all left the room, I could already feel blood trickling down my arms.

Jesse stumbled back to his bed, leaving me to hang, and to await a slow, miserable death because my Lord and my childhood friend could not be bothered to take me with them.

The world is filled with bastards.

Chapter 13.1

Lord Geurney’s private chamber was a lush place, with tapestries on the wall, pillows on the bench, and thick velvet curtains on the bed. A brace of flickering candles threw shadows over the bearskin pelts that kept the sleeper warm, both those in the soft bed and those making do on the floor.

Lord Guerney, dressed only in his linen nightshirt, towered over me. His steward huddled beside him, wringing his hands nervously. The Captain of the Guard stood on his other side, grinning. Behind them all, curled in the bed like a contented cat, lay the Lady Victoria.

Raising the massive hand that carried a broadsword into a battle, Lord Guerney bellowed, "Where is my daughter, monk? Speak!"

Apparently he did not recognize me. I shook my head – all I could do, as two soldiers held my arms in a bruising grip.

His blow brought blood to my mouth.

"She disappeared with those beggars you came with. You’re with them; you know where they went!"

If I were truly with them, I would have left with them. That truth hurt worse than the slap. I shook my head.

Lord Guerney slapped me again, several times, until I felt that my head spin off. Then he turned to his night’s entertainment. "Are you sure this is the monk?"

"I recognize his feet." Her eyes sparkled with laughter. She knew I could not answer, and was enjoying watching my pain.

Now the Steward spoke up, his voice unusually high. "But are you sure that this is the man who acted between the Lady Laurice and the Bards?"

She ran her fingers through the thick pelt, then sat up slowly. It fell away, showing that she wore nothing to protect her from the chill of the night. With a toss of her head, her golden hair settled behind her creamy shoulders. Then she looked up with wide eyes.

I was surprised to see that they were not pure silver.

"I saw him talking to the Bard, in the language of the hands, and the next day he found his way to my Lady’s chambers. What do you think?"

The steward spoke. "Perhaps he was merely blessing the Bard. A little salvation would do nothing for those soot-black Heathens, but the monks still try."

"I think not." The lady traced designs in the fur, designs that were the property of Warlockers. "I know all the signs for the blessings, and those were not among them."

Damn. We had not thought of others knowing the language of the hands.

Lord Guerney turned to me. "How do you answer, Monk? Where have the Bards gone?"

I would have liked to have known that myself, and why they did not take me with them. Again I shook my head.

Now Lord Geuirney hit me with his closed fist, until blood flowed from my nose. "I’ll not have my daughter disgraced by a Heathen. Speak – or they’ll rip it out of you, below!"

"My Lord." The Steward’s nervousness had turned to a panic. "Would it be such a wise thing to risk the anger of the church? If they find out that you sent a monk to torture..."

"If they find out, the dungeon will be a busy place." Lord Guerney said firmly, a warning to the man and everyone else in the room. "Now, monk, do you choose an easy death, or a hard one?"
I could only shake my head.

This time when his hand fell, it brought darkness.

Chapter 12.6

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It was afternoon before I ventured from the kitchens, with a purloined loaf and a pork pie stashed in my bag. I found Wallen sitting in a corner of the Great Hall with Sharp’s lute in his lap. His face was swollen, with a bruise on one side, and he sullenly picked out the notes of a scale.

Great music, he was learning, comes through pain and hard work. He was also learning the lot of the abused and the helpless, the downtrodden, and those beneath his noble notice. This was becoming a bitter adventure for him – perhaps it would put some compassion in his heart.
At least I had the medicine for it. The thought of meeting his bride-to-be, and talking her into his trap, should lighten his spirits.

I knelt and reached for the bandages on his foot. He yanked it away, but I gently took it back.

He leaned forward. "You had no need to treat me like that. Have I even been anything but good to you?"

Not even thinking of how to answer that, I glanced around the hall. There were others present. Two soldiers were looking in our direction. I pressed my lips together firmly and jerked my head in their direction.

Wallen glared back. He said nothing more, however, and withstood my ministrations. I was able to finish, and when I signed a blessing, I let the note fall from my sleeve to the ground by his hand. I looked at it, then into his face, and smiled.

He glared back with ice hard eyes. He clenched his hand.

I rose quickly and walked off. This storm, like so many before it, would surely pass.

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The glass garden at vespers, the note read. After the prayers I rushed to the dining hall, to see if Wallen showed any more hope, but he was not there. Neither was Sharp, leaving Lord Guerney to be entertained by a untalented minstrel. The ladies-in-waiting announced that their mistress was tired and would sup in her chambers. Charles caught my eye and grinned, but had no news. In the morning, I assumed, I would hear how the final act of our adventure would be.

It was not yet morning when I woke to the sound of someone climbing into the hayloft. I rolled over, thinking it was Peter come to fetch me for Matins – and looked into the face of the Captain of the Guard.

Chapter 12.5

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When the lord and his ladies had retired to their chambers, I found Sharp cleaning and storing his instruments. I tried to explain myself to the bard. First he ignored me, then turned and threw a crust of bread in my face. "Christian dog."

Stung, and all too aware of who might be watching, I signed my thanks and slunk off to the stables. In the morning, I felt, there would be time to explain. Still, the long night was cold and lonely, and I was a long time in finding sleep.

All too soon I was shaken awake. I rolled over, hoping that it was Wallen or Sharp come for an explanation. Instead, backlit by the grey morning light, I saw Peter the Monk. His eyes were red and puffy, but he seemed otherwise none the worse for his indulgence of the night before.

"What is it?" I signed clumsily, unaccustomed as I was to the early hour.

Hos hands flew numbly. "You missed Lauds. I should have warned you of the dangers of drinking too much honey and wine. How is your voice?"

"The same," I answered truthfully. "How did you know to find me here?"

"When I didn’t see you at Lauds, I searched the castle. I knew you would not miss an office on purpose."

Of course not. Thanks to my new companion, my disguise had just gotten harder to maintain. "Thank you for your concern."

"It is more than that. After seeing the Heathens last night, my cousin has expressed an interest in the apprentice. Since you have been tending to the boy’s misery, I thought you could deliver this to him." He handed over a folded piece of paper.

"I hope it is written simply," I signed. "I fear the boy is rather simple."

"It has a time and a place – that should be simple enough. Come, let us do our morning charity in the kitchen."

I made a face.

"They are baking bread and pies today, which will not be counted until they are put in the storeroom."

Peter, I realized, would have made a wonderful bard.