Fletcher Read online

  Anders wasn’t totally certain himself. Not that he knew of. Which was interesting to note. The memories of what to do existed within him, clear and pure with the power that young thoughts often had. The boy simply wasn’t aware he held that kind of information. Even though he’d been part of making such arrangements many times in his life.

  “If you have a note or token, I can take it to her before the morning meal? That would allow arrangement of such thing. I can also take a message in my own voice for her, if that serves?” Not everyone wrote well and some couldn’t read.

  Now, a man who traveled with his own shelves of books wouldn’t have that problem. It was unlikely that a Princess would either. That didn’t mean they shared a common language as such things went. Presuming could be rude, so he tried not to do such.

  The man played with the long black end of his mustache for a moment.

  “That would serve, I must think. I should prepare that now… It wouldn’t be good to take too much of your day away from your studies or other work. You are resting for the time being?” That was spoken softly, as if he feared to give offense to the child in front of him, suggesting that he might need that kind of thing.

  Which was probably close to correct, if not the actual plan.

  “This, caring for your needs, is my primary work for the time being. I have orders to go to the bowyer, from Captain Ford and in the afternoon I think I managed to arrange lessons with Master Belford and the Captain. That would be manners and customs as well as fighting. My health… So far I merely watch the others practice.” That was a bit embarrassing, even if needed. It felt lazy.

  The Magician nodded at him then.

  “Very good! Then, if you are not too tired, you can meet here before the evening meal? I dislike taking your time but might have messages for others in the castle by that time. Is that well, with you? I wouldn’t wish to impose…”

  The young boy inside of him wanted to beg off of the task. As if he were going to have anything better to do with his time. Walking around with letters wasn’t exactly taxing effort. The old man felt a bit of shyness, which was a thing that the younger portion of his being didn’t, to be truthful. In that way Anders was the better man. Farad had always keenly felt a desire to be alone.

  Which wasn’t the path of the boy he was there to aid.

  “It will be done. It’s not a bother at all. I should arrive about mid-day, unless you have need of me at another time? In that case…” He smiled and bowed, using the first courtly form, since they were together. He thought he had it correct now, his foot at the proper angle as well as his left hand. Cupped slightly, first finger up and a bit straighter than the rest. It matched the memory he’d built for it.

  “In that case, you can have me called or contact me using magic? Like you did last night?” That had only been across the room. The stories that Farad knew spoke of using that kind of power across vast distances. Kingdoms and deserts could be bypassed that way. He even, in his own mind, had access to several texts that explained different ways to do exactly that sort of thing.

  The words got a very slow blink.

  “I will do that, if it does not offend? I was unaware that you’d noticed it happening. I saw that Aisla did. Then, she clearly has the family gift, if a bit unpracticed. You then would have that as well. We should test that, if the idea does not cause you great fear? Later, since you have much to do this day, from the sound.”

  It was friendly enough, the man not ordering, to get to the water carrying duties at once. He did move to get paper and strange pens made of metal. That and ink, which Anders recognized well enough.

  Bowing again, he moved to the bathing chamber, grabbed the transfer bucket and drinking water pitcher, then carried them, both more than half full, outside. They held fairly clean water, so were just dumped in the grass about fifty feet from the clean well. Then it took a minute or two of lowering the bucket into the stone ring and winding it up in order to get what he needed.

  The task took three trips to do a proper job of it. His breathing was a bit hard by the time he was done, if still better than he had been doing that way.

  When he finished the Magician bowed to him, holding out a single piece of folded paper. On the outside, in Scara, was a name and soft title.

  Not thinking about it, Anders spoke the words out loud.

  “Aislana, Daughter of my son’s daughter… I can get that to her.” The words got a tilt of the head, which was a sudden thing.

  “You read my language? I was not aware that was a common skill here.”

  It was tempting to lie to the man, being caught out that way, suddenly. Scara wasn’t his native tongue and while he’d been able to translate the words, the spellings were slightly different than what he knew. Still, rather than be a problem, Anders glanced around and then nodded.

  Then spoke in that language to the man, since it was his.

  “The night before this last, Master Franken used a memory crystal on Anders Brolly, trying to save his life at the behest of Lyse, the Mother and Prince Alpert, the Father. It was, I must think, a last effort. The expectation was death. My memories and life skills were mixed with the boy at that time. I believe it is a thing that cannot be undone, so we are one now. I was, long ago, known as the keeper of time’s story, Farad Ibn Istel. A historian and memory walker. A teacher of such as well. I used my skills in mental discipline to remove the swelling from the brain of this child. So that worked to save the body and his being. The rest…” He shook his head. “Well, he would have died. This way, perhaps I can allow him to have something of a life? My mind is too great and has overwhelmed his in most things, I fear. We are together.”

  Then he stopped, the other man looking at him strangely. Rather than growl at him or draw a weapon to slay the possessed being, he simply seemed a bit sad for a moment.

  “I understand. A parent’s love can seek to save a life, using all means. You seek to keep this from them, for their peace and tranquility?” It was spoken in Scara, the man looking around the room a bit, showing he expected listeners.

  “That and for the boy. Also, the fact that there is a small chance of my being put to death if it is found out. Franken the Healer mentioned that to me when I told him of what had transpired. Possession is a feared thing here. Not all magic is treated the same way. Just the new and the strange. That is in the memories of Anders Brolly.” He paused, waiting a bit as the other man regarded him. Waiting for his judgement, condemnation or insistence that he do something to change the situation.

  Nothing came, so finally he bowed and spoke in Istlan.

  “I should deliver this now, Magician Depak.” Stopping, the boy within him being bolder perhaps than the old man, he smiled. “What would you like to be called? A Magician is a work title, as is Ambassador. Master would work as well, though that gives a sense of a trade being plied, so might not be as grand as could be used by an emissary from a far-off place.”

  There was a soft snorting type of laugh from the man, his bright clothing shimmering in the light from the open window behind him. Blue sky showed in the distance above the stone wall of the castle. Barely visible above the tall hill there. At the top it became a cliff, showing darker rock than the walls were made of there.

  “You could call me, Depak Sona? It roughly means the same as Master Depak would, I believe. It is different, so will fill me with an air of mystery when used, don’t you believe?”

  Since the work was done for the time being, except the new task, he bowed moving backward as he did it.

  “That will have a nice effect, I think. Depak Sona.”

  Once in the hallway, he walked as quickly as he could, knowing the way to the royal halls of the castle. He passed guards, who looked at the letter in his hands and knew what it meant. He might have once avoided such simple tasks but the men there recognized him as one of the castle children. Not a threat or someone to even bother stopping or questioning.

  The difficult portion would be in waki
ng the maid of Princess Aisla without disturbing the woman herself. After all, even those who rose early, other than the servants would only just be rising for the day. He knew the correct door to knock on, so did it very gently, holding the missive out, in his left hand. While using the first courtly bow. That portion of things made sense suddenly, the boy and old man both getting the idea at the same time.

  The move was designed to pass messages, hence the strange hand position on the left. Anders had always just kind of bobbed in place and roughly shoved the messages at people in the past. Normally getting a rather stuffy sniff in return from whoever he was passing things to. No one had bothered to correct his form, however. The only one to have ever tried at all was Master Belford.

  That had come with a minor beating each time, so instead of seeking the man out for lessons, Anders had, perhaps wisely for a child, avoided the man.

  Now when the door opened, showing Aisla herself, dressed in pink material with a white trim, in the form of a dress that was far too heavy to be comfortable if the day warmed much, she blinked at him, then curtsied back, lifting her dress with both hands and took the message.

  As was the tradition she read the whole thing first, which seemed to only be a few lines. Then she smiled.

  “My great grandfather has asked for me to meet him in his chambers after the morning meal. I was wondering how to set such a thing up. He’s very old and known to be a little strange, due to that. He doesn’t look it, does he?” Her words were friendly sounding. Light and as if this wasn’t nearly the first time they’d ever spoken.

  “That is true, Princess Aisla. I can’t say that I find him strange, so far. Not past bothering to speak to the chamber boy without sneering or looking away in mild disgust. Depak Sona has been most kind, to this point.” His voice was a trace formal, which got him snorted at. The sound wasn’t fitting of a Princess, while still suiting this one rather well.

  “That is good to find. I don’t truly know him. We are family, so should meet and talk of those we have in common… Now, you are well? It is perhaps early for you to be out of your sick bed, is it not?”

  She reached forward to touch his forehead. There was a soft tickle then, as she did something, her lips moving and a soft muttering coming out in a language that he didn’t understand.

  “You seem fine, surprisingly. A bit run down? I was worried about you last night, before the high meal. I’d thought that you were sent to your bed, only to find you sitting with Master Belford and Depak Sona, teaching him how not to disgrace himself at the first meal here. I should have thought of that myself. I know that was hard for me to understand at first. The Queen had to take me aside, after some days, to show me what to do in order to stop embarrassing myself.”

  There was a bit of a dark look to her eyes for a moment, a cloud passing over the sun that seemed her normal expression.

  “They’d found it humorous, I think, to watch me flounder as I’d been doing. Back home the rules for such things are simpler. Then, most meals are as well. We don’t sit with a hundred others, working to impress each with the grandeur of the thing. We merely have a plate with food on it and use our fingers to pick it up, as often as not.” She watched him then, waiting for him to say or do something in response to her words.

  Those customs sounded far closer to the ones that Farad recalled using his entire life. Anders was used to a much lower version of the proper rules. He didn’t spit or belch at the table, after all, and knew not to touch his food with his fingers for messy foods. The other rules were new to him, since the low hall and the servant’s tables had simpler fare, from the sound of it.

  “That must be amazing. Being from a distant place with customs that are so different than those we use here. Not that it excuses making light of a person that simply grew up with different rules. That was rude of them. You say the Queen herself taught you? That was kind of her. I’ve never met her, to speak to.” He had seen her in the distance a few times.

  The older woman wasn’t lovely, really. Much like Princess Aisla, she seemed to be sturdy, rather than thin or a great beauty. It was tempting to ask if the woman was kind. He didn’t, since the Princess would either be truthful and say yes, she was, or would lie and say the same thing. No one had ever mentioned tales of her great fellow feeling in his vicinity. That probably told the story there, then.

  If the woman was gentle or sweet, it would have been spoken of by her servants in the low hall. That it wasn’t could mean anything from her being bland and dry toward them, to being physically abusive. They wouldn’t speak of it if that were the case.

  Rather than ask, he bowed, using the same first courtly form for it. There was another courtesy back. With a bit more of a head lowering, making it the second form, at a guess. It would be something to ask Master Belford, if he could manage such between the beatings.

  “Thank you for delivering this, Anders. Might I call on you to make some deliveries for me, later? Depak Sona must have you very busy…” She didn't seem totally happy with that idea, even if it was the job he’d been assigned.

  That got him to smile.

  “He doesn’t really, so far. I have some other things to see to. Assigned lessons. It seems that the moment I decided to try and work and learn, many were willing to step forward and see that I had the chance. I’d thought… Honestly, I’d thought the situation was different than that.” He stopped then. “You can call for me, using magic? That, or I could check with you on a regular basis.”

  There was some danger in speaking of her use of such things. The woman went still for a moment, then nodded at him. Her face seeming harder than it had.

  “I can do that. I don’t have high skills that way. Some, learned when I was a girl, in my lessons. Enough to get your attention. You do not fear that? It isn’t harmful. I’ve learned to hide such things here. There is varying fear of magic. The servants cower if they see it done. Those higher in stature at least seem willing to pretend not to be afraid. Most of the time. We could… Keep that secret?”

  Instantly, he nodded.

  “Agreed. I should get to my next task, if that is allowed? I’ve been set to learning how to make bows. By Captain Ford of the guard. I don’t really know why. I mean, other than it being clear that I can’t afford to purchase my own at the moment.” He stepped back, putting a smile on his lips. “Which gives at least part of an answer to that. I’ll stand ready for a summons, at need.”

  Then he backed away, since you didn’t get a formal dismissal when passing messages. That they’d spoken at all was nothing short of amazing. It was the first time that he’d ever been told what was in the letter being sent. Half the time there wasn’t even a muttered thanks for his effort. Some did though, which had to be them being polite, if many didn't bother with that kind of thing.

  From there, still not being even a little hungry, he moved to the bow making shop. It was behind the guard barracks, near the forge where they made swords and other metal goods for war and defense. There was a room next to the place where the bows were made. It was easy to find what each space was for. The bow room had not only unfinished long bows, as well as a few other sorts that seemed shorter and more layered but had rows of the things stacked, unstrung, on long racks in the back.

  The other room seen through an open door frame had bins filled with arrows, work tables and baskets of feathers, cut string and pots of glue visible through the door. There would be arrow heads, as well. Nothing was working yet for the day. The guards either not being awake yet, or, given who they were, simply at their first meal. It meant waiting, since he didn't know enough about anything there to even touch something.

  There were no chairs in the place, either. So, he stood there, mentally going over his lessons from the day before, walking the halls in his memory on what little he had, until the men started to come in.

  The first one there was a grizzled older man, stumping in on his wooden peg leg. A thing lost in the last great war. He had a beard, which was mainly gr
ay, matching his hair. His eyes were bloodshot at the edges, seeming tired still. He smelled a bit of beer when he got closer, though his lips curled up into something approaching a smile. If you could wrap such a thing around a sneer.

  “So, you bothered to come at all? Early, too. Fine then. Captain Ford asked me if I’d bother to show you how to make a simple bow. If you can manage it without annoying me too much, you get to keep it. If you’re lazy or run off to hide from the work, I’ll lock you out of the shop. Then Captain Ford will like as not beat you. That sound fair?” His old face held many wrinkles and showed a life spent outdoors.

  Probably drunk, much of the time.

  Anders nodded, that being the custom there.

  “It does, Master Bowyer. I have a history of such things, so making sure I stay motivated to the task is fair.” A bit heavy handed, if understandable.

  The man glared at him for a bit. Then waved at the space around them.

  “A simple long bow starts with the selection of the right wood. For now you need to learn how to recognize yew, find the good heart wood with tight stripes and then shape it. A war bow is going to be too heavy for you. Possibly ever. Unless you dedicate yourself to the task of mastering it. Few can ever truly use a powerful bow. Here, come to the wood bin.”

  The man pointed to the back of the place, stumping over loudly. When he got there, he picked up a single rounded piece of wood.

  “This has already been rough shaped for you. All of it has. Notice that it’s about a finger and a half thick and near on that wide? That’s the starting point. You’ll end up with a rather thin bow, since you aren’t a man or practiced. Let me show you how to use the draw knife. You start with the vice, then sharpen the blade. Do that before, during and after the work. Fail to do that and you’re just a fool, who will spend twice as long with half the effect. Sharp tools, all the time. Got that boy?”

  He nodded. The man bothered to show him the draw knife and how to use a stone on it. Carefully and more than once. It was all committed to memory, since it sounded like a thing that would be coming up again. Which it did, since the man had him go over the whole thing, then marked out how to work it down using a black soot grease wand.