Scrivener's Tale Read online

  ‘This is very unusual. He always briefs me. And he said nothing other than to take you into the forest to Cassien and then to bring you both back.’

  ‘Bring us both back to where I required,’ Fynch corrected. ‘I agree it’s probably unusual but then this is a very unusual mission. So, thank you, Loup, for bringing us to this point. I can recommend the Jug and Hare for a night’s rest.’ He extended a tiny jangling pouch to Loup. ‘This coin should cover your stay and a very good meal with plenty of ale. You have earned it.’

  Loup stared at it, nonplussed. Cassien would have been surprised if Loup had taken it. No member of the Brotherhood was motivated by money.

  ‘You can journey to Hambleton tomorrow.’ Still the man didn’t move, but raised his gaze to Fynch and Cassien saw a hint of defiance in it. ‘This is beyond your control now,’ Fynch continued, with gentle caution, his voice just fractionally firmer, but no louder. He didn’t jangle the pouch, or push it any further forward.

  ‘Loup,’ Cassien began, feeling obliged to get involved, ‘you know where my loyalties lie. They’ve never been in question and I hope you don’t question them now. I am told this is for the Crown. We must assist. It is our purpose in life.’ He put a hand on the man’s thick shoulder. ‘It’s what you’ve trained me for. Let me do my work.’ He eased the pouch from Fynch’s outstretched palm into Loup’s reluctant one, believing that his conferring of the money might make it easier on his Brother’s conscience. The move seemed to work. Loup looked down at the tiny sack in his hand and didn’t move or speak.

  Cassien turned to Fynch, who nodded. They walked away, not in a hurry, but also not dragging their heels. Neither looked around, although Cassien didn’t have to in order to know that Loup watched them until they had long disappeared.

  ‘That was well done,’ Fynch admitted.

  ‘Did you think he wouldn’t let us go?’

  ‘It crossed my mind. I didn’t want any attention drawn to us.’

  ‘Why do I think you didn’t discuss us coming to Barrowdean with Brother Josse?’

  ‘Because you are intuitive,’ said Fynch.

  ‘So is Loup.’

  ‘But Loup is obedient.’

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘But you live by your instincts. Loup doesn’t. He does only what he’s told. He can’t deviate.’

  ‘Except today,’ Cassien said, feeling a sudden surge of guilt.

  ‘Forget Loup. From now on you need to assume that everyone is your enemy.’

  Cassien scoffed. ‘That’s dramatic.’

  ‘I can’t tell you from whom the threat might come.’

  Cassien frowned as they walked, skirting the town, struggling with the noise, the dusty air and the new smells most of all.

  ‘You’ll have to get used to it,’ Fynch remarked and when Cassien threw him a glance, he added: ‘Your expression says droves, but you need to adjust quickly. I can’t have you staring in wonder at everything, or looking as shocked or disconcerted as you do, or you’ll be noticed.’

  Cassien nodded absently, well aware that while his life had been slowed to a crawl, the rest of the world had clearly sped up. There were many people on the move, lots of yelling and frustrated carters angry with people in their way, while other people tried to weave around the disruptions, busy with their own chores. He saw a young woman lugging a basket as big as herself, full of linen. His inclination was to help her carry it but he knew by the set of her mouth how independent she obviously was. Dogs barked and gathered in groups, a bit like the old men sitting outside the dinch-houses grumbling about younger men and ogling the women who passed. There were so many people, so many horses and carts, wheelbarrows and activity. It made him feel dizzy.

  ‘Look at that,’ Fynch remarked, nodding toward the men clustered around their steaming pots. ‘We didn’t even know what dinch was in my time. Now we have watering holes dedicated to it.’

  ‘Really? Even I know dinch,’ Cassien replied.

  ‘You’re a lot younger than me,’ Fynch said with a wry smile. ‘It came over with the travellers and merchants. I gather the Penravens are particularly fond of their dinch and guard their recipes zealously. Would you like to take some with me?’ Fynch guided him to a table outside another dinch-house.

  A serving girl was at their side immediately. She grinned at Cassien, who blinked.

  ‘I’ll have a pot please,’ Fynch said.

  ‘And for you, handsome?’ she said winking at Cassien.

  ‘The same,’ he said, amused by her saucy manner.

  She bent down to place a jar of honey on their table, making sure that Cassien enjoyed a generous view of her breasts. ‘Right back, sirs,’ she said, casting him a jaunty smile before taking her next order. ‘Going to the bathhouse later?’ she quipped.

  Cassien was too busy hungrily watching her to register her comment and it was several long moments before his wits came back and he turned to Fynch, realising how quiet it suddenly was. Fynch was smiling at him.

  ‘Sorry,’ Cassien said.

  ‘Don’t be. How long is it since you’ve been with a woman?’

  He was not ready for such a direct question.

  Fynch grinned and just for a moment Cassien glimpsed a boyish innocence. ‘Was that too direct?’

  ‘Er … it just took me by surprise.’

  Fynch chuckled, genuinely amused. ‘I wanted to put you at your ease so you don’t have to apologise for enjoying the sight of a pretty girl. Did the priory make provision for your … needs?’

  Cassien’s brief gust of a laugh was answer enough.

  ‘Ah,’ Fynch said, ‘that explains the phiggo root I noticed in your hut.’

  He stared at the older man, confused. ‘I was instructed to brew a liquor from it each week and drink a spoon of it daily.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you were and I’m also sure that Loup checked on that brew and your supplies regularly.’

  Cassien nodded. ‘He was quite particular. Assured me it was for strength, good health.’

  Fynch sighed. ‘It’s traditionally used by armies to keep the men focused on their soldiering. It’s why you haven’t gone mad with pent-up lust.’

  Cassien looked at his companion, astounded by this information. It made instant sense but that didn’t lessen the shock. ‘They drugged me?’ he murmured, shaking his head.

  ‘How else could they keep a virile young man in the forest without companionship for so long?’ Fynch nodded at the approaching serving girl. ‘Anyway, I’m sure you’ll rectify the situation soon enough, although perhaps it should wait until we reach Pearlis.’

  Fynch hurried the serving girl on with a bigger than usual tip. He gently tossed the moneybag and a second one he’d dug from a pocket across the table. ‘You’ve had no need of coin in the past. But you will need it from here on. Tie those to your belt, although I do think we should kit you out with some fresh garb.’

  Cassien looked down at his clothes. They were certainly the worse for wear. Dun, colourless, shabby.

  ‘Have we time?’

  Fynch nodded. ‘Plenty. You could use a shave, a haircut, too. Drink up, Cassien. And while you do, I’ll talk.’

  He took his first sip of dinch sweetened with honey, although sparingly, knowing all of these rich new substances hitting his belly might bring him some grief. He could taste flavours of cinnamon and shir, and something else he couldn’t identify. The taste was complex and delicious. He sipped slowly and paid attention as Fynch looked away, lost in his thoughts, before beginning to speak. Gone was the light-hearted tone of their previous conversation. His voice was grave now and his expression sombre.

  ‘I told you I don’t know what the re-emergence of the magic means, but it was a cynical, sinister and destructive magic when it was first cast so I can’t imagine that part of it has changed. There is a demon called Cyricus who is likely to be its puppeteer but I don’t know who will be its host. I warned her majesty of it more than fourteen moons ago. I felt it stirring then. Th
e Wild is like that. It is highly sensitive to changes, not just in our world but in the spiritual world that surrounds us. My experience with Wyl Thirsk and the evil curse on his life meant I would always know the taint of the same magic.’

  Cassien didn’t like to interrupt but couldn’t help himself. ‘You said you warned the royals.’

  ‘As best I could. The chancellor believed me, or at least in taking seriously any threat to Florentyna, magical or otherwise. He supported my efforts to have an audience. Darcelle, I learned, sneered at the suggestion; regarded me as some sort of senile herbwizard. The queen gave me a fair audience but she couldn’t countenance the threat of a demon.’

  ‘Does she trust you?’

  ‘That’s tricky. I sensed she wanted to but demonic threat is hard to prove … and she wanted proof.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘We decided to find it.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘The chancellor and I. He offered his help and I took it.’

  ‘What of Briavel? Every little morsel of news I could glean from Loup I would turn over in my mind for days, trying to piece it together with other titbits he’d give me. I got the impression that Briavel’s and Morgravia’s relationship was strained.’

  ‘To say the least,’ Fynch admitted. ‘While Cailech and Valentyna unified their realms, their grandchildren allowed the strong bonds to slip. Briavel became touchy when much of its rich farming land was given to members of the Morgravian aristocracy and Briavel’s nobles didn’t seem to warrant equal generosity. There were high hopes for the great-great-grandson, Magnus. He was fond of a very senior and beloved noble’s daughter from Briavel. It was exactly what the empire needed; a marriage between those old realms and their families to reinforce the imperial bond. But when he died so did our hopes.’ Fynch shrugged with a soft sigh of despair. ‘It could all break down quickly because the union was only ever as strong as the royal couple that led it.’

  Cassien noticed Fynch had not touched his dinch, just as he had not eaten a morsel since they’d met. There was clearly something otherworldly about the man, if indeed he could call him a man. ‘All right, that’s in the past,’ he began, finding it easier to leave that confusion behind. ‘Obviously you believe there is hope for the empire or you wouldn’t be conscripting help.’

  Fynch nodded, pushed his untouched dinch forward. ‘Help yourself to more,’ he said absently. ‘I do believe in the empire. We can only have this conversation once, Cassien, so you need to understand all that you can now. Once we get deeper into the capital, there are ears listening everywhere, and I also don’t trust how long we might have. So with that in mind let me quickly sum up what you need to know. I believe our hope is Queen Florentyna.’

  ‘So you want me to protect the queen from any potential threat from her sibling or from an otherworldly attack,’ Cassien concluded.

  ‘Her life is paramount — there are no heirs other than Darcelle.’

  ‘How old is Florentyna?’

  ‘Twenty-two summers. She thinks like Cailech, looks like Valentyna, has all the dash and daring of her Briavellian line, and the courage, agile mind and determination of her mountain king forebear. And she has the green eyes of Wyl Thirsk. When I looked into them, I saw him there. I know he lives on through her.’

  ‘But what of the threat of Cyricus?’ Cassien demanded.

  ‘Indeed. Who sits on the throne is only one half of our frightening equation.’

  ‘Fynch,’ Cassien began, his voice hard, looking directly at the older man, ‘explain precisely to me what you believe Cyricus aims to achieve?’

  Fynch took a deep breath. ‘The magic that was once the witch Myrren’s is, I believe, returning in a more dire form. It was formerly focused on revenge, Myrren finding a way from the grave to punish Morgravia for her torture and burning, but particularly its nastiest son, King Celimus, for his part in her demise. This time I think it will be used directly against the imperial Crown.

  ‘I have seen Cyricus in my dreams and in my spiritual wanderings. I don’t know from where he comes but he is an old, old mind. He is not of this region. He was ancient even when Myrren was casting her curious magic. I was too young, too caught up in the curse on Wyl Thirsk to notice Cyricus. But he was there — an interested bystander you could say, watching us. And I suspect his curiosity was pricked by her unique, twisted magic.’

  ‘What is he?’

  ‘A demon, as I told you,’ Fynch said, standing. ‘I think we should give you a chance to bathe, to get new clothes.’

  ‘But what about —?’

  ‘I realise I have given you a sense of urgency but in this matter we must show a little patience,’ Fynch said, raising a hand. ‘Now, you are wrinkling your nose at the smells of the town but I can assure you, the other travellers are going to pinch theirs when they get a whiff of your particular aroma.’ Fynch beamed Cassien the bright smile that lit up his eyes and warmed anyone it touched.

  Cassien sniffed the sleeve of his leather jerkin.

  ‘That bad?’

  ‘Eye-watering,’ Fynch assured. ‘You’re going to meet a queen. We want you at your best.’

  Cassien found himself immersed in an oaken barrel of hot water. He was mesmerised by the feel of the soap’s slipperiness on his skin, and the sensual pleasure of having someone wash his hair, rubbing his scalp clean. The fact that it was the bark-smoking Wife Wiggins with her black teeth and gravelly voice, rather than a pretty young woman like the inn maid, didn’t matter. It was heavenly.

  Wife Wiggins was not in the least moved by his nakedness; she’d raised her eyebrows in disdain at Cassien’s bashfulness and cast a sigh over her shoulder towards Fynch. Nevertheless, Cassien emerged from the depths groaning with satisfaction.

  ‘I’m surprised you have no lice,’ she remarked, ‘you’re so grubby. Make sure you use the soap on your —’

  ‘Thank you,’ Cassien said, cutting off her advice. ‘I can manage now.’

  She looked at Fynch, who nodded. ‘Right then, I’ll leave you to it,’ she grumbled. ‘I suggest you soak for a while. You seem to have leaf mould growing out of your ears, young man.’

  ‘I’ll see to it. Thank you again for the clothes,’ Fynch said.

  ‘Yes, well, you’ve paid handsomely. And I’ll be burning those old rags he wore when he walked in here.’

  ‘Do we tip the water out or —’

  ‘Tip it out?’ she cried from the doorway of the barn she called a bathhouse. ‘Are you mad, sir? I’ll wash three more men in that water before it gets tipped. Just leave it as you found it.’ She left, pushing the bark smoke back between her lips.

  Cassien blinked. ‘What a scary woman.’

  Fynch’s eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘You can just imagine the array of men who pass through her tubs. It started out as a service she offered the tanners but now she has to run ten tubs, and in high season can bathe fifty men a day. She doesn’t usually scrub them down herself, I must admit, but you’re special.’

  ‘Fynch, I must know more about this demon. It’s as though you hesitate.’

  ‘Maybe I don’t want to accept it as real and by getting you involved I must fully accept the reality of his threat.’ He sighed deeply. ‘I told you Cyricus has been watching us from afar for decades.’

  ‘And you have been watching him.’

  ‘I have watched you too. You are suited to the role.’

  ‘What role?’

  ‘To kill the demon when he presents himself. You are all we have. Your killing skills and your very special magic.’

  Now, finally, it made sense. Fynch was after the weapon of his mind. He could see in Fynch’s open face that the old man knew Cassien understood that.

  Fynch sighed. ‘Cyricus will come to Morgravia in the guise of a man, of that I’m sure. He must travel in that form in order to walk our land, otherwise he has no substance.’ Fynch held up a long, slim finger. ‘But as flesh he is also vulnerable in the way a man is.’

  ‘How will
I know him?’

  ‘You won’t. But he will attack the Crown. That will be part of his plan. To bring it down. He will seek to destroy first the royals and then seize power.’

  ‘Why would he want to?’

  ‘Because he can,’ Fynch said in a weary tone, handing Cassien a linen, signalling it was time for him to clamber out of the tub. ‘Because he is bored. Because he enjoys stirring trouble, bringing problems. He sees an unsettled people and he wants to spice up the discontent. And because he has reason to destroy a single region of the empire that I will not, cannot permit.’

  ‘And where is that?’

  ‘It’s called the Wild. It is our bad luck that his attention has been attracted and focused on our empire but it’s no good bleating. We must act.’

  ‘Surely an army is better than a single man?’ Cassien stood with the linen wrapped around his lower body, water pooling around his feet. He knew Fynch’s story sounded far-fetched, and yet because Romaine trusted him Cassien felt compelled to follow suit.

  ‘An army against another army perhaps,’ Fynch replied. ‘But an army is no match against a foe it can’t see, or doesn’t know is there. What’s more, I have no desire to give Cyricus warning that we know of his presence. Right now he believes himself unknown — and to most he is. But I know him. I feel him. I smell him. I taste him and his hungry interest on a bitter wind. One day I may hear his cries for mercy or touch the dead body he chooses to inhabit, but right now surprise is my only defence … and you and I the only people who stand in his way.’

  ‘Has our world faced a demon before?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge, although Myrren’s curse on Wyl Thirsk could be viewed that way. But, while I might be old, this demon is as ancient as the Razors, maybe older. He comes from the east, I believe.’

  Cassien pulled on the ill-fitting pants and shirt, posing for Fynch, who made a face of amused resignation. ‘That will have to do for the moment.’ As Cassien continued dressing and tidied his hair, Fynch finished what he could of the story.

  ‘Cyricus was astonished, excited by the power of the Wild when he discovered it, and sought to use it. The magic within the Wild repelled him, bouncing his acolyte, the sycophantic Aphra, out of our plane to another, trapping her and weakening Cyricus. This is very ancient history, mind you,’ Fynch warned, ‘long before my time. Cyricus did nothing until the scent of the magic of Myrren reached him centuries later, stirring him from whichever depths of thought he lived in.’