Murkmere (16 page)

Jethro fussed about me, as anxious as my aunt might be, saying, “Sit down, Aggie, you’re pale,” and he pushed me down on the
wooden settle opposite. His father gazed on at me, his lips still parted in a sweet smile.

There were shadows under Jethro’s eyes from lack of sleep. He seemed tongue-tied as he hung a pan of water over the fire and
threw in a handful of nettles.

“You came at the right moment,” I said in a low voice.

“I thought you safe at Murkmere.”

I clenched my hands together. “Safe! Murkmere’s an evil place, Jethro. I’m never going back.” For a moment a frozen corpse
was lying in the snow at my feet. I covered my face with my hands and wailed through my fingers, “Matt Humble’s dead, Jethro!
They’ve murdered him!”

He came over and sat close, putting his arm around me, holding me while I shuddered with a horrible dry weeping. Opposite,
the old man’s face crumpled in sympathy.

Jethro’s jacket smelled comfortingly of cows and earth and wood smoke, and I could feel the muscles of his arm beneath his
sleeve. He said nothing, nor seemed shaken by my words, but when my fit was passed, I sat back and saw that he was searching
for his own words in the unhurried, thoughtful way I remembered so well.

“Aye, word was brought to us here,” he said quietly. “We weren’t surprised.”

I stared at him, gulping. He looked straight back into my eyes.

“Matt wasn’t the simple packman you thought him, Aggie. He was a spy.”

“A spy? But he was a good man!”

“Be careful. The soldiers are everywhere.” He glanced at his father, but he was making little gurgling sounds as he rocked
himself to sleep; he couldn’t understand us, anyway. “You’ll remember that Matt traveled from village to village, bringing
news of the Capital, of the risings in the south?”

Any packman brings news
, I thought, but I nodded.

“When I was elected to take my father’s place two years back and became a Junior Elder, I learned something. Sometimes the
news Matt brought was secret, for the Elders only. They’d pay him for it.”

“My aunt would pay?” I said, amazed.

He nodded, solemn-faced, watching me.

“What kind of news?”

“What passed in the Council Chamber of the Lord Protector.”

“But how would Matt Humble know?” I said in astonishment.

“The Lord Protector believed Matt was spying for him. Matt was in his employment, you see. He’d visit the Capital from time
to time, stay in a room somewhere in the palace, a patch of floor in the servants’ quarters, most likely. But sometimes he’d
be summoned to the Protector’s apartment and mingle with his court.

“Matt brought the Protector news of the villages he traveled through; he’d tell him of unrest, of potential rebellion. Only
it was always information the Lord Protector had already had from his other spies. Matt never told the Protector anything
he didn’t already know, you must believe that. He was loyal to us.”

It was a long speech for Jethro. He said no more while I stared at him, trying to take in his words, yet seeing only his honest
brown eyes and his young face that was growing too old too quickly. In truth, I didn’t know what to believe. Matt Humble with
his old jacket, his pots and pans — in the dark, murmuring chambers of high politics?

“Even if it’s true that Matt was a spy,” I said at last, “Aunt Jennet is Chief Elder and I don’t understand why she would
want information about the Lord Protector.”

Jethro looked at me, nonplussed. “The Lord Protector is not the worthy man you think him, Aggie. He has a whole network of
spies working all over the country. Somebody, one of them, betrayed Matt. Matt knew the Eastern Edge was next for sweeping.
He was coming to the Elders with news of
the Militia’s progress, and he never arrived. We knew he was going to Murkmere on his way here, to give Silas Seed a message
from the Lord Protector.”

Thoughts were chasing around my mind like ferrets in a basket. “You believe Silas Seed had Matt killed, don’t you?” I whispered.
“On the Lord Protector’s orders?”

He looked at me, and it was enough.

We both fell silent a moment, looking into the fire. I was remembering Matt running ribbons through his fingers like rainbows,
his blunt, dirty fingers with the shining colors streaming between.

Then the water in the cauldron began to bubble and woke the old man, who started to gabble to himself. Jethro took me over
to the table where we had more privacy.

“I can’t stay, Jethro,” I said, as he gave me a steaming mug. “I must see my aunt.”

“Drink it. It will strengthen you.”

There was something else he had to tell me, I knew it. Frowning, I leaned over the table. “What’s been happening here? When
did the sweeping start?”

“Calm yourself, Aggie.” He laid his broad palm, ingrained with the dirt of the fields, softly down on the table. “We’ve been
sorely tried. The Militia’s been here a week. We’re running out of food, let alone hospitality. But now the snow’s melting,
the officers are impatient to move on. There’s talk they leave tomorrow.”

“And what about the sweeping itself?”

He smiled wryly. “They’ve got their suspects among us, but can’t prove anything.”

“There’s nothing to prove, surely?” I said indignantly. “We’re all loyal subjects — except you and the Elders, I think,” I
dared add.

He looked back at me, his bright robin’s eyes friendly no longer. “Should we be loyal when people are terrified in such a
way? The Militia’s the rod of the Lord Protector. He beats us with it and his hand holds it.”

“But the Protector gives us other things, Jethro,” I said, almost pleadingly. “Free education, a livelihood guaranteed for
every law-abiding man.”

“The soldiers are forcing Dolly Parson and Amy Treadwell to follow them,” he said, his face like a stone. “They’ve picked
a dozen of our boys for soldiers — mere chicks, not a beard apiece. That’s the next generation of farmers gone. If I hadn’t
stayed low, it would have been me. These are the Lord Protector’s men. Is that right, do you think?”

I couldn’t bear the bitterness in his voice. I rose from the table. “What am I thinking of, lingering here? I must see my
aunt, and leave.”

He stood up himself and put a hand on my arm. “Wait, Aggie. I must tell you — your aunt …”

I stared at him and saw he was searching for the right words as always, the words to tell me something dreadful. “What is
it?” I shook him, my hands rigid on the rough cloth of his jacket.

“She’s been taken prisoner by the Militia,” he said gravely. “I’m sorry, Aggie, truly I am. There was nothing I could do to
prevent it.”

My hands dropped like dead things. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Because it was — good to see you. Because you were grieving for Matt.” He spread his hands. “There’s nothing you can do,
Aggie.”

“Have they discovered that the Elders paid Matt?”

When he shook his head, I began to wheel about the room, beating my hands against my chest. “Why did she hide so much from
me? They must suspect her of something.” I turned on him. “What happens in your meetings, Jethro? Tell me! What plots do you
hatch against the Lord Protector? What will they do to find out? Will they torture her?”

“Since last night she’s been guarded in her own cottage, nothing more fearful than that. It’s not for suspicion of treachery
she’s kept there.”

“What, then?”

“Your cottage has been used as a billet. They allowed your aunt to remain on condition she provided for them. Yesterday they
found books there.”

“Books?” I repeated furiously. “But she was village school-teacher until recently. Of course we’ve books in the cottage, old
school texts, all approved reading by the Lord Protector. What’s wrong with that?”

“These aren’t schoolbooks, Aggie. They were hidden away, under the thatch. She never meant them to be found.”

I jutted my chin out, so he wouldn’t see my shock. “So?”

“These books have the Murkmere crest inside them. She stands accused of stealing the property of the Ministration.”

I let Jethro lead me from the cottage; I was too bewildered to do anything for myself, even to think calmly. He left the mare
tethered where she was. There was no sign of the stable hand searching for me, and he wouldn’t know where I lived without
direction.

The soldiers on guard in the street eyed us but said nothing. I put my hood up to hide my face and Jethro took my arm, half-supporting
me over the filthy slush. The sun had disappeared while we had been indoors, and the chill wind of desolation blew through
the village, banging doors and rattling shutters, and lifting my cloak in a swirl of icy air.

There was no one on guard outside our cottage, and for a dreadful moment I thought they must have taken my aunt away already.
But when Jethro rapped on the door, a young man in the gray uniform of the Militia opened it and stood blinking at us, his
right hand holding his rifle clumsily, as if he had only just seized it.

His cropped hair stood up in the wind like the soft hackles of a puppy. He didn’t look any older than Jethro, half-asleep,
gray-faced and spotty in the morning light, his shirt unbuttoned so that a triangle of hairless chest showed above the heavy
leather jerkin.

“Who are you? What d’you want?” His voice had the sharp, clipped vowels of the Capital.

I drew myself up as tall as I could. “I’ve come to see my aunt. Please let me through.” I added “Sir” for good measure.

But he shook his head vehemently. “No, Miss. It ain’t allowed, see?” He looked nervously beyond us, as if afraid of being
checked on by his superior officers. “Sergeant’s orders. Sorry, Miss.” As if to emphasize his point, he stretched his free
arm across the narrow doorway so that he barred our entry.

“Alone here, are you?” said Jethro, craning past him. “The others on duty?”

“What’s it to you?” he said belligerently. “She’s an old woman. Don’t take more than one to guard her.”

I didn’t like the look of his rifle barrel. It was too long, too close, for all that its dark hole pointed at the sky. I stepped
back a little. “A pity not to see my aunt,” I said slowly “when I’ve journeyed from Murkmere this very morning to do so.”

At the mention of Murkmere the youth took his hand away from the doorway and stared at me uneasily, fingering his spots. I
pressed home my advantage. “I’ve heard about the matter of the Master’s books,” I said. “It may be that I can discover the
truth from my aunt more easily than your Sergeant. The Master of Murkmere would like to know it, certainly. He’ll expect a
report from me.”

I could almost see the information working its way around his brain. He wrinkled his forehead, letting the rifle rest against
the door frame. “The Master?” he said. “The Master of Murkmere has sent you here?”

“Yes, indeed,” I said firmly. “You may be sure he’ll be angry if I’m prevented from seeing my aunt.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jethro frown. I could see him thinking it wasn’t a good idea to tell yet another soldier
that I came from Murkmere.

But the boy was standing aside to let me pass, lifting his rifle out of my way, and I was thankful not to have its evil length
pointing up my nostrils any longer. “You’ll find her upstairs, Miss,” he muttered. “I’m sure I beg your pardon not lettin’
you in sooner.”

Jethro followed me, ignoring the boy’s protests. “Aggie, what are you thinking of?” he hissed.

“I have to see her before they come for me, Jethro,” I whispered, half-blinded by the sudden darkness inside.

He sighed. “I’ll watch for you outside somewhere, if I can.” Then he was gone.

My eyes, growing used to the dimness, saw the squalor the soldiers had left behind them. There were sucked mutton bones and
lumps of gristle scattering the flags that had once been so painstakingly swept by Aunt Jennet. Filthy bedding was rolled
up against the wall. The air was thick and fetid with the stench of sweat, stale ale, greasy meat.

Overlaying it all was a foulness I recognized. They had used the far corner as a latrine.

My hand to my mouth, retching, I ran up the stairs. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the soldier’s lanky figure outlined
in the doorway below, staring out.

There was no lock on the bedroom door when I reached it, but then they didn’t need one with a slight, middle-aged
woman inside and a strong young guard below, armed with a rifle.

She had pulled the pallet into the darkest corner of the room, away from the tiny window in the eaves, and was crouched motionless
on it, like a sparrow with a broken wing. When she heard the door creak she turned her head sharply, and I saw the shine of
her eyes in the darkness.

I said nothing, but flung myself at her, gripping her small, fragile body, holding her safe.

“It’s me, Aunt Jennet,” I whispered into her matted hair. “I’ve come back.”

I
went on holding her, stroking her back with one hand, as you do to soothe a baby. An empty bowl rolled across the floor and
clanged against the timbers of the wall; a cold wind was blowing through the gaps in the thatch.

She was shivering against me. I took off my cloak and wrapped it around us both. I tried to warm her with my body, the heat
of my breath against her cheek, and slowly her arms came up to hold me.

We must have clung together silently for some time. I was trying not to weep at the state of her, at the whole dreadful situation.
Then at last she spoke, huskily, as if she hadn’t talked for a long while.

“It’s good to see you, child.” With her fierce brown face close to mine, she examined me with her old shrewdness,
touching my cheeks gently. “Much has happened to you, I can see that.”

“What about you, Aunt?” I whispered. I couldn’t worry her with my own troubles, not yet. “I come back to find — this! The
Militia in the village and you a prisoner!”

She didn’t seem to be listening. “Silas Seed was back in the village yesterday, but they wouldn’t let me ask him how you were.”