“I won’t!” Thomas dropped his bag and went to Eileen. “I can’t.”
“By the Four, why not?!” Lionel looked closer. “And what happened to your face?”
“He promised Sheriff Pherson he wouldn’t,” said George as he helped Eileen to sit at the kitchen table.
“The sheriff?” confusion was in Lionel’s voice now. “When did you see the sheriff? And what’s wrong with Eileen?”
“That’s what I want to know,” Magda’s words were hard and clipped and brought silence to the room. “Eileen, what happened?”
Eileen hesitated a moment. “I got hurt.”
“Hurt? How?”
Eileen’s eyes went to Thomas. Magda and Lionel followed her gaze.
“Thomas,” Lionel’s voice was quiet in a way that felt far more dangerous than his shouting at Fire Night. “What happened?”
Thomas took a deep breath. “We were attacked—”
“In the woods?” demanded Magda. She turned on her husband. “I told you we shouldn’t have let them—”
“In Lakewood,” said George, softly. “We were in Lakewood.”
Magda looked at her son again, then at her daughter. Neither met her eyes. She turned back to Thomas. “What happened?”
Thomas found he had trouble speaking. He did his best to keep the words clear. “The men who killed Timothy tried to get his sister while we were there. There was a fight.”
“And?” Magda demanded.
“We killed them.”
Magda’s hand went to her mouth, her skin pale. A moment later, Lionel stepped over to his wife and put an arm around her. He was as pale as she.
“Tell it all, lad,” said Lionel, leading Magda to one of the benches and making her sit. “From the start.”
Thomas did as he was told, trying to tell the entire story as it happened. The tale came to a dead halt as soon as he told them about Eileen’s cut. Magda insisted on seeing it at once. Eileen showed her the bandage then opened it to show the stitches. Lionel growled under his breath when he saw it, and started glaring at Thomas and George. “You two were supposed to take care of her.”
“They tried,” Eileen protested. “It would have been worse if they hadn’t.”
“Would it?” demanded Magda. “How?”
Eileen said nothing, just looked at her mother until Magda’s eyes went wide, and she put a hand on Lionel’s arm, steadying herself though she was sitting down. Lionel’s face turned dark red. Eileen looked back and forth between her parents. “It didn’t happen.”
“It could have,” said Magda, voice tight. Thomas could see tears in her eyes, though none fell.
“What happened next?” asked Lionel.
Thomas told them the rest, from the man’s escape to his subsequent death in the inn. Lionel and Magda listened in grim, angry silence. When he was finished, Magda stood up, and told Eileen to get to bed.
“We haven’t had supper yet,” Eileen protested.
“I’ll bring it in,” Magda’s tone brooked no argument. “You need to rest.”
Eileen went without protest. Magda walked with her. Lionel watched them go then turned back to George and Thomas. “Someone should tell Bluster you’re back,” Lionel said to George. “Go. Dinner will be ready when you get back.”
“But I—”
“If Thomas goes, Bluster might keep him.” Lionel said, stopping George’s argument. “You go and tell him Thomas is here and staying put.”
George’s expression suggested that more walking was the last thing he wanted, but he went anyway. Thomas stayed where he was at the table, watching Lionel. The big man looked down at his hands for a time, then back at Thomas. “You sure all three are dead?”
“Aye.”
Lionel’s expression didn’t change. “Good.”
“She’s in bed,” Magda said, coming back into the kitchen. “Where’s George?”
“Gone to talk to Bluster.”
Magda nodded. Her lips were pressed tight together, the flesh white from the pressure. She turned to Thomas, stared at him. Her eyes were blazing.
“Love—” Lionel began, reaching a hand out to her. She shoved it off without taking her eyes off Thomas.
“What did you think you were doing out there?” Magda’s voice was hoarse with anger. “She could have died!”
“I know,” said Thomas.
“You should have helped her!”
“I told her to run,” Thomas felt sick at the memory of the moment. “She wouldn’t listen.”
“She shouldn’t have gone at all!”
“No,” said Lionel, his voice quiet. “She shouldn’t.”
“She’ll have a scar for life!”
Lionel reached out and caught her wrist. “Love—”
“What?!”
“It’s not the lad’s fault.”
Thomas was stunned. He had fully expected both of them to blow up, throw him from the house, and possibly skin him alive. Magda, her eyes still blazing with anger, looked ready to do just that. Lionel, for a change, didn’t.
Magda pulled at his grip. “What do you mean, it’s not—”
“It’s mine.”
Magda tried again to pull her hand free. Lionel held it anyway. “I let her go,” he said gently. “It’s my fault she was hurt. Not Thomas’s.”
“He didn’t have to take her!”
“She wanted to go,” Lionel’s voice was quiet, soothing. “So did her brother.”
“He could have said no!”
“He did,” Lionel said. “And it worked about as well as you would expect.”
Magda was silent, eyes locked on her husband. He stared back. After a long silence the tears that had been sitting in her eyes began to roll down her face. “That stupid girl!”
Lionel nodded, still holding his wife’s hand. “Aye.”
Magda didn’t cry long. She scrubbed at her face with her sleeve, driving the tears away. Thomas could still see the anger, smouldering behind her eyes. It wasn’t all for him, though.
“I need to get dinner going,” Magda went to the cupboard and started pulling out potatoes. She stopped a moment later and turned back to Thomas. “Lionel’s right. It’s our fault she went, not yours.” He took a deep breath, and the smouldering anger in her eyes blazed bright. “But I’m still furious at the lot of you! How could you be so stupid! You could have been killed! All of you!”
Thomas, glad he was no longer the sole target of her anger, forbore saying that it hadn’t been their idea to fight. Magda turned back to the cupboard and started attacking the potatoes with a knife.
“The Healer said she’ll be all right?” asked Lionel.
“Aye,” said Thomas. “She said the stitches could come out in a week or so.”
“Good.” The big man sighed and leaned back in his chair. “You’re a packet of trouble, you are.”
“I’m sorry, Lionel—”
“All three of you,” Lionel added. He sighed again. “But at least you’re alive.”
“Aye.”
“The ones you fought, are you sure they’re the same ones that killed the juggler?”
“Aye.”
“Well, then, that’s laid to rest, at least.”
Not even close,
Thomas thought. He changed the subject. “Is the magistrate really coming tomorrow?”
“Aye.”
“Your father wanted him here as quickly as possible,” Magda said.
“He’s practically saying you took the family silver,” Lionel shook his head. “I swear I don’t know what’s gotten into the man.”
Thomas, who knew exactly what had gotten into his father, said nothing. He took off his sword and put it in the loft, along with his and George’s bags. When he came back down, Lionel was setting the table. Thomas helped, and the two of them kept busy and out of Magda’s way until she demanded they help with the preparations.
By the time George came back Magda had a stew on, which she ladled out generously to all of them. Thomas half-expected Bluster to come with him, ready to clap Thomas in irons. George came in alone, though, and fell to his dinner like a starving bear. Eileen got hers in bed, despite protests that she was more than well enough to sit at table with the rest of them.
“I don’t care if you’ve walked five miles,” was her mother’s reply. “You shouldn’t have done that, and you’ll not be up any longer today.”
“But, Mother—”
“No arguments,” Magda said. “You should be thankful you’re here at all, after a cut like that.”
Thomas picked at his dinner. He’d spent the last hour helping prepare it, all the while thinking on what he could say to the magistrate. Neither task had given him an appetite. Thomas waited until George’s plate was empty, then traded it for his own.
“Not eating?” George asked.
“Not really hungry,” Thomas sighed. “Too much thinking.”
Lionel watched George dig into Thomas’s dinner and shook his head. “About tomorrow, I take it?”
“Aye.”
“Any ideas?”
“Well,” Thomas put his thoughts in order. “I need to make the magistrate believe that my father’s been proud of me until this week. If I can do that, it will be up to my father to prove I’ve been a drunk and a thief for the last four years. Otherwise, it will be up to me to prove that I haven’t.”
“Makes sense, I guess,” Lionel sounded dubious.
“I’ve got his last letter with me,” Thomas said. “In my bag. There’s enough in it to show he wasn’t thinking this way when he asked me to come home.”
“You could tell the magistrate how your father talks at the inn,” George suggested. “There’s two dozen that hear him do it every time a letter comes in from you.”
“I’ve never heard him,” said Thomas. “I’d need to get those who have to say so.”
“Humph,” Lionel sat back in his chair, chewing on his lower lip. “Well, we might manage something. Come on, George.”
“Where?”
“The inn. I want to see who remembers John bragging about his son the scholar.” Lionel smiled at George, “Unless you’re too tired.”
“Not for that trip,” George said, getting to his feet.
“See you in a bit,” Lionel gave Magda a kiss on the cheek.
“Don’t stay too late,” warned Magda. “And don’t forget what you went for, either.”
Lionel just smiled and stepped out the door.
Chapter 14
Thomas startled Lionel and Magda by rising with the sun the next morning. Worry had made sleep elusive and the dark dreams that came with it made the night less than restful. Bleary-eyed and foggy, he stumbled to the well and doused himself with a bucketful. The shock of the cold water drove off the fog, leaving his mind clear and his body shivering.
“You know, we can heat water before you put your face under it,” said Lionel, stepping out of the forge. “Or is it a scholarly tradition?”
“Usually only after a night of drinking,” Thomas shook his head then combed his fingers through his hair to get the water out. “Hot water for shaving would be appreciated, though.”
“Shaving?” Lionel’s eyebrow went up. “You? You have your father’s skin, and he can’t grow a beard to save his life.”
“Aye, but after a few days, we both begin to look a bit fuzzy.”
“Well, we can’t have that,” Lionel turned to the forge, picked up a bucket and tossed it to Thomas. “Here, fill this up, then put on your best. There’s a fair number of people waiting to testify for you.”
Thomas, about to drop the well bucket back in the water, stopped in surprise. “There are?”
Lionel smiled. “It was a full night at the inn, lad. Now hurry up and scrape your fuzz. You’ve got a big day ahead.”
That,
Thomas thought,
is an understatement.
He shaved, washed himself, and put on the suit his father had bought. Magda had brushed it and hung it up, and washed the shirt while he’d been gone. He wished he had some other finery to wear, but knew that nothing he owned was as nice. Besides, it underscored his father’s pride in his son, if the tailor’s tale was to be believed. The sword, Thomas left behind. If John Flarety saw it, he’d claim it as proof Thomas had fallen into bad company.
John Flarety had been in courts a half-dozen times over matters of trade. As Thomas recalled, his father had won all of the cases, and not because he had magic. Thomas had attended one case just before he left for the Academy, and had been amazed at how well his father came prepared. Every scrap of information, every bit of evidence had been properly marshalled and served John Flarety well. In fact, it had been that day in court that had made Thomas think of being a lawyer in the first place.
Thomas sighed and pulled on his boots. He had no doubts that his father was going to show up just as well prepared this time, and no good would come of giving him any extra points to quibble at. Thomas finished dressing, smoothed down the suit, and headed outside.
“About time,” said Eileen as he stepped out the door. “We’d thought you’d gone back to bed.”
Eileen was wearing a green skirt and bodice, with a white shirt that shone in the morning sun. Magda was beside her, her own dress two shades deeper than the one her daughter was wearing. Lionel and George were wearing grey breeches and jackets with white shirts. They looked like twin mountains. It was the finest Thomas had ever seen them dressed, and the fact that it was for him brought a lump to his throat.
“If appearances were all that mattered,” Thomas said, “I’d be declared the most respectable man alive.”
The entire family managed to look both pleased and slightly embarrassed at once. “Flatterer,” said Eileen, smiling.
“He certainly is,” agreed Magda.
“Aye, I am.” Thomas felt a lump in his throat. “Thank you. For everything.”
Magda patted his un-cut cheek. “You’re family,” she said. “Family help each other.”
Thomas nodded. “Let’s hope mine think so.” A sudden thought came to him. “How are the black eyes today?”
Eileen grasped his chin in her hand and turned his head side to side. “Not black any more,” she said thoughtfully. “More of a purple, with yellow highlights. And the cut sets them off nicely.”
“Wonderful.”
“How’s the rest of you?”
“Not bad.” He looked down at her stomach, well hidden beneath shirt and bodice. “You?”
“Getting dressed was no fun,” said Eileen, “and neither is taking a deep breath, so don’t go making me laugh.”
“You won’t have to worry about that too much today,” Thomas straightened his coat once again, and squared up his shoulders. “Come on. The sooner we’re there, the sooner this will be over with.”
They walked through the village and up the road to the old watchtower. Folks were already milling about outside, and more were already inside, waiting for the trial to begin. Heads turned to watch Thomas as he approached and voices immediately hushed themselves until he went past, then rose once more.