“Who are you?” he repeated, looking at her crossly. He had a lamp in his other hand. The doorway beyond opened into a cellar – the cellar of the Pilgrim, if she was guessing right – and there was a boy and a girl, about her own age, staring at her with interest, and another little girl, not older than eight, looking at her with wonder and licking dough off a wooden spoon.
Lia had no idea what to say.
The older girl leaned and whispered to her brother, “Who is she?”
“I have not seen her. Must be a learner,” came the brother’s reply, and in that moment of questioning, Lia had her answer. If they thought she was a learner, and if she acted like one instead of a wretched, she could fool them into helping her.
Looking at the father – so she presumed – she gave him a snobby look and said, “It would be better if you did not know my name.” The words and disdain were Colvin’s, but they worked. She passed the barrier, brushing against the man who was a little shorter than her, and entered the cellar. The children scrambled backwards to give her room, their eyes shining with curiosity.
She straightened, relieving the ache in her back and shoulders from stooping so far, and then looked down at the Cruciger orb. The spindles pointed to the ladder. Her mind scrambled quickly for words. Whirling, she faced the man as he latched the door and shoved a heavy barrel in front of it.
“Have the sheriff’s men arrived?” she asked with a superior tone.
The boy, who was probably her age, answered first. “During the night. Some just left for the abbey not long ago, but a few are still in the common room.” He looked at her eagerly. “One wears a maston sword, but I do not think he is a maston. I would love to have a maston sword!”
His sister swatted his arm, and the father seemed to gasp like a fish for words.
The older fellow, likely their father, fidgeted. “I was not expecting…the Aldermaston usually sends Jon…it is just that with the sheriff…and they are looking…children, be still! Go to your mother.”
“Father, can I sing for her?” asked the littlest one with the spoon.
“Not now. Please, all of you. Upstairs now. Get your mother.”
The boy looked pained, and he gave Lia a look that nearly exploded with information. The girl and the boy seemed about the same age – perhaps twins? The girl was obedient, but her expression was full of mischief and excitement. She rushed to obey first, taking the younger one by the hand.
The boy lingered at the ladder, obviously struggling with the urge to disobey. Then his expression changed. “I will find out how many are guarding the prisoner!” he gasped and then scooted up the ladder.
“Brant, you will not! Stay in the kitchen. Do you…I mean…” he turned, flustered, back to Lia. “Wait here a moment.”
He hurried up the ladder, said some warning things to the young man, then scampered back down again, his face flushed and sweaty.
“I am sorry…it is just that…well you see…it is awkward. Most of the sheriff’s men are banging on the abbey gates right now, threatening to burst through. What would the Aldermaston…what are his orders?”
It made sense to Lia that any tunnel leaving the abbey grounds would be guarded by someone loyal to the Aldermaston. How many tunnels honeycombed the grounds? She had never imagined it before, and the possibilities spread before her like stars in a dusky sky. Of course the man would think that she was serving the Aldermaston as well, especially since he had seen her holding the orb and had not demanded where she got it.
“Tell me what you know of the situation,” Lia said, wearing her most distrusting look.
“Well, it is awkward, you see. And well…it happened very fast. The stranger – the one the sheriff was looking for – arrived this morning. I believe he is a squire. But that does not make sense.” He stopped, wrung his hands, pacing a bit. “First, the sheriff’s men rode in at first light and entered through the rear doors. They waited until the squire’s horse was tied and he was inside before they arrested him. He was unarmed and outnumbered.” He wrung his hands again. “There was no way to warn him or we would have. The sheriff’s men were watching us the whole time. One of the soldiers even went with Brant to tie up the horse in the stables and unsaddle him.”
Lia’s insides twisted and churned, but she clung to hope. “Where is he now?”
“The sheriff? As I said, he went to the…”
“No, the prisoner. Where is he?”
He wiped sweat from his lip, and started pacing in the cellar. “Well…it is hard to say…but they took him up upstairs. Under guard.”
Lia shut her eyes and clenched them.
“What does the Aldermaston want us…what should we do? I did not think he would have had time to send anyone…you understand…to send someone so quickly. Usually it is Jon Hunter, as I said. This squire must be important or he is worried about violence if the gates burst. But can the Aldermaston save him outside the walls?”
“He is more important than you know,” Lia said, thinking furiously. “Where is Almaguer?”
“The sheriff…yes…well, after the arrest, he was alone with the prisoner for a time. Then he came out and took most of his men to the abbey. You can almost hear the shouting from the windows. There are horses and swords and it is a frightful affair. They are saying the king’s army is coming today or tomorrow. Do you think they will spare the village?”
Lia’s heart lurched at the thought. Shoving it aside, she pondered the imminent danger. There would not be much time to free Colvin. She went to the ladder and started up. “We must hurry.” As she entered the kitchen, she saw the littlest with the spoon sitting by a cradle, teasing a baby inside with the gooey end. The oldest daughter was rushing about, but she stopped when Lia emerged and looked at her eagerly. The boy was perched on a stool by the door, and he came near, pushing up his sleeves. The cook, the mother, Lia recognized. She had seen only glimpses of her before, at the Whitsun Fairs, selling meats and cheeses and bread to the passersby, while Pasqua delighted the crowds with her famous treats. What if the woman recognized her?
She looked up from her kneading bowl, glanced at Lia, and a strange expression came over her face.
Lia chose to act. “How many of the sheriff’s men are still here?”
Brant nodded vigorously. “I will find out.” And he flew from the kitchen like an arrow.
“I need a pouch – or a linen – some way to hide this,” she said next, cradling the orb in her palm.
The older sister rushed over to a coffer and knelt by it, sorting through the contents.
How was she going to get Colvin out of the Pilgrim? Some of the sheriff’s men would possibly recognize her. What could she do? She was only a wretched. What could she possibly do to save him? Frantic, fearing she would be too late, she quickly searched the kitchen, casting her gaze at the cauldrons in the pits, the spoons and pans dangling from hooks in a ceiling sconce. Breathing in through her nose, she inhaled the familiar smells and suddenly tears threatened her. After this, she would never be allowed back in Muirwood again. Anger and longing wrestled inside her chest.
“What can we do?” the man asked, his face quivering with fear. “If there was a way…I am not seeing it. My family – I cannot risk my family. The sheriff’s…don’t you see? The king is coming, they say. What can we…really then what can we do?”
Lia turned away from him, searching the walls, searching her memories for a thought, a suggestion, a way to solve the dilemma. Then it came – a pure clear thought like a rope thrown down to someone trapped in a well. What could a wretched do? What could someone who had grown up in an Abbey kitchen all her life do? What knowledge did she have that could save Colvin?
She knew it instantly. It would work. The Medium was helping her.
Turning, she faced the cook and her husband. “Soldiers are always hungry. If they rode in early, as you say, they are probably starving. Prepare a tray for them. Fill it. Bread, eggs, cheese, nuts, fruit, beans. You have a fatling roasting on a spit. Feed it to them.”
Her words caused action.
The cook was still gazing at Lia, but she said in a hurried voice, “Bryn, start on it. Hurry, girl, there is not much time. Use the bread over there – it is fresher. Don’t be sparing on the butter. I will cut the meat.”
Lia turned to the good man. “Do you have any cider in the cellar? You do? Get a keg, quickly!”
Food and drink aplenty. Honor to soldiers who represented the king’s sheriff. Lia approached the cook, hoping the woman did not recognize her yet. The tall woman turned, looking at her. Her eyes were worn and puffy, her hair long and dark and with long stands of silver interspersed. Part of her belly bulged, and Lia remembered seeing the baby in the crib and wondered how new and fresh it was to the world. The tray of food was the distraction. What she needed, she knew the Pilgrim must have in its stores.
“Where is your valerianum?” Lia asked in a soft voice. It was an herb Pasqua used when she could not fall asleep, or when someone else needed the remedy. Too much of it in her tea, and she overslept the next morning. Sometimes Lia wondered if she did it like that on purpose.
The cook started, her eyes widening as she realized what Lia had in mind. “Yes…but it is pungent…like cheese…they would taste it…”
“The cider,” Lia said, “is sweet and strong.”
“You are right,” the cook said, nodding. She gave Lia a hard look, her mouth tightening into a small, tense frown. Then she went to her stock of herbs and quickly found the sealed pot from the upper shelf.
“Cider,” the good man said, coming up with a cask under his arm. He nearly tripped over the littlest girl, who had wandered over as he climbed up the ladder. “Careful there. Guard your little sister’s crib, Aimee. Over there, go.” He juggled the small barrel a moment and then brought them to the table and fished around for a tap to pound into the keystone.
The oldest daughter approached Lia, holding forth a leather pouch with strings to cinch it closed.
“Your name is Bryn?” Lia asked.
“Yes,” the girl whispered, then smiled. She wore the same kind of dress and girdle as Lia, brown instead of woad blue. Her arms were dark and she was nearly as tall as Lia.
Lia slid the orb into the pouch and tied it to her girdle belt. She caught the girl’s hand as she was about to go back. “When you take the tray upstairs, Bryn, look at everything in the room. Listen carefully. The prisoner has a scar on his eyebrow. If you can, tell the soldiers you will fetch a healer and then I will come with you when you return for the tray. Can you remember all that?”
“I remember very well. Mother taught me.”
For a moment, Lia was jealous of her. They were working together in the kitchen, each doing a part, even the littlest daughter. A father. A mother. Several children, each part of something that Lia never had – a family.
The kitchen door shoved open and Brant rushed in. “Three upstairs with the soldier. I brought some coals for the brazier. Three in the common room. The rest are at the Abbey causing a ruckus, including the ugly sheriff.” His eyes gleamed. “That means there are only six. If I get my friends, we can…”
The father snorted viciously. “You will do nothing more than get your head split open, Brant. Grab me the mallet over there. Over there…by the grain bag.”
“I will get the mallet,” Lia said, joining the bustle. “Brant – you need to do something else. Saddle a horse and have it waiting in the back.”
The grin that met her was glorious.
The good man turned on her. “If the sheriff’s men return…”
Lia smirked. “The Aldermaston will keep them talking. He is very capable of being long-winded in his tongue lashings.” She snapped her fingers and pointed to Brant. “But your father is right. We need to be cautious. If you are found out, say you were given four pence to saddle it up. No one else would question you twice about that kind of excuse.” Then another idea. The image of the thief shone in her mind. “If they ask you who paid you, then say a man with a maston sword, nearly a beard, and dirty boots and reeked of mutton. A plain shirt, with a brown collar, mud-spattered and…”
Brant looked at her in shock. “With a quirky eyebrow that twitches a bit? And he talks very fast?”
Lia was stunned. “He looks like a vagrant, but he is…”
Brant interrupted her again. “…In the common room right now with the sheriff’s men. He’s the one who tricked the prisoner into coming here and claimed the reward. A mound of coins, I swear it!’
Lia balled her hand into a fist.
* * *
“It is difficult to explain how touching the Medium actually occurs. Communion with it always begins with a thought. Thoughts are powerful things. Thoughts fed by strong emotions can become real. At Crowland Abbey, there is an Aldermaston who has a very faithful steward. Their love and respect for each other is well known. I have myself heard of how this steward finishes the sentences of his master. He is so in harmony with the Medium and his master’s thoughts, that he can hear them before they are spoken. Distance has no effect whatsoever on its efficacy. This steward can stand before the king, speaking in the Aldermaston’s name. Their thoughts are perfectly entwined. Those who are strong in the Medium can often read the thoughts of others, friends or enemies. We are each of us sending thoughts into the aether. Most are undisciplined and vanish into nothingness. But consider this carefully. Some thoughts are powerful enough to forge new kingdoms.”