Читать книгу Before Winter - Nancy Wallace K. - Страница 8

Devin dreamed of troops marching in Independence Square, his father standing on the steps of the Chancellor’s residence to view them, surrounded by his bodyguards. Devin stood beside him, as did his brothers and his mother. The pound of their horses’ hooves hurt Devin’s head as they shook the ground. They never missed a step, one hoof after the other, as though the horses had been trained to march in perfect time, but the soldiers’ rifles were aimed at the Chancellor and his family.

A hand descended over Devin’s mouth, waking him abruptly and yanking him backwards. He struggled, fighting imprisonment and nausea, as rough cloth was pulled over his head and body.

“Be still,” Marcus hissed in his ear.

Devin realized the pounding hooves were not a dream but horses passing on the road above them, at least one squad of soldiers, maybe more. Faint light passed through the coarse fabric of the blanket Marcus had hidden them under. The fabric was a sullen gray like the stone that hid them. It would have concealed them from a casual glance but the men passing above them never halted. The hooves and jingling bridles faded off into the distance, leaving Devin chilled and shaking.

Marcus waited a long time before he spoke. He finally pulled the blanket down and dropped it in a heap beside him. “Those may have been your father’s men, but I have no way of knowing. They could as easily be some secret squad of Forneaux’s sent out to track me down.”

“Why would my father deploy a small army to retrieve me?” Devin asked.

Marcus raised his eyebrows. “Because with the political situation so volatile, I’m sure he wants you safely home.”

“Is Coreé safe?” Devin asked. “It doesn’t seem very secure for my father right now.”

Marcus shrugged. “Perhaps Emile told us what he wanted us to hear. The government may be more stable than you think. Your father has a host of supporters. There is very little that Forneaux could present that would discredit him.”

“And yet Forneaux feels he has an angle. He’d hoped to add Gaspard’s and my deaths to the list of offenses against the provincials but we’ve managed to avoid falling into his traps.”

“Pray it continues,” Marcus said.

“Where is Emile’s body?” Devin asked after a minute.

“At the bottom of the harbor along with his men. I didn’t have time to hide them anywhere else. I needed to get back to make sure you were all right.”

Devin raised his eyebrows. “So you weren’t sure, after all.”

“Sure of what?” Marcus asked brusquely, but the color had begun to rise in his face.

“Sure that I was still alive,” Devin answered.

“I never miss,” Marcus replied. “I’m an expert marksman.”

Devin didn’t doubt it. “Then what was the hurry?” he asked.

“I didn’t want you to bleed to death,” Marcus answered gruffly. He busied himself with rearranging his pack.

“How did you kill them?” Devin asked after a minute.

“Emile and his crew?” Marcus cocked his head, his voice formal but taunting. “That’s not something I’d have expected you to ask, Monsieur Roché.” He looked away, sharpening his knife against a stone. “I drugged their beer in the Wind and Water Tavern and when they staggered out along the dock, I cut their throats one by one and let them drop into the water. I weighted them down with chains so they wouldn’t float to the surface.”

Devin turned his head away. He’d wanted to know, but now that he did, the details only emphasized how brutal Marcus could be when he had to. But then when he thought of the smoldering Chronicles, his fists clenched and he thought that perhaps he could have pushed them into the harbor himself.

Marcus changed the subject. “We’ll stay here for today. They’ve already passed by this area so I think we are safe for the time being. You need a day to rest anyway. How is your head?”

“Better than yesterday,” Devin answered, although any movement still made his head throb.

“Stay quiet for today,” Marcus suggested, pulling cheese and sausage from his pack. “You didn’t happen to bring another one of those little crosses that would grant us access to the tunnels, did you?”

Devin fumbled with his jacket, trying to keep his head still. “Actually, I did!” he said, withdrawing a cross that was still attached to the lining. “I sewed it into the seam because I thought there was some chance we might be separated.”

Marcus beamed. “Excellent! Leave it right where it is. You don’t want to risk losing it. Now all we have to do is find a church.”

“I don’t believe there is even a town close by,” Devin answered. “At least I didn’t see any on our way through here the last time.”

Marcus stretched his legs out in front of him. “I believe you’re right. The closest church is in Calais and we’re not going back there.”

“So, we’ll walk until we find another,” Devin said. “By tomorrow I’ll feel more like myself.” He closed his eyes against the swirling patterns the leaves made and hoped that tomorrow would be better.

“I thought I might try to catch a fish for dinner,” Marcus offered. “Will you be all right alone if I leave for a few minutes? I’ll stay within hearing distance.”

Devin opened one eye. “Go ahead. There is nothing much happening here.”

Marcus threw him the pouch with the bread and sausage. “If you are hungry before I come back, you can eat this then. I think you’d prefer it to raw fish. I’ll find a fish for myself and be back shortly.” He laid a pistol on the rock beside Devin. “Keep that close at hand while I’m gone.”

Devin’s head still throbbed but he hadn’t admitted that to Marcus. There was no way out of the present situation except to walk back to La Paix and he would do it, whether his head hurt or not. The journey would take longer this time, a week or more, with them having to avoid the roads and any small towns or villages. He leaned back against the rock and closed his eyes; the rushing water of the stream below him formed a soothing backdrop. The forest spoke a dozen peaceful languages around him: birdsong, wind through leaves and needled branches, the scurry of small creatures searching for food.

A cascade of stones and dirt sat him upright, the gun in his hand. Before him was an elderly woman. Her head would have barely come to Devin’s chest and he wasn’t tall. She was like a wizened child; ragged grayish-brown clothing clung to her slight frame, making her blend effortlessly into the rocks and earth behind her. She squatted down, blinking uncertainly at Devin.

“Who are you?” she asked in a trembling voice.

“I might ask the same,” Devin replied. “Who are you?”

She cocked her head as though trying to remember. “I am Lavender. Are you the one those soldiers are looking for?”

Devin feigned nonchalance. “Are they looking for someone?”

“They are,” she said with a fearful look at the road above. Her brow furrowed. “They are always looking for someone and then people die.”

“They won’t hurt you here,” Devin replied.

She frowned, giving her brown wrinkled face the look of an oversized walnut. “They don’t want me. There is no one else in the forest except that man fishing. And you’re on edge,” she prodded. “It makes me think they’re hunting for you.”

“I honestly don’t know who they are hunting for,” Devin replied. “And what business is it of yours anyway?”

“It’s my business to know what happens in these woods,” she said defiantly.

“Well, this particular matter doesn’t concern you.” Devin waved the gun in her direction. “You need to be on your way.”

She laughed again, a deep humorless sound that put Devin’s nerves on edge. “You can’t tell me what to do!”

“I can,” Marcus’ voice said suddenly. He had come up silently behind Devin, his gun in his hand.

Lavender was unconcerned. “You won’t shoot me,” she said. “The sound of a gun will bring those soldiers back here.”

“True,” Marcus answered, his voice deadly. “But I can slit your throat and no one will hear a sound.”

Lavender’s body crumpled, like a bunch of rags thrown on the floor, her gnarled hands went to her scrawny throat. “Why would you kill me? I’ve not done you any harm. I’ve done nothing but speak to the gentleman.”

“He told you to be on your way,” Marcus replied. “You need to leave.”

“I will,” she said. “I thought we could help each other.”

“In what way?” Marcus asked, his voice sarcastic.

“I can show you a way into the tunnels,” she whispered.

Devin and Marcus exchanged a look. The tunnel system, which used the natural cave formations of Northern Llisé, would provide them with a safe, protected route to reach Madame Aucoin’s house in Amiens. “And what do you want in return?” Devin asked. He realized his mistake too late when her toothless grin revealed her brown gums.

“So you do need to reach the tunnels?” she cackled.

“Devin, shut up!” Marcus growled. “You’re only making matters worse.”

“I can take you there safely,” said Lavender. “For a price.”

“And what would that be?” Marcus asked.

“What does the boy have hidden in his coat?” Lavender asked.

“You’ll find nothing in my coat but a ripped lining,” Devin replied, involuntarily clutching Tirolien’s Chronicle to his side.

“Let me see,” Lavender asked, reaching out with sticklike fingers.

Marcus slapped her hand away with the barrel of his gun. “Keep your hands to yourself,” he said.

She snatched her hand away, holding it against her scrawny chest. “If you hurt me I will tell the soldiers where you are.”

“Then I may as will kill you,” Marcus replied calmly. “I doubt anyone will miss you.”

“Lavender is a story,” she protested feebly. “You can kill the bards but you can’t kill stories.”

Devin leaned forward warily. “What do you mean?”

She wrapped her arms around her as though she were cold, her ragged clothes looking more like a burial shroud. “Stories live on if you keep telling them.”

“There need to be bards to tell them,” Devin corrected her gently. “The bards tell the stories so that they won’t be forgotten.”

“You can tell the stories,” she insisted. “You can tell Lavender’s story.”

Devin rubbed at the bandage on his forehead. He wanted to lie down and still the thumping ache in his head.

“Come back tomorrow,” Marcus said. “You can tell your story then.”

“Lavender’s story is part of the Chronicle,” she said.

Devin exhaled. “Dear God, Marcus! She can’t be the Lavender that Armand taught me about?”

“I agree,” Marcus muttered, shifting his gun from one hand to another. “That was centuries ago, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Devin whispered. “Lavender, is your story about your white pony?”

She nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes,” she said, “my beautiful white pony that ran away.”

“Where is your father’s house?” Devin asked. “Surely there must be someone left who wonders what happened to you.”

She shook her head, looking forlorn and afraid. “I can’t find it.”

“You lived in Arcadia,” Devin explained gently. “This is Tirolien. Your story is in Arcadia’s Chronicle. I believe that you lived there.”

She threw her hands out in supplication. “I don’t know where that is.”

“We are going that way,” Devin said.

“Devin!” Marcus warned. “We can’t take anyone with us.”

“But she’s lost,” Devin said. “Surely we can show a little mercy?”

Marcus shook his head unyieldingly. “Not now. Not here.”

Devin looked helplessly at Lavender. “How do you live? Where do you sleep?”

“I sleep under the trees. The roots are my pillows. In winter when it is cold, I live in this cave.”

“This cave?” Devin asked, nodding behind him.

She nodded, curling her feet around her, pulling the scraps of her clothing down to cover her toes. “I eat berries and nuts.”

“This is her cave, Marcus,” Devin protested. “We can’t stay here.”

“I don’t mind,” Lavender offered. “We can all stay here together.”

“We mind,” Marcus replied. “If this is your cave, we’ll move on.”

“Please don’t,” she whispered. “I have no one to talk to but myself. Once I ate at a fine table, with wine and tarts; there was music and laughter and dancing. Now, I am lost and I don’t know where home is.”

Devin closed his eyes, thinking wretchedly of Angelique and all she had lost.

“Lavender, how old are you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I have forgotten.” She picked at the fabric of her clothing for a moment. “Did you know my pony is missing?”

“I had heard that,” Devin said. “I don’t believe you will find him here though. You need to go back to Arcadia.”

“Is it a long way?” she asked.

Devin looked at her bare feet worn hard and leathery from walking. “I think you could make it,” he said, pointing above them. “You should follow the road.”

She made a sharp keening sound, making herself as small as possible. “Men travel the road. They are cruel, cruel men. They burned my father’s chateau.”

Devin sat forward, making his head throb more. “Your father’s chateau burned?”

“It’s gone,” she said in faint voice. “All my people are gone. There is no one left but me and I have nowhere to go.”

Devin put a hand to his head. “Marcus, surely there is something …”

“No,” Marcus repeated. “We can’t get involved. There is too much at stake, Devin. We need to move on, Madame, and leave you to your cave.”

She nodded, sitting in a forlorn heap.

“Do you have any money?” Devin asked.

She shook her head and spread thin fingers. “I have nothing but my friends,” she said, gesturing behind them into the small cave.

Marcus whirled, pointing his gun behind them but there was nothing there but the rocky cave floor.

“What friends?” Devin asked.

She crawled behind Devin into the shadows. “These friends,” she murmured, collecting small rounded wooden balls from the floor of the cave. She placed one of the balls gently in Devin’s hand. “This is Simon.”

Devin turned the ball in his hand, revealing features cut deeply into the wood with a knife or stone. The wooden ball was a head with recognizable features: plump cheeks, a bulbous nose, and a mouth wide open in laughter. “Who is Simon?” he asked.

“My father’s baker,” Lavender said. “He made all the tarts, cakes, and sweets. He always saved me something special in his apron pocket.”

Devin reached carefully for another ball. “And this one?”

“My father,” Lavender said, her fingers reluctant to release it into Devin’s hand. She turned it so the features were apparent but did not pass it to him. The face was strong, the nose long and thin, the smile betrayed a gentleness that Devin recognized in Lavender’s own face.

Lavender collected it, cradling it in her lap like a child. “I would like to see him again,” she whispered.

Devin looked at her gnarled hands, the skin that hung from her wiry frame and thought that she must have outlived her father by at least fifty years. “I would like to see my father again, too,” he answered gently.

She looked up. “Do you know where your father is?”

“I know where I left him,” Devin replied. “I hope he is still there but nothing is constant. Time changes everything.”

“I went back one time,” Lavender said. “There were horrible men there. They had killed my father’s guards and burned the chateau.”

Marcus returned his gun to his jacket. “When was this?”

Lavender shrugged. “Many winters ago. I saw the men on horseback and the torches and I ran. I didn’t even try to help them,” Lavender murmured, her voice barely audible. “I carved their faces here, so I wouldn’t forget them.” She swung her arm out, encompassing the wooden heads. “I have them all except for the stable boy who didn’t latch my pony’s stall.” She chose one head from the collection and held it up. “This is the Captain of the Guard. His name is Amando. He would have fought to the death to protect them!”

Devin glanced at Marcus. “Had you heard about the destruction of this chateau?”

He shook his head. “No, nothing. Although much of what transpires in these far northern provinces goes no further. I doubt your father knows either.”

Lavender let out a huge sigh and leaned back against the rock as though the conversation had exhausted her.

“Lavender,” Devin asked. “Did you have any brothers or sisters?”

Her little head bobbed up and down as she scrambled forward on her knees. “They are here, too.” She lined four wooden balls up on the rocky shelf above them. “Sébastian, Abelard, Michel, and Charles.”

Devin felt a shiver run down his back at the detail she had worked into the faces. It was almost as though she had collected a host of men’s heads that had been decapitated. He took a deep breath, trying not to show his revulsion. “Is it possible that they might have escaped?”

Lavender began to cry. “I don’t know. I ran away. I didn’t stay to help them fight. I simply saved myself.”

“God!” Marcus commented angrily, his face unreadable in the shadow of the rocks. “This world seems filled with women who have been abused and yet feel responsible for their families’ deaths.” He remained silent for a moment and then put a hand out to grasp one of her scrawny shoulders. “Lavender, we’ll take you back. Surely there is someone who can help you in your own province.”