Blackcurrant Fool Page 2

  “Honestly, Jemis, anyone would think you thought it was your fault! Jack, an unscrupulous wizard decided the best response to him preferring her friend was seduction, enchantment, and drugging him with wireweed to the point where it’s frankly amazing he survived, let alone came First at Morrowlea.”

  I opened and shut my mouth several times before any sounds came out. “I—I—”

  “Is this true?” the Squire said, his face thunderous. “How long were you given it?”

  I shrank in on myself. “Er, nearly three years.”

  They stared at me in appalled silence. In their eyes I could see that they knew (as I had not) what unscrupulous wizards used wireweed for, and what almost invariably happened to their victims.

  Not that I thought of myself as a victim, exactly. I’d been so stupid.

  I really did not want to go into detailed explanations. I took a deep breath and carefully and consciously relaxed my hands and shoulders.

  “In answer to your earlier question, Master Dart, yes, I like playing cards. However, even though it was not intentional on my part, I am living with the after-effects of the wireweed. I have no intention of letting myself be controlled by anything that promises to fill the—the space left behind by the drug.” I had to stop there to take a breath through my nose before I could bring myself to meet my father’s stern gaze again. “You cannot deny there is ample precedent in my family for a tendency to destructive addictions.”

  A grandfather who had gambled away his inheritance, an uncle who had conspired at murder to hide the fact he had done the same to mine, a great-grandfather whose liver had given out on him at the ripe old age of forty-seven—

  No one spoke for a moment. I waited until it was clear they would press me no further this evening—I knew better than to even hope that the topic would not be raised again another time—and turned meaningfully to Mr. Dart.

  “Anything you’d like to share from your missive? Why was a special messenger sent to the Darts on a cold November night?”

  Mr. Dart, Lady bless him, grinned first at me and then at his brother. “It seems to be an elaborate prank. Unless, of course, you actually do have a secret wife and daughter you’ve never mentioned, Tor.”

  There was a very peculiar silence. Master Dart and Sir Hamish stared at each other.

  And then Sir Hamish said, “Good heavens. Ingrid.”

  Chapter Two

  In Which Various Requests are Made

  AS FAR AS DISTRACTIONS went, this was superb.

  I was grateful that Sir Hamish clearly already knew about the Squire’s secret wife and daughter, for that meant I could focus my attentions on consoling Mr. Dart. I was vaguely miffed to discover that Mr. Dart was far from needing consolation. Indeed, he was almost indecently delighted with the whole thing.

  The Squire explained, painfully and with much embarrassment, how he had come late to the discovery that he preferred Sir Hamish’s company to any woman’s.

  Mr. Dart interjected, “Even your wife’s?”

  I would have been sympathetic had he said that with commiseration or solemn understanding or any appropriate emotion. As he was nearly burbling with mirth, I acted as any friend ought, and kicked him in admonishment.

  The Squire explained, even more painfully and with even deeper embarrassment, that in the more permissive age of his youth such experimentation had been common, but that it was his folly that he had not undertaken proper precautions—

  “Hence your daughter, or possibly whence,” said Mr. Dart, before scooching his chair away from me.

  The Squire explained, with lugubrious pride, that he and the lady in question had decided to marry, just in case the child were a son and would therefore inherit the Dart estate.

  “But of course, now that they’re changing the inheritance law, she will anyway,” said Mr. Dart, beaming at his brother so brilliantly even Master Dart noticed.

  “Perry—oh, Lady, Perry, I never thought! I’m so sorry—”

  “Think nothing of it,” Mr. Dart replied, waving his hand dismissively. “I quite understand how you could forget the existence of even a wife and daughter after, what, twenty years?”

  The Squire winced. “Perry ...”

  Sir Hamish laid his hand on his lover’s knee. At least this explained a minor mystery of the barony, I thought numbly, namely why the two of them had never performed the ceremony of commitment. Rondelan law provided no such ritual for two men or women in a relationship, but Astandalan law had, in its byzantine complexity (covering as it had the diverse cultures of five worlds). But although polygamy was permitted in certain demesnes, Northwest Oriole had never been one of them. The horrified response to the discovery of my own mother’s accidental bigamy had made that exceedingly clear.

  “Shall I read the letter aloud?” Mr. Dart said, even more brightly. “Or leave our dear friends to their not unjustified confusion?”

  The Squire winced again. Sir Hamish said, with commendable restraint, “Perry. Please.”

  Mr. Dart made a show of shaking out the letter. “‘My dear Sir—’ a most restrained opening, I must say. The meat comes quickly, however:

  ‘My dear Sir—

  It has been many years since we last corresponded, for which I apologize. I must presume this finds you well, for in the wake of the unrest that has followed the capture of the Blood Eagle, I find myself in sore need of sanctuary for myself and our daughter. The pirate blockade is closing in around the Reaches even as winter draws near, and there will be few opportunities after this to escape ere the spring, and I fear there will be no safety for us if we delay so long.

  Please believe I would not be so importunate if I had any other recourse. I know you are an honourable man and will not deny us this sanctuary. I cannot wait for any written reply, but we will await you for the evening in the Old Pear Tree Inn of Orio City on the last Monday in November. From all accounts the city is yet safe to travellers.

  Your wife,

  Ingrid Ingridsdottir Dart’

  We all sat there for a moment to digest this. After a moment my father said, “The Blood Eagle was my ship.” I stared at him, shocked by the memory of the dream-vision I’d had of that ship’s capture. He misunderstood my expression and smiled wryly and with little humour. “It was the premier pirate ship of the North.” He looked at his friends, who were gazing intently at the letter. Mr. Dart had turned away to stare at the fire.

  “Right,” said my father, clapping his hands for attention. “This has been a most unexpected development. Jemis and I shall leave you to your deliberations—”

  The Squire and Sir Hamish both protested this plan. While they were remonstrating with my father about needing his advice now more than ever, Mr. Dart scooched his chair back over to me and beckoned me to lean close, which I, with an internal sigh of resignation to whatever mad plan he’d managed to concoct in the past few minutes, obligingly did.

  “My brother’s Acting Magistrate this session and the Assizes have barely begun. Hamish recently started a major commission for the Duchess, and I think he’s under a bit of pressure to get it done promptly. Your father’s just returned and needs to deal with the estate and things.”

  Things, in this case, ranging from the arrest of my uncle for conspiring to commit murder to all the legal and social tangles involved in clearing one’s name of treason and one’s status of being considered dead.

  I contemplated Mr. Dart’s eager eyes and the value I placed on our friendship, and the fact that the last Monday of November was this Monday coming.

  “When do you want to leave?”

  HAVING RECEIVED PERMISSION to relay the story to my employer, Mrs. Etaris, I did so with some eagerness to hear her response. Over the two and a half months or so of my employment at her bookstore I had come to have the greatest respect for her judgment.

  “How intriguing,” was her first response. We were sitting in the comfortable chairs beside the wood stove, which was burning merrily to ward off the November chill. Mrs. Etaris’ cat Gingersnap lay on his back in my lap, purring madly as I stroked his chest. Outside it had started to snow, large picturesque flakes.

  Mrs. Etaris glanced out at the market square. “It is not, alas, the best weather for travelling. Fortunately it is not the worst, either; it could be late January. And if the ladies in question feel it necessary to brave the Northern Sea in storm season to throw themselves on the Darts’ hospitality, it behoves one of the Darts to make the effort to meet them.”

  I sipped the cocoa we’d made earlier. Gingersnap batted at my cuff in annoyance that I’d stopped petting him.

  “Of course, it will have to be Mr. Dart who makes the journey. Equally of course you wish to accompany him.”

  “I do not wish to leave you in the lurch, Mrs. Etaris, especially so close to Winterturn. This must be a busy season for you.”

  “Naturally,” she murmured, smiling with an air of mischief I did not really understand. “Nevertheless ... let me think a moment. You see, Mr. Greenwing, after all the excitements occasioned by your return to Ragnor Bella—”

  She paused there, presumably to let us both reflect on said excitements. I squirmed a bit in my chair. Gingersnap rolled over and began kneading my thigh in protest.

  My initial return had been poorly enough received to cause a quarter-year’s worth of gossip, and that was before the criminal gangs and the mermaid—let alone the dragon and my maternal inheritance—and that didn’t even begin to touch on the cult to the Dark Kings and my father’s second return from the dead.

  Mrs. Etaris smiled at me almost triumphantly. “The lead-up to Winterturn is always my busiest time, as you’ve so cleverly noted, but this year the autumn was quite remarkably busy, what with one thing and another.”

 
Half of Ragnor Bella and the surrounding barony coming in to see for themselves what Mad Jack Greenwing’s son was making of himself, and buying books as poor camouflage, that meant.

  “Indeed,” Mrs. Etaris went on, “I find myself in serious need of stock to ensure I have enough for the Winterturn season. I would count it a great favour if my assistant would be willing to hazard the roads and attend the Silverheart Book Fair in Orio City.”

  ONCE MRS. ETARIS HAD given me a mission it occurred to me that there might be others in the community who had hankerings after items only to be found in the ‘big city’. It only took me an hour to begin to regret this idea.

  “And just how do you think this will all fit into our carriage?” Mr. Dart asked when he caught up with me just outside The Ragnor Arms adding Mr. Fogerty the Fish’s request to my list. He leaned his chin on my shoulder to read what I’d written so far. “What are grains of paradise?”

  “Some sort of spice, apparently,” I replied.

  “Pity your friend Hal’s gone back to Fillering Pool already. I’m sure he’d know—and have a carriage sufficiently grand with which to convey them.”

  I smirked at Mr. Dart. Hal had left the week previous, when the letters from his mother had become too importunate to bear. He’d showered me, my father, and Mr. Dart alike with invitations to spend Winterturn with him, but though the coming-of-age ball of an Imperial Duke had its appeal, I had wanted to spend the holiday with my father. There was also the small but pertinent fact that Hal had also assured me that I was well on my way to becoming the second-most eligible bachelor in Northwest Oriole, after himself.

  “Why are you smiling like that?” Mr. Dart demanded. “Not from your list—egads! What’s this about a hundredweight of turnips? Two hundredweight of cabbage? Fifteen barrels of butter?”

  I took my list back from him and stowed it in my pocket. “Be grateful for that section of the list, Mr. Dart. It’s for St-Noire village. They missed summer, you may recall.”

  “Three summers,” he murmured, abashed, at this reminder of the cursed village in the Woods Noirell. “They must be down to their last stores. I retract my comments.”

  “They’ve had a hard time since the Fall, since no traffic goes through the Woods now. I’m going to use some of the money from my stepfather to get supplies.”

  “And apart from greatly admiring your dedication to duty, I am to be grateful because ... ?”

  “I hope it will persuade my grandmother to lend us the use of her falarode.”

  Mr. Dart looked at me. “That black monstrosity? The one she borrowed from Lady Death?”

  I grinned.

  THURSDAY NOON FOUND me tidying my flat. Mrs. Etaris had given me the day off to organize myself, but once I’d written to my grandmother with the question of the falarode and been given the requests of various friends and what felt like all the small tradesmen and artisans in the barony, I had nothing much to do.

  I was in the midst of sweeping when a knock on the door interrupted me. I looked up, for it was the inner door, to find my father standing there watching me.

  “Sir—Papa,” I said, clutching at the broom-handle.

  “Jemis,” he returned, a slow smile lighting his face. “May I come in?”

  “Of course!” I stepped back, straight into my pile of sweepings, flushed, and added, “Please sit down. I’ll—I’ll just finish this.”

  He continued to watch me with amusement while I found the dustpan, re-swept my pile, and finally removed sweepings, broom, and dustpan to their various homes. I washed my hands before returning to the parlour. There in the mirror was the earnest young gentlemen of straightened means, though his clothes were not quite such to not suggest the need to clean for himself.

  Appearances could be so deceiving. I had only the one winter-weight suit, hastily finished less than a fortnight ago for the reading of my stepfather’s will, and a few extra pieces bought subsequently to eke out a week’s laundry. Another suit was on order, but my father had returned home with nothing, and took precedence. Both the rival haberdashers of Ragnor Bella were working on our wardrobes, but they had already been busy with their usual pre-Winterturn commissions and had promised nothing but the most basic pieces for my father in the next fortnight.

  My father was looking at my bookshelf when I came in with an ewer of water for want of any better hospitality. He had taken already his book of haikus, which had once held pride of place, but not the great golden pectoral of the Heart of Glory, saying he had no fit home for it yet, as he continued to reside with the Darts. I found myself wishing we could return to the dower cottage my mother and I had lived in (and my father when he was home from campaigns), but I supposed he would want the Manor itself, once the situation with the Arguty estate was settled.

  He turned to see me hovering awkwardly, and actually laughed, the rumble I remembered so well from my childhood. “I’ve not come to scold you. May I sit down?”

  “You don’t need permission,” I blurted. “You’re welcome any time.”

  He sat down in the chair Hal had used when he’d stayed. “Thank you,” he said gravely, answering the words with solemn meaning. I sank more slowly down into my chair opposite, wishing I’d done more than sweep. At least the fire was burning well, throwing off a good heat into the room.

  “Are you prepared for the journey?”

  “I believe so.”

  He hesitated, then spoke slowly. “Jemis, I am very proud of you.”

  My uncomfortable admission of the night before hung heavily in the air around us. I swallowed dryly, all the knowledge of the many ways I’d failed the examples he’d set me almost physically present in the room. Even the room itself, the little flat I’d been so pleased to call my own, was symbolic of it. If it had been a little flat in Kingsford or Orio City (or Astandalas, once upon a time), it would have been understood as a stepping-stone to greater things, to a place in the courts of the king or the governor. Here, in Ragnor Bella?

  He sat back. “You don’t believe me.”

  I forced myself to meet his gaze. We had had conversations over the past twelve and a half days, of course, even a few long ones. But for the first week Hal and Ben had been there, and my father’s company had been overwhelmed by all the people in town who wanted or needed to speak to him, with the initial statements given to constabulary and lawmen. The last five or six days he’d been closeted with the lawyers, spending many hours with the tangled paperwork involved in his return.

  I had gone back to work at the bookstore, and gritted my teeth as I had all autumn and smiled and responded politely to all the good gossips of Ragnor Bella.

  Finally, when the silence had gone on far too long, I said, “You cannot be proud of what I said last night.”

  He met my eyes, his brow furrowed. His injured eye was brighter than the other; it produced more tears as part of the healing process, he’d said. I did not look down, though I felt an indistinct bright shame. I did not know how to put any of this into words. My classical poets were no help; serried ranks of them in the library at Morrowlea gave no voice to the muddled emotions I felt looking at my father whom I’d always loved so much.

  “You seem to have a very strict idea of what I approve or disapprove,” he said. “I don’t know what I did when you were young to give you this idea that I am so harsh.”

  My eyes flickered unintentionally to the Heart of Glory on the wall, awarded to him by the Emperor himself. He followed my glance, holding himself very still for a moment, and then let out his breath in a deep huff. “My finest hour,” he murmured. “Do you hold yourself to that standard, Jemis? I cannot hold myself to that standard.”

  I stared at him. What could he mean? Of course he could: of course he had. This was the man who had once held a border; who had gone alone into a fortress of the enemy on the far side of the mountains at Loe; who had come home after the Fall; who had come home after his captivity among the pirates despite knowing the reception he had received on his first return. His courage was quite literally the stuff of legend.

  He leaned forward. “Jemis, please tell me what you are thinking.”

  Mr. Dart and I, excellently educated modern gentlemen that we were, danced around our emotions. The blunter approach of those who had come of age in the final days of the Empire always confounded me.