Read A Company of Heroes Book One: The Stonecutter Online
Authors: Ron Miller
A Company of Heroes Book One: The Stonecutter (14 page)
“Yes, General?”
“What is that place, where the princess was last seen?”
“The general refers to the factory where she was lost?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“It’s a firm of stonecutters, Groontocker and Peen. A highly respected firm, Sir.”
“Any kind of record with us?”
“None whatsoever, Sir. Silvanus Peen has been dead for some years, but Groontocker, the elder Groontocker, is an enthusiastic friend and supporter of both the prince and Lord Roelt.”
“I see. Can you check their employees? I want to know if anyone’s missing this morning.”
“Yes, Sir. I can have that information within the hour.”
“All right then, see to it.”
It is going to be necessary to see the prince again, Praxx decides with considerable distaste; summonses from Ferenc had been piling upon his desk with ever-increasing frantic urgency all morning. It is not that Praxx fears the prince, it is just that time spent with Ferenc is invariably time wasted. But then, there is little else to do until he hears from the captain.
The prince also has spent a sleepless night. Unfortunately, it is far more obvious with him than it had been for the Guard captain. His face looks like a two-minute egg. He has not bothered to dress but wears only a richly embroidered robe. Nothing seems to be able to divert his mind from the tragedy he found impending; even his prize collection of wax fruit has for the first time failed to offer him solace. When Praxx enters Ferenc’s presence, the prince points an accusing finger at him. It shakes with anger, exhaustion and unbridled pique.
“Well, where is she?” he demands. He picks a wax tangerine from a silver and glass bowl and begins fondling it nervously.
“I expect to learn that momentarily.”
“Momentarily! Momentarily! You sound like a policeman. She’s here in the palace; why can’t you find her?”
“There have been unforeseen circumstances, your Highness.”
“Unforeseen, duckshit! I know
exactly
what happened! D’you think I’m an idiot?”
“Not at all, your Highness,” Praxx lied.
“Well then, how d’you explain her escape? I never heard of anything so fouled up as that vaudeville act your presumably elite corps entertained us with yesterday.”
“The men responsible are being punished, your Highness.”
“The man
responsible
is standing here in front of me! I want Bronwyn stopped! I don’t care what you have to do to accomplish that, do you understand?”
“Is the prince sanctioning the use of force?”
“I didn’t say that! No! Just do whatever you have to; I want to know nothing about it. Nothing. Just bring me that package, with or without my sister. I’m not the least bit interested in what happens to her.”
“I’ll give the orders, your Highness. Has there been news from Lord Roelt?” Praxx added insouciantly.
“News? What sort of news?”
The prince gave such a violent start at the mention of his chamberlain’s name that he involuntarily crushed the tangerine.
“
Now
look what you’ve made me do! Damn.”
“Does the prince know when Lord Roelt might happen to be returning?”
“Why? What possible difference can that make? What does Lord Roelt have to do with this?”
“Nothing, your Highness. I was only asking.”
Praxx had in fact received a communication that very morning from Lord Roelt, warning of his impending arrival within thirty-six hours. Contrary to what Princess Bronwyn believed, and to what she had told Thud, Lord Roelt in fact knew nothing of her theft. So far only the prince, who thinks he is the sole possessor of the knowledge, and General Praxx knows. It’s going to be extremely interesting, Praxx thinks, to observe Lord Roelt’s reaction to the news, particularly if I’m the one to hand over the documents, after they’ve been carefully copied, of course, rather than the prince. Ferenc would simply pretend they’d never been missing in the first place. Instead, this will be an excellent chance to place a heavy obligation upon Lord Roelt while simultaneously discrediting the prince.
He almost smiled in anticipation. For a man whose sole enjoyment was the manipulation of human beings, this felt like the opening move in a grand championship chess match.
There is a discreet rapping at the door. The prince admits the petitioner, who is a messenger asking for the general. He passes a folds slip of paper to his superior, salutes and disappears.
“Will the prince pardon me for a moment?” the general asks, receiving a peremptory nod by way of answer. He unfolds the note and reads its brief message.
“Your Highness,” he says, refolding the paper and inserting it into an inner pocket of his tunic, “I’ve just received important news regarding your Highness’ missing, ah, goods. If the prince will please excuse me, I’ll immediately attend to the matter?”
“Bronwyn’s been found? She has the...uh...things?”
“That’s just what I shall endeavor to discover, your Highness.”
“All right then, endeavor away. I’ll want a report immediately!”
“At your command, my Prince,” replies Praxx, backing through the door.
“And Praxx...”
“Yes, my Prince?”
“I won’t forget this!” the Prince says sternly, holding out his hand with the sad bits of broken orange wax.
Back in his own chambers, Praxx finds one of the captain’s lieutenants waiting.
“Report,” the general orders.
“There’s a man missing from the staff of Groontocker and Peen. He’s never until this day, in twenty years of service, failed to appear at his job.”
“What is he?”
“A common stonecutter, Sir.”
“An artisan?” Praxx asks in some surprise.
“No, Sir, only an unskilled laborer. He hollows out the stone blocks use for, ah, I don’t know what they’re called.”
“Sarcophagi, plural for sarcophagus. Go on.”
“Yes, Sir. The man apparently left the building not long after our last search. Then he failed to come to work today. We obtained his address from his employer; it isn’t far from the factory. A single room partitioned off an attic in a tenement residence. There was little to search: the room is virtually bare. If he had any belongings, they’d been removed. We did find this, however.”
The lieutenant reaches into a bag and pulls forth a sodden lump of cloth. The general takes it and carefully unfolds it. It is the remnants of a frock and he recognizes it as one of the princess’.
“Where is this tenement, exactly?”
“It’s on Nixnixx Road, number fifteen-oh-six.”
The general pulls the large-scale map of the city down from its rollers. He checks the index on its margin and with the point of a finger traces the reference lines to where they cross.
“Ha!” he says. “And where would fifteen-oh-six be?”
“Between Deedle and Onteveronte.”
“Hmm. Yes. I think so. Well. The drainage stream in which the Guard was found dead runs directly behind fifteen-oh-six. Was he found upstream or down from this location?”
“May I see the map, please? This is the block of fifteen-oh-six? Then the Guard was found murders here, Sir, downstream.”
“Describe this man for me, the one who works at the stonecutters. What’s his name?”
“Mollockle, Sir, Thud Mollockle. By all accounts he’s a remarkable-looking person. He’s apparently some seven feet tall. Even allowing for exaggeration, he’s certainly much larger than average. His strength is prodigious, I understand. I was told he’s able to handle stone blocks as large as he is. I’ve seen these and they must weigh a quarter of a ton. The company’s providing us with a photograph of Mollockle from their files, but he shouldn’t be hard to identify...”
“I can see that.”
“Not only by way of his abnormal size and strength, but he’s extraordinarily ugly, freakishly so, I am told.”
“Any trouble with him before?”
“None whatsoever, Sir, at least as far as the local police are aware.”
“And they’re notoriously tolerant. Any reason he would suddenly give aid to a fugitive girl? Would he have any reason to help the princess?”
“By all accounts, no, Sir. He’s not considered to be especially intelligent.”
“I see. Well, he’s nevertheless done so; I think we can take that as given. I see that the stream leads to the harbor. That’s clearly where they are headed.”
Praxx strokes his burnished cheeks with a caliper-like hand.
“If they’ve found refuge on an outbound ship,” he says, “all may be lost. A dozen ships must’ve left the harbor since last night. They can’t have been on any one of them. Damn it. Well, we’ll see what we can do. Will you please give your captain my compliments and ask him to come to here as soon as possible?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Twenty minutes later, the Guard captain is once again in Praxx’s presence.
“Captain, I’ve every reason to believe that the princess and at least one male accomplice may be attempting to escape the city by boat...”
“Pardon me, Sir, for interrupting,” says the lieutenant, “but this male accomplice...a large man, almost a giant, with an unnaturally small head, possibly deformed features?”
“Yes! How do you know this?”
“There is an incident in the City very early this morning, a few hours after midnight. A squad of Guards is in pursuit of a pair of suspicious persons they’d found loitering in the shop district. The men described them as a tall young boy and an extremely large man. One of the Guards, however, who was assaulted and injured by the pair, swears that the boy is in fact a girl in disguise.”
“Did he recognize her?”
“I don’t believe so. Sir, I think it’s entirely possible...”
“So do I. Where was this confrontation?”
The captain points to a spot on the wall map, about a third of the way into the island from the Slideen. Then he moves his finger a little further north.
“They were pursued some distance,” he explains, “and were eventually lost somewhere near here. There was a fire, apparently deliberately set by the fugitives.”
“Who would’ve thought our princess such a little vandal?” says Praxx. “Well, I wonder now. Is that the direction they’d intended to go? Or are they simply running blind? If the princess was alone, I’d assume she was lost, but this man Mollockle may know the City. If that’s so, where can they’ve been going? For that matter, I wonder how they are able to cross the river? It seems clear they does, in any case. And with some destination in mind, surely. The Pordka Bridge? She must’ve known that would be heavily patrolled. She can’t possibly have been after the Catstongue Bridge; otherwise why is she west of the middle of the City? Is she looking for a place to hide? I must find out if she has any acquaintances or friends living outside the palace.”
“Pardon me, Sir, but the general is overlooking the aqueduct.”
“The what? Oh. I see! You’re quite right, Captain, I believe.”
“Orders were given yesterday to post Guards at the reservoir, to search outgoing barges, but it was only considered a routine precaution.”
“Double the men. I want a crack squad there immediately. Search every cubic inch of every item going onto every barge; I want every person positively identified before they can leave the City. I want a copy of the cargo manifests and passenger lists of every barge that’s left the city since midnight. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Two days elapse before Praxx has a glimmering of how he has been deceived. He has puzzled over the reports from the men at the reservoir. There had been only four barges out of the City that entire day. Winter is coming and there is little cargo going either north or south. The gypsies worry him the most. They are too exotic to suit him, but the search had been thorough, at least according to the report. And that also worries him: it had been made by the token patrol placed there the day before. The gypsies had left the city before the more elite squad had taken over. Still, the men seem to have overlooked nothing. The man in charge was not very bright but he had the thoroughness that often accompanies the unintelligent. He even had the sex of every one of the gypsies established beyond doubt, something even Praxx had not thought to consider. The princess can not have maintained her disguise as a boy, he decides. It is not possible that she is hiding in or among the gypsies. The bear disturbs him, however, though he can’t say why. Possibly because he hates animals. Possibly.
The captain gives him an even better reason late on the third day after the princess’ disappearance.
“Sir,” he reports, “I’ve been investigating the movements of the gypsies while they were in the City. They performed at three locations. The last one is in a plaza here”, indicating a position on the map, “between the last sighting of the princess and the location of the reservoir.”
“Very good. But what does that really tell us?”
“In itself, nothing, Sir. But at this last location, a week ago, the bear died.”
CHAPTER IV
THE PURSUIT
The country north of Blavek and south of the ragged mountains that separate Tamlaght from Crotoy is a broad, fertile, U-shaped valley called the Zileheroum. It is scooped out of the island of Guesclin by an ancient glacier, which, half a million years earlier, has been on its way from the polar cap to the equator but has never made it much further than the middle of the island, where it had given up and deposited a couple of million tons of rubble like a discouraged immigrant abandoning his baggage before returning to the deep-frozen comforts of the far north.
The valley’s rocky meadows are not well suited for farming, but orchards and vineyards thrive, and cattle contentedly mow its wild flowers and emerald grass. The canal that longitudinally bisects it runs more or less due north from the City, never straying far from the west bank of the wide, shallow Moltus for which it is substituting. Only occasional farms and one or two small villages come within sight of the canal barges. These villages are located on the main road which lay a mile or two to the east of the canal, so there is seldom any danger of observation; every hamlet has its station of Guards.
It is extremely doubtful that word would have gotten to these outposts yet but it is thought best not to take any chances. Bronwyn knew that such things as the electric telegraph had existed on the Continent for some years now; but it is a device far too radically modern, let alone foreign, for Tamlaghtans to deal with. With the exception of a few military semaphore stations, there are no means of fast long-distance communication.
Bronwyn and Thud take care to be on the far side of the barge whenever buildings of any sort hove into view. Only once since leaving the City does the canal actually pass through the body of a village, the minuscule town of Vulchi. Bronwyn regrets missing a view of the famous Simmering Heath but agrees with her gypsy friend that the most prudent thing would be to make the transit hidden inside one of the wagons. There would not be another such incident until they reach the terminus of the canal in the village of Biela-Slatina, still two days ahead. Three times only have they met another barge headed south. It is long past the time for sending any agricultural products to the City’s markets; the bleak Tamlaghtan winter is near.
The nation of Tamlaght, which occupies most of the southern portion of the island of Guesclin, lies between the high northern latitudes of fifty-five and sixty-seven degrees. Its summers are warm and golden, but brief; each of those days are only a bitter reminder that for six endless months the countryside would be a wasteland of interminable snow and ice, glaringly white during the few hours of daylight with shadows blue as turquoise; at night a glowing indigo under the stars and the flickering, hissing auroras.
Only three bargemen are needed to tend to the vessel; tough and single-minded, they have no interest in either in the gypsies or their affairs. The flat, shallow-draft craft is steered ‘or kept straight, rather, since there is really no place to steer to since the canal is only slightly more than twice as wide as the long, narrow boat) by one man at a tiller in the square stern with the other two men on either side of the bow, using poles to keep the barge well away from the banks. A rope from the starboard side of the bow leads to a pair of tandem mules that tread the towpath that parallels the canal. A fourth man walks beside the animals, giving them an occasional switch with a flexible wooden wand. This is really unnecessary: the mules knew their job; they never slow down, and the touch of the wand never speeds them up. It is really done only to remind them that the man is there and to give the man something to do. The mules for their part appreciate it because it doesn’t hurt at all and it helps keep the flies at bay. The teamster is technically not part of the barge crew, who have a guild of their own. He is, in fact, an independent contractor who owns the mules that drew the barge. The bargemen tends to think of themselves as a variety of able-bodied seamen and the teamsters as land-loving farmers, though the obvious truth of the matter is that their “ocean” is narrow enough to throw a rock across, or, in some places, for an athletic person to jump, and in the thousands of miles of travel accumulated during a year, the courses of the bargemen and the teamsters are parallel, their lives spent never more than a few yards apart.
The barges are, as has been said, long, narrow affairs and very shallow, only drawing a few inches of water. This one is little wider than the gypsy wagons, which are lined up end to end, leaving only a narrow catwalk along the gunwales. With the animals taking up almost all the remaining space, there is scarcely a cubic inch to spare. Bronwyn could have stepped ashore at almost any time; the canal only grew wider when a siding allowed for the passing of barges going in opposite directions.
The first three days on the canal can not have been more pleasant. The weather, while sharp as a razor, is bright and clear. The sky stretches overhead as blue and taut as the skin of a balloon. The gypsies take the opportunity of not being on the road to repair their wagons and trappings. The band swarms over the caravan, painting, scrubbing, blacksmithing, leatherworking, like ants on an apple core. Thud has become fascinated with the gypsies’ animals, he has never in his life seen anything larger than a rat ‘though some of these rivaled in size the shaggy little gypsy ponies). He asks Hottl numberless questions about them, and though most are childishly naïve, they all receive thoughtful and serious answers. Like most people who are practiced at penetrating superficial appearances, and the gypsies’ living depends a great deal on their ability to do this accurately, Hottl and his companions never took Thud any less than seriously. Like Bronwyn, they had discovered that though the huge man is big and ugly and not extraordinarily bright, he more than made up for these deficiencies, as a sightless person compensates for his lack of vision. They are also impressed by how good a bear he made.
Bronwyn spends most of her time with the gypsy chief. Each is very curious about the other and most of one silvery day is spent in mutual interrogation. The gypsy, being far more skilled than the princess at drawing information from people without their ever being aware of it ‘hence his great success as a palm reader), came out far ahead of the girl in this exchange of information.
Bronwyn’s first question, and one of the few direct ones to which she ever received an unambiguous answer, concerned the man’s given name, and “Janos Magyar” is the reply she receives. With few exceptions, she’s told, the people with Janos are blood relations in varying degrees of consanguinity. Most are Magyars or Dardles, with one each of Bridskutin and Zattlottl ‘this latter line represented by Hottl). They sing beautiful, sad songs, together and individually, and tell endless stories in their own ancient language; but there is little real conversation among the gypsies; they seldom speak even among themselves unless it is necessary. Although Bronwyn has been introduced to each, and has been made to feel welcome by the firm, rough handshakes of the men and the warm embraces of the women, brown cheeks pressed to rosy one, and even more so by their eyes, like deep, peaty ponds; they never, after that first brief welcome, say a word to her. She feels a little jealous, since Thud has been deep in conversation with Hottl about the animals since crossing the Moltus. But Thud himself does seem more like one of the gypsies, somehow; perhaps his simplicity attracts them, or his honesty or earthiness. As much as she likes Janos and his company, and as grateful as she feels for their unsolicited and freely given help, she can not help but feel apart from them. They seem alien to her, unrelated to her own life; she really can’t understand why they defer to her. What is she to them? She is certain it can not be due to any snobbishness on her part. Bronwyn likes to think she is unaffected by class distinctions in dealing with the common people of her nation, but, realistically, how can a princess be otherwise? That she thinks of them as common at all ought to tell her that something is amiss with her egalitarianism, but this thought never occurs to her. For his part, Janos knows how Bronwyn thinks she
ought
to feel about him, knows that she is uncomfortable because she does feel that way, knows that she is ill at ease with the general informality, knows that she has nothing whatever in common to share with him or his people, and that she is probably perfectly aware of all this, even if she can’t explain her feelings, but he also knows that the princess is trying not to let him see that she possesses this knowledge: or, at the very least, that she believes she is doing her best. Janos is far from being mean-spirited enough to not appreciate this effort.
“Princess,” says Janos, as the two sit on the starboard gunwale of the barge, their feet dangling within inches of the icy water, “what do you know of your friend, Thud?”
“Nothing, I guess. I never sees him before the day before yesterday. There hasn’t been much time since to get acquainted. He is a stonecutter in some factory in the Transmoltus; that’s about all I know.”
“He is a strange man, I think. He certainly is not as stupid as he looks, although, I am forced to admit, that still leaves a lot of room for being very stupid. Forgive me for saying this about your friend...”
“I know what you’re going to say: he does look as dumb as a brick, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, he does, but there is something inside that head, even if it does not look like there would be room in there for even a small walnut.”
“He is very kind and...well, he is kind.” She had been about to say, “knows his place,” but thought better of it, somewhat to her surprise. “Yes, he is. But I think that the strangeness I speak of is something other than how his face gives the lie to his...I do not have the word...sweetness? That sounds wrong.”
“I know what you mean. I trust him, though.”
“As you should and as do I. You have seen the picture he carries?”
“Yes, it used to be hanging on a wall in his room. It was tacked in the middle of hundreds of cut-out paper flowers. Very weird. It’s kind of a spooky picture, isn’t it?”
“Hmm. Spooky, yes. What is very strange is that I know that woman, the one in his picture.”
“Pardon? How is that? Who is she?”
“He believes her to be his mother and for all that I truly know, she is. Yet...Look, I must tell you a little story. It is not much of a story, because it has no ending, and I do not pretend to know what it means. Well. Many years ago, maybe thirty years, when I was still a young man and my grandfather was leader of the clan, does I not tell you what happens to my father? Very interesting. Another time. When I was a young man, we brought a girl into the Circle, much as we have done with you, Princess. We are very proud that we have never turns away anyone who has needs our help. Sometimes there is little we can do; sometimes we can only offer sanctuary, sometimes a little food, a place to rest, perhaps a place to leave a tiny portion of their troubles. You have noticed that we are much better listeners than talkers? No matter.
“One night, oh, it must be more than thirty years ago, now, we found this poor child; she is not much older than you...How old
are
you, Princess? Really? Is that all? Then perhaps this girl was much younger. I cannot tell these things.” ‘This is a lie, of course.) “She was wandering in a woods not far from where we are headed. I am not sure whether we are on this side or the other of the border. We try not to let such merely political things bother us. In any case, there she was, half-naked, nearly frozen, almost starved. We gave her shelter, of course.
“It was many days before she would take any food and then only a little. She was so weak; it must have been a long time since she had had anything much to eat, she was so terribly skinny. I remember that her face looked like a skull, that her eyes shone like someone who has eaten too much premsyl, and how her ribs stuck out from her. Aie! She would at last take a little broth, so Mama mixed it with some of her roots and herbs and that seemed to help the girl very much.
“She still would not speak; she had not says a word since the day we found her. But she began eating a little more each day. Soon she was strong enough to walk a little, but it made her very tired. I remember the first day she smiled at me. I regret that I then asked her who she was and why she had been lost in the woods. The smile went from her face like frost in the sun. I was very sorry I had spoken.
“It is Mama, who would know such things, who told me what she had discovered about the girl: that she was with child. I believe we all thought we knew her story then, or so we assumed. That some villain has carried her from her home and had raped her, leaving her in the wilderness for the wolves. Or something like that. I accepted this, but I should have wondered how long she had been lost; as I said, she was very starved. Exactly what had happened, none of us ever did learn.
“The girl soon grew much stronger and even began to help with the work. We explained that it was not necessary to do this, but she was so willing and it seemed to bring her such pleasure, that we could not say no. And it did seem to help. She ate what we ate and worked hard at whatever tasks she was set to. She always remained thin, but her bones no longer stuck out; her thinness became a sleek kind, like an otter’s. I could always see the shape of her skull under her face, though her cheeks were no longer hollow and her eyes had lost that terrible metallic glaze.
“She would speak whenever she was spoken to, she would ask about our work and she would sing with us at night, I remember her voice, sweet and bitter like the tears of a pine, but we never learned anything about what had happened before the night we had found her. You understand
why
we can not ask?
“Soon she became great with child and she spent her days in our wagon. She again became weak and we feared for her. She gave birth very late one night in the early spring. When the child was born, we thought she would surely die. I can remember thinking: Ah! She is so pale, like a candle, I can almost see through her. In your palace, you have cups of fine porcelain like this? Yes, then, like that. But she surprised us by asking for the infant and Mama gave it to her. She held it close to her bosom and I do not think that I saw her again so happy.