The Stumpwork Robe (The Chronicles of Eirie 1) (3 page)

Chapter Four

‘Oh, Peter, well done.’ Ana ran to her brother, grabbed him in a hug, the first for months, and then stood back as Fiona, the Stitching Queen and Peter’s betrothed, moved to his side. ‘Fee, good day to you. Didn’t he do well? Oh, Peter, I think the river spirits were with you today as something stopped Jonty for sure. He meant nothing but ill will.’

‘Aye.’ Peter pulled a shirt on. ‘I don’t know what was wrong with the git but I was never so glad when I saw him tumble. Hell I hate him.  And I hate that he’s about to be…’

‘What? About to be what?’ Ana heard the distress in her brother’s voice and would have pushed him further had not the mayor called Peter to take the stand and receive his prize. She watched her brother walk forward and then glancing at the sky, saw it was well past midday and the meeting with her mother. She hastened away in the direction of the tavern, turning sharply into Quickstep Lane as a shortcut. Two shadows stood half way down the shaded, gravel path.

At first Ana thought they were dark stripes cast by the spreading pepper tree that towered over the high stone walls of the houses backing onto the lane. But the shades moved toward her and she recognized Riddell and Peel from the village, the flaccid offsiders of Jonty Bellingham. Her footsteps slowed. Memories of childhood bullying loomed overlarge, her knees like jelly. She acknowledged the fellows briefly, not quite meeting their taunting eyes, and went to skirt around them. They moved with her and blocked her. She stepped the other way, they moved again like a macabre dance pattern, their rank body odour clinging to the air. Deep in the middle of the lane the sound of riverbank revelry dwindled and the shadows of the tree and the high walls threatened darkness. She thrust against the ruffians, trying to push out of the gloominess enclosing them all, desperate to get away from the threat that hung heavily amongst the leaves and branches. ‘Let me past! My mother waits at the Tavern.’

‘Really?’ Peel pushed hard against her, driving her backward, so that she turned her ankle on a large stone. Her fragile emotions flared, forever on a knife edge and she raised her arm to push him away. But it was grasped from behind and yanked back above her head so she was forced to swing around to relieve the searing pain in her shoulder.

Bellingham stood facing her, the size of his bulk blocking any exit. ‘Your mother can wait.’ Fat lips curled as he reached forward and ran a hand up and down her side. Ana flinched as the pig-like face, ruddy and flushed with an ugly excitement, pressed closer. He was taller than her by far and very broad, as if he could stand square to a stampede of black bulls and never be knocked down. His greasy hair was slicked back but locks of it fell forward over the slit eyes. For all the money of the Bellingham family, Jonty had no finesse, a beast to the backbone of his loathsome body.

She dragged up spirit, compressed and hidden since her father’s death. ‘No she cannot! Get out of my way, Bellingham!’ She used all her strength to push at his hand with a dismissive thrust, at the same time lashing out with a knee to try and catch him in the groin. He pounced on her, grabbing her and flinging her back hard against the wall of the nearest house. A sharp pain shot down her back and the air inside her flew out in a violent cough. She sagged with dread as his grip tightened. ‘Aine, what do you think you’re doing?’ Each word came out in a breathless spurt, fear prickling her armpits.

‘Go on, Bells, tup ‘er. Tup the bitch. Give it to ‘er ‘ard!’ Peel and Riddell guffawed and urged Bellingham on.

‘Shut your gobs, you two, shut it,’ he shouted back, spittle spraying over Ana’s face.

‘You touch me and you’ll have the whole Trevallyn Corps on your neck.’ Her voice cracked as she clawed at fast vanishing bravado.

‘You think?’ He spoke half way between a smirk and a sneer. With the speed of someone far less bulky, he thrust one hand around her throat and the other he twisted in her hair and pulled. She gasped with the pain, her scalp stretched taut as if her hair could lift in one bloody piece. ‘Listen you little whore, who was the bastard you were with on the log.’

‘A stranger, I don’t know…’ She smelled whisky on his breath. His bloodshot eyes dilated and the grip on her neck immediately tightened as she answered. Her breath sucked in and out, her pulse vibrating in her temples. ‘You’re cho...king...me.’

Momentarily he relaxed the pressure on her throat but still holding her
hair, began a frenzy of ripping at her shirt, pulling it out of the waist of the skirt. Two buttons burst and fell to the gravel at Ana’s feet and Peel and Riddell burst out laughing, excited by the atmosphere. She tried to anticipate Bellingham's actions, her heart crying out for Peter, for her mother, her father... anyone. Rape crazed his eyes and his fat tongue ran over wet lips. He reached out to her breasts and began to squeeze, grunting like a rutting bull. ‘You let him touch you. He held you. I saw.’ Between each statement, he wrenched and pummelled and terrified tears formed and began to trickle down Ana’s face. He thrust a leg between her thighs, driving it up hard, a pain shooting through to her hips.

‘Are you well, my princess?’ An accented voice broke the hideous tension in the air. Shifting forward, dark
djellabah
flapping around him, Kholi Khatoun stepped from the shadows of the lane behind them.

‘Bugger off!’ Bellingham growled, his hands still grasping Ana’s breasts.

‘Why sir, of course. If the lady wishes.’
Kholi threw back his cloak
and fingered a huge scimitar tucked through a blood-red sash at his waist. Within seconds the curved weapon had arced to rest against Riddell’s throat. As he squeaked, Kholi Khatoun threw him aside and the two louts sprinted up the lane leaving Bellingham alone.
The merchant barely moved as his scimitar flashed.
Bellingham’s hands let go of Ana as his trousers fell to the ground, a glancing swipe having cut through the leather belt without harming a fold of his bulk. ‘Do you wish me to go, lady?’ Kholi asked.

Ana grabbed her shirt and folded it over her aching, bruised chest. When she hit the wall, a branch had scratched her temple and a carmine stain trickled over her cheeks. Speechless, she shook her head from side to side. She could barely assimilate that she was safe, or that Bellingham had paled and stood dwarfed by the easy grace of the Raji.

‘On your way, scoundrel. I am within my rights to truss you like the overfed chicken you are and bury you in the sand to your white, fat neck and with one swipe...’ The blade whistled sideways and a thistle was beheaded, it’s flower lying on the cobbles, mauve petals broken and scattered.

Bellingham pulled his breeks
up into his crotch and turned to Ana, his wide jowls trembling. ‘This isn’t finished, beloved. Next time this sand savage won’t be around. I have rights now. Betrothed men always do.’ Ana gasped, her mouth opening and he sneered. ‘Oh by the spirits, your mother hasn’t told you.’ He pealed into hysteric giggles as Ana heard a far-off voice from the mists saying,
'Go on.  Walk away and keep walking.'

‘Enough, lard-face. You try me.’ Kholi moved closer to Bellingham, the exotic robes blowing around him and his eyes glinting as the scimitar was weighed and measured.

Jonty turned with a wilted attempt at nonchalance. ‘You and I, Ana; we are betrothed now. Your mother and my father have signed us together. To be married the week after your brother. So till later, love of my life.’ He sauntered awkwardly to the corner at the top of the lane leaving Ana bruised and almost broken.
Kholi undid his cloak and wrapped it around her as she began to
shiver. The brightness and expectation of her day had cracked as the words
‘We are betrothed now’
spilled forth and wave upon wave of fear and disillusionment rolled across her. Kholi placed an arm around the girl and guided her towards the Tavern as a figure hurried into the lane.

‘Ana. Gracious, girl. I’ve been waiting for a half hour. Jonty said he saw you just now, that you had an accident.’ Marte eyes drifted over Kholi.

‘Indeed Madame. She has,' he said.

‘Well thank you kindly sir, I’ll take my daughter now.’

Something about the oddly protective tone in her mother’s voice jerked Ana
from the silent place to which she had retreated. She threw up her hands and brushed her mother away. ‘Did you betroth me to Jonty Bellingham?’

Marte looked at her daughter and all Ana could thi
nk was of secrets revealed, of mother and son knowing but unable or unwilling to tell her. She almost turned away but her mother's hand reached out. ‘Ana, please,’ her voice pleaded, ‘you have to understand. The farm... Fiona’s dowry...’

‘DID YOU BETROTH ME TO BELLINGHAM?’ She would not be pleaded wit
h, she would not be a commodity.

Her mother stood fingering the wallet at her waistband, silent, face frozen. Ana sucked in a breath and turned sharply, picking up the folds of the cloak to run as fast as she could, as if distance from her mother was the only thing she craved.

Kholi Khatoun slipped the scimitar back into the blood-red sash.
‘Lady, I shall find her and see her to your home. You must not worry.’

Marte nodded, pulling at a small, embroidered kerchief.

Kholi
coughed politely. ‘Lady, I realize this is not my business but that Bellingham to whom your daughter is betrothed, he just assaulted her. I was witness.
Such a man should be castrated…’ He broke off. Folding his
hand across his heart, he bowed. ‘Lady, forgive me.’

Marte seemed to draw herself up. Her soft li
ps stretched into a tight smile, the blue eyes glinting like glaciers. ‘Thank you for caring for Ana and I would appreciate it if you could send her home should you see her. Other than that sir, it is as you say, none of your business.’

***

No woman could ever understand how Ana felt after that two-pronged assault. To be manhandled was one thing but to be sold off as if she were a slave by her mother and brother was another thing again. She felt filthy on the one hand and frightened and disillusioned on the other. Her sense of self-worth plummeted to hell and beyond at that point. She had barely raised herself above the ground that day, a little seedling just beginning to stretch toward the sunlight after the storms of grief that had broken her and then Bellingham literally snipped her off to the ground again. All she wanted was for her father to come to rescue her, to tell her she was still his perfect girl, to make her feel clean again. Inside her was a hole that ached to be filled and it blinded her to rational thought.

But now you have come to the end of this book. If you would be so kind, do what you did before - the wand, the shrinking charm - and return the book to the beehive. The books must be secreted each in its sequential spot as it is more important than you could ever believe and you must, absolutely
must
, read them in the order I say. I beg of you on my life and I do not ask this lightly. It is not some strange peccadillo. If you have found the robe in the Museo and if you are reading the books, then it is obvious you must be Eirish. In which case you understand the Others that lace under and over our world. Trust me when I say they will make you pay if you do not read the books in perfect order. How will this affect me, you ask, if I do not? Then I shall tell you...

With your life.

You don’t believe me? Read them out of order then.  See what happens.

Ah ha, you are still with me. Believe me, do you? Good. So go now to the panel of peacock, grapevine and beetle. Very, very gently lift the peacock’s tail and mark how I have used the end of a real peacock’s feather, a clever conceit, I think. There underneath
is the next book, covered in teal blue silk. You are lucky this time, because if you also raise the embroidered metallic elytra of the beetle, you will find another book.

Read on…

Chapter Five

Adelina looked up from her work to see a black swathed figure walking past her stall. At first she was unsure if it was Ana - a massive cloak almost completely enfolded the young woman. But Adelina saw the dark mahogany hair and even though it was awry and almost covered a drooping face, she was positive it was her. She waved her hoop with its trailing threads to attract attention but her arm froze in the air as she glimpsed the stricken face that turned toward her. Throwing the hoop amongst the goods on her trestle, she raced out and led her back to the stall to push her onto the cushioned chair. ‘Your face, what happened? Here, let me take the cloak and clean you up.’ She reached for the clasp and was about to pull it off Ana’s shoulders when she saw the torn shirt underneath and yellow and blue striated skin.
Sucking in her breath, she pulled the cloak tighter and with an arm under
Ana’s elbow, she called to a fellow Traveller. ‘Katinka, hey, Katinka, can you mind my stall? I wish to take my friend to my van.’
Katinka pulled the cheroot from her lips, gave a grin and then continued
puffing as she measured off a length of fine navy wool.

Oblivious of anything, Ana allowed the embroiderer to guide her into the van and through folds of silk-gauze cocooning the bed. The light within the van was muted, large windows at the sides having been hung with the same gauze and creating a secret haven. ‘Ana, what happened,
muirnin
?’ Adelina squatted down in front of the girl and tried to get her to focus. But she hung her head to allow her hair to shield her. Even so, Adelina watched two tears overflow and trickle down the smeared cheeks. She took a kerchief from beside her bed, dampened it and began to wipe the stricken face. As she reached for the cloak to loop it off Ana’s shoulders, trembling hands came up and held on tight. ‘By the soul of Aine, Ana, what possesses you?’

‘She has been assaulted.’

Adelina turned quickly to the door. The bottom half had been unlatched and a dark shadow filled the entrance, blocking the doorway. ‘Kholi Khatoun! But how do you know this?’ Shocked, she reached an arm round Ana’s shivering shoulders.

‘I saw it.’ Kholi motioned with his hand. ‘May I?’

Adelina nodded and he moved into the van.

‘She’ll not speak, and no wonder, for she must be profoundly traumatised. Have you any liquor?’

‘Brandy?’ Adelina turned away to the compact galley that served her as a kitchen space. Hardly a galley, more a bench with a tiny set of travelling shelves holding kitchen utensils. Underneath, in two cupboards, were her food supplies, along with bottles of brandy, ale and wine, elderflower cordial and a sweet muscat she had picked up from a travelling merchantman from the Pymm Archipelago. She poured a small measure of the brandy and dropped in some elixir of valerian. Ana’s hand trembled as she reached for the drink so Adelina cupped the quivering fingers in her own. ‘Drink,
muirnin
.’

She coughed as the liquid slid to her belly but the warmth appeared to offer comfort enough for her to push back her head and stare at the Traveller, still saying nothing. ‘Listen
muirnin
,’ Adelina said. ‘Lie down for a while. That’s it. Close your eyes and rest. Then when you feel stronger, Kholi Khatoun here will take you to your home. Would you like that?’ Adelina eased the young woman back on the pile of creamy pillows on the bed and pulled a woolen shawl over her. Ana made no sound but two more tears slid out of the corner of her eyes as she closed them.

‘Come Kholi,’ Adelina pulled at his arm, ‘let’s sit outside and leave her. Would you like an ale or some wine?’

‘Wine. Thank you.’ He backed out of the van, concerned eyes never leaving the prone form on the bed.

The two sat quietly and Adelina handed the Raji a goblet. ‘So tell me, what happened?’

He detailed the awful events. ‘He would have raped her, Adelina, I’m sure. He had lost complete control. I should have sliced the mongrel into kebabs and fried him over his own rendered fat.’

‘Kholi Khatoun!’ Adelina grabbed the merchant’s hand. ‘Quietly, don’t scare her. It’s as well I have known you for so long or I would think you a cruel barbarian.’ She sipped on her wine and spoke in a lowered voice. ‘Mind you, your choice of punishment seems apt. But there’s more, isn’t there?’

‘Indeed. The monster, after I had relieved him of the weight of his breeches, taunted her, informing her she was his betrothed. I tell you, I think it was that more than the rough handling which did for her.’

‘Betrothed! But that requires her parents’ approval and that of the cretin’s family.’

‘You’re kind. Cretin does him honour. But you see, you’re right. The mother has betrothed the poor thing to him. By afrits and djinns, one would wonder why?’ They sat in an uncomfortable silence, musing on Ana’s fate.

‘You know, Adelina,’ Kholi put down the goblet. ‘There is something her mother was not telling. I think there is trouble of a sort at home. The mother was icy and seemed unable to relate to Ana and the young woman was obviously in a dire way and needed her. What would prompt a mother to act so? And why would she betroth her daughter to such a brutal man? I spoke my opinion to her and my thoughts were unwelcome.’

Adelina leaned back against the doorjamb casting an eye in Ana’s direction. She hadn’t moved and her eyes were closed. Thrusting a hand through her hair, the embroiderer, clicked her tongue against her teeth. ‘Well, I suspect it’s too late. Betrothals signed under Trevallyn law are binding. The poor creature is trapped. By Aine, how sad. But you know, there’s a thing. When she came to my stall this morning she was already sad. I can sense these things. So yes, you are right. Something has happened in the home and affected she and her family.’

The two travelling merchants sat savouring their wine and musing on Ana’s fate. It was almost upon Adelina’s lips to mention the Other, that enigmatic stranger, but she decided against it. There was enough angst without introducing another problem. Instead she chose to pass the time of day with Kholi
Khatoun. He was, after all, a very old friend.
‘Kholi, how are things with you? Have you had a good Fair?’ She leaned back and tipped her face up to the sun, teasing her companion with the angle of her neck.

‘I’ve sold everything,’ the Raji’s eyes lit up at his good fortune. ‘Every rug and mat in an hour and for good gelt too. And you?’

‘Excellent. I have sold almost all the apparel and you know how expensive it is. All my mirrors have gone and the trinkets were dribbling off the stall. Some fabrics too, so I could not ask for more. But it’s time for some serious re-stocking of silks and threads.’

Kholi grinned his approval. His blue-black hair, having been relieved
of the squashing effect of the travel caplet, curled in smooth waves around the strongly boned face. His hands were strong and broad, deeply tanned with wide, clean fingernails and something about them appealed to her, as she envisaged them holding, stroking...

‘So where shall you journey?’ Kholi asked.

As he spoke, she detected a deeper interest than just mild curiosity and the discovery quite thrilled her. Life had been drab of late… ‘To the Raj I expect. Unless I can find a market to the north of here and before I get to the Celestine Stairway. My Ajax is quite scared of heights and therefore scares me as well.’

‘We could travel together.’ Kholi fiddled with his goblet. ‘My Mogu is not at all affeared and she may keep your horse calm.’

‘Indeed. If we can get over the fact that Mogu is a camel then Ajax may cope.’ When she smiled and leaned forward, her shirt gaping to reveal a smooth décolletage, she was aware of Kholi shifting on the steps and she stroked his arm with her fingers. ‘Tell me, it is so long since I have seen you and there must be much I have missed. Have you a betrothed back in Ahmadabad?’

The desert man’s expression, lit bright with her touch, became solemn. ‘No. Who would want a man who travels nine tenths of the year?’ He sighed as if the thought had weighed heavy for too long.

‘Why, another traveller of course.’ Adelina opened her eyes wide, a pretence at ingenuousness.

‘But where to find such?’ He was quite serious. ‘I tell you my dear friend because we’ve known each other these many years, I do get lonely. I love my Mogu but a camel can’t really take the place of a wife.’

‘
Poor
Kholi,’ Adelina giggled.

‘You jest, but I am serious.’

‘Oh Kholi, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to tease. Look... I have known you since our parents carried us to all these markets and fairs. Let’s travel together for a time. I would welcome your company for solitude can occasionally be overrated. When do you leave?’

‘Tomorrow at dawn.’

‘Then I shall be ready. Collect my Ajax and me as you leave.’ She stood, her skirts falling around her calves with a whisper of silks and promises. ‘If you would like, that is.’ She glanced at him with something of the coquette in her stance. ‘Now let’s see how Ana is. The sun’s dipping and I fear it’s more than time for her to go home, poor sweeting.’

***

Remember when Ana entered my story I mentioned she was like a piece of damaged thread that broke at every stitch? My Kholi was like floss also. There is a Raji thread, glossy and bright and it gives dimension when one uses it to pinpoint light. I find it a reliable thread, always the same but with the ability to lift my work beyond the mundane. So it was with Kholi Khatoun. He had always been deferential and friendly, his manners placing me exactly where any woman would like to be placed. He had an easygoing nature I remembered, was never fussed about the things that irked the average person, as if he took everything in his stride. And he was so pleasant to gaze upon. My heart skipped like a young girl’s at the thought we should travel together.

But do you wonder about Liam? Just what he might be in my thready analogies
? Huh, I tell you, he is Faeran and Faeran silk is the most magnificent of all. Lustrous and unbreakable.

However you have reached the end of this latest revelation
and you know what you must do - charm, replace. And then if you would like to continue the journey of words, I would ask you make a traverse across the warp and weft of the robe.
Can you see a pavilion with small tassels hanging off the awning? Such a difficult thing to make with copious hours of needleweaving which is my least favourite stitch. But I think the effect is worth it. See how it’s roomy enough to contain a stool and a basket of strawberries? This is a larger piece of stumpwork, well padded and deceiving and most people would focus on the strawberries I am sure. You must feel around inside the walls of the tent where you will find a much thicker booklet than before. Fortunately this will enable you to continue reading for some time before you once again must amble on your treasure hunt across the byways of my embroidered countryside.

But
I must tell you that this pavilion was stitched as a gentle reminder. On my journey with Kholi Khatoun, he would rig a delightful tent, exotic and colourful, with tassels and bells all around the awning. The bells were to keep malign wights at bay and it was in this tent that our friendship transformed to love amid the harmonies of tinkling cones of engraved silver.