The Witch of Glenaster (10 page)

“This is the First of the Five
Courts,” said Thomas, leading us confidently through the crowd. I kept a tight
hold on Magnus’s hand. “Each is on a higher level than the one before, and the
Fifth is away up there…” He pointed somewhere into the far distance. “They are
where the traders and stallholders conduct their business, and the city makes
its money.” Two tall, bald men in lavender-coloured robes pushed past us.
“Eunuchs,” said Thomas, in a stage whisper, and raised his eyebrows; and Magnus
and I couldn’t help laughing, despite ourselves. “The cloisters lead off to
other courtyards and houses, and the steps to the Second Court, and then yet
more steps, and then a whole maze of different doors and corridors that you
could get lost in for an entire year.” And he turned suddenly around, to check
we were still there. “But that won’t happen to us! Because you have me to guide
you, and I know this city like the back of my hand…” At which point he stopped
abruptly, and seemed unsure where to go. Then, picking up the trail again, he
said: “They’ve changed that bit…”

We were now climbing the stairs
to the Second Court, and I was careful to shield Magnus from the pushing and
shoving of the other pedestrians, sometimes finding it difficult to keep on my
feet myself, though I was tall for my age. The Second Court was tidier and
neater than the First, though just as busy; still, it seemed easier to move
about, and Thomas led us on to a pergola that ran above the streets below, and
here it was quieter, and the greenery about us was cool. “Nice view from here –
though nothing compared to the higher levels…” he observed. He was almost
running now, and I had to remind him not to go too fast. “Of course not, of course
not…!” he said, rounding a corner as the pergola met a small courtyard, which
he strode across impatiently. I wondered if he had some plan to put into action
now he had arrived in the city, or some secret assignation to make. But though
he seemed revived by the sights and sounds of the Capital, there was still that
old wariness and dark turn to the eye that told me he remained ever watchful.

The small courtyard led into a
garden, richly planted with asters, fennel, and dahlias. I wished I could linger,
but Thomas kept on striding ahead, and we followed him along a loosely paved
path, as the garden curved and turned towards a narrow lane bordered by high
hedges of sickly-green conifer, and down this we plunged, as it led us on for a
good fifty yards further, until we emerged by a fountain, the sound of its
water hardly more than a whisper as it fell away into a pool decorated with a
large mosaic of a naked woman, her face a mask of stern disapproval.

Thomas barely stopped to look.
He was making for another set of steps, narrower than the ones we had climbed
before, and half-hidden by a cluster of fruit trees.

“Here,” he said, and as we
clambered after him we saw that the steps went high – there were two hundred of
them at least – and we protested, though he did not seem to hear. We stopped to
catch our breath anyway, halfway up, and leant against the marble baluster at
the steps’ edge. Thomas, who had been bounding on ahead of us, turned to look,
and smiled.

“Well,” he said, coming back down
toward us. “I’m sorry if I’ve worn you out…” And he gave an ironic little bow,
which I thumped him gently for. “
Ow
! I don’t think I
deserved that. Still, you know what they say: less haste, more speed. And I
want to get you to your quarters in good time. There’s much I’d like to see and
do in the city before sundown – things I must do alone – and time goes on.”

“Our quarters?” asked Magnus,
wiping his nose on his sleeve. I knocked him on the arm to remind him not to do
it.

“Yes!” replied Thomas. “You have
to have somewhere to stay, don’t you?”

I blinked at him.

“But I thought…”

“It’s true, I have very little
money; but I have
other favours owing to me, and not a few from here in
the city.” He grasped the baluster, and looked out over the crowded roofs and
squares of
Ampar
, dotted together like lichen around
the base of a tree. Then he cast his eyes up, at the towers and palaces
sweeping precipitately up to the sky, high above our heads. “The higher you
live in
Ampar
, the richer you must be,” he told us.
“And those who live in the uppermost of the uppermost apartments are rich
indeed, the city’s elite. The emperor himself, they say, lives quite frugally –
for an emperor. He likes to set an example…” And he turned back to us. “But I
think your apartments will do you just as well! Shall we go?”

And he bounced up the stairs
like a puppy, and we padded obediently after.

Stefano the Cook had a face so
sunken it looked like the ruin of a once proud building: weather-beaten and
strange, its supports all but collapsed, defying the elements to come and wash
it away. Yet there was a fierce light to the eye that spoke of a tenancy
within, long but not yet expired, that was full of mischief and intent to
continue its occupation for as long as possible.

So it struck me as I shook his
hand, and listened to the creak of his smile as he welcomed us to his home.

Thomas had left us here, with a
promise that he would return later, but that might be much later, and we
weren’t to wait up for him. We could trust Stefano, he was an old friend, and
Thomas had done him a good turn or two, once, in the past, and we would be safe
here, et cetera, et cetera… Certainly the house he had deposited us in was not
short on grandeur, though, like its proprietor, its glories seemed more in the
past than the present. Still, it had once been a great lady, revelling, in her
prime, in the flatteries and attentions of her suitors, when she had been the
venue for state balls and lavish masques, and the scene of political scheming
and Court intrigue; but as the city had grown, and the courtiers and their
retainers moved further up the hill, they had deserted her, and now her rouge
was a little too thick, her elaborate wig a little awry, but she still made the
casual visitor, like Magnus and I, gape open-mouthed at her opulence.

“This was the seat of the
D’Lisle
family, for sixteen generations,” said Stefano, his
voice as dry as his skin, as he led us across an obscenely vast hallway of
obsidian marble. “That is the Grand Duke Mortimer, there.” And he gestured with
a meanly-fleshed hand. “He founded the line, back in the days of the Emperor
Richard, the Wise.” We turned up a broad staircase, which swept like a wave up
to the house’s first floor. “And there,” he said, indicating another portrait,
“is the Duchess Petra
D’Lisle
. Such an evil woman. I
hope she doesn’t give you nightmares.” The picture was rather dark, and it was
difficult to make out its subject’s features in the gloom. But what I could see
did have a striking aspect, and what some might call a cruel shape to the chin;
and I grasped Magnus’s hand, to pull him away. Stefano had already moved on
down the landing, and we had to hurry to catch him.

“I have tried to make it cosy
here, after my fashion,” he said, and indeed the upper floors of the building
seemed more welcoming than those below: thick carpets and rugs muted the
muttering of our feet as we walked, and there were long drapes along the walls
and windows, to keep out the cold. We climbed two sets of narrow stairs, near
the back of the house, and at their top Stefano came to a halt, and turned
towards us.

“These were the old servants’
quarters, when the
D’Lisles
lived here,” he
explained, rattling a thick key in the lock of the door ahead of him. “I’ve
given the Captain the room next to yours: you may hear him come in later. I
myself live mostly downstairs. Owing to an unfortunate weakness of the humours
I find it difficult to sleep, and am often awake at all hours. But I will do my
best not to disturb you.” And he smiled, showing a fair flash of gold filling,
and ushered us into the room.

It is said that, during the
reign of the Emperor Samuel I, his consort, Queen Charlotte, famed as the most
beautiful woman of her age, and an enthusiastic partaker of male company as
long as it wasn’t her husband’s, only ever failed once in all her many attempts
at seduction. A pedlar came to the Court selling some trinkets – trivial items
mostly, but enough to catch the queen’s eye - and she called for him to come to
her personal apartments and present his wares. Apparently the man, who was
young and handsome, was very nervous, never having met royalty before, and had
to be persuaded. But, eventually, come he did, and was brought before the
queen, who sent her courtiers away while she chatted to him in private. Now
when she addressed the pedlar, she was sat on the edge of her copious
double-bed, her hair tied up loosely and her breasts and legs barely concealed
beneath a shift. And when she asked him to come and sit next to her, while she
threaded and kneaded the delicate little pieces of jewellery between her
fingers, and then placed her hand warmly on the man’s thigh, well it was more
than he could stand, and he blurted out: “But I am a celibate, mistress! I have
taken an oath not to give away my virginity, not to anyone, until I am
married…” She tried to persuade him, entreating him with kisses and delicate
caresses; but he would not yield, even when she offered him one of the royal
breasts to suck upon. The man became more and more desperate, and did not seem
to see the peril he was in, even tearing one of the delicate lace curlicues on
the front of her nightdress in his struggle to get free. At this the queen
snapped the pedlar’s box shut, and left the room in a rage; and, within
moments, guards appeared, seized the young man, and dragged him to the
dungeons, where he spent the little time that was left to him bewailing his
miserable fate. And, it is said, before his execution, his genitals were
carefully removed, and preserved by the Imperial Taxidermist, for the queen to
keep in a drawer; and she liked to take them out and stroke them every now and
again, to remind herself of what she had lost: the only man to ever reject her
advances.

Looking out over the rooftops
and spires of
Ampar
, the Imperial City, I suppose I
felt the way the pedlar had - though I was too young at the time to be familiar
with the story, and I don’t suppose I would have understood it if I had been –
for I was all too aware of how vulnerable Magnus and I were, in this large,
strange place.

The small attic room was cosy
and warm, and I felt no sense of threat from Stefano, who seemed a harmless old
man for the most part, though he had some strange and somewhat fearsome tattoos
on his forearms, and the skin beneath them still looked blotched and angry, as
if it had not yet forgiven him for its disfigurement.

Nevertheless, I did not know
what awaited us here, and, as Magnus sat on the windowsill, swinging his legs
and looking vacantly at me, I leaned against the wall, wondering. Why had
Stefano referred to Thomas as “the Captain”? And why were we stuck up here, in
the old servants’ quarters, when there was a whole house below, empty save for
its one ageing occupant? Was Stefano
embarrassed
by us? Somehow this did
not seem likely. I could not understand it.

Stefano had left a plate of
fresh tomatoes on the table by the door, and I threw one to Magnus before
biting into one myself, the flesh chewy and bitter,
my
tongue smarting from the sour juice as it slid between my teeth. And as the sun
sank wearily down, beneath the earth, I saw through the window its rays
clinging lazily to a great structure of glass and brick, away to the north; and
I recognized from pictures I had once seen the proud and steely outline of the
Imperial Compendium.

“How do I get in there?”

We were sat in a wide-windowed
room, the light smiling off the cream-coloured walls, and the drapes pulled
back to invite in the day.

Magnus had slept well the night
before, lying in his bed in the small attic room, like a marble effigy of a
dead child. I had passed a less quiet night, and after Stefano had brought us a
supper of cold chicken and ham - with a little lettuce, and apples to follow,
and we were grateful and refreshed for it – I sat up and listened to the city
below, and was still awake when I heard Thomas return, long after midnight.

His tread was heavy on the
stairs, though I noticed he walked like someone trying not to be too noisy, and
I smiled as I thought of his concern for us. He trudged along the corridor to
the room just down from ours, and, after closing the door behind him, was
silent for a while. But not long after, as I was climbing into bed, there was
another set of footsteps outside our room, and these I did not recognize;
somehow, I did not think they belonged to Stefano, and I was anxious as I heard
them pass, and pause for a moment, at the door to our room. But then they made
their way to Thomas’s door, and I was half-minded to rise and warn him, lest he
be in danger of some kind; but I heard him answer when a voice, thin and in a
stiff whisper, called his name, and he opened his door and let the stranger in.

Half-asleep before, I was quite
awake again now, and pressed my head awkwardly against the wall to listen. I
could hear nothing more than the merest rumour of a conversation, and it was
clear the speakers were keeping their voices low. But I could not rest until
the other man – I was sure it was a man, and not a woman – had left, and was therefore
relieved when they did, after twenty minutes or so, and my earwigging was
rewarded when I caught a clutch of parting words:

“Fyn has returned from High
Meadow, and is travelling north with Will and Lukas to scout the Broken Road.
They hope to re-join the others before the week is out. We only await your
word, Captain. With God’s help, it will not be long now…” The voice was small
and indistinct, and I heard Thomas make a brief reply, which I could not hear,
before the door was closed, and the other man returned down the stairs. I was
asleep soon after.

“Get in where?” asked Thomas,
midway through munching on an apple. He made a face at Magnus, who was scooping
spoonfuls
of hot porridge into his mouth. He
spluttered some out onto the tablecloth, and they both laughed.

“The Imperial Compendium,” I
said, casually, and pointed with my spoon through the window. The Compendium
could be glimpsed from where we sat, hazy in the morning mist.

Thomas leaned back a little,
and his chair creaked.

“The Imperial Compendium…” He
stroked his chin. “What do you want to go there for?”

I shrugged.

“No reason. Just thought it
looked interesting, that’s all…” And I addressed myself to my porridge. But I
could feel Thomas’s eyes on me. I tried to make light of it with a  joke,
but it fell flat; and soon afterwards Magnus asked when we were going to see
the emperor, and when would we meet Mum and Dad again; and he cried, and there
was no comforting him. He fled upstairs to our room, and there was silence for
a long while after that, and we ate like monks.

Stefano served us, though he
did not seem to eat himself, and when I asked Thomas about this he said that
that was just his way, that he had been a servant most of his life, and was
used to waiting on people.

“That cannot be right,” I said.
“He is an old man.”

“Surely,” replied Thomas. “But
he owns this place, you know: every brick and curtain. He was the servant of
the old dowager who lived here, and, having no family, when she died she left
everything to him. Still he is not rich: his only real asset is this house. But
he would never sell it. He will die here, I suppose…” And he turned to the
window, and lit a cigar, and that was the end of the conversation.

After breakfast, Stefano took
us on a brief tour of the house. It felt cosy and comfortable for the most
part, and I wondered at how he kept it all so clean. In one particular hallway,
hung with drapes of crimson velveteen, and lit by the steady flicker of oil
lamps that stood sentry in neatly spaced recesses in the wall, I gasped to see
what at first looked like an old stuffed bird - a bright-green parrot - and
gasped a second time when it flapped a wing bad-temperedly within its cage, and
fixed on me a disdainful eye.

“Dozy bastard,” it squawked,
and Thomas, who was stood behind me, laughed loudly. Stefano, I saw, looked
somewhat embarrassed, and his parch-dry face even turned a little pink.

“I
am
sorry,” he said.
“His name is Colonel Fredericks. I’m afraid that’s all he can say:
I
didn’t
teach him it…” And we moved on, Thomas wagging a disapproving finger at Colonel
Fredericks, who responded with a grasping claw and another oath.

“You are welcome to stay here
as long as you wish,” said Stefano, as we followed him down a winding stairwell
whose narrowness was exacerbated by the piles of old books placed on nearly
every step. “It is good to have company again after so long.” At the bottom of
the stairwell was a small drawing room, with more books lining the walls, and a
large portrait of a rather severe-looking elderly woman above the
fireplace.
Stefano seated himself in an armchair so
threadbare its pattern and colour could barely be discerned, and gestured for
us to do likewise. I perched on a low chaise longue, and fiddled with my shoes,
the ones the woman had given me, that first day in Calm. They were worn and
dirty now.

Thomas placed himself in a
large leather armchair opposite Stefano, and we sat silently for a moment, the
only sound that of the grandfather clock upstairs in the hall, as its pendulum
swung back and forth, spelling out the seconds in
tocks
and creaks.

“I do not wish to impose on you
for any longer than is necessary,” said Thomas at last.

Stefano, who had looked
half-asleep, opened his eyes calmly, and replied:

“It is no imposition, Captain.
And it is as safe here as anywhere.”

Thomas shifted slightly in his
chair, and, I thought, shot a glance in my direction, perhaps unsure of how
much he should say in my presence.

“I have no doubt of that. But
Esther and her brother have suffered great hardship these past few weeks, and
for good or ill they are now in my charge.” He nodded at me. “Their welfare is
my chief concern: I cannot leave the city until I know they are safe.”

Stefano put up a hand, as if
the answer were obvious.

“Then they can stay with me!
Until you return from…” - and here he checked himself, as if he was about to
say something else – “your journey…”

I looked at Thomas, and he
seemed uneasy.

“Esther,” he said, “would you
mind staying here for a while, you and your brother? Perhaps for a couple of
months or so? As I have said before, there is important business for me to
attend to, beyond the City, and…”

At this point Magnus appeared,
rubbing his eyes. He had followed the sound of voices, and was reproachful.

“Why did you leave me alone?”
he demanded, climbing into my lap, and sobbing softly. “You left me…”

Thomas and Stefano were clearly
embarrassed. I lifted Magnus gently from my lap, and placed him beside me on
the chaise longue, and he would not speak to me for the rest of the morning.