Flight From Blithmore (8 page)

Twelve
-

Decisions

Isabelle,
Ruther, Henry,
and Maggie returned to the Vestin homestead to
discuss what should be done. Henry’s mind raced in circles. The traveling
carriage in the stable stood ready and packed with their clothes, belongings,
and several small bags filled with gold double crowns to help them purchase a
new life. All he had to do was hitch the horses, shake Ruther’s hand, and bid
farewell to Maggie. On their way out of town, they would pick up their new
identities and vanish into a city in the far west of Blithmore: Dunkerton.
Along the way they would find a priest to marry them by their new names of Adam
and Whitney Morrison. Henry didn’t like the new names very much, but Isabelle
had chosen them.

Maggie
fixed a late lunch of lamb and potato stew, and the four friends sat around the
table discussing options.

“I
think I should first state that I don’t trust my father,” Isabelle said.
“Though, that probably doesn’t need saying, does it?”

“He
seemed very sincere at the funeral,” Maggie said. “Maybe he really has had a
change of heart.”

“I
agree with Isabelle,” Henry said. “I remember perfectly the way he looked the
day Isabelle’s mother passed away—and the things he said before he left.”

This
sparked a debate that lasted several minutes regarding whether someone of Lord
Oslan’s nature could ever truly change.

“I
don’t see why it matters either way,” Ruther stated as he reached to the middle
of the table to refill his bowl. Maggie looked on with disproval at Ruther’s
lack of table manners. “Isabelle and Henry, you need something. He needs
something. Why is trust even an issue?”

“Besides
finding a new master for Brandol, we’re ready to leave,” Henry said while
blowing on the steaming contents of his spoon. “I’ve written him a strong
letter of recommendation to help him in his search. Isabelle and I can walk out
now and be gone forever. Her father can put a big knot in our plans.”

“Or
not,” Maggie said. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing with Ruther, but he’s right.
Lord Oslan needs money and you want to stay here, don’t you?”

“Yes,
we do,” Isabelle answered, “but you have no idea—”

“What
can he do?” Ruther asked. “He can’t have you arrested. He can’t kill you
without challenging you to a duel first, and if he does do that, you and
Isabelle run back here, hop in the carriage, and leave. Don’t you see? He wants
the money. He’s thought it over and realizes that agreeing is his only option.”

Isabelle
and Henry exchanged a glance. She wasn’t convinced, and neither was he.

“Henry,”
Maggie said, “if there’s a chance you could stay, please take it. I have tried
to be supportive through all this, but if you want to hear the truth, I don’t
want you to go. You’re the only family I have left.”

“You
have me, too, Maggie,” Ruther offered.

Maggie
pursed her lips, a sure sign she was biting back a cutting remark. “I know I’ve
got to settle down in the next year or two, but soon after you marry you’ll
have a son or a daughter. I can be of help to Isabelle around the home when
that time comes. Please . . . at least hear what Lord Oslan has to say. For my
sake. To keep our family together if we can.”

“Certainly
we will,” Isabelle said. Her statement surprised Henry. Again their eyes met,
and he saw her sympathy for Maggie. If they stood a chance of being able to
stay here with friends and family, why not try?

“Certainly
we will,” he repeated.

“Then
that settles it,” Ruther said. “I will get to be your best man, after all!”

Henry
helped Isabelle put on her cloak before they headed out. They did not speak as
they crossed the lawns. Their fingers were tightly knit, making Henry’s hand sweat
in the warm summer air. He kept his eyes fixed on the window with the candle.
An owl hooting in one of the old orchard trees broke the silence, and
Isabelle’s head jerked in that direction. When they realized what it was, they
shared a nervous chuckle.

Candles
had been lit in the den. They heard two men’s voices through the window. The
moon had almost fully waned, so Henry couldn’t properly see Isabelle’s face
until they were near the house. It was white and strained. Still, she gave him
a weak smile and opened the door.

The
conversation stopped at their entrance, though they heard Norbin bustling
around in the kitchen with at least two pots. A fog of smoke wafted over from
the den where Lord Oslan puffed on yet another new pipe in his chair. Above the
mantle, Isabelle’s portrait hung next to James’ in a frame that was almost
identical to the old one. Lady Oslan’s was still missing.

“My
prodigal daughter has finally come home?” Henry could not remember the last
time he’d heard such a friendly note in the old man’s voice.

“Hello,
Father.” She addressed her father in the same tone she would a stack of wood.
Henry released his grip on her hand, but Isabelle didn’t let go. She led him to
the couch, where they sat across from her father. “Where have you been these
last two weeks?”

Lord
Oslan’s lips closed tightly around his pipe. “On a small vacation . . . for my
health and sanity. I needed time away to consider what I should do—what is best
for my family.”

Henry
saw her eyes flicker twice to her newly repaired portrait. “You nearly missed
Mother’s burial. You left no note telling us how to reach you, nor have I
forgotten your abuses to me and Henry before you left.”

Lord
Oslan nodded. “I know. Believe me, I know I haven’t won myself any friends, but
I haven’t many to worry about.” He smiled as if his little pun was funny. “I
didn’t love your mother. You know that. She didn’t love me. You know that, too.
Our marriage was arranged by our parents—”

“What
about respect for the dead?”

Lord
Oslan’s eyes lowered to his lap. Henry almost lost his jaw to the floor.
Isabelle’s father looked sad. In all Henry’s years, he had never seen this. He
had never even imagined it. His first reaction was to disbelieve it, but the
emotion, combined with this new tone of voice, seemed genuine.

“I
never respected your mother in life, why should I in death?” he asked. “I was a
beast, and she was unkind. It was a terrible marriage. If I could do it once
more, I would marry for love.” He puffed out a large ring and watched it float
up to the ceiling. Then he sent up another almost as big. “It’s made me think
about what I’m doing to my own kin, you and James. We have our differences,
Isabelle, many of them are probably irreparable, but I can still give you what
I’ve never had. I can give you love.”

Isabelle
made a sound of disbelief, and Lord Oslan looked at her.

“Not
my own love. I know that will not happen—at least not soon. It will take years
to earn that. I mean with you and Henry. I’ve—I’ve made up my mind to accept
your offer.”

Henry
and Isabelle exchanged a glance, both thinking the same thing. Of all they had
expected to happen tonight, this had never crossed their minds.

“Why
did you take my portrait, Father?”

Her
father’s eyes went to his bag. “I had an idea—a terrible idea. Once I had
calmed myself, I repented of it instantly. I guess you could say I had a moment
in which I saw myself for what I am: a monster. I’ve spent all these years
gilding the saddle on the steed carrying me to eternal torment, so now it’s
time to change.” For several seconds, Henry and Lord Oslan looked into each
other’s eyes. Henry tried to detect some sign of deceit, but saw nothing except
sincerity. Norbin stood in the kitchen watching everything. Henry wished the
old servant would do something to break the silence.

“What
was your idea?” Isabelle asked.

Lord
Oslan shrugged and took another long drag. “I don’t wish to speak of it. I was
beside myself with rage.”

“Then
you’ll write your consent to let us marry?” Henry asked.

For
a moment Lord Oslan’s eyes flashed some of the old anger, but then it was gone.
Henry caught it and knew the old man’s feelings had not changed toward him. It
didn’t surprise him—not after the insults he’d levied at the nobleman.

“Yes,
but I want one thing clear. I still want the gold. I don’t want to be poor.
I’ve learned from the mistakes I made in the past with my poor financial
responsibility. I think with a sum of three thousand crowns, I could manage
quite nicely. Is that so terrible? One other request I have: I’d like to spend
time with you and James before you marry. James should be here in a matter of
days. It would be nice to take you both to the parade, Isabelle, like I did
when you and he were children. After all, it only comes once every two years.
What do you say?”

Henry
saw the struggle in Isabelle’s face. The idea of her father experiencing some
sort of reformation was almost too much to believe. However, his offer seemed
genuine and safe. Could she even bear to spend more time around him? Even if it
meant being able to stay in Richterton permanently? If Isabelle was at all
capable of real hate, it was only because of her father’s nature.

“Fine,”
she decided. “I’ll agree to that, but I want to see your permission in writing.
Right now.”

Her
father held up his hands. “It won’t do any good. I’ll need to have the letter
notarized, and that will take days. I am certain the two of you have made plans
to run off. I don’t blame you. You hold onto the gold, come with me to the
parade next Saturday, and afterward, we’ll make the exchange.”

She
looked at Henry, silently asking his opinion. All he had to offer her was a
doubtful expression. Since Isabelle knew Lord Oslan far better than he did,
perhaps she ought to make the decision.

“Say
something,” she told him.

Henry
started to speak, then stopped. He looked at Lord Oslan who smoked his pipe
serenely as he watched them. Had it really been only three weeks since he’d
last sat in this room asking Isabelle’s father for her hand in marriage? He
returned his gaze to Isabelle.

“As
he said, it will take a long time for me—or you—to trust him.” What Henry
wanted to say, however, was that he didn’t think he could ever completely trust
the old man. “All I can suggest is that I want you to choose whatever your
instincts are telling you right now.”

Isabelle
nodded and thanked him with a smile. After glancing at her father, she stared
down at her hands, which were fiddling with a string on her dress. As Lord
Oslan waited for an answer, he rolled the pipe between his front teeth, making
a series of clicks over and over again. Norbin announced from the kitchen,
“Your food is ready, my Lord.”

“Hold
it for me, please, Norbin.”

Something
in what Lord Oslan had said to Norbin helped her make a decision; Henry guessed
it was using the word
please
.

“Alright,
Father. I’ll give you one last chance. After the parade, we’ll make the
exchange.”

Lord
Oslan listened without reaction. Henry saw no sign of triumph in his face.

Isabelle
took Henry’s hand and held it up for her father to see. “This man means
everything to me. Everything. If you have any love for me at all, please do not
disappoint me.”

Thirteen
-

The Grand Parade

Parades
had been in fashion
for a long time, and Richterton, being the
capitol of Blithmore, celebrated all major holidays with fantastic festivities.
The biggest holiday in the kingdom was the birthday of the reigning king,
followed closely by the birthday of the queen, but most folks considered even
those parades to be trifles when compared to the Grand Parade, which celebrated
the Feast of Rulers.

The
Grand Parade began one hundred and ten years ago after the last war between
Blithmore and Neverak, Blithmore’s northern neighbor. Every year since the
Treaty of Richter, the two countries took turns honoring the other by sending a
magnificent procession through the country’s capitol where the reigning powers
held the Feast of Rulers. This feast served one purpose: it forced the leaders
of both countries to meet and discuss foreign relations. The length of the
feast often reflected the strength of friendship between the sovereigns. The
master of the parade this year was Ivan Krallick, sovereign Emperor of Neverak,
and the feast was not expected to make it to dessert.

Henry
wasn’t a fan of these spectacles, especially the Grand Parade. Every two years
the streets of Richterton filled with both Blithmore locals and citizens from
the farthest reaches of the country. Parties and festivals abounded. Shops
stayed open late into the night to accommodate the influx of visitors. Inns all
around the city had to turn away those foolish enough to not write for
reservations months in advance. Though Henry had enjoyed the parade in his
younger years, mostly for the sweets and toys thrown to the crowds, he now
found it to be a nuisance. Business did pick up a little, but very few people
bought furniture during their stay, and since Henry’s expertise was not
repairing carriages or carts, he couldn’t charge as low a price as other
woodworking masters. For him and Maggie, the parade mostly meant kicking people
off the front stoop the morning after the festivities ended.

Regardless
of his feelings, anticipation filled the city as carriages, carts, and riders
arrived in town all throughout the day. Henry had a difficult time keeping his
apprentices focused on their work. Even Brandol appeared affected by the town’s
mood, and he rarely got excited about anything. While Henry’s workers were
distracted by the parade, his own mind constantly slipped to thinking about his
meeting with Lord Oslan later that night.

Isabelle
surprised him by showing up unannounced at the workshop mid-afternoon. “Is
everything all right?” he asked. “Is he doing anything unusual?”

“I
don’t think so. He’s been at home all day reading in his study.”

Henry
pulled her close to him, and she breathed deeply as though being with him
unloaded a great burden from her. Darren looked over at them and whistled
lewdly. Henry responded with an angry look that told Darren to get to work.

“It’s
like I’ve told you already,” Isabelle said, “he’s done nothing to make me
suspicious. He leaves me alone to do as I please.”

“How
does he talk to you?”

“We
only speak when we must, but it’s pleasant enough.”

“Any
word yet from James?”

Isabelle
shook her head. “Not even a note. I don’t understand it. It’s been almost three
weeks. I wish he were here, though. My father wouldn’t try anything foolish
with James nearby.”

Henry
stroked her hair. He wished they had left when they had the opportunity, and he
blamed himself that they hadn’t. Now they depended not on themselves to make their
own destiny, but on the honesty of her father.

 “Everyone
put your work down!” he called over the noises in the shop. “I need to speak.”
The sounds of carving and sawing stopped at once. “I’m going to need your
assistance tonight, all of you.”

“You
said we could have the night off!” they complained. “It’s a holiday.”

“I
know you have plans and I don’t intend to take you away from the
festivities—and I’ll pay you double wages for the evening.”

No
one raised any objections.

“I
want all of you watching out for Isabelle, and I’m very serious about this.
Understand? I’ll give you specific instructions and I want them obeyed.”

He
spent several minutes explaining what he wanted each boy to do. They weren’t
happy about what was required, but they cheered up when Isabelle thanked them
all with a kiss on the cheek.

“Do
you think you’ll feel safe tonight?” Henry asked her after his boys went back
to work.

“I
do, thank you.” She gave Henry a much longer kiss than those she’d given his
apprentices. “I’m going home now. I can’t wear this dress to a parade. What
will you be doing until it all starts?”

“I’ll
track down Ruther to get his help, too.”

She
flashed a brave smile. “We’ll get through this. Nothing is going to stop us.”

As
evening came, Shop Street and the surrounding blocks filled to the brim until
there was barely enough room for the floats of the procession to pass down
Richterton Lane. Isabelle sent Norbin to the Vestin house to inform Henry and
the boys what she would be wearing to help them follow her. Ruther convinced
the owner of the tailor shop on the corner of Shop Street and Richterton Lane
to let him and Henry climb onto the roof so they would have a better view.

“Trust
me,” Ruther insisted to Henry, “you’ll be able to see everything better from up
here, and the boys won’t have to look so hard to find you for directions.”

Maggie
decided to join them, but sat away from Ruther, who brought his largest flask
to accompany him through the festivities. Pandemonium reigned below them.
Musicians and minstrels played their instruments on the stoops while crowds
around them danced and sang along. Vendors pushed their carts selling dried
meats and fresh fruits, cakes and breads, and small parade candles.

On
the horizon the sun slowly set, but the thousands of candles and torches lining
the streets gave the illusion that the sun had not disappeared at all. As night
arrived and the fervor in the crowd reached its peak, Isabelle appeared with
her father. She wore a light blue dress with brilliant white gloves, her hair
decorated in almost a dozen large, pink bows. The bows made her easy to spot
from the rooftop.

The
roars of crowds farther north in the city carried a long way. Henry heard the
cheers of approval and screams for candies and trinkets from the float masters.
Horns and drums announced the gradual advancement of the parade with occasional
fireworks bursting in the sky and outlining the few, faint clouds high above.
Henry found it difficult to not be distracted by the flashing lights and
patterns off on the horizon.

“Look!”
Ruther shouted with youthful enthusiasm, pointing to the north. “See them?”

Henry
followed his friend’s finger to see the first float appear over a mile down the
street. Even from a distance, it looked magnificent. As it drew closer, Henry saw
a great bird of prey with golden feathers and a white beak, black eyes and
black tipped wings. Henry’s astonishment at the detail and likeness was
complete when the beak opened, and a long jet of bright orange flame shot
outward.

The
crowd gasped and screamed in excitement. Henry’s eyes immediately went back to
Isabelle. She stood about thirty yards away, completely surrounded by the
throng. It took Henry another minute to find her father, but he eventually
spotted him a few feet away from her. Lord Oslan, in his tall bright green hat,
seemed uninterested in the festivities. In fact, he appeared to be searching
for something in the masses. Henry followed the direction of Lord Oslan’s gaze
but saw nothing of interest.

The
floats that followed fell short of the standard set by the first, but not by
much. Some featured live animals, others displayed dancers and fire-jugglers,
one had a giant drum that needed four men to beat out its booming, hypnotic
rhythm. The procession was occasionally interrupted by lines of musicians and
twirlers wearing all black, making it difficult to see anything more than their
faces and instruments. Those in attendance, particularly the younger ones,
hunted and begged for gifts and food.

With
the combined efforts of Ruther, Maggie, and Henry, Isabelle was never lost from
sight, but this didn’t satisfy Henry. It took very little to distract his
apprentices from their duties. Between the gifts, the girls, and the dancing,
they often left Isabelle completely alone for minutes at a time. Henry
constantly whistled or yelled over the crowd to be heard by them, and even when
they saw him, their responses were exasperated and reluctant.

Then
the last float came. Henry had not seen anything so grand. The float was drawn
by over a dozen oxen and stood roughly seventy feet tall. The crowd quieted
momentarily as they stared up at it. Henry recognized it as a giant scorpion.
Its abnormally thick legs supported a bloated black body and a large head with
glittering red pincers swinging out from the sides. In the back, arching high
over the body, was the pointed tail, and at the top of the tail sat Emperor
Ivan Krallick.

Henry
remembered as a young man seeing the royal leader of Neverak, but none of these
memories adequately reminded him of the Emperor’s unique appearance. The word
that came to mind was one Ruther had taught him during one of his word games:
angular. Beginning with the widow’s peak in the middle of his head, to his
sharp nose and jaw, to his muscularly lean body, everything about Krallick
seemed pointed, and his scorpion steed only enhanced that image.

The
crowd announced its approval with an uproar of cheer. Without warning, another
burst of fire shot forth, this time from the scorpion’s tail. This burst of
fire was much bigger and brighter than anything the crowd had witnessed thus
far. It was a bright green and blue. After the float passed, Henry found he
couldn’t see anything because of the bright spots in his vision.

The
shock of losing his sight caused his heart to race. “I can’t see Isabelle!
Ruther—Maggie, keep her in your sight!”

“Friend,
I am as blind as you,” Ruther responded in a slight slur.

“I—I
can barely see the crowd,” Maggie said. “Everything’s a shade of blue, but let
me try and find her.”

Henry
rubbed at his eyes and opened them as wide as he could. Slowly images of the
crowd rushing to the float came to him. “I can’t find her.” He stood and cupped
his hands around his mouth. “Brandol!” The frenzy of the throngs drowned his
shouts. He spotted his three apprentices in the clamor of people begging for
gifts from the great float.

“Useless,”
he muttered to himself. He found Lord Oslan because of the green hat, but Lord
Oslan directed his attention elsewhere, behaving peculiarly. By standing on a
stump of wood, Isabelle’s father had his head above the crowd and was gesturing
to someone far away from him. Henry thought it might be Isabelle, but still
couldn’t find her. Then he noticed a man worming his way against a river of
people fighting for the Emperor’s attention. This strange man’s face was
painted half ivory and half ebony, contrasting symmetrically down the center of
his face with opposing colors around each eye and the lips. The effect made
Henry’s arm hairs stand. Lord Oslan caught the man’s eyes and pointed in Isabelle’s
direction. The painted man nodded, and his hand went behind his back as though
he concealed something there. Henry tried to see what that something was, but
either it was too well concealed or his eyes were still too dim from the
blinding fire.

“There’s
Isabelle!” Maggie shouted.

Isabelle
stood almost exactly halfway between Lord Oslan and the strangely painted man.
Almost all the pink bows in her hair had fallen out, making her much more
difficult to locate. Only twenty yards separated her and this mysterious man,
but with the mob the way it was, twenty yards was more like a hundred.

Henry’s
instincts told him this man meant to harm her. He yelled for Brandol and his
apprentices. He tried whistling, waving—anything to catch the attention of his
boys, but the drumming and trumpeting made his efforts futile. Ruther and
Maggie helped, but still . . . nothing. All the while below, the man with the
painted face continued to close the distance between himself and Isabelle.

Henry
couldn’t stand by and watch. On an impulse, he went to the edge of the roof and
sprang, but as his feet left the ground, Ruther pulled him back. “Honestly,
friend, do you want a broken leg? Will you be able to help her then? Use the
ladder!”

Henry
climbed down half the ladder, then jumped. In a flash he was around the house
and into the street, but a wall of people obstructed him. The crowd hadn’t
seemed this impervious from the rooftop. He let Ruther and Maggie direct his
movement from the roof, but it took him too long to navigate through the crowd.
Their desperate gestures told him he had little, if any, time. Finally, he took
a deep breath, dropped his shoulder, and plowed through the crowd. People
shouted and protested, but he ignored them. From a distance that he did not
have enough time to cross, he saw the man with the painted face grab Isabelle
by the shoulder.