The Silver Bowl (13 page)

Chapter 25

Kissing Elbows

LUKAS, OUR DRIVER,
was a great brawny fellow with powerful hands and a face that just dared you to cross him. He was well armed, too, with both a sword and a dagger. As we rattled along the roadway, his head moved constantly left to right, searching the forest as if a band of brigands might be hiding behind every tree.

Before we left, Elias had given the man his orders: “I wish you to imagine,” he said, “that you are carrying precious cargo: chests of gold, emeralds, diamonds, and rubies.”

Lukas turned this over in his head and rubbed his nose with the side of his hand, emitting a little grunt.

“That is how I want you to drive: as if these are not mere servants with their basket of provisions but the king and queen of the realm with all their treasure. Do you understand me?”

“I do,” he said.

“You will convey them safely to Castleton, with such haste as you can manage without overtaxing the horses. Then you will wait there at a meeting place of their choosing until they are ready to return.”

Lukas grunted again—a man of few words he was—and we were off.

It was Tobias who'd suggested the meeting place. He said the Boar and Bristle was a respectable inn, clean and said to be well priced. Better still, it was near the west gate of the castle, so we could get there in a hurry. He knew all this because Castleton was his home. He'd lived in that very same neighborhood as a child.

This came as a shock to me. It made me realize that in all the years I'd known Tobias, and considered him my dearest friend, I'd never once thought to ask him about his life before the castle or anything regarding his family.

There are times when I do not like myself. This was one of them.

Was I so unbelievably selfish, thinking only of my own life and my own problems? Yes, somewhat, but that wasn't the only reason. Might it be that since I'd left my own home so gladly, eager to start over in a happier place, I'd assumed everyone else felt the same? Yes, there was definitely some truth to that. And certainly Tobias never brought it up, had never mentioned his family, not once.

Still, that was no excuse.

“Tobias?” I said. “I didn't know you were born in the castle town.”

He shrugged. “Well, I was.”

“On the west side? Or across the river?”

“On the west, near the gate, in the very shadow of the castle walls.”

“Is your family still there? Did you go to visit them sometimes, while we still lived at the castle?”

“No, Molly. They died in the pestilence, a long time ago.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

“I'm so sorry. I can't believe I never asked till now. I talked about myself and never bothered—”

“It's all right,” he said.

“Were you already working at the castle, then, when they . . . when they died? I mean, you didn't catch the pestilence yourself, so you must—”

“No. I was there, at home. I took care of them when they got sick. And when they died, I washed their bodies and laid them out proper.”

“Oh, Tobias,” I said. “That's horrible. And you were only . . . ?”

“Eight.”

I felt sick and didn't say anything for a while. Then a new thought came to me and made me glad.

“Tobias, would you like to say out their names, the way the abbot did in church? I thought that was nice, you know? Respectful. To remember them and say their names, and tell about how they were in life.”

He looked at me, somehow managing to smile and look stricken at the same time. “All these years later?”

“Well, I would think, in a time of pestilence, there wouldn't be much in the way of proper good-byes.”

“No,” he said.

“Then why not now? Say their names. I want to hear them.”

“All right,” Tobias said.

Then nothing. I figured he was thinking.

“Angelica. My mother.”

“Tell about her. What was she like?”

“She had yellow hair and she was tall. She sang while she cooked, and cleaned, and did her weaving. Those songs the little girls performed at the banquet—remember? They were my mother's songs, too. I recognized every one of them. It nearly made me weep.”

It nearly made me weep, too, when he said this.

“She wrapped a cloth around her hand whenever she scrubbed a pot, to protect her knuckles from scrapes.”

“Angelica,” I said, just as Elias had in church. “May her soul rest in peace.”

He took a deep breath so he wouldn't cry. “Matthew, my father. He was quiet, never said much. He was a cooper.”

“Tell me what he looked like.”

“Dark. He had a big nose and lots of hair. He had a good laugh.”

“Good how?”

“It made you want to laugh with him.”

“Like yours, then.”

“I never thought of it. Yes, I suppose.”

“Matthew,” I said. “May he laugh in heaven.”

Tobias was quiet for a while.

“Is that all?”

“No. Jacob, my brother. He was just a baby, always sickly.”

“Did he cry a lot?”

“Yes. Mother carried him about, strapped to her bodice with a shawl. He seemed to like it. He was quieter then.”

“Anything else?”

“He was the first to die. It nearly broke Mother's heart.”

“Jacob,” I said. “May he rest in his mother's arms in paradise.”

I waited. I did not want to ask again “Is that all?” I already knew it was not. I could tell by the look on Tobias's face: this was going to be the hardest one.

“Mary,” he said.

“Your sister?”

“Yes. She was . . . ,” and though he turned his head away, I could see that his face was contorted and that there were tears glistening in his eyes. “She was an angel child, the happiest creature that ever lived.”

“Fair or dark?”

“Fair, with gray eyes, same as Prince Alaric has. Whenever I look at him, I think of her.”

“What did she like to do?”

“She sang with Mother and danced in circles. And she kissed everyone and everything—the baby, the cat, my elbow.”

“Your elbow?”

“She heard that saying once, you know: ‘Well, kiss my elbow!' She got it into her head it was a good thing to do. We encouraged it because we thought it was funny.”

“How old was she when—”

“Just turned four. She died last. It was only the two of us for a while, with Mother and Father laid out on the bed, and the baby nestled between them. Mary kept asking questions I couldn't answer, about why they were sleeping so long and when would Mama get up and make her porridge? I said they were just very tired. But it was hot, and soon they began to stink. I knew we had to leave; but they boarded up the houses, you know, when folk were struck down by the pestilence, so we couldn't go out and spread it about the town.”

“Oh, Tobias!”

“I worked the boards off a back window, and we crawled out in the dark of night. We left the town, and went into the king's park, and hid among the trees. I brought food and blankets. I thought . . . I thought if we could get away from that place she would be all right; and I imagined a sort of life for us—how we would go to some cottage, and the people would welcome us and give me work to do. And they would dote on Mary as everyone did. . . .”

I waited.

“But she died. I buried her there. I dug the grave with a stick. It took me all day.”

He waved me away with his hand:
Please don't ask anymore
.

“Mary,” I said. “May she sing with the angels and kiss every elbow in heaven.”

I hadn't meant to make him cry, but I had. I put my arms around him and rested my head upon his shoulder. We bounced along the road like that, in the back of a wagon, as the sun set gray in the west and it started to snow.

Chapter 26

We Return to the Castle

LUKAS DROVE THE HORSES HARD,
and we arrived at Castleton well before vespers. We left him at the inn to make his arrangements and stable the horses, while we made haste toward the west gate of Dethemere Castle.

We waited in the guardhouse while enquiries were made as to whether any of the servants would vouch for us and whether they wished to take us back into service in our former positions. They did, right gladly. Indeed, everyone seemed pitifully grateful to have us. They were overburdened and understaffed. So many had fled; so few had returned.

It was strange to be back there again, for everything—and nothing—had changed. Reynard slept in the king's chamber now, and the guards on the ramparts were from Austlind. But my bed was still in the storeroom, just as I'd left it, with my old work clothes folded and tucked beneath the pillow. The few coins I'd saved from my pay lay untouched in the apron pocket. Winifred's belongings were there beside mine, and I felt a stab of missing her—for all that she tossed in the night and kept me awake. I vowed to take her things with me when I went and to see that they got to her somehow.

The prince would arrange it, I felt sure.

The same cook still ruled the kitchen, but his staff was mostly new—green recruits from the town, not a fancy cook among them. Roasted meat, and boiled vegetables, and the occasional eel pie—that's all they made now. Any housewife could've done the same. Even our bread and ale were brought in from the town, as there was no one fit to run the bakehouse or the brewery. It was a terrible comedown from the old days.

Several times when the cook was elsewhere, I tried the door to the silver closet. But it was always locked. Nor was Thomas anywhere to be seen. I supposed he'd fled on the night of the banquet like everybody else. Still, I couldn't imagine him abandoning his precious silver like that: the candlesticks, the platters, the cups, the saltcellar. The great hand basin.

At some point after the wolves left and the bodies had been carried off, someone must have gone into the hall to clear away the dishes. Then someone else, whatever such scullions as were to be found, would have washed them—and then what? Thomas had the keys to the silver closet, and there was no sign that anyone had smashed the door to gain entrance. So where would they have put it all: a banquet's worth of serving pieces?

I asked the cook, but he said he didn't know. I should stop asking questions and attend to my work.

I grew ever more anxious as each day passed. I'd been sent to destroy the bowl, but I didn't know where it was. Meanwhile, the prince's plans were unfolding, and he was still in danger. So far I had accomplished nothing.

But I held out one last hope, and that was the coronation. I knew how much planning went into such occasions. Any day now Reynard's steward was sure to remember the silver and send someone to make an inventory. They'd find it then, wherever it might be, and I'd come forward and offer to polish it.

It seemed so likely, and yet I waited in vain. No steward arrived. I spent my hours turning meat on a spit, or washing vegetables, or ripping the guts out of chickens.

And then, wonder of wonders, Thomas walked in.

“By the saints!” I cried. “I thought you'd gone away.”

“What—and leave my silver?” He said it with a grin.

“Well, that did seem so unlikely.”

“I haven't had occasion to be here for a while.” He lowered his voice. “Much has changed, as you know.”

“Yes.” We locked eyes.

“But now we are back, both of us, and the silver must be attended to. It will be like old times.”

“Yes,” I said.

Not exactly
, I thought.

Thomas went to the cook and said he needed my help with the polishing.

The cook said that was too bad, because Thomas couldn't have me. The cook could not do everything himself, now could he? Indeed, he couldn't spare a single hand—not one!—as there were ever more mouths to feed, the castle swelling daily with newly arrived knights, along with their squires, and servants, and whatnot, and no one in the kitchen knew what to do—they were absolute fools, every one of them except me. I thought he would weep with frustration.

“King Reynard,” Thomas said, “has asked to have his meals, humble though they are, presented on proper serving pieces, as is seemly in a royal hall. And with the coronation only weeks away, you can imagine the work that lies ahead of us.”

“Of course I know that!” the cook wailed, wiping angry tears from his cheeks and stamping his foot with fury. “You think I don't know that?”

“Whether you know it or not, those are his instructions. No one has touched the silver since—”

“Fine! Polish away, Thomas. But why must you take her too?”

“This girl is my assistant. She's highly trained. 'Tis a positive sin to put a valuable servant to turning a spit by the fire. You shall just have to find a replacement.”

With that he turned away and guided me toward the silver closet. Behind us I heard something smash against the flagstones. Thomas chose not to notice. He calmly unlocked the door, went into the room, and lit the candles.

“I only just heard you'd returned. I was surprised, Molly—and glad.”

I didn't like lying to Thomas and so I only smiled. Let him think I was glad to be there. At least I hadn't said it.

He opened a cupboard and got out the mortar and pestle, then the bag of chalk and the flagon of rainwater.

“I cannot speak to the quality of the food they will serve at the coronation banquet”—here he cast a scornful glance in the direction of the cook—“but the table shall be as grand as ever it was in Edmund's time, if we have to work night and day to accomplish it.”

He started bringing out some of the larger pieces. I went to work as of old, mixing the chalk and water, grinding it fine with the pestle.

“Thomas?” I asked in an offhand way. “Do you serve Reynard now as your liege lord?”

He stared at me, astonished. “No, child! My allegiance has never changed.”

“Oh,” I said. “I am glad to hear it.”

“How could you doubt it?”

“I didn't—not really. But you spoke with such eagerness just now, about making everything beautiful for the coronation. And you called him ‘King Reynard.' He isn't king yet, Thomas, not until he's crowned.”

“But he is, child. He's king of Austlind.”

“Oh.” I blushed. “Of course.”

“And as to setting a fine table—I have cared for this silver all of my life. And so long as I am here, the castle shall maintain its standards, whoever rules.”

I smiled. How very like Thomas that was!

We spent the better part of the day on wine flagons, and bread trays, and serving bowls. They'd all been polished for Elinor's wedding and had not been used since. Many only needed a little buffing up. We progressed nicely.

I tried to appear calm, but my mind was all agitation, considering any number of different strategies for how I was to proceed. But every plan seemed to run aground on the very same rock: Thomas. There was no other way. I would have to tell him.

“Thomas?” I said.

“Yes?”

“The bowl, the great hand basin—”

“We shall get to it soon enough. I don't suppose you heard about the saltcellar.”

“No. What?”

“It was knocked off the table when . . . well . . .”

“Oh.”

“Several other pieces were damaged, too: a couple of bowls and trays and a very special wine flagon. But the saltcellar is the real tragedy. The crystal salt dish was smashed, and one of the lions came loose. There were dents as well, and the base is askew. I took it to a silversmith here in the town to see if he could repair it. But I have little hope it will be ready in time for the coronation, and even then I cannot speak to the quality of the man's work.”

“Well, yes, that's a pity,” I said. “But the bowl, Thomas—there is something about it I must tell you.”

He stopped his work and turned to look at me curiously.

“You will have to keep your mind open to what I'm about to say. It may be difficult to believe.”

“I shall make an effort.” He tried to suppress a grin.

I leaned across the table and said, “Thomas, the prince still lives! He escaped that night, with Tobias and me, and has been hiding all this time while he recovers from his wounds.”

“That cannot be!” he said. “It's known for certain that he drowned.”

“No,” I said. “That was a lie. I saw him only a few days ago.”

“Wait.” He got up and shut the door, then returned to his seat on the bench. “You must keep your voice low, Molly.”

“Sorry.”

“I am most amazed to hear this. Where is Alaric now? Will he come to Dethemere?”

“I cannot talk of his plans. But he sent me here on a particular mission. It is vital to his cause, and, well . . . it has to do with the bowl.”

“The bowl? How can it have anything—?”

“You have heard of the curse that has plagued the royal family?”

“Oh, Molly, child, that's nothing but peasant superstition. Surely you don't—”

“No, it's true. You were there at the banquet. You saw those unnatural wolves and how knowing and particular they were as to who they killed. There's an evil enchantment on the royal family. And I'm sorry, Thomas, but the great hand basin—beautiful as it is, and as much as you love it—that vessel carries the curse.”

He was incredulous. “Truly, child, whatever gave you such a peculiar notion?”

“The bowl did, Thomas. It speaks to me. It grows warm in my hands when I touch it, and it hums and buzzes beneath my fingers. Soon I begin to hear a voice, and it urges me to listen, then it shows me all manner of strange little scenes. They're confusing, and all jumbled about, but I understand enough. The thing was made with evil intent and was filled with a hundred curses. Most of them are still there, Thomas, and they grow stronger every year. If the bowl is not destroyed soon, those curses will murder Alaric, just as they did all the others. I'm not mad, Thomas—truly. I told the prince everything, and
he
believes me.”

Thomas looked away, lost in thought. The thinking went on for some time. Then he turned back and looked at me, his expression solemn. “And I believe you also,” he said, “for I have noted some strangeness about the bowl myself. It made me uneasy, and so I gave it to you to polish. I'm sorry, child. That was wrong of me.”

“Oh, Thomas—I don't care about that!”

“What's more—though it is a great and precious work of art—I shall help you destroy it if you so wish.”

“I do. Oh, Thomas, I wish it very much!”

“Good. Then have you considered how to go about it?”

“I have thought of little else: smashing it with a mallet, melting it down in the fire—”

“No,” he said. “That would only destroy the bowl, not the enchantment. Think of a deadly plant: if you crush it, will it not still be just as noxious as before? And in crushing it, won't you just release the poisonous juices out where they can do harm?”

“Yes, I see that. But I can't think of any other way to go about it.”

“The voice you hear—you say it comes from the bowl?”

“Yes. It keeps calling to me, warning of a plot against the king and asking for my help.”

“That's odd. I mean no offense, child, but you are only a girl and—”

“I know. Tobias said much the same thing: would it not have been more helpful if the voice had called to Edmund and told him to beware? Or to the captain of the guard?”

“Exactly.”

“Though what anyone could have done against those wolves I cannot think—even the captain of
the guard—whether they were warned beforehand or not.”

“Alaric managed to escape.”

“Yes, that's true. Twice, actually. There was a fire at the . . . in the place where he is staying. And no, it wasn't an ordinary fire. It was no more natural than the wolves were.”

“Then the prince is fortunate indeed.”

“He says I'm his good-luck charm.”

“Perhaps you are, child, though the source of your power is—once again, I mean no affront—not at all evident to me. Still, as you seem to have protected Alaric thus far and the bowl calls out for your help, I have to believe it will guide you now and teach you the way to reach down into its heart and destroy the evil within.”

“Guide me how?”

“I don't know. I suppose you should polish it as you did before and wait until it speaks. Then you can ask. We'll do it tonight, when all is quiet and no one is around. All right?”

“Oh, Thomas,” I said, “I'm so glad I don't have to do this alone.”

“So am I,” he said. “Though it really is a terrible pity.”

“A pity?”

“Yes. Such a fine piece of silver.”

And then I saw that he was joking.