The Mermaid and the Monster: Edward Red Mage, #3

Prologue: Welcome to Blackwater

Ow . . . ohg . . . ugh . . . This is just damned lovely, I muttered, groaning as I lurched and bobbed in the saddle. I'm wet, I'm freezing, I'm starving, and if I ever do find my way to this place, they'll probably have nothing to eat but squirrel-on-a-stick! Yep, I'll be Lord Edward Red Mage, Earl of Squirrels. His Majesty would have to grant me a manor in the middle of nowhere. Tell me, Rowan, why is even my good luck bad?

My horse wouldn't have answered, even if he hadn't been preoccupied trying to pick his footing on rain-slicked, muddy, narrow tracks that scarcely deserved to be called roads while balancing a fat, clumsy, inexperienced rider. We'd left Belcamp before the second bell, and how night was falling. More experienced riders could have made the journey in less time, but I had kept to a combination of walk and trot—the trot to try and make up speed, the walk to rest Rowan's back and my backside. I had only fallen off once. Rowan, showing incredible loyalty for a horse, had not gone bolting back to his comfortable stable near the South Gate but instead had stood nuzzling me until I had managed to heave myself back up out of the mud and into the saddle.

We came to a crossroads. Rowan paused. I tried to remember what the King's messenger had told me when he'd given me the map:

Turn left at the sign of the Fat Cat. Unless you took the short cut at the watchtower. Then you'll want to keep going straight at the Fat Cat. Only I don't think it's the Fat Cat any more, it's the Two Geese, or something. . . .

There was a forlorn wooden building to my right, which might have been an inn. Neither cats, nor geese, were evident. I considered stopping for directions and a drink, if I could get it. I decided against it. One drink would likely turn into several, and I'd never find my way to Blackwater Manor wandering around drunk in the dark. I urged Rowan on.

*  *  *

Just as the day was dying, I arrived. A welcoming committee was waiting outside the hall. I looked down from my mount at five men standing in the drizzle. Their leader, a man of middling height and age, with serious brown eyes and a drooping mustache, spoke to me: Welcome, Lord Edward. Where are the others? Something in the earnest way he eyed me reminded me of a dog trying to win its master's approval. Or maybe I just had dogs on the brain, as I could hear the voices of at least a dozen yammering away somewhere out behind the main hall

Others? I asked.

Of your household. Didn't you bring any retainers?

I didn't have any retainers. I had been a Lord for less than a month, certainly not long enough to pick up a crowd of hangers-on. No, I said, It's just me. Let's get out of this weather, shall we? I realized I was going to have to pry myself out of my saddle, and wondered if I could dismount without falling. My legs felt locked into position. I hoped poor Rowan wasn't feeling as bad as I was. The blood-bay gelding champed at his bit, obviously impatient to be fed.

Did you have any trouble finding the place?

I tried to ignore my aches and pains and focus on the man addressing me.

Oh, no, I lied. The map was fine. I had gotten lost three times, because I had tried to follow the shortcut. Next time, I said to myself, follow the main road. Not that the main road was much to speak of out here.

I'm Aidan Steward, he said, by way of introduction. This here's my son, young Aidan, he said, indicating a boy of maybe ten or so standing behind him. This is Raymond Clark, he added, waving to a clean-shaven, mild-faced fellow to his left. Lord Percy brought him out here from Erinvale to handle his accounts. He'll do the same for you now.

Clark's from the city? I thought. That explained why his hair was shorter, and his clothes, faded with long use as they were, were of a more fashionable cut, than those of the others. I wonder how he likes it out here?

Steward introduced the other two men as a carpenter and an archer. I was so tired, I forgot their names almost before he finished saying them.

You'll meet the rest of the folk tomorrow, Steward was saying. I figured tonight you'd just as soon get a hot bath and supper before bed.

Bath. Supper. Bed. Now those were things I could understand and appreciate. Even squirrel-on-a-stick would be welcome. I forced my legs to straighten, trying not to wince as I stood in the stirrups. Swinging my right leg stiffly over the saddle, I lowered myself to the ground. I didn’t stumble too obviously.

Can someone see to my horse? I asked. Rowan's had a long day.

Young Aidan will take him, said Steward. I handed the reins to the boy, and limped after his father into the hall.

He couldn't help but notice my gait. Not used to riding, m'lord? he asked.

I'm no Saint Miranda of the Plains, that's for sure. I gave Steward a faint smile, and, for the first time, he smiled back at me.

They tell me you weren't born noble, he said softly, so that the other men might not hear.

I nodded. Never even owned a horse before, and this is the longest I’ve ever ridden him.

A day's ride is hard on a man who's not used to it, he added. You must feel like you’ve been hit with sticks.

I shook my head. Feeling sorry for myself, mainly, but I’ll be fine. The priests tell us that holy saints have marched barefoot through Hell. I think I can manage a bit of horse riding.

Steward led me into the main hall, a barn-like structure of wood with a thatched roof. As we passed through, he said, It's not much, seeing as you're from Belcamp, but we hope we can make you comfortable.

Not much indeed, I thought. It was larger than my father's entire home. Several young men were setting up trestle tables and benches down the center of the space in preparation for the evening meal. A roaring fire blazed in a brick hearth on the far end of the hall. A group of women clustered around it, talking softly as they cooked. I couldn’t see what they were making, but I could smell it. I inhaled deeply and caught the aromas of bacon, fresh bread, and roasted apples. My stomach growled violently; I hadn’t eaten since morning.

Something smells good, I said, and smiled at the women as I passed them. They, like everyone else I’d met so far, tried to stare at me without actually looking directly.

I followed Steward through a door opposite the fire, and found myself in a small, private chamber dominated by a hearth, a huge bed, and, luxury of luxuries, a large oak tub filled with water. A young man was struggling to lift a large iron pot off the fire.

Here, let me help you, I said. I gestured at the pot and it rose and emptied itself into the tub with a satisfying hiss. The two men stared at me, wide-eyed. I'm sure they had been told I was a wizard, but I supposed hearing and seeing were two different things.

I threw my mud-spattered cloak over a chair. I’ll be fine by myself, I’m sure you folk are all busy. If someone could bring me my clothes? I realized they were still standing looking at me like I’d sprouted wings.

I’m sorry if I startled you, I said. I promise I’m not trying to show off, it’s just, sort of, well, second nature for me to lift things that way. Sister says it’s lazy of me.

My lord, here are blankets here for you to dry yourself with, Steward said to me, recovering somewhat. We’ll fetch your clothes.

I nodded, taking off my belt and sitting in the chair by the fireside to remove my boots. Thank you, they're in my saddlebags.

I'll have young Aidan bring them to you right away, Steward said, moving around the tub to pick up a flagon and goblet I hadn't even noticed. He filled the cup and handed it to me. Hot, spiced wine. Oh God, I thought, I could learn to like this.

Anything else I can get you? Steward asked as I held out the cup to be refilled. I shook my head.

No, like I said, I'll be fine.

Are you sure you don’t need anyone to help you bathe, my Lord?

The names of a few women crossed my mind, but what I said was, No, I'll be fine. Just have your boy bring my dry clothes, if it's not too much trouble.

No trouble at all. Sure you'll be all right by yourself?

I grinned. I'll be fine. I'm not used to being waited on hand and foot, you know.

Steward nodded and left, gesturing for the other man to follow him. As soon as I was alone, I stripped off my wet, filthy clothes and climbed into the gloriously warm bath.

Between the hot water outside me and the hot wine inside me, I was dozing when young Aidan came in with my bags.

Do you want me to get out your clothes, my Lord? he asked.

Huh? What? Oh, my clothes, I grunted. No, just leave the bags on the bed and I'll see to them. I smiled at the boy. I'm not so helpless as some nobles, I guess.

Young Aidan smiled back. Lord Percy was pretty much helpless.

I winced at the memory of my one encounter with Lord Percy of Blackwater: his severed head rolling off the executioner's platform to land with a splat in a puddle one rainy morning a month before at Saint Gabriel's Fair. Percy had been part of a plot against the rulers of Belerin. Our King had moved swiftly and ruthlessly once the traitors had been exposed, and now I owned Percy's lands.

Is something wrong, Lord? The water too cold? Aidan asked, seeing me shudder.

No, no, I'm fine. I need to get out anyway, I'm becoming a prune.

Your supper is ready whenever you want it, he said. Are you going to sleep in here tonight? he asked.

I should think so, I said, unless—has your family been used to sleeping here? I'd hate to put you out.

Oh, no, we sleep out in the hall, Aidan said. Will you be in here all by yourself?

I suppose so, I said. I'm honestly not used to having servants.

Before Aidan could ask any more questions, his father put his head in through the door. My Lord, he said, your supper is on the table. Aidan, quit pestering his lordship!

He's not pestering. . . . But before I could finish, young Aidan had scurried from the room, leaving me alone to dry off and dress.

*  *  *

It's nothing fancy, Steward was saying as he ushered me to a massive chair with its back to the fire, but I hope it will suit you.

I just blinked at the table, its white cloth nearly hidden under a dozen or more dishes (none of which contained squirrel). I'll be big as a house if I eat all that, was the first thought that crossed my mind. And I don't care, was the second.         

Please, join me, I said, remembering a few of my manners as I sat down and tried to decide where to start.

Steward took a place to my right, Clark to my left, and several other men ranged themselves along the rest of the table. The women of the household, according to the old country custom, were apparently staying close to the cooking hearth at the end of the room. I could hear them murmuring softly behind my back. Young Aidan took up a post next to my elbow, while his father described my new holdings.

Tired from my journey and intent upon stuffing myself, I only half-listened. I managed to gather that the principal industry of Blackwater Manor was the rearing of hogs, hence the roast pork loin with apples, the sausages with cabbage, the sliced ham, and the bacon and mushrooms. Most of the cleared fields were devoted to elf-peas and groundnuts, to be used as hog fodder, though there were kitchen gardens, orchards, and vineyards as well. The other significant export of the estate was crockery. Steward pointed out the platters the food was served on, and the mugs we were drinking from, as local. He explained that a family of potters lived near the riverbanks, where they dug clay. Clark occasionally interrupted Steward's explanations with comments on expenses, profits, tithes and taxes, projected yields, and other matters that went in one of my tired ears and flew out the other. I nodded, grunting assent, and tried not to pitch forward asleep into my meal.

If this wearies my lord, we can surely finish the discussion tomorrow, Steward said.

Wha . . . huh? Oh, yes, tomorrow would be fine. I blinked stupidly and belched. Young Aidan sniggered behind me. His father shot him a warning glance.

Oh, please don't . . . don't mind the boy. He can laugh at me. I laugh at myself, most of the time. I'm falling asleep where I sit—I'll see you in the morning.

*  *  *

I was unconscious the moment my head hit the pillow, too tired to even appreciate the sheets and mattresses. I was startled awake by the creak of the door opening.

I looked up and saw the silhouette of a girl framed in the doorway. She entered quietly and closed it behind her. In the light of the fire, I could see that she was young and quite pretty.

May I help you? I asked.

She bobbed a curtsey. If it please you my lord, I am Sabine, Aidan Steward's niece. I am sent to see if . . . if there is anything you might require of me.

I had led a fairly sheltered life, not being raised among the privileged nobility, but I knew what she meant. Your uncle sent you? I asked in disbelief.

She nodded, her eyes fixed boldly upon mine. Lord Percy often asked for my company, when he was here. It was only his right. As it is now yours.

I felt a bit ill, and I didn't think it was the sausage. Mistress Sabine, I may be a very simple man, but I do not believe that owning this land grants me ownership of your person. You may go.

Do . . . do I displease you?

Certainly not. You are a very pretty girl, I said honestly. But I am a stranger to you, and you to me. It would not be right. For all I know, there may be a man whom you wish to marry.

I assure you, my Lord, I am at your complete disposal.

I found my voice and said, as kindly as I could, Please, Sabine, go back to your uncle and tell him that whatever that louse Percy might have believed, I don't think my right to the produce of the estate extends to the women.

Sabine gave me a disappointed look, bobbed a quick curtsey and left. I hoped they wouldn't try sending the steward's son to me next. Shaking my head at the irony of the term noble, I dropped back to sleep.

*  *  *

My next uninvited guest arrived more quietly. I woke again in the still watches of the morning, conscious that the fire had died down and the room had become very cold. Opening my eyes, I was startled to see an old man, bathed in moonlight, standing near the doorway.

I beg your pardon, I said, sitting up in bed. Have you come to tend the fire?

The old man scowled silently at me through an unkempt white beard.

I am supposed to be here, you know, I went on, assuming him to be some sort of old retainer of Percy's. Didn't Steward tell you I was coming?

Still the old man scowled. Blinking away sleep, I realized two disturbing facts: first, that there was no window in the room, hence no moonlight, and second, that the glowing figure had no feet. The apparition simply faded away beneath the knees. My heart clenched.

If . . . If you're looking for your feet, I haven't got them! I stammered, remembering an old story my sisters used to scare me with. One might think a wizard wouldn't be afraid of a ghost, but I had seen ghosts before, and had not particularly enjoyed it. I stayed perfectly still, not even moving to scratch, though I could feel some sort of bugs feasting on my ankles. I hoped that the old man would tire of frightening me and evaporate.

I was in luck. He didn't evaporate, but neither did he try to climb into bed with me, yank off my feet, rip my beating heart from my chest, or do any of the other horrible things I imagined him doing. He simply floated around the room for a few minutes, as if looking for something he'd misplaced, his feet perhaps, and then passed out through the far wall.

It was a long time before I fell asleep again.

*  *  *

Tell me, Steward, I asked him the next day over breakfast, did the late Lord Percy insist on your niece's company so he wouldn't have to be alone with Old Footloose?

My liegeman blanched. You saw him?

I saw most of him. Down to about mid-calf. Sitting in a crowded hall with daylight streaming in the doors and windows, I wasn't as frightened as I'd been the night before. Who was he? What does he want?

We're not sure, my Lord, said Steward. He's been here longer than any of us. My father believed he was the first knight to settle here, before even the founding of the kingdom. As to what he wants, there are two stories. One is that he's got treasure hid somewhere about. I don't believe that, for everyone's been looking for it for so long, it would have to have been found by now. The other one is that he angered some elvish priests, and they laid a curse on him.

Have you tried to get rid of him?

Steward shrugged. Father Albert—he comes by about once a month, we're too small to have our own priest—has tried to drive him away several times, but he always comes back.

Has he ever hurt anyone? Or damaged anything? Or even said anything? I asked. Or does he just hover about looking grim?

You don't seem too troubled by him, Steward said.

Not in the daytime, I said truthfully. If he's not actually harming anyone, I may as well get used to him. There are plenty of tales of people becoming so attached to their homes that their souls don't leave there after death. Particularly proud, stubborn folks. He's probably the fellow that built the hall, and he's just irked to find a parade of strangers sleeping in his bed. Anything else peculiar about the estate you need to tell me? Or that you told me last night that I might have been too tired to recall?

No . . . well, there is Mad Jack. He's one of the swineherds. But he's harmless.

A half-wit, I guessed. I supposed every village needs its idiot.

*  *  *

Shortly before noon, Steward led me out into the yard before the hall to formally meet the assembled populace for the first time. The villagers of Blackwater waited in uneven rows, dirty-handed men dressed for field work in worn shirts and hose to the front of the crowd, standing in front of women wearing long aprons over their gowns and kerchiefs on their heads. There were about sixty people, counting all the children, who were in varying states of undress, depending on their ages. They tussled and played with one another on the fringes of the crowd, ignoring the glares and shushes of their parents. I also counted over a dozen dogs, not including puppies. I stared at the villagers. They stared at me. I wondered who was more afraid of the other.

Is this everyone? I asked Steward softly.

I think so, m'lord, he said, scanning the crowd.

The populace was shifting nervously, awaiting my words of wisdom, I assumed. I figured I'd better say something.

I thank you all for taking the time to come and meet me this morning, I said. I'm sure you all have work to attend to, and I won't keep you long. I just wanted to let you know that my primary concern as Lord of Blackwater is your welfare. The King has entrusted you to me, and I take that trust very seriously. I paused. Except for the sound of dogs and children scuffling, there was silence. If there is anything I can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask, either myself, or Steward or Clark. I felt that was more than enough speechifying for one morning. Again, I thank you for coming. No one moved, and I realized that they were actually waiting for me to dismiss them. Please feel free to return to your work. I turned back to the hall. As soon as my back was turned, the silence was broken by dozens of voices murmuring. They're probably all saying I look like a fool, I thought. I wondered what I was to do for the rest of the day. Casting a spell to rid my bed of fleas seemed a good place to start.

A skinny, disreputable-looking young man with lank, weedy hair and dirt-stained clothes was taking to Steward in hushed but urgent tones. I managed to catch the words cat and dying. Somebody's cat is dying? I thought. I had a particularly soft spot in my heart and head for cats, having been owned by a little tabby named Silk for several years.

Pardon me, I said, walking up to them, but I couldn't help overhearing your conversation, and I'd like to help.

My Lord, this is Tom, said Steward. He's one of the potters I was telling you about.

Tom looked at me with troubled eyes. Is . . . is there anything you can do? They say you're a wizard.

Lord Edward, it's not worth your time, began Clark, who had been hovering near my elbow, waiting to talk to me. The poor girl is dying.

Girl? I asked.

Catherine Potter, Steward explained, Griselda Potter's younger daughter. Tom here is married to her sister. She had a bad fall, hit her head. Hasn't waked up in days. I'm afraid Clark's right. Probably a waste of time. . . .

My time is my own, I answered, and I think it's worth it. Tom here obviously thinks it's worth asking me.

In that case, I'll take you, offered Clark, It's not far. Tom, you go on ahead.

*  *  *

I stepped into Griselda's cottage to find a dark-haired girl of about twelve lying unconscious in a cot in the center of the room. Three women clustered about her. The oldest, a stout woman with white-streaked black hair, bushy eyebrows, and a hint of a moustache on her pale, round, tear-stained face, I took to be Cat's mother. The slimmer, younger copy at her side was probably Tom's wife. I wasn't too sure of the third. She had a face that could have been any age between thirty and sixty, sharp eyes, and a mane of henna-colored hair escaping from the edges of her kerchief. She looked at me suspiciously as I entered.

What are you doing here? asked Clark, entering the room behind me.

Griselda sent for me, answered henna-hair, indicating the mother.

Are you kin to her? I asked.

She's an old witch, said Clark, not bothering to hide his disgust. We don't need her in here.

On the contrary, I said, extending my hand to the woman. I may need all the help I can get. I am Edward Red Mage, new Lord of Blackwater. And you are?

Roswitha, she said, taking my hand across the girl's sick-bed. "I'm not a witch, she added, casting a sharp glance at Clark, I'm the local midwife and healer. Cat's still alive,