Rhiannon (17 page)

“
I'll
take the candles,” Rhia said quickly, which was surprising, seeing as how she always resisted going after dark into the cot of the Man Who Sleeps. And surely she'd forgot for a moment his bite upon the spoon that afternoon or she'd never have made that bold offer. But there you have it—she hadn't thought of the spoon in hours, and now she lifted the tallow there beside her and found the two others to be lit from it and was off into the midnight darkness, propelled by how Mam had just made her feel of such value.

 
Leaving Sally's candle was easy. Going next to the other's abode was not.

Knock, knock,
then quick, expecting and receiving no call to enter, she pushed open the pirate's door. With blood rushing in her ears, she hurried to the window. She'd not look in his direction, no need for that. No need at all, and besides, she'd remembered the bite by then and her fingers had gone all atremble so if she didn't pay attention she might let the light go out from fumbling it.

She let a bit of wax drip upon the sill to hold the tallow, then . . .

“Halt!” he called from the deep shadows behind her.

It was more a plea than a demand, made by one who'd recently been more dead, you might say, than alive. The command came out all hollow and filled with wind, more a whisper, really, than a call.

But 'twas enough to give Rhiannon the biggest scare she'd ever have, so that her heart was then a hare inside her chest, clamoring to climb right out and run to the woods.

She whirled around, though she'd not meant to look at him, and clearly saw the pirate sitting up on the raised pallet where he'd lately looked so much a corpse that they'd crossed his arms and legs, as for a killed Crusader! Sitting right up straight, he was!

She could not see him well, as the candle had fallen from her shaking hands and was extinguished. She could just make out his head and shoulders, dark against the lighter daub of the wall behind him. He was facing her direct, his legs adangle from the bed.

“Tell me, Adela, is this . . . Francia?” he asked.

“No,” she pushed out, then gulped down a breath. “You're in England, sir, near as far from Francia as you can get and still be upon the world and not fallen off. You're in the hinterlands of Wessex, atop a bluff and across the bay from Wales.”

To that, he made no response. After a few moments, he lay back down, sighing a monstrous sigh, more a moan, really. A moan of some anguish, one might say.

Rhiannon made for the door, then blundered out, twisting her left foot upon the stoop and falling to the sharp stones.

She bloodied both knees, though she'd not even notice that until morn.

Mam was asleep when she limped in, soft closing the door so's to wake no one. She didn't want to talk of this yet. She just hoped Mam wouldn't open an eye to check for two lights in the invalid windows, as there would be only the one of Sal's.

She pulled off her skirt and in her shift crawled to the nether side of the pallet, wincing as she went, though still not wondering
why
she winced. And then for quite some time she lay curled on her side there beside Mam, awake and wide-eyed, her mind now too bedazzled for easy sleep.

This was a mystery as astonishing in its details as any other they'd come upon this week of mysteries! Not just that the sleeper had woke, but that he'd asked such a question upon waking. And why had he called her Adela, as though he knew her quite well? He'd mistook her for someone, but who? And if he thought he was in Francia, why had he not spoken the
language
of Francia?

And why'd he sighed that awful sigh, so heartbreaking in tone? In fact, so heartbreaking that Rhiannon's last thought before sleep was that she'd not be easily afeared of anyone with a heart so clearly broken, be he French or English, saintly Crusader or merely wretched, bloodthirsty pirate.

Rhiannon's sore knees woke her in the morning before even Mam was up. She lay for a moment pondering that it had been only one day since they'd buried Ona and Primrose, though it seemed a month's worth of happenings had gone on! She wanted another private peek at the French gentleman pirate before Gramp began summoning her to gather the seeds at bluff's edge, as most surely by the time she and Gramp had finished and got back to the settlement, the man's changed state would have been discovered and he'd have become
everybody's
thing to gawk at and fuss over.

She scooted off the pallet with her legs held stiff, then limped outside. At the brook she got good springy moss to pack her hurts, tying it upon them with long watergrasses.

“Crrrr—awkk?” Gramp asked, having swooped from the chapel roof to observe close. He teetered on a flimsy branch of the yew tree she leaned against.

“The Man Who Sleeps has woken, Gramp!” she informed him. “He no longer seems quite so much a pirate. Now, he seems somewhat a gentleman, as he talks of Francia!” She winced, standing and moving stiff-legged in the direction of the man's cot. “Of course, pirates may talk of Francia as well, I guess, but he speaks gentle, is what I mean.”

“Rhiannon!” Mam called from outside their cottage. “You've forgotten your seed pouch, daughter. And . . . why do you hobble along like that, and in the wrong direction?”

The jig was up, and Rhia called back, “I've skinned my knees is all, and Mam? You must come quick! The Man Who Sleeps sleeps no longer!”

Rhia and Mam soon enough stood together near the raised pallet, looking him over. There was nothing to show that he'd moved in the night. Even his ankles and wrists were crossed as they'd been before! Rhia, frustrated beyond easy endurance by this, lit into a description to Mam of how he'd sat up in the night, what he'd said, and how his moan had been so filled with heart's anguish.

“Well,” said Mam, sighing. “I know not
what
to think.”

Mayhaps she thought Rhia'd dreamed it, is what Rhia figured. That, along with the throb of her roughened knees, made Rhia downright angry. When they'd left that cot and were on along the walk a little way, Rhia turned and ran back to look in his window, hoping to catch him in a move. But there he lay, as much as ever like some stone effigy.

“Here.” Mam took the seed pouch from under her shawl and threw it across to Rhia. “If the job hurts your knees too much this morning, you may give it up, Rhiannon.”

But Mam's eyes held mirth as she turned to go on along, as if to say,
If you can run to stubbornly prove a thing you dreamed is true, you can kneel to gather as well
.

“Fly slow, please, as I'm some disabled,” Rhia grumbled to Gramp. She went slow and hobbling, then, especially back past their own cot and also past the bees, who stopped their raucous morning buzzing.
They
got a good notice of her injury, at least, though it was hard to tell how much sympathy they felt.

 
Once she and Gramp were arrived at bluff's edge, Rhia could not manage to hold on to her peevish mood. It was such a perfect day, with the breeze from the south and all kinds of seeds for the taking. There were already several small boats out upon the water, pleasure boats and fishing boats, some coracles as well. You saw big boats bringing trade all year long, but small boats were only usual in fine weathers. They made a good sign that spring had really come to stay.

Her knees
did
hurt when she knelt for long, so she took breaks to lollygag. As usual, she falsely assumed Gramp was lollygagging because
she
was, when in fact he was hard at work at all times they were near the bluff's edge, protecting her from mischance.

In fact, during one of her own rests that morning, she went so far as to enlist Gramp in a game she'd just then dreamt up, feeling he had leisure for it because
she
did.

“You be tallystick like Reeve Clap carries to count the crops each farmer owes as tax to Lord Claredemont, will you, Gramp? I'll mention a thing we must puzzle out, and you dip your great beak and make a scratch upon your holed rock perch as Reeve Clap makes a cut upon his stick. When I've said all the mysteries I can think of, we'll count the scratches and have our tally of important things that must be untangled.”

Gramp hard-eyed her and raised his shoulders a bit. It was actually a register of the insult he was feeling at being considered a tallystick, but Rhia took it as a go.

She lay clear back to look up at the sky, folding her arms to make a pillow for her head. “All right, first scratch is, we must watch that heartbroken French pirate and find out why he played as he did when Mam was present. Why'd he deceive her into thinking he still slept exactly as before?”

That seemed quite interesting, as she'd not realized he was purposely deceiving Mam until she'd heard herself list it. There was also some small chance, of course, that Mam's hunch had been right and Rhia had merely
dreamed
him waking.

So after a moment's consideration, she added, “And Gramp, if it please, you must somehow contrive to take that scratch away tomorrow if it turns out I've mistook his wakefulness, though I'm
sure
I've not.”

She squinted hard. “Here's another scratch. We must make such preparations as necessary for the new folk in the wood, but first we must
know
their needs and we must plan, as much as we're able, our own safe practices.” She sighed. “Most of that'll be left to Mam.” Thanks be to God, as it made
her
head hurt just thinking of it.

“Yet another scratch would be what must be figured and done about Jim Gatt and his predicament. In fact, this is the most urgent and important task at hand, Gramp. And add a scratch for finding if there is indeed an ancient dragon trapped beneath the grove of colored stones. Wait, that scratch should be for figuring some way out of joining in Maddy's party on Beltane Eve with the earl's son and his cronies.”

Every time she thought about that, her stomach flopped and she got hiccoughs.

She sat up. “Give 'em each a scratch, Gramp, the dragon and the party, too.”

But Gramp wasn't even turned in her direction, let alone playing this silly game. He was peering out at the bay, and suddenly he started flapping his wings something fierce.

“Crrrrawk! Craaaaa-awk-awk-
awk
!”

Rhia scrambled to her feet. “Gramp, what threat do you perceive?”

Soon she spotted the cause of Gramp's concern. In one of the small boats were two monks, one rowing and the other standing. The one upon his legs was jigging a bit to stay balanced, and also looking straight up at their spot on the bluff with one hand shielding his eyes. He pushed back his cowl and his long brown hair blew wild.

“It's Thaddeus, Gramp!” Rhia moved close as she dared to the edge of the bluff and began waving big-armed waves toward the little boat.

Soon enough, Thaddeus caught that and waved back. He brought his two hands to cup his mouth, and called, “Rhiannon, can you hear me?”

She bounced on her heels with excitement. “Yes!” she called. “I mean, no!”

With this she gave a large-armed gesture toward a place below where Thaddeus's rower might safely bring the little boat in closer to the bluff. When the monk nodded that he understood, she ran and dove into the bracken at the trail's start, slip-sliding down the path until she reached the place in the trail that was directly above that small secret harbor. She watched them drift closer until they were just beneath her perch. She might have jumped right into their boat, though it would have been a long and daring leap.

Thaddeus looked over both his shoulders then to see that others weren't likely to receive the news he was about to give. Their detour had put them well out of range of other likely ears, yet he checked again.

“Rhiannon,” he called up, “there's much afoot regarding Jim Gatt! He's now sought and received sanctuary within the church. Have your mother come down if she can!”

Rhia cupped her own hands and called back, “But . . . aren't you coming up to give us the whole news of it? Or is the reeve?”

Again, Thaddeus checked uneasily over his shoulder. “We neither one dare leave town while this churns. In fact, Brother Silas and I have just rowed out to give you this news and must now hasten back to the church. You see, Jim Gatt has confessed to the murder!”

Rhiannon felt turned to stone at this impossible news.

“Tell your mother to come quickly, Rhia!” Thaddeus called again. “And if she can't, ask her if you may come in her stead! You must hear the whole of it!” He sat back down, taking the oars from his fellow and turning the boat back toward the open water.

Rhiannon shook her head. “Oh, Gramp,” she breathed, as Gramp now sat nearby her. “Let's get home fast, as a confession from Jim was the
last
thing we expected!”

 
They four—Granna, Mam, Rhia, and Daisy—tried with all their combined brains to puzzle it out, sitting glumly around the firepit not much later.

“I don't understand how he could have reached sanctuary to begin with, seeing as how he was already in prison and Guy Dryer guarding him,” Mam murmured. She was leaned forward, her skirt hitched up and her elbows on her white knees. She stared into the fire hard with her eyes squinted, frowning.

Granna took her pipe from her teeth and shrugged. “Well, Guy's been known to purposely let a pickpocket or two slip through his fingers, as he has to feed his prisoners from his own pocket.”

The small wooden gaol where common prisoners were kept was very near the ale-tasters' establishment, thus Granna knew such details from her cronies, though the average citizen would have probably assumed the law was more airtight than that.