A Company of Heroes Book One: The Stonecutter (9 page)

“My cousin, Piers Monzon, is on his way to the border now, with a small army the barons have raised, to see if it’s not too late to do something. Piers is my first cousin. He’s a powerful man, probably the most powerful of all the barons. He’s hereditary High Steward of the court, which would make him regent in Ferenc’s absence or incapacity, and holds half a dozen earldoms. He’s a big, charismatic, physical man. We’ve always liked one another an awful lot; when I is a young girl, I spent more time with Piers than with my own father. It is Piers who taught me to ride and shoot, for example. It’s my greatest pride that he once told me he thinks I is the best swordsman he’d ever trained. Unfortunately, Cousin Piers has nowhere near Payne’s cunning and intelligence. Payne can easily outthink him; Piers’s brain is just too plain and honest.

“Be that as it may, Cousin Piers has the undiluted respect of the other barons. Not one of them has a greater hatred for the leech that’s attached itself to Tamlaght than has Piers. He’s the leader of a formidable opposition.

“Well, that more or less brings you up to date; there’s only one more incident to tell you about, and then you’ll understand why I am in need of Mr. Mollockle’s rescue yesterday.

“Three weeks ago, a group of barons decided that they’d had enough of Payne. Without the knowledge of Piers or the other barons, they invaded Payne’s estates. These barons have pools their militia into a small army of about five hundred men. All of them changed their distinctive uniforms for civilian clothing. If it aren’t for their orderliness and economy of action, anyone would’ve taken them for a mob of countryfolk, which is what they has intended.

“In two nights of deliberate, organized pillaging they destroys hundreds of thousands of crowns’ worth of Payne’s property. Fifteen manors were burnt to the ground; tens of thousands of sheep, cattle, oxen and horses disappears or were slaughtered; yachts were burnt to their waterlines. Art, jewelry, silver, clothing, all vanished or were destroyed.

“Payne is in a paroxysm of fury; the barons, and he knew perfectly well who’d been behind the raids, had knowingly or inadvertently hit him where it hurt the most. He made the error of taking his complaint to the Privy Council, I suppose because he believed that he owns it and controls it. He might’ve been right, except for one thing: he found the barons waiting there for him. With the strength of the nobles behind them, the chancellors of the Privy Council found the courage to confront Payne. The barons read a list of their grievances, enough to have sent any other man to the gallows a dozen times over.

“Unfortunately, by this time, my brother heard what was happening to his friend and hurried to the chambers. Confronted by the man who is soon to be their monarch, the chancellors began to waver. They thought they were caught between the baronage on one side and loyalty to their country on the other, in the person of the prince, who begged with surprising eloquence ‘coached, I suspect!) for the life of his chamberlain. You must remember that the one man, Piers Monzon, who could’ve possibly swayed the Council against Ferenc was hundreds of miles away in the north. They opted for merely exiling Payne.

“The barons were furious, of course; they wanted Payne’s blood. But there was little they could do. Payne hasn’t pursued his complaints against them, and I think they are afraid he would. What they’d done had been absolutely illegal, of course; and quite a large number of people had died, too, some of them innocent of any connection with the chamberlain. I think that even at the moment of Payne’s sentencing, the barons realized that the victory was more their enemy’s than their own. He was silently blackmailing them as he stood there listening to the chancellors decreeing his exile from Tamlaght.

“Payne’s sentence sent him only as far as one of the islands in the Gulf. He’s not more than two hundred miles from Blavek at this moment. And he’s coming back. I discovered that more or less by accident just a few days ago. I make no apologies for going through my brother’s papers and despatches, they mean more to me than they ever would to him, anyway, even if he cared to look, or can understand them if he did. I found that he’s been in constant communication with Payne since the day Payne left. Some days half a dozen letters would arrive from the coast. These are delivered directly into my brother’s hands, but once I discovered their existence it was easy enough to get hold of them. Although each one exhorts Ferenc to destroy it and all the other communications, he is too stupid or careless, or perhaps sentimental, to do so. Anyway, I found them.

“The upshot of the letters is this: Ferenc has started to plot Payne’s return.

“In the meanwhile, there’s been a victory in the north. Maybe you heard about it? It was small enough; Piers overwhelmed an undermanned, out-of-the-way post that had no particular military importance, but it was a victory nevertheless and the papers are full of it. It’s the first good news in a long time and the people are going crazy. D’you know about all this nonsense? Well, following Payne’s directions, Ferenc is using this victory to gain a lot of public support, who else do you credit for a great victory but the man who is the corporeal representation of your country?

“Using this new popularity, Ferenc has gone to the Church and, Musrum forgive them!, has convinced the priests that Payne’s exile is illegal. They’ll now pressure the Privy Council to overturn their decision and allow Payne to return. What’s worse, he’s trying to force the chancellors, as compensation, to have the barons make full restitution for Payne’s damages. This, of course, would bankrupt most of them, as well as increase Payne’s power a hundredfold over what it’d been before. And that’s assuming the barons wouldn’t simply opt for civil war, which would be the most likely turn of events. What’s worse yet is that while he’s using the Church, through the prince, to further his own ends, Payne is plotting its destruction. He’s insanely covetous of the Church’s wealth and I know he’s devised some plan to loot it after the coronation.

“There’s just one thing that might prevent all this from happening: letting the Privy Council and the barons see the contents of the letters Payne sent to Ferenc.

“I have them. Payne knows I have them. His island’s not far enough away to prevent him from maintaining full control of his Guards and spies, and he has agents everywhere. He knows everything that goes on. As soon as he learns that I has the letters, he sent his Guards orders to prevent me from reaching the chancellors and to recover the letters, at any cost. I barely got out of the palace with my life.

“That’s why I is being chased. There’s no way that Payne’s going to allow me to get those letters to the Council.”

The gypsy poked at the embers in the little stove, awakening the slumbering coals into a few fitful flames.

“I can see that you have has some difficulties, Princess,” he says, finally.

“I’m glad you appreciate that.”

“But they are not difficulties I have not dealt with before, except perhaps on a matter of scale: I certainly have never has an army after me. In spite of this inexperience, perhaps there is something I can do for you. We shall see.”

“I’d appreciate all the help I can get...if it’s a question of a reward...”

“No! No!” he answers with some heat. “That is not something to mention. I will help you, that is all, it is enough.”

“I must get to my cousin Piers as soon as possible.”

“And your friend?”

“Thud? What about him?”

“There is something about him I find very strange.”

“I can’t imagine what,” she answers sarcastically. “But don’t judge him by his looks; he’s all right.”

“Please do not misunderstand me! I can see that he is,” he says without a trace of mockery. Turning to Thud, he asks, “where do you come from, if I may ask?”

“Groontocker and Peen.”

“This is another planet?”

“I don’t know; I just cut stone there.”

“I see! An artisan! And before that?”

“I always cut stone there.”

“You were a child once, were you not? Although I admit I find that very hard to imagine.”

Bronwyn almost protests this slur, but then recalls that the very same doubt once ran through her own mind and with uncharacteristic fairness keeps her mouth shut.

“Sure I was, I was a kid like anyone else. Just a little husky that’s all. I’ve always been kind of husky.”

“Please! No offense meant! Believe me when I say that you are a very admirable man. Who else could have brought the princess here safely? Eh?”

“Well...” Thud is embarrassed by the praise and thinks of mentioning his failure in getting Bronwyn to the destination he has promised her, but thinks better of it. Why spoil such a nice compliment?

“But look here, I am serious, and believe me, I have good reason for asking. What do you recall of your boyhood? Do you remember your parents?”

“No, not exactly. I kind of grew up mostly around the streets.” He fidgeted, not sure how far to open himself to a stranger and vaguely embarrassed. He looks to Bronwyn.

“I’d like to know, too, Thud, so go ahead.”

Thud pulls his bag over to his chair and rummages in it for a moment. He pulls a cloth bundle from it and began unwrapping it. Bronwyn is not surprised when Thud lays the hard rubber case of the tintype on the table. He opens it as reverently as he would an icon, or perhaps it
is
an icon. The sad, silvery face shimmers up at them.

“Holy Sister of Musrum!” whispers the gypsy. “And this...?”

“I always liked to think she’s my Ma, even if she isn’t, but I really don’t remember too good; it’s long ago. I’ve just always has this picture. I don’t know where it came from, really.”

“What is it?” asks the mystified Bronwyn.

“Nothing, nothing. She...the girl in the picture...just reminds me of some...one. It is of no matter.”

“I’ll not have anyone laughing at him!”

“Oh ho! The princess speaks, eh? No, I would not and do not mock your friend. I will show you why not. Henda, come here.”

The strange little creature came waddling and sniffling to its master. The eyes are very much like a bird’s. Bronwyn had seen their like once in a bird her cousin Piers had caught in a net, its wings hopelessly broken.

“Henda, these are very good people; they are friends of mine and so they are friends of yours, too. Understand me?”

Henda’s bright black beads sparkle first at Bronwyn, then at Thud. The raggedy head nods, uncertainly.

“All right, then, you can take those things off your head.”

The sniffling becomes more violent and Henda shies back from the gypsy, eyes jumping twitchily from girl to giant to gypsy, like fleas. Then a hand appears from the midst of the rags. It is small, smooth and pink. Bronwyn realizes with a jolt that it is a
child’s
hand. It begins unwinding the long scarf that is wrapped around its face. Then Henda turns and smiles at Bronwyn. And smiles and smiles and smiles.

“Do you see why I do not laugh at your big friend, my Princess?”

“What happened to him?” asks the girl, in a hushed voice.

“There is a band of wicked people, not true gypsies, I thank Musrum, who wander through the villages of Mostaza. They are nothing but beggars, thieves, pickpockets and cutthroats, and much worse, as you will see. They have no art, do you understand? They call themselves
Verstummellin
. They say that it means ‘the misshapen,’ as though they are describing themselves, their own appearance. But the word really means ‘misshapers.’ It is difficult to translate the difference. I do not know the words. ‘Mutilators’? That is better. They are the Mutilators.

“The name describes not what they look like, but what they do. They do not wish to give in return for the money that they beg: you will not receive from them music, a good medicine, a useful charm, your fortune; no. They are too lazy for that. They sell pity. They do things to their poor children and to children they steal. They set them to wandering through the villages, if they can wander, you understand? People see these babes and say, ‘Oh! What has happened to you, unfortunate one? What has happens to your eyes? What has become of your leg, your arm? Look how the poor thing must walk hunched over, look how it must drag itself through the dirt, look what it must accept my money with instead of hands!’“

The gypsy is quite red and he realizes he has raised his voice.

“Forgive me, please. It is just when I think...Well, the Verstummellin thought it would be amusing to make Henda here smile. They has tried many other things before, with other children, but never something like this. Henda already has a long career before I found him. It is why it is best that the rest of him remain so bundled, you understand? The face is really not so bad. Not like the rest. I do not think he is more than eight years old yet. So they thinks they would make him smile. And now poor Henda smiles and smiles, no matter what he may feel inside. My poor little Henda.”

He cradles the child’s head in his lap. Henda sniffles and drools.

“Now you two,” he continued, allowing the child to replace its raggedy mask, “you are welcome to sleep here. In just a few hours, we will be preparing to leave the city and things will be very busy. You will be coming with us.”

“With you? But how? The Guards’ll be searching everywhere. There’s no place in here we can hide from them. You said yourself they don’t miss a thing.”

“They do not
think
they miss anything, which is not quite the same thing. You must trust me. We gypsies have much experience at this. I believe that the Guards will abandon the idea of searching the city for you. All that is really necessary for them is to prevent you from leaving, is that not so? They do not actually have to catch you? Yes. I thinks as much. Well, I do not think, then, that they will waste very much more time chasing you through the streets. I think you have only made them angry this night. They will realize this. They will be very wary at the bridges and other places, instead of searching the streets. As long as you are trapped in Blavek, your brother and his friend have little to worry about, no? And after the coronation, what do they care?”