A Minstrel’s Quest (The Trouble with Magic Book 4) (34 page)

The three day ride from Tregwald to Redmire had given Corlin time to think. Not everything was clear in his mind, and he frequently found himself struggling to remember small details, some of which he felt certain would prove to be of importance at some time in the not too distant future. He kept going over and over the events of the past few weeks, but his thoughts kept returning to Clies’ decision to remain at Castle Tregwald. Now that his brother was a free man again, Corlin had hoped that somehow, even though they no longer had a holding, they could have stayed together a while longer. Earl Jouan had tried his best to persuade Corlin to return from Redmire and join the community at the castle, once he had done what he felt was his duty to Otty, but the minstrel had declined. He had given no specific reason, knowing that the true reason he had would probably not be understood.

Hands folded behind his head, Corlin wriggled down into the comfort of his bed and gazed up at the low, beamed ceiling. Sounds of voices and occasional laughter drifted up from the bar, and he found himself wishing he could go down and find Otty sprawled across one of the big wooden settles. He began to rehearse in his mind what he was going to say to Otty’s father, a man he had never met, and about whom Otty had said very little. He fell asleep imagining the scene in the kitchen next morning when he intended to ask Ned to accompany him to the Stockman’s farm.

* * *

Molly poked her head round the kitchen door as Corlin crept down the hallway, just before sunrise. He gave her an apologetic smile as he whispered “I tried to be as quiet as I could.”

The landlady chuckled and gave him a knowing wink. “Your bedroom door creaks.” She opened the kitchen door a little further. “Do you want to come in? I’ll make you some breakfast, unless you were going to do something important.”

Corlin shook his head. “Just going to check on Megan, that’s all.”

Molly beckoned him in, standing back as he sidled awkwardly past her. “She’ll be fine. Dickon is a good man. He won’t see a horse badly done by.”

Corlin looked around, appreciating the homeliness of the cosy lamp-lit kitchen, with its large scrubbed table, and the rack of pots and pans reflecting the glow from the half-open door of the sturdy iron cooking range.

He pulled out one of the straight-backed chairs and sat down. “Will Ned be in shortly?”

Molly chuckled as she began to bustle about the kitchen. “Bless me, no! He’s already away to the river. ‘Tis Sun Day tomorrow, so today he goes fishing. He’ll be back about noon.”

Seeing his original plan go flying out the window, Corlin, who also liked to go fishing, added a few observations of his own, but when the topic was exhausted the conversation turned to various aspects of life in and around Redmire. Inevitably the game of Barrel-ball eventually came up, just as Molly put a plate of bacon, sausage, mushrooms and fried potatoes, and a large mug of tea in front of him.

She sat down opposite him and folded her arms. “Otty played a great game of Barrel-ball. You saw him play, didn’t you?”

His mouth too full of bacon and potato to reply, Corlin nodded. Seeing that the minstrel was unable and also probably disinclined to answer, Molly stood up and crossed to the deep brown-glazed sink where she began to prepare vegetables, humming quietly to herself as she worked. Every so often she would glance over her shoulder to see if Corlin had finished his breakfast.

At last he put down his knife and fork and pushed his plate to one side. “That was fit for a king. Thanks Molly.”

She bustled over to the table and collected his plate, pausing for a moment as if something had just occurred to her. “Ned was quite disappointed when he found that Otty hadn’t come back with you.”

Corlin picked up his tea and sipped quietly, smiling to himself round the rim of the mug. He knew where this was going, and he also knew it was unavoidable. Molly’s seemingly innocuous remark was her way of giving him an opportunity to tell his story. Later, like the dutiful wife she was, she would pass everything Corlin had told her on to Ned. From past experience, Corlin knew that there was a good chance this could lead to distortion and misunderstandings.

He finished his tea and stood up. “Will Otty’s da come to the inn if I send a message?”

His question quite clearly took Molly by surprise, and she leaned against the sink, her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. “We-e-ell; he has been here a few times of late. Maybe he will if he thinks it’s important enough.”

Corlin’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Oh he will, I’m sure. Do you know anybody that would go?”

Molly nodded and waved a hand in the direction of the stable-yard. “Dickon will know. He’s up and about. Shall I fetch him for you?”

“No, I’ll go. You stay here and finish doing those veggies.”

Before Molly could say anything further, Corlin was at the door. He turned with his hand on the latch and grinned back at her. “Don’t worry. You’ll hear the whole story. Not right now though.”

He closed the door behind him and headed for the stables. Megan blew in his face by way of welcome as he gave her muzzle an affectionate pat. “Good morning lovely girl. Now, where might I find Dickon?”

The ostler’s voice drifted in through the half open door. “I be here sir. Was you wantin’ summat?”

The two men met in the doorway, the ostler looking eager to please, probably anticipating the weight of another half silver in his pocket, the minstrel’s expression earnest and hopeful.

Corlin looked towards the entrance. “How far is it to Otty’s father’s farm?”

The ostler scratched his balding head as he thought for a moment. “No more than about three miles. Was you wantin’ to know the way?”

The minstrel thought for a moment or two, then nodded. “If you would. I was going to ask you to find someone to take a message, but on second thoughts it might be better if I went myself.”

The directions that Dickon gave him seemed straightforward enough, and Corlin doubted that he’d have any problems finding the Stockman’s farm. It also occurred to him that as the route would take him near the river for part of the way, he might just happen to see Ned. A few minutes conversation about fishing would help to take his mind off the potential repercussions of his unwelcome but necessary task.

He had just finished saddling Megan when Dickon wandered down the stable to stand beside him. “I could come with you if you want.”

Corlin bent to tighten the girth, his voice muffled as he pushed his head against Megan’s stomach. “Thanks Dickon, but you might be needed here, and I’m not sure how kindly Master Stockman will take to unexpected visitors.”

To Corlin’s surprise, Dickon gave a dismissive chuckle. “Don’t you worry ‘bout that. ‘E’ll be expectin’ you. News travels fast in these parts.”

That particular snippet of information was not one that Corlin particularly wanted to hear. He responded with a non-committal grunt, secured his staff alongside his saddle, and led Megan out of the stable-yard.

Although it was only just first light, there were plenty of people about, mostly setting up stalls and getting their goods and produce ready for the weekend market. Corlin swung into the saddle and turned Megan in the opposite direction, towards the rising sun, the river and a meeting with Otty’s father.

Tucked in a sheltered hollow beside an overhanging willow, Ned looked up at the sound of Corlin’s approach. He raised a hand in greeting, waiting until the minstrel had drawn level and reined in before reeling in his line, resting his rod and scrambling up the river’s steep and overgrown bank.

A knowing look on his long face, he looked up at Corlin. “Should I need to ask what brings you out this way?”

Corlin leaned on the saddle-bow and bobbed his head towards the dark, slow-moving water. “Just thought I’d come and keep you company for a while, and talk fishing. Molly said you were out here somewhere.”

Ned rubbed his chin and peered through the trees at the winding and rutted road. “Not too many other places you can go along here. A couple of farms is all.”

Corlin grinned down at the man’s transparency. “I hope you’re better at river fishing than you are at fishing for answers, Ned.” He gathered his reins, leaned down and gave the landlord a good-natured clout on the shoulder. “I’ll let you get back to it. I think we’ll both need a bit of luck today.”

Ned shuffled his feet but stayed put. “You’ll be off to see Otty’s da then.” It was not so much a question as confirmation of what the man had already guessed.

Corlin’s expression made it quite clear that he was not looking forward to the meeting. “It’s something that has to be done, Ned, and I’m the one that has to do it I’m afraid.”

He kneed Megan into a slow walk. She had only taken a few steps when Corlin heard Ned calling after him. “I’ll come with you if you want!”

Turning in the saddle, Corlin leaned on the cantle, letting Megan keep walking as he called back. “All right. You may as well. It’ll save me telling the story twice.”

A few minutes later, his fishing creel slung across his back, Ned trotted up beside him.

Matching his walking pace to Megan’s steady amble he looked up at Corlin. “I reckon you’re worrying too much about Otty’s da y’know. He ain’t so bad when all’s said and done. Anyway, he prob’ly knows you’re back in Redmire and that you’ll likely be callin’ on him sometime.”

Corlin smiled and nodded. “Dickon said much the same thing just before I left. He said new travels fast in these parts.”

Ned responded with a derisory grunt. “Hmmph. Dickon’s a good man but he’s a blabber-mouth. It’s him that gives most of the news its wings in the first place. If you want folks to know your business, just tell Dickon.”

From there the conversation turned to lighter matters, from fishing to tomorrow’s prospects for the inn’s Barrel-ball team, to the songs Corlin thought he would sing that night “...if I get back in one piece!” he added with a laugh.

Ned flapped a dismissive hand and pointed to a fork in the narrow road. “We take the left one here, and then it’s through the hazel coppice, down the hill, and the farm is at the bottom. There’s nowhere else to go after that, unless you go across country, and to do that you’d have to go through the farm-yard first.”

Like the rest of the road, the approach to the farm was just wide enough for one horse-drawn cart and shaded by overhanging trees, their branches meeting in a low archway over the centre of the track. As they drew nearer their destination Corlin’s interest in conversation faded away like morning fog. Fifteen minutes later he sat leaning on the saddle-bow and looking down the hill at the sprawling farmstead where Otty had been born and brought up.

Ned started forward. “Best get goin’ then. No point in puttin’ it off, now you’ve got this far.”

Corlin had to agree, especially when, with great enthusiasm, a pair of sheepdogs loudly announced the arrival of the visitors before they were even half way down the hill. A loud piercing double whistle fetched the dogs dashing back from the sturdy seven-barred gate which had effectively prevented them from making close contact with Corlin and Ned. A heavily built man stepped from the shadow of the farm-house door and began to make his way at an unhurried pace across the wide paved yard, the dogs trotting at his heels. By the time Corlin and Ned had arrived at the gate, he was leaning on the sturdy rail fence and studying them with open interest.

Corlin nodded and tipped his hat. “Good day to you sir.”

The man returned the nod but not the greeting, and looked at Corlin with Otty’s eyes, before shifting his gaze to Ned.

The inn-keeper also gave a brief but respectful nod. “Mornin’ Jacob.”

The farmer flicked a thick, meaty finger at the creel. “You won’t be catching many fish over this way, Ned Brewer. Found yourself something more interesting to occupy your time, eh?”

Ned opened his mouth to reply but Otty’s father had already returned his attention to Corlin. His full lips twisted in obvious contempt as he looked the minstrel up and down. “So, you’re the quester my son decided to go roaming the countryside with.”

Corlin bit back on his rising indignation, feeling it settle like a ball of hot lead in the pit of his stomach. He felt tempted to turn Megan, ride away and let the man wallow in his misconceptions, but Jacob had moved to the gate and was lifting the heavy iron loop at the top of the gate-post. “You’d best come in. Don’t mind the dogs. They’ll be no trouble.”

He swung the gate back, and as Corlin steered Megan through he glanced down. The expression on Jacob’s face would have curdled milk. Trying not to read too much into it, and making allowances for the likelihood that the man was expecting bad news, Corlin rode a little way along the fence, dismounted and hitched Megan to the fence-rail. Staff in hand, he turned to see Jacob studying him, making no attempt to hide the disdain now written on his broad weathered face.

A yard or so away, Ned stood watching, his fists clenched, and clearly not happy about the direction this meeting was taking.

Keeping his eyes fixed on Corlin, Jacob gestured towards the farmhouse. “Go into the house Ned. This young man and I will be having words. There’s no need for you to get involved.”

Ned stood his ground. “If it’s all the same to you Jacob, I be already involved so whatever you’ve got to say will be in front of me.”

For a split second Corlin caught a warning glint in Jacob’s eye, and a subtle hint of something at odds in his manner. Leaning on his staff, he shook his head at the inn-keeper. “It’s alright Ned. You go. I’ll deal with this.”

Ned scowled at Otty’s father. “You mind yourself Jacob. I don’t want to have to come out and pull you two apart.”

Leaving Jacob with a face like thunder and Corlin’s expression defiant to an equal degree, Ned stomped off to the house, turning at the half-open door to check the situation before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

With a nod of satisfaction, Jacob reached out and gently but firmly grasped Corlin’s arm, steering him across the yard in the direction of the hay-barn.

He murmured from the corner of his mouth “I believe you have some news for me regarding my wilful and adventurous son. Am I right?”

Not completely surprised by the sudden softening of Jacob’s previously belligerent attitude, Corlin could still only manage a hoarse “Yes, that’s right.” as he was ushered into the warm interior of the barn.

Releasing Corlin’s arm, Jacob eased himself down onto a bale of hay and indicated another nearby. “Sit yourself down.”

Corlin sat, and once again found Otty’s eyes looking at him as Jacob leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I’m sorry about that, but I wanted to get Ned out of the way. The less he knows the better.”

Corlin gave a derisive grunt. “Couldn’t you have just asked him, instead of all that play-acting?”

Jacob’s grunt was equally derisive. “You don’t know Ned like I do. He’d take everything he heard, turn it all around and make a completely different picture of it. He’s not as open to things as I am.”

Corlin eased his leg into a more comfortable position and gave Jacob a wry smile. “Well he was open enough to believe it was Old Tam that gave me a gimalin as a gift, one night in ‘The Red Dog’.”

Jacob chuckled. “Of course. Ned’s whole life is steeped in tradition. He’s bound to believe in Old Tam. I doubt if he’d be so amenable to accepting the things you’re about to tell me though.”

The minstrel frowned, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “How do you know what I’m going to tell you? I’ve said nothing to anyone, not even Ned, or Molly for that matter.”

Jacob rested his chin on the back of his folded hands and closed his eyes as he thought for a few moments. Corlin used the pause to consider the big man who sat opposite him. Unlike the majority of farmers Corlin had come across, who were definitely of the rustic breed in many ways, Jacob Stockman was more of what Corlin would have called a gentleman farmer. Well spoken with barely a trace of regional accent, he exuded a subtle air of presence without seeming aware of it. His well-fitting clothes breathed quality and good taste, and Corlin was hard pressed to reconcile himself to the fact that this was the father of the scruffy, beer-loving, self-willed young man who had decided to accompany him on his quest to places unknown. As if he had been reading Corlin’s thoughts, Jacob opened his eyes, folded his arms and leaned back against a stack of hay-bales.

His eyes held the minstrel’s for a moment before he spoke. “Otty talked a lot about you and your quest. I think he saw something in you that he wanted to be; perhaps he thought something would rub off. When he finally left, I wasn’t too concerned because I knew he intended to join you.”

Corlin decided against filling in the yawning gap in Jacob’s knowledge. The fact that Otty had only met up with him at Tregwald, and not at the very beginning as Jacob seemed to think, would not make any significant difference to this conversation. Corlin had already drawn his own conclusions as to where Otty had been until then.

Almost as if he was afraid of being overheard, Jacob leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Before you begin explaining what has happened to my son, I want to tell you something that must never be revealed to anyone else. Is that understood?”

Eyebrows raised to their limits, Corlin agreed with an assertive nod. “Yes, of course.”

Seeming satisfied with that, Jacob gave him a rueful smile. “I have seen Otty; about a week ago.” He grimaced as he noticed Corlin’s horrified expression. “Yes; I have seen what he has become.”

He held up a restraining hand as Corlin took a breath to speak. This was something the minstrel had definitely not been expecting and he was not certain whether he wanted to laugh or cry. He held his hands over his eyes, struggling to come to terms with the news which had been so casually dropped in his lap, unable to even begin to imagine what Jacob must have felt when the gigantic form of Otty came lumbering round his woods and across his meadows.

Unshed tears stung his eyes as he opened them to see Jacob with his finger raised.

He wagged it at Corlin. “Obviously you thought Otty had been here in the flesh, but that is not the case. I did, however, have another visitor.”

Corlin’s brow furrowed for a moment, then he grinned. “Your visitor didn’t just happen to be a very attractive lady perhaps?”

Jacob nodded. “After I’d sent the men out to the fields I was just crossing the yard to come back to the house, and there she was. The dogs didn’t even bark! They just lay by her feet while she told me who she was and that Otty had been taken to a safe place.”

It took him almost an hour to relate what D’ta told him had happened after Otty stole the clock, how she had described his massively altered appearance, and how it had occurred. She had even entered his mind, holding his hand as she let mental images flow gently through it. Corlin listened carefully, becoming increasingly impressed by the way Jacob was coping with such a momentous event, and with the loss of his son in a way that would have turned most fathers into gibbering wrecks.

The reason for Jacob’s equanimity duly came by way of his answer to Corlin’s next question. “But why did he do it? I told him not to mess with the clock, even before he decided to knock me over the head and steal it.”

Jacob gave him a thin smile. “Otty had a very enquiring mind, but I failed to appreciate how stifling he found life here, farming sheep and cattle. I suppose it was only to be expected that one day he would rebel and try to discover what else the world had to offer.”

Corlin frowned. “That probably explains why he decided to tag along with me, but...” The minstrel changed tack. “Did D’ta tell you about the enchantment, and the Grollarts?”

A self-deprecating chuckle rose from Jacob’s throat. “She did indeed, but she had a hard time convincing me that Grollarts really exist.”

Corlin gave an assertive nod. “Indeed they do. In fact if it wasn’t for them it’s very unlikely I would have completed the quest. Anyway, what I’m trying to get at is why Otty stole the clock. The Grollarts were supposed to have removed the enchantment.”

Jacob shook his head. “That’s another thing I had to accept rather quickly; the existence of magic.” He made a dismissive gesture. “But that’s by the way. D’ta explained that the spell was not completed correctly so the removal of the enchantment was only temporary. When he discovered that you had all the parts, the compulsion overtook him to steal them and make the clock complete.”

Corlin made a wry face. “Well, he didn’t have to hit me over the head. If he’d asked I’d have probably given it to him. Treevers had grown impatient and his army was outside Tregwald by then, and my brother Clies in amongst them. Handing the clock to Treevers at that stage would have been a very big mistake.”