Read Snow White and Rose Red Online
Authors: Patricia Wrede
Snow White and Rose Red (7 page)
“There’s a mercy,” Hugh commented. “I think—”
The muted sound of the latches at the library door resonated through the room, interrupting Hugh in mid-sentence. As the two men looked up, the double panels swung open to reveal a wiry youth with an unruly fringe of black hair above dancing black eyes. His doublet was brown and badly rumpled, as if it had been slept in, though his ruff was as stiff and white as if it were made of porcelain.
“What’s this?” the youth said with mock sternness. “Laughter, in the Queen’s library?” He studied John’s face a moment, then nodded in satisfaction. “I thought it could not be. ‘Tis the planning of a funeral, by the look on’t. Shall I stay and give you guidance?”
This time John’s laugh was clear and unconstrained. “Indeed thou shalt, Robin; thy wit’s a welcome change from Hugh’s sermons.”
“Sermons?” Hugh said, affronted. “I but wish to explain to thee what pleasures thou mayest find at court.”
“What pleasures, indeed!” Robin said enthusiastically. “Fresh and fair as morning, every one; ‘tis what’s expected in the Queen’s companions.”
“‘Twas not the Queen’s ladies that I was speaking of, thou panderer,” Hugh said.
“Oh?” Robin said in the tones of one eager for enlightenment. “Hast thou spent time with others of the court when my attention’s elsewhere?”
“Enough, Robin,” John said, though he could not help smiling at Hugh’s disgruntled expression. “The Queen’s ladies are but small temptation to me.”
“Ah, but thou hast not yet seen Selena,” Robin said wisely. “She’s small enough to suit thee, I’ll be bound. And there are others, who’ve appeared since thy last visit, who may alter thy opinions as to height. Tallis, and Marvenna—”
“And Madini,” Hugh put in, giving John a sly look. “Though I must tell thee that she’s made it plain she finds no pleasure in my company; belike thou wilt have better fortune.”
“Nay,” Robin said, suddenly serious. “Look not to that lady, or if thou dost, have one hand near thy dagger. ‘Tis not alone thy company that she mislikes; ’tis the half thy blood that’s mortal. She’ll be no fonder of thy brother, for it seems he has the greater liking for the mortal world.”
“Have done,” John said sharply. “I’ve told you, I’ve no interest in these ladies; turn your tongues to other things, if you’ve no wish to bore me.”
Hugh and Robin turned to stare at him with identical looks of patent disbelief, and in spite of himself John laughed. His dislike of the topic, and of the ladies of the Faerie court, was, however, quite sincere. The beauty of the fay was undeniable, but somehow in its precise and icy perfection it had always left some part of him unwarmed. Then, too, the Faerie court was far more conscious of John’s mortal heritage than of Hugh‘s, and there had been slights enough to make John hold himself aloof for the most part. For all that John loved his mother’s land, he had few real friends there.
“Dicing,” Robin said with fastidious distaste. “He’d have us speak of dicing, or of cards, when we could praise the fairest flowers at court instead.”
“A week ago thou wast not too proud to speak of dicing, when thou hadst a case of Spanish wine and Lord Branden’s favorite horse on the fifth throw,” Hugh pointed out.
“Ah, but then I won,” Robin said smugly.
“Thou?” John said incredulously. “Thou, win at dice? It passes comprehension.”
“‘Tis true,” said Robin, “and I’ve the wine to prove it. Come and sample it, and tell me if ’twas worth the wager.”
“A princely offer, I declare, and one I’ll not decline,” John said. “Willt join us, Hugh?”
“Gladly,” Hugh replied, and the three left the library to the dust motes falling through the slanting sunlight.
CHAPTER · FOUR
“The girls often went to gather berries in the forest. None of the animals ever harmed them. Rabbits would eat cabbage leaves and clover out of their hands, and the birds sang cheerfully in the branches of the trees above them. Sometimes they even saw deer leaping by them through the bushes. ”
BLANCHE AND ROSAMUND LEFT AT FIRST LIGHT THE following morning. Their mother’s misgivings had intensified their own, and even Rosamund was not as carefree as usual. They stayed close together, just as they had promised, and never left each other’s sight for even an instant. Nor did they stray far from their accustomed paths.
As the day wore on, the two girls relaxed their vigilance a little. Though they continued to keep close to each other, they began to roam farther afield. For, as Rosamund pointed out, they already knew that there was no elecampane growing near their usual haunts. “We should look nearer the stream,” Rosamund said. “Elecampane likes moisture.”
“Is’t not closer to the border than is wise?” Blanche said doubtfully.
“Wouldst thou rather wander all day and find nothing?” Rosamund answered impatiently.
“It likes me not,” Blanche admitted. “But neither do I like the thought of being caught by Faerie folk. Remember what our mother said.”
“I remember as well as thou!” Rosamund snapped. “But Faerie folk seldom cross the border at midday; ‘tis safer now than later.”
“‘Tis safer yet if we go not at all,” Blanche pointed out. “Seldom is not the same as never.”
“An there be Faerie folk about, we’d do best to keep our time here as short as we may. Be not unwisely overcautious, Blanche!”
Blanche rolled her eyes. “I do but try to be a balance for thy rashness, and with small success.”
“‘Tis not rashness, to try to do our task quickly! Come, Blanche; ’twill not take long to look.”
“Aye, and if I say thee nay, thou‘lt argue till the sun sets, and belike the moon also!” Blanche shook her head in exasperation. “Well, to the stream, then, but it still likes me not.”
The two girls set off in the direction of the stream. To Rosamund’s immense and ill-concealed gratification, their change of course was rewarded almost at once. In a shady hollow near the stream they found a large patch of elecampane growing in the rich leaf mold, its tall, unbranching stems rising well above their heads. They fell upon it with delighted relief, scraping and prodding at the soil with dead branches to uncover the roots.
It took some time for the girls to gather all the roots they needed. Some were too old and tough; others were too small; still others had been damaged by grubs or other insects. Blanche sorted carefully through the roots while Rosamund dug. As soon as they had a sizable pile of likely-looking specimens, the two girls took the roots to the river and carefully washed them. They set the roots in a patch of sun to dry and returned to the hollow, where Blanche took her turn at digging while Rosamund sorted.
They were at the stream, washing their third batch of elecampane roots, when Rosamund noticed a small hare crouched among the bushes on the opposite bank. She nudged Blanche and whispered, “Look there, on the other side of the stream.”
“‘Tis frightened of us, poor thing,” Blanche said.
“Nay, not of us, I think, or it would run,” Rosamund replied, craning her neck to look over the bushes. “See over there, among the trees. Is it not a fire’s glow?”
“Perhaps,” Blanche said cautiously. “‘Tis not easy to be certain in the day and at this distance.”
“Then we must go nearer,” Rosamund said with determination. “An it be not to cook some tinker’s dinner, we must warn Mother, and the town.”
Before Blanche could answer, there was a crackling sound from the far bank. An instant later a large stag leapt over bushes and stream together. It landed gracefully, rolled its eyes at the girls in terror, and bounded off into the woods once more.
“See there!” Rosamund said. “‘Tis not the hare alone that’s frightened.”
“I suppose we must go,” Blanche said reluctantly. A forest fire was unlikely at this season, but it was not impossible, and should one occur it could easily become a major disaster for the town. The last of the hay still drying in the fields would burn easily; so would the thatched roofs of the poorer cottages and homes. Once begun, such a blaze could sweep through Mortlak with little hindrance, for few of the buildings were of stone and over half the citizens who should have kept hooks and leather buckets ready for fire-fighting ignored the law that required such preparation.
Rosamund jumped to her feet at once, but Blanche insisted on packing the latest batch of elecampane roots into their baskets before they left. “If thy fears prove well founded, then we must speed home quickly, and I’ll not have our labor wasted,” Blanche said firmly when Rosamund objected. “There; that’s the last. Come now, but have a care.”
Crossing the brook was not difficult; it was a mere trickle of water, less than three feet wide and only a few inches deep. The girls found a spot where the opposite bank was almost clear of brush and jumped the stream. Then they headed back toward the area where Rosamund thought she had seen the fire.
They had gone only a little way when Blanche held out a hand to stop her sister. “What now?” Rosamund said crossly.
“I feel an evil in the air,” Blanche said in a low voice. “Dost thou not sense it?”
“‘Tis only that we draw near the border of Faerie,” Rosamund said with some impatience.
“Nay, ‘tis more than that,” Blanche said. “The crossing into Faerie ne’er made my flesh creep. Be still a moment, and listen.”
Rosamund did as Blanche suggested, and for a long moment the two girls stood like deer tasting the air for a scent of strangeness. “‘Tis nothing,” Rosamund said at last, with rather too much firmness. “Come, we must see about that fire.”
“Perhaps we should not; perhaps we should go home and tell Mother,” Blanche said, but there was more hope than conviction in her voice.
“Nay, if we do that, we’ll never learn what’s toward,” Rosamund replied. “We’ll go on, but with caution.”
“Thou art a stubborn mule,” Blanche muttered, too low for Rosamund to hear. Sighing, she tucked the linen cloth that covered her basket more tightly into place and followed at her sister’s heels.
They reached a fringe of bushes that partially screened the place where Rosamund had seen the fire. Rosamund stopped short. When Blanche started to ask why, Rosamund gestured her to silence. A moment later, Blanche heard the low rumble of men’s voices ahead of them. The two girls exchanged a long look; then Blanche sighed again and slipped her free hand into Rosamund’s. Clutching each other tightly, they crept closer, looking for a place where they would be able to see the fire clearly.
The fire had been burning since shortly after daybreak, when John Dee and Edward Kelly had begun their secret spell-casting. The two men had, with much effort (and a fair amount of complaining on Kelly’s part), carried their carefully prepared tools into the forest before it was quite light, to avoid being seen by the villagers. It had taken them some time to find a suitable place for their work, and the men’s long robes were somewhat the worse for their long trek through the forest. Burrs and twigs had caught on their sleeves, and an oak leaf protruded from the back of John Dee’s collar.
Neither man bothered to correct his dishevelment. They set to work at once, first spreading a large square of red silk out on the forest floor, then placing an iron brazier in the center of the silk and lighting a fire within it. Kelly had tended the fire for some hours, while Dee laid out, in careful order along one edge of the silk square, their remaining tools: two wax tablets bearing inscriptions in Hebrew, a tarnished silver bowl partially filled with wine, a slim dagger, a clay dish of herbs, and an unlit lamp. And as they worked, each of the men kept a sharp eye on the shadows at the far side of the brazier, just beyond the edge of the silk cloth—the shadows whose distorted clarity marked the border between the lands of Faerie and the mortal world.
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