The Skeleth (6 page)

E
dmund leapt from his seat. “Katherine? Wait—Katherine, come back!”

Katherine picked up her skirts and tried to dash away. Edmund would usually have had little chance of catching her long-legged strides, but the hem of her dress tripped her up before she could get clear of him.

Edmund caught up to her between the aisles. “Katherine, why are you serving supper in the castle?”

Katherine wore a rough, drab housedress that did not quite seem to fit, from the way she pulled and picked at it. “I work here now.” A thick cloth wimple wrapped her hair, hiding it completely and framing her face in a way that did not flatter it, as though it had been made for someone with a smaller head. “Papa's not the marshal of the stables anymore. I have nowhere else to go.”

Edmund blinked. Of course—Katherine was a girl and not
yet of age. Without a father to speak for her, she had no place in the world. “I can help. Let me help you!”

Katherine coughed, and wiped her runny nose. “You can't help me, Edmund.”

“Katherine, please, let me try.” Edmund had often dreamed of helping Katherine. “I'll think of something, I'm sure of it.” In his dreams, she needed him, and only him. In his dreams, she could find no one else to turn to, no one else to rely upon. In his dreams, she did not have to stoop to kiss him.

“Hark ye, hark ye!” The herald bellowed louder than was really needed, perhaps to compensate for his earlier mistakes. “Silence, one and all! Your lord will speak!”

Lord Aelfric rose from his carved and cushioned chair. “As you all know, it is our custom every year to choose from amongst the peasantry a king and queen of Harvestide. By the oldest of traditions, the king and queen are granted a place of honor for the night, and will sit in my own chair and that of my lady Isabeau for the remainder of the feast.”

“Father's thunder! Do you say so?” Lord Wolland slapped the table. “What fun—how quaint are you folk here in Elverain! But my lord Aelfric, whatever will I do without your sparkling conversation? Do send up a witty pig-farmer or the like!”

Lord Aelfric did not acknowledge Lord Wolland's interruption, instead merely waiting for it to stop before he carried on. “It is also tradition for the couple to be young, a boy on the cusp of manhood and a girl in the first flower of her youth. I see that there are young folk here about the hall who stand ready for your approval, sons and daughters of the merchants and craftsmen of your own villages.”

Edmund looked about him and saw a collection of perhaps a dozen boys and girls standing up about the hall, all of them very obviously dressed to get attention. The boys were mostly the sons of rich merchants from Northend, and the girls were either the prettiest in their villages, or at least thought themselves so. They all lined up by the wings of the high tables, trying to crowd past one another while at the same time trying not to look too obvious about it.

“I'll bet Tom and Papa are at Lord Tristan's castle by now,” said Katherine. “And I'll bet they're having more fun than we are.”

Lord Aelfric held up his hand. “By tradition, the king and queen are chosen by the acclaim of the folk of the land.” He stretched out a hand to Luilda Twintree, who had contrived to push herself up closest to his view. “Let us hear from our first—”

A roar, a chorus, a double thunder cut him off. “Edmund Bale!” It came from the tables where sat the folk of Moorvale, and just as loudly from across the hall where sat the miners of Roughy. “Katherine Marshal!”

Edmund turned to Katherine in shock. He found her going pale, and trying to sidle out of the hall.

“Silence!” Lord Aelfric was met with nothing like silence, but he tried to shout over the roaring crowd. “It is tradition that—”

“Edmund Bale! Katherine Marshal!” Once the shout began, it took on a momentum that could not be contained, as though the idea, once proposed, suited just about everyone. The boys and girls lined up for their chance to be king and queen looked
like they had all drunk from the same vat of vinegar. Two children came forward from the opposite end of the hall. After a moment Edmund recognized them—Sedmey and Harbert, the kids from Roughy who had been among the Nethergrim's intended victims.

“My lord.” Sedmey made a peasant's curtsy before the high table. “If it pleases you, Edmund Bale and Katherine Marshal are the reason me and my brother are here tonight. They went into the mountains, my lord, into the Girth, and they fought the Nethergrim to bring us home safe again. There's no one in this hall who should be our Harvestide king and queen but them.”

“What's this?” Lord Wolland stood from his table. “The Nethergrim, you say? Where are these two heroes?”

There was nowhere to hide. Folk drew back from Edmund and Katherine, leaving them alone together in the middle of the hall.

“Then it's settled!” Lord Wolland clapped his hands. “Those two there, king and queen of Harvestide! Who would dare to pick another?”

Lord Aelfric looked at a loss for words. He turned to Lady Isabeau, then back to the crowd, but all he could utter was something else about tradition that no one bothered to hear.

“Edmund and Katherine, king and queen of Harvestide!” The folk of Moorvale—save perhaps for Luilda's family—raised their voices all at once. “Three cheers for them!” The other claimants to the crowns looked upset, but could not withstand the sustained applause, and soon returned rather glumly to their seats.

“Well, come on then.” Katherine undid her wimple, letting free her long dark hair. “Take my hand.”

Edmund trembled. He held forth his hand, and she slipped it into hers. Lord Aelfric came down from his high table with a crown in his hands woven from stalks of golden wheat. He wore the same impassive, icy look Edmund had always seen on him, though perhaps just a little icier than usual. Lady Isabeau followed him with a crown woven from flowers, but she wore an oddly sly and satisfied smile on her face.

Lord Aelfric held Edmund in a long, cryptic stare and then, with sudden decision, stepped forward to crown him. “Well, well—not wholly undeserved, I suppose.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Edmund was not sure whether, under the circumstances, he was supposed to bow, so he contented himself with a nod of the head.

Lady Isabeau held forth the flower crown. Katherine curtsied and lowered herself down, only to find the crown jerked back before it touched her head.

“We will accept the boy, but not the girl.” Lady Isabeau turned back to the crowd. “Choose another.”

“What?” Surprise forced sharp questions from Edmund. “Why not Katherine? What's wrong?”

“By ancient custom, the king and queen of Harvestide must be chosen from the folk of our villages.” Lady Isabeau stepped away from Katherine. “This girl has no parents residing in the villages of Elverain, and since she is unmarried, that means she is without standing among you. She is a maid of this castle, and ward of my husband. She is no longer one of you. Choose another.”

The folk of the barony muttered to one another, and even Lord Aelfric shot a bemused glance at his wife. Edmund felt sick, but there was nothing he could do.

“That's better.” Lady Isabeau's face broadened into a smile once the votes were called and Luilda had won. “What a goodly girl, this one. A fine wife and mother she will make to some townsman, a good example for the younger girls.”

Luilda fairly skipped up to Katherine's place. “Ooh, isn't this fun?” She took Edmund's hand. “Too bad you're so short, but we'll make it work!”

Lady Isabeau crowned Luilda, then rounded on Katherine. “What are you doing still standing here? There are pots to wash—back to the scullery with you!”

Edmund wanted to shout at the injustice, to cast a mighty spell, to walk right up to Lady Isabeau and clout her on the ear. Instead he stood helpless in his stupid, scratchy crown and watched Katherine hang her head low and scurry away.

Lord Aelfric took the arm of his wife, and raised his wispy voice as loud as it would go. “My people, we shall now retire for the evening. Enjoy the plenty of our feast. Hail to the king and queen of Harvestide.”

The lord and lady exited to the left, while the Harvestide king and queen ascended to the right. Edmund wanted to take off his crown and throw it at whichever snooty Northend boy thought his father had bought it for him. Luilda Twintree giggled and simpered on his arm, throwing winks across the hall at Lefric Green and blowing kisses to her family.

“Now, sit here, right here, my boy.” Lord Wolland patted
the seat of Lord Aelfric's chair. “I want to hear all about your exploits. Beats talking about pigs all night!”

Edmund led Luilda to Lady Isabeau's chair. He drew it back, and bowed. “My queen.” He took Lord Aelfric's seat and shot a furtive look along the table at Ellí, who continued to scribble in her books as though he were not present. Servants came and bowed before them and set out the next course of the feast, more sumptuous than anything Edmund had ever seen in his life—roast venison, goose in almond milk, and jellied eels sliced out in strips.

“Now then, Your Grace, attend me over here.” Lord Wolland snapped his fingers. “You must tell me your tale! Is it indeed true that you traveled to the lair of the fabled Nethergrim?”

Edmund felt the heat of many gazes from up and down the length of the high table. “It is true, my lord.”

“Ha!” said Lord Wolland. “And look at you! A nine days' wonder. And what did you find there?”

“The Nethergrim, my lord.”

“Not dead after all, eh?” Lord Wolland shot a knowing wink at his companions.

Richard Redhands made sure his snort was heard by one and all. “You see, my lord? I have always said that old Tristan was a charlatan.”

Lord Wolland scanned the crowd seated at the tables before them. “And that tall girl, the serving maid, she came with you?”

“Katherine saved my life, my lord, more than once,” said Edmund. “We would all have been overrun by bolgugs, but she took up her sword, and—”

“A sword? Pah!” Richard Redhands waved his spoon. “What utter twaddle! How could some peasant wench—”

“She saved my life, sir knight.” Edmund cut across Richard's words and ignored his vicious glare. “She did everything folk say of her, and more, if you want truth.”

Lord Wolland roared and thunked his goblet on the table. “By the cloven crown, even the maidens are a danger here! How old is this girl?”

“Fourteen, my lord,” said Edmund. “Like me.”

“And her last name is Marshal.” Lord Wolland took up Richard's dirk to carve himself some venison. “By chance, is she related to a
John
Marshal?”

Edmund hesitated, unable to read Lord Wolland's deep-set eyes. “She is his daughter, my lord.”

Lord Wolland's smile broke wide upon his face. “Then I do not find this girl's deeds such a wonder, my lords, for I knew her father well, and it seems that the apple has fallen near the tree.” He popped a bite of the venison into his mouth. “Indeed, I had hoped to look in on John Marshal as I passed through Elverain, so that we might talk over old times together.”

Edmund could not guess the meaning of the looks exchanged between the lords and knights at the table. “Oh—I'm afraid you can't meet with John Marshal, my lord. He is gone away.”

Lord Wolland took a sip of wine. “Is he indeed? That is most unfortunate. Tell me, my boy—do you know where he was bound?”

“To Tristan, my lord. To his castle at Harthingdale.” As soon
as the words were out of Edmund's mouth, he wished that he had thought instead to lie.

All trace of jollity vanished from Lord Wolland's eyes, though the smile remained fixed upon his face. “To Tristan.” He set down the dirk, but turned it over and over on the table. “And why is that?”

“They are old friends, my lord.” Edmund tried not to stammer. “Perhaps they wished only to see each other again.”

“See each other.” Lord Wolland let forth with a laugh, softer and more barren than before.

A servant approached with a jug of wine, made a bow and poured it out for the nobles. It gave Edmund the pause he needed to duck out of the conversation before he caused any more trouble. He tried to get Ellí's attention, acting as though they had never met. “Elísalon.” He could not quite say it the way that she had, but he still liked the sound of it. “That's a Mitiláni name, isn't it? From away south?”

“So it is, and so am I,” said Ellí, with only the faintest trace of an accent.

Edmund leaned past an annoyed Luilda to get a closer look at what Ellí was doing. “What are you writing about?”

Ellí stoppered her inkwell. “I'm working on a translation. This is in the Dhanic language, of the most ancient form. Not one in a thousand can read this, but if you really are some sort of wizard, perhaps you might be able to assist me.”