Tower of Thorns (20 page)

“I'll need to pay the place a visit before I make that decision,” Blackthorn said.

“Senach,” Geiléis said, not turning her head, “have a word to Onchú about this, will you?” Her folk were well aware of the risks; they would take adequate precautions. They knew what Blackthorn could be allowed to see and what must remain hidden.

“Yes, my lady.”

“Another thing,” said Blackthorn. “I'll be wanting to talk to the local folk, find out if anyone remembers more than those snippets you mentioned. About this being a job for a woman, and about
Midsummer Eve being the time to drive the monster away, I mean. There has to be a whole story there; I can't believe it's completely lost.”

“I fear you will be disappointed,” Geiléis said.

“Perhaps we could offer refreshments after the ritual, either here in the house or in the courtyard,” Blackthorn went on, as if Geiléis had not spoken. “That would provide a good opportunity to talk to people. I want to meet the old folk especially.”

Gods, the woman was brimming with plans. It would be a challenge to keep her under control until it was time to give her the truth. As much of the truth, that was, as she would need to perform the task. “I have asked the local people about this already,” Geiléis said. “You know that. Nobody remembers anything. They are all weighed down by the monster's presence, its constant crying. To press them further on this matter would be . . . burdensome. And fruitless.”

Blackthorn subjected her to a level gaze; Geiléis could almost see the wise woman thinking.

“I know old folk can be forgetful,” Blackthorn said. “And when a person cannot remember, for instance, how to make porridge or tie up their apron strings or play a tune on the whistle, you might assume they will never be able to do those things again. But that is not necessarily so. One day that old man or old woman will hear a lark singing, or smell dried lavender, or see a fair-haired rider on a white horse, and suddenly the old skill is back, for a short while at least. The memory of youth returns. The tale is remembered by the hands, if not fully by the mind.”

“A pleasing theory,” Geiléis said. “But in this case, not apt. I am quite certain nobody in the district can remember this particular tale.”

“Thing is,” put in Grim, “tales get old. So old you don't hear them around the fire anymore. Sad, that is. But even then, there's always someone who knows parts of the story. A bit here, a bit there. Something about pigs. Something about a ladder or a kerchief. Seems nonsense—then you start putting the bits together and . . .”

“And suddenly you've got the answer you were looking for,” said
Blackthorn, giving one of her rare, brief smiles. Most times, her mood ranged between touchy and somber; Geiléis had observed already that her guest was not the warmest of souls. If the healer ever wed and had children—Geiléis judged Blackthorn not yet too old for that—heaven help them. That would be a loveless hearth.

“So,” said Grim, “stories. The ones folk think they've forgotten. That's what we'll be looking for.”

“And quickly,” said Blackthorn, “since by my reckoning we have less than a turning of the moon until Midsummer Eve, and the ritual will take time in the planning. A good first step would be for us to talk to everyone in this household. Senach, I hope you can help us with that.” She glanced at the steward. “I'm not sure how many folk live here or where we might find them.”

This, at least, should be entirely safe. “The men-at-arms have their own quarters up near the stables,” Geiléis said. “A fair walk away. This house has seven retainers, including Senach. Speaking to them should not take you long.”

“Good,” said Blackthorn, rising from the table. She seemed to have forgotten her breakfast. “And while I'm doing that, Grim can talk to Onchú about a visit to the tower and a ride out to the settlement. Is there only one on your holdings?”

“One close by. Two others at a distance. Farms scattered here and there, some quite isolated. It would be difficult to get the word to all. And, I fear, pointless.”

“That's for me to decide, Lady Geiléis.” Blackthorn looked at Grim, who had got up when she did. “We'll talk to the household now. Visit the tower this afternoon, if that suits Onchú. Riding farther afield can wait a day or two. We'll start issuing invitations once we know where the ritual will be held. And the day and time—I need to think about what is most appropriate. It will have to be before dawn or after dusk, or nobody will hear anything but the creature's screams.”

Geiléis found herself uncharacteristically lost for words. Once
Blackthorn decided to take the reins, it seemed she was blind to anything that might stand in her way.

Blackthorn

I
spoke with the household servants and learned very little. Unusually, none of them had family living nearby. Dau, who did the cooking, mentioned a grandmother in the south who might be still living, though he had not seen her for some time. Geiléis seemed to like youngish folk around her—even Senach, who was more or less in charge of the household, appeared no more than five-and-twenty, and the rest were younger. There was only one woman among them: Caisín, a slender, quiet girl who did sewing and mending and looked after the household linen. She was married to one of the men-at-arms, Rian. Nobody had much to say about the monster, save that it tried Lady Geiléis sorely, and that they were doing their best to make things easier for her, since she was such a good mistress. They believed what Geiléis believed: that midsummer was the only time the thorns would yield, and that perhaps only a woman would succeed in cutting her way through. None offered a theory about what that woman was supposed to do when she entered the tower—battle the monster and kill it, talk to it kindly and send it on its way, answer riddles, sing songs . . . With my fund of lore, I had plenty of ideas to suggest. They listened with courtesy and made minimal comment.

Seven seemed to me a small number to run such a large
establishment and to do it well, even with Geiléis as the only occupant other than themselves. Senach supervised; the others, among them, cooked, served, cleaned, performed maintenance and repairs and looked after the kitchen garden. The men-at-arms undertook escort and guard duty, acted as messengers, and were responsible for the stable and its complement of riding horses. Grim had gone up there to talk to them. I hoped he was having better luck than me.

“I hope that was satisfactory, Mistress Blackthorn,” said Senach when the last of the servants had gone back to his duties. We were back in the dining chamber, where a small fire burned, keeping the space just warm enough. It was a house of spacious proportions and, despite its obvious comforts, there was a gloomy feeling to it. That could be put down to the monster's voice, which could still be heard indoors, though faintly. Even in summer the place held a chill. “May I fetch you some ale?” Senach asked. “A small cake or two?”

I was tempted to snarl at him—my mood was not benign after so much wasted time—but I nodded assent. I had eaten almost no breakfast and I was hungry. “And bring some for yourself, Senach. I'd like to speak with you a little more.”

He did as he was asked, but after setting the tray down on the table he remained standing, reaching over to pour ale for me with a well-practiced hand.

“Please,” I said, “do sit down. I find it awkward being waited on.”

“As you wish.” He sat down opposite me. “Was there something further you wanted to ask?”

“I was hoping you might unbend sufficiently to sit with me awhile and give me your opinion on a few things. Your fellow serving folk were faultless in their courtesy and told me almost nothing I didn't know already.” I filled the second cup and pushed it across to him.

Senach put his fingers around the cup but did not lift it. “They have nothing useful to say. The monster, the tower, the woods . . . Lady Geiléis has already told you everything.”

“Forgive me, but you can't know that. You were not present at court when she told us the story. Nor were you on the journey west.”

He gave a little smile. “I have served the lady a long time.”

“Not so very long, surely. In Prince Oran's household there are servants who have known him since he was a small child. Folk whose mothers and fathers served there before them; folk whose children are growing up at Winterfalls and will no doubt serve Oran's son when he lives there in his turn.”

A silence. “I am not certain what it is you want to know,” Senach said. “We are loyal to the lady. That is exactly as it should be. It pains us that she is so unhappy. If you can help her, we will be forever grateful.”

“Is there anyone still in the district who worked here when Lady Geiléis's father was alive?” I could hardly ask how old the lady was, but I guessed she might be close to my own age, and that meant her father had been gone perhaps twenty years. It was surprising that none of his retainers remained here. Some would still have been young enough to work, and in households like Oran's—and, indeed, his father's—it was customary for serving folk to stay on even when they were fit only to offer an opinion on whether the bread dough was fully risen, or to wander out occasionally and scatter handfuls of grain for the chickens. They were part of a community; part of a family. But not at Bann, it seemed.

“I don't believe so.”

“Geiléis said her parents died when she was quite young. Who looked after her until she was old enough to assume control of the holdings? Were there other kinsfolk? An aunt or uncle, a grandparent?”

“Those are questions best put to Lady Geiléis, Mistress Blackthorn. I certainly cannot answer them.” He seemed about to say more, but instead lifted his cup and took a mouthful of the ale.

“But?” I ventured.

“Lady Geiléis is a strong-minded woman. I imagine she was strong
even as a child. Very possibly, on losing her parents, she assumed control of her household straightaway and proceeded to order it to her own tastes.”

Was that a trace of a smile? “You're fond of her,” I said.

He closed up into himself like a crab into its shell. “We want the best for her. Lady Geiléis is a good mistress.”

I finished my ale in silence, thinking hard. Pushing Senach further would achieve nothing; that one small insight was all he was going to give me, and as soon as he'd let it out he'd regretted it. Perhaps the odd behavior of these folk was a result of living under the curse. Two summers filled with the doleful, dismal voice of that creature in the tower would be enough to turn anyone a little strange. Indeed, the more I thought about it, the more I admired their loyalty to Geiléis. I wondered if any had been driven away by the monster's wailing, but that was not the question I asked. “Why do you think the monster wails all day? Is it angry? Sad? Could it have been put there as a sort of punishment for Geiléis and her family? There are old tales in which something of that kind happens—a curse laid in the form of a beast that lurks in the woods, or a kelpie in the well, setting a blight on all who live close at hand.”

“I couldn't say, Mistress Blackthorn. Who would have the power to lay such a curse?”

“In the tales, it's generally one of the fey. A powerful one. But that is only one theory. The creature could be calling for help, as any of us would if we were trapped in the Tower of Thorns. Those wordless cries might be an attempt to say,
Let
me out
.”

Senach took his time to answer. “Might not those two explanations be one and the same?” he said eventually. “When you see the thorns that encircle the tower, you will realize that the creature's plight can be no accident. If it were, and if we could be sure the monster meant us no harm, then it would be a simple matter to cut a way through and set the tower's tenant free. But the blight its presence casts
on the land all around, and the impenetrable nature of the thornbushes, must mean this is indeed a . . . a curse.”

“So you do believe the monster may be more victim than evildoer? That it's been imprisoned there as a punishment for someone? Perhaps for the whole district? That raises a whole new set of questions.” Had something happened two years ago that had angered the fey? The felling of a special tree, the shedding of blood in a protected place, a blatant flouting of the ways of nature? If that were so, my cleansing ritual might actually have some effect. If I could persuade myself I believed in it.

“The whole matter is riddled with doubt, Mistress Blackthorn. That the fey still walk this land, that they choose to meddle in our lives to such an extent—it is not something folk readily acknowledge, even if they secretly believe it. Father Tomas has never been prepared to accept the idea that a fey curse has caused this. He is more inclined to speak of demons. I am prepared to accept the theory of a curse, though I cannot speculate on who might have pronounced it, or how it might be broken.” He rose to his feet.

“You have work to attend to. I understand. Thank you for talking to me, Senach.”

“Good luck with your investigations, Mistress Blackthorn.”

•   •   •

“Not much help,” said Grim. “Had a chat about the horses and suchlike. Admired the fellows' weapons. Got a tour of their quarters, very comfortable. But they don't go drinking with the locals. Keep themselves to themselves. And none of them has family in the district. So no invitations to go home and chat to someone's old granddad. Sorry.”

“Not your fault. I didn't do much better. I learned that Geiléis's folk would do anything for her. I could have guessed that. And Senach believes what's happened here is the result of a fey curse. Though he
never quite said so. They're very protective of their mistress. What she doesn't want them to say, they don't say.”

Under the pretext of changing into outdoor shoes, I was having a private word with Grim in our own quarters. A quick word; a pair of men-at-arms was waiting in the courtyard to escort us to the Tower of Thorns. I gathered Geiléis would not be coming.

“It seems odd that nobody in the household, including the men-at-arms, has family living close by,” I said. “In fact none of them wanted to talk about family at all, though Dau did mention a grandmother he hadn't seen for years. I wonder when and where Geiléis hired them, and whether it's of any importance.”

“Who'd want to work here?” Grim asked. “With the monster and all? She might have trouble finding folk and keeping them. Might need to look farther afield.”

“At least some of these people have been in the household more than two years. Possibly all of them, though I didn't ask that directly.”

“There's what she said about folk losing hope and making an end of themselves. Or moving away. They could've had family here and lost them. Didn't Geiléis say the place was sad and strange even before last summer?”

“Mm. If this isn't the first time the monster's come to the tower, the curse might have affected land and people for years and years, even when the tower was empty. That theory is starting to sound almost convincing. These are remarkably loyal folk, Grim. Even if they aren't being particularly helpful.”

“Men-at-arms are all right. Helping all they can, just haven't got a lot to say. Best go, hadn't we? They're waiting.”

I was still thinking through my conversation with Senach. “Grim, did any of the men mention the little folk? Seeing them in the woods, talking to them?” We had agreed earlier not to say anything that might reveal that Grim had already done both. We would respect the wee man's request to keep their presence secret. But it seemed likely at least
one member of the household would have encountered them at some point. Perhaps I should have asked Senach outright.

“Not a word,” Grim said. “What I expected, really.”

“I didn't ask Senach, but he said, more or less, that folk might believe the fey were real but they wouldn't admit it. That was as far as it went.”

“Or they might think it was the curse playing tricks.” Grim's tone was flat. “Making folk act strange, do things they shouldn't do.”

“Don't waste any effort blaming yourself for what happened yesterday. It wasn't your fault, and if it's done anything, it's given us more of an idea of what we're dealing with. And if the little folk
are
real, you did them a favor. Which could mean they'll be well-disposed toward us from now on. That's a good thing.”

“If you say so. Best be moving, hadn't we?”

“Don't forget the wadding, to block your ears.”

I'd requested that we walk to the ford rather than ride, so I could take my time looking around. And I'd asked if we could have as small an escort as Geiléis considered safe, hoping for only one man-at-arms. But despite the presence of Grim, whose formidable stature was enough to frighten away any potential attacker, we'd been given an escort of two: Onchú and another man-at-arms, Donncha.