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  ‘That makes them rare, at least at the palace. There, most things look better than they are,’ he said wryly. Antrobus watched her eat for some minutes before he spoke again.

  ‘You’re angry with me because I’ve taken you from your parents. You think that I’ve forced this upon you, and them. You’re right. I did. But you’ve never asked why I chose you, even last year when your parents first told you.’

  Jenny looked directly at him, her face defiant but her eyes resigned. ‘If no reason is good enough, then why ask for any? Nothing you could say, no reason you could give, would make me feel better.’ She dropped her eyes. ‘Besides, nothing I could say would mean anything. You have decided, and so it is done.’

  ‘You are in your fifteenth year, Jenny – a year late to start your learning.’

  ‘I have been learning all my life,’ Jenny replied bitterly. ‘I chose long ago and have learned every day since. I chose to be a healer, like my mother. Why couldn’t I stay as a healer? Why do I have to go to court and become something else? What choice has been given me?’

  ‘More than you know. You will still be a healer but you will be much more as well. My son finished his learning three years ago. The Decrees said I had two years to find someone to take his place as my apprentice. I didn’t need two years to choose. I knew even then it would be you,’ said Antrobus.

  ‘Your son was an apprentice?’ said Jenny, startled. ‘I would’ve thought he would have gone to the university. You have the position and money.’

  ‘He was an articled apprentice,’ said Antrobus. ‘One who has a degree from a university but chooses to complete his learning with a master rather than through more study.’

  ‘Your son was lucky,’ said Jenny. She didn’t try to hide her resentment. ‘At least he got to learn from his parent.’

  Antrobus was becoming impatient and irritable. ‘I gave you all the time possible, Jenny!’ he snapped. ‘I waited these past twelve months so you had more time with your mother!’

  ‘You didn’t have to choose me at all! Most girls are not chosen for the learning – only boys. There are many boys who would be glad to be your apprentice. Why couldn’t you let me be?’ She glared at Antrobus, determined not to cry.

  Antrobus regretted his tone and he softened his voice. ‘Jenny, do you really think that even if your mother were not dying, if she was to live, that you would have been allowed to choose your learning with her?’

  ‘Why not? She is the best healer in the land!’

  ‘Do you think that matters? Grow up! Your mother is an outsider. She is not Vale-born. And worse, with her brown skin and oval eyes she doesn’t look like us. How many people come to her? Only a few from small villages around Queerwood. Because she is different.’

  ‘Then why did they let her stay?’ said Jenny hotly.

  ‘Because of your father’s position as a wood-ward. He could take her into Queerwood and keep her away from others. They didn’t see her, so they ceased to care. But they never forgot, Jenny. Believe that.’

  ‘I have my mother’s skin and her eyes. Why will they accept me?’

  ‘Most won’t. But no one can deny the rights given to you through your father. And you are not so brown-skinned and your eyes are not quite the same as your mother’s. You are not as different. Nonetheless, it won’t be easy.’

  ‘So, I have another reason to hate you. If making me into something I don’t want to be, and taking me from my mother when she is dying are not enough, you expose me to the ridicule of others.’

  Antrobus winced in pain. He looked at Jenny without sympathy.

  ‘Everyone faces the ridicule of others for some reason or other, especially at the palace. When you lack merit, the only way to gain merit is to deny it to others. And if you are unlucky enough to have real merit, the ridicule is all the greater,’ he said.

  ‘My father would never have put me in that position,’ sulked Jenny.

  ‘Probably not. But I always thought your father was too protective,’ said Antrobus.

  Jenny was startled. ‘How could you have known what my father was like. He’s a wood-ward. You live at the palace.’

  Antrobus studied her for a minute. ‘There is much you haven’t been told, I think.’ He winced. ‘I could rest another moment while I tell you.

  ‘Our Duke, Emeric, was only ten when his father, Albert, died. Despite his youth, Emeric was given the court under guardianship of his aunt, Bernice. Charles, Emeric’s uncle, resented the Duke, for he thought he would make a better ruler. After many bitter words and threats of rebellion, Charles left the court and the country. From time to time, word came that Charles was working to overthrow Emeric, but no rebellion came. For more than a dozen years, there has been no word of Charles.

  ‘Emeric had a second uncle, David. This uncle had no interest in the politics of court. He could have stayed as an idle member of the court, with no responsibilities and a life free from worry. David, though, loved travel and learning. Not long after his brother Charles had left, David determined to travel. He had heard of a traveller from Venice who, many, many years ago, had travelled as far east as it is possible to journey and had come across a people of great learning and antiquity. And so David announced he was going to seek this country and bring back what knowledge he could.

  ‘Your father, Ewan, was David’s clerk. Did you know that he was once a clerk?’

  Jenny was startled. ‘But my father is a wood-ward. His learning must have been as a wood-ward. He couldn’t have been a clerk.’

  Antrobus raised his hand to stop her. ‘So, you didn’t know. It doesn’t matter. Let me tell the rest.

  ‘David set out with a small retinue, including your father. They were gone for nearly five years. They went very far to the east, all the way to Seres, the land the Venetian had found. Your father became ill; your mother, a local woman, nursed him and he fell in love with her. She must have fallen in love with him, too, because when David and your father returned, your mother came with them. Many of your father’s companions disapproved of him bringing a foreigner back. Especially when they realised that your father intended to marry her.

  ‘Some say that your father saved David’s life during their travels and in gratitude David allowed him to turn his back on his learning and become a wood-ward. I think that being a wood-ward is what your father wanted from the beginning and his learning was ill-chosen. Whatever the reason, Ewan became the ward of Queerwood. In this forest he could live peacefully with your mother, away from the gossip and disapproval of others.

  ‘Lucy is not your mother’s real name. If it matters, you’ll have to ask your father for it one day. I cannot remember her name, if ever I did know.’

  Jenny gazed at the treetops, deep in thought. At last she said, ‘That explains some of the herbs and plants my mother knows and that grow nowhere else in Queerwood.’

  Antrobus nodded. ‘Yes, much was brought back. Not just by your mother. David brought back many things known in your mother’s land. We have reason to be grateful for his restless feet and love of learning.’

  ‘My mother must have been a healer there. She didn’t learn all she knew after she came here,’ said Jenny. ‘How much of what she knows will be lost because she was an outsider? I haven’t had time to learn half of what she could have taught me.’

  ‘True,’ said Antrobus. ‘But how much more would you have learned in the short time she has left?’

  Jenny didn’t reply. All she knew was that something had been stolen from her which she could never recover.

  ‘Tomorrow, I will explain why I chose you. Now is not the time. Come, I have rested long enough. We’d best continue or we won’t make Vale before night,’ said Antrobus. He got to his feet, wincing with the pain once more. ‘I have never been wounded before. Not something I would like to try again.’

  The last part of their ride into Vale was like the first, in silence and with a gulf between them.

  Chapter 2

  Vale

&n
bsp; There was a time, in ages long past, when the gates of Vale closed with the setting of the sun. They were ages of war and strife, and of ignorance and famine. But this was the age of science and knowledge, of prosperity and peace, and Vale’s open gates signified its faith in its enlightenment. No one alive could remember the last time the gates were shut and barred. Weeds grew in front of the thick oaken gates that had been pushed back against the stone of the city walls. Rust discoloured the metal hinges that had not turned for years. So, although the sun was disappearing in the west, open gates welcomed Jenny to Vale.

  Jenny had lived all her life in Queerwood. This was her first visit to Vale and she was awed by the city. The big market square just inside the gates was empty of traders but nonetheless the city teemed with people. It was hard for her to imagine that each person had a purpose all their own; it seemed to Jenny that they were all part of the same purpose, bound together by the city.

  Behind shops, streets, homes and people towered the city’s walls. They defined Vale not because they marked its boundaries; they defined it with their size and solidness. Jenny looked at them and felt the same sense of power and permanence she felt when she looked at the rocky mountains at the eastern edge of Queerwood.

  Antrobus steered his horse to the far side of the square, towards a peaked arch. The crowd gave way before the horses; several gave the alchemist a curt bow as he passed; she noticed several others who glanced at her, then turned away, but not before she saw uncertainty and suspicion in their eyes. Many stared openly; a group of young children, playing bird-in-hand, stopped and pointed at her as she passed.

  Not everyone showed interest in the two riders. She noticed a few in the crowd who seemed weary and broken, with too many cares to be curious about those around them, even a young girl with a brown face and almond eyes. They wandered listlessly, stepping aside for everyone else, or being bumped by those who bustled too quickly to be avoided. Vale was a prosperous city and the presence of these ragged, aimless folk seemed out of keeping. As they neared the arch, Jenny had to pull her horse to avoid a woman, no older than her mother, who appeared not to have the strength to move out of the way. Jenny caught sight of the woman’s eyes as she passed. They were dulled with resignation and seemed to say that being trampled by the heavy hooves of horses was of no consequence.

  The arch led to another square, large, but quiet. Neat houses, each with its own patch of lawn and beds of young flowers, flanked two sides of the square. In its centre was a garden, with a silver-blue pond surrounded by willows and elms. Beside the pond, the court gardeners had planted flowers in a pattern Jenny didn’t recognise. Maybe when they bloom, she thought, I’ll know what it is.

  The horses clattered over the flagged stones as they made their way to the far wall. In the centre was the mouth of a covered passageway. Perhaps two hundred paces away, Jenny could see the light at the other end. The passageway was high enough for a horse and rider and wide enough for four or five horses abreast. Even so, Jenny felt uneasy riding through the gloom. In the darkness, her awe at the size of the city, and its noise and movement, gave way to the realisation that she was here against her will. Vale, with its open gates, was her prison.

  Antrobus groaned softly. Jenny felt ashamed that she had been so busy taking in the strangeness of the city that she had not given him another thought.

  She nudged her horse closer to him and laid a hand on his arm. ‘Where is the healer?’ she asked.

  Antrobus shook his head. ‘We will go to my house,’ he rasped.

  ‘But you need a healer!’ she insisted.

  ‘I have my own healer now. You will tend to me.’

  Panic and shock coursed through her. ‘But I’m not a healer! I’m not trained. You have to get a real healer to look at that wound.’

  Antrobus smiled; a small, feeble smile. ‘You will prove my choice,’ he said. ‘Now, round to the left at the end of the passage.’

  They came back into the last of the sunlight. They were at the edge of a courtyard, paved with red flagstones laid in an intricate pattern of fans and circles. The gold of the fading sun and the pink of the sunset sky made everything look rich and extravagant. Towering above the courtyard, opposite the passage, was the majestic residence of the Duke.

  ‘Stare later, Jenny. Get me to my house. If I fall off my horse I’m likely to crack my head on these damn stones,’ said Antrobus. His voice was weak and his face had lost all its colour.

  ‘Where?’ asked Jenny.

  Antrobus guided her through the labyrinth of the Duke’s palace. It had been built over several centuries. Very few Dukes over that time had not contributed their own flights of fancy or practical additions. As the city of Vale grew, so did the palace, and on the east and north sides, the city wall had been extended to accommodate its growth. In one place, the old wall still remained, and it was now one side of a storehouse. Jenny knew she would never be able to remember the twists and turns, the lanes and passages through which they had come. She looked at Antrobus, now slumped in his saddle. As they came to the end of a narrow lane, he raised his head. He looked around blankly, then pointed weakly to their right. Jenny hoped that they would reach his quarters before he fainted.

  Another turn took them into an enclosed rectangular courtyard. It wasn’t grand like the one near the Duke’s palace. It had a small, trickling fountain in the middle of a square of grass. On the two long sides, the buildings were residences, two or three storeys high; at street level, each had a wide lead window with many panes and a narrow front door with a brass handle. Set under every window was a flower box, each filled with the early shoots and blooms that usually came with mid-spring. On the third side of the courtyard there were two houses flanking a large archway; a long row of stables lined the fourth side. Atop the stables was a sign in fancy lettering that read ‘Fenwick Square’.

  Antrobus managed a small nod to tell Jenny they had arrived. As Jenny slipped from her horse, a thickset, middle-aged man came out of the stables, carrying a torch. He saw Antrobus slumped in the saddle and ran to him. He got there in time to hand the torch to Jenny and catch the alchemist as he toppled from his saddle.

  The man hefted Antrobus in his arms and started walking to one of the houses.

  ‘This way!’ he called to Jenny. ‘That’s his house, second from the corner. Get his key. It’ll be in his cloak.’

  Jenny searched Antrobus’s pockets and found a ring with four keys attached. The man looked at the keys in Jenny’s hand.

  ‘The one on the end. The smallest one,’ he said. ‘Run and open the door.’

  Jenny slid the key in the lock. A sensation she couldn’t quite identify ran through her. She grabbed the brass handle of the door. As she pushed down on the handle, she understood the sensation she was feeling. Once she opened the door, it would all become real. Her life in Queerwood, where her mother and father had loved and protected her, where the door was never locked, was over. Her hand froze.

  ‘Come on, lass,’ called the man. ‘He’s not a small man!’

  Jenny turned the handle, pushed open the door, and stepped into the house.

  The man carried Antrobus up the stairs to the front bedroom. He laid him on the bed, then left the room. While he was gone, Jenny found candles, a flint and a taper. She moved around the room, lighting the candles.

  The man returned with a basin of water and a cloth.

  ‘I could see the blood under his cloak as I carried him. What sort of wound is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Arrow,’ said Jenny. ‘I took it out and dressed the wound. He insisted on riding right away.’

  The man made a low noise of disapproval. ‘That’d be just like ’im. Better get rid of that torch. There’s a post outside on the corner. Leave it alight.’

  Jenny ran down the stairs and out the door. On the corner near the arch, she saw the post with a metal band for the torch. She reached up and dropped the torch in the holder. She turned and started to run back when a movement in the window
of the end house caught her eye. She saw the dark shape of a man, watching her. Jenny nodded her head in greeting. Without acknowledging her, the man turned abruptly and disappeared.

  When Jenny returned, Antrobus lay on the bed, bare to the waist. His cloak, tunic and what remained of his shirt lay on the floor. The man gently removed the bandage Jenny had put on the front of the alchemist’s shoulder.

  ‘Did you get the arrowhead out, too?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jenny. ‘It missed the bone and went straight through.’

  ‘Well, here’s the rest of his shirt.’ He looked at the bandage. ‘You dressed this? Are you a healer?’

  ‘I know a little,’ said Jenny. ‘It’s –’

  ‘No point telling me what it is,’ said the man. ‘I’ll never remember. Well, let’s find a physician.’

  Jenny hesitated. ‘He told me I had to tend him,’ she said.

  The man raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? Antrobus is no fool. You must know more than a little.’

  ‘Some,’ admitted Jenny. ‘But not enough. I’ll do as he said and tend him tonight, but he should have a proper physician look at him in the morning. Could you ...?’

  The man nodded. ‘I’ll ask the physician to stop by first thing in the morning.’ He wiped his hands on the rest of Antrobus’s shirt. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to heal him. There’s nothing more I can do. I’ll take care of the horses.’ He walked to the door.

  ‘Wait!’ called Jenny. The man stopped and looked back. ‘I don’t know your name,’ she said.

  ‘Pitch,’ said the man.

  ‘Just Pitch?’

  The man grimaced. ‘My mother called me Rufus – well, for the little time I knew her. Since I was eight, never been called anything but Pitch.’

  ‘Thank you, Rufus Pitch,’ she said. ‘I’m Jenny.’

  ‘Aye, Jenny Swift. I know. Antrobus said he was going to fetch you. Goodnight, Jenny,’ said Pitch. He went down the stairs and was gone.

  Jenny put a clean dressing on Antrobus’s shoulder. The wound was clean and would heal. Rest, and some ginseng when he woke, was the best cure for his loss of blood. Jenny drew a blanket over him, doused the candles and left the room.