“Then, merci, madame, I shall always be grateful for this respite you have given me.”
Midi smiled and said, “And I shall be certain to tell my sisters of this venture of yours… as far as it goes, that is. And, oh, Liaze, may you find what you seek.”
Liaze and Midi stepped from the farmhouse and to the horses, and Liaze removed the nosebags and packed them away, and let the horses have another small amount of water. Then she mounted up on Nightshade and bade Midi “Au revoir,” Midi replying in kind. The princess wheeled the black about and rode to the lane and onward.
And when she had gone from sight, the lush farm fields and the large farmhouse faded away, and the matronly woman, smiling to herself, silently vanished as well.
Dusk was falling when Liaze reached the small village of Ruisseau Miel, and as she rode down the main street, she saw a signboard proclaiming a rather modest inn to be L’Abeille Ocupee-a depiction on the board of a honey bee at work echoed the name of the inn.
Liaze’s eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep as she gave the horses over to the hostler. Wearily she trudged into the inn and engaged a room. Before going upstairs, she had a meal, and, given her rations over the past several days, the “adequate” food tasted rather scrumptious to her palate, as did the “tolerable” wine.
She barely got through her hot bath without falling asleep, and when she collapsed onto her bed, slumber came on instant feet.
It was nigh noon when next she awoke. She found her undersilk garments and leathers cleaned and ready to wear, and her boots polished and well aired. She washed and dried and took care of her feminine needs and got dressed.
Down to the common room she went, and though the hour was late, she broke her fast with delicious eggs and rashers and well-buttered toast and honey and tea, a splendid meal to her mind. Afterward, she looked about for the innkeeper, but he was nowhere to be seen, and so she walked out to the stables and spoke to the horses and stroked them.
The hostler told her to take care, for the black was untrustworthy. “Why, he had a ruckus with another stallion, but when they were moved to stalls at opposite ends they both settled down. Even so, tried to nip me, he did,” said the man. “I dodged just barely in time.”
“I tap him on the nose when he gets feisty,” said Liaze. “That puts him in his place. You should do the same.”
“Oh, no, not me,” said the stableman. “I just keep a sharp eye on them all… and never let down my guard.”
Liaze laughed and then frowned and after a moment said, “As a hostler, you must know of all the comings and goings hereabout.”
The man lifted his chin in modest pride. “I suppose I do.”
“Well, then, know you of a witch nearby?”
“Witch?” The hostler flinched back from Liaze and made a warding sign. Then he vehemently shook his head. “I don’t have any doings with witches, mademoiselle, and don’t ever plan to.”
“Neither would I,” said Liaze, “but I have a score to settle with one.”
The man relaxed a bit, yet he looked at her warily, as if she were someone ready to nip him. Finally, he said, “Non, mademoiselle. I know of no witches nearby. None afar either.”
“Whom would I talk to about such?” asked Liaze. “Someone who is familiar with the area.”
The hostler’s brow furrowed and then cleared. “Claude, I think.”
“Claude?”
“The innkeeper. He speaks with folks from all over. Buyers who come for the honey in season. Oui, Claude is the one.”
“Ah, I see. But he seems to be absent for the nonce,” said Liaze.
“Goes fishing this time of day. Down to Honey Creek. Trying for the big trout that hangs out in the deep pool. Ha! As if anyone will ever catch that lunker. But he’ll be back come midafternoon. Till then you’ll have to deal with Odette.”
“Odette?”
“The serving maid, though I doubt she knows ought about witches.”
“Merci, um…”
“Paul, my lady,” said the hostler, touching the bill of his cap.
“Merci, Paul. I’ll wait for Claude to return.”
Liaze stepped away from the stalls and went outside, and she walked through the village streets, noting in passing a small cafe, and a dry-goods store with a milliner and tailor in residence. There was a barber who also seemed to be a chirurgeon, and across the street a-Liaze stopped in her tracks-a bookshop. A bookstore in a hamlet this small? Luc told me there was one in the village he and Leon delivered cordwood to, an establishment that never seemed to do any business, but for Luc’s own.
Liaze stepped over to the store, and when she looked in, the place was empty, abandoned, though the sign above yet proclaimed it to be the COIN DU LIVRE-the Book Nook.
Next door was a shoemaker-and-leatherworker’s shop. Liaze stepped in and a man with an awl and a length of belt in hand looked up from his bench. “May I help you, mademoiselle?”
“Oui. The bookstore next door: has it always been empty?”
“Non, my lady. Only recently did the owner-Jaquot-move away. I don’t blame him. I mean, even though he appeared to be prosperous, it seemed he never had any customers, but for that Luc boy.”
Liaze’s heart leapt into her throat, and tears filled her eyes, and for a moment she could not speak. Finally she managed, “Luc? Luc was here?”
“Oui, demoiselle, but not for a while.” The man lay down his awl and belt and stepped around the table. “Are you well?”
Liaze took a deep breath and said, “Oh, yes, monsieur.”
“Here, mademoiselle,” said the leatherworker, and he offered her a dipper of water.
“Merci, monsieur,” said Liaze, sipping a bit from the hollowed-out gourd. Again she took a deep breath. “I am looking for Luc; a witch snatched him up and flew away.”
The man made a warding sign and said, “A witch, you say? We know nothing of witches in this town, only that some are vile and others are not. Ah, mademoiselle, but if Luc has been taken, then Leon needs to be told this dire news.”
“Leon, his foster sire, is he nearby?”
“Oui. A half-day walk down the road and off into the woods.”
“Tell me how to get there.”
Dusk was drawing down on the land, when, astride Nightshade and towing Pied Agile and the geldings, Liaze came into the clearing where stood a small, one-room cote, with a modest horse barn off to one side.
She rode to the cottage and dismounted and tied Nightshade’s reins to the hitching post near the door. Then she stepped to the planked panel and knocked.
A tall, redheaded man bearing a lantern opened the door. He raised the light on high for a better look, and surprise filled his pale blue eyes. “Might I help you, mademoiselle?”
“Armsmaster Leon?”
He glanced at the silver horn at her side and looked at Nightshade nearby and frowned. Finally he answered, “Oui.”
Liaze followed his gaze and said, “I have come about Luc.”
“Luc? Has something happened to Luc?”
“Oui.”
The armsmaster blanched and moved aside, and Liaze stepped in through the doorway.
24
Clearly beset by anxiety, still Leon stepped to the hearth and swung a kettle over the flames. Then he took down two mugs from a cupboard and fetched a small jar of honey as well, and placed them on the table, where Liaze sat. He spooned tea leaves into a pot covered with a cozy and set it beside the cups. Liaze could see that with these small domesticities Leon was calming himself for whatever news was to come.
Finally, he sat across from Liaze and placed his hands on the table. Then he looked at her and nodded.
“Luc has been taken away by a witch,” said Liaze.
Leon clenched a fist, his knuckles white, but otherwise made no move. At last he said, “But why?”
“Perhaps you can better answer that than I,” said Liaze.
Leon sighed and leaned back in his chair and looked at Liaze as if assessing her. “What is your interest in Luc?”