Near the shore of the lake I found some watercress, nibbled some, and picked the rest before I dipped the buckets and returned to the kitchen, where I found gentlemen cutting vegetables, building a wood fire, and leading a calf to be slaughtered, all under the supervision of bandits dressed in their captives’ brilliant silks and satins, and engaged in vigorous barter over clothing, weapons, and armor.
Dorinda was standing in the kitchen compound, barking out orders, her strange, furious, white-circled eyes starting out of her head, her lashing ladle as effective as a whip in making her victims skip to their duty. “Salvio, domina,” I said.
She turned on me, her ladle brandished under my nose like a sword. “What do you mean with that jabber?” she barked. “I was born in this country and I speak your language as well as you!”
“I brought cress,” I offered. She took the cress, sniffed it suspiciously, and ate a piece. Then she pointed with her ladle. “Put the water in the kettle.”
I did, and brought more water, and with it more cress. As I returned with my third delivery, I encountered Sir Basil of the Heugh, who was riding one of the captured horses along the shore of the lake. It was a lovely bay courser, with black feet and a sable splash on its forehead, and its bridle and saddle glittered with wrought silver. He drew the horse to a slow walk beside me. I saw that he was still wearing Lord Utterback’s slinkskin gloves, along with a vivid green doublet slashed to reveal a yellow silk shirt. He had put away his long overcoat for a cloak lined with scarlet satin and edged with gold brocade.
“Like you my new charger?” said the outlaw. “Does the harness not shine in the sun?”
“Truly you have chosen the best,” I flattered. “And perhaps with these dashing new steeds on which to mount your troop, you will not need my venerable gelding. May I have it for my brave escape?”
Sir Basil looked down with amusement. “If you evade my men, and their shot, and the dogs that will be set on you, you may take all you like. That is the rule of our free company—any man is free to take what he likes, so he bear the consequences. But for now”—he pointed with his silver-tipped whip—“you must bear the yoke.”
I shifted beneath the pole that crossed my shoulders. Smoke from the wood fire scented the air. “Bear it I will,” I said, “confident in the promise you made of impending freedom.”
The outlaw’s black eyes sparkled. “And when did I make such a promise?”
“You said I would be set free if my information regarding Lord Stayne proved true.”
“Pah.” Sir Basil’s lip curled with disdain. “Your recollection is imperfect. I promised nothing.”
Only the knowledge of Sir Basil’s celerity with his dirk prevented me from swinging a bucket of water at the outlaw’s head. “But, Sir Basil,” I said, “I’ve brought you the greatest ransom you will ever collect, a marquess along with his whole affinity. Surely, that is worth such a paltry thing as my liberty.”
Sir Basil was indignant. “Do you ask me to cheat my company? They are all due their share of your five royals’ ransom, and I shall see it collected.” Again he pointed the whip. “Now carry the water, or I may be forced to tell the other prisoners the part you played in their capture.”
My heart turned cold. I straightened under my burden, and looked Sir Basil in the face. “As you command,” I said, and made my way to the kitchen.
I could not trust Sir Basil at all, I thought, not even if the five royals arrived from Kevin. The outlaw was a murderous brigand, arbitrary in his will and his whims, and plumped up with his little massacres. He’d kill me as easily as he’d killed Gribbins, and for less reason.
It seemed best to apply my mind to escape.
A monotonous chop-chop-chop sounded in the air as I delivered my load, took the yoke from my shoulders, and shrugged away the soreness. The wood fire burned briskly, and Dorinda shifted the kettle over the flames. The chopping grew irregular, and was then followed by curses and loud argument. I ventured toward the sound and found two of the gentlemen cavaliers squatting beneath a beech tree and trying to butcher the calf.
They’d succeeded in killing and bleeding the animal, and were now trying to hack up its joints. They hadn’t skinned it—apparently, they planned to skin the joints after they’d cut them free.
“Have you never watched your own huntsmen butcher a deer?” I said. “Or do you retire after the kill to play at dice and drink the wines of Loretto?”
One of the gentlemen, a dark man with a forked beard, rose raging from the animal. He was splashed with blood from his boots to his crown, and his well-dressed hair was somewhat less than perfectly in order.
“You are welcome to try!” Fork-Beard snarled, and held out his heavy knife. “Try and be damned to the nethermost pit of hell!”
“I will perform this infernal task for you if you fetch the water in my stead,” I said. “You look as if you need washing, in any case.”
The cavalier and his slope-shouldered companion threw their butchering implements on the ground and stamped away, the less furious of them dragging the yoke and buckets. I viewed the tools, found them adequate, then examined the calf. I decided it wasn’t completely ruined and rolled the animal onto its back, its legs splayed toward the autumn sun. I paused a moment to remove my overcoat, doublet, and shirt, then skinned the calf’s ventral half. I collected the brisket, then looked up at the beech tree overhead. Any number of its strong limbs would serve for hoisting the animal, but as I saw a block already hanging from one bough, I assumed this marked Dorinda’s butcher shop. I threaded the rope provided through the block and hoisted the calf into the air.
Within ten minutes I had cut the calf into quarters, and took so long only because I had to keep kicking the dogs away from the offal, and because the saw provided was inadequate for cutting through the chine. I hesitated only once, as I thought of the boy being butchered up in the keep, and for a moment the world swam before my eyes. After which I deliberately suppressed all thought and memory, and worked on the calf like a mere machine, my hands and arms making the well-practiced movements without mindful calculation. At the finish, I looked up from the work to see Dorinda standing by, her strange eyes slitted in thought.
“Do you wish to hang any of it for later?” I asked.
“That would bring bears down from the hills,” Dorinda said. “It all goes into the stewpot to feed this crew of rogues and fustilarian bellygods.”
“A waste of good chops,” I said. “But I will volunteer to stay up tonight and shoot any bear who come to molest us, and we may dine on bear steaks tomorrow.”
Dorinda barked a laugh and thwacked me on the elbow with her ladle. A bolt of pain shot up my arm all the way to my teeth, and then the arm went numb.
When I recovered, I finished butchering the calf, and put the cuts up on the thatch roof of the cookhouse to keep the dogs off them. I knew the trick of cracking the skull to preserve the brains entire, and these with the sweetbreads I put in a bowl.
After I finished, I let the dogs have what remained, and taking my clothes walked out to the lake to wash. I made a half circuit of the water, and kept an eye on the cliffs that surrounded the corrie in hopes of finding a path to escape. I saw several routes that led to the upper rim of the vale, but none were easy, and they were all in plain sight of the well-armed bandits. It would be suicide to make the attempt in daylight. At night I would be locked into the dungeon, and nothing but a clever ruse would serve to keep me free.