Against The World

Chapter 62: What We Carried Home

By morning, someone had put curtains in the schoolroom.

They were different lengths.

One had flowers. The other appeared to have spent an earlier part of its life covering a table.

Jalen stood beside me with a cup of tea.

“Anwen found them.”

“They look good.”

“They look clean,” he said. “We are starting there.”

Across the square, Evelyn was helping Lettie fold a blanket. It was a task complicated by Lettie’s insistence that the corners meet exactly and Evelyn’s willingness to take that seriously.

“Will she stay?” I asked.

“Lettie?”

I nodded.

“Her father wants to come back. The healer wants his leg stronger first. Anwen says there is no sense bringing him here just so she can drag him back.”

“That sounds like Anwen.”

“She has always been like that.”

He said it with enough fondness that I wondered how many people had survived Bellcross because Anwen had refused to let them make foolish decisions.

Jalen turned his cup between his hands.

“I leave for the hearing next week.”

“I know.”

“I have written down what I remember.”

He watched a woman open the shutters of a house across the square.

“Some of it I remember very well. Some of it I cannot put in order.”

“Tell them that.”

“Will that be enough?”

I wanted to say yes.

Instead, I said, “It will be the truth.”

He nodded slowly.

After a moment, he pointed toward the storehouse.

“Come and see the doors before you go. They shut properly now.”

I went.

We brought home two loaves, a jar of plum preserves, and a folded page covered in children’s handwriting for Abigail.

Evelyn carried the page inside her coat to keep it dry.

I carried the bread.

By the time Greykeep came into view, we had one and a half loaves.

Melody noticed.

“You could have asked.”

“I thought you had your own.”

“I did.”

“Then why are you looking at mine?”

“Because yours is still there.”

Evelyn broke off a piece and handed it to her.

“That was royal bread,” I said.

“It remains in loyal hands.”

Melody took a large bite.

The gates stood open beneath the afternoon sun. A mason was working on the outer arch, tapping new mortar into a seam. Two carts waited while a shepherd argued with three sheep that had chosen the entrance to the kingdom as a place to reconsider their lives.

It took all of us to get past.

My return was announced by a sheep stepping on my boot.

Mary met us in the lower courtyard.

There was a sealed box beneath her arm.

For a moment, I expected another court notice.

Then she smiled.

I looked at Evelyn.

She had noticed too.

“What happened?” I asked.

“The Silvervein payment arrived.”

“The assay?”

“And the sale.”

She lifted the box slightly.

“Hessa wants to see you before anyone starts spending it.”

We found Hessa in a small counting room off the treasury, along with Beatrice, Eleanor, and a clerk whose expression suggested that carrying a box of money through the castle had been an unpleasant responsibility.

Mary set the box on the table.

Inside were neat stacks of silver coin.

I looked at them.

Then at Hessa.

“From the spoil heaps?”

“Sorted, washed, assayed, sold,” she said. “Every stage charged something.”

Mary placed a sheet beside the box.

Labor. Transport. Assay fees. Tools. Replacement screens.

The sum at the bottom was considerably smaller than the one at the top.

Still positive.

Still ours.

I picked up a coin.

Its edge was worn smooth in one place. Whatever silver we had sold was somewhere else now, perhaps waiting to be melted, while this particular piece had already passed through years of other people’s hands.

It felt surprisingly ordinary.

“How much can we do with it?” I asked.

“After the promised reserve?” Mary said. “Finish the market drainage materials, pay the next verified restitution installment, and leave a modest balance.”

Eleanor leaned forward.

“The drainage price includes the grates this time.”

Beatrice looked pleased by that.

Hessa did not.

“The mine needs a second pump.”

Mary touched another line.

“Already reserved.”

“A working second pump.”

“I assumed.”

“People assume all sorts of things when silver arrives.”

I put the coin down.

“Then we buy a working pump.”

Hessa sat back.

That seemed to satisfy her more than a speech would have.

We approved the payments.

No feast. No proclamation from the battlements.

A clerk took the instructions to the treasury. Eleanor went to tell Aldren he could order his grates. Beatrice asked whether any of the transport sacks could be returned to stores.

When the room had emptied, Evelyn remained beside me.

“You look thoughtful.”

“I expected it to feel different.”

“Having money?”

“Having something that earns it.”

She glanced at the closed box.

“How does it feel?”

I considered that.

“Like we might be able to finish things.”

Her hand settled against my back.

“Yes,” she said. “I thought so too.”

Crumb had finished something while we were away.

Unfortunately, it had been a door.

We discovered this when Mary took us to inspect the drainage work beneath the eastern kitchens.

The horse-sized rat sat in the service passage with his forepaws together and an expression of complete innocence.

Behind him lay the lower half of a narrow wooden door.

Eleanor examined the remains.

Mary folded her arms.

“He detected a blockage.”

“He detected a door,” Eleanor said.

“The blockage was behind it.”

One of Crumb’s handlers raised a cautious hand.

“There was a blockage.”

Mary gestured toward him.

Water had backed up behind a collapsed basket and several lengths of packing cloth. Crumb had evidently decided that waiting for someone with a key would interfere with his duties.

The channel was clear now.

So was much of the doorway.

I looked up at the ceiling.

“Castellan?”

The golden eye appeared in the wall.

“Your Majesty.”

“Can he have access to this passage without dismantling it?”

“The existing doorway is unsuitable for the guardian’s dimensions.”

“We had reached that conclusion,” Eleanor said.

“A wider service opening is present six yards to your left. It was enclosed during a later alteration.”

Eleanor turned.

She tapped the wall with her knuckles.

Then she looked at Crumb.

“You could have eaten that bit.”

Mary made a sound of objection.

Crumb leaned his enormous head against her shoulder.

She staggered half a step, planted her feet, and scratched him behind one ear.

“We will make a proper opening,” I said.

“And put a grille over that channel,” Eleanor added. “Before someone gives him another basket.”

As we left, Mary was explaining to him that successful work did not excuse damage to Crown property.

Her hand had not stopped moving.

Helena arrived the following afternoon with a dressmaker, a basket, and the air of someone whose visit was entirely casual.

Evelyn looked at the dressmaker.

“Mother.”

“A fitting.”

“For what?”

“Your husband’s birthday.”

I paused in the doorway.

“My birthday requires a fitting?”

“Yours does not,” Helena said.

The dressmaker looked me over.

Then made a note.

I had doubts.

Beatrice emerged from the adjoining room carrying a small plate. On it lay three dark squares.

Every other concern briefly left my mind.

“Is that chocolate?”

“A test,” she said.

I reached for one.

She moved the plate away.

“After you answer a question.”

“Anything.”

“Did the cake you remember have chocolate through it, on it, or both?”

“Yes.”

Beatrice stared at me.

“Both,” I clarified quickly. “Both is good.”

She let me take a square.

It was denser than the chocolate I remembered, a little grainy, with a strong bitter taste beneath the sweetness.

I closed my eyes.

When I opened them, Evelyn was watching me.

“Well?” Beatrice asked.

“That is very good.”

She studied my face, apparently deciding whether I was being polite.

Then she gave a brisk nod.

“Useful answer. Finally.”

She left with the plate.

I considered following.

Helena caught my sleeve.

“Before you disappear, we need to settle the meal.”

“I thought we had.”

“We settled that there would be one.”

“With everyone.”

“Everyone,” she repeated, “is a difficult number.”

Evelyn rescued me.

“A family supper. Our friends. No speeches between courses.”

“Before the courses?” Helena asked.

“Mother.”

“A very short toast.”

I looked between them.

“One,” I said.

Helena smiled immediately.

I suspected I had just agreed to something larger than one toast.

Later, when the dressmaker had claimed Evelyn and Helena had gone to discuss something alarming with Beatrice, I found myself in our rooms with the basket.

Inside were pears, two books from Valewood, and a bundle of soft green wool.

I was examining the wool when Evelyn came in.

She stopped.

Then sighed.

“Mother.”

“Is this for something?”

“Yes.”

I waited.

“She says she has not begun anything.”

“Has she?”

“Only a border.”

I looked at the wool again.

Evelyn came to stand beside me.

“There is nothing to tell her yet.”

“I know.”

“Or anyone.”

“I know that too.”

She rested her head against my shoulder.

We stood quietly for a moment.

On the mantel, Garrick’s little wooden horse faced the house the carver had given us.

“I moved the horse yesterday,” I said.

“I noticed.”

“The sun was on it.”

“You moved it back.”

“The house looked lonely.”

Evelyn laughed softly.

Then she slipped her arms around my waist.

“I think you will be a very peculiar father.”

“I am hoping to have help.”

“You will.”

I held her a little closer.

Beyond the windows, someone in the courtyard called for a ladder. A cart rattled over the stones. The castle continued around us.

There had been a time when I would have left to discover who needed the ladder.

Instead, I kissed my wife.

Merrow and Jalen departed six days later.

Mary had spent the previous evening checking the document cases with the escort clerk. Their seals had been witnessed, their contents listed, and the copies separated so one lost bag would not carry everything with it.

Jalen brought a smaller bundle.

A spare shirt. Bread. The account he had written himself.

Merrow carried almost nothing.

They would take the gate to Stoneford, then continue by road to the court under the agreed escort.

Lady Sabine had sent confirmation that the receiving officers were ready.

No celebration marked the departure.

It was early. The gate chamber smelled faintly of damp cloaks, and one of the guards was trying to persuade a stubborn buckle to fasten.

I approached Merrow while the keeper checked the last names.

“Your duties are covered.”

“Eliza told me.”

“The shelter reports—”

“Are going to her.”

“And Bellcross—”

“Has survived several days without me before.”

I stopped.

Merrow adjusted the strap across her shoulder.

“Your Majesty.”

“Yes?”

“You have arranged what can be arranged.”

I glanced at the gate.

The receiving light had begun to gather along its edge.

“I dislike the rest of it.”

“So do I.”

Beside us, Evelyn was speaking quietly with Jalen.

He listened, then nodded and tucked a folded paper into his coat.

When he stepped away, I asked her what it was.

“The address of their lodging. The court clerk’s name. Where to send word if the schedule changes.”

“Mary gave him that.”

“Mary gave him the official copy. This one has larger writing.”

Across the chamber, Jalen took it out again and showed it to Merrow.

She read it without moving closer to the lamp.

The keeper called their names.

Merrow offered me her hand.

I took it.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then she said, “I intend to come home afterward.”

The words caught somewhere behind my ribs.

“We will expect you.”

She nodded.

Jalen shook my hand next, then Evelyn’s.

They walked through together.

The light closed behind the last guard.

I found it difficult to work that morning.

A perfectly reasonable discussion about roof tiles wandered past me without leaving much behind.

Evelyn let it happen for several minutes.

Then she closed the folder.

“Walk with me.”

We went down to the kitchen gardens.

Fenna was there with two workers and a basket of tools. She gave my hands a suspicious glance, then pointed us toward the path.

“Stay off the beds.”

“We are only walking,” Evelyn said.

“That is how it starts.”

Near the first row, a small wooden marker leaned slightly to one side.

Carrots.

Beneath it, tiny green leaves had broken through the earth.

I crouched.

There were several of them, fine and fragile, barely more than threads against the dark soil.

Evelyn crouched beside me.

“Lettie will be pleased.”

“She is going to want to know which one is hers.”

“All of them, I suspect.”

I looked along the row.

A few weeks earlier, we had put a name in the ground and hoped.

Now there was something to protect from boots, birds, bad weather, and the enthusiastic assistance of kings.

I kept my hands to myself.

After a while, Evelyn touched my arm.

“Come on. We have roof tiles to choose.”

I stood and helped her up.

“Do you think Merrow will sleep on the road?”

“Jalen will remind her.”

“And who reminds him?”

“She will.”

I considered that.

Then I nodded.

We walked back toward the castle, her fingers warm between mine.

At the door, she stopped me long enough to brush a trace of dirt from my knee.

“You knelt in it.”

“I was being careful of the carrots.”

“I saw.”

She smiled, and I kissed her before we went inside.

The roof tiles were still waiting.

For once, that seemed like a manageable problem.

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