Lora of Two Worlds

The two of them, laughing, crossed the garden to the courts where the Odenheim brothers lived.

Blame the size of the house, last night they had run all this way to the tower chamber, and that had been fast indeed. Had Norton not got there first, the consequences didn't bear thinking of.

Alvin was near twenty-five and in no haste to marry, and the younger brothers behind him no nearer. Each had his own small court, all quiet now, with only a serving boy sweeping inside.

Carl pointed them out one by one. The courts were much the same size and shape, set in order, not hard to remember.

"This is Brendan's court; the next is mine. Their walls are all covered in ivy, mine isn't. Easy to tell."

"Are you afraid the ivy brings bugs, that you won't plant it?"

Ivy was the same vine she knew in the modern world; some folk didn't like it for the snakes and insects it drew. Lora asked idly; Carl's answer wasn't what she had expected:

"Bugs, what's to fear? It's that in autumn, when the ivy loses its leaves, the wall is left with ugly bare stems, it looks so sad."

Lora looked up at him. The gentle-minded boy wore a soft smile on his face. She smiled back and comforted him:

"What's sad about that? The four seasons have their order; leaves come and leaves go, isn't that natural? In winter the leaves are gone, but the vine isn't idle, the roots below are still quietly growing. Next spring it will climb higher and thicker."

"What you say... makes sense."

Carl didn't argue, but with a grin stepped into the court and hailed the serving boy there: "Dunn, is my brother Brendan up yet?"

"Good morrow, my lord, my lady, Lord Brendan has just risen. He's lying face down on his bed, waiting for Physician Zachary to come and dress his back."

"Hey, why wait for Physician Zachary? I'll dress it myself," Carl called out.

The two went in one after the other, to find Brendan frantically dragging a wool blanket over his back, protesting:

"Carl, don't be a fool! I don't want you dressing my back."

Brendan would be eighteen next month; he wasn't the unformed boy Carl still was, and he didn't stand on ceremony with his sister, but he knew the propriety between grown brothers and sisters.

He had heard Dunn outside call "my lady," and knew his sister had come too. heedless of the pain in his backside, he had dragged the blanket over his prone, braies-clad self.

"All right, all right, I won't touch. Look, I brought you your favorite beef pie. And just now at the abbey I lit three votive candles just for you, that the saints might send your backside a swift recovery."

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Brendan shot him a look, couldn't be bothered, and only turned to Lora, asking in halting tones:

"Lora, they say last night... an assassin came into your court. Did you... make out who it was?"

"Gareth has gone today to look into his arms; he's not back yet." Lora shook her head.

Brendan pushed himself up on his elbows: "Arms? What did he carry?"

"Not army issue, a short blade about a foot long, and a dagger with black cord wound round the hilt. Common enough; both are arms a commoner may own. Gareth has gone to the smiths, but it's a needle in a haystack."

Carl sat on the edge of the bed, picked up the salve jar from the bedside, and pulled the stopper to sniff it.

Brendan didn't much care what Carl thought. He let out a long sigh:

"I had this beating coming. Lora, you may hit me once, hard, if you like. I thought we were just going out to play, no great matter, I never thought we'd bring down such trouble. Had I known, I'd never have gone."

"It isn't all on you, who could have foreseen such a thing? But, Brendan, Father can't stand House Salt. Why did Simon Salt invite you?"

There was no evidence yet, even the boatmen's depositions pointed to Lora's having fallen in by accident.

But she was certain: the killer was on that boat.

Brendan looked a little awkward, but didn't hide it:

"I'll tell you two, but don't sell me out. Carl will remember, last autumn, at the hunt on the north edge of town, Cedric Salt gave everyone a small gift."

"That's right, a pair of boots. Alvin said don't take them, we didn't, but... oh, you never gave those velvet boots back!" Carl's eyebrows rose; the words were out before he thought.

"Keep your voice down! Do you want the whole house to hear, so Father beats me again?"

Brendan was angry. If Father learned of this, it wouldn't be a few days in bed, Father would likely fling him into the guardhouse to feed the rats. He went on, crestfallen:

"House Salt has long wanted to be friends with us. Perhaps they saw that I took the boots they gave, and thought I'd be easy to deal with..."

"What kind of boots? Our house isn't short of food or clothing, you still coveted that trifle?" This side of Brendan, Lora couldn't understand.

In her own time, no one gave a friend shoes, the luck was bad. Here House Salt actually used shoes as a casual gift.

Brendan found it awkward to say, and prevaricated:

"Only a pair of velvet boots, not so great a thing. I only thought, I could keep up with the Augustburg fashion..."

"He only said it was the King's own pattern, the royal-warrant ware, and you coveted it so? Our house has no shortage of royal gifts. I don't care for such things." Carl snorted.

That struck Brendan's sore spot, and he flared up in turn:

"Our house has had many a royal gift, but they all went to Alvin. And every time something good comes into the house, doesn't Mother pick out the best for you and Lora, and only then hand round the rest?"

"Did I tell Mother to do that? How's it I never hear Gareth or Roland complain?"

"They're farther off, I don't know if they complain. I know only that I'm good for nothing but to be your scapegoat!"

"Stop it!"

Lora shouted, and the two fell silent.

It hadn't occurred to her that in a house so well-endowed, with so many children, you could still have Father favoring the eldest and Mother doting on the youngest, and a bastard son, she supposed, would fare worse still.

Brendan looked like a rabid fan of the King; but on second thought, it wasn't the thing itself he coveted, it was fairness from his parents.

She smiled at both of them:

"We're grown now, there's no need for Father and Mother to single any of us out. I'll speak to Mother, from now on, the children of the house are all one flesh; they should treat us all the same. Brendan, once you can go out, you must give those velvet boots back."

Even the youngest of them had spoken so, and Brendan had the grace to look ashamed. He nodded:

"Very well, very well, when I can walk I'll quietly take them back. And don't tell Father and Mother, a trifle in our eyes is a mortal sin in Father's."

"You haven't owned your fault at all!" Carl was so angry he wouldn't even say "brother."

"Brendan, Carl, stop..." Lora would have said more, but a voice came from outside:

"Physician Zachary, welcome; Lord Brendan is within, waiting for you."

The three exchanged a glance, and all fell silent.

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