The Fire Star Read online

  ‘We’ll see about that, my lady,’ he muttered, with a nasty emphasis on ‘lady’. ‘We’ll see who’s boss very, very soon.’

  Reeve waited several long moments after Brantley ambled off towards the stables before emerging from his scented hiding place. As he scurried across the courtyard, he tried to push what he’d just seen from his mind.

  If the Lady Anice ever found out what he’d just witnessed, his life would not be worth living.

  ‘There was nothing beneath the window, sire,’ Reeve reported to Sir Garrick a short time later. Reeve had examined the area beneath the Lady Cassandra’s window, not really knowing what he was looking for, before scarpering to the Knight Protector’s rooms to await his presence. Fortunately, Sir Garrick had managed to extricate himself from the luncheon relatively quickly, despite being its star attraction.

  ‘You looked closely,’ Sir Garrick stated, as though Reeve would have done any less.

  ‘Of course, sire,’ said Reeve, trying not to sound affronted. ‘The area beneath the window had been swept –’

  ‘Swept?’ Sir Garrick leaned forward in his dark, carved-wood chair. ‘Swept when?’

  ‘I, well, I –’ Reeve paused. ‘There was a man near there with a broom this morning when the Lady Cassandra screamed . . . I saw him.’

  ‘Before the scream or after?’ Sir Garrick enquired.

  ‘Before,’ said Reeve. ‘It was because of the boys.’

  ‘Boys?’ Sir Garrick prompted.

  ‘Two boys with apples,’ said Reeve, closing his eyes to try to picture the scene in his mind. ‘I was sitting –’

  ‘Sitting where? And why? Surely my squires do not have time to simply sit!’

  Reeve felt his face go hot, remembering why he had been sitting observing the boys. ‘It was only for a moment,’ he blustered, rushing on with the story as furrows began to appear along Sir Garrick’s forehead. ‘But the point is, I saw the man sweeping along that wall, and then I heard the scream.’

  Sir Garrick sat back in his seat. ‘What did the sweeping man do?’

  ‘I, er, I don’t know,’ said Reeve, trying to concentrate. ‘There was a scream, everyone turned towards it, the Lady Cassandra was there and then . . .’

  ‘And then? Think, boy!’ Sir Garrick said.

  Reeve turned his gaze to the painted ceiling as though the intricate hatched pattern between the beams might inspire his memory to greater effort. To his surprise, it seemed to work, as the morning’s events flooded back to him and he could picture the scene: the screaming, the gasps of horror and then . . .

  ‘Everyone rushed inside!’ he said. ‘It was like they just wanted to get closer but . . .’

  ‘But?’

  ‘Most went towards the kitchen, which is actually further from the window.’

  ‘The sweeping man?’ Sir Garrick probed. ‘He went, too?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Reeve admitted. ‘But I know someone who might.’ Even as he spoke, Reeve wished he could take the words back, remembering Myra’s smiling face – and her last warning to him about the Airl not finding out about her visit.

  There was a pause. ‘Well?’ said Sir Garrick. ‘Must I guess or are you going to share this mystery witness with me?’

  ‘I –’ Reeve’s thoughts raced. He believed Myra might have witnessed something in the courtyard, but he also didn’t want to get her into any trouble. Not when she had been so kind to him.

  Not when she knew his secret.

  ‘I don’t remember,’ Reeve murmured, his ears burning as the older man looked at him askance.

  ‘You don’t remember who may or may not have witnessed something important pertaining to the theft of the Fire Star,’ said Sir Garrick.

  Reeve took a minute, trying to look as though he was considering his response. ‘Er, no.’

  Sir Garrick stood up, pacing his sitting room, tossing a silver coin up and down in one hand. ‘It seems that Lady Rhoswen was sadly wrong about your usefulness,’ he said. ‘It is just a shame that she is not here to take responsibility for her terrible misjudgement. Or perhaps it is a good thing she is not here to see it.’

  Reeve swallowed. ‘My Lady Rhoswen has not arrived?’

  Sir Garrick tossed the coin in the air. ‘Your Lady Rhoswen has been detained by illness and will not, it seems, make the wedding after all. I’ve a good mind to tell the Airl how useless your investigations have been thus far, and send you back to Harding Manor to empty her chamber-pot.’

  On the last words, Sir Garrick turned to stare intently at Reeve. ‘Unless, as I posit, you know more than you are willing to tell. Trying to protect someone, methinks. Some young maid you were perhaps “sitting” with? Is that right, Reeve of Norwood?’

  Reeve stared at his feet as he chewed the inside of his cheek. If he agreed with Sir Garrick’s theory, he would be seen as a lovesick layabout. If he did not agree, he would look addle-headed.

  After a moment, Reeve nodded miserably, and Sir Garrick sighed.

  ‘Very well, I will give you until nightfall to speak to your “someone” and see if you can learn more. If you do, you can stay. If not, the Airl will be updated on just how little you do know, and it will be up to him whether you go back to Harding Manor or home to your parents.’

  Reeve lifted his head, feeling hopeful, but Sir Garrick had already moved to his desk. ‘On your way out, take this wedding seating plan to Lorimer and tell him that I don’t care where he puts the Baron of Brenland as long as it’s as far from me as possible.’

  Accepting the scroll from Sir Garrick’s outstretched hand, Reeve backed out of the room before half-running down the hallway. He had just hours to speak to Myra and hope she had some new piece of information to impart.

  But first, he had to find her . . .

  ‘And just where do you think you’re going?’

  Freezing mid-step, Reeve just managed to suppress a groan as Lorimer’s voice cracked like a brittle whip behind him. Having arrived to discover the steward’s office empty, Reeve had left the seating plan on the desk with a scrawled note before making for the courtyard. He’d made it as far as the door.

  Now, swallowing his impatience, Reeve composed his face before turning to face the older man – who was accompanied by a bemused Maven.

  ‘Have you no duties to attend to, Reeve of Norwood?’ Lorimer continued, arms folded. ‘In Neale’s confounding absence, Sir Garrick’s chambers require attention.’

  ‘Sir Garrick has sent me on an errand,’ said Reeve, not wishing to say more in front of Maven.

  Lorimer’s brow arched upwards. ‘An errand of what nature?’

  ‘A personal nature,’ Reeve responded, staring straight at Lorimer. He knew if he wavered now, the steward would take him back to his office and the next hour might be wasted on infernal questions. An hour Reeve could ill afford.

  ‘Hmmm,’ tutted Lorimer, lips pursed as though undecided whether to probe further.

  ‘The good sir knight must have much to organise,’ inserted Maven in an unexpected show of support that took Reeve by surprise. ‘The wedding night will be upon us any moment.’

  Lorimer cleared his throat, while Reeve tried to imagine just what it was he, a lowly squire, could possibly be in charge of for a wedding night. Fortunately, he was saved from responding.

  ‘Be off with you then,’ Lorimer said. ‘Don’t keep Sir Garrick waiting. And report back here the minute your, er, personal errand is completed.’

  Reeve didn’t hesitate, hurrying towards the door before Lorimer could change his mind, and dashing out into the bright sunlight of the courtyard.

  Deep in thought, Reeve made his way across to the castle’s high iron gates.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Where can he possibly be going, this squire with a mission? My lady has given me leave today to observe his movements, among other things, but I did not expect that Reeve would leave the walls of Rennart Castle – and especially not at the same time as I must do so. Perhaps I should have let Lorime
r have Reeve . . . But no. Even I would not be so cruel when he seemed so desperate to get away.

  Does he think he will find the Fire Star lying on the road? I can only hope that the hot sun and thin soles of his boots conspire to send him back towards the castle sooner rather than later. It will not do for him to reach the bottom of the hill.

  I have no fear of the world outside the walls, but I wonder if Reeve knows how much of a target he is with that blue fox on his chest. There are many who would seek to settle a score with the Knight Protector by picking off an unaccompanied squire – and some who care only that he resides in comfort at Rennart Castle while they do not.

  I fade behind a tree as Reeve pauses, looking right and left into the woods on either side of the dusty road. Thanks to the castle’s lofty position at the top of the hill, I am above him with a clear view down the road to the patchwork of green pastures below.

  In the halls of Rennart Castle, I have observed how Reeve moves with skill, weaving through the throngs with an adroit step, a practised smile and an uncanny ability to read a room. Interesting that once the crowds of people disappear, so too does any cunning he has.

  Shaking my head, I follow him as he blunders along and peers into the trees, always searching, unaware of the dangers that may lurk in the shadows. Anyone lying in wait for passing opportunity – and there are many in these times, when people are driven to desperation by hunger and despair while our King and his friends eat fifteen courses off solid gold plates – will have due notice of his presence and ample time to prepare an ambush.

  Suddenly, Reeve darts across the road and I tense, pulling out the small knife I keep concealed in the deep pockets of my skirt, unsheathing it in one motion from its leather case. The knife was a parting gift from my father as he sold me into my current position for the price of a gambling debt, exhorting me to ‘protect my honour’, even as he extinguished his own.

  There have been several occasions when I have been glad not only of its presence, but of the many lonely hours I have spent in learning to use it with precision. It is surprisingly satisfying to hit a target from five, ten, even twenty paces, and incredibly reassuring to know where best to thrust a blade for maximum impact.

  The Beech Circle teaches its members to do more than talk and support each other. For we have all seen what happens when base instincts overcome civility and when speeches cannot resurrect good sense.

  We know that there comes a time when action is all that is left.

  Gripping the wooden handle now, I watch Reeve, unsure whether he is breaking away from something that has startled him in the woods or running towards something that has caught his attention on the other side of the road.

  When he stops and stands, staring open-mouthed at a patch of brambles, I realise it is the latter, so I stash my knife carefully back in my pocket. Affecting a casual stroll, I wander down the hill, Reeve’s stillness alerting me to his shock.

  To my surprise, he suddenly slaps one hand over his mouth and reels back like a drunkard. I run to him, grabbing his arm before he falls onto the road.

  ‘Are you all right? What’s wrong?’ There is a worrying, green tinge to Reeve’s face.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he gasps, and I lower him to a seated position in the dust, watching as he puts his head between his knees. As Reeve draws in huge, shaky breaths, I turn my attention to the bramble patch and what it is that might have brought on this reaction.

  It takes a moment for my gaze to penetrate the thick, prickly foliage, but then I see it. And ‘it’ almost has me sitting on the road beside Reeve.

  One fixed brown eye peers at me through the tangled leaves and wiry branches, above a flash of scarlet tunic. As my sight adjusts, I make out blond hair, the pale oval of a face – and the blood dripping across the nose and down into the earth.

  ‘Oh no,’ I moan, reaching forward to clear a patch in the brambles, and my worst fears are realised. ‘It cannot be.’

  ‘It’s the sweeping man,’ Reeve says, sounding faint. ‘I think he’s dead. I saw the red and –’

  ‘Oh no,’ I moan again, interrupting his babble, now dragging brambles from the body, patting it down as I go. ‘Oh no.’

  ‘You keep saying that,’ says Reeve, and his face seems to be returning to a normal colour as his curiosity rises. ‘Did you know him?’

  ‘No!’ I snap instinctively, my mind reeling as I realise that the body has been relieved of everything but his clothes. ‘Of course not!’ I try to sound truthful but I know my voice trembles.

  Reeve stares at me for a long moment. ‘I don’t think I believe you,’ he says. ‘Did you know that you nod every time you say no? And you are upset about something . . .’

  ‘I’m –’ I look down into his blue eyes, which are dark with concern. ‘I’m –’

  ‘Maven, something is wrong. Let me help you.’ He reaches for my hand, and I register that he is speaking to me as though I am a saddle-shy horse.

  ‘I need to find that stone as much as you do,’ Reeve continues, and the spell is broken.

  ‘Stone?’ I say, taking back my hand as I bluster. ‘What has this to do with the Fire Star?’

  Reeve sighs. ‘Why else would you be out here following me down the road? Why else were you as jumpy as a cat when Sir Garrick was searching your rooms? It’s clear to me you know more about what’s going on than you should.’ By now, he has pulled himself up to stand on shaky legs.

  ‘Then why are you out here?’ I challenge, ignoring an impulse to offer an arm for support. ‘If you’re so sure I’m involved, why didn’t you tell Lorimer?’

  ‘All I want is the stone back,’ Reeve says, dusting off his hands. ‘If I don’t find it, I’ll never be a knight, and I want more than anything in the whole world to be a knight. But when you told me about the nunnery . . .’

  ‘We’re not going to a nunnery,’ I say, staring at him, hating the direction this whole conversation has taken. ‘She’s not marrying Sir Garrick but we are not going to any nunnery.’

  ‘So, what was the plan then? This man steals the Fire Star, then, once the wedding guests arrive and the castle is in chaos, you steal away, collect the stone and the pair of you go . . . Where? Across the water to Talleben?’

  ‘What a lovely story you weave –’ I begin, hoping my alarm is well hidden. Was it only minutes ago I used the word ‘blundering’ in connection with this squire? How I wish he had left that astute mind in the castle.

  ‘Do not take me for a fool, my lady,’ he interjects. Reeve’s tone is mild, but in his voice I hear years of training at the knee of Lady Rhoswen.

  I have met the Lady Rhoswen only once, but her reputation for good sense is impressive – a fact I have never been able to reconcile against the reality of her daughter, Anice.

  Cassandra has always maintained that Anice, whose company I tolerated on several memorable occasions in my former life and whose presence I now must endure, is the product of Airl Buckthorn’s indulgence rather than Lady Rhoswen’s acumen.

  How strange it is to me that a man so hardened to battle is so soft with his daughter, but then Anice is so very pretty and the Airl, like most men in Cartreff, seems to value that above all other things.

  Reeve, however, seems to have listened to Lady Rhoswen. He may not be able to herd goats, but when it comes to people, he is not stupid.

  In fact, he may be useful. But to be useful, I have to trust him.

  Can I trust him?

  ‘Well?’ he asks, and I drag my unruly thoughts back to the matter at hand. ‘What’s it to be? Are you going to let me help you? Are we going to help each other? As it stands, you’re currently heading to a nunnery and I’m going to be packed off to die at sea, so . . .’

  Despite momentary confusion at the ‘die at sea’ comment, and with a small prayer to Lady Cassandra to forgive me, I decide to tell him . . . some of it. Because the fact of the matter is that my lady and I are in deep, deep trouble, and it will take someone with a lot to lose to help us.<
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  But I cannot look at him, so I focus on a point just above his shoulder, gazing up the hill over the empty road to the castle gates. It is so quiet here that I fancy I can hear squirrels gnawing nuts in the forest. Or perhaps that is just the churning inside me.

  ‘He –’ I break off, squinting a little. No, it is not my imagination, although it is not the sound of squirrels – the gates are creaking slowly open.

  ‘He?’ prompts Reeve.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, shifting my gaze from the gates to his face. ‘There’s no time now, we have to hide.’

  ‘Hide?’ Reeve repeats, turning to look behind him. ‘Why should we hide?’

  I exhale sharply, itching to be away. ‘Because here we are, two people new to Rennart Castle, with no real allies within its walls, standing on the roadside beside a body.’

  Reeve blanches, his face almost the same colour as his clotted cream hair. ‘But all we did was find him,’ he stutters. ‘We didn’t hurt him.’

  ‘No,’ I say, grabbing his hand and dragging him back across to the wooded side of the road. ‘We didn’t, but have you not learned your lesson? Are you not content with simply being accused of stealing the Fire Star? Do you want to add this to your list of problems as well? To them, we are outsiders, Reeve, and nobody is more vulnerable than a person who is other.’ I tug once again at his hand.

  Reeve says nothing but finally catches my worry, and allows himself to be led into the maze of trees. I can almost hear the thoughts grinding in his head as he stumbles along behind.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ he asks, as I drag him deeper into the woods, as fast as I can make him go. Here, in the dim coolness of the trees, our footsteps are almost silent, muffled by generations of leaf litter, but I fancy that those travelling on the road behind us will be able to hear us breathe if they choose to listen.

  Moments later, however, comes the dull, rhythmic thud of horses hooves moving at speed – too fast to see a body in the brambles on the side of the road, I hope. Trembling, I hear the sound come closer, closer, closer, before beginning to fade away.