“Enjoy it while you’ve got it,” he said.“Fresh provisions today. Now it’s steadily downhill until next time I pay a call on Tomas.”
“But you must grow a lot of things up here,” I ventured, thinking of the farming activities I had read about earlier.
“I do what I can. Olcan helps me.” Magnus dipped his bread into his bowl. “We’ve got chickens, a couple of cows, some other stock, and the vegetables, of course. Still, we can’t work magic.You a cook?”
“Not much of one. My sister used to do all that.”
“Your sister, eh?” Rioghan leaned back in his chair, examining me. “Is she made in the same mold as you, all curves and curls?”
I could not summon the light response required. Instead, Ita spoke in my head, her voice a derisory whisper:
“Maraid does look quite like me, only bigger,” I said. I must find a new line of discussion.“How long have you lived at Whistling Tor, Brother Eichri?”
They laughed, the monk, the councillor, Olcan and Magnus all together.
“Seems like forever,” Rioghan said in dour tones. “We’re sick to death of the fellow.”
“Too long,” Eichri said. “Yet, it seems, not long enough.”
There was nothing I could say to that, since I had no idea what he meant, only that it sounded very sad.“I— Magnus, you said something before that suggested . . . I don’t want to pry, but aren’t there any other folk living here, apart from yourselves, I mean? It’s such a big house. How can you manage without grooms, farmhands, people to wash clothing, scrub floors, tend to stock?”
Magnus broke a piece of bread between his big capable hands.“It’s just us,” he said, glancing around the table. “Us and the ones out in the forest.”
“That makes you a delightful surprise, Caitrin,” Rioghan put in. “Our dusty old web has caught a splendid butterfly.”
“As to how we manage, a man does what he has to,” Magnus said.“We work hard.”
I drew a deep breath. “Magnus,” I ventured, “you mentioned
The four men looked at one another. Each of them seemed to be waiting for someone else to answer.
“In that mirror earlier,” I said, trying not to see it again, “a man called Nechtan, Anluan’s ancestor, was talking about an . . . army. He was preparing an experiment, and hoping the result would make him powerful.That could have been about a hundred years ago, by my calculations. The folk in the village said the whole place had been under a curse for a hundred years. I thought . . . well, I suppose it is none of my business, but I do have to read the family documents, so . . . does the curse date from Nechtan’s time? Is it something to do with those whispering voices and creeping hands? These others you mention, the ones who live out there?” I could not believe I was asking such questions. The old Caitrin, the confident, serene one, would not have hesitated; she would have sought out whatever information she needed to do a good job. I lifted my chin. I could be that woman again if I tried.
Olcan had his elbow on the table, his mossy head resting on one hand. “Big story, Caitrin,” he said. “All you need to know is, the Tor’s old. It’s older than the memory of any ordinary man, older than the most ancient story that was ever told around the fire at suppertime. A hundred years is just an eye-blink to this place.There’s a lot of memory in these walls; there’s a lot of power in these stones.Yes, there are one or two folk living out in the woods who are not quite your usual man-at-arms or kitchen maid. Some of them you’ll see, some you’ll hear, some may pass you by without being noticed at all.You shouldn’t be afraid.”
“Folk,” I managed. There were goose bumps all over my body. “What sort of . . . folk?”
“All sorts, Caitrin,” said Magnus calmly. “Nothing to worry about. You’re on the Tor as Anluan’s invited guest. While you’re here, Anluan keeps you safe. Nobody and nothing can touch you.”
It was not a restful night. The bedding I had been given failed to keep out the chill, and when I did manage to drift off into sleep, Nechtan tangled with Cillian in my dreams, jolting me awake with my heart pounding and my body drenched in nervous sweat.When I could bear it no longer I got up, slid back the newly installed bolt on my door, and went out to the gallery that edged the upstairs rooms. I stood with my bare feet in the litter of leaves and twigs and gazed out over the gentle chaos of the garden, the trees and bushes illuminated by the cloud-veiled moon to shades of uncertain blue and gray. By the pond, a figure in a red cloak paced to and fro, to and fro. It was true, then: there was an all-night sentry on duty. I watched him awhile, and at one point he looked up and raised a pale hand in greeting.The cold forced me back to bed, where I tossed and turned until morning.
As soon as it was light I made my way down to the kitchen, where Magnus already had the fire burning and water heating.
“We don’t gather for breakfast,” the steward said.“If you want water to wash, you’ll have to wait. I can’t spare the time to pump it.”
“I’ll do it myself,” I said, hoping this did not break any rules.
He spared me a glance. It was not unfriendly. “Good for you. The pump’s out the back door in the yard. Take that bucket there, it’s lighter to carry than the other. I’ll be leaving a pot of porridge beside the fire. Help yourself when you’re ready. Don’t know how early you plan to start work.”
“Early,” I said. “There’s a lot of it.”
I made the mistake of rolling up my sleeves before I left the kitchen, and was instantly aware of the big man’s stare. I turned away, but not before he had seen the bruises on my arms.
