The Legend of Broken

{iii:}

Out of the staircase that connects his private tower to the hallway of the Kastelgerd’s upper story, Rendulic Baster-kin quickly emerges, moving to the top of the broad central stairway of the residence — one of many deliberately overawing aspects of the building that visitors encounter upon entering through the structure’s high, heavy front doors. From above, his lordship sees a short, strong woman dressed in a plain gown of deep blue and bearing a towel† that has been soaked in water, as well as a clay pitcher filled with the same liquid. Baster-kin suspects that the healer’s servant has been moving repeatedly up and down the stairs between the kitchens to the rear of the great hall and the second-story bedchamber in the north wing, wherein lies the stricken lady of the house, all of the evening. Standing by the railing that runs the length of the gallery’s edge and offers a commanding view of the marble-floored entryway below, Baster-kin observes as the same servant halts, runs back down the stairs to fetch a large kettle filled with hot, steaming water, and resumes her speedy errand. When she reaches the top of the stairs once more, she catches sight of the lord of the Kastelgerd, and attempts to bow deeply, a task made difficult by the many burdens she bears. Baster-kin waves the woman off, detecting that the heated water contains a new infusion. Such is all he needs to tell him that Healer Raban’s first medicinal doses were not, in fact, sufficient to quiet Lady Baster-kin, a fact that, while unsurprising, rouses the master of the house’s ire. He makes ready to follow the servant, and to sternly chastise Raban for his half-measures: Nothing, he had warned his household servants throughout the previous two days, not a single detail must be allowed to affect or disturb my meeting with Lady Arnem, on the night I have appointed for it to take place. If this order required an increased amount of Healer Raban’s medicines to calm his lordship’s wife, then so be it; but instead, Raban has erred on caution’s side, and the consequences of that caution become even more apparent when the maid opens the door to her lady’s chamber.

Lady Baster-kin was removed to this luxurious but nonetheless remote location when her screaming fits became uncontrollable and unpredictable enough to cause her husband to worry that she might be — indeed, almost certainly would be — heard by strollers on the Way of the Faithful; whereas, facing the inner courtyard of the Kastelgerd and her husband’s solitary tower, she would torment none but his lordship — a punishment that Baster-kin has more than once wondered if he has not deserved …

“No! I will not swallow another drop, lest it be my husband’s hand that places it upon my lips! Rendulic! Tell him—”

But then the door closes again, and the screaming becomes stifled, although no less frantic. The sound strikes fear deep into Baster-kin’s heart, particularly when he hears footsteps coming from below: with great speed, he again moves behind one of the marble columns at the gallery’s edge, and peers out to see who approaches. He breathes with no little relief when he spies not Lady Arnem but his most trusted servant and counselor, Radelfer, walking alone to the stairway, having come from the library that opens off the southern side of the building’s great entry hall. Baster-kin walks out to the open area at the top of the staircase and waits for his faithful seneschal, a tall man who still exudes power, even though his shoulder-length hair, his close-clipped beard, and the tone of his skin have all gone quite grey through his many years of service to the Baster-kin family.

“I told that fool Raban to make his doses strong enough, this evening,” Baster-kin says, as the older man falls in beside him and they begin to walk up the hallway of the northern wing. “Has her screaming been audible in the library?”

“Portions of it, my lord, but only if one knew what to listen for,” Radelfer answers. “Which I did. But Lady Arnem took no heed.”

Baster-kin laughs humorlessly. “None that she told you of, at any rate,” he scoffs. “She is far too wise to intrude in such matters, when worries about both her son and her husband have brought her here. I assume those are her reasons for calling?”

“Yes,” Radelfer replies carefully. “Although she has other information to impart — things that she would not tell me. Some business of great importance having to do with the Fifth District.”

“Ah, yes,” Lord Baster-kin answers ambiguously. “Come, come, Radelfer — what business in the Fifth District is ever of great importance?”

“I only convey the message that she related, my lord,” Radelfer says, still watching his former charge carefully as the pair reach the thick door into the bedchamber that has been the source of the evening’s disturbances.

“Is it a ploy, Radelfer, do you think?” Baster-kin asks. “To strengthen the plea she makes concerning her son?”

“I would not say so,” Radelfer answers calmly; all the more calmly, given that he is lying. “She is little changed: Guile is no more her art now than it was years ago, and her concern has an unquestionably genuine quality to it.” He affects greater confusion when his master does not immediately reply. “My lord? Are you aware of some matter in the Fifth District that she may have stumbled upon?”

Baster-kin eyes the man. “I, Radelfer? Nothing at all. But tell me — you say she is little changed?”

“So it appears to my eyes, lord,” Radelfer replies. “But remember — I have ever been a poor judge of women.”

Baster-kin laughs. “You had judgment enough to know that both she and her mistress could help me, in my youth, when the rest of Broken’s healers proved useless.”

“Perhaps,” Radelfer replies. “But in my own life, that judgment has been less discerning.”

“Many are the great philosophers who know the world well, yet almost nothing of themselves …,” says the master of the Kastelgerd. Then he weighs the matter at hand silently. “Very well — return to her, Radelfer. Engage her further in conversation, lest she detect our larger purpose. When you are certain all sound from Lady Baster-kin’s chamber has been quieted, bring her to the base of the stairs.”

“Why not keep her safely in the library—?” Radelfer asks.

“I do not have time, now, Radelfer, to explain in greater detail,” Baster-kin replies. “Have her there when all is silent — that is my wish.”

Radelfer watches his lord disappear into the bedchamber, arching a brow as he realizes: Yes — have her there, so that when you descend, you may look all the more impressive. You are as you were, Rendulic, at the mere thought of encountering her: a lovesick boy in search of admiration …

The seneschal’s manner changes only when he has descended the grand stairway once more, and is alone; or, rather, presumes he is alone. A whispering voice calls from the shadows beneath the stairs, startling him: “Radelfer …?”

The seneschal turns and sees a black-robed man step out from the darkest shadows in the great hall. “Klauqvest!” Radelfer whispers in surprise. “You should not be here — you risk discovery. There is much activity in the Kastelgerd tonight.”

“Well do I know it,” Klauqvest answers, “but Lord Baster-kin bade me issue several private commands to Healer Raban, which I have just done.”

“In truth?” Radelfer takes a moment to turn to the ever-troubling matter of relations between Rendulic Baster-kin and Klauqvest: If my lord wishes so passionately that this pitiable young man remain hidden, the seneschal asks himself, then why does he also insist upon employing him in ways that risk further discovery of his existence? Dispensing with such unanswerable queries, Radelfer asks aloud, “And are you on your way back to the cellars, then?”

“Not quite,” Klauqvest replies.

“I should reconsider that statement, lad, and get below at once, if I were you. Best to be safe, whatever your—” Radelfer pauses to choose his words carefully. “Whatever your lord and master’s willful ignorance of the risk.”

“I shall,” Klauqvest says quickly, “but as Raban is already here, I wondered if you could not— coax some of his medicines out of him, for I failed in the attempt. I do not seek them for myself, but for Loreleh.”†

“Your sister?” Radelfer draws closer still to the bandaged face. “Is she ill?”

“Less ill than in pain,” Klauqvest says. “But ask her yourself.”

A third timid voice, that of a young maiden, now joins the discussion from a spot even further back in the shadows beneath the stairs. “Hello, Radelfer.”