Chapter Ten The Cobra and the Stable Girl
CHAPTER TEN
The Cobra and the Stable Girl
“Oh Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? And while we’re talking, Romeo, how does wealth for a few justify the oppression of the working class?”
Romeo and Juliet Overthrow the Government, a play by the notorious MARQUIS OF POPENJOY
On their journey through the wild woods, they saw a turul overhead, the lucky bird with gold-edged wings and claws as silver as if they grasped the moon. One of the Cobra’s people, city-bred, tried to shoot the bird down until Captain Diarmat explained it would mean disaster for their whole party.
They had seen enough disaster. This far from Themesvar and the dread ravine, incursions from ghouls should be less frequent. Still the dead persisted like rotten hounds dogged on a scent.
The dead chased for a reason that had become excruciatingly clear to Marius. They were following Eric. They could not have him.
Marius had not mentioned this to the Cobra, who would only get some wild notion about leaving everyone else for their own protection.
The Cobra would also expect Marius to stay with the others, which was impossible.
Marius had sworn himself to the Cobra, but Eric had yet to fully comprehend the sacred weight of the blood oath.
They were in the midst of what Eric referred to as a “cultural misunderstanding”.
He was the most intelligent man of Marius’s acquaintance; he would understand soon enough.
If the choice was between Eric’s life and the lives of others, there was no choice at all.
The frequent incursions by the undead made the men jumpy.
Whenever the leaves rustled, some soldier would unsheathe his sword, fearing the dead had caught up with them, until Marius shook his head and someone would part the leaves to find a chess cat already dematerializing into shadow, leaving only its grin behind.
Their travels led them past babbling brooks, limpid streams and crystal-clear lakes – Marius should know, as their party stopped at every single one. The wicked Marquis of Popenjoy insisted upon it.
They were making excellent progress, despite the dangers lurking in the deep woods and the unnecessarily frequent stops to wash.
The Cobra persisted: “People never consider how unhygienic quests are. Months on the road, coated with the grime of days. Staggering into the shadow of an evil volcano, demoralized and in need of a spa day.”
If someone did not stop the Cobra, he would suggest staying at an inn and searching for that minstrel again.
Marius raised an eyebrow. “We’re almost at my house.”
They had passed the turning in the wood to the Mountain of Truth and the Oracle’s cave. The stone of the manor was built from the stone of those mountains. Marius’s lady mother said Valerius bones were carved from unyielding stone of truth. They were nearly home.
Grey-towered Ancilley Manor cast a long shadow in Marius’s mind, dark as the knowledge that he had abandoned his king.
Seven years ago, after the last, terrible fight with his father, Marius had left the manor of his birth.
He had not returned since. Perhaps a return to Ancilley was always inevitable.
Perhaps you could not escape your past or your family, any more than your own shadow.
The Cobra’s laugh was a small, golden escape. “I was visualizing a quest. I understand quests. If this is a quest, then I can find my way through.”
Marius pointed out, “We have a very accurate map.”
“And it doesn’t say ‘Here be dragons’.” Eric seemed comforted by this. “Dragons are the number-one sign things have got completely out of hand. I will not fight a dragon.”
Eric’s own world must be a place of high drama and wild adventure. Marius had seen a glimpse of that world in the Oracle’s pool, yet he still found it difficult to picture. Imagination was Eric’s area, not his.
On the whole, Marius considered it fortunate Eric couldn’t return. Better to keep him in Marius’s world, a far more safe and sensible place.
A familiar warning shook the green leaves overhead. “’Ware the dead!”
Marius guided his steed protectively in front of Eric.
At this distance, an ordinary man would fail to make out the figure of a ghoul, lurching in pursuit at the tail-end of their group.
Even if they saw it, they might think it human.
Marius, a Valerius, could see the uncoordinated gait and the sheen of dead eyes, the hair and scalp sloughing off the bone.
Marius held out a hand. “Crossbow.”
The crossbow hit his palm. Marius held the bow steady and his aim true. An instant later the bolt shot through the creature’s skull, splintering the rotten bone sphere to rotten bone fragments, the bolt embedding in a tree trunk, the ghoul pinned like a butterfly beneath glass.
“Ghouls come in packs,” said Marius. “Excuse me.”
When Marius had dispatched the pack and come back to himself, he cleaned his face and sword, and returned to Eric’s side. Evening was drawing down and the party was making their rough camp in a glade.
“It’s been almost a day since our last ghoul encounter,” Eric murmured. “I think everyone was hoping we wouldn’t see any more. We should get their spirits back up with a campfire sing-along!”
“I question your motives in making this suggestion,” said Marius.
The Cobra kept teaching everyone strange songs. Far too many were composed by the same minstrel, whom Eric seemed to hold in the highest regard. It was clear as a scandalous crystal the Cobra harboured feelings for this woman. Perhaps she was the minstrel he searched for.
Eric sent him a sharply amused glance. Marius was the one whose vision could perceive for leagues further than other men, but Eric had a way of noticing things.
“I assure you I never had an affair with Beyoncé.” This was a relief until Eric added, “I wish!”
Marius chose to regard that as one of Eric’s frequent tasteless jokes. As the wealthiest and most well-looking man in the land, Eric could conduct an affair with any performer he wished.
“Also,” Eric continued in more serious tones, “I would not refer to her as a minstrel.”
“Ah, is she a noblewoman proficient in singing and playing instruments?”
It was excellent for ladies to have many accomplishments. His sister Caracalla had sent him beautiful examples of her weaving.
“Sure, let’s go with that.” Eric finished rubbing down his steed, with a gentle pat upon Google Maps’ curved neck. Then he dropped his voice low. “You know the refugee you saved from the ghouls in a sweepingly heroic fashion?”
“The girl?” Marius asked.
“Possibly,” the Cobra murmured.
“I beg you will pay me no mind, m’lord,” said the girl’s voice behind them.
The Cobra started. Marius had naturally been aware she was there. She seemed to enjoy hanging about in the shadows, silently watching. Marius could understand that. He also didn’t enjoy conversations.
She seemed to wish to speak now. “Lord Marius, thank you for rescuing me. On multiple occasions. Everybody talks of the Last Hope, the White Knight, the greatest warrior who ever lived—”
Marius controlled a flinch. He knew too well what they also whispered of his cursed lineage, the lethal rages, the dead brides in his grandfather’s bloody chamber.
The girl blinked. Her dreamy dark eyes were frequently unfocused. Marius didn’t think she could see very well. “The stories don’t do you justice.”
“Stories rarely do anyone justice in the end,” Eric murmured.
The girl squinted doubtfully in the Cobra’s direction.
“Forgive the Marquis,” said Marius. “It amuses him to tell jests nobody comprehends.”
“If you had the correct context, I’d be hilarious.”
“Are you certain?” Marius murmured.
The girl dimpled, so she must have belatedly understood Eric’s joke. Or she was one of those who tossed their hair and laughed at whatever the Golden Cobra said. Marius didn’t approve of that behaviour: Eric should not be encouraged to make jokes.
“What’s your name?” Eric asked gently.
“Um, Ink, m’lord,” mumbled the girl, identifying herself as a peasant.
Marius was unsurprised. A lady, or even a wench of the merchant or serving classes, would never be left alone to wander the streets.
A lady might be attacked by ghouls or, worse, lose her virtue.
Though this girl was well spoken and appeared well fed, she didn’t have a lady’s mannerisms, and naturally no lady would dress in the horrifying way Ink dressed.
The Cobra gave her a sweet, encouraging smile. “Nice to meet you, Ink.”
“I suppose,” muttered the girl. “It’s such an honour to meet you, Lord Marius.”
“My lady,” said Marius. She wasn’t a lady, but she had been frightened and deserved courtesy, and Eric liked it when Marius pretended commoners and nobles were equal.
The girl made a sound like an overexcited mouse. Obviously, she was still overset by the ghoul encounter.
“Can I ask you a question, Ink?” asked Eric, still more gently. “You’re dressed in men’s clothing.”
Ink made another sound, this time resembling a panicked mouse. “Why shouldn’t I be? I’m a boy!”
“You’re clearly not—” Marius began.
Eric gave him a vicious shove. Marius stopped talking.
The Cobra set himself to charm. “If you say so, sir, I believe you without question. You look charming. There are no wrong answers here. But if you dress in men’s clothing because you fear being mistreated, let me assure you that you are safe with us.”
Ink hesitated. “I do believe Lord Marius will defend the innocent.”
The Cobra nodded encouragingly.
“Very well, I’m not a boy. I’m a girl dressed as a boy,” Ink admitted in a rush.
“I stole some clothes to blend with the crowd. The city was in such tumult, and with the raiders attacking out of nowhere, I didn’t know what might happen next.
When people started addressing me as a boy, it seemed best to go along with the pretence. ”
“Entirely reasonable.”