Shadows

A great distance away, the Skadirr’s master was angry. Twice now it had struck too early; too hastily. Twice now it had allowed the orb to escape from its grasp. He had tried his best to force the Skadirr to follow the girl, but the deadly, dancing light from the fire on the ship had sapped its essence and forced it to retreat, despite its master’s commands.

Now the Skadirr skulked in an alleyway, hiding in the shadows granted by the overhanging buildings. The midday sun beat down harshly, and the Skadirr’s master cursed the creature’s inability to move in the light and his own impatience. He knew full well the Skadirr’s limitations, but as the hours ticked by he tried more and more frantic methods to try and circumvent these issues and get the creature moving again - with little success.

The Skadirr’s master, looking out through his servant’s eyes with the aid of a scrying disc, saw a child come skipping happily along the alleyway where the Skadirr lurked, not noticing the shadows here were a bit deeper and more venomous. As the girl hopped across the cobblestones cheerfully, humming a wordless song to herself, a hungry tendril of darkness began to coil itself around one of her legs.

No! Commanded the Skadirr’s master, overriding the Skadirr’s natural instinct. The shadow wavered for a moment, trying to fight its master’s control, but after a brief struggle the tendril withdrew and the child passed unharmed.

The Skadirr’s master sat back in his chair and rested a hand against his head wearily, panting deeply. The other hand waved dismissively over the scrying dish he was using to command his shadowy servant, and the image went blank for the time being. There was going to be no progress made for the time being, and it would be foolish to waste energy controlling the Skadirr unnecessarily.

It should not have been this hard, he seethed to himself through gritted teeth. If the damned Skadirr had retrieved the Orb from the island there would be no trouble. Instead it had allowed it to escape and he had had to track it down all the way across the sea to godforsaken Velayne! And then the Orb had got away from him again, and in the hands of a young girl as well!

The man sighed to himself, and as his rage momentarily retreated he realised how tired he was. It should not have been so difficult to restrain the Skadirr from nearly attacking that child, he thought. Maintaining the creature’s presence in this world was taxing his power. Summoning a Skadirr hadn’t been done for centuries, yet he had achieved it, and more than that – he had sustained the creature’s essence for over a month now, which was no mean feat. Surviving that blaze at the docks had been very lucky, though it had taken a lot out of him. He needed to rest.

The job was not done yet, though. The Orb was still not in his hands, and for all he knew it was travelling further away from him as he waited. Why had he sent the Skadirr after the Orb in the height of summer? He groaned exasperatedly to himself. Well, he knew why. His hand had been forced when that damn fool Art had hired those merchants, and there was no way he was allowing that traitor to get his hands on the power resting within that Orb. He wished he’d been able to kill Art before the rat had fled the capital, but he knew he couldn’t change the past. All he could hope was that the Skadirr would once again find the Orb, and it would be in his hands long before Art got the chance to touch it.

The Orb would be his, along with all its power and secrets. It was so close now – all these years of waiting and planning were finally starting to pay off. Just a few more days…

Angie was getting angry. She had made her way over to the farmhouse only to find that Mrs Gambol was nowhere to be seen, her leg was starting to ache badly again and what was worse was that Robert would not stop following her around. The temptation to smack him with the crook was growing by the minute, and if it wasn’t for the fact she was relying on it for movement it might already have found itself swinging down in his direction.

For reasons unclear to her, she was disproportionately angry with the boy. His mannerisms and circuitous conversations were cause for irritation enough, and whilst she knew her pain and tiredness were undoubtedly making her grouchier as well, she couldn’t help but feel irrationally annoyed with him. Angie felt a part of her was blaming him for the appearance of the Skadirr, though she knew it wasn’t his fault. Still though, if he had somehow been able to tell her earlier, maybe she could have saved Vern-

“Will you please shut up?!” Angie snapped as Robert continued to recite what his book told him made for an excellent journey. “I will hit you with this.”

Robert shrugged as Angie waved the crook in his direction.

“I h-hope you mean might,” he replied, “As will is very definite whereas might suggests you haven’t made your mind up yet-”

There was a sound of hard wood connecting with bone, followed by two yelps and a thud as a body hit the floor.

“Oh no, you were r-right…” groaned Robert, wincing as he rubbed his shoulder. Angie grumbled as she lay in the dirt, only slightly regretting sacrificing her balance for hitting Robert. Now she was faced with the task of getting back on her feet, which whilst normally would have been child’s play was now hampered by her aching leg and the weight of the gambeson. She was not asking Robert for a hand up, and she doubted he would help her even if she asked. She’d just hit him pretty hard, and no-one in their right mind would-

“W-would you like a hand up?” offered Robert, gesturing his hand towards Angie. “Only you l-look a little stuck.”

Mind you, this was Robert wasn’t it? Thought Angie, glaring at the boy’s hand.

“Why would you help me up?” asked Angie. “I just hit you, doesn’t that bother you in the slightest?”

“Well I c-can’t say I’d want you to do it again,” pondered Robert, “B-but then you did warn me beforehand so that has to count for something. D-don’t you want to get up?”

“I’m fine,” grumbled Angie. “Who are you, Robert? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you.”

“I should h-hope not! Otherwise I’d have a d-doppelgänger out there somewhere!” Robert smiled.

“Oh, you’re making jokes now? Once I’m back on my feet I will hit you so hard with this crook-”

“M-might?”

“Will.”

“What are you two playing at?” called the approaching figure of Mrs Gambol. “Did you push her over, young man?!” Robert recoiled slightly as she got closer, vehemently hobbling at speed.

“Um, n-no! S-she hit me with the c-crook and l-lost her b-balance. I w-was trying to help her up!” Mrs Gambol shot a cursory look at Angie, who sighed and nodded.

“Why’d you want to hit him, m’girl?” asked Mrs Gambol. “He try something indecent?” she went on, fixing an accusative eye on Robert, who felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

“No, he just wouldn’t stop talking about his book and I was angry.” Angie explained.

“Well, I can see you’ve got fire in your heart, not least your hair,” grinned Mrs Gambol, “but best not go burning all your bridges, eh?”

“H-how can you burn bridges with hair?” asked Robert, very puzzled.

“Even if the bridge ain’t quite built properly,” continued Mrs Gambol, ignoring him. “Now come on lad, if you were helping her up, help her up then!” Robert glanced nervously between Mrs Gambol and Angie.

“I w-was offering, b-but she said she was fine…”

“Boy, the only time anyone ever uses the words ‘I’m fine’ is when they’re anything but, or making polite conversation. Now help her up! And you m’girl, you’re doing no good to anyone sat there in the dust getting my daughters clothes mucky, so you’ll accept his help and that’ll be the end of it.”

Mrs Gambol had spoken with a tone tempered and refined over the raising of four boys, one girl and countless grandchildren, so Robert and Angie found themselves obeying wordlessly, and soon Angie also found herself back on her feet again. No sooner had she righted herself, Robert shielded himself with his arms, causing Angie and Mrs Gambol to stare at him perplexed.

“What are you doing that for, boy?” Mrs Gambol asked bemusedly.

“J-just Angie s-said she would hit me with the crook again once she was b-back on her feet.”

“Did she now?” smiled Mrs Gambol, gazing at Angie, who bit her lip and stared at the sky innocently. If she was capable of whistling she would have been. “Well I dare say she’s changed her mind now you’ve been all helpful, isn’t that right m’girl?”

“Maybe,” mumbled Angie. “Let’s leave it at I might hit you again, and take it from there.”

“M-might is okay.” Robert sighed in relief, lowering his arms.

“Now that’s sorted,” smirked Mrs Gambol, “You two best get back down to the wagon train, you’ve wasted enough time already. They’ll be leaving soon and after all that work I’ve done patching you up and convincing Mr Godfrey to take you you’d best damn be on one of those wagons!”

“Oh yes, I was meaning to say thank you for all you’ve done for me Mrs Gambol, it’s too much! Please let me repay me you.”

“You didn’t think I was letting you keep all this, were you? I’m expecting them back!” Mrs Gambol grinned. “Don’t you go losing my daughter’s stuff or I will expect you to pay!”

“Out of interest, who is your daughter Mrs Gambol?” Angie could tell she’d touched a nerve before she even finished asking. Mrs Gambol’s face darkened briefly, like a cloud passing over the sun, then smiled gently again.

“Tell you what – I’ll tell you all about her when you bring the clothes and crook back, eh? We can have some tea and chat about her, how does that sound?” Angie nodded and smiled.

“That would be nice.”

“Well, enough idle chatter, you’ll be late! Best of luck m’girl, and don’t do anything stupid! That goes for you too, Sonny Jim.” Mrs Gambol added, looking towards Robert. Robert looked over his shoulder behind him, and Mrs Gambol clipped him round the ear. “I mean you, boy!”

“Oh. My name’s Robert.”

As it turned out, once all the wagon drivers were awake again, checked their wagon load, had the chance to visit a nearby bush to relieve themselves and then got ready to set off, Robert and Angie were bang on time. To his credit, Godfrey only groaned slightly when he saw the pair ambling down towards him.

“So you’re still coming with then?” he asked as they approached. Angie nodded. “Fair enough. The offer stands as it was, you’ll have to pay your way and I’m not hanging about if there’s sign of trouble.”

“Fair enough,” agreed Angie, shaking hands with the man.

“You wanting to come with too, lad? You’ll have to pay as well you know.”

“I’ve already paid Tom five hussars for passage to Alderbay, t-though.”

“Have you now? Five hussars you say? I’ve told him about overcharging too many times already…” Godfrey muttered under his breath. “Hop on lad, and I’ll see about getting you two of those hussars back. That’ll still be three hussars from you though miss,” he said, extending an open palm. Angie produced two hussars with ease and began to root around in a pouch for another.

“It’s okay, k-keep the two from me and then Angie will only have to pay you one.” Interrupted Robert.

“I can pay for myself!” replied Angie hotly.

“I d-didn’t say you couldn’t,” smiled Robert in a way that made the crook twitch in Angie’s hands.

“I’m happy to do that if you are, lad,” nodded Godfrey.

“What if I’m happy to do that?” asked Angie.

“You mean you don’t want to let this lad pay two thirds of your travel costs?”

“Well,” began Angie, her mouth hesitating as it began to form the word ‘No’. It lost the battle against Angie’s mind. “Well, no! I don’t need charity from a stranger, thank you very much. I might not have three hussars to pay you, but I could work for the extra one?”

“It’s very admirable to want to make your own way in the world,” Godfrey nodded, “but accepting help when you’re down on your luck doesn’t make you weak.” With that the man plucked one hussar from Angie’s outstretched palm and turned to continue readying the wagon.

“But-” Angie began, but tailed off in a huff. There was nothing more irritating than being in the wrong when everyone else seemed to be being so damn reasonable and kind! Besides, she thought, as Robert clambered onto the back of the wagon, I still haven’t figured you out yet, Robert, and I’m not entirely sure I can trust you. I have a feeling you’re hiding something and I will find out. Will, not might, Angie grumbled to herself as she slid the crook onto the slats of the wagon and began to pull herself up after it.

“W-would you like a hand?” Robert offered.

“No.” grunted Angie as she dragged herself up in a rather undignified manner, trying to keep her bandaged leg from hitting against anything.

“It’s j-just, you look like you’re struggling a bit.”

“Oh, yes?” spat Angie as she smacked her leg against a metal rung, “Well stop looking, then!” With a heave and a gasp she plonked herself down on the floor of the wagon and rubbed her calf tenderly. She noticed Robert was still looking at her, and she glared at him. He hastily broke eye contact and buried his face behind Tobruk’s Guide to Travelling.

Angie was exhausted. She felt like she’d been running on anger and adrenaline for the past day. As she lay there on the wagon floor, finally back in the peace and quiet save for the sounds of the countryside, the occasional sound of a page turning, and at one point what sounded like Godfrey yelling at someone, Angie closed her eyes.

And opened them again.

“Where’s Polo?” she asked.

“Who?” replied Robert.

“Verne’s – my dog? He was around earlier, where’s he got to?”

“Who’s Verne?”

“Shut up! You were sat outside the barn I was in earlier, did you see a little dog leave at all?”

Robert raised a hand sheepishly.

“What?”

“D-do you want me to shut up or answer your q-question?”

Angie’s growl was so fierce Robert thought the dog must have been in the wagon with them already. “W-what does that mean?”

“Answer. The question.” Angie growled through gritted teeth.

“Oh, okay. W-well, there was a moment when I was reading through a section in Tobruk’s about making sure one took adequate provisions with them on their travels, and just as I was halfway through an interesting recipe for mushroom stew several chickens came flapping past me with a dog chasing them along. Could that be your dog?”

“It’s our best bet, I suppose. If Godfrey comes back tell him I won’t be long, I’ve just gone to get my dog.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to go?”

“And why’s that?”

“W-well, you’re not that mobile at present and if we don’t want to d-delay the wagons maybe I could be faster?”

“I’m fine,” Angie huffed, her mind fuming at the lack of mobility mention but her legs eagerly agreeing with Robert. “Besides, Polo doesn’t know you and those he doesn’t know he tends to shy away from. Or bite,” Angie added.

“Oh that’s okay,” shrugged Robert. “I read a book – two actually – about dog handling and training so I should be fine.”

“Oh, really? Well, if you get bitten don’t come to me crying about it!”

“W-well, I’ll have to come back to you as I’m returning you dog.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Oh,” Robert paused. “D-did you mean you can’t mend dog bites then?”

“That’s not what I meant either!” Angie fumed. “I’ll have you know I can mend dog bites quite handily, thank you very much. And that’s more difficult than you may think, dog bites have a nasty habit of getting infected.”

“What did you mean then?”

“Look, are you going to go get Polo or not? We’re wasting more time here than if I’d just gone myself!”

“I’ll go get him,” nodded Robert, swinging himself out of the wagon and starting to wander back towards the barn, shouting out ‘Polo!’, slapping his legs periodically and making unintelligible barking noises. Angie rolled her eyes and shook her head. Whilst her first thoughts were telling her Robert wasn’t going to be able to bring back Polo, at the very least without a bite or two to contend with, there was something about the boy’s self-assured nature that led her to believe otherwise. After all, no-one sober or sane would be trying to find a lost dog by growling round the corner of a barn if they didn’t think it was going to work.

Then again, thought Angie, maybe he isn’t sane. Angie had seen plenty of drunk people in the past, not least from having lived above a pub the past few years, and Robert didn’t seem drunk. Maybe he was under the effects of some other toxin or poison. Angie knew for a fact that some traders who came to Velayne for the Summer Festival brought concoctions to sell that the town guard stamped down hard on. There had been the poppy powder crisis a few years ago, where several bags of the innocent sounding mixture had found themselves in the hands of five young children. Angie had been deemed too young to be allowed to help attend to the children back then, though now in hindsight she knew that there was nothing that she could have done anyway.

Three men had been hung the next day. Eight graves were dug the next, and then the people of Velayne had quietly and solemnly got back to their lives.

No, thought Angie, blinking back tears, I don’t want to be thinking about death. Stay angry, stay occupied.

Which was easier said than done when she was propped up in the back of a wagon, feeling like a bruised bag of battered bones. She could see Robert’s bag lying on the wagon floor not too far away from her and the temptation to look inside and see if there was anything suspicious inside was rising.

Curiosity, an inquisitive nature, or whatever polite term you wished to substitute for bare-faced nosiness, was a trait Angie had developed over the course of working for Mrs Gable. Being told about people’s embarrassing and above all secret conditions, and having to ask the questions needed to determine exactly what the cause of that rash in your undergarments is, had given her a thirst for knowing other people’s business better than she knew her own.[17]

Quickly peeking out the back of the wagon to see if Robert was returning, she stretched out and pulled the bag towards her. She’d been prepared for books, but the sheer number he’d managed to cram into the small bag was impressive.[18] There seemed to be all manner of books Robert had packed, from books on nature, travelling and survival, to more out of place books, such as one about how to prepare marmalade and one that seemed to be about a group of fancily dressed people doing a whole lot of nothing. The women on the cover seemed to be wearing ridiculously impractical outfits – not one of their dresses seemed to have pockets, Angie noted.

She adjusted the gambeson, which was already starting to feel sweaty, and delved deeper into Robert’s bag. There wasn’t much more beyond the books, save a small bottle wrapped in sheep wool, a few candles, a razor for shaving, and a book that looked quite unlike the others. It looked more like a diary, and as Angie rooted around further she located a quill and a little pot of ink next to it. How the ink pot had survived being at the bottom of a bag full of heavy books Angie didn’t know. Whoever he was, Angie mused, Robert was certainly not used to packing. She fought the urge to rearrange the bag so the more fragile stuff was at the top, but knew this would alert Robert to the fact she had been snooping through his stuff. Quickly checking again to see he was not on his way back, Angie unwrapped the bottle, placing the sheep wool on the floor.

The bottle was filled with a clear liquid and stoppered with an old cork. A freshly written label tied on a card attached to the cork read: “A Mrs Colywick’s Special for the road”. Angie didn’t know what that meant, but gently popped the cork stopper out and suspiciously sniffed the contents. The hairs on the inside of her nose spontaneously combusted and she choked as she firmly placed the stopper back in. Blinking back tears for a very different reason now, she wrapped the bottle back up and placed it carefully back in the bag.

Maybe Robert is just drunk, Angie thought to herself. That stuff’s lethal! None of it had actually been drunk, she conceded, but someone could get blotto off the fumes alone quite easily. Shaking her head, she picked up the possible diary and flipped it open onto her lap.

It wasn’t quite a diary. At least, it wasn’t how Angie felt a diary should be written. It told her more about Robert than any conversation with him could, and Angie wasn’t quite sure this was a good thing. She flicked through the pages to the most recent entry and read it. Then she read it again. Her brow furrowed as she read one word in particular over and over again, twisting and turning it in her mind. She wished she had a dictionary with her. Actually, Angie realised, Robert had probably packed a dictionary somewhere in this bag of his…

The sound of barking snapped Angie back to the present, and she hastily repacked Robert’s bag, taking care to make sure everything went back in in the same order. Hefting the bag back over to where it had been, and trying to convince herself she’d not heard the sound of an ink pot shattering, she tried her best to act inconspicuous.

The barking got louder, and Polo’s head appeared around the side of the wagon, followed shortly after by the rest of him as he bounded happily into the wagon and onto Angie, who groaned once again as the dog landed awkwardly on her bruises. Despite this though, Angie cracked a half-smile at the sight of Polo again. Save the damnable orb in the box on her belt, Polo was the only real thing she had left of Ver- of, well… him. There were the trinkets he had brought her back from his travels, but they were in her room at The Sailor’s Jaunt back in Velayne, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever get the chance to return there. But Polo, with his droopy ears and soft yet tangled fur, was here, was now, was… Angie faltered. Polo was a damn sight more valuable than the box on her belt, that was what he was.

Angie felt a moment of dread creep over her as she held Polo tight to her chest. How was she supposed to keep him safe? Angie worried, biting her lip. He’d already wandered off once, and what with the Skadirr out there somewhere… Her memory rolled back to the cabin last night. Polo had leapt right at the Skadirr, not caring one moment for his own wellbeing. How easily he could have died there and then, snuffed out like a candle…

Robert had quietly appeared round the side of the wagon as Angie was stroking Polo, and smiled gently as he clambered up into the wagon. Angie watched him carefully as he sat himself down, wiped his cracked glasses on his shirt, then picked up Tobruk’s Guide to Travelling and began to read again.

And that was it. No fuss, no expectation of thanks – just quiet satisfaction in completion of the task, and then back to the books. However, Angie knew how much it meant to receive thanks for doing someone a favour, even if you didn’t ask for it. Especially if you didn’t ask for it. The only people who asked for thanks, in Angie’s opinion, were the people who didn’t deserve it. Likewise, not giving thanks when it was due showed you didn’t appreciate the value of kindness.

“Thank you,” said Angie, clearing her throat. “This dog means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome.” Robert smiled, not lifting his eyes up from his book.

“I, um,” Angie tried again, “Wanted to say sorry for hitting you with the crook. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s alright,” replied Robert, his head still pointed down. “I know I annoy people.”

Angie fought back the urge to ask the question: ‘Well why don’t you try and do something about that then, eh?’ because she remembered the not-quite-diary, and knew Robert was trying his best. Instead she plumped for:

“Yes. You do. But I don’t think you mean to, do you? You – you just try to help.” There was a pause. “I’m not sure I deserved your help today.”

For the first time since returning to the wagon Robert looked up.

“P-possibly not. But you helped me yesterday, a-and I’m not sure I was v-very deserving then.”

“You didn’t make it easy for yourself,” admitted Angie, remembering their first meeting in Mrs Gable’s. Had that only been yesterday? “But you’re not the most awkward customer I’ve ever had.” Angie smirked, and was that a flicker of a grin from Robert she noticed too?

“W-who was the most awkward?” Robert asked, laying his book down.

“Ooh, tough choice,” mused Angie as with various shouts and sounds the wagon train began to set off. “How long have you got?”

[17] More than once this had led her into rather mortifying situations. Curiosity killing the cat seemed relatively kind compared with having to live with the knowledge of what an enterprising mind and a broken chair leg could achieve.

[18] This unfortunately made her think of the chair leg incident again.