The Brat's Final Gambit

Maerillus yawned. He had barely slept in three days and hoped that a good long midday stroll would wear him out enough so that when he got back home he could fall into his soft bed and sink into the black waters of oblivion. With any luck, he would be able to remain there until the following morning. Hopefully.

He had a problem, though. A big one. Earlier that morning, Maerillus heard a voice—not a real voice from an actual human being—but a voice that sounded just as real as any he had ever heard before. Usually, hearing voices around a busy estate wasn’t an issue. The place positively hummed with activity, even in late autumn. The frost wines had to be pressed, the kave berries gathered from the bogs, bales of cotton sifted and delivered to the spinners, animals herded to market, and grains threshed. These activities generated lots of voices. If that had been what he had heard, Maerillus would have been just as fine as custard on a baker’s table.

But Maerillus wasn’t a custard. Nor was he a baker. Nor did he have any business on a table. Where he wanted to be was in bed, but ever since he started hearing voices that no one else heard, he didn’t know if he would ever be able to go back to sleep again. The real kicker in this whole situation was . . . well, that there was a whole situation to begin with—one that seemed to challenge Maerillus’s identity on his own family land.

As he chewed on a long piece of grass, he reminded himself humorlessly that he wasn’t a custard, pox take it all! He was the son of Gaius Sartor, one of the wealthiest merchants in the entire kingdom of Sheridan. Only, now he was fast on his way to becoming a pariah on his own family land. This thought made him scowl. None of what had happened lately had been his fault.

Really, it hadn’t.

Maybe the pariah thing was an exaggeration. But Maerillus seemed to be scaring people everywhere he went. The first indication that anything was off came the day he almost startled an old maid named Casey off of her ladder when he walked past her while she had been dusting the chandeliers in the south wing of the manor. The old girl would have fallen to her death if he hadn’t grabbed the bottom rungs and held the thing steady. If that had been all, everything would have been fine.

Custard on a baker’s table.

But later that day when he went into the kitchen to grab a slice of roast, one of the cooks nearly lobbed off a finger because, as she said it, he had just “popped out of thin air” in front of her. She might have bled to death if he hadn’t grabbed a cloth in time to stop the bleeding.

No.

But she would have bled more than she actually did if he hadn’t been quick to apply a clean towel and pressure. And it might have itched or gotten an infection at any rate. Over the next several days, enough incidents like these occurred to send a number of outraged servants scurrying to his father. His father all but accused him of playing pranks and reminded him of the fact that reputation was the bedrock of a merchant’s good name. He also reminded him that estate servants talked. Even loyal ones, like those in the Sartor family’s service. Maerillus bridled at this. The fact that he had to move about his own family lands like a possum skulking around a dog pen—among people he had grown up with, no less—struck him as the grossest injustice. So Maerillus did something on a whim to preserve the family name. He located a long length of chain that jangled when he carried it wherever he went. Problem solved, nobody got startled anymore, and the family custard stopped popping up out of thin air around other people, right?

Wrong.

Sometimes, even when he carried the bloody thing around, people still seemed to react to him as if he were a ghost. But he wasn’t the estate ghost, although a ghostly voice did speak up out of nowhere and suggest that he might want to go on a walk.

WAAALK, it told him earlier that morning. And again, later in the morning, it had come to him again. By the second time it spoke to him, addressing him by name, WAAALK, MAERILLUS, he had

already startled two more servants, and there was no way in the world Maerillus was prepared to tell anyone, “So sorry for scaring you. No, I’m not the family ghost. IT just told me to go take a walk, thank you very much. So I’ll just toddle off and assume my new role as the family custard, if you please.”

On this thought, he suddenly stopped and swore loudly. “Damn!” The chain. He had forgotten it. When he looked back toward his home, the manor was a good half of a league behind him. Its two-story white stonewalls crowned the top of the highest hill of the estate like a dazzling jewel in the bright sunlight. The central roof rose like a spire over the gabled peaks above the manor’s two flanking wings. Easily visible for over two miles in every direction, it stood as a proud testament to the hard work of his forebears. But half of a league?

That was too far, and he knew that if he kept walking, he shouldn’t cause any more stir among the servants because today was a holiday. Chances were slim he would come across anyone. Harvest Moon was one of the few feast days that most of the staff enjoyed off. The family estate was just too large to go untended on every day of the festivity. Only a skeleton crew of servants and workers were on duty today, so Maerillus turned and continued walking north, taking comfort in his solitude. He intended to go the distance to the other side of the estate and back. That would be about five miles as he reckoned it. Maybe a little farther. The fact that he now had to worry about coming across anyone bothered him. He should never feel afraid of walking on his own family’s property.

Never.

If he were forced to admit it, the fact that servants Maerillus had known all his life were complaining about him hurt; after all, he made sure he treated everyone decently. Maerillus’s parents instilled in all of their children that even the lowest born commoner possessed the divinity’s spark and deserved the same respect as anyone born into the higher classes. He even heard Lord Joachim frequently proclaim that he would trade any five noblemen for one decent commoner.

His friend Niam, of course, had a lot of fun at his expense. Maerillus couldn’t help it that as his father’s son he had to meet certain expectations, but it was a losing battle. Niam had too much fun making jokes. His favorite saying at the moment was that the only difference between a Sartor and a noble was that a noble had the servants to clean the silverware and a Sartor’s silverware cleaned itself.

Maerillus had long ago reconciled himself to suffering Niam’s jibes. Aside from Niam Maldies and Davin Hapwell, Maerillus had no true friends. All of the other boys his age envied or hated him for his wealth, or they pretended to be his friends. And the girls were downright insufferable! When they looked at him, he never knew if it was him they saw or his family’s wealth. He had to admit as he strolled along that it was nice to walk without the chain. The dreadful thing was a reminder of the fact that he was always tied to things his other friends were not. Everywhere Maerillus went, he had a chain around himself. Where Davin and Niam had chores, he had responsibilities and obligations. Sometimes, he wished he could have traded places with Niam or Davin.

Well, maybe not Niam.

When Maerillus reached the top of a small hill, he slowed, clearing his mind of all thoughts. No one moved in the fields. The only sound heard was the soft whisper of dried grass shifting in the cool breeze. As soon as he began to consider turning around and walking back, the voice he had heard earlier that morning spoke up again.

GO, it urged. WALK.

Maerillus almost stumbled.

GO. WALK.

He shook his head and took a deep breath, reminding himself that he wasn’t going crazy. He was just dead tired. Perhaps he should keep walking. If he went back now and laid down, he’d probably find himself awake and prowling the halls in the late hours of the night. So Maerillus walked on, ignoring the fleeting temptation to turn back. He was too stunned by the force of the voice to think. There would be time for that later. He needed water, and thought that a cold drink might make him feel better. And as he neared the boundary of his family’s lands, he knew there was a well at the barn that lay ahead. For now, the building stood empty.

As Maerillus walked into the barn’s dark entrance, he paused just across the threshold to allow his eyes to accustom themselves to the shady interior. Ahead of him, about halfway down the aisle, two workers talked, unaware of his presence. He knew they wouldn’t realize he was there until he walked almost on top of them, and the last thing Maerillus wanted was to invite another incident where he startled the workers.

Before he had time to announce himself, the voice interrupted him.

LISTEN, it urged. And with the voice, there came a sense of danger. The hairs on the back of Maerillus’s neck stood up, and he suddenly felt as if he had chanced upon something dangerous. His legs slowed almost of their own accord, and without thinking, he began to creep forward. If he got within earshot of the two workers and discovered that they were simply complaining about missing the Harvest Moon celebration, he was going to feel incredibly stupid.

Maerillus cautiously made it past an area where hay was piled in great mounds and concealed himself behind a stall wall. A saddled horse stood patiently within, and when it saw Maerillus, it gave a hungry wicker. Ducking down quickly, he bunched up a small wad of hay and pushed it through one of the slats. The horse took the treat eagerly.

Maerillus crept around the occupied stall. The next one, of course, was empty. As he peered around the stall door, he realized he was now close enough to hear their conversation.

“Why are you so nervous, Ravel?” the shorter of two asked.

Maerillus stopped immediately.

Ravel Grimmel was Bode Grimmel’s father, and if ever there was proof that bad seeds sprung from the same bad fruit, it was here. Something in the Grimmel line had gone terribly wrong in the past. A year ago, a rash of animal disappearances had caused a stir of concern around Pirim Village. Of course, Maerillus, Davin, and Niam were the ones who had the bad luck to stumbling across the remains of the poor animals while walking in the sand barrens. What they had seen counted as one of the most gruesome acts of cruelty they had ever laid eyes on.

The sand barrens itself was an anomaly. The place was remote, a good half-day’s walk from Pirim Village. The boys liked to camp there sometimes. Because no trees obscured the night sky, the view of the stars was spectacular. For roughly two miles in all directions the forest stopped and was replaced by an expanse of uneven, sandy, and rocky ground. There, the ground was randomly pockmarked by deep holes ringed by lips of hard, raised earth that had grown until they burst by an unseen pressure within. No one had ever been able to cipher why such a stretch of dead ground had occurred in the middle of a beautiful forest of towering hardwoods and fatly quilled pines. Even the lay of the land changed where the barrens began, almost as if a great heat had caused the ground to warp and buckle.

Niam was the first to see them, and at first not a single one of the boys knew he was looking at. Dark, malformed shapes dotted the sandy expanse. Their contours stood out starkly against the lightly colored sand and rock of the barrens, and the boys slowly drew close enough to see what those shapes actually were.

“Bode!” Niam cursed the moment they were close enough to get a good look at the dark shapes. Niam’s voice dripped with such disgust and contempt that it took Maerillus by surprise. If his voice had been venom, it would have eaten a hole into the bedrock of the ground beneath their feet. There was bad blood between Niam and Bode, and all of Pirim Village knew it. Bode was a consummate bully, and Niam was small for his age. Smaller and weaker kids drew Bode and his gang of miscreants like honey drew ants.

On that day, however, the burned, twisted corpses of dogs lay spread across the ground for hundreds of feet. Dozens of them. All Maerillus wanted or needed to see, he had seen in just a cursory glance at the sight. But Niam was always the curious one, and when he bent close enough to examine them, he said in an anguished voice, “They burned while they were still alive!”

And of course, after Niam said that, Maer had to look.

The dogs lay in terribly contorted positions where they had writhed and struggled to get away from the pain of the flames but hadn’t been able to. Some still bore snarls of agony twisted into their charred faces. Others had collapsed and curled into balls. Some had obviously dropped as they ran.

“Niam,” Maerillus asked, “why do you think Bode had anything to do with this?”

“Don’t you remember? He was caught dipping cats into lamp oil and lighting them on fire.”

“Oh yeah,” Maerillus had remembered. That had gotten Bode a month’s worth of service cleaning the town refuse bins. And Maerillus couldn’t think of a more fitting job for Bode than spending all of his time cleaning refuse. And now, Maerillus stood in the empty stall, less than thirty paces from Bode Grimmel’s father.

“Shhh. Hold it down, Jon, you fool. Sartor could be anywhere.” Ravel spat.

“He’s gone to the festival,” Jon said defensively.

“Not him, you fool,” Ravel’s voice dropped to a hoarse, angry whisper, “his son.”

Maerillus felt his face suddenly go hot.

“What about that brat?” Jon asked contemptuously.

“This is a Sartor,” Ravel said derisively; the disgust in his voice was so thick it could have dripped to the floor.

“But nobody even knows what we’ve done.”

Suddenly, Ravel delivered a hard slap to Jon’s face, not quite hard enough to knock him to the ground, but Maerillus was certain his ears were ringing.

“What the hell was that for?” Jon shouted.

“You’ll get worse if you don’t shut your damn mouth,” Ravel hissed.

“Fine, fine,” Jon simpered. “I just don’t know what you’re making such a fuss about, Ravel.”

“That brat is everywhere up at the house as of late. They say they turn around and he’s just there, like out of thin air, looking down his nose at them.”

Maerillus blanched at Ravel’s words. Did the staff really think he was spying on them? They ought to know he would never do anything so undignified.

Quietly, Jon said, “Let him look at the servants all he wants. As long as he’s looking at them and not us. How much snooping is the boy doing?”

“Just at the house. That’s what they tell me, anyway.”

“If he’s up there,” Jon said cozying up to the other man, “it must be something to do with the household staff, not us.”

Ravel sounded incredulous. “Can’t work around all that silver and finery before someone thinks gets itchy fingers and finds something they want to sell.”

“Yeah.”

Maerillus heard Ravel pound his fist into his other hand. “I want a cut of it. Nobody is going to sell anything of Sartor’s without a percentage for me,” he said darkly.

Anger flashed through Maerillus. He’d just see who was calling the shots at his family’s estate. And it certainly wasn’t a petty piece of filth like Ravel Grimmel. Besides, if he could get Ravel taken to the Pit in Kalavere, with any luck, Bode would have to leave Pirim Village to stay with a relative. If anyone would actually claim him.

A silence fell between them, and after a while, Jon asked, “You think we ought to talk about this somewhere else?”

“We’ll just keep on here,” Ravel said shortly. “I’ve got other business when we’re done.” And then their talking began to recede. Maerillus leaned out carefully, and cautiously peered past the corner of the stall door, and saw that they had moved farther down the isle toward the entrance at the opposite end of the barn. Maerillus held his breath and strained to listen, and then sighed. He was going to have to get closer.

Instantly, Maerillus saw why Ravel was leading Jon down the aisle.

When they had arrived in the barn, they had doubtlessly come in the way he had. Maerillus was sure that he had just caught Ravel checking the stalls to make sure no one was present. Normally old Jort took care of the animals on the north end of the estate, and at that moment Maerillus wished the odd old fellow had been there. In fact, right then, he regretted once joking that Jort was eccentric enough to be Niam’s crazy old uncle, yet there was some truth behind the joke. The guy often railed at unseen companions about ghosts and demons. In fact, the day Maerillus and his friends had found the burnt dogs, they had an odd encounter with Jort on their way back home.

“What are you boys doing?” the old man growled as they passed on the sandy trail. There had been a feverish insistence in his voice when he spoke to them, and he had been dressed in a mismatched assortment of clothes. The fact that Maerillus’s father would have kept such an odd worker didn’t surprise him. Jort did his job and looked after the animals well, and his dad was well known for his charity toward troubled people.

“We’re going up to the sand barrens, sir,” Maerillus told him.

The old man cast a suspicious eye across the three of them and said, “Strange things up there boys . . . strange things. That’s hateful work of the old days, that ground is, and the things that’s been done upon it.” And then he let his stare fall on each boy and asked, “Did you do it?” As his gaze fell away and his trembling eyes darted between them and the woods, it was as if he seemed to fear that something lay in the dense foliage, watching. Then, he shook his head in answer to his own question. “No, not them, I don’t think.”

“Excuse me . . . what, sir?” Maerillus asked.

Jort just shook his head. “No . . . I suppose you three don’t have that kind of work in you. Those skills require a different set of drives altogether. Ha!” he barked, “And don’t I know it!”

Maerillus chose not to press him.

Jort gave them one long last challenging look. “It hasn’t come upon you yet. I can see that.” And then he said, “Just see to it you don’t get burned,” and burst into a fit of rough laughter before walking on.

Once they knew what had happened up there, Maerillus understood that Jort had made the same discovery they had.

Now, listening to Bode’s father talk with Jon, Maerillus knew Ravel had been right to fear being overheard. If it had not been for Jon’s big mouth, Maerillus might have walked right up on them. As he watched them walk toward the barn’s entrance, he knew he was going to have to move quickly. With their backs to him, Maerillus sprinted forward, working hard to keep his footfall as silent as possible. With hay littering the floor, he was afraid the susurration of his feet kicking the hay as he went would give him away.

SILENTLY, the voice said softly. And to Maerillus’s amazement, he made hardly a sound.

He couldn’t take the time to consider this fact, however, and dashed forward. He quickly counted off the stall doors he passed, keenly aware of how open and exposed he left himself. When they stopped, he quickly launched himself into the final stall and listened carefully as they continued to talk. Motes of barn-dust filled the air and tickled his nose.

Maerillus cursed under his breath. Their voices were just out of range of hearing. Because of where they stood, sound did not carry as well. As he looked, their backs were still turned to him. His legs trembled with fear and nervous excitement. Ten feet ahead of him on the left was an open nook where brooms and pitchforks hung. If he could make it there . . .

GO NOW! Something within him shouted. As he covered the short distance, fear lanced through him as Ravel’s posture changed. Maerillus nearly screamed. Ravel was preparing to turn. A cold stone suddenly seemed to drop in his stomach. As Ravel began to shift so he could look back in Maerillus’s direction, Maerillus reached the nook. He shot into the opening. Flattening himself against the wall, he fought hard to keep his breathing under control. He didn’t have to wonder or wait very long before becoming aware of just how much danger he was in.

“Look,” Ravel said quietly to Jon, “It’s simple. When Sartor’s carts set out for the market in three days, some of my men will be waiting. You will have the reins of the first cart. All you have to do is say that bandits robbed you. That’s all. No one else will suspect you. No one else knows you work with me.”

“B-but what about the other driver and the guards?” Jon asked.

What Ravel said next nearly froze Maerillus with disbelief.

“The driver is in on it. The guards will be killed.”

A cold chill stabbed at Maerillus. If Ravel was seriously willing to make something like that happen, he certainly wouldn’t let Maerillus live if he caught him. Feeling more exposed than he ever had in his life, he wished he were far away from that nook.

“That’s fine,” Jon said nervously.

“You’ll make enough from this to make it worth your while. Just keep to what I’ve told you to say. The blame will fall on another band of thieves. And for that, I need an extra eyewitness. Believe me, when they are captured and taken to the Pit, they’ll just happen to have some of Sartor’s goods. Nobody will believe them and Sartor will be happy you were able to identify them.”

Instead of leaving through the barn doors right beside them, Ravel turned and began walking back to the south entrance—toward Maerillus and the nook concealing him. “Come on, you got work you need to be seen doing, and I’ve got to get my horse.”

Maerillus wanted to wail. He hadn’t thought about the horse. Footsteps were approaching. His heart began to pound like a hammer in his chest. If they saw him he knew he was no match for Ravel. Davin might have been strong enough to fight him off, and Niam was lithe and quick enough to dart away . . . but not him. As Ravel drew close, panic began to seep in and seize Maerillus like a blindfold that drove away his ability to think.

And then the voice came again. HIDE YOURSELF FROM THEIR SIGHT. Maerillus had nowhere to hide. CLEAR YOUR MIND, MAERILLUS.

He had no choice to do anything else but listen to the voice. Pressing himself flat against the wall, he closed his eyes and imagined himself as air, clear and transparent. He knew if Ravel took even the briefest glance in his direction, he would see him there and know he had been listening. In a last act of desperation, Maerillus pushed everything else out of his mind as Ravel drew up beside him. Ravel stopped. Jon asked him what was wrong. Without allowing his concentration to break, Maerillus opened his eyes and slowly looked at Ravel. The man looked ahead for a moment, and then turned and looked directly at him.

Maerillus went as still as the surface of a frozen pond. Ravel continued to stare in his direction. He squinted, as if trying to see through a smoky pane of glass. Seconds went by. Ravel muttered under his breath, “Thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye.”

Maerillus continued to hold his breath. Jon followed Ravel’s gaze and looked directly at him, then looked away, almost as if his eyes slid off of him the way a wet fish easily slipped out of his hands. “Nothing there,” Jon said. After they moved on, Maerillus slowly let out his breath. He heard the clop of horseshoes on the stone aisle as Ravel rode it out of the barn. His knees went weak and he slid to the floor, allowing his head to rest against the wall. He sat there for a long time.

When he finally left the barn, he stopped sharply and looked up in surprise.

Jort was standing at the entrance wearing the same suspicious expression he always wore. Maerillus didn’t have time for this. He surprised himself and blurted out, “What do you want, Jort?”

A slow smile spread across the man’s face, and Maerillus realized that he had never once seen the old guy smile. “Your eyes are yellow,” he said. “Now it’s upon you.”

Jort was out of his mind, Maerillus decided. As he made his way home, his feet kicked up fallen leaves carpeting the dirt road and his eyes glowed like the golden light of the setting sun. He was so immersed in thought that he did not notice that his passing through the dry leaves did not make a sound.