Previous Blackbird file.

Narrator:

The next day, Blackbird rides to the chateau of the Marquis d'Perth, Cynthia's father. She starts before dawn, as the ride takes the better part of a day.

The ancestral Perth home is a fortified chateau on a hill overlooking the city of Perth. Perth is a smallish port, receiving nowhere near the traffic of Harrogate to the south or Falmouth to the north.

Blackbird dismounts in front of the gate, dusts herself off and bangs the bronze knockers heavily against the seasoned wood of the doors.

The gates crack a little and an elderly man stares out at her critically. She marks him by his uniform as the seneschal. It is obvious from his expression that he is contemplating simply shutting the gate on this dusty young woman clad in leather like a man, but courtesy and training forbid it.

Seneschal: [curtly]

Your business?

Narrator:

There was a time when she would have taken offense at the man's attitude out of sheer reflex. But not anymore. Evaine would take offense. Blackbird has no reason to.

Blackbird: [bending a knee politely]

Is there a place at your hearth this evening for an apprentice of the Traveling Anchor? I would be most grateful.

Narrator:

The man's mood brightens noticeably -- cheap entertainment tonight. He looks at her a little more closely under the sweat and the road dirt, and judges that it will probably be a pleasant experience for the eyes as well as the ears.

Seneschal: [opening the door wider]

Aye, enter. The kitchen entrance is around by the side. Martha will see you fed. The Master will be home from the hunt nigh dark. He don't accept many Anchors these days, but he might take it into his mind -- his youngest girl's ill so there's been no music around here this week.

Narrator:

He leers, but it is not unpleasant. Blackbird has learned to be a great judge of men's leers, and she identifies this as the leer of a flirtatious older gentlemen who has too much honor to ever do any woman the disservice of forced attentions.

Blackbird: [responding with a smile]

Thank you, sir. I will do my best to please your master.

Narrator:

The 'your' is subtle but purposeful -- a remnant of Evaine that Blackbird has not yet discarded. She can't help but remind the seneschal that the Marquis is his master, but not hers.

She is fed well by the cook, but is allowed little leisure -- when they hear that she has come all the way from Devonshire, everybody is eager to hear of her adventures and experiences along the way. This is part of the secret of the Anchor -- there is no shortage of merchants and travelers passing through the realm, and if that was all that was necessary, there would be little need for Anchors. An Anchor's skill is in the telling.

Blackbird judges her audience: the cook, the charwoman, the stable boy, a couple maids. She picks the stories that she thinks will interest them most. Even the most insignificant occurrences are fodder for great tales, properly told. The incident in Harrogate with the young girl, her mother and the draft horses has become a tale that makes the younger maid teary-eyed and brings a wistful expression to the old charwoman's face, as if she too is remembering lost dreams.

All of them express proper outrage when she describes being attacked by the drunken sailor.

The political news interests them some, too. They have heard tales about this new Duke in Devonshire, and heard the Baron discussing the changes he is making. Most of the audience seems to think Regginal's changes are a good thing. Blackbird keeps her opinion to herself -- it isn't relevant here.

She sees no sign of Cynthia that afternoon, which doesn't surprise her. Cynthia isn't the type to mingle with the servants.

Late in the afternoon, the head maid grants her request for a place to bathe. She undertakes the time-consuming chore of washing and drying her hair, and changes from her riding clothes to a full black dress with white lace cuffs and trim. She lets her hair hang freely except for two very thin braids threaded through a half dozen crystal beads.

Out in the yard, she hears the returning hunting party heralded by the baying of hunting hounds. She looks out and sees that they have brought back a magnificent stag. Its antlers spread nearly five feet from tip to tip.

By the time she reaches the kitchen, the cook and her helpers are already preparing venison stakes for cooking on the great hearth.

Blackbird takes her dinner in the kitchen with the servants. She can hear most of the conversation in the great room. The diners are making no effort to be quiet, but she wonders what they would think if they realized how much their conversation is scrutinized by the servants.

She can recognize the Marquis d'Parth's big booming voice, and the high sweet voice that belongs to Cynthia. As the meal is drawing to a close, he addresses the Seneschal.

Perth:

Tomas, where is this Anchor girl you promised me? Bring her on!

Narrator:

Tomas enters the kitchen, and Blackbird takes her cue, striding smoothly and confidently into the great room, lute held comfortably at her side.

Almost immediately, she and Cynthia lock eyes and Cynthia's blue ones widen in recognition. Blackbird smiles placidly and curtsies first to the Marquis and his wife, second to Cynthia and last to the assembled guests -- members of the hunting party.

Cynthia: [amused shock]

You're no Anchor, you're Evaine San Sebastian!

Blackbird: [nodding]

I am pleased that you recognize me, but an Anchor I am, and Blackbird is the only name you need address me by. I did not enter your house through deceit and lay claim to no other name or honors.

Perth: [recognizing her now]

Such was not my daughter's intention. We are all surprised to have you under our roof in such a capacity, but we are also pleased to have you play for us. We are certain we shall find your performance entertaining.

Blackbird: [unspoken]

All right, Cynthia. I can already see the wheels turning. Next hot piece of gossip: "How Evaine Corinna San Sebastian came to my house, ate in the kitchen with the servants, then performed for our pleasure like a common jongleur." I'm going to have to get used to this.

Narrator:

It turns out to be a satisfying evening for Blackbird. She is in top form -- the men in the room can't take their eyes off her and the women are so taken by the beauty of her performance that they neglect to be jealous.

She has a hard time ending -- the calls for "just one more song," "one more story," "one more dance" and "do that trick again" never seem to end.

Age finally mellows the evening though, and Blackbird finds herself sitting at a table with the Baron and his family and one or two remaining guests, amicably discussing politics.

Cynthia yawns.

Cynthia: [standing]

I am completely exhausted. Please excuse me for the evening. Good night.

Blackbird: [standing too]

Please, allow me to walk with you a moment, Lady Cynthia. I have benefitted greatly from your hospitality. If you could spare me a few moments before you retire, I would consider it a great favor.

Cynthia: [enjoying having Evaine be so respectful to her]

A few moments would be fine. Come with me to my room, Blackbird.

Narrator:

Cynthia leads the way up a curved staircase to the second-floor hall and into a prettily furnished bedroom where a maid is turning down a large four-poster bed.

Cynthia:

What is it you wish to discuss?

Blackbird:

I would like to ask you a question, but before I do, I want to let you know that any answer you give is completely confidential and shall never be used against you. Upon my word as Anchor. You know that if I was foresworn in this I would be ruined as an Anchor.

Cynthia:

You make me fearful of the question already. I will not guarantee anything for my part, until I have heard it.

Blackbird: [nods]

I would like to know, Cynthia, if you or your family are the ones responsible for Brandon d'Harrogate's latest difficulties.

Cynthia: [eyes flashing - she realizes that given the social status of her and Blackbird that she can safely say anything she wants]

Even if I were, you've got a lot of nerve coming here asking such a thing. Are you another one of his many conquests, come to plead on his behalf? I seem to remember hearing that you were on the list. Rather spectacular performance you gave that time, too, as I remember. Forget it. Brandon can rot in hell for all I care. Hell might be too good for him.

Blackbird: [angry]

I am *NOT* one of his conquests.

Rotting in hell is too good for him. I have more reason to hate Brandon than you could ever imagine.

Cynthia: [impressed]

I can imagine a lot. So, if you didn't come to plead on his behalf, and you don't want to use the information against me, why are you interested?

Blackbird:

No. You first. What is the answer to my question?

Cynthia: [starting to fence]

You'll have to tell me what his latest difficulty is before I can tell you if I have any idea who might be responsible for it.

Blackbird: [smiling]

If you had anything to do with it, then you already know what it is. I suppose he could have had additional difficulties since then, but the latest news I have puts him "vacationing in the south." Rumors range from death or abduction to abdication.

I don't buy any of those three.

Cynthia:
One difficulty that might not be common knowledge that I have no part in is the fact the he's gone and caught himself the pox. I hear that it has even spread to his face. It's the reason he is no longer my fiancée. His father is livid about it. My father, if he was more powerful, would want him dead for it. It would not be a good idea for him to wander onto our lands, that much is certain.

Another difficulty that I have no part in is the fact that someone is trying to arrange for him to get himself killed. He got into a fight with some stranger who took his ear off with an axe, or so the story goes. Nearly got the rest of his face. The stranger was killed in the fight and no one can find out *anything* about him.

"Vacationing in the South?" More likely he's in Lethbridge looking for a healer. Some one to cure him of his little problem before it drives him mad and kills him.

I don't think he'd ever abdicate. He's in serious danger of being disowned. If he doesn't get himself out of his problems before he returns home, I'm pretty sure that he will be disowned. If that happens, his father will likely strip him of lands, titles, status, the whole works - including banishment from all Harrogate lands.

Stu:
Her story rings true to my ears -- or at least she tells it like she believes it is true. Blackbird doesn't have detect lies (yet, I consider it an essential skill for an anchor so she'll be putting points into it very soon), so she probably won't tell any better than me unless Cynthia makes an obvious slip.

Blackbird: [nodding]

I had heard that it might be the pox. I hadn't heard about the ear.

Where was this fight? What happened to the body of the man with the axe? Where is it?

Cynthia:

The boy, really. He was a woodcutter's apprentice, all of 17 or so, but maybe a bit simple to hear the story. Orphan, gave himself to a woodcutter who took him in to teach him the trade. Probably buried not far from where he was killed.

Blackbird:

If Brandon does get himself cured of the pox and manage to retain his title, what do you plan to do?

Cynthia: [thinks a long time]
Hmmm....

I don't know.

Hmmm...

No offense, but I'm not sure that I can discuss this with you. I'd have to talk to father about it first.

But between you and me?

Part of me wants to stick a knife in his guts and then whistle for the dogs. Another part wants me to stick in him slightly further down and make sure the Anchor got all of the details of his loss. Another part wants to marry him, take his lands and title, and lock him safely away in padded room where he could save his strength for evenings when I'd join him.

Or perhaps I would ignore him and put him behind me. As I said, I really don't know.

What about yourself?

Blackbird:

Let's just say that I hope you do have the opportunity to marry him, and that he lives long enough to truly appreciate his situation.

[smiles]

That will make me happy.

It has been a pleasure speaking with you, Lady Cynthia. Good night and good luck.

Cynthia: [pointedly]
That's not an answer.

What of yourself?

Blackbird: [grins, as if to say "got me"]

I honestly can't take much pleasure from kicking a diseased, mutilated, disowned shell of a man. If he does manage to prosper, perhaps then I can deal with him for what he owes.

Which makes me think of something. I hope you don't mind if I'm blunt, but why wouldn't you marry him, no matter what his behavior is like? It is an unspoken convention that fidelity is not a requirement in a political marriage. You are unlikely to attain a more powerful position than Marchioness d'Harrogate. It might behoove you to work to restore him to whatever respectability is possible, merely to secure your own position. Surely you could influence your father on the matter?

Cynthia: [evaluating stare]

You claim that you are not one of his conquests.

He claimed otherwise, and backed it with details.

I doubt that you will ever forgive him what he has done to your name and to what other people think of you.

I claim that he caught the pox on one of his infamous "nights out"

He claims to have caught it from me.

It would be difficult indeed for us to forgive him that. I would relish being the Marchioness d'Harrogate. It would even be worth putting up with Brandon in the same household. But it might not be worth the family honor. I have spent much of my time in public places in tight fitting clothes to show the masses that I am not expecting his heir. And there is the matter of Constance, who is expecting, and who could easily be expecting Brandon's child. There is much he has to explain for.

Blackbird:

If I happen to run into Master Harrogate during my travels, is there any message you would like for me to give him?

Cynthia:

No. I am most positive he got my last message. He knows what is required of him. Thank you for offering what is normally charged for - do you expect to see him soon?

Blackbird:

I have no idea; I am not actively seeking him, but I am alert to the possibility of his appearance. The fates are perverse.

Neil:
Who, me? Dave, Ed, Rich; is she talking about us? The four crones who plot and scheme and leave her twisting in the wind?

Blackbird:

Again, good night.

Narrator:

Blackbird is troubled by the story of the 17-year-old boy who fought Brandon with an axe. It just doesn't sound right.

Blackbird: [thinking]

It doesn't sound like the Watch.

The fact that it doesn't sound like it was the Watch sounds like it was the Watch. Talk about circular reasoning. I'll get nowhere fast that way.

Back in Harrogate, she talks to Master Szent again.

Blackbird:

What was it that made you say the Watch is after Brandon?

Szent:
There is a subtle dance between the Watch and the Anchor. Both partners are skilled, both want to lead at times. Neither will admit openly to this dance. But they changed their moves soon after you returned for your exam. Much as we changed when you were attacked. Information is a stock in trade for both. And we spy upon one another, have for years. We don't call it that. They don't admit it - and certainly not to you.

Be careful with your interpretations. They are *interested* in him. This we know. *After* him is another matter - one we can not substantiate. We are best at detecting their information gathering exercises, and worst at following their covert operations.

You know best of most Anchors how well concealed the Watch's hand will be if it moves against one so highly placed.

Blackbird:

Why didn't I hear through the Anchor of this fight Brandon had with some Woodcutter's apprentice who chopped his ear off? It is an odd story -- I only have sketchy information on it: no indication of why this simple-minded apprentice would be attacking Brandon 'd Harrogate or vice versa. Do you know more?

Szent:
It happened this winter while you were in the north. Brandon was out with his bullyboys in places where they would not be recognized. They saw a good looking lass, and her simpleminded boyfriend thought to set things to right when he got the chance. Went home, got his axe, and without warning came very close to burying it in Brandon's face. It was strange, but old news by the time you returned. Not of much interest outside of Waltham.

The woodcutters say he was a quiet fellow. One who didn't say much but just did things. Often would just go and do something that needed to be done. Always paid his debts, they said. And tried to help his friends and neighbors pay theirs too. Helpful to have around in a jam. Was well liked, but thought of as a bit strange or a little off. His girlfriend was extremely upset. Said that she pay Brandon back for what he did to her, and twice over for what he did to her boyfriend. She's a backwoods girl and went home for a while after the incident. She returned to Harrogate. The rest was in the news, I'm sure.

Blackbird: [unspoken]

That brings back a lot of bad memories. Bel and I were lucky, in comparison.

What is her name? Where will I find her?

Szent:

She lives in a small cottage near the west end of town. Her name is Sari. She makes her living weaving and mending.

Narrator:

Blackbird goes to the west end. It is the poor section of Harrogate and the cottages are small. Everything seems gray and dull: the weathered wood of the houses, the mud, the clothes, even the sky has cooperated with the color scheme today, it is gray and overcast.

She asks around and it is not difficult to learn the location of Sari's house. She is there, sitting out front weaving at a loom. She is a tall girl with a slim figure and red-blond hair that falls about her shoulders in attractive disarray.

Blackbird stands at an unobtrusive distance, observing the girl and arguing with herself.

Blackbird: [unspoken]

Why am I here? What possible purpose could this serve?

You want to find out if this is part of some elaborate plot your father has cooked up.

So, supposing I do find out one way or another -- which isn't likely -- what difference does it make? There's nothing I can do about it now.

You also feel empathy with the girl for what she has been through.

Another stupid reason. I have nothing to say that can lessen the girl's pain. And it is too late for me to start seeking solace and an understanding shoulder to cry on.

Or, perhaps she knows something you can use against Brandon.

Not likely, and not worth bringing to myself over -- entirely too many people have already learned that I bear Brandon some measure of ill-will. I see no reason to add to the list for the gossamer hope of some useful tidbit of knowledge.

Narrator:

Coming to a decision, Blackbird turns and leaves, not looking back.

Blackbird: [unspoken]

But when I *do* get Brandon, I'll give him a little pain for you and your lost love, Sari.

Next Blackbird file.