Blackscar

Wilf Jones

The garderobe was a tight space for fighting a big dog. And old, soft Beast was a very big dog. Chaldonie began to think he’d made a fatal mistake. To be fair Beast was only trying to get away from the dreadful cramps that shook his body, but the desperation made him dangerous. A sudden, writhing convulsion put the boy on the floor with the mastiff on top. The weight of the dog thumped into his chest, the fangs snapped at his face. Frantically Chaldonie thrust both hands into Beast’s throat to clutch at the collar. The dog reared, nearly breaking Chaldonie’s fingers in the movement, but by twisting with all his strength the boy caught Beast off-balance and tipped him onto his side. The situation was reversed. With the dog’s legs scrabbling vainly for purchase on the polished floor, Chaldonie knelt on his chest to hold him down until the drug took complete control. Beast was getting weaker by the second. Within only a minute the scrabbling slowed to nothing.

Chaldonie got to his feet, put his foot on the Beast’s belly and pushed. The dog did no more than gurgle in discomfort. How stupid! Chaldonie was angry with himself: he could have waited just five minutes and saved himself the bruises.

“Chal! Chal – are you there?”

Chaldonie whirled round in alarm but thankfully the gardie door was closed, slammed shut in the struggle.

“Oh come on, Chal, where’ve you got to. I don’t have all day.”

Master Hebron’s voice was getting closer. There was no turning back now. Chaldonie quickly pushed open the cesspit lid. The stench made him gag but there was no alternative. Tugging at the dog’s collar had little effect. It was like trying to lift a sack of anchor stones: a dead weight – well nearly dead. He changed posture, bent his knees, gripped arms around the dog’s barrel-chest, thrust with his thighs and heaved. That did it. Leaning back to take the strain, Chaldonie staggered and reeled, and it was only a last second turn that saved the boy from taking the fall himself. Beast’s ribs thumped into the gardie shelf, rear legs slewing to one side and catching on the low wall. The heavy belly and bones threatened to drag the pair of them back onto the floor but Chaldonie would not be defeated. He heaved and pushed again, this time grabbing at the thick base of the tail for better purchase. With a victor’s contempt, he tumbled the dog over the ledge. Beast managed only a confused whimper before plunging into the depths.

Chaldonie didn’t give him another thought as he slammed shut the seat.

“Oh, in there are you?”

His Master was just outside the door. “Don’t forget to flush – it’ll save you some scrubbing later. And do lift the lid first – I don’t want another wet backside.”

Chaldonie collapsed onto the shelf utterly exhausted. He didn’t even have the strength to make a rude gesture.

“I’ll be a minute,” he gasped.

“Well make sure that’s all it is.”

Chaldonie realized the need to behave normally. He hauled himself up and slammed open the lid once more. A little harder next time and he’d break it. He grabbed at the clanking bucket, filled it from the copper tank, and, as carelessly as possible, threw a good splash at the age-slimed stones below.  The dirt he shifted would no doubt land on top of good old faithful Beast – who most likely wouldn’t notice.

The Master was waiting when Chaldonie finally emerged from the gardie. He looked into the room and shook his head at all the water pooled on the oak tiles.

“You just make more work for yourself. I want it cleaned out before supper.”

Chaldonie sucked his teeth but refrained from comment.

His Master regarded him with that annoying look of his – that over-the-top-of-the-spectacles, disappointed look; that “I wonder if I’ve made the right decision” look. Chaldonie knew the answer to that, but it was hardly his fault: Hebron should have chosen better.

The Master shook his head as if in answer or agreement but actually his interest was already elsewhere. “Now where is it,” he was saying, patting at his sides and chest with both hands. It was only then that Chaldonie noticed his Master was wearing the outdoor coat – the one he used on rare herb gathering forays – a raggedy old leather thing bedecked with dozens of pockets inside and out. Here was something new. Hebron hardly ever left his library or workroom, never mind the house itself. He couldn’t be wanting herbs: due to a distinct lack of recent activity the store was still full. And there was no market today, and surely no errands to run that would be beyond the province of his apprentice.

This was too soon.

“Going out?”

The Master looked up from his rummaging search and now the look he wore was plain annoyance.

“It does you no honour to affect such a brusque attitude, Chaldonie. I do not expect you to call me Master but please address me without so much sulking. What has gotten into you recently?”

Chaldonie nearly blurted out an honest answer, but quick calculation prompted a rethink.

“I’m sorry, Master,” he said, “It was just the thought of cleaning the pit walls.”

“But you know it stinks if we leave it too long. Oh don’t look so glum, Chal. Not a pleasant job, I’ll grant you that, but if we get it done quick it’ll not be so bad. Perhaps this once I’ll lend a hand—”

“No! Er, no. That wouldn’t be right. I’ll do it – my job. And I’ll get the dirt man to come in next week. About time we cleared the bottoms.”

The Master actually smiled. “Well, that’s a better attitude young man. Much better. Now, as you surmised, I’ll be off down the hill for a few hours – I have an appointment with an old... with an interesting gentleman come to the town recently.  I’ve decided to walk so don’t worry about the trap for now. But I’ll want fetching back. Come for me at about eight o’clock, will you?”

“Yes master. And the address?”

“The Five Oaks – ask for Mr Anand. He’s taken rooms.”

Back along the corridor – the gloomy, grubby corridor – the nearest tall clock dolorously tolled the fourth hour. Faint echoes came to them of other timepieces from the nearer parts of the castle.

“Ah, here it is.” The Master pulled something from a very large pocket down by his knees.   “Fetch Beast will you,” he said, waving the leash at Chaldonie, “He can keep me company.”

Chaldonie fought to keep calm. “I... erm... He’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“I opened the kitchen door – let him into the garden – the gate was open. He’d run off before I noticed. Maybe it was a rabbit or something?”

The Master frowned. “Not like Beast. Can’t remember the last time I saw the old chap run. Did you shout for him? Well never mind, he’ll be back for his tea. But I really must be going.”

Chaldonie nearly fainted from the pressure of the situation. As the Master disappeared through the gallery door, the boy sank to his knees and breathed deeply. He foraged in his own pockets, suddenly concerned there might be some damage, but no, there it was – the phial was intact and three-quarters full. He brought the glass to his lips and cautiously kissed the side with the label. Ha! A best friend in a bottle. When the time came, he knew it would not let him down.

The winding chalk drive taking him down to the Avenna road was in such a poor state of repair that Asdur Hebron found himself strangely embarrassed. It certainly wasn’t that he didn’t have the money to maintain it. The truth was he found it difficult to apply himself to such ordinary, day-to-day concerns. They seemed so banal. But in two or three places already he’d come across rivulets crossing the path that cut deep into the surface. If left much longer there’d be no getting the trap over them.

The day was warm after a night of rain. The big leather coat was heavy and made him feel hot. Why on earth had he chosen it? Why on earth was he on foot? He didn’t even have the excuse of walking the dog.

The letter had arrived at breakfast. An unusual enough event in itself – generally his correspondence was held at the Postal Office until Chaldonie made his weekly visit to market. Today a courier had climbed the hill with an instruction to deliver the letter into the Master’s own hand. Hebron left it on the table for a good hour before he opened it. The importance of the letter was obvious; he wanted to delay the inevitable.

And that was also the point of walking into town rather than taking the trap. He would not run headlong into this meeting, would not allow himself to lose control – as he had the first time.

Of course it was not Mr Anand’s fault that Asdur had lost control. A travelling apothecary, Mr Anand had been surprised to receive Asdur’s order for several dangerous, unusual potions and, not unreasonably, he had sent a message to the castle to ask if they could discuss the matter in person. Maldin, the apprentice who brought the order, had been sent away empty handed.

Even thinking of the incident made him feel sick to his stomach. Mr Anand’s latest letter brought it all back: that furious drive into town, the revelation of Maldin’s designs, the denials, the lies. He baulked at remembering too closely the worst of it.

And yet, here he was again called into town by the same Mr Anand whose last communication had heralded such pain. Perhaps he should turn-around, go back to the castle and lock his doors. Perhaps it would be safer to forget Mr Anand and his incredible letter.

Asdur came to a halt at the gate that barred his lane to the outside world. He held on to it a moment for support. Above him Castle Blackscar stood upon its lonely hill, almost ruinous with age. It was much like himself. He considered the steepness of the hill – climbing it would be a struggle. Sometimes, he thought, the obvious course was to take the path of least resistance wherever it might lead.

The Master of Blackscar lifted the latch on the gate and stepped through onto the road.

“And where do you think you’re off to?”

Chaldonie jumped, painfully catching his elbow on the door post. Stig Kroener was standing right behind him carrying a pair of large cabbages. Stig was a big man, with hands the size of dinner plates and a temper like thunder.

“Sneaking into my kitchens again? What is it this time – you going to pretend the old wizard sent you? Or maybe it’s my Elli you’re creeping after? I told you to keep away. She don’t like you and I don’t like you, so just you forget it.”

Chaldonie was glad Stig was carrying the cabbages – it reduced the chance of a clip around the ear – but he couldn’t help smiling. Elli Kroener! As if he’d want anything to do with that plump little, sharp-tongued trollop. In fact his regular visits to the Five Oaks had more to do with the contents of the guest rooms than those of Elli’s undergarments.

“No, Mr Kroener. The Master didn’t send me. Actually I was looking for Mr Anand. Told him I wasn’t allowed in the common room, so he said to meet in the back parlour. Only I didn’t see how I was to get to the back parlour if I couldn’t come through the front.”

Stig was looking at him with suspicion ingrained in every last wrinkle, boil and whisker of his face. He didn’t believe a word of it.

“Mr Anand asked you to meet him? How’s that then, being as he’s only just got here? Arrived not an hour ago.”

Chaldonie couldn’t hold back the smirk.

“As it happens, Mr Kroener, I ran into him on the main road. He was looking for somewhere to stay so I sent him here. Was that wrong?”

“You sent him? Well... alright, that was good of you. But it still don’t mean you can come calling our Elli. Why’s he want to see you?”

Chaldonie shrugged extravagantly.

“How should I know? Maybe he just wanted to thank me for sending him to such a generous and hospitable host.”

“I’ll have less of the sarcasm, thank you. Well, you’d better go through. Turn right out of the kitchen. He’s in the back as you said, waiting for his supper.”

Chaldonie grinned: “If that’s what he’s getting,” he said, nodding at the cabbages, “he’ll not thank you.”

“Get in with you before I change my mind.”

Mr Anand was a very neatly dressed gentleman. His jacket was blue silk, his turban purple, his trousers black satin. Ar’Andalan, without a doubt, and most likely rich with it. Chaldonie of course had never travelled to the continent of Sullinor, but he was Bulidzhani by birth and there was a good deal of commerce between his people and the nearer parts of the Empire. Always had been apparently – Chaldonie had learned that much at least from his Master. Bulidzhanis in fact were the descendents of slaves taken from the south of Sullinor by a people called the Herskerhavs, but so long ago it was only scholars and wizards that remembered it. Most Bulidzhanis didn’t even know their name meant “dispossessed.”

“Are you intending to speak with me, or will you just stand there with your head full of ancient history?”

Chaldonie goggled at the man. How could he know?

Anand smiled and beckoned with an elegant wave. “Come in, come in. Why don’t you sit over here? We have tea if nothing else. Come and take a cup.”

Chaldonie stumbled over a rug as he approached the chair indicated. A look of irritation flashed across Mr Anand’s face, but the smile quickly returned.

“Ah, the room is a death-trap, yes. But anyway, here you are.” Chaldonie took the cup he was offered – it rattled on the saucer. “Sugar?”

Other than the day Master Hebron had bought him from the orphanage, what followed was the oddest hour Chaldonie had ever experienced. Mr Anand strayed between pleasantry, advice and interrogation. The discussion revolved around how he might be finding his life as apprentice to the “famous Master Hebron,” and about his lessons, and his hopes for the future. In the normal course of things Chaldonie would answer such queries with a polite: “Yes, Master Hebron is very good to me,” but now, speaking to this total stranger, Chaldonie found himself answering truthfully at last. He talked of his difficulty in following his Master’s moods, how frustrated he was that the Master taught him only history and not even the smallest of spells, how small the Master made him feel, how untrustworthy.

“But you have talent,” Mr Anand said, “I can feel it, as must Master Hebron. I am surprised he hasn’t sent you to Errensea. Have you never harboured the desire?”

“Well, yes. But Master Hebron won’t have it. He says the school isn’t as good as it should be.”

Mr Anand smiled broadly as though the conversation was progressing exactly as he wanted.

“How long have you been with Asdur now? Four years, yes? Well nine years ago, Master Hebron found himself in dispute with the Council of Errensea. You see, they wanted him imprisoned.”

Anand paused, possibly expecting some response, but Chaldonie could find nothing to say.

“The agent they sent, when the trouble broke out, sought to put him on trial.”

“What trouble? What had Master Hebron done?”

“You know nothing of it? Too young to remember, I suppose, though all the continent got to hear of the duel between Asdur Hebron and Maldin Robard.”

“Were they enemies?”

“By the end, yes. But at the start Maldin Robard was... well, you see, he was Asdur’s apprentice – your predecessor. They had been together for many, many years.”

“But... My pardon, sir, but I had thought I was—”

“There is no need for jealousy, young man. He came before, you came after.”

“Because this Maldin person went away?”

“In a manner of speaking. They engaged in the most ferocious duel the world had seen for many years. Both were very powerful wizards. Several buildings in this town were destroyed, a number of people died in villages south of here. You see Maldin became desperate towards the end and reckless. I’m sure in a cooler moment Asdur would not have gone so far. I’m sure the Master did not intend to kill his apprentice. My word, you do look pale. Here, take some more tea – or would you prefer water?”

“He killed his apprentice?”

“Well, precisely that.”

“But why? Why did they fight?”

“Now that is a good question. As I understand it Maldin was a proud and ambitious man learning from a Master rather too keen on keeping secrets, and keeping power to himself. Asdur was ever mistrustful. You are in a unique position: only you will be allowed access to his study, to his methods, to his hidden… affairs”

Chaldonie pulled a face. “I enter his workroom only to bring food and take away the dishes. That’s how much he trusts me.”

“You seem unhappy.”

Chaldonie said nothing. He was running through, over and again, the incredible idea that the Master had actually murdered his apprentice.

“Well then,” said Mr Anand, leaning across the table, “perhaps there is a way I can help you. And you can help me in return. There is a little something Master Hebron keeps in his study, safely locked away.”

Chaldonie shrank back in his chair, trying to pull away from Mr Anand’s discomforting gaze.

“What would I have to do?” he asked.

“In your letter, Mr Anand, you claimed to be a gentleman of Kandara?”

Mr Anand swallowed his mouthful of shrimps and then dabbed at his lips with a napkin.  “I claimed,” he said, “rather more than that.”

Asdur took a sip of tea before continuing. It was a little bitter and so he added more sugar.

“You are not then,” he said, “the travelling apothecary of our last meeting?”

“Actually I am both.”

“I see.  And what makes you think I am the right person to contact?”

“Oh really Asdur, that hardly matters. My brethren and I discerned a problem and attached to that problem a name. Upon Sullinor, the Brethren of Kandara keep safe the knowledge of the past, charged with this task by the god you would call Ahura. We have long known that upon Asteranor an equivalent brotherhood must exist. Word came to the Brethren that this foreign brotherhood had betrayed our duty.”

Asdur was outraged. “Betrayed! Utter nonsense. The Keepers of the Truth remain firm.”

“Then how is it I am sitting here? The word we had came from the mouth of Torrin Rummeland, Keeper of Garassa.”

“Torrin? Then it’s taken you long enough to do anything about it: he died more than fifty years ago. And he was the strongest of us – he’d be the last man to betray our trust.”

Anand picked up his fork and speared another fat shrimp.

“Your faith in him is misplaced. Rummeland was also a minister was he not? He was sent to speak to a worm by the Aegardean King – we won’t dwell upon the circumstance. Dragons are difficult in conversation I believe: far too sophisticated for the unguarded. Certain details were let slip. The particular worm involved had connections with the Derwyddon of the Cymrais. Information was passed to the chief druid. In a remarkable stroke of ill fortune that druid got himself arrested by the Duke of Terremark and sold to a Corayan slaver. He bought back his freedom with the curious story of The Keepers of the Truth and the Great Book of Haslem.”

Asdur was not impressed. “A yarn told by a druid to a slaver captain – both breeds are known for their tall-tales, Mr Anand.”

“As it happens, I was myself the man he spoke to. Still you seek to dissemble, Asdur – I commend the attempt, but it is futile. We have established that you are the Keeper of Bulidzan, and I know you have access to the book. You can see our problem Asdur: we cannot allow this evidence to exist.”

Asdur said nothing but sank into his chair feeling suddenly weary.

“Well, what is to do?” Anand continued, “When I first found you, if you remember, you were busy killing your apprentice. This act did not fill me with confidence. I reported your action to my colleagues – we are concerned you may have chosen poorly once again. How will it be if your latest apprentice is not worthy of trust? How will it be if he denies our task? Think of the damage that will be done if the book ends up in the wrong hands!”

“Don’t you think that possibility haunts me? Maldin got to hear of it – I don’t know how – demanded to see it. He was angry when I denied him. I caught him trying to open my armoire the same day I spoke to you. That’s where the argument began. None of it would have happened but for the book. I wish with all my soul Haslem had never written the thing. What was he thinking: we had managed very well for eight thousand years without it – nothing of the past had been lost, nothing revealed. We surely did not need a text that may be read and misunderstood by all.”

“Then destroy it.”

Asdur laughed at the stupidity. “Destroy it? Ha! You don’t understand. I simply cannot: the strongest of spells protect it still.”

“In that case, there is no choice. You must find an apprentice faithful to our task. What of this boy you have taken on?”

“Chaldonie?” Asdur’s troubled frown lightened. “Well, he’s a good lad, actually. I found him in an orphanage. Honestly, the power sings out of him, though he has no idea how to use it. I think he is the one. I’m sure he is the one. When he came to Blackscar he settled in so quickly, so happily. And I trust the dog you know: old Beast loves him – sleeps on his bed. In fact I’ve grown quite fond—”

At that moment, shouting erupted somewhere outside, drowning out his words.

“Just you come back here! Running through the common room like that!”

“Master! Master Hebron! Master!”

Asdur bolted to his feet and pushed past Anand as the apothecary made to open the door. Along the corridor Chaldonie was struggling with Stig Kroener.

“Master Hebron, you must come quick. It’s Beast – he’s hurt. You must come.”

“Mr Kroener, take your hands off the boy. Right now!”

Stig dropped Chaldonie as though his hands had touched something hot.

“Yes, sir. Yes Master Hebron. I’ll  er...”

The man turned and almost ran for the common room. Chaldonie meanwhile grasped his Master’s sleeve.

“You must come,” he insisted. Asdur could see the boy had been crying. “He’s in the trap. Please!”

Asdur cast a glance at Anand who at once waved them along the corridor.

“Go, won’t you! I will attend in a moment.”

Asdur and Chaldonie ran into the yard hand in hand.

Beast was barely breathing, one leg was broken – the bones showed through – the fur around his mouth and eyes had turned grey-white, and he was covered in filth.

“I found him in the bottoms Master, when I went to check them. I think he must have fallen from the rocks.”

As the Master crouched in the trap, hands and eyes busy with examination, Chaldonie hung on the side desperate that everything should work as planned.  Mr Anand arrived clutching a small case.

“How is the dog, Master Hebron?”

Asdur didn’t look up.

“I don’t understand it. He’s so stiff – like rigor – though he’s still breathing. Broken bones, those I can set, but it’s as though he’s been poisoned. Look at the fur – black as coals this morning.”

“Would you mind if I had a closer look?”

Anand climbed into the trap. “I think you’re right. Though what sort of poison I wonder.”

“It’ll be Mister Moss” said Chaldonie, “I’ve seen him: he’s been baiting rabbits for those buzzards again.”

Chaldonie watched the thought sink in.

“I’ll give him buzzards,” Asdur growled, “It’ll be bitter almond then. I’m surprised Beast couldn’t smell it.”

Mr Anand bent to sniff at the dog’s breath. “No, not almond, I think. And there would be no stiffness. But now, I have something which can slow almost any poisoning.” He was riffling through the pockets of his case. “Here it is – in Kandara we call it Nepenthe.” He held out a phial – the tarry liquid within was a dark red-brown colour.

Asdur frowned. “That is an old word, or like to an old word. Before the Choosing. Associated with forgetfulness, I thought.”

“Perhaps it shares a common background. Nonetheless I find it useful. If we can slow the effects then maybe we will have time to find a proper antidote. Shall we try it?”

“Oh please, Master, please,” begged Chaldonie, with what he considered to be just the right balance of fear and need in his voice, “Please save him.”

Asdur grabbed the phial, thumbed out the stopper, tipped back Beast’s head and poured the drug into the back of his mouth. He massaged the throat to help the liquid down.

A bone-shaking, wheel rattling ride took the four of them up to the castle. Shifting poor Beast on a board up all those steps to the Master’s study was a hard and exhausting labour. Asdur suffered the most but still he refused to rest until Beast was safe.  As the two adults began at once setting the broken leg, discussing throughout the possibilities for a cure, Chaldonie offered to make tea for them all.

Down in the kitchen the boy pottered around at his task, smiling all the while, happy in his work. The Master liked a special tea imported from Ar’aldini – a strong, black brew. Chaldonie made sure the pot was good and hot before he poured on the boiling water. He allowed the leaves to draw as he busied himself with the cups, and the milk and a tray. Before leaving the kitchen he paused to slip a hand into his pocket. The time had come.

Back upstairs Asdur was in a quandary. They had concluded that the poison must be an extract of celandine, known to produce paralysis depending on the dose. The cure for such poisoning was straightforward. If they were right, application of an oil of nux vomica in the mouth and anus would stimulate the body and restore the proper flow of fluids. The oil was difficult to handle and poisonous in its own right, and it was for that reason Mr Anand declined to carry the drug in his medicine case. The only hope for Beast lay in a small compartment deep in Asdur’s armoire, over in the corner of the room: a cabinet he had never opened in another’s presence for more than three hundred years.

“Well it is your choice, Master Hebron. Look here is Chaldonie with the tea. I will sit and drink and you must do as you think best – I will not interfere.”

Asdur studied the armoire, quite undecided. Chaldonie brushed past him. With a clatter he quickly deposited the tray upon a small table and then ran over to where Beast lay. The boy folded his faithful companion in loving arms and began to cry. Asdur sighed. What else could he do? He stepped over to the armoire, laid his hands upon the lock and thought the several words needed to remove the binding spell that made it impenetrable.

As he stepped back the lock snicked open, and the doors swung wide.

“I’ll be a moment or two,” he began “It’s a long way in—”

The pain exploding in his forehead dropped him to the floor. He tried desperately to reach the doors of the cabinet but there was someone in the way. He rolled onto his back aware that his arms and legs were stiffening by the second. With difficulty he turned his head to look over at Chaldonie, hoping for help. The boy was cradling Beast’s head and pouring something into his mouth.  He was whispering to the dog:

“You knew I’d come for you, you knew – I’ll never let you die, never.”

“Well then, Master Hebron, don’t you think such loyalty a joy to see?”

Anand crouched before him. “It was so hard to persuade the boy to harm the dog in any way, but I promised all would be well – I let him keep the antidote as surety. The drug I gave to you, down at the hotel, is of a different admixture. It won’t kill you, but then it won’t allow you to do anything else either. I’ll take this opportunity to teach Chaldonie as he should be taught. He will be my apprentice. Don’t fear. Together we will look after you. Meanwhile, thank you so much for allowing me this reward.”

He patted the huge leather-bound book resting on the floor at his side.

“Haslem’s Song of Ages. What a weapon to fall into the wrong hands! The Keepers of the Truth will be beside themselves. But as for the Brethren of Kandara – well, they won’t mind at all, being as, you see, there is no such brotherhood.

“You’ll sleep now, Master Hebron. Goodnight. Sleep tight.”