Lora of Two Worlds

Before Lora came, Hilda had told her Steward Webb was lashing Norton; when she lifted the sleeve, she had seen not only the hand-bow tube but two weals of blood.

Steward Webb made nothing of it; he only smiled and smoothed it over:

”My lady, House Odenheim has a hundred-odd household servants. The Count and the Countess hold me in some regard, they remember what little I did for the Count in the old days, but the house isn’t without its bad lots. Without a hard hand, how’s the house kept in order?

”Norton here shirks his work, runs all over the place with a weapon by day; I scold him, and he turns to violence. To discipline such a one is my duty.”

”Discipline? Does the rule of this house allow a household servant to take private vengeance? Those who know will say you rule with an iron hand; those who don’t will think the Countess cruel and harsh to her people, without kindness, unfit to be mistress of this house.”

Lora couldn’t stomach the face of a petty tyrant, least of all this Steward Webb. She had seen him curse the boy who freed the fish, and kick him on his way out; Margaret had pulled her away then, and she had simmered. Now she saw him beating Norton, and her temper was up.

”It’s but a short lesson, two cuts of the whip, and even before the Count it’s no great matter. You’re young; you don’t know the art of keeping a house, that’s no fault. But there’s no call to bring the mistress of the house in to lean on me.”

Steward Webb was stung that she had called him a ”household servant”, even the Count had never looked on him as one. It was a profound insult, and for a moment hate twisted his face out of shape.

Norton, reading their faces, knew the young lady was speaking of his beating; and seeing Steward Webb gnashing his teeth, he simply stripped off his tunic and bared his firmly-built body.

Margaret gave a start, there was a young lady present, and Norton, though only sixteen, was a young man; how could he strip before a young lady?

She stepped awkwardly to tapestry screen her young lady; but Lora pushed her aside, pointed at the marks, deep and shallow weals, on Norton’s body, and demanded of Steward Webb:

”Is this ’occasional’? I’ll go ask the Count myself whether the private lash in his house is a right he’s granted. Norton, we’re going.”

”My lady, my lady! Hear me out... even if you bring it to the Count, I’m not afraid. It will only make the unlucky more unlucky.”

”Then there’s even less to explain.”

Lora was firm; she dodged Steward Webb’s blocking arm and walked toward her tower chamber.

Norton threw his tunic on and followed. Two steps on, he turned and spat at Steward Webb’s feet.

”Master, what now?” whispered Abel, the toady boy, in a panic.

”Fear what? It seems the young lady has lost her memory and her wits together, we’ll have to teach her. And well, let the foster-father and son both be thrown out of House Odenheim!”

Steward Webb turned on his heel and walked away.

”Is Steward Webb always like this? Is it Norton he’s it in for, or is he harsh with all the servants?”

Lora, thinking of the marks on Norton’s body, had a new doubt: if Steward Webb used all the servants so, Father and Mother couldn’t be unaware, and they would never keep such a man.

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Margaret hesitated; she turned her back to Norton and spoke low. ”It isn’t Norton alone, it’s Steward Coltrain. Every year Steward Webb goes out to walk the outlying manors; in his absence the reeve Linus has kept house.

”But last year a party came from Augustburg; the house and the sheriff’s hall had much on hand, the Countess let Steward Coltrain help with the house. Coltrain is straight as a lance... well, somehow he gave offense to Steward Webb.”

”So he can’t get the father, so he takes it out on the son?” Lora looked back at Norton. Blockhead? She stopped, slowed her words, and signed:

”I’ll give you a new name. From now on you’re not the ’wood’ of a blockhead, you’re the ’adore’ of one who’s beloved. Be a good man, and when you’re grown, repay your foster-father well, so that everyone will adore him.”

Big speeches he might not grasp at once; but to repay his foster-father, Norton nodded like a hen pecking grain.

In the tower chamber, Norton brought out his hand-bow and put it in Lora’s hand, and showed her how it worked.

Lora was truly astonished, this was no common throwing dart. It held a mechanism: a press of the copper stud on the side loosed a bolt at once; one could press five times before reloading.

It killed, and cost no strength, perfect for her.

Margaret, watching Lora take aim with such relish, and seeing that the quarrel with Steward Webb hadn’t seemed to dent her spirits, found an excuse and took her leave; out of the small court she hurried to the Countess’s room.

In the elm beyond the wall, a tall young fellow sat on a branch, eating dried figs. He watched Lora and her party leave, and watched Steward Webb, with a sour scowl, turn on his heel and go the opposite way. From below the tree, Linn hailed him:

”Lyle, the lord bid you dig up two jars of wine. You’ve sat up that tree half the day, is the wine up the tree?”

Lyle spat out his last fig-stem, dropped lightly down, and grinned:

”Digging wine’s no great labor. And cousin Felix isn’t back yet, we won’t be late.”

The two of them walked toward the apple tree at the garden’s edge, cousin Felix had told them the house’s rose wine was buried under that tree.

”Linn, have you ever seen a hand-bow?”

”Seen it. Two paces’ range; after the first bolt it must be reloaded, useful only for an ambush. No use to you at all. Within ten paces you’d do better to throw a dagger.”

Lyle grinned, smug: ”True enough. A hand-bow up your sleeve, that’s a mute’s speech: all show and no sound.”

At Linn’s word, the small interest he had kindled went out.

Soon they had dug down to the hoard, drawn up two jars, unopened, and the wine-smell rose at once. They grinned, filled the earth back as it had been, and bore the jars back to their small court.

But the wine was dug in vain, cousin Felix didn’t come at candle-lighting. He wasn’t still at the sheriff’s hall; he was, even now, next door.

”Uncle, cousin, today we asked round the boats and the merchants near the quay, and found no new witness. But we did turn up a strange thread.”

Felix had come privately to House Odenheim and to the Count for this very thread:

”Someone saw, between Compline and the midnight bell, a boat put in at the west quay, and they unloaded some wooden crates. Honest freight isn’t landed in the curfew hours, and I went to the harbormaster’s register to check, and there’s no entry of that boat in or out of Lohenheim.

”Uncle, I fear there’s a friend inside the sheriff’s hall. I didn’t want to say it aloud. I would ask Uncle to lend me the river watch, that I might question them, perhaps they will have some lead.”

Gareth’s brow was knit; he too had found a peculiar thing, and didn’t know whether it tied to the smuggled freight.

”Father, at the smiths we found a thing as well. Each shop’s work is common enough, but Roland has reckoned it: the iron gone into weapons this year is greater than last, more than double the common supply to Lohenheim.

”We took down part of the order books at the smiths, and Carl matched them to the houses at the banquet. Nothing amiss there. But this much is sure: there’re more weapons in Lohenheim than there should be.”

The Count thought a moment, then asked: ”And the dagger and the short blade the assassin used last night, anything come of them?”

Gareth shook his head. ”Common patterns; smiths turn them out every year. No way to trace them.”

The Count gave his orders at once:

”Alvin, take Felix and go at once to the river watch on duty, and ask what they’ve. Send men to the smiths, and have them sketch the faces of all who come to fetch goods, quietly; let no word get out.

”If someone is smuggling arms into Lohenheim, then the men who come in don’t carry their arms. Double the men-at-arms at the gates, and search hard any suspicious party coming in.”

”Yes, Father.”

”My lord, Steward Webb asks to be received.” A man-at-arms came in to report.

The Count frowned a little. ”Don’t you see I’m on the King’s business? Let him come later.”

”Steward Webb says his errand is urgent, says someone in the house has broken the law.”

”Broken the law?”

The men exchanged looks. The Count said, low:

”Send him in.”