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Hymae stood next to Bulgarth as they sent Frad off to Monqui early the following morning. Frad gave a hoot of laughter over something Hymae said, and his tan horse whinnied just as loud. Then both horse and man were off, charging down the lane as if a demon was at their tail. Bulgarth turned back to the manor. A shriek and a laugh made him look up to Merlana’s wide open window. His sister’s energetic form appeared, brandishing a stick and slashing empty air. Bulgarth’s heart filled up, as though it would burst out of his ribcage: His little sister, in a woman’s body. He tried hard, but he knew that he could not be there to protect her all the time. Automatically his steps fell on the wide white steps as his head bowed from the weight of worry in his mind. Hymae watched his cousin anxiously. So much relied on Bulgarth, the responsibility of the estate and the welfare of his household. Providence had put all this on him, yet would not let him become a man first. Unlike them however, Sheorl realized that Merlana had a special gift. So he taught her how to hunt with bows and arrows and how to fight with knives, for there had been too much trouble in Dew Valley to leave her fate to the mercies of others. If she ever needed to run, she would not have the same problem as Sarah. He also showed her the secret places in the woods where he had hidden weapons. Sheorl went out early that morning to oil the knives. Frad rode hard. Both man and horse relished the rush of air, hollering and neighing passed waking cottages and open fields. Some laughed to see the horse and rider’s joy, but others shook their head and thought him mad. Frad did not slow their pace on the cliff path along the river for there were few travellers on the road that morning. Soon they reached their destination, both horse and man panting a mist. Monqui was a small town with a deep river port. The locale started right after the bridge from the cliff path, where a grocery store was conveniently located and stretched for a mile to the worship house on the north-east side. Frad looked about at the quaint houses that doubled as shops and shouted his greetings to those he knew. Most of these buildings were about two-storey, with the highest structure being the Clover Inn, which was four-storey high. Apart from the doors and windows, none of the buildings were painted. As he trotted down the wide dirt road, he could tell whether a house owner quarried stone or sawn timber for his home. A few side streets branched out from the main road and Frad did not turn into any of these, but went directly to the end of the town. He dismounted in front of the wooden worship house and called out a greeting. A middle age man came out from a large cottage to the side of the establishment Frad was facing and shaded his eyes against the morning sun. He did not enjoy being called upon so early and at that hour his thick beard was still uncombed, smelling of cheap wine. Even with his balding head, he was a handsome man from a distance although, puffy eyelids, dull skin and a protruding belly hinted on his indulgent habits. Melos, the priest, smiled. Yes, he recognized Frad. A lesser man would have been chased out of the compound by his dogs, but not Frad, for he was a companion to Bulgarth, one of the richest landowners in Monqui. Frad saw his wave and walked down the stony path towards him. "Greetings, Melos. I hope I have not wakened you early from your bed." "Fair greetings to you too, young Frad. You have not disturbed me at all, for it is my customs to wake before the sun rises, to pray and to meditate. What brings you to my humble abode?" Frad smiled back at the creased face and cheek lined with dried drool. "I came by Bulgarth’s bidding. There is trouble in his home and he would like you to assist him. Of course good priest you will be well compensated for your troubles." Melos’s eyes glittered. "Come in Frad, tell me what the problem may be. Let us discuss in private, for I expect your employer may not appreciate it being heard by prying ears." Frad followed the priest into the house. "Bulgarth had certainly decided well. You are indeed a wise man." Melos beamed on hearing the compliment and if it were ever possible, the roundness in his belly moved up to his chest as the priest strutted into the drawing room with his guest. Humble abode indeed, Frad thought to himself as he stepped into the luxurious room and sat down on one of the thick cozy sofas. A low daintily stenciled coffee table caught his eye. Beneath it, the floor was carpeted in deep green while soft curtains of a lighter shade chastely covered wide windows. Two full sized paintings decorated the walls, which Frad felt were too grandiose for a cottage. In one painting was a blue uniformed man riding on a horse and brandishing his sword, while the other flaunted three men in various fighting poses and wearing elaborate armors. Melos called out for his maid and gave instructions for coffee and bread which distracted Frad from his critical evaluation of the room. He was hungry again after the hard ride. The two men ate and sipped coffee to their hearts content. After a satisfied burp, Frad took out the letter from his breast pocket and passed it to Melos. The priest’s face slowly turned pale as he read and the letter he held began to shake visibly. Melos put down the parchment and said, "This is a serious matter. How terrible it must be for the young lady Merlana, to have something like that in her room. My duties are many for the next few days, let me see if I can rearrange them." "Very well then, I will return after lunch to get your reply. Bulgarth said that he needs to know your answer by today if possible." Frad took his leave for the moment and rode back down the main road passed the grocery store and crossed back over the bridge. He turned into a faded lane to his left, humming a little tune along the way. Before he reached the end of his clumsy singing, he rounded a bend and a small quaint cottage came into view. The garden around it was as wild as the surrounding forest, which made a small well tended vegetable patch in the middle of that mess stand out like a sore thumb. The owner, a wagon-maker called Dunwood, was not a man to waste time on things he considered unnecessary. Frad called out, alerting his paranoid friend to the visit. A thin man came out from the side wall of the cottage, for the back and front doors were only built for show. On seeing him, Frad dismounted, slung a saddle-bag over his shoulder and strode towards the cottage. He always looked forward to visiting Dunwood because the unusual design of this home perked his interest. The cottage might look small from outside, but the depth and width of the underground space below was twice that of the cottage above. A wonderfully unusual man, Dunwood was no taller than five feet and was as thin as a broom with a clean shaven face. Some called him an eccentric, others were less polite but people’s opinions meant nothing to that small man, for he was the best wagon maker in the region. That fact alone was indisputable. He led Frad into the kitchen which was furnished by a table now laden with a basket of freshly baked bread and apples that farmer Bradock’s son had brought for him that morning. Frad had a hearty time, three breakfasts in a row and the sun was only halfway to noontime. He passed the items in his saddlebag to Dunwood and explained to him about their problem and plan. "How bad is the situation?" Dunwood asked as he bit into a piece of bread. They did not wait for the kettle to boil before they sat down to eat. "If you listen to Bulgarth, you would think that it is a disaster. He worries about trouble even before trouble is upon him." "That is why he is a well-prepared man. People are jittery. Young children go missing one after the other. Mothers are quite terrified. Why even Bradock’s boy did not come down here alone. One of his uncle’s was with him. It used to be that children could romp about as much as they wish." "Aye, I see your point. What do you think of Bulgarth’s plan?" "Good, although I do not like the part about me dressing as a woman." "Come now Dunwood, we cannot smuggle her out of the manor. There are too many eyes. We just need someone to come in pretending to be her then she can come out of hiding. Anyway, you will be covered with a veil." "Oh really, which one of my pillows should I use for breasts?" Frad almost choked on the food as he laughed and swallowed at the same time, "You need not worry about that my friend. She is only a child, her breast are still small and should not be noticeable under a loose garment." "By all that is good in Netherweld, you said that Hastire was taking her for his bride?" "Aye, he was." Frad mumbled a full-mouthed reply. Dunwood shook his head in disbelief then in his usual brisk manner changed the subject to a similar problem. "There are rumors afoot that Hastire may be related to the missing children. Viggo found a dead boy in the woods a fortnight ago. He was branded like a slave on the right side of his neck. Turned out that the boy was Falmen’s. The man swore that he never sold his own son and we all believed him. In fact the whole town searched the area for the lad six months ago. The brand on his neck was similar to one part of a crest on Hastire’s flag. You know the sign, two hooks set back to back, looking like an anchor. Well, Viggo, who knew the boy, was very affected by what he saw. I didn’t see the body myself, but people who did said that he was bruised all over and looked badly fed. Young Viggo took it upon himself to find out where the boy had been. He started with the mines of course, specifically those that belongs to Hastire. He saw children working in some of them, but they were so heavily guarded, he couldn’t get a closer look. He is planning to go back again with more men." Steam piped out of the boiling kettle. Dunwood got up and poured hot water into a medium sized teapot. He brewed his best tea leaves and waited for it’s essence to seep into the water. Then he poured tea out into two big mugs. Frad mulled over what he had just heard. Viggo's plan could be dangerous, and if these children were legally bought, Monqui could loose some good men. Frad asked, "Do you think that is the best course of action?" "I do not know what to think. In fact..," just then a call was heard from outside. Dunwood peered out the kitchen window. "Why of all coincidences, that is Viggo himself. A good thing I brewed extra tea." Dunwood loved drinking tea so much, he could finish a whole teapot by himself in one sitting. He walked out of the kitchen and opened his front door, for want of a better description. A moment later the door banged and two pair of footsteps approached the kitchen. "Greetings my friend," Frad called out. "You look and smell like you need a good bath." Viggo, a gangly man with black hair and beard, laughed, "Aye, that reminds me. I should at least take a dip in the river before going home. My mother would be none too please to see me in this state." There was bantering and teasing before the conversation became more serious. Frad said, "Dunwood told me that you are collecting men to raid those mines. Do you think that is wise? Those children may have been legally bought and you and your men will be shackled in front of the House of Law." Viggo chewed thoughtfully, then said, "I send meat rations to these places and have tried to get closer to the mines, hoping to recognize some of the children reported as missing, but they are too heavily guarded. I just need to get a better look. The men only have to distract the guards for a while." Frad thought over the problem, "The exercise will be futile, for a mine goes underground. You cannot see what is inside." Viggo gave a sigh, "At least we try. Even one child is more than none." Frad said, "If I am not wrong, there should be three copies of the sales and purchase contract of a slave. One with the buyer, one with the seller and one with the House of Law. In fact our law states that there need to be a copy in the House of Law to make it legal, and that the true name and parentage of the slave must be noted in the document. Inspectors from the capital will come every two years to check the records and go down into the mines for a count." Viggo snorted, "Whatever the law may say, it is still a practice I do not agree with. Imagine treating humans like work cattles." Frad shook his head, "You are not listening to me. It means that if this person is careful about being inspected and wanted to ensure that his property remains safe, he will file a document in the House of Law. It means that we can read them. We have to make a formal request of course and if it is Hastire, he will be informed of our intent. But at least you and your men will not be doing anything against the law. There should be a way to proof that these children were not sold legally. I will check with Hymae. He is better versed in these matters." Dunwood asked, "What of the ones that are legally bought, do we close our eyes to them?" Frad said, "Every time I see one of these, I wished that Master Bremargh was still with us. He was trying to collect votes from the leaders of the community for amendments to the Slavery Law. Better work conditions and treatment chiefly." Dunwood spoke, "Almost all of the leaders are slave owners. Such an amendment will only increase their cost and reduce their earnings." Viggo nodded, "The burdens laid on Bulgarth’s young shoulders would be heavy even for a man of thirty. It is not for us to ask him to continue his father’s quest. It is a comfort though, to know he has two merry companions to keep his spirits up. Frad said, "Merry we may seem, but we fear for his life everyday." Dunwood queried, "You suspect foul play in his parents’ death?" "Aye," Frad responded, "Strange that so many people used the cliff path and none have had a fatal accident before. Yet Bremargh and Meryl were killed right after he told the guards in Dew Valley to keep their eyes open for trouble." Dunwood frowned as he asked, "You think that Bulgarth will be harmed?" Frad rubbed his brow, "I do not know what to think. His father seemed to think so." Viggo patted Frad on his shoulder and said, "It is not for us to decide the length of his days. One day he will become a man worthy of his father, and we will say that Frad and Hymae had made smooth his path to manhood." More news and rumours were exchanged until the sun was high in the sky. Frad got up to leave. "Thank you for your hospitality Dunwood, don’t forget to send the wagon down to Clover’s, Sheorl will drive it back to the manor." No word of the plan on dressing Dunwood as a woman was mentioned in front of Viggo. "Afraid of the dark are you my friend," Viggo inquired with a raised eyebrow, since it was Frad's habit to stay for dinner or spend the night. "I have an errand to run. I need to find out if Melos intends to come to the manor or not." He winked at the wagon maker, who was about to get up from his seat. "It is alright Dunwood, I can show myself out." He picked up his now empty saddle-bag and walked out with two apples in his hand. Viggo eyed the empty bag, though no question came out of his mouth. He understood that he will only be let into the secret if his help was required. Honest men prefer to know as little as possible about their friends in trying times. Outside Frad strapped the saddle bag back on Speed and went over to pat Viggo’s handsome animal. He fed an apple to each horse before untying his own steed from the post. Then both horse and master walked side by side, back to the town. Frad dropped by the grocery store and bought two bottles of ink and a ledger book for Hymae to annoy him, as well as canvas and paints for himself. He had to fill the saddle- bag, else the stable-boy would wonder what he brought out in the bag if he returned back with it empty. He was a good lad, but he talked too much. When the worship house came into view, Frad was surprised to see the wagon and mare waiting in front of Melos’ gate. He wondered what had persuaded the priest to make up his mind so soon. A middle-aged man called out from a house to his right, "Oooi Frad, making plans to get married are you." "Sorry to disappoint you Quon, I will not be the one taking your sister out of your hair." They both guffawed but stopped instantly when a young woman stepped out of the house with both hands on her hips. Frad continued his journey in haste. At least now he had an idea of why Melos had been persuaded to go. The other man’s reference to marriage was a warning that an important but unfriendly visitor had been seen talking with Melos. Frad would find out the name of the visitor at his next meeting with Quon. Melos stood waiting next to the wagon, sweating profusely and not from the heat alone. He heard Frad and his neighbor’s bantering and right now he wished that Frad had indeed come to inquire about the preparations for a wedding. Still this was a good chance for him to visit the manor. The attraction of more money promised by his second visitor of the day was too strong. The priest managed a smile when Frad came up, "Why don’t you ride with me in the wagon? We can tie your horse to the back." "Thank you for the offer, good sir. I look forward to your company on our way to the manor." The journey back was pleasant enough for Melos was a learnt man. They talked of many things. As they drove past the first open field after the cliff road, Frad asked, "Good Melos, you have certainly done wondrous work at the worship house. Any visitor can tell that it is very well managed." I do try my best, but all the credit should go to the devotees. They spend so much of their time maintaining the building and its grounds. Our patron is also a very generous man. His only interest is in helping our community. One of his servants would visit me to ensure that all is well and to help me with the books and the administration of monies. Of course sometimes the dedicated man will take work home, especially when he wishes to persuade the good patron to supply us with more funds." Melos wiped imaginary sweat from his brow. Frad smiled, noting the clumsy way the man was trying to explain why he allowed a particular visitor to carry off documents from his home. And he also noted that the priest made the explanation without waiting for the question. Then Frad asked a question that anyone would normally ask after hearing the tale. "Your patron is certainly generous. But who is this person, if you don’t mind me asking." "Oh.. ha ha ha. He wishes to remain secret. The poor man has had a lot of bad luck. He is doing us the service because he wishes to atone for his sins. He lost his wives, I, I, mean wife in the most tragic manner." Melos cleared his throat. "Poor soul. It is terrible to loose a well-loved wife. But since he is such a well to do man, I have no doubt that he will find a new one soon." From that slip, Frad gathered that Hastire was the so-called secret patron. He was the only properly owner in the land that had more than one wife. The women of that land were very hardy and didn’t die easily unless by accident or by foul play. Hastire was not known to be a religious man hence it made the Frad wonder what manner of business Melos was conducting with him. They continued their chat over some other trivial things, for Frad was careful not to make Melos wary around him. The white three storey manor in the distance grew larger as they descended the lazy valley. Servants were on the lookout for them and Frad rightfully guess that it was more out of curiosity than of duty. He heard Melos clearing his throat a few times. Melos saw that the place was neither surrounded by high fence nor moat. Only low bushes marked the manor boundary along whose hedge a few cottages huddled. He drove the wagon to the main entrance, although being his first visit to Dew Valley, his eyes had trouble adjusting to the shining brightness of the building. Graceful wide steps led up to a wide mahogany door sandwiched between airy windows with thin carved framework. Along the side of the steps and below the wide windows lush green plants grew, lending some softness to the severe austerity of the white stonework. The windows were not curtained and Melos could see through them to the sweeping grand staircase within. The hall floor was covered in marble tiles of black, ivory and green that had been arrayed into a beautiful pattern of graceful trumpeting lilies. He drew in a sharp intake of breath. Hallskein Castle was grand but this manor was beautiful. Bulgarth and Hymae came down the steps to greet him. The young owner spoke as both Melos and Frad alighted, "It is most kind of you, good priest, to come for this errand when the message was only sent out this morning. I hope I have not caused you much trouble." "No, young sir. My heart went out to you and yours when I read your grievous letter. How terrible it must had been for your sister. I thanked providence that no harm had come to her." Bulgarth reassured Melos as he said, "Merlana has much spirit. She is still young and unafraid of most things. The incident frightened the rest of my household more than herself. Still it could just be a pretense, for she insists that her cousin Sarah sleeps with her." Hymae spoke next, "Let us not speak of such things right now. You have just arrived and the clouds offer no shade today." "Oh, of course," Bulgarth stammered, "How rude of me. It is your good fortune, dear Melos, that I have Hymae here to remind me of my manners. Please do come into my home." Melos was impressed with his sincerity. It was not often that he met a young man who would tolerate being rebuffed by an employee. The four men climbed the wide steps with Bulgarth and Melos in front. When they reached the main door, Melos saw a huge man standing next to it and behind him were two young ladies. Hymae gave a polite cough. "Ah yes," Bulgarth spoke, "Let me introduce you to my sister and my ward. These are Merlana and Sarah. This man here is Sheorl, one of my guards." The teenagers were dressed in light coloured blouses and dark skirts with hair tied back in black ribbons. Melos was pleased with the pretty sight. Both girls had golden hair and would pass as sisters anywhere and their handsome tanned faces hinted of their farming family background. He went through a list in his head of the available bachelors he knew. Ah, Viggo would be a good idea. Maybe a wife would cool down some of that hot-headedness of his. What a pity neither one was to his patron’s taste. Melos turned his gaze into the inner sanctums of the hall and gapped at the polished thick timbers lined like columns against the wall. Wide tapestry and fine portraits of family members arranged between these timbers added grace to the decor. He stopped in front of an elaborate portrait of a woman and the color drained from his face.
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