the scholar's sweetheart 11 cliffie bonus

 

Chapter 11

 

What had happened to Jasper had passed by all of the others who were there, because of the diversion of the fire. Jasper heard Cornelius yell, and started to get up, at which point he became aware of a weight on his legs which did not move when he kicked, and he realised that the tent had partly descended on him.  He knew he had slacked the guys, such as they were, and had hardly time to wonder why the tent should come down at one end when the other end came down in a hurry, half suffocating him. Jasper gave a strangled yelp and found an extra weight on top of him.

“Jus’ accept it as your lot, Shuri,” hissed the voice of Crowy Heron.

Jasper recognised that there was not a lot he could do when wrapped up in canvas, and had the sense to realise that if he gave away now who he was, all that would happen would be that Crowy’s wicked knife would cut through the canvas and into his body in sheer revenge. He released a whimper of pain and terror which was not entirely simulated, and went still. Let Crowy think that Shuri capitulated, or had passed out in fear.

“Good girl,” said Crowy, removing his weight from the bundle of canvas and boy. “You obey me, and act douce and you’ll find me a generous husband.” It was unspoken, but implied, that anyone who was not douce would find a mean and vicious husband. Jasper achieved a sneer. He knew that those who were perfectly good tempered whilst everything was going their way had a nasty name; and the name was ‘bully.’ He was, frankly, terrified. He had expected Crowy to slide into his tent to try to carry off ‘Shuri’ by force, and to then be backed up by Cornelius and Woodlock, but he could hear their voices sharp with concern at a distance.

“Fire!” he muttered.

Crowy laughed.

“Nothin’ like a good fire to get people interested and involved,” he said. “They’ll never get old Ma Lementina out of there afore she burns to death, acoss I pinned down the tent flap, but they’ll put all their attention into tryin’, an’ all the while, I’m taking you away wivout that them notices.” Jasper felt himself lifted. Jasper did not have to simulate a gasp and a cry of horror. Mother Lementina was beloved by all, and the tribe would do anything to save her.

“You devil!” hissed Jasper. “What has Lementina done to you?”

Crowy actually laughed.

“Not a lot, beyond backing you up to defy Fowk. But she’s old so it don’t much matter if she dies; and someone had to, for me to get you, my lovely.”

Jasper was appalled.

The idea of killing someone as a mere diversion was horrifying. Hot tears rose to his eyes over the thought of poor Lementina suffering all because of one man’s lusts. No, he thought, it was more than that. Crowy certainly lusted for Shuri, but he also wanted to own the tribe and more than that, Shuri had been promised to him by Fowk, so he saw Shuri already as his own possession, and any attempt to keep her from him he saw as theft. The idea of Shuri having her own opinion never occurred to him. Indeed, Jasper knew that he would find the idea risible. He was not alone in that view, and not just amongst other gypsies; many men did not consider consulting their wives about anything. He had heard from Imogen that one branch of her family was presided over by such a man, who treated his wife and daughters as chattel goods.

In the meantime, Jasper was jolted as Crowy broke into a furtive run, was bruised as he was literally thrown over a low wall or the stile as his captor followed, and was then dumped onto a hard surface, where the muffled sound of clopping hoofs showed it to be a cart. Jasper had no way of judging distance or direction, so he did the only practical thing he might, and went to sleep.  He was too tightly tied by the guy ropes around the canvas to try to reach a knife, so the only thing to do was to rest whilst he could, in preparation for exertions in the future. In truth, he was slipping in and out of consciousness through being starved of air, though at times as he rolled on the cart, enough air came through the loose bundle to keep him from suffocating to death.

 

oOoOo

 

A low, feral noise of despair escaped Evelyn as he realised that his son had been taken. Evergreen put a hand tentatively on his arm. He had heard the term ‘keening,’ but had never before had any way of knowing what it was. He reckoned he knew now.

“Chances are, Crowy reckons he has Shuri,” said Evergreen, softly, “And so he ain’t in any immediate danger.”

“He’ll find out soon enough, and without people to back Jasper up,” said Evelyn, dully.

“Jasper’s nobody’s fool,” opined Evergreen. “He’ll talk Crowy into trying to make an exchange.”

“I... yes, and that opens possibilities,” said Evelyn.  “I’m not taking Phebe; are any of your tribe’s dogs any good at tracking?”

“Yessir, Bess is,” said Evergreen. “She’s a boarhound, pedigree, well, mostly, but Woodlock got her cheap account of she’d been devalued by the owner’s wife’s pug.”

“How did... no, I’m not even begin to go there,” said Evelyn.

Evergreen sniggered.

“I asked that, and Woodlock said, ‘harnessed her to a cart and stood on the dash,’ which is silly but as good a guess as any.”

“The mind boggles,” said Evelyn, who preferred a boggled mind to one which kept wondering when his son was going to die. “Will she obey you? Woodlock is hurt. But if we catch up with them, I will expect you to stay out of the way.”

“She’ll go with me,” said Evergreen, confidently. “I’ll have to go get her, they took the dogs with the horses.”

“I need to find something of Jasper’s for her to scent, anyway,” said Evelyn.  “But hurry; I want to be after them before the roads are alive with everyone and his creditors spoiling the scent.”

 

oOoOo

 

Jasper awoke when the cart lurched in a way that suggested that the horse had been unharnessed. He tried to shake his head to clear it; he still felt half suffocated in the canvas, though a fold had shaken clear and he could feel a faint current of air. He was lifted and carried somewhere. By the sounds of the feet, they went inside... somewhere, and the feeling and sound of feet on steep stairs. He was dumped on a surface, which gave, and was presumably a bed. That was a frightening thought if Crowy meant to take his acquisition to show his mastery. The ropes loosened, and the canvas was twitched away. Jasper took a long, shuddering breath, and peered through his lashes. It was dark in this room, under low eaves, with a small, low window, which gave the impression of green, suggesting heavy vegetation. He made a show of gulping and gasping for air, and acting as if he was half swooning.

“The hell!” said Crowy. “I hadn’t realised you were that muffled up. Well, Shuri, I ain’t about to teach you what a real man is like when you ain’t up to reckernisin’ it. You wouldn’ appreciate it proper. You rest, an’ I’ll be back. There’s water to drink, an’ a piss pot like Giorgios use.”

Jasper moaned softly.

He heard Crowy withdraw, and the door lock.

Jasper gave it a few minutes before investigating his surroundings. The room was sparsely furnished, with a bed such as might be found in a servant’s room, with an iron frame, compact and too heavy for a slight boy to readily move. There was a commode with a flyblown mirror on it, and a chest at the end of the bed. He looked in the mirror, and in the gloom, with the long wig dishevelled, he could see why Crowy had thought him to be Shuri. He put his hand over his mouth to muffle a chuckle, that he looked as much like his mother as he resembled his father. Well! He had some time, then. The water in the jug on the commode was not likely to be drugged, as Crowy would want Shuri to recognise his mastery over her. This being so, he poured a glassful into the glass provided, and drank, thankfully. Now to make himself safe.

 Jasper removed a long, narrow stiletto of a knife from the sheath on his left calf, and probed the keyhole.  Nothing impeded its progress, so Crowy had taken the key, and was not looking. Jasper was a little disappointed not to have encountered an eye at the end of his knife. He had a larger knife on his right calf, and tried to see if this might spring the lock, but to no avail.

He examined the chest.

There were a couple of shirts and skirts in there, suitable for a gypsy woman, but nothing else. He had good woollen stockings on, but on searching the canvas, neither his boots nor his breeches had come with him. He was clad in a night shirt, which was enough like a woman’s shift to pass at first sight, and he had bedding. The good woollen blanket would act as a cloak against weather, if need be. He put on both skirts from the chest; he would, if need be, play the gypsy girl to get home. He cut two pieces of canvas to tie onto his feet as shoes. The guy ropes gave him ready-made rope. The door opened outwards, which meant he could tie a rope to the hook on it, for a dressing-gown or something, and attach the other end to the heavy iron bedstead. That was swiftly done. That ought to keep Crowy out for a while. He also jammed a tarry bit of canvas in the lock.

Next, Jasper investigated the window. It was a casement, only a foot or so off the floor, to be set under the eaves, which met the wall lower even than Jasper’s height. He knelt on the floor to investigate the window. The catch was missing, and it appeared to have been nailed shut. Jasper scoffed. In an emergency, he could likely kick out the flimsy frame. However, that would make a noise.

He took a note of his surroundings, however. The cottage appeared to be in a woodland area, with mixed deciduous trees. New spring foliage made it fairly impenetrable to light, and assuming they had not travelled many hours, which Jasper doubted, this window faced north to account for how dark it was. By such shadows as he could see, it was  likely mid morning. He had been awakened... when? He had been disoriented, unable to see the sky. But if he was going to make an attack, he would time it for between two and four in the morning. Nearer two, to give time to get well away before dawn. By the time Crowy had dumped him in a cart, it had probably been the better part of an hour. He’d likely rested his nag at some point; and Jasper really could not guess how much of his sleep had been close to unconsciousness from partial suffocation, and if he had passed out.  However, the horse had only been walking from what he remembered, and allowing for rests, and for feeding it, and Crowy, they might have gone twenty miles but likely no more. Jasper was only concerned that his time wrapped in canvas had destroyed his bump of direction. He needed more information.

He also needed a way out. The window was possible, but would alert his captor. Jasper looked up.

It was an old cottage, and the thatch was directly visible; nobody had bothered to cover it with light boards, never mind a skim of plaster. The chimney stack was built of stone and ran through at the middle of the cottage, though there was no fireplace in this mean bedroom. Jasper guessed there was another room like this the other side of the chimney, and two rooms downstairs, a kitchen and living room, each with a hearth opening into the same chimney.

Jasper knew that the best way to store water was inside the body, and proceeded to drink the rest of the water. He cut the canvas to make a ground sheet, and a rough bag. In it he put the jug and glass, and the blanket from the bed, not as good as his, but better than nothing. The other guy rope tied it up and secured it round his shoulders. Then he climbed the stones of the chimney, and started an assault on the thatch. It was thick, especially here at the apex of the roof, but as he cut it away, it occurred to Jasper that he could cut a crawl-way into the other room. This idea conceived, he worked towards achieving this goal, and was soon swarming down the wall of the chimney in the other room. This appeared to be a room used by Crowy, and held his fair-day breeches and some cleanish underlinen. Jasper turned the drawers inside out, on general principles, and with some relief dressed in more familiar garb. This room had two windows, one again at the front and one on the gable end. Both seemed to open.

Jasper had another idea to delay pursuit; and went back to the prison room. Crowy would get through the door eventually. He pushed the sheet into the sleeves of his nightgown, pushed the bolster up through the neck hole, and adorned it with his wig, then tore the bottom blanket  into strips to make a rope, and tied it round the bolster like a neck, and attached the other end to the ridge pole, pulling the hair of the wig over the front too, so the first thing Crowy saw when he came in would be a hanging figure. Of course if he investigated, he would soon find it to be a fake but it should give him a nasty moment or two; and he might even flee.

Jasper sniggered, and went back to the other room.  He investigated the window on the end wall, which the room he had come from had not had. Who knew, perhaps there was yet a further room.

From this window, he could see that the reason there were no windows at the back was explained by the cottage being built into chalky outcrop which essentially formed the back wall. Doubtless someone had also dug a store house into the rock, and likely stabling as well. Well, that suited his purpose better, if he could reach it. The end wall was a typical crook-beam construction but there was a heavy beam on which the joists inside rested, below the window. And a lintel over the window. Jasper sat precariously on the sill, and jammed both his knives into the oaken lintel. He went out of the window like an eel, and pulled himself up, kicking the window part shut to stand on top of the casements as he reached for a handhold in the upper beam, twisting his stiletto to remove it and jam it in higher to help himself effect the climb. The rush thatching was slippery, but it was also well-roped to hold it, and he was able to gain the top of the roof, and retrieve his other knife. Here he sat for a moment, contemplating his next move.