I'm baaaack! Bess and the succession chapter 1

Chapter 1

“Master,” said Bess, as Master Van Huys drew out his warding plan on a blackboard in the great hall, “I think we have a problem.”

There had been an attack shortly before on the School of Wyrm Lore and Draxery, which showed flaws in the defences, and the plan was to fill those deficiencies.

“Tell me your thoughts, Mistress Marlowe,” said Van Huys. “I do not claim to be omniscient; indeed as a sailor learning to be both a teacher and a war leader against those who will attack children, I feel sometimes out of my depth.”

“Master Coxe says any decision is better than no decision,” said Bess, absently, quoting the teacher of  Arts of War.  “The problem is  the church.  Its churchyard marches with our grounds, and there is a gateway through the wall into the churchyard, for the scholars to attend.  And the folk of Haseldene Village use the church as well of course, as it is their church.”

“And this is a problem in what respect?” asked Van Huys. “Ah, I think I understand, but tell me what problem you see anyway, and I will see if it agrees with what sprang to my mind when you drew attention to it.”

“It is a way into the grounds,” said Bess.  “Passage must be granted to the scholars to go to church, and for the rector to visit the school, but no others, however, the wards cannot be too aggressive or we will lose the support of the village folk. And it is better for us to mingle with them, so they may see as ordinary children, rather than to have our own chapel and rector.”

“Your thoughts are cogent,” said Van Huys. “I will speak to the rector.  Perchance we might put a lower level of ward about the churchyard itself, which will stick to the ground anyone who has hostile intent within the church or churchyard.  It will undoubtedly also catch petty criminals and wife-beaters, but that is not a disadvantage. It should then restrain any of ill intent before getting to the other wards.  And entering the grounds of the school without being invited could be included in ill intent.”

“Yes, Master; a frightening thing for a villager, but no real danger to him,” said Bess.

“You are a good girl to think of such things,” said the Master. “This is why I am sending you and Frostfire home for two weeks.  I want you to travel around the country near Stratford and see if there are any young people suitable to come to the school.  And if they are older than eleven or twelve, but love dragons, then they might come and welcome.”

“I would be delighted, sir, but why me?” asked Bess.

“Partly it is because of Frostfire,” said the Master.  “She is not white, but many people will see her as predominantly white, with those specks of colour in her being an addition.  And to most people, white is a colour of purity.  If the first dragon they encounter is, say, a Ruby dragon, how many will think of the fiery wyrm defeated by St Michael in Revelations?  Many, I trow. Moreover, Ruby Knights are chosen for their martial prowess, not their diplomacy.  And Topaz, many will think much the same even though Topaz dragons are Nurture-wyrms.  I think the black Diamond dragons would also frighten people, and to be honest, some of the sorcerers who are draxiers to the spellwyrms are a little ... erratic.   Beryl will be others I send out, and Amethyst. When people are more used to them, then Topaz draxiers can go to search.  I am looking forward to Coll’s dragon being grown enough, the empathy of a Rose Quartz dragon will be tremendously helpful.”

“Very well, Master.  After the warding is done, then?”

“Yes, indeed. And I have written to thy guardian, Master William Shakespeare, to let him know, and the school will cover the cost of feeding Frostfire, should she need to hunt.”

“Thank you, Master.” Bess was excited; and yet also had a hollow feeling inside at the thought of visiting her previous home. For she had never felt as at home there as she did now in the school!

All those capable of magic were helping with the warding.  Bess was astounded to find out that this encompassed very few of the older students. The chant was a little more complex than the one which had been held by the whole school for the basic wards, but Bess was pleased that she was able to follow its complexities in understanding of what was being done.

She asked,

“Why are not all the scholars involved?”

Mistress Carey answered her surprised query

“The original wards needed reiteration which could be undertaken by almost anyone so long as there was someone magical at each cardinal point.  This chant was more complex and we could not afford any mistake.”

“So only the most magical could do it?”

“Bess, my dear, you and your friends are exceptional.  Even Mistress Woolfstone, who is capable of some spells, to aid her alchemy if nothing else.  I’m going to have the largest class I have ever had in your third year, when electives can be chosen and classes dropped; six of you, quite half of those who came.”

“Marry! In sooth, Lil, I assumed that all would want to continue the amazing things we can do with magic and runes,” said Bess.  Mistress Carey was one of the teachers who had invited the young draxier to use her first name out of school, anticipating the girl becoming a colleague.

Lil Carey laughed.

“Why, Bess, did you not realise that those who are dropping magic are doing so because it does not work for them?”

“I did not, no,” said Bess.  “I know Lance Webber has trouble, but he is not the sharpest sword in the scabbard.”

“It is not about intelligence, though those who are not smart are also generally not good at magic,” said Mistress Carey. “It is an inborn talent, like music.  And some of you have more than others.”

“Oh!” said Bess. “And Diccon is good at seeing how to craft spells, especially transmogrifications, and Tannie is good at healing and musical patterns to make magic.  I am glad we are a talented year though.”

“Yes, and Tangwystl used some most ingenious runework to aid Amice Kettlewell to birth her baby,” said Mistress Carey. “It will help Mistress Percy too, when that poor young woman births.”

Bess shuddered.  Lucy Percy had been a maid of honour to the Queen, but had been controlled and impregnated by Spain’s evil magical ambassador, against whom there was not enough evidence to have him declared persona non grata.  He had used the foetus as a focus to send a curse to John Wolf, formerly Igon Lopez, who had escaped his power.  And it was the physical agents of the Necromancer of Spain, and any unwitting allies he used, against whom the school needed extra warding.  The attack by a veritable rabble of Catholics, all with, it seemed, their own agendas, had been troubling.  Only coincidence, and Diccon’s ability to see auras, had prevented a possible blood bath of the scholars. Instead it had been the invaders who had been killed, most of them burned in dragon fire.  Bess shuddered. She was still having nightmares, though Frostfire usually took over her thoughts to quiet them. Fortunately she would be too busy in the coming year to have much spare time; Bess had elected to take nine classes, two of which would be fitted in by John Wolfe, teaching her Spanish, and Rafe Sackwild, teaching her advanced logic.  As the logic tended to go with work on the runic protective maze, this meant he had a larger class than those he had found intimidating, now that some of the younger ones joined in, but as he had not noticed, Bess had not mentioned it.

Diccon and Aloysius Cobb were also tackling nine subjects, the logic being the advanced class with Bess.  Bess was looking forward to embarking on the subject of Geography, and allying it with navigation in Dr. Bray’s class.  She was not particularly looking forward to French and Italian, but if she was to be any kind of ambassador, languages were what she needed. This started another train of thought about the teachers of the electives.  She frowned, and went to see Matt Tyler, the senior draxier of Amethyst House.

“Matt,” said Bess, “We were assigned Master Parnell as Head of Amethyst House when he Bonded.  I can’t put a face to the man.  Does he only take notice of you older ones?”

Matt frowned.

“To be honest, I can’t say I’ve spoken to him more than once or twice.  Lawrie knows him better, as he took Literature. Master Stephens, I should say,” added Matt.

“No little kids around here; some of the dominies are happy to have their given names used out of school, once anyone is a draxier anyway,” said Bess.  “So he hasn’t taken much notice of the older ones; he certainly hasn’t helped out the younger ones.  What are you going to do about it?”

“Go to the Master, I suppose,” said Matt. “Honestly, as Amethyst House goes, I’ve had more help from Master Sackwild, not that I ever thought I would say so!  He has heard my Latin for me, because I struggle, and it is the basis of casting spells. And I know he works with you and your assorted band of friends.”

“Yes, he’ll be teaching an advanced class of Spellcrafting in the fledgeling university,” said Bess. “He and Diccon evolved it between them.”

“Now that sounds interesting,” Matt brightened.  “I will ask that Master Parnell be replaced. I don’t think he even likes being a House Head.”

“How can he not like what he hath not even managed to do?” said Bess, scathingly.

“I need a diplomatic way to put it to the Master,” said Matt.

“I usually just say what I think.”

“Yes, but everyone knows that’s only you and it is not meant as colossal impudence,” said Matt. “I, however, will approach the Master with tact.  I’faith, I am amazed you have come to me for advice not gone straight to the Master.”

“I was not sure whether Parnell merely did not like younger scholars, not being used to them.”

“Methinks he wants to debate literature and no more,” said Matt. “I will return.”

It was not long before Matt sought Bess.

“The Master will speak to Master Parnell,” he said.  “I gave him my word that so far as I know he has never spoken to you, Tannie, Diccon or Lixie.  I cannot say if Jane speaks to him, but she does study Literature.  And I said I thought you younger ones would be happy enough with Master Sackwild, as Lawrie is a little young.”

“It is hard even to think of him as Master Stephens,” admitted Bess. “I am glad I am having lessons with Master Sackwild. Though I imagine scholars from other houses find it easier to treat Lawrence with the proper distance.”

“Yes, and that is why he could not be Head of House,” said Matt. “I would not be comfortable, and I am older than he is.  And only a scholar on my own time while a university is explored.  And I hear that you, too, are going out to search for scholars?”

“Yes, the Master thinks people will look on Frostfire as harmless.”

“It makes sense. And Hazedancer is not threatening to look on.  Why are you laughing?”

“He may not be as big as Skyshadow, but Matt! To most people, most dragons are threatening.  Those damned souls who attacked us found Frostfire threatening enough, and Hazedancer has a few years’ growth more than she does.”

“She should catch up by the time you leave school though,” said Matt.”

“I’m not worrying about it; I have no idea how Opal dragons grow, so I will not be unduly concerned,” said Bess. “There is no material difference in the size of the different colours save for ancient lorewyrms like Skyshadow so you are probably right.”

“Diw!  The Master has you running about as though you were an adult, look you” said Bess’s Welsh friend, Tangwystl, as she helped Bess to pack.

“My fault for Bonding with a rare dragon like Frostfire, I suppose!” laughed Bess.  “And attracting the attention of the Queen too, so that she asked me to bring her secret grandson to the school.”

“Robert is a good lad,” said Tangwystl.  “No stuck-up little aristocrat with more snot than sense like some of them.”

“I like him too,” said Bess.  “And he’s in your care while I am away, as Diccon went home.”

“Diw! Well, if the school is burned down when you return it was because I could not control him and Lixie at their pranks,” said Tangwystl.  Bess laughed; Prince Henry Robert, as he would be rightly known when his existence was announced, was as thick as thieves with Elixabete Wolfe, a Basque girl who had escaped from the Necromancer of Spain. She was the daughter of John Wolf, who was now the Spanish teacher.  Their pranks were harmless and funny, and Tangwystl was exaggerating for effect.

“Just think what will happen if they befriend Diccon’s little sister, Avice; he said he was hoping to persuade his parents to let her come, as a more useful way of making contacts than merely by marrying her off.”

“I’faith, methinks the world will burn,” said Tangwystl, dramatically.

Bess laughed.

Sheep, spirits and smugglers 1

here's a sequel to Cousin Prudence which didn't make it past novella, and I want to do something with it; the question is, shall I expand it to be a novel, or see about writing a second novella to put with it?

In which Mr Knightley goes on a trip to purchase more sheep, and Mrs Knightley decides to accompany him, and they discover that smuggling intrudes its ugly head into a peaceful sheep fair 

Chapter 1

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a spiteful and malicious woman needs gossip as much as she needs food and drink.  It is equally a fact that if there is no gossip to be had, she will draw inferences from perceived facts and truly believe her own phantasm.

Mrs. Augusta Elton, being such a woman, never caused Emma Knightley so much dread as when she was smiling.  The more honeyed the smile, the more bitter the poison dripping from Mrs. Elton’s tongue might be expected to be.

The smile was sweetness personified, and Emma mentally girded up her loins for the fray as the older woman approached her.  It struck Emma how very much older Mrs Elton looked these days; for a handsome woman, the lines of discontent on her face had aged her considerably, and the effect was not helped by the multiplicity of frilled collars on the vicar’s wife’s gown.

“Ah, my poor Emma, it has come to this, has it?” Mrs. Elton simulated sympathy.

“What has come to what?” asked Emma, bluntly.

“Why, had you not heard?  It is all about the village that Mister Knightley is going off on a jaunt.”

“Mr. Knightley is going to Nepcutt* Sheep Fair,” said Emma.  “Hardly a jaunt; to increase our stock after this year without a summer is essential for the wellbeing of our tenants and dependants.  As landowners we have to consider such things,” she added, with a false smile of her own, since this was a point which rankled with the vicar’s wife.

“Is that what he told you?  Of course, you have to take his words at face value,” said Mrs. Elton.  “He would not wish you to know if he was seeing anyone, of course.”

“He’ll be seeing a lot of people, mostly shepherds,” said Emma.  “Come, Augusta, why not say what you mean, so you may get the embarrassment caused by your usual fabrications into the open?”

“Why, Emma ....”

“Mrs. Knightley.  I did not give you permission to use my given name, Augusta,” said Emma.  “Your husband holds the living from my husband.  Be aware of that.”

Augusta Elton paled.

“I cannot help it if you feel like being spiteful because your husband is having an affaire,” she said, sulkily.

“Oh, I do not feel in the least spiteful; but it is time you were put in your place,” said Emma. “You have been spreading rumours that my Cousin Prudence married in indecent haste, and questioning her husband’s bona fides, and if you are about to tell lies about my husband, then you should understand that I will be starting to consider having your husband summonsed for your slanders.”

Two bright spots of angry colour appeared on Augusta Elton’s cheeks.

“You will be sorry when you find the truth one day,” she said. “Why should Mr Knightley go himself when he can send his man, Larkins?”

“The truth?  The truth is that my husband and I are going to Nepcutt Fair together to look at sheep.  Only sheep.” Emma managed to keep her voice level. “Because it is a responsibility above what he feels he should place on Mr Larkins, to make such extensive purchases as he intends.”

Horror sprang into Mrs. Elton’s eyes.

“Y ... you are going too?  I ... I had no idea.”

“No; we do not chatter like squirrels about our affairs, nor do we do so about those of other people.  Good day to you,” said Emma, turning on her heel and stalking off, glad that her pregnancy was not so far advanced as to turn a dignified stalk into a waddle.

Emma came upon her husband and Mr. Larkins leaning on a gate looking at sheep, in a thin, watery sunshine.  Emma was still unaccountably nervous of Mr.  Larkins, but she was too indignant to shy from him, and greeted him by name as she nodded to George Knightley.

“You are all ruffled, like a partridge in the wind, my love, what is wrong?” asked George.

“That woman should be rolled in a ditch and dragged backwards by her ankles through several hedges!” burst out Emma.

“You met Mrs. Elton, I presume?  What’s she been up to now, for I fear even as magistrate, I could not sentence her to that.  Only to a whipping if you cared to take her to law for slander.” George rightly surmised that only one woman could disturb his Emma’s equilibrium so much.

“She said you were going to Nepcutt Fair in order to see some other woman,” said Emma, bluntly, “and I said that was impossible as I was going with you.”

“That woman’s tongue is full o’ dag locks,” said William Larkins.  “She be the most pizenous critter I ever did know, Mrs. Knightley and you don’t ought to take account o’ her maunderings.  Reckon it’d do you the world o’ good to go fer a trip with Mr. Knightley and all.”

“William, have you considered my wife’s condition?” asked George.

“Mr. Knightley, that don’t do the in-lamb ewes any harm to frolic on the hillside, and it don’t do womankind no harm either if they’ve a mind to it,” said Mr.  Larkins.

“Why, Mr.  Larkins, I believe I like you more than I knew,” said Emma.

“You never had cause to dislike me, Mrs. Knightley, just for ticking you off once or twice when you was a heedless liddle thing,” said Mr.  Larkins.  “Tis this road, Mrs. Knightley.  Some people say that sheep are just silly critters that are all alike; but it ain’t so.  They’re much like yuman bein’s in many ways.”

Emma gave Mr.  Larkins a quizzical look.

“William, are you about to produce an allegory?” asked Mr George Knightley; he knew well enough that Mr Larkins concealed a dry humour beneath his dour and taciturn exterior.

“Why Mr Knightley, I do not know as you would take it that way,” said Mr Larkins. “I meant but to describe one or two of our sheep with the names I give them to amuse Mrs. Knightley, and cheer her up.”

“I fancy I too am likely to be amused,” murmured Mr Knightley “Pray not too outrageous, Will.”

Mr Larkins gave a rare, shy grin.

“Well now, Mrs. Knightley, I was going to explain that of the ewes and wethers, the steadiest and most orthodox wether is given a bell and called the bell-wether; one as leads the flock as you might say.  And our bell-wether is called Pip; he know exactly where he ought to be going, but if any of the others annoy him, well, he’s like to leap off and go his own way afore returning, like as not with burrs in his coat,” said Mr Larkin.  “Mortal convinced of his own rightness is Pip, and though he know the right road to take home and foller it accordingly, he have no more sense than to walk in dirt.  And there’s an ewe as would like to do the leading and keeps agitatin’ at Pip; Gussie I calls her.  Boughten in she be; and think herself someat special to be part merino but when all’s said and done she were got rid of in a hurry account of the herd she be from be mostly Herdwicks as have dark fleeces.  And don’t she hate Emblem, what have the softest fleece outside of Sussex; though she’s a wild one is Emblem, allus tryin’ to second guess where she’m bein’ led.”

“Steady, William,” said Mr Knightley

Mr Larkins grinned.

“Well, Emblem is bein’ put to tup, happen having lambs will steady her,” he said.

“Close to the knuckle,” warned Mr Knightley.  “I think you should lay off Emblem – and her line.”

“As you wish, Mr Knightley,” said Mr Larkins.

“Mr. Larkins, I perceive I have underestimated you,” said Emma.  “I wager you could tell a few more stories of your sheep.”

“Happen I could, Mrs. Knightley, but I think that will do to be going on with,” said Mr.  Larkins, with a slow, countryman’s wink.  Emma was blushing, but she was laughing as well, and George was delighted to see his wife restored to good humour.

“You must have your work cut out with such sheep, Will,” he said.

“Ar, no more than the magistrate with the yumans,” said Mr.  Larkins.

“Your point, I think,” said George.  “You have no delicacy of mind, Will.”

“Mrs. Knightley don’t need delicacy o’ mind, sir, she need a good laugh,” said Mr.  Larkins.  “Don’t you take what that besom says with anything but a pinch o’ salt, Mrs. Knightley, and you have a good time looking at sheep in Nepcutt.  They have a dance there too.”

“Do they? How splendid,” said Emma.  “When do we go? And where is it exactly?” she took her husband’s arm as he offered it, to walk her home.

“Nepcutt Green is near Findon, on the coast.  It’s on the road to Worthing; the road goes directly there.  It is not above twenty three or four miles; I would generally expect to travel there in around three hours and stay overnight and then return the evening of the day of the fair having concluded my business.”

“When is it?” asked Emma.

“It is always held on the fourteenth of September” said George “That is a Saturday this year; I have consulted an almanac.”

“Oh Mr. Knightley!” Emma cried. “That would mean travelling on Friday the thirteenth; and whilst I am not in general in any wise superstitious, I fear that such a thought fills me with dread; for have they not but lately caught a highwayman on that road?”

“Yes; but if he is caught, then he is not about to be plying his trade,” said George practically.  “We could go on the Thursday I suppose but it would mean being absent from your father for another day.  I am still not sure that I am happy about you coming, you will be quite six months into your pregnancy,” he added, now they were out of earshot of Mr. Larkins.

 “We might travel on the Thursday and be more likely to find accommodation; and then stay over to the Monday so I do not get tired and we do not travel on the Sabbath. Women travel of necessity when they are further gone; the women who were refugees before Napoleon’s troops had little choice,” argued Emma. “And they had not the comfort of their own chaise with the most up to date springs.  I have discovered that I like to travel to see new places – for a short while – and it will cheer me up when I am otherwise full of the crotchets from my condition.  Now I have stopped being sick in the mornings I feel a new woman!”

George considered.  Emma was indeed blooming; and he hated to be parted from her.

“Your father will worry,” he said.

“We shall not tell him how far we go; only that it is to a sheep fair, where we will spend a long time in order to rest me well,” said Emma, who knew very well how to handle her father.  “What is it that you look for? You had not had time to say more than that you planned to be away, and if that woman corners me again, I will need to know what I am talking about.”

“Merinos,” said George, succinctly.  “A few were, er, liberated from Spain and brought into the country some four years ago; and I’ve a mind to get more of the stock into our native sheep.  It’s said they carry Merino anyway but merino wool is so fine and lustrous, it is top quality.  And would combine so well with the long staple of Gervase’s Lincolns.  As well as selling well to the shawl makers who combine it with silk.  It has one of the finest strands there is you know and the quantity of the fleece is good too.  The staple is anything up to four inches long, all over two and a half inches, so not as short as some.  I should like, too, to see what sort of sheep may come of crossing a Lincoln with a Merino.”

“It is quite fascinating,” said Emma. “I had never reflected, until we knew Prudence, just how much goes into the making of cloth.  And we indeed are the starting point.  I will not, Mr. Knightley, share the chaise home with a sheep.”

George laughed as they came in the front door.

“I am not asking you to, Mrs.  Knightley,” he said. “Sheep are not so convivial as people in close company … I always, however, like to be in close company with my charming wife.”

“Why Mr. Knightley I thought you would never suggest it,” said Emma giggling and slipping her hand into his.

---

* Yes, Nepcote was Nepcutt then

Puss Returns, a short fairy tale

Puss returns

Luke Millerson, also known as the Marquis of Carrabas, also know as ‘my son-in-law, the Heir Apparent’ to King Floriano, also known as ‘darling’ to Princess Mafalda, was worried.

His cat, who was responsible for every other name he possessed beyond the first, was looking old.  Luke stroked Puss, who climbed onto his lap.  He did not bother with boots and the rakish hat since he had got Luke installed as the loving husband of the princess, because they weren’t comfortable for a cat.

“Oh Puss!  What is wrong with you?” asked Luke, gently doing Puss’s ears.

“Old age, my boy,” said Puss.  “I’m older than you, remember; I have been sleeping beside you since you were born, as I did with your brothers, until they started pushing me off.  You never did.  It’s old for a cat, even a magical cat.”

“Oh Puss!” Tears stood in Luke’s eyes.  “I was hoping you would enjoy many years of being pampered as Milord Mouser of the ogre’s castle.”

“I’ve enjoyed the pampering, and I confess in my old age, it’s been pleasant.  But it’s time to move on.”  He hesitated.  “Princess Mafalda is with child.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure; I can smell it.  We cats have infinitely superior noses to the silly things you humans have, even if not as developed as dogs.  But then, dogs have no spare brains to think about anything but smells.”

Luke took no notice of the insult to the castle dogs, which were working dogs, bred to hunt.  It was just Puss’s way, and he slept with the dogs without contretemps anyway.

“Thank you for telling me,” said Luke.

“I’m doing more than telling you,” said Puss.  “I’ve a mind to be reborn as the baby.”

“How can you if she’s already with child?” asked Luke.

“And when does the church decree that a child is a child?”

“When it quickens, or moves, in the womb…oh!”

“Exactly.  At the moment it’s nothing but a few lumps of flesh no bigger than a dewclaw.  But if I time dying just right, I may be with you longer, though I won’t remember a lot until I grow up.”

Luke broke down at that point, and cried into Puss’s fur.

Puss put up with it.

“Oh Puss, it won’t be the same.”

“No; but I can’t live forever, you know, but your family needs my brains to survive.”

“That’s true enough,” sighed Luke.

A month later, Luke woke up to find Puss stiff and dead on his feet on the big four-poster bed he shared with his wife; and Mafalda gasped and put her hand to her belly.

“Oh, my darling, the baby stirred!”

“I am glad,” said Luke, who was pretty certain this was a sign from Puss, who was stirring the baby well before most people felt a child quicken.  He buried Puss in the castle grounds, with a magnificent tombstone of marble, and tried to be more pleased about the baby than he was distraught for missing Puss.

***

In due course, Princess Mafalda was delivered of a baby boy, whose eyes quickly changed from kitten-blue to rich green.  They named him Tybalt, because it suited a prince amongst cats; though Luke had not confided to his wife what Puss had intended.  And Tybalt grew up to be a clever boy, and a great magician, and was court magician for many years before first his grandfather, and then his father, succumbed to old age and died.  And then he ruled for himself and his reign was a golden period of wisdom and peace and plenty.  His heirs were all magicians too, and did well by the kingdom, but the reign of King Tibbles was like none other, and his people lived happily ever after.