The Shoeshine Inn was not very busy in the early afternoon, and after greeting the Pavliks, George inquired where their special guests were staying and was told they were in the room with the ram’s head figurine. Apparently, Lord Dupré had requested that room despite being only modestly appointed. But for six men, it was close quarters indeed, and George could smell it from the top of the stairs. And yet he still had to walk nearly to the end of the hall before he found the ram-head room.
It had taken longer than he’d hoped to sort through the mess of reorganizing patrols. It seemed like it had been a dog’s age since Thomas’s wedding, but it had only been a few days. And in those few days, the jackal was forced to rearrange schedules for his patrols so that many could come home and rest before returning to the cold forests. He couldn’t really blame Thomas for it, as they would have a hellish time securing the forests no matter when the horse had decided to get hitched. But he could blame him for doing it so soon after the Winter Solstice. His people were cold and miserable. Only the excitement generated by the wedding brought them comfort.
Still, in another week things would have settled back to normal, and he’d finally be able to kick up his legs with Terry and enjoy that bottle of wine he’d been saving. But first he had to handle this odd chore.
George knocked firmly on the door and shouted, “Open up, Willie! I’m here to talk to you.”
He heard boots scrape and at least one audible gasp. The door opened to the sight of a broad man dressed in chain mail with a cloak about his shoulders. The hard face and clear eyes of William Dupré met him. His dark hair clung to his scalp, and he stank of oil and sweat. He glowered at the jackal and said through tight teeth, “Only one person has ever dared called me that. And he barely escaped with his life the last time.”
“Better get used to it, Willie. I’m you’re only friend here.”
George saw it coming, but William was surprisingly quick even dressed in mail. His left arm shot out and grabbed the jackal by the shoulder, while the right drove firmly into his stomach. George gasped in surprise, legs buckling beneath him, even though he did manage to yank William’s cloak over his head with his left paw. But William kept a firm grip on his shoulder and dragged him into the room, kicking the door shut with one boot. He tossed George in the middle of the room and then laughed.
“George. The self-styled Mercenary King! I recognize you even with all the fur. When did you come to Metamor?”
“Many years ago,” George replied after catching his breath. He eyed the five soldiers in the room with him and picked out the captain easily enough. He was young with blond hair and his eyes never left George, and his hand never left his hilt. “Life in the Midlands just wasn’t interesting anymore.”
William Dupré tossed his cloak back over his shoulder and crossed his arms. “They didn’t pay you enough anymore?”
“I’ve made my own decisions about where I live and who I serve,” George replied as he stood up. He brushed the dirt off his tunic and grimaced. “That was a pretty good punch, Willie.”
But Dupré’s eyes darkened. “If you think to come as my friend, then you should not insult me by calling me something other than my name.”
George lifted his nose in the air. “What should I call exiles?”
“You may call me Dupré. Now what are you doing here?”
The jackal turned his attention on William and decided that he’d probably gained about all he could from deliberately antagonizing him. Besides, another punch to the gullet and he might have to taste his lunch again, and it hadn’t been that appetizing the first time. “Funny, that’s what I’m here to ask you. What are you doing in Metamor?”
“I’m here because I have been exiled, and I wish to swear allegiance to Duke Thomas Hassan and serve him in the valley for the remainder of my days.” It was said with such conviction, that George knew it was either true, or Dupré was the best liar he’d ever met. And he already knew Dupré was too much a soldier to lie like that.
“And what makes you think you’re welcome here?”
“Metamor will accept any who are willing to risk the curse for a second start on life. Or so I’ve been told.” Dupré’s demeanour, while still combative, had softened somewhat. He was no longer the coiled viper waiting to strike at the slightest provocation. Now he was the mountain lion contentedly watching his prey. “And once I have suffered the curse, there can be no doubt that I will remain loyal. Where else could I go?”
“We’ve had our share of beastly traitors,” George said with a bit of acid. “Sprouting fur or feathers doesn’t mean we’ll trust you, Dupré.”
William shrugged. “Nor do I expect it. I will earn that trust by my loyal obedience to your liege.” The other soldiers in the room nodded their heads. George felt a bit of surprise at that. Not only was William set on this, but his men seemed equally committed. Such intense loyalty was good, but it was placed first on Dupré. Whatever he decided, his men would follow.
George decided to test that. He glanced at the guards nearest Dupré and asked, “What of you men? Do you seek to become Metamorians as well?”
“We have pledged to do so,” the captain said in crisp tones. “We are ready to give our lives for a man who will not betray us.”
Dupré’s eyes narrowed. “That wouldn’t be something you would know about. Mercenaries only ever work for money, never loyalty.”
“Then you don’t know me at all,” George replied, feeling his hackles press against his tunic.
“Even before I drove you out of the Southern Midlands, you had sold yourself to many a different man. Why should I believe you are no different now?”
“I am the Duke’s Patrolmaster. I have earned his trust over the years because I am competent and reliable. And where else will I go looking as I do?”
Dupré smiled in triumph. “Precisely! And that is how you know that I can be trusted. Soon I will look as you do, and through the years of my service to your liege, he will learn to trust me as well. Wherever he asks of me, I will serve. And so long as he uses me wisely, he will see that I am competent as well as loyal.” His grin took on a lop-sided appearance. “Did you think you were the only one who could use anger as a weapon?”
The jackal blinked in surprise, and then laughed. William was as brutally honest as he remembered him. “Then I shall tell the Duke that you are genuine. He will summon you so they can examine you and your men magically. Your association with the Marquis makes it necessary. And perhaps one day you will be trusted.”
William nodded, crossed his arms, and stepped aside from the door. “Then you should go and tell his grace, we are willing to suffer any examination he deems necessary to prove the merit of our intent.”
“I will pass that along.” George walked to the door, opened it, and then paused, turning back his head. “Oh, I owe you for the punch to the gut. You may regret it. Tomorrow, you may be under my command.”
William shrugged. “There is but one thing I truly regret in this life, and that was agreeing to play cards with that blackguard Marquis.”
“Not even being made to serve under a mercenary like me?”
But William only chortled. “You aren’t really a mercenary any more now are you?”
George smiled, tail wagging once. “Very true.” He liked Dupré. Arrogant perhaps, but he could back it up. He shut the door behind him, then cradled his bruised belly all the way down the stairs.
Hough glanced up from his studies when the middle aged nun entered and begged his pardon. “Mother Wilfrida. Please, come and sit. How did your search for a suitable site for the convent go this day?”
The boy priest rose and invited her to sit in the cushioned chair he kept by his hearth. She thanked him, and was nearly enveloped by the cushions when she sat down. “It went very well, thank you. Sister Celicia drew a map of the buildings we want, but we do not know who owns any of them. And how was your day, Father?”
Hough had long since overcome the awkwardness of people who looked old enough to be his grandparents calling a mere youth ‘father’. He smiled to her, settling in the opposite chair and resting his hands in his lap. “Very well. I love this time of the year. But with the refugees, I’m beginning to feel overwhelmed. They’ve increased the Follower community here a great deal. I’ve spent most of my days hearing confessions this last month. I am grateful I can serve, but I have not had as much time as I’d like for teaching Ramad and the others. Your presence here will be a great boon to us all, Mother.”
She lowered her eyes and smiled faintly. “You are kind to say so, Father.”
“Now, you say that you have a map of the buildings you want.” Hough leaned forward some, short legs dangling over the edge of his seat. “I may not know who they all are myself, but I can certainly find out for you.”
“Thank you, Father,” Wilfrida said, the smile growing at the edges where creases in her skin made her cheeks wrinkle. She handed him an old leather scrollcase. Hough undid the clasp at the end and drew out the parchment. Unfurling it in his lap, he admired the steady hand that had sketched the makeshift map. In dark lines were the current remains of the buildings that had once stood in that section of Metamor. He’d have to speak with one of the city engineers to learn what was what. Overtop of these was in a lighter hand was a suggested outline of the convent they wished to build. Delicate letters identified an altar, the cells, a central garden, storage chambers adorned with labels like “cheese?”, “wine?” and “scriptorium?”, and several halls to treat travellers and the sick. Very ambitious, but he could not hide his delight as he saw the extent of their plans.
Hough rolled up the parchment and nodded. “I’ll show this to someone who can tell me who owns each building tonight. But you will need many hands and many garretts to build this convent, Mother Wilfrida.”
Her smile was so sublime that all his own doubts were erased one by one with each word that spilled from her heart. “Aye, but Eli has lots of money, and He has many servants that will answer His call.”
He felt like he was floating out of his chair. “I will make a point of asking all to give generously of themselves to help support your convent. It will be built. But, in the meantime, will you not allow me to ask Madog to have a place built for you here in the Keep?”
Wilfrida’s smile remained, but she shook her head. “Your friend has already provided more than enough for us, Father. But a visit from him would be most welcome. The younger sisters adore watching him play.”
Hough almost blushed, because he adored playing with Madog. But he kept his composure and carefully slipped the map back in the leather scrollcase. “I will tell him next time I see him.”
“Thank you, Father.” Wilfrida lowered her eyes and then rose. “We must take our meal before Vespers. Eli go with you.”
“And also with you, Mother Wiflrida.” Hough rose and bowed his head to the nun. Holding the scrollcase close to his chest, he waited for the sister to leave before starting on his next task from on high. And this time, he smiled.
Misha Brightleaf, head of the Long Scouts, put the wax seal on the final report and set it in the pile of letters to be delivered to all those who needed to know. Stealth would be by later to pick them up. The fox glanced at the rest of his desk, and to his amazement, found nothing on it but the remnants of his half-forgotten meal. Caroline had given him a biscuit from the basketful she’d bought from Gregor that morning, but he’d only managed half before diving into the unpleasant management that came with his position. Crumbs scattered around the jagged edges where his fangs had rent the bread, all waiting to join the other half in his gullet.
The fox stared at the biscuit marring the otherwise orderly desk, and stammered in surprise, “I’m done!” He blinked a few more times before finishing the biscuit — it still tasted warm and fresh despite being four hours old — and then brushed the crumbs into one paw and licked it clean. He leaned back in his chair, the tip of his tail brushing the carpeted floor, and laughed. He rested his foot paws on the edge of the desk, wiggling his toes and staring at the black claws. “I’m really done!”
For the first time in weeks he didn’t have anything he needed to do. He could spend some time working on his clocks, or perhaps he could take Caroline to a nice dinner somewhere. Maybe he could go soak in the tubs for an hour or two. If Madog would show his face, he could do any number of things. Or perhaps he could just lean back in his chair like he was doing now and savour the limitless possibilities of an hour or two of free time.
Like a the snap of a trebuchet, the knocking on his door brought an end to his good mood. “What is it?” h called out, sighing with resignation.
Padraic popped his head inside, the golden rings in his ears tinkling. “You’ve got a summons from his grace, Misha. Just now.”
Misha rolled his eyes, put his foot paws down, and gestured at the stack of letters. “I’m on my way. Tell Stealth to deliver these when he arrives.”
Padraic glanced at the stack and nodded. His eyes met the fox’s and then sunk his ears even lower. “Is something wrong?”
Misha held two fingers close together so that the claws were almost touching. “I was this close to having a free hour. This close!” He sighed, and trudged past the rabbit who nodded in sympathy. He’d better find out what Duke Thomas wanted this time.
“And I tell you I have every intent on rebuilding that warehouse,” a man of large bearing and firm hands assured Father Hough. “I just haven’t had enough business this year to make it worth the effort.”
Father Hough nodded and sipped at the tea he’d been offered when he’d entered the man’s shop. Hamish, once a woman of moderate proportions but now the thundering force that kept his husband’s tannery in business now that he was but a boy no older or larger than Hough, crossed his arms and nodded firmly as if to emphasize the point.
“I’m sure you’ll recover your losses in time,” Father Hough assured him, smiling the cherubic grin that the curse had bestowed on him. “And you will one day have a warehouse again to store your excess and perhaps even to expand your business. But there are many place you can build your warehouse. The old site, is in the midst of the ruins. There is no advantage to having it there. There are many places which would be closer to your shop here that you could purchase instead.”
And so had gone his day. As he’d promised Mother Wilfrida last night, Father Hough had gone to one of the civil engineers in charge of rebuilding the city. They had been only too happy to inform him who still owned the land and the ruins that the nuns wished to claim for their own. Hough had one of his younger students make a copy of the map, and now he wrote everything he needed directly on it. This way, for each property, he could tell the sisters what was to be done.
Most of the properties had no living owners left, as those who had owned them had either died by the Lutins or by the fire. Some of these, merchants or Innkeepers had already tried to snatch up, but they would be easier to bargain with. Already two of them had scaled back their plans and agreed to give the nuns the portion they wanted for a modest fee. And some that had been abandoned ha not been purchased, which meant the nuns could have them for even less.
But it was those like Hamish who presented the real challenge — Keepers who’d owned the land before it had been burned down and were still alive to lay claim to them. These Hough knew would drive a far higher price. But all he needed was for them to name a price and he could bring it to his flock and they would find the money together.
Hamish frowned as he considered Hough’s point. The boy priest could see it in the man’s eyes; he knew there were places far closer to his shop that would serve him better and sooner than his old warehouse had. “That land has been in my family for a very long time, Father. I cannot just sell it to you.”
“Oh but you wouldn’t be selling it to me. You would be selling it to the Sisters of the Holy Mother’s Immaculate Heart.” Hough couldn’t help himself. He loved saying their full name in front of Lothanasi. It never failed to intimidate them. On hearing that name they never quite knew how to react. “I’m just speaking to you on their behalf.”
Hamish took a deep breath, already his resolve beginning to waver. “Well, what do they want to do with it? The Sisters that is.”
Father Hough suppressed the triumphant grin that wished to climb onto his face. A little bit more haggling and he’d have the price for yet one more piece of land. The Sisters would have their convent. It was just a matter of time and a bit of money.
But as Mother Wiflrida had said, Eli has lots of money.
This time, Thomas was able to keep his seat while his advisors gathered. He’d moved it from his private quarters to a more official council chamber, this with a round table. On the few occasions that his vassals were in attendance he always met them here. There was enough seating for twenty, but he had no intention of bringing so many in. He was only going to have six, Malisa, Thalberg, Andwyn, Copernicus, Misha, and George.
But after nearly losing control in his last meeting to discuss William Dupré, Thomas needed a room that accentuated his authority instead of downplaying it. Decisions were going to be made today.
Thalberg was the last to arrive, but only by seconds. Misha came in only a moment before him, straightening his tunic as he sat down. Once Thalberg settled his scaly mass in the chair nearest Thomas, the horse lord began. “I know all of you are busy, but I need your input. Copernicus, I know you weren’t here for our impromptu meeting two days ago, but you’ve been helping coordinate all of our patrols in the last month, so I want you to hear this too. Two days ago, an exiled baron from the Southern Midlands, William Dupré, came to Metamor with five soldiers and declared his intent to swear allegiance to me. We know very little about him except that he is a capable military commander. George can personally attest to this, having faced him in battle and only barely survived. Today, I want to know what we can do with him, and what we should do with him.
“But first, George, you spoke with him yesterday. What do you think now?”
The jackal leaned back in his seat and shrugged. “Same as I did then. You should take him at his word. He means to go through with it. And he believes that in time you’ll learn to trust him. Like you did me.”
Thomas narrowed his eyes, nostrils tightening. He had been loathe to trust the former mercenary when Misha had dragged him from the Midlands seven years ago. But he had quickly proved his worth. But Dupré had been sworn to Duke Verdane, and had even married his daughter. George had been a mercenary, but he hadn’t been part of one of his chief rival’s family!
“So you have no doubt that he is sincere? He means Metamor no harm?”
“I have no doubt. In fact, I think he’s looking forward to being cursed.”
Thomas chuffed. “The Dupré house has as its heraldry the ram. He was in the Valley when the magical wave came through. He said for a moment he became a ram.”
“Perhaps he sees it as vindication,” Copernicus suggested. The lizard tapped his long fingers together as he spoke. “The Curse makes him the symbol of his house. If he’s just been exiled, then that would be a powerful sign that he is still noble. At least, that’s how he might see it.”
“It would be very unusual for the Curse to strike in so coincidental a fashion,” Andwyn mused quietly.
“It happened to me,” Thomas pointed out. “The Hassan coat of arms has always featured a rearing horse.”
“But not to any of your other vassals,” Malisa pointed out. “Perhaps this is a sign to us as well as to him. If he is truly changed to reflect his family’s sigil, then he may be meant to stay here and serve you.”
Misha and George glanced at each other. The jackal rolled his eyes, and then leaned forward. “Look. William is going to stay in the valley one way or another. He’s committed to it, and he wants to serve you. So accept him already.”
“And I will,” Thomas said, his voice deepening. “But I must also know where he should serve. He may earn my trust in time, but for now, I will proceed with caution. Exile he may be, but his wife is still the daughter of Titian Verdane.”
“And his son is the heir apparent to the Kelewair duchy,” Andwyn added without much enthusiasm.
“What a royal mess,” Thalberg groused. Misha nodded in agreement.
“So if I accept him as my vassal, I will be inserting myself into a potential dynastic dispute in Kelewair. And if that happens, there will be open war between Metamor and Kelewair. Verdane may not be able to take Metamor, but he can certainly take our southern fiefs and block us up in the valley. Just which army will look like the invaders to the people of Menth or Giftum? The human army, or the one with half-human beasts in it?”
George growled under his throat. “I see your point, but I still think you should accept him and damn the consequences.”
“Noted,” Thomas replied. “Now, Andwyn, have you learned more of Dupré’s recent past?”
The bat nodded and leaned forward, his wings wrapped around his chest. “I have, your grace. There may be less to fear of a dynastic revolt than you think. Titian is pressing the Ecclesia to annul William’s marriage to his daughter, and he’s moving to claim William’s eldest son as his own. Also, one of the conditions of William’s exile is that he is to have no further contact with his family. If he is as honourable as George attests, then there is little risk he will try to seize the ducal seat in Kelewair.”
George’s ears raised in surprise and he offered the bat a quick nod of the snout. “Thank you.”
“This does not mean the situation is without some risk,” Andwyn continued. “At the very least, I recommend we do not assign him any duties south of the Keep.”
“And if he were to betray us, don’t you think he could do so easier in the north?” Misha asked.
“He doesn’t know anyone in the north,” Andwyn replied. “Nor do I believe he would betray us to them. I fear more that he would rush off to see to his family and leave his duty undone. By placing him in the north, he’ll have to pass by the Keep. It will give us advance warning for an event I do not believe likely to happen, but one we should be watching for.”
“And if he is the commander George says he is,” Copernicus mused, “being in the north would place him where someone like him is most needed.”
“But he should be watched,” Malisa suggested. “Until we can be certain of his loyalty.”
Misha’s one good ear lifted as an idea blossomed in his mind. “Nestorius! The lion could keep an eye on him, magically if need be. Place him and his men under Nestorius’s command. The old Suielman outpost is remote enough that they won’t be able to do any harm. And with the Haunted Forest to the east, and Glen Avery scouts ranging to the west, there’s nothing he could do even if he wanted to.”
George lifted one eye ridge and shook his head. “Yeah, I thought that too fifteen years ago.”
Misha turned on his friend. “Do you have any better ideas?”
“Yeah, just trust him and give him a post. Outpost is fine. He and Nestorius should get along like lice on a dog.”
“Which means they’re perfect for each other,” Copernicus vocalized everyone’s unspoken thought.
Thomas couldn’t help but chortle at the barb, but he quickly recovered his composure. “Very well. As there are no better suggestions, I will have him assigned to Outpost as field commander. It needs a more permanent commander anyway. That is, as long as your magical examinations didn’t turn anything up.” This last he directed to his adopted daughter.
Malisa shook her head. “I couldn’t detect anything on Dupré or any of his men. None of their belongings have even a trace of magic on them either. I wasn’t able to get any other mages, not after having them spoil their festivities by examining all of our vassals last week, but Nestorius can also examine them frequently. They were very cooperative, and very professional.”
“It seems we are in a general agreement then,” Thomas surmised as he looked at the faces around him. “George, I’ll allow you the honour of delivering this message to William Dupré. Once the Curse has claimed him and his men, I will officially receive them into my service and give them a commission. You do not need to tell them any more than that. Misha, Copernicus, I want you both to go over the rosters assigned to Outpost and reorganize them as there is no more need for rotating commanders.”
“Nestorius will be happy about that,” Misha said with a sigh of relief.
“Andwyn, I want you to instruct whatever spies you have at Outpost to keep an eye on Dupré and his men.”
“I told you that you can trust him,” George added with a bit of acid in his voice.
“Trust is earned, not given,” Thomas pointed out. “I make no exceptions on that.”
George narrowed his eyes, “And how long were your spies circling me before you trusted me.”
“You would have to ask Phil. Malisa, write special instructions for Nestorius so he knows what he should look for when he magically examines Dupré. Thalberg, I want you to prepare an official ceremony for Dupré and his men to swear their allegiance to me. The more ceremonial, the more they’ll be bound by their oaths. Make sure that Father Hough is present as well. They’re Patildor, and if a priest of their faith is there, their oaths will be even stronger.”
George still appeared surly, but the rest of them all looked satisfied. Thomas folded his hands together and nodded his head once. “Thank you all for your aid and advice. Now let us do what we can to prepare the way for our newest ally.” With that he rose, and so did they.
The horse lord immediately put thoughts of Dupré from his mind. It was time to share an afternoon meal with his wife!
The Steward of Metamor rose well before dawn to begin his day. With the dutiful check of his ledgers, he noted that the new year had come. The celebrations last night had been muted, and in fact, after he’d finished arranging the one Ducal event, he’d not even been involved. Instead he’d begun planning the logistics for a formal ceremony in which the Midlander exile could swear allegiance to Thomas.
It was now 708 CR, but for Thalberg, it was just another day in the service to the Duke. The great alligator donned his robes, stirred the ashes from last night’s fire and added more fuel until a healthy flame roared in the hearth, and then set a kettle to boil for his morning tea. A page would be by soon with a platter of fishes freshly caught and cooked as he had every morning to break his fast.
Later he would go to the kitchens and oversee the meals being prepared for the new year’s feast as well as those to break Duke Thomas and Duchess Alberta’s fast, but their day didn’t begin as early as did his. So it was with the life of a servant, but it was his life and he loved it. Even if the thought of a brief respite brought him no end of yearning.
A furtive knock on the door made him lower his eyes. The page who brought him food was always more assertive. Either somebody new on the staff who was about to be the butt of a practical joke, or it was somebody come to ask him something. He raised his snout and called, “Enter!”
A long green head with bulging eyes and a beak peered in the door. “E-e-excuse me, Thalberg sir?”
The door continued to open and the box turtle hesitantly stepped inside. Unlike a real turtle, while at his most human, Verne’s shell wasn’t large enough for him to hide in. Still, he always looked as if he wished to tuck his head right back inside either his shell or the voluminous tunics he bore. Thalberg sighed in exasperation. “Hello, Verne. What do you need today?”
Verne drew his head back and moment, and then bulged his neck forward with purpose. “The sand warmers are wearing out again, and the spiny alchemist won’t make us more unless we pay double her old fee. I-i-it’s not fair. We need those, and it’s not right that she’s using that to extort money from us. You’re part of the Fellowship, you understand!”
Thalberg stared at his fellow reptilian Keeper and grunted. “Pascal has rather eclectic expenses, so if she’s raised her prices, she will have raised them for everyone. I can talk to her, but I cannot make her do anything. I recommend you ask one of the mages to ensorcel a pyrock or two.”
“But that’s more expensive!” Verne wailed.
“And they last a lot longer too,” Thalberg added. “Pool together some money from other Fellowship members, as much as you need. And yes, I’ll contribute too. Now go, I have quite a lot to do today.”
Verne backed up a step, his short tail curling back and forth with his anxiety. He lowered his head and asked, “Will we see you at the Fellowship gathering this month?”
The alligator sighed heavily and through his teeth said, “Send me an invitation and I’ll consider it. Thank you, Verne.”
“Thank you, Thalberg sir,” Verne replied, not entirely convincingly as he left.
Thalberg turned back to his kettle and poured himself a cup of tea. He stirred the dark brew, and let the aroma tickle his nostrils. He knew he shouldn’t be so hard on Verne or so dismissive of the Fellowship. It was meant to help Keepers who’d become reptilian or avian with their special needs. They just kept trying to make him their leader, and he didn’t have either the time or the desire for it. And yet now here he’d gone and promised to help this new alligator adjust to her new body and even perhaps find her a job. He grunted at himself and settled behind his desk to begin his day’s work.
The second knock came only minutes later, but this time it was his morning fish. He thanked the youthful page and after he left, resumed reviewing his notes from last night. Schedules and ledges, lists of inventories of foodstuffs and cloths, decorations and draperies, all of it came into coherent focus beneath his cool yellow gaze. The fish was gone in two gulps, but sated his empty gullet. The tea lasted only slightly longer.
He was just getting up to fetch himself another cup, when a third knocking interrupted him. “Come in,” he called as he poured his second cup.
With his back momentarily to the door, he didn’t see who it was, but he immediately recognized the voice. “Master Steward? I’m here as you asked.”
Thalberg turned and set his tea down. In his doorway stood another alligator draped in a heavy woolen tunic, breeches and cloak all fitted to her new reptilian shape. Her slitted yellow eyes were lowered only slightly. Thalberg stepped around his desk and clasped his hands before him. “Good morning to you, Miriam. Come, sit by the fire and warm yourself. Would you like some tea?” So speaking, he lifted one of the chairs he usually kept opposite his desk and brought it around next to the hearth. The scarlet upholstery glistened in the bright firelight.
“Thank you, aye,” Miriam replied. She walked a little clumsily, with her long tail dragging behind her and sometimes tugging on the cloak fastened at her neck. But she yanked at the ends of the cloak with her green scaled hands and pulled it free. Thalberg noted that the boots she wore looked dreadfully uncomfortable; he’d have to take her to a cobbler to fix that.
Sitting down was also a challenge for her, as she still didn’t have much coordination with moving her tail around. She eventually, just grabbed the end in her hands and wedged it into the hole in the back of the chair, and then shoved herself down. “How do you make this thing work?”
“Our tail can be clumsy for us,” Thalberg admitted as he handed her a fresh cup of tea. It steamed up across her snout, and her nostrils recoiled at first, but she managed after a moment to breath in the soothing aroma. “But you’ll learn how to move it right. They’re completely new muscles, and it takes some time to master. If you haven’t tried to the steam baths here at the Keep, then you must. You’ll discover exactly what our tails are for.”
“Steam baths? That does sound lovely,” Miriam admitted. She must have taken his advice about talking to others as much as she could, for already the awkwardness in her voice was fading. “Where are they?”
Thalberg sat down opposite her, far more gracefully, his tail going exactly where he wanted it. He cradled his tea in his scaled hands, black claws tapping the ceramic with a steady beat. “Like anything else at Metamor, just think about it and you’ll find your way there. That said, today you’ll accompany me as I make my rounds and oversee my duties. I want to see where best you’ll fit in.”
Miriam lifted the cup to the end of her snout, but didn’t drink. “You’ll have work for me?”
“I don’t know,” Thalberg admitted. “We shall see.” He tipped his cup across the end of his jaw and let the tea rush down his tongue. “I’ll also introduce you to a few members of the Fellowship. It’s a group of Keepers who’ve become birds or reptiles like us. They can offer you other advice on how to adjust to your body. But that’s for later. Right now, tell me again what sort of things you did in Lord Bradanes’s house.”
Miriam stared down her snout at the cup and did her best to take a drink. Only a little spilled out the sides of her jaws. She brushed this off with the hem of her cloak, and then began to tell Thalberg all he wished to know. The crackling fire warmed the two alligators on that chilly winter morn as they spoke of the duties of servants.
William Dupré and his men slept in a single room which did not have enough bedding for all of them. There were but two beds, and barely enough space for the rest to sleep on the floor with their gear. But they managed. Becket and the others insisted that William take one of the beds, and so he did. It had a few lumps, but he’d slept on far worse. He felt no soreness in his back when he woke, as was often the case, but on this morning, the first day of the new year, he did feel an odd soreness in his head.
William pushed himself into a sitting position. It was still dark outside, though voices could be heard below, and torchlight flickered beneath the door jamb. He could vaguely see his five men as lumps around the room. Becket, laying on the floor next to him, lifted his head, though he said nothing.
William grunted to himself. His head hurt. It felt like two big something spikes were being shoved out his temples. He lifted one hand to his face, and immediately stiffened in alarm. There was something poking out the sides of his head! He felt at the edge, something hard and rippling, growing and shoving aside his hair. Horns. Ram’s horns.
“The Curse has me, Becket,” he said, and already he could feel the changes flowing down through the rest of his body. His tongue thickened, face stretching and nose flattening. His fingers tensed and tightened, and he felt as if millions of ants were crawling over every mote of flesh.
“And I,” Becket said, as he sat up, grunting deep in his throat. The other soldiers all stirred from their sleep as the Curse worked its fingers into them. One of them, Anthony, managed to light a lamp with his fast youthening fingers.
William pushed the quilts off his body, and watched as his feet hardened into cloven hooves, and a copious white wool spread across every exposed bit of flesh. His hands were now hoof-like with only two thick fingers, but they were still strong. The change came so fast on him, that the earlier discomfort wore away within moments, leaving him feel disoriented. He could see the large curling horns out of the corner’s of his eyes, and they made his head feel very heavy.
He could see that his soldiers were in similar discomfort from their changes. But not a one of them uttered a word of complaint as the curse of Metamor took away their old bodies and gave them new ones. Beside him, Becket now sported a long porcine nose, white tusks, bristly fur, small eyes, and thick hoof-like hands. Sitting next to him was what had become of Alexander, the youngest of his men, who now had black fur with orange markings on his hands, chest, and face, black claws, and a stout canine countenance. He pulled a long black tail out of his breeches and stared at it in surprise. Anthony was tangled in his now too big shirt, while Martin and Robert were staring at each other’s returned freckles. Three beasts and three boys. Just as the flash of light a week past had predicted.
William moved his odd tongue around in his mouth and did his best to smile with his snout. “Welcome to Metamor, men. Whether we like it or not, it’s our home now.”
Becket put his oddly shaped hand on his chest, and nodded his heavy snout. He still managed to look dignified even as a boar. “It may have taken our bodies, but we shall give it our very lives if that is what you ask of us.”
William set his hooves on the floor and did his best to stand. It was very different, as he had to keep his knees and hips balanced just right. But after a moment of unsteady swaying, he managed to right himself. “I am very proud of each of you. Soldiers each of us then, to the very end. Get dressed as best you can men. I want to get to know our new home a little better today.”
They leapt from their makeshift beds before the words were even out of his muzzle.
“Dirigere et sanctificare, regere et gubernare dignare, Domine Deus” the nuns intoned as one. They knelt before the main altar in the cathedral, except for Tugal who sat in her wheeled chair next to them, hands folded in prayer. “Rex caeli et terrae, hodie corda et corpora nostra, sensus,” her lips moved, the words radiating up from her soul to a God she had only known for a few months but one whom she desperately loved.
“Sermones et actus nostros in lege tua et in...” Mother Wilfrida’s voice warbled in her throat as she bent forward, struck suddenly by a spasm. So too did the other nuns, clutching at their cowls while Tugal alone remained untouched. The sister nearest her seemed to shrink inside her habit, while the one sitting next to her sprouted sparse bristly fur, long donkey-like ears, a pronounced snout, and heavy digging claws.
Mother Wilfrida straighted, as did the other sisters. Her lips hardened into a narrow flat beak, as mud brown feathers began to dot her face. Somehow, she managed to turn her head to Tugal and ask, her voice distorted, “Tugal, could you please finish the morning prayers for us.”
Tugal felt her heart clutch tight in her chest, breath caught on her lips, but she still managed to nod. The sisters continued to change, some shrinking and others taking on the guise of beasts. Tugal remembered well the pain and shock of when the curse claimed her. She offered a quick intention that their change would be easier, lifted her eyes briefly to the yew dominating the altar, then back down to her slender hands. Her tongue finally loosed and the words of the prayer echoed through the Cathedral. “Ut hic et in aeternum, te auxiliante, salvi et liberi esse mereamur, Salvator mundi: Qui vivis et regnas in saecula saeculorum. Amen.”
A smile graced her lips as the final words crossed them. They were all truly Metamorians now. What better way could they have started the new year than this?
Thomas stood at the balcony of his chambers. A light dusting of snow graced the stonework, but this bothered his hooves none. A warm woolen coat covered his tunic, while his thickest leggings kept the rest of him comfortable. His long tail swished back and forth in the chill morning air. Twilight hung over the valley like a hand waiting to be lifted. Already the streets were marred by merchants, travellers, shopkeepers, soldiers, and other Keepers getting an early start to the new day.
The new year. The last had been long enough, but it had ended with such good news that he could only imagine what good fortune might befall them this year. He dared not think of any ill that could come to pass lest it happen. Metamor had been struck hard in the last two years. Perhaps this year they would find even more reasons to hope.
His ears turned at the hard step of hooves upon the stone. Alberta slid next to him, dressed in a light riding jacket and breeches. Her long ears folded against her spiky mane, and she leaned into Thomas as he looked at the city. He slipped an arm around her back and held her close. “What dost thee think of, my Thomas?”
Far to the southeast he saw the first sliver of sun rising behind the mountains. Shadows stretched long and far in the city below. “It’s the first day of the new year, but it feels like more somehow.”
“Like a new age?” Alberta suggested softly as she leaned into his shoulder.
He whickered in delight. How had he ever managed without her? She’d touched exactly what he was thinking with a single word. “Aye, that is it. A new age. There were times I never thought we’d make it here, but here we are.” His eyes traced the path of an eagle-shaped Keeper as they glided from a tower top down to the city. The first rays of the sun glinted off his back, but sill he watched the Keeper land in the city square. “And the best part is that I get to share it with you.”
“And I with thee,” Alberta replied, a bray hidden beneath her words.
Husband and wife held each other close, laughing and nuzzling long snouts as the dawn rose welcome and warm in that new age.