The Red Man And Others by Angeline Adams & Remco van Straten

Author:Angeline Adams & Remco van Straten [Adams, Angeline]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2019-07-27T00:00:00+00:00

The Return of the Uncomplaining Child

I write all of this down because that’s what I do: I write. I can’t resist it, and have kept a journal from the moment I left the grim lands of my youth. And when times are lean, nobody seems to have need of a scribe, and the cost of ink and paper are a burden on my purse, what of it? I just cut my quill sharp and write small.

Nobody will read this, though. I’ll make sure of that. I’ll probably burn it, to protect Kaila, Sebastien and myself. I’m damn well going to tell the tale first though, if only to amuse myself and relive those days in Otasring, where I met Kaila. She’s sitting at the window, edging her sword. She looks up and smiles at me. I smile back, though I know that soon we’ll each go our own way.

*

There’s another document that’ll never be read: the manuscript that sits on my desk now, tightly rolled and sealed, mocking me. Writing down Father Folkhert’s memories, arranging them chronologically (and let me tell you, that was a chore in itself; he remembered much but was old and easily muddled), then turning them into readable prose: All for nothing. I might have to burn that one too, as it’ll do me no good if the Wheelies get hold of it.

Father Folkhert really, truly, felt awfully sorry for me when I told him about the visit I’d had from the Alabaster Branch of the Brotherhood of the Wheel. He wanted to compensate me for my labour, he said, but I had to understand that he couldn’t possibly just pay me, now the Brothers had banned the book. Instead, he gave me an extravagant cloak, which he suggested I could wear when meeting wealthy clients, and of course I was always welcome to visit him if ever I was in distress.

Then he introduced me to Brother Walther who, allegedly, was there to help him with errands and odd jobs. Brother Walther ignored my hand, and told me, smiling through clenched teeth, that the Father was tired and I ought not to take up more of his time.

‘Ymke, dear,’ the old man said, clasping my hands, as I bade him farewell. ‘Come again, won’t you? I did so enjoy our little chats!’

I walked without glancing back until I’d passed under the Guderian Arch, that oppressive example of Otasring masonry, where I knew that the old Father could no longer see me from his little stone bench. I eyed the cloak that he’d given me; it was expensively made and richly decorated, but also mouldy and threadbare. I couldn’t understand why the old man would give me this. These things just didn’t leave the Brotherhood, and only the First Brothers would wear or even own cloaks like it. I wouldn’t be able to sell off even a moth-eaten specimen like this as a curiosity without raising the suspicion that I’d filched it. As for wearing it – no.

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