Nottingham by Nathan Makaryk

Author:Nathan Makaryk
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Forge Books
Published: 2019-08-05T23:00:00+00:00

* * *

AFTER WALERAN LEFT, JOHN passed out and eventually awoke again, naked, freezing in the early night air with nothing to protect him. Myla was gone, and John chanced an eyeball over the edge to look for her body. Only colorless grass below. She might have rolled off a different edge, but he decided against caring.

He descended, entirely nude, into the barrel of Tickhill Castle. He brushed against Gay Wally, who had fallen asleep but pretended he had not. Only thirteen or fourteen, the lad had a knack for memorizing everything he heard. He also had a knack for leaning forward when he spoke and blinking too much. He’d been assigned to John to catch him up on every name, affiliation, and history of the lands he now owned. His real name was Walter de Gray, but John had decided such a name should only belong to an ancient advisor and not a milksop like this one. Gay Wally was a better name.

The boy sprang to keep up. “I need food,” John said, and Gay Wally made a few different faces in reaction, none of which brought any food. Wally was good at information, but not at fetching.

In the lower levels he found servants of the more useful variety, who had water warmed and brought to his chambers. After washing himself and redressing, his head was clear enough to consider the drunken promises he’d made atop the tower. He threw a wet cloth at Gay Wally.

“Tell me about Waleran de Beaumont. And take me to wherever it is the Baron de Busli eats.”

This involved leaving the castle tower and marching down to the main manor at the bottom of the round hill. By the time they intruded on Red Roger’s private dinner, John was fully versed on the old Earl of Warwick. He seemed a detestably loyal man, and ferociously protective of his family. Gay Wally said that Waleran had once fed a man to a bear simply for doing an unfavorable impersonation of his brother. John didn’t mind a man having a cruel streak, but a loyal one was unnerving. John wasn’t so sure he wanted to climb into bed with anything that valued honor over intelligence.

Baron de Busli made the same face he had made when John took his daughter off to the tower. It was possible that he was only capable of making one face, which he used for every emotion. Food and gravy coated his moustache, which had not required any help to look ridiculous.

“What are you doing in here?” the baron nearly choked, spewing uneaten chunks of disgusting.

“I’m doing quite well, thank you,” John answered, “as I assume that’s what you meant to ask.”

The baron ate alone, though there were many men present. Three or four servants bustled about, filling the baron’s wine or bringing new plates, while in the corner a boy who would never enjoy a woman was abusing a harp.

“I’m fat and have too much food in my mouth,” was not what Red Roger said, but it was the best translation John could think of.

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