SEVENTEEN
THE FAIR LADIES OF MYRNA GO ON A PICNIC

Joseph and Garth scrunched through the sooty soil towards Furst’s office in the morning’s grey light. Both were silent, their faces tense even though they fought to remain expressionless.

Joseph had returned to the hollow hill late into the night, spoke quietly with Vorstus and Ravenna for some minutes, glanced at Maximilian’s sleeping back, then had collected a still-puzzled Garth and had returned to the physicians’ quarters—earning some sly grins at the lateness of their passing from the guards they encountered.

Garth had tried to question his father, but Joseph had only grunted that for the moment the least Garth knew the safer it would be. And with that Garth had to be satisfied.

At least he could guess the reason they visited Furst this morning.

The overseer was flushed and visibly nervous, his red hair standing in odd spikes where the man had run terse hands through it. Papers drifted across his desk as Joseph and Garth entered, and he mumbled a curse. “Yes?”

“Fennon,” Joseph said calmly, and Garth wondered that his father could speak so naturally. “The Veins is in chaos. None of the physicians are being allowed down at the moment, and we all sit pointlessly about the fire exchanging months-old gossip. Garth and I might as well go—”

“You can’t,” Furst interrupted tersely. “You’ve only just arrived. Three weeks is the minimum that you serve.”

“Ah,” Joseph murmured politely, and reached inside his cloak, pulling out a letter. He handed it to Furst. “You may not be aware, my friend, that the king has asked me to attend the court as his personal physician. This letter serves to cut short my service at the Veins if I so desire. Do you recognise his seal?”

Furst stared at the letter, then thrust it back to Joseph. “An elevation of some note, Joseph. Well, I suppose you can go. This has been a worthless trip for you; all the way from Ruen only for a day’s service.”

Joseph spread his hands in a gesture of resignation. “Well, the escape of this damned prisoner has thrown everyone’s routine into chaos, Fennon. If it had not been for him, well then, Garth and I would have been happy to stay here and study the fungal infections of the Veins in some greater detail.”

“Humph.” Furst stared back at the papers on his desk. The past night had been a bad one for him. Where was he? “Leaving this morning?”

Joseph nodded.

“Well, perhaps I’ll see you at court.” Furst paused, and both Joseph and Garth noted his pale face and the dark circles under his eyes. “This prisoner is proving hard to catch. If I can’t find him…” Furst’s voice trailed off and his eyes shadowed.

“No doubt he tripped and fell down one of the unused shafts within moments of his escape,” Joseph said soothingly.

“If only,” Furst whispered, then waved them out.

“Father?” Garth asked as they mounted their horses. “Will you tell me what’s going on?”

Joseph took a deep breath, the only sign of nerves that he had exhibited so far, and turned his horse’s head for the road. “We’ll no doubt meet up with them soon, Garth. On the road beyond Myrna, if not sooner.”

“But the guards…”

Joseph grinned, but it did not ease the worry in his eyes. “I have every hope the guards will not take too much notice of them, Garth. Now, come.”

Garth stifled his impatience as he urged his own horse forward and tugged at the lead rope of the packhorse. Several guards, en route to the shaft, waved unsmilingly; Furst had driven them through the night in his efforts to find Lot No. 859, and now both eyes and tempers were scratchy from lack of sleep.

Joseph waited until they were well past, then spoke quietly to Garth. “Be careful if we have to speak to guards, Garth. They’ll not be so ready to jest as they were last night.”

Garth nodded. The above-ground complex was tense and brittle, and he shuddered to think what it must be like underground. No doubt the guards wondered why Furst drove them so hard to find this particular prisoner, and doubtless Furst was in no hurry to enlighten them.

Whatever the reason, tempers would be short this morning, and Garth shivered again as he contemplated the consequences if the guards found Maximilian.

Joseph kept his horse to a fast trot. There was nothing more he would like to do than touch his heels to the beast’s flanks and flee the Veins as fast as he could, but that would only attract unwanted attention. He glanced across at his son, and smiled reassuringly. “Look, we approach the outbuildings of Myrna. So far so good.”

The town was in as much turmoil as the Veins complex itself. Guards, in groups of three and five, patrolled the streets, while various townspeople stood about in nervous groups discussing the latest rumour about the escape. Like the guards, many were wondering at the unprecedented effort being put into the recapture of the prisoner…and how had he managed to escape anyway?

Rumours abounded, and the strongest of them was that one of the guards had helped in the escape. Must have, else how had the man managed to flee so completely?

Joseph and Garth attracted a few curious looks, but none gazed overlong—for which both were profoundly grateful. They turned their horses into the main street and Joseph nodded at a three-storey house on the corner of the first block. There were gay pennants hung from the balconies—incongruous in this greyest of grey towns—and secretive lace curtains in the windows. Several brightly apparelled and heavily rouged women stood on its verandah, their hair dressed in complicated ringlets and hung with ribbons.

One of them, a blonde with cynical eyes, called out to Joseph as they passed. “Up so early, Physician Baxtor? I would have thought you needed your sleep this morning.”

Joseph managed a grin as several heads—guards’ among them—turned in the street at the exchange. “My son and I thought to get a good start on the road, Erla. We have a way ahead of us.”

“That you have,” Erla said, and her tone softened somewhat. “That you have.” Her eyes locked with Joseph’s momentarily, then she turned aside with studied disinterest to gossip with one of her companions.

“Where are you going, Baxtor?”

A group of guards, their interest caught by the exchange, had stepped out in front of their horses, and Joseph and Garth had to pull their mounts to an abrupt halt.

“Ruen,” Joseph replied smoothly. “We have an order from the king…if you want to see it.” His hand crept to the pouch at his belt.

The guard who had spoken, his eyes flinty with suspicion, stared at the letter Joseph extended. After a moment he shuffled his feet and shifted his gaze back to Joseph. “Furst has seen this?”

“Yes.”

The guard hesitated a moment longer, but there was no need to detain the physician and his son. “On with you then…and best you keep that order handy. You’ll pass several more posts on the way through Myrna.” Then he turned on his heel and waved his patrol down one of the side streets.

As they kicked their horses forward Garth glanced over his shoulder. The three women on the verandah were staring at them, their faces tight with tension.

“Come on, Garth,” Joseph muttered. “Don’t draw too much attention to them or us.”

One more patrol stopped them as they rode down the main street, but it was at the junction of the main street and the road for Ruen that they struck the most trouble.

There was a patrol of ten guards here, and they were the most thorough of all in town. Several carts, riders and a man herding several dozen sheep were being held up as the guards meticulously checked everyone’s identity. The shepherd, a dark man who was tattered and dirtied by his exposure to the elements, was receiving more attention than most.

“Curses,” Joseph muttered feelingly, and Garth stared at him worriedly.

“Father?”

As they reined their horses in behind the tangle of carts, horses and sheep, Joseph leaned across to his son and hissed at him. “Whatever happens, follow my lead!”

Shocked by the tone of his father’s voice, Garth simply nodded and turned his gaze back to the crowd before them. Somewhere in here was Maximilian. His eyes drifted to the shepherd.

The man was shifting from foot to foot, his hands clutching nervously about his staff, as three of the guards interrogated him and inspected the small pack he had let slip from his shoulders. Garth tried to watch as inconspicuously as he could—then, realising that everyone on the road was staring at the man, gave up all pretence and stared himself.

The shepherd’s back was to him, but Garth could see that he was tall and lean, and had straight black hair that drifted about his face. The man’s hands where they clenched his staff were patched with dirt, and his clothes were similarly grimed. Garth’s stomach clenched and he fought not to look at his father. Was that Maximilian under all that grime?

Another of the guards wandered away from a cart and approached his companions standing about the shepherd, glancing at the new arrivals as he did so. As he stepped up to the small group around the shepherd, voices were suddenly raised and the shepherd attempted to take a step backwards before being seized by one of the guards.

Garth heard his father take a quick, shocked breath beside him.

Now the shepherd and the four guards were decidedly agitated, and Garth broke out in a sweat. The sheep had begun to wander off the road in search of grazing, and the shepherd was gesturing at them excitedly as the guards resolutely shook their heads. Their eyes were growing narrower by the minute.

Finally the fourth guard, who had noticed Joseph and Garth, raised his head and beckoned them forward. Garth’s stomach tightened.

“Physician!” he called, and Garth recognised one of the guards they’d spoken to last night. “Come here!”

Joseph risked a warning glance at his son, then rode forward, Garth immediately behind him. They pushed their horses through the crowd. Several of the people among the crowd waiting to be allowed through the checkpoint were complaining loudly about the delay, and a pretty girl with a sulky mouth called out from a wagon she shared with several female companions. “Here then! What about letting us through?”

The guards ignored her; now two of them had the shepherd in their tight hands, and all of the guards, whether or not they were grouped about the shepherd or standing by the side of the road, had eyes for no-one but their suspect.

“Baxtor,” said the guard as they reined their horses behind the shepherd. “We have a suspicious character here. No-one knows him, and see this dirt? Straight from the Veins, we think!”

The shepherd struggled and moaned.

Another of the guards indicated that Joseph and Garth should dismount. “It’s good that you’re here, physician. Will you examine this man? Some of these stains look like fungus to us. See? Here…and here.” He pointed to several stains on the man’s garments.

Gods! Garth cursed to himself. So close! This was the last patrol before the freedom of the road to Ruen.

But he kept his face as neutral as he could as he dismounted. Joseph was already leaning close to the shepherd, and Garth had to push past one of the guards to get a good look at the man’s face.

His heart thudded alarmingly in his chest. The man was well covered in dirt, but Garth recognised him instantly—Vorstus!

“And how old was this prisoner you hunt?” Joseph asked patiently as he made a pretence of checking the man’s eyes, ears and skin.

“Youngish,” muttered one.

“About thirty, Furst told us,” another said.

Joseph sighed and raised his eyebrows. “Well, you may have bagged a wandering thief, gentleman, but he’s not from the Veins.”

“Are you sure?” one of the guards asked, disappointment clouding his voice.

Joseph sighed again, more melodramatically and impatiently this time. Garth regarded his father with veiled admiration; he had not thought Joseph to be this good an actor.

“This man approaches old age,” he said. “Look, his finger joints are swollen with arthritis.”

“Could be from the constant swing of the pick,” a guard said hopefully, but Joseph glared at him.

“These stains are not fungus, but grass. No doubt the man sleeps with his sheep. And look here,” Joseph abruptly squatted by the man’s legs, and every eye followed him. “His ankles are smooth and unmarred by irons. You’ve all been down the Veins. You’ve all seen the festers and ridges the irons carve into a man’s ankles. This man has never been manacled in his life.”

“And look at this,” Garth put in, as eager to convince the guards as his father was. “His skin is tanned underneath this dirt. This man’s well acquainted with the sun.”

Joseph caught his son’s eyes momentarily, and nodded.

“Nevertheless,” the commander of the patrol said slowly, disappointment etching his voice, “he’s the right colouring…and none of us know him.”

“Then arrest him for being a stranger,” Joseph said disinterestedly as he stood up, “but not for being an escapee.”

His frustration making him testy, the guard now turned on Joseph. “And what are you doing here, Baxtor?”

Joseph silently withdrew Cavor’s order and handed it to the man. The guard read it through, then thrust it back at Joseph. “Well,” he said roughly, “let them through…and this filthy shepherd. We’ve better things to do than interrogate every peasant that wanders by.”

Vorstus wasted no time in wrenching his arm from the one guard who still held him, and waved his staff at the rest of them. “And who’s going to help round up my sheep?” he demanded.

“Get out of my sight,” the commander hissed viciously, “or I will throw you in gaol!”

Obviously deciding he’d taken the act far enough, Vorstus wasted no time in striding off mumbling to himself. He jumped down from the verge of the road and shooed his sheep back into the semblance of a flock, herding them as quickly as he could towards the south.

Joseph met his son’s eyes again, then looked back at the guards. “And Garth and myself?”

“On your way,” the commander said shortly, then turned back to the first wagon in line. “Well?” he demanded of its occupants.

Garth was just mounting his horse when he heard a sweet voice reply.

“We’re on our way for a picnic, officer. A nice warm day and all, I thought several of the girls would appreciate a touch of spring sunshine.”

Garth glanced curiously at the wagon, then froze in the act of swinging his leg over the horse’s back.

The wagon was packed with five or six women, all dressed in gaudy clothes and ringlets similar to the three who’d stood on the verandah of the house in Myrna. The woman who’d answered was the oldest of them, about forty, but the others were all young…and Garth recognised two of them instantly.

He slowly sank down in the saddle.

“I’d have thought you had business aplenty back in Myrna, Anya,” the guard said, although his tone held no suspicion.

The older women arched well-drawn eyebrows. “Every able-bodied man’s been called to guard duty, officer. There’s nothing for us to do. So I thought,” she gestured at the landscape about her, “what a nice day for a picnic! If we drive far enough we’ll be able to find a spot that’s not covered in soot.”

The guard had noticed that Joseph and Garth had not yet ridden off. “What are you two waiting for?”

Both men jerked guiltily.

“Ah,” Joseph began, but the woman broke in, smiling wickedly.

“No need for them to hurry off, officer. Perhaps they might like to ride with us a while. Even share the picnic lunch we’ve brought with us. Who knows,” she dropped one eyelid in an exaggerated wink, “perhaps there might be some profit in this for us after all.”

The guard snorted, then turned his eyes to the other women in the wagon. Garth stiffened as the man’s eyes stopped.

“I’ve not seen these two before.”

Anya smiled archly. “You’ve not yet had the opportunity—nor the purse—to work your way through all my rooms yet, officer. No doubt my house contains a few surprises for you yet.”

Both of the women were attractive, but the guard stared at the younger of them. She was stunning, with dark hair and peculiarly light grey eyes. “And what’s your name, girl?”

Ravenna smiled, and leaned down from the wagon. “Myst, officer. And when might I expect you to come a-calling?”

The guard reddened under her frank eyes, then turned back to Anya. “On your way, madam.”

Anya grinned and slapped the reins across the backs of the two horses pulling the wagon. The guard stepped back as the women rumbled past. “Next!”

Joseph and Garth fell in behind the wagon. Garth glanced across at his father; Joseph had a thin sheen of sweat across his face, and Garth guessed he didn’t look much better himself. Joseph noticed Garth’s look, and checked over his shoulder to make sure that the guards were well out of hearing distance.

“The women of the Ladies’ House are good friends of mine,” he explained quietly, then hastened on at the look on Garth’s face. “Not in the way you think! I’ve helped them out over the years with several minor problems, and they were pleased to repay the debt with this small ruse.”

Garth grinned weakly. A small ruse? They had an escaped prisoner sitting in the front of their wagon dressed as a woman! But Garth had to admit to himself that the ruse worked well. Maximilian had a fine-boned face, and his skin was pale and smooth after so many years away from the sun. Disguised with a wig and an artful application of face paint, it would have taken a very close examination to reveal him as a man. No doubt, Garth thought to himself, his grin broadening, he’d been given a particularly close shave this morning.

Joseph watched Garth’s face. “Vorstus agreed to act as a decoy. It were better that suspicion fell on someone immediately before the ladies’ wagon, for then it was more likely that the guards would let them through without too close an inquisition.”

Garth watched the wagon, but all of the “women” had their faces turned to the road ahead, and all he could see of Ravenna and Maximilian were their gently swaying backs. “And how did you manage to get the guards to call us forward?”

Joseph’s face relaxed into a smile. “Sheer luck, Garth. To be perfectly frank, I’d hoped that the women would be well through the guard post by the time we came through. Still, things have worked out well.”

They’d drawn level with Vorstus and his herd of sheep, but no-one called out to him and Joseph only nodded as they passed. “We’ll meet up later in the day,” he said quietly once they were well past Vorstus, and Garth nodded, resisting the urge to glance over his shoulder.

“And the other monks?” he asked. “Are they sitting disguised in that wagon as well?”

His father shook his head. “No. Only Vorstus has come with us. Trying to smuggle out several other men as well would have been impossible. Vorstus said they’ll stay hidden in their hollow hill for the next few days, if not weeks, until security has been lessened.”

They had ridden in silence for some two hours when the wagon rumbled to a halt in front of them. Joseph and Garth pushed their horses up to the front.

Anya, businesslike and brusque now, pointed to an overgrown track that led eastwards. “If it’s the forests you want, Joseph, then that’ll get you there quicker than anything else. You’ll still have a hard journey ahead of you, and few excuses to explain your presence if you meet any suspicious questions, but some good walking will get you to the forests within a day or two.”

“I thank you, Anya,” Joseph said soberly. “You have helped right a great injustice here this day.”

Anya looked at Maximilian, sitting silent and expressionless underneath his wig and face paint. “I wish you luck, Joseph,” she said quietly.

Ravenna took Maximilian’s arm. “Come,” she said softly, “it is time to go.”

Maximilian rose obediently and climbed down from the wagon, turning to help Ravenna. The girl was surprised at his consideration, but she blinked it away and pulled down several large packs from the wagon, handing two to Garth and Joseph, and setting the other one on the ground beside her. “Will Vorstus be able to find this track?”

“Yes,” Anya nodded. “I explained what to look for earlier. Now, be off with you. My girls and I are off to enjoy a picnic.”

As Ravenna shouldered her pack, Joseph pulled his horse close to the wagon. “Anya, how will you explain the two missing girls when you return?”

Anya grinned, her eyes mischievous. “I shall tell the guards that you and Garth could not bear to be parted from such skilful ladies, and that you have paid well for them to accompany you to Ruen.” She laughed at the expression on the physician’s face. “Well, Joseph Baxtor, no doubt the loss of your reputation will be the least of your exploits that you’ll have to explain to Nona when you finally meet up with her!”