Thorn Chronicles: Part Three

Several days later, Edric returned and Gregorio still haunted the palace, inside and out. Miles’ chores were much lessened by the arrival of his master, and between them they finished their work around noontime. Miles used all his free time to finish his project at the back of the garden, though now he was convinced that it would forever remain a secret, nothing but a memorial to the time before Gregorio. Rosamelia never walked alone in the gardens anymore and never consulted Miles about the name of this hosta or the medicinal values of that herb. Her side was ceaselessly occupied by the Lamontian, and Miles dared not risk meeting him again. So he began to spend his afternoons finding new activities. He ventured into the city a few times, and spent hours roving the markets and gazing through the windows at the theater houses. Chrysanthem was a busy city, though, and had little time to spare for a curious boy. He soon tired of the few sights she could afford and instead holed up in his room.
He had only a bed, which was comfortable enough, and a chair and washstand against one wall. But his prize possession was a tall, wide bookcase which dominated his room, making it seem half the size it truly was. He had some books, mostly old poetry collections and histories, and filled the rest of the space with odds and ends he had found in and around the gardens. He had a few bird nests, some strangely shaped and colored stones, and a great collection of pressed leaves. These were mostly curios from his younger years; lately he had taken to collection antiques. Miles was not interested in just any antiques, but strange and exotic ones from distant places. He had maps of Goldfin, and one torn one which actually dated to the age when all the nations of Goldfin had been united in the empire. He had old instruments once used by the famous astronomers in Saffony. There was even a sextant which the antique dealer had claimed came from the very ships which had brought the first humans to Goldfin. Miles was not sure if the claim was true; he had paid a good bit for the piece, but he liked the look of it even if it was not authentic. Other baubles were placed lovingly and particularly on the shelves: compasses, knives, ornate matchboxes and little tin dragons.
Of all his treasures, however, there was one which Miles treasured above all else. It was a small, leather-bound book of crisp, yellow paper which contained a hand-written copy of The Rhiangar Saga. He had always had it, and could not remember who had given it to him, though he supposed it had been Edric on one of Miles’ earliest birthdays. The old gardener often brought back obscure and delightful trinkets for Miles after his trips to visit his mother. It told the life story of one of the greatest heroines in all of Goldfin. For almost the twentieth time, Miles picked up the little tome and let his mind be utterly swept up in its depths. The sad tale of poor Rhiangar and her dragon, of brave and heroic Cadfan, and of the fall of the dragons and giants at the colonists’ swords never failed to entrance Miles. He often wondered what his world would have been like if Rhiangar had succeeded in her ultimate dream of creating peace between the beasts of Goldfin and the humans. Of course, she had been driven a little mad by the death of her dragon, and everyone knew that the beasts did not know the way of peace, but her efforts had been noble anyway. Of course, she had tried to kill Cadfan, but that was only after her mind was poisoned with grief. Before her conspiracy, she had been largely responsible for the colonists’ victory with her interpretations of the dragons’ language. Without her, Cadfan would never have learned how to use the dragons’ magic against them, and the brave colonists would have been overcome. Despite her tragic demise, Rhiangar’s earlier years still inspired many in Goldfin, Miles included.
He spent an entire afternoon reading the saga, and several more hunting through the palace library for other books about her. He found some, but none as beautiful as the Saga. He had never seen another copy of the poetic masterpiece. Most likely it was considered inferior by the scholars in Bloome, where all the intellects gathered, and thus was deemed unworthy of the royal collection. Miles often found that his tastes and those of the scholars differed greatly; most of the books in the palace library were frightfully dull and tedious. On his rare visits, Miles usually only spent his time in the histories, of which there were still very few absorbing volumes.
Today he found a few books which dealt with the Great War and had small sections about Rhiangar, but they were very short and brief, giving few facts and a lot of speculation. He replaced them all on the shelves and was about to go when he heard a clatter from across the room. He spun around quickly and immediately saw the pile of books which had fallen and now lay haphazardly across the floor, half-open with pages bent every which way. But there was no one in sight. He slowly crossed the floor and carefully surveyed the scene.
Then he saw her. Princess Brianette was curled in the corner between two bookcases, her hands wrapped around her knees and her brown hair hanging closely about her face. She looked terrified.
“Your Highness?” Miles knelt in front of her and gently held a hand out. “What are you doing down there? Are you alright?”
She stared at him with trembling amber eyes. “Did you see him?”
“Who?”
“The – the man in the fur coat.”
Miles looked over his shoulder and scanned the room. There was no one there. “What do you mean?” he asked softly. “What man?”
Brianette shook her head and pulled her legs more rightly into her chest. As he watched her pale and frightened face, Miles felt a strange chill down his spine. She was not at all the sort to exhibit fear; Brianette was daring and reckless, and was known for impudence toward ministers and courtiers. He had never seen her so much as shed a tear, much less cower in libraries.
“Come on, why don’t you get up, Princess? We can go find your mother, alright?”
She hesitated, then gave him her hand. Miles helped her to her feet, but she pressed against him as he led her from the library. He was not familiar with the west wing of the palace, but a servant directed him and he soon found the queen’s sitting room. Polirose was sitting by an open window, chatting with an elderly courtier. When she saw the princess, the queen gave a little cry and leaped to her feet.
“Brianette! What has happened?” She gathered her daughter to herself, pushing the girls hair from her face and examining her up and down. “Brianette? Tell me, sweetheart!”
Brianette shook her head slowly, as if in a trance, then pushed away from her mother. “It was nothing, really. I think I might be ill… I saw a man in a fur coat and…”
“And what, dear?” Polirose looked quite alarmed now.
Brianette shrugged her shoulders. Color had already risen in her cheeks again, and she seemed quite restored to her normal, high-spirited self. “Oh, it’s nothing. I suppose I must have had a momentary fever or something. Those things happen, don’t they?”
“Oh… I don’t know, dear. I’ll call for the physician.”
“You needn’t bother!” said Brianette, turning toward the door.
“Oh no, young lady! You’ll wait right here! Grab a hold of her, flower boy, and don’t let her out the door!”
The princess tried to make a dart, but Miles obediently grabbed her arm and held her tightly. “I shall introduce her to Wedley,” he whispered in her ear, “if you don’t stop squirming, Your Highness.”
Brianette gave him a wintery look, but stood still. The queen dismissed her companion and sent a servant to find the court doctor. Then she took another long look at her daughter, but finding nothing obviously wrong with her, took to pacing in front of the window with a worried expression.
The doctor soon arrived, a small, wan little man with round spectacles perched on his nose. Miles stared at them; spectacles were the latest invention out of Bloome, and very few even existed in Chrysanthem. As if he were quite aware of the fact, the doctor polished his lenses with great ceremony before donning them again and looking at Brianette’s face. She stared at him with half-lidded eyes, making no effort to mask her annoyance.
The doctor made her sit on a chair and began rummaging through his brown bag. The queen thanked Miles curtly and dismissed him. A little disappointed that he would not hear the doctor’s opinion of the matter, he left the west wing (after getting himself a little lost and having to ask for directions) and went outside to the gardens. He found Edric sitting by a birdbath, puffing a pipe and watching the sparrows fluff and primp in the shallow water.
Miles sat on the ground and told his master what had happened. The old gardener did not reply, but his eyes nearly disappeared beneath the mass of wrinkles which flourished across his forehead. Edric was a tall and broad man, with a shining bald head and a full beard. Despite his considerable age, he was as spry and sharp as a hawk. Miles thought more highly of Edric than of anyone he had ever met, except, perhaps, Princess Rosamelia. But even she was not as wise, well-traveled, and skilled at planting and pruning as Edric of Pocket. Where Pocket was, Miles had no idea, and the old gardener had never offered any explanation. His apprentice had long since learned that the master shared only what he wanted, when he wanted. Miles suspected that even King Caradec dared not try to wrest information from Edric the gardener.
After a good many minutes of quietly nibbling on his pipe, Edric finally removed it from his mouth. “A man in a fur coat, you say?”
“Yes, but I didn’t see anyone like that. There was no one near, I’m sure of that. Do you think she might have had a… a momentary fever or something?”
Edric slowly replaced his pipe, drawling around it, “I don’t think so.” He stared thoughtfully at the sparrows, giving a little twitch of his eyebrow when one puffed out its feathers so far it looked more like a feathery ball than a bird. “There’s little call for fur coats in these parts. Nor in Saffony, Maribellon, Lamonte… Mebbe in the deepest southern parts of Primasol, but only rarely. Those Primasolns like their wool, and all sorts of colors in their clothing. Now I traveled through Malodir once…” His forehead creased again, creating deep ridges in his skin. “They like their fur, in Malodir, they do,” he said so softly that Miles could barely hear him.
“Are there any Malodiran ambassadors in Chrysanthem right now? I hear they’re nasty sorts to begin with. Maybe the princess bumped into one in the palace?”
Edric cocked a fuzzy caterpillar of a brow. “It’s a possibility.”
“But you don’t think it’s the explanation,” stated Miles, who was quite good at reading his master’s expressions when the gardener neglected to hide them.
Edric nodded slowly, drawing a long puff from his pipe. “That’s the idea,” he drawled, letting the smoke out in a heavy stream. “There’s little call for Malodirans in Thorn nowadays.”
He turned his piercing blue eyes on Miles. No matter how many times those eyes settled on him, Miles never quite grew accustomed to the sharpness of their gaze. They were not the sort of eyes one expected in the face of a homely old planter, with their crisp iciness and clarity. “You stay close to the little girl,” he said. “That’s my orders, you hear? Don’t be obvious about it, but you don’t let her out of earshot, you hear, boy? There’s more to this little incident than it seems, I think, and I usually think right.”
Miles nodded and waited. Edric clacked his teeth against his pipe stem. “What are you sitting there for, boy? Get on with you! Find the child!”
Miles blinked and jumped up. “Yes sir! No problem at all!” He ran off at top speed, nearly crushing a clump of violets in his haste.
Edric held out his hand, and the little puffed sparrow flitted through the air to land on his palm. The little bird shook its feathers, showering the gardener’s dirt-encrusted skin with water droplets. It preened its feathers down, reassuming its natural form.
Edric nodded. “You never know, little friend. My orders may prove more of a problem than he knows.”