Children of the Fountain (9 page)

Sophie scoffed, “Harry’s in love.”

Harry’s eyes flashed as he turned to face Sophie. “Am not,” he said, but the damage was done and Matthias let a smile escape.

“I think you’ve got competition Harry,” said Sophie, “she only has eyes for Mr Cook.”

Harry’s lips closed tightly together and his cheeks went red. Matthias decided to change the subject after receiving a wink from Sophie.

“So that’s her. I don’t understand why I am to be taught writing and manners though if I am to be a trained killer.”

Sophie looked up from a book she had been reading; she always brought one to formal dinners which she found tiresome.

“To blend into society, Matthias, you need to know the rules.”

“But why?” he asked.

“Because you’re not a soldier,” she said, closing the book with a snap. “You will have to slip into people’s homes. Their lives. Their families even, to carry out your mission. We are trained to go where others cannot go and to do what others cannot do.”

Harry was munching on some roast chicken and nodded. “She’s right. Suppose you had to kill an earl or a duke? They’re not going to let Matthias the dung farmer in to their private chambers now are they? And even if they did you’d never escape.”

“Our missions are about secrecy. The idea is to get in and out without anyone ever suspecting it was you,” finished Sophie, before returning to her book. She always seemed so very serious when talking about what lay on the various roads ahead.

Matthias finished the rest of his meal with these thoughts turning in his head. He realised he was going to need more time to adjust but, as always, he took strength from his thirst for revenge. It was a force inside him he could now summon at will. He was here and he had made a choice; a commitment which he was going to see to the end.

As they left the dinner hall he spotted Mr Hardy bidding farewell to Mr Cook and crossed the hall to enquire about his grandfather.

The master looked intrigued. “I think when his grace next honours us with his presence you will no doubt be presented to him.”

“Thank you,” said Matthias, unable to conceal his excitement. “That would be most - Thank you, sir!”

Mr Hardy went on, “He has personally expressed an interest in meeting you. After all, it was a great surprise for him to learn you had decided to join us.”

Matthias blinked, “I see”

The master regarded him curiously, “Your uncle has not spoken to your grandfather for over twenty years. You are aware both your father and uncle didn’t want you to come here?”

“Yes,” he said.

“His Grace was most excited to learn you were to follow in your father’s footsteps, but I fear this has only served to strengthen the divide.”

Matthias decided to speak to his uncle at once. He found him, as usual, hunched over the great memoirs and volumes of the mysterious Father Morant.

“Matthias,” he said, grinning warmly.

“My father really didn’t want me here, did he?” As Matthias dumped himself on a stool at the desk the old monk’s face changed to a serious expression and he frowned as he put down the book.

“It was your grandfather who delivered you and Rebecca to me that night many years ago. Your mother and father had been living in the country when you were born. They had decided to keep your existence secret until the time was right.”

“The time was right?” said Matthias.

“These were troubled years. Your father and several agents had dealt a major blow to the Legion’s forces. But they had struck back. Many battles were fought and lives lost.”

“Was Mr Cook one such friend?”

“William is here?” said James. “Heavens, I haven’t seen him in years. He and your father were very close.”

“I feel like I know so little, yet everyone knows so much.”

“Patience, Matthias,” said his uncle, placing an arm around him. “Sometimes you must take a step back before you can walk forward.”

The two sat in silence for some time. The dust falling on the old books caught the setting sun and twinkled in the air like sparks from a bonfire.

“Why did you let them take me in if my father never wished it?”

His uncle sighed and held him by the hand. “I felt it was time for you to start making your own choices. Truth be told, I saw your father’s spirit in you. But also, a lack of discipline. If you had left the abbey to take up an apprenticeship I’ll wager you would have found yourself in trouble soon enough. No doubt bored by the day to day plod of an honest labourer or smithy.

“This place has its faults. But it can teach you a great deal. Here you will learn not only dark skills, but useful ones too. They will make a gentleman of you, Matthias. Something I cannot do but something you deserve. Your grandfather will no doubt be pleased.”

With these last words his uncle turned away but not before Matthias had seen him frown.

“They will change you. They will try to mould you. But who you are and what you choose to do after your education is entirely up to you. You could walk away. I’m sure your grandfather will be able to give you some land and an allowance. Or you could take the next step down the other path. A path of blood and death. I want you to have every chance to make the right choice. Your father felt that to do that you should be hidden. Well, there is nowhere to hide anymore, is there?”

His uncle squeezed his hand and gave him a warm hug. Both, though the other didn’t know it, were thinking back to happier days at the abbey. Late summer afternoons in the orchard, children playing and the sound of laughter and games.

The next day an animated Harry caught up with Matthias after a long morning with O’Grady. His muscles hurt and he’d caught a blow to the head off a young girl when he hadn’t been paying attention.

“So why the excitement?” he asked, as they made their way to their dorm.

“Apparently there’s a duelling contest tomorrow!”

As they walked into their small, shared room Matthias wasted no time in taking off his sweat soaked shirt and applying some ointment to his head. “Why the rush to get yourself killed?” he asked.

“We’ll be using fake blades, idiot.”

Matthias dabbed at the gash on his head and it smarted where a ‘fake’ blade had caught him hours earlier. He vowed to get his own back on that little ginger haired girl the next time he had O’Grady's class. They were supposed to practice defensive strokes but there was nothing defensive about the way she’d clobbered him.

“What’s this?” said Harry, pointing at a comb.

“I have my first lesson with Lady Taylor today. I was told I have to look smart.”

“Good luck!” said Harry, as he grabbed his cloak to leave. “It’s harder than any sword lesson, especially for people like me and you.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re not like the others are we? Alonso picked us both up. We don’t have what they call
breeding
.”

Matthias finished adjusting his shirt cuffs and flattened his hair one last time in the looking glass next to his bed. “How hard can it be? It’s just learning how to be polite.”

“Yes,” said Harry, “just how to be polite.” He walked out the door to go to his lesson but not before calling out, “And of course how to
dance
!”

Harry's laughter faded as he skipped down the corridor. Matthias looked at his wide eyes in the mirror and swallowed hard. Dancing? Surely Harry must be joking. For the first time since he’d arrived at the castle he felt genuine fear. Dancing was for girls. Give him half an hour in front of O’Grady with one arm tied behind his back, but not dancing!

The chapel bells rang out two o’clock; he was going to have to hot foot it to the west wing of the castle where Lady Taylor resided. The journey took him ten minutes and as he walked into the drawing room he saw her waiting for him. She was seated at a small table by the window and was pouring tea from a delicate china pot.

The footman who had shown him in gently closed the door behind him but Matthias remained where he was, unsure if he should move without direction. Looking around he took in the room’s magnificence. Tapestries and paintings hung from the walls, but unlike other areas of the castle where pictures of dukes and earls adorned the stone, here were works of art. Mythical lands and creatures, men and women depicted in perfect beauty amongst colossal mountains and seascapes. On a gilded table at one end where several sculptures of people Matthias did not recognise and next to that stood an enormous ornate vase, almost as big as he was. The patterns were exotic and mesmerising and Matthias’s senses struggled to take in all the beauty that was within this one room.

Then, finally, his eyes fell on Lady Taylor. Her back was to him but Matthias could see she was dressed in white silk. Her golden blonde curls were set up high atop her head and underneath a pale slender white neck was decorated with fine pearls. He stood there for several moments before finally summoning up the courage to make a polite coughing noise.

She turned around, her deep brown eyes met his and he instantly froze. She was beautiful. His gaze fell to floor instinctively and for a moment he felt unworthy even to be in her presence.

“Matthias, I presume?” She spoke with a perfect, soft, sweet voice.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, and attempted a bow.

“
My lady
,” she corrected. “Please refer to me as
my lady
.”

There was no malice in her words; she was just correcting him and her soft smile re-assured Matthias she had taken no offence.

“Sorry, my lady,” responded Matthias, and attempted another bow which went slightly less well than the first.

“Will you join me for tea?” she said, and gestured to the empty seat on the other side of the table.

“Thank you, my lady,” said Matthias. As he sat down opposite her his eyes caught the shape of her womanly body and her perfume swept over him – it was a smell of sweet fruits, fresh forests and spring blossoms all rolled into one.

She proceeded to serve tea in a meticulous and precise fashion. First a silver jug poured milk into the cup. Then, the pot delivered a wonderfully smelling golden red tea which tanned as it hit the milk. Finally after the offer of sugar, which Matthias duly accepted, he picked up the cup.

Her short intake of breath was directed at Matthias’s hands. He felt sure he was doing something wrong; but what? He looked down at his hand holding the impossibly thin china cup before looking back at Lady Taylor. Her fingers caressed the handle of her own cup and the smallest pointed directly into the air away from it.

Matthias had seen Mr Hardy drink in the same fashion. He adjusted his grip, spilt some tea, but finally managed to point his little finger into the air in triumph!

He brought the cup to his lips and drank, or rather, slurped. The lady raised her eyebrows and this time she placed her own cup back on the saucer in front of her.

“Am I to understand you have never taken tea before?”

“I’ve drank tea?” said Matthias.

Lady Taylor tilted her head to one side in sadness and held her hands together. “My dear boy,” she said, “I mean
taken
tea. At a formal occasion such as this; in a parlour, with china and a lady or a gentleman.”

“Oh I see,” he replied. “No, I haven’t. Am I doing something wrong?”

She tutted quietly under her breath and looked awkwardly at him. “Posture, for one. Not only the way you are sitting but the way you are holding the cup and of course your feet.”

“Too far apart?”

“Too close together,” she replied, tapping the table with each syllable. “All this can be worked on; all of these things can be taught. But that noise dear boy, that frightful noise. That must be
undone
.”

He blushed and looked at his feet. They were tight together and he was sitting rather awkwardly but to be fair this was more out of genuine nervousness than any bad habits. True, if he was relaxing in his room with Harry he may well have had his shoes off and his feet firmly under the table, or on it.

“Cake?” said Lady Taylor. He looked down at the impossibly small piece of sponge cake offered to him on a plate alongside a tiny silver fork with only two prongs. What must he do with this? Which hand should he accept it with? Was that even a fork?

He smiled and politely refused. Lady Taylor raised an eyebrow in what he could only assume to be disapproval but said nothing.

“Tell me, Matthias, something of your background.”

He happily recounted his days at the abbey explaining the less formal upbringing he had had compared to that of his classmates. He told her of his simple life of Bible lessons, work on the land and play in the orchards. Then, the day Alonso arrived; as was usual when people asked him about his past he left out the events surrounding the fate of Rebecca and the others at the abbey.

Lady Taylor revealed little of herself throughout the exchange, but Matthias did gather that although she spoke perfect English she was originally from France. She had come to England to assist the duke in tutoring his young students in etiquette and also
wooing
. He blushed slightly when Lady Taylor explained what this last part meant.

“Matthias, you may be called upon to charm young ladies or even spinsters in your work. Knowing not only how to speak to a woman, but how to truly understand her, may be as important a weapon as any gun or dagger concealed about your person.”

He instinctively looked at the blade sitting on his belt. “If this bothers you my lady I’ll take it off,” he said, getting to his feet and starting to unfasten his buckle.

“No, no. Not at all,” said Lady Taylor. “I am quite used to the sight of arms and, sadly, far worse.”

He seated himself again. Looking down at the dagger he realised now that he wore it almost everywhere without even thinking. Maybe this was part of the ‘moulding’ Father James had told him about. Everywhere, all about the castle, it was not unusual to see children armed with knives, rapiers or even pistols.

Lady Taylor must have read his thoughts because when she spoke her voice was gentle. “This is all so very new to you isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Do not worry,” she said, “you are in very capable hands here. I have a good feeling about you.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

She smiled at him and he felt his insides warm. “Matthias. Such an unusual name. Tell me, are you of the house Cortés?”

His eyes scanned around the room, “Erm…”

“Of course,” she said, “how silly of me. Mr Hardy insists on no surnames until you’ve earned them. Such chivalry. I believe when the academy was set up there was a good deal of in-fighting.”

“It seems strange,” said Matthias. “I only found out my family name recently.”

“How odd for you.”

“Are you a part of one of the houses?”

She spun her back to him and started to adjust the pins in her hair. “I was once.” For a few moments Matthias wasn’t sure whether the conversation was over, but she eventually turned back and smiled.

He beamed back, picked up his teacup and drained the remaining contents with a mighty gulp. Lady Taylor raised one eyebrow and forced a smile.

“It would seem we have a lot of work to do. I shall contact Mr Hardy to arrange our next session. For now, I would like to thank you for a delightful tea, Matthias. It has been a pleasure making your acquaintance.” She held out a silken gloved hand, her fingers dangling loosely from her wrist.

A cold sweat appeared on Matthias’s head. Did he kiss it? Shake her hand? Was she asking for assistance out of her chair? His eyes darted from the hand to her eyes and then back to the extended hand.

“It is traditional to kiss a lady firmly on her hand,” she said, softly.

Matthias did so, apologising as his lips bumbled into her knuckles. He stood up smartly, almost to attention, bowed and made his way to the door. As he arrived he turned around, bowed one last time and said, “My lady,” then left without looking back.