Homage and Honour (21 page)

“… where one of
my ships was waiting to deliver this envelope that I hold now in my
hand and then they told him all he wanted to know. Believe it or
not my friends, the Express messengers knew the farm to where
Princess Ruth’s descendants had gone; they had delivered a letter
to the farm recently.”

“Were they not
even a bit suspicious?” asked Henri, “I thought that these Lind of
theirs could read minds.”

His son shook
his head, “they can sense emotions Father, but not with everybody.
They can’t read minds, that is only a myth with which generations
of nursemaids have frightened their charges to keep them in
order.”

William
continued, “My man says they only asked of his interest in them and
he told them that they were distant relatives. He had one moment
when he thought the messenger office might be suspicious but a bit
of fast-talking got him through. He had asked for the Wallace Farm,
which was the name on the sale documents but hadn’t realised that,
in Vadath, names are more transitory and that the name had changed
with the ownership. The man in charge of the station had actually
done the run and more than once. He knew the family. He could
update my man on what had happened after Jessica and James Russell
arrived in AL114. Their daughter had a daughter and she is married
now with four children. The messenger only asked him if he wished
the envelope to go fast delivery to Port Lutterell and then, to my
man’s horror, asked if he wished his Lind to send on a message
telepathically to the farm, an offer my man declined with many
thanks and false regrets. He feels sure that the Express operative
was not suspicious of him in any way.”

“So now we
know. Worryingly, the Larg know the king is ailing and his heir a
sickly toddler. Her death will be the only excuse they need to
start ravaging our borders. What do we do now?” asked Duke Henri
Cocteau.

“We go and get
the family,” William Duchesne replied. “The king is weakening by
the day. The last tendays has put a great strain on his heart and
Princess Susan is not responding well to all the lavish care and
attention she is receiving. If she does ascend the throne I fear it
will not be for long and then where will we be?”

“In the
soup.”

“In the paws of
the Larg,” the Duke of Duchesne corrected him, “no, we go now.
Let’s not wait until the crisis is upon us and our esteemed Duke of
Baker tries to take control.”

“Who do you
think we should send?”

“It has to be
someone we can trust, someone with brains and who will not lose his
head if things don’t go exactly according to plan.”

“We’ll send my
son Charles,” replied Henri Cocteau with decision.

“Can he be
spared?”

“William, all
anyone needs to do at the moment is claim to feel unwell and all of
his friends and colleagues fall over themselves trying to get the
person off the premises fearing a return of the plague.”

William
grinned, “he’ll need a boat and I know just the one.”

“Another of
your ‘illicit’ trading vessels?”

“The Captain
has been known to visit the North from time-to-time. Of course,
most of these visits are bona fide trading journeys. A few though,
well … even some citizens of Vadath are not above a bit of illegal
trading, if the price is right.”

“Goods or
information?” asked Henri in a bland tone.

“Whatever. Now,
let’s get your son on his way.”

* * * * *

Santhed (Fourth Month of Winter) –
AL156

Crisis (6)

It was now more
than twenty days since Artur Bernardson’s disappearance had been
reported.

John Branling,
Police Superintendent, sat staring at his notes on the desk before
him; the census records, the list of names and a summary about what
was known about the Kushner farm.

John Branling
was sure it related to the disappearance of Artur Bernardson. If he
solved the conundrum he would find the man.

What was it his
brain was stubbornly refusing to remember about the farm? He waited
with impatience for an answer from the one man alive who might
still remember.

There was a
knock at the door and a member of the ‘Express’ entered. Like the
Vada, the riders wore maroon but, instead of the silver badges the
serving vadeln-pairs wore on their tunics, they wore the golden
emblem of a shooting star, signifying speedy deliveries to anywhere
where Lind paws and minds could reach.

The man passed
a handwritten card over to John Branling. It was blue, which
informed him that this was a telepathic message sent to him from …
he scanned the originating name-tag … yes, it was from Andel, old
friend of his father, retired from the Garda for over twenty
years.

The Express
operative left but John Branling knew he would wait behind the door
in case there was a reply.

He scanned the
words with eager anticipation, nor was he disappointed.

As it was a
telepathic message, it was short and to the point;
‘Greetings.
Kushner Farm. Yes. Duty station near. Ordered to protect.
Important. Written message follows fast delivery. Protect
family.’

He read it
again but couldn’t decide what it meant. He would have to wait for
the letter. It arrived two days later.

He tore it
open;
‘John, good to hear from you. I hope you and your family
are well. As you know I have been retired from the Garda for a long
time but I do remember the Kushner farm. Until just before I made
Colonel, I don’t remember exactly when, the farm and its occupants
were protected by the Garda. I’m the only one still alive who
remembers this. I always knew that it was important in some way but
was never told officially why. I assumed that it was the depository
of something valuable or important from the early years, technical
records, even gold but I never believed this was the whole truth.
I, personally, suspected that it was the Kushner family that was
important; they appeared most ordinary though. We were instructed
to keep an eye out, to report any suspicious looking people nosing
about and I’m sure the Lind were there too but I never saw any.
Only the Officer-in-Charge knew why we were there and as far as I
know the order had been the same for years, decades, perhaps
longer. I did two duty rotas and never saw anything that warranted
a report. Then, I disremember when exactly, perhaps around AL117,
the order was rescinded.’

The letter went
on but John Branling stopped reading. The Kushner farm had been
sold in AL114 when the family moved to Vadath. The record of where
exactly in Vadath the family was moving was one of the missing
documents but the Superintendent was more positive than ever that
the Kushner family and Artur Bernardson were connected.

He decided that
the conundrum was beyond him. The family had moved to Vadath. It
was time to get in touch with the authorities there. Perhaps they
could shed some light on the matter.

Accordingly he
sent a runner with a letter containing his suspicions to the local
‘Express’ office. From there it was taken by fleet lindpaw to Susa
Lynsey of the Vada. John Branling sat back to await events.

Artur
Bernardson’s weighted-down, fish-nibbled and decomposing body was
found in Lake Stewart a few days later.

Susa Lynsey
forwarded the information sent to her by John Branling to one of
her vadeln-pairs who worked closely with the Avuzdel.

They knew
enough to know that the Kushner descendants, at present living in
south-west Vadath might well be in danger and instructed Lynsey to
send a Ryzck to the farm to protect them.

The Ryzck set
out immediately but it was too late.

* * * * *

Kidnap (1)

The men crept
towards the dark farmhouse. Patch, the guard terrier was
concentrating on her day-old litter of puppies and apart from a low
growl and a few warning yaps did not venture out of her cosy hay
bed in the barn.

Her subdued
yapping did rouse David Crawford. He donned his trews with haste
and ran barefoot down the stairs after telling Anne to go back to
sleep. He had a gravid and near term zarova cow in the other barn
and was thinking she might need some help.

He met the
masked men at the foot of the stairs.

The largest of
the men grabbed him and held a dagger to his throat. “Do as you’re
told and no-one will get hurt.”

“Get them all
up,” a tall elegant man in black velvet ordered. The tone of
authority in his voice was unmistakable.

David heard his
family rising from their beds, the rough voices of the intruders,
the frightened squeals of the children, Anne’s voice. His wife and
children stumbled down the stairs. Little Ruth was still
three-quarters asleep and Xavier not much better. Annette was
crying.

“Are they
pirates?” whispered Anne as she was pushed into the room, “and I
thought we’d be safe here, they’ve never raided this far upriver
before.” The children clustered behind her. Ruth hid her little
face in the folds of her mother’s nightdress.

“I don’t think
so,” he whispered back, “these men don’t look or act like what
we’ve heard of the pirates. They act and talk like soldiers and I
think that’s exactly what they are, soldiers from the South. Their
voices drawl, like Jess’s friend Beth.”

“Why have they
come here?” asked Anne, “are they slavers? Are we to become
slaves?”

“I don’t
know.”

“Is this them
all?” asked the ‘velvet’ man.

“An old lady in
the back room downstairs,” answered one.

“My
mother-in-law, please don’t hurt her, she is old and very frail,”
pleaded David.

“We was ordered
to take them all,” warned the man who had answered, glancing at his
superior.

“An old woman
is of no use to us, lock her in the room and tie her up.”

“I could …” the
man made a gesture of running his knife across his throat.

Anne gasped in
horror. Annette burst into a fresh flood of tears and began to
tremble.

“No,” the
elegant man commanded, “I’m not in the business of killing old
women for no reason.”

The man left,
muttering darkly to himself about ‘noble fools’. Only David heard
him and it confirmed his suspicions that the marauders were not
pirates but were here for some nefarious purpose of their own.

The ‘velvet’
man pointed at Anne.

“You, you go
upstairs and gather up outdoor clothing for you all, boots and
heavy cloaks if you have them. Hurry now.”

Once they were
attired, outdoor clothes on top of their night garments, the men
tied all but little Ruth’s hands behind their backs.

“She’s too
young to cause any trouble,” the noble leader said and told her to
stay beside her mother.

Ruth’s
frightened face nodded assent.

He then looked
at the family.

“We are going
for a short walk,” he informed them, “no harm will come to
you.”

“Until we reach
the slave holds on your ship,” growled David in an ominous and
quiet voice, trying to surprise him into revealing just exactly why
he was here.

The ‘velvet’
man laughed.

“I’m not one of
the slaver scum,” he said with a short smile. “I am an honourable
man, doing my Duke’s bidding.”

“Honourable?
Kidnapping an innocent family?" scoffed David.

“I am a loyal
vassal of my Duke who is desirous to make your acquaintance. It is
unfortunate that it has to be this way.”

“What Duke? We
don’t know any Dukes. We’re simple farmers.” said Anne.

“Enough
questions,” he said, “time to go.”

They were
hustled out of the farmhouse and into the dark night.

The events of
the next two bells the family never wanted to experience again,
hustled as they were out of their home and led towards the river.
They were not permitted to talk. One of the men carried little Ruth
as they struggled through the rain, stumbling over the uneven
ground. The little girl was sobbing fit to burst, one damp hand
clutching tight to her favourite dolly, a battered individual
handed down from Jess (when most of the damage occurred) and
Annette.

Where were
these men taking them and why? If the ‘velvet’ man was to be
believed and they were not slavers but agents of their Duke, what
did he want with them all?
What is so important about my family
that would make this Duke go to all the trouble to kidnap us?
Why?

When they
reached the river’s edge they were helped into a small rowing boat.
David realised that it was sitting extremely low in the water and
he heard the leader telling the men to take care.

“Don’t want a
capsize,” he said, “water’s too dammed cold.”

The only sound
was the oars dipping into the water and the occasional grunts of
effort from the men as they oared the laden craft downriver towards
the sea.

A ship loomed
out of the darkness, creaking eerily with the slow ebb and flow of
the estuary tides.

For David
Crawford this was confirmation that they could not possibly be
slavers. This ship was a merchantman, not a galley.

Their hands
were untied as the boat bumped against the ship’s side and was made
fast. They were ordered through the sally port, the ‘velvet’ man
carried Ruth aboard with a gentleness that surprised David. Now
they had reached the ship his face became relaxed, genial even.

The Captain met
them on the deck and gave a sharp jerk of a bow that only confused
the family even more. They were then escorted, not into the ship’s
hold as they had expected but to a cabin at the rear of the vessel
where six makeshift cots had been set up.

“Six cots?”
queried Anne.

“I assume
Jessica was supposed to be here as well,” David surmised. He had
realised that their abduction must have been long in the
planning.