Swamps & White Horses

 

Verona was a witch.

 

She’d been a witch for exactly four hours. That wasn’t a long time. Something in her said that she’d better learn a bit more before she started calling herself a witch.

 

Old Goodie Thane had chosen half a dozen girls to ‘try out’. Iris’s qualification was that her father owned most of the town, not to mention nearly all of the farmland and a good bit of the wilderness, stretching right up to the marshes, and it would have been very bad for all concerned if she wasn’t chosen, especially since she’d made such a fuss about it. Lillian was very good with herbs and could milk a herd of goats in under an hour, because they just seemed to all line up. Kitty was the best young shepherdess on the downs, could call any sheep to her with just a whistle, and find every lost lamb just by ‘knowing’ where they were. Natasha wore a lot of black, talked to her cat, and was a bit of a wet blanket, but she could sew up a wound in fourteen seconds flat. And when Winona talked to the animals, they talked back.

 

Verona wasn’t much of a blacksmith, but she could make and attach a set of horseshoes in a time not much longer than the village’s head farrier’s. Her sewing was far too large and sprawling for a wound, or even a dress, which came of sewing saddles back together all day. And she could ride anything you liked, as long as it had four legs, a head and a tail, roughshod and bareback over any ground. She could deliver a difficult foal at any hours, although she mostly held to letting them get on with it themselves. She knew basically how to cure horses, which was not as difficult but considerably less successful than most people think, and generally involved either bran mash with whiskey in it or a sharp knife and a strong stomach. Her main reason for wanting to do a year or two’s service with Goodie Thane was getting better and reducing the times she’d have to use that knife.

 

She hadn’t expected her skill with horses to be completely ignored.

 

“So…” Goodie Thane, an old woman with a face like a hat full of pins had asked, as though sucking a lemon. “You’re Farmer Cartwright’s daughter, aren’t you? The one who keeps disappearing off to the marshes?”

And Verona had muttered an affirmative, because that was true.

“Aren’t you afraid of the goblins, lass?”

And Verona had muttered that there weren’t any goblins in the marshes.

“Aye, lass, and how can you tell?”

And Verona had stopped, and looked at the old woman in front of her, and taken a gamble. Albeit a gamble at a whisper, just in case.

“Because Aaron keeps them away.”

 

And Goodie Thane had nodded, and now Verona was riding down the lane towards the old witch’s house in the woods, a pack on her back with everything she owned in it, and a gift from Iris’s father (Who traditionally had to give gifts to each young person going out to seek their fortunes in the world of work, even if they were just taking up their father’s tools) underneath her. She’d been breaking in the three-year-old as a carriage horse for him, and had calmly informed him that Crowfeather (Verona was allowed to give them her own names), despite being a young, coal black virgin stallion, had the spirit and fire of a soggy teabag, not to mention a gammy knee that showed up every time he was back in the stable with the others instead of roaming the paddock at her house. She hadn’t mentioned that if you gave him his head up on the downs, he’d gallop until he dropped dead for you, that he put his head down when you wanted to bridle him, and that he put on the knee because he hated being closed in. But Verona was smart in her own little way.

 

When she arrived, the other girls were already waiting. Iris’s father had given them all gifts, too, but Verona speculated that Crowfeather had been the least valuable of them, being, in the man’s opinion, a useless beast. Lillian had two goats beside her, probably her own, a new, lemon yellow dress, probably bought by her family, and a thin silver girdle around her waist. Her hair was long and ash blond, tied black in a practical plait that the goats chewed when they were feeling mischievous, and a small, pinched looking face with narrow blue eyes. Kitty’s dress was plainer, a deep brown colour, with an old sack around her shoulders, a wide brimmed felt hat with a hawk feather in it and a couple of lambs at her heels, but she had a new crook, solid oak shod in iron. She was much more pleasant looking, with short black curls, dark eyes, a strong tan and a friendly expression. Natasha was, predictably, wearing black velvet with lace gloves and far too much jewellery, although some of it looked new, and was clutching her cat. She had a rather ruddy complexion and was a touch on the plump side, which came of her parents being the town’s bakers, her hair was stained black and forced strait, although it was already frizzing outwards, and her eyes were large and muddy green. Winona had a new dress too, sky blue with silver trim, probably expensive, and wore a lot of beads, with feathers in her dark brown hair and huge glasses magnifying her blue eyes to a huge size. She had freckles and always seemed to be chewing one fingernail. Her pockets were always bulging, usually with a small animal of some variety, and on this occasion there was also a fox at her feet and a magpie on one shoulder. And finally, of course, there was Iris, wearing a pure white dress and a fur coat, even though it wasn’t cold, her long, chocolate brown locks elegantly styled around a face that could have been quite pretty if she didn’t have the look that something unpleasant was under her nose. She was riding too, still sitting on a fine, golden coloured stallion of the kind that had to be brought from far, far away, and could only be afforded by the very rich. And there was a pair of hunting dogs at the horse’s heels, along with half a dozen bundles and bags.

 

Verona felt outmatched.

 

She was riding Crowfeather in his best tackle, which included painstakingly embroidered marsh trumpet creepers, the buckles made out in the shape of the leaves, and a tooled leather amulet between his eyes, but he was shaggy and unkempt looking, and barely more than a pony. Her flyaway black hair had worked it’s way out of the leather thong on the ride there, her dark brown eyes creased by squinting into the light of the sun or the heat of the forge. Her dress was much too short and too old, it was barely a tunic, patched so many times she wasn’t even sure there was any of the original fabric left, with leather breaches and thick riding boots underneath. Compared to the others, she felt insignificant indeed. It was just good that the older witch was waiting for them and there wasn’t time to talk.

 

Goodie Thane showed them where they’d sleep (The attic), where they could leave their animals (An overgrown paddock that Verona fancied contained more weeds than grass, and made her vow to pick it over first chance she got), where the privy was (An old outbuilding with surprisingly tight fitting wooden walls, considering the run down state of everything else) and went over the rules in the kitchen while Natasha made a cup of tea and Winona took the scones out of the oven.

 

“Now…” Goodie Thane rocked her rocking chair, while the rest of them just wobbled on the uneven floor. “I don’t care who you were or what you’ve done, you’re my apprentices now, and that means you obey my rules, lasses. You’ll get bed and board, and a shilling on your day off, if you’ve been useful, but in return, you’ll work. The whole place needs a clean up, as you can see, and then the dishes always need to be washed, food always needs to be cooked, and the garden needs work, vegetables to be planted and harvested, herbs to be collected, etcetera, then there’s errands to be run, clothes to be washed and repaired and in some cases, made, potions to be brewed up and bottled and doled out, sick people to be tended, injuries to be patched up, illnesses to be cured, and a hell of a lot more. And there are rules. You’re understanding so far, lasses?”

 

There were a few, half-stunned nods.

 

“Right. Firstly, there are five beds up there, and I expect five lasses to be sleeping in them every night. No more, and no less. With no exceptions. Any guests, and these’ll be guests of mine, not yours, will have to sleep in front of the fire. Now, as I said, you’ll get a day off a week, and tis only fair that it’s Thursday, when the market is, but your time off only stretches from sunrise to sunset. And you’ll get a shilling a week, but there’s always favours owed and favours owing, so clothes and shoes and suchlike can be taken care off, if you’re not going to be picky about what you get. And I’ll not have my girls running around after lads either, so you can get that out of your heads. You want to get married, you’ll leave my service, and you’re all a wee bitty young for that anyway, so get the thought out of your heads. You break the rules, you’ll leave, you understand?”

 

A few more nods.

 

“That’s good. Now run along. You can have the rest of the afternoon to settle in, and I’ll call you when it’s time to start on supper.”

 

The girls fled to the attic room. Iris flung herself down on the only halfway comfortable looking bed in disgust.

“If my father knew…” Was all she said. Winona snorted.

“You’re father probably knows exactly what you’d have to do to be a witch, and that’s why he sent you. Probably wanted rid of you. And I’m not surprised!”

Iris gave her an ugly look, but Natasha just stroked her cat and sidled over to stand by Lillian.

“I think it’s going to be fun, don’t you?” She piped up, a little cautiously. Lillian sneered.

“I think it’ll be more fun if you don’t talk to me. Now if you don’t mind, if this is my free afternoon, I’m going to go get rid of some of those weeds in the paddock.”

“That’s work!” Iris burst out, but Kitty nodded.

“You’re right. I don’t want my lambs eating them either, half of them are probably poisonous. I’ll help you.”

Verona, eager to get away from Iris, moved away from the window, where she’d been trying to see if she could see the swamps. The window was too grimy to see anything.

“I’ll give you a hand.”

“If you like.” Lillian turned her nose up a little too quickly, but Winona jumped to her feet, eyes glittering.

“Oh, lets all go! It’ll be fun, and less work besides!”

“That’s a great idea!” Natasha agreed quickly, but Iris pouted.

“No, it isn’t.” The small, darkly clad girl fell silent, squeezing her cat a little tighter than was necessary. It hissed and clawed her cheek, dropping to the ground and sprinting under one of the beds.

“Oh, Merlin!” She wailed, dropping to see if the kitten was all right. Verona helped her up, dabbing at her cheek with the hem of her tunic.

“He’ll be fine. C’mon, lets go down and get some sunshine.”

“Not sunny enough. There’s loads of clouds and it’ll rain in a few hours.”

“We better get started, then!”

“Well, I’m not coming.” Iris folded her arms, ignoring them as they trooped down the stairs. After about thirty seconds, she came clattering after them.

“Well, I’m not sitting up there alone!” She burst out, pushing roughly past them on the narrow stair and almost slipping. They all finally got out to the paddock, where Kitty quickly snapped her fingers and darted into one of the outhouses, coming back with two rather rusty pairs of shears, a hoe, and an old scythe. Winona followed her and came back with a couple of old hurdles.

“These’ll do!”

 

Kitty knew how to use the scythe when the rest of them didn’t, so she went over with that, while Winona and Lillian attacked the edges with the shears. Verona started showing Natasha how to pull ragwort. She was actually quite good at it, enthusiasm more than making up for lack of skill. After about fifteen minutes, though, Verona started to feel decidedly uncomfortable.

 

First of all, they had to try and get the animals to a side of the field they weren’t attacking, and hurdle them in. When Verona grabbed the horn of one of the goats, which was trying to sidle past her, Lillian was over like a shot and dragged it away with a contemptuous “Leave the goats to me, thank you very much.”

 

Then, when the two lambs slipped through a gap in the hurdles, Kitty picked one of them up and Verona, being the nearest person to the other one, did the same. Kitty dumped her sheep over the fence so quickly Verona was slightly worried she might have hurt it and hurried back to take the other one off her with a “Here, I’ll take that little rascal” which was not nearly as jovial as it should have been.

 

Then, when they’d actually started work, Winona had been struggling under an armful of cut weeds that was much too big, and Verona had gone to help. She’d been so frantic in ‘cheerfully’ assuring her that she was “Just fine, you just let me be!” that she managed to go half a dozen steps in the wrong direction before she doubled back to dump the load on the growing pile.

 

She thought nothing of it, though, because Natasha seemed friendly enough, if a little distant, a little nervous in her giggling. Verona figured that was just how Natasha was. And Iris, of course, just sat back and made unhelpful comments, and occasionally kicked her dogs away from her when they started drooling, which didn’t do her much good in anybodies eyes.

 

Finally, they’d done half the field and were moving the animals over. And that was when it all finally came to a head.

 

Crowfeather had come and nuzzled her hand strait off, so it’d been easy enough to shoo him through the gap they’d made. And Iris’s stallion was close to his side, so she naturally reached out and grabbed his mane, tugging him along when he baulked.

 

Iris was over in less than a dozen strides.

 

“Let go of my horse this instant, you foul little hag.”

 

Verona did. And turned around, ignoring the way the rest of them had suddenly gone still and awkward, the way Natasha’s gloved hands went to her mouth.

 

“What did you call me?” ‘Hag’ was a bad insult. A hag was a kind of evil witch, not the useful kind like Goodie Thane, but the ones that cursed people and made deals with dark forces and suchlike. They were wanton and wicked, and usually characterised as very ugly and mean spirited too.

“You heard me.” Iris folded her arms; a superior expression on her face, like she’d just caught Verona out. “I called you a hag.”

“I didn’t realise you were so overprotective of your horses.” Verona had a strange, hot feeling on the back of her neck. She wasn’t really angry, not yet, and certainly not at Iris, who wasn’t worth the trouble, but the way the others were all averting their eyes while standing facing them, weirdly embarrassed, made her feel strange.

“Who’d want a filthy swamp hag touching their beasts?”

“You what?” Ah, the swamps came into this somewhere, did they?

“You heard me! Everyone knows you are one. Everyone knows you’re always running off down to the swamplands.”

“I have nine horses to train and exercise, Iris. Some of us have to work, you know. It’s a clear run on soft, firm turf, an hour there and an hour back. What right does knowing my comings and goings give you to insult me like that?”

“You don’t just go to exercise your horses! You go in! My father’s men have seen you. And some of the farmers. Everyone knows that’s where you go to practise your evil magic.”

“What rubbish are you talking about now?” Verona could feel a weird sickness in the bottom of her stomach. They’d seen her? What if they’d seen him too? “My mother likes the herbs that grow in the swamps. I always pick some for her. I know as much about magic as you do, which is absolutely nil.”

“Then how d’you explain that green skinned demon they’ve seen you with?”

 

Verona’s insides went cold.

 

They’d seen Aaron. They knew he existed.

 

How could this be?

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She replied, but it was obvious she wasn’t telling the truth. The others were watching her now, closely, slightly fearfully.

“Yes you do. That hell-spawned frog-lizard creature, some sort of goblin-kin if he isn’t a devil. Did you summon him, then? Or does he live there? Maybe he’s the one teaching you your wicked art. How are you paying him back, then? Laying with orc-spawn, are you, you little slut?”

 

Verona didn’t consciously remember doing it. But somehow, her elbow went back, and the next thing she knew Iris was on the ground and she was yelling.

“Don’t you dare speak about him like that!”

 

… And then she realised what she’d just done.

 

She didn’t even think of trying to explain. She just saw the looks on their faces, Lillian’s an ‘I knew it!’ expression, Kitty horrified, Winona shocked out of her skin, Natasha anxious and worried, and Iris, first outraged, then a terrible gloating sneer. And she ran.

 

* * * * *

 

Verona had never tried running to the swamps before. It had always been on horseback. And she’d never quite realised how fast a good ride could be, with lots of trotting, canter on the longer flat stretches, and one good hard gallop. She’d always judged it to be about four or five miles.

 

She was now finding it closer to fifteen.

 

“I’m never putting a horse through this again.” She vowed. The weather was sweeping in off the downs now, a drenching rain. Verona was soon cold to the core. She wished she’d been sensible enough to grab a coat. But…

 

But they’d seen Aaron! Aaron who kept the swamps safe! Aaron who kept the goblins and other orc-kin away! Aaron who fought off many things much, much worse! Aaron who knew the swamps and their creatures like the scales on the back of his hands! Aaron who was good and decent and honourable! They thought he was a demon! They thought he was a monster!

 

She wanted to cry. Perhaps she did. The rain came down so hard… she was so cold… her mind lost itself in the this way and that, going every which-way, so she could only see the distant smudge of the swamps… that was the only place she could possibly be safe… she had to warn him… she couldn’t feel her fingers or her toes anymore… her face wouldn’t move either… opening her eyes again every time she blinked the raindrops away was such an effort… it would be so easy to sleep, to let the chill take over…

 

Finally, after a more than a few wrong turns and deviations, she stumbled for the thousandth time, this time terminally; sure she was going to fall.

 

Verona’s shoulder hit a tree.

 

She was there. Finally. Now she just had to…

 

She didn’t know what she had to do anymore. She stumbled from trunk to trunk, her mind a fog, her limbs cold and unresponsive, icy feet sinking into mud and bog. Vaguely, Verona perceived a large, birdlike shape perched on one of the branches in front of her. It seemed to be assessing her food value versus the likelihood of her picking up a big stick and thwacking it one.

“Aaron…” she croaked, falling face first onto the mossy path. The bird tipped its head to one side, then hopped down and, with supreme effort, rolled her over.

 

Then it took flight, heading deep into the swamps.

 

* * * * *

 

Iris had got a good smack across the backs of her hands with a cane, something she’d probably never experienced in her life. And then all five girls had been stood side-by-side and barked at by the old witch.

 

“Do you honestly all think that I wouldn’t spot an evil one if I saw them? Am I that senile? Not yet I bloody well ain’t! What on this good earth were you all thinking of? What’s it to you where the girl takes her horses? Would I have taken any of you if I thought ye were dabbling in evil things or dealing with demon kin? Hell no!”

 

And so on, and so forth. Iris had sniffled, a blooming bruise on her cheek contending with the welts rising across her hands. Lillian stared stiffly at the other wall. Kitty had looked embarrassed and like the words ‘I feel absolutely terrible about the whole thing’ were about to come out of her mouth. Winona had just stared at the floor and fiddled with the hem of her dress. Natasha had cried a bit, and bitten her lip red and swollen, and kept muttering things like “Do you think Verona’s alright?” and “Will she come back?”

 

Then there was a sudden silence. It took the girls a moment to realise that it was because Goodie Thane had finally shut up.

 

The silence, already edged with hammering rain and a few dry sniffs, was filled with the dull sound of galloping hooves.

 

Without a word, Goodie Thane strode to the front door and flung it open.

 

A horse was coming across the open downs. It was galloping flat out, it’s rider not as low over the withers as he should have been, strangely bulky under a heavy cloak. The horse was more suited to pulling a plough than running the turf, as it was known, but it was making good going, soup plate feet moving in perfect rhythm and not…

 

…And not damaging the turf. Which was impossible. Horses hooves cut it to pieces if you weren’t very careful.

 

Goodie Thane pulled herself upright as the horse, dark chestnut streaked with woad, a flaxen mane plaited with beads and coloured threads, bare backed apart from a thick fur pad under the rider, a rope hung with feathers around it’s nose as the only control, skidded to a halt. Her voice was firm, unyielding, but tinged with worry.

 

“You’re not allowed outside of the swamps. It’s the law. You’re only allowed out if the king say so, or if…”

“Or if it’s an emergency.” He finished, the strangely clean-cut and civilised voice emerging from inside of the hood hung with fine, dirty blond hair like swamp weed. Swinging one leg over his horse’s back, he dropped smoothly to the ground, the bundle he’d held in front of him on the long gallop falling into his arms. A fold of blanket fell away.

 

It was Verona.

 

There were a few gasps from the girls, and Natasha tried to dart forward.

“My gods! Is she ok? Will she be alright?”

Goodie Thane held her back, noticing the girls again as if for the first time.

“All of you! Out! Now! I’ve got a sick lass to tend to! Get out!”

They were scrambling up the stairwell before she’d even finished, as the tall stranger carrying Verona swept into the house. All of them had seen his hands. Hands that were pale skinned apart from the patches of green scales on the backs, palms, and under the fingertips, which were tipped with inch long white claws.

 

They did, however, fling themselves on their stomachs on the landing, so they could peer between the banisters as the scaled man laid Verona down in front of the fire, Goodie Thane hurrying behind him. He pulled back his hood to see better, and not one of them could avoid the thought that he could actually have been quite handsome… large, stormy grey eyes with thick white lashes, long blond hair, cheekbones you could sharpen knives on and elfin, pointed ears. But small green scales crept over his cheeks and creased forehead, and the soft mouth with emerald tinged lips half parted in anxiety was too obviously full of needle sharp teeth. His clothes were simple but effective, as good as those of any man around the village, simply made from strange materials. But there was a fine sword and a bone handled knife on his belt, and a quiver and bow strapped across his back. He was both beautiful and deadly, everything they had been told a devil was.

“I’m not sure I want you in here…” She started. His head jerked up.

“Do you want her to die?”

“Why’d you bring her here?”

“I brought her here because I thought you could cure her!” he didn’t move from Verona’s side. Goodie Thane stared at the girl, completely still, her lips and eyelids almost blue with cold.

“Maybe it’d be better to let the lass go.” The witch started, cautiously, but darkly. The stranger looked up again, the skin around his eyes tightening.

“You’re going to let her die?” His voice held the impression that he was trying to understand, but couldn’t quite make it.

“Before I even start, I want to know what you’ve been doing to her.”

“Doing to her?”

“Yes, ranger. What have you done to her, all these times she’s been coming visiting you in the swamps? You ought to know what I mean.”

 

Verona was suddenly forgotten as he rose to his feet. The ranger was not quite six feet, but close enough. His smoky eyes were suddenly dark.

“What are you suggesting?”

“What do you think?”

“How dare you!” his pale hands clenched into fists. “Suggesting I would… she’s a child! Barely more than seventeen! I would never… how could you ever think…”

“Then why’s she been visiting you?” Goodie Thane held her ground. The man’s eyes narrowed.

“She’s the one! Can’t you see it? I know it, even if you don’t! How could I do anything less than teach her everything I know?”

“Your time has not passed.”

“If she is here, then it has.”

“She’s not the one, I’m telling you right here and now! She’s one of my girls now! And if I save her, that’s the way it’s going to stay!”

“And what made you think you had a right to get involved in this, you old crone?”

Verona groaned, shifting. The ranger glanced down, suddenly anxious, almost stooping down to see to her but barely resisting the urge. Goodie Thane nodded.

“If you want me to save her life, you’ll leave now, and you’ll never lay eyes on her again, you understand? That’s the only way it’s going to be.”

“You can’t…”

“I can and I am. That’s the only way.” She repeated.

He stared at Verona for a very long time. She mumbled something, her face contorted with fever dreams. Then his eyes closed.

 

Then he left.

 

The girls heard him call the horse that he’d left free, vault onto it’s back and gallop away again. Goodie Thane was down beside Verona the moment the hoof beats started.

“Right.” She called, looking strait at them. “You lot better get down here. You’re going to help me undo some of the damage you done.”

 

* * * * *

 

It was a long, long night.

 

Because she was the only one who didn’t go pink with embarrassment when it was mentioned, Natasha was put to stripping off Verona’s sopping wet clothes. Iris scuttled upstairs for dry clothes and warm blankets. Kitty tended the fire while Winona was sent for water and Lillian ran back and forth, collecting the different herbs Goodie Thane called for as she dragged the cauldron over to the fire. Verona was roughly towelled dry, and, when the cauldron had boiled, bathed in hot water, then dried off again, her hair spread out over a blanket so it’d dry as quickly as possible. Then she was dressed in more layers than any person should conceivably be able to wear and wrapped in blankets. And then Goodie Thane brewed up some steaming concoction and managed to rouse the girl long enough to force it down her throat.

 

Finally, the old witch sat back.

“Nothing we can do now but wait and see.”

 

There was an empty bed in the room that night, and more than a few bitter feelings, but they were all too tired to say anything.

 

* * * * *

 

The morning rose sharp and clear after the rain. Natasha was up with the sun, leaving the rest of them sleeping, to tip toe downstairs. Her black kitten was curled up on Goodie Thane’s lap, but the old witch was fast asleep in her rocking chair. Verona stirred as she sat down at her side.

 

“Natasha?”

“It’s me. How are you feeling?”

“Tired. And woozy. But mostly tired.” Verona spoke with her eyes only a little open, and without moving her head. “Where am I?”

“Back at the cottage, in front of the fire.” There was a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead. Natasha dabbed it off with the hem of her skirt. First sign of a fever.

“Where’s Aaron?”

“Is that his name?”

“What? What happened?”

“You went running off… you went to the swamp.” Natasha tried to keep the emotion out of her voice, but Verona interrupted her in her weak little voice.

“You don’t understand. He’s not like you think. He’s nice. He keeps the orcs and goblins from invading the village, he looks after the swamps, he taught me all about the different animals and plants and how to know what a horse is telling you…” Her voice wavered in and out of strength. “And I don’t care what you think, I’m not…”

“It’s okay, Verona. I believe you. I saw him and I don’t think he’s evil. I don’t care what Goodie Thane or Iris say, I think he’s nice and I’ve never been wrong about a person yet.”

“Aaron’s the best, nicest person ever.” Was her indistinct reply.

“You just concentrate on getting well, Verona. I’ll look after you, don’t worry. And remember, I believe you, and so does everyone else, I think. Nobody likes Iris, anyway, she was just trying to cause trouble.”

Verona didn’t reply, having drifted back into sleep. Natasha leant over to stir the fire, but dropped the poker when someone behind her croaked:

“I’d watch yourself, girl.”

She turned around quickly. Nobody had moved. Verona was unconscious. Goodie Thane was still fast asleep, in the same position with the cat undisturbed on her lap. Or was she…?

 

The old woman’s mouth moved again, although her eyes hadn’t opened and she hadn’t stirred.

“That Verona is a lightning rod for trouble, especially if she’s got herself mixed up with Aaron Escioné. Don’t let her drag you along, or terrible things will happen, you mark my words. D’you here me, Natasha Baker?”

“Yes ma’am.” She replied.

“Good. Now go wake the others.”

 

* * * * *

 

Natasha didn’t have to wake the girls. They were already awake by the time she got there.

“Did you see his claws?”

“His claws? Did you see his eyes?”

“They were just grey eyes.”

“With blonde lashes.” Someone giggled. Natasha pressed her ear against the door.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Winona, he’s a demon.

“So? He was cute! I’m not surprised Verona got friendly with him…”

“He wasn’t a demon, stupid, demons aren’t green and white, they’re all red and purple and black. Maybe he’s some kind of swamp spirit…”

“He was kind of handsome, I guess…”

“Nice cheekbones.”

“Mmm…”

“I still think he’s some kind of crossbreed. Orc blood, no doubt. And you lot are all idiots, going on about some monster just because he happens to be a bit easy on your eyes! You’re all going to turn out whores just like Verona.”

“She’s got a point.”

“We shouldn’t be talking like this, really. I bet he is a demon. I bet Verona sold her soul for power or something.”

“Her soul? More like her body.”

“What a slut…”

 

Natasha shoved the door open with a bang. They all froze, and, as one, blushed and hung their heads. She planted her feet, hands on hips, and just watched them for a long moment.

“I’m not going to tell you you’re all wrong, or that I’m ashamed of the way you’re all behaving, or that you’re the stupidest bunch of little girls I’ve ever seen, because that should be obvious. All I’m going to say is that I’m on Verona’s side and I’m not going to talk to any one of you until you apologise to her. Now get out of bed and get downstairs; Goody Thane wants to see you.”

“And who,” Iris’s voice would have frozen water. “Gave you the right to talk to us like that?”

“The fact that unlike you, Iris, I’m a decent person.” Turning on her heel, Natasha paused by the doorway, adding. “Although I’m sure no one’ll care if you want to stay up here and get another whack from Goody.”

 

From the small snicker she heard as she started down the stairs again, Natasha was pretty sure she had at least one supporter.

 

“About time! I want you all up with the dawn from now on!” Goody Thane snapped, putting down a saucer of milk for Natasha’s cat. “I don’t care how late you were up the night before! Lillian! What herbs should be harvested with the dew still on them?”

“Wha-” She blinked, a little stunned by the question, but quickly added. “Short term invigorators like sorrel, nasturtium leaves-”

“Well? What are you waiting for? There’s a truckle on the doorstep and sickle on the back of the door! Get out there! Kitty!” Goody barked as Lillian lunged for the door like there was something snapping at her heels. “One of Farmer Thatcher’s ewes is having a hard time of twins, get your shawl and bag and get down there! Winona!”

“Yes, Goody!”

“Less chirpy at this time in the morning, girl! What’s the main cause of hot and swollen udders in suckling cows?”

“Persistent deep infection?”

“Well, is it or isn’t it? Never mind, just run along to Farmer Westgate’s and sort his prize heifer out! Iris!”

“What?”

“Don’t you ‘What’ me like that, young lady! Firstly, you can draw a bucket of water out the well and swill out the privy! Then you can go get another one and scrub the floor in here! And then you can get another and wash the windows! Well, what are you waiting for? Jump to it!”

“If my father-” she muttered rebelliously, but Goody Thane swelled with anger.

“Your father ain’t here and it’s his fault he never made you do a decent days work in your life! Now quit complaining and do it! Natasha!”

“Yes, Goody?”

“You tend Verona! She’s got a fever coming on! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go deliver a bottle of mint and fennel julep to Farmer Turner because he’s a stubborn son of a donkey who wouldn’t come up here ‘til he got bedridden with the ‘flu!” Grabbing her shawl off the coat rack, Goody Thane stormed towards the door, flung it open, and then paused.

“Oh, and one other thing!” She barked, loud enough even for Winona, Lillian and Kitty outside to hear. “You mention one little thing about Verona being sick or that cursed ranger from the swamps to anyone and you’ll feel much worse than the back of my hand, I promise you! Now get to work!”

 

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving Verona, Iris and Natasha alone in the kitchen. Iris waited several seconds breathlessly before muttering:

“Miserable old hag.”

“Shut up, Iris.” Verona mumbled, shifting in her blankets. Natasha pretended to be scratching her cheek to hide her smile. Iris glared at the invalid girl, then stormed out the door.

 

“Is that you awake, then, Verona?” Settling down by her side, Natasha mopped the girl’s brow again. She opened her eyes hazily.

“I… so dizzy…”

“You’ve got a bit of a fever, that’s all. It’ll pass in a couple of days.” She plucked at one of Verona’s moist eyelids gently. “Gosh, your eyes look terrible. All dark and bloodshot…”

“…So many colours…” Verona mumbled, twisting in the mess of blankets. She’d been tossing and turning all night. Natasha sighed, mopping off her brow again.

“Not much I can do except keep you warm and give you lots to drink. Fever’s sort themselves out eventually.”

“… Or they kill you…”

“I’m not going to let you die, silly. You’re not that sick.” Her voice didn’t let on, but in her heart, Natasha wasn’t sure. Verona clung to her hand weakly when she took it to check her pulse.

“’S Tuesday, right?”

“Well done! Yes, it’s Tuesday.”

“On Thursday…”

“Our day off? You might be better by then.”

“If I’m not…”

“I’ll stay with you, don’t worry.”

“… No…”

“You don’t want me to stay with you?” Natasha was just chatting, trying to keep Verona occupied while she checked her over.

“… Please… With my shilling… those iced buns that are fivepence a baker’s dozen… a bag of flour, pint of cream… a bit of cheese and a… a pennyworth of that toffee Goody Fletcher makes and… and some ribbons or something… he can’t get those in the swamp…”

“For… for Aaron?” Natasha blinked. Of course… she might not have spent a lot of time in the Baker’s shop, since she’d had no less than eleven younger brothers and sisters to take care of, but she could remember every Thursday since… well, since ever… Verona coming down with the horse and popping in for… a baker’s dozen of iced buns and a bag of flour…

“You bring him things, don’t you?”

“… gotta look after him…”

“I’m sure he can look after himself…”

“But he gets so lonely… and he can’t get cream or bread or… and he does miss them so…”

“And the ribbons?”

“… He likes pretty things…”

“And Crowfeather knows the way?”

“… of course…‘s easy…”

“Alright, then.” Natasha took a deep breath, a little scared. “I’m sure you’ll be better, but if you’re not, then I’ll go, okay? And that way nobody’s breaking any rules.” She added, a little bit apprehensively.

“… thank you…”

 

After a few moments, when Verona didn’t speak again, Natasha dabbed cool water across her forehead and took her pulse, desperately hoping the girl would be better by Thursday.

 

* * * * *