Mary-Cade Mandus - Skin Deep

Toddy scampered down the path. Every few minutes the flitting of a butterfly, the forging of a squirrel, or the spring of a startled deer would divert his attention and he'd tear off into the trees. Filch was used to the child's spontaneous flights, so paid little heed to his disappearances. He'd soon reappear and as long as he was anywhere nearby Amadeus would not be putting in an unexpected appearance, so there was no need to be ill at ease.

On the contrary, Filch was very happy. He had managed to pilfer three more buttons from Crispin's jacket during the night. He was trying very hard to pace the thefts for it wouldn’t do to get caught [he never spared a thought for the coming day when the invalid would be back on his feet and the thefts could no longer be concealed]. If greed led to exposure he’d be forced to return the bounty already acquired. All the same, he couldn't resist shaking his pant leg and the resulting melodic jingle in his pocket set him to chortling and generated an extra bounce to his step.

While Mistress might regard Crispin's arrival with a wary heart, Flich was quite glad the human had turned up and, not only because of the most obvious reason – the glorious buttons. Now and then, he found himself homesick for the old life of the gypsy camp. He missed the gaily-decorated wagons, the bustle and familiarity of routine and, the musical fireworks that burst forth from the violins around the fire each evening. But most of all he yearned to hear the voices, the potpourri of rich timbres that filled the air, morning and night. Those wonderful voices, yong and old, feminine and masculine, satisfied and discontented, that swelled in anger and joy; but softened in grief and love.

For years there had been no other human voice in the Wilderness save Mistress,’ and Filch’s ears had hungered for a variance just as much as his fingers had itched for shiny baubles. With Crispin’s coming, both cravings had been appeased. Now, as he hopped along toward the cottage he practiced some of the new words he’d picked up from Crispin, relishing the sensation as his lips molded them and his tongue pushed them out. In the life before the Shifting he’d been capable, aided by a split tongue, of only mimicking – the magic birds had mocked his efforts unmercifully - but now he could put together sentences and converse quite fluently. Of course, he had to be ever mindful where Crispin was concerned. The soldier plied him with thousands of questions but he made sure to give only the most rudimentary answers, just as Mistress had instructed.

Filch’s sharp eye caught the quiver in a clump of witch’s weed and sidestepped just in time to avoid being pounced upon as Toddy leapt from his hiding place gnashing his teeth and growling ferociously. Well used to the game, Filch let out a terrified squawk and fell to the ground as though in a dead faint. Toddy dropped to his knees beside him, his body doubled over with laughter. Filch played possum for a few more minutes then lunged up and made as if to grab the child. Toddy sprang up and raced a short ways down the path then veered back toward Filch. Teeth snapping, he darted in, pretending to nip at Filch’s leg, then raced off again in the opposite direction only to turn and repeat the attack. This continued for a couple more runs before he collapsed, panting and giggling, beside his ‘prey.’ Filch chirped merrily and patted the child's sweaty head. Toddy rolled onto his back then, like a flash, was up and off again having heard or scented something that apparently needed immediate investigating. Filch stood up and, shaking off the dust, continued on toward the cottage.

From his window Crispin watched the high-spirited antics with a mix of amusement and remorse and pounded his crutch against the sill in frustration. It was going on three weeks and he was still confined to his room. Adding to the stress - his conscience. It was tormenting him with thoughts of what might be occurring in Candlewicket because of what he felt was his dereliction to duty. The sill received another whack from the crutch and this time the vibration sent a mug sitting there toppling to the floor. The resulting crash sobered Crispin and he leaned over as far as his wounds would allow and was picking up the shards within reach when Mutch arrived at the door. The hunter's expression was anxious and sheepishly Crispin apologized for causing any alarm. Comprehension softened the large man's features and he hurried forward. Gently grasping Crispin's shoulders, he pressed him back into the chair then knelt to finish gathering the shattered pottery. After a moment Mutch's head raised and their eyes met. Crispin was struck by the empathy that glowed there and not for the first time marveled at the ease and accuracy with which the hunter seemed to assess his state of mind. Crispin smiled back in acknowledgement; an easy friendship had been forged between them but he remembered back to their first encounter which had been anything but amicable.

Elena had been changing the dressing on his thigh. A small portion of the cloth had become saturated with blood and fluid, causing it to adhere to the incision. Having no luck in loosening the bandage with water she had been forced to tug it free. Although she had been extremely gentle the pain had been sharp enough that he had thrust out his arm in reflex clipping her upon the side of the head. Caught off-guard she had uttered a cry and fallen heavily to the floor. Stunned, she was still lying there when a ferocious figure had burst into the room. It thrust itself between Elena and the bed. The growl issuing from its throat had caused his hair to rise. It was some moments before he was able to discern that the ominous shape was a man - a very large one.

Elena had risen and placed a restraining hand upon her protector’s tautly muscled arm. In soothing tones she had reassured him of her well being; that Crispin had meant her no harm. Once he’d been convinced, she had introduced him as Mutch, her huntsman and guardian. The hunter was over six feet tall with a deep chest, tapered waist, and lean hips. Although powerfully built, there was no sign of heaviness or clumsiness as might be expected with such a man his size. His features were long, the cheeks flat and lean, with a broad nose and generous mouth that was offset by a roughly tufted blue-gray beard. Tousled hair of the same tint and texture covered his head and strong neck and fell in wiry strands over intelligent dark brown eyes which studied him, no longer with animosity, but with caution. The gaze, even while bold and frank, was also reserved and he, strangely enough, had found himself desirous of being found worthy of the man’s respect. As though coming to a decision Mutch’s taciturn features and defensive stance had relaxed and he’d nodded and held out a hand, signaling acceptance. He had relaxed also, but returned the smile and handshake gingerly for it had not escaped his notice that the hunter remained firmly planted between himself and Elena. In that unwavering act he had gotten the measure of the man. Mutch would be the staunchest of allies but his first loyalty was and always would be to Elena and he would prove a deadly adversary should he sense that he presented any threat to her.

Mutch was rising to his feet when he glanced out the window. Crispin saw his shoulders tense and eyes narrow. Intrigued, Crispin scooted forward and peered over the sill but spied only Filch, hunkered down in the yard intently studying something in the grass.

What happened next Crispin was at a loss to say, but suddenly Filch was lying sprawled in the dirt and the teenage boy Amadeus was straddling the little man’s back. High- pitched screeches filled the air as Filch, realizing who had him, desperately tried to extricate himself. Unsure whether it was just another game or something more serious, Crispin turned to Mutch but the hunter had gone. Looking back out the window Crispin expected to see him striding onto the scene, but surprisingly he’d yet to make an appearance.

Crispin was filled with anger at what was going on below; it was certainly no innocuous game. Amadeus was baiting Filch by pretending to offer him a chance at escape. Just as the terrified man would attempt to scramble away the boy would laugh mockingly and drag him back. Braced upon his cane Crispin got awkwardly to his feet and clutched the sill, but any admonishment he had been preparing to shout was cut short by the appearance of a thickset figure striding purposefully toward the tussling pair - a woman, most probably the never-seen Hyacinth. Crispin was shocked when she drew back a leg and delivered a vicious kick to Amadeus' side. But the boy sensed the blow coming and leapt deftly out of the way.

However, he wasn't to be deterred and as the woman helped the hapless Filch to his feet, Amadeus made a grab for the little man's coattail. Without turning around the woman’s leg lashed out again and this time her foot found its mark, landing solidly on Amadeus’ right shin. The audible crack caused Crispin to cringe in sympathy. Yelping in surprise and pain the boy leapt into the brush and disappeared.

At that moment Mutch strolled into view. Apparently he'd been content with having the woman intercede on Filch's behalf for he gave her a friendly clap on a beefy shoulder and she grinned smugly, displaying an array of square, broad teeth. Grabbing each an arm they led a frazzled Filch away. Crispin watched until they disappeared around the corner of the cottage then sank glumly down onto the chair. He despised being shackled by his wounded leg. As a soldier he was used to being functional and capable. The fact that he‘d had to sit helplessly by while Filch was being cruelly bullied rankled deeply. He sighed, watching dispassionately as his breath expelled. It hung in the air then slowly faded. His lips twisted; Elena had been right, although it was bone-brittling cold, it didn't appear to bother him as much as it had.

The lumps in the mattress seemed to sprout beneath him like mushrooms and the pillow was about as comfortable as a sack of potatoes. After a few more minutes of tossing and turning Crispin finally gave up on the likelihood of getting any sleep. Evidently the sun wasn't the only thing that avoided this part of the kingdom; it seemed that the Sandman had also struck it from his list.

He reached for his crutch and the feel of the bumpy wood drew a smile. It was plain and rough, just a large stick, really, but it was the perfect height and the forked support fit comfortably in the pit of his arm. It had been a gift from Mutch. The hunter had appeared one morning just when he'd been feeling particularly dejected and brooding over his lack of mobility. With uncharacteristic shyness Mutch had carefully placed the homely piece of wood upon the bed and stepped back, his eyes anxiously scanning Crispin's face. Moved by the hunter's unexpected thoughtfulness and peculiar nervousness he’d thanked him profusely and praised the crutch, saying he must try it out immediately. He'd never forget the huge smile that had split Mutch's rugged features and how, beaming like a child, he'd leapt forward to help him to his feet so he could give it a try.

Smiling at the memory, Crispin pulled on his sheepskin coat and boots and made for the window. The darkness was absolute but his feet, having since learned the route through repetition, confidently navigated their way. He was heartened; his step was much stronger, no longer an elderly shuffle. Arriving at the window he located the chair and sat down. As always there was nothing to see save here and there, a few watery silver threads of moonlight that had managed to pierce the canopy.

As he stared blindly into the blackness beyond the window his thoughts turned once again to the riddle of the little troupe. One of the myriad oddities was that, except for Elena and Filch, the others appeared to be mutes. It was true he'd yet to meet Hyacinth in person but her altercation with Amadeus had been conducted in silence - no raised voices; only the boy's grunts of pain and Filch's cries of panic and fear. And, try as he might he couldn't recall ever having heard the babble of voices either within the cottage or outside and his meals were always delivered in silence. The latter he'd chalked up to adolescent rudeness on Amadeus' part but had since decided otherwise. Even the companionable Mutch had never uttered a word, using facile expressions and body language to impart his meaning. Crispin had considered that it might be part of the witch's curse; payback for those who had aided Elena, but had rejected that theory because it gave no explanation as to why Filch didn't suffer from the same affliction.

A feeling subtly edged into his musings, he was suddenly aware of gooseflesh rising upon his arms and the hair standing at attention upon his neck. He wasn't alone.

So as not to alert the visitor that he was aware of their presence, he inhaled furtively. Over the course of his stay the hours spent in the dark had bolstered his sense of smell. Intermingled with the pungent odor of musty earth from outside was a rich fragrance, slightly sweet and extremely pleasing. His eyes widened in astonishment. Whoever lingered in the gloom behind his chair was a stranger.

Brusquely he inquired who was there. No answer, but his ears detected a slight shifting as though a step was being initiated. His heart thumped uncomfortably as the delectable scent intensified. Startled, he recoiled as something soft and spidery tickled the rim of his ear, then his cheek. His head thumped against the chair's back in astonishment when something warm and pliant pressed lightly against his lips.