Children of the Fountain Read online

  Mr Hardy cast Matthias a quick glance before saying, “Matthias is Michael’s son.”

  Mr Cook’s eyes opened wide immediately, “A good man and a good friend. You were at the abbey?”

  “Yes, sir.” Matthias noticed the curiosity on Harry’s face.

  “Alonso happened to have been in the area at the time,” said Mr Hardy.

  Mr Cook smiled, “Alonso is still searching for a special child?”

  “You know Alonso. He is away following up some information we had on the episode. We believe it was Balthazar.”

  Mr Cook looked grave, “I thought he was in hiding?”

  “We thought so too,” said Mr Hardy, and there was a brief silence. “Come, let us get you refreshed. We have much to discuss and these boys need to get your horses to the stables and then I’m sure they have some work to do.” The look Mr Hardy shot them implied that if they didn’t he would find some for them. Both boys took their leave and went over to the horses.

  “He knew my father. Who do you think he is? Surely not a teacher.”

  Harry started to gather the reins of the three nearest beasts; all fine stallions. “Don’t know. But four soldiers? He must be pretty important.”

  “I wonder what he meant about a special child.” Matthias, less confidently, pulled at the reins of the remaining pair. They didn’t look like they wanted to move and the two horses started to inspect the floor with interest.

  “Alonso?” said Harry, “They say he’s looking for a special child or is it a cursed child? I can never remember; I think Mr Hardy humours him.”

  “Humours him?” Matthias tugged again at the reins and the horses reluctantly fell into line behind Harry and the others.

  Harry turned and spoke over his shoulder. “Alonso is very superstitious. All mystics are. Don’t you know much about them?”

  It occurred to Matthias that he hadn’t really given much consideration to the strange Spaniard who had found him that night near the abbey. “No,” he said, “I’ve never met one of his kind before.”

  They walked on around the back of the castle to the stable entrance. Harry looked around, but the yard was empty.

  “They come from the highest mountains. Life is hard and cruel up there but the mystics have learnt to adapt. They’re big, strong and fierce fighters. But they can also see things we can’t even begin to understand.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Nobody really knows. Some say the future. Others say they get visions. I asked him when he found me and he told me something I’m never to repeat.”

  “What?”

  Harry snorted, “I can’t say. But what he told me sent fear all the way to my stomach. He said I could never tell anyone. But I’ll tell you this. He knows things. Things we don’t.”

  He looked at Harry. The boy’s face was deadpan. There was no hint of a smile or trace of sarcasm. “You’re being funny.”

  “Not at all,” said Harry. “You should learn to take me seriously when you need to.”

  The stable master, a stern looking man who surveyed them with suspicion, approached to take the horses before disappearing into the colossal stables.

  Matthias turned and started to walk back. “I never know when that is, Harry. Come on, we’ll be late.” Both boys returned to their room and changed into their evening clothes for dinner. As they made their way there they ran into Sophie. She was carrying a large basket and seemed to be struggling.

  “Let me help you,” said Harry.

  She gratefully shared the burden with him and offered her thanks. “Such a gentleman,” she said. Matthias took the other handle of the large basket.

  “Where have you been?” he asked.

  Sophie started to adjust her dress and took a handkerchief out of a pocket, “Just to the forest, picking specimens.”

  Harry turned to Matthias with a questioning look. “Plants?”

  “Why yes!” said Sophie. “I found some particularly good examples of long-leafed blackroot bulbs.”

  The pair followed the girl to her chamber with the basket. “I’m guessing these bulbs aren’t particularly good for you?”

  “Why, Matthias,” she said, “the bulbs are harmless. True they are not edible but they will not kill you.”

  They arrived and two boys stopped to stare at the room. It which was much like their own except it was full of plants, jars, potions and pots. There was barely space for a bed but they found it and heaved the basket on top. She didn’t share her quarters it seemed, though this was not surprising. Matthias guessed there would most likely be none willing to sleep and live in her room. She tended to distrust people, and they tended to offer the same sentiment back.

  Matthias peered inside the basket and sure enough spotted lots of brown bulbs, each one as big as an apple, amongst other plants and leaves. He picked one up and smelt it but it was odourless. Harry too started to look inside and produced a handful of bright red grass.

  “If it’s not poisonous then why do you want it?”

  “The bulbs aren’t poisonous,” said Sophie, “but if you boil them and then distil their juices, add a few other herbs, mix with a little yeast and vinegar then you have something that, for all intents and purposes, looks and tastes like mustard.”

  Matthias looked at Sophie with a barely concealed smile. “I’m guessing it’s not mustard though.” Sophie shook her head softly.

  “What does it do?” said Harry.

  Sophie played absentmindedly with a little blue plant that sat on her desk. “It makes your lungs bleed until you drown.”

  Matthias felt his jaw slowly fall and he put the bulb back in the basket. He turned to Harry who was looking equally appalled.

  They chatted for a while; Sophie explaining about some of the other plants she had gathered and even letting them look at her collection of poisons kept under lock and key in a trunk under her bed.

  Afterward, they made their way to the dinner hall in silence. Both Harry and Matthias were quietly contemplating the images in their heads that Sophie had inadvertently put there. Truth be told, Matthias found it all quite creepy. He had yet to really consider the thought that one day he may be ordered to kill someone or indeed take it upon himself to do so.

  Meals on Sunday were a formal affair and took place in the dinner hall; a great room in the very centre of the castle. Shields, armour and various trophies of battles adorned the immense walls and large rectangular tables seated the students. The various tutors sat on their own up at the front atop a plinth with two great chairs at the back of them – Harry had explained these were for guests of honour or the duke.

  The duke himself had yet to set foot in the castle. Matthias had asked his uncle many questions about him but the old monk seemed reluctant to talk about his father. In the end he had gathered as much information as he could from other students and even snippets from Mr Hardy. Matthias learnt that his grandfather rarely visited and spent most of his time in London. The castle was set aside purely as a training facility and not many even knew of its existence. The duke was now an old man but he was still wise and sharp and he was never seen without his personal guard.

  After dinner he decided he was going to ask Mr Hardy if he had news of the duke’s next visit. He was desperate to meet his grandfather, although he had told nobody else yet of this secret under strict instructions from the master himself.

  As they ate Sophie and Harry picked up the conversation about the new arrival Mr Cook. Matthias listened but watched across the room as Mr Butler and then Mr Hardy chatted with him. Even toughened old O’Grady seemed to be a friend but the beautiful lady on the end of the table dressed in fine evening clothes was unknown to Matthias. A great blond wig over a foot high sat atop her soft and gentle face and he felt a tingle through his chest as her big dark brown eyes momentarily met his. She too seemed familiar with Mr Cook and smiled at his every word. Occasionally, with a fork, she would pick a little at her food and cast her eyes over the flame haired gentleman.r />
  “Her, I don’t know,” said Matthias. “Another new arrival?”

  “That’s Lady Taylor,” said Harry, with an ever so slight sigh. “She teaches etiquette and literature but doesn’t live in the castle.”

  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.

  Chapter 10

  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 h
ave 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.