The Forgotten Mistress: Tales of Misbelief II Read online

I noticed that both men and the girl were staring at me. Though their faces were clean, they were dressed in homespun wool that had seen more than a few washings. I realized I was wearing my sky blue gown, and the little girl was looking, in what appeared to be wonder, at my hair.

  Cooper noticed as well and appeared at a loss before he lifted his chin my way. “This is Elena.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I added, with a smile for the girl.

  Patrick, the toothless old man, chuckled. “Sorry to stare, dear. We’ve just never seen Cooper with a woman before. Made us wonder if the world might be ending.”

  Cooper flushed in embarrassment. “I’ve got your leather,” he growled, changing the topic. “It’s in the top crate.”

  Old Patrick’s head bobbled as he nodded. “Come along to the shop, and I’ll get your money.”

  We followed him to a faded cobbler’s shop. Once there, Cooper opened the crate and showed Patrick the contents.

  “Four silver pennies,” Cooper said. “Three I paid for the leather and one for the transport.”

  Patrick was satisfied and counted four coins into Cooper’s hands.

  Lifting the accounts journal, I was about to record the transaction. When I looked at the pages, Cooper’s messy scrawl could hardly be called accounts. Nothing was organized into proper columns, and I couldn’t see rhyme or reason in almost anything he’d written down.

  I decided to wait before making any additions.

  “I’ve got a crate of wool to sell,” Cooper put in, “and I’m hoping to pick up some apples to sell in Enêmûsk.”

  The younger man with Patrick—possibly, his son—nodded. “Abigail’s trees produced well this year. She’s got some to sell.”

  And so, I followed Cooper around the village—becoming the focus of much staring—as he sold the wool and paid for three barrels of apples.

  “I’ll send my men up for the apples in the morning,” he told a plump woman named Abigail who lived on the outskirts with a small orchard.

  “My thanks, Cooper,” she called us as we left.

  With that, he and I walked back toward the river.

  “These people are fond of you,” I said. “You do them a good service.”

  He grunted in a non-committal fashion. “Did you write down the numbers?”

  “Not yet. Your book is such a mess that I didn’t know where.”

  He didn’t argue, and once we were back on the barge, he set about arranging supper while I laid the journal before me and started with a blank page. With my neat handwriting, I began anew in making columns for sales, purchases, and delivery fees—organized by item and amount—and only then entered the evening’s transactions.

  I noticed the wind had picked up a bit and dark clouds were rolling in, but I didn’t think much of it.

  When Cooper returned with plate of dried fish, flat bread, and some purple grapes, he crouched to see what I was doing.

  I moved the journal closer to him.

  “This is how you want to keep accounts,” I said. “Then you’ll be able to keep track of your profits or losses… on the whole and by item or service.”

  First squinting at the journal, his eyes then widened as he asked, “You wrote that with a piece of charcoal? That looks like something from a high paid scribe.”

  No one had ever commented on my handwriting.

  “You didn’t have to do that for me,” he added.

  “Oh, I love to keep accounts,” I admitted. “Truly, I could do this every day.”

  His straightened up and looked at me once again as if I’d said something important. “Could you? Could you do that every day?”

  His intensity alarmed me, and I wasn’t sure what he was asking. “Of course. I’ve kept the manor accounts for years.”

  Somehow, that seemed the wrong thing to say, and his expression flattened as he looked away. “You’d better eat.”

  ·····

  I fell asleep in surprising comfort that night. Cooper had made me a small tent at the back of the barge, in which he laid out a bedroll. After telling me to lie down, he covered me with two blankets as if I were a child, but I let him. As I closed my eyes, I told myself not to take advantage of his kindness. It was just so rare to have someone looking after me that I couldn’t help enjoying it.

  The day had been long, and I don’t remember anything else until I was awakened by the sound of heavy rain beating on the tent’s canvas. I had no idea what time it might be, but I guessed it was deep in the middle of the night, and voices carried over the pounding rain.

  “Quick! Tie down that side.”

  I crawled from the makeshift tent, holding onto one blanket to shield me from the rain, and stood up to look over the top of the cargo. Dim moonlight through the clouds barely showed Cooper and his two men struggling to set up another canvas tent on the barge’s front end. They had one side tied off and were working on the other.

  From the size of the small shelter, only two of them would fit inside. Cooper ushered his men in out of the storm, and I wondered what he would do for himself. While watching, I’d let the blanket slip back a bit, and the front of my hair was soaked before Cooper turned and saw me.

  “Elena!” he called, “Get under cover.”

  “What about you?” I called back.

  He shook his head and pointed at my shelter. Did he plan on remaining outside in the rain?

  “Come here!” I called.

  The torrent began pounding so hard that I had difficulty seeing him, and I drew the blanket forward to cover my head. An instant later, a strong hand gripped my arm, and I was pulled down into the cover of the tent.

  “You’ll catch your death,” Cooper said as he crouched beside me.

  “So will you.” Except for my hair, I wasn’t wet, but my teeth were chattering from the cold; weather changed quickly in Droevinka. “Don’t you have another canvas?”

  Water dripped from his close-shaven head. “No, only the two. We’ve never needed more.”

  I scooted back as far as I could into the tent. “Then you’ll have to share mine.”

  Crouched there, he froze at the invitation, and I thought he was going to refuse.

  “For goodness sake, Cooper! You can’t sleep out in a storm.”

  With his jaw set tightly, he crawled in, though his shirt was already soaked through.

  He couldn’t spend the rest of the night like that.

  “This blanket is still dry,” I said, lifting the one I’d left in the tent. “Take off your shirt.”

  The suggestion appeared to shock him. “No.”

  I couldn’t help rolling my eyes, as I’d had no idea he was such a prude. “My father raised me from an infant. I swear I won’t faint at the sight of a man without his shirt.”

  For some reason, I mentioned my father, and not my years with Stefan.

  Perhaps Cooper realized how ridiculous he sounded because he finally unbuttoned his shirt, pulled it off, and let me cover him with the dry blanket. I could see his relief at the sudden warmth.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “I wasn’t out there long. My hair took the worst of it.”

  He startled me by attempting to dry my hair with the corner of his blanket. After that, there was little we could do besides lie down and try to share the bedroll. It struck me as odd that he appeared far more uncomfortable with the situation than I was. Shifting his body, he put part of the blanket over me.

  “You warm enough?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Closing my eyes, I listened to the sound of the rain on the canvas, and that was the last thing I remember of the storm.

  I woke the next morning with my head on his upper arm. I felt the warmth of his body as I opened my eyes, and for an instant, I was lost, and confused, wondering where I was. Then everything came rushing back.

  He was already awake and watching me.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  I was thirsty and a little stiff, but I nodde
d. “Yes.”

  “I need to get up. I just didn’t want to wake you.”

  How long had he been awake?

  Quickly, I moved off his arm and sat up halfway so that he could crawl out of the tent. He hesitated halfway, as if he didn’t want to leave yet.

  “I need to check for damaged cargo,” he said, “and my men still need to fetch and load the apples. Would you mind waiting to eat breakfast until we untie and shove off?”

  “Of course not. You check for damage, and I’ll get everyone breakfast.”

  ·····

  The following midday, we pulled into a small trading post with numerous docks for barges, all of which were more than busy. We’d made several stops along the way, and each time Cooper had gone into the various villages, he’d taken me with him so I could keep his accounts. Though a part of me was ever anxious to reach Enêmûsk, I couldn’t help feeling as if I’d magically stepped into a different life. The manor was a distant dream, and I was now a young woman who lived on the river and managed Cooper’s accounts.

  That feeling dissipated when we arrived at the trading post.

  Cooper announced that we’d reached the road to Enêmûsk and he was going to rent us a wagon and two mules. Once he’d managed this and events were in motion, I decided to stand back and stay out of the way.

  This proved a wise choice.

  He and his men worked swiftly, unloading over half the barge’s cargo and stacking it carefully into the back of the wagon. The day before, I’d changed into a spare dress from my travel bag—the sunflower yellow—and it was still clean, so I donned my cloak.

  Once Cooper had the load tied down in the wagon, he looked at me from atop the wagon’s bench. “Ready?”

  I hurried in, grabbed his extended hand, and he pulled me up onto the bench. Both his men remained behind to guard the barge.

  Cooper flicked the reins.

  The dark, heavily forested road to Enêmûsk stretched out before us.

  “What are you going to do once we get there?” he asked.

  “Find where Coraline’s father lives. She’s not what she pretends to be.”

  “And what if she is?”

  “She’s not. I need to find out what she wants. Once I have a weapon against her, believe me, I’ll use it.”

  He took a brief, sidelong glance at me. “I believe you.”

  ·····

  As Kéonsk was the only other city I’d ever seen, I had nothing else with which to compare it. But the entire area in front of Kéonsk was open—large enough to hold a vast yearly fair.

  Enêmûsk proved to be quite different.

  The road leading up was dark due to massive trees with their branches above intertwining across to almost touch each other. I couldn’t help an eerie feeling creeping over me, and I missed the open sky of the river.

  “Almost there,” Cooper said, as if reading my expression. “Look up ahead. You can see the gates.”

  I peered ahead, but it seemed to me that if we were nearing the city, we should have come out of the trees well before now. Then I saw the wall… and the front gate… and a line of people and wagons waiting to go in. As we drew closer, the road met a narrower one stretching both ways around the city wall, but the forest had been allowed to grow up its outer edge.

  “It’s nearly impossible to siege,” Cooper said. “There’s no place to set up an army out here. Of course factions have tried, as the princes of the great houses are always at each other’s throats. But Enêmûsk has never fallen.”

  He said this as if we were simply chatting, and he was not explaining the world at large to me. As always, I appreciated his kindness.

  Within moments, we pulled up at the end of the waiting line. Six guards in yellow tabards—the colors of the Äntes—appeared to be collecting money before letting people into the city.

  “A small toll,” Cooper explained. “Basically a tax to help pay the soldiers’ wages.”

  “We paid no toll to enter Kéonsk.”

  “No, but merchant taxes are lower here. All cities are different.”

  I absorbed this, realizing how sheltered I’d been in Pudúrlatsat. I really had no idea how the world worked.

  The line moved along quickly, and soon, a young guard with a birthmark on his left cheek looked up at us.

  “Cooper,” he said with an instant grin. “It’s been a while. Are you hauling any tobacco?”

  “Not this time, Jerome,” Cooper answered, digging a small pouch of coins out of his pants’ pocket. Then he glanced at me, hesitated, and looked back to the Äntes soldier. “But I have a delivery for a wool merchant named Luciano Jovanovich, and I’m not sure where he lives. Do you know?”

  I froze on the bench. I hadn’t expected him to actively help me with my task.

  Jerome shook his head. “No, I don’t… wait, I think Miles’ father deals in wool.” He stepped back, looking beyond the wagon’s rear, and called out, “Miles, do you know a Luciano Jovanovich?”

  I turned on the bench and looked back.

  A middle-aged guard with a ginger beard was taking money from a family behind us. Their rickety wagon was piled high with crates of live chickens. The older guard trudged up to Jerome and frowned.

  “Why?” he asked.

  Jerome blinked in surprise at the man’s tone. “Cooper wants to know.”

  Miles folded his arms, and I wondered at his reticence.

  “I’ve a delivery for him,” Cooper repeated, “and don’t know where he lives.”

  After a moment, Miles finally nodded. “Southside merchant district, three blocks west of the Purple Rose Inn. Whitewashed house with dark blue shutters, and big enough for its own stable. You can’t miss it.”

  It seemed that Miles knew exactly where Luciano lived, but I still wondered at his hesitation.

  “My thanks,” Cooper said, paying Jerome and clucking to the mules.

  As we passed through the city gate, my worries over Miles’ frown vanished. We’d barely arrived and Cooper had already overcome one challenge for me.

  “Thank you,” I told him. “That was quick thinking.”

  He didn’t answer as he was suddenly maneuvering the wagon through a bustling city. We rolled into a poor district of shabby dwellings with small kitchen gardens out front and a variety of livestock milling around. People were selling fruits, vegetables, and questionable-looking sausages on rickety, rolling carts.

  Looking ahead, I saw a compact, four-towered castle above and beyond the smaller buildings. Prince Rodêk of the Äntes was the current grand prince of our nation.

  “The closer we get to the castle, the more affluent the neighborhoods,” Cooper said.

  “Do you know this Purple Rose Inn?” I asked, and then put one hand over my nose, as the smell of manure, refuse, and those questionable sausages grew thicker in narrow streets.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Just drop me there, and I can find the house. You have business to conduct, and we can arrange a time to meet later. ”

  Pulling up the mules, he stared at me. “You think I’m letting you go to Jovanovich’s by yourself? From what you’ve told me, he arranged the marriage with Lord Stefan. Whatever his daughter is after, he’s probably the one who set it up.”

  I didn’t like being spoken to as if I were a child. And unlike when he’d covered me with the blankets, right now, I didn’t appreciate his masculine over-protection.

  “I’ve no intention of seeing or speaking to him personally,” I answered somewhat sharply. “He’s already seen me and knows I’m Stefan’s housekeeper. I plan to speak to his servants on the ruse of seeking a position in the household. Servants tell their own things they’d never tell anyone else.”

  Cooper took that in and nodded slowly. “That’s good… I can use that.” Then he clucked to the mules and got us rolling again.

  “You can use what?”

  He didn’t answer, and I had little choice but to sit there.

  The deeper we went in
to the city, the more its smells thinned, and soon, I took my hand from my nose. As Cooper had told me, the quality of homes and shops improved as well. I did notice that even fine brick houses had vegetable gardens and strawberry patches out front. This was a contained place, with nothing but heavy forest outside. Farther in, shops and small businesses quickly outnumbered the homes.

  “We’re in the merchant district,” Cooper explained. “Only the very wealthy live here. Your lord must have landed himself a rich bride indeed.”

  Though that sounded like a jibe, I refrained from casting him a dark look. After all, he was taking me where I needed to go.

  “There’s the Purple Rose,” he said, pointing.

  He reined in before a lovely, two-story building of tan brick. Vines of purple roses grew through the latticework of its front terrace. In spite of this, it did not strike me as a friendly place. A well-dressed, elderly couple sat on the terrace, sipping from goblets, and the woman—a gray-haired matron in an emerald green gown—glared at us as if two people in a mule-drawn cart should have arrived at the servants’ entrance.

  Cooper obliged her, clucked to the mules, and turned the wagon west. He continued for three blocks, and at the sight of the whitewashed house with the blue shutters, I nearly gasped.

  It was enormous; the house and adjoining stable took up half the block. There was no front gate, and none of the nearby houses here appeared to have such. Cooper drove the wagon in beside the stable, out of view, and set the brake.

  “Let me do the talking,” he said, preparing to climb down.

  I stopped him with a hand. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He was beginning to sound like Stefan—giving orders and expecting me to obey without question. I had to accept such behavior from Stefan, but I was not about to put up it from Cooper.

  “I asked you to bring me to Enêmûsk,” I clarified, trying to keep an even tone, “not to conduct my task for me.”

  Sighing, he gestured to the stable. “What you said about house servants is doubly true of stable hands in a place like this. Most are bored and bitter and think they should be doing better in life. Ask any about his master or mistress, and he’ll tell you more than you want to hear.”

  I hadn’t known that, and I took my hand from his arm.