Jane of the Shadows: Chapter 4--The Rider

It was almost day-break when my Mayor came back to the inn. Fortunately, by that time, I had already finished cleaning myself with the help of one of the innkeeper’s daughters who was either too naïve or too simple-minded to understand what had happened to me.

All she asked when she saw the bloody mess that was my dead child was, “Is it that time of the month, mam? I’d be! You be one of those gals who bleed a lot, eh?”

I just nodded at her which almost made me faint with the pain. I was just thankful that the girl didn’t mind talking to herself while she pocketed my coin—a bribe I gave her for her time and help. I called her when it was almost three o’clock but she still cheerfully entered my room. Thank goodness that she’s a late sleeper. I know this because I heard earlier when she was talking to someone in the common room that her father often left her in night duty for late visitors since she had trouble sleeping. And possibly for guests like me who encounters emergency late in the night.

“I’ll bring you clean linens if you want, mam. We seen this kind of emergencies before so I told my ‘Ma we should be ready. Yes, mam. Ready we are. I’ll also brung you some of the drink my ‘Ma makes for me monthlies. Would you like that?”

It took me sometime to understand what she said and before I could nod, she was already whistling to the door. It didn’t matter, anyway. As soon as the door closed, I think I fainted. I woke up minutes later and the drink she had promised me was by the bedside table, almost lukewarm. I still drank it, though. Anything to dim the pain that held my body in chain. I have no idea if it really works. But I fell back to sleep quickly after that.

I woke up again hours later, with the feeling of large, warm hands drifting though my already hot body. When I opened my eyes, dim grayish light filled the room, and my view was blocked by the large frame of my Mayor who was arched over me, his light blue eyes almost glowing in the dark.

“You feel hot,” he said as one of his hands stopped over my neck. “Have you fever, princess?”

I straggled sound came up from my mouth as I nodded.

He sighed, as if I had given him good news, and then placed his forehead against mine. He was quiet for a moment, and then he moved to my side and enclosed me with his arms and legs. As if he was afraid I would bolt if he let me go. “Good,” he whispered. “Good.”

Before I could question him in our secret language about what happened on the mission I gave him, he was already snoring softly. The long ride must have exhausted him. My poor Mayor. Before, he could ride all day and not tire at all, but now that he’s getting older, it seems these missions are becoming harder for him. It’s a good thing that I’m leaving him soon. I cannot let his flagging energy imprison me again.

I let him hold me until bright rays of sun flooded the room. I did not sleep again. I couldn’t. His weight around me caused the pain to double. But I couldn’t alert him about it. He’d be angry enough that I’m bleeding and therefore unavailable to him when he wakes up. I needed him to be in a good temperament. They have a long day ahead of them and it would be easier to deal with him if he was in a good mood.

When I felt him stirring awake along with the tentative sliding of his hands, I clenched my teeth and allowed him the liberties he had taken since I was twelve.

Soon enough he’d see that he cannot finish it. I’ll let him take his fill for now.

##

As I’ve expected, my bleeding was not the welcome my Mayor expected. When he started to spit curses about his bad luck, I just looked at him with my dead eyes. He hated it when I did that so he stopped. Soon, he was courteously escorting me downstairs to break our fast.

I couldn’t eat so I focused my mind on making myself not feel any hurt. I have done this thousands of times before, but this time, it was taking a while for it to work. Just sitting there, pretending to drink my hot pot was torture. But nothing could be gained by focusing on it, so I pushed the pain down.

Soon, finally, my Mayor pushed away his empty plate. After wiping his mouth and drinking his bitter brew, he focused his eyes on me which assessed me like they usually did every morning we were together. He must not have noticed anything amiss since he proceeded to take my hands and pressed kisses to my palms. In response, I curved them over his closely shaved jaw for a few seconds before I motioned for him to give me his hand. When he did, I started asking him questions.

What happened? Did you find the house? Was the rider there?

Did you see the stepfather?

Late last night, I have finally decided that we would help Grey. Even though my Mayor disagreed with me, I sent him to the village wherein I’ve gathered Grey was from. I am a careful planner. I want to know everything—every factor which might affect my plan—before I proceed to doing something. Or should I say before I let my Mayor do something?

But I digress.

It has been decided that my Mayor would glean the information that we need before we would proceed to formulating a plan. Of course, I would eventually need to speak to Grey again, but that is another matter altogether. For now, I’ve decided to do his favor.

When the time is right, I would demand his payment.

My Mayor nodded in answer to my silent questions. A lock of hair fell on his forehead and I leaned in to smooth it back from his haggard but still handsome face.

Tell me, I wrote on his palm.

##

Grey lived—or maybe used to live?—in a town called Aonarey. It was a small town, not even on the official maps, a few miles off Hampshire. Roughly ten miles from the rugged posting inn where we were staying. It was mostly own by the land-gentry who owned the manor at the edge of town. According to the people who dotted the road to the manor, the owner was called Monsieur Leggato.

No one actually knew if it was a nickname or an actual name—which it probably wasn’t since they all agreed he was of English stock—but it was the only name they associated with the landlord. He married to the Marriners who were the actual owners of the land. But since only a daughter survived, Leggato became the ad hoc owner.

Monsieur Leggato wasn’t a beloved overlord. In fact, he seemed to be universally hated by the townspeople. Ever since he took over the managing of the estate, many of the tenants have fled from their fields and elected to gamble their future elsewhere. According to the people who stayed, Leggato took rent money from them, as well as percentages of their crops, without taking the tenants’ needs into consideration. In fact, for all intents and purposes, they were left to fend for themselves. The land was drying. Whatever source of irrigation that they had was almost extinct. Soon, they would be harvesting failed crops—if they harvest anything at all. They told all of these to Monsieur Leggato but he remained deaf to their pleas.

Leggato sounded like someone she would be happy to know. Both of them were a sorry piece excuse for humanity. Just hearing the bare facts about him already filled me with unaccountable hate. Somehow, it empowered me.

Yes, hate is good. It keeps me aware of the power I have and should wield.

Then my Mayor relayed the rumor which filled every water hole from here and Aonarey. According to people, aside from his lack of compassion for his tenants, Monsieur Leggato was most hated because of the crime he had committed against his wife—whose family owned the land for generations. Apparently, a week after the wedding, he took his wife to the square and put her on a beating platform where criminals were usually punished in public. He told everyone that his wife was a whore and then proceeded to give her lashings. All the while, he called her word variations of “whore.”

When his wife of one-week finally collapsed, he chained her to the block and left her there overnight without food or water. He told everyone that she was someone who seduced him into marriage with her demon body in order to give an illusion of respectability for her bastard son. A demon-child, he called him. A freak who was hidden inside the manor for two years.

It was a great shock for the townspeople. They couldn’t fathom the fact that the sweet Marriner daughter would have such a scandal. It just wasn’t possible.

When Leggato saw that the people only felt compassion for his beaten child bride and not the same disgust that he felt, he issued a warning that whoever tried to help her escape, or even give her water, would be severely punished—more than she was—and would be banished from the town forever. Or maybe hanged. As the local magistrate, he said that he could do whatever he pleased. And the people heeded his words even as they felt pity for their young mistress.

She was only seventeen years old then.

I felt a twinge in my heart when I heard this story. Surely women are truly sorry creatures. Not because we are weak, but because we often fall in the hands of sanctimonious bastards. As I raised my eyes to my Mayor, I could almost feel the shiver he felt at his words. Was he thinking about our situation? Maybe. But I do not care. I nodded my head for him to continue.

After that event, the mistress of the manor was never seen again. Nor was the demon-child that Leggato mentioned. In fact, only Leggato was ever seen to leave and enter the manor aside from the servants. According to some previous manor-servants, even they didn’t see the child. He was kept in the attic and was never allowed to go out. His only visitor was the old nanny who was hired to give him food and take care of his bodily functions. Some even said that the child couldn’t talk.

My heart missed a beat at this revelation.

Couldn’t talk?

I suddenly felt the searing gaze of my Mayor on me. As if he was gauging my reaction at this fact. But I schooled myself well at disguising my feelings and my face did not betray the sudden rush of emotions that filled me.

Instead, I asked him, Was it the rider?

He nodded once. “Yes.”

My head suddenly exploded with questions I would never ask. Grey couldn’t talk? He was like me? Was he abused too?

But Grey definitely can talk. I did not imagine our conversation last night.

Regardless, it seems like Grey and I really did have a lot of similarities. It was almost astounding the way our lives were almost similar. Somehow, it intrigued me more about him.

I looked at my Mayor. He had stopped talking and was watching me intently. I almost smiled. Ah, my poor Mayor. Jealous over a poor rider who wanted to kill his stepfather.

Maybe he should be.

I nodded for him to continue. He hesitated but eventually picked-up his story.

After the public flogging, life in Aoroney eventually turned back to normal. But four years later, there was an uproar when Leggato suddenly sent his men to the village to look for the missing bastard child. For weeks, mean-looking men were riding or walking on the streets, asking people if they saw a lone child of six years of age. But they didn’t find the child. Eventually, Leggato surrendered the search and said that the demon-child was dead. Not a month later, it was announced that the mistress of the manor killed herself.

Did she really?

“Some people claim he killed her, but I talked to some servants and they told me the poor woman really killed herself when she couldn't find her child.”

But the child wasn’t dead?

“No. The nanny helped him to escape.”

Apparently, the nanny, heartbroken about the child, decided to give him his freedom one night. The child, unable to speak, wandered in the forest all night until he happened upon the local bar.

It is said that the local barkeep encountered a small, reed-thin child walking barefoot by the edge of the forest with only a filthy shirt and ragged short pants covering his body. The child was listless and unable to answer his questions about his origins. So the barkeep brought him home to his wife. Because the child didn’t once utter a word in response to their questions, the couple thought the child was simple.

They had just decided to keep the child overnight and report him the next day when the child started screaming and kicking and biting them as the barkeep’s wife tried to remove his tattered and dirty clothing. The child kept screaming one word: “No!”

The fear on the child’s face made the couple rush into a decision—they would keep the child until he felt safe enough. For surely, the child would only react that way if something terrible happened to him.

It took the husband and wife a couple of days before they could persuade the child to let them care for him. Even when he capitulated, he only allowed the barkeep’s wife to touch him. He called her “mama” despite being told that she wasn’t. It was another week before they could fully communicate to the child. By then, the barkeep and his wife, being childless, had decided to keep the child as their own. No one knew who the child was. In their fear of harming the child, they didn’t even let their neighbors know that they were hiding a child in their house.

Months passed before the couple found it safe enough to let the child out of the house. Because everyone liked the young couple, no one openly questioned them when they gradually introduced the child to the public as their child. In fact, everyone was scared to ask too many questions. They chose to believe that he was the barkeep’s bastard that his wife finally consented to adopt given that they were childless.

At that thought, my mind automatically went back to our conversation the night before. Grey. Did Leggato harm the people who kept Grey? Is that why he wanted him killed suddenly? Grey looked like someone a few years older than me. What propelled him have Leggato killed if he had remained unknown for decades?

Did Monsieur Leggato know?

“Eventually. But not then. Remember, the only person who knew what the child looked like were the mother, Leggato and the old nanny who helped the child escape.

“The nanny was killed the night the child escaped. Leggato rightly assumed that it was her fault and punished the old woman. According to what they told me, the old woman was specifically told not to talk to him. She was just there to feed him and take care of his functions. Otherwise, he wasn’t to be treated like a normal person. Leggato, in an attempt to punish his wife even more, wanted the child to be an animal. Those were their exact words.”

I almost choked on the tears which suddenly gathered in my throat. My poor, poor Grey.

I was about to ask another question when I felt a sudden tingling at the back of my neck. In an instant, I knew Grey was there again.

I turned around.

Grey eyes were boring into me. Slowly, I smiled.

##