Chapter 460: The Work of the Fields

Chapter 459: The Work of the Fields

Lyria’s POV

As I had anticipated, the townspeople of Gallowshill had every intention of rendering our labour as difficult as possible.

They did not refuse us outright. That would have been too open a defiance. Instead they permitted us to work, and thereafter employed a dozen subtle and not-so-subtle devices to ensure we accomplished as little as might be.

Duke Valenridge, Duke Thorncrest, Lucian, and several of the guards had descended to the lower fields, where the damage was most severe. The remainder of us distributed ourselves across the middle and upper ground. I remained in the middle fields with Debbie and Elara.

The lower fields were so thoroughly ruined that the men labouring there had little choice but to sink to their knees in mud, hauling away stones, broken branches, and great clods of earth that had collapsed into the furrows. The middle fields, though still much damaged, were somewhat more manageable.

I had scarcely begun clearing a section of debris when an elderly man called across to me in a voice roughened by years of work.

"Not like that, Yer ’Ighness."

I stopped at once.

"T-then how?" I asked.

He pointed with a gnarled finger at the stones before me.

"Ye’ll do more ’arm than good if ye shift ’em that way. Ye ought ter move it sideways first."

I did as he instructed. No sooner had I adjusted my grip than a woman working a little distance away called out sharply.

"No, no! Not there! Put it further up the ridge, girl!"

I looked towards her.

"B-but he just t-told me—"

"’E’s wrong about that part," she declared, wiping her hands on her clothes. "Ain’t the first time neither."

I moved the stone once more. Instantly a third voice rose.

"Aye, be careful wiv that one!"

A man pointed towards a patch of earth beside me.

"There’s roots beneath that soil. If ye tear ’em, ye’ll ruin what’s left o’ the crop. Proper delicate, them roots is."

I took a slow breath, endeavouring to hold in the laughter that threatened to bubble forth. There was something almost theatrical in their determination to obstruct us at every turn, and yet I could not deny the knowledge that underlay each correction.

Moments later I reached for a broken branch, only to be told I ought not move it, for it would disturb the soil. When I attempted to clear a patch of mud, another insisted I was clearing the wrong portion entirely. Once, when I began pulling away a collection of ruined stalks, a young woman hurried over and caught my wrist with surprising firmness.

"Leave ’em."

I blinked.

"But t-they are d-dead."

"Aye, but that don’t mean ye tear ’em out ’and over fist. Some o’ ’em may still ’ave life in the roots. Nobles don’t know nothin’ about that, do they?"

I released the stalks at once.

"I see."

She seemed almost disappointed that I had not argued. Turning away, she muttered, "You nobles think ’cause ye’ve food on yer tables ye can do whatever ye please wiv a field. Like it don’t matter."

I made no reply. Whatever I said, she would find fault with it; and perhaps my silence annoyed her more, for she returned to her work with a toss of her head.

The longer we laboured, the more clearly I understood that there existed a profound difference between merely working upon the land and truly knowing it.

The people of Gallowshill knew their fields intimately. They knew which portions of earth might still be salvaged, which roots retained a chance of recovery, which patches were too saturated to bear weight, and which stones must be removed with the utmost care lest something precious beneath them be destroyed. They knew their land because their livelihood depended upon it.

And despite their determined efforts to obstruct us, I found myself learning from them.

I was not alone in this.

Duke Valenridge had somehow managed to lift a stone I was fairly certain weighed more than I did, carrying it from one portion of the field to another without so much as a murmur of complaint. Duke Thorncrest performed much the same labour, though his efforts were accompanied by occasional dry remarks concerning the admirable strength of Gallowshill’s soil.

Tommy, meanwhile, seemed determined to be everywhere at once. He ran from one group to another, hauling branches, shifting debris, helping men move stones, and even carrying smaller bundles of damaged crops away from the waterlogged ground. At one point I saw him stumble in the mud. He caught himself, laughed outright, and continued as though nothing had occurred.

Daniel was less fortunate. He had remained with us from the beginning, though judging by the colour of his face I suspected he had begun to regret that decision considerably. I ignored him. If he was to act as supervisor, this was only the beginning of what he might expect.

Oliver, however, appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. He had spent the better part of the morning moving between the fields, offering assistance wherever it was needed. At some point he had wandered towards the upper ground. I noticed him there with one of the farmers, both of them crouched beside a narrow strip of earth.

The man appeared to be showing him something; Oliver listened with marked attention. Then he took up a small tool and began to help with the planting. I watched in surprise as he pressed the soil carefully around the young plant.

"Not so firmly," he said, his tone calm and certain.

The farmer immediately loosened his hand.

"Like this, then?" the man asked.

Oliver nodded and offered further instruction. I was not near enough to hear the precise words, but the man’s face broke into a smile, and several others drifted closer, regarding Oliver with curious, almost respectful gazes.

Lucian, too, had drawn a gathering. Further down in the lower fields, where a section had already been cleared of debris though it remained waterlogged, the townspeople stood about him in a rough semicircle. I could not make out what he was saying, yet they stared at him with rapt attention, as though every word carried weight.

The greater difficulty, however, soon became apparent: drinking water.

Aldric had requested some at one point during the morning, for the sun had risen higher and the labour was thirsty work. Rather than being given water, he was pointed towards a distant part of the fields and told, with elaborate courtesy, that he might fetch it himself.

He went. When he returned some while later, he came straight to me rather than to the townspeople.

"Your Highness," he said softly, his voice pitched low so that none other might hear, "I was directed to a well."