Chapter 5 — The People He Was Given

Chapter 5: Chapter 5 — The People He Was Given

Chapter 5 — The People He Was Given

Edwin closed the box and held it in both hands. "Thank you."

Christopher nodded. They spent the next hour going through the things Edwin would need. Christopher knew little about traveling between kingdoms, but the original memories helped: letters bearing House Drake’s seal could ease problems at toll gates, a record of Gerard’s service might help Edwin’s family claim military support in Griffin City, and Godfrey knew merchants who traded with Alvion and could tell them which ones to avoid.

Edwin wrote everything down, his list beginning neatly and deteriorating by the second page. He crossed out the same line twice, blotted ink across the name of a Griffin City inn, and finally pushed the paper toward Christopher.

"Can you read that?"

Christopher turned it around. "Three shirts."

"It says travel papers."

"Then no."

Edwin took it back and rewrote the line more slowly, and they found two more omissions after that: his mother’s military widow certificate remained with the estate steward, and his sister’s temple record still bore an old seal that might not be accepted in Alvion. Christopher sent a servant for both. The servant returned with the wrong certificate, went away again, and came back carrying three documents, because the steward was no longer certain which one they needed.

Edwin spread them across the desk, and for several minutes neither boy could tell which seals mattered. Christopher eventually recognized the mark of Varenne’s military office from one of the borrowed memories and pointed to it. "Take all three anyway."

"That was my plan."

"Then why did we spend ten minutes reading them?"

Edwin folded the papers. "Because you sent for them."

"What happens if you pass?" Christopher asked.

"The academy assigns me a room. Magister Deepwell says foreign students usually spend the first year learning Alvion’s language and correcting everything their first teachers taught them badly."

"Did he teach you badly?"

"According to him, everyone else did."

"And according to everyone else?"

"Magister Deepwell is impossible."

That matched the few memories Christopher had of Edwin’s teacher. The old mage had visited House Drake twice and complained about the quality of the library, the ink, the weather, and the tea, yet he had still spent four years teaching Edwin for almost nothing.

"Will your mother be allowed to work?" Christopher asked.

"She wants to. Magister Deepwell knows a Varenne merchant whose wife needs someone to manage her household accounts. Mother did that for Father’s company."

"And your sister?"

"There is a school connected to the western temple. It takes soldiers’ children."

Edwin had answers for everything, but he kept rubbing the edge of the paper with his thumb.

"You’ve planned this already," Christopher said.

"Father and I planned it last winter. He was going to take us as far as Griffin City after the campaign."

Edwin dragged the dry pen across the edge of the paper, leaving a pale scratch.

"Now Magister Deepwell will," Edwin added.

"Your father made the plan," Christopher said. "You can still finish it."

Edwin folded the list. "When did you learn how to say things like that?"

Christopher thought of his own father, and the return home he might never make.

"Recently."

"What about you?" he asked when they finished.

"What do you mean?"

"You’re being sent to Dragonwatch."

Christopher glanced at the map.

"I’m going."

"I heard. I also heard half the walls have fallen."

"The reports are old."

"That could make it worse."

Edwin shook his head. "You could refuse."

"Could I truly refuse the Crown’s order?"

"Your grandfather might let you."

Christopher thought of Hugh and Ranulf. "Staying here would create different problems."

Edwin understood enough about House Drake to leave the matter alone.

"I would come with you," he said, "if things were different."

Christopher nodded.

"Things aren’t different."

Edwin looked down.

"You have an opportunity in Alvion," Christopher continued. "Take it. Don’t waste time feeling guilty because I’m traveling in the other direction."

"You make it sound easy."

"It isn’t. Go anyway."

Edwin gave him a long look, still waiting for the old argument. Christopher let him wait.

Three days later, Christopher went down to the outer courtyard before sunrise. Two wagons waited near the gate: Edwin’s mother sat beside the driver of the first, while his sister leaned out from beneath the canvas to watch the servants load the final chest. Magister Deepwell stood nearby speaking with Godfrey. Edwin had exchanged Gerard’s formal coat for traveling clothes, and the wooden money box was packed somewhere in the wagon.

Godfrey finished speaking with Magister Deepwell and walked over to Christopher.

"The caravan master is reliable," he said. "They should reach Griffin City in nine days."

"And after that?"

"Imperial roads. Better guards and worse tolls."

Christopher watched Edwin check the harness on the lead horse. "Will the money be enough?"

"If they are careful."

"That means no."

"It means Alvion is expensive." Godfrey’s eyes cut to him. "You gave away most of your personal savings."

"I still have an estate expedition being paid for."

"House Drake is paying for it for now."

"You sound like Edwin."

"Then maybe you should listen to one of us."

Godfrey followed his gaze. "Cecily would have approved."

The comment left Christopher uncomfortable.

"Edwin was already family to him," he said.

Godfrey gave a small nod. Christopher left the meaning alone.

"You came," Edwin said.

"You thought I wouldn’t?"

"You hate waking early."

"I still do," Christopher said.

Edwin’s mother called him. He helped fasten a loose strap on the second wagon, then returned.

"Write when you reach Alvion," Christopher said.

"Where should I send the letter?"

"Send it to Dragonwatch."

"Will letters reach that far?"

"They had better find a way."

Edwin held out his hand, and Christopher eyed it a moment before remembering how the boys said farewell and clasped Edwin’s forearm instead. The movement came from the original Christopher’s memories, but Edwin’s grip was real.

"Don’t die in the north," Edwin said.

"Pass your examination."

"That isn’t the same thing."

"It’s the closest problem you have."

Edwin released him and climbed onto the wagon. The gates opened, hooves struck the road, and the small group moved away from the castle. Edwin’s sister waved from the back, and Christopher raised one hand in return. He remained at the gate until the dust settled, then returned to the open trunks and lists waiting in his room.

Christopher turned back toward the castle. Agnes had placed an empty travel bag across his bed.

The field beyond the eastern wall had become a temporary village. Christopher stopped beneath the gatehouse and tried to count the wagons. He reached twenty before two more rolled out from behind a barn and forced him to start again.

"The clerk has a list," Godfrey said.

"I wanted to see if the list was honest."

"By counting wagons from here?"

"It seemed easier before they started moving."

Godfrey walked past him. "Ask the clerk."

Christopher followed. House Drake had spent the four days since the wake gathering everything promised for the journey north. Wagons stood in uneven rows across the field, some carrying sacks of grain and barrels of salted food, others holding farming tools, seed, rope, canvas, and spare timber. Livestock occupied fenced sections near the road, and the fifty serf families waited among their belongings.

There were far more people than Christopher had imagined. He had heard fifty families and pictured fifty farmers; instead he saw husbands, wives, children, grandparents, and infants — a few households with three people, others with eight or nine. They watched him approach, and Christopher became aware of the clean coat Agnes had chosen for him and the sword hanging at his side. He had practiced drawing it that morning and nearly struck a chair.

A thin man carrying a writing board hurried forward, late thirties by his look, with ink stains on his fingers and a narrow face darkened by the sun. Christopher had never met him.

"Young Master." The man bowed. "Bennet Cole. I have been appointed clerk for the expedition."

"How many people?" Christopher asked.

Bennet looked relieved by the simple question. He checked the papers fastened to his board.

"Two hundred and forty-three, including the knights and household staff."

Christopher looked across the field again. Two hundred and forty-three people expected him to know what he was doing.

"How many of them belong to the fifty families?"

"Fifty serf households. Forty-five are farming families. Three are carpenters. My family will keep the records, and the Cole family assigned to the kitchens will handle the cooking."

"The cooking family is also named Cole?"

Bennet nodded. "My elder sister Martha married my cousin."

Christopher waited for the explanation to improve. It did not.

"All right. I understand."

"We’re not the same household," Bennet added.

"I understood that part."

Godfrey made a quiet sound beside him. Christopher ignored it. "How many wagons?"

"Twenty-six heavy wagons and eight smaller carts. Four of the carts belong to individual families. The rest belong to House Drake."

"What livestock are we taking?"

Bennet turned over the first sheet. "Forty-eight oxen, nineteen riding horses, twelve spare horses, thirty cattle, sixty-two sheep, twenty-four goats, fourteen pigs, and chickens."

"Do we have a count for the chickens?"

Bennet turned toward the fenced enclosures. "That number keeps changing."

One of the birds slipped between two baskets while he spoke, and a child chased it beneath a wagon.

"Write down approximately enough chickens," Christopher said.

Bennet hesitated, then made a note. Godfrey’s eyebrows rose. "Approximately?"

"If the chickens refuse to cooperate, I’m not delaying the expedition."

"A firm first command."

They continued through the field. Most of the families came from villages controlled directly by House Drake, and Christopher saw fear in some faces, resentment in others. The royal order might call the north liberated, but these people had heard what happened there, because they knew Edmund had returned in a coffin. Some had volunteered because the northern grants promised larger fields and several years without rent; others had been selected by village officials after no one volunteered.

Christopher left the question alone. He had no power to send them home, and if he refused the fifty families, Hugh would only replace them with another fifty. Near the supply wagons, three men were repairing a cracked wheel, working quickly, removing the damaged rim while another shaped a replacement piece.

"Are those men the carpenters?" Christopher asked.

"Two of the three families," Bennet said. "The third is checking the wagon beds."

"Do we have any masons, blacksmiths, millers or tanners?"

Bennet checked the list once more. "None, Young Master. House Drake assigned farmers, carpenters, my family and the kitchen household."

Christopher turned to Godfrey. "They gave us almost nothing except farmers."

"You do need farmers," Godfrey said. "Walls are useless if everyone starves behind them."

"I also need people who can repair a broken wall."

"That would be why Hugh did not give you any."

Bennet suddenly became interested in his papers. Christopher lowered his voice. "Can we recruit them in Griffin City?"

"You can recruit them if you still have money when we reach the city," Godfrey said.

"Grandfather gave the expedition money."

"Your grandfather gave you enough money to begin the journey. Those are not the same thing."

Christopher remembered giving most of his personal savings to Edwin. He still did not regret it, but the empty box in his desk now felt more important.

"Then we will see what remains when we reach Griffin City."

Bennet led them to the kitchen wagon next. A square-built woman was arguing with two servants over a barrel.

"If you put the salt meat beneath the flour, we will unload half the wagon every time we cook," she said. "Move it now."

One servant pointed at the crowded wagon bed. "Move it where?"

"Anywhere that is not beneath the flour."

She noticed Christopher and stopped.

"Young Master."

"Martha Cole?"

"Yes, Young Master."

Christopher studied Bennet. The resemblance became obvious once they stood beside each other.

"Your brother says your family will handle the cooking."

"My family and anyone else I can catch," Martha said. "Two hundred people cannot eat from one pot."

"Two hundred and forty-three people," Bennet corrected quietly.

"Then you had better find me more pots," Martha replied.

Bennet wrote that down. Martha pulled back the wagon cover and showed Christopher the supplies: grain occupying most of the space, barrels of salted pork, dried beans, hard cheese, onions, and several sacks of apples that would not last far beyond Griffin City.

"How long will it feed everyone?" Christopher asked.

"If the count is correct and nothing spoils, long enough to reach Griffin City," Martha said. "After that, we buy more."

"I thought House Drake supplied enough for the north."

Godfrey shook his head. "Enough money to buy food along the road. If we carry everything from here, we need more wagons and more animals to pull them."

Christopher glanced at the rows of wagons. Feed for the draft animals occupied space too, and every added sack of food needed something else to carry it.

"What happens if Griffin City charges more than expected?"

"We buy less meat," Martha said. "People complain, then they eat porridge."

Christopher considered her. "You’ve done this before."

"I fed harvest workers every autumn for twelve years."

"Good. Arrange the wagon however you want."

Martha turned immediately toward the servants. "You heard him. Move the barrel."

They obeyed. As Christopher walked away, Bennet leaned closer. "She will remind you that you said that."

"I assumed she would."

They passed several families waiting beside piles of bedding and household goods. A farmer stepped forward, twisting a wool cap between his hands.

"Young Master, is it true there are empty farms around the stronghold?"

Christopher considered giving a confident answer. "I haven’t seen Dragonwatch. The reports are old."

The farmer looked worried but nodded.

"You will receive land once we know which fields can still be farmed," Christopher added. "Until then, keep your family with the convoy and follow the knights’ orders."

The promise was small, but he could keep it.

A group of armed men waited beyond the wagons. The first two wore mail beneath dark riding coats, and Christopher recognized them from the descriptions Osbert had provided. Sir Walter Fenwick was past forty, with a weathered face and a nose that had been broken at least once; he stood beside a gray horse and checked every strap while a stable boy waited nervously. Sir Ivo Barrow was younger, his sword worn too low on his hip, one hand resting on the pommel. His polished boots had not yet touched the muddy part of the field.

Both were Bronze Knights. The twelve Knight Apprentices stood behind them, their equipment less uniform — some wore old mail, while others had leather coats reinforced with metal plates. Christopher recognized their names from the expedition list but did not trust himself to match every name to the right face.

While the men were still watching Godfrey approach, Christopher drew a trace of Essence toward his eyes, and color rose beneath their ordinary shapes. Walter and Ivo both shone Green. The apprentices were divided evenly: six Green and six White.

He released the Dragon Eyes before anyone turned toward him.

Walter saw him first.

"Young Master." He bowed.

Ivo and the apprentices followed. Christopher returned the greeting with a nod. "Are we ready?"

"No, Young Master. We still have work to finish," Walter said.

Ivo faced him. "We will be ready on the appointed day."

"That was not the question," Walter replied.

Christopher liked him immediately.

"What’s missing?" he asked.

"Two wagons need new wheels. Three horses have unsuitable shoes. Half the apprentices have never guarded a convoy this large, and none of the families know their positions if we are attacked."

The farmers nearby became noticeably quieter.

"Are we likely to be attacked?" Christopher asked.

"Not before Griffin City," Walter said. "That’s why we should teach them now."

Ivo shifted his hand on the sword. "The southern road is patrolled."

"Bandits can also see patrols," Walter said. "They simply wait for them to leave."

Godfrey stepped between the two knights before the disagreement grew.

"Run the families through the wagon formation this afternoon," he said. "No weapons. Teach them where to move and where not to stand."

Walter nodded. Ivo did not.

"You’re not part of the force House Drake assigned," he said.

"That’s correct," Godfrey replied.

"Then who placed you in command?"

Godfrey’s gaze moved to Christopher, and so did everyone else’s. Godfrey said nothing; Ivo, Walter, and the apprentices turned toward Christopher instead.

"I placed him in command," Christopher said.

Ivo’s mouth tightened. "Young Master, Sir Godfrey does not serve House Drake."

"I know. He is still coming with me, and he has more experience than anyone else here."

Walter returned to checking the nearest wagon strap. Ivo bowed stiffly. "As you command."

Christopher looked over the apprentices. "Who’s senior among you?"

A broad-shouldered young man stepped forward. "Thomas Reed, Young Master."

Christopher found the name on Bennet’s list.

"Help Sir Walter organize the families. Gilbert Webb will work with Bennet and make copies of the wagon order."

Another apprentice raised his head when his name was called. Christopher continued before anyone could notice he had only just matched Gilbert’s name to his face. "The rest of you follow Sir Godfrey’s instructions."

The apprentices acknowledged the order. Walter called Thomas over, and Gilbert joined Bennet beside the supply wagon. Godfrey took Ivo aside; after a few quiet words, the younger knight finally removed his hand from his sword.

Christopher moved out of their way as the field broke into activity. Bennet offered him the writing board. "Would you like the complete inventory, Young Master?"

Christopher scanned the pages filled with cramped numbers.

"Bring it to my room tonight."

"Yes, Young Master."

"Begin another list as well."

Bennet prepared his pen. "What kind?"

"Everything Dragonwatch needs that we don’t have."

The clerk’s gaze drifted to the wagons, then down at the blank sheet.

"That may be a long list."

"Start with a mason and a blacksmith."

"Where should I expect to find those specialists?"

Christopher looked north. Griffin City lay along their route, weeks before Northgate and the abandoned stronghold beyond it.

"Griffin City," he said. "We’ll find the rest there."