Soul of the Fire

The piercing warbles from a reed shawm intermittently cut through the night. At times the shawm went silent, and then the minstrel sang ballads whose words were unintelligible because of the distance. The tune, though, was quick and pleasant and made Fitch's heart beat faster.

He glanced back over his shoulder and in the moonlight saw the grim faces of the other messengers. They, too, were all back in the clothes of their former lives. Fitch intended to remain in his new life. He wouldn't let the other men down. No matter what, he wouldn't let them down.

They looked a scruffy bunch, they did. Dressed as they were, no one would likely recognize them. No one would be able to tell them from any of the other young redheaded Haken men in rags.

There were always young Haken men around in Fairfield, hoping for someone to hire them for any task. Often they were chased away from the streets where they gathered. Some went out to the country to help work farms, some found work in Fairfield if only for a day, some went behind the buildings to drink, and some waited in the dark to. rob people. Those, though, didn't live long if they were caught by the city guards, and they usually were.

Morley's boots creaked as he shifted his weight as he crouched beside Fitch. Fitch, like the rest of the men, wore his boots for this, even though they were part of his uniform; people wouldn't be able to tell anything from boots.

Even though Morley wasn't yet a messenger, Master Campbell had asked him to join Fitch and the others who weren't off to distant places with messages. Morley had been disappointed that he didn't get to be a messenger along with Fitch. Fitch told him what Master Campbell had said about Morley being useful from time to time for various work, and how he would someday likely join the messenger service. For now, that was good enough hope for Morley.

Fitch's new friends among the messengers were nice enough, but he was glad to have Morley along. He and Morley had been kitchen scullions together for a long time.

That meant something. When you'd been getting drunk with someone for years, it was a strong bond, as Fitch figured it. Morley seemed to feel the same and was glad to be asked along so he might prove himself.

Despite his fear, Fitch, too, didn't want to let Dalton Campbell down. More than that, for this task, he and Morley both had cause. For them, unlike the other men, this was personal. Still, it had Fitch's palms sweating and he had to wipe them on his knees every few minutes.

Morley nudged Fitch. Fitch peered off to the dimly lit road outside the row of two- and three-story stone buildings. He saw Claudine Winthrop step out onto the landing attached to the front of one of them. There was a man beside her, just as Master Campbell had said there would be-a finely dressed Ander wearing a sword. By the narrow scabbard it looked a light sword. Quick, but deadly, Fitch imagined as he gave it a few parries in his mind.

Rowley, in his messenger outfit, stepped up to the tall Ander man as he came down off the landing and handed him a rolled message. Rowley and the man spoke as he broke the seal and unfurled the paper, but Fitch was too far away to hear the words.

Music rose from an inn in the distance. At the Jolly Man, the minstrel sang and played his lute and shawm. People, most wearing a light cloak or shawl, talked and laughed as they passed up and down the street. Men somewhere in a hall all laughed together now and again. Carriages with folded-down tops carried finely dressed folks. Horses and wagons went by, jangling and clopping, adding to the confusion of noise at the edge of Fairfield.

The man stuffed the paper in the pocket of his dark doublet as he turned to Claudine Winthrop, gesturing as he spoke words Fitch couldn't hear. She looked up the street into Fairfield, and then shook her head. She lifted a hand toward the estate, toward the road where Fitch and the other messengers in their old clothes waited. She was smiling and seemed in a good mood.

The man with her then took up her hand, shaking it as he seemed to bid her a good night. She waved a farewell as he hurried off down the street and into the city.

Dalton Campbell had sent the message with Rowley. Now that the message was delivered, Rowley vanished into the streets. Rowley had instructed them as to exactly how it was to work. Rowley always instructed them. If Master Campbell wasn't around, Rowley always knew what to do.

Fitch liked Rowley. For a Haken, the young man seemed pretty confident in himself. Dalton Campbell treated him with respect, just like he treated everyone else, but maybe with a little more. If Fitch were blind he might have thought Rowley was Ander. Except he treated Fitch kindly, if in a businesslike manner.

Claudine Winthrop, alone, turned to the road back to the estate. Two of the patrolling city guard, big Ander men armed with cudgels, ambled up the street and watched her go. It wasn't a great distance. Just an hour's walk or so.