Chapter Ten

 

James drifted out of sleep to the sound and motion of breathing, soothing warmth that covered his chest and arms, and the faint scent of gingerbread.  Eyes closed, he turned his face into the warmth and something tickled his nose.  When it happened again a minute later, he raised one eye to see that a mass of curls lay trapped under his cheek, except for one spiral, which had escaped and was dancing in front of his face.  He lay there for a long time, watching it arch away and then spring back, varying its path with his breath.  Nothing hurt, nothing was driving his senses crazy, and he wanted to bask in it for as long as he could.

 

Eventually he dosed off again, and heard the trout in the stream across the meadow calling to him. “Certainly, Master Fish, it’s a man - see?” replied Jim to the well-dressed trout.  “I caught him all by myself.  Isn’t he a beauty?” Orange and gold minnows flashed across the inside of James’ eyelids and then swam down into a curly brown sea and James followed them down.

 

He woke up with a jolt.  “Fimomm!”  Spitting out a mouthful of hair, he tried again, “Simon! Is this your idea of a joke?” 

 

Turning to his new bed partner, he added - “And you!  Get the hell out of my bed!” - which wasn’t exactly necessary, as he had already pushed the guide onto the floor.  He couldn’t believe his friend would do something like this to him.  He felt violated.  Did he have any clothes on?  And did he?

 

Looking down, James could see that he was wearing his ripped dressing gown, which he hastily tied before grabbing one of his torn shirts and wrapping it around his waist for good measure. 

 

“Oh, Jim, my head is killing me.  Remind me never to drink again.  What was it?  Ten pints?”

 

“Simon, you get over hear and explain this… this… I demand an explanation this instant!”

 

“Oh, you demand an explanation, do you?” replied Simon slowly.  He propped himself up on one arm, gazed blearily around the room and then gestured about six feet to the left of where Jim was standing.  “I’m so sorry, Jim.  He tried to have his wicked way with me but I was too strong for him so he turned on you, poor helpless victim that you were.  And I, to my everlasting shame, let him.”

 

When this got no reply, Simon sighed, “Oh for crying out loud, Jim, don’t be such a berk.  My head hurts too much for this.  Have you looked at him?  I don’t think he could lift his head, much less his-”

 

“Simon!”

 

“And quit moving around.”  Now Simon was looking even farther to the left.  “Stand still when I’m talking to you.  Better yet, get over here and sit down where I can see you.”

 

Simon let out a yelp when James touched him on the shoulder.  “Don’t do that!  How the hell did you get over here?  Never mind, just sit down.  Quietly.”  Wondering how James had managed to appear behind him, Simon continued, “Look, do you remember me bringing the guide back here last night?”

 

“A little.  I carried him up the back steps and started to untie the blanket and that’s it.”

 

“Well five minutes later when I got up here you were a statue again and he was like he is now, so I put the two of you in what was left of your bed in the hope that whatever he did before didn’t actually require him to be conscious.   And see?  I am a genius.  You may grovel at my feet.”

 

“Ha bloody ha.  Did anybody see you take him?”

 

“Nah, I really am a genius.  However, they will notice that he is missing if we don’t get him back.  If he eats breakfast at the inn, we don’t have much time.”

 

“Does it really matter?” muttered James.  “He’s going to tell them about this anyway and if he can fix my senses then we can go back to London or somewhere else and they can all go to hell.  Who can they tell?  The sheriff?”  “The heir of Burlington stole our guide for a few days because we put a spell on him?’  Hah! I’d like to see them try.  And if he can’t fix the senses none of it will matter anyway.”

 

“I’d have a hell of a lot of explaining to do.”

 

“No, not really.  My father will hush everything up.  Can’t have rumors about the old bloodline.”

 

“Ahem, well.  Let’s get back to the subject at hand - or floor, as the case may be.  I didn’t have any luck trying to wake him up last night, but maybe Sleeping Beauty was waiting for his handsome prince.”

 

“You’re just a riot this morning, Simon.”

 

“Sleeplessness.  Hangover.  Too many surprises.  Look, I’m sorry about the bed cracks, especially after what I told you about our rescue the other night, but I’m sure he was too out of it to do anything last night.  Now just wake him up so that we can get this over with.”  And with that Simon lay back down on the floor and closed his eyes.

 

Feeling like he had been abandoned in his time of need, James crept up on the bundle beside his bed.  A hairy leg protruded from the muddy weed-covered blanket, making James shudder to think that he had been lying under that filthy thing.  The scent of gingerbread still mingled with the smells of earth and sweat, and as he cautiously lifted a corner of the blanket, he finally felt the assurance that Simon’s words hadn’t brought him.   This lad was no threat.  He had long curly hair and ink-covered fingers and he was wearing a nightshirt and one wooly sock.  He really did look like a rag doll.  Cookie crumbs were stuck to his nightshirt.  Feeling sheepish about his previous fears, James gently patted the young man’s arm.  “Wake up now.  Guide.  Come on now, you must wake up.”  The silky warmth of the guide’s skin and the soothing beat of his heart surprised Jim.

 

“That’s the way to tell him.”

 

“Shut up, Simon,” whispered James. “He’s not waking up.”

 

“Maybe you should kiss him.  Or wait!  You can always use him as a rug.  Your old one is dog’s bedding now.”

 

“_____”

 

“Oh, alright, I’m coming.   Keep your shirt on.  Hah!”–snort- “Keep your shirt on!  Get it?”  Simon chuckled as he struggled out of his nest and staggered over to where James was glaring at him.  “Your princely charm didn’t work, huh?”

 

“Grab his legs and help me hoist him onto the bed.  Wait!  Be careful!”

 

“Worried that I’ll drop him?  Maybe there is something to this sentinel -guide malarkey.  Ok, he’s in the bed and everything is bumps-a-daisy.  What now?”

 

“Now we try to wake him up some more.  Give me your blankets.”

 

Simon was surprised to see James cover the guide with all of them.  “Aren’t you cold, Jim?  Hey, how are your senses today?  You seem to be doing better this morning.”

 

“They’re almost normal right now; maybe I’m on the mend.   Here, can you get dressed and send down for some breakfast?  A really big breakfast.  For three.  And get somebody up here to light the fire.  And I need something to wear; tell Rafe.  And get something for the guide, too.  I don’t want to interview a man in a nightshirt. Oh, and one last thing - ”

 

Simon waited for his thanks.

 

“- What’s his name again?”

 

Simon left the room shaking his head over his own stupidity.  James’ senses were better, his appetite was back, and he was acting almost like his old self – almost.   That worried Simon.

 

________________________________________________________________

 

“Mayor!” The breathless voice of young Peterson called out as Silas Bodmer trudged down the stairs to answer the pounding at his front door.

 

“What is it, Johnny?  It’s not even dawn.  Has something happened to the guide?”

 

“I don’t know, sir; he’s not in his room!  I’ve been looking and looking and I don’t know what else to do!”

 

“Calm down and come in, come in.”  Leading the shaken boy into the parlor, Mayor Bodmer had a seat and gestured for the boy to do the same.  “When was the last time anyone saw him?”

 

“About ten o’clock last night.  I checked on him myself and I left the door unlocked so’s Mrs. Keaton could look in during the night but she didn’t and I went up just a little while ago and he’s not there!”

 

“Are all his things still at the inn?  Is someone there if he should come back?”  At the boy’s nods, the mayor asked if the boy had checked the outhouse, the kitchen, the rest of the inn, and finally the guide’s office at the town hall.  The miserable lad nodded to all of these, head bowed and silent.  “Can you think of anything that happened, young John, that was out of the ordinary last night?  Anything at all.”

 

“Not with the guide, Mister Mayor, sir,” answered the lad, finally looking up.  At the gesture to go on, he added, “T’other one staying with Master Jamie, he came in to drink, never saw him there before.  Got soused, threw up in the ditch, but I got him his horse myself.  I watched him leave.  And I talked to Meg.  She was at the desk most of the night and he made very improper suggestions to her, she said.  A right pig, she said.  I don’t see what business he could have with the guide.” 

 

“Alright, John, you go home and get some sleep.  Don’t worry, Master Blair wouldn’t leave without his satchel.”

 

“At least not of his own accord,” thought Bodmer and then amended the thought, because he was a clear-sighted man, “not unless he was never going to need it again.”  Aloud he added, “I will go see Mister Deal and we will set this right soon enough.”  Patting the boy on the shoulder, he walked him to the door and part way down the street before turning in at the schoolmaster’s house.

 

An hour later, a posse of men had scoured the town and reported to the Mayor, who was at Mr. Deal’s house along with Johnson and Sweeney.  Riders had been sent out on the Inn road, the road to Islings and the North Road, and volunteers were searching the commons, but so far there was no news. 

 

“Master Bodmer!  Master Bodmer, sir!  Hawkins is back!”

 

Mister Hawkins was escorted in by a crowd of townspeople who filled up the hallway.  “Mr. Bodmer, sir,” the rider said, “Friars at the manor stopped me and asked me to give you this message.”  Unfolding a piece of paper dramatically, he handed it to the mayor.

 

After a moment to read it, the mayor put the note in his waistband and stood up.  “Good news, the guide has been found.”  At the sighs of relief from the crowd, Bodmer continued, “Unfortunately, he is not in the best of health and may be required to stay at the manor-“ Shocked murmurs arose from the townspeople and he waited for them to subside.  “-at the manor for a few days.  Johnson and I will ride out there immediately and confer with Mr. Friars.  Mr. Deal will be in charge until we return.  Thank you all for your help this morning.”  Turning to the schoolmaster, he added, “Call off the search and send all the boys home for now.  We will let you know what is going on as soon as we can.   Come on, Johnson, let’s go.”

 

The mayor and the constable hurried out through the crowd, who waited in the hall for further instructions from their temporary leader.

 

“I suppose this means that you will be assisting me this time, Mister Sweeney,” said Deal, quite pleased at the turn of events.

 

“Sorry, no, Mister Deal.  I am much too busy on the Sentinel project to help with this little affair.  I have important work to do.”  Sweeney got up to leave and gestured to the waiting townspeople.  “I’m sure you can handle it, my good man, but if you get in over your head just send someone to my house.  I pride myself on being a team player, don’t you know.”

 

Deal was left feeling humiliated once again but this time it was by someone he admired, someone he had shared personal confidences with, and it was in public.  He had a sudden urge to pick up the inkwell in front of him and throw it at Sweeney’s fat arse, as the colonel pushed his way through the crowd.

 

Johnson and Bodmer rode as fast as they could to the manor, and then slowed down considerably, and finally walked their horses around behind the stables down a long path to the manager’s house.  Friars wasn’t there and they waited impatiently for his return, pacing and fretting, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for this bizarre turn of events, placing blame and then finally agreeing that no one could have foreseen it.

 

Friars rode up at midmorning.  His brusque manner and darting eyes did nothing to calm his fellow councilmen, who hurried him into his own study and shoved a cold leg of mutton into his hand. 

“Here, eat.  Your wife said that you’d better eat this because you haven’t had a proper meal since lunch yesterday,” said Johnson.  “Now tell us what’s going on.”

 

“I’m not sure,” Friars replied, and the other two could hear the anger and self-reproach behind the admission.  “Master Jamie was fine the day after the accident, but then Friday night he started to act strangely.  He yelled at the staff and complained that everyone was trying to poison him or drive him mad or trick him somehow.  At first we thought he was having one of his ‘spells’ like he does occasionally and we just ignored it, but this time it got worse instead of going away.  He locked himself in his room and wrecked the place.”

 

Johnson and Bodmer looked at Friars in apprehension.

 

“Do you think Sandburg has had an effect on him?” Johnson finally asked.

 

“I don’t know,” Friars muttered, throwing the half-eaten mutton into the fire.  “I can’t get close enough to tell!  It could be that the master’s time has just run out and he’s going insane, but it could be the guide.  Jamie was so good on Thursday and Friday, I thought we had gotten away scot-free.”

 

“That mutton is going to make a horrible stink,” Bodmer mused.

 

Both of the other men stared at him like he had just made a rude remark.  “What?” he said defensively.  “I heard you – madness, guide, scot-free.   That mutton is going to stink up the room and your wife will know that you threw it away.  Here, get me the poker.”  Stabbing the charred meat, the mayor held it up like a hunting trophy and then carried it to the window and dropped it outside into the flowerbed.  “You’ll thank me for that later,” he said to Friars.  “Women are so sensitive, God bless ‘em.  Now where were we?  Oh, yes - Sir James has locked himself in his room with our guide.”

 

“I was just getting to that, “ Friars said.  “I don’t know for sure how Sandburg got here but I have a pretty good idea.  Simon Banks went out riding last night and came back around midnight, according to the stable boys.  When he came in he was alone but one of the boys heard him talking to someone outside first.  The boy thought it sounded like Sir James.””

 

“I wouldn’t want to try to get away with anything around here,” Johnson said admiringly.

 

“Well, you wouldn’t.  It’s part of my job to know everything that goes on so that I can anticipate the family’s requirements.  Old Will Kiley, Sally Bowen and I keep this place in tip-top order.  We’re all very good at our jobs, we’ve been getting along for twenty years taking care of the Ellison family, and all of a sudden we have a sick guide being kidnapped by the suddenly mad heir to the family title.  It’s damned upsetting.”

 

“Yes, yes, I’m sure,” said the mayor, soothingly.  “Now in your letter, you said that Master Blair is ill.  Has any of the staff, uh, talked to him?  How bad off is he?”

 

“So far only Rafe and Sir Simon have been admitted into Sir James’ chambers.  The valet hasn’t spoken to Sandburg, according to one of the gardeners, but Rafe did tell the kitchen maids that ‘his lordship’s guest’ is ill.  I was reduced to asking them for news about the guide.  The situation is intolerable.”

 

“Is that all you know?  Is he conscious?  Is he in danger?”

 

“Well, I may not know much but at least I knew where Sandburg was, didn’t I?  Your people could have kept a better eye on him.  Maybe he’d still be in town in his own bed.”

 

Bodmer let the accusation slip.  Friars was upset, after all.  The whole situation really was intolerable and he could only see one course of action.  “We need to get our guide back, Johnson, so if you could just whip up a warrant and arrest Sandburg for trespassing or something – you know, something that would allow you to take him into custody but not a charge that would get him flogged or anything – I think that would fit the bill, uh, don’t you think?”

 

“Well, uh, I guess we could do that,” said the constable, who hadn’t considered the possibility of arresting the guide.  He thought they had come here to rescue him.

 

At another long stare from the estate manager, the mayor said, “Well, Friars, this way we get what we want, the Ellison family is saved from any embarrassment, Young James will know that we know, uh, what he has done, and everybody comes up clean except Sandburg, but we can explain to him that it was all for the best.  He’s an understanding lad.”

 

________________________________________________________________

 

 

Chapter Eleven

 

At the insistent knocking on his chamber door, James motioned for Simon to stall for time while he scooped up the still-unresponsive guide and rushed around the room looking for a hiding place.

 

“Who is it?” yelled Simon; meanwhile making falling-out-of-bed noises to cover up Sir James’ footfalls, perfectly aware that any servant would have rapped twice and then waited for admittance.

 

“Open up, ah, open up in the name of the, of his majesty’s, ah…” Sounds of whispering could be heard on the other side of the door and then a different voice said, “We are very sorry to disturb you, Sir James, but we must come in.  This is Friars speaking, and I have the constable and the mayor of Burleigh with me.”

 

“Can’t this wait until later, Friars?” asked James in a bored voice while shoving the guide under the bed.  “I do not wish to be disturbed this morning.”

 

Simon gave James a pitying look and James dragged Sandburg backs out.

 

“I’m sorry, Sir James, but we must come in; it is a matter of grave importance.”

 

Simon turned and raised his eyebrows at the sight of his friend trying to make the floppy guide sit up behind the only drapery still hanging on its rod.  At a questioning look from James he shook his head and pointed with his chin.  The boy’s feet were sticking out.

 

“I must insist, Sir James,” Friars continued, in a voice that left no doubt that he would stand there all day if need be.

 

James laid his burden back down on the bed and Simon thought he was going to try the old ‘there’s only one of me under these covers’ routine, but James was sizing up the dimensions of the guide and the length of the mattress, and after shoving the latter up as far as it would go and rolling the former once again in a blanket, he had just enough space at the bottom to jam the guide in.  Then he gave Simon a silent raspberry, artfully arranged what was left of his covers and hopped back into bed.

 

“If we have to, Sir James,” Friars droned on, “I will have the servants take this door off its hinges.”

 

At a nod from his old friend, Simon flung open the door and watched the townsmen fall into a heap at his feet.  “Come in then,” he said with some satisfaction.  “What could be so important that you insist on speaking to your master even though he bade you wait?”  Simon thought his phrasing was rather good and he was pleased to see Friars wince under the reminder of how much the men were overstepping their boundaries.  The other two must have missed the hint because they bustled forward to explain themselves to Sir James anyway.  Simon thought the hare-like one was vaguely familiar.

 

“Sir James,” Mr. Rabbit said breathlessly, bowing to the bed, “and, um, of course you too, Sir Simon,” he added, although Simon noticed that he didn’t rate a bow, “both deserve an explanation for our, ah, sudden intrusion.  Our town guide has gone missing, and from information that we have received we fear that he may be hiding in the manor house. Johnson has a warrant allowing us to search for him.  I’m, uh, sorry to have to tell you this, gentlemen.  Our new guide has gone just the slightest bit, um, mad –“ This got him a look of incredulity not only from the gentlemen but also from his own compatriots  “- but there’s nothing to worry about, I assure you. Johnson, Friars, and I give you our word that he will be safely found and that no harm will come to you or your staff.”  The mayor thought that he too had a way with words.  He meant to convey that as soon as they had their guide back, the townsmen would be gone and all would be forgiven and forgotten.  

 

James did not sit up but he motioned for the obviously nervous man to continue.

 

“And so, uh, Sir James, we are conducting a room by room search.  We, uh, need to look through your wardrobe.  Um, and under your bed.  And, uh, your privy chamber.”

 

You think someone could have snuck in here last night and hidden under my bed or in the privy?” Sir James asked conversationally, raising his eyebrows.  Pushing his blankets down to the foot of his bed, James leaned over to take a look under his mattress.  The councilmen tried to conceal their disappointment that the suspicious looking lump in bed with his lordship turned out to be a pile of pillows, or at least they might have been pillows before some ferocious beast had gotten to them.  The mayor, the constable, and the estate man cast increasingly appalled looks around the decimated room, wondering if they should be looking for their lost guide in one piece or many small ones.  Sir James turned back to them with a big grin on his face. “I don’t know how the hell he got in, but we’ll catch the little devil, won’t we Simon?”

 

Johnson knocked a trinket to the floor in a rather obvious way.  While bending over to pick it up he glanced hurriedly under the bed and around the room at floor level.  This was not going the way the mayor had said it would.

 

Rolling out of bed, Sir James made a thorough tour of his chambers with the townsmen following his every move.  He invited the men to look everywhere, even flinging back the lone hanging drapery to reveal nothing but more feathers.

 

“Well men, no luck here, but we’re not giving up!”  Sir James said cheerfully. “We’ll have your guide found in no time.  Friars, have the gardeners and the beaters go through the grounds with pitchforks and flails.  The manservants will help you with the room-to-room searches.  Do we have enough butcher knives to adequately arm the inside staff?  We can’t give them guns; they’d be shooting each other in the foot.”  Chuckling at his own joke, James pulled a pistol from his dresser drawer and added, “Must save the firepower to guard the women.  Barking guide, eh?  What is this world coming to?”

 

James led the councilmen to his door and peered out into the hall with his pistol held up along side his head, then gave the newly appointed search team the nod to exit. “You don’t mind if we rough him up a bit if we find him first, do you?” James said, patting the mayor on the shoulder.  “Teach him a lesson before we send him back?  We don’t want this to get to be a bad habit.  I mean, this is private property.”

 

And suddenly the rescue party was on the other side of Sir James’ locked chamber door once again, only this time Friars and Johnson were staring at each other in mute horror and Bodmer was having hard not bursting into tears.

 

Meanwhile on the other side of the door, Simon did a victorious bunny hop around the room and James had to stop unwrapping the guide to hold his sides in laughter.

 

“You know,” Simon said breathlessly, sitting down on the side of the bed, “much as I enjoyed the show, we’re going to have to find a better solution than this.  Rafe has seen him and the kitchen staff sent up an extra breakfast.   People will talk.

 

“I don’t care. It was worth it to see the looks on their faces,” laughed James.

 

“Pitchforks!”  sputtered Simon.

 

“Shotguns!” retorted James.

 

“Butcher knives!” they both yelled, falling back on the bed in paroxysms of glee.  Simon spared a thought to the hope that the locals had already left but then decided it might be even better if they were still out there and got an earful of what their betters really thought of their pathetic scheme.  Honestly, he thought witches would be more clever. 

 

They lay there for a while chuckling and catching their breath.  Someone was carding Simon’s thick curly hair and it was quite soothing, but all of a sudden Simon realized that James was on his other side.   “Aaah!”  He jumped up, knocking James to the floor and stood pointing at the third occupant of the room.

 

The guide yawned, shook his head a little as if to clear it, and then did a slow visual sweep of the room. 

 

James peered at him from the edge of the bed and suddenly wished that there were not stockings and feathers on every single piece of furniture.  He flicked a few off of the bedside table while the guide was looking the other way and then hurriedly got to his feet, waiting to see what would happen next.

 

“Butcher knives?” asked the guide quietly.

 

“Oh!   Well.  You know.  We had to say something,” Simon sputtered, “ It seemed like a good – ow!“

 

James kicked his friend surreptitiously under the guide’s line of sight, but Simon rather spoiled the effect by yelping loudly and jumping up and down on one foot.

 

“You bastard, that hurt!”

 

Blair looked at James and blinked owlishly.  “You’re Burlington’s son.  I met you the other night at the, uh – “

 

“I said it hurt.”

 

“Yes,” James replied, ignoring his friend.

 

“You were, ah –“

 

“Yes.”

 

“See if I come running the next time you want to take a little jaunt to the country!”

 

“Um, I went to bed at the King’s Head last night.”

 

“These are my chambers at the manor.”

 

“Uhuh?”

 

At the lack of any further explanation, Blair sighed and tried again.  “Do you mind expanding on that a little?  This isn’t my dressing gown,” he ventured, holding out an arm not usually swathed in flounced lace.  “I don’t sleepwalk as far as I know, and I feel like I’ve gone two rounds with the village blacksmith.”

 

“Probably that ditch I rolled you into,” Simon mused to himself, “or maybe when James dropped you on your head.”

 

At the stares he got from both men, Simon held up his hands pleadingly.  “Hey, I did not beat him up this time - or last time.  Wait, that’s right.  I did beat him up last time –“

 

“Shut up, Simon!”

 

“Gotcha.”

 

“Here,” said James, handing the guide a glass of water.  “Try to ignore him.  Let’s have some breakfast and then I’ll explain how you got here.”

 

The guide lifted the crystal goblet doubtfully.  “I think maybe you’d better explain first.”

 

“That’s how I looked yesterday,” James thought, watching Blair slip a finger into the water and taste it cautiously. “He’s staring at those eggs as if they were going to jump up and bite him.”  Slowly and deliberately, James served himself from the covered dishes the kitchen had sent up, and just as slowly forced himself to eat a bite of each one to show the guide that the food wasn’t poisoned.  He was astonished when he realized that it actually tasted good - better than good.   After the hell of the last few days, he could have wept from the sheer pleasure of drinking clean water.  For a while the guide was forgotten as Sir James rediscovered the delights of bacon, eggs, and oatmeal.  After quite a while he noticed that he was the only one dining and that there wasn’t anything left on the cart except for a few pieces of toast.

 

Simon snatched up one and buttered it.  “Hell of a host you are, Jimmy.  Are you sure breakfast for three was enough for you?   Anyway, now that you’re finished, let’s get this over with.”  Simon turned to their guest as if to start but James pushed his friend out of the way and settled himself on the bed in front of the guide.

 

“We brought you here,”  James started carefully, “because we need your help.”

 

“You couldn’t just make an appointment,”  Blair replied, fingering the torn blanket.

 

“Ah – no.  At the time we thought you might be a – well, a threat – and we couldn’t take the chance that you would call out the townspeople or use your powers on us.”

 

“My powers?” Blair repeated.  “I’m a guide.  You know that, right?”

 

“Yes, exactly,” James was pleased at how well this was going.

 

“Wait a minute,” the guide said. “I don’t really think you do.   As an unbonded guide, my powers consist of a moderate ability to read people’s emotions and even then I have to be pretty close to them.  That’s it; that’s my powers.  If you want I could tell you that you are currently experiencing a great deal of satisfaction and relief, but I bet your friend could tell you the same thing - just by looking at you.  The only reason I can think of for you to bring me here is to make me to read someone you think is hiding their true feelings – a business partner, one of your relatives, the parlor maid for all I know - and I’ve got to tell you, I won’t do it.”

 

At the lack of response from his host, Blair added, “I can’t read minds.  I can’t do magic tricks.  I won’t spy on your loved ones.   Can I go now?”

 

“That isn’t why we brought you –“

 

“Even so,” Blair interrupted, “you wouldn’t have had to go to all this trouble for that.  You’re Lord James, for God’s sake.”  He was achy and confused and he didn’t realize that he was thinking aloud.  “What sort of powers did you think I had?”

 

“Fwosss,” mumbled Simon from the end of the bed.

 

“____?”

 

“Fwogs,” Simon repeated more forcefully, spraying toast crumbs across the bedding.

 

James sighed.  “He means we thought you could turn us into, uh, frogs or something – evil eye, occult powers, secrets of the, um, dark arts sort of thing.”  James voice had faltered quite a bit as he realized just how stupid he sounded.  His newest houseguest was looking at him almost with pity, as if he were a simpleton.  “I know what you people do,” James continued defensively.  “Don’t act all innocent and pure with me, Mr. Butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-your-mouth!  You won’t eat my food.  Well, I wouldn’t dine in Burleigh if I was starving to death.  We needed your help and we made damned sure that we got it.  You can’t pull any of your vile tricks here!”

 

James nodded in satisfaction to Simon when the guide just lay there speechless.  This was more like it.  He had to let the kid know who was boss here.

 

“By my people,” Blair said slowly, “did you mean the old man who raised me as a foundling or the professors at Cambridge where I studied?  Maybe you are referring to my mother, who died when I was seven or my father, who I never met.  If by some bizarre chance you are referring to the people of Burleigh, I want you to know that in the eleven days that I have been in this town I have been tricked, lied to, spied on, and drugged.  As far as I can tell, you’re a good example of the local citizenry.  You kidnapped me, beat me up –“

 

“You take that back, you little witch, you!’  Sir James was torn between a desire to teach this upstart the lesson of his life and the equally compelling urge to apologize profusely.  “Where did that come from?” he wondered to himself.  Was it some sort of a spell?

 

“You’re just the icing on the cake, you know that?” Blair muttered.  “Professor Linnet used to say that every guide got the town they deserved.  Hah!  Real Delphic oracle he was  – and by the way, sport, you might be surprised to learn what the heir to the House of Ellison would be willing to do if he was hungry enough.  Doesn’t look like you’ve missed a whole lot of meals.”

 

James wanted to reply that he had missed quite a few meals in the last couple of days, but the strange spell held.  The future lord was having a hard time maintaining the upper hand, much less his indignation.  Hadn’t they brought Sandburg here because he was a danger and a threat?

 

“You’re not a, uh…” Simon pantomimed a tall pointy hat.

 

“Witch?  No,” Blair said.  When they didn’t look convinced, he repeated, “I, Blair Sandburg, recently appointed guide to the town of Burleigh, am not now, nor have ever been a witch.  The good people neglected to tell me about the local customs until after I signed the contract.   I thought you two would know more about this stuff than me anyway.   Didn’t someone tell me your mother –”

 

“Shut up.”

 

After looking at the gentleman’s stony face for a moment, Blair softened his approach.  “I’m sorry to have offended you, Sir James, but you can see how I might get the impression that you were one of the, ah, brethren I think they call themselves.”

 

“Neither my brother, my father, nor myself are brethren.  My mother is dead and not to be discussed.”  James’ tolerant mood was finally giving way to anger.

 

“So you thought you needed to spirit me away from town before we turned you into toads or something,” Blair continued.  “What was so important that you would risk my, uh, enchanting you?  Is that the word?  Casting?  Bewitching?”

 

“Cursing, I believe, is the word that you are looking for, Master Guide, or perhaps poisoning.  And the risk was certainly worth the price.  I have heard from my friend here how you and the townspeople came to our aid after the accident, and I am in need of your abilities once again.”

 

This made the guide go quite still.  “What do you mean?” he asked.

 

“First you must swear that this conversation will go no farther.  No one else is to ever hear of it.  Do you understand me?”

 

“Yes.  No.”

 

“Do you think I brought you here to amuse me?”

 

“I’m sorry,” replied the guide, rubbing his forehead  “Yes, of course I understood you but my answer has to be no.”

 

“Perhaps you don’t realize just how miserable I can make your life.”

 

“Oh, I do, really.  Even so, as a pledged guide I cannot promise to do anything that could hurt Burleigh.  You can’t ask me to blindly swear to hold my tongue.  What if you then went on to tell me that you were planning to turn the town over to the church inquisitors for heresy?  Even if it were a personal matter between you and one of the townsmen I might have to intervene, don’t you see?  I am the Burleigh town guide.”

 

“But I thought you said they were spying on you and drugging you?”  James asked.

 

“I know, I know.  But I probably shouldn’t have even told you that, in case you use it against them.  This isn’t about what they are; it’s about what I am.”

 

At this amazing statement, Sir James stopped pacing beside the bed and took a long look at its occupant.  Past the scrawny frame and the ridiculous hair, the bruises that ran into the five o’clock shadow and the nasty looking gash on one brow, Sir James saw that this man had the most striking eyes – very blue, lively, and intelligent.  “You’re not worried that they might eventually kill you?” he had to ask.

 

James saw the guide flinch, but Sandburg didn’t answer the question, just stared out the window at the grey morning sky.  If anything happening to this man at the hands of those ingrates James promised himself they would pay.

 

“Well, it’s no skin off my nose if you want to play martyr to a bunch of crazies,” James said aloud.  “And if it helps your delicate sensibilities, I need your help for myself.  I live here too, Sandburg.   Am I not part of your precious flock?”   After another minute watching the guide watch the birds in the sky, he grudgingly added, “Nothing I am about to tell you will endanger Burleigh in any way.  You have my word on it.”

 

Simon looked at his friend in exasperation.  He couldn’t figure out why they weren’t holding the kid by the ankles and shaking the truth out of him, but if James wanted to string the kid along then who was he to spoil the fun.

 

“I guess, technically, you are one of my charges,” Blair finally conceded, “although it doesn’t look like you spend much time in town.”

 

“Got that right,” muttered Simon.

 

“Alright,” said the guide, “as long as you don’t tell me anything that I would have to act on, I promise I won’t repeat anything you say.”

 

“Don’t ever decide to go into the priesthood, Sandburg,” laughed James. “You get to decide?”

 

“Well, yeah,” the guide answered.

 

“Look, Jim,” Simon said, coming up on the other side of the bed, “enough is enough.  You hang him over the side of the balcony and I’ll beat him with the warming pan.”

 

“Simon!” hissed Sir James, “For God’s sake, shut up!”

 

Shaking his head in wonder at his best friend, Simon walked out to the balcony to get some air and James took the opportunity to expand the area he had been pacing.  Blair watched him as he made three complete circuits of the room before returning to lean aggressively over the side of the bed. 

 

“I am a sentinel,” James stated flatly.

 

Blair tried to scramble out of the other side of the bed, but Sir James had a firm grip on his arm. 

 

“I am a sentinel and ever since the coach accident my senses have been going haywire.”  James was pleased to see the guide’s mouth fall open.  “I need you to tell me if the townspeople did anything to cause it.  I already promised you that I wouldn’t seek revenge, but you can see why I want this to go away.  If you can lift the curse, get me the antidote, whatever – Burleigh will be safe and I will out of your hair.”

 

Blair’s mouth was still open but now it was moving up and down as if it were trying to speak on its own without input from his brain.  Finally he realized what he was doing and snapped it shut.  He wiped his eyes with his free hand and then made as if to touch Sir James’ arm.

 

“Ah, ah, ah, Sandburg,” said James, backing away.  “I’m taking your word for it that you’re not a - you know – but I think we had quite enough togetherness the other night.”

 

“You’re a…you’re a…” Blair seemed to have forgotten the English language.

 

“Sentinel,” supplied James.

 

“No, you’re an earl or something,” corrected the confused guide.  “There must be some mistake.”

 

“Well, yeah, I imagine there must have been quite the practical joke about thirty-four years ago, but we’re not discussing my family, remember?  All you need to know is that I am a sentinel and that I do not wish to continue as such.  Can you fix it?”

 

“Fix it?” repeated Blair, staring up in awe at the gentleman.  “Fix it?”  This time he appeared to be talking to himself.

 

“For obvious reasons,” said Sir James, “it would be inconvenient, not to say totally ruinous for me to be found to have this, ah, disability.  I need it gone.”  James held back the information that his senses had been driving him to consider suicide, not wanting to give this stranger anything else to hold over his head.  Nor did he mention that he had been feeling much better since the guide arrived.  Let the kid think that this was how he had been getting along since the accident.  He really wished the room looked better.

 

Blair fiddled with the lace on his sleeves for a few moments, poking his fingers through the holes as if the secrets of the universe involved cotton thread.  He stole glances at both men but didn’t look up.  “You’re not having me on, are you?” he asked rhetorically.  “A man of your age, a peer, servants everywhere – I don’t see how this could happen.”

 

“Can you make it go away?” Simon asked.

 

“I shouldn’t think so.”  At the look of baffled fury on Sir James’ face, Blair quickly looked down again and then added, “Look, I can help you.  There’s never been a documented case of someone ‘unbecoming’ a sentinel, but you can learn to control it.  All you need is your own guide and a little practice.  I know, I know, you don’t want the senses or a guide but hey, people get stuck with all sorts of burdens and they learn to make do.  You can do this.  In fact, with your money and power, you can afford the very best.  Tell people he’s your new valet, she’s your mistress, no one will suspect.  You’ll have to keep moving for a while - two years to be safe, so your guide won’t place-bond - but after that you can come and go as you like.  Um, why are you looking at me like that?”

 

“Are you saying that my only choice is between finding a guide and going mad?”

 

“Essentially…yes.”

 

“I brought you all the way up here to tell me this load of crap?  What about an antidote?”

 

“You weren’t poisoned.  You’re just you.”

 

“Treatments?”

 

“Guide.”

 

“There must be something, something that would give me a little more time.”

 

“I can’t believe you made it this long.  Most sentinels go mad by thirty without a guide.”

 

“Well, aren’t I the lucky one!” James snarled and got up to resume his pacing.  “So tell me this, chief, why didn’t my senses start acting up before now?  Why did this happen all of a sudden when I ran into you?  Got an answer for that one?”

 

The guide lowered his head again. “You’re not going to like it, but yeah.  The vicar asked me to try to wake you up after the wreck – which shows, by the way, that the townspeople have no idea what you are – and they’ve been drugging me with something that brings out my guide abilities.  Whatever they’re using on me causes blackouts, too, but they don’t seem to care about that.  Anyway, they gave me some of this stuff a few hours before the accident.  I was primed.  And I was blacking out off and on all evening.  You shouldn’t have been anywhere near me.” 

 

Blair stopped waving his arms around and looked at James pityingly.  “Basically I was catnip.  Any guide would have affected you somewhat, but this – if it weren’t so obviously an accident I would call it a crime.   I entered your mind.  You were staring into space, for God’s sake!  How could I not have seen it?  Stupid, stupid, stupid.  I thought you had just cracked your head.  Somebody told me you had spells.  I never thought…OK, I did, just for a second, but then I saw the way you were dressed and they said you were Burlington’s son.”  By now the guide was waving his arms around like a puppet.  “I really thought I was helping!”

 

“And you weren’t helping?” James asked, trying to decipher what the guide had just said.

 

“You don’t understand!” Blair continued.  “I sent my spirit into your body and you responded to me.  We’ve started to bond.”

 

“Son of a bitch, Ellison!” yelled Simon.  “Get away from him, you.  You’re worse than a witch!” He put himself between his friend and the guide, hoping that he wasn’t putting himself in danger of becoming ensnared by this harmless looking menace.

 

James stalked out onto the balcony, giving himself time to cover the fear and longing that overcame him while listening to the guide’s tale.  The reply he gave was a model of misdirection.  “I’m on to your game now, Sandburg.  You thought you’d landed yourself quite the catch, I bet.  Did you really think I would be willing to spend my life in this godforsaken hole tethered to you?  Was that the plan?  Bait the hook, give him a little play, and then when he’s worn himself out he’ll be that much easier to reel in.  Well, think again, Sandburg,” said Ellison in his most offensive manner.  Simon even took a step back, making him bump into the end of the bed.

 

“It wasn’t on purpose; I swear it,” was all that the guide could think of to say.

 

“You can do better than that!  I thought you were a trained guide.  How could something like this just happen?”

 

“I…I..” Blair sat bent over in the bed with his arms around his stomach.  “Look, when I linked to you it opened up the pathways in your brain and there’s no closing them off again.  If you don’t finalize a bond within the next few days, you’ll be dead in a fortnight.  If I were you, Sir James, I would head straight for London this very morning.  Your senses should hold steady for a while.  I was here about eight hours, right?  That should stabilize you for forty-eight.  If you’ll give me leave to write, I can direct you to an establishment that will have just what you need – an assortment of unattached guides with impeccable records and closed mouths.”  He took the paper and quill that Sir Simon shoved in his face and quickly wrote down an address.  “Tell them ‘Consequences’.  That’s the, uh, password.”  Blair picked up the note and blew on the ink to dry it, spraying some on his chin.  “I know this isn’t what you wanted, but it’s probably for the best in the long run.  No unbonded sentinel has ever lived to be forty.  This way you can have a long, uh… a long… and a happy…”

 

The guide seemed to have run out of conversation.  Simon snatched the paper up and carried it over to his friend.  “Kid, what assurance do we have that you’re not a liar or a fortune hunter or worse?  I wouldn’t trust you any farther than I could throw your sorry ass.  If anything happens to James because of your little scheme, I’ll be back to find you.  It doesn’t matter how far you run.”

 

“Don’t worry; I’m not going anywhere.  Nowhere, in fact.”  Blair smiled sadly up at the men.  “You have my word as the Burleigh town guide.  This was all a terrible mistake.  Please accept my sincere apologies and my best wishes for your future happiness.”  And then the guide struggled out of the bed, pulled the ridiculous gown around him and staggered for the door.  “I’ll just let myself out.” 

 

 

“Gentlemen!”

 

The mayor, the constable, and the estate manager were deep in furtive conversation at the far end of the hall when Sir James exploded out of his chamber door, clutching a lace-trimmed robe in one hand and Blair in the other.

 

“I believe you lost this!” he called, shoving the guide down the hall. “He’s a little the worse for wear but since you appear to be so attached to him, I decided to show some leniency – this time.  If I should ever find him in the manor again however, I shall be forced to take sterner measures.  Good day to you.”  Another shove brought the guide to his knees at the feet of the councilmen and then Sir James marched back to his rooms and slammed the door.

 

“What just happened?” whispered Johnson.

 

“We’ll sort it out later,” the mayor whispered back.  “Right now, let’s just get him out of here.  You take his other arm and Friars can watch out for the staff.”

 

“Hey!” the estate man hissed.  “I’m one of the staff.”

 

“You aren’t going to come after Sandburg with a pitchfork.  Come on, let’s go before ‘himself’ changes his mind.”

 

The guide was silent and biddable, and the men did not press him to talk as they hurried down the back stairs and out onto the drive, where they came to a sudden halt. Their planning hadn’t gotten this far.

 

“He’s almost naked,” Johnson said, referring to the guide’s nightshirt which was ripped almost in half down the front.  “We can’t take him back like this.  The townspeople would storm the manor.”

 

“Well we can’t take him to my place,” argued the estate man.  “I could lose my job over this.  I have to consider how this will look to the rest of the Ellison family.”

 

“Thank God it’s your job and not mine – bunch of loonies.  First Jamie steals our guide and then he changes his mind and tosses him out like a sack of garbage,” Johnson said, throwing Blair over his shoulder and heading out across the lawn to Friar’s house.  “I don’t know how people can treat a guide like that.”

 

Bodmer hurried to catch up, trying to tuck his own overcoat over the parcel. “Let’s take him straight to the inn.  Friars, can we borrow a couple of blankets?”  The men argued over possible repercussions all the way back to the house.  They realized that Blair couldn’t seat a horse on his own, and quickly decided that having him ride double with one of the other men would still show off too many of his injuries to the restive townspeople.  Finally, the estate man agreed to lend them an old enclosed carriage – for the good of the Ellisons.

 

Once they got Blair tucked in on one bench seat with a pile of stable blankets, Bodmer sat with him and Johnson drove. Their own horses would be delivered later that day.  The mayor patted Blair’s hand all the way to the inn and tried to keep his spirits up.  “Don’t worry, lad.  We’ve got you now.”

 

 

After that, the world became a different place for Blair Sandburg.  Upon his arrival at the King’s Head he was whisked upstairs by a dozen grim-faced women, dosed with another concoction that they had been keeping warm by the fire, and then laid out naked on the bed and inspected like a sheep at the market. He didn’t care, at first because he was still in shock, and then after a few minutes because everything was taking on a pink glow and he couldn’t remember why he was so upset.  Everything was lovely, wasn’t it?  He tried to tell the ladies but they just flipped him over and put ointment on the scratches on his back.   The ladies were lovely, lovely and pink.  Their voices made little pink clouds in the air and when he tried to touch the words they burst into little pink whispers that tickled his hand.

 

Bodmer and Johnson cooled their heels downstairs for almost an hour before the ladies allowed them to come up.  Both men had been warned to keep it short – the guide was in bad shape and he wouldn’t understand much anyway.  Bodmer wished that he could have just a nip of the elixir hanging from the pothook over the fire.  His nerves were not at their best, either.  Old Maudie was staring over the men’s heads in such a way that it was obvious she thought the guide’s injuries were at least partially the councilmen’s fault and so they tiptoed in and waited meekly for her nod before approaching the bed.

 

“Blair, my dear,” said the mayor softly, “I know you’ve been through a lot, but I just need to ask you a few questions before you fall asleep, OK?  Everything will be fine; you’ve been a very brave lad.”  It was rather disconcerting that Blair was also looking over his head, eyes tracking nothing at all as far as Bodmer could see.  “Just a few, ah, questions and then you can have a nice little nap.  Um, did Sir James or his friend hurt you, Blair?”  This got a round of snorts from the ladies, who rolled their eyes at the obtuseness of the male sex, but the guide himself continued to be fascinated by something on the ceiling.  “I mean, um, are you hurt anywhere…else?”  He suddenly realized that he couldn’t go on with this line of questioning.  If the guide answered yes, they would be honor bound to kill the heir of Burlington.  “Never mind, never mind,” he whispered, and looked to the women for what he needed to know.  They shook their heads no, to his huge relief, and he had to take a moment to compose himself before he continued.  “Well then, very good.  How about this?  Did you know either of them before you came to Burleigh?  Blair?”

 

Blair shook his head in a lazy arc.

 

“Good, good.  Do you know what they wanted, my boy?  I don’t exactly know how to put this.  Um, do they have any hold over you?”  The mayor was frozen with apprehension.

 

Blair’s eyes flickered down to meet Bodmer’s for a second before floating back to the ceiling.  After a pause, he whispered back, “No, no business.  He’s going back to London,” and then he giggled and tried to grab something invisible out of the air.

 

“Then why did he abduct – ah, send for you, Blair.  What did he want?”

 

“He made a mistake.  He though I could help him…” Here Blair seemed to come to himself for a moment and looked at Bodmer fearfully, “but I couldn’t.  I couldn’t help him.”  As Blair’s eyes glossed over again, the mayor’s own eyes rose into his bushy hair.  “He went to London to get…help, not…me.”

 

“You are our guide, aren’t you, Blair?” the mayor asked gently, sure now that he had the answer.

 

“Bonded and bound… for as long as I shall…mmm, not for long, eh?    I toll, uh, tolllllld ‘im… ‘m a town guide…”

 

The mayor had never heard anything so brave.  “We made a good choice, my boy.”  He sat with Blair for a little while, watching him fall asleep.  “My compliments, ladies,” he whispered as he and Johnson tiptoed to the door.  “We’ll be downstairs in the bar if you need us.”

 

“I don’t think it’s open yet,” whispered Johnson, who had checked while they were kept waiting downstairs, “what with the commotion and all.”  Both men looked at the innkeeper’s wife longingly and sighed in relief when she handed over the key ring.  “Bless you for a good woman,” the constable said.  “It’s been a stressful day.”  He darted out of the room like a schoolboy at the end of lessons and Bodmer, once again left at the gate, bowed quickly to the ladies before hurrying to join him.

 

“It’ll keep them out of our hair for awhile,” Mrs. Keaton explained as she closed and locked the door.  “Mary, do we have enough sage?”

 

Word of the guide’s return soon got out to the rest of the town and within an hour the bar at the King’s Head was packed with drinkers eager to hear the news or tell their own stories about the previous night at the inn.  It was surprising to learn how many of them suddenly ‘knew’ that Sir James and his friend had been planning to kidnap Sandburg.  They tapped their noses and nodded their heads slowly.  “You can’t fool a countryman,” they told each other.

 

The crowd spilled out into the wide foyer and up the stairs, where the women congregated to catch up on local gossip and pass down tidbits of information from the sickroom. 

 

“I say, if he’s unbalanced or overwrought or whatever you call it, won’t having all these people here make it worse?”  yelled Mr. Toby, shoving his way through the noisy crowd to the barroom door. 

 

“I think the Ladies Aid Society has things in hand,” Mr. Biggs yelled back.  “Maudie Long is up there.”

 

“Oh, I see.  Well in that case I think we have time for a quick one before we track down the others, eh?  It’s been a stressful morning all around.”

 

“Very taxing.”

 

“Did you help in the search?”

 

Ah, no.  I was out in the woods when the word came round.  Damned shame.  I did get two coneys!”

 

“Ha!  Same here.  A buck and a pair of doves.”

 

“Well, good for you!  It doesn’t look like they needed us anyway.  Shall we make it doubles?”

 

“Save ourselves the trip back.”

 

There was an even bigger crush in the barroom itself and the two men didn’t realize until they bellied up to the counter that their barmen were none other than Johnson and Bodmer.

 

“Good day, gents!” called the constable.  “What’s your poison?”

 

”This is stupid,” Simon groaned.  “We don’t have to rush off to London just because some hayseed guide tells us to.”

 

“If you want to stay here, Simon, be my guest,” his host replied, throwing a couple of suitcases up to a waiting servant, who lashed them to the top of the carriage.  He didn’t wait for a reply, just headed back in to get the remainder.

 

“Well, since you put it so graciously,” Simon called to the retreating figure, climbing into the vehicle.  “I think I’ll just sit here and check out your technique.  I never knew you made such an exemplary footman.  You may have found your true calling.”

 

James returned with one of Simon’s large cases and dropped it dramatically onto the cobblestones.

 

“Tsk, tsk!  No tip for you, my lad.  Although I think you’re just jealous because all of your clothes fit in a gunnysack.  Is that one of your brother’s ensembles I see you wearing today?  Very becoming.  You know you could start the next fashion – skintight pants and three-quarter length sleeves.”

 

“Oh, and driver!” Simon added, leaning out the carriage window to speak to the man in question, who was busy checking the harnesses, “On absolutely no account are you to listen to any attempt by his lordship to get you to drive faster than you deem prudent.  Do you hear that, Jim?  Prudent.  Safe.  If I hear you so much as speak to this poor man I will strangle you in your seat, so help me God.  There, now I feel better.”

 

Rafe appeared with his own rather large battered case, and James grabbed it out of his hands, handed it up to the servant, and then motioned the valet toward the carriage. 

 

“Sorry, Simon,” said James, not sorry at all, “Rafe is going to have to ride with us.  I didn’t have time to send him on ahead.”  He pointed his valet to Simon’s side of the coach, and took the other seat for himself, stretching out his legs to rest on the only square foot of space left on Simon’s bench.  The carriage rocked gently as they started off for London.

 

“Laugh it up, pretty boy,” his friend replied easily.  “It’s going to be a nice long ride.”

 

 

Back at the King’s Head, the festive mood continued.  From his position behind the bar, Johnson held the crowd spellbound with the story of how ‘their Blair’ had escaped from the clutches of Sir James and his able henchman, Simon Banks.  These so-called gentlemen had kidnapped their guide out of his own bed, smuggled him onto the estate under cover of darkness and secreted him somewhere in Sir James’ own apartment.  Three of the councilmen had braved his lordship’s wrath to try to rescue the guide, but after a thorough search they could find no trace of him.  Sir James must have a trap door or a priest hole somewhere in his chambers.  Why any decent man would need such a hiding place Johnson left up to the imagination of his listeners.  

 

Mayor Bodmer watched the crowd apprehensively as they listened to Johnson’s yarn.  While he couldn’t disagree with the facts, he wondered to himself if this version of the story was actually helpful.  He thought the idea was to give the people a fairytale with a happy ending, not recruit for a lynch mob.

 

Johnson continued after taking a few swigs to clear his throat.   Where was he?  Oh, yes.  Their guide was trapped in the manor house, probably in a cold dark cell, at the mercy of two desperate men, and he was there for at least six hours.  Imagine it, six hours.  Who knows what they did to him in all that time? 

 

Bodmer waved to get Johnson’s attention, but the storyteller was on a roll.   Everyone else held his breath, waiting for the next part.  After all, it had to be true; it came from the constable himself.

 

“We know he was beaten.”

 

Oh. My. God.  The crowd went wild.

 

“Now men! Now men!” shouted the mayor, “Let’s not be hasty!”

 

But this moment was what the crowd had been waiting for - their own chance to be part of the story  - and they knew what they had to do.  “Hasty?” shouted back Cowley the cobbler, raising his calloused fist, “Who’s talking about hasty?  We’re going to take all the time in the world, mayor!  Six hours sounds about right to me.  Nobody touches our guide.”

 

The bar room cleared out swiftly and noisily.  Bodmer poured himself a large whiskey, and then reconsidered and took a swig straight from the bottle before sliding the overflowing shot glass down the counter to the constable. “Here, Johnson.  You might want this before you have to go out there and get them back.  What were you thinking?”

 

“I just wanted them to realize what a treasure they had.  I wanted them to care.”

 

“Well, I think you did a pretty good job then.”

 

Bodmer spent the rest of the day going from house to house, quietly explaining to the townspeople why Sir James suddenly went mad and kidnapped their guide.  Some of them understood the implications of the accident and a few even felt sorry for him, going out and making a spectacle of himself like that.  The majority of the townspeople still thought he deserved to be put in the stocks, or worse, but they were made to see that anything they did to Sir James or his friend would only come back to haunt the whole town.   Bodmer privately thought a few of them were just biding their time.

 

 It had helped when Friars sent a note into town shortly after noon.  Once it was made clear to everyone that both Sir James and his friend Sir Simon were not at the manor, and had left for London in quite a hurry, the townspeople were at least a little mollified.  They had been denied the pleasure of running the pair out of the county, but they felt like they had at least supplied the threat that had made the cowards run.   And unless Sir James was even crazier than they thought, he would not return for a very, very long time.

 

 

Chapter Twelve

 

Blair knew practically none of this.  His fuzzy pink world did not admit any strife, and his memory did not continue from one minute to the next.  His sanity was maintained by the ministrations and elixirs of the women of the parish.  Someone was constantly by his side, morning and night.

 

As the weeks went by, Blair continued in his dreamlike state.  Johnson had no trouble getting him ready for the harvest rites.  All he had to do was lead the guide and prompt him at the proper times.  Blair had vague memories of walking under a long canopy of oak branches and being asked to lie down in a cave.  The only thing he strongly remembered about the ceremony was that Johnson’s voice was more lavender than pink, and that he had told him so and gotten a big smile in return.

 

In the few moments of lucidity he sometimes had right before he got another spoonful of syrup, Blair realized how much effort the town was putting into keeping him going.  He felt ashamed of himself for causing the situation in the first place and for being too helpless to do anything about it now.  He had thought these people were out to get him, and they had repaid his distrust with care and kindness.  It was almost too much to bear. 

 

The women would hush his rambling apologies, and try to distract him while the elixir took effect.  They brought him their few books and the much more common broadsheets and begged him to read to them.  Even the ladies who could do it themselves liked to listen to the sound of his voice, and if he didn’t remember the story after he had gotten through it, it made it much easier to get him to read it again the following week.  When the weather was fine, the men took turns walking him to the brook and back, and when it rained they sat him by the big fireplace downstairs with the old men and let them tell him their stories.  He was a good listener and loved to hear tales of Ball and his guide Samuels.  Christmas came and went and all he remembered about it was wearing a holly wreath and dancing with the mayor’s wife.   Winter had a sameness about it that didn’t help the guide to keep track.  He knew he went to church on Sunday and the council meetings at Bodmer’s on Friday afternoons, but he never knew which day it actually was and so was always surprised to see the vicar or the councilmen.  After a while it seemed to him as if the past was a lifetime ago and he had been living at the King’s Head for years. 

 

One morning when Blair was sitting by his bedroom window he noticed that the buds were opening on the willow tree outside and it struck him just what the townspeople had accomplished.  The long yellow blossoms made him realize that his arrival in town had to have occurred six or seven months ago, not a lifetime - but then again, maybe it was.  His professors at Cambridge had all flatly stated that it was impossible for a pair-bonded guide who had lost his partner to survive for more than a couple of weeks.  He should have died in the fall when his sentinel returned to London.

 

“Uncle Bijel,” he whispered to the tree outside.  “Am I dead?  Can you see me?”

 

“Of course we can see you, Blair my dear,” said the mayor, coming into the room with his wife, ”and just look what we’ve brought you – a nice big book.  Joan was sure that you would like it.”

 

Bodmer looked to the woman on duty, who was just finishing brushing out the guide’s hair.  She gave it a final caress and answered the mayor’s unspoken question.  “He had his medicine just this minute and he should be fine for the next couple of hours.  I’m going to go home now, Blair.  Silas and Joan have come for a visit.”  She kissed him on the head and packed up her basket.  “See you tomorrow!’

 

“Bye, Mary!” 

 

Joan put down her own basket on the little table and then the mayor and his wife pulled up chairs to join Blair at the window.  Silas had to tap the guide on his knee to get his attention.  “How are you feeling this morning, Blair?” he said slowly.  “Would you like to take a walk down by the brook?  I have something to show you; the crocuses are up!  You admired the willow trees so much yesterday that I thought we could all look for flowers.  If we find enough we’ll bring back some for your room and maybe we’ll even make a nosegay for the little woman here.  Does that sound like fun?”

 

Blair looked around the room and then studied the mayor’s wife up and down before he finally decided that Bodmer must have been referring to Mary.  Then he smiled at them both and replied, “That sounds lovely.”

 The Burleigh Town Guid Chapter 13 and Epilogue