The Keep

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 25After breakfast, Esyal followed Qualto out of the common room ostensibly to help him in the kitchen, but her primary motive was to avoid further contact with Adroyan — her knife-wielding of the previous evening still being large in her memory, she assumed it was in his too.

She had determined to win as many allies as possible in this place, not least because she knew she could be there for some time.

“It pays to have friends in low places,” her father used to say about dealing with civic officials. “They’re the ones who can make your life a misery if they want, and little’s to be gained by fighting them anyway. They’re only infantry — there’s always plenty more to take their place when you’ve bayoneted them to death. It’s the generals you have to go for.”

Esyal had seen him at work often enough to learn that this was sterling advice and she followed it whenever she could. Not that it could be followed so easily since the coming of the New Order. Fear pervaded the ‘infantry’ now — fear at many levels, but which universally overwhelmed any instinct to help and oblige — fear that, at its most trivial, insisted on the grim observance of the minutiae of the innumerable regulations that now flowed out of the Government, however inane or contradictory — fear that turned officials into mere survival machines, and informers.

Esyal had noted from the outset that Nyk, Henk and Qualto were seemingly unaffected by this. They were a small island still in an easier past. Not surprising really, she concluded. It was simply a matter of distance. This place was too far from anywhere to interest the New Order. Until now, of course. Which brought her thoughts full circle: until such time as she could safely leave she must find out why Adroyan was here. But first came survival — and allies.

Qualto’s kitchen was largely as she and Adroyan had left it the previous night, save that the dish she had been eating from was gone and the knife she had thrown aside was back in its rack.

Qualto had bustled in ahead of her and was now busy at the sink, clattering the breakfast dishes purposefully and whistling softly to himself.

“Shall I dry those?” she asked hesitantly.

Qualto paused uncertainly. “They’ll drain,” he said eventually.

It took Esyal little insight to diagnose the problem and she met it head on.

“I’m in the way, aren’t I?”

Qualto placed the last plate in a rack, wiped his hands and placed the towel neatly back on its rail. He smiled apologetically. “No,” he said unconvincingly. “It’s a big kitchen, but... I’m not sure there’s much you can do to help, though the offer’s appreciated. I’m very... organized.”

Esyal returned the smile with a winning one of her own. “I can see that,” she replied, looking around. “But for three, not seven. There’s going to be a lot more to do and I suppose you’ve got duties other than cooking, haven’t you?” She did not wait for an answer. “I’ll not get under your feet — truly. Anyway, you can brush me aside with them if I do. I’ve got to do something. I’m not here on official business like the others, I’m just a stray who’s wandered in and can’t get out. I can’t take your food and hospitality without making some kind of a contribution. And I don’t want to spend the days doing nothing — I’ll go crazy.”

The combination of logic, charm and plaintive appeal routed Qualto’s already none-too-strong resistance. He yielded.

“You’re probably right. I suppose all three of us will have to get used to our staid old habits being disrupted until this survey is finished and everyone’s gone.”

“And that could be some time,” Esyal said.

“It could indeed,” Qualto agreed. “This snow is early, but it looks very... set. It could well be spring before the way back to the village is clear again. I imagine they’ll have finished their survey by then, but, that said, this place is much bigger than it looks — and very complicated.” The memory of his and Badr’s journey with Henk the previous night returned, disturbingly. “I’ve worked here for a long time and I wouldn’t pretend to have seen every part of it.”

“It must be big,” Esyal said.

Qualto shrugged. “Maybe I’m just not curious enough.”

“Or adventurous enough,” Esyal teased.

“Hmm, maybe. Look where being adventurous got you, young lady.” He continued before Esyal could reply. “And talking of adventures, what was one of my knives doing on the worktop this morning.” He raised his eyebrows quizzically like a patient but all-knowing schoolmaster.

His look surprised Esyal. Don’t underestimate this man — he could well be more than just a plump and jolly cook. In fact, she decided, he is! She had speculated in assuming he had other duties here, but he had not denied it. She must find out what they were. And she must not underestimate Nyk or Henk either. It took unusual people — special people — to man an obscure outpost like this.

Heeding the warning, she remembered her thoughts when Nyk and Josyff discovered her in the cave: the best way to deceive is to tell as much of the truth and as few lies as possible.

“I didn’t do any damage to it, did I?”

“No,” Qualto replied. “But you might have done — to yourself. All my knives are very sharp. You could cut yourself badly and not even feel it.” He was not to be deflected from his question however, which he repeated not in words but in an inclination of his head.

“I... er... just grabbed it when I heard that shout,” Esyal confessed.

“It was that frightening — a cry for help? It was a cry for help, wasn’t it?”

“It sounded like one when it came again, but not at first — it frightened me to death, coming out of nowhere like that. Adroyan jumped as well.”

“He didn’t grab one of my best knives.”

“He’s a big man,” Esyal protested, raising her voice. “And I’m...” She faltered, then shrugged. “Maybe... I’m just used to looking after myself.”

Qualto’s lips pursed thoughtfully, then he was the cook again. “A good trait,” he said, starting to wipe down a working surface. “Especially in a woman — I admire it.” He became mockingly stern. “But make sure you clean my knives and put them back properly in future. And do be careful.”

“I hope I won’t need to be — other than for helping you with the cooking.” Before Qualto could dispute this ambition, she pressed on. “What do you think it was? It sounded like a voice.”

“Not hearing it, couldn’t say,” Qualto replied, as casually as he could. “Echoes, wind, some stray animal out in the snow?” Esyal was shaking her head. Qualto wanted to give her an easy assurance, but somehow he could not. The reports of the voices in the night conspired with Henk’s odd behaviour and Badr’s experience in the book room to unsettle him. Nor could he drift lightly into casual conversation with this new arrival. He reverted to the previous subject.

“I notice you’vea knife in your belt,” he said, pointing. “You seem to be very... martial... for a young lady.”

Esyal stopped an involuntary movement to close her jacket and cover the knife. She managed to look mildly surprised.

“Yes, I noticed. I imagine it’s part of whatever I brought into the mountains. Survival stuff. I suppose there’s a pack full of clothes and food somewhere out there.”

“May I?” Qualto made a beckoning gesture for the knife.

Esyal, wilfully awkward, drew the knife and handed it to him. He turned it over a few times, squinted along it and tested the edge then wrinkled his nose slightly.

“What’s the matter?” Esyal asked.

“Nothing. It’s a good knife. Very good, actually. But I think we can get a better edge on it, though. Shall I?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Esyal replied, vaguely. “Does it matter — being a bit blunt?”

Qualto chuckled and became fatherly. He waved the knife at her like an admonishing finger. “Well, it doesn’t matter in the great scheme of things, I suppose, and I’ll confess to being... over-fussy... about such matters, but whatever you’re going to use it for, a knife’s no good if it doesn’t cut properly, is it?” Without waiting for the permission he had sought, he took down a sharpening steel from a rack and engaged it in a deft and very rapid series of strokes and counter strokes with the knife. “Not only that,” he continued above the noise. “It can be downright dangerous — uncontrollable, you see.” The steel was back in its rack and Qualto was wafting the blade up and down a leather strop. Esyal watched this effortless workmanship with the quiet and slightly envious wonder of any intelligent person watching a skilled craftsman at work.

“There we are,” he said eventually, handing the knife back to her. “That will do what you ask it to now, not jerk and stick and generally do what it feels like. Just treat it with respect.”

Esyal took the knife gingerly. “I will,” she said, carefully sheathing it. “In fact I think I’ll leave it just where it is.”

“Well, I doubt you’ll be needing any ‘survival stuff’ while you’re here,” Qualto said, with a smile. “Fork, spoon, and an ordinary knife should be all that’s necessary. And there are plenty of books to read if the boredom looks like proving fatal.”

“Maybe I’ll be able to help the surveyors,” Esyal mused.

“Maybe,” came the reply. “They seem pleasant enough. I’m sure there’ll be able to find something for you to do. I think the job’s going to be bigger than they thought — this place is very deceptive. And they got off to a rather shaky start, their equipment not being here.” He pulled a wry face. “Josyff put a brave face on it but I don’t think he was too impressed by the stuff that Nyk found for him — very old-fashioned, even to my eyes.”

“And will you find something for me to do as well?” Esyal pressed.

Qualto surrendered. “Well, as you carefully pointed out to me, there are seven of us now, so I suppose there’ll be more than twice as much cooking to do.”

Qualto’s arithmetic brought an uncomfortable thought to Esyal.

“Is there enough food here for so many if we’re liable to be here for a long time?”

Qualto looked pensive. “How long’s a long time?” he asked rhetorically. “We have a great deal down in the cold rooms, but I’d better check — just in case. A little discreet eking out now might spare us hungrier times later.” He smiled. “You can help me with that.” Then he clapped his hands. “But first — your room. I think I have the very thing for you — come. It’s right above the surveyor’s.” Taking her arm he gently propelled Esyal out into the passage and after a short walk, towards a flight of stairs.

Qualto trotted up them with unexpected agility, though he was a little flushed and breathless when they reached the top. He paused at the top and, leaning over the stone balustrade, pointed down the well.

“You know where you are?” he asked. “Turn right at the bottom, right at the end of the passage and you’re straight back to the kitchen or the common room.”

“Yes, thank you. I’m learning to watch where I walk around here. Could you show me where the book room is, as well?”

“Certainly. Want to see if there are any cookery books?”

Qualto was chuckling again.

“No,” Esyal replied, with some mild indignation. “I just like reading... I think. You’re very cheerful all of a sudden.”

“Here we are.”

Qualto threw open a door and motioned Esyal through it.

“What do you think of that?”

The room was large and airy and filled with bright sunlight. Through a large window could be seen snow-covered peaks sharp against the blue sky. It was furnished simply but adequately: a large bed, four chairs, and a chest of drawers, carved with figures similar to those in the Great Hall, Esyal noticed.

“You can put your clothes in there,” Qualto said. “And there are washing facilities there.” He indicated two identical doors.

“Clothes?” Esyal queried with a knowing look and a downward sweep of her hands. “I’m wearing them.”

Qualto dithered. “Ah, yes. Of course. I’d forgotten... er...” He turned left and right a few times, distractedly patting his hands together until he found a solution. “There are clothes in the stores — plenty of them. I imagine there’ll be something to fit you down there. We’ll have a look right now, if you’re happy with this room.”

“It’s splendid,” Esyal said. She went over to the window and saw that the room was slightly higher than the walls of the Keep. Below was the courtyard, footprints criss-crossing the snow.

“Is that the drawbridge?” Esyal asked, pointing.

Qualto joined her. “It is, yes. Odd though, it’s not normally closed. It’s probably Nyk, poking and prying, trying to find out what happened last night. Nothing he likes better than a good problem to get his teeth into — though he’d never admit it.” He turned away. “It’ll be something to do with this weather, for sure. We’ll get the full story at tea time. Be prepared to be regaled with tales of gears, levers and lubrication — probably more than once.”

Despite his soft humour, Esyal sensed a hint of anxiety in his manner, though she chose not to pursue it.

“Clothes, bedding,” he proclaimed. “Come on.”

“And books?”

“And books.”

After he had helped her unearth sheets and blankets for her room, Qualto spent what was left of the morning showing Esyal around those parts of the Keep where he and the others lived and worked. He larded his tour with ample warnings about “wandering off”.

“I don’t want to frighten you, but it is a big and confusing place. You could very easily get lost and it won’t be easy to find you. Do be careful.”

In the book room, he discreetly pushed one of the ladders. It rolled away quietly and easily and he almost convinced himself that Badr had been dreaming about his experience the previous night.

Finally, and with several repeated instructions about how to return to the common room, he left Esyal in a room not dissimilar to the book room but lined with racks of clothes.

Despite herself, Esyal gaped when she entered.

“Who do these belong to?” she asked.

Qualto shrugged. “The Keep — the Estate — or the New Order now, I imagine. There are all manner of odd things in this place — we just do our jobs — keep everything in order. They may even be for guests. Anyway, I doubt anyone’s going to be upset if you use some of these. Have a wander round. I’ll be in the kitchen for a while if you need me.”

Just as he was about to close the door, he paused and c****d his head on one side as though listening to something.

Then, soft, but growing rapidly and relentlessly, came a low rumbling.