For what felt like the longest of times, Raghnall dared not move. He carefully ate the herring on his plate and gently placed the cutlery down. He sipped lightly at his tea and gingerly nibbled his toast. He had not realized Malaegar had been paying such close attention to his words, Raghnall reflected as he buttered his toast. He had not thought thoroughly through the version of his past he would present to Lord Malaegar. Never before had a person questioned his story. Malaegar was clearly either astute or paranoid. His reaction had been intense, but he had sensed something was off, missing, in Raghnall’s tale.
There was a knock at the door.
“Please, enter.” Urged Raghnall, grateful for a break in the awkward silence. The handle twitched and the door opened.
Into the room stepped a spectacled old man. His hair was white, cut short, almost into spikes and his nose was quite prominent. Behind the round lenses of his iron rimmed glasses were lively brown eyes which squinted in the bright, green-stained light. The man skirted the winding table towards Raghnall, the tails of his jacket wafting in his wake. His shoes tapped loudly as he traversed the stone floor. The old man’s eyes soon became accustomed to the bright and having located Raghnall, he bowed deeply.
“Good morning, Raghnall of Capia.” He was well-spoken, his voice a little hoarse. “My Lord sent word late last night, of a guest who would be requiring my services and that I should find him here after breakfast. I assume you are he?”
“Indeed I am he. I do not mean to be rude, but to whom do I speak?”
“Ah, yes. Introductions. My name is Eldridge Leavermast, the Keeper of Records and Custodian of the Libraries and Archive here at Ravensholme.” He bowed again. “I understand that you wished to plot a route way back to your home province? Although, having seen my Lord in the corridor just hence, furthermore I understand that you may not require my services after all?” Raghnall laughed.
“Contrary to your Lord’s suspicions, I am indeed a Capian and do wish to gain direction to return home. I have merely been…” Raghnall shrugged, showing his palms with a sigh. “ A little coy. I do not think your Lord likes secrets.” He grinned like a child caught cheating at a test.
“At least not those he is not himself privy to, m’Lord.” Smiled Eldridge sympathetically. “Come now, follow me, find may we thee, from here to thine family!” he waved a finger in the air, composing the rhyme as he strode back to the door. Raghnall dabbed the corner of his mouth and threw his napkin onto his plate as he rose to follow.
Raghnall emerged into the corridor, quietly closing the door behind him. Already, Eldridge was at the far end and at once, he was off. Raghnall had to pick up to a brisk trot, following the tapping of the librarian’s shoes along passages and around corners. Twice he turned a corner only to collide with a small table and then a suit of armour. Every now and then he would catch the briefest glimpse of Eldridge’s jacket tails, drifting around the corner ahead.
Suddenly the footsteps stopped. Raghnall trotted to the next corner, only to see… no-one. Ahead, behind, to his right and his left, not a soul. There were many doors, banded by iron strips interrupting the polished black walls, but Eldridge was nowhere to be seen. Raghnall was lost. Even the paintings which punctuated the walls seemed to know he was stumped. He noticed one which depicted a crowd laughing as they threw rotten fruit at various stocked, petty criminals. “What are you laughing at?” He chuckled, scratching his head. There really was something grim about this scene though, he thought. One twisted face in particular caught his eye; a woman in a shawl, eyes wide, cackling as she led the baying mob. She pointed an outstretched bony finger towards the cowering prisoners.
Suddenly, a hand landed upon his shoulder. With a jump, Raghnall turned to find Eldridge peering at him over the rims of his spectacles.
“Come Sir. This task will take long enough without stopping to admire every nic-nac you happen upon!”
“You are an uncommonly nimble, old man” sighed Raghnall “I was beginning to fear losing my way was a lesson from Lord Malaegar, a sly consequence of displeasing him”.
“No, Sir. Not nimble. Just well versed in the passages of Ravensholme.” He laughed with a hoarse cough. “Besides, the young Lord is typically far from subtle when conveying his displeasure.” His smile melted. “Come Sir, we are nearly there.”
“You do not strike me as having displeased his Lordship.” remarked Raghnall as he passed Eldridge into the next corridor.
“Sir?” the old man feigned ignorance for a moment. Raghnall continued.
“You do not seem so…”
“Shy? As the other castle staff? Sir?” Eldridge smiled knowingly with a slight shrug.
“The little I have seen of the staff here, I begin to wonder if they are but helpful ghosts and shadows!” remarked Raghnall.
“Oh, they are flesh and blood, sir. They merely have no recourse if they displease the young master.” He smacked his lips and raised a finger. “I, on the other hand? I have a retreat.”
“They are afraid?” murmured Raghnall. Eldridge stopped, looked again directly into Raghnall’s eyes, raised an eyebrow and reached past Raghnall’s waist to a door behind him.
Raghnall stepped back and Eldridge entered through the door. He looked up and grinned, turning back to Raghnall.
“Come in, please enter m’ Lord Raghnall. Welcome to The Library.”
The floor upon which Eldridge now stood was a starburst of varnished wood. Emanating from the centre, graded species in grains of yellow, grey, light and dark brown pointed in all directions. From either side of the door vast mahogany bookshelves encircled the room, brimming with colourfully bound books. Raghnall’s gaze landed upon a wrought-iron staircase, steps shaped like leaves and a delicate balustrade. It too circumnavigated the octagonal room in a slowly rising spiral. At each new level of books, a landing of latticed iron stretched around the room. There were wooden chairs and stools where one might rest and peruse a book. Finally, he could just about make out the rafters of the conical roof. Occasionally, begrudgingly, the shelves gave way to narrow, plain-glassed windows by whose shafts of white light one might read and Raghnall could see the majesty of this room.
“This is my fortress, within the fortress.” sighed Eldridge as he crossed the room to the base of the stairs. “Unfortunately, it is also catalogued in alphabetical order; from the top, down. ‘Capia’, I fear, is several landings up!” He grinned at Raghnall, and unfazed, began the trek up the stairs.
Raghnall followed, his marvel at the library soon faded as the labour of the climb set in. Both men ran their hands along the rail, silent, save for their metallic footfalls. Having reached a comfortable pace, Raghnall gestured around.
“A remarkable library, this is. A true retreat.”
“I am responsible for the maintenance of all literary stores within the castle.” Replied Eldridge, continuing to climb “Until two days ago I had two libraries, countless other bookshelves, a family archive and my astronomy, to occupy me. A comfortable leatherbound world. However, we recently saw the archive go a-fire.” Eldridge looked back over his shoulder grimly “I am now custodian to a smouldering pile of ash in the western quarter. The Ravensholme family archive was destroyed in an unfortunate accident, according to my Lord. Lost forever are those records of old.” He resumed his ascent.
“That was no doubt the source of the smoke, I spotted upon my approach. Such a pity.” Raghnall sighed.
“Yes. A pity. I sought to salvage what documents I could but the young Lord took it upon himself to relieve me of that duty.” He assured me with solemnity that the glory of his fathers ‘shall never be forgotten’. Raghnall noticed the old man’s shoulders slump for a moment before regaining his resolve. “Yes, this is a retreat.” Continued Eldridge “But day by day it has become a besieged stronghold of reason; against anger, superstition and fear. A space in which I may dare to remember”.
“Remember what?” enquired Raghnall looking down to the floor far below.
“That things were not always like this. That only a generation passed, this land was happy and prosperous.”
“I find it difficult to imagine so much change in so little time.” laughed Raghnall.
“Well it did change!” Eldridge suddenly turned and stopped, his voice clear, his eyes fixed on Raghnall.
“It was twenty years ago. Lord Malaegar was but a child, recently liberated from his crib when unfortunately his Mother, Lady Ravensholme, fell ill and died. The Second War of the Realms was coming to an end, of course” Raghnall nodded. “However, Lord Karman Ravensholme, Malaegar’s father, was much changed by his years campaigning against the Monarch. He was a battle-tested hero, but privately he was shaken by war. The killing of thousands, the loss of allies and kin to sword, shot, canon and flame. Only to read of the death of his beloved Catherine, who he was fighting for, in a dispatch. Each took their toll, but especially the guilt of his absence at the front in such a grim conflict. He sought solace in the company of a young woman and within a year, he was re-married to a neighbouring province’s only noble child, Charlotte of East Shields. By age, she easily might have been his own daughter. Soon a child was born, Lady Aaralyn, Malaegar’s half sister.” He turned and began, once again to climb. “The Lord’s second wife died in childbirth, and her family in East Shields blamed his Lordship for her death. They never returned, despite Lady Aaralyn; and so the little Master Malaegar grew up in the care of a broken father, a dependent, if capable, younger sister, an overwhelming family legacy and sorrowful staff. A few formative years at the prestigious Lindenstadt School, notwithstanding, of course. Though I fear that those Lindenstadt Scholars allowed my Lord to foster too much of an interest in philosophizing, as some young minds are wont to do. His ruminations on the nature of human justice as opposed to the natural order became, at best, a distraction.” He sighed. “The land, without sound stewardship fell into disrepair, reclaimed by the artesian waters which only careful planning and coordination had previously channelled out of the Province. This land became a waste.”
“What became of the elder Lord Ravensholme? And what of Lady Aaralyn?” urged Raghnall, following Eldridge with renewed vigour.
“Lord Ravensholme’s body died only one month ago. His mind having long vacated that withered shell. This morning, I believe, the young Lord began to receive letters of condolence and confirmation of attendance to his father’s funeral in a few days time. Lady Aaralyn is an admirable and inquisitive young woman though she has not ventured from her rooms since her father’s death.”
“So the staff is in mourning?”
“No, sir. They are indeed fearful, fearful of the very land which melted from beneath them; fearful of their Lord, in action if not by title these past few years; fearful that perhaps this stagnation is beyond his power to dispel.” He paused. “With the death of his father, his test is truly afoot.” After a moment, he continued. “But I forget myself. Tis not oft’ I have company in this learned loft, save the ever-patient lady Aaralyn, who is only too aware of my ramblings.” A lighter tone re-emerged from Eldridge’s mouth “Ah, here we are, ‘C’.”
Eldridge crossed the gangway and traced the spines of the book with a single, boney finger. Raghnall looked up as he waited. They were much closer to the beams of the roof now. A single wooden beast was within view centred upon crossed beams spanning the room, lazily propping up the central wooden spire, which in turn propped the roof. As he stared, Raghnall was no longer clearly cut between concern, fear and pity for Lord Malaegar.
“Why did you call me ‘Lord’?” he finally asked, addressing the other thought which occupied him, turning to the old man. Eldridge grunted, half listening as he worked his way along the shelf. “Why did you refer to me as ‘Lord Raghnall’ as I entered the library?” Again, Eldridge mumbled various titles beginning with ‘C’ under his breath, as he traced, half listening.
“Here we are, ‘Capia: a Gentleman’s Walking Guide’. Sorry, I did not hear you.” He turned triumphantly clutching, in both hands, a yellow-bound volume.
“You heard all too well; why?”
“Oh, that? Habit, Sir, habit. You forget, I rarely converse with gentlemen, other than to be ordered around; and naturally, I would not refer to Lady Aaralyn as ‘Lord’”. Again, he laughed. Eldridge unhooked a latticed iron table top, hinged at the gangway banister and extended it, folding down an iron leg. The two men each drew a chair.
After much searching through related volumes, the hours passed and candles were lit, but finally the relevant map was reached.
“Here, Sir. It appears from this map that Capia is approximately a three week journey to the south, at a leisurely pace by foot. I told you we would have you back to your family!” he clapped triumphantly. Raghnall sighed, staring vacantly across to the books on the other side of the tower.
“We both know I do not have a family to return to, do we not?”
“But you do have children, of a kind Lord Raghnall; subjects.” Eldridge smiled and removed his glasses, looking across to the reticent nobility. “I told you I was well versed in the passages of Ravensholme.” he chuckled. Raghnall smiled, still vacant “your fine garb, that unmistakable jewel on your finger, set as a red-eyed robin on a silver laurel ring, and your dark complexion, m’Lord. You are undoubtedly the now somewhat age-ed” Raghnall raised an eyebrow “wayward child of Lord Reginald the Great.”
“Too great” whispered Raghnall, again looking up to the rafters.
“You wish to finally claim the Lordship of Capia?”
“No.” Raghnall snapped into life. “I simply wish to live a while and die in my homeland. I am tired of running and yearn for home.”
A tear cut through the air, landing upon the page. Eldridge carefully wiped the page, closed the book and stood to replace the stack upon the shelf. Outside, the faint rumbles of a steadily angering sky could be heard.
“It would appear that a storm is coming m’Lord.”
“Do not call me that” barked Raghnall, his voice quivering.
“Very well. Nobility or no, you are not departing Ravensholme tonight.” From below, a call came.
“Master Eldridge?” A young lady stood in the centre of the starburst floor with her neck craned waiting for a reply.
“Yes, my girl?” called back Eldridge, turning his head slightly, still staring at Raghnall.
“Lord Malaegar requests the presence of his guest for the evening meal.”
“Thank you. Tell him his guest will be with him shortly.”
Eldridge saw the plea in Raghnall’s eyes.
“Your past is your own. I will not report any of this to my Lord.” He spoke calmly, placing a reassuring hand on Raghnall’s shoulder. “Although, you cannot leave, so you must dine.”
“Thank you.” The two began their descent.
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