Quietly Making Noise

They drank and talked until the cask was empty; then the captain bid Grissom good night and wove his way down the tower steps, while the mage staggered to his own bed.

The next morning he woke to find he had not shuttered the windows, nor had he drawn the draperies around his bed. The rising sun filled the room with a golden glow, and one particularly impudent sunbeam danced across his bearded face, eliciting a groan of protest against the coming of such a sunny and relentless morn.

At first, he tried to block the day by covering his face with a pillow, but he found that too be quite hot and the smell of his own breath unutterably foul. Grumbling, he threw off his bedcovers and after he had rinsed his mouth, went to find some bread to break his fast.

After a visit to the bustling kitchens and assurance from the cook that food stuffs would again be brought regularly to his tower now that he had returned, he took a hunk of bread, a few early carrots and a dried fig and walked into the open air.

Now that he was awake and abroad, he felt no ill effects of the night previous’ drink. Though he had been cursing the sun less than an hour before, he now found himself savoring the early morning light. The castle keep was stirring into life and the fresh air was permeated with the smell of hay and the wildflowers blooming just over the castle walls.

“M’lord mage.” The master gardener was headed towards the kitchens with a basket of early vegetables. “Welcome home!”

Grissom smiled. “Thank you, Master David. I am glad to be home.”

The quiet man returned the smile. “I did as you suggested in the autumn with the garlic and pepper plantings and we have not had near the trouble with vermin in the garden this spring. Thank you.”

“Ah! I am glad the planning worked.”

“Indeed it did!” The gardener was most enthused on the subject. “I planted the herbs you requested; they appear to be doing well and all will be yours at harvest.”

Pleased, Grissom nodded. “Thank you, my friend. For my part, I have brought seed back from the North. New varieties for you to try when you are ready for your autumn plantings and a few for next spring, as well.”

David beamed. “Thank you, m’lord. I am eager to try them.” He adjusted the basket in his arms. “I am busy this week with the vegetables. May I visit you a few days hence?”

Nodding his acquiescence, the mage parted company with the gardener, strolling leisurely towards the stables, stopping to exchange pleasantries with the few who wished to engage him. Once at the stable, he found Arwan and Cigva; he gave them each one of the carrots from the kitchens and several pats as he eyed them. They were in their accustomed stalls, side by side as usual. They both looked rested and content and he surmised that Gregory had kept his promise to ensure their comfort the day before.

Well pleased his animals were comfortable and his helper obedient, he made his way back to the castle and his tower.

He was not halfway up the winding stairs when he heard the laughter of a lady coming from his rooms. He frowned; he knew that laugh. What was the lady Sara doing in his tower and what (or who) was making her laugh?

As he rounded the last curve of the stairway and stepped into the hallway leading into his rooms, he caught sight of Gregory, dressed in one of the mage’s robe with one of the battleaxes from the tower wall resting in the crook of his arm as he danced it in a mad circle around the work table, humming a merry tune.

The lady was resting in the window seat seemingly delighted by the young fool’s antics. “Do you dance with your one true love, Master Gregory?”

“Nay, m’lady.” He gave a little skip and swept the axe from one arm to the other. “My one true love is held by a fierce dragon in a tower and I wait for the beast to sleep that I may rescue my lady.” He and the axe twirled in a circle. “This is but a wench in need of my mercy.”

Grissom heard the laugh within the lady’s voice as she questioned, “In need of your mercy?”

“I show her mercy by giving her this dance.” The young man heaved an overly piteous sigh. “You see, she bears unrequited love for me. ‘Tis sad, truly, for though she is not much to look at her wit is quite sharp.”

“Gregory.” Though the mage’s voice was not loud, the tone of it was like a leather whip cracking the air.

Startled and fumbling, the upper half of Gregory’s body stopped but his lower half moved one more step and the axe fell with a clanging clatter to the floor but not before the solid handle landed heavily on Gregory’s toe causing a rather high pitched yowl of pain to erupt from the young man.

Lady Sara looked torn between concern and the desire to laugh. She did not, however, look as though she were frightened by the mage’s sudden entrance as his assistant did.

“M’lord!” He tried to bow while hopping on his uninjured foot and ended up flat on his back on the floor.

Sara did laugh then and despite his aggravation, Grissom felt his lips twitch against an answering smile which he quickly quashed. “Would you care to explain yourself, Gregory?”

“M’lord mage, I…” he struggled to right himself and only managed to get his foot caught in a fold of the robe and as he began to stand, he pitched forward onto his face.

Sara was now in full blown gales and the mage decided no matter what mischief the boy had been up to, the sound of her laughter was worth any damage.

Sighing heavily, the mage extended a hand to help his young assistant from the floor. “Gregory?”

The young man began talking in earnest, his explanation tumbling out in words, end over end. “Beg pardon, Lord Grissom. I had met the lady when she arrived here and we began to converse and somehow the topic of dancing came up.” He shrugged, helpless to his own wit. “I was merely showing her the dance I had seen at the fair in the North. I meant no harm.” He looked at his master’s quirked eyebrow as he studied his robe on Gregory’s person and hastily added, “Nor any disrespect.”

The mage simply continued to stare at his helper with an expression on his face that was a marriage of bemused disbelief and exasperation. As Gregory fidgeted under the mage’s eye, the silence seemed to become a fourth presence in the room, growing larger by the second. Finally, Grissom spoke. “Gregory, do you not think the axe would be safer put back in its place?”

Scrambling to do as the mage suggested, the young man began babbling, “Oh! Yes. Aye. ‘Twould be dangerous to leave such as this laying about. Anyone could get hurt.”

“I actually meant safer for the axe.” Grissom’s tone was slow and droll. Gregory flushed and Sara chortled several times into her sleeve, her eyes bright and shining over rosy cheeks. He could not help the gentle upward tug of his own lips in response. But then he sighed again. “Go find the maids for the tower; assure they know we have returned. Arrange for water for washing, wood for the fire and oil for the lamps.”

Gregory bowed. “Aye, m’lord.” Then he turned to the lady. “Twas a privilege to finally meet you, m’lady. I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again soon.” His bow to her was sweeping and low, full of gallantry and unexpected grace.

“Master Gregory, I took much pleasure in making your acquaintance, as well. I would hear more of your adventures when next we meet.” Her voice was bright and light as she addressed the mage’s helper. Grissom frowned slightly at the easy banter between the two.

The sandy haired youth stood, flashing his irrepressible grin. “Then I shall make it so. Until then.” He nodded to her, turned on his heel smartly and departed the room.

There was silence between the remaining two occupants of the room as they waited for Gregory to move from hearing range. After a few minutes, Sara gave a little laugh. “Wherever did you find him? He is a delightful lad.” She seated herself at the table bench, absently rearranging the items resting on the wood…the candle, the two empty tankards from the night before, a pestle left there for a reason he could not recall.

The mage felt himself relax slightly at her casual tone; she obviously thought of his assistant as someone much younger and not her own peer. He sternly reminded himself of his duty to his king. Still, a voice inside him argued, it would be easier to know he had matched her to a husband well if he knew she had no fondness for another man.

“The boy has a keen mind and is quick to learn. I just fear his fondness for frivolity will impede his work; though he has settled some since he first came here.” He noted her questioning look. “Gregory is the child of an old tutor of mine, himself the youngest son of a lord. Too high a station for farming, ill suited to being a merchant, yet no hope of lands or inheritance.”

“Is that how you came to your profession?” The question was a bold one; none dared asked him of his life before this one. Though her question was daring, she chose not to meet his eyes, instead she watched her own hands as she rolled the pestle in an arc across the plank of the table.

“My title is actually not an honorary. I am, in fact, a lord of the North.” She glanced up quickly, then back down just as quickly. The pestle arced back across the table, the smooth, pale marble a startling contrast against the dark wood. “My father was the second son of a minor lord with very minor lands in the North. My uncle died without heirs. As my father was already dead, that left the lordship and the lands to me. I have a bit of land and a house…either a large cottage or a small manse, depending on your view. There is not much more to it than that. Well, that and the legacy of my father’s work.” He watched the pestle wobble through a third roll. “I must cry your pardon for being so remiss.” At this, she looked up. “I neglected to thank you last night. The scroll is quite beautiful.”

Shyly, she smiled, blushing slightly. “Twas a serendipitous find. I am delighted if it pleased you.”

He felt his heart lurch at the sight of her flushed and shy countenance. His voice was deep and sincere. “It is the most lovely, thoughtful gift I have ever received. I thank you from the bottom of my heart, lady.”

The blush grew brighter, hotter. “You are most heartily welcome, m’lord. It is but a trifle compared with all you have given me. It is I who thanks you.”

Again, silence descended between them. Slightly awkward but shot through with hopefulness, as well.

The pestle began rolling across the table again.

The mage cleared his throat. “You said you desired discussion of Verbascum thapsus?”

Gratefully, she smiled up at him as he seated himself on the bench across from her. “Yes, I was surprised at his commendation for mullein to be inhaled as smoke as well as consumed and used for topical purposes. Is the form of delivery critical to the treatment?”

“Verbascum thapsus has so many uses the preparation is the main difference in its application.”

Soon the minutes passed into a whole morning. She left, reluctantly he could see, when the master of hunt came to call, but propriety bid she do so. When she was gone, the mage demonstrated the traps as he and the master hunter discussed the best method for construction and what materials would be most advantageous.

At length, the huntsman confessed he had been neglecting his duties in favor of the tavern since his wife and babe had died during childbirth; he found no rest at home and could only find peace at the bottom of a flagon. Grissom nodded and gave the man a dried sleeping powder to be mixed with his evening drink. Sternly, he cautioned against excess in drink with or without the potion. Shamefaced, the huntsman nodded, begged his pardon and clutching the small packet of herbs, he vowed to do better. “M’lord mage,” he shook his head as if to clear it. “I know I could have disappointed the king and lost my position had I gone much longer. I thank you for listening to me, for helping me.” He swallowed. “If ever I can do a service for you, you have but to ask.” He bowed before shuffling from the tower room.

The next day proved remarkably similar. He returned from his morning walk to find the lady Sara and Gregory conversing, with his assistant again capering around the room like a buffoon making the young woman laugh. Once Gregory had again been dispatched on his errands, the two settled into conversation. They discussed different ways of preparing a sleeping draught until riders came in the early afternoon to discuss their route with the mage.

Lady Sara slipped quietly away as Grissom prepared to tell them things to look for, how to hunt for a man live or dead, what questions to ask of the people they met along the way. As her slender form slipped out of his rooms and down the stairs, he bent his powerful mind to imparting as much knowledge as possible to the men. He told himself not to invest too much hope in the location of young Sidle, but his heart ignored the admonition and hoped.

How it hoped.

Madrigal-Chapter 1
Madrigal-Chapter 2
Madrigal-Chapter 3
Madrigal-Chapter 4
Madrigal-Chapter 5
Madrigal-Chapter 6
Madrigal-Chapter 7
Madrigal-Chapter 8
Madrigal-Chapter 9
Madrigal-Chapter 10
Madrigal-Chapter 11
Madrigal-Chapter 12

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