Journey Beyond the Edge

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

The girl spun around in fright. The mop fell from her hands, overturning the washbasin, and she herself dropped to her knees in the spreading puddle, pressing her forehead to the floor.

“M-my… m-my lord,” she forced out, barely audible. “I’m Katy, the laundress’s helper. Mercy!”

“Get up and answer me. What is a laundress’s helper doing in the wine cellar in the middle of the night?”

“I—I was only…”

“Enough stammering. What are you doing here?”

“I was the laundress’s helper until noon today, and then Mistress Tati was reprimanded by the princess because the linens smelled strange. Her Majesty flew into a rage over the smell. And Tati blamed me, but I… I swear, I washed them myself, and then I sprinkled the sheets with my ma’s herbal brew to keep vermin away. Lice or bedbugs, you know. My mother got the secret from my granny, back when the plague came and the dead rose out of their graves. Granny said the whole village died of the sickness, but everyone in her cottage lived.”

The girl rattled off the words as though terrified he might interrupt before she could defend herself. Her eyes, wide with fear and black as a summer night, followed his every movement, trying to guess whether he meant her harm and what would happen next. Her nervous hands clenched the hem of her skirt, released it, then seized it again a moment later.

“A brew, you say? And where is this grandmother now?”

Lafren breathed in. The girl’s scent was indeed delicate: a subtle, faintly sweet fragrance with notes of honey and the barest hint of bitter almond. There could be no mistake. It was the scent of Tears of the Thistle.

“They burned her. Accused her of witchcraft and burned her. But the recipe survived.”

Something in the laundress’s tale did not add up. Tears of the Thistle did more than repel small insects. It worked against all blood drinkers, ghouls included, and blocked a witch’s chakras, preventing her from replenishing her magical reserves. Acolytes did not simply memorize the protective potions; the knowledge was beaten into them with switches.

That was not something a man forgot.

“Tati,” Lafren said thoughtfully. “Remind me again what she did.”

“The head laundress ordered me to soak the ruined linens in wine vinegar to get rid of the smell. And while I was here, she told me to scrub the floors. I still have to haul enough water to fill the tubs before morning.” The girl’s voice trembled with injured resentment.

“Linens? Vinegar? Floors? You must take me for a fool! What spell were you whispering down here?”

“It was a lullaby, sir,” the girl replied. “My mother sang it to me when I was little. Now, when I’m frightened, I sing it to make myself brave.”

“Prove it.”

“I… I can’t…”

“You dare defy me? Do you know who I am?” the duke hissed, still seething from his quarrel with his wife.

“Forgive me.” The girl pressed her forehead to the floor again. “Please don’t kill me, sir. I’m new to the castle. I’ve never gone farther than the servants’ dining hall from the laundry yard. I’m not allowed. Mistress Tati said so.”

Lafren looked down at himself and nearly burst out laughing. Dressed in a nightshirt and sleeping cap, with a sword thrust before him, he hardly presented a figure of majesty or terror.

“Sing,” Lafren commanded.

At first the girl sang so softly and timidly that he could barely hear her.

Sleep, my own blood, do not fear,

Hush-a-bye, my baby dear.

Through the still and dark of night,

I shall pray till morning light.

Neither plague nor cruel war

Ever shall come near your door.

Let all sorrow pass you by;

Song shall guard you where you lie.

Her voice grew stronger. The song was filling her with courage and resolve.

Sleep, my own blood, do not fear,

Hush-a-bye, my baby dear…

Lafren caught himself silently forming the refrain along with her, as he once had beside his mother in a childhood now impossibly distant. He did not know the song’s words, but “hush-a-bye” left his lips as if he were enchanted. The girl’s voice stirred his frozen soul almost to tears. The duke swallowed the lump rising in his throat.

With my song I’ll cover you,

Shield you from all harm that grew.

Morning sun will wake and rise,

Flood the room with golden light.

Evil fades and darkness goes;

Only love no weariness knows.

Hush-a-bye, my baby dear…

The duke found himself gazing at the singer, remembering his mother’s melodies. In Katy’s voice lived the same aching tenderness, the same resolve and strength with which any mother would do whatever she must for her child—shielding that child with her own body against every misfortune.

Only now did Lafren understand what his mother’s calm and certainty had cost her. What courage it must have taken, especially with terror tearing her apart from within.

Katy was frightened too. Frightened—and still she sang. She sang in defiance of her fear.

The duke wiped a treacherous tear away with the sleeve of his nightshirt and, without embarrassment, began to sing along with the laundress.

Hush-a-bye, my baby dear,

All my love I give you here.

Sleep, my own blood, do not fear;

I shall always guard you, dear.

The girl fell silent.

“That song won’t protect you from sickness, much less ghouls,” Lafren muttered, looking into the maid’s eyes, black as a warm July night. For some reason, their gleam reminded him of that very vial, shaped like a bunch of grapes—the emblem of the Bardanian family.

“I have no other weapon. I’m only a laundress’s helper.”

The girl’s pale pink lips pressed into a firm line.

She isn’t timid. Or is this the courage of one who has no choice?

The thought crossed the duke’s mind, and once again he remembered himself as an apprentice. He too had sung back then—sung so he would not hear claws scraping on stone or the rustle of the chitinous, crawling creatures that inhabited the castle dungeons.

A girl like this would die before disobeying an order. Obedience worthy of the highest clerics.

“Hmm. Fortunately, I have one,” Lafren added aloud.

Steel flashed in the candlelight.

“It isn’t fitting for a lord to guard a pauper. Surely you have more important matters.”

“I am a paladin of the White Rose. I have sworn to guard and protect all who are weak—and most certainly the duke’s subjects. You are a subject of Lord Lafren of Katatida, aren’t you? And are you planning to sit there all night? You said yourself you had floors to scrub, linens to soak, and water to haul.”

The girl nodded. Plainly flustered, she adjusted her soaked skirt with a shy, girlish gesture. Her fingers, clenched around her apron, betrayed that she had no idea how she was supposed to behave.

“Sir… are there truly ghouls down here?”

The man remembered why he had come and smiled.

“No ghouls. But keeping watch is serious business. Tell you what,” Lafren offered, surprising even himself. “You finish washing, and I’ll stand guard. I have nowhere I need to be.”

“But your watch?”

“What about it? I’ll inspect the well afterward. Sometimes unclean things get into them—”

“How could an unclean thing get into spring water?” the girl asked with a smile. “And a noble paladin shouldn’t waste his time on a simple girl like me. Duke Lafren is harsh and quick to punish. If he learns you neglected your duty, he’ll punish you—and as for me… I can’t even imagine what he’ll do to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You aren’t from these parts, are you? Katatida’s laws are very harsh. The punishment is a fine in gold or death. People like me have no money. There’s only one place for me—to feed his hounds.”

Lafren nearly dropped his sword in astonishment.

“What are you talking about? What sort of tales have you been listening to?”

“They’re no tales, my lord. Only the other day the stableman was torn apart. He tightened the princess’s saddle girth too much. Mistress Tati said, ‘Thank the gods the princess decided his fate. It was a terrible death, of course, but a quick one. If the duke had judged him, the poor wretch would have spent days dying in agony.’”

“She said that? Those exact words?” Lafren asked, tightening his grip on the sword.

“Word for word,” Katy whispered.

“Hmm. Then I have all the more reason to help you. I can hardly allow them to feed you to the dogs on my account,” the duke muttered.

Gathering up the skirts of his nightshirt, he walked toward the tub of linens. But the moment he reached for the pitcher beside the sour-smelling wash, the laundress caught hold of him.

“You have a very kind heart, my lord. But I still can’t let you do my work. What if there really are ghouls here? They might attack while you’re tired or unprepared. Just stay with me. That’s help enough. I’m not frightened when you’re here, and the world seems brighter somehow. Besides, the linens must be handled carefully. Too much vinegar will ruin the cloth, and that they certainly won’t forgive.”

Is life in my own domain truly so terrifying? How did I allow this to happen?

The rustle of approaching footsteps interrupted Lafren’s thoughts.

The duke pressed a finger to his lips and slipped into a gap between the oak casks.

Katy clenched her teeth and began scrubbing the floor vigorously with the mop.

“Look at that, Stan. The laundress is ripe for the plucking. Fine little piece, isn’t she?”

A cheerful bass voice shattered the cellar’s silence, and a heavyset guard stepped into the candlelight, wearing a shirt of mail that did not fit him. Another man followed, older, in a studded leather vest with a long dagger at his hip.

“Always trying to find someplace to stick your cock,” growled the one called Stan. “If you’d kept it in your breeches, we wouldn’t be prowling around the cellar now.” Turning to the girl, he went on, “Don’t hold it against us. This isn’t our choice. We follow orders same as anyone.”

The dagger gleamed in the candlelight, but Katy seized the mop and plainly meant not to die without a fight.