Scrivener’s Tale

‘Don’t like caffeine?’ he repeated with feigned despair. ‘How do you cope?’

‘I manage,’ she murmured, almost playfully. She ran a hand over the coffee machine. Her nails were trimmed blunt, but neatly, with perfect half-moons above the cuticles. They were free of varnish but still they shone. He was one of those people who noticed. Unbitten, trimmed, buffed and well-kept nails spoke droves.

‘You have lovely hands, Angelina,’ he said, before he could censure himself.

‘I’m not vain but I do take care of them,’ she said, looking at her nails briefly. She gave a rueful laugh that sounded like a soft sigh. She walked away from the coffee machine and him.

‘Are you warm enough?’ he asked solicitously.

She nodded over her shoulder. He didn’t want this time to drift into awkwardness. They’d begun well and he needed to keep that positive energy bouncing between them if he was to make progress with her.

’finish this. ‘Angelina, today we’re just going to talk. Like a couple of old friends, having coffee and,’ he pointed to the small table, ‘sharing some pastries.’

She looked so small and alone he felt an urge to hug her as extra reassurance. It was obvious the young woman was starved of affection, but it was not his role to provide it. Instead he opened his palms to her. ‘Can I get you a soft drink? Mineral water?’

She eyed him gravely. ‘I’m fine, really. Do you want me to sit down?’

He nodded and looked at the comfy chairs by the window. ‘I’ll just

She turned away but paused at the sideboard to look at his boxed quill. ‘This is very lovely,’ she said. ‘May I touch it?’

‘Be my guest,’ he said over the sound of grinding the beans. He watched her pick up the quill and weigh it in her hand before she held it out to admire it in the light. ‘It’s old.’

‘Antique, apparently,’ he replied.

‘Older,’ he thought she said.

‘It’s from a swan, can you believe?’ he called over the noise of the machine gathering steam. He tamped down the coffee and locked the bar handle into place, then pressed the button. The machine responded with its routine noises as the pump now wound up the pressure. He walked away from the groans and grinds for a few seconds so he could hear her properly.

‘Only scriveners are given the swan quill.’

Gabe was astonished by her remark.

‘How would you know that?’ he said with a smile as he returned to the machine to test that it was ready to froth the milk. A burst of steam wheezed. ‘Oh, Reynard, of course,’ he said, before she could reply. It made sense that Reynard would have told her about the quill.

Gabe glanced over and noticed her short skirt ease higher up her stockinged thighs as she sat and stared out of the window. Angelina had a far more voluptuous body than he’d imagined beneath all those layers.

‘Voilà,’ he murmured to himself as he poured the milk into the shot of coffee.

Gabe sipped as he moved to join her, and sighed as he finally seated himself opposite. He put the coffee on the table between them before he leaned back and nonchalantly crossed a leg. It was a series of deliberate actions to make her feel comfortable, to show that he was relaxed and that she should feel the same. At the same time he was thinking how she was beautiful in an almost ethereal way.

‘It wasn’t Reynard,’ she said, brushing some invisible lint from her skirt.

‘Sorry?’ He wasn’t sure what she meant.

‘The swan quill. It wasn’t Reynard who told me. Everyone knows a scrivener needs the quill of a swan,’ she said airily, as though it was of no further interest to her. ‘It’s nice here. How long have you been in this apartment?’

Everyone? He didn’t. But she’d moved on, he could tell. He would think on the quill later. Gabe looked around the apartment. ‘Er … let’s see … it must be coming up to four years. I’m glad you like it. I enjoy living here.’

‘You obviously live alone.’

‘I do. Not even a goldfish for company.’

He thought she might have smiled but her gaze only became more intense. ‘Do you get lonely?’

‘I suppose I should, but I choose this lifestyle. I’m perfectly happy living alone with my coffee machine and working in a bookshop. How about you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Would you like to have a family, friends, a home?’

‘No,’ she murmured.

That surprised him. His gaze narrowed. ‘You want to change your current situation though, I’m sure.’

‘Is that a question?’

He smiled at her dry tone. ‘Do you remember anything about your life before the hospitals?’

‘I remember everything. I just don’t want to share it with doctors.’

Gabe realised too late that he’d reacted far too obviously in sitting forward with a confused expression. Angelina had the grace to look away … far away out of the window.

‘Do you have a family?’ he asked, unable to help the question. The accepted rule was to avoid such directness at the outset, to approach all probing as obliquely as possible. He was so rusty.

‘No,’ she said, unfazed.

Well, if she was happy to answer … ‘So where is home?’

‘A long way from here.’

Before the session had begun, Gabe had not had any intention of going beyond winning her trust. But now he wanted to know everything about her; she was as intriguing as she was seductive. The more he looked and listened to her the more he realised that Angelina was needful, but not needy. It was physical help she was after, he now suspected. She wanted his help to get away from Reynard and the doctors, otherwise she’d never have allowed him to know she was not mute.

She was, however, disarmingly charming and desirable and he was vaguely embarrassed at how she aroused him.

He cleared his throat again. ‘Angelina —’

‘My friends call me by a different name.’

Gabe was ready for her this time. He didn’t react. ‘Tell me about them?’

‘They’re elsewhere.’

‘Have you a plan to return to them?’

Her eyes blazed. His question had fired some hidden desire deep within.

‘Yes,’ she replied, and for the first time since he’d set eyes on Angelina, she gave him her complete attention. Suddenly, it was as if no-one else existed in the world, just the two of them. ‘Are you going to help me?’ she asked.

He realised he was nodding. He hadn’t meant to make any commitment beyond this single hour. But now he was under her spell.

‘Will you tell me why you’re scared of Reynard?’

There it was, the question he’d promised himself he wouldn’t ask. His task was to give Angelina’s doctors a glimpse into the world in which she lived, not explore her fears in this opening session.

Again, she felt none of his unease and replied with candour. ‘I know you think he cares about me, but he doesn’t.’

‘What do mean by that?’

‘I mean that you’re putting your trust in the wrong person. He’s trying to stop me getting home.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘Because he’s scared of me.’

‘Why should he fear you?’

‘His fear is for you.’

Gabe had to repeat that in his mind. Fears for me? he said silently with incredulity.

He had to backtrack. ‘Firstly, why do you scare him?’

‘Because of what I can offer.’

The meaning of her response was clouded, but it was also highly suggestive.

‘And what is it that you offer?’

‘Eternity,’ she replied, a little dreamily.

He didn’t show his irritation at her response but decided to refocus her and deliberately reached forward to pick up his coffee. He sipped slowly, saying nothing, waiting for her attention to return. It tasted terrible. He was off his game. As he knew it would, his silence won her notice.

She blinked, looked at him. ‘What?’ she asked, sounding as though she had missed what he’d said.

‘You wrote me a note. I have it here,’ he said, putting his glass down and digging in his pocket.

‘I know what it says.’

‘Will you explain it to me? Let’s return to the beginning. I mean, why you’re so frightened.’

‘I’m not when I’m here with you.’

‘Good. Why is that?’

‘Perhaps you’ve noticed how he watches my every move? He doesn’t let me out of his sight.’

Gabe shrugged. ‘Well, that’s because he’s your physician and responsible for —’

‘No, Gabe. Can I call you Gabe?’ He wasn’t sure what to say but she’d taken his hesitation as permission. ‘He’s frightened of me leaving.’

‘Leaving?’ He frowned. ‘Paris?’

Angelina threw out her arms. ‘No, here.’

‘My apartment,’ he qualified.

She smiled as though he was simple. ‘This world.’

He deliberately paused, allowing her comment to float around them for a few moments so that she could explain herself.

‘Are you surprised?’ she asked.

‘You demanded that Reynard not accuse you of being delusional. I have to wonder how you think you sound when you say something like you just did.’

‘I realise what I say is hard to grasp. It doesn’t mean I am delusional,’ she replied without hesitation. Her gaze was unswerving. ‘I’m far more sane than Reynard, who, by the way, is out of his mind with fear. Especially today because I am now closer to my goal than I have been in a very long time.’

‘Your goal. To leave Earth, you mean?’ he said, working at sounding reasonable. Yes, indeed, his skills definitely needed brushing up. This sort of interested tone used to come so easily.

‘Not Earth, Gabe. This world,’ she corrected.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘So your goal is to reach a point where you can exit this plane,’ he offered, believing that sounded catchy but also succinct.

‘Not reach a point, but the person who would take me away.’

‘Pardon,’ he said, more confused.

‘I’ve been looking for someone.’

‘And?’

‘I’ve found who I’ve searched for.’

‘Oh, good.’ Now he just sounded patronising. He wasn’t ready to dive back in like this. It made him feel and sound amateurish.

‘You don’t understand, do you?’

‘Explain it to me,’ he encouraged.

‘I’ve been looking for you, Gabe.’

He blinked with consternation. ‘For me?’ She nodded slowly. ‘But until yesterday you didn’t know me.’

‘When we met I knew it was you I had been seeking.’

‘Angelina, forgive me, but do you realise how odd this seems and why people are concerned about you?’

‘I cannot help that.’

‘Yes, but people like Reynard are trying to help.’

‘He’s using you.’

‘Why would that be?’

She smiled and just for a blink he sensed an old cunning.

‘Angelina?’ he prompted, waiting for her to explain.

She glanced toward the door. ‘Reynard is becoming impatient.’

He frowned. ‘I told him to wait.’

‘Any moment the phone will —’

The phone began to ring.

He looked at it startled, then back at Angelina, who was staring out of the window again as if lost in deep thought. He resisted answering it and finally the machine whirred into action. He listened to his automated message being politely trotted out, waited for the caller to speak. The line went dead.

‘He won’t let it be,’ she warned dreamily.

Gabe felt his mobile phone vibrate against his thigh. He ignored it. The main phone rang again. It sounded even more shrill, demanding his attention with an I know you’re in there! screech.

‘Excuse me,’ he said. He stood up and grabbed the receiver. ‘Hello?’ he said, sounding irritated.

‘Gabriel, this is Reynard.’

She turned to give him a slight ‘told you so’ glance and then immediately looked away.

‘Er, yes, Reynard. I thought we had an arrangement about being left quietly.’

‘It’s been forty-five minutes.’

‘I said at least three-quarters of an hour.’

‘I was worried.’

‘For whom?’

‘Are you finished?’

‘We are now. You interrupted us.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll let you in.’ He put the receiver down and walked over to the door to unlock it.

The man came in hesitantly. He gave a small embarrassed smile. ‘Well. How did it go?’

‘We’d barely begun,’ Gabe admitted. ‘I can’t just leap in, Reynard. I’m playing with someone’s life. It has to be approached with caution and a genuine regard for Angelina’s state of mind and what she wants to reveal at this stage.’

‘And what has she revealed?’ Reynard whispered.

‘Nothing I can give any credence to.’

‘It’s hard when she doesn’t speak, I know.’

Gabe shook his head. ‘There is nothing to tell and I must pay attention to her wishes and rights too. This is a therapist–patient session — or so it has turned into.’

‘What can you tell me?’ Reynard demanded.

‘She needs a sense of safety and to be around a therapist she trusts. I’m not sure anyone you’ve chosen so far is providing the confidence for her to open up.’ They walked over to Angelina, who was now ignoring both of them. ‘She’s an intelligent person and needs respect.’

‘Don’t lecture me, Gabriel,’ Reynard snapped. It was the first time Gabe had seen anything but the genial personality of the man. ‘We’re dealing with a girl who can’t express herself in —’

‘Wait. I’ll stop you there,’ Gabe said reasonably. ‘Reynard, you should know that Angelina has spoken to me.’

He watched the colour drain out of Reynard’s face.

Gabe continued. ‘She speaks as easily as you and I are conversing now.’

Angelina was dressing in her warm clothes as she stared outside, entirely unisinterested in the pair of them. He would be lying if he didn’t admit that he was hooked.

They were still standing by the door, blocking any run for freedom she might suddenly decide to make. ‘Reynard, why are you so scared of Angelina?’ he said, softly enough for their hearing only.

‘Scared?’ Reynard growled, cutting him an incredulous look.

Gabe realised he needed to temper his approach. ‘Perhaps I should say that you are overly anxious for her. Talking briefly with Angelina today she seems, um … “airy” for want of a better word, but not insane and certainly not dangerous.’

‘Then you are seeing a different Angelina. She believes herself threatened by some outward force and would rather kill herself than be hunted down.’

‘How has she told you this?’

‘She wrote it.’

‘Wrote it?’

‘Not once, Gabriel, but hundreds, thousands, maybe a million times. She wrote it on paper, her walls, her floors, her clothes, her skin! She even wrote it on a hamster, a pet of one of our patients at the clinic. She never stops writing it. The girl is unbalanced and definitely suicidal.’

Gabe shook his head, absolutely certain of what he was about to say. ‘She is not suicidal. I assure you.’

‘You have no —’

‘Reynard, you asked for my professional opinion and now you have it. What you do with it is your business. I have done what you asked. In my reckoning, Angelina is thinking clearly and not about death. However, she is moving in a world of her own. I don’t want to call her delusional because it smacks of crazy. She is convinced of a threat, but not the one you think, and she is no danger to herself, let me reiterate that.’

‘I cannot believe she is speaking with you.’

‘Believe it. I’m not shocked. Many youngsters choose their moment to reveal themselves. Sometimes it’s with the most unlikely partner. She obviously feels safe here.’

Reynard stared at him. ‘And your advice is?’

He shrugged. ‘Bring her back. I was on the brink of learning more when you interrupted. Let me have a second session with her and see what can be achieved.’

Reynard looked tired and old suddenly. Gone was the pleasantness and confidence of the previous evening. Now he looked intense and worried.

‘It’s entirely up to you. If you want me to see her again, I will. But I won’t push.’ Reverse psychology, Gabe thought.

‘All right. When?’

‘Thursday. It will have to be the evening. I’m sorry that I can’t offer more convenient sessions.’

‘I understand. In two days then.’

‘Seven okay?’

Reynard nodded. ‘We’ll be here. Remember my warning, though, Gabriel. It is not given lightly. Come then, Angelina.’

She drifted over to them like a child with her attention riveted in her own thoughts.

‘Why don’t you say a proper farewell. I gather that you can,’ Reynard said with only a hint of sarcasm.

She looked at him with loathing. A quick glance was all Gabe was given but it was enough. He saw only humour in it.

‘Thank you,’ Reynard said to him, trying to smile but failing. ‘I can’t be sitting out in a draughty hallway each time,’ he added.

‘Well, you could just trust me with Angelina,’ Gabe replied.

Reynard pulled Gabe aside and dropped his voice. ‘It’s not about trusting you, Gabriel. It’s about not trusting her.’

‘There you go again. What are you so frightened of?’

‘She will bring you harm,’ Reynard hissed in warning as they watched her hit the lift button.

Gabe shook his head. ‘Not on my watch, she won’t.’

‘Well, see you Thursday,’ Reynard said.

Gabe was tiring of him. ‘You can read the papers or just people-watch in the café across the street. No interruptions this time. You must trust me.’ He looked at Angelina. ‘See you soon.’ He watched the light flash to say the lift was imminent. ‘Ah, wait. Hold the doors,’ he urged, dashing back into the apartment to grab the pastries, which he threw back into their bag. He returned just as the lift doors opened. ‘Take this for a sugary hit later,’ he said, winking at Angelina and noticed the glimmer of a smile touch her eyes.

He wondered briefly if he should charge a fee for this work. He decided he wouldn’t. He would regard it purely as a favour and then he owed Reynard nothing — they were square. Gabe closed the metal doors and watched the lift jerk before its captives began their descent.

He turned back into the apartment and was surprised to see a crow seated as still as a statue on the tall tree that reached up to his apartment. Its winter-bare branches clawed the air but provided good purchase for the crow. He’d never seen one in this neighbourhood previously; they tended to show themselves in and around the main tourist traps. He stepped closer to the window. It didn’t so much as blink.

And it had a lightish grey end to its beak, not at all like the highly glossy beak of the crows he was familiar with, and it was smaller. It seemed to be staring through his window and right into his soul.

He clapped his hands. ‘Shoo!’ he exclaimed. He stepped forward and banged on the window.

It jumped into the air at his yell and with an almost slow-motion beat of its wings, effortlessly dragged itself away from his building. The winter light caught its feathers and he saw a purple glow shine off its back, which was oddly beautiful. His interest piqued, Gabe immediately opened his laptop and searched the net for ‘crows’, unexpectedly becoming fascinated by the family Corvidae.

He finally found what he was looking for. His spy had not been a carrion crow as he’d first thought. He was now sure that the visitor was a raven, which had feathers that were described as iridescent. His bird’s beak was definitely curved, as the information said it should be, and it certainly had shaggy plumage at the throat. He’d noticed the bird’s feathers at the low point of the neck were pale, near enough to grey. Yes, definitely a raven.

Odd that it was alone, for apparently these birds moved like wolves, with certain laws of the pack guiding their lives. Perhaps it was a sentinel? His reading told him that while others trawled for food at lower levels, a few of the birds stayed higher in trees to keep watch.

And yet this one seemed to be watching him, not its companions, if there were any.

Gabe lost himself in an hour of research on ravens, strongly attracted to these mysterious old-world birds, once commonplace in Europe during the Middle Ages, now less so. He noted in particular their place in myth and legend, especially their association with death as escorts to the departing soul.

It never occurred to him to recall the death dream.

FIVE

Loup arrived silently at dusk but Cassien was waiting, sitting quietly on the stoop of the hut; he had sensed the man’s approach long before. He felt a flutter of nervous energy at what he planned to say, wondering if Loup could write an angry response fast enough. He didn’t plan on taking ‘No’ for an answer.

Loup nodded at Cassien’s wave.

‘Good evening, Loup. Welcome back.’

The man stopped at the edge of the clearing where Cassien’s hut stood. ‘It’s always good to see you, Cassien,’ he said.

Cassien’s mouth dropped open in astonishment as he stared at Loup, who gave him a sheepish look.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘All these years,’ Cassien murmured, shock racing through him.

‘I half wondered if you might sense it.’ Loup looked down at his big hands. ‘They were my orders.’

‘Brother Josse must be so proud of you.’ He was disgusted at the deception and wanted this man to know it.

‘As he is you,’ Loup said, still not coming nearer.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Cassien replied.

‘I am as obedient and committed as you are, Cassien,’ Loup grumbled.

Cassien stood abruptly and turned away. ‘There’s food in the pot,’ he growled over his shoulder. ‘Forgive me, I need to be alone.’ And then he was gone, grabbing his dagger and bow, blending into the forest in a blink and running silently, as far from Loup as possible.

It never failed to impress him that Romaine could know his mood. Many times she had suddenly appeared out of nowhere when he had found himself particularly unhappy, or hurting deeply from his injuries. Romaine would come, sometimes across many miles. She would lick his wounds and sit close to him, allowing Cassien to hug her, bury his face into her thick fur if he wept. The training had so often felt as though it had no purpose and now he felt betrayed. Loup — his one connection with the world outside the forest — had been lying to him. He was walking now, had stopped running as soon as he’d distanced himself from the man.

He heard a soft growl and Romaine emerged from the darkness. Light was fading from the day anyway, but here, this deep into the forest, it was almost always dark. Her pale coat looked luminous in the faint light.

‘Romaine,’ he whispered.

She whined softly with pleasure as he crouched down to embrace her.

‘Oh, those cubs are close,’ he said, forgetting his troubles and gently touching her swollen belly. ‘But you came to find me anyway, didn’t you, girl?’ Now he stroked the broad, almost arrow-shaped head, which tapered to her nose and pale grey muzzle.

She ran a large, dry tongue over his face in welcome as he dug his fingers into the bushy fur at the base of her head; she welcomed his rough scratching around her neck and ears.

‘You are so beautiful. You never let me down. How are you feeling? When will you have your family?’

She whined in response.

‘Soon, I think,’ he answered for her.

Romaine had always stood out from her small pack — not just because of her affectionate attitude toward him, but more particularly because of her colouring. Most of her kind were nondescript grey with a darker stripe of fur running the length of their back. Romaine was a creamy grey, lightening to a near-white around her flank. But each hair seemed to have a black tip, which gave her the extraordinary colouring of smoke.

Her yellow eyes looked deeply into his and he absently stroked her forehead.

‘I’ve been tricked,’ he moaned in answer, and went on to tell her of Josse’s orders and how angered he was by Loup’s deception. ‘It’s the final insult,’ he continued. ‘We are Brothers, raised to be loyal and that loyalty is our religion. You know how it is with your pack. You all trust each other. Without that to rely on, I don’t think I want to be part of this family any longer.’