The Lady Tower

By Elsa Frohman
Part 2

Todo left his shirt and breeches on the bank and waded into the icy waters of the River Fior. The sun was down, and few people came down this way at night. No one would see him shivering in the sluggish current.

Despite his just-completed bath, he felt an almost unbearable need to cleanse himself. The odor of human waste was gone, but another fragrance clung to him -- this one a mixture of lye soap and a hint of a young girl's skin. He could still smell the soft, musky fragrance of her hair that came to him when she leaned close to wash his back.

"I've still got a bit of the monk in me," he thought, as the achingly cold water flowed around him. "Twenty-five years since I took off the habit and I still feel the need to mortify the flesh when it calls out."

His teeth chattered, but he made no attempt to leave the river. Moonlight glinted off gentle waves lapping softly at the bank. The cold went right through him and set his skin and muscles to aching, but even so, there was a kind of beauty even in this discomfort.

Todo was angry with himself. He was quite aware that women found him attractive. There was something about the combination of his unattached status, and his willingness and skill at household repairs that proved a potent allure, despite his low station as the town's itinerant handyman. He had developed a keen ability to see the advances coming, and divert them gently -- without humiliating the admirer.

He knew that many Custodians weren't as rigid as he was on this point. For his kind, marriage was out of the question -- how could you form a life bond with another and keep the true nature of your calling a secret? There was no rule against having a lover. He knew that many did, and even more engaged in short-term affairs. That wasn't his way.

And now, he wondered how he could have missed Elora's intention. Had he gone along with her ploy because it was what he wanted? He shook his head. Ridiculous, not only was she barely more than a child, she was the Baron's daughter.

She would be married soon -- the sooner the better, he told himself.

His extremities numb, Todo climbed out of the river and used his tattered shirt as a towel before dressing again. He walked back to his hut in a black mood.

The monks were beginning their annual retreat week, so Josaf wouldn't be able to get away for a while. Todo regretted that -- he would have enjoyed the boy's company at the moment.

There were many reasons not to go to Baron deZors' side of town, and in the next two days Todo explored them all.

One of the old pylons near the river showed signs of crumbling, but after a thorough examination, Todo was almost disappointed to find that the damage was only on the surface, and the structure posed no threat to the thatched huts beneath it. No opportunity to organize a repair effort there.

Later, he sharpened a few knives and patched some crumbling plaster for an elderly widow who lived near the city wall. Mother Anya's gratitude included a generous portion of turnip potpie, which he ate as she mended a tear in his ragged shirt with another patch, a blue one this time. He took a long, solitary walk along the river in the evening, stopping here and there to skip stones across the surface of the water and contemplate the sparkling, orange ripples as the sun went down.

On the second day, he wandered out into the agricultural districts, where the farmers' wives had items in need of repair saved up for his occasional visits. After a half day of mending leaking barrels and wobbling plowshares, not to mention reaffixing the head of a 5-year-old's doll and bandaging the ear of a household cat who had got the worst end of a scrap with a barn Tom, it began to rain.

It was no kindly summer shower. Autumn was in full swing and the rain fell bitter cold on the half-harvested fields. An icy wind drove sheets of raindrops that collected in muddy puddles on the dirt roads.

Todo took shelter at the hearth of Doyan Draban, a prosperous farmer with a fine herd of hogs and six healthy daughters. The youngest was still a babe in arms, the oldest soon to turn 14.

Mistress Draban saw him dripping and shivering on the stoop, and ushered him in, clucking her tongue and ordering the girls into action to provide a cup of hot mulled cider and a bowl of the sausage stew the family had at midday. She shook the water out of his sodden broom before standing it up in the corner near the fire to dry.

Dana, the plump 13-year-old, stood by regarding him owlishly as he settled himself on a three-legged stool near the fire.

"Yer clothes'r all wet," the girl said bluntly, her eyes locked on him, hardly blinking.

"Yes, they are," Todo said with a chuckle. "But I'll dry soon enough."

The girl stood immobile continuing to stare as Todo rubbed his chilled hands in the warmth of the fire. He had the distinct impression she was waiting for him to peel out of his wet clothing.

"Dana! You've work to do! Stop plaguing Master Todo."

"Yes, mama," the girl said, sounding disappointed. She moved away, picking up the basket of damp laundry she and her sisters had gathered from the outdoor line as the rain began.

"I apologize for my daughter," Mistress Draban said, wiping her hands on her apron. "She seems to be coming to that age."

"A fine young woman," Todo said with a smile.

"A bit too fond of dumplings and steamed pudding, I fear. But she's a good girl, and she'll be a fine farmer's wife long before I'm ready to see her go."

"Master Draban is not about today?"

"He's in town at the meeting. Hadn't you heard the call?"

"A meeting?"

"Goldan the Guildmaster has called all the guildsmen and property owners together."

"Really? I must admit I've been a bit out of touch. What is this meeting for? It's not time to discuss the tithe or the levy. That won't be until spring."

"The Baron!" Mistress Draban said, looking surprised Todo hadn't heard.

"Baron deZors?"

"Don't you know?"

Todo shook his head.

"He's been missing these three days -- with both his sons. The girl, Elora, is the only deZors left in the city, with the exception of Lady deZors and some shirttail cousins in the guard. And nobody likes the thought of any of them suddenly declaring themselves heir."

Todo's eyes widened in surprise. The Baron's wife was mistress of her halls, but not by any stretch of the imagination equal to ruling in her husband's place. She was a silly, vain woman who could spend days on end deciding whether to put pansies or lilies in the flower arrangements in the great hall. She was given to vapors, and would unquestionably have retired to her quarters as soon as the crisis presented itself.

"Where has he gone?"

"No one is certain. There are a lot of rumors. Some say he's absconded because it's soon to be revealed that he's been skimming taxes for his personal benefit. Others say he took his sons and went to slay demons in the towers. Yet others say he's made a deal with the Marquis deCorentha, and is off fighting in his border war with Mislan."

"Troubling, mistress. Whatever the reason for his absence, Fiorenza hasn't been without a Baron or his appointed representative for hundreds of years."

"Exactly. The men are meeting to consider what action they must take if he doesn't come back."

"Three days seems a bit soon to declare him lost, but I'm sure the Abbot will be interested," Todo said thoughtfully.

"They kept word of the meeting quiet in hopes they could keep it from Maretus," Mistress Draban said. "That's probably why you didn't hear about it. They're worried about what the monks will do."

Todo nodded. "I thank you for your hospitality, Mistress, but I need to get back to the city."

Mistress Draban gave him a knowing look.

"I couldn't send you off in this foul weather with nothing but that poor shirt to protect you," the matron said, clucking her tongue. "It happens that my husband left without his oilskin this morning. Would you wear it and leave it for him at Ketter's stable, so he can have it to come home?"

Todo smiled. The farmer's wife had not only made his walk back to town more comfortable, she had told him where the meeting was being held, no doubt deliberately. He accepted the oilskin gratefully, and would indeed drop it off for the farmer, but he had no intention of trying to get into the caucus. Little would be accomplished there. The interests of the farmers and property owners were at odds with the interests of the guildsmen. They would argue for hours -- no days, if they didn't have families to return to -- but they wouldn't come to a consensus. The only thing they would agree upon was limiting the power of the Brotherhood.

No, Todo thought, as he hurried along the muddy road, his head turned down inside the hood of the ample rain poncho, his course lay in a different direction. He knew which of the three rumors was credible.

The Baron was an honest man -- devious, perhaps, self-interested, surely -- but fundamentally honest. He would never lower himself to anything as common as skimming tax revenue for his personal use. If he wanted something, he would simply tell the treasurer and purchase it openly -- such was the prerogative of Fiorenza's civil leader.

And as for going off to fight in deCorentha's little border war, it simply didn't make sense. The Baron would never leave Fiorenza for such a mission without leaving one of his lieutenants or sons as regent in his absence.

That left the least sensible of the three alternatives, though Todo could see the proud Baron deZors mounting an expedition to rid a tower of demons -- probably declaring all the while that the foe they sought was nothing but smoke and legend. It would suit his ego to take his sons with him, to show them how a nobleman dealt with figments of the common imagination. He probably expected to be back by nightfall, so he left no one in charge.

A fleeting image of the afternoon two days ago came back to him. Elora saying her father was away -- he'd thought nothing of it, as no doubt, had Elora at the time. She must be beside herself now, he thought bitterly. Two days he had wasted because he didn't want to think about her or deal with her.

He prayed it wasn't too late already.

Cold, sticky mud splashed against his boots as he hurried toward the circle of towers, hazy and indistinct in the gray sky behind sheets of bitter rain. He had looked at them with wonder when he was young, fascination as he learned their secrets, amusement when he heard the fanciful tales people told about them. But now they filled him with dread.

There was so much peril in the towers. Few ventured beyond the first levels where the monks made their home and scavengers looked for building materials, because of the legends of demons that dwelt above street level. The Custodians created the legends -- Todo had spun a few fanciful tales of his own to keep people away. But the pragmatic deZors wouldn't believe the stories -- and that was his peril.

The Baron had stayed out of the towers all these years because his concerns were with the living city, not the dusty past. The secrets of Fiorenza's Ancients were the concern of the monks, and deZors turned away from such inconsequential nonsense with a haughty curl of his lip.

Todo wondered what had sparked the Baron's interest. Knowing that, he might get an idea of which tower the Baron and his men had breached, and where they had gone within.

Of course, finding their trail in the heavy dust wouldn't be difficult. Not difficult, but one more delay, he thought bitterly.

The rain that bedeviled Todo was salvation to deZors. His men had been without food and water for more than two days. Their meager store of rations -- no more than a small water skin for each man and a bit of hard tack -- was long gone. The Baron had never considered this foray might take more than a few hours.

They had climbed for the better part of the first day. Then, without warning, as they gained the 13th level, the creature had come upon them with its shrieking cry and bolts of fatal lightning. They retreated in disarray, suffering terrible casualties in just seconds.

Now, huddled behind barricades hastily constructed of the broken and crumbling furnishings, he and his men were battered, wounded, hungry, and worse, parched beyond endurance. There was no water to be had, and the dust rose to clog the nose and mouth. They spoke seldom, as words rasped in their dry throats. They huddled miserable and frightened, waiting for death, backs to a glass wall that taunted them with its view of the safety of the city below.

Outside the barricade was a horror they couldn't comprehend.

No one below would see them, sitting in the dark, shivering with fear and cold. They waited for the end without hope.

Then, as the third morning turned to afternoon, clouds rolled up from the south. The sky darkened and rain began to spatter against the glass.

The Baron looked to his elder son, Marco, who lay unconscious in the gathering gloom, overcome by an ugly burn that covered his sword arm and shoulder. Unable to watch as his legacy -- the son whom he had always believed would rule in his place someday -- slipped away because of this ill-considered adventure, he turned back to the wall to look out into the storm.

A tear ran down his cheek -- no, it wasn't a tear. It was wet, but cold. He looked up as another drop of water fell.

There was a leak. The ages had worn away the seal that held this panel of glass in place. A small rivulet of water was now running down the glass wall.

"To arms!" he croaked. "To arms!"

Of the ten men he had brought along on this foolhardy mission, four were still alert and strong enough to hear him and respond.

The Baron drew his broadsword and struck at the window with all his remaining strength. The blade deflected harmlessly, but the blow sent a painful shiver down his arms.

"Your shoulders, men!" he said, throwing himself against the window, unmindful of the consequences were the glass to give way. The panel of glass shivered, but held. However, the effort was not in vain. The tiny stream of water was just a bit stronger.

The four guardsmen, including, the Baron was proud to note, his younger son, Iali, followed their leader's example and flung themselves against the glass. The glass shivered again, and the small stream of water became a waterfall.

"Enough!" deZors cried. He filled his water skin and took it to Marco.

"Drink," he pleaded, lifting the unconscious youth's head and pouring a few drops between his lips. "Please, Marco, hear your father. Drink."