Fiona McIntosh - Scrivener’s Tale

It was Romaine, the now grown she-wolf, who had told him otherwise.

It’s you , she’d said calmly, although he could hear the anger, her despair simmering at the edge of the voice in his mind. We are paying for your freedom , she’d added, when she’d dragged over the corpse of a young wolf to show him.

And so he moved as a spirit only rarely now, when loneliness niggled too hard, and before doing so he would talk to Romaine and seek her permission. She would alert the creatures in a way he didn’t understand and then she would guide him to a section of the forest that he could never otherwise find, even though he had tried.

For some reason, the location felt repellent, although it had all the same sort of trees and vegetation as elsewhere. There was nothing he could actually pin down as being specifically different other than an odd atmosphere, which he couldn’t fully explain but he felt in the tingles on the surface of his flesh and the raising of hair at the back of his neck. It felt ever so slightly warmer there, less populated by the insects and birds that should be evident and, as a result, vaguely threatening. If he was being very particular, he might have argued that it was denser at the shrub level. On the occasions he’d mentioned this, Romaine had said she’d never noticed, but he suspected that she skirted the truth.

‘Why here?’ he’d asked on the most recent occasion, determined to learn the secret. ‘You’ve always denied there was anything special about this place.’

I lied , she’d pushed into his mind. You weren’t ready to know it. Now you are.

‘Tell me.’

It’s a deliberately grown offshoot of natural vegetation known as the Thicket .

‘But what is it?’

It possesses a magic. That’s all I know.

‘And if I roam from here the animals are safe?’

As safe as we can make them. Most are allowing you a wide range right now. We can’t maintain it for very long though, so get on with what you need to do.

And that’s how it had been. The Thicket somehow keeping the forest animals safe, filtering his magic through itself and cleansing, or perhaps absorbing, the part of his power that killed. It couldn’t help Cassien in any way, but Romaine had admitted once that the Thicket didn’t care about his health; its concern was for the beasts.

None, he’d observed, from hawk to badger, had ever been aware of his presence when he roamed. With Romaine’s assistance, he had roamed briefly around Loup on a couple of occasions. Cassien was now convinced that people would not be aware of his spiritual presence either.

Only Romaine sensed him — she always knew where he was whether in physical or spiritual form. The she-wolf was grown to her full adult size now and she was imposing — beautiful and daunting in the same moment. Romaine didn’t frighten him and yet he knew she could if she chose to. She still visited from time to time, never losing her curiosity for him. He revelled in her visits. She would regard him gravely with those penetrating yellowy grey eyes of hers and he would feel her kinship in that gaze.

He straightened from where he’d been staring into the mirror at his unshaven face and resolved to demand answers from Loup on the next full moon, which was just a few days away.

Gabe strolled to the bookshop carrying his box of cakes and enjoying the winter sunlight. Catherine gave a small squeal and rushed over to hug him as he entered the shop.

‘Happy birthday!’ And not worrying too much about what customers might think, she yelled out to the rest of the staff: ‘Gabe’s in, sing everyone!’

It was tradition. Birthday wishes floated down from the recesses of the shop via the narrow, twisting corridor created by the tall bookshelves, and from the winding staircase that led to the creaking floorboards of the upstairs section. Even the customers joined in the singing.

In spite of his normally reticent manner, Gabe participated in the fun, grinning and even conducting the song. He noted again that the fresh new mood of wanting to bring about change was fuelling his good humour. He put the giveaway bag with its box of treats on the crowded counter.

‘Tell me you have macarons,’ Cat pleaded.

Gabe pushed the Pierre Hermé box into her hands. ‘To the staffroom with you.’ Then he smiled at the customers patiently waiting. ‘Sorry for all this.’ They all made the sounds and gestures of people not in a hurry.

Even so, the next hour moved by so fast that he realised when he looked up to check the time that he hadn’t even taken his jacket off.

An American student working as a casual sidled up with a small stack of fantasy novels — a complete series and in the original covers, Gabe noticed, impressed. He anticipated that an English-speaking student on his or her gap year was bound to snaffle the three books in a blink. Usually there were odd volumes, two and three perhaps the most irritating combination for shoppers.

‘Put a good price on those. Sell only as a set,’ he warned.

Dan nodded. ‘I haven’t read these — I’m half-inclined to buy them myself but I don’t have the money immediately.’

Gabe gave the youngster a sympathetic glance. ‘And they’ll be gone before payday,’ he agreed, quietly glad because Dan was always spending his wage before he earned it.

‘Monsieur Reynard came in,’ Dan continued. ‘He left a message.’

‘About his book. I know,’ Gabe replied, not looking up from the note he was making in the Reserves book. ‘I haven’t found it yet. But I am searching.’

Dan frowned. ‘No, he didn’t mention a book. He said he’d call in later.’

Catherine came up behind them. ‘Did Dan tell you that Reynard is looking for you?’

Dan gave her a soft look of exasperation. ‘I was just telling him.’

‘And did you tell Reynard that it’s Gabe’s birthday?’ she asked with only a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

‘No,’ Dan replied, but his expression said, Why would I?

‘Good,’ Gabe said between them. ‘I’m —’

‘Lucky I did, then,’ Catherine said dryly and smiled sweetly.

‘Oh, Cat, why would you do that?’

‘Because he’s your friend, Gabe. He should know. After all —’

‘He’s not a friend, he’s a customer and we have to keep some sort of —’

‘ Bonjour , Monsieur Reynard ,’ Dan said and Gabe swung around.

‘Ah, you’re here,’ the man said, approaching the counter. He was tall with the bulky girth of one who enjoys his food, but was surprisingly light on his feet. His hair looked as though it was spun from steel and he wore it in a tight queue. Cat often mused how long Monsieur Reynard’s hair was, while Dan considered it cool in an old man. Gabe privately admired it because Reynard wore his hair in that manner without any pretension, as though it was the most natural way for a man of his mature years to do so. To Gabe he looked like a character from a medieval novel and behaved as a jolly connoisseur of the good life — wine, food, travel, books. He had money to spend on his pursuits but Gabe sensed that behind the gregarious personality hid an intense, highly intelligent individual.

‘ Bonjour , Gabriel, and I believe felicitations are in order.’

Gabe slipped back into his French again. ‘Thank you, Monsieur Reynard. How are you?’

‘Please call me René. I am well, as you see,’ the man replied, beaming at him while tapping his rotund belly. ‘I insist you join me for a birthday drink,’ he said, ensuring everyone in the shop heard his invitation.

‘I can’t, I have to —’

Reynard gave a tutting noise. ‘Please. You have never failed to find the book I want and that sort of dedication is hard to find. I insist, let me buy you a birthday drink.’