The Command - Brian Jacques - Flying Dutchman 02

It was Ben who broke the silence. “Do you know where the Razan make their home in the mountains, sir?”

Opening his eyes, the comte sat up straight. “The only one of our family who knew that was my brother, and he would not have found the place had not the Razan carried him there when he was injured. Edouard said that it was high in the Pyrenees, somewhere ‘twixt Viella and Monte Maladeta, not far over the Spanish border.”

Ben looked to Dominic. “Are you familiar with that area?”

Shaking his head, the facemaker replied, “Sabada, where I come from, is southwest of that region. I never travelled over that way, I’m afraid.”

The comte interrupted him. “Wait! Garath, our old family ostler and blacksmith, might know something. He and Edouard were great friends, they often talked together. Garath is one of the few I can really trust. I’ll get him.”

Ben helped the comte up. “We’ll come with you, sir, no need to tire yourself. Lend a hand here, you two!”

The facemaker and the girl were assisting the old man through the door when he halted. “Wait,” he said. Opening a heavy stone jar that stood on a shelf, he took out several rough lumps of pale brown sugar. The comte winked at Ned and whispered, “For the horses, they know me.” He thrust the sugar lumps into his dressing-gown pocket.

Garath was no longer a young man, but Ben could see that he was a fellow of great strength. He wore no shirt beneath his leather apron, and thick, corded muscle and sinew stood out on his grey-haired forearms. He had the hind leg of a roan mare locked between his knees, while he cleaned out the frog of her hoof with a small knife.

Garath looked up as they entered the sweet-horsey-smelling stall. “Come to have your bones jolted, sire? ‘Tis a fine day for it.”

“No, no, my friend, these old bones would have to spend a week in bed if I tried to sit a horse, let alone ride it.” The comte laughed. “Meet my young friends, they have a question to ask you.”

As they were introducing themselves and chatting to Garath, the mare dipped her muzzle into the old man’s pocket and snorted. The comte chuckled. “Are you stealing my sugar, Madame? Come out of there and I’ll give you some, eh, and a bit for my good friend Ned also. There you are!”

As the horse and the dog crunched sugar happily, the comte explained his visit to Garath. “My young friends want to know whether my brother ever told you anything about the location where the Razan have their den.”

Patting the mare’s well-brushed flank, the blacksmith nodded. “Monsieur Edouard said something of it once. High up in the border peaks, he said. In Spain, someplace ‘twixt Viella and Maladeta—wild country!”

Ben flicked the mop of tow-coloured hair from his brow. “We already know that, sir. Was there nothing else you can recall—any small detail that might help?”

Garath went over to pat the withers of a hefty grey, which the comte was feeding sugar to. “Hmm, let me see. Oh, aye, there was something he said, it comes back to me now. The men hunting wild boar. He said that was the last thing that he saw before he passed out from his accident. Men hunting wild boar. Then he said that he would know the spot where the Razan stronghold was if he could only find the place where the men were hunting the boar. Then he seemed to forget what he was talking about and wandered off. ‘Twas the injury to Monsieur Edouard’s head, you know. He was never quite the same after that fall from his horse.”

Karay looked disappointed. “That is all you can remember?”

The blacksmith shrugged. “Marm, ‘twas all he said, he never spoke of it again after that day, and I never asked him.”

Dominic stepped in and presented the blacksmith with a sketch he had made whilst the man was talking to them. The facemaker had done it with charcoal, on an old cask lid he had found lying about.

Garath looked at his own likeness on the wooden lid and bowed slightly. “My thanks to ye, sir, though I think you made me a bit too handsome in this picture. Do I really look like that?”

Dominic nodded emphatically. “Indeed you do, Garath, but that’s not good looks I portrayed, it’s honesty and hard work.”

The comte inspected the likeness, commenting as Garath turned away, his cheeks reddening at the old man’s compliment: “An honest man is hard to find. This is a true picture of you, Garath. See the eyes, they reflect truth and the long, faithful service you have given my family.”

The blacksmith bowed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you and your friends more, sire.”

Evening shades were starting to fall as they sat in the comte’s parlour, sipping cold fruit juice. The old man was giving orders to Mathilde. “There will be five for dinner tonight— make sure there is plenty for these young ones at the table. Oh, and tell Hector to air out the beds in the guest rooms.”

Mathilde gave Ned a wide berth as she trundled out, muttering under her breath about being eaten out of house and home by gypsies and savages.

Karay wriggled with excitement as she addressed the comte. “D’you mean we can sleep in real beds in this big house? That’s very kind of you, sir. I’ve never slept in a real bed before!”

The old man’s eyes twinkled briefly. “You’ll soon get used to it, child, and the boys also. I like good company around my gloomy old house, so stay as long as you wish.”

Ben shook his head regretfully. “I wish we could, sir, but if we are to find Adamo, we’d best leave tomorrow.”

The aged nobleman’s face was suddenly serious. “Thank you for your offer, lad, but it is far too dangerous. Besides, what makes you think that you could find my nephew?”

Ben explained. “We are strangers to Veron, everyone saw us arrested by your guards, sir. My friends and I don’t look exactly like visiting royalty, do we? Look at us, four poor travellers. Even Mathilde said we look like thieves and gypsies. What better cover could we have? Nobody would suspect us of being your agents. We could wander anywhere at will—who’d pay much attention to us?”

The comte stared into Ben’s haunting blue eyes. “I don’t know what it is, but the moment I saw you and Ned, Karay and Dominic being brought into my garden today, I had a strange feeling that things were about to happen.”

Dominic spoke earnestly. “We will help you, sir, I’m sure of it. Put your trust in us and we’ll prove our friendship.”

The old man looked from one to the other. “You have a plan?”

Ben was about to say that they had no plan, but they would think one up, when Ned’s thoughts claimed his attention. “Listen to me, mate. Repeat what I’m thinking to the old fellow, here’s my plan…”

Ben repeated Ned’s thoughts aloud to the comte. “Let everyone think we’ve been thrown in prison over the business on the steps. We’ll stay here until Monday, when the fair’s over. Though we’ll have to keep our heads down, it wouldn’t be wise to let word get about that we’re houseguests and not prisoners. When the fair ends, have your guards drive us from Veron with lots of loud warnings that we’re lucky to be set free from the lockup.”

The comte scratched his beard. “But why such an elaborate charade? Wouldn’t you be better merely slipping away at dawn?”

Ben continued translating his dog’s thoughts. “No no, sir, we want people to think that we’re a bunch of no-goods. If, as you say, the Razan can appear in secret, then I’ll wager there’s some of them among the fair’s visitors. We’ll be in a much better position if they think we are villains like them!”

Karay gave Ben a sly nudge and winked at him. “Very good! You’re not such a bumpkin as I thought you were, Ben. How did you think of a plan like that?”