Into the Shadows by Linda K Hopkins
Chapter 17
Lark awoke to the sound of pounding on the door, and she leaped from the bed, her heart racing. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard Gloria calling the name she had given the previous night.
“Star? You awake? Vera and Vern are about to leave.”
“I’ll be right there,” Lark called. She hastily pulled on her boots and checked herself in the mirror, before picking up the gem she had pried off one of the cuffs the previous evening. When she tried to give it to Gloria as payment, however, the woman refused.
“Keep it,” she insisted. “You’ll need it for food on the road. And I don’t want to know how you came by such a precious item!”
“It was a gift,” Lark replied, but Gloria’s raised eyebrows told her that she did not believe her. “Well, thank you for all your kindness,” Lark finished. “I won’t forget it!”
“Come here,” Gloria said, grabbing her and pulling her into a hug. “Take care of yourself now, Star. Something tells me that fate has great plans for you.”
Lark shook her head with a smile. “I don’t think so. If I can just return home, I’ll be happy.”
But as she sat on the back of the wagon, trying to keep her balance as it rocked and swayed, she could not help wondering whether she was lying to herself. Would she really be happy if she returned home? They already believed her dead and had grown accustomed to the idea that she would not be returning. The only one who would truly mourn her was Pip. She thought of the cuffs in her bag. They were worth a lot of money. Perhaps she should use them to find a place for herself somewhere other than Lenora.
When they drew to a stop, she turned in surprise to see that they had passed through a set of tall gates. She had been so lost in her musings that she did not notice the wagon approaching a town.
“Are we there already?” she asked Vera.
“Naw. This is Falvia. We ’ave to drop off some goods but will be on our way again soon.”
“Falvia? A Cambrian town?”
The women glanced back at her. “Aye. But no need to fear. They give us little trouble.”
It was not fear that Lark felt but excitement. She glanced around and saw the fair heads of some of the people walking by. The wagon lurched forward and she grabbed the rail to stop herself falling off. As they rumbled down the road she studied the town, eager to see what kind of place it was. It was nothing like Lenora, of course, but the roads were straight, the buildings symmetrical, and the streets clean. Even if the Drameara had somehow managed to remain alive, and had gathered enough strength to follow her, he would never venture into a Cambrian town, of that she was sure.
She waited until the wagon had stopped and her traveling companions were busy with their business before climbing from the wagon and slipping away. She felt a pang of guilt at the worry she would cause Vern and Vera, but she pushed it aside. They would quickly lose interest in her and move on. She turned down the first street and saw that she was near a market. The only thing of value that she had were the cuffs, and she kept her eyes peeled for a place where she could exchange them for ready cash. She had been wandering for more than an hour when she finally spotted a jeweler and entered the shop. The man behind the counter looked to be in his late fifties, and he looked up sharply, taking in her appearance.
“How can I help you?” he asked.
“I have some items that I’d like to sell.”
“I see. Well, let’s have a look.”
He waited as she reached into her bag, and his eyebrows rose as she placed the cuffs on the counter. “Where did you get these?” he asked, taking the undamaged cuff and examining it closely.
“They were a gift,” she replied. His eyes darted to her, then back to the cuff in his hand.
“Well, they certainly are beautiful. I’m afraid I don’t have enough cash on hand to give you right now, but leave them with me and return at closing, and I’ll have it ready.”
“I can return at closing,” Lark replied, “but I’ll keep the cuffs with me. But perhaps you can give me something for one of the jewels?” She handed over the gem she had pried from the cuff for Gloria. He took it and studied it closely with a magnifying glass.
“Very well,” he finally replied. He turned to a safe in the wall and withdrew a small pile of notes.
Lark took them and stuffed them into her bag. She had no idea how much the gem was worth, but she guessed there was enough money to buy some new clothes and a meal or two.
“I’ll return later,” she said, and walked out the door as the man watched her closely.
She had passed several dressmakers in her search for a jeweler, and she retraced her steps and entered the first of the stores, eager to rid herself of her filthy garments and put on something clean. The woman at the store, however, gave her one look and refused to do business with her, even when Lark pulled out the money she had just acquired. With an angry frown, Lark left the store and tried the next one, where she received the same service. It was only at the third store that the dressmaker reluctantly agreed to sell her some garments, although she kept her nose wrinkled as Lark selected three new blouses, a jacket, two pairs of ladies’ riding pants, and some new undergarments. She paused beside the dresses to admire a gown of blue, then added it to the pile. Maybe it was not suitable travel wear, but it had been so long since she had worn something pretty.
Lark made her way to a cobbler next, where she tried on the shoes the cobbler had on hand, resisting his urging to get a pair custom-made. She picked out a pair of brown boots, far more fetching than those she had been wearing, but sturdier than the pair she had on when taken by the Shadow Warrior.
With her fresh clothes wrapped into a package, Lark began a search for an inn where she could bathe and spend some time freshening herself. It turned out to be easier to secure a room than purchase clothes, and Lark soon found herself in a well-appointed chamber with a large copper tub, which was filled by footmen, sloshing pails of water from the kitchen below and filling the bath with hot water. A jar of herbs was on a table near the tub and she tossed in a handful, smiling in pleasure at the sweet scent that filled the air.
As soon as she was alone, she sank into the water, feeling the weeks of dirt floating away. She scrubbed herself from her head to her toes, running her nails over her scalp as she washed her hair over and over. It was strange to feel it so short, but she had no regrets about her actions. If she was to start a new life, then a completely new identity seemed in order. Even so, she could not help grimacing at the untidy mess she had made of her locks. The ends were ragged, with some strands being far longer than others. Sitting before the mirror, she used the dagger as best she could to straighten the ends, but she knew Neta would be horrified if she saw Lark now.
Reaching for the gown, she pulled it on with a sigh of pleasure. She had been wearing her green serge trousers for so long, she had almost forgotten how pleasant it was to feel fabric falling at her feet. The simple, straight lines complemented her tall figure, and she could not help noticing that her waist was a fair bit narrower than it had been a few weeks before. She had grown stronger, too. At first, she had struggled to keep up with the Drameara, but now she could manage a day of walking without collapsing in a heap. She frowned at the thought of the Drameara and felt a small stab of sadness at the thought of his death. Despite his strength, his injuries had been too extensive to survive. An unwanted thought crept into her mind – could the Drameara have called the Shadow Warrior to help him? He had summoned the Warrior when they attacked the Crimson Guard. She gave her head a vicious shake, refusing to consider such a possibility. The Drameara was dead – she was sure of it.
It was mid-afternoon by the time Lark descended from her room, feeling like a new woman. She ate a meal at the inn before wandering along the road, browsing the stores. The looks she had endured earlier were absent now, she noted with a slight sense of cynicism. She waited until it was almost dusk before returning to the jeweler, the cuffs in her bag.
She approached the door, slowing when she saw a man watching her, but when he looked away, she breathed a sigh of relief and hastened to open the door of the shop. As she did so, she noticed the sign in the window, which she had missed before: Gem and Son. Stepping into the store she walked up to the counter, where the jeweler stood with a younger man at his side. Gem and Son, Lark thought as she noticed the similarities between them. Gem looked at her appraisingly. “Put the money I gave you to good use,” he said.
“Is this the woman, Father?” the younger man asked, and he nodded.
“Indeed, it is.”
“She is not … what I was expecting.”
“Wait until you see her goods. Show him,” Gem said. His tone sounded unfriendly, but when Son smiled encouragingly, she pulled the cuffs from the bag and placed them on the table. Son’s eyes widened as he looked at them, and he picked them up with a whistle.
“I see what you mean, Father.”
“Have you the money to pay me for them?” Lark asked.
Gem placed his elbows on the table and leaned towards her. “Well, the thing is, we don’t trade in stolen goods.”
“They’re not stolen,” Lark retorted angrily.
“A gift, eh? These have the royal insignia, and I’m pretty certain you’re not a royal!”
“Actually, I’m –” She paused. Everyone believed her to be dead.
The man nodded knowingly. “Lady Lark, eh? That’s what I thought!” He gestured to someone behind her, and Lark glanced around to see the man who had been outside the door walking towards her. She turned back to Gem angrily.
“What is the meaning of this? Those cuffs are mine! You can –” Again she paused.
“Ask the prince?” She ground her teeth in annoyance – the man was a mind reader!
“Yes.”
“Hmm, well, it’s a well-known fact that he has lovers by the dozen, although I heard he gave Lady Lark something like this as a claiming token. For all I know you stole them in a jealous rage. Regardless, we will send word to the palace and see if they know anything about you. And in the meantime, we will keep you and the cuffs safely put away.” He nodded at the man behind her, and he grabbed her by the arm and swung her around.
“Stop,” Lark cried, “you can’t do this!” She looked around wildly, and saw Son staring at her with an expression of regret. He remained silent, though, as the man yanked her tightly.
“If it turns out you’re telling the truth, we’ll let you go,” he said. “But until then, you’re coming with me.”
“No!” Lark said, trying to wrench herself free, but the man was too strong and she could not loosen his grasp. Pulling a rope from his waist, he pulled her hands behind her back and wrapped it around her wrists, then dragged her towards the door. It was open, and a crowd was already gathering, watching her curiously. A wave of humiliation washed over her, her cheeks burning brightly, and she dropped her face and allowed the man to lead her away. He had taken the cuffs from the counter and he carried them as he led her through the streets. A few minutes later they entered a large, squat building, where he pushed her into a room and removed the ropes from her hands.
“Someone will bring you food later,” he said. “You’ll remain here until this is cleared up, and either be sent to jail or released.” With that he closed the door and locked it from the outside. His footsteps died away, and Lark turned to look at her new quarters. A bed was pushed against a far wall, while at the top was a small window – too narrow to climb through. A pail and empty washstand stood in the corner, and in the opposite corner stood a chair. With a sigh, Lark slumped down onto the bed and dropped her head in her hands. Val could certainly identify the cuffs, but would he acknowledge her? If the world already thought she was dead, then he could say whatever he wanted.
Standing on the bed, she peered out the window. It looked out onto an empty yard, and after a moment, she dropped back to the bed. The sheets were threadbare but seemed clean, and she lay down, considering her situation. She had been naïve, expecting that things would be easy, and now here she was, tossed in a cell by a cynical man and his acquiescing son.
She rose and paced the room, checking the door before running her fingers along the walls. She studied the ceiling to see if there was a way out, then fell back on the bed, defeated. She would have to wait and see what opportunities presented themselves in the morning. In the meantime, all she could do was wait.