Sir Fanon watches as the militiamen leave the city with the smugglers in tow. He dearly hopes that’s the last he sees of them, and the death of their pirate-captain will suffice to settle this ugly matter at long last. If it doesn’t… the duke might make good on his threats to turn this into a proper war.
With a sigh, the knight reenters the complex. Alise stands by the water-basin at center, awaiting him. He folds his arms and frowns at his squire, deliberating over whether or not he should speak his mind.
She speaks first. “The governor should be satisfied with the chief mates. They’ll choose service over death. And they knew how to run that ship better than the captain did.”
“They’ll take the offer, yes,” Sir Fanon agrees. “But it won’t satisfy the governor. And do you know why?”
The squire steels herself with her typical look of defiance; her chin turns up, and her fists lock to her hips.
But she can’t cow her master. “Because I am a Cordonian, Alise, and he is not. And as long as you operate under my authority and not his, you represent a power he cannot control. Perhaps you should have considered that before disappearing for half a month, offering only a maddeningly vague letter as notification.”
“I stayed within bounds,” she immediately argues. “You charged me with stopping the man before he could make another trade, and that’s exactly –”
“I ordered you to investigate, not board his ship!” He feels a drop of rain as he speaks, and he glances up. The clouds have gathered without his noticing.
Alise continues to challenge him. “How would you have expected to find him otherwise? If I hadn’t alerted the constable as soon as we made port, he never would have responded in time!”
“The task was not worth your life, child. You’ve gone too far.”
“I’m not a child, master!” She drops her voice as she says this, as if to salvage her deference. “I know what other squires do and how much they risk. And if I’m going to prove myself capable of joining Cordon –”
“Alise! We’re not spies!” He finally silences her. The rains have noiselessly stained the bricks all around, and now ripples are appearing over the basin’s water. But Sir Fanon will sooner be soaked than duck away while his stubborn charge still stands her ground. “The Cordonians are better than that! They represent the church, and they inspire all people to admire their love for it. How would you expect them to accomplish this if they behaved with trickery and deceit?”
“I only betrayed the captain, master,” Alise counters with a careful tone. “A pirate, a criminal. And my six years are halfway through; I’m going to earn knighthood, as soon as I’m eligible. I’m not afraid.”
“Achieving knighthood is not a one-time chance. You know that. Most serve Cordon a decade or more before gaining the honor – and not by their deeds, but by their virtue. And you will have to start showing you understand this, or else you should not expect my recommendation.”
The rain has only continued to intensify, and now the sound reaches the knight’s ears. And yet, Alise will stand her ground until he dismisses her. Her discipline commands as much from her, and she still has a point to prove besides. Sir Fanon decides to make her wait, and so, as the rains grow even stronger, thunder rolls across the sky, and the winds stir the water in sheets across the floor, he watches for any sign of weakness from the girl.
She never shows it. Alise maintains her defiant stare even as the rainwater runs down her face and the winds beat against her bare arms and feet. She moves only once, to fold her arms over her soaking gown.
Eventually, the knight relents. “The governor is expecting us for dinner upon the third hour – you are to arrive at the mansion by that time. And I expect you to appear as a lady, not a rogue. If you rile the governor any further, then God help me – I’m not averse to giving song to a whip.” And then he departs from the complex without looking back, very much looking forward to reaching his apartment and a lit stove.
As he walks the waterlogged streets, he wonders if anything he just said made it through that thick, stubborn skull. She may well have heard hollowness in his argument, just as he did – she and he both have met knights with plenty of deeds but no virtue. But she’s better than that; he senses it in her.
Why does she insist on seeing him as an obstacle? Does she not realize where an independent flair like this could lead her? He could have turned her over to the magistrate for disrespecting a knight; it makes little difference that she’s his squire. Perhaps that would get through to her – to learn what it’s like to be bound to a chopping-block; to have her back bared and ripped in a public square.
But she’s better than that – if only she would see it! He marvels at her performance over the past two weeks, and he holds no questions about her bravery. Now if only she would listen to him and show some sense of discipline – he can only imagine what she would accomplish.
The End
Tales from the Thornlands 