The Devil's Mistress by David Barclay (reading well .txt) 📕

John’s lottery items inside. The feast began at sunset and continued until well after dark, until the children were fit to burst, and the adults were roaring drunk. ’Twas Blackfriar’s oldest tradition, a time-honored holiday celebrated by early settlers and newcomers alike.

Thus was Sloop’s surprise when—standing upon the platform to give his customary prayer—the seats before him were only half full.

“Well, we can’t very well delay forever,” Marianne whispered. She was standing beside him on the dais. She was dressed demurely for the occasion in a simple, earth-colored winter dress, her hair braided above her neck. Her lips were pursed tightly. “We’ll see where their loyalties lie once they’ve seen this year’s bounty. The ones absent will be sorry.”

“Like Thomas?” Sloop quipped.

Her lips arranged themselves in a hard smile. “There are reasons for that, Tiberius.”

Thomas would remain home for the duration of the feast. Marianne explained it wouldn’t be proper for him to be about so soon after the demise of his fiancée, and she wanted to keep up appearances. While Sloop didn’t agree with her reasoning, he at least understood. The absence of the other townsfolk, he did not. The witch was gone, and there were still those who huddled in their homes like rats. If they had been alive in his grandfather’s time, they would have been dragged out and shoved into the stocks for cowardice.

Almost absently, he crossed to the window at the edge of the platform and looked down upon his kingdom. Nothing stirred in the dark streets.

“Want me to bring them up, sir?” said a large figure beside him.

Sloop turned.

The role of watchman suited Rufus Blythe far better than being a farmhand ever had. His large, square hands were practically begging to wrap themselves round a heretical neck. Sloop had to admit such a prospect was tempting.

“Your place is here, Rufus, but we shall have words with those absent on the morrow. Perhaps more than words.”

The man shrugged. “Fine by me. I’m bloody starving.”

He did not have to wait long; a line of servants carrying enormous silver platters appeared at the mill’s entrance.

Marianne stepped past Sloop as if he weren’t there. “Thank you all for coming,” she said to the crowd. “I know it has been a trying week for us here in Blackfriar. John is not with us this year, as you well know, and my Thomas is stricken with grief over the loss of his betrothed. He sends his warmest regards, and wishes deeply he could be amongst us.”

“Like hell, he does,” Rufus muttered, low enough so that only Sloop could hear.

“I know he is not the only one,” Marianne went on. “Many of our fellows are missing this night, and while that saddens me, I understand their pain. John was a great friend. He was a mentor, a man whose generosity could never be underestimated. His daughter was special in her own way. I think the old Isabella will be missed as much as her father. She could have forged her own legacy, if only she had turned her heart to goodness. As we celebrate, let us remember her tonight. Let us remember the fate of those who would turn from righteousness in the service of greed.”

It wasn’t the girl’s greed that frightened the town, but the unnatural manner of her death. The strange events of the trial. The magistrate’s injury. But to speak of such things would only bring discord. Sloop knew this, and apparently, Marianne did too.

“In spite of these events, it has been a good year,” Marianne said, still smiling. “Our yield is up fifteen percent, and our profits have grown nearly thirty percent. Our problem is no longer a matter of supply but a matter of transport, and I think that is a good problem to have. By this time next year, I suspect we shall be shipping half of our lumber north by ferry. So, tonight, I have chosen to pass some of that good fortune to you.”

The servants moved forward and distributed the trays amongst the tables. They withdrew the coverings, revealing giant mounds of the Huxleys’ famous cakes.

Some of the tension broke. There were even a few chuckles.

“Sweets for supper?” someone yelled.

“I thought we could use a little sweetness in our lives, Mister Gruebe. So aye, sweets for supper. And if you’re wondering why there are so many cakes, it’s because I’ve doubled the amount of coin hidden this year. It’s what John would have wanted.”

“Sweets are fine with me,” the man named Gruebe said, and grabbed a cake.

Then they were all laughing, and for the first time that night, no one seemed to be thinking about the trial.

Sloop cleared his throat. “Hold a moment, if you please.” All eyes turned to him. “Let us not forget where we are. Prayer comes before meals and fortune alike. Isn’t that right, Madam Huxley?”

Marianne’s smile faltered ever so slightly. She bowed and stepped away.

Sloop clasped his hands in front of him. “Bless, O Father, Thy gifts to our use and us to Thy service. We pray for the soul of John Ashford, who could not be with us this year, and we pray for his daughter, who turned from Thy path and cared not for Thy gifts. We pray her soul be damned to hellfire and suffer torment at the hands of Lucifer, Thine enemy. Amen.”

“Amen,” the crowd echoed. They paused, waiting to see if it was truly over.

Sloop waved a hand. “Go on. Eat.”

Then the food-grab resumed, and everyone was laughing and chattering about Marianne’s promise again.

“That Madam Huxley, she sure can talk,” Rufus commented. He grabbed a cake and squished it within one meaty palm. He determined no fortune lay within and popped the entire thing into his mouth. As far as he was concerned, food was as good as gold.

Sloop himself was not hungry. He reached down and withdrew the locket he kept within his cassock, the one with Gwendolyn’s likeness. He had been thinking of his wife more and more this past week.