Page 59 of Seducing the Sorcerer
“Aye. I did. Bottle of wine and a bottle of brandy. I took them, all right.”
“Oh.” Morgrim gave him a sharp look. “I thought there must have been some mistake.”
“No. No mistake,” Fenn said, dully.
“Was it because it was drink? Couldn’t you help yourself?”
“No. I just wanted them.”
“But, Fenn. Why?”
“Maybe I was just a thief. Or an uppity servant what thought his master’s property was his own. That was what the magistrate thought. Annoyed him, I did.”
“I don’t think either of those things are true.” Morgrim took his hand again and squeezed it. “I should like to hear the circumstances.”
“You sure? When I told the magistrate, he got angry. Said I was trying to justify my behaviour.” Fenn could hear the old anger in his voice and added, “And that was true, I expect.”
“Can I judge for myself?”
“Aye, you got a right, I reckon. What with having me in your house. And, you know...this.”
Fenn removed his hand from Morgrim’s. He wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t take any tender gestures just now. This was going to be hard enough. He had to hold onto himself.
“Well, you know I was a groom on Mandillo. But you asked if I’d ever worked for any ladies or gentlemen and I said no. Didn’t want you putting two and two together, see, and asking about me. Much good it did me, clearly. But the truth is I worked for old Lord Essento. And then for his son. Reckon you knew that too?”
“I did, actually.”
“Got no secrets, have I?” Fenn had a sudden thought. It hadn’t struck him before. “Maybe you knew them? Though they didn’t come often to court.”
“I didn’t know them, but I’d heard of them. I knew the old lord was mad on horses.”
“That he was. Kept scores of them. Used them everywhere. Loved them. Didn’t hold with crystals and velocipedes and horseless ploughs and the like. Old-fashioned, see? And I grew up there, on the estate. Went to work as a stable-lad when I was ten. And found I had a way with horses. Loved them, like I was born to be with them. Thought it was heaven.
“And the old lord was a real gent. He was more than that. He treated me like a son, almost. And the more I learned, and the older I got, the more he thought of me. ‘Master of Horse’ he called me, on paper. Very fancy. I was head groom, really, by that time, but he liked me and wanted to do something nice so he wrote that in his ledger and showed me it written there. I was twenty-four when he did that.
“And his son, the young lord, he liked me too. Though not like a son, if you take my meaning. Especially one summer. It was just sex, really, but even when that stopped, we were friends. I don’t mean I dined with him or anything. It wasn’t like you and me. But I knew he’d always see me right. And he would’ve too. I still think that.
“Anyway, I was happy there. The horses were my life. I lived with them. I loved them all. Could still tell you all their names and how they liked their feed, and all their ways. They were like family to me.
“Of course, I knew they weren’t mine. And the old lord did sell one from time to time, or buy a new one. But that was—I don’t know—just part of life. Anyway, I grew up there. Didn’t realise, somehow, it was unusual. Other people on Mandillo had horseless carriages and that, but for some reason, I thought they were the odd ones. I imagined most of the world was like the estate: full of horses, with a boss who treated you like family. Well, I was naïve and that’s a fact.
“And you know what happened, don’t you? The old lord died. And we buried him and mourned him, but the young lord was set to carry on the same as ever. He loved the horses as much as his Da had.”
Fenn sighed.
“And then he was killed. Maybe you remember? Tragedy it was. He got thrown, riding home from a friend’s house. A thunderstorm came on sudden and his horse spooked. And he’d no children, so the estate went to a distant relation. Lord Essento the Seventh, he called himself, but he wasn’t no lord to me.
“He came and poked around and everything I loved was mucky to him, or shoddy, or quaint. He laughed at how we lived. Called it ‘an anachronism’. I hadn’t heard the word before, but I learned it that day. Gods, I hated him, but wasn’t my place to complain, was it? And he didn’t want a grubby old pile in the middle of nowhere. And he didn’t want a pack of useless hairy animals what stunk and ate a load of his money.
“So, he parcelled it all up and sold it off. And I took charge of selling the horses. He wouldn’t keep any. Not even the old ones as was retired to grass.”
Fenn had to break off to wipe his eyes on his shirt sleeve.
“Fenn. I’m sorry. That was cruel of him. To make you sell them.”
“Cruel? No, that was the only kindness he did me. He was for hiring a broker. I begged for the job. Wanted to see it done myself. Wanted to see them ferried over proper to the mainland, wanted to see the people buying them. Tried to choose them as had kind faces, see? It was all I could do for them. And at the knackers...”
He had to break off again.
