Scrivener’s Tale. Fiona McIntosh

      SIX

      Loup led them back toward the priory.

      Leaving the hut hadn’t been difficult. Cassien had been dreaming of this day. Leaving Romaine had been another matter. Fynch had shown him where her nesting burrow was and Cassien had been amazed that her mate — the one he called Flint — permitted them to approach. Even in his wildest dreams Cassien would not have attempted to get past Flint unarmed. But with Fynch present the huge male wolf had sat back on his haunches. Fynch scratched the back of his ears while Cassien stepped forward to hug Romaine farewell.

      ‘I’ll be back when these cubs are grown,’ he promised in a whisper.

      He watched with affection as the four fat, sleepy cubs snuggled closer. Blue eyes would yellow in the coming moon. Three of the cubs were dark like their father but the third, the smallest, resembled her mother. In his mind he called her Felys and, as the name formed and stuck, she stirred and he saw her tiny tongue lick at his finger. His heart swelled and he blew softly on the cub’s face. Cassien was sure it was an old wives’ tale, but he had been told that if you blew into the nostrils of a puppy, the dog it grew into would always be loyal to you and you alone. The baby blinked blindly but he glimpsed her pale blue eyes and smiled. She knew him now. And he already loved her nearly as much as her mother. He turned to Romaine and gave her a kiss on her forehead.

      ‘Thank you for being my friend,’ he whispered and stood.

      Fynch had nodded. ‘Let’s go.’

      The smells had changed as the forest gradually thinned. He was excited but it was nonetheless daunting to know that he was going to be amongst people again. He’d have to teach himself how to integrate, how to converse easily, how to be friendly even if he didn’t feel friendly, how to be polite despite his mood, how to cope with noise.

      The reassuring perfume of the trees, the aroma of the damp earthiness of the forest floor, the daily meal — a soup usually — of vegetables he could forage for, were all comforting smells that would no longer be part of his daily life.

      Initially, these had given way to the intoxicating scent of baking bread and he’d forgotten how heavenly it was and how it made his belly rumble in anticipation. But there were soon other smells that assaulted him — far less pleasant … the metallic, tangy blood of slaughtered animals mixing with the fouler smells of urine and dung from the local tannery. There was a yeasty smell of ale and a vapour of smoked plants that someone was using for healing. However, the all-pervading aroma was of people: sweat, perfumes, cooking …

      ‘Where are we again?’ he asked. Loup had obviously led them a less direct way to the priory.

      Fynch paused. ‘I asked Loup to bring us through Barrowdean.’

      Cassien nodded. He’d never heard of it.

      ‘I’m not sure why,’ Loup admitted. ‘Farnswyth is more direct.’

      ‘Because, Loup, this is where we shall part company,’ Fynch replied.

      Loup blinked. ‘But I thought …’

      Cassien looked between his two minders uncertain of what this impasse meant.

      ‘Yes, I know,’ Fynch said evenly, ‘but I will guide Cassien from here. We look obvious enough as a pair, but as a trio we draw far too much attention.’

      ‘Brother Josse didn’t say anything to me,’ Loup replied, his brow furrowing deeply.

      ‘Brother Josse knows he is being paid for Cassien’s services, Loup. He gave me the freedom to set up Cassien’s mission — that he is aware of — as I choose. He made no stipulations.’

      ‘This is very unusual. He always briefs me. And he said nothing other than to take you into the forest to Cassien and then to bring you both back.’

      ‘Bring us both back to where I required,’ Fynch corrected. ‘I agree it’s probably unusual but then this is a very unusual mission. So, thank you, Loup, for bringing us to this point. I can recommend the Jug and Hare for a night’s rest.’ He extended a tiny jangling pouch to Loup. ‘This coin should cover your stay and a very good meal with plenty of ale. You have earned it.’

      Loup stared at it, nonplussed. Cassien would have been surprised if Loup had taken it. No member of the Brotherhood was motivated by money.

      ‘You can journey to Hambleton tomorrow.’ Still the man didn’t move, but raised his gaze to Fynch and Cassien saw a hint of defiance in it. ‘This is beyond your control now,’ Fynch continued, with gentle caution, his voice just fractionally firmer, but no louder. He didn’t jangle the pouch, or push it any further forward.

      ‘Loup,’ Cassien began, feeling obliged to get involved, ‘you know where my loyalties lie. They’ve never been in question and I hope you don’t question them now. I am told this is for the Crown. We must assist. It is our purpose in life.’ He put a hand on the man’s thick shoulder. ‘It’s what you’ve trained me for. Let me do my work.’ He eased the pouch from Fynch’s outstretched palm into Loup’s reluctant one, believing that his conferring of the money might make it easier on his Brother’s conscience. The move seemed to work. Loup looked down at the tiny sack in his hand and didn’t move or speak.

      Cassien turned to Fynch, who nodded. They walked away, not in a hurry, but also not dragging