Read Online The Raven's Head by Karen Maitland - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karen Maitland
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the flux or ulcers of the mouth.’
Gisa frowns. ‘But we have better herbs to treat those in the shop, Uncle Thomas, much cheaper too, and he could have them at once.’ She blurts out the words and instantly regrets them.
‘And what do you know about treating flux, girl?’ Ebba snaps. ‘Do you imagine you are an apothecary now?’
Gisa flushes and stares at her fingers. She wants to say that, after years of preparing ointments and simples on her uncle’s instructions, listening to folk describe their ailments and hearing what Thomas recommends, she can hardly have failed to learn as much as any apprentice in the trade. But Aunt Ebba, too, served in the shop when she first married and she still can’t tell mouse-ear from mugwort, let alone remember what they cure.
‘Cheaper,’ her aunt mutters, with contempt, shrugging up the pillow, like a hen fluffing its feathers. ‘I trust you are not saying that to our customers. We’re not here to sell
cheaper
. We are here to sell them the most expensive that we can persuade them to buy. How else are we to make a profit? Just you remember who puts a roof over your head, girl, and food in your stomach. If the baron is fool enough to pay for dragon’s blood, then let him. And if he wants you to deliver it, you will go and tell him it is the finest and most potent to be had.’
Aunt Ebba settles back on the pillows as if this has been her argument from the very beginning.
Gisa is clutching the swan brooch so hard that her fingers hurt. She drops it into her lap and rubs her palm. The outline of the swan is indented in angry red lines in her flesh. He has already branded her with the mark of a sin she has not yet committed. And it feels like a seal upon her soul.
Chapter 9
There once were twins who had great powers. When one twin turned his right side to a locked door, it would immediately fly open, but when the other twin turned his left side to an open door, it would at once slam shut and lock.
Trust me, if you’ve been born the bastard son of a whoring English nun, and you’ve spent all your life being kicked around like a stray dog until you finally end up as a slave to a wizened old crow, you will discover that your first taste of power is as intoxicating as the finest wine on the king’s table.
I had sniffed that wine before when I had written notes on behalf of ladies wanting to arrange secret trysts with their lovers, or begging letters for men desperate to settle gambling debts. But those brief tastes of power were nothing, mere wisps of a lingering perfume that merely hints at the pleasures that might be had. Those who dictated the secret letters to me were prepared to pay a few paltry coins for my silence, but no more, for even if the truth came out, what harm would it really do? But now that I finally held the weighty secret of a man of Philippe’s stature in my inky fingers, I felt utter exhilaration. It gives you confidence, does power, confidence to take whatever you want from the world.
For a start, I no longer paid any heed to old Gaspard. I’d said nothing about my discovery, but knowing that I had a deadly weapon in my hand meant I had nothing to fear from him. He could hardly have me dismissed, not with what I knew. In the past, I’d always sneaked out when I could, or idled whenever his back was turned, but I’d always been obliged to make a pretence of obeying his querulous commands. Now I had no intention of being used as his slave for one hour longer. You should have seen the look on the ancient one’s face when I refused to fetch our supper.
‘Not tonight,’ I said, pert as a tavern wench. ‘I’m going to eat in the Great Hall, but if I see a maid, I’ll try to remember to ask her to bring you something. Can’t promise when that might be, though.’
His jaw fell so slack you’d have thought a butterfly had roared at him. I was halfway out of the door before he had recovered enough to hurl his stick after me and yell at
Gisa frowns. ‘But we have better herbs to treat those in the shop, Uncle Thomas, much cheaper too, and he could have them at once.’ She blurts out the words and instantly regrets them.
‘And what do you know about treating flux, girl?’ Ebba snaps. ‘Do you imagine you are an apothecary now?’
Gisa flushes and stares at her fingers. She wants to say that, after years of preparing ointments and simples on her uncle’s instructions, listening to folk describe their ailments and hearing what Thomas recommends, she can hardly have failed to learn as much as any apprentice in the trade. But Aunt Ebba, too, served in the shop when she first married and she still can’t tell mouse-ear from mugwort, let alone remember what they cure.
‘Cheaper,’ her aunt mutters, with contempt, shrugging up the pillow, like a hen fluffing its feathers. ‘I trust you are not saying that to our customers. We’re not here to sell
cheaper
. We are here to sell them the most expensive that we can persuade them to buy. How else are we to make a profit? Just you remember who puts a roof over your head, girl, and food in your stomach. If the baron is fool enough to pay for dragon’s blood, then let him. And if he wants you to deliver it, you will go and tell him it is the finest and most potent to be had.’
Aunt Ebba settles back on the pillows as if this has been her argument from the very beginning.
Gisa is clutching the swan brooch so hard that her fingers hurt. She drops it into her lap and rubs her palm. The outline of the swan is indented in angry red lines in her flesh. He has already branded her with the mark of a sin she has not yet committed. And it feels like a seal upon her soul.
Chapter 9
There once were twins who had great powers. When one twin turned his right side to a locked door, it would immediately fly open, but when the other twin turned his left side to an open door, it would at once slam shut and lock.
Trust me, if you’ve been born the bastard son of a whoring English nun, and you’ve spent all your life being kicked around like a stray dog until you finally end up as a slave to a wizened old crow, you will discover that your first taste of power is as intoxicating as the finest wine on the king’s table.
I had sniffed that wine before when I had written notes on behalf of ladies wanting to arrange secret trysts with their lovers, or begging letters for men desperate to settle gambling debts. But those brief tastes of power were nothing, mere wisps of a lingering perfume that merely hints at the pleasures that might be had. Those who dictated the secret letters to me were prepared to pay a few paltry coins for my silence, but no more, for even if the truth came out, what harm would it really do? But now that I finally held the weighty secret of a man of Philippe’s stature in my inky fingers, I felt utter exhilaration. It gives you confidence, does power, confidence to take whatever you want from the world.
For a start, I no longer paid any heed to old Gaspard. I’d said nothing about my discovery, but knowing that I had a deadly weapon in my hand meant I had nothing to fear from him. He could hardly have me dismissed, not with what I knew. In the past, I’d always sneaked out when I could, or idled whenever his back was turned, but I’d always been obliged to make a pretence of obeying his querulous commands. Now I had no intention of being used as his slave for one hour longer. You should have seen the look on the ancient one’s face when I refused to fetch our supper.
‘Not tonight,’ I said, pert as a tavern wench. ‘I’m going to eat in the Great Hall, but if I see a maid, I’ll try to remember to ask her to bring you something. Can’t promise when that might be, though.’
His jaw fell so slack you’d have thought a butterfly had roared at him. I was halfway out of the door before he had recovered enough to hurl his stick after me and yell at
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