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.The change in Silverdown's rulehad seen new uniforms with badges at the shoulder.Trailing streamers adorned eachman's polearm, as if they were bedecked for a tournament.But the occasion was no holiday.The servants had little cause to celebrate.All ofSilverdown had been swept into change, until Trionn no longer felt at home.He hurriedbetween a drudge with a basket of soiled linens, and the fowler, who carried the cranky oldgoshawk hooded, and muttered that his dearie should be mewed up and asleep to keep herhealth.Trionn threaded a practiced path through the turmoil, until the orange tabby streakedacross a patch of torchlight to join his impromptu escort.The cat's arrival drew the eye ofthe cook, en route from root cellar to bakehouse to chastise the Lord's page for dawdling.'You! Trionn! Where've you been all afternoon, and the pots all stacked up for washing?You're a wastrel, boy, and due for whipping.Get inside and back to work, or it's the Lord'sown war captain'11 be the one who stripes your back.'Trionn ducked his towhead between his shoulders and ran.The cats obligingly followed.Clumsy all of a sudden, he tripped over the door stoop and crashed into a servant with abasket.'Boy! There's good bread you've close to spilled and wasted, and the new Lord with a hallfull of guests to feed! Say you're sorry now!'Trionn bobbed his head.He did not answer, though he was capable; speech did notalways tie his tongue up in knots.His silence had long since branded him half-wit, and shyto the point of cold sweats, Trionn did not argue the misconception.Let Silverdown's staffthink him stupid.The sting of their scorn was less than his dread of using words to correctthem.He talked to the cats well enough when he wished, and had held very haltingaaTTnnssFFffooDDrrPPmmYYeeYYrrBB22.BBAAClick here to buyClick here to buywwmmwwoowwcc.AAYYBBYYBB r rconversations with the old Lord, before his illness had brought physicians who would barthe master's door rather than admit a scullion presumed to be a simpleton.With the cats, now four, trailing on his heels, Trionn left the bread girl to her curses.Hezigzagged past the spits into the pantry to avoid the butcher's notice, lest his absence at theslaughter pen cause contention.For all his care, he was spotted.'The pigs take the knife better when you're there, Trionn,' the butcher reproachedgruffly.'You want them not to suffer.Well, if they're held still, the cut is fast and clean.'But it was not at all the matter of the pig's dying; had Trionn been asked his own wish,he would have let the animals stay alive.His oversensitivity was no simple affectation.Where others in Silverdown's service might lament upon the waste, and curse the Lord'slavish feasting that saw a surfeit of scraps thrown to the hounds, Trionn woke up eachnight in cold sweats, apologizing in half-smothered whispers to the dead beasts needlesslysacrificed.Today's pig would haunt his dreams no less for the fact he had not bloodied his ownhands.Left at last to his duties, Trionn hauled water to the washtub and started to work thedirtied pots.Cats curled around his feet, knotted together in contentment, while thespeculative gossip of the servants came and went through the rattle of plates and crockery.Enith, as always, was most outspoken.She did not sigh over her new romance with thewar captain, but turned sharp-tongued invective against the master.'Chased the linenmaid as if she wasn't married, and never mind the tart he worships in his next breath isthis highborn daughter of a duke.''She may well be Silverdown's next Lady,' interrupted the page.'You should be careful what you say of her.'His comment was ignored.'She's small, and no beauty, it's said.All dark hair and wide eyes, and hips too narrow tobear a child.' This from the cook, who had a brood of eight, and his wife once again nearterm.'Never mind looks,' the butcher ventured his opinion.'It's the lass's dowry that's at issue.She'll bring three chests of gold to her bridegroom, and if we're to have candles for thedark nights this winter, better all of us pray Silverdown wins her.'II4aaTTnnssFFffooDDrrPPmmYYeeYYrrBB22.BBAAClick here to buyClick here to buywwmmwwoowwcc.AAYYBBYYBB r rTrionn reached for another pot, and a gob of wet sand for scouring.Behind him,watched by the lazy eyes of his cats, the Lord's steward hurried in, looking harried.'Another five bottles of the red wine, and quickly, before there's trouble.''Man's brought his horsebreaker to table,' the cook grumbled.'Those kind always drink.'He wiped greasy hands on his sleeves.'Enith, take down the lantern and go for more red!''Been to the cellar twice already tonight,' she howled back.'More big spiders than bottlesleft, that's certain.''No help for that.' Still mournful, the cook added, 'Do you suppose the horsebreaker'shere to handle that murdering dun stud? If so, he'll want the wine.It's the last drink he'llhave before he's dead.'The pageboy took umbrage at this.'Khaim's better than that.I once saw him break theneck of a colt who tossed him.Hit it a blow that knocked it sideways, and it couldn't standup afterward.''No man's that strong,' the cook objected over the creak of the hearth chain as hedragged a kettle off the fire.'Horse had to be a weak, spindly thing, maybe,' ventured the butcher.The page insisted not.Trionn let his scouring sand sink to the bottom of the wash water, sickened all overagain.Though he strove over the noise and the chat to picture the stallion at his fiat, freerun across the meadow, instead he was poisoned by visions: of blood in the grass and theair split by a scream that might have been a woman's.Except that a horse in agony willmake the same shrill sound.Trionn doubled over and shivered.A hard hand cuffed him back upright.'Get back to washing, boy,' snapped the cook.'There's barely a clean pot in the rack yet.'Half dizzied, Trionn groped for a ladle.His hand stopped still in midair.He could nottouch the gravy that seemed suddenly the same color and sheen as congealed blood, norcould he look at the wash water clinging to his skin, so much did it shine like salt tears.The cook saw his stupefied pallor, and cuffed him all the harder.'Oh, no, lazy boy.Though you're sick clean down to your boottops, you'll stay and scour,until all this stack of washing is done and dry.'II5aaTTnnssFFffooDDrrPPmmYYeeYYrrBB22.BBAAClick here to buyClick here to buywwmmwwoowwcc.AAYYBBYYBB r rTrionn nodded dully.Midnight came.The lanterns and candles all burned down, leavingdarkness cut only by the struggling wick of a tallow dip.Alone in the cavernous kitchen, hefinished his appointed chores.When he stumbled out at last to find his cot, the mists hadhidden even the moon.Banners snapped, and dust blew.The new Lord had invited two friends and all of hiscompanions at arms to watch the dun stallion's breaking.Once again Trionn had shirkedhis part in the slaughter pen, since a calf roast was to finish the occasion.Hidden in thecrowd of Silverdown's servants, he stood in cap and apron, only one cat by his shins; thecommotion had driven all but the boldest and most determined tom away.The stallion on whom all this interest centered galloped the far fence line, ears trippingbackward and forward, and nostrils distended in deep-chested snorts of alarm.Trionncould not watch him
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