Author: Sam

Story: The Butterfly Effect: 7 of 7

Series: One Little Change

Characters Intro'd: none

As they made their way up the hillside path, Lord Bern and the three cousins met with a dark-haired youth wearing a harried expression. Lord Bern raised a hand in greeting. “Tril, well met! Is Killian home?” The man’s manner was congenial.

The youth, Tril, looked up, surprise briefly flitting across his face before a neutral expression settled on his features. “Lord Bern, welcome.” He eyed the three children then turned his attention back to the adult. “Yes, Killian is training two new… servants. I was on my way to arrange a meeting with you. Please.” The brunet gestured back the way he had come then turned to lead the foursome up the hill. He didn’t explain what it was he had been going to say before substituting the word “servants”.

The sound of the steady rise and fall of metal on metal met them before they had even crested the hill. Though the foursome could clearly see the homely little house, none could yet identify a living person. This changed when they rounded the last bend in the cart path and came upon a wide stretch of fenced-in lawn, ropes of hanging lanterns stretched over the yard circling the house, well lit to allow night work to be performed. The group moved cautiously forward towards these lights and there the sight which met their eyes was most unusual, to say the least.

Beside the little house, next a large pile of split wood and a not-so-large stack of whole logs stood Caspian. None of his courtiers had seen the King like this, however. For starters, he was shirtless, his fine linen tunic draped safely over the nearby fence. Sweat glistened on his bare chest and made his breeches almost cling to his muscular legs. Damp hair fell over his brow, which he ignored in his efforts, and he occasionally wiped one hand or the other down his trousers before gripping the sledgehammer handle firmly once more and proceeding with his task. A leather collar around his throat, a hint of white linen underneath, completed the King’s unusual appearance.

All four were too stunned at first to say anything; however, their silence was interrupted by a rather surly sounding Eustace. “Finally got you doing something... eh? How the mighty have fallen.” Embarrassment coursed through the Pevensies, while anger rose in Lord Bern.

Caspian swung his sledgehammer in a large arc to drive the wedge then looked up. A mixed-expression of relief, elation, and welcome crossed his face. “My Friends, welcome!” Caspian reached over to the fence, snagging his shirt and slipping into it as he approached. Raising his voice, the King called out, “Killian, you’ve guests this night!” His hands looked red and sore.

Equally delighted to see their friend, despite the evidence that he’d been put to what might be considered heavy labour, the Pevensies moved to meet Caspian. Bern’s low voice sounded, “Careful, My Friends. We must first see Killian.”

Before any could respond to the warning, Killian strode out from the house. The large man had his thumbs hooked in his belt as he strolled through his door, but upon seeing his visitors, he spread his arms and called, “Lord Bern, welcome to my home.” His voice was not loud as one might expect from so very large a man, but the cordiality could not be denied all the same. Killian moved to clasp arms with his lord then nodded a welcome to the children he’d left behind earlier that day.

Tril, on the other hand, was more stand-offish. He stopped next to Caspian, watching the new arrivals warily, an almost neutral expression on his face. With a soft whisper, he asked the King, “Are those children your friends? They don’t look like Lord Bern’s daughters, after all… even the girl.”

It took Caspian a moment to realize his new friend actually made a joke, but he played his part well and didn’t show signs of the humour he felt. “Yes, they are. And that’s Lord Bern?”

“None other,” replied Tril before moving towards Killian with his explanation, his mouth opening but no sound emerging, for in that instant a shrill voice peeped out.

“I do not hear the hammer; has something gone amiss?” Reepicheep was hurrying around the corner of the house, his hand on his hip as if on the hilt of a sword, his eyes large with worry. Upon seeing the others he hesitated only a fraction of a second before striding forward in welcome. Even with such long strides, it took the Mouse awhile to reach the group as his legs were so very short. “Well met, My Lady, Good Sirs. And am I to assume you are in happier circumstances than when last we met?”

Reepicheep’s perfectly normal attitude, despite his use of lesser titles to maintain the secret of their identities, relieved Edmund and Lucy, for they had begun to think Lord Bern might have been overly optimistic in his assessment of Killian’s generosity. Eustace, upon seeing the Mouse, however, became suddenly sulky once more, his joy at seeing Caspian working evaporating instantly.

Lord Bern looked over the young King and almost immediately recognition lit his eyes. He was not fool enough to openly show his new knowledge, but the deepening frown on his face indicated his displeasure at the state in which he discovered his liege. Softly, he asked Killian, “is there a place we may discuss your flaunting of my strict dictates on the matter of slavery, Killian?’ His eyes never left the familiar face of the boy before him.

As if the warning in Bern’s voice was not evident, the master of the house nodded amiably. “We would do well to talk indoors; the insects grow thicker these days of summer.” Killian glanced around then looked straight at Caspian. “I’ll want you inside to tend my guests, Lad. Come along with you. You as well, Sir Mouse.” And with no more apparent respect for the pair, the large man turned and led his guests and household staff into the cool kitchen.

Farpo was sipping something which looked hot while lounging in one of the kitchen chairs. Upon noticing the crowd entering, the man tipped his head in apparent curiosity. His eyes widened noticeably when they fell on Eustace, but he quickly changed his expression to one of polite interest.

The frown which crossed Lord Bern’s face was as obviously unwelcoming as his deliberate manner of ignoring the fellow. Turning his side to face the man, Bern gestured for the three cousins to sit as Caspian moved towards the pantry to fetch cool mugs to serve refreshments in. As if Farpo weren’t even in the room, Bern said, “Now, to business, Killian.” His voice full of censor, he frowned more fiercely. “You know I abhor slavery and yet I find you have purchased two this very morning. If you please, a full accounting is in order, I believe.” Those who really knew Lord Bern would know that he would never dress-down a colleague in public, but to those used to less delicate manners, it seemed perfectly reasonable for the lord to give Killian a publicly humiliating lesson in flaunting the rules.

Farpo stretched as he rose, a malicious smile on his lean features, and headed towards the door. “I know when I’m not needed ‘round; got work to do, after all. I’ll be back tomorrow, Killian, don’t fret.” Then, as he opened the door, another thought seemed to strike the man and he turned to look Killian contemptuously up and down, “That is, if’n you manage to keep your job, that is.” The man left before Killian could come back with a remark, the door slamming behind him in finality.

Bern quickly called out, “Killian, stop him from leaving. I believe we know our spy at last.”

Not questioning the order, though it was not clear just how Bern could discern whether Farpo was on their side or the enemy’s, Killian headed quickly out of his own home, trailed just as quickly by Tril. There were shouts of surprise followed by anger, but before one could say "Bob’s your uncle", the pair returned, dragging a rather angry-looking Farpo between them.

Killian’s face wore a severe frown, making his beady black eyes almost disappear in his weathered face, teeth showing in a fierce snarl which turned him far uglier than any of the children had imagined he could ever be. He held the other man’s arm in an iron-like grip, growling almost undistinguishable words at the captive. “You’ll not be running off to your Captain now…”

Tril seemed equally angry, his customary neutral expression turned to one of fierce determination as he pulled Farpo once more into the kitchen. The youth’s nails… short as they were… bit into the man’s arms, leaving marks which would most likely be bruises before too long. Tril spoke not a word, letting others do his talking.

Farpo, however, looked more like a panicked country farmer than a viscous slaver and spy. He turned beseeching eyes on Lord Bern and begged in a desperate voice, “My Lord, what have I done? Why the abuse? Have these men run mad? Help me, I beg of you!”

Lord Bern looked the man up and down then turned to Killian. “Is there a place we may keep him secure until we’ve seen the Governor?” Killian nodded, without sound, and pulled the man towards the pantry, which only had the one entry through the kitchen. As the large man none-too-gently pushed Farpo down the pantry steps, Tril reiterated the prisoner’s question.

“How, Sir, did you know that Farpo is the spy? We’ve been trying to locate him for months, as well you know.”

A derisive laugh burst forth from the bearded lord. “Yes, well, if he were who he pretended to be, would he have shown interest in the King’s cousin?”

Confusion crossed Tril’s face, “King’s cousin?” he looked towards Caspian. “I did not know your cousin was among the prisoners, Sire.”

“You knew he was the King?” Bern’s sharp question drew Tril up straight, as it did Killian who was just returning. With a severe frown, his voice a low warning, Bern added, “Why then did you put him to such hard labour?”

Killian locked the pantry door then pulled a kitchen chair in front of it. Sitting in the chair, effectively adding his own great weight to that of the bolt’s strength, he smiled up at Lord Bern and his other guests. “Tril had nothing to do with it, Lord Bern. I put him to the work as to keep Farpo guessing. Wasn’t sure myself if Farpo was the spy or not, so I took no chances when he started hinting that my new servant wasn’t what he pretended.” He shrugged at Bern’s continued frown and added, “I figure buying a slave was stupid of me, but he looks like his father, and a King’s ransom is expensive. If we could avoid it, why pay it?”

“I agree,” interrupted Caspian, with a smile to ease the building tension. “Killian was good enough to give me the very lightest of duties, using my injuries as the excuse to ally suspicions; however; Farpo suggested I chop firewood and I thought it best not to protest.” In a more formal tone, much as if he were making a pronouncement, King Caspian declared, “Killian and Tril are excused of any insult which may have been addressed to the King’s person and all monies spent in freeing our person and our loyal retainer, Sir Reepicheep, will be reimbursed.” Turning to Lord Bern, he added, “As will your troubles and monies in restoring our royal companions to us, My Lord.”

Caspian’s voice softened back to a normal level, and a conversational tone, when he said, “Now, I do wish to hear all which has transpired, but first we must contact Captain Drinian and make arrangements to free the Lone Islands of this slave trade and those men who would abuse our trust.”

Killian frowned, softly saying, “I know not your Captain Drinian…”

“We’ve already started, Caspian,” interjected Edmund. “We’ve spoken to Drinian and arranged to have,” here he glanced at the pantry door and, taking no chances in case the spy escaped after all, added, “our entire fleet meet at Bernstead. Lord Bern has made other arrangements as well…”

“Which we may discuss over supper, I’m thinking,” Killian’s voice broke through the serious mood which was building. “Tril, if you can drag that heavy chest over here, we can use it on the door then we’ll get some vittles on the table for our guests. They look wore out from the long walk up our hill.” His smile, and the thought of sitting down to a real meal, pleased the children, though Eustace griped a bit.

As preparations were made, Tril finally asked, “Sire, why did you not tell me your cousin had been enslaved as well? I have some small store of crescents and…”

“I thank you, Trill, for the offer.” Caspian smiled, “But what is done is over and rethinking it will not change it. Eustace isn’t my cousin, either. He’s cousin to King Edmund and Queen Lucy,” he gestured towards the Pevensies, ignoring Eustace’s deepening frown. “Besides, it mattered not if my companions were of my own blood or not; they are just as valuable to me.”

Shock crossed Eustace’s face, but in an instant it was obvious by his sour expression and surly manner that he didn’t believe Caspian’s claims. Still, he determined that, at least for the present, he would be a little nicer to the King. It wasn’t often somebody claimed that Eustace Scrubb was valuable.

The group of seven made quick work of the repast. The meal was accompanied by Caspian explaining his adventure, followed by Edmund explaining the cousins’. Once in awhile, Killian or Lord Bern would add their own comments while Tril remained quiet, apparently content to let others talk while he listened, as seemed customary for the boy.

Finally, as hunger was satiated and plans were made, Caspian stood, raising his cup; the others followed suit. He smiled. “We have had an adventure, have we not? Today we have been enslaved as well as freed; we have made good friends; and we have captured a slaver’s spy.”

“Here, here,” said Killian in a deep, yet quiet, bass.

“And tomorrow,” claimed King Caspian in ringing tones, lifting his glass high in a toast, “Tomorrow, we take back the Lone Islands!”