THINK ABOUT THE CHILDREN

by

Edward Stasheff

 

The wizard, the priest, and the harlot silently gazed across the charcoal pits at the old duke and little girl drawing on a stump.  Lazy smoke rose from the burning hearth, a gentle breeze curving it into a great arc reaching up to the sky.

Matt finally broke the silence.  "So what did DuVois do to make you hate him so much?”

Charlotte didn’t answer.  Seconds of silence stretched out.  Matt guessed it might be easier for her if Matt actually spoke the words, and she merely confirmed them. 

"When you were a little girl, he… uh, touched you, right?" Matt guessed.  Father Heureau opened his mouth, shocked.  Matt glared at him; he closed his mouth, but indignantly.  Matt looked back at Charlotte. "Touched you in ways you didn't like, I mean," he clarified.

She nodded.

"And he, uh… made you do things you didn't like, too.  Right?"

Charlotte nodded again. 

Matt decided he wasn't being specific enough.  He had to know for sure just how bad it had been.  It was an excruciatingly uncomfortable conversation, but Matt screwed up his courage and pushed ahead.  “Did he, uh…” Matt searched for the most tactful way to say it.  “Did he lay with you?  As, uh, a husband and wife do, I mean.  Not just to sleep at night… uh…" Matt shut up while he still had his only foot in his mouth and not the ankle.

Charlotte was silent again.  Father Heureau looked utterly appalled, but Matt ensured his silence with another sharp look.  Just when Matt thought he would have to repeat the question (somehow), Charlotte finally spoke, in a voice barely above a whisper. 

"I knew not what he was doing," she said.  "I knew only that it was wrong somehow… because it hurt.  He did say that God's love was pure, and its act was holy… but I knew, somehow, that he oughtn't be doing it."

"How long did it take you figure out why?"  Matt asked, his own voice soft enough that there was no chance of it ever being heard across the charcoal pit. He glanced at Father Heureau—the young priest still looked appalled, but for a different reason.

"When I did watch the sheep and pigs that springtime next," Charlotte answered, "and leant what it was, what it was for.  'Twas not long before I learned priests were forbidden to it.  And that all were forbidden to it with children.  For I was yet to have my monthly cycles, ye see, and still did think boys silly and vulgar."

Matt winced.  He was disturbed by her answer, but not really surprised—the timeline didn’t really allow for DuVois to have waited until she hit puberty.  Still, Matt understood and believed Charlotte, at least—which was perhaps more that the villagers of Montville could do.  In Matt's own universe and time, church sex scandals made the news occasionally.  But he suspected Merovencians still had a hard time wrapping their minds around the concept that priests could—and did—break their vows of celibacy. Father Heureau was a good example—he stared at Charlotte, aghast. What she said had the ring of truth.

“How old were you when it started?” Matt asked softly.

“In my eighth year.”

Sadly, Matt had heard of worse.  “Why didn’t you speak up about what was going on?” Matt asked.  “You know, tell an adult what Father DuVois was doing?”

“Would they have believed me?" Charlotte asked.  "The word of their beloved man of God, ‘gainst that of a wild child, then a harlot?  Methinks not.” 

The worst thing, Matt thought, was that she was probably right.  "So how long did it last?"

            "Some five years or more," Charlotte said with a shrug.  "Only when I became a woman, with a woman's courage, did I leave his house."

            Matt let the silence linger a bit before moving on.  He glanced at Father Heureau, who was shocked pale and silent.  "And after you left, I understand you…" Matt's voice trailed off, once again trying to find a tactful way to ask an awkward question.  "You took a lover?  Or… several?"

            Charlotte barked out a harsh, nasty laugh.  "Aye, call them that if you will, but there was naught of love in it.  At least, not for meself."  Her voice took on an iron undertow.  "I did what I must to survive," she said, justifying and defending her behavior.  "It was happening anyway… and if the other men did want my woman's body, too…" her voice trailed off.  "Well, why not get paid for it then, aye?  Nothing worse could happen… aye, I did that much, at least," she mused.  "I did make them pay for it, and not give it away."

            "I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that ended around the same time you moved into this cottage?" Matt asked.

            "The very day," Charlotte nodded.

“And later… when the men of Montville came to visit your cottage… did you…?”  Matt left the question hanging.

            Charlotte began giggling uncontrollable at her own private joke.  “Beardless boys, come to be made men by lying with me?  Nay, I did chase them away with axe and spade, and sent them whimpering home to their mammas!”

            “Hmm…”  Matt chewed the inside of his cheek.  “They tell a different story… did you know that?”

            “Oh, aye, a’course!" Charlotte smile, unperturbed.  "But what were they to tell their fellows?  That they had been bested by a woman?  Nay, a’course not!  So they did claim to have lain with me—and who was I to argue?  For I knew the truth of the matter—a truth they did not want known!  Thus the men of Montville did fear to move openly against me, knowing I could shame them before their women and fellows a few words.”

"Clever," Matt mused.  "And how did you get this cottage and the hearth, anyway?" Matt asked.  "Or learn the trade, for that matter?"

            “The old man who lived here—the charcoal burner—he was… he did…” Her voice trailed off.  “I did know him, and he was grateful for my… kindnesses.  And my company, methinks, for his trade ‘twas a lonely one.  I did watch him about his hearths, and learnt how ‘twas done.”

“And where is he now?”  Matt asked.  “I haven’t seen him around here… and none of the villagers mentioned him…” 

Charlotte was silent for a moment.  Father Heureau shot Matt a knowing look.  “He did pass away, near ten years agone now," Charlotte said at last.  " ‘Twas the night I did birth Michelle.”  Charlotte suddenly looked up at Matt.  “He was in a panic, ye see, and his heart did break of its own!  I did not touch him, I swear it before all the saints and angels!”

            “I believe you.”  Matt nodded.  Father Heureau didn’t look convinced, however—and Matt had to admit that it certainly sounded suspicious, not to mention convenient.

            “I did let it be known in the village that he had passed," Charlotte continued.  "The next morn the men of Montville did come for his corpse, and give him a Christian burial.  He had no family… and his hut was forsaken by all in the village… so I did take it for my own.  None did forbid me.”  The corners of Charlotte’s lips curled in a slight smile.  “In truth, methinks the ladies of Montville were glad to be rid of me, and would not let their husbands cast me out of the old charcoal burner’s shack, for fear I might return to the village to tempt again their men.”

            Matt's brow creased slightly.  "But there's something I don’t understand—why did you stay near Montville?" Matt asked.  "Why not leave altogether?  You know, go to another village, far enough away that no one knew you?  Find a husband… settle down…” 

            There was another long silence before Charlotte spoke.  “I had my babe, know ye… and no matter how she did come to be in my belly, I loved her with all my heart.  I did need to provide for her, to keep her fed and clothed and warm…” her voice trailed off again.

            After another long silence, Matt prompted her again.  “That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t just—“

            Charlotte cut him off.  “Father DuVois did bring me money,” she explained softly.  “Not much and not often, mind ye, but with that and what charcoal I could sell, ‘twas enough to keep my daughter warm and fed.”

            “He brought you money?  Regularly?” Matt scowled.  That didn’t fit well with the priestly vow of poverty he was familiar with.  “But where did a priest get that much—oh!” Matt’s voice caught in his throat as realization struck like a thunderbolt.  The village alms that DuVois brought to the impoverished harlot in the forest—it wasn’t charity, it was hush money!  And the corrupt priest even had the audacity to trick the bishop into approving it!          Matt noticed that Father Heureau must have reached the same conclusion—he looked like someone had punched him in the gut.

            “Now I get it," Matt said.  "As long as DuVois kept the money coming, you kept silent about his dirty little secret… right?”

            Charlotte nodded slowly. 

“Well, can’t say I blame you," Matt said.  "A steady income is hard to come by for a woman in this society, especially one with a child out of wedlock.”

Charlotte looked somewhat reassured that she had done the right thing after all.

“But then DuVois moved back in with you,” Matt pushed on.  "Why did you allow that?"

"Ye speak as if I did have a choice!"  Charlotte scowled.  "The villagers did threaten to burn me out if I did not hide the priest.  They knew I had no where else to go!" 

"And once he was here… it started all over again, didn't it?"

"Aye," Charlotte nodded.  "He did wish to lay with me, and so I—"

"No he didn't," Matt cut her off. 

Father Heureau looked up, confused.  Charlotte glared at Matt indignantly and opened her mouth to retort, but Matt beat her to it.

"Wizard, remember?"

"Oh."  Charlotte looked down, deflating like a balloon.

Matt really didn't want his suspicions confirmed, but he had to know for sure.  He had no idea if Father Heureau even understood the concept of pedophilia—but Matt did.  So he pushed on, determined to find the truth, no matter how unpleasant it was.

"You weren't his type anymore," Matt explained.  "You were too old.  DuVois liked his girls young, didn't he?  Very young.  As young as you were, ten years ago… and as young as your daughter is now."

Charlotte said nothing. Father Heureau grew whiter.

"DuVois wanted to lay with someone in your home, yes," Matt said.  "But it wasn't you, was it?"

Charlotte shook her head slowly.  "He never did say it, a'course.  Never said a word about any of it, in truth" Charlotte said.  Once again, her voice once again barely above a whisper.  "Indeed, he did act as if it had never happened, as if I had forgotten.  But I did remember.  And I knew he had not changed, knew what he now wanted.  Aye, I knew it as surely as I do know my name, for I did see it in how he gazed upon Michelle, the way he did talk and play with her."  She looked up at Matt suddenly, her eyes imploring.  "I did watch her like a hawk, mind ye, every second that I could!  But ever and anon did she run off, and I lose her for some small while… and I must sleep sometime, lord.  And then…" her voice trailed off as she looked away.

Father Heureau was horrified; Matt braced himself.  "What did he do to Michelle?"

"Nothing, so far as I know, thank God almighty," Charlotte said through a sigh of relief.  "But I did wake to find him whispering with her in the dark one night, with his hand upon her leg—" the words caught in her throat.  "He—he did say that she was a very special girl.  That God loved her, and as God's priest, he loved her too.  I'd heard those words before.  I knew 'twas only a matter of time before he… him, of all people, to her!  Her, of all the girls in Montville!  For Michelle… she…" her voice broke. 

Matt watched Charlotte as she struggled with the deep, terrible feelings, breathing slow and deep to keep the tears at bay.  When she was past the worst of it, he finished her sentence.  "For Michelle was his own daughter… wasn't she?"

Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut.  Her eyelashes glistened. 

"The village women say you got preg—uh, got with child almost as soon as you left DuVois's house for good," Matt explained, trying to forestall any denials.  "And you said you slept with the village men because nothing worse could happen—meaning you weren't worried about getting with child because… well, because you already were, weren't you?  And that means the only possible father… is DuVois."

Matt watched Charlotte's face as extreme emotions flickered and warred across it, struggling with the powerful feelings of a shameful, long-buried secret brought painfully out into the light at long last.  Father Heureau had a hand across his mouth, swallowing heavily.  Matt waited patiently, and was impressed when Charlotte regained her composure without shedding a single tear.  She let out a long, deep sigh.

"'Tis even as you say."  Charlotte nodded slowly.  "Oh, he did deny it, a'course.  Did say Michelle was the wages of sin for my lustful ways with the village boys.  But I know, as only a woman can, whose child she is.  And I could not let him…not again, not to her, not to his own daughter…" She looked up at Matt, eyes boring into his, and said, "Know ye, wizard, that I would have made a deal with the Devil himself to save Michelle from him."

Matt tilted his head.  "Well, in a way, that's just what you did.  Isn't it?"

Charlotte looked away.  Father Heureau couldn't look away, horrified and fascinated.

"You had nowhere to run to, and you couldn't move against DuVois by yourself—not without retaliation from the villagers, at least.  But you could arrange for other people to remove him.  People like satanic sorcerers who hunted and killed priests, for example." 

"Nay, I am not proud of what I did, wizard." The steel undertone had returned to Charlotte's voice.  "I know only that it had to be done.  If burn for it in hell I must, then so be it.  And I would burn doubly, if need be, to give Michelle a path to heaven.  'Tis too late for me—I have sinned, and greatly—but 'tis not yet too late for her."

" 'Tis never too late for you, nor anyone," Father Heureau said softly.  Matt glared at him to be silent, but the young clergyman merely shoved a finger in Matt's face.  "Nay, look not so fierce upon me with your eyes, wizard!" he hissed. "You may be a man of magic, but I am a man of God!"  Matt's eyebrows shot up.  Father Heureau had the glint of complete certainty in his eyes.  Matt took a step back, suspecting the young priest was about to perform some magic of his own.

Father Heureau turned to Charlotte.  "The gates of heaven are forever open to those who repent.  If you have sinned, but confess and God shall forgive them.  'Only say the word, and your soul shall be healed.' " 

Charlotte shot Father Heureau a narrow-eyes sidelong glance.  " 'Tis not what Father DuVois dd say," she said slowly, suspicious.

"He… didn't?" Father Heureau cocked his head, genuinely confused.  "What did he tell you, child?"

Charlotte hesitated.  "He did say I could not confess my sins unto God before my soul was pure enough to be in His presence."

"What?  But… that doesn't make any sense!" Matt scoffed.  "It's impossible—a paradox!  You can’t confess a sin unless you've already committed it!  I mean, according to your logic, the only people who can confess sins are those who have no sins to confess!"

Charlotte turned to him and nodded.  "I had thought that, too!"  

"I fear," Father Heureau said, "that Father DuVois may have… twisted… the word of God for his own gain."  The words seemed to be dragged from his lips.  "Believe not what he told you, good woman.  Damnation is never certain. One need only repent, and God shall forgive.  Believe only God, who sayeth in the Bible, 'whosoever believeth in Me shall not die but have eternal life.' "

"Truly?"  Charlotte said, almost afraid to believe it.

"Truly."  Father Heureau smiled.  "If you wish to confess, I will hear it whenever you desire, my friend.  Then can you begin life anew, with a clean soul and a clear conscience."

Charlotte posture seemed to soften.  "I shall think upon what you have said, Father."

Matt cleared his throat. "So… anyway… uh, back to satanic sorcerers and all that."  He needed to get back to the investigation—there was a schedule to keep, after all, if he wanted to save Ortho's life.  “I gather you betrayed DuVois to the Bloodhounds to protect Michelle from the same fate as you… right?”

Charlotte hesitated, casting an apprehensive glance at Father Heureau, but then nodded slowly.  “Aye.  God forgive me, I did, for the sake of my daughter.”

“God will forgive you, if you but ask,” Father Heureau said through a forced smile, although his eyes looked troubled.  “Though you may have to answer for it in purgatory, mind you.”

“Well,” Matt said to Charlotte, “I can certainly understand why you did it.  But what I can't figure out is how.  How did you contact the Bloodhounds?"

" 'Twas not hard."  Charlotte shrugged.  "I do pedal my charcoal to a local lordling who was loyal to the usurper Astalf in those days.  I did tell him how he could gain favor with the royal court by capturing a priest.  I knew then that Bloodhounds would come to Montville, one day or another."

Matt’s brow creased.  “Montville?  They didn’t come to your home?”

“Nay.”  Charlotte shook her head.  “For I did not wish Michelle to watch sorcerers kidnap or slay a priest.  I did not tell the lordling the priest lived under my roof—only that I knew when and where the Mass would he held, and that the priest would be there.  When I sold the lordling his next batch of charcoal, the sorcerers were there, and I did tell them about the next Mass.”

Matt frowned. “So the two sorcerers didn’t know where to find DuVois until the Mass?”

“Aye.”

Matt pulled the letter from his belt pouch and stared at Ortho’s handwriting, puzzled.  “Then how did Ortho know where to deliver this letter warning DuVois?” he muttered to himself.  Well, Bloodhounds were sorcerers—could they have used magic?  A tracking spell generally only worked on something or someone the caster knew personally.  It was far less effective on unknown people or objects.

Objects…

Matt glanced at Charlotte.  “Did the sorcerers give you anything?”

“Nay.”  Charlotte shook her head firmly.

Her answer was took quick, Matt thought, too certain.  She hadn’t even paused to search her memory.  Okay, then, the sorcerers did given her something, and she’s lying about it—but why?  What could they give her that she would want to keep a sec—

Oh.  Of course.

“How much money did the sorcerers pay you for turning in the priest?” 

Charlotte looked up at him in surprise.

Matt shrugged.  “Wizard.”

“Oh.  Right.”  Charlotte looked down, ashamed.  “Uh… he did give me a silver penny,” she admitted, “and did say I’d get another once the priest was taken.”

            So Ortho tracked the coin, then, Matt thought.  Why Ortho thought the coin would lead him to the priest was anyone’s guess—but in this case, at least, he had been right.

“So after you met with the sorcerers, you only had to keep Michelle safe from DuVois until the next Mass.”

“Aye,” Charlotte nodded with a sigh.  “But charcoal hearths do ever need to be watched and tended to.  ‘Tis dull work, and more so for a young child.  She was forever running off whenever I did take my eye from her.  She ran me ragged with worry.”  Charlotte looked up at Matt.  “In truth, I could not wait to be rid of the priest so that Michelle could play freely again, and without my worry.”

Matt thought he understood.  He remembered the times his pet dog escaped and didn’t come home at night when he was a kid, and how the worrying kept him up all night.  “So when strange things began happening during those last few days—like letters being shoved under your door in the middle of the night—you were too preoccupied with your daughter’s safety to really notice, yet alone care.”

“ ‘Tis even as you say, wizard.”  Charlotte nodded.  "I had neither knowledge nor interest in such wider things—I cared only for my daughter."

“And those letters were from the Frank—Ortho, the very sorcerer you betrayed DuVois to—telling him to run before he was arrested.”  Matt rubbed his chin, thinking it through.  “But DuVois wouldn't leave—why not?"

            Charlotte let out a nasty laugh.  "Why should he wish to?  He did have everything he wanted right here—including my daughter!"

            “That’s a good point,” Matt nodded slowly.  “That’s probably why he wanted to stay, but it doesn’t explain how he thought he could pull it off.  For some reason—and I'm still trying to figure this out—he didn’t fear the Bloodhounds arresting him.”  Matt ran absently ran fingers through his hair, deep in thought.  "I'm guessing he bribed them to leave him alone, although I’m surprised it worked.  That would explain the gold coin he included with his letter.  But if he could simply buy them off, why go into hiding in the first pla—" Matt stopped short.  The obvious answer jumped into his mind. 

Hiding in Charlotte's shack would put him within reach of a sweet little girl.  Isolated out in the woods, he was safely away from the prying eyes and ears of the villagers, with nothing standing between him and the child except a woman taking his hush money. Of course he would play along and go into hiding. 

But what did he know, what did he have, that kept the sorcerers at bay?  And why had Ortho ignored it and tried to arrest him anyway, instead of taking the money and moving on?  Was Ortho trying to protect Michelle?  That sounded like something Ortho would do, but… how did he even know the child needed protecting?  That part was still as much of a mystery as what really happened during the barn fire.  Matt might never have a clear picture of what actually transpired. 

He suddenly noticed that Montmartre had stood and was waving at them, beckoning them.  He was silent, not calling for them, though—perhaps he didn't want to alert Michelle, who continued drawing, oblivious to his gestures.  Matt, Charlotte, and Father Heureau exchanged glances, then began walking across the charcoal pit. 

Montmartre what chattering good-naturedly at Michelle as the other adults approached, but his eyes held a different emotion, one disturbed and troubled.  Something was wrong.  Montmartre's eyes met Matt's, and he warned him with a look and a finger to his lips. The adults walked up to him silently.

"It's her drawing," Montmartre said as softly as he could.  "You should see it.  It's… she… you really need to see this…"  All eyes turned to the scene sketched out on the tree stump.  Silence reigned.

"Is… is that a priest, girl?" Father Heureau asked, pointing a trembling finger at a figure with a habit and cross.

Michelle looked up at him, very serious, and nodded.

"It's DuVois, isn't it?"  Matt asked.  He found it hard to call the man 'Father' after all that he had learned about him.

Michelle didn't nod, but looked away.  Then she turned back to the stump and continued drawing.             

Charlotte hadn't moved a muscle.  She stared at the pictures, hand covering her mouth to stifle any involuntary screams, her eyes were wide with horror but unable to look away.

Matt leaned toward her.  "I see kissing… I see touching… but I also see clothes," he said gently.  "It might not be as bad as we think.  I know this is hard for you, but… we need to know how far it went, and you're the best person to ask her."

Charlotte nodded silently.  She dropped her knees, took Michelle gently by the shoulders, and turned her away from her sketching.

"What happened, Michelle?"

The little girl hung her head, looking down.

"Oh, never fear, love, ye are not in trouble, not at all!  I only want to know what did happen is all…"

Michelle peeked up and met her mother's eyes… and blinked.  She reached forward and touched a tear trailing down her mother's cheek, seemingly confused by it.  When Michelle remained silent, Charlotte gently began to probe for the truth.

“Did he kiss you, Michelle?”

Michelle nodded.

“Did he… did he touch you, too?”

She nodded.

“Where, child?"  Charlotte was blinking away tears now, but keeping a masterful command on her voice.  "Pray, tell us.”

Michelle but her hands on her chest.

Charlotte took a deep, shuddering breath.  “Where else?”

Michelle’s little brow furrowed.  She tilted her head slightly, looking up at her mother, confused.

“Did he touch you… down here?”  Charlotte pointed.

“There?”  Michelle asked, puzzled.  Then her face screwed up in revulsion.  "Where I tinkle?!  Eeewwww!  No!  Eeewwww!  That's—"

Whatever else she had to say was drowned out by Matt's howling laughter.  He knew it was inappropriate, but he couldn't help it—and within seconds, the other adults had joined in.  After the serious conversation, the shocking drawings, the tense questions, the little girl's answer was so… so… so absurdly innocent that it caught them all off guard.  Little Michelle appeared to be putting touching nether regions in the same category as worms and poop and boys—distasteful and disgusting, but not threatening.  If that was all she felt, then the answer to Charlotte's question was clear.

“Wait… what is this here, then?” Montmartre asked, just now noticing Michelle’s latest drawing.  He leaned forward and examined another priest-like figure… with something short and stiff in his hand. Montmartre pointed a trembling finger at it.  "Who is this, Michelle?  Is this Father DuVois as well?”

Michelle shook her head.

“Is it… me?” Father Heureau asked, horrified.

Michelle shook her head again.  Heureau released a sigh of relief.

"Then who is it?" Montmartre asked.

"The red priest," Michelle answered. 

The adults looked at each other, puzzled.  Was the figure a real person, or a figment of her imagination, like an imaginary friend?  Matt leaned forward for a closer look at the drawing of the robed figure.  It had a cross, yes… but the cross was upside down.  Matt narrowed his eyes. 

"The 'red priest', huh?" He looked down at Michelle.  "You mean a priest with red robes?  Instead of brown?"

Michelle nodded.

Matt held his fingers up level with his chin.  "About yea high?  Black hair?  Brown eyes?  Fair skin?  Kinda… plain looking?"

Michelle nodded again, pleased her drawing was so clear.

"And he's holding a sword, right?  Not a…" Matt didn't finish.

Michelle smiled slightly and nodded again.

Matt turned to Montmartre.  "Ortho."  Another piece of the puzzle fell into place in Matt's head.  "That's how Ortho knew that what DuVois was doing was wicked—he walked in on him in the middle of it."

 “Mayhap Ortho was too late to prevent it all, aye,” Montmartre said gravely, “but he did save her from the worst of it.  Of that, we can be certain.”  He turned to the little girl.  "What did the red man do?" he asked.  "What happened?"

"They yelled." Michelle shrugged.  "He left."

"Why did he leave?" Matt asked.

"Mommy was coming," Michelle answered.

In other words, Matt thought, once Ortho was sure Charlotte would be safe.  But why did he run?  Matt wasn't sure what the motivation for that was. Maybe Ortho, in a precarious position as a double-agent, feared being discovered by a woman who had previously demonstrated her willingness to betray people for money?

 "This 'Ortho'… he was one of the Bloodhounds, then?" Charlotte asked.  "The one that did leave the letter?"

"Yup," Matt said.  "The fake sorcerer we were telling you about earlier.  And now, I think, we finally know why he was trying to arrest Fr. DuVois.  Not because he was a priest—but because he was a pedophile."

"A… ped-file?" Father Heureau repeated, confused.

Matt glared at Father Heureau, and nodded toward Michelle.  The young clergy gasped and nodded in silent understanding.

"Well," Montmartre said, "now, at least, we do know the truth.  But—as you do ask yourself, wizard, and often—how shall we prove it to the men of Montville?"

   That stopped Matt in his tracks.  He looked down, lost in thought.  The letter was good, it proved that Ortho is the Frank… and that he tried to warn Fr. DuVois… but it didn't even hint at the priest's sins.  There were no documents, no records… so all that left were the witnesses.

"There is only one person, other than DuVois, that can testify to what he was really up to."  Matt turned to look at Charlotte.  "We need you to come to Ortho's trial to help clear his name.  We need you to say what's really been going on Montville for the last fifteen years."  

  Charlotte gave him a sour smile.  "And would any of Montville believe the word of Charlotte the Harlot?"

"Maybe, maybe not… hard so say," Matt said, his gaze drifting downward.  "But the would believe a young child."

Charlotte looked horrified.  "Ye can not mean ye want a mere girl to say such things before all the men of the village!  It would follow her all of her days!  Come now, wizard, hath my child not suffered enough?"

"The man who saved her from more suffering is about to die for what he did to protect her.  He risked his life to save Michelle—and now he's going to be hanged for it!"  Matt pointed an accusing finger at Charlotte.  "You owe him!"

"If 'tis her reputation you worry about," Montmartre said, "I can settle your family on my lands, far from here.  There, none will know anything about you except you you wish be known.  Your husband died of a fever, for all they know."

It was a generous and diplomatic offer.  Matt could tell from Charlotte's face that she was tempted, but resisting it.  Matt had to sweeten the deal, somehow…

"You know," he said to Montmartre, "they royal city of Bordestang never does seem to have enough charcoal for all the smithies.  Isn't that right?"

"Oh, indeed, Sir Matthew," the old man agreed with a smile.  "For 'tis a big city with many hearths and forges.  Charcoal is ever scarce, it seems, and the tradesmen do pay a fair penny when they get it."

"How does that sound?" Matt asked, turning back to Charlotte.  "Anonymity, a new home, and a government contract for all the coal you can char.  And all that we ask in return is that you save a man's life." 

This time it looked like Charlotte wanted to say yes.  Her face was torn with indecision.  Yet still she hesitated. 

"This is a limited-time offer, you know," Matt said.  "Ortho hangs tomorrow at dawn."

"'Tis a generous offer, lords, I grant ye." She looked down and stroked her daughter's hair.  "But 'tis not my choice to make."

            Montmartre crouched down to look the child in the eye.  Matt let him take the lead on the one; the old duke had established the best rapport with the little girl.  “Michelle?” Montmartre asked.  “How would you like the visit royal city of Bordestang, the capital of Merovence, and meet the Queen?”  The child’s eyes widened.  “And how would you like to fly through the air to Bordestang, on the back of a friendly dragon?”

            Michelle’s eyes did their best they could to pop out of her head.  She turned to Charlotte.  “Oh, mommy, can we?  Can we please?”

            “It won’t all be fun an games,”  Montmartre warned.  “You’ll need to tell the Queen what Father DuVois did.”

            “Alright,” the girl said, nodding enthusiastically.

            “There’ll be a lot of people listening, Michelle.  Are you sure you can do it?”

            She hesitated.

            “Remember the red priest, Michelle?  The one who chased Father DuVois away when he was doing things you didn’t like?”  Michelle nodded.  “Did you like him?”  Michelle shrugged, then nodded.  “Well, he’s going to be hanged tomorrow—unless you help him, like he helped you.  You can save his life.” 

            Michelle’s little brow furrowed. 

            “Can you do it?”

            Michelle nodded very seriously, then said, “Can I please see the dragon now?”

“Sure,” Matt said, squinting up through the canopy of leaves at the darkening sky.  “The sooner, the better.  If we can make it out of the woods before dark… and Stegoman flies through the night… then maybe—maybe—we can get to Bordestang in time.”

 

Love it?  Hate it?  Comment in the Forum!