Marek loved animals. When he lived down below, his days were full of birds and mice, deer, rabbits, the lambs, of course, moles, squirrels, chipmunks. Each species was stuffed and displayed in the next room, which had been Jacob’s. Marek went there often just to look at the animals. He recognized the ones he had helped Jacob hunt. Now he thought of these animals as old friends—they were all that was familiar to him in this new life at the manor. The first time he’d been served a piece of meat, freshly slaughtered from the manor’s farm, Marek had vomited it up onto his plate, which Villiam found hilarious. And from then on, Villiam had requested feasts of various meats simply to watch the boy chew and sweat and even cry sometimes at having to swallow the stuff. Lispeth always kept a bucket nearby to catch any of her young master’s vomit at the dining table. Marek had gotten used to the sport. Dibra rarely joined them for meals at all. Since Jacob’s death and Marek’s subsequent adoption, she had barely come out of her room.
It was not God’s mercy that had saved the manor from drought, but a tactic long used by lords in seasons without rain. Snow melt from the higher mountains, which fed the streams and rivers—as well as the wells and cisterns—was diverted by a dam to flow into a reservoir hidden inside a grove of pines on the far side of the estate. The moat was always full of water. There were flowers blooming on the lawn at the manor. Everything was fresh in the garden still.
Marek often dreamt of his old life, of the sun through the trees at the edge of the pasture, of walks through the fields and down the road into the village. He dreamt of small moments, of his father’s shadow, of the sound of a lamb stepping up from sleep and butting the door with its head. He missed the soft feel of grass under his feet, the wind, the winter fog in the morning, the clouds. He missed all these things, and although he was of course permitted to go outside and walk the grounds, to lie in the gardens, Marek couldn’t bear to revisit the old world of nature. He felt too ashamed, and too guilty, and too superior all at once.
‘Good morning, Marek,’ Lispeth said now as he rose out of sleep. He had gained weight and grown since he’d come. He felt heavier each morning when he lifted himself up from the bed.
‘Good morning,’ Marek croaked. Lispeth was by his side immediately with a cup of sweet wine. He’d gotten used to her strange smell.
She brought a wet cloth to wipe his face and used her fingernail to scrape the white scum from his teeth, the sleep from the corners of his eyes. She helped him dress and combed his hair, then knelt before him and slid his feet into his summer slippers, made of thin leather.
‘Thank you, Lispeth,’ he said.
‘Your father is downstairs,’ she said.
* * *
*
Villiam was eating grapes in the great hall, keeping his mouth full so that he could stay silent while Erno whined about money. Villiam’s servant, Clod, was drawing his portrait.
‘It would take a miracle to get the land back for a fall harvest,’ Erno was saying. ‘I’ve been taking an inventory, and I still think that if you sold off some of your wheat, Ivan might be more forgiving on the interest you owe him.’
‘Please, Erno. It’s Sunday. It’s evil to discuss money on the Sabbath, don’t you know?’
‘It’s Tuesday, my lord,’ Erno muttered.
‘Every day is Sunday in God’s kingdom.’
‘Then when would we work?’
‘Please, Erno. Clod needs to concentrate.’
Erno plucked a cluster of grapes from the platter and took his leave.
‘My son,’ Villiam said when Marek appeared, happy for the diversion the boy could offer. Erno was so serious. He had no humor to him, even though he did look funny lately, his head oddly large, his fingers spindly.
‘Sit by me, Marek. Let’s have a picture of the two of us. Two generations, side by side.’
Marek complied and sat beside Villiam. ‘Are your bones hurting you today?’
‘If I say yes, will you tell me a riddle?’
‘Yes, Father,’ Marek said. But he had no riddle prepared.
‘Then yes, they ache terribly. I’m near to death in pain, ha ha ha.’
Clod stopped drawing and turned the paper around to show Villiam. It was a ridiculous caricature. Villiam slapped his knee in glee, then winced from the pain of the slap, then held himself around the middle and laughed for a long while. Finally, he wiped his eyes, found his breath, and in an instant he was bored and expectant, so he turned to Marek again.
‘All right, what’s the riddle?’