I felt like the ground was shrinking beneath my feet, my mind pulling away from its earthly tether.
‘That’s just what they say to hide why people are really dying,’ the man continued, not noticing I’d slipped away.
‘Which is?’I heard Enrique ask.
The man stepped forward dramatically, cupping his mouth.‘Vampires,’ he said in a stage whisper.‘I’ve heard the castle is full of them, and the prince gave them Orlfen so they wouldn’t attack the capital.’
This part I knew to be untrue.It pulled me back and I could feel the ground beneath my feet once more.
‘Vampires don’t exist,’ Enrique said calmly.
‘Like hell they don’t,’ the man said.‘If anyone says it’s vampires, the vampires will come for them next – that’s common sense.So they had to say it’s a famine to explain all the deaths.But if that was true, why did the mayor keep coming here to sell food?’
‘He was buying!’I interjected.
The man gave me a look that suggested he’d had a glimmer of recognition but couldn’t be bothered to investigate further.‘Go ask him yourself if you don’t believe me.Orlfen’s just on the other side of the mountain.You can make it by sundown if you leave now.’He stepped forward, then stopped again.‘But I’d stock up on garlic from the market first, if I were you.’And then he pushed on and continued his climb.
‘Did that answer your question?’Enrique asked.
I kept my eyes on the man’s back until he had vanished over the top of the stairs.‘I really hope it didn’t.’
Seventeen
THE DAYS WERE ALREADYgrowing short, and the sun was on its descent into the flaming leaves as we arrived back in the castle.I went straight to the library with Enrique, who was reluctant to leave my side.We found Moira inside, reclining by the fire, reading over my latest notes.She glanced up, but I strode right past her and entered Raleigh’s study.
I hadn’t been in here since the day Raleigh first showed me the library.It was worse than I remembered.His desk was piled so high with documents it was a wonder it hadn’t collapsed under the weight.A row of relatively new drawers lined the back wall, dated and numbered – a sign that someone had planned to organise the chaos at one stage – but clearly the challenge had been abandoned midway.I wondered why Raleigh didn’t simply burn the lot and start from scratch.
‘It’s all financial ledgers in here,’ Moira said, poking her head around the door.Enrique lingered behind her, anxiously straightening books on the shelf nearest the study.
‘I know.’I lifted the slip closest to me and found it was dated 1642.My shoulders sagged.‘Is there any system to this at all?’
‘Ask Raleigh …’ Moira trailed off as she caught a glimpse of my face.I hadn’t seen my reflection since my outburst in Triz, but my eyelids felt like sandpaper, and I could still feel the crust of dried tear tracks on my cheeks.‘What are you looking for?’
‘Anything from Orlfen in the last ten – no, make that five – years.’
Moira’s brows lifted.‘Oh, I know where he keepsthose.’She took me to the drawers along the back wall, opened a few half-empty ones, then found the one she was looking for.It was stuffed full, each section dated in unfaded ink.‘Or you can ask me anything, if you’d rather save time.’
I shook my head.‘I need to see for myself.’
The records were patchy, especially those from more than fifteen years ago, but it didn’t take long to find where the famine had started.The first page was a letter from the mayor of another town nearby, pleading for aid.My heart tore at how familiar his plight was.I carefully filed it again.This sort of suffering was more important than tax records.It needed to be remembered in years to come, if only so that Raleigh might prevent it from happening again.I turned to the next page.My throat seized up.
I began to flick through the stack faster now, my blood growing colder with each nearly identical page I came across.They were dated consistently over the past five years, some in Raleigh’s hand, some in Moira’s.Each bore the same title, a nearly identical list.And each bore my father’s signature.
They were ration statements.Records of a delivery to Orlfen every few months with enough food to keep us sated through the famine.Each delivered to my father personally, signed in his hand.I knew his untidy scrawl too well to think it a forgery.It was too inconsistent.A cunning fraudster wouldn’t dare such variance.
‘Raleigh sent aid to Orlfen.’The words came out as little more than a whisper.
‘He never told you?’
‘Never,’ I said.Even if he had, I wouldn’t have believed him.I’d have thought him a liar, or delusional at best.Yet here it was, evidence verified by my father himself, that Raleigh had personally tried to keep us alive.‘Why didn’t it help?’
‘Who knows?I used to bring a cart of supplies down to a spot just outside of town to meet your father.’Moira waved a hand over where Father had signed.‘What happened after that is anyone’s guess.’
It must have been when Father said he was going to the markets.But he was always gone several days, not several hours, and even after his most successful forays he hadn’t returned with a fraction of the supplies listed on these ledgers.The only way that could be true is if …
The mayor was up here every other month selling off the surplus food.
Father wasn’t buying supplies for the town.He was selling our rations.The grain he returned with was only what he couldn’t turn a profit for in Triz.The eggs, the butter, the sugar all listed on Raleigh’s ledger, none of it had come anywhere close to Orlfen.No wonder Father was always able to procure something special when the time called for it.No wonder we never had to resort to eating the horses.No wonder Father held so much wealth, when Mother’s salary died with her.He was profiting from our starvation.
