Page 2 of Lord of the Lost

With that plan in mind, she finally dropped into dream plagued sleep as the dawn touched the sky with pink.

~~~~~

December 1815

In the stableyard of a once grand chateau, not far from Paris, a man with a scarred face and a slight limp went about his daily chores. He tried not to think as he worked, for if he thought, then inevitably, he would be plagued by memories of the war, memories which haunted his dreams, with the ghosts of all the dead men he had fought, and fought beside – he did not need to think of them during the day, as well.

Horses were simpler creatures than men, although they could suffer from the memory of war too. But mostly, they demanded little of him but feed, water, and grooming. Perhaps, one day, he would be able to face more than this, would be able to consider where he had come from, and all that was associated with his former home. But that day was not yet.

He spoke to his fellow servants very little, for his accent, even after so many years, still marked him as English, and there were those who could not forgive anyone who had fought against the French. But after six months here, the other grooms had come to accept him – to them, he was Ralph Smith, former foot soldier, a man who cared more for horses than people.

He finished his work for the day, and set out to walk the short distance to the local tavern, to drink, as he did most days, just enough ale to blur his senses, so that sleep became possible. It was not a solution, but it was what he could do now. In the tavern, he settled at his usual table, and the barmaid brought him his ale, unasked, and also dropped a tattered copy of a Paris newspaper onto his table.

“I thought you might want to read it, seeing as you can read. Some self-important official left it here this morning, when he stopped for a while between stage coaches.”

He nodded his thanks, and handed her the coin for his ale. He wasn’t sure that he did want to read it – after all, newspapers usually contained more bad news than good, and he had enough dark thoughts in his head already. Still, he’d not considered the world outside the chateau stables for many months, and curiosity stirred.

He sipped the ale, and picked up the paper. The headlines were all about the ongoing implementation of the requirements of the Treaty of Paris, which had been signed in November, apparently. That was good, assuming it lasted – there had been enough war… But war wasn’t something he wanted to read about.

He turned the pages, looking at the advertisements for tailors and modistes, for the latest medical devices and medicines, and the like. Then he came to the section where any person who paid the fee could place an advertisement, or whatever they wished to be printed. His eye was caught, at first, by all of the advertisements for horses, but he shook his head – as a groom, he couldn’t afford his own horse!

Just below those, however, were a strange collection of messages – people looking for relatives they had lost contact with, and the like. He read them, curious, feeling, just for a moment, more connected to the living world by those tiny windows into other people’s lives. They were almost like a performance at the theatre – pretending to be real, quite convincingly.

Then, he reached the last message on that page.

The advertisement was larger than many of them, and the words were stark.

‘The English Duke of Grimstoke died in August of this year. Anyone knowing the whereabouts of his son and heir, last known to be in France, is asked to contact Saint Pierre et Fils, Men of Business, Paris.’

He stared at it, waiting for the grief, waiting for any feeling at all, but none came, he had no feelings in the day-to-day world any more – only the anguish of the ghosts in his dreams was real.

He had not intended to go back for years, perhaps never, but now… He might not have any emotions left, but he still had a sense of duty.

He lifted the ale, and swallowed the rest in one long gulp.

It was time for his life to change. Perhaps he needed to look at those advertisements for horses after all.