Tapp Castle

The flooded river had delayed them an entire week. Whitlow hurried them through the next few towns to make up for lost time. He wanted to get back home before it started to snow. The towns were getting bigger and more populated, some of them already having a herbalist. Due to this, while the people had money to spare for a consultation with Doctor Whitlow, most would rather visit the local drugstore. In some cases, Whitlow would just pass through without stopping because he knew he wouldn't get any clients.

During those days, Whitlow would badger Vardimann to sing again. He soon found out that while Vardi liked to sing, he didn't like a large audience. He would only do so if they were on the road, with just the two of them and the ponies.

Every night, Vardi would look up with begging eyes, silently asking to share the bed. And every night, Whitlow would ignore him and roll over. It was easy to ignore puppy eyes when they came from a fully-grown man. Though there was one time when it was raining buckets, and he found it harder to ignore Vardi when he looked like a drowned dog, with his white shirt plastered to his biceps.

Eventually, it was a nice, sunny day with a brisk wind that ruffled the long meadow grass. Vardimann stared at a stone castle keep on a hill. The map had called it Tapp Castle. At three floors high, this was easily the largest structure he had ever seen. The open doors were tall enough that the wagon could pass through without a pause. Inside, Vardimann eagerly looked around, only to find they were still outside. "It's just a big wall." He scowled suspiciously at Whitlow. "You lied to me."

Whitlow elbowed him. "Be patient. We're only inside the castle, not the keep. I guarantee your jaw will drop then." It was a pity this castle was a bit small for it's kind, or he'd be able to point out the rooms inside the walls and a tall tower. But these were only thick enough to stand on.

He directed the ponies to the stables. A stable lad, knowing his habits, ran up. "The baron is out with his falcons at the moment. He's been complaining that you're late."

"Thank you." Whitlow flipped the boy a coin. He was a little tight on cash these days, feeding two people, but he couldn't bring himself to be stingy in this case. "You grew again."

The boy's dirty cheeks flushed. "I'm hoping it will end soon. I'm already tall enough, and my knees hurt."

Vardimann used the ponies to judge his height. "Sorry lad, but you've still got some growing to do. You're only as tall as I am, but I never got growth pain." He chuckled at the boy's groans.

Whitlow gave Vardi a slap on the head and told the stable lad, "Can you tell the steward to free up a room for my assistant while I show him around?" The boy nodded. The men jumped down from the wagon, handing over the reins.

Whitlow pulled Vardimann over to the keep hall. Vardi opened his mouth and finally shut up as he gaped at the large room. The keep hall took up over half of the first floor, with the cellar door and kitchens over to the side. Thick red rugs covered the stone floor, and long tables were being set out in a square u-shape. Colourful tapestries hung between the windows, and a fire crackled merrily in a large fireplace. Polished oak beams crossed the ceiling, dangling a single-tiered chandelier. The view was fantastic.

Vardimann looked at Whitlow and pointed up. "I wanna climb it. Can I climb it?"

Whitlow didn't do the usual cuff on the head and instead directly pulled his hair. "Of course you can't! Just how old are you, still climbing everything?" The short brown hair slipped between his fingers. He muttered "how inconvenient."

Vardimann skipped over to the tapestries, careful not to get in anyone's way. Most depicted hunting scenes, of dogs and falcons hunting down boars and deer and ducks. He only studied the first one and skimmed through the rest. Then there were two tapestries that together completed an idyllic scene, where lords and ladies in flowing clothes relaxed on the shores of a lake. He touched a figure of a man strumming a lute, surrounded by giggling women. It looked quite crowded.

"Do you like it?" Vardimann jumped.

It was just Whitlow. "I guess." Vardi lowered his hand. "I've never seen embroidery on this scale before. It's a bit different."

A sharp female voice pierced their ears. "Just a bit different? Are you belittling my work?"

A tall young woman stormed over fiercely. Her pink dress fell to the ankles with a moderately tight cut. Loose enough that one did not need to lose a pound or two to fit, but tight enough to show her curves. The sleeves elongated at the wrists and draped down to her knees. She wore a hat with two cones, also bright pink.

Vardimann blinked and remembered an image he saw in a church. "She-devil?"

Whitlow covered that talkative mouth, but it was too late. The woman stopped in her tracks. She stared at Vardimann, her hands clenching into fists, long nails digging into her palms.

Vardimann pulled the hand off his mouth. "I'm really sorry, I meant it as a compliment."

The woman's eyes widened in anger and disbelief. Whitlow tried to placate her. "Tina, he's a bit of a country bumkin, so if you could just…"

Tina took a step forward, her left hand unclenching to grasp a dagger on her hip.

Vardimann turned to his friend. "I think I'm going to run now. Bye!"

It was Whitlow's turn to feel disbelief, as he watched a cotton pink dress flutter furiously after a brown blur, both going at top speed. Tina's long legs were normally quite fast, even with those clothes, but Vardi was unexpectedly even quicker. He seemed to have plenty of practice. Which should not be so unexpected.

Cornered at the other side of the hall, Vardimann didn't hesitate and jumped onto a table and then up into the rafters. He dodged around struts like a show dog, before dropping to the ground and sprinting out the door.

The castle staff wisely waited until their lady was outside before applauding. Whitlow could only hide his face.

"Rather interesting companion you have there."

Whitlow raised his head to see a familiar man dressed in red and black velvet, which complimented his wavy black hair. "Steward Nathan."

Nathan slung an arm around his shoulders. "No need to be so formal. Aren't we rather familiar with each other by now?" Whitlow looked at the floor, but didn't move away. Nathan was a knight and well built. His arm was quite heavy.

"Vardi is just my assistant. I picked him up a few weeks ago."

"I see." Nathan dragged him out of the hall. "But it's unusual for you to stroke your assistant's hair. Is he-"

Whitlow interrupted. "I was pulling it. He's like a bratty child, with no social manners whatsoever."

Nathan smiled. "That's right, you don't like immature people so much." He lowered his arm. "I got a new chessboard from the city. You should visit me later, for a game."

Whitlow's eyes flickered towards his face, than away. "Sure. I'll come by tonight."

Meanwhile, on the next floor, Vardimann found himself running between many, many books. He really wanted to have a look, maybe have a read, but the pattering footsteps behind him kept him moving. He was pretty sure she didn't actually mean him harm, but it was hard to stop running.

Vardimann turned a corner. Right in front of him, there was a ladder. He crashed into it at full speed.

The abnormally loud clattering in the quiet library made Tina slow down. She had already sheathed her knife. Around the bookcase, she saw a man sprawled on the floor. "Are you okay?"

Vardimann nodded and touched his shoulder. "I'm fine, just a bit sore." The ladder had caught his right arm and yanked, but it only felt a bit tender.

"You should get Lukin to take a look anyway. Hang on, I'll get him." Vardimann wanted to protest, but Tina was already gone.

Vardimann scratched his head and looked around. The sun highlighted dust motes as the floated in the air. The room was full of shelves from floor to ceiling, most full with books. A few shelves at eye height had trinkets, such as animal skulls and carvings. Tapestries and animal heads lined the walls. "Somebody loves animals. Or rather, loves hunting them. There's a difference." He took a book and sat down to read.

A few moments later, Whitlow and Tina came in. At first, he had thought Vardi was fine. He was rather sturdy, after all. But when the doctor saw him sitting in a window seat, favouring his right arm and a book in his left hand, he got angry.

"What happened? Show me your arm."

Vardimann lowered the book. "I'm fine. My arm just got caught in the ladder, so my shoulder's a bit sore."

Whitlow glanced at the ladder. "Even if your shoulder isn't dislocated, you could have torn a ligament. Take off your vest and let me look."

Vardimann sighed and took off his vest. The bright sunlight illuminated his white shirt and tanned skin.

Tina suddenly had the urge to pick up a needle.

Whitlow probed the right shoulder with his fingers. "Turn around." Vardi turned and let him poke his tense back. "Well, it seems to be all right. But don't do any heavy lifting – or climbing – today. If it's still sore tomorrow, tell me."

Vardimann nodded. "All right."

"Relax." Whitlow patted his back intimately. "Just being sore isn't that serious." He picked up the book Vardi had been reading. "I didn't know you could read."

"I was taught a bit. English and Latin."

Tina pushed Whitlow's shoulder. "What was it you called him? Country bumpkin?"

"He grew up on a farm!"

Tina crossed her arms. "Then explain to me how he can read when only the upper and middle classes are taught."

Vardimann explained. "My mother taught me how to read from the bible, both the English and Latin versions. I was also taught a few words by a friend."

Whitlow leaned on the side of the window seat. "If I had known you could read, I would have just given you a list instead of trying to teach you everything verbally."

"That might not have been easier. I tend to remember things that people have told me, rather than what was written."

"Huh."

Tina squeezed herself in between them. "This is not a place for man to man conversations." Whitlow looked up at a deer's head skeptically.

"You." Vardimann found himself on the end of a pointing finger. "What's your name?"

"Vardimann."

"Vardimann. What, exactly, did you mean by my tapestries being "just a bit different?""

The man shifted in his seat. "Well, I can tell the embroidery is very good. The stitches are so small. It's just that most of them were about hunting, and I don't really like hunting."

Tina pouted. "I don't want to show so many hunting scenes either! I have so many others that are different, but my husband loves animals. He insists that the only ones in the hall are those." She stood abruptly. "Do you want to see some of my other tapestries?"

Vardimann shrugged and nodded. Tina grabbed his hand. "All right come on. You too, Lukin." She towed them upstairs, where the baron's family quarters were located. They entered a room with large windows. Tapestries lined the walls, some overlapping. Stacks of fabric lay covered in a corner. In the center of the floor was a wide loom, as big as two children lying side by side.

Whitlow had seen them before, so he just leaned on the door frame. Vardimann wandered a circuit around the room. As she had said, there was more variety here. Banquets, gardens, scenes of a town celebrating the harvest…he looked through the window. In the town below, he could see people busily repairing the ditches. The constant rain had caused them to collapse. From above, it was very clear how much damage had been done. It had been relatively dry for a while now, but the repairs still weren't finished.

"Tina." She looked up from the loom. "All your scenes are happy ones. Why is that?"

"Because happy things should be recorded and shown for others to see."

Vardimann nodded. "Does that mean people shouldn't know about bad things?" On the other side of the room, Whitlow stiffened. Vardimann continued in a strangely dull tone. "Do you like pretending that bad things never happen, that people never die? Or are you just that quick to forget?"