Chapter 2

Sometimes I would take Jo along on some of my milder escapades, like tickling out the trout from a lively brook, or hunting for frogs in the marshes, but usually he was indifferent to our stated goals and would rather moon off examining the structures of nut seed leaf and branch. I most certainly never took him crag hopping as he had an aversion to heights of any sort, even avoiding steep stairways. I was busy from dawn until dark with my various pursuits and interests, even though I still found time to read every manuscript the Low Friars possessed. Even the ones in Persian, as I correctly assumed they wouldn’t be in the library unless they were very interesting.

I was a failure at Formal Music, much preferring the reels and rounds of the lands folk, Formal Music was an acquired- affectation, I would say. I would be surprised if anyone genuinely appreciated listening to Formal Music for it’s own bare aesthetic. I took a standard Italian Lute, and tortured it far beyond it’s traditional intentions to create some very appreciated and lively additions to the energy and excitement at the celebratory dances of the Landsmen which involve much more jumping and twirling about than the dull processions of the court dance.

I could tell by the faces and hesitations that the Low Friars had news of grave import which they felt was beyond my years to hear; I put paid to that notion by cornering one of the newer novitiates and intimating that I already knew of it, freeing his tongue to gossip. Not the details but the bare outline of it, my brother Griswal had committed unspeakable crimes unforgivable even to the High Church, and would be a supervised pennant for the rest of his life. The novitiate tittered that he was now castratta.

His name was never again mentioned within my hearing and most certainly not within the ken of my Sire.

I found a talent at the game boards, able to better use my soldiery in maneuvering about the gaming terrain than even seasoned captains and majors, and I kept my record of no lost outcome although from respect of my Sire I did not win our single encounter yet neither did I lose as I forced an inevitable draw, controlling his every response down that single pathway toward the inescapable end. He had the wit to be impressed and the confidence to not be threatened. After all, I had respected him by not winning over him.

I had managed to distill a very authoritative apple brandy, using some overly sweet and mushy apples which were perfect for a very strong producing mash. It had a kick above it’s rank and I am not my brother’s keeper. I didn’t object very much when Reggie confiscated my twice ice-distilled apple-Jack on the premise that I was too young for strong drink. He would have been drunk on something else, else. Perhaps not quite so very, though. I feel no guilt weighing on me however.

Reggie in his drunken dullardry contrived an elaborate trap for who knows whom involving two tubs of pig-slops, a steep stair and a tun of butter. Hearing the approach of a victim he raced up the greased stairway to completely lose his footing in the thick slather of fresh churned cream he himself had applied, striking his head on the corner of the still hard as stone stair slab splitting it open like a rotten turnip. I was crag-hopping, and had seven raptor eggs keeping warm against my belly, (only one from each nest) when I heard the peal of the high tower bell. I made my way home as quick as I could, to find the news stopping only to surrender the raptor eggs to the aviarist for incubation. There were actually two such, one for the raptors and one for the pigeons. I however found no challenge to acquiring pigeon eggs.