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The Lock |
| Written by WD CJ | |
| Tuesday, 20 May 2008 | |
 Susanna
had always counted herself lucky. Unlike most working class
women, who married fishermen or tavernkeepers and raised up crowds of
children that found jobs as early as possible, she, at sixteen, had
learned to keep herself alive. Her line of work was hard and
often dangerous - a man's job if ever there was one - and could not
have been more disagreeable to her parents. But it made her
proud. She had climbed to the top incredibly quickly, and the
growling disapproval of her parents had ceased to be an obstacle.
They, Suzie reflected, had protested even three years ago, when she'd
found work at a tavern. Skinny, shy, overly polite, she had
listened to them preach about how she could continue school, how she
could leave the fishing village and be someone. "Are you
pregnant?" they had asked. What an awful question. She'd
found the courage to scream, "Am I some *****?" But there was no
way to answer their questions. Not without the truth.The idea had come from Sandy, the tavernkeeper's son. "I'll teach you everything you could know about horses." It had been the promise of a love-struck ten-year-old. Years later, Suzie was finally ready to listen. She'd had a lunatic's dream: to work for the stables of King Alexander II. To plan the purchases of his horses, to break his colts and fill their water tubs. To be someone. A year and six months after beginning work as a dishwasher at the Grey Hound, Suzie had learned to calculate the healthy amount of feed and concentration of rich grains for any horse. She could ride well and had gained experience in treating most common equine medical conditions. Sandy no longer cared for the horses boarded in his father's huge black barn but had secretly turned them over to Suzie. The Grey Hound had burned to the ground one month later. A crowd had gathered to watch the flames, to offer help. Suzie had slipped into the nearby barn as she realized that a trap was closing on her. She did not trust her year and a half of experience enough to want to try for work in the King's stable, but now she had no way to keep on learning in secret, no excuse to keep herself from returning to school and to her parents' wishes. But the room had been filled with horses - horses with strong bones in their legs, with shapely hooves and the bloodlines of racers. There was one way out, she knew. Dusk had drifted in; light from the dying flames outside had bounced on the stable wall across from the doorway. Hooves thudded. And Suzie had smiled at the spirit of the beasts. She could tell that the smoke in the air was really the scent of the bridges she was about to burn. Suzie’s face crawled into a devilish smile as she remembered the thrill of the plan. She had smuggled supplies - money, a cloak, a little water - from her house and hidden in the barn, waiting for complete darkness. But Sandy’s mother had come into the barn right as Suzie was preparing to saddle a sturdy horse. Suzie had fled the barn through the back door and hidden, stealing brief glances through a window. The woman had called for Sandy, spent time looking for something, and finally, thinking the barn empty, sat down and wept. Suzie had felt awful for her; the woman had just lost the financial security of her family. By the time the woman left, the stars had been visible in the black sky. Suzie had looked on the saddle rack where she’d left the money in her hurry to hide, under the blanket of her chosen mount - but it was gone. The wife of the tavernkeeper must have thought it a gift, she’d reflected bitterly. It was almost enough to cut off her way out. But not quite enough. Suzie had left that night, leading the horse behind houses and to the road, without a single coin. Back then, feeling had had control over her. All she had done had been driven by ‘the heart’. It was adrenaline, not willpower, that had kept her hands steady on the leather for three hours straight. By the time exhaustion had blurred her mind, the heavy cloak had surrendered to the wet cold night and a wild mist had frightened from her any appetite. Suzie had been afraid of losing her way in the blindness, afraid also of what crawled below the fog in the tall grass of what appeared to be a huge field. But she’d given in to the damp depression. Slipping her limbs, which were chilled and stiff to the point of numbness, off of the chestnut’s back, she hit the ground hard. A raw pain had wrapped her ankle and she’d stumbled back, cursing the world. The ticking noise of grass stalks bent aside had made her cold with fear. Taking no chances, she’d climbed wearily into the leather saddle for the night. Her last thought before sleep numbed her had been that the horse, at least, had been paid for. About an hour later, she’d awoken, with most of her body cramped. Determinedly she’d dismounted, unlatched and threw off the heavy saddle, and sprawled herself across the horse’s back. The thoroughbred had taken a step, and Suzie had almost slid off. It had been a moment of revelation. There was no means of securing the horse in the field, and no trees were in sight. She had no idea how far she’d come into the flatness, and to go back until a post was found seemed unthinkable. Suzie had observed bitterly that the sun was rising, as a jolt of pain from the injured ankle had brought her, once again, out of her sleep. She’d felt strands of her own hair clinging to the condensation on her face. All of her body, and the horse’s body as well, was soaked with dew. She’d found herself unable to return to sleep. Drying the horse’s back with her hands, she replaced the saddle - which, she’d discovered, was dripping wet. It was that day that Suzie had found directions to the capitol and arrived within four hours. The rest was history. To the horse that had carried her from the fishing village, she gave the name Exit. The gate of twisted iron swung open without touching the stones. The man returning amid the clatter of hooves was not someone whom Susanna recognized, but his horse belonged to the royal stable. Susanna quickly observed the limp of the chestnut Jueves, ridden now by a squire. The man dismounted, and Susanna called for a stable boy. The apprentice appeared and began unbuckling the numerous throatlatches, breastplates. “Suzie!” he called. She looked up from Jueves’ hind leg. The boy, hiding a smile, pointed to an ugly sore on a black horse’s cheek. Susanna rested her eyes on the red blister. “Ah...grape extract, then put him away. He’ll be fine.” The boy frowned. “The purple stuff,” clarified Susanna. “Just smear a little on.” The boy scooped some on his finger. “Did you hear about Reeves?” Susanna felt Jueves’ hoof for heat. “No.” The kid smirked. “He insisted on using his own bridle for this horse. I tried to convince him not to...but do you think he’d listen? Now Don must have some headache; the damn thing is just too small.” Susanna had to laugh. Like most of the young boys whose well-positioned parents managed to find them work in the royal stables, the kid was lighthearted, if not extremely knowledgable, desiring to amuse as well as to impress. This one, Ben, she had chosen to keep on as her only helper while the other horse boys were let go. It had taken a year to prove how ready she was to be mostly in control of the King’s herd. A man of less determination and skill would have needed five years or a decade to earn that trust. Susanna led Jueves to a clean stall and helped Ben to cool down the other horses, checking for other injuries. “Keep an eye on Jueves and be sure that no one uses him,” she ordered, picking up her cloak. Ben leaned his broom against the wall. “You’re leaving?” Susanna saddled Exit. “I’ve started work at Philippa’s, afternoons. I have to pay off my rent.” “I thought you rented a house.” “ Until last week. I left...it was too expensive and more than I needed anyway. Besides, the landlord and I couldn’t agree on anything. Now I’ve got a room at the tavern.” “Philippa’s no place for - for you Suzie. You could just pay cash...” “They said they won’t take it. They need Help.” Suzie loosened the reins and rode out. At Philippa’s Tavern, Susanna tethered Exit, removed her dirty boots, and changed into a clean skirt in her upstairs room. Here, as well as in the stable, the dress code was ‘non-restrictive’. Her skirts showed off her lower legs, wrapped always in leather or warm, colorful tights. Her shoes were soft and blunt-toed, and she favored jackets over cloaks. Three, four, and five o’ clock passed slowly as Susanna waited tables, carried drinks. It was tedious; drunkards and loud, sex-hungry men filled the room with their voices and obnoxious laughter and frustrated waitresses snapped out orders to the kitchen. And Susanna embraced it. Inside the dingy room she saw a crowd that could offer what she’d not had in a long time: a sort of family, and a bit of a party. TBC... Copyright 2008 WD CJ |
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