Several days passed by in a blur.

  Matilda did little of meaning throughout those long and boring days. Instead, she was beset by the pain of headaches and nausea. Ever since she’d woken strangely that fateful day, her mind would intermittently flare with aching, causing her great grief. Nothing could cure her, it seemed. Not even the castle’s alchemist could remedy her affliction.

  Puzzled, he concluded that she was taxing her mind with un-womanly thoughts and if she wanted to get her humours in balance, she simply needed to stop thinking about matters beyond her simple mind. The prick.

  Matilda just hoped it wasn’t anything fatal. Her uncle had died of a headache, after all. True, it might’ve been the bandit’s hammer cracking open his skull that did him in, but it was the same region.

  The strangest thing about her headaches was the sensation of forgetting something important that accompanied it. Perhaps her subconscious was trying to tell her something? Well, even if it was, she still couldn’t recall what it was exactly that she’d forgotten. No matter how much she wracked her mind or retraced her steps.

  Hopefully they’d pass soon. The headaches, that was.

  Raising her eyes from her introspection, Matilda stared glumly out beyond the open door into the inner courtyard of the castle grounds and took in the world beset by a raging storm. Torrential rain pounded down on the stones and dirt, turning all and sundry to mud. It was deafening. Matilda could barely see the far wall across the way through the sheets of rain. Like a flood, the rivers of rainwater flowed down the muddy paths of the fortress, snaking their way down the hill towards the gates at its base. Miniature lakes formed in places where the water grew trapped.

  Few braved the elements this day. Only the foolish or brave. Or those with a job to do.

  Castle guards huddled around burning braziers atop the hoarding covered walls as they watched the lands for those who might take advantage of the blindness to infiltrate and conduct wicked acts.

  Matilda doubted any would bother, but what did she know?

  Bracing herself against the cold, Matilda shut the door behind her and hitched up her skirt to race across the waterlogged courtyard to the blacksmith’s forge across the way. While she’d loved to have spent all day inside, preferably next to a warm fire, she’d been saddled with fetching something important from Jacob, the blacksmith.

  Almost as soon as Matilda stepped out from beneath the awning above the door to the lower kitchens, the downpour soaked her to the bone. Shivering, she raced towards the warmth and shelter of the forge.

  Today it rang silent.

  Thankfully, while she didn’t see the blacksmith, the fire he maintained was still lit, if lowly. Matilda hurried over towards it. The warmth was a balm upon her frozen soul. As she held her shaking hands towards the fire, Matilda looked around the sooty forge for any sign of where its owner was or had gone.

  A deep snore from behind the forge answered her question.

  Curious, she looked behind it and spied the older, bearded blacksmith. Somehow he’d wedged himself between the warm bricks of the forge and the walls of the smithy. It didn’t look all that comfortable. Warm, sure, but not very kind on his back.

  Matilda kicked the blacksmith’s soot-caked boot a few times with increasing force and ire until the gruff man awoke. Jacob jerked awake with a swear, having smacked his head on the forge. Muddy eyes blinked from a soot-covered face. With a tired rub of his face, the blacksmith wearily leveraged himself out from his hiding place.

  “Blastit, woman, whaddaya what?” Jacob grumbled. “Can’t ye let a man sleep in peace?”

  Scratching his ragged, matted beard, Jacob made his way over to a nearby table under Matilda’s unimpressed stare and snatched up a half-empty cup of stale wine. After downing it, he searched around for more with little success, much to his annoyance. A pungent scent of sour wine wafted off the man.

  “No, I can’t,” Matilda said. “The farrier sent me to fetch the Lord’s horseshoes from you. The horseshoes which should’ve been finished weeks ago. Apparently.”

  “Bah, coward, sending a woman to do his work.”

  Matilda rolled her eyes. “He said he stopped by for them weeks ago, but you were drunk out of your skull again and threw a hammer at him. I doubt he was too keen to relieve that experience. You’re lucky he only sent me and didn’t take it up with the Lord of the castle. They are the Lord’s horseshoes you were supposed to be making.”

  The blacksmith snorted. “The coward wouldn’t dare. Else I’d tell the Lord all about his... let’s say, less than noble proclivities.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The man’s a thief,” Jacob grunted as he tried to shake a few more drops out of the pitcher of wine in his hands. “And a cheat at dice, too!”

  “Whatever. I still need those horseshoes. So you’d better hand them over! I’m not above taking it up with the Lord. I’m not getting in trouble for your mess.”

  “Now, now. There’s no need for that. I’ve made the horseshoes alright. It’s just that...” The blacksmith trailed off, shaking his empty cup meaningfully. “In my old age, I’ve gone and forgotten where I’ve put them. A cup or two of wine would sure help to jog my memory.”

  Matilda narrowed her eyes. “Are you blackmailing me, old man?”

  “Nothing like that. Nothing like that. But who knows how long it’d take me to find these horseshoes? Surely finding a little wine for my poor soul is better than the both of us getting in trouble.”

  “And where, pray tell, do you expect me to find you such a cup or two? Surely you don’t expect me to filch a jug from the cellars?” Matilda paused. “Again.”

  Jacob chuckled. It did little to help the stench. “Where you get it isn’t my problem. Just that you do. And don’t think of it as filching, my dear, think of it as just acquiring me the appropriate fuel to keep the forge running,” he said, grinning. “Just as the fire needs wood, so too I need wine to hammer metal into shape.”

  Matilda rolled her eyes once again. “Fine. I’ll get you your wine. If only to shut you up.” Turning, she stormed out of the forge. Over her shoulder, she yelled. “And you better have those horseshoes ready when I get back, or else!”

  The blacksmith’s hoarse laughter followed Matilda out of the forge.

  Racing once more across the inner courtyards under the bombardment of rain, Matilda wrenched open the door to the lower kitchens and descended back into the depths of the keep.

  Having been built atop a large, rocky hill, the castle that Matilda worked in boasted a fair number of rooms underground. These ranged from the kitchens and servants’ quarters to a few cellars, pantries, armories, storehouses, and a modest dungeon. If one wanted to, they could traverse most of the main keep without ever having to step outside, with a few exceptions. However, few had much reason to be in the bowels of the castle.

  On her way to the cellar where the wine was stored, Matilda stopped by the kitchens to warm herself up. There she ran into a rather irate Hetty who was helping to prepare the evening meals.

  Earlier, Matilda had ditched the other girl, leaving her to the not-so-tender mercies of the head cook. That decision had backfired as it left her as the only one to deal with the farrier’s request. As such, Hetty was entirely unsympathetic to Matilda’s waterlogged and bedraggled state.

  Matilda offered her an apologetic grin before hurrying to the stairs leading further down into the cellars to avoid the head cook.

  Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

  Decades of use had worn the steps down and as Matilda descended them, they echoed loudly with the sound of her footfalls. The darkness below opened up to welcome her. It yawned like some gateway to the underworld; a shivering domain of ghosts. Matilda snatched a torch from the wall, letting the flickering flames light her path down into the depths of the castle.

  Reaching the base of the stairs, she glanced down the long corridor in front of her, taking in its rough walls and worn doors.

  She never liked venturing down here. It always made her feel like she was exploring the guts of some great granite golem. In all honesty, she was never much of an explorer. The furthest she’d traveled was to the inn the next town over.

  A lance of pain flashed through her skull.

  Matilda staggered to a wall. Bracing herself against it, she waited for the pain to pass.

  However, as she was waiting, the sound of a hushed conversation drifted into her ears from down the corridor. For a second, Matilda thought she was hallucinating as no other should have reason to be down here, but as the conversation continued, she realized she knew the voices. They belonged to a pair of guards who’d served the castle for years.

  But what were they doing down here? She thought. There were no patrols scheduled down here, and the only postings were before the dungeon, but she’d not heard of any prisoners being brought in. And that was the sort of thing the rumor mill would’ve known before even the Lord or Lady of the castle.

  Hang on. From the sound of it, the voices were coming from the direction of the dungeons.

  Curious and curiouser.

  Matilda placed the torch aside before creeping closer on silent feet. Upon arriving at the corner that separated her from the dungeons, she pressed herself up against it and carefully peeked around to spy upon the voices beyond. As she’d thought, the voices belonged to a pair of guards she’d seen around the castle. They were posted up either side of the iron gate that led to the dungeon cells.

  Glancing beyond the pair chatting away, Matilda spied a lonesome figure huddled within one of the cells. It was hard to make out their features in the low light, but the curious maid spied several strange and striking features as the flames danced.

  Skin like pale moonlight shone under the amber glow, while eyes of blue crystals glinted. Locks of spun gold hung limp around their angular face full of dirt and grime. The prisoner was tall and lithe. Even bound by ghastly rags and clinking chains, they possessed an inhuman quality about them, like an elf from a folktale of fairies.

  Matilda’s attention was drawn back to the guards as one spoke louder.

  “This post sucks,” one guard grumbled loudly. “When are they going to execute this freak?”

  The other guard looked at his companion and sighed. “I don’t know, Matthias. When the Lord gets back from his hunt, maybe?”

  “What is it even?” Matthias the guard asked, peering into the cell over his shoulder. He shuddered. “It’s so pale and thin. You think it’s one of those Frankish folk?”

  “Why would it be a Frank?”

  Matthias looked back at his companion with a nervous look. “Well, I’ve heard they deal in... Devilry,” he whispered.

  The other guard looked at him in annoyance. “Devilry? Who did you hear that from? Nicolaus the bard? You know he tells tall-tales, right? Every second word out of his mouth is a lie.”

  “Never mind who I heard it from, Peter! I swear it’s true! They fornicate with demons and produce offspring with horns and pale skin!”

  The so-named Peter looked at Matthias with a look of deep annoyance. “He doesn’t have horns.”

  “But he has pointed ears! Just like the Devil himself!”

  Peter sighed once more. “Heavens preserve me,” he whispered to himself before speaking louder to Matthias. “Can’t we go one shift, just one, without you screaming all the damn time about the Devil or some other nonsense? I swear you talk about it more than the priest does! If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you’re practicing for a place in the clergy! Fat chance they’ll- “ Peter trailed off as he noticed a shifting shadow down the hall.

  “They’ll what?” Matthias asked, affronted.

  “Shh, did you see that?” Peter asked, pointing down the hall. His other hand inched towards the iron club on his waist.

  Matthias squinted as he looked down towards the shadowed corner which hid Matilda, unbeknown to him. “See what? More Demons, you think?” He licked his lips nervously, eyes scanning furtively.

  “No, you fool! Stay here!”

  Grabbing a torch from the wall and his club from his belt, Peter the guard slowly approached the corner, keeping his eyes on the shifting shadows beyond. His heart beat loudly in his chest to match the rhythm of his footfalls. Upon reaching the corner, he swung around it hurriedly and cast new light down it.

  It was empty.

  Peter’s flinty eyes scanned the long hallway intently, flickering between the wall sconces and shuttered doors dotting its length. Seeing nothing, he turned to glance down the opposite way, but saw nothing there either. He waited for a moment longer, listening for any sound of someone hurrying away or creeping about. However, just as his eyes saw nothing, so too did his ears hear nothing.

  “Hey! Did you see something?” Matthias called.

  Peter squinted suspiciously back towards the lower kitchens. “No, nothing. Must’ve been my imagination.” Turning, he made his way back towards the cells.

  Down the darksome hallway, with her back pressed to the inside of a hastily shut door, Matilda let out a ragged sigh of relief as she heard the guard depart.

  That’d been close, she thought. What had gotten into her? Snooping around and eavesdropping on guards like that? That wasn’t like her. Not at all.

  Matilda winced as her head ached something fierce.

  When the pain faded, she chanced a look around the room she’d hid within. It was the pantry, luckily enough. Searching around, she soon found the castle’s supply of fresh wine, and from it she took the fullest one she could find before making her escape back up to the kitchens as quickly and quietly as she could.

  Delivering the wine to Jacob had been rather easy, even if it meant having to sneak her way past the head cook. Thankfully, her friend, Hetty, still liked her enough to distract the old crone for her, although it had cost Matilda a few favors in return.

  Of course, it’d have been too easy if that was the end of it.

  The blacksmith, upon receiving his purloined jug of wine, had simply tossed her the set of horseshoes and bid her to deliver them to the farrier posthaste. Annoyingly, there was little Matilda could do to avoid the task as, now that they were officially in her possession, any failure to get them to the farrier rested sole on her. Same too with the punishment.

  Thankfully, the farrier’s stables weren’t far. Even in the downpour, she made it there rather quickly.

  The farrier was a weasel of a man. Not just in his looks, but in his personality as well.

  As soon as he saw Matilda, he sneered up at her from the table he sat at and let his ferret-like eyes roam over her soaked body. “Well, well, well. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this? Here to spend some time on your back with ol’ Oskar, are you? A girl like you oughta know what a real man feels like once in your life.”

  The grin he gave her was full of rotten teeth and foul breath.

  No wonder Jacob threw a hammer at him. Matilda was tempted to do so herself. Instead, she simply gave him a look of pure disdain.

  “You wish,” she spat. “Not even the most desperate of whores would lie with you even for all the money in the kingdom.”

  The farrier’s face turned red at her cutting remarks. A scowl dominated his features and his lips pulled back to spit foulness. However, before he could do so, Matilda tossed the bundle of horseshoes heavily into his lap.

  “Here, the horseshoes you were meant to fetch weeks ago. The Lady of the castle isn’t very impressed with you, so I’ve heard. You’d best get them fitted before the Lord returns or he might be liable to fire you.” Matilda paused. “Or better yet, don’t. You getting fired would improve the view.”

  Oskar the farrier blustered. “That wasn’t my fault! That cantankerous blacksmith wouldn’t give them to me! And he threatened to bash my head in!”

  “I wonder why?”

  “You tell the Lady that I- “ Oskar paused and squinted at Matilda suspiciously. “Wait, how do you know the Lord isn’t in the castle right now? He told only his most loyal of retainer, such as myself, that he was leaving on a hunt!”

  Matilda snorted. “Most loyal? You? You were caught stealing, not once, but twice in the last month.”

  “Lies! Slander! Did the blacksmith tell you that?!” Oskar snarled, rising from his rickety seat.

  “Maybe,” Matilda shrugged. “But what does it matter? Did you truly think that us maids wouldn’t know the Lord was out? Who do you think cooks his meals? Washes his clothes? Cleans his chambers? We were the first to know, you idiot. Long before you even. I bet you only found out when he took the horses when he was leaving. Am I right?”

  The farrier’s frustrated silence was answer enough.

  “Moron.”

  Oskar’s face flared with humiliation and anger. For a second, it looked like he was going to strike the young maid before him, but his better sense prevailed. Snatching up the bundle of horseshoes, he stormed away deeper into the stable.

  Matilda sighed in relief and eased the dagger she held back into the sheath on her waist.

  With the departure of her oh-so-welcoming host, she turned to leave. However, just as she was doing so, something caught her eye at the base of the table that Oskar had been sitting at. Lying on the muddy floor were a pair of dull lockpicks. They must have been knocked down when the farrier hastily rose.

  A sudden urge to take them overwhelmed Matilda. After making sure Oskar had truly left, she bent down and snatched them up before hurrying out of the stable, making her way back through the downpour for the warmth of the kitchens and the company of her friend, as prickly as she might be at the moment.

  In her palm rested the cool metal of a lockpick.

  Why she took them, she didn’t know. Only the dull pulse of a headache was her answer.