to see that you are—awake. How are you feeling? Confused, I warrant and rightly so. Hungry too, I doubt not. Anneke!” he bellowed the last, causing me to flinch back into my pillows. The sharp eyes in that round face missed nothing and the shout was not repeated. “I shall just see to it, shall I?” and he whisked from the room with an agility that belied his bulk, to return a few moments later with a bowl and spoon. He sat on the edge of the bed and began to feed me. The bowl held not the broth that I had expected, but something dark and only lukewarm, with an unusual salty-sweet flavor, rich and delicious. I delayed my questions until we had finished, then asked, “Why am I bound?” in a hoarse voice, faint still, but better than a whisper.
“You’ve been ill, Kit, very ill, for a very long time, and at times quite violent. This is for your own sake. We feared you would do yourself some further injury.”
“Will you free me now?”
“No, not yet, but soon Kit, that I promise. Now, do you remember aught of what has happened to you? Aught at all?”
“Not even being Kit,” I said and found myself grinning weakly, possibly with relief at finding my captor so friendly. “Am I Kit? And who might he be?” My voice was stronger now, a husky, light baritone.
“It will be better if you can remember on your own. Shall I read to you? No? Well, rest you then and I’ll look in on you anon.”
“An it please you, leave the candle.” The heavy man nodded and shut the door gently behind him.
I studied my surroundings. The chamber appeared to be windowless, as the fine hangings on the walls did not so much as sway, though I could hear the wind outside whistling around the corners of the house. The candle flame burned steady and tall, and the candle was expensive hard wax, not cheap tallow. The bed where I lay was adorned with the richest of hangings and the floor was covered over in peerless Turkey carpets which at home would be carefully kept on tables and chests, the floors making do with rushes or straw. I drew a sharp breath. Home! The memory was but a glimpse and try though I might, nothing more would come of it, so I returned to my contemplation of my prison. I could hear, faint and far away, voices and music, and beyond that the forlorn howls of wolves. Though I had not meant to sleep, I soon found a dulling lethargy stealing over me, drowning my will.
When I awoke I was in darkness once more. The candle had guttered out and the smell of the smoking wick brought a burdensome memory: the cavernous great cathedral, the scent of wax candles and incense, a show of outward piety rotted from within by secret vice. I could feel the alderman’s sweaty hands roaming my recoiling body, feel his hot, panting breath as he pawed the child that I had been—I stifled a cry at the memory and the sound of my own voice calmed me. Whatever it was, whenever it may have happened, it was not now. And then the memories were gone, vanished into shadow like the light of a blown-out candle. I knew that I had remembered something, but not what. I threw myself against the restraints as if I could physically grasp the memories, catch them and hold them if only I were free! In a frighteningly short time, I was too exhausted to move, and slumped in my bonds. A sheen of sweat covered me, chilling my flesh, so that my skin glistened in the sudden light of the candle the heavy-set man carried as he entered.
“Nicolas!” I called out and laughed. “Nicolas.”
“My dear young friend! You remember me! What—”
“No. No, I do but remember that that name goes with that face: I know you not.”
“But it is a beginning. And what have you been doing to so exercise yourself?” he asked, pulling a large handkerchief from the sleeve of his doublet and mopping at my brow.
“Remembering,” I said, wryly. He smiled at that and turned back to the door. When he returned to the bed he proceeded to feed me as before. As we finished a serving man entered bearing a tray laden with shaving apparatus. The servant shaved me and combed out the dark curls that lay over my shoulders, then retired.