The creature turned his great sad liquid eyes toward Dominic, who stared into them for a
moment. He gasped. "Ben, Arnela, get those lanterns and bring them closer to its face—
there's something strange about this animal!"
Karay hugged her bear protectively. "Don't hurt him or frighten him. I'll never speak to any of
you again if you do!"
Ben reassured her. "I promise we won't. Let Dominic take a look at him—your bear is safe
with us, pal."
Plucking up his courage, Dominic sat as close to the bear as he could. Arnela and Ben held the
lanterns close while Karay hovered behind the bear, anxiety in her voice.
"What is it, Dominic, what d'you see? Oh, please tell me!"
The Facemaker of Sabada blinked as he gazed deep into the bear's eyes. He blinked again but
could not stop the tears that coursed down his face as he sobbed, "It's a man! A man
imprisoned in a bear's hide!"
The bear nodded its head, as far as the spiked collar would allow, and gave a long, anguished
groan.
Ned was invading Ben's thoughts. "Well, don't sit there gaping, get the poor wretch out!"
Arnela drew her sharp, hook-bladed knife. "I'll free him from that filthy skin!"
Karay held out her hand to the goatherd. "No, friend, I will. Give me the blade. See if you can
find soft cloth, or moss, then soak it in warm water. Oh, and have you got anything that'll cut
through his collar?"
Karay came around and took the bear's face in both hands. "Be quite still, trust me, I won't
harm you."
The bear pressed his nose against her forehead. "Mmmmmmmm." He lowered his head until it
was resting in her lap.
Arnela rummaged about and produced an old file. "I've filed many a misshapen hoof straight
with this."
With extreme care, Karay packed the inside of the collar with warm damp moss. Ben could
hear her teeth grinding as she muttered with barely controlled rage and fury, "This collar is
spiked on both sides. Filthy Razan scum! How could they do this to a human being? I'm glad
they're all dead. Glad!"
Arnela slid her hand under the collar and filed away at the green-encrusted copper rivet that
held it together. It did not take the sturdy goatherd long. With a single heave of both hands,
she bent the iron collar straight and flung it from her. "Go on, Karay, let's see what our bear
looks like!"
The girl's nimble fingers felt the row of tough rawhide stitches joining the head to the body.
She wiped away with a fresh cloth soaked in semihot water. Dried blood and matted fur parted
enough for her to see what she was doing properly. Stitch by stitch the sinewy yarn parted
until she had worked right around the neck with Arnela's knife. Shielding the head beneath by
placing her hand under the hide at the back of the nape, she sliced neatly upward toward the
top of the skull. All this time her patient lay quite still, never uttering a single sound. Arnela
had to help her to lift the bear's head skin free— the original bone was still inside the muzzle.
It was indeed a real man!
He sat in silence, tears brimming out of his deep brown eyes. His hair—long, greasy and
black as a raven's wing—had moulded itself to his head. He had a broken nose, and his skin
was like pale wax. A beard of whiskers grew from high on his cheekbones, almost masking
his lips. Around his neck were the scratches and scars left by the collar spikes. His teeth were
yellowed and stained but in good shape. It was hard to tell, but he looked to be around twenty
or so years of age. His eyes never once left Karay's face.
Ned shook his head in amazement. "Well, now I've seen everything!"
Ben agreed with the thought as he turned to Dominic. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking,
mate? Look at that face!"
Dominic had studied many faces before, and now his eyes roved over the features. "It's a good
face, Ben, a strong one. By the size of it, I'd say there is a very big man inside that bearskin.
I've seen faces like that in artwork in great churches and cathedrals—the faces of saints who
have suffered greatly."
Karay was hardly aware of Arnela taking the knife from her. The goatherd slit the skin at the
Karay whispered to him. "Who are you, can you speak, my friend?"
He touched his throat and made a low noise. "'Damuuuh!"
Dominic and Ben whooped together. "Adamo!"
A smile like the rising sun lit up Arnela's face. "The little boy from years ago, I knew it! I
knew it all along, Adamo, it had to be you!"
Adamo looked at the big woman—he almost smiled. A grunt of recognition passed his lips.
Then Karay took charge. "Why don't you all go and see if the road is open through the
woodlands. Adamo can't return to his uncle in Veron looking like this. I'll help him to clean
up. Arnela, could you put a fresh edge on your blade and leave it with me?"
The big woman understood. She stropped her knife vigorously on a leather strap, issuing
orders. "Ben, you'll find some herbal ointment I made in that little box on the ledge. It's as
good as any soap. Dom, heat more water. Here's an old hair slide, Karay, that'll make do for a
comb. Come on, Ned, we'll go and scout the path out. You lads can follow us!"
They surveyed the landscape in the bright morning sunshine from the elevated view of a high
snowbank created by the enormous landslide. Distant hills appeared fresh and green with the
lilac haze of heather patchworking them. Stream water glinted along newly diverted courses.
Down in the valleys, larks ascended, trilling in the clear air.
Ben listened to his dog's thoughts. "What a day! It makes life worthwhile. I'm glad our angel
saved us from the Flying Dutchman. Our friend the old comte and a lot of folk in these
regions are going to be very happy, now that we've found Adamo and got rid of the Razan
plague!"
Ben agreed mentally. "Aye, Ned, the mission is completed now. It makes me sad to think we'll
have to move on, but we could not afford to be seen here years from now, with everyone
growing older and us forever the same age."
Dominic looked at his friend's clouded blue eyes. "What's the matter, Ben? You look sad all
of a sudden."
Ben had no chance to answer. Ned knocked him flat in the snow. Sprawling on the boy's
chest, the black Labrador licked Ben's face furiously as he berated him mentally. "Haha, O
mournful moping master, the clever Ned banishes all miseries. I'll soon lick a smile back on
your face!"
Arnela and Dominic burst out laughing at the sight of Ben trying to wrestle Ned off and
pleading with him. "Yurgh! Gerroff, y'great sloppy hound! Look, I'm smiling, I'm happy! Let
me up, please!"
Arnela lifted the dog from her friend. "What's all this about?"
Ben struggled upright, dusting the snow from himself. "Dominic started it, marm. Ned was
just trying to put a smile on my face. Back, Ned, back! See, I'm happy again!"
The big woman tucked Ned under her arm as though he were a goat, and she set off back to
the cave. "Come on, you two. Let's see how our Adamo is looking now."
Karay was sitting outside the cave, enjoying the morning sun with Adamo. She waved as they
came scrunching through the snow. "Just take a peep at this handsome fellow!"
The young man's chee
ks coloured slightly. He gave a shy smile. Karay had given Adamo a
wash, shave and haircut.
Arnela gasped. "Surely this isn't the scraggy old bear we rescued from the Razan? He's got
skin like a peach, and look at the length of those eyelashes. Any maiden would give a bag of
gold to have eyelashes like that. Karay, I think you'd better hide Adamo from the ladies of
Veron when he gets back!"
The girl took Adamo's wide, powerful hand in hers. "I'll fight them if they even glance his
way! But he's not quite ready for public appearances yet. We haven't any decent clothing to fit
him! He's a big fellow, almost taller than you, Arnela, and broader across the shoulders.
Underneath that cloak of yours, which I borrowed for him, Adamo still has on the bearskin.
So he's still half man, half bear, eh, friend?"
Ben had only seen Adamo bent and shuffling in his role as a bear. He was taken aback when
the young man stood up straight. Karay was right: Adamo was a big fellow. He stayed solemn
for a moment, his soft brown eyes looking from one of them to the other. Then he gave an
enormous grin and spread both arms wide. The cloak parted, revealing him clad in the bear
hide from foot to neck. He danced comically to and fro, kicking up the wide, floppy pads that
encased his feet and waving his fur-coated arms round and round. Ned's delighted barks
mingled with the helpless laughter of the onlookers. Adamo performed an awkward bow and
said a single word, though he had difficulty in getting it out. "F ... frrr ... free!"
28
COMTE VINCENTE BREGON OF VERON SAT IN his gazebo at the centre of his beautiful
walled garden. Though it was mid-afternoon, he was still clad in his nightshirt and dressing
gown. He looked old and haggard. A small garden beetle trundled slowly over his sandalled
foot, a magpie was strutting boldly about on the open windowsill. They were ignored by the
old man, who stared unhappily at the fading blooms bordering the gravel path. His mind was
elsewhere. The magpie spotted the beetle. It was about to descend on the insect and snatch i
when it was disturbed by footsteps. The bird flew off, giving the beetle an unknowing
extension to its short life.
Mathilde, the equally old but energetic cook, bustled into the gazebo, sniffing irately as she
placed a tray of food and drink on an ornamental table beside her master. "Still sitting here
like a scarecrow, eh?"
Wiping the sleeve of his gown across both eyes, the comte replied wearily, "Go away and
leave me alone, woman."
However, Mathilde was not about to go away. She persisted, "Can ye hear the market fair
outside? I can. Why don't you put on some decent clothing and get out there? 'Twill do you
good. Summer's almost gone, and you sit out here from dawn to dusk, day after day, like
some old cracked statue."
He sighed, staring down at the beetle, which was laboriously crawling from his big toenail to
the floor. "Give your tongue a rest, Mathilde. 'Tis my own business how I conduct my life.
Go back to your kitchens."
Mathilde stubbornly tapped the tray and continued her tirade. "You'll become an old skeleton,
eat something! You never touched the nice breakfast I served you this morning, so I've
brought you chicken broth with barley and leeks. Look, fresh bread, cream cheese and a glass
of milk laced with brandy. Taste it, that's all I ask, just take a little bit."
The comte turned his lined face from her stern gaze. "Take it away, I'm not hungry. Please,
give it to one of the servants. I have no appetite for food or drink."
The faithful Mathilde knelt by his side, her voice softening. "What is it, Vincente, what ails
you?"
Again he wiped the sleeve across his eyes. "I'm an old fool—worse, an unthinking old fool.
On a silly impulse I sent three young people and a dog to their deaths!"
Mathilde stood up brusquely, her attitude hardening. "Oh, 'tis that again, is it? Well, let me tell
you, sir, 'twas not your doing—they volunteered themselves to go. Hmph! Gypsies and
vagabonds, little wonder they never came back. If you ask me, they've probably joined up with
the Razan. They're creatures of a kind, all of them!"
The comte's eyes flared briefly, his voice sharpening as he pointed a finger toward the big
house. "Go, you bad-mouthed old fishwife. Go!"
She bustled off in a huff, muttering aloud, "Well, I've done my duty to the Bregons. Soon
we'll have a dead comte on our hands, one who starved himself into his grave. What'll become
of Veron then, eh? Those Razan'll march straight in and take over the entire place. Mark my
words!"
The comte spoke, not so much to answer her, merely ruminating to himself. "Why does God
choose fools to rule? I was deluding myself that Adamo would be still alive after all these
years. That pretty young girl, those good young boys and their dog, their lives are lost now, all
because of a stupid old man's desires. Oh Lord, forgive me for what I've done!"
Garath, the comte's blacksmith and stable master, trudged up the three steps into the gazebo.
Placing a strong arm under the older man's elbow, he gently eased him into a standing
position. "Time for you to go inside now, sir. Shall I send someone out to bring your food in
also? That soup still looks hot, you may fancy it later."
Shaking his head, the comte allowed himself to be led off. "Do what you wish with the food.
Take me to my bedchamber, Garath, I feel tired."
It was the last day of the market fair, and a few people were leaving early owing to the long
journey home they would have to take. Seated in a two-wheeled cart drawn by a lumbering
ox, a farmer, together with his wife and teenage daughter, made their way to the gate in
Veron's walls. The cart was held up at the gateway. It could not proceed because of an
argument that was going on between two fresh-faced, newly appointed guards and five other
people. The farmer sat patiently, holding the ox reins, whilst the dispute outside the gate
carried on.
Karay's voice rang out. "Five centimes? That's daylight robbery! It was only two centimes
apiece and one for the dog last time we came here! Go and get the comte, he'll be glad to let
us through for free!"
The tallest of the two guards, who was little more than a runaway farmboy, laughed at the
girl's claim. "Hoho, personal friends of the comte, are we? Listen, girl, we may be new t'this
job, but we ain't soft in the head. Entrance fees to the fair have risen, how d'you suppose the
sergeant can make up our wages, eh?"
Arnela's voice replied with a dangerous edge to it. "You keep a civil tongue in your head,
boy, or you'll feel the back of my hand. Where is your sergeant? Go and fetch him—he'll
certainly know what to do!"
The smaller guard was even younger than his comrade but was polite and serious. "Marm, the
sergeant's having his meal in the big house kitchen. You'll have to wait until he comes back
here, neither of us is allowed to leave his post. If you pay us the entrance fee, then I'm sure
he'll be glad to sort out the difference with you later. Sorry, but 'tis more than our job's worth
to let you in free, you understand, marm?"
Karay's voice chimed in. "So, then, how much d'you want?"
The taller guard took up the dispute again. "Well, er five centimes apiece for the tw
o ladies,
an' five each for the boys, an that, er, other person. Let's see, that's twenty centimes all told, if
y'please."
Karay's scornful laugh rang out. "Where did you learn to count?"
The guard continued, pretending to ignore her. "We'll call it three for the dog, and er, say, one
centime apiece for those goats, when we've counted 'em!"
Arnela pushed forward, her temper growing short. "Enough of this foolishness, let us in!
We've got business with the comte. Stand aside!"
The guard's spears crossed, blocking her path. The big woman pointed a warning finger at the
tall guard.
"D'you want me to take those spears and wrap them around your necks and give you both a
good spanking, eh?"
The farmer's wife came walking through the gate and entered the dispute. She took coins from
her purse, offering them to the guards. "Let these folk through, take these five francs!" She
turned to Karay with a smile. "Remember me, Veronique?"
The quick-witted girl recalled everything in a flash. She recognised the lady as the pancake
seller whose fortune she had told when they had first come to Veron.
"Oh, Madame Gilbert, what a pleasure to see you again. Thank you so much for paying our
toll. I'm, er, with some friends at the moment. We're a bit short of money, until I get a
fortunetelling engagement, you understand."
The farmer's wife nodded knowingly. "Of course, my dear Veronique." She winked at Karay.
"After what you did for me that day, 'tis the least I can do. I'm no longer Madame Gilbert. I
married the farmer. I'm Madame Frane now, and very happy to be so. I acted on the good
advice you gave me. That's my husband and our daughter Jeanette in the cart. I sold the
pancake business at a handsome profit. My life is so happy now, thanks to you. Well, I must
go, we've got a long journey back to the farm. Good-bye, Veronique my dear—that is, if your
name really is Veronique?"
Karay whispered in the good woman's ear as she kissed her cheek. "Only when it suits me.
Bless you, Madame Frane."
Garath had delivered the comte to his bedchamber. He sat in the kitchen, watching Mathilde
crimp the edges of a large plum pie as he worked his way through the tray of food that the
comte had left untouched. "Mmmm, that plum pie looks good. Maybe he'll eat a slice for his