Jack Frost: King of Thieves

CHAPTER XXIII: Return The Sword

With daylight falling and the air turning cold, Jack rode through the gates of Burlington Manor. He had paused halfway between the village and Overland's house to remove the Overland family crest and wreath from the tabard he was wearing, the tabard that had belonged to Sir Jackson. He was dressed once more in the garb of a simple soldier and he carried Overland's sword sheathed in its scabbard and wrapped in the knight's belt.

As he passed through the gate, he saw a serving girl standing beside a huge brown and white dray. Her back was to Jack and she was holding one of the horse's hooves under her arm, digging away caked mud. She wore a simple blue dress and over it a sleeveless linen smock that was begrimed and loose-fitting. Still, Jack could tell that she was tall and willowy.

"Girl," Jack called.

She turned. Her face was dirty, and though she had tied a cloth over her head to keep her hair from her face, several long, platinum strands had fallen loose and hung over her brow. She swiped at them impatiently with a muddy hand.

"Are you the keeper of this house?" he asked.

She stared back at him brazenly, as if trying to decide whether he deserved an answer.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," she said at last, her voice deeper and stronger than he had expected.

He nodded once, looking around the courtyard. It was unkempt—more yard than court. "I wish to see Sir Sandy Overland," he told her.

"And you are?"

Jack looked at her again. Brazen indeed, for a servant. "Jack Frost."

She raised an eyebrow. "Plain Jack Frost? No 'Sir'?"

He smiled thinly. "No, ma'am. No 'Sir.'"

"Are you here about the tax?" she asked"

He held up Overland's sword. "I return the property of his son Jackson, who is dead."

The woman paled at that, and for a moment she stood utterly still, seemingly at a loss as to what to say. Then, "This way."

She wiped her hands on the smock and walked away, crossing through the centre of the courtyard toward the house. Jack dismounted and led the white charger after her, still taking in his surroundings. Chickens clucked nearby, foraging in the mud and dirt, and dogs scrounged for scraps of food. The serving girl's shoes echoed through the yard, but otherwise, she made not a sound, nor did she look back at him. He had questions for her, but all of them died on his tongue. She seemed deeply shaken by word of her master's death, and Jack thought it best to keep silent.

Every breath was too shallow and left her gasping for more air. Her heart laboured in her breast; her throat felt tight as if some taloned hand had taken hold of her and refused to let go.

I return the property of his son Jackson, who is dead.

Sandy had tried to warn her. He had told her that her husband was gone, that Jackson himself had told him so. Elsa had refused to believe him. But there could be no denying the word of this solemn stranger. Her husband was dead.

She led the man into the large hall of the house, kicked off her shoes just inside the door, and crossed to Gerda, who stood waiting for her holding a towel and a copper basin of water. Elsa sat on the stool and the girl cleaned the mud and muck from her feet. When Gerda had finished, Elsa began to towel them off.