Jack Frost: King of Thieves

CHAPTER XLI: A Rebellion Was Brewing

The following morning, as the rest of Dorfeld, awoke to a too-bright sun, and the overly loud calls of overly zealous roosters, and the type of headaches that only North's mead could induce, Jack began to delve deeper into his past and the legacy of his father's politics.

Upon waking and descending the stairs of Burlington Manor to the great hall, he found Sir Sandy already awake and sitting at the long wooden table, which was laden with old scrolls. Sandy waved him over, grinning and gesturing grandly at the mountain of parchment.

And so Jack was introduced to the extensive writings of Thomas Frost.

It seemed that referring to his father as a mere stonemason was akin to calling Manny the Homme-sur-la-lune a mere soldier. Jack's father had written at length about politics, about opposing the king and rousing the people of the realm from their torpor, and about his dreams for the Southern Isles. Some of what Jack read inspired him; some of it confused him, and these tracts he and Sandy discussed until his father's words became clearer. Through it all, though, Jack's admiration for Thomas Frost grew, and his understanding of his own life, of notions, that over the years had struck him as if out of the blue, crystalized.

For so long he had thought of himself as rootless, a mercenary—an Islsh man, to be sure, but one without any true ties to the land or its people. His father, though, had been so much more. And seeing this, reading the man's words, visualising for himself the realm Thomas had tried to build, Jack realised that he wanted more for himself and for Southern Isles. He had never been a man to indulge in regrets or self-doubt. He had chosen a soldier's life and had lived it to its fullest. But after learning so much about his father, he could no longer be satisfied with the man he had been.

Sandy seemed to understand this. At first, he said little, save to answer Jack's questions and refer him first to one scroll and then to another. But as the morning wore on, Sandy began to say more. He spoke of what he and Dymas Phrygians had done to help Thomas spread his teachings to others. He described the horror of watching William's men murder the stonemason, and of seeing Frost's dreams, and those of the people who had followed him, die in the wake of that terrible day in Burgess. And at last, Sandy told Jack of all he and Phrygians had done to see Jack safely to Alsace-Lorraine so that one day Thomas Frost's son might take up his cause.

Only a day or two before, Jack might have refused to listen. This isn't my legacy, he might have said. This isn't the life I want. But not now. He listened, and he thought he could hear in the old man's words, an echo of his father's voice.

Between all that he had read and heard and thought about, Jack lost track of the time. But sometime around midday, he and Sandy heard a commotion outside the house. Sandy appeared alarmed, and Jack understood why. After all this talk of freedom and remaking the realm even in the face of opposition from the Throne, he couldn't help wondering for just a moment if King Hans' men had come for them.

As it turned out, this wasn't too far from the truth.

One of the house servants hurried into the great hall leading a messenger. The man looked exhausted; his clothes were ragged and travel-stained. But he stood straight-backed before the two of them as he gave his message to Sir Sandy.

"My lord," he said, "Glaiveant has been burned by the king's men. Darlington and Thatchsun as well. Fergus gathers an army to slay King Hans in Abita! He asks the barons to gather for council at Burgess."

Sandy turned from the messenger to Jack. The old man might have been blind, but his eyes seemed to burn deep into Jack's soul.