The Founders Four

Arthur's Idea

Rowena sat in her cold tower room, looking out across the rainy city.

"Oh, miss!" Her chambermaid said, hurrying into the room. "You must put something on to keep you warm if you wish to sit near the window. You'll catch your death!"

"That wouldn't be such a bad thing," she sighed, not taking her eyes away from the miserable scene below her.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that!" The maid, who's name was Sally, said in a horrified tone. "I really don't understand why you are so down," she said thoughtfully, as she trundled around the room, gently placing a shawl around Rowena's shoulders. "I mean, pretty soon you'll have a wonderful husband who didn't exactly miss out when they were handing out the looks, I'm sure you won't mind me saying! I'd be dancing on the roof if a man like that asked me for my hand in marriage!" She grinned at the thought, continuing to bustle around the room, picking up the laundry.

"It's all well and good liking someone," Rowena murmured distantly. "But why else should you have to marry if not for love?"

Sally paused, staring at the back of Rowena's head with a creased brow, as though trying to suss her out.

"What are you trying to say, miss?" She asked hesitantly. "That you do not feel for Prince Edmund? That you do not love him?"

Rowena snorted with sarcastic laughter and finally tore her gaze away from the rainy scene outside the window.

"If I loved him half as much as he loved himself I'd be attached to his side!" She exclaimed.

Sally looked uncomfortable, not knowing what to say.

"You do not wish to marry him, milady?" She asked quietly.

"I most certainly do not! But since when has my father cared what I think!" Her voice was suddenly higher and she turned away, fighting back tears.

"He just wants what's best for you, miss."

"No!" She snapped. "He just wants what's best for him!"

Sally placed a hand on her shoulder and looked sympathetically at her.

"Is there...another?"

"Another what?" Rowena replied, sniffing loudly.

"That you love," she murmured.

"There was," Rowena said sadly, her eyes shining with tears. "But now I shall never get to see him again. I never even told him how much..." She trailed off, a lump forming in her throat and making it increasingly difficult for her to speak clearly.

"I understand," she said. "Maybe someday."

"No," Rowena breathed. "It's too late now."

Sally nodded sadly and left the room, leaving Rowena to stare out of the window.

*

"Wake up!" Godric hissed.

They had taken a boat from Ireland to Scotland and Godric was still amazed that they hadn't been caught. It had rained all night so they were pretty soaked and it showed no signs of stopping.

"What?" Helga said, sitting bolt upright and staring around, bleary-eyed. "Are we here?"

"We are!" He said excitedly. "Quick, we have to get the horse and get going!"

Helga nodded in understanding and they hurried along the decks to the other side of the boat, where all the cargo was being unloaded. The only reason they'd managed to hitch a ride on this boat was because they'd traded a fancy brooch Helga had had upon her person.

Once they'd saddled up their horse and climbed on they were off again. Though they were fully rested they hadn't had anything to eat since their apples the previous day.

"Was that your stomach!" Godric laughed, as he heard a large growling sound.

"Well, I'm starving!" She exclaimed.

"Hmmm," he shrugged. "So am I. We'll find somewhere soon."

He said this but he was actually only voicing his hopes. He knew a vague route to Lord Schreiver's castle but did not know what lay along the way. He hoped they'd come across a village soon. He'd happily trade the hat Helga had got him for his birthday if the worse came to the worst.

"Look!" Helga shouted suddenly, making both Godric and the horse flinch.

She was pointing up the path ahead between the parting of trees and, with a skip of his heart, Godric saw it too. Rising through the branches were rooftops and he could distinctly see the curl of smoke rising from a chimney.

"Finally," she gasped gratefully, as they had been riding for three hours non-stop.

They approached this ribbon of distant smoke and soon a small village had materialised before them, the little cottages sitting here and there over windswept grassland. It looked quite void of people but Godric decided it must be due to the time of year and all the rain they'd had. He stopped their horse and looked down apprehensively, feeling Helga grip his shoulders tightly to remind him of how hungry she was. His stomach growled quite audible but he didn't know how friendly this village was.

"I have no idea what these people are like," he muttered, more to himself than to Helga. "Just be careful."

She made a sound to show that she'd understood and Godric urged the horse onwards down the steep slope that led into the heart of the village. He spotted a run-down little inn further along the dirt track, which was now on level ground. As they approached it, Godric felt eyes watching him, perhaps from the houses surrounding them. He stopped the horse once more and helped Helga down once he'd tethered it up outside the inn. He could hear voices reverberating off the walls within and didn't know whether he was glad of this or not.

"I can smell food!" Helga said excitedly.

They pushed open the heavy door and, as soon as they'd stepped over the threshold, every pair of eyes within the dank room was upon them. They stood there awkwardly for a moment, before Godric regretfully closed the door, causing the room to fall into a further degree of dimness. Stuttering candles burnt half-heartedly in small little holders, most of the wax having melted and dripped over the sides; the ones in the walls were hung with great strings of wax, very much like stalactites. The bar looked old and dusty, the glasses behind it giving the impression that they needed a good clean. There were only a few people half-concealed in the dark room but, for the intense looks they gave, it could have been hundreds. A man at the bar seemed to be chewing on something without realising as he cleaned out a dull silver goblet. A little woman, who had a prominent hooked nose, kept glancing at them and then hurriedly glancing back into her tiny glass. A group of stocky men, all with beards, stared openly, looking them up and down.

"And you are?" The bartender demanded suddenly, making Godric and Helga jump.

"Er...William and Mary," he invented wildly, knowing it was best to lie in the current circumstances.

"Is that so?" He growled, in the Scottish accent that was so familiar in these parts. With a horrible stab in his guts Godric had a feeling he knew who they really were. "And what brings you to these parts?"

"Er..."

"Relatives," Helga intervened and Godric was shocked to hear her mimicking his own Scottish accent; it would have been a little difficult to explain if she had maintained an Irish one. "Our Grandmother is sick, we have to look after her."

"Touching," he murmured, though, it was obvious he didn't think so. "And where does she live, I daresay I might know her?"

"Not here," she said, shaking her head. "She lives a few villages away from here."

"I see," he said, observing them for a moment. "What can I get you then?"

"Anything," Helga replied, looking grateful. "We're starving!"

"Right, I have some stew...just about ready," he said.

"That'll be great," Godric replied, feeling his stomach rumble again.

The man disappeared into a back room, where a great sheet of steam was issuing from and returned moments later with two bowls of brown sludge. It did not look too appetising but Godric and Helga were too hungry to be fussy.

"That'll be two silver coins," he pointed out, as they were about to retreat with the bowls.

"Oh..." Godric said, looking anxious. "You see, the problem is, we don't actually - "

"I don't run a home for orphans, boy!" He snarled suddenly, snatching the bowls back. "No silver, no food!"

"But we haven't eaten in days!" He raged back.

"And why should I care about two snivelling children!" He barked, amusement in his voice somewhere.

"There must be something we can give you. We could make a trade," Godric said quickly, knowing he had nothing of value.

"Problems, Mick?" A man that had stared intently upon them as they'd entered asked, suddenly looming from out of the shadows.

"Of course not," he grunted back, the bowls still held in his hands.

"I think a trade would be fair," the man growled, leering at Helga in a way that made her back into Godric so that she was practically standing on his foot. "Pretty girl."

He grinned maliciously, showing yellowing, blackened and chipped teeth, most missing.

"Get away from her!" Godric snarled, causing the people in the room to turn and stare.

"Sure you won't trade?" He laughed. "There's many that'd happily do so!"

Godric grabbed tightly to Helga's wrist, who looked very frightened.

"Back off," he said, in barely more than a whisper. The hiss of his words may have been quiet but, as the light glinted in his blazing eyes, they were menacing.

"Like I said, no silver, no food!" The bartender reminded them irritably.

"Not even for the little locket she wears?" The leering man murmured, pointing to where it glittered around Helga's neck. She automatically clasped her hand over it, looking defensive.

"Your rotten food isn't worth that!" Godric spat in disgust.

"Very well then!" He said, marching to the back room once more.

"Come on," Godric muttered to Helga.

"Leaving so soon?" The man chuckled, his friends laughing sinisterly with him. "Not even going to stay for the witch burning?"

Godric froze and he was sure he felt a shudder run through Helga as he continued to grasp her wrist. He turned around, trying to keep his expression blank.

"Witch burning?" He repeated.

"Yeah, the hunters reckon they caught a few last night. We'll see, won't we?" He muttered, looking excited as he took a long swig from his tankard. Godric couldn't help but stay rooted to the spot. "They usually always burn. Their screams go right through you!" He said, suppressing a fake shudder and then smiling nastily.

"How can you be sure they're witches?" Helga asked, unable to stop herself.

"'Cos they're weird! Spend all their time alone - doing stuff, unnatural stuff."

"Like what?"

"Well, I dunno', do I? I'm not part of their...what would you call it?" He said thoughtfully. "Their circle."

"Good luck then!" Godric said, unable to keep the anger from his voice. "We must bid you all good evening!"

He pulled Helga from the inn and forced her up onto the horse before she'd had time to speak. By the time she did they were almost on the other side of the village, Godric urging the horse onwards.

"Godric," she said, a pleading note in her voice.

"Look, I know you're hungry," he said quickly.

"It's not that," she said. "The witches - they're going to...to burn them," she murmured, sounding horrified.

"Well, that's what they do," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "There's nothing we can do."

"But, couldn't we - ?"

"No," he said at once. "They might not even be like us, just people that are a little different than they'd like. We can hardly go rushing back, magic blazing!"

"I know but..." She trailed off.

"I know," he breathed, knowing that this would not console her. "We'll make our way to Schreivers' castle, I'm sure it's not far from here," he assured her.

*

"Salazar? What the - Salazar, m'boy!" Arthur called happily, running out into the sweeping driveway to meet him.

Salazar jogged towards him, hugging his uncle and beaming at the sight of his old home.

"What are you doing here?" He chuckled.

"I was given time off," he replied, unable to stop smiling.

"Time off?" He repeated, looking shocked. "You were given time off by Benedick Greyson?"

"Yes."

"I suppose wonders will never cease!" He boomed, laughing heartily. "Do come inside, my dear boy!"

He led him into the large house, which was warm and welcoming after the great tower he was used to. As soon as he'd crossed the threshold he felt like his old self again.

"Do come through," Arthur urged, leading him into the drawing room, which had a fire blazing enthusiastically in its grate. "You can tell me how you've been getting on. I have an uncorked bottle of mead with our name on it!" He winked.

Salazar smiled at this.

They sat down in the comfortable armchairs and Salazar watched the flames flicker. A great sense of sadness washed over him all of a sudden.

"What is it, m'boy?" Arthur asked, noticing his expression.

"Oh..." He said quickly, knowing it was too late to lie. "My friends," he said simply. "I miss them."

"You speak of the tragic accident at the castle of Hufflepuff I presume?"

Salazar nodded, a dry lump forming in his throat.

"Your loss is a painful one," he murmured, passing him a goblet of mead. "But it will get better."

Salazar highly doubted this and sat in silence as he drank it.

"It appears the King is having a tough time of it," Arthur said conversationally.

"What's happened now?" He asked, shocked his uncle would know before he did.

"Well, he's sent out messages to all regions around the country," he explained. "Seems he's desperate to catch a couple of kids. Thieves, most probably, but the whole thing is a little heightened for it to be something as simple as that."

"That's strange."

"Indeed," he nodded. "I have the parchment here somewhere," he mumbled, rummaging through the desk drawer in the corner. "They've been put up everywhere so it's hardly like they'll have anywhere to hide!"

As he passed Salazar the wrinkled parchment he dropped his goblet to the floor, which, thankfully, wasn't full of mead.

"What's wrong?" Arthur demanded, looking puzzled.

Salazar's mouth hung open as he looked upon the sketches of two familiar faces. Beneath them were the words: Wanted dead or alive. Considered highly dangerous and capture is ordered by the King of England. Reward is plentiful.

"It's them!" He gasped.

"Who?"

"Godric and Helga. They must still be alive and the king must want them dead so that they never contact Rowena. It all makes sense!" He said, his heart lifting in relief but soon sinking with worry. "They're not even dangerous. The whole country will be after them!"

"Oh dear," Arthur murmured. "I had no idea they were your friends, I've never met - "

"I know," he said hurriedly, his mind reeling.

A few minutes before he'd believed his friends to be dead and now that they weren't he felt nervous with what the words upon the parchment had said. He had to do something before he lost a second chance at seeing them again.

"I've got to help them," he said suddenly, standing up rather abruptly.

"What on earth do you mean?" Arthur demanded, looking astounded. "You can hardly go looking for them, wherever they are! You'll get in a lot of trouble, boy, and being in a position of power - "

"I care about my friends ten times more than that!" He barked, Arthur staring at him as he'd never done before.

"I know but I honestly believe they are beyond your help now. From what you've told me, Godric is more than capable of keeping them both safe."

"I'm not too sure," he breathed uncertainly. "Not in the current circumstances."

"Listen to me," he said seriously, sounding suddenly stern. "There is something else you must concentrate on, a friend in much more need than Godric or Helga."

"Rowena?"

"Yes, Rowena!" He said, rather impatiently. "She cannot even leave the palace, let alone learn how to use her magic."

"How can I help her then?"

"I thought you were smart, boy!" He said, rolling his eyes. "We shall send her books, the contents concealed, and we shall send her a riddle to unlock it's secrets. I've heard she's very gifted when it comes to things of that nature. We will train her without even having to raise the king's suspicions."

"That's brilliant, uncle!" Salazar beamed, his spirits lifting.

"As for you," he said, frowning. "I've been considering it for a long time."

"What?" He asked uncertainly.

"As Benedick has given you some leave, I suggest we write to him and push for as much time as possible to train you up."

"Train me up?"

"Yes. You're not quite as gifted as your parents were at magic yet, boy!" He chuckled. "I'll teach you here and you can return once a fortnight or so to keep things in check and also to check on the process of our feathered friend," he winked.

"A bird?" He said blankly, looking puzzled.

"A Raven, to be more precise," he smiled.

"Why? What do you mean, a raven?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"Raven...Ravenclaw!" He pointed out. "Goodness, boy, you must have had a tiring journey. But to business - I shall start work on my letter to Benedick!"