The Lord Steward and the Servant King

By Gordon Saunders and Anna Coleman

Kentucky. Now it's 1838. Steven and Amanda have not been able to get back into Verdura for two years, no matter what they've done. They don't know if promises made there have come true or if something terrible has happened.

But things have changed in Kentucky. Amanda's grown older and her father wants her to marry a young man w

• Language: English
• Publisher: mediaropa
• Release date: Sep 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781733872751

Gordon Saunders

Over a period of twenty-five years, Dr. Saunders lived in four countries in Europe--working in more than three dozen countries both before and after the end of communist rule--with the purpose of describing and purveying grace. Overcoming cultural differences and ways of communicating gave him insight both into what divides people and into what unites them. It also helped him understand elements in various cultures, baggage some call it, that keep people from hearing one another. Writing fantasy gave him a way to minimize the baggage and show truths to people they might otherwise be unable to see.

Book preview

1

Vic the Waderach (Ispri’s Victory)

THE CHANGELING

Steven brought the gig to a sudden halt at the hitching post by the corner of Main and Race Streets on the public square. The old mare breathed heavily. Because it was mid-morning on court day, the muddy streets were lined with Dearborns, carry-alls, wagons, and other gigs like theirs, and it had been necessary to climb the hill up Race Street from Washington. Steven looked at Amanda with something between a glare and a plea, then jumped over the wheel, still fingering the reins, and led the mare to a water trough beside the post.

Well, said Amanda, who perceived the meaning of his look, if you’d hurried faster on the way, we’d bin here sooner and not had to race up the hill. Steven turned his head toward her slightly but said nothing. He had waited for nearly an hour for her to come out of the house after the time he had been told to pick her up.

After a moment, Amanda grinned. Oh, I know, she said. It was me, not you, was slow. But I couldn’ help it. You know that old calico dress I have is warm... but it’s a year old! An’ this new one–it ain’ warm, but... well, Mother says it really brings me out with the white and cambric an’ all.

Steven had turned back to the mare.

"Well, it is the first court day after the winter, an’ a body wants to look nice."

It was still winter, officially, but the air had warmed today, and the sun played against puddles and the last remnants of melting snow.

Amanda continued in a soft voice. Steven, will you look at me?

I ain’ s’pose to be here, Missy, he said.

No, I s’pose not, she said, her voice taking on a new tone as she looked down the hill.

You all right, Missy? he asked.

Amanda sighed. I had wanted to talk to you, she said, but... Just then a young man of their acquaintance approached, doffed his hat, and offered to help Amanda from the gig. She accepted with a smile and alighted. The two chatted briefly.

When the young man had left, Amanda surveyed the houses and shops on Main Street, then turned to Steven and said, What’s that up on Depp’s door?

Don’ know, Missy, replied Steven. Look like a poster, maybe.

Well, go find out while I go down to Mrs. Jordan’s to see if my hat’s ready, she said, strolling off.

Steven shook his head as he watched her go. She had been like this often, lately; one moment friendly and pleasant - the way she had become after their adventure together two years ago - the next moment, distant and curt, almost rude. But whether friendly or rude, she was beautiful. She had, indeed, blossomed in the years since they had been to Verdura.

During those years, Steven had made something of a reputation for himself. Since becoming a guide at Mammoth Cave, he had made more exciting discoveries there than all who had preceded him put together.

But slaves are subject to their masters’ whims, and today he had been taken from the cave to bring Amanda into town. He had known she wanted to talk with him, for several times she had started to, but then broken off. And then she had done things deliberately to upset him, like making him force the old mare to gallop up Race Street. Something, clearly, was troubling her. Steven had his suspicions.

He tied up the mare when she had finished drinking and crossed Main Street to Depp’s house. James Depp occasionally let entertainers use his house to give minor performances for the people of Glasgow, and he would advertise with a poster on his door. Steven could read very little, but he hoped to meet someone coming out who would tell him what was going on inside. He ambled up to the door and studied the poster.

Besides the letters, which were in a variety of typefaces and sizes, there were three pictures printed in separate frames. The first frame showed a cage or enclosure about three times as tall as it was wide and deep, though Steven couldn’t tell how tall it was. In the enclosure, which seemed to be made of glass, was what looked like a stalagmite. Not knowing the size of the enclosure, Steven could not estimate the size of the stalagmite. But the enclosure seemed a bit too large for it.

The second frame showed the same object and enclosure. But this frame also showed a mustachioed man lifting the top of the enclosure and pouring something into it from a pitcher. By comparison with the man, the stalagmite was maybe one and a half to two feet tall, and the enclosure perhaps three feet tall.

The third frame presented the enclosure once more, but the stalagmite had undergone a remarkable change. Cone-like protuberances piled atop one another had pushed out of its top until they almost filled the enclosure. There was a V-shaped gash down the side of the object through which rectangles and prisms stuck out. Black veins covered parts of the object on either side of the gash.

Steven gasped and covered his mouth. He turned and ran across the street, over the courthouse lawn, around the courthouse, and down the hill to the corner of Washington and Green Streets, where Mrs. Jordan’s Millinery was located. He threw the door open with a bang and a jingle of little bells.

Every head jolted in his direction. He looked around wildly. Where Missy Amanda? he asked breathlessly.

One of the women in the store glared at him but answered in even tones, She went to her grandfather’s house.

Steven rushed out the door and ran back up the hill to Main Street where John Gorin, Amanda’s grandfather, lived. As he stepped on the stair to knock at the door, Amanda appeared around the corner of the house leading her father’s prize bay mare, Jackson’s Victory. A saddle had been thrown carelessly over it and not secured, and the reins dragged on the ground.

She beckoned to him urgently, and he sprinted to her.

No time to talk, Steven, said Amanda, breathlessly. Jes’ git the gig an’ take it back of Depp’s. She glanced around quickly and said, speaking rapidly, At Depp’s they got an act they call ‘The Changelin’.’ Mrs. Jordan described it to me. I don’ know how they got it, but I think it’s a Mwlahnni! We got to git it out of there. Now, git!

She met Steven’s eyes and somehow recognized that he had the same intent. In a fraction of a second her eyes softened and her face took on a gentler quality. Please, she added, softly. Then she ran back behind the house, leading the bay.

Steven ran across the street again, loosed the reins from the post, jumped into the gig, and backed the old mare into the street. They trotted up Race Street, across Main, past Depp’s on the corner, and into the alleyway behind Depp’s house. Amanda emerged from some trees with Jackson’s Victory.

Unhitch Orleans and put the gig on Jackson’s Victory, she said, looking around once more.

You gonna catch it if yo’ Pa fin’s you hitch the bay to the gig, said Steven.

An’ worse, said Amanda, whin he fin’s I put his best saddle on Orleans. But we’ve got to get the Mwlahnni out, an’ you’d never git away with ol’ Orleans on the gig.

Amanda clasped her hands close to her body and grimaced. I figure, she said, "if they want to chase you, I’ll tell ‘em I’ll do it, an’ I’ll come after you on ol’ Orleans. ‘Course, I won’ catch you, but if anyone else comes after you, I’ll tell ‘em you went off toward Burkesville. That way, you oughta git to the cave okay."

She paused, looking at him and wrinkling her brow. That’s where we should be goin’, ain’ it? she asked. Our special way in?

Steven nodded. I giss, he said.

Amanda noticed the edge of her dress had become muddy.

Kinda like the other time, she said, grinning shyly.

I hopes you don’ git in no trouble, Missy, said Steven, shaking his head.

I hope not, too, Steven, but you’re more’n likely to no matter what.

Yeah, Missy, said Steven, but we got to do it.

She nodded, adding, almost as an afterthought, I used to think I could handle Daddy, but now I ain’ so sure. Looking back at Steven, she said, "Hope it won’ be too bad." She glanced away morosely.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment. Hesitantly, Steven said, Your Pa, he want you to marry that dandified Jimmy Bell, don’ he.

Amanda nodded slowly, then turned back to him. An’ he wants to sell the cave, an’... an’ you with it, she said. There was the burden she had wanted to talk with him about. He knew it.

I heared, said Steven, eyes to the ground.

Amanda continued, I s’pose Jimmy ain’ so bad; leastwise, he might could be made better. But...well, I want to decide for myself. She looked up. An’ I’d miss you, an’... an’. She sighed. "Well, I jes’ couldn’ bear never to git to...to him agin."

Steven nodded. They had both hoped to get into Verdura again. But after a while, they had concluded that it would probably not be possible. The cave was their only connection to Verdura, and in two years it had not led them back.

Well, c’mon, said Amanda, brightening. Maybe this is what we bin hopin’ for. Anyway, we have to see what this is an’ git it back if it’s what we think, even if we cain’ go ourselves.

Nodding again, Steven began to unhitch the gig. Amanda walked down the alleyway, looked cautiously into Race Street, looked back once, and was gone.

A few minutes later, Steven had hitched the gig to Jackson’s Victory and secured the saddle on Orleans. Amanda came to him from the street.

They’re goin’ to have a show at eleven o’clock an’ Mrs. Depp says Negroes cin come if they’s paid up an’ stays at the back. But she won’ let me see ahead o’time.

You think it’s...

Well, interrupted Amanda, Mrs. Depp says it’s a rock some tinker found near one o’the saltpeter mines hereabouts. He’s bin takin’ it ‘round to show folks; make a little money. I jes’ don’ know.

What you want me to do with the gig an’ Orleans, now? Steven asked.

Jes’ leave ‘em tied here, I s’pose. She frowned. I di’n’ have time to plan real good, but here’s what I think we’ll do. We’ll be the last ones in there after the show. If it’s what we think, I’ll try an’ distract the tinker while you carry it out the back to the gig. Take Main to Liberty an’ then cross over to Washin’ton, so you won’ have to go by the courthouse an’ have ever’body see you. Then take the road to Bell’s. Whin you git there, change horses, an’ go on to the cave. If anybody’s fixin’ to go after you, I’ll try an’ send ‘em off wrong, like I said.

Steven grimaced, thinking how little white men liked to be outfoxed by Negroes. Don’ worry, said Amanda, reading his face. I hope Daddy won’ do much to you, if he fin’s out. I’ll remin’ him how much you’re worth.

What if somebody see me with the bay on the gig an’ try to stop me? asked Steven.

We’ll jes’ have to hope that don’ happen, an’ you do the bes’ you cin if it does. If you go how I tol’ you, shouldn’ nobody see you ‘cause they’ll all be by the courthouse.

Steven grimaced again, and shook his head slightly.

Now I’ll be goin’, said Amanda. The show will be startin’ soon. I’ll pay for you an’ you come in an’ sit quiet at the back.

She went around the corner and Steven made a few adjustments so they could untie the horse and gig quickly if they needed to.

Oh, Ispri, he whispered, and followed Amanda to Depp’s.

2

RESCUE

The show was in an upstairs bedroom where a quilt had been placed across the northeast corner of the room as a kind of curtain. Mrs. Depp introduced the tinker, one Cambar Bartoni, who turned out to look much like the mustachioed man in the picture. The picture had not shown how dark his skin was, however. He was clearly not a Negro, and he didn’t look much like an Indian, either. Maybe he was one of those foreigners who were always coming over to the land of freedom and opportunity.

He introduced his remarkable wonder of nature which he liked to call The Changeling. He had a deep and somehow dangerous voice, with a thick foreign accent. When he talked, his mustachios worked up and down and his teeth seemed to click. He removed the quilt and invited everyone to examine it for themselves (Negroes excluded, of course).

The half-dozen or so people walked around the wood-framed glass enclosure. The Changeling was an unremarkable, pinkish gray stalagmite with a relatively smooth surface, widening from the narrow top toward its base. Here and there was an ochre-colored splotch or a little wave of maroon. Amanda couldn’t make a public sign to Steven, but she glanced at him. Yes, it did look like a Mwlahnni, but it wasn’t certain, yet.

The tinker had everyone sit down again, and rigged the quilt so the Changeling and enclosure were covered, but he could be seen above them. Mrs. Depp brought him a large, clear pitcher of water. He took it from her and set it down nearby.

He then produced a screwdriver and took four screws from the top of the enclosure, holding them up to the audience one at a time.

Now, he said, you shall be privileged not only to see a marvel, but to hear a marvel, as well. He paused to clear his throat for dramatic effect. When the cover is removed, many people have told me that they have heard music. Some have felt happy, others sad. But none have been unaffected. He looked slowly from face to face.

That ain’ no tinker, muttered Steven. Tinkers didn’t talk that fancy.

Now, continued the tinker, when I pour the water in, he glanced over the audience, mustachios twitching, you folks may want to cover your ears, ‘cause it makes a powerful noise.

Amanda shifted uneasily in her seat. Steven looked around the room for something with which to break the enclosure, should that be necessary. By the fireplace on the north wall of the bedroom he spied a small shovel for removing ashes.

And when I raise the curtain again, prepare for the surprise of your life! With a flourish, the tinker lifted the top of the enclosure.

Instantly, a penetrating intelligence filled the room. It’s alive! was the only idea that could describe the sensation. It gave a soundless cry for help; a bitter, lonely lament. Steven’s heart came to his throat.

Who be you? thought Steven to the Mwlahnni.

Lomel? he felt the thought back. Can it be you?

Yes! thought Steven. We gonna git you out!

With another flourish, the tinker poured a small amount of water on the rock. Then he covered it. The sensation of life stopped. Communication stopped. There was a resounding crack, even through the glass. The tinker beamed gleefully and replaced the screws. After a few moments, he deftly removed the quilt.

Rhodoc! thought Steven. It took all his strength to restrain himself. He eyed the shovel.

A gasp went up from the group. They stood and approached once more. Amanda took the opportunity to glance back at Steven. He could see that she, too, was highly agitated.

It seemed to take the few people forever to walk around the enclosure. They talked excitedly in low tones, pointing and gesticulating, while the tinker looked on, twitching.

The rock now looked as it had in the third frame of the poster. But the poster had not been able to show the brilliant rose color of the material within what looked like a gash on the poster, but which here looked more like a flower petal. The rest of the rock was in blues and browns, with the vein-like decorations all in black. The prisms and rectangles that protruded from the body were of deep blue-green and maroon to brown. The cones on cones were like a white crown through which light could shine.

Before long, the tinker replaced the quilt and began to hasten the group’s departure. As they left, Amanda tried to engage him in conversation to distract him. But it became quickly obvious that he wanted neither to leave the room nor to talk. Steven meandered over to the shovel, standing with his back to the fireplace. He picked it up behind his back. When the tinker was not looking toward him, he slipped behind the quilt.

While Amanda kept the tinker’s attention, Steven found the screwdriver and attempted to remove the screws. It was slow work. He began to sense that Amanda’s conversational powers were being stretched to their limit. Well, he mumbled. Here goes. He smashed the enclosure in a great crash with one giant swing of the shovel.

Hey! yelled the tinker. What’re you doing? He pushed the quilt aside and saw Steven trying to remove his rock.

Why you... he shouted, running at Steven. Steven let go of the rock, grabbed the quilt off the line, and threw it over the tinker’s head. Then he picked up the heavy rock, ran through the bedroom door, down the back stairway, and out to the gig.

As Steven loosed the reins from a tree,