Rain
by
Vixyy Fox
It was pouring outside the window through which I was absently gazing. I wasn’t paying much attention to the solicitor as he drew his document with quill and ink pot. That method was a little old fashioned, but I liked the old foof, and unlike many other solicitors I had the requirements to meet, he was both trustworthy, and honest.
“And the name to be appointed on this document would be?” he asked me in his Bulldogish nasal tones.
I smiled without turning. “Rain,” I responded softly, watching the drops of water cascading down the glass of the window. I then glanced at the small creature in my arms, thinking that life could sometimes be so humorless. We would change that if we could.
“Like the day?” the solicitor asked, pointing to the window with the quill’s feather end.
“Yes,” I told him turning. “It’s rather fitting, wouldn’t you agree? The day cries for those who have died, and then again for those who remain living. It reflects the world’s cruelty either way.”
“Oh absolutely, I suppose the name is fitting,” he responded with a knowing smile, “That is; it might be if I knew what the meaning of your words pertained to. Then too, hearing can be such a selective thing at my advanced age.” He scratched at his ear with the writing instrument, smearing himself with black. “I don’t suppose I even heard you correctly, but without a doubt the name is most fitting for such a beautiful child. He is a Bulldog and not Fox?”
I smiled but made no reply.
Moving to write, he paused, and then thoughtfully tested the quill on a small scrap of paper. When the ink blotted, the scratching having turned its frail tip, he cursed softly. “Won’t be but a moment, sir,” he mumbled. Taking out a small quill razor, he deftly cut a new point. Dipping the instrument in the ink pot, he then smoothly inscribed the chosen surname on the paper. “First and middle?” he asked as he admired his work.
I thought about this. “William, I think is a fitting first name. What would you suggest for a middle then?”
The old Bulldog snorted carefully, I observed, keeping his pug nose pointed away from the parchment; thus preventing an accidental snotting. “Percival,” he replied. “I have always wished to name a babe Percival after my father… though I have never had the opportunity to have any of my own. The ladies take one look at this old face and giggle themselves silly. I gave up the quest long ago. A good steak and a pint do me fine these days, and the serving girl treats me well enough.”
“Fine then; William Percival Rain,” I told him, turning from the window. As I did there was a rumble of thunder reminiscent of the King’s artillery. Indeed, I’d heard the Arch Bishop, himself, refer to thunder as God’s artillery. He was the King’s good friend and chess partner, whom I attended on many an occasion. He also had a fondness for boys as I recall. It would have been my pleasure to stab him through his black heart except my master had never bid me to do so.
The solicitor bent to his task, and inscribed the name on the parchment that would one day rock our small kingdom as no army had been ever able. In the light of a single guttering candle, this particular solicitor, on this particular day, wrote the words I asked him to write with never a questioning glance.
He was dead a short year later, having expired at the height of love making. The serving girl, it would seem, always did like the old boy; when they finally knotted it was simply too much for him I suppose. God bless him, all the same; I’m told it’s a good way to go.
As for myself, ‘Royal Do What Ever The King Bids You To Do’ Fox; this one time I did not do as the King commanded. I don’t know why, nor could I explain it if I tried.
The child, born the King’s heir, was so misshapen by a bad birth he could truly have passed as the old solicitor’s pup. Even so, he would not die at my hand. Cut a messenger’s throat… stab an opposing political leader in the back… even poison an outspoken lay clergyman… these things I could do; but I could not drown this child in the King’s well.
Though his bad birth killed his mother, assisted by a pillow held over her face by a raging husband… and though the midwife in attendance was paid an exorbitant sum to find a substitute child; which she did and then was ‘accidently’ pushed off of the parapets… this was not the fault of the innocent pup.
Using the rain’s offered cover that very night, I left on my mission. I stole William away knowing I would have a day or two before the old Wolf would miss me and begin asking questions. I did not stop until I was a full five Kingdoms distance and then William Percival Rain was given over to the hands of a trusted monastery. With the child was also handed over a full bag of gold coins and the letter; so carefully drafted by my friend.
Explicit instructions were given that the letter was only to be opened upon the occasion of William’s fifteenth birthday. This would occur in my presence, if I should yet be alive and returned; without me if I was not.
As I left that place, and the waves of rain washed over me once again, I thought to myself what a wonderful and yet simple beginning this could be to an absolutely grand adventure.
I was not wrong.
end
