Part One - The Mark of the Crow - Chapter One - The Hiring Fair

Part One – The Mark of the Crow
Chapter One – The Hiring Fair

Hie with me, Marion, on my fine horse
The hiring fair waits us at Hardingstone Cross
. We’ll find us a carpenter, now we be wed
To build us a crib and a marital bed
To build us a table and fine rocking chair
Gallop, my beauty, to Hardingstone Fair!
- Traditional nursery rhyme ( anonymous )

In the early spring of 1573 Harold Halfdan came to the town of Bakewell, in the shire of Derby, to visit the Hiring Fair. He was accompanied by a twelve year old boy. Nobody had ever asked about the boy, but if they had, then Harold would have introduced him as his apprentice, Ermine. At that time hiring fairs were a regular occasion in most market towns, especially in the countryside. Craftsmen and tradesmen of all the many and varied guilds who were looking for employment would gather in different areas of the marketplace. This would give would be masters a chance to inspect them, and to hire them if they saw fit. It was also a chance to exchange gossip and news about business, and other things besides.

Old Harold rarely bothered with the hiring fairs. If people needed a magician then they knew where to find him, he reckoned. He wasn’t especially keen on working for complete strangers either. Still, now the time had come when he couldn’t avoid being there, and this made him particularly sour and angry. To be honest, he was never really a bundle of laughs at the best of times.

Harold and the boy entered the square from the eastern side, by the courtyard of the Angel’s Rest. As they passed by they were called over by a large man, who was standing by the door of the tavern, holding a large pot of beer on his large pot of a belly.
“Hello sir ! What are you looking for, might I be as bold as to h’ask ?”
“A carpenter.” Harold carried on walking without looking at the man, who put his mug down on the cobblestones by the doorway and hurried after Harold, hastily snatching at the back of his cloak.
“A carpenter, you say ? You’re in luck, sir. I’m a carpenter!”
Harold swung around, and looked at the carpenter for the first time. Fixed in Harold’s gaze the man left go of the cloak, and he said nothing.
“I know what you are, “ said Harold, slowly, and emphatically, “ but luckily for you , Simeon Dale, you are not the carpenter that I want. “ Cowed, Simeon Dale touched his forehead, then slunk back to the doorway of the tavern, and picked up his pot again.

When they reached the covered stalls at the centre of the marketplace the boy, Ermine, asked ,
“What’s wrong with him , then? He’s a carpenter. “
“Yes he is, “ replied Harold in a scornful, irritated voice, “ but not the one I want, as I said. You never listen.”
“Yes I do, “the boy persisted, “I listened when you called him by his name. “
Harold snorted,
“So ? I know everyone’s name. Or I can find them out. “
“Except mine!”
Harold didn’t quite stop walking completely, but his pace slowed almost to a standstill when the boy brought this up again. He shook his head, and started to walk more quickly again, muttering,
“True. Except yours. I don’t know your true name, and this is something which I’d find a lot easier to bear if you didn’t keep reminding me of the fact all the time. For now you are Ermine, and you can be grateful for that. “
“What kind of a name is that, anyway ? “
“Enough of a name for one of your tender years. Now shut up ! My man will be hereabouts, and I will not have him put off by your endless drivel. “

At the end of the square diagonally across from the Angel’s Rest a church perched rather uncomfortably. Harold looked over towards it, then pointed a bony finger, and muttered a few words in Norse under his breath. The grey clouds overhead parted just slightly, enough to allow a stiletto of light to illuminate the tower for just a moment. It was enough to allow the gnomon on the sundial to cast its shadow, and Harold was satisfied that he was on time. He walked forward towards a group of men idly chattering by one of the stalls. This one was decorated with a painted wooden sign which showed a crossed hammer and adze. The sign of the Carpenter’s Guild.
“I have one month’s work for a good carpenter.” Harold announced. All six faces turned towards him. “My farmhouse is several miles from here. There’s work enough doing repairs, and making the place fit to live in again, to keep one of you busy I dare say. How about you ?”
Harold addressed the leanest, hungriest and most miserable looking individual of the group. Ermine could hardly imagine a less likely looking carpenter for Harold to have chosen. He was very thin, but without showing any evidence of the kind of wiry strength for carrying out any sustained physical activity. He stood there staring dully at Harold, round shouldered, with a slight stoop, squinting as if even the grey light of a Derbyshire spring afternoon was painful to his eyes.
“What do you say ? “ continued Harold, “You up for the job ? “

The carpenter raised his right hand , as if not quite sure that he understood Harold correctly, and as he did Ermine noticed that the tips of his fingers were stained, mostly black or blue, but also in places with red, green and gold.
“Are you offering me work ? “ The other carpenters seemed to find this hard to believe as well. They laughed, and one of them went so far as to ask Harold if there was something wrong with his eyesight, or his mind. Harold looked at the largest and most aggressive of them, and said,
“Maybe, but there’s certainly nothing wrong with my hearing, Jake Lambton.” Hearing his name spoken in this way by a magician he’d never met before was enough for the big man, and he turned his back on Harold, quivering ever so slightly as he did so.
“Do we have a deal ? “ Harold had turned back to the thin carpenter. “Or perhaps you get so many offers of work that you can afford to turn it down ? “
“Nay, master, that I don’t, although I don’t care for the sarcasm. When do I start ?” Harold nodded and began to walk back towards the tavern end of the square, expecting the carpenter to keep up.
“I’ll give you two days to put your affairs in order and sort yourself out. Then you can join me. White Scar farm, a few miles east of here, on the road to Buxton. “
“I know it. I thought it was deserted. “
“It was. When I’m gone, it probably will be again. But for now, it’s not.”
“Very well. I shall see you two days hence , master. “
“Call me Harold. No, don’t. Call me Master Halfdan.”
“Whatever you like. I’ll see you in two days’ time, Master Halfdan, and then we’ll do some work.”
Harold laughed. It wasn’t a pretty sound.
“Indeed we will, Robin Inkpen. Indeed we will. “