Corvin Castle

Year One — The One Who Counts

On the day of the promise, the courtyard smelt of slaked lime and wet timber. A new wall was rising beside the old one, and between them lay an opening in the rock, wide enough for three men with pickaxes.

The lord of the castle watched us from beside the stairs. The man next to me later said the sun had flashed on a piece of metal fastened to his cap. I remember things that can be checked: three steps down to the courtyard, two guards on the left, the clerk with his wax tablet on the right.

He asked whether we knew how to dig. The One Who Remembers answered that any man could learn, if he were shown where. The One Who No Longer Believes said nothing. I asked how deep.

The lord laughed.

‘When the three of you draw water from this rock, you will pass together and free through the gate by which you entered, and my house will not stop you.’

The guards and the clerk heard him. I asked for it to be written down.

‘Write that they have been ordered to dig a well,’ the lord said.

‘And our freedom?’

The clerk did not look up. The lord was already descending the steps.

That evening, I scratched one line into the pickaxe handle for each part of the promise: when; the three of you; water; together; free; the gate; my house will not stop you. Seven marks.

Clerk’s Note — Start of the Work

Three captives have been set to digging a well between the walls. They have received three pickaxes, two sledgehammers, one chisel, one bucket, and two ropes.

Ration: bread, onion, and water, twice each day.

The captives maintain that they were promised release. No written order exists.

At the First Support Beam — The One Who Remembers

The One Who Counts says the lord said ‘the three of you’. I heard ‘if you draw water’. The One Who No Longer Believes says that a cart was crossing the bridge and its wheels drowned out the end.

At first, the differences seemed small. Every version still meant freedom.

I kept the things from outside. In the morning, I said the name of my village, the street, and the two hills between which our house could be seen. At noon, I recited the ingredients of the soup my sister made when the cold arrived: lentils, onion, thyme, salt, and vinegar at the end. In the evening, I said the prayer my mother had taught me, then the names of the dead, so that distance would not erase them.

The others listened. After a while, The One Who No Longer Believes began changing an ingredient to test me.

‘You said garlic, not thyme.’

‘I said thyme.’

Then I would begin again.

In the shaft, the light faded before the day was over. We raised stones in the bucket and heard the rope rub against the beam. The rock returned the sounds of iron, coughing, and breath. Voices went out clearly and came back altered, as though someone else went on speaking after we fell silent.

One evening, I said my sister’s name. The echo returned only the last syllable. I repeated it, and something else came from beneath us:

‘The gate.’

The One Who Counts said the bucket had struck the wall. The One Who No Longer Believes said I had fallen asleep on my feet. Neither asked me to say the name a third time.

Clerk’s Entry — After the First Rope Broke

The old rope broke beneath a load of stone. No man was injured.

The captives request a new rope, two lamps, and the entry of the promise in the ledger. The first request is justified. The second depends on the supply of tallow. The third does not concern the work.

The guards report words heard after the blows have ceased. The echo between the walls is strong.

Year Five — The One Who No Longer Believes

That was what The One Who Counts called me. On the wall he kept the days, the loads of stone, and the missing rations; the seven marks on the pickaxe were a separate reckoning. I counted differently: two guards had died, three had been moved elsewhere, and the boy who lowered our lamps had grown a beard.

I told the others:

‘If we find water, they will say there is not enough. If there is enough, they will say the lord was joking.’

The One Who Counts touched the seven cuts. The One Who Remembers stared at the ground and repeated his list of names, leaving gaps between them.

I wanted the next loaf and the next breath after every cloud of white dust. The gate could wait.

That year, the sledgehammer began to set up a long vibration in the rock. One day, I was working below on my own. I struck three times and heard it clearly:

‘You will pass.’

I stood with the hammer raised. The words might have meant the gate or merely that day. When the others came down, I said nothing. The One Who Counts would have added a rule. The One Who Remembers would have given the voice a name. I needed it to be a trick of the ear.

Clerk’s Note — On the Words Heard

The first captive states that the shaft repeats ‘the three of you’.

The second states that the shaft repeats ‘the gate’.

The third states that he hears no words.

One guard states that he heard ‘free’, then withdraws his statement after punishment. The work is to continue and discussion is to cease.

At the Depth Where the Circle of Light Had Shrunk to a Coin — The One Who Counts

When the first pickaxe handle broke, I moved the seven marks to the eastern wall, above a white seam in the rock. Beside them I cut marks for the working days, the loads raised, and the rations that had not come. I could not measure the depth, but I could prove its cost.

One morning, the bucket descended without bread. The guard told us that the lord of the castle had died far away and black cloth was being hung in the courtyard.

I asked to speak to the clerk. He came three days later and remained at the edge.

‘His house inherited the well,’ I said. ‘It inherited the walls and the water we have not yet found. It inherited the debt as well.’

‘There is no debt in the ledger.’

‘You were there. You heard.’

A trickle of sand fell from above and scattered over my shoulder.

‘Hearing is not proof,’ the clerk said.

A whisper came from the damp rock beneath our feet: ‘My house.’

The clerk drew back from the edge.

‘Did you hear it?’ I shouted.

He did not answer. The circle of light remained empty.

After the Death of the One Who Promised — The One Who Remembers

The new lord heard us from the balcony. The drop, the balustrade, and the clerk holding the ledger against his chest stood between us.

The One Who Counts recited every part of the promise. I said that we would leave together through the gate by which we had entered. The One Who No Longer Believes maintained that he had not been listening.

‘Three testimonies, three promises,’ the successor said. ‘I do not inherit a debt that even you cannot name in the same words.’

‘But you inherited the well,’ The One Who Counts replied.

A guard struck him across the mouth with the back of his hand. There was blood on his chin.

We were questioned separately. The clerk wanted to know which word came before ‘free’ and which followed ‘gate’. I remembered my mother’s name, the smell of the soup, and the entire prayer. The word after ‘gate’ would not come.

The clerk closed the ledger.

‘If you cannot remember, I cannot write it.’

‘Write that I cannot remember.’

When they lowered us again, I told the others I had forgotten. The One Who Counts pressed his forehead to the wall. The One Who No Longer Believes gave me half his onion.

From that day, they asked me to tell them their names every evening.

Record — The Three Statements

First: ‘When the three of you draw water from this rock, you will pass together and free through the gate by which you entered, and my house will not stop you.’

Second: ‘When you find water, you will leave together through the gate by which you entered.’

Third: ‘If there is water, he will let us leave.’

The statements are not identical. The successor does not recognise the obligation.

The work will continue because the castle requires water.

On the Night the Gate Stood Open — The One Who No Longer Believes

A storehouse collapsed before the rain, and everyone in the courtyard was called to move sacks and beams. We were brought out of the shaft to unload stone. The guards were few and hurried.

At dusk, I saw a cart loaded with empty sacks setting off towards the gate. The cloth at the back hung almost to the ground. Between the wheel and the wall was space for a thin man.

I followed the cart with a length of rope over my shoulder, as though someone had sent me. Ten paces from the gate, I could feel the air beyond it.

The clerk came out of the chancery with the ledger beneath his arm. He saw me but did not call out. He showed me the page with our statements.

I could have reached the cloth before the bar fell. The others would have been left with two different testimonies, while I would have been a fugitive.

I stopped.

‘Did you not hear the promise?’ he asked.

‘I heard it.’

‘Then why did you say you had not?’

The cart was passing beneath the gate. Its left wheel creaked.

‘I remembered when I reached this place.’

I turned back towards the shaft. Behind me, the gate closed.

Clerk’s Note — Before Water

The third captive had an opportunity to escape and did not do so.

He has completed his statement: the promise concerned all three; they were to pass through together; the dead man’s house was not to stop them.

The rock at the bottom of the shaft is damp. The work continues with guards working in two shifts.

On the Day of Water — The One Who Counts

We knew before we saw it. The chisels came out cold, and dust clung to them like flour to fingers. We took turns striking.

At the ninth blow, a black line appeared in the fissure. At the tenth, the line shone. I touched it with one finger and tasted it.

Water.

It gathered slowly in a hollow, cloudy with dust. The One Who Remembers washed his lips. The One Who No Longer Believes filled his cupped palm.

I pulled the rope. Above, someone rang the small bell. The guards, the master builder, the clerk, and the new lord came. The bucket descended, struck the water, and filled halfway.

‘The water is here,’ the successor said. ‘Your statements remain three.’

The bucket rose. Drops fell over us. One struck the wall beside the first of the seven marks.

The shaft said, ‘When.’

A second struck the bucket’s iron band.

‘The three of you.’

Then the words came one after another, carried by drops and returned by the walls, the rope, and the beam. Not loudly: only enough for those above to fall silent.

‘You will draw water from this rock. You will pass together and free through the gate by which you entered.’

The clerk dropped the ledger beside the edge.

The final part came in the dead man’s voice. Or in the voice we remembered. Or in all our voices, layered for one moment in the same echo.

‘And my house will not stop you.’

After that, there were only the drops and our breathing.

Final Testimony — The One Who Remembers

They brought us into the light after sunset. The water had been poured into a copper vessel. The new lord asked what each person had heard.

The master builder said it had been the echo. One guard said he had heard a voice, another that the rope had spoken. The third looked at the ground.

The clerk knelt beside the vessel and touched the water with two fingers.

‘I heard the whole sentence.’

‘You heard only what their testimonies had led you to write,’ the successor replied.

The clerk opened the ledger. Beneath the three different versions, in fresher ink, stood the entire sentence. I do not know whether he had written it before the water, from our fragments, or after he heard it. His hand shook so badly that I did not ask.

The One Who Counts had dried blood at his mouth. The One Who No Longer Believes watched the gate. I searched for my sister’s name and could not find it.

Then the one who said he no longer believed whispered it to me.

Unfinished Entry — The Clerk

Water has been found in the well between the walls.

The dead man’s promise was heard by the three captives, three guards, the master builder, and the undersigned. Testimony concerning the voice differs. The words are recorded exactly:

‘When the three of you draw water from this rock, you will pass together and free through the gate by which you entered, and my house will not stop you.’

The well remains for the use of the castle.

Regarding the three men and the fulfilment of the obligation, the ruling is:

[The line for the ruling was left blank.]