Cataindar

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

Luisa had a busy week in both Cataindar and at her Grandmother’s. Her training continued with Finn and the abbot and all her practice above ground was beginning to pay off in Cataindar.

She was brought to her first proper Cataindar trafod, an all-day meeting in which the leaders of the guildens drunk a lot of moss-tea, nibbled bitter knott-root biscuits and argued about a myriad of small issues that governed the practical running of Cataindar. 

Her grandmother had taken her to the Ruthin’s medieval town centre to be measured for her new school uniform.  The small Welsh woman doing the measuring purred at Luisa. She smiled, showing a mouth full of criss-crossed yellow teeth, while tightly wrapping a measuring tape around Luisa’s waist.

“Ah, always a pleasure measuring for Ruthin.” She rolled her r’s in the true Welsh way, “Such a fine school, a great institution.”

Luisa saw the cost of the uniform on the till, and guessed there could be another reason for the lady’s pleasure. 

In the taxi back with her Grandmother Luisa suddenly realised that tomorrow she was supposed to be meeting with Matthew.  Even though it was somewhat bizarre, she was kind of looking forward to it, maybe even a little nervous?  She had always got on with Matthew, but she didn’t really know him that well.  She thought about it; Matthew was a link to her normal life.  Yes, she was. It would be cool to chat to someone else from White Manor with everything that was going on.   

*  *  *

Matthew had just woken. It was 4:45am in Salisbury, and he had slept lightly waking up almost hourly in expectation. It was still dark with the first poke of dawn on the horizon.  Matthew shouldered his pack and left the house. The door closed with such a discreet and conspiring snap that he felt a sudden surge of genuine gratitude towards his aunt for possessing a home with such well-oiled locks.

He walked the distance to the train station briskly and in a wonderful mood.  He inhaled the rich bouquet of country air and looked out at the undulating landscape and reflected; there was a certain magic to the countryside in the early morning. He past fields alive with birdsong and the mooing of gentle cows.  Matthew boarded the train to Wales with a rush of excitement.

He changed at Newport and then alighted once again at Ruabon. At Ruabon Matthew waited at his platform, awoke from a daydream by a loud traditional train whistle in the distance. The steam train to Llangollen proudly chuffed its way into the station pumping out great plumes of white smoke while arriving at its own leisurely pace.  Matthew was immensely impressed with this Victorian wonder and took some boyish delight in manually pulling the chrome handle to open his carriage door.  A lady soon came, not to check tickets but to hand out complimentary tea and scones to the passengers.

Wow. The difference of being in Wales!

Matthew sipped his tea while watching the Welsh hills roll past as the train dutifully chugged along with the occasional scream of its whistle, until in the distance the town of Llagollen approached.  

Llagollen was a beautiful medieval town with buildings and spires carved from ancient Welsh stone.  The train followed the side of a large rushing river, and pulled into Llagollen station that sat under a grand arched stone bridge.

Matthew hopped off the train and began taking in the town, it possessed an old world charm only found tucked away in the best villages of the British countryside.  Whereas White Manor had only a large Tescos that everyone could go to for everything, this village still had a grocers, a bakers and other family-owned shops that had stood in the same place for centuries. Following his map he made his way to Llagollen hostel and despite the strange look from the receptionist he managed to successfully book himself a room.