Before the gnome lost his temper completely everyone had a moment in which they all believed that the wish would end. Lester, in fact, was pulling for this to happen almost as much as he imagined the gnome was. Once the gnome was free then he could spend the rest of the afternoon trying to find his brother's grave.
The idea of being keen to find the grave of his beloved sibling was not sitting well in Lester's head. It was almost impossible to separate the notion of someone having a grave from the notion of someone being, well, dead. Whenever that particularly unpleasant idea came around on the carousel of Lester's thoughts he reminded himself of what a remarkable and tricksy individual Chester Topping was. Lester wouldn't show much surprise if this whole thing hadn't been cooked up by Chester and Loki working in tandem.
Still, a gravestone. Surely even having a gravestone was an ill-omen. It might not be alchemy but it was certainly witchcraft.
"Oh... bother it!" the gnome cried eventually. The little sprite ran up to the base of the skull rock and gave it a hearty kick. "Owww!" the gnome cried. "That hurt."
"Kicking a gigantic rock generally hurts," Eos said. "That's why it never took off as a pastime."
"I should be free!" the gnome shouted. "This is it, the loop is closed, the journey is ended, the adventure has concluded, so why can I still feel the wish? Why am I flopping around, bound to the people who freed me? Why am I not allowed to make my own way in the world?"
"It would seem," said Rebecca gently, "that we may have misread the small print, so to speak."
"No!" the gnome replied. "No! I reject that completely, utterly, the terms of the wish were quite plain. Rachel wanted to leave the Skull Garden so that they could go on an adventure and he could see all that the world could be. That's what she said. Now I am aware that the phrase 'see all that the world could be' does leave some room for interpretation but the powers of mischief are not usually that particular."
"Not usually," said Rebecca, "but sometimes, sometimes there is something that they are waiting for, something that will just cross the last 't' or dot the last 'i'."
"Maybe," Lester said, without really knowing which part of his mind was providing the words, "the term used is tied to something James should see. Maybe when James feels that he knows all that he needs to know then he will have seen all that the world can see."
Everyone was looking at Lester. The gnome scowled.
"That," he said, "sounds exactly like the kind of stunt the forces of mischief like to pull." The gnome swivelled his eyes to fix on James, quiet now, still not as steady on his feet as he should be. "So what is it that you feel you're missing out on?" it asked. "Come on now, out with it, let's show you what you need to see so I can clock off."
"I... I don't know," James said.
"You have to know!" the gnome wailed. "Folk. Honestly, I am going off the lot of you. Born as babies, dying arbitrarily, don't know what you want, or where you're going, or how you feel. Why is the world filled with folk?
"Sprites are nice and simple. Pop into existence, do what you do, go where you have to, and then just fade away once your time is done. Why can't folk be more like sprites."
The gnome tramped over to the foot of the Skull Rock and sat down, defeated.
"I'm sorry," James called after him. "I just don't know."
"It's okay," Rebecca said, putting her hand on her husband's shoulder. "You're still confused. Take a moment, take a breath, let the thing you want come to your mind naturally."
James closed his eyes and took a breath. Another few moments passed.
Maybe James wants to know what happened to my brother, Lester thought. He banished the thought immediately as being inherently selfish.
"Maybe," Rachel said. "Dad just wants to know what happened to Lester's brother. I know I do, and dad's been travelling with Lester since we first popped into the market."
Lester held his breath while the others weighed up this suggestion in their minds.
"It can't hurt to find out, can it?" Eos asked.
Lester felt a sudden flip in his guts, like his stomach was trying to pop out of his mouth and run away. They were going to search, it was finally time to search.
"There's only one problem with that plan," James said. "The area we refer to as the Skull Garden is all of the jungle as far as we can walk by day and still be back here by night. If you expand that line so it becomes the radius of a circle and then plot out the area of that circle... I mean, we could be months searching for this grave, if it's even here."
This pessimistic, but unfortunately rational, appraisal of the situation was interrupted by the flopping noise of a rope hitting the side of the Skull Rock.
"Hello!" cried a voice from above.
The unhappy party at the foot turned their gaze upwards to see who had hailed them.
"Frederick!" James called out. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh you know," Frederick replied. "The usual kind of thing, killing giant bats, rescuing princesses trapped inside a crystal along with an entire lost continent, taking in the afternoon air."
Following Frederick down the rope was Phoebe, and above her a young boy that Lester didn't recognise. Above the boy was another young woman that Lester thought he didn't recognise, then from other angles he thought he did.
The four adventurers reached the ground and a general round of greetings and introductions was carried out. Lester was introduced, firstly, to the small boy whose name was Wish Forbetter and then to the mysterious young woman.
"Hello Lester," the young woman said. "How are things?"
Not being the kind of opening one might expect from someone you had never met before Lester was rendered momentarily speechless.
"Found yourself lost in any sorcerer's dungeons recently?" the young woman asked. "James is looking well, distinctly less mousey than the last time we met."
She followed the comment up with a cheeky grin that Lester couldn't help but recognise. He went instantly from speechless to gaping. Eventually he found his tongue:
"Anabyl?" he asked.
"Took you long enough," she said. "Although I have to concede that some water has passed under the bridge since last time I saw you."
"But... you're here, in the Skull Garden and, I mean, what happened?" Lester asked.
"It's a long story, I travelled with Avan Weatherstrong, escaped the Vanishing, trained as a dragon warrior and helped protect the quintessence crystal from evil-doers who wanted to possess its power," Anabyl said. "It was an interesting time. What have you been up to?"
"Um, went to an evil masked ball, then I was chased down a mountain by a troll, got lost in the Undone, helped rescue a mermaid from a witch and now I'm looking for my twin's grave, here in the garden.... my twin's grave... is," Lester managed to recount his recent history, just about.
He couldn't help but note that the full catalogue of events sounded, maybe, more impressive than he'd imagined. This was a thing about adventure, at the time you were just scrambling desperately to survive, only afterwards did you realise that, having survived, your exploits had graduated from terrifying to exciting.
"Sounds like you've kept busy," Anabyl said. "How are you planning to find your brother's grave?"
"Well," Lester sighed. "That's kind of the thing. You see we have no idea where it is, and James was just pointing out how large the garden actually is. If we stay here too long then we will start to forget who we are, or why we came here in the first place. So we need to find the grave before that happens obviously. It could take a long while. Maybe we could think about shift work or something, but I bet the gnome won't be too happy about that."
"Why would the gnome care?" Anabyl asked.
"We think he might not be able to become a full gnome until James sees Chester's grave. It's a wish magic thing," Lester explained.
"Well," Anabyl said, "If I remember correctly you and Chester are twins, are you not?"
"Yes," Lester said. "We are."
"Well, then, maybe in the matter of choosing a grave-site you both think alike, it's worth a try," Anabyl said. "I've got lucky like that on more than one occasion."
This suggestion appeared to Lester to be far too sensible a one to actually work but, because it was so sensible, it was also mandatory to give it a go.
"Okay," Lester said. "Let's have a think. Well, first of all, if I were Chester the whole point of this grave is to hide it so that only I can find it."
That didn't immediately make Lester think of a location. After all, Lester had to admit, he wasn't the most imaginative of people. If he'd have come to this place alone, seeing the gigantic stone column with a skull on the top at the centre, he probably would have headed straight for that. Here they were, for other reasons, there was no grave.
Of course, the idea of putting the grave here did not exactly make it hidden. Unless, of course, the grave was unmarked. If that were the case then it would probably be somewhere here, under the column. In which case, there would probably be some sort of indicator that only Lester would understand, probably on the column, at the bottom.
Lester stalked around the base of the column, searching for something, anything. It didn't take him long to find it. There was an arrow carved into the stone, it pointed North, you could tell because it said 'N' at the top of it. Underneath was the number '58'.
"Here!" Lester said, excitedly.
The others came to join him.
"What does that mean?" the gnome asked.
"It's the orientation course," Rachel said. "I followed it a few times, started really early in the morning. I don't know how far I got. You walk in the direction of the line for that many paces and you reach another rock with another arrow and another number. I got about forty of them before I had to come back, because of the bat."
"But now the bat is dead," Frederick said. "So we can just follow the arrows to the end."
Everyone seemed very excited at this prospect and preparations immediately got underway to start the course. Lester was happy with the explanation but something still seemed off to him. After all, Chester could not know that the bat would be dead when Lester got there.
Chester had to have thought this through. Why would Chester send Lester off running around in the woods like that? For a start Chester and Lester both had one leg longer than the other. They couldn't easily walk in straight lines, they always veered off to the right. Something was wrong with this.
It was only as the party got ready to stamp off north for fifty-eight paces that Lester thought he understood what it was Chester had done.
"Stop!" he cried out before anyone had taken more than two paces north.
Everyone stopped. Lester's heart was beating in his throat at the idea that for once he had worked something out. He was the one with the answer, he was not just some oddball standing on the edges. For the first time since he had started his quest Lester felt like he might have the makings of a hero.
"We shouldn't go," he said. "It's a trap."
"What do you mean?" Rebecca asked. "What kind of a trap?"
"We lived in the garden for years and years," James said. "We never found a trap."
"No," Lester said. "But you did completely forget who you were, or why you were here."
"So?" Rachel asked.
"Think about it," Lester explained. "Someone evil comes here, they find the course, they kill the bat. The bat killing, in particular, is something I don't think I could do. But the evil person they have no problem with it. So they follow the path. Eventually the path is so long they have to rest. So they rest. Then they keep following the path.
"At first they accept the difficulty of the task, after all if Chester's grave was easy to find then it wouldn't be a challenge. Eventually they get annoyed, maybe they give up. If they don't, one day they wake up and, maybe, they can't remember exactly why, but they know they're following the arrows. So they go further.
"Now remembering things gets harder, they can't remember if they've seen arrows before. Eventually they either forget who they are give up and wander away or they keep mindlessly walking in circles lost in a labyrinth of arrows and pacing until they die.
"The whole task is a trap. Chester knew I would know that because the apparent simple task is one that both he and I would be singularly awful at if we were on our own."
"So, what does that mean?" James asked. "That we don't know where the grave is after all?"
"No," Lester said. "It means we know exactly where the grave is, because we're standing on it. The other thing Chester and I have in common is that we're very very lazy. The marker doesn't tell me to go tramping about in the forgetful forest. No, what it says to me is, Chester made a mark, so there must be something here worth marking."
Frederick ruffled in his pack and brought out a small collapsible spade.
"Only one way we're going to see if he's right," Frederick said. "I'll get digging."
Nobody said much as Frederick found a piece of earth that was soft enough and dug straight down. The hole went deeper than a regular grave but after about forty minutes he hit something solid.
"Oh, wow," Frederick said. "That's deep. We could be here until nightfall."
"Oh, no, Frederick," Phoebe said. "Come out of that hole. I think I can help."
"No offence," Lester said. "But I've seen how you help, I don't want to cremate my brother's remains in a massive plasma explosion, I just want to uncover the grave."
"I think I might be of assistance here," the gnome said, rather unexpectedly. He looked about at everyone regarding him, surprised expressions on their faces, and his brow knitted in annoyance. "I'm a gnome people, a gnome? Earth elemental? Really, and I thought you were an educated woman Miss September."
Phobe looked a bit awkward, she had spent many years in Faerie's premier magical academy.
"I just didn't really think about it," she said by way of explanation.
"Why didn't you mention this half an hour ago?" Frederick asked, still sweating from his own exertions.
"I didn't know whether you would find anything," the gnome grumbled. "Not going to put my back out blasting away a big hole in the earth for no reason, now, am I?"
The logic, irritating as it might have been, was irrefutable. The others all stood back and gave the gnome room to work. With very little effort the sprite shifted all of the earth from Chester's grave and even landscaped the surroundings into a sweeping natural curve.
The grave stone was about eight feet long and three feet wide. In the centre of the slab was carved an ornate embossed hourglass, the carving, elegantly swirled around this central motif outwards to a geometric frame about half an inch in around the edge of the stone.
"That doesn't look like it's going to be fun to move," Anabyl said.
"Ah," Lester said. "But you're failing to take into account that this place was designed to be uncovered by a single lazy man with a spade and a couple of days to spare. By the time I'd got down to this on my own I imagine I would be so tired I'd probably just take my spade and have a good old lean, like this."
Lester grabbed Frederick's spade, walked into the middle of the slab and placed it point down on the hour glass. He leaned on the handle and there was a deep and audible click as some hidden mechanism was pressed into service.
The two halves of the grave stone separated along invisible seams and lifted gently upwards to reveal the contents of Chester's tomb. But what was beneath the gravestone and how it brought our friend's adventures to a satisfactory, if not permanent, conclusion, is most definitely a story that I will tell you. Just, not right now is all.
Showing posts with label Explosion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Explosion. Show all posts
Sunday, 22 December 2013
Sunday, 27 October 2013
How Tabarnas Came To Sommerslip
Tabarnas always felt nervous whenever he was separated from his stock. It wasn't just a matter of distance, if the stock could be left outside a walled city whilst negotiations took place with the Master Chief of the town's trader's guild then it didn't matter; these were negotations and something any goblin trader would be well used to.
The separation anxiety began to bite when the stock had to be cached because outside circumstances, not conducive to trade, dictated that carting a load of sale items around might not be prudent, in the strictest sense of the term. Then your stockpile could be safely under lock and key in the next street and you'd still be worried.
It wasn't the distance, it was the prospect of thievery, or acts of nature, or acts of deliberate plunder and villainy. In short, it was generally acknowledged that any kind of risk was bad for business. The prospect of risk sent a shudder down Tabarnas's spine. Well it might, because if a risk matured then money would be lost. And if money was lost... well, what was the point of trying to wed that self-evident disaster with a 'then'? Money... would be lost. There would be a loss of money. How could anything be worse than that?
What made matters worse, at least in Tabarnas's opinion, was that they were well within the bounds of the Hundred Kingdoms, surrounded by crossways, not even in the brightest of shadow realms. Most people were perfectly safe here, protected under the rule of law. Not Tabarnas though, not with his current cargo and his current travelling companions, not with his current business.
He had to stop for a moment and ask himself why he was doing any of this.
The answer, of course, was stories. His story books had continued to evolve and change over the week that it had taken them to come to the edge of Sommerslip woods. Tabarnas had checked the main points of the Chronicles of Avan Weatherstrong and the new work detailing the life and adventures of Princess Anabyl, the Dragon Warrior.
The general shape and tone of the stories was the kind of stuff that Tabarnas liked best. Tales of derring-do and high heroics. There were little notes, swatches of darkness, where heroism, it was implied, was not enough and the battle, it was suggested, may not be won by the correct side.
These scurrilous passages, nestled away in the reams of epic prose needed to be excised, redacted, reversed, put right. The only people in the whole of Faerie who could wrangle a story were the Story Keepers of the Faerie Archive. It was these individuals that party or parties unknown had determined should never meet with Tabarnas, or his little band of helpers. Tabarnas had graduated from reading tales of heroics to being in them.
The only slight disadvantage to this being that Tabarnas did not feel, had not ever felt, and was extremely unlikely to feel in the future, like a hero. He was a trader, a business man: along with knowledge of the deeply important mission that he had accidentally become a part of was a natural curiosity as to whether he could broker a deal with the paymaster of the mercenaries who were currently pursuing him for the very items that he was supposed to protect.
There was nothing Tabarnas could do about this, it was his nature. So, altogether the best idea would be to sit here in the Sommerslip Inn and not do anything. He didn't want to end up betraying anyone by following his instincts.
A plain looking. burly farmer with a low brow and a missing tooth slipped into the booth opposite Tabarnas.
"Tabarnas," the farmer said. "Don't worry, it's me, Harvey."
The farmer reached up to his chin and pulled forward his face, the narrow jaw and high cheekbones of the djinn peeked out from the shadowy interior space that opened beneath the man's face. The farmer returned the chin to its initial starting place before continuing:
"I adapted some masks that I took from the House of Mirth," Harvey explained. "It means that we can all get around without causing too much panic."
"So why didn't you give one to me?" Tabarnas asked. "I'm positively sick sat in this nook, trying to be unobtrusive."
"Only the three masks, I'm afraid," Harvey said. "Don't worry, the trolls aren't bright enough to spot you. Freddie, Feebs and I are much easier to identify. I don't think anyone knows much about you beyond the fact that you're a goblin trader, and there's lots of them."
"So, what? I just have to sit here until you've... done... something...?" Tabarnas asked. He found the djinn terribly condescending. Tabarnas believed that Harvey regarded him as nothing more than a talking animal, and not one of the sophisticated types either. Like a dog that someone had enchanted to ask for food or beg for a stick to be thrown.
"Feebs seems to think she can give Freddie a boost," Harvey shrugged. "Then we can work out a strategy for getting the trolls off our back."
"I've got the distinct feeling," said a gawky looking young woman who slid into the seat next to Tabarnas without warning, "that things may, shortly, begin to get a bit frantic. I invested in a crossbow, and some new vambraces."
"Phoebe?" Tabarnas tried.
"No, it's Frederick!" the woman objected. "I would have thought the talk of weapons and armour would give it away."
"It's just, you're..." Tabarnas didn't know quite how to put it.
"I look like a girl, yes," Frederick said.
"Which some people might think was closer to reality," Harvey said. Frederick shot the djinn a look of tired disappointment and annoyance.
"Actually, Phoebe was going to take this mask," Frederick said. "But then she realised that if we swapped masks then it would probably help throw the trolls off the scent."
"But..." Tabarnas said. "There's still a male mask and a female mask, presumably, how does that help?"
"They're looking for a man buying weapons and a woman buying witchy things," Frederick explained. "Not the other way round."
"You have to remember," Harvey said. "These trolls are not much for subtlety and they're pretty easy to fool. In fact, the only advantage that they've got is that there do seem to be quite a few of them. Also they are all very strong."
"So what did you find out?" Frederick asked Harvey.
"There's three patrols walking around Sommerslip. The locals are pretty happy and peaceful, so they stick out a bit, that plays to our advantage," Harvey explained. "Unfortunately there isn't much in the way of a town watch, that I can see, anyhow. So if trouble comes our way then it looks like we could be on our own.
"The rest of the goons are assembled near the Archive building, there's a folkish chappie ordering them about and looking like his trollish soldiers are treading continually on his last nerve. The operation, as a whole, does not appear to be going smoothly.
"Oh, and he was wearing one of those rings, like the one we pulled off the fellow at The Castle."
"If we could find out who that ring belonged to," Tabarnas said. "Maybe we could work out how to get rid of them."
"Maybe," Harvey said. "But I think, at the moment, the small army of armed trolls hunting us down are the immediate concern. As long as trolls get paid they don't worry overmuch about who's doing the paying, and they're incredibly difficult to reason with. I think Feebs was right when she said we should deal with the immediate threat before identifying the general one."
"Did you just say I was right about something, Harvey Raine?" a toad-like middle-aged man said, sliding into the booth next to Harvey.
"Well, you said pretty much what I was thinking," Harvey said. "So obviously it was the correct thought to be having. How did the shopping trip go?"
"Immensely well," Phoebe said. "Turns out that this town is riddled with crossways, not only that but the town on the other side is pretty normal, not really mortal at all. There was a magic shop, down on the sea front, no trolls, I went there to get the supplies."
"So, what have you got for us?" Frederick asked.
"Ingredients for a nice piece of sympathetic witchcraft," Phoebe said. "Also, I was passing a shop as I came back to the crossway that had this in the window."
She held up a slim black-jacketed book.
"It's an alchemical guide to the classical elements. I think it's intended for students, it has some pretty impressive quick recipes for pre-prepared fire potions," she said.
"That you can mix up in an alley? Before the Day Bell?" Frederick asked.
"In theory, as long as the book's recipes are accurate." Phoebe shrugged.
"And if they're not?" Frederick asked. "What are the chances that those close by will be rendered into some sort of thin red paste?"
"Are you suggesting that I lack skills in alchemy?" Phoebe asked.
"I just don't like alchemy, generally speaking," Frederick replied. "It's really nothing personal. I am suspicious of all alchemy on an equal basis."
"Well, I think everything will be fine. I know how to stay safe when mixing potions," Phoebe said sniffily.
"Maybe," Tabarnas broke in. "We could stop arguing about it now and see if we can actually commit to some sort of action."
Everybody appeared to be able to agree on that point. Frederick hired a room and the party all went upstairs to allow Phoebe to work. By the time she had finished soaking things, burning things and infusing things with plasma energy the Noon Bell had rung. Phoebe presented the fruits of her labour, an hourglass, to Frederick.
"So, what does this do?" Frederick asked. "It's not going to explode is it?"
"Oh, heavens, no," Phoebe said. "That magick's a lot less subtle. This is a single use charm of enhanced vigour. It will make you stronger as long as the sand is travelling from the top bulb to the bottom bulb. I didn't have time to properly bake it, unfortunately so it will only work once. It's highly important that the hourglass is not smashed before the charm is finished or the remaining energy will disperse with a nasty snap."
"Define 'a nasty snap'," Frederick said, still regarding the charm with suspicion.
"She means," Harvey explained. "That the previously organised and directed magical energies will, all of a sudden, revert into a localised mischief field and they will be rather cross about it, so it won't be gentle mischief."
Frederick did not look happy about this.
"It's alright Freddie," Harvey said. "I'll come along and take care of the charm. They won't smash it while I'm looking after it."
"Bind him to that," Frederick said to Phoebe. Phoebe opened her mouth to say the fateful words, before she could speak Harvey cut her off.
"Now wait a minute!" he said. "Binding me to protect that charm is tantamount to declaring that you don't trust me to do it by myself."
Phoebe and Frederick looked over at Harvey with eyes that said: 'Seriously? You believe that morally indignant outrage is your right at this point?' far more eloquently than mere words could have expressed the sentiment.
"Further," Harvey said, warming to his theme. "You are implying that I'd rather see Sir Freddie beaten to a pulp than get rid of these trolls."
The look from the other two did not change.
"Well, I think that's a bit much," Harvey complained. "If Sir Dimwit there gets pulped then I will surely follow shortly thereafter. To damage our strong arm is to damage all of us. I don't mind you thinking of me as a sneak and a traitor, but stupid? I am not stupid."
Phoebe bound Harvey anyway before he and Frederick went off to find some trolls to beat up. Tabarnas stayed behind to help Phoebe with the fire bombs.
"I'm not sure I like this," Tabarnas said to Phoebe whilst he was stirring a flask of clear yellow liquid for her. "Violence tends to be bad for business."
Phoebe nodded.
"Mhmm," she said, emptying some red crystals into a pestle, while looking at the open page of her book. "I have to say I absolutely loathe violence. Unfortunately I'm very good at it."
"I know they're trolls and everything," Tabarnas said, trying to approach his misgivings from a different angle, "but I'm a goblin myself. We're genetic cousins. I've never really been a big fan of fighting and such."
"You read all those stories," Phoebe pointed out. "They're full of fighting."
"Well," Tabarnas said, although he couldn't think of what to say after that single syllable. He had a nasty feeling his pacifist agenda was about to be completely undermined. "I mean, Avan Weatherstrong, that was a long time ago, before... well, before."
Phoebe finished grinding the red crystals into a powder. She took the yellow liquid from Tabarnas and dumped the powder into the flask. She stirred it and the whole mixture turned into a black slime. Phoebe rested the flask on a stand over a burner.
"So you don't mind old violence, from the past?" Phoebe asked Tabarnas. "You just don't like the violence when it's in the present? Have I got that the right way round? What do you feel about violence in the future?"
"It's not that simple," Tabarnas complained. "In the past... Times are different now. The Hundred Kingdoms are at peace, the shadows are mostly stable, the Shadow Emperors have been defeated, the Black Dragons disappeared in the Vanishing. The age when there were great evils that needed to be vanquished have passed."
"Have they?" Phoebe asked. "Then why are people chasing us for your books? What do they not want us to find in the Archive? How do you think people like us felt when they had a problem with a single unit of Emperor Shymak's army, for example? Do you think those people didn't pray for a hero to liberate them from oppression? And when the hero came along do you think he stood aloof because peaceful oppression was better than violent liberation?"
"But nobody's oppressed here," Tabarnas objected. "Sommerslip is under the rule of the third Lord Sommerslip, direct descendant of Avan Weatherstrong. The trolls are only bothering us."
"And what happens if the trolls steal the books? What do you think the person who is paying the trolls will do with them? What do you think their plan is?" Phoebe asked.
"I don't know that," Tabarnas asked. "How could I?"
"We could give them what they want, stand back and see what happens," Phoebe suggested. "How do you fancy that?"
Tabarnas didn't know how to respond to that. Phoebe was pretty adamant that what they were doing was necessary. The only way Tabarnas could argue otherwise was to take a position where he was, underneath it all, wrong, or at least mistaken about something. If the paymaster of the trolls really was ultimately harmless then where was the sense in not giving them the books?
Did Tabarnas believe that nothing bad would happen if whoever was behind the small army of mercenary trolls got what they wanted? No. Tabarnas decided he did not believe that. He had no proof that fighting would make the world a better place but he felt very strongly that not fighting could make it a worse one.
"Very well," he said as the liquid in the flask turned white. "Just try not to hurt anyone."
"I always do," Phoebe smiled. "Now, were did I put that packet of Coagula Powder?"
As Phoebe rummaged in her satchel a noise floated up from the street outside, a shout, the speech too indistinct for Tabarnas to hear through the shutters over the room's windows. Tabarnas opened the shutter enough to peek outside, he saw a small boy running through the streets shouting something out. By the time Tabarnas's ear had started to make sense of the words the boy was too far away to be heard.
It didn't take too long before one of the squads of trolls came hurrying past underneath the window. They were headed in the direction of the archive.
"I think the trolls have called everyone back together," Tabarnas said. "Frederick must have begun fighting."
"Just give me a couple of minutes," Phoebe said. "Then I'll be ready." Then, after a brief pause: "Why don't you walk down there. Take your books. The trolls are probably too busy to mess with you now."
Not having another idea Tabarnas complied. It was nice to get out into the fresh air anyway after spending the morning sweating in a corner of the inn. Tabarnas did see one other squad of trolls hurrying down towards the sea but they were far too busy to concentrate on anything but forward motion.
It took Tabarnas about ten minutes to walk out to the Archive. He dared not get too close because the scene that greeted his eyes upon arrival was chaotic to say the least. Frederick jumped, ducked and punched his way around the twenty or thirty trolls that were attempting to take him down. The huge monsters were shouting at Frederick and each other in some confusion as to what, exactly, was going on. They knew that a single young man should not be able to fight all of them together and yet Frederick was there, holding his own against this small army.
Of course not all of this was due to Phoebe's strength charm. Anyone could see that Frederick was actually a pretty skilled fighter. Wherever a troll's fist or foot happened to be Frederick tended not to be. Frederick's defence was all him. It was the punishment he was dishing out that was down to magic but Tabarnas knew that Frederick was fighing on borrowed time. Tabarnas hoped that Phoebe would not be too long.
Indeed she wasn't. Shortly after Tabarnas arrived she swooped out of the air on a broomstick and started dropping off little paper wrapped parcels from a height. As soon as the packages hit the floor they bloomed into bright white flowers of flame.
For a couple of minutes this just gave Frederick something else to think about, as the sudden additon of fireballs into the melee served only to confuse the trolls. When they worked out that the fire was against them, not supporting them they sensibly began to cry out and one by one thought better of fighting the super strong knight with fireball air support.
Maybe the trolls would come back when they knew it was safe but in the meanwhile Tabarnas went unimpeded up the path to the Faerie Archive. The Story Gatherers welcomed the goblin and his friends inside the high walls of the Archive and were extremely interested in the contents of his books but the hows and whys of that situation are a story for another time.
The separation anxiety began to bite when the stock had to be cached because outside circumstances, not conducive to trade, dictated that carting a load of sale items around might not be prudent, in the strictest sense of the term. Then your stockpile could be safely under lock and key in the next street and you'd still be worried.
It wasn't the distance, it was the prospect of thievery, or acts of nature, or acts of deliberate plunder and villainy. In short, it was generally acknowledged that any kind of risk was bad for business. The prospect of risk sent a shudder down Tabarnas's spine. Well it might, because if a risk matured then money would be lost. And if money was lost... well, what was the point of trying to wed that self-evident disaster with a 'then'? Money... would be lost. There would be a loss of money. How could anything be worse than that?
What made matters worse, at least in Tabarnas's opinion, was that they were well within the bounds of the Hundred Kingdoms, surrounded by crossways, not even in the brightest of shadow realms. Most people were perfectly safe here, protected under the rule of law. Not Tabarnas though, not with his current cargo and his current travelling companions, not with his current business.
He had to stop for a moment and ask himself why he was doing any of this.
The answer, of course, was stories. His story books had continued to evolve and change over the week that it had taken them to come to the edge of Sommerslip woods. Tabarnas had checked the main points of the Chronicles of Avan Weatherstrong and the new work detailing the life and adventures of Princess Anabyl, the Dragon Warrior.
The general shape and tone of the stories was the kind of stuff that Tabarnas liked best. Tales of derring-do and high heroics. There were little notes, swatches of darkness, where heroism, it was implied, was not enough and the battle, it was suggested, may not be won by the correct side.
These scurrilous passages, nestled away in the reams of epic prose needed to be excised, redacted, reversed, put right. The only people in the whole of Faerie who could wrangle a story were the Story Keepers of the Faerie Archive. It was these individuals that party or parties unknown had determined should never meet with Tabarnas, or his little band of helpers. Tabarnas had graduated from reading tales of heroics to being in them.
The only slight disadvantage to this being that Tabarnas did not feel, had not ever felt, and was extremely unlikely to feel in the future, like a hero. He was a trader, a business man: along with knowledge of the deeply important mission that he had accidentally become a part of was a natural curiosity as to whether he could broker a deal with the paymaster of the mercenaries who were currently pursuing him for the very items that he was supposed to protect.
There was nothing Tabarnas could do about this, it was his nature. So, altogether the best idea would be to sit here in the Sommerslip Inn and not do anything. He didn't want to end up betraying anyone by following his instincts.
A plain looking. burly farmer with a low brow and a missing tooth slipped into the booth opposite Tabarnas.
"Tabarnas," the farmer said. "Don't worry, it's me, Harvey."
The farmer reached up to his chin and pulled forward his face, the narrow jaw and high cheekbones of the djinn peeked out from the shadowy interior space that opened beneath the man's face. The farmer returned the chin to its initial starting place before continuing:
"I adapted some masks that I took from the House of Mirth," Harvey explained. "It means that we can all get around without causing too much panic."
"So why didn't you give one to me?" Tabarnas asked. "I'm positively sick sat in this nook, trying to be unobtrusive."
"Only the three masks, I'm afraid," Harvey said. "Don't worry, the trolls aren't bright enough to spot you. Freddie, Feebs and I are much easier to identify. I don't think anyone knows much about you beyond the fact that you're a goblin trader, and there's lots of them."
"So, what? I just have to sit here until you've... done... something...?" Tabarnas asked. He found the djinn terribly condescending. Tabarnas believed that Harvey regarded him as nothing more than a talking animal, and not one of the sophisticated types either. Like a dog that someone had enchanted to ask for food or beg for a stick to be thrown.
"Feebs seems to think she can give Freddie a boost," Harvey shrugged. "Then we can work out a strategy for getting the trolls off our back."
"I've got the distinct feeling," said a gawky looking young woman who slid into the seat next to Tabarnas without warning, "that things may, shortly, begin to get a bit frantic. I invested in a crossbow, and some new vambraces."
"Phoebe?" Tabarnas tried.
"No, it's Frederick!" the woman objected. "I would have thought the talk of weapons and armour would give it away."
"It's just, you're..." Tabarnas didn't know quite how to put it.
"I look like a girl, yes," Frederick said.
"Which some people might think was closer to reality," Harvey said. Frederick shot the djinn a look of tired disappointment and annoyance.
"Actually, Phoebe was going to take this mask," Frederick said. "But then she realised that if we swapped masks then it would probably help throw the trolls off the scent."
"But..." Tabarnas said. "There's still a male mask and a female mask, presumably, how does that help?"
"They're looking for a man buying weapons and a woman buying witchy things," Frederick explained. "Not the other way round."
"You have to remember," Harvey said. "These trolls are not much for subtlety and they're pretty easy to fool. In fact, the only advantage that they've got is that there do seem to be quite a few of them. Also they are all very strong."
"So what did you find out?" Frederick asked Harvey.
"There's three patrols walking around Sommerslip. The locals are pretty happy and peaceful, so they stick out a bit, that plays to our advantage," Harvey explained. "Unfortunately there isn't much in the way of a town watch, that I can see, anyhow. So if trouble comes our way then it looks like we could be on our own.
"The rest of the goons are assembled near the Archive building, there's a folkish chappie ordering them about and looking like his trollish soldiers are treading continually on his last nerve. The operation, as a whole, does not appear to be going smoothly.
"Oh, and he was wearing one of those rings, like the one we pulled off the fellow at The Castle."
"If we could find out who that ring belonged to," Tabarnas said. "Maybe we could work out how to get rid of them."
"Maybe," Harvey said. "But I think, at the moment, the small army of armed trolls hunting us down are the immediate concern. As long as trolls get paid they don't worry overmuch about who's doing the paying, and they're incredibly difficult to reason with. I think Feebs was right when she said we should deal with the immediate threat before identifying the general one."
"Did you just say I was right about something, Harvey Raine?" a toad-like middle-aged man said, sliding into the booth next to Harvey.
"Well, you said pretty much what I was thinking," Harvey said. "So obviously it was the correct thought to be having. How did the shopping trip go?"
"Immensely well," Phoebe said. "Turns out that this town is riddled with crossways, not only that but the town on the other side is pretty normal, not really mortal at all. There was a magic shop, down on the sea front, no trolls, I went there to get the supplies."
"So, what have you got for us?" Frederick asked.
"Ingredients for a nice piece of sympathetic witchcraft," Phoebe said. "Also, I was passing a shop as I came back to the crossway that had this in the window."
She held up a slim black-jacketed book.
"It's an alchemical guide to the classical elements. I think it's intended for students, it has some pretty impressive quick recipes for pre-prepared fire potions," she said.
"That you can mix up in an alley? Before the Day Bell?" Frederick asked.
"In theory, as long as the book's recipes are accurate." Phoebe shrugged.
"And if they're not?" Frederick asked. "What are the chances that those close by will be rendered into some sort of thin red paste?"
"Are you suggesting that I lack skills in alchemy?" Phoebe asked.
"I just don't like alchemy, generally speaking," Frederick replied. "It's really nothing personal. I am suspicious of all alchemy on an equal basis."
"Well, I think everything will be fine. I know how to stay safe when mixing potions," Phoebe said sniffily.
"Maybe," Tabarnas broke in. "We could stop arguing about it now and see if we can actually commit to some sort of action."
Everybody appeared to be able to agree on that point. Frederick hired a room and the party all went upstairs to allow Phoebe to work. By the time she had finished soaking things, burning things and infusing things with plasma energy the Noon Bell had rung. Phoebe presented the fruits of her labour, an hourglass, to Frederick.
"So, what does this do?" Frederick asked. "It's not going to explode is it?"
"Oh, heavens, no," Phoebe said. "That magick's a lot less subtle. This is a single use charm of enhanced vigour. It will make you stronger as long as the sand is travelling from the top bulb to the bottom bulb. I didn't have time to properly bake it, unfortunately so it will only work once. It's highly important that the hourglass is not smashed before the charm is finished or the remaining energy will disperse with a nasty snap."
"Define 'a nasty snap'," Frederick said, still regarding the charm with suspicion.
"She means," Harvey explained. "That the previously organised and directed magical energies will, all of a sudden, revert into a localised mischief field and they will be rather cross about it, so it won't be gentle mischief."
Frederick did not look happy about this.
"It's alright Freddie," Harvey said. "I'll come along and take care of the charm. They won't smash it while I'm looking after it."
"Bind him to that," Frederick said to Phoebe. Phoebe opened her mouth to say the fateful words, before she could speak Harvey cut her off.
"Now wait a minute!" he said. "Binding me to protect that charm is tantamount to declaring that you don't trust me to do it by myself."
Phoebe and Frederick looked over at Harvey with eyes that said: 'Seriously? You believe that morally indignant outrage is your right at this point?' far more eloquently than mere words could have expressed the sentiment.
"Further," Harvey said, warming to his theme. "You are implying that I'd rather see Sir Freddie beaten to a pulp than get rid of these trolls."
The look from the other two did not change.
"Well, I think that's a bit much," Harvey complained. "If Sir Dimwit there gets pulped then I will surely follow shortly thereafter. To damage our strong arm is to damage all of us. I don't mind you thinking of me as a sneak and a traitor, but stupid? I am not stupid."
Phoebe bound Harvey anyway before he and Frederick went off to find some trolls to beat up. Tabarnas stayed behind to help Phoebe with the fire bombs.
"I'm not sure I like this," Tabarnas said to Phoebe whilst he was stirring a flask of clear yellow liquid for her. "Violence tends to be bad for business."
Phoebe nodded.
"Mhmm," she said, emptying some red crystals into a pestle, while looking at the open page of her book. "I have to say I absolutely loathe violence. Unfortunately I'm very good at it."
"I know they're trolls and everything," Tabarnas said, trying to approach his misgivings from a different angle, "but I'm a goblin myself. We're genetic cousins. I've never really been a big fan of fighting and such."
"You read all those stories," Phoebe pointed out. "They're full of fighting."
"Well," Tabarnas said, although he couldn't think of what to say after that single syllable. He had a nasty feeling his pacifist agenda was about to be completely undermined. "I mean, Avan Weatherstrong, that was a long time ago, before... well, before."
Phoebe finished grinding the red crystals into a powder. She took the yellow liquid from Tabarnas and dumped the powder into the flask. She stirred it and the whole mixture turned into a black slime. Phoebe rested the flask on a stand over a burner.
"So you don't mind old violence, from the past?" Phoebe asked Tabarnas. "You just don't like the violence when it's in the present? Have I got that the right way round? What do you feel about violence in the future?"
"It's not that simple," Tabarnas complained. "In the past... Times are different now. The Hundred Kingdoms are at peace, the shadows are mostly stable, the Shadow Emperors have been defeated, the Black Dragons disappeared in the Vanishing. The age when there were great evils that needed to be vanquished have passed."
"Have they?" Phoebe asked. "Then why are people chasing us for your books? What do they not want us to find in the Archive? How do you think people like us felt when they had a problem with a single unit of Emperor Shymak's army, for example? Do you think those people didn't pray for a hero to liberate them from oppression? And when the hero came along do you think he stood aloof because peaceful oppression was better than violent liberation?"
"But nobody's oppressed here," Tabarnas objected. "Sommerslip is under the rule of the third Lord Sommerslip, direct descendant of Avan Weatherstrong. The trolls are only bothering us."
"And what happens if the trolls steal the books? What do you think the person who is paying the trolls will do with them? What do you think their plan is?" Phoebe asked.
"I don't know that," Tabarnas asked. "How could I?"
"We could give them what they want, stand back and see what happens," Phoebe suggested. "How do you fancy that?"
Tabarnas didn't know how to respond to that. Phoebe was pretty adamant that what they were doing was necessary. The only way Tabarnas could argue otherwise was to take a position where he was, underneath it all, wrong, or at least mistaken about something. If the paymaster of the trolls really was ultimately harmless then where was the sense in not giving them the books?
Did Tabarnas believe that nothing bad would happen if whoever was behind the small army of mercenary trolls got what they wanted? No. Tabarnas decided he did not believe that. He had no proof that fighting would make the world a better place but he felt very strongly that not fighting could make it a worse one.
"Very well," he said as the liquid in the flask turned white. "Just try not to hurt anyone."
"I always do," Phoebe smiled. "Now, were did I put that packet of Coagula Powder?"
As Phoebe rummaged in her satchel a noise floated up from the street outside, a shout, the speech too indistinct for Tabarnas to hear through the shutters over the room's windows. Tabarnas opened the shutter enough to peek outside, he saw a small boy running through the streets shouting something out. By the time Tabarnas's ear had started to make sense of the words the boy was too far away to be heard.
It didn't take too long before one of the squads of trolls came hurrying past underneath the window. They were headed in the direction of the archive.
"I think the trolls have called everyone back together," Tabarnas said. "Frederick must have begun fighting."
"Just give me a couple of minutes," Phoebe said. "Then I'll be ready." Then, after a brief pause: "Why don't you walk down there. Take your books. The trolls are probably too busy to mess with you now."
Not having another idea Tabarnas complied. It was nice to get out into the fresh air anyway after spending the morning sweating in a corner of the inn. Tabarnas did see one other squad of trolls hurrying down towards the sea but they were far too busy to concentrate on anything but forward motion.
It took Tabarnas about ten minutes to walk out to the Archive. He dared not get too close because the scene that greeted his eyes upon arrival was chaotic to say the least. Frederick jumped, ducked and punched his way around the twenty or thirty trolls that were attempting to take him down. The huge monsters were shouting at Frederick and each other in some confusion as to what, exactly, was going on. They knew that a single young man should not be able to fight all of them together and yet Frederick was there, holding his own against this small army.
Of course not all of this was due to Phoebe's strength charm. Anyone could see that Frederick was actually a pretty skilled fighter. Wherever a troll's fist or foot happened to be Frederick tended not to be. Frederick's defence was all him. It was the punishment he was dishing out that was down to magic but Tabarnas knew that Frederick was fighing on borrowed time. Tabarnas hoped that Phoebe would not be too long.
Indeed she wasn't. Shortly after Tabarnas arrived she swooped out of the air on a broomstick and started dropping off little paper wrapped parcels from a height. As soon as the packages hit the floor they bloomed into bright white flowers of flame.
For a couple of minutes this just gave Frederick something else to think about, as the sudden additon of fireballs into the melee served only to confuse the trolls. When they worked out that the fire was against them, not supporting them they sensibly began to cry out and one by one thought better of fighting the super strong knight with fireball air support.
Maybe the trolls would come back when they knew it was safe but in the meanwhile Tabarnas went unimpeded up the path to the Faerie Archive. The Story Gatherers welcomed the goblin and his friends inside the high walls of the Archive and were extremely interested in the contents of his books but the hows and whys of that situation are a story for another time.
Sunday, 6 October 2013
Sir Cobb and the Amateur Rogue
Frederick had not often had the privilege of staying in an actual castle. At least, not one local to his own time and place. When he had trained with Avan Weatherstrong in the time of heroes, of course, the opportunity to stay under a roof with nobility had cropped up more often.
Frederick liked castles, they had high walls, portcullises, gatehouses, guard stations and, on occasion, moats. Until Frederick had settled on the course of his life he had always slept well. In the early days of being a knight errant the number of nights actually spent in beds had dropped dramatically. During his training the unpleasant nature of the world became more apparent. Sleeping in a large stone structure with forbidding entry ways and a round the clock guard started to show itself as a sensible precaution.
Roadside inns that called themselves 'The Castle' were, at the least, optimistically named. They were just as secure as any other dwelling place. Experience had taught Frederick that this meant nothing. Guards were a rare thing indeed and miniature portcullis features had never really caught on, being a pain to install.
'Sleep with one eye open' was not a piece of advice for a knight-errant, more a description of how they slept all the time. Even so, a good rest was a vital weapon in a knight's arsenal. There were not many aged insomniac knights, in fact, Frederick had never met one.
Frederick often found that looking out of the window and enjoying some night air before retiring helped him to drop off. This evening, staying in 'The Castle', a coaching inn on the Sommerslip Road, it allowed him to catch sight of a suspicious, shadowy figure mooching about the stables.
There was a time, not so long ago really, when a shadowy figure, moving in a series of darting shuffles from point to point, shortly after sunset, might have caused Frederick to raise an eyebrow, shake his head and continue on with whatever he was doing. These were the days before the hero's paranoia had taken hold.
Now all Frederick could see was a threat, skulking nearby, waiting to strike. Maybe the threat wasn't directly aimed in his direction, this was irrelevant. Frederick was a knight-errant. Whoever was endangered by the presence of this black-clad rogue was someone Frederick was honour bound to protect.
Frederick was not yet so jaded by his role that he regarded this fact as tedious. It was still inconvenient, he mused, casting one final glance towards the warm and inviting blankets neatly arranged upon his bed.
One of the things that really annoyed Frederick about common rogues was their inability to master even basic roguing. If you hired a guild-approved rogue for light espionage and workaday dirty deeds then most of those seeking to foil them would be entirely unaware of their presence until it was too late. If people just had the common indecency to have these things done properly then assassination attempts would be far less regularly foiled.
The fact Frederick had seen this chap by glancing out of his bedroom window told him that his quarry was in no way affiliated to any of the major thieving federations, he was, essentially, a bodger in the world of stealth.
This made him a nuisance, the longer the incompetent rogue were free the more he contributed to the common misconception that a proper thief was not such a big deal. Frederick wasn't just stopping this fellow for the good of his target and the detriment of his employer but, in a very real sense, Frederick was helping to erase the notion that stealth was easily achievable by the common man on the street.
As Frederick crossed the stable yard in the shadows, knowing he was only visible, and even then as an indistinct black lump, for less time than it would take for fifty grains of sand to settle in the lower chamber of an hourglass, he considered that he was a knight and would never pass the basic exams for affiliation to any self-respecting thieves' guild. Yet, here he was, silently lifting the substantial mass of a spade from against a wall, hefting it in his hand to assess weight and balance and swinging it down upon this foolish man's head. Frederick had not made a single sound, his breathing was calm and controlled, his tread careful, his actions fluid and discreet.
Frederick knew 'knight-stealth' a short term, quick and dirty profile of tricks used by men who preferred to fight face-to-face wherever possible. Yet this idiot had completely failed to detect him. If this man was any sort of rogue Frederick should have a knife between his ribs right now. As the spade made contact with the amateur's head Frederick glanced down to check he wasn't being triple bluffed.
Thankfully there was no stealthily concealed knife jabbing at the side of Frederick's stomach, the poor-man's thief was unconscious on the floor.
"I'm almost disappointed," Frederick muttered, bending down and pulling two lengths of cord from the belt loops at the top of his breeches. Having some lengths of cord handy to tie people up with was a trick Frederick had learned from Avan Weatherstrong. Of course, Prince Weatherstrong had a bewildering array of magicks at his command to restrain those who required it, but Avan, like Frederick, was a guy who liked to be prepared.
As Frederick was tying the man up he noticed a large amethyst signet ring on the pinkie of the man's right hand. There was a crosshatch of silver holding the amethyst down, five lines diagonal across the circular surface of the stone.
Recognising evidence when he saw it Frederick removed the ring to show to Phoebe and Harvey. Then he hoisted the man onto his shoulder and headed for the inn entrance. Before he made the mistake of blundering through the door carrying an unconscious rogue, an action that could lead to discovery and questions, Frederick stopped.
He returned with his burden to the stables where Gerda and Ferris waited impassively by Tabarnas's coach.
"Lads," Frederick said to the golems. "I found this fella sneaking about the stables and I would like to discreetly question him in my room. Any chance you could help me get him upstairs quietly?"
The golems were very helpful. Frederick went back to his room and Gerda stood on Ferris's shoulders. Between them all they lifted the thief in through Frederick's window.
A few moments later Harvey and Phoebe had been summoned. Harvey was the first to arrive and he cast an appraising eye over the bound thief as Frederick explained what had happened in more depth.
"So, you're basically saying that you saw someone you didn't like the look of and took it into your head to swipe him over the head with a shovel?" Harvey asked as Frederick's account came to a close.
"There was a bit more to it than that," Frederick complained. "Trust me, he was up to no good."
"There's a town in the Skyleg mountains where they award the largest swine of the year's herd to the person with the best knee-jerk reflex," Harvey said. "I think you should seek that place out, you'd be eating fresh bacon the next day for certain."
"I think it's better to apologize for over-caution than die for complacence," Frederick said.
Harvey's sly, narrow gaze fixed on Frederick's earnest face for a few more moments. The faint smirk twitching the corner of the djinn's lips communicated a level of smugness it would have been hard to describe in actual words.
"I'm only teasing," Harvey admitted eventually. "I think it's great that you're taking the law into your own hands, very chaotic. I'm a big fan of chaos. The right to a fair trial is highly overrated."
"I'm not trying to deny anyone..." Frederick snapped.
"Boys!" Phoebe said from the doorway. "I am about sick and tired of your arguing. Harvey, you know I have the power to apply a severe attitude adjustment to you so don't bait Frederick so much. Frederick... well... try to be a bit less easily baited. You have to understand that every word that falls from Harvey's lips is utter nonsense. The sooner you do the better for all of us."
"Every word?" Harvey objected. "Isn't that just a tad harsh?"
Phoebe only had to look in Harvey's general direction to get the mischievous sprite to lapse into silence.
"He's still not awake, then?" Phoebe said, inspecting the still unconscious rogue. "How hard did you hit him exactly."
"I tend to hit hard enough to give me a decent head start," Frederick shrugged. "Anything softer and you'd end up on the wrong end of a cross country pursuit, or a term in a castle dungeon with the looming prospect of probable execution."
"I never realised that whacking someone with a shovel was such a precise science," Phoebe remarked drily, uncorking the small bottle that she'd fetched from her room. "Get ready," she said, holding the bottle under the rogue's nose and moving it back and forth.
The rogue's head rolled, twitched and then jerked upwards as the man came back to consciousness. The muscles in his shoulders bunched as he attempted to reach up to massage the sore spot on the back of his head. As he realised he was bound to a chair his eyes widened as he focused on the three people intent on his every move, standing too closely for his comfort as the inn's lodging rooms were not intended for gatherings of this size.
"One false move," Harvey said to the man, truculence dripping from every syllable, "and we'll give you a smile from ear to ear via your throat, get me?"
The man panicked and started straining at his bonds, muffled yells tried to find their way through the gag improvised from Phoebe's collection of coloured handkerchiefs.
"You are treading the line," Phoebe warned the djinn. "Apologies sir, whilst you are, temporarily our captive we do not intend to kill you, my associate believes that he is funny."
"We just want to know what you were doing sneaking around the stables in the middle of the night," Frederick said. "And, more importantly, on who's behalf. Don't bother telling us it's none of our business and there's no point acting innocent. I'm a knight, she's a witch and he's a djinn. We can practically smell mischief."
The rogue looked from Frederick to Phoebe, not liking the expression on her face he tried looking at Harvey's face, although everyone could have told him that would be a waste of time and energy.
"Thief," he said eventually, "Horse thief... I am... just looking for horses... to thieve."
"So," Harvey said, moving in closer to the man. "You are so scared of your employer you'd rather pretend to be a horse thief than reveal your true allegiance. That means you're working for a noble. Probably one with a fair degree of power and influence, someone whose name is known in the region."
The rogue's eyes widened and his mouth opened, even at amateur level this fellow hadn't been rogueing for long.
At that point the door to Frederick's room opened and Tabarnas shuffled in.
"I heard voices..." Tabarnas said before catching sight of the prisoner. He stumbled to a stop with a perturbed 'ah, I see'.
"Sorry," Phoebe said. "We didn't want to disturb anyone."
"Who is this?" Tabarnas asked.
"That's what we're trying to find out," Frederick said. "Although now I come to think of it we may be taking the wrong angle. Tabarnas, does this tell you anything?"
Frederick reached into his pocket and retrieved the signet ring he had taken from the unconscious rogue's finger. Tabarnas adjusted his eyeglasses and squinted at the ring.
"Ring of fealty," Tabarnas said. "Silver would indicate a moon tribe, the circle is usually a light stone, the purple, particularly occluded like that is the new moon. Unfortunately these items are not really traded. If I were to buy one I would have to melt it down for parts, they're not magical but they do have very particular meanings in the One Hundred Kingdoms. Any kind of civil servant should be able to tell us specifically who this belongs to in the morning."
"So," Phoebe said, looking over at the prisoner. "Either you are a horse thief in the employ of a local noble, or, as we already worked out, you are lying to us. You also must be aware that it is only a matter of hours before we know who you are working for anyway."
"You have two choices," Frederick chipped in. "Either you come clean and, as long as we like what you say, we may even let you go. Or I can go get the constable now and you can go to jail for... what was it, horse theft?"
The rogue didn't look as if he really knew what to do. His gaze travelled around all of the room's occupants, the light his eyes distant as if he were doing some immense calculation. Before any concrete result manifested an explosion outside sent a shudder through the inn's frame and rattled the window panes.
"Too late," Harvey chimed in.
It definitely looked that way, and the wise man knows that when things look that way, often they are that way, and, indeed, in this case they were. But the why's and the how's of what followed are a tale for another day.
Frederick liked castles, they had high walls, portcullises, gatehouses, guard stations and, on occasion, moats. Until Frederick had settled on the course of his life he had always slept well. In the early days of being a knight errant the number of nights actually spent in beds had dropped dramatically. During his training the unpleasant nature of the world became more apparent. Sleeping in a large stone structure with forbidding entry ways and a round the clock guard started to show itself as a sensible precaution.
Roadside inns that called themselves 'The Castle' were, at the least, optimistically named. They were just as secure as any other dwelling place. Experience had taught Frederick that this meant nothing. Guards were a rare thing indeed and miniature portcullis features had never really caught on, being a pain to install.
'Sleep with one eye open' was not a piece of advice for a knight-errant, more a description of how they slept all the time. Even so, a good rest was a vital weapon in a knight's arsenal. There were not many aged insomniac knights, in fact, Frederick had never met one.
Frederick often found that looking out of the window and enjoying some night air before retiring helped him to drop off. This evening, staying in 'The Castle', a coaching inn on the Sommerslip Road, it allowed him to catch sight of a suspicious, shadowy figure mooching about the stables.
There was a time, not so long ago really, when a shadowy figure, moving in a series of darting shuffles from point to point, shortly after sunset, might have caused Frederick to raise an eyebrow, shake his head and continue on with whatever he was doing. These were the days before the hero's paranoia had taken hold.
Now all Frederick could see was a threat, skulking nearby, waiting to strike. Maybe the threat wasn't directly aimed in his direction, this was irrelevant. Frederick was a knight-errant. Whoever was endangered by the presence of this black-clad rogue was someone Frederick was honour bound to protect.
Frederick was not yet so jaded by his role that he regarded this fact as tedious. It was still inconvenient, he mused, casting one final glance towards the warm and inviting blankets neatly arranged upon his bed.
One of the things that really annoyed Frederick about common rogues was their inability to master even basic roguing. If you hired a guild-approved rogue for light espionage and workaday dirty deeds then most of those seeking to foil them would be entirely unaware of their presence until it was too late. If people just had the common indecency to have these things done properly then assassination attempts would be far less regularly foiled.
The fact Frederick had seen this chap by glancing out of his bedroom window told him that his quarry was in no way affiliated to any of the major thieving federations, he was, essentially, a bodger in the world of stealth.
This made him a nuisance, the longer the incompetent rogue were free the more he contributed to the common misconception that a proper thief was not such a big deal. Frederick wasn't just stopping this fellow for the good of his target and the detriment of his employer but, in a very real sense, Frederick was helping to erase the notion that stealth was easily achievable by the common man on the street.
As Frederick crossed the stable yard in the shadows, knowing he was only visible, and even then as an indistinct black lump, for less time than it would take for fifty grains of sand to settle in the lower chamber of an hourglass, he considered that he was a knight and would never pass the basic exams for affiliation to any self-respecting thieves' guild. Yet, here he was, silently lifting the substantial mass of a spade from against a wall, hefting it in his hand to assess weight and balance and swinging it down upon this foolish man's head. Frederick had not made a single sound, his breathing was calm and controlled, his tread careful, his actions fluid and discreet.
Frederick knew 'knight-stealth' a short term, quick and dirty profile of tricks used by men who preferred to fight face-to-face wherever possible. Yet this idiot had completely failed to detect him. If this man was any sort of rogue Frederick should have a knife between his ribs right now. As the spade made contact with the amateur's head Frederick glanced down to check he wasn't being triple bluffed.
Thankfully there was no stealthily concealed knife jabbing at the side of Frederick's stomach, the poor-man's thief was unconscious on the floor.
"I'm almost disappointed," Frederick muttered, bending down and pulling two lengths of cord from the belt loops at the top of his breeches. Having some lengths of cord handy to tie people up with was a trick Frederick had learned from Avan Weatherstrong. Of course, Prince Weatherstrong had a bewildering array of magicks at his command to restrain those who required it, but Avan, like Frederick, was a guy who liked to be prepared.
As Frederick was tying the man up he noticed a large amethyst signet ring on the pinkie of the man's right hand. There was a crosshatch of silver holding the amethyst down, five lines diagonal across the circular surface of the stone.
Recognising evidence when he saw it Frederick removed the ring to show to Phoebe and Harvey. Then he hoisted the man onto his shoulder and headed for the inn entrance. Before he made the mistake of blundering through the door carrying an unconscious rogue, an action that could lead to discovery and questions, Frederick stopped.
He returned with his burden to the stables where Gerda and Ferris waited impassively by Tabarnas's coach.
"Lads," Frederick said to the golems. "I found this fella sneaking about the stables and I would like to discreetly question him in my room. Any chance you could help me get him upstairs quietly?"
The golems were very helpful. Frederick went back to his room and Gerda stood on Ferris's shoulders. Between them all they lifted the thief in through Frederick's window.
A few moments later Harvey and Phoebe had been summoned. Harvey was the first to arrive and he cast an appraising eye over the bound thief as Frederick explained what had happened in more depth.
"So, you're basically saying that you saw someone you didn't like the look of and took it into your head to swipe him over the head with a shovel?" Harvey asked as Frederick's account came to a close.
"There was a bit more to it than that," Frederick complained. "Trust me, he was up to no good."
"There's a town in the Skyleg mountains where they award the largest swine of the year's herd to the person with the best knee-jerk reflex," Harvey said. "I think you should seek that place out, you'd be eating fresh bacon the next day for certain."
"I think it's better to apologize for over-caution than die for complacence," Frederick said.
Harvey's sly, narrow gaze fixed on Frederick's earnest face for a few more moments. The faint smirk twitching the corner of the djinn's lips communicated a level of smugness it would have been hard to describe in actual words.
"I'm only teasing," Harvey admitted eventually. "I think it's great that you're taking the law into your own hands, very chaotic. I'm a big fan of chaos. The right to a fair trial is highly overrated."
"I'm not trying to deny anyone..." Frederick snapped.
"Boys!" Phoebe said from the doorway. "I am about sick and tired of your arguing. Harvey, you know I have the power to apply a severe attitude adjustment to you so don't bait Frederick so much. Frederick... well... try to be a bit less easily baited. You have to understand that every word that falls from Harvey's lips is utter nonsense. The sooner you do the better for all of us."
"Every word?" Harvey objected. "Isn't that just a tad harsh?"
Phoebe only had to look in Harvey's general direction to get the mischievous sprite to lapse into silence.
"He's still not awake, then?" Phoebe said, inspecting the still unconscious rogue. "How hard did you hit him exactly."
"I tend to hit hard enough to give me a decent head start," Frederick shrugged. "Anything softer and you'd end up on the wrong end of a cross country pursuit, or a term in a castle dungeon with the looming prospect of probable execution."
"I never realised that whacking someone with a shovel was such a precise science," Phoebe remarked drily, uncorking the small bottle that she'd fetched from her room. "Get ready," she said, holding the bottle under the rogue's nose and moving it back and forth.
The rogue's head rolled, twitched and then jerked upwards as the man came back to consciousness. The muscles in his shoulders bunched as he attempted to reach up to massage the sore spot on the back of his head. As he realised he was bound to a chair his eyes widened as he focused on the three people intent on his every move, standing too closely for his comfort as the inn's lodging rooms were not intended for gatherings of this size.
"One false move," Harvey said to the man, truculence dripping from every syllable, "and we'll give you a smile from ear to ear via your throat, get me?"
The man panicked and started straining at his bonds, muffled yells tried to find their way through the gag improvised from Phoebe's collection of coloured handkerchiefs.
"You are treading the line," Phoebe warned the djinn. "Apologies sir, whilst you are, temporarily our captive we do not intend to kill you, my associate believes that he is funny."
"We just want to know what you were doing sneaking around the stables in the middle of the night," Frederick said. "And, more importantly, on who's behalf. Don't bother telling us it's none of our business and there's no point acting innocent. I'm a knight, she's a witch and he's a djinn. We can practically smell mischief."
The rogue looked from Frederick to Phoebe, not liking the expression on her face he tried looking at Harvey's face, although everyone could have told him that would be a waste of time and energy.
"Thief," he said eventually, "Horse thief... I am... just looking for horses... to thieve."
"So," Harvey said, moving in closer to the man. "You are so scared of your employer you'd rather pretend to be a horse thief than reveal your true allegiance. That means you're working for a noble. Probably one with a fair degree of power and influence, someone whose name is known in the region."
The rogue's eyes widened and his mouth opened, even at amateur level this fellow hadn't been rogueing for long.
At that point the door to Frederick's room opened and Tabarnas shuffled in.
"I heard voices..." Tabarnas said before catching sight of the prisoner. He stumbled to a stop with a perturbed 'ah, I see'.
"Sorry," Phoebe said. "We didn't want to disturb anyone."
"Who is this?" Tabarnas asked.
"That's what we're trying to find out," Frederick said. "Although now I come to think of it we may be taking the wrong angle. Tabarnas, does this tell you anything?"
Frederick reached into his pocket and retrieved the signet ring he had taken from the unconscious rogue's finger. Tabarnas adjusted his eyeglasses and squinted at the ring.
"Ring of fealty," Tabarnas said. "Silver would indicate a moon tribe, the circle is usually a light stone, the purple, particularly occluded like that is the new moon. Unfortunately these items are not really traded. If I were to buy one I would have to melt it down for parts, they're not magical but they do have very particular meanings in the One Hundred Kingdoms. Any kind of civil servant should be able to tell us specifically who this belongs to in the morning."
"So," Phoebe said, looking over at the prisoner. "Either you are a horse thief in the employ of a local noble, or, as we already worked out, you are lying to us. You also must be aware that it is only a matter of hours before we know who you are working for anyway."
"You have two choices," Frederick chipped in. "Either you come clean and, as long as we like what you say, we may even let you go. Or I can go get the constable now and you can go to jail for... what was it, horse theft?"
The rogue didn't look as if he really knew what to do. His gaze travelled around all of the room's occupants, the light his eyes distant as if he were doing some immense calculation. Before any concrete result manifested an explosion outside sent a shudder through the inn's frame and rattled the window panes.
"Too late," Harvey chimed in.
It definitely looked that way, and the wise man knows that when things look that way, often they are that way, and, indeed, in this case they were. But the why's and the how's of what followed are a tale for another day.
Sunday, 22 September 2013
In Which Avan and Saeed Encounter The Prince Lanchoni Problem
Saeed had reconciled in himself the knowledge that fighting alongside the most renowned warrior-mage in the history of Faerie would place him in some dangerous situations. Since they had first encountered one another they had fought orcs, lizard men and vampires, all in one evening. In addition they had uncovered the mechanisms of a conspiracy that may serve to plunge the Terra Draconis into some very deep trouble.
As Saeed knew that the time of the Vanishing was surely close at hand, the incident in which all traces of living dragons were removed from Faerie, possibly forever, the youthful thief had to wonder if this plan was the first echo of that momentous cataclysm. Saeed knew that time, chronology and history were somewhat malleable but riddled with what could best be understood as 'hard bits', bits you could not change, the structure of the world relied on certain events conforming to a certain shape. The Vanishing appeared to be one such event, so, really, if Miranda Felix and her employer were intent on unleashing such powerful magic upon the world then there was probably very little that Saeed could do about it.
Saeed enjoyed a self-image that included a healthy dose of humility. If he was facing the Vanishing then he was happy to admit that it would happen regardless of what he tried to do about it. He was, after all, a skilled thief who had begun his life as an Afsan street-urchin. How was he to save the world?
Prince Avan Weatherstrong, on the other hand, was the most heroic cultural hero in all the lands of Faerie. Of course, the Prince didn't know much about that, he was living his life, it was only those who came after him who would get the opportunity to turn him into a retrospective demi-god.
Prince Weatherstrong had a kind of humility himself. He was not particularly interested in being a celebrity. However, if you told him that a force of magic so powerful it could wipe an entire continent and species from the face of the world was about to be unleashed he would always attempt to put a stop to it. He would say that even if he couldn't succeed the knowledge he held meant he had to try. To Saeed that just sounded like a different way of believing that you could not fail.
But you could. Just because the consequences of failure would be dire did not make the prospect of success any more likely. Saeed had stayed alive for nearly a quarter of a century safe in that knowledge. Prince Weatherstrong had lived over ten times that his way, but then, well, when all was said and done he was Avan Weatherstrong with all the advantages that this identity implied.
In his life Avan Weatherstrong had fought wicked sorcerers, giant monsters and bloodthirsty warlords. Avan Weatherstrong was more than a man, he was a legend.
So when it came to the task of tracking and retrieving a small running animal it seemed obvious that of the two the humble thief should take the task. Running through the undergrowth outside the house on the edge of Dracopolis Saeed was aware that, although his life was not in danger, the prospect of losing his quarry was cutting cleanly into his sense of self-worth.
He was partnered up with a man who had bloodied the nose of tyrants and written the pages of history in his own hand, if Saeed could not fetch a small animal for this man what was it all for? They had gone to the house looking for one Prince Ystaban Lanchoni, a roguish ne'er do well who had been observed in a square adjacent to the Dracopolis jail house a couple of hours before an explosion opened a hole in the jail's western wall.
When they arrived at the house it had appeared abandoned and unoccupied until they had opened a door into a cellar room to find a small animal, probably a dog, as the sole occupant. The animal gave every indication that it had been waiting for someone to open the door, it dashed past the pair before they had much of an opportunity to see what was happening.
Saeed hadn't even bothered to say anything, he just took off in pursuit and hence the potentially embarrassing current situation. He had followed the bouncing white bundle of muscle and fur out into the forest and noted the disturbance of nesting birds and undergrowth. Saeed had attended closely to the almost indiscernable pounding of tiny paws along the forest floor.
Then it had all stopped. Saeed guessed that the little beast was somewhere close to Saeed's present location, hidden from view. Perhaps it was even waiting for Saeed to stop looking. That was strange behaviour for a small animal in panic. They didn't usually stop running until they knew they were safe. Saeed wasn't that slow.
A thin, depressed whine came from a bush to Saeed's left. Saeed went over to part the branches and observe the small, white dog doing one of the things well-trained small, white dogs do in bushes with a look of surprise, concern and indignation on its face.
It finished up and then looked up at Saeed, testing his pursuer for some hole in his resolve. Finding none the dog tried to dodge past Saeed but reckoned without Saeed's reflexes. The dog gave another, more panicked yelp as he was hauled into the air by the scruff of the neck. A short struggle followed but Saeed kept a tight hold on the little animal.
Before long the white dog was brought back into the presence of Prince Weatherstrong back at the house.
"I think your associate in the Eastgate Inn may have overstated their case," Saeed said holding up the yapping, grumpy beast for Avan's inspection.
The dog did its best to bark in a threatening manner at Avan, but the high pitched squeaks were more ridiculous than anything else. Seeming to be unhappy at the effect of barking the dog switched to a growl that sounded like the operation of a stable but broken clockwork motor.
"I'm going to have to guess that the Prince is not home," Avan said. "That's a setback I hadn't expected. I have to ask what the point of a safe house is if it isn't to keep someone safe after performing some heinous act of wrongdoing?"
"It is always a possibility that Miranda betrayed Prince Lanchoni the same way that she betrayed me," Saeed pointed out. "Without you to look out for him the prince may well be dead."
The dog craned its neck round to stare at Saeed. Saeed had never encountered a look from a dog that implied he was stupid before.
"I'm just talking about the possibility," Saeed said to the dog. "I'm sorry if it betrays your mental image of your master."
The dog just looked downcast, hanging limply over Saeed's right forearm.
"I don't think that's it," Avan said. "Please, could I?"
Avan held out his hand towards the dog. Saeed passed the miserable little beast over to his companion. Avan held the dog up to his face and looked into the dog's eyes.
"Mischief," Avan said. "a lot, hastily applied. The dog's soaked in it. He almost smells of mischief."
"So the dog is magic?" Saeed asked.
"No, I don't think so," Avan answered. "I think it's the result of magic, crudely applied, the kind of thing a wish fairy or similar might do."
"Someone made the dog out of magic?" Saeed asked. He still wasn't used to talking so much with an expert on magical things. Magic felt like its own world to Saeed, he always felt stupid for not understanding it right away.
"I think this animal isn't supposed to be this way," Avan said. "I think that this dog was something else and then the wish fairy, or other sprite, transformed it into a small dog."
"So..." Saeed looked at the dog's floppy ears and little paws. "You think this might be-?"
"If I were a sprite and a muscular royal wolf tried to threaten me," Avan said. "I think this might appear to be a suitable response, a reflexive defence, if you like."
"Oh, I see," Saeed said. "So, should we try to turn him back?"
"That's not the difficult part," Avan replied. "The difficult part is containing him when we do."
"Good point," Saeed agreed. "How do we do that?"
"I have just the thing in my saddlepack," Avan said. "Come on, let's get moving."
Avan took the dog and went outside to where they'd tethered their horses. Avan rummaged through the pack attached to the horse's saddle and pulled out a small metallic ball about the size of a fist. It appeared to have been made by tightly binding together twists of silver-black wire by twisting and looping. From the top of the ball emerged a thin strand of cord that Saeed recognised, spider silk.
Avan hung the ball off the stout branch of a nearby tree and fiddled with a catch in the ball's base. The ball suddenly sprang outward, twisting, unfolding and dropping until it was about nine feet long, no longer a tightly wound ball, now a long cigar-shaped mass of metallic twists reaching from the tree branch to the ground.
"That'll do," Avan said. He held the dog out towards the cage and the twists parted to allow the dog to be placed inside. When Avan withdrew his arm the dog skidded down inside the cage with a small yelp and the wire closed back over the gap. "Now, dispelling mischief, that's not a problem, I think I have a spray." He rummaged in a pocket in his belt and brought out a misting bottle. He sprayed a fine sparkling mist into the cage. A couple more squirts of the mister bulb and Avan took a step back.
Saeed had never seen mischief magic dispelled before, the experience was an unusual one that made him feel a little giddy. The dog in the cage didn't appear to expand or bulk out at all, rather it just seemed to shift around in the confines of the cage to find that there was simply more of it than could have been expected a few seconds before. This slow growth by discovery continued until the small dog was gone and in its place stood a wolf on it hind legs considerably bigger than the talking desert wolves Saeed had seen at home in Afsana.
Prince Lanchoni was similar in stature to the wolves of Sorrowblade, he guessed that they must share a common ancestor at least. This wolf was, if anything, even bigger than that. Its hateful eyes glittered dangerously in the low light of the forest. It regarded both Saeed and Avan with naked contempt.
"Let me out," Prince Lanchoni demanded. "You have no right to keep me here."
"I don't think you're particularly in a position to be making demands," Avan told the captive. "You cooperate and we might think about releasing you."
"What do you want?" Lanchoni growled, staring into Avan's eyes with an expression on his face that Saeed could read easily. If the wolf got out of the cage it would mean trouble for everybody, not least of all Avan.
"You were supposed to meet with Miranda Felix," Avan said. "Then, somehow, you appear to have become sidetracked."
The wolf snorted.
"I made the meeting," Lanchoni said. "Turns out I shouldn't have trusted Felix, she sent lizard men to kill me. She should have sent more."
"You set off the explosion that broke open the Dracopolis Jailhouse," Avan said not waiting for any denials, Lanchoni didn't bother objecting, he just shrugged. "So, what was in it for you? What did Felix promise you?"
"The Sword of Zanczasza," the wolf said. "She promised me she would take it from the Amethyst Treasure House and deliver it to me at the Castle in Serpenside in return for my assistance."
"What did you want that for?" Avan asked. "You realise the blade is cursed?"
"It shortens the life of the one who weilds it, yes," Lanchoni said. "In return it would have given me the power to take Onapica away from my brother."
"A magical coup," Avan nodded. "Not the world's noblest cause."
"What do I care what you think?" Lanchoni said. "My business is mine alone."
"What can you tell me about the lizard men who attacked you?" Avan asked. "Were they alone?"
"No," Lanchoni said. "They were being controlled by a draco, stocky dragon, one eye missing, covered with a patch. He was using some kind of crystal orb that made the lizard men obey his commands."
"A coldblood orb," Avan said. "Not common but available on the black market for a price. Well, thank you very much for your help, Prince Lanchoni, it will aid us in our efforts to track down Felix. I'll be sure to send her your regards."
"If you find her before I do," Lanchoni snarled. "Let me out of here."
"Oh, you'll be released," Avan said to the wolf. "When you're safe in a cell in the Dracopolis jailhouse."
"You said you would release me!" the wolf complained straining to break free of the wire metal prison.
"To be fair I said I'd think about it," Avan replied. "I have and I've come to the conclusion that it would be best to free you only once you're incarcerated for the crime that you have committed."
"So you're just going to leave me here?" Lanchoni complained. "If I get out of here before you arrive with help to get me to the prison I'll make sure you regret it."
"Who said we needed help?" Avan asked. "You might want to brace yourself this next bit can pinch a little."
As soon as those words left Avan's mouth he jumped up to grab a hold of the branch from which the cage-pod was suspended. He swung himself towards the top of the pod and wrapped his hand round the blunt cylinder attached to all of the pod's wires. Avan shifted his fingers across some sort of button or catch and the pod shrunk upwards swiftly.
Lanchoni cried out but as the wires spiralled in tight the cry was cut off. Avan picked the wire ball back off the tree. It was a little larger than it had been when it was empty but otherwise there were no signs that it contained a large, angry wolf.
Avan dropped down from the tree and hung the cage-ball from his belt.
"Is this how you deal with everyone who gets on the wrong side of you?" Saeed asked.
"No," Avan replied. "You I teamed up with, Felix.... well, I don't really know what I'm going to do with Felix when we catch her."
"I thought you intended to kill her," Saeed said.
"Is that what you would do?" Avan asked.
"I... am not sure," Saeed said, although he was sure that when he was a boy he would have revolted at the notion of murder. Somewhere along the line he had come to think of killing someone bad as an unpleasant necessity. Now, strangely, he found himself uncertain again.
"Then we shall both discover what we should do, when we get where we're going," Avan said.
"And where is that?" Saeed asked.
"First," Avan replied. "We are going to find Vasky Jantnor."
"Who's that?" Saeed asked.
"A Draco mercenary, last time we met I took one of his eyes."
And that is where they went, but what happened when they met him is a story for another day.
As Saeed knew that the time of the Vanishing was surely close at hand, the incident in which all traces of living dragons were removed from Faerie, possibly forever, the youthful thief had to wonder if this plan was the first echo of that momentous cataclysm. Saeed knew that time, chronology and history were somewhat malleable but riddled with what could best be understood as 'hard bits', bits you could not change, the structure of the world relied on certain events conforming to a certain shape. The Vanishing appeared to be one such event, so, really, if Miranda Felix and her employer were intent on unleashing such powerful magic upon the world then there was probably very little that Saeed could do about it.
Saeed enjoyed a self-image that included a healthy dose of humility. If he was facing the Vanishing then he was happy to admit that it would happen regardless of what he tried to do about it. He was, after all, a skilled thief who had begun his life as an Afsan street-urchin. How was he to save the world?
Prince Avan Weatherstrong, on the other hand, was the most heroic cultural hero in all the lands of Faerie. Of course, the Prince didn't know much about that, he was living his life, it was only those who came after him who would get the opportunity to turn him into a retrospective demi-god.
Prince Weatherstrong had a kind of humility himself. He was not particularly interested in being a celebrity. However, if you told him that a force of magic so powerful it could wipe an entire continent and species from the face of the world was about to be unleashed he would always attempt to put a stop to it. He would say that even if he couldn't succeed the knowledge he held meant he had to try. To Saeed that just sounded like a different way of believing that you could not fail.
But you could. Just because the consequences of failure would be dire did not make the prospect of success any more likely. Saeed had stayed alive for nearly a quarter of a century safe in that knowledge. Prince Weatherstrong had lived over ten times that his way, but then, well, when all was said and done he was Avan Weatherstrong with all the advantages that this identity implied.
In his life Avan Weatherstrong had fought wicked sorcerers, giant monsters and bloodthirsty warlords. Avan Weatherstrong was more than a man, he was a legend.
So when it came to the task of tracking and retrieving a small running animal it seemed obvious that of the two the humble thief should take the task. Running through the undergrowth outside the house on the edge of Dracopolis Saeed was aware that, although his life was not in danger, the prospect of losing his quarry was cutting cleanly into his sense of self-worth.
He was partnered up with a man who had bloodied the nose of tyrants and written the pages of history in his own hand, if Saeed could not fetch a small animal for this man what was it all for? They had gone to the house looking for one Prince Ystaban Lanchoni, a roguish ne'er do well who had been observed in a square adjacent to the Dracopolis jail house a couple of hours before an explosion opened a hole in the jail's western wall.
When they arrived at the house it had appeared abandoned and unoccupied until they had opened a door into a cellar room to find a small animal, probably a dog, as the sole occupant. The animal gave every indication that it had been waiting for someone to open the door, it dashed past the pair before they had much of an opportunity to see what was happening.
Saeed hadn't even bothered to say anything, he just took off in pursuit and hence the potentially embarrassing current situation. He had followed the bouncing white bundle of muscle and fur out into the forest and noted the disturbance of nesting birds and undergrowth. Saeed had attended closely to the almost indiscernable pounding of tiny paws along the forest floor.
Then it had all stopped. Saeed guessed that the little beast was somewhere close to Saeed's present location, hidden from view. Perhaps it was even waiting for Saeed to stop looking. That was strange behaviour for a small animal in panic. They didn't usually stop running until they knew they were safe. Saeed wasn't that slow.
A thin, depressed whine came from a bush to Saeed's left. Saeed went over to part the branches and observe the small, white dog doing one of the things well-trained small, white dogs do in bushes with a look of surprise, concern and indignation on its face.
It finished up and then looked up at Saeed, testing his pursuer for some hole in his resolve. Finding none the dog tried to dodge past Saeed but reckoned without Saeed's reflexes. The dog gave another, more panicked yelp as he was hauled into the air by the scruff of the neck. A short struggle followed but Saeed kept a tight hold on the little animal.
Before long the white dog was brought back into the presence of Prince Weatherstrong back at the house.
"I think your associate in the Eastgate Inn may have overstated their case," Saeed said holding up the yapping, grumpy beast for Avan's inspection.
The dog did its best to bark in a threatening manner at Avan, but the high pitched squeaks were more ridiculous than anything else. Seeming to be unhappy at the effect of barking the dog switched to a growl that sounded like the operation of a stable but broken clockwork motor.
"I'm going to have to guess that the Prince is not home," Avan said. "That's a setback I hadn't expected. I have to ask what the point of a safe house is if it isn't to keep someone safe after performing some heinous act of wrongdoing?"
"It is always a possibility that Miranda betrayed Prince Lanchoni the same way that she betrayed me," Saeed pointed out. "Without you to look out for him the prince may well be dead."
The dog craned its neck round to stare at Saeed. Saeed had never encountered a look from a dog that implied he was stupid before.
"I'm just talking about the possibility," Saeed said to the dog. "I'm sorry if it betrays your mental image of your master."
The dog just looked downcast, hanging limply over Saeed's right forearm.
"I don't think that's it," Avan said. "Please, could I?"
Avan held out his hand towards the dog. Saeed passed the miserable little beast over to his companion. Avan held the dog up to his face and looked into the dog's eyes.
"Mischief," Avan said. "a lot, hastily applied. The dog's soaked in it. He almost smells of mischief."
"So the dog is magic?" Saeed asked.
"No, I don't think so," Avan answered. "I think it's the result of magic, crudely applied, the kind of thing a wish fairy or similar might do."
"Someone made the dog out of magic?" Saeed asked. He still wasn't used to talking so much with an expert on magical things. Magic felt like its own world to Saeed, he always felt stupid for not understanding it right away.
"I think this animal isn't supposed to be this way," Avan said. "I think that this dog was something else and then the wish fairy, or other sprite, transformed it into a small dog."
"So..." Saeed looked at the dog's floppy ears and little paws. "You think this might be-?"
"If I were a sprite and a muscular royal wolf tried to threaten me," Avan said. "I think this might appear to be a suitable response, a reflexive defence, if you like."
"Oh, I see," Saeed said. "So, should we try to turn him back?"
"That's not the difficult part," Avan replied. "The difficult part is containing him when we do."
"Good point," Saeed agreed. "How do we do that?"
"I have just the thing in my saddlepack," Avan said. "Come on, let's get moving."
Avan took the dog and went outside to where they'd tethered their horses. Avan rummaged through the pack attached to the horse's saddle and pulled out a small metallic ball about the size of a fist. It appeared to have been made by tightly binding together twists of silver-black wire by twisting and looping. From the top of the ball emerged a thin strand of cord that Saeed recognised, spider silk.
Avan hung the ball off the stout branch of a nearby tree and fiddled with a catch in the ball's base. The ball suddenly sprang outward, twisting, unfolding and dropping until it was about nine feet long, no longer a tightly wound ball, now a long cigar-shaped mass of metallic twists reaching from the tree branch to the ground.
"That'll do," Avan said. He held the dog out towards the cage and the twists parted to allow the dog to be placed inside. When Avan withdrew his arm the dog skidded down inside the cage with a small yelp and the wire closed back over the gap. "Now, dispelling mischief, that's not a problem, I think I have a spray." He rummaged in a pocket in his belt and brought out a misting bottle. He sprayed a fine sparkling mist into the cage. A couple more squirts of the mister bulb and Avan took a step back.
Saeed had never seen mischief magic dispelled before, the experience was an unusual one that made him feel a little giddy. The dog in the cage didn't appear to expand or bulk out at all, rather it just seemed to shift around in the confines of the cage to find that there was simply more of it than could have been expected a few seconds before. This slow growth by discovery continued until the small dog was gone and in its place stood a wolf on it hind legs considerably bigger than the talking desert wolves Saeed had seen at home in Afsana.
Prince Lanchoni was similar in stature to the wolves of Sorrowblade, he guessed that they must share a common ancestor at least. This wolf was, if anything, even bigger than that. Its hateful eyes glittered dangerously in the low light of the forest. It regarded both Saeed and Avan with naked contempt.
"Let me out," Prince Lanchoni demanded. "You have no right to keep me here."
"I don't think you're particularly in a position to be making demands," Avan told the captive. "You cooperate and we might think about releasing you."
"What do you want?" Lanchoni growled, staring into Avan's eyes with an expression on his face that Saeed could read easily. If the wolf got out of the cage it would mean trouble for everybody, not least of all Avan.
"You were supposed to meet with Miranda Felix," Avan said. "Then, somehow, you appear to have become sidetracked."
The wolf snorted.
"I made the meeting," Lanchoni said. "Turns out I shouldn't have trusted Felix, she sent lizard men to kill me. She should have sent more."
"You set off the explosion that broke open the Dracopolis Jailhouse," Avan said not waiting for any denials, Lanchoni didn't bother objecting, he just shrugged. "So, what was in it for you? What did Felix promise you?"
"The Sword of Zanczasza," the wolf said. "She promised me she would take it from the Amethyst Treasure House and deliver it to me at the Castle in Serpenside in return for my assistance."
"What did you want that for?" Avan asked. "You realise the blade is cursed?"
"It shortens the life of the one who weilds it, yes," Lanchoni said. "In return it would have given me the power to take Onapica away from my brother."
"A magical coup," Avan nodded. "Not the world's noblest cause."
"What do I care what you think?" Lanchoni said. "My business is mine alone."
"What can you tell me about the lizard men who attacked you?" Avan asked. "Were they alone?"
"No," Lanchoni said. "They were being controlled by a draco, stocky dragon, one eye missing, covered with a patch. He was using some kind of crystal orb that made the lizard men obey his commands."
"A coldblood orb," Avan said. "Not common but available on the black market for a price. Well, thank you very much for your help, Prince Lanchoni, it will aid us in our efforts to track down Felix. I'll be sure to send her your regards."
"If you find her before I do," Lanchoni snarled. "Let me out of here."
"Oh, you'll be released," Avan said to the wolf. "When you're safe in a cell in the Dracopolis jailhouse."
"You said you would release me!" the wolf complained straining to break free of the wire metal prison.
"To be fair I said I'd think about it," Avan replied. "I have and I've come to the conclusion that it would be best to free you only once you're incarcerated for the crime that you have committed."
"So you're just going to leave me here?" Lanchoni complained. "If I get out of here before you arrive with help to get me to the prison I'll make sure you regret it."
"Who said we needed help?" Avan asked. "You might want to brace yourself this next bit can pinch a little."
As soon as those words left Avan's mouth he jumped up to grab a hold of the branch from which the cage-pod was suspended. He swung himself towards the top of the pod and wrapped his hand round the blunt cylinder attached to all of the pod's wires. Avan shifted his fingers across some sort of button or catch and the pod shrunk upwards swiftly.
Lanchoni cried out but as the wires spiralled in tight the cry was cut off. Avan picked the wire ball back off the tree. It was a little larger than it had been when it was empty but otherwise there were no signs that it contained a large, angry wolf.
Avan dropped down from the tree and hung the cage-ball from his belt.
"Is this how you deal with everyone who gets on the wrong side of you?" Saeed asked.
"No," Avan replied. "You I teamed up with, Felix.... well, I don't really know what I'm going to do with Felix when we catch her."
"I thought you intended to kill her," Saeed said.
"Is that what you would do?" Avan asked.
"I... am not sure," Saeed said, although he was sure that when he was a boy he would have revolted at the notion of murder. Somewhere along the line he had come to think of killing someone bad as an unpleasant necessity. Now, strangely, he found himself uncertain again.
"Then we shall both discover what we should do, when we get where we're going," Avan said.
"And where is that?" Saeed asked.
"First," Avan replied. "We are going to find Vasky Jantnor."
"Who's that?" Saeed asked.
"A Draco mercenary, last time we met I took one of his eyes."
And that is where they went, but what happened when they met him is a story for another day.
Sunday, 11 August 2013
Escape From The House of Masks
Lester was not comfortable with the idea that he had become used to explosions and noise and confusion. If he was even close to being comfortable with any of those things he would have to opt for being comfortable with confusion. The only thing that prevented him from sinking into a protracted all-enveloping delirium was that confusion was so, well, befuddling. He hated being befuddled, wrong-footed, misdirected, at cross purposes and hence he hated being confused.
It was a shame that so much of his life was so confusing these days.
"I'm..." Lester said, staring at the piece of thick moulded card and leather in his hand, "I'm not Duke Morpazzo."
"You certainly aren't," James said from Lester's pocket. "You might, however, get fried by plasma if you make a wrong move."
The erstwhile identity of Duke Morpazzo was vigorously sinking into the corners of Lester's mind before draining away into his subconscious forever. Lester looked away from the mask that had subsumed his personality for an uncertain period of time at just the moment that a screaming ball of burning witch flew past the right side of his field of vision.
Not wishing to recover his identity only to be instantly set on fire, Lester ducked to the left, startling a crowd of bewildered strangers all staring down at masks. It only took their concentration to be refocused for a second before the screaming and shouting started.
In trying to avoid being burned to death Lester had preciptated a panic stampede that could well lead to him being crushed instead. Before things could get too far out of hand a massive explosion rocked the walls of the party venue accompanied by a bright flash of pink-purple light.
"Everybody!" screamed a voice that Lester only just recognised as belonging to Phoebe September, "Party time is over! Time to go home."
"You miserable little witch," came another voice from the far corner. "This party is mine and it's not over until I say it is."
A hush fell over the crowd as a scorched and ragged Lady Crimzona tramped out of the corner, wild-eyed and furious, to face the witch who had covered her in sooty plasmic discharge. Outside in the garden forks of lightning could be seen in the clouds above, a rumble of thunder sounded, only just more ominous than the sounds of Phoebe's magical workings.
"Ladies," a third voice that Lester didn't recognize cut in. "I think that we can all agree that it's been a long evening, and a splendid party, is this the way you want to send your guests home, Lady Crimzona?"
"Who are you?" Lady Crimzona demanded of the still masked guest, a rakish youth whose only visible physical feature was a wiry explosion of red hair poking over the top of his mask. "And what's this got to do with you?"
"Harvey," Phoebe said, her voice low and dangerous, "you have my full permission to show this evil bully exactly who you are..."
"You sure-" the youth, Harvey, said, a look of surprise evident even under the jocular facade of his party mask.
"...this," Phoebe intoned darkly. "I do command thee."
Harvey shrugged and turned his attention to Lady Crimzona.
"You heard the lady," he said apologetically. "She commanded me."
A tail appeared out of the back of the young man's breeches and whipped through the air switching first right and then hard left. It even appeared to make a cracking noise as it reached the end of its journey.
As the switch noise completed the crack noise overlapped seamlessly with a popping sound coming from the direction of Lady Crimzona.
"Oh dear," she said. "I don't feel at all... well... Oh!"
With that Lady Crimzona began to expand, bulking out and, at the same time, sprouting a thick red fur on her neck and the back of her arms. Her hands began to elongate, the tips of the nails sharpening into claws. At the same time her legs became shorter, stubbier while her face began to poke outwards, the flesh on her face darkening to be come a muddy reddish and wrinkled leather snout.
The Crimzona-thing tried to speak again but her voice had disappeared in a number of squawks, clicks and squeaks. Her arms began to broaden and flatten and she fell forward onto the floor.
Within a few moments the hostess of the world's longest, and least amusing, party had transformed from a sharp, pale-skinned young woman into a giant bloated red bat. The Crimzona bat picked up its head and squawked ay the assembled gathering. It flexed its clawed wings and pulled itself toward the window.
"Harvey," Phoebe said. "You appear to have changed her into a bat."
"Pure unfiltered mischief Feebs, I don't have any control over the effect," Harvey replied. "Usually it would turn her into something harmless, but there's too much sour mischief hanging over this house. Must have warped the effect."
"A giant bat," Phoebe said. "Is not much of an improvement over an insane sorceress."
"But can we both agree that it is an improvement?" Harvey asked as the bat pulled itself out of the window.
"Well, nice to see that after the party things quickly return to their usual state," James said from Lester's pocket.
"Not now!" Both Lester and Phoebe said to their respective companions simultaneously even as the bat spread its wings and took to the air.
Phoebe and Harvey both raced over to the window. Harvey reached the sill a few seconds ahead of Phoebe and swiftly vaulted through the window, to hit the path beyond, running. Wearing a ridiculous flouncy party frock Phoebe could not do the same. She resolved the problem by just blasting a hole in the wall and stomping off after the bat and Harvey.
"One thing I'll say for that girl," James remarked. "She'd save you a bunch of money if you ever came to need an extension."
"An extension to what?" Lester asked.
"Rhetorical comment in a different cultural idiom," James replied. "Pretend I didn't say anything. Are you going to stand here all night then?"
"Uh, no, I guess not," Lester said. He picked his way through the crowd to reach the hole in the wall the same time as another freed party guest.
At first he didn't recognize the slim young woman who was also chasing after Phoebe into the garden. This was because the last time he'd seen her she was entirely surrounded by water and hadn't had any feet.
"Eos?" he said.
"Lester?" Eos responded.
"You have legs," Lester replied. He was caught in the throes of that awkwardness that can only really occur when one encounters someone for the second time and realises that on the first occasion that person had been in dire straits and you had done nothing to help them, in fact, you may even have contributed to their many troubles.
"I do," she said. She walked through the hole in the wall, using the legs that Lester had referenced and strode confidently off into the night after Phoebe's retreating form.
"You should try to monetize awkward," James said. "You produce so much of it."
Lester did not feel like telling the sarcastic rodent to be quiet again, he knew it would not be his last opportunity to do so. Instead he followed on after Eos, walking with that awkward half-skipping gait that signalled you were keen to catch up to someone but did not want to commit to actually running.
"I, uh, I would have probably released you," Lester said. "I don't think the man in the tall hat was coming back. Once I'd worked that out, well, uh..."
Eos didn't say anything or look at him, she just kept on walking after Phoebe.
"The words you're looking for," James whispered. "Are 'I'm sorry'."
"Oh, yes," Lester said a little too loud, "I'm really sorry. It was just all so... well it hasn't stopped really... I was confused. But I never wanted to keep anyone in a tank. I'm just... looking for my brother."
"We'll talk about it later," Eos grated. "If we have to talk about it at all. I personally would as soon forget all about it."
Further conversation was cut off as a giant red-furred bat flew out of the night sky to land heavily a few feet in front of them.
"I think we might have missed something," James said as the bat pulled itself up onto its feet with the spindly limbs that formed the outside frame of its wings.
The bat squawked groggily and then, upon seeing Lester, James and Eos in front of it bellowed again, a high pitched, furious shriek before launching itself at them. It didn't get very far, however, it fell again, knocked out of the air by an enthusiastic looking Sir Cobb who had kicked the bat down and was now swooping his sword in for a final blow.
In the last seconds before the bat met its doom at the point of Frederick's sword Lester had time to register Phoebe, Harvey, the gnome and a goblin that Lester had never met before frantically shouting at the knight to hold on. Frederick did not hold on. With a grim sense of purpose he ran the bat through with his sword and the giant monster, quivering, fell dead on the floor.
"Oh, criminy, no," Harvey said. "You really shouldn't be allowed to handle so much as a spoon without a safety cord."
Registering the people standing next to the newly expired giant bat a look of alarm came onto Harvey's face. The wiry young man ran forward waving his arms in the general direction of Lester and Eos.
"Get back!" he shouted. "You have to get back!"
Lester and Eos began to back away, before they had got too far, however a new complication arose.
"James!" shouted the little girl Lester remembered from the market, moments before the incident with the broom and the troll. "James! Is it you?"
Lester looked down at James, his head sticking out of Lester's breast pocket.
"Don't leave her," James said to Lester, his tone dark.
Lester had another opportunity to feel too slow as he felt Eos brush past him, running towards Rachel.
"Rachel!" Eos shouted. "Don't go near the bat!"
On the floor the body of the bat was beginning to glow with a bright pink-white light, a tone was rising, harmonic but sharp, the kind of noise that set your teeth on edge. Lester unfroze, following on after Eos just as Harvey launched himself at Frederick tackling him to get him off the top of the bat as the sharp tone rose to its crescendo.
In the last moments before the bat exploded Lester got a vague impression that he was right behind Eos, who was shielding Rachel whilst Harvey and Frederick had fallen to the opposite side of the fallen bat. Harvey was trying to do something magical, Lester didn't know what that might be.
Then there was a gigantic squeaking pop, a sound, rather like the universe burping, and everything went white.
There were a couple of moments of silence and then the quavering voice of a scared little girl said:
"James?"
"I'm here Rachel," said James from Lester's pocket.
"But where is here?" said another female voice, Eos.
Lester's eyes were still dazzled by the light of the exploding bat. He blinked a couple of times but everything stayed dazzlingly bright. He turned his head to one side to see that he was lying a few feet away from the slumbering form of the gnome. Lester could feel the sun on his skin. Beyond the blurry form of the gnome were a number of standing structures, wooden poles emerging from holes in the surface of the enormous stone slab.
"That's a very good question," James said. "Where are we?"
It appeared that life was not going to get any less confusing for Lester any time soon. He would, at least, be able to get his bearings, but that will be in a story I tell another day.
It was a shame that so much of his life was so confusing these days.
"I'm..." Lester said, staring at the piece of thick moulded card and leather in his hand, "I'm not Duke Morpazzo."
"You certainly aren't," James said from Lester's pocket. "You might, however, get fried by plasma if you make a wrong move."
The erstwhile identity of Duke Morpazzo was vigorously sinking into the corners of Lester's mind before draining away into his subconscious forever. Lester looked away from the mask that had subsumed his personality for an uncertain period of time at just the moment that a screaming ball of burning witch flew past the right side of his field of vision.
Not wishing to recover his identity only to be instantly set on fire, Lester ducked to the left, startling a crowd of bewildered strangers all staring down at masks. It only took their concentration to be refocused for a second before the screaming and shouting started.
In trying to avoid being burned to death Lester had preciptated a panic stampede that could well lead to him being crushed instead. Before things could get too far out of hand a massive explosion rocked the walls of the party venue accompanied by a bright flash of pink-purple light.
"Everybody!" screamed a voice that Lester only just recognised as belonging to Phoebe September, "Party time is over! Time to go home."
"You miserable little witch," came another voice from the far corner. "This party is mine and it's not over until I say it is."
A hush fell over the crowd as a scorched and ragged Lady Crimzona tramped out of the corner, wild-eyed and furious, to face the witch who had covered her in sooty plasmic discharge. Outside in the garden forks of lightning could be seen in the clouds above, a rumble of thunder sounded, only just more ominous than the sounds of Phoebe's magical workings.
"Ladies," a third voice that Lester didn't recognize cut in. "I think that we can all agree that it's been a long evening, and a splendid party, is this the way you want to send your guests home, Lady Crimzona?"
"Who are you?" Lady Crimzona demanded of the still masked guest, a rakish youth whose only visible physical feature was a wiry explosion of red hair poking over the top of his mask. "And what's this got to do with you?"
"Harvey," Phoebe said, her voice low and dangerous, "you have my full permission to show this evil bully exactly who you are..."
"You sure-" the youth, Harvey, said, a look of surprise evident even under the jocular facade of his party mask.
"...this," Phoebe intoned darkly. "I do command thee."
Harvey shrugged and turned his attention to Lady Crimzona.
"You heard the lady," he said apologetically. "She commanded me."
A tail appeared out of the back of the young man's breeches and whipped through the air switching first right and then hard left. It even appeared to make a cracking noise as it reached the end of its journey.
As the switch noise completed the crack noise overlapped seamlessly with a popping sound coming from the direction of Lady Crimzona.
"Oh dear," she said. "I don't feel at all... well... Oh!"
With that Lady Crimzona began to expand, bulking out and, at the same time, sprouting a thick red fur on her neck and the back of her arms. Her hands began to elongate, the tips of the nails sharpening into claws. At the same time her legs became shorter, stubbier while her face began to poke outwards, the flesh on her face darkening to be come a muddy reddish and wrinkled leather snout.
The Crimzona-thing tried to speak again but her voice had disappeared in a number of squawks, clicks and squeaks. Her arms began to broaden and flatten and she fell forward onto the floor.
Within a few moments the hostess of the world's longest, and least amusing, party had transformed from a sharp, pale-skinned young woman into a giant bloated red bat. The Crimzona bat picked up its head and squawked ay the assembled gathering. It flexed its clawed wings and pulled itself toward the window.
"Harvey," Phoebe said. "You appear to have changed her into a bat."
"Pure unfiltered mischief Feebs, I don't have any control over the effect," Harvey replied. "Usually it would turn her into something harmless, but there's too much sour mischief hanging over this house. Must have warped the effect."
"A giant bat," Phoebe said. "Is not much of an improvement over an insane sorceress."
"But can we both agree that it is an improvement?" Harvey asked as the bat pulled itself out of the window.
"Well, nice to see that after the party things quickly return to their usual state," James said from Lester's pocket.
"Not now!" Both Lester and Phoebe said to their respective companions simultaneously even as the bat spread its wings and took to the air.
Phoebe and Harvey both raced over to the window. Harvey reached the sill a few seconds ahead of Phoebe and swiftly vaulted through the window, to hit the path beyond, running. Wearing a ridiculous flouncy party frock Phoebe could not do the same. She resolved the problem by just blasting a hole in the wall and stomping off after the bat and Harvey.
"One thing I'll say for that girl," James remarked. "She'd save you a bunch of money if you ever came to need an extension."
"An extension to what?" Lester asked.
"Rhetorical comment in a different cultural idiom," James replied. "Pretend I didn't say anything. Are you going to stand here all night then?"
"Uh, no, I guess not," Lester said. He picked his way through the crowd to reach the hole in the wall the same time as another freed party guest.
At first he didn't recognize the slim young woman who was also chasing after Phoebe into the garden. This was because the last time he'd seen her she was entirely surrounded by water and hadn't had any feet.
"Eos?" he said.
"Lester?" Eos responded.
"You have legs," Lester replied. He was caught in the throes of that awkwardness that can only really occur when one encounters someone for the second time and realises that on the first occasion that person had been in dire straits and you had done nothing to help them, in fact, you may even have contributed to their many troubles.
"I do," she said. She walked through the hole in the wall, using the legs that Lester had referenced and strode confidently off into the night after Phoebe's retreating form.
"You should try to monetize awkward," James said. "You produce so much of it."
Lester did not feel like telling the sarcastic rodent to be quiet again, he knew it would not be his last opportunity to do so. Instead he followed on after Eos, walking with that awkward half-skipping gait that signalled you were keen to catch up to someone but did not want to commit to actually running.
"I, uh, I would have probably released you," Lester said. "I don't think the man in the tall hat was coming back. Once I'd worked that out, well, uh..."
Eos didn't say anything or look at him, she just kept on walking after Phoebe.
"The words you're looking for," James whispered. "Are 'I'm sorry'."
"Oh, yes," Lester said a little too loud, "I'm really sorry. It was just all so... well it hasn't stopped really... I was confused. But I never wanted to keep anyone in a tank. I'm just... looking for my brother."
"We'll talk about it later," Eos grated. "If we have to talk about it at all. I personally would as soon forget all about it."
Further conversation was cut off as a giant red-furred bat flew out of the night sky to land heavily a few feet in front of them.
"I think we might have missed something," James said as the bat pulled itself up onto its feet with the spindly limbs that formed the outside frame of its wings.
The bat squawked groggily and then, upon seeing Lester, James and Eos in front of it bellowed again, a high pitched, furious shriek before launching itself at them. It didn't get very far, however, it fell again, knocked out of the air by an enthusiastic looking Sir Cobb who had kicked the bat down and was now swooping his sword in for a final blow.
In the last seconds before the bat met its doom at the point of Frederick's sword Lester had time to register Phoebe, Harvey, the gnome and a goblin that Lester had never met before frantically shouting at the knight to hold on. Frederick did not hold on. With a grim sense of purpose he ran the bat through with his sword and the giant monster, quivering, fell dead on the floor.
"Oh, criminy, no," Harvey said. "You really shouldn't be allowed to handle so much as a spoon without a safety cord."
Registering the people standing next to the newly expired giant bat a look of alarm came onto Harvey's face. The wiry young man ran forward waving his arms in the general direction of Lester and Eos.
"Get back!" he shouted. "You have to get back!"
Lester and Eos began to back away, before they had got too far, however a new complication arose.
"James!" shouted the little girl Lester remembered from the market, moments before the incident with the broom and the troll. "James! Is it you?"
Lester looked down at James, his head sticking out of Lester's breast pocket.
"Don't leave her," James said to Lester, his tone dark.
Lester had another opportunity to feel too slow as he felt Eos brush past him, running towards Rachel.
"Rachel!" Eos shouted. "Don't go near the bat!"
On the floor the body of the bat was beginning to glow with a bright pink-white light, a tone was rising, harmonic but sharp, the kind of noise that set your teeth on edge. Lester unfroze, following on after Eos just as Harvey launched himself at Frederick tackling him to get him off the top of the bat as the sharp tone rose to its crescendo.
In the last moments before the bat exploded Lester got a vague impression that he was right behind Eos, who was shielding Rachel whilst Harvey and Frederick had fallen to the opposite side of the fallen bat. Harvey was trying to do something magical, Lester didn't know what that might be.
Then there was a gigantic squeaking pop, a sound, rather like the universe burping, and everything went white.
There were a couple of moments of silence and then the quavering voice of a scared little girl said:
"James?"
"I'm here Rachel," said James from Lester's pocket.
"But where is here?" said another female voice, Eos.
Lester's eyes were still dazzled by the light of the exploding bat. He blinked a couple of times but everything stayed dazzlingly bright. He turned his head to one side to see that he was lying a few feet away from the slumbering form of the gnome. Lester could feel the sun on his skin. Beyond the blurry form of the gnome were a number of standing structures, wooden poles emerging from holes in the surface of the enormous stone slab.
"That's a very good question," James said. "Where are we?"
It appeared that life was not going to get any less confusing for Lester any time soon. He would, at least, be able to get his bearings, but that will be in a story I tell another day.
Sunday, 16 June 2013
In Which Saeed Encounters A Masque In Jeopardy
Saeed was a young man who did not really look at the world in terms of security versus danger. Anyone outside of Saeed's life would have pointed out that by the time the young thief was old enough to appreciate security he was already living in a state of constant danger. This probably helped him to view dangerous situations with a cool and rational mind. To Saeed life was danger and vice versa. Not that he would say something so grandiose because only those people for whom life might not be danger would say them.
Saeed's phlegmatic attitude to sneaking around a cave network tracking a man in a dark cloak leading two muscular talking wolves carrying a pallet bearing a chest of dragon crystals was probably born of these life circumstances. Certainly Saeed did not resent Kalico for sending him on this mission, nor did he fear that he would be unable to return to the Patchwork Market with the intelligence that he had gained.
Did this make Saeed a hero? Or more of a fool? How large is the gap between these two states of being anyway? Saeed didn't bother himself too much with pontification on any of these topics. So you can if you want. In the meanwhile, however, Saeed continued to ease through the shadows following the man in the dark cloak and his consignment of mysterious Dragon Crystals.
After walking along a number of passageways, up various ramps carved into the rock and along winding extensive tunnel sections, Saeed decided that the party he was following were headed in roughly one direction and climbing upwards as they did so. They moved from the cold of the tunnels where they had arrived throughh the magic portal into an area that appeared to have more architecture.
They had not been walking too long before the man in the black cloak stopped outside a large wooden door. He opened the door with a key he retrieved from his belt and lead the wolves inside with the crystals. After a few minutes the man in the black cloak emerged alone, closed the door and locked it behind him. He continued on his way through the tunnel complex without the wolves or the dragon crystals.
Saeed had to make a split second decision, try to break into the cellar storage room to follow the crystals, or follow the man in the black cloak. He decided on the latter course of action because there was always a chance Saeed might be given the opportunity to steal the key from the man. Besides, Saeed knew the man had a wand that could open magic portals. Maybe he had just opened a portal back to Sorrowblade for the wolves inside that room.
What would Saeed do with a room full of dragon crystals? He didn't even know what dragon crystals were. The choice was really no choice. He must follow the man in the black cloak to find any further information on the situation.
The man soon came to a set of steps leading up out of the tunnel network. Saeed had to be careful now as the stairwell doubled back on itself every ten steps. Saeed could not allow himself to be seen but he didn't want to lose the man either. He had to stay two staircases behind and follow the footsteps.
At the top of the stairs there was a metal gate, the man unlocked it, passed through and locked it behind him. This was a disaster. Saeed had to stay out of sight one staircase down to evade detection. He heard the man lock the gate and walk away before he could hurry after. The gate was of the barred variety with three cross bars dividing the gate into fifteen narrow barred slits arranged in five colums of three gaps each.
Saeed could probably ease himself through, except for his head. His ears would probably cause a problem. He was sure he could best the slits eventually but what if he was discovered in the meanwhile? Saeed did not relish the thought of being captured. He would only come back here if he could not find another way out.
He returned down the stairwell to the bottom, where the cellar area was laid out. The passage stretched off for about three hundred paces in both directions. The way Saeed had come the passage terminated a ramp that curved away into the cave network, at the other in a blank wall. Doors were placed along the corridor at odd intervals. To the cave network end the doors were all blank stout wood. Towards the other end some had hatches at the height of an adult head.
Saeed recognised a prison cell when he saw one. He wondered if there were any prisoners down here. There was only one way to find out.
Saeed started with the cells at the far end of the passage and worked his way back towards the cell, knocking on each door as he went. After seven doors there had been no answer to his muted knocking. At the eighth he found what he had been looking for.
"Who's there?" came a voice.
"You are a prisoner of the man in the black cloak?" Saeed asked.
"Who are you?" the voice replied.
"My name is Saeed," Saeed said. "I am a thief from the streets of Old Araby. I have taken a vow to never again tell a lie and am seeking to reconcile the last untruth that crossed my lips with the spirit of my dead mother."
"Are you making some sort of a joke?" asked the voice. "Is this some sort of trap?"
"You are already in a trap my friend," Saeed replied. "Think seriously, would the man in the black cloak really try to play a trick on you concerning an honest thief addressing you through your cell door?"
"Cankerthorn is an odd duck, for certain," the voice responded. "Although he does not appear to have any whimsy about him. So, what are you doing here honest thief from a long vanished land?"
"This Cankerthorn," Saeed explained. "He is involved in business dealings with a certain knight at the Patchwork Market, I have been asked to find out the nature of these deals and report back to the Master of the Market."
"Sounds like the slimy toad who threw me in this room to die," the voice answered. "So why have you come here to disturb my long, silent captivity?"
"Cankerthorn has left this underground area via a staircase about two hundred paces hence. There is a locked gate at the head of the stairs and I am reluctant to attempt to bypass it without first assessing my options. You are my first option."
"What kind of an option is that, boy?" the voice asked. "I am no more than an old prisoner in a dank cell, lost and forgotten for centuries, in danger of coming undone at any moment and subliming into ether."
"Are you a djinn?" Saeed asked. He knew a little about beings of ether, djinn as they were called in Afsana.
"Ha, well, yes and no," the voice said. "I am of the primary order of sprite. I am a servant to my master, an agent of the great Wheel, as such my sub-species is actually referred to as a masque. Djinn are cousins of mine though."
"Well, as I understand it djinn have some power. Maybe we could assist one another. If I were to set you free, what could you do for me?"
"I do not think you will be able to set me free," the masque replied. "If you could then I would be able to return to my master's hands, he would be very grateful for my safe deliverance. I think this is a task that is too difficult for you."
"I am willing to try," Saeed said. "What is the harm."
"Ah, well, for that you will have to see my prison," the masque said. "Open the door to the cell, it is not locked. Have the utmost care as you do so, however, my life depends upon your stealth and dexterity."
Saeed smiled. "I flatter myself to believe that your health and well being could not be better entrusted to the stealth and dexterity of any other person," he said. "I shall open the door."
Taking heed of the masque's words Saeed carefully turned the handle of the door, lifting the latch and easing the door open on its heavy metal hinges. It complained and stuck a little but Saeed took care to open the door only as far as was necessary to slip inside.
Once he got into the cell, and his eyes adjusted to the gloomy interior of the chamber, Saeed understood the masque's concerns. A mirror was placed upon the floor of the cell and above it hung a sword suspended by a gossamer thread. Inside the body of the mirror Saeed could make out the sad face of the masque peering upwards at the sword hanging before it.
"Careful," the masque said. "The slightest disturbance and the thread may break, this isn't a mirror prison that can be opened by breaking the glass. In fact, if the glass is cracked I will be instantly constricted into the ether. It will take a great deal of magical energy to retrieve me then and, to be honest, I know of no magic worker that would ever bother."
"So how can I get you out?" Saeed asked, trying not to breathe in the direction of the sword.
"You need to turn the mirror upside down, that opens a portal into the tiny world inside the mirror. Do not try to pick up the mirror without first uncrewing it, it is held down. Do not attempt to pull down the sword, it is too heavy and has been enchanted to fall straight into the surface of the mirror at the slightest hint of interference."
"So I need to unscrew the mirror and slide it out from under the sword?" Saeed asked.
"You must remove all six screws that hold the mirror to the floor," the masque said. "Without the vibrations of the screws causing the sword to fall. It's an impossible task."
"Things that are tricky are not impossible," Saeed said. "That's why they call them tricky."
"I don't know," the masque said. "I think this is probably impossible."
"When I asked my mother," Saeed said, "what stopped the sorcerers from taking over Afsana and ruling the kingdoms of Araby with magic, she told me that magic was delicate and required a particular balance to work. Whenever an enchantment is cast there must always be some kind of an exception or loophole by which the enchantment may be undone. The powers that be do not permit the unchecked manipulation of magical forces."
"You talk of etheric philosophy with a sprite?" the masque complained. "I know this as well as anyone but I do not know the secret of Cankerthorn's enchantment."
"Maybe we do not need to," Saeed said. "I shall survey further the resources available and return with a solution."
"I'm glad you're so confident," the masque said, his lack of faith in Saeed showed through in every word.
Saeed didn't allow the misery to affect him. In Saeed's world you could either get something done or it was impossible, there was no sense in worrying about whether a task fell into one category or the other. He slipped out of the cell door again to make his way down the corridor, past the stairway and into the side of the passage lined with storage rooms rather than prison cells.
It didn't take him long to find an unlocked door. It appeared that the storage nearest the stairs was used to store the things that were most common. He found a maintenance room filled with mops, small towels, bottles of chemicals, rags, buckets and other ephemera associated with running a clean castle and dungeon. In here Saeed found a tool suitable for unscrewing the mirror from the floor. The only question was whether he could do all six without the sword falling and dispersing the masque.
Saeed did not think that he could specifically achieve this without some further assistance. So he continued to search the storage rooms. Four rooms further on he found an armory. He immediately took note when he saw that the items in the room all glowed with a soft blue-white light indicating that they were imbued with some sort of magic.
Saeed looked over a rack of buckler shields all of which shared the luminous property. Logically it did not seem that one would enchant a shield to weaken it. An idea began to form in Saeed's mind. Saeed took the screwdriver he had pulled out of the box in the maintenance room and tried to gouge or scuff the surface of one of the bucklers. The tip of the screwdriver could not even make the smallest scratch upon the shield's surface.
"I think that this will be an excellent solution," Saeed muttered under his breath, lifting the buckler from the rack.
He made his way back down the corridor to the masque's cell. He had to slide the buckler carefully through the door to rest against the wall before entering the room himself. As Saeed squeezed himself round the door he could hear the masque tutting and fretting to itself.
Once he was in Saeed crept forward to the edge of the mirror.
"I have a solution," he said to the masque in the hushed tone he had become used to when crouching near to the sword.
"What is it?" the masque asked, it did not sound happy but maybe there was an edge of hope in its voice.
"I have a magic buckler," Saeed explained. "It repels damage. I also have a screwdriver," he held up the tool so the masque could see it, "I will slide the magic buckler under the sword and attempt to unscrew the mirror. If the sword falls it will not strike the surface of the mirror. If you are not sure that this is adequate then I am afraid my only other option is to leave."
The masque thought this over for a moment, then it said:
"I have been trapped behind this glass for far too long, if I am dispersed then there is always some hope that a magician will pull me out of the ether one day. While I wait in here I have no such hope. Put the shield over my mirror and proceed with your plan."
Saeed did as he was told. He put the buckler carefully under the point of the sword before beginning to work out the screws that held the mirror down on the stone floor of the cell. He managed to unscrew four of the six without incident, the fifth he attempted turned out to have been caught on its thread. Swiftly he switched to the other remaining screw, undoing that one before returning to the one that had stuck.
He tried to bear down on the screw, pressing his weight onto the screwdriver head to give it more purchase. The screw slowly began to turn but as it did there was the merest vibration as part of the thread ground against the stone of the screwhole. The tiny quiver seemed to expand out through the stone walls of the cell and eventually reached the thread that suspended the sword over the buckler.
The blade of the sword sang the lightest, quietest high note you can imagine and then the thread snapped.
Saeed rolled back out of the way of the blade, hoping the buckler's magic would hold. It did hold, just but the point of the magic sword pierced the protective energy surrounding the shield resulting in a bright white flash as the magical energy dispelled. The sword fell to the floor, no longer a threat but the force of the magical discharge was sufficient to blow the shield into the air to spin above the mirror.
If the shield caught the glass the wrong way when it fell the glass would shatter. The sword had been enchanted to fall towards the mirror but the shield was not. Saeed leaped forward plucking the shield out of the air before it could strike the mirror's surface to land against the cell wall, breathing heavily, his heart hammering in his throat.
"So, have you finished?" came the voice of the masque.
Saeed nearly burst out laughing as the tension gripping his insides dispelled. He scrambled back to the last screw and quickly removed it.
"All done!" he announced. "Are you ready?"
"I can't believe that I am about to be freed," the masque rejoiced. "Please, quickly."
Saeed picked up the mirror and held it out in front of him. He flipped it round so that the surface was facing downwards. There was a feeling of movement from the bottom of the mirror and the masque dislodged itself from its prison.
The masque, that resembled a tiny goblin dressed in a fool's motley, jumped down onto the floor of the cell. It worked any kinks out of its muscles by doing a little jig.
"Oh yes!" it crowed. "Free! Free! Free at last! I can feel my powers returning." It turned to look up at Saeed as the young thief rested the mirror prison carefully against one wall. "I have been so long in that mirror that I will need a little time to rest and recharge," it said. "So I will leave you to receive appropriate thanks from my master. For my own part I can only assure you that you have rendered myself, and hence the forces of the wheel a great service on this day Saeed. I bid you farewell."
With that the little sprite reached up to fiddle with something behind his left ear. He unhooked something and pulled at the corner of his face. Saeed was amazed to see the spirit's face come away in his hand. The little sprite gripped at the freshly exposed edge and pulled his face right off.
Saeed didn't know by what mechanism a tiny little goblin in motley became the curled up figure of a tall, thin man dressed in a great coat, a tall hat proud upon his head, but the transformation happened. The man held a mask, moulded into the shape of the little sprite's face, in his left hand. This new figure filled the room with a great deal more presence than his servant.
Saeed did not know much about the nature of gods, or the difference between gods and powerful djinn, but he knew magical power when he saw it, ever since he had seen the shade of death standing over the body of his mother.
"Saeed ibn Abihi, an honour to make your direct acquaintance," the man in the tall hat said. He grinned a white and perfect grin that made Saeed want to go and pick a pocket, just to prove he could.
"You have the advantage of me, sir," Saeed said politely. "I am afraid that I do not know your name."
"Some days," the man in the tall hat said, "I can hardly remember my own name, so there's no shame in it escaping someone else. I must thank you for returning this little masque to me. Every one of my missing children is like a small shard of glass in my tender heart. Every one returned a blessed relief."
"I am happy to be of service, sir," Saeed said. "Your servant was of the opinion that you may wish to render me some assistance in return. If you could that would lighten the load on my heart, for I am far from home and a little lost."
"Indeed you are," the man in the tall hat said as if he knew every move that Saeed had ever made, and who was to say that he didn't? "So, where would you like to go? The souk?"
"Oh no, sir," Saeed said. "When I lost my mother in the souk it ceased to be my home. In truth I would like to be nowhere better than by her side again, so that I could apologise for the lie that I told her when she was alive."
"If I could send you straight there I would," the man in the tall hat said. "You have some more to do before that day comes."
"Then I should return to Kalico, the Master of the Patchwork Market," Saeed said. "It is for his sake that I have made my present journey and I have much to report to him."
"Kalico," the man in the tall hat said. "Like the Master of every Market I have had some occasion to cut a deal with that individual. He has a heart of stone but it burns in the centre like a furnace. I can take you back to the Master's Tower in the blink of an eye, if you're sure that's where you want to go."
"I made him a promise," Saeed said. "If I do not honour it then I will have gone against the vow I made to always be honest."
"I love a paradox!" the man in the tall hat crowed. "And you my little honest thief are one of life's golden nuggets in that regard. Now, I left a door round here somewhere. I tend to leave them wherever I go and Cankerthorn has certainly earned my attention in the past."
The man in the tall hat opened the door of the cell and, Saeed following along behind, walked down to the blank wall at the end of the passage. He reached out into the blank stone of the wall and undid a latch hidden, seemingly, inside the rock. He pulled open a wooden door that emerged from the dead end in a similar manner to the one in which a tiny goblin had turned into a thin man in a tall hat.
Saeed peered through the open doorway and was amazed to see Kalico, sat at his desk, his back to the door. The Master of the Market was mere feet away, working, oblivious to the man in the tall hat or Saeed.
"He won't hear you until you step through," the man explained. "It's the way my connecting doors work."
"Thank you, sir," Saeed said happily. "I am honoured to receive your assistance."
"Think nothing of it," the man in the tall hat replied. "If you were stuck here then how would it come that the weave would deliver you back to me at the appointed hour?"
"Am I to understand that we should meet again?" Saeed asked, choosing his words carefully.
Careful or not the man in the tall hat said nothing, just motioned for Saeed to step forward as the wide, white smile shone out of wide, thin-lipped mouth.
Saeed stepped forward without receiving an answer to his question, in the fullness of time he did meet with the man in the tall hat again, but that is a story for another time.
Saeed's phlegmatic attitude to sneaking around a cave network tracking a man in a dark cloak leading two muscular talking wolves carrying a pallet bearing a chest of dragon crystals was probably born of these life circumstances. Certainly Saeed did not resent Kalico for sending him on this mission, nor did he fear that he would be unable to return to the Patchwork Market with the intelligence that he had gained.
Did this make Saeed a hero? Or more of a fool? How large is the gap between these two states of being anyway? Saeed didn't bother himself too much with pontification on any of these topics. So you can if you want. In the meanwhile, however, Saeed continued to ease through the shadows following the man in the dark cloak and his consignment of mysterious Dragon Crystals.
After walking along a number of passageways, up various ramps carved into the rock and along winding extensive tunnel sections, Saeed decided that the party he was following were headed in roughly one direction and climbing upwards as they did so. They moved from the cold of the tunnels where they had arrived throughh the magic portal into an area that appeared to have more architecture.
They had not been walking too long before the man in the black cloak stopped outside a large wooden door. He opened the door with a key he retrieved from his belt and lead the wolves inside with the crystals. After a few minutes the man in the black cloak emerged alone, closed the door and locked it behind him. He continued on his way through the tunnel complex without the wolves or the dragon crystals.
Saeed had to make a split second decision, try to break into the cellar storage room to follow the crystals, or follow the man in the black cloak. He decided on the latter course of action because there was always a chance Saeed might be given the opportunity to steal the key from the man. Besides, Saeed knew the man had a wand that could open magic portals. Maybe he had just opened a portal back to Sorrowblade for the wolves inside that room.
What would Saeed do with a room full of dragon crystals? He didn't even know what dragon crystals were. The choice was really no choice. He must follow the man in the black cloak to find any further information on the situation.
The man soon came to a set of steps leading up out of the tunnel network. Saeed had to be careful now as the stairwell doubled back on itself every ten steps. Saeed could not allow himself to be seen but he didn't want to lose the man either. He had to stay two staircases behind and follow the footsteps.
At the top of the stairs there was a metal gate, the man unlocked it, passed through and locked it behind him. This was a disaster. Saeed had to stay out of sight one staircase down to evade detection. He heard the man lock the gate and walk away before he could hurry after. The gate was of the barred variety with three cross bars dividing the gate into fifteen narrow barred slits arranged in five colums of three gaps each.
Saeed could probably ease himself through, except for his head. His ears would probably cause a problem. He was sure he could best the slits eventually but what if he was discovered in the meanwhile? Saeed did not relish the thought of being captured. He would only come back here if he could not find another way out.
He returned down the stairwell to the bottom, where the cellar area was laid out. The passage stretched off for about three hundred paces in both directions. The way Saeed had come the passage terminated a ramp that curved away into the cave network, at the other in a blank wall. Doors were placed along the corridor at odd intervals. To the cave network end the doors were all blank stout wood. Towards the other end some had hatches at the height of an adult head.
Saeed recognised a prison cell when he saw one. He wondered if there were any prisoners down here. There was only one way to find out.
Saeed started with the cells at the far end of the passage and worked his way back towards the cell, knocking on each door as he went. After seven doors there had been no answer to his muted knocking. At the eighth he found what he had been looking for.
"Who's there?" came a voice.
"You are a prisoner of the man in the black cloak?" Saeed asked.
"Who are you?" the voice replied.
"My name is Saeed," Saeed said. "I am a thief from the streets of Old Araby. I have taken a vow to never again tell a lie and am seeking to reconcile the last untruth that crossed my lips with the spirit of my dead mother."
"Are you making some sort of a joke?" asked the voice. "Is this some sort of trap?"
"You are already in a trap my friend," Saeed replied. "Think seriously, would the man in the black cloak really try to play a trick on you concerning an honest thief addressing you through your cell door?"
"Cankerthorn is an odd duck, for certain," the voice responded. "Although he does not appear to have any whimsy about him. So, what are you doing here honest thief from a long vanished land?"
"This Cankerthorn," Saeed explained. "He is involved in business dealings with a certain knight at the Patchwork Market, I have been asked to find out the nature of these deals and report back to the Master of the Market."
"Sounds like the slimy toad who threw me in this room to die," the voice answered. "So why have you come here to disturb my long, silent captivity?"
"Cankerthorn has left this underground area via a staircase about two hundred paces hence. There is a locked gate at the head of the stairs and I am reluctant to attempt to bypass it without first assessing my options. You are my first option."
"What kind of an option is that, boy?" the voice asked. "I am no more than an old prisoner in a dank cell, lost and forgotten for centuries, in danger of coming undone at any moment and subliming into ether."
"Are you a djinn?" Saeed asked. He knew a little about beings of ether, djinn as they were called in Afsana.
"Ha, well, yes and no," the voice said. "I am of the primary order of sprite. I am a servant to my master, an agent of the great Wheel, as such my sub-species is actually referred to as a masque. Djinn are cousins of mine though."
"Well, as I understand it djinn have some power. Maybe we could assist one another. If I were to set you free, what could you do for me?"
"I do not think you will be able to set me free," the masque replied. "If you could then I would be able to return to my master's hands, he would be very grateful for my safe deliverance. I think this is a task that is too difficult for you."
"I am willing to try," Saeed said. "What is the harm."
"Ah, well, for that you will have to see my prison," the masque said. "Open the door to the cell, it is not locked. Have the utmost care as you do so, however, my life depends upon your stealth and dexterity."
Saeed smiled. "I flatter myself to believe that your health and well being could not be better entrusted to the stealth and dexterity of any other person," he said. "I shall open the door."
Taking heed of the masque's words Saeed carefully turned the handle of the door, lifting the latch and easing the door open on its heavy metal hinges. It complained and stuck a little but Saeed took care to open the door only as far as was necessary to slip inside.
Once he got into the cell, and his eyes adjusted to the gloomy interior of the chamber, Saeed understood the masque's concerns. A mirror was placed upon the floor of the cell and above it hung a sword suspended by a gossamer thread. Inside the body of the mirror Saeed could make out the sad face of the masque peering upwards at the sword hanging before it.
"Careful," the masque said. "The slightest disturbance and the thread may break, this isn't a mirror prison that can be opened by breaking the glass. In fact, if the glass is cracked I will be instantly constricted into the ether. It will take a great deal of magical energy to retrieve me then and, to be honest, I know of no magic worker that would ever bother."
"So how can I get you out?" Saeed asked, trying not to breathe in the direction of the sword.
"You need to turn the mirror upside down, that opens a portal into the tiny world inside the mirror. Do not try to pick up the mirror without first uncrewing it, it is held down. Do not attempt to pull down the sword, it is too heavy and has been enchanted to fall straight into the surface of the mirror at the slightest hint of interference."
"So I need to unscrew the mirror and slide it out from under the sword?" Saeed asked.
"You must remove all six screws that hold the mirror to the floor," the masque said. "Without the vibrations of the screws causing the sword to fall. It's an impossible task."
"Things that are tricky are not impossible," Saeed said. "That's why they call them tricky."
"I don't know," the masque said. "I think this is probably impossible."
"When I asked my mother," Saeed said, "what stopped the sorcerers from taking over Afsana and ruling the kingdoms of Araby with magic, she told me that magic was delicate and required a particular balance to work. Whenever an enchantment is cast there must always be some kind of an exception or loophole by which the enchantment may be undone. The powers that be do not permit the unchecked manipulation of magical forces."
"You talk of etheric philosophy with a sprite?" the masque complained. "I know this as well as anyone but I do not know the secret of Cankerthorn's enchantment."
"Maybe we do not need to," Saeed said. "I shall survey further the resources available and return with a solution."
"I'm glad you're so confident," the masque said, his lack of faith in Saeed showed through in every word.
Saeed didn't allow the misery to affect him. In Saeed's world you could either get something done or it was impossible, there was no sense in worrying about whether a task fell into one category or the other. He slipped out of the cell door again to make his way down the corridor, past the stairway and into the side of the passage lined with storage rooms rather than prison cells.
It didn't take him long to find an unlocked door. It appeared that the storage nearest the stairs was used to store the things that were most common. He found a maintenance room filled with mops, small towels, bottles of chemicals, rags, buckets and other ephemera associated with running a clean castle and dungeon. In here Saeed found a tool suitable for unscrewing the mirror from the floor. The only question was whether he could do all six without the sword falling and dispersing the masque.
Saeed did not think that he could specifically achieve this without some further assistance. So he continued to search the storage rooms. Four rooms further on he found an armory. He immediately took note when he saw that the items in the room all glowed with a soft blue-white light indicating that they were imbued with some sort of magic.
Saeed looked over a rack of buckler shields all of which shared the luminous property. Logically it did not seem that one would enchant a shield to weaken it. An idea began to form in Saeed's mind. Saeed took the screwdriver he had pulled out of the box in the maintenance room and tried to gouge or scuff the surface of one of the bucklers. The tip of the screwdriver could not even make the smallest scratch upon the shield's surface.
"I think that this will be an excellent solution," Saeed muttered under his breath, lifting the buckler from the rack.
He made his way back down the corridor to the masque's cell. He had to slide the buckler carefully through the door to rest against the wall before entering the room himself. As Saeed squeezed himself round the door he could hear the masque tutting and fretting to itself.
Once he was in Saeed crept forward to the edge of the mirror.
"I have a solution," he said to the masque in the hushed tone he had become used to when crouching near to the sword.
"What is it?" the masque asked, it did not sound happy but maybe there was an edge of hope in its voice.
"I have a magic buckler," Saeed explained. "It repels damage. I also have a screwdriver," he held up the tool so the masque could see it, "I will slide the magic buckler under the sword and attempt to unscrew the mirror. If the sword falls it will not strike the surface of the mirror. If you are not sure that this is adequate then I am afraid my only other option is to leave."
The masque thought this over for a moment, then it said:
"I have been trapped behind this glass for far too long, if I am dispersed then there is always some hope that a magician will pull me out of the ether one day. While I wait in here I have no such hope. Put the shield over my mirror and proceed with your plan."
Saeed did as he was told. He put the buckler carefully under the point of the sword before beginning to work out the screws that held the mirror down on the stone floor of the cell. He managed to unscrew four of the six without incident, the fifth he attempted turned out to have been caught on its thread. Swiftly he switched to the other remaining screw, undoing that one before returning to the one that had stuck.
He tried to bear down on the screw, pressing his weight onto the screwdriver head to give it more purchase. The screw slowly began to turn but as it did there was the merest vibration as part of the thread ground against the stone of the screwhole. The tiny quiver seemed to expand out through the stone walls of the cell and eventually reached the thread that suspended the sword over the buckler.
The blade of the sword sang the lightest, quietest high note you can imagine and then the thread snapped.
Saeed rolled back out of the way of the blade, hoping the buckler's magic would hold. It did hold, just but the point of the magic sword pierced the protective energy surrounding the shield resulting in a bright white flash as the magical energy dispelled. The sword fell to the floor, no longer a threat but the force of the magical discharge was sufficient to blow the shield into the air to spin above the mirror.
If the shield caught the glass the wrong way when it fell the glass would shatter. The sword had been enchanted to fall towards the mirror but the shield was not. Saeed leaped forward plucking the shield out of the air before it could strike the mirror's surface to land against the cell wall, breathing heavily, his heart hammering in his throat.
"So, have you finished?" came the voice of the masque.
Saeed nearly burst out laughing as the tension gripping his insides dispelled. He scrambled back to the last screw and quickly removed it.
"All done!" he announced. "Are you ready?"
"I can't believe that I am about to be freed," the masque rejoiced. "Please, quickly."
Saeed picked up the mirror and held it out in front of him. He flipped it round so that the surface was facing downwards. There was a feeling of movement from the bottom of the mirror and the masque dislodged itself from its prison.
The masque, that resembled a tiny goblin dressed in a fool's motley, jumped down onto the floor of the cell. It worked any kinks out of its muscles by doing a little jig.
"Oh yes!" it crowed. "Free! Free! Free at last! I can feel my powers returning." It turned to look up at Saeed as the young thief rested the mirror prison carefully against one wall. "I have been so long in that mirror that I will need a little time to rest and recharge," it said. "So I will leave you to receive appropriate thanks from my master. For my own part I can only assure you that you have rendered myself, and hence the forces of the wheel a great service on this day Saeed. I bid you farewell."
With that the little sprite reached up to fiddle with something behind his left ear. He unhooked something and pulled at the corner of his face. Saeed was amazed to see the spirit's face come away in his hand. The little sprite gripped at the freshly exposed edge and pulled his face right off.
Saeed didn't know by what mechanism a tiny little goblin in motley became the curled up figure of a tall, thin man dressed in a great coat, a tall hat proud upon his head, but the transformation happened. The man held a mask, moulded into the shape of the little sprite's face, in his left hand. This new figure filled the room with a great deal more presence than his servant.
Saeed did not know much about the nature of gods, or the difference between gods and powerful djinn, but he knew magical power when he saw it, ever since he had seen the shade of death standing over the body of his mother.
"Saeed ibn Abihi, an honour to make your direct acquaintance," the man in the tall hat said. He grinned a white and perfect grin that made Saeed want to go and pick a pocket, just to prove he could.
"You have the advantage of me, sir," Saeed said politely. "I am afraid that I do not know your name."
"Some days," the man in the tall hat said, "I can hardly remember my own name, so there's no shame in it escaping someone else. I must thank you for returning this little masque to me. Every one of my missing children is like a small shard of glass in my tender heart. Every one returned a blessed relief."
"I am happy to be of service, sir," Saeed said. "Your servant was of the opinion that you may wish to render me some assistance in return. If you could that would lighten the load on my heart, for I am far from home and a little lost."
"Indeed you are," the man in the tall hat said as if he knew every move that Saeed had ever made, and who was to say that he didn't? "So, where would you like to go? The souk?"
"Oh no, sir," Saeed said. "When I lost my mother in the souk it ceased to be my home. In truth I would like to be nowhere better than by her side again, so that I could apologise for the lie that I told her when she was alive."
"If I could send you straight there I would," the man in the tall hat said. "You have some more to do before that day comes."
"Then I should return to Kalico, the Master of the Patchwork Market," Saeed said. "It is for his sake that I have made my present journey and I have much to report to him."
"Kalico," the man in the tall hat said. "Like the Master of every Market I have had some occasion to cut a deal with that individual. He has a heart of stone but it burns in the centre like a furnace. I can take you back to the Master's Tower in the blink of an eye, if you're sure that's where you want to go."
"I made him a promise," Saeed said. "If I do not honour it then I will have gone against the vow I made to always be honest."
"I love a paradox!" the man in the tall hat crowed. "And you my little honest thief are one of life's golden nuggets in that regard. Now, I left a door round here somewhere. I tend to leave them wherever I go and Cankerthorn has certainly earned my attention in the past."
The man in the tall hat opened the door of the cell and, Saeed following along behind, walked down to the blank wall at the end of the passage. He reached out into the blank stone of the wall and undid a latch hidden, seemingly, inside the rock. He pulled open a wooden door that emerged from the dead end in a similar manner to the one in which a tiny goblin had turned into a thin man in a tall hat.
Saeed peered through the open doorway and was amazed to see Kalico, sat at his desk, his back to the door. The Master of the Market was mere feet away, working, oblivious to the man in the tall hat or Saeed.
"He won't hear you until you step through," the man explained. "It's the way my connecting doors work."
"Thank you, sir," Saeed said happily. "I am honoured to receive your assistance."
"Think nothing of it," the man in the tall hat replied. "If you were stuck here then how would it come that the weave would deliver you back to me at the appointed hour?"
"Am I to understand that we should meet again?" Saeed asked, choosing his words carefully.
Careful or not the man in the tall hat said nothing, just motioned for Saeed to step forward as the wide, white smile shone out of wide, thin-lipped mouth.
Saeed stepped forward without receiving an answer to his question, in the fullness of time he did meet with the man in the tall hat again, but that is a story for another time.
Sunday, 19 May 2013
Sir Cobb and the Cage Match
"I will never love again," Avan Weatherstrong said, tears stinging at his eyes.
"You are a ridiculous man," replied the phantom Kal'hath. "You knew when first we met that our time together would be this brief."
"Had I but perfected the potion we both sought," Avan said. "Then we could be together for all time."
"We will be," the phantom replied. "For now, the change of death has come upon me. I must go on my way. I shall never forget you my prince."
"Nor I you," Avan Weatherstrong replied. Now he was alone beneath the ragblossom tree in the Wylde Woods so his words were borne away upon the wind. He did not know if his first love heard them, but he chose to believe that she had.
Prince Weatherstrong performed many great deeds, and one day he met the woman who would be the love of his life. All of these adventures will be written of, but not at this time.
Well, I don't think anyone wanted it to end like that, Frederick mused, and I didn't even like her that much. He closed the bound copy of "The Tales of Avan Weatherstronge Volume VI" that he had picked up for a half crown in Bridgetown. He had bought the volume mostly to check up on what had happened after he left.
Frederick had noted that the entire volume V was peppered with references to Avan's plucky but hapless sidekick, Sir Cobbe. He had left wondering about whether these tales had existed before his diversion into the distant past for wiser heads; ones less likely to throb at the consideration of the topic.
Now that he had concluded the adventures of volume VI with the certain knowledge that Avan's love affair with the shapeshifter Kal'Hath had probably been a bad idea he wanted to see what happened in volume VII. He also wanted to reassure Avan that he had made it back to where he had started off without too much permanent damage.
The door of the inn room opened and Lester came in.
"Phoebe said if we're not all ready to go by morning bell that she would see to it we would be very very sorry," he said. "I, for one, am inclined to believe her."
"Sorry," Frederick said, slipping the book into his knapsack. As he did so he realised that, having finished it, the volume was now an encumbrance rather than a vital piece of research material. He decided that he would have to sell it at the market while they were searching for the little girl and the goblin trader this morning.
"No need to apologise to me," Lester said. "And I don't think it would do much good with Phoebe when she's in a temper. If there's one thing I've noticed it is that she is not fun to be around when she's angry."
A brief image of Phoebe's flashing eyes and plasma filled hands impressed itself on Frederick's mind.
"Oh, I don't know," he said with a little smirk.
"Yes, well," Lester appeared to find Frederick's response flustering. He crossed to the side of his bed and knocked gently on the lid of the small wooden box that the old goblin lady had sold them. "James, time to get up."
"I've been up for the past five minutes with all your banging around," came a muted tone of annoyance from within the box. "The lid's a little heavy. Either that or it's stuck."
"Oh, hang on," Lester said. He fiddled with the lid, after a small amount of exertion it popped open. "Oops," he said. "Yes, it is a little tight."
"Tonight I think I shall sleep with the lid open, if it's all the same to you," James said, sitting up inside the box. "That was far too much like waking up in a coffin."
"I shall not be pleased," an angry female voice came floating down the corridor from outside the room. "If I have to come in there. Come on, daylight's burning."
The two men did a quick circuit of the room to check that they had not forgotten anything, once they were satisfied James was allowed to climb up on to Lester's shoulder. Locking the inn room behind them they all went downstairs to meet Phoebe.
Phoebe had found them a less than hearty breakfast of fruit which they ate as they walked out of the inn and down to the market square at Steephill Fell.
Frederick concentrated very hard on his pear and even more on his apple. He had learned, in the last couple of days, to concentrate on a variety of objects and tasks that were not Phoebe. Only a few weeks ago he had been despairing at how pathetic Prince Avan Weatherstrong had seemed besotted with an exotic maiden in black pyjamas. Frederick was determined not to make the same mistake, not that Phoebe was wearing black pyjamas, and even if she were, Frederick would be too busy concetrating on things that weren't her to notice.
"Right, here's the plan for the day," Phoebe said, taking charge as always. Frederick did appreciate Phoebe's instinct to organise things but he assured himself this was just because it gave him a framework that, prior to his encounter with a certain prince of legend, he had been sorely lacking.
"We've got a couple of hours until the mid morning bell," Phoebe pressed on, "we are to spread out and search for the trader's wagon until then. At mid-morning, if we haven't found them I will go to the magic market where I will use the last of my money to buy a new blank spell book and some potions. Thereafter I can sell my services as a healer. Meanwhile Frederick will see if there's a fighting pit where he could earn us a few coins.
"Once either of us has made a Bronze Mark, or it gets to the mid afternoon bell we will come back to meet Lester under the market bell. After that we will continue to search and ask questions until evening bell. We will stay one more night in the Gryphon's Wing and then, in the morning, we must press on, unless we succeed in finding Rachel, in which case we shall come up with a new plan."
"Um, so, I just stay under the market bell?" Lester asked. He didn't sound happy with the arrangement.
"From midmorning until the both of us return, yes," Phoebe said.
"That doesn't seem like a very important job," Lester said.
"Neither selling healing services nor being beaten up for the entertainment of others are important Lester," Phoebe said. "But we all have to do what we can to keep ourselves fed on this journey. You will keep an eye on the market, you never know when we'll encounter someone who will have news of the trader's wagon."
"Just seems a bit tedious," Lester half-grumbled, half-muttered.
"You can have my book of stories to read, if you like," Frederick offered. He didn't expect Lester to greet this idea with enthusiasm. Frederick had found reading chore enough and he had been deeply invested in the contents.
"No," Lester said, "it's fine. I'll just sit quietly and wait for you to return."
"You could talk to me," James said from Lester's shoulder. "I could even read to you from the book. I like a good book."
Everyone took a moment to look at James as if he were crazy.
"What?" the mouse objected. "I find reading very relaxing."
"Look," Phoebe broke across the rapidly disintegrating conversational trajectory. "I don't really care what people do as long as they do it while sticking to the plan. We've only got two bells before mid-morning, let's see what we can find. Now."
Thus directed the party split up to cover the market at Steephill Fell and surrounding streets.
Frederick moved around the market, keeping his eyes open for signs of a goblin merchant accompanied by a young girl, or a young girl wandering alone, or a mermaid, or a mobile trader's wagon. He did have a brief conversation with a rainbow grease merchant, but the goblin's tins of product were imports from Trenchside.
He managed to get a conversation going with a general trader who bought the book from Frederick for the scandalous resale price of twenty shillings, the trader offered this as an improvement on his opening gambit of one hundred groats. Frederick was not particularly good at mental arithmetic but he believed the two figures may actually have amounted to exactly the same thing.
The point was not the poor price he attracted for the resale of the book. The point was rather that, whilst the trader was trying altogether far too hard to bamboozle Frederick, he let slip that there had been an upset in the fishmonger's alley near to the master's quarters the previous evening. As the deal was done the mid-morning bell tolled, indicating that it was time to report to the nearest fighting pit.
"I could have got you a better deal for that book," said a voice from Frederick's waist.
"Don't talk," Frederick said. "Remember Hamsamperburg."
"These are the Rolling Greens," the sword replied, "it's not some Midnight Forest backwater. Talking swords are probably commonplace in this area. Besides, I'm bored of sitting at your waist dumbly. I had myself transferred into this artifact in order to engage in social interaction."
"I thought you were transferred into the sword in order to travel and see the world," Frederick said.
"Both, I made the move for both reasons," the sword replied, its irritation showing. "Regardless, it's a good job I did, I'm clearly more worldly than you. Twenty shillings is a shocking price for a stout volume like the one you just sold."
"I needed to lighten the load, besides I obtained useful information from the deal." Frederick wasn't exactly certain why he felt he had to defend himself to a sword, he carried on nevertheless.
"You are not at all business minded, are you?" the sword asked.
"I'm a knight, I defend the helpless, I avenge wrong wherever I find it. I haven't got time for economics."
"So you're bringing a whole new level of inefficiency to your operation?" the sword countered. "Imagine the do-gooding that you could accomplish if you didn't have to spend up to a quarter of every day grubbing around for loose change."
"So what?" Frederick asked. "I should take a break and find a tutor in basic merchant craft?"
"That burly fellow, Sir Vaskorn, he's clearly had some lessons in efficient resource management," the sword said. "Look at him now."
"Oh, yes, because I really want to model myself after an enormous evil bully," Frederick said.
"Well, you won't ever beat someone like that whilst you're scrabbling on the floor after every meagre groat," the sword pointed out. "You said that you avenge wrong, difficult to do that properly when you have no liquid assets."
"So what do you suggest I do?" Frederick asked.
"Well, you're heading to the arena now," the sword said. "Why don't you simply let me do the talking?"
"If you say so," Frederick sighed, after all, what harm could it do?
Frederick asked about in the tavern and was directed down a small side street into a cellar bar where the local fighting ring was set up. The fight roster for any given pit was determined by which fighters happened to be in the room that day. There were always regular fighters of course, but then there were travelling brawlers, various monsters and, of course, wandering knights who all found occasions where they had to step into the ring of competition in order to earn a small purse.
Frederick presented himself to the bar owner and said that he would like to be added to the day's roster.
"Fights begin at noon bell," the owner said, he pulled a large, black ledger from under the bar and opened it to a fresh page. He took a pen and filled its nib from a pot of ink. "Fighting name?" the tavern keeper asked.
"Sir Cobb," Frederick said. "Champion of the Weak."
"Uh-huh," the tavern keeper said, he might have been less impressed by something he'd heard that day but, if this was the case, Frederick couldn't imagine a tone of voice any flatter or more hollow that he could have employed to indicate the fact. "Every fight earns a shilling for a win," the man said. "Amateur fights last until evening bell."
"I don't think you heard my client," piped up the sword from Frederick's side. "He said he was Sir Cobb, Champion of the Weak."
The tavern keeper looked Frederick in the eye.
"What's that?" he said, tone still flat.
"That, my good man," said the sword, "is Sir Cobb's agent. Sir Cobb is a fighter of rare character and distinction. He does not dirty his knuckles on a shilling fighter. Sir Cobb is a professional man-at-arms. You will not find a coistrel of greater skill between Bridgetown and the Shimmering Shore. I am sure you have a professional purse that would be more suited to my client's skills."
"Professional bouts begin in the evening, you need a Fighter's Guild mark to take part," the tavern keeper said, his facial arrangement moving only enough to allow his mouth to form the words.
"Are you telling me that your business would not benefit from a one-off special event, this very afternoon, against any fighter on the pit roster?" the sword asked, not in the least bit put off by the tavern keeper's manner.
"You'll fight anyone?" the tavern keeper asked Frederick, refusing to address a foot and a half of forged metal strapped to a man's waist.
"He'll beat anyone!" the sword announced proudly.
"There's been a fella here, paid for lodgings, don't like him, smells, is rude," the tavern keeper said. "He won't leave because he can't be beat. You beat him you can name your price."
"A silver crown" the sword cut in before Frederick could ask for a bronze mark.
"A sovereign," the tavern keeper shot back.
"Done," the sword said.
A slow smile spread across the tavern keeper's face. Frederick believed that he much preferred the previous stony neutrality.
"If I were you, friend," the tavern keeper said to Frederick. "I'd keep that sword from issuing edicts your backside might find it hard to enforce."
Frederick wasn't arrogant enough not to get a sinking feeling in his stomach at the tavern keeper's morbid glee. The tavern keeper's gaze slid sideways, away from Frederick, to settle on a small boy sat a table in the corner.
"Jinks!" he called out. "Go tell the crier that we got a fighter for the troll at noon. There's a bowl of Martha's gruel in it for you."
The lad slipped off his chair and ran off to market.
"Every fighter gets a free drink," the tavern keeper said, turning back to Frederick. "What can I get you?"
The news that he was to fight a troll was a matter of some concern to Frederick. Almost the first lesson he'd ever learned was 'if at all possible avoid any confrontation with a troll' and this fighting fixture necessarily ran counter to that general guideline. Still, there was a sovereign on the line. If Frederick could pull this off it would give the party a little financial security for the next few days.
Noon rolled by faster than Frederick might have liked. He was apprehensive at the sight of all the people who had turned out to watch him battle the troll. It appeared that the citizens of Steephill Fell were keen to see this monster get its comeuppance, or to see Frederick beaten to within an inch of his life. Perhaps they were not altogether that concerned which, as long as it was either.
At the noon bell Frederick took a step up into the caged pit area and stood under the harsh overhead dwarf crystal lamps waiting for his opponent to join him. There was a murmur from the crowd as a shadow fell across the entrance to the bar. A heavy tread crossed the distance to the cage and a familiar bulbous-nosed, bearded, warty head came into view in the light of the pit lamps.
"Well, well, well, Frederick Cobb," said Yelloweye Blackfang, grinning unpleasantly. "What a nice surprise waiting for me this afternoon, to be sure."
"You know this gentleman?" asked the sword which, within the cage fighting rules, had been strapped to the bars of the cage on the outside where Frederick could not reach it.
"We... have met on a couple of previous occasions," Frederick said. "I rescued a moon maiden from him, then, when next we crossed paths, I trapped him inside a mirror prison."
"You should have told me," the sword said. "I could have got more money for a grudge match."
"I didn't know!" Frederick complained.
"Oh, well," the sword said. "Nothing to be done about it now."
With that the cage door was closed and locked, the tavern keeper rang the pit bell and Yelloweye Blackfang hollered with wicked delight as he charged forward, intending to barge Frederick to the ground.
The one thing Frederick had going for him at this point was that, since his last encounter with the troll, he had spent three months in hero boot camp and a further month and a half in one of the strangest places that exists anywhere in the weave or beyond. He had learned plenty of good hero-ing tricks and had his capacity for being particularly freaked out by anything tested to its absolute limit.
Not feeling any more panicked than the original 'butterflies in tummy' he'd had now for over an hour he rolled his shoulder and hit the floor. Frederick tumbled to one side of the monster as it barreled past the point where Frederick had been a second previously.
The troll let out a cry of surprise as it ran straight into the stout metal bars at the edge of the cage. The troll bounced off the bars and almost fell backwards into the centre of the ring.
Excellent first move, Frederick thought as he spun to face his monstrous adversary, now, how to finish this off without dying, and without any kind of weapon?
There was really only one tactic that could end this in relative peace without anyone getting too badly hurt, Frederick hated it but the strategy was the only way to go. It didn't help that he had never actually tried to complete the move, although he had seen Avan execute it, once on an eight foot tall lizard man.
If Frederick's mentor could take down an annoyed giant gecko armed only with a length of chain Frederick could certainly apply the same technique to a troll. If he failed he probably deserved the beating.
Frederick ran towards Yelloweye Blackfang and, at the last moment before rebounding of the troll's solid torso he leaped up into the air, extending his leg to push off against the monster's right thigh. Getting a good, solid footing he pushed himself over the troll's right shoulder and, as he flew round, he reached his arms out to encircle its neck. He clamped down hard and began to squeeze, attempting to choke the creature into unconsciousness.
Frederick had been so intent on getting into position without screwing up too badly he hadn't had time to take in reactions from either his opponent or the gathered crowd. Prioritising the two Frederick noticed that Yelloweye Blackfang hadn't moved to throw Frederick off just yet. The troll must be surprised at Frederick's newfound capability but surprise wore off, Frederick did his best to tighten his hold.
Broadening his perspective Frederick realised that the cellar bar had fallen silent. His perception of time probably wasn't exactly normal at the moment. He had probably only taken maybe ten seconds to roll up to a standing position, decide on a strategy, enact it and end up here but in Frederick's mind the fight had already been going on for hours.
"He's choking the troll!" came a cry from the crowd.
"Go on! Give 'im what for!" a second voice piped up.
Suddenly the cage was awash with a lusty roar of excited fight spectators. Frederick didn't have any time to enjoy his sudden popularity as the sound of the crowd broke Yelloweye Blackfang's trance of shock.
"Get off me!" gargled the troll reaching up to grab at Frederick's arm. The advantage of the back position was that it made it an awkward job for the chokee to get a good grip on the choker.
Even as the troll grappled ineffectively with Frederick's arm it also staggered backwards, stumble-stepped but remaining upright. It hit the edge of the cage backwards at some momentum, Frederick had one of many opportunities that had come his way recently to have the wind knocked out of him.
As little flashing spots danced in front of his eyes Frederick marvelled to think that, as recently as ten weeks ago, he might have let go after being winded like that. Now he clung on for grim life and hoped that the troll was finding things a lot more unpleasant where he was standing.
Thankfully Yelloweye Blackfang appeared to be finding it harder to think, which, to be fair, probably wasn't the easiest activity for a troll to engage in even in optimum conditions. The troll staggered and stepped in lazy, broken circles, the grip on Frederick's arm was loosening. The troll dropped to one knee and then, in a desperation move, threw itself backwards onto the floor.
This time 'winding' wasn't the term for what Frederick experienced, this was far more like 'crushing'. Yelloweye Blackfang rolled away as Frederick let go of its neck but the damage was mostly done. Frederick's chest felt as if it had been on the wrong end of a dozen mallet blows, he was struggling for breath, his limbs lay in a sprawl not responding to his commands to get him to his feet.
He saw Yelloweye Blackfang stood, gulping down great lungfuls of oxygen, bent double, its hands on its knees. Frederick knew he did not have it in him to repeat the chokehold position. Now he was in serious trouble.
His body began to respond to his urgent commands to move. The first couple of serious fights Frederick had been involved in he had allowed the pain to keep him down. Very quickly the fledgling knight learned that it often wasn't the one who put people down you had to beware of it was the one who kept getting back up. Since then Frederick had always committed himself to a serious effort to get back up from anything that he possibly could.
He found himself on his feet with unexpected speed, the sound of his heart hammered in his chest, which, incidentally, felt like someone had filled it with broken glass and sand. He had, at most, a second to decide how to attack next, if he slowed for a second the troll would beat him bloody.
He didn't even really know what he was doing, his legs appeared to run towards the bars at the edge of the cage all by themselves. He jumped into the air, gripped the bars further up and hauled his body into the air.
Pushing off from the bars Frederick aimed his entire body towards Yelloweye Blackfang's head and attempted to ram both of his elbows into the top of the troll's skull. The blow made devastating contact sending spikes of agony up and down Frederick's arms.
The pain must have been mutual, Yelloweye Blackfang slumped forward, Frederick flopped down on top of the troll. For a few seconds there was nothing in the whole world except for the blessed relief of being laid out flat and not moving.
Then Frederick heard the cheering.
A couple of pairs of hands urged him upright again and held his aching, wobbly arms aloft in victory.
"The new ring champion!" announced the tavernkeeper, "Sir Cobb! Champion of the Weak!" He sounded a lot more enthusastic about the appellation post-victory.
After that incidents proceeded in a bit of a whirl. Frederick received his sovereign along with many cheers and admiring comments from the fight fans. Before long Frederick was walking slowly back towards the market bell to meet with the others.
He had to tread carefully because his head was still spinning a bit from the fight but as he reached the edge of the market square he was urged on to action. Something exploded on the side of the square near to the market bell and Frederick found himself jogging to return to the place where he expected to find Lester and James.
What had exploded and the things that happened when he got there are both things that I will tell you at another time.
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