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DargonZine Volume 10 Issue 08
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DargonZine Distributed: 12/06/1997
Volume 10, Number 8 Circulation: 680
========================================================================
Contents
Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
Friendships of Stone 2 Mark A. Murray Naia 5, 1015
Pudlong and the Beanstalk 3 Jim Owens Late Spring, 1016
Quadrille 3 Alan Lauderdale 7-8 Sy, 1012
========================================================================
DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
Please address all correspondance to <dargon@shore.net> or visit us
on the World Wide Web at http://www.shore.net/~dargon. Back issues
are available from ftp.shore.net in members/dargon/. Issues and
public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
DargonZine 10-8, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright December, 1997 by
the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@shore.net>,
Assistant Editor: Jon Evans <godling@mnsinc.com>. All rights reserved.
All rights are reassigned to the individual contributors. Stories may
not be reproduced or redistributed without the explicit permission of
the author(s) involved, except in the case of freely reproducing entire
issues for further distribution. Reproduction of issues or any portions
thereof for profit is forbidden.
========================================================================
Editorial
by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
<ornoth@shore.net>
After our very popular "Night of Souls" issue, in this issue we
return to three ongoing storylines. Among these is Mark Murray's
"Friendships of Stone" series, which began in DargonZine 10-6. We also
continue Alan Lauderdale's ongoing "Quadrille" series and conclude Jim
Owens' "Pudlong and the Beanstalk" trilogy, both of which began in
DargonZine 10-5.
If you are new to DargonZine, let me reassure you that we try to
avoid having issues where all of the stories require you to have read
prior works, but as you can see, we don't always succeed. We understand
that as you peruse a new magazine, it's frustrating to discover that you
need to go back and read a bunch of prior works before you can make
heads or tails of the material at hand.
That's especially true of DargonZine, where there is a huge body of
prior knowledge, contained in a voluminous mass of undifferentiated
prose that has built up over more than a dozen years. The fortunate
thing is that our body of knowledge is a no more than a click or two
away.
But that's still more effort than it ought to be. As a magazine
where users can subscribe and unsubscribe at the push of a button, it is
imperative that we not only capture the attention of our new readers,
but also hold their attention by giving them enough background
information about the milieu that they don't feel like they've been
thrown into the middle of a story. Perhaps our biggest challenge is
bringing new readers up to speed on Dargon, so that they can appreciate
and enjoy the storylines we craft in that setting.
One of the most successful techniques we have employed to address
this issue is the Online Glossary. Each time a Dargon-specific thing
appears in a story on our Web site, its name is a hyperlink to a
description of that entity. This enables readers to quickly garner the
background information they need in order to appreciate each story.
We've also created a "New Reader Introduction" page that also lives on
the Web site, describing many of the most frequently-encountered people,
places and things. Furthermore, although it's not obvious until you
start reading, a majority of our storylines are essentially
self-contained, requiring no specialized knowledge to appreciate.
But despite these efforts to help bring new readers up to speed, we
could use your input as well. We would love to hear from you if you have
any ideas about how we can do a better job helping people get over this
hurdle. The longevity and interrelatedness of our anthology should not
be a barrier to new readers.
========================================================================
Friendships of Stone
Part 2: Tara and Sharin
by Mark A. Murray
<mmurray@weir.net>
Dargon, Naia 5, 1015
Tara hated missing time with her friend, Sharin, but her uncle
needed her help, and so she spent the entire day working with him. Her
uncle, Captain Adrunian Koren of the town guard, usually had her working
on the guard schedules or the paperwork for expenses. Today was no
different, except that he wanted the schedule done before she left. By
the time she finished, it was late afternoon. She had wanted to spend
the day with Sharin wandering through the marketplace looking for new
cloth. Melrin was coming up, and she wanted a new dress for the
festivities. She was hoping to salvage some of the day and was hurrying
to Sharin's tent. Zed, her pet shivaree, loped along beside her.
Zed always drew stares when she took him out in public. Even though
he wasn't any bigger than a large dog, his weasel-like appearance
gathered attention. Not many people knew what a shivaree looked like,
but they noticed Zed's bushy tail, long body, short legs, rough brown
fur, and pointed snout. While people stopped, stared, and talked about
him, their attention piqued his curiousity and that always got him into
trouble, so Tara was forced to keep a close eye on him.
Since it was near dark, the marketplace was almost empty. A few
vendors had stayed, hoping to sell more of their wares. Most others were
long gone by now, though. One vendor called out to her to buy his still
fresh bread. She ignored him and continued on down the street. As she
walked through the center of the marketplace, she sighed. "No looking
for new cloth today," she thought.
As she neared Sharin's tent, she heard voices inside and slowed
down, not wanting to disturb her if she was with a customer.
"You're crying," a voice inside the tent said.
"Ben!" someone else hissed. She heard a small grunt, and quietly
moved closer to the tent opening.
"He wasn't a nice man, was he?" the first voice asked. Both voices
sounded like they came from children. She hesitated to open the flap and
interrupt a business conversation, but then she heard crying from
inside. All hesitation gone, she hurried into the tent.
"What's going on?" she asked. Inside she saw Sharin leaning against
her workbench with her face buried in her hands. Her long dark hair was
covering half of her face, almost hiding her hands.
"Sharin? What's happened?" Tara asked. She quickly went over to her
friend. Sharin threw her arms around her and started bawling. Sharin's
tall thin body shook as she cried. Tara hugged her tightly.
"Look Matthew!" Ben nearly yelled. "That's the same thing as the
figurine!" He was pointing to Zed. "But bigger!" Zed looked from Sharin
to Ben before going over to sniff Sharin's leg. Tara moved to see what
Zed was doing and Sharin took a step back.
"She'll be okay, Zed," Tara told the shivaree. Zed turned around
and moved to sniff the two boys. "They're okay, too, Zed," Tara huffed.
She didn't want Zed biting anyone, especially two young boys. Both were
dressed in warm winter clothes, but the clothes were old, worn, and
patched. The smaller boy had light brown hair that was cut short, while
the taller boy had slightly longer and darker hair that hung down to his
shoulders. She watched Zed twirl around twice before settling on the
ground at their feet.
"It is bigger," Matthew stated. "I wonder --"
"Who are you?" Tara interrupted. "And what happened? What did you
say to her?" When she had entered the tent, she hadn't noticed anything
that would cause Sharin to cry. She had not seen any broken figurines.
The small desk in the back of the tent that she sculpted on was a
cluttered mess, but that was normal. A long workbench on the right held
stones and tools and that was normal, too. She could only guess that the
boys had said something to upset Sharin.
"Huh? We didn't say anything!" Ben replied. "It was that man that
was here that caused it."
"What man?" Tara asked. Turning her attention to Sharin, "Stop
crying and tell me what happened."
"A noble threatened me," Sharin said between sobs. Her crying was
lessening, but she was still breathing in gasps. "Just like my brother.
It's going to happen all over again. I'm going to end up just like my
brother!" She started bawling again.
"What brother?" Ben asked. Sharin's crying reached another level of
intensity.
"Ben!" Matthew scolded. "You're just making it worse!"
"But I didn't do anything. I just asked about her brother."
"Her brother is dead," Tara replied. Turning her attention back to
Sharin, she said, "And you aren't going to end up like him, either! Do
you hear me?" Sharin nodded and wiped her face on the sleeve of her
shirt. "Now, I still don't know what happened."
"It started with a dragon --" Ben began.
"A dragon?" Matthew and Tara asked in unison. Sharin looked at the
two of them and giggled through her crying, almost making her choke.
"A dragon, Ben?" Matthew asked. "How did this start with a dragon?
It was that noble that made her cry."
"Yes, how did it start with a dragon when there are no dragons?"
Tara also asked.
"Yes, there are!" Ben replied.
"No, there aren't!" Matthew stated.
"Are too!"
"Are not!"
"That man said there are dragons," Ben said. "And you believed in
them once before."
"Yeah, but that man explained that there *were* dragons, but there
aren't any now," Matthew said.
"He said they were --"
"Enough!" Tara yelled. "I don't care about dragons. I want to know
what happened to make Sharin this upset."
"We don't really know," Matthew told her. "We just overheard a man
talking to her inside this tent. We were outside and the flap was
closed, but we could hear them talking."
"Yeah, especially when they both started yelling at each other,"
Ben added.
"The man wanted her to come with him and do sculpting for him, and
she didn't want to go. He said that she would eventually, whether she
wanted to or not."
"Is that what happened?" Tara asked Sharin. Sharin nodded, her
breathing and her tears almost under control.
"He ... he was ... some noble," Sharin stuttered.
"Who was he?
"I don't know. He just started asking me questions about my
figurines and then he wanted me to work for him. He said he had money to
buy me good tools, a proper work area, or anything else I wanted. I
started to get upset and never asked him his name. I just wanted him to
leave."
"He almost knocked us onto the ground when he left," Ben added.
Tara looked at the boys and saw that Ben was sitting on the ground next
to Zed, rubbing behind the shivaree's ears. Zed was leaning closely
against Ben with his head in Ben's lap and his eyes closed. She looked
at Matthew, who was still standing looking at her. Their eyes met, and
he looked down at the ground.
"He did almost knock us down," Matthew said.
"So, I have a noble threatening my friend, no one knows his name,
and he tries to knock kids onto the ground? Is there anything else?"
"He was mean," Ben added.
"And that makes a mean noble with no name who knocks people down,"
Matthew re-stated.
"He had a small scar above his left eye," Sharin said, remembering
some of the details about the noble. She had stopped crying, but was
still a bit shaken.
"I guess that makes him a mean noble with no name who knocks people
down and has a scar above his eye," Ben said.
"He didn't have a beard, either," Matthew remembered. "That makes
him ... um ... a mean noble with no name and a scar above his eye
without a beard and ... oh! ... who knocks people down!"
"He was plump, too," Sharin giggled. "That's a mean noble with no
name who's plump with a scar above his eye and no beard who knocks
people down!" Ben broke out laughing, which caused Zed to look up to see
what was going on.
"I don't want to know anymore," Tara laughed. "I have a hard enough
time remembering half of what you're saying let alone adding more." She
noticed that Sharin had stopped crying and was smiling, although her
eyes were still slightly red.
"You don't think he'll do anything, do you?" Sharin asked Tara.
"No. I don't think he will. Most nobles think of themselves as the
center of the world. What they want, they try to get. Most times, they
do get it, but people are different. You don't see nobles buying people
in the marketplace, do you? You can't just buy people here in Dargon,"
Tara explained.
"I've never seen a noble buying a person in the marketplace," Ben
said.
"Who are you?" Tara asked again, realizing she didn't get an answer
the first time.
"Ben."
"I thought you didn't want to know anymore," Matthew asked,
smiling.
"About the noble. You knew what I meant," Tara replied, smiling
also.
"My name is Matthew. Ben and I are best friends."
"They came to get a figurine," Sharin told Tara. "It's the dragon
one over there," she said, pointing towards the corner of the tent.
Matthew and Ben followed her finger, for they hadn't seen the dragon,
yet.
"It's great!" Ben exclaimed as he went over to it. He bent down to
get a closer look at it. The wings were outstretched and open with the
wing bone showing through the membrane along the forward edges of the
wings. It was reared up as if to take flight, the forearms raised
outward, talons extended. Ben ran his hand over the wings, over the
body, over every part of the dragon. He stopped at the head where two
horns protruded from above the eyes.
"It's beautiful," Matthew whispered. "It almost looks like a real
dragon. Or what a real dragon would be if they were real."
"They are real," Ben insisted. "And they look like this." Ben
picked the dragon up and stood. He held it close to his body as he
turned it over, looking at every detail.
Matthew turned and walked back to where Sharin was standing. "Thank
you," he told her. "We'll show it off to everyone we can."
"Show it off?" Tara asked.
"It was our deal," Sharin replied. "I make it for them, and they go
out into the marketplace and show it to everyone they see. Tell the
people where they got it from. I was hoping it would bring in more
business. Things haven't been too good lately."
Matthew thought about what she said before asking, "If you aren't
doing good, why didn't you want to work for the noble? You would have
gotten more money. What's so bad about that?"
"He was mean," Ben replied quickly.
"Besides that, Ben," Matthew said.
"My brother used to work for a noble," Sharin began. "He ..."
"You don't have to tell them," Tara said.
"I know, but I've held it inside too long. It's still upsetting me,
and maybe if I talk about it ... It can't be worse than it is now."
Tara hugged her friend and went to go look at the dragon, letting
Sharin tell her story in her own way and in her own time. Ben was right,
she noticed as she saw the dragon. It looked life-like. A dragon
captured in miniature and turned to stone. She wondered where Sharin got
the ideas to sculpt such details. It was something she would have to
remember to ask about later.
"My brother ... was not from here," Sharin began. "I am not from
here. I am Lanoam and my village is a great distance from here. The
children that were born into our village were always deformed. The
healers worked to correct the children's bodies, but there were so many
being born that way. My brother, however, was born whole and healthy.
"As he grew, he realized that our people needed help. It was taking
stronger and stronger magic to heal the children. He pleaded with the
village elders, but they would not listen to him. After nineteen
summers, he convinced the elders to let him search out other people and
find something that would save the children. He believed that other
people would have magic that would help us, and so he left in search of
them.
"One day, a summer after he left, a sparrow came to me with a
message from my brother. He was in trouble, and I left our village to go
to him. When I found him, he would not look into my eyes; he would not
hold me close in a loving embrace. He only told me of what happened to
him after he left our village.
"He searched and searched and found a noble who promised to help
him in return for aid from my brother. My brother told the noble that he
could heal and sculpt and strengthen metals so that they would not
break. The noble forced my brother to use his talents only for
destruction. He was forced to heal only the noble's soldiers, to
strengthen swords and other weapons so that the noble could conquer
neighboring territories.
"My brother was maimed when he did not comply with the noble's
wishes. And after he told me all of this, he took his own life." Sharin
sobbed. Her crying had started again. She cried for her lost brother and
she cried for herself; she was lost just like her brother.
"I'm sorry," Matthew whispered. "I've never had a brother, but if I
did, I wouldn't want to lose him, either."
"You're afraid the noble will treat you like the other one did your
brother, aren't you?" Ben asked. He held the dragon figurine close to
his body with both hands.
"Yes," Sharin answered.
"You might as well tell them the rest, Sharin," Tara told her. "So
that they understand all of why you don't want to end up like your
brother."
"I returned to my people after my brother's death," Sharin said.
"Less babies were surviving birth. I told the elders what had become of
my brother, and I also told them that I would finish his quest. They
agreed, and I left my home again to continue the search for someone or
something to help my people.
"I came through Dargon many summers ago, and that is when I met
Tara. She helped me through some trouble that I had. I left soon after
and continued my quest. It wasn't long before I felt lonely and afraid.
Tara had been the only person that I had met that showed me kindness and
love.
"So, I returned to Dargon. Perhaps instead of searching for someone
to aid me, I could stay in one place that many people travelled through
and search for them as they came to me.
"The fate of my people is on my shoulders. Should I end up like my
brother, I will have failed him and my village."
"That's why you were so upset after he left your tent, wasn't it?"
Ben asked.
"Do you always ask silly questions?" Tara asked him.
"Yes," Matthew answered for Ben, smiling. "He always does."
"Do not," Ben replied.
"Do too," Matthew said.
"Do not."
"Do too."
"You two enjoy arguing, don't you?" Tara asked, and then realized
she had just asked a question Ben would have asked. She laughed at
herself, and the two boys stopped arguing to look at her.
"What's so funny?" Ben asked, which made Tara laugh harder. Sharin
shrugged her shoulders, as she didn't understand the joke either.
"Nothing," Tara managed to say. "Just something that was funny to
me," she giggled.
"You haven't found anyone to help?" Matthew asked, changing the
subject. Sharin shook her head.
"Tara has helped me search this past year. We've been to all the
temples in town, and asked the visiting priests when they came to
Dargon. We've bothered and asked just about everyone we could think of."
"It's dark out, Matthew," Ben said, interrupting. "We should have
been home already. Rachel's going to yell at us." Matthew turned around
to peer outside. It was dark outside.
"I didn't realize it was this late," Matthew said. "We've got to
go."
"I'll walk you home," Tara said. "I'm not so sure Zed will want to
come, though. He's asleep." The boys turned and looked at Zed. The
shivaree was rolled over on his back, feet in the air, sound asleep.
"I forgot he was there," Matthew said.
"So did I," Ben echoed.
"I'll walk with you," Sharin added.
"What about your shop?" Tara asked. "Aren't you afraid someone will
steal some of your figurines?"
"No," Sharin replied. "Help me get the ones outside back in here,
and I'll explain." The four of them went outside to get the figurines,
and Zed woke up. He rolled over, yawned, and slowly got to his feet. "I
made a deal," Sharin started to explain, "with some shadow boys. They
watch my shop whenever I'm not around, and I either pay them or I sculpt
something for them. There's always one or two around the marketplace, so
I just look for them and let them know I'm going to be gone."
"Shadow boys? You trust them?" Tara asked as she carried a figurine
inside. Zed was headed for the opening as she entered and she was forced
to step over him. "Oh, Zed, you're awake. Good, but stay out of the
way."
"I trust them as long as I pay them," Sharin said, smiling. "And so
far, they haven't demanded much in payment."
"Liriss would have charged you a lot if you were dealing with him,"
Tara told her. "In fact, I'm surprised he hasn't approached you.
Although he has been busy with other things lately. Or so my uncle
says."
"Who's Liriss?" Ben asked.
"Who's your uncle?" Matthew asked.
"My Uncle is Captain Adrunian Koren of the town guard, and Liriss
is no one you need to know about," Tara stated. "And someone I hope you
never meet."
"Ben, you need to leave the dragon here," Matthew told his friend.
"We'll come get it in the morning."
"Can't I take it home?"
"We haven't worked for it, yet," Matthew explained. "It'll be here
in the morning." Ben frowned as he set the dragon sculpture on the
ground. He looked at it one final time before he left the tent.
"That's it," Sharin said, tying the tent flaps closed after all
were outside. "Let's find a shadow boy, and then we can walk you two
home." Sharin led the way as she knew the places where the shadow boys
normally would be. It wasn't very far before she found one, and told him
that she would be gone a bell or so. He nodded and whispered something
to her before running off. "He's going to get someone else because he
has something to do. That and he wanted to know what the dog was."
Sharin grinned, and Tara frowned. "I told him it was a shivaree."
"I met some shadow boys before," Matthew said. "A long time ago,
before I met Ben, I wanted some friends. There was this group of boys
that played near my house. They always seemed to have fun, and I wanted
to play, too.
"One day, I asked them if I could join in their game. One of them
yelled at me and told me to go home. He said they didn't have any
homes."
"They don't," Sharin said. "And it's good that you didn't end up
with them. Most of them aren't very nice. I don't know why they watch my
shop for the meager pay that I give them. Maybe they like the stone
sculptures I do for them. But if they thought I had money stashed away
in my tent ... well, they would rather rob me than work for me."
"Yes," Tara agreed. "Shadow boys have to survive on the street.
They don't have homes. They'll cheat or steal to get something, but most
of them won't beg. They'll kill before they'll beg. The only family they
have is each other. Even then, they have been known to turn on one
another."
Another shadow boy ran up to them and they stopped their
conversation. The shadow boy told Sharin that if she wasn't gone longer
than two bells, he could watch her tent. More than two bells, and she
was on her own.
"Where do you live?" Tara asked the boys.
"That way," Ben said, pointing. Matthew looked in the direction Ben
was pointing, thought about the way the streets were situated, and
guessed that Ben was right. But he didn't understand how Ben knew that
so quickly.
"Lead the way," Sharin told Ben.
"Are you two good friends?" Ben asked as he led them down the
street. "Matthew and I are best friends. Well, he's my only friend,
really. But still my best friend. And I was wondering if you can have
more than one good friend."
"We're good friends, yes," Tara replied. "We've been friends ever
since we met."
"Tara is the only friend that I have, too, Ben. And she's my best
friend," Sharin stated.
"What about your village?" Matthew asked.
"I didn't really have friends there. I played with other kids when
I was young, but no one that I could call a friend. Not like Tara is."
"That's Matthew's house," Ben said, pointing. "Matthew, his mom and
Rachel share the house. I live two houses down, but I'm mostly at
Matthew's house."
"Ben's mom isn't home very much," Matthew explained. "She's gone
all night usually, and sleeps most of the day away. So Ben stays at my
house. Rachel watches us when my mom isn't there." Matthew opened the
door to find Rachel sitting in a chair, sewing. Jerid was leaning
against a wall, his laughter cut short as the door opened. Both looked
over and Rachel frowned.
"You should have been home bells ago," she scolded.
"They were helping me," Sharin said as she and Tara entered the
house.
"Who are you?" Jerid asked. "Oh! Tara," he said as he noticed her
entering.
"Hello Jerid," Tara said with a smile on her face. "Uncle Koren,"
she thought, "would love to hear about this." Jerid was a Lieutenant in
the Keep's guard, and Koren was a Captain in the town guard. Koren was
always trying to find out more about Jerid, as the two of them were
rivals -- professional rivals -- in Dargon.
"You know her, Jerid?" Rachel asked, very interested in the answer.
"Yes, she is Adrunian Koren's niece. If the boys were with her,
they were in no trouble, and probably safer than with a town guard
escort. Zed's with you, isn't he?"
"Yes. He's just outside. I didn't want to frighten anyone in here,
so I told him to stay there. Besides, we have to be going. Uncle Koren
will worry, too, if I'm not home soon."
"What's this?" Eileen asked as she stepped through the door. "I
just get off work and find more people here than at the inn. Who are
you?" Turning to her son and Ben, she asked, "Why aren't you two in
bed?"
"Mom," Matthew explained, "this is Tara and Sharin."
"Wasn't there a brown furry creature outside?" Tara asked Eileen.
"No, why?"
"He's wandered off again. Zed!" she yelled as she went out the
door.
"I should go with her," Sharin said as she went out the door, too.
Both girls heard Eileen ask what was going on. Then they heard the boys
start in on what happened with Rachel's voice trying to be heard over
them.
"Zed picked the best time to wander off," Sharin remarked.
"Zed!" Tara cried. "Yes, he certainly did! I'm going to lock him in
my room next time I go anywhere." She jumped as she felt something brush
her legs. "Zed!" she scolded as she looked down and saw it was the
shivaree. "Don't scare me like that!"
"You did jump," Sharin giggled. "And don't be mean to him. He did
come when you called. Didn't you Zed?"
"Are you going back to the tent?"
"I have to," Sharin replied. "All my sculptures are there. I don't
want any of them to get stolen."
"Why'd you bring all of them to the tent?"
"Because I was hoping to sell them all! I need the money or I won't
have a room to sleep in. Not that I'm going to sleep in it tonight; I
have to sleep in the tent."
"You're not sleeping in the tent," Tara told her. "That's too
dangerous."
"It isn't. The town guard walks through the marketplace all the
time at night. Those other merchants don't want their wares stolen,
either. Even if they have a nice building to lock them up in."
"I'll stay with you, then," Tara said.
"And have your uncle worried to death? No. I'll be fine for
tonight. You're right, though. I shouldn't have brought all of them.
Tomorrow, will you help me take them back to my room?"
"I could go tell my uncle and then come back. And yes, I'll help
you tomorrow."
"No, that's a wasted trip, especially at night. No use wandering
Dargon alone any more than you have to," Sharin told her. They were
close to the tent, and Sharin looked for the shadow boy. She found him
sitting down, leaning against a shop, asleep.
"Aren't you supposed to be guarding my tent?" she asked him. He
jumped up when she spoke and looked around wide-eyed.
"Ol's balls," he cursed. "I'm sorry. Don't tell anyone, okay?"
"You watch her tent for another two bells, and she won't," Tara
interrupted, seeing a perfect opportunity to have someone watch over
Sharin. The shadow boy looked at Sharin, who nodded.
"Okay," he muttered and sat back down. Looking up at them, he
added, "And I won't fall asleep again." They left him there and went to
the tent. Tara helped clear off the workbench to make room for Sharin to
sleep. It wasn't quite long enough, but it would have to make do.
"You'll be okay?" Tara asked her friend.
"Yes. My tent's never been bothered before, and no one knows I'm
staying here except you. I'll be fine."
Tara hugged her and left. She made sure Sharin tied the tent flaps
closed before she left to go home. Sharin would be fine, she told
herself. Now she, on the other hand, had better be alert. Even with Zed,
walking through Dargon at night, alone, wasn't exactly the safest thing
to do. Fortunately, she ran across a town guard patrol and they escorted
her home.
========================================================================
Pudlong and the Beanstalk
Part III
by Jim Owens
<gym@ncweb.com>
Late Spring, 1016
It was a hot day, several days later, as Levy sat in the back of
the family wagon as it rumbled along the road. Levy was thirsty and
uncomfortable. He was resting his feet, having walked nearly five
leagues. He squinted up at the sun, then gazed dourly at the wagon ahead
of his own. Its driver had put a canopy up, something Levy could also
have done if it hadn't been for that fact that neither of the other two
wagons in the small caravan had canopies, and Levy didn't want to appear
to be trying to set himself equal to the occupant of the leading wagon,
Lord Farley.
And Pudlong, Levy reminded himself. It was an unusual thing.
Pudlong himself sat beside the fat ruler, both dressed in fine silks.
Lord Farley looked much better in the silks -- Pudlong's coarse features
just didn't lend themselves to the finery, although Levy had to admit
that the peasant certainly carried himself more nobly than the greasy
lord. It made for a strange scene. It almost hadn't been that way. Levy
remembered the chain of events that led to his current position.
"Give me that!" Mon-Haddar had screamed when he saw Pudlong with
the seed.
"No! Pudlong ..." Levy had yelled, but the wiry wizard was already
wrenching the find from the peasant's grasp.
"Mine! It's mine!" The old man roared. But as he passed his hands
over the surface of the seed, his visage clouded over. "No. No! It's not
here. There's nothing here!" He rubbed it frantically, but nothing
happened. Bren then stepped up behind the man and yanked the bean from
him, throwing him to the ground in the process. He then stared at the
bean for a moment, then heaved it to Levy almost in revulsion.
"Levy, take it!"
Levy put out his hands to catch it. But the seed was actually made
of gold, and the sheer weight of it bowled Levy over. As he sat there on
his rump, he marveled that the skinny wizard had been able to even hold
it. He cast an appraising look at Bren, mentally noting that the
ex-herald was stronger than he looked.
"Give that back!" Mon-Haddar shouted from the ground, his arm
outstretched, but Bren silenced him with a swift boot.
Levy stared at the bean. Its lustrous surface almost seemed to draw
him in. He ran a hand over its hard, smooth surface, but all he felt was
cold gold.
"What is this supposed to do, Mon-Haddar?" Levy demanded, not
feeling a bit foolish for his undignified posture. Aside from profanity,
Mon-Haddar said nothing. Levy stroked the bean, but nothing happened.
"'ere, m'lord," Pudlong said helpfully, "you 'ave to do it like
this." He extended a hand with two fingers out, and slowly drew them
along the bean's surface. At the same time he closed his eyes, and
gestured slowly at the surrounding field. This time Levy did feel
something. He had no idea what it was; it wasn't a vibration, it wasn't
heat, or motion, or sound, or anything he knew. But something happened
to the bean, and then all around, from every plant, from every weed,
there came a tiny rustling, almost a crackling. As the four men watched,
astounded, every plant in the field slowly grew an extra handsbreadth.
Pudlong opened his eyes, a sweet, dreamy smile on his face. "That's 'ow
you do it."
Levy stared up at the peasant. "How did you know to do that?"
"It's 'ow it works, lord." Came the simple reply.
"But ... how did *you* know that?"
"Well I just ..." Pudlong paused. "Well I ... I ..." He frowned. "I
don't rightly know, lord."
Levy stood, handing the heavy talisman to Pudlong. "Make them small
now."
"Oh, you can't do that," Pudlong responded easily. "The good what's
done is done." He faltered then. "'er, if you please, m'lord. I mean,
that is how it is ... isn't it?" He looked around the group for support.
Levy smiled, patting the peasant slowly on the back. "Of course,
Pudlong, just as you say." Levy carefully took the man by the arm and
steered him toward the hut. The others followed, Bren throwing a savage
look of warning at Mon-Haddar. As they walked, Levy looked around. Every
plant in Pudlong's field, even as far as Levy could see, had grown.
Across the simple dirt road, in the neighbor's field, all was as it had
been.
"Pudlong, can you make just the beans grow?" Levy asked carefully.
"Sure, m'lord." Pudlong cradled the bean in one arm and casually
waved at the plants. The same sound stopped them all in their tracks, as
the bean plants, and only the bean plants, stretched themselves toward
the sun. Not a weed in sight grew. Bren cursed softly under his breath.
Pudlong turned slowly to look at Levy, a sudden understanding in his
eyes.
"Things 'll change now, won't they?"
Levy nodded soberly. "Yes they will, Pudlong." He looked around at
the enchanted field. "Yes they will."
And they had. The five had walked up the road to D'yarn's field,
and Pudlong repeated the same miracle on D'yarn's potatoes that he had
performed on his own beans. D'yarn joined them as they moved to the next
farmer's field and repeated the act. That farmer too followed them, and
by the time they reached the keep, a small crowd had formed. Lord Farley
joined them at the gate.
"What is this?" He asked sternly, glaring at Levy.
"Lord Farley, Pudlong here has something to show you." Levy said
carefully, presenting Pudlong to his lord, ignoring the hissing and
popping sounds that seemed to be coming from Mon-Haddar.
"It's a bean, m'lord. It does magic." Pudlong handed the bean to
Farley, who sagged under the weight, but kept a tight grip nonetheless.
He studied it a moment.
"How does it work?"
"Like this, m'lord." Pudlong touched the bean, and glanced over at
a small tree growing wild by the gate. He gently motioned in the air, as
if stroking the sapling's trunk. He slowly raised his hand higher and
higher, as all around came soft gasps of delight and awe. As his arm
reached its maximum extension, he rotated his hand around and cupped it,
as if holding it out to cradle something. Sure enough, an apple landed
softly in his upheld palm. Before the stunned crowd stood a majestic,
fully-fruited apple tree. Lord Farley simply stood and stared
slackjawed. Levy stepped up beside him and whispered in his ear.
"It only works for Pudlong."
Farley closed his mouth and stared at his peasant.
And so the circus had begun. With his court in tow, Farley began to
parade his latest treasure around his extensive holdings. During the
recent war, the land had been stripped and trampled, burned and looted.
The crops had gone in late, and there were not enough bodies to tend the
soil. Pudlong's gift was more welcome than any box of precious gems, and
Farley immediately put it to good use.
Starting in the center of the realm and working outward, every
field and every orchard was blessed by the new wizard. The wagons would
stop, Farley would announce his intentions to the assembled peasants,
and Pudlong would make the particular plot of land mature to fruition.
Then the party would move off to the next plot.
With Farley and the court came Bren and the Barels, and Mon-Haddar
and Yellow. Mon-Haddar never lost the hungry look that frightened and
worried Levy, and Levy never let his eyes off the cagey wizard for more
than a few menes at a time. Bren too watched the wizard. Yellow didn't
seem to watch much of anything, and only Eleya seemed to want to watch
him, having taken a fancy for the slender youth. Sarah watched her.
Thully rode in the wagon with Pudlong, sitting behind him and stroking
his thinning hair, and Farley rode beside Pudlong, expounding on how
many great things Pudlong was going to do for him, to make him rich.
Pudlong himself seemed quite bemused by the whole affair. He
quickly adapted to the attention and fame his new abilities brought. He
continued to defer to Farley in everything, and whatever favors Farley
bestowed on him were equally shared with the attentive and adoring
Thully. She even sat in his lap as they rode in the wagon, no mean feat.
All in all, Pudlong seemed to be having a grand time, and seemed to be
none the worse for wear because of it.
At Farley's insistence, Pudlong quickly discovered the limits to
his new power. It seemed that there was no size limit to how large a
field Pudlong could grow, or how many trees, but he could only grow one
field at a time. Levy noticed that the limits seemed to be the limit of
Pudlong's own mind; if Pudlong couldn't see it, it wouldn't happen.
Once, Farley asked Pudlong to grow pears on an apple tree: it didn't
happen. When Farley asked Pudlong to bless all the land at once, Pudlong
tried, screwing his eyes up tight and breathing hard, but again, nothing
happened. When Farley asked Pudlong to grow a cow, Pudlong and the cow
just stared at each other, with equal amounts of interest and
intelligence. And when Farley asked Pudlong to kill the weeds in a
field, Pudlong simply and flatly stated that the bean didn't "do that
sort of thing, m'lord."
And so the weeks went. The entourage tromped through sunny fields
and down narrow winding paths to stately orchards and wet rice paddies.
In each place, Farley would pronounce, Pudlong would gesture, and the
plants would grow, then they'd move on. After almost a month it looked
like the tour would end, but then Farley crossed the border of his own
land and began blessing the crops of his neighbor. They passed the
well-armed caravan that carried the payment back to Farley's keep. Bren
stared, Mon-Haddar salivated, Farley beamed, Pudlong waved, and Levy
just shrugged. Their own caravan kept right on going.
That night they camped in a clearing in the woods. All around, the
scrub pine gave off a fragrant odor. Levy could smell the autumn
approaching. It was a familiar feeling, and one he normally would have
welcomed in stride. But for some reason he felt a sense of foreboding,
as if a great evil was looming. He tried to shake it off, but it clung
to him. He met Bren at the campfire. Bren was scanning the dark
treeline, his hand tight on the hilt of his sword. Levy eyed the
ex-herald.
"You feel it too," was all Levy said. Bren nodded, never taking his
eyes off the trees.
"You take first watch," Levy said, "wake me at the last bell." Bren
nodded, and Levy slid under the covers beside Sarah. He lay there,
remembering what the scrolls had said. He began to pray.
The dawn found Sarah finishing her watch, the children sleeping
around her. Levy and Bren were up also, earlier than usual, standing
near the patient oxen. On the other side of the communal fire, Farley
sat in the wagon, talking with Mon-Haddar. Pudlong was approaching the
two from the edge of the clearing, where a stream bubbled and laughed.
By its edge, just visible in the morning mist, Yellow and Thully were
washing, at each's owner's insistence. All around the campground, the
rest of the royal court was about their morning business.
It was on this tableau that the monster appeared. His head showed
over the tops of the trees with such rapidity that no one even had a
chance to shout before the giant had parted the trunks like weeds and
stepped into the middle of the clearing. Dressed in rusting mail and
tattered leathers, the giant was a grizzled apparition. His beard alone
was as long as a man was tall. He studied the group, as if looking for
something.
As the giant scanned the campground, each person reacted. Sarah
flattened herself over the children, grabbing the blanketed forms and
drawing them close. Levy dashed to her side. Bren stepped back, eyes
wide, and drew his sword, his feet wide apart in a fighting stance.
Yellow and Thully continued their lavage, oblivious to the crisis.
Mon-Haddar took one glance at the creature and ran. Farley called his
guards to him, while Pudlong just stood and gaped.
Finally the monster saw Farley, sitting in the royal wagon.
"YOU!!" He bellowed. "I'LL BET YOU TOOK IT!!" His voice shook the
entire clearing. With half a step the giant covered the distance to
Farley's wagon. With one swipe of a mammoth hand he brushed aside the
guardsmen, and with the other hand he snatched Farley off the wagon. He
lifted the struggling lord to his face and shouted at him. "GIVE ME BACK
MY GOLD!!"
In moments the Barel children found themselves in the wagon, tossed
there by six desperate hands. Sarah was on the buckboard, reins in hand.
Levy was switching the oxen wildly, his eyes fixed on the towering
creature in the clearing. Bren was also facing the giant, sword drawn,
backing away after the wagon. Thully and Yellow, by the creek, finally
had seen what was going on and were standing, awestruck, while the
lord's entourage scrambled about in panic. To a man, the guards were
trying to pick themselves up after having been swatted aside like
kittens. The giant stood unopposed in the center, Farley crammed into
his fist. He started to turn, to leave the clearing with his prisoner,
when a small man ran in front of him.
"Stop!" Pudlong stood there, bean in the crook of his hand, while
he held the other arm out to warn off the miscreant.
"EH?" boomed the giant.
"Put my lord down," Pudlong commanded firmly.
"DOWN?" The giant exclaimed. "HA!"
The giant started to reach down for Pudlong. For a moment
indecision flashed across Pudlong's face. Then his expression hardened,
and he made a violent gesture with his free hand. The ground rippled and
shook, and a thunderous roar filled the air. Every plant within a
hundred handsbreaths of the giant suddenly started growing. Not like the
gentle increase that Pudlong generally drew forth, but an explosive
surge, leaping up, lunging higher. And each one was growing *toward* the
giant. Tree roots, thick and gnarly, heaved up from the soil and
fastened themselves to the giant's feet. Creeping vines flashed up along
his legs, twining themselves around his waist. Grass and weeds sprouted
from his pant cuffs, then in a twinkling propagated up his legs and
covered his whole body. In an instant there were trees around him,
hedging him in, pinioning his arms and actually lifting him off the
ground. The giant barely had time to let loose a frustrated bellow
before his head was enveloped in growth. A startled Farley fell from his
grasp, only to be cushioned in a sudden thicket. Before the shaken guard
could even reassemble itself around the quaking Farley, the giant was
completely obscured by writhing mass of greenery that hadn't been there
mere moments before.
Pudlong threw himself at Farley's feet.
"M'lord!! M'lord!! Are you alright!?!?" He patted the man's feet
obsessively, as if to reassure himself that they were there.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Pudlong! Pudlong, you saved me!! You saved my
life!!" Farley seized the startled peasant and drew him into a
passionate bearhug.
"Aye, m'lord, I thought for a moment you're a goner!"
Bren joined the rest of the court as they crowded around the Lord.
Levy stood and stared at where the giant had stood. The trees and plants
continued to move, as if they had a life of their own, but one by one
they pulled back from the central mass, separating themselves out, and
even shrinking in some cases. After a mene, the miraculous growth still
remained, but as a mere thicket. The giant was gone. Levy immediately
thought of the beanstalk. He suspected that it too was now nowhere to be
found. Something important had happened.
By this time Pudlong and Farley were being carried on the shoulders
of the guard, surrounded by shouting courtiers. Sarah appeared at Levy's
side, still frightened. Yellow and Thully joined them, as they watched
the joyous group celebrate their lord's amazing rescue. From his vantage
point Levy studied Pudlong's face. He stared at it a long time, trying
to make out what was going on behind that pleasant visage. He finally
gave up, not able to find anything at all.
The circus continued touring throughout the last of the summer. It
was just after the first cold night of the season that Mon-Haddar made
his move. One night, as the camp lay sleeping, Mon-Haddar stirred
beneath his bedroll. He listened for a long moment, then reached his
hand into a large sack he had tucked away beneath his covers. With a
whispered incantation he flung his hand into the air. A silvery dust
twinkled for a moment in the cold moonlight, then floated away, settling
on the sleeping group.
The wizard waited for a dozen heartbeats, but no alarm arose, no
cries rang out. He squinted at the watchmen standing near Farley's
wagon, then craned his neck to pick out the other guards hidden in the
gloom. He carefully extracted a small jar from under the blanket and
opened it, whispering all the while. A dozen small insects flew out.
Mon-Haddar watched for several menes until the last of the guards had
been bitten, and fallen asleep.
Mon-Haddar arose, taking his sack of silver dust with him. He again
tossed the dust into the air with a chant. He strode among the sleepers,
repeating the gesture and the words, until he came to the wagon where
Farley, Pudlong and Thully lay, the now-asleep guards around them. There
he repeated the gesture three times, coating the entire wagon with a
thick coat of the sleeping powder. Then he carefully reached in and
slipped the golden bean from Pudlong's unfeeling arms. Without the
excited energy of his first encounter, the bean's weight was almost too
much for the man to handle, and it thumped and banged against the sides
of the wagon. But everyone slept on while Mon-Haddar carried the heavy
loot to his horse and lashed it safely into a saddle bag. He then tossed
his bedroll over the horse's back. He glanced only briefly at Yellow,
asleep with the rest, then took the horse's reins and walked off into
the night.
Levy awoke the next day almost at noon. He blinked a few times and
leaped to his feet, startled that he had overslept so badly. He looked
around in relief to see that the entire entourage seemed to still be
there. In fact, most were still sleeping. The few who were awake were
stumbling about, doing getting-up things, all looking quite groggy. Levy
rubbed his eyes, and was surprised to find the silvery powder smeared
over his fists. He looked about, and there seemed to be the silvery
powder everywhere. He glanced over at Yellow, who was still sleeping
soundly beside the empty spot where Mon-Haddar had slept. Bren stood up
from his bedroll, obviously unhappy with himself for having slept late.
When Levy hurried toward Pudlong's wagon, Bren followed.
The guards were standing in their places, watching the occupants
stretch. As the two approached, Pudlong scratched his furry pate, looked
confused, and began to glance about for the bean. When Levy saw him
begin to search, his stomach clenched.
"Thully, luv, 'ave you seen it?" Pudlong was asking.
"Naw, but I can feel it," she replied without opening her eyes,
patting his crotch familiarly.
"No, luv, the other one."
"Awww, I like *this* one."
"Didn't you put it under the spare wheel last night?" Levy asked as
he stepped up to the wagon.
"No, I always sleep with it in my ... " Pudlong stopped as he
dragged a heavy object wrapped in a cloak from under the spare wheel. As
he unwrapped it a hint of gold peeped out.
"What's this stuff?" asked Farley, sitting up and brushing off the
silvery dust.
"And why's it all wrinkled?" asked Pudlong, running his hand over
the golden bean. Sure enough, the surface of the bean was covered with a
series of fine wrinkles.
"Mebbe the dust came from the bean," Thully wondered. Pudlong
started hard at the bean, a worried look on his face. He stroked it
carefully with two fingers, unsure. He glanced at a small pine tree
growing nearby. He raised his hand and stroked the air as if to stroke
its bark. The tree obligingly grew, taller and taller, until it towered
over the appreciative group.
"Well, if it did, it doesn't seem to have hurt it any," Farley
said.
"No, it doesn't," Levy replied, smiling first at the tree, then at
an uncomprehending Bren. "No, it doesn't seem to have hurt anything at
all."
That day Levy and Sarah took their leave of Pudlong, Thully, and
Farley. With Bren, they began the long trek back north, after having
extracted promises from Pudlong and Farley to keep them informed as to
the beanstalk's final fate. They packed the children in the wagon and
hitched up the oxen. Just as they were getting ready to leave, Yellow
walked up to them.
"Have you seen Mon-Haddar?" he asked.
"No," replied Sarah. "Why?"
"His horse is gone, and all his things," replied Yellow, frowning.
"I'm afraid he left in the night," stated Levy firmly. "I doubt
he's coming back."
Yellow looked back at the spot where his master had slept. "Did he
say where he was going?"
"Back to the hole where he came from, I imagine," Levy replied
wryly. He glanced down at Yellow. "Or maybe not, if you know where that
is. I wouldn't try to follow him, either. I doubt you'd be able to catch
him."
Yellow fell silent, staring at the ground.
"Levy," Sarah asked, staring at Levy with a curious expression,
"shouldn't we look after him? At least until Mon-Haddar comes back for
him?"
"Of course," Levy replied, catching on immediately, "of course we
should. Why wouldn't we?"
"What do you mean, sir?" Yellow asked.
"Well, you can't stay here with Farley. He won't have you. And we
might meet up with Mon-Haddar later, farther down the road. You should
come with us, just in case."
Yellow thought about it a moment, then his expression brightened.
"I guess that just makes sense. I'm sure the master would want that."
"Go fetch your stuff and your horse. We're leaving now," Sarah
admonished the young man. Yellow trotted off to do as bidden. Sarah
looked down at Levy, who shrugged.
"We'll figure something out," was all he said.
It wasn't until a week later, as they were halfway to Magnus, that
Bren finally broached the subject. They were sitting around a table in
an inn, the Barels and Yellow eating dinner while Bren drank from a
large stein.
"He stole it, didn't he."
"'course 'e did," Levy replied around a corncob.
"'Oo 'tole what?" Yellow asked similarly.
"The bean," Bren replied, looking intently at Levy. "Mon-Haddar
stole the bean. That's what that was all about at the wagon, the morning
we left. That's why he snuck off in the night."
"The master stole the bean?" Yellow asked, astounded.
"Yes, he did. He sprinkled the silver dust on us, to keep us from
waking up, then he stole the bean and left."
"But, but," sputtered Yellow, "but the bean was still there!"
"A fake," Bren replied, taking a drink. Levy nodded.
"I knew it was coming. Sarah and I made a copy and I hid it in the
wagon. It's much easier to sneak something into somewhere than to sneak
something out of somewhere."
"We used some of our gold leaf and a chunk of lead we bought along
the way," Sarah explained easily.
"But it still worked," Yellow protested. The children were
listening too.
"It never was the bean doing it," Levy explained. "Oh, I'm sure it
gave the power to Pudlong, but once that happened it was Pudlong that
was doing it. After all, look at what the power turned out to be. Who
ever heard of a magic bean that would make plants grow faster? The power
was based on who and what the receiver was. If I had gotten it, I don't
know, maybe the carts wouldn't have worn out. No, all Mon-Haddar stole
was a big chunk of gold."
"Still a valuable prize," commented Bren.
"Well, I wasn't sure he was going to steal it, or I would have told
Farley. No, what we did worked out just right."
Bren didn't comment.
"I don't know if anyone noticed, but over the last week we were
there, Pudlong had to concentrate longer when he worked his magic, and
the plants grew slower," Levy continued.
"I noticed," Sarah commented.
"As we were traveling, Yellow showed me the scrolls one night. They
indicated that the power would only last 'for a season'. Normally that's
just a phrase for 'a short time'. But I think it's literal. Next growing
season Pudlong will not be able to grow anything anymore, except
normally, that is."
"What will happen to Pudlong?" asked Sarah.
"Oh, he'll go back to being a regular peasant. Or not. Who knows.
Farley may set him up as an advisor or something. The gold leaf will
wear off the bean eventually anyway. Maybe Farley will just assume the
bean is wearing out."
"But what about Mon-Haddar? He *is* a wizard. What if he figures
out how to make the bean do it again?" asked Yellow.
"I wouldn't worry about that," Levy replied. "I don't think he's
going to be able to use the bean to cause anyone any trouble, except
maybe himself."
The air wasn't quite as cold for the novice as the snow lying on
the ground outside, but nonetheless the hair on her skin stood on end as
she carried the scroll carefully to her master's chamber. It was more
fear than chill that inspired this, however. It was uncomfortable to
walk into the master's chamber, alone and unprotected, but even a full
suit of mail would have been little protection from that man's baleful
glare. The novice shuddered as she pushed open the thick door and
stepped inside. The air was warmer there, thick with the strange scent
of growing things. It was not a friendly warmth, however, and the novice
shivered yet again.
"Finally!" The master's voice emerged from behind a screen as a
hand extended to snatch the scroll from the young woman's hands. "You're
sure it's the right one?"
"It -- it has the words you told me to look for, master," the
novice replied, her eyes fixed on the outstretched arm. "M-may I go back
to bed now, o-or at least dress and eat?"
"Dress and eat, yes, but come right back when you're through -- I
may yet need you for something."
The novice nodded and hurried out the door, shaking. She wasn't
shaking from the cold though, but from what she had seen. After she left
the master stepped out from behind the screen. His stiff, shaking hands
unrolled the scroll. He reached a hand up to brush away the leaves that
grew from his green hair. As he did the bark on the back of his hand
left parallel scratches in the skin of his forehead. He tried twice to
sit down, but his unyielding joints would not cooperate. Finally in
frustration an oath escaped his lips.
"Blasted peasant!"
========================================================================
Quadrille
Part III
by Alan Lauderdale
<lauderd@phadm1.cpmc.columbia.edu>
7-8 Sy, 1012
VII. So Many Witnesses
Londron rumbled to a stop at the door of Camron's warehouse. He had
nothing to shoot or throw at the girl. She was running fast along the
river-side of Commercial Street, apparently making for the sleazy
neighborhood south of Layman.
Londron contented himself with calling for the Watch and crying
about burglars and theft. There was scarcely any chance of anyone
showing up quickly enough to chase after her, but he figured it was the
least a night watchman could do. Then he remembered seeing the fallen
Jarvis, and added murder to his catalogue.
"What's the matter?" Two members of the City Watch hurried around
the corner, from Oceanview or thereabouts. They'd shown up with
impressive, even amazing promptness. Londron was stunned. It was as
though they'd been lingering in the area waiting for him to call for
help, they came so quickly.
"A thief," Londron said. "A murderess."
"What, the girl we saw running away?"
"Yes! You saw her? Why didn't you go after her?"
"You were shouting about murder and robbery. Why should we think
that the girl was responsible?"
"You saw someone else more likely?"
"Well, no." The Watchman made a snap decision. "After her, Carver!"
"Why me?"
"Because I thought of it first," the other watchman explained
triumphantly.
Demonstrating that his own intellectual caliber was easily a match
for his colleague's, Carver dutifully turned and ran after the girl.
Tempted to tell the watchman how useless he thought him, Londron
instead turned away and started back across the barn to check on Jarvis.
"It's not that important, I suppose," he said over his shoulder. "I know
the girl."
"Who is she?" The remaining watchman followed him.
"Camron's new bookkeeper. Her name's Ariel. She hasn't been in the
city long -- only a few days." Londron crouched down by the still form
of Jarvis. "I think I heard that she's staying with Camron's cousin."
"Well, this is a fine way to repay his generosity." The watchman
glanced around at the lamp and open barrel. He sniffed. "Whatever was in
this barrel smells pretty good," he observed.
"Kurin's Shield!" Londron exclaimed. "Jarvis *is* dead."
"Tastes pretty good, too," the watchman remarked licking his
fingers. "The girl killed him? That's pretty hard to believe."
"Not when this thing's lying right beside poor Jarvis," Londron
said, picking up the crowbar. "See, there's blood on this end of it."
"Uh huh. Nasty." The guard sucked a finger thoughtfully.
"Murder is never nice," Londron declared pompously. "Aren't you
going to call out the whole Watch to look for her?"
"Hardly sounds necessary," the watchman remarked, digging in the
barrel again. "You know where to find her."
"But she's not going to go back there now! And we should bring her
in quickly, don't you think? Get a confession out of her right quick.
Maybe the execution'd be at Scything Day."
"Dicing a girl -- that'd get a crowd out," the watchman agreed. He
looked in a pouch he'd found in the barrel and pulled out a tiny purple,
velvet dress. "Does she like dolls?" he asked.
VIII. At Large in Dargon Town
For a moment, Mouse was out on the wharf, under the cool stars and
smelling the ocean's salt. She was, in fact, smelling the salt from the
estuary of the Coldwell River, since her captor was running upriver
along the wharf parallel to Commercial Street. But sea air is sea air
and that was about as much as Mouse could notice before she was stuffed
inside a leather sack that stank of rancid oil and sweat.
The sack was empty but for some dirt, some pits, a few twigs,
Mouse, and a stocking. The sack and contents were thrown around and then
bounced around. Mouse decided that the sack had been thrown over the
girl's shoulder and that she'd then resumed running. Mouse also decided
she'd had enough.
The mouth of the sack was held closed by a rawhide drawstring, one
end of which the girl was presumably clutching in front of her. The
drawstring was meant to be pulled tight by the weight of the bag and its
contents. Right now, though, that weight was not very much. Mouse began
squeezing herself out the mouth of the bag and was pleased to find first
that she could push wider the opening and second that there was plenty
of friction between the drawstring and the eyelets of the bag that it
was threaded through. Even though the thing was bouncing against the
girl's back, the mouth of the bag stayed open while Mouse climbed out.
Mouse breathed again the fresh, sea air. She glanced at the dark
buildings and river the girl was running by, looked up at the gibbous
moon, and looked down at the hard road the kidnapper's boots were
tredding lightly over. Then she remembered her purple dress. The
kidnapper had carelessly neglected to grab the dress, not to mention the
other valuable stuff such as the draft she'd written of remarks she
intended to make to the Duke. Those valuable items were still back in
the barrel.
There was nothing for it, then; she had to go back. Mouse prayed to
Araminia for luck and jumped off the kidnapper's sack. Landing with a
delicate thud, she rolled a little ways away from the river and then sat
up.
The running girl hadn't noticed the departure. She continued her
steady, fast pace. But Mouse noticed now that she was being followed. A
heavier tread was coming along the wharf toward Mouse. She looked at the
man, saw that he was armed with a crossbow, and decided she didn't want
to risk becoming a target. She froze and waited for him to trot by,
which he did.
The man with the crossbow was hardly watching the road. His
attention was on the girl, who had turned right and was racing along one
of the piers that jutted out into the river. Reaching the end, she
didn't pause a moment but dove off. There was a splash from behind the
pier and then quiet. The pursuing man, breathing heavily and cradling
his crossbow, walked slowly out along the pier.
Mouse got gingerly to her feet, pleased that she was able to do so
and that it only hurt a lo
t. Although she was annoyed with the
kidnapping swimmer, Mouse had other things to do than see if she was
going to get shot. One was to get out of the immediate area in order to
reduce the chance of herself getting shot at. She recalled the incident
of Brother Tomastin and his squirrel-hunting expedition that had
continued too far into the fading light of dusk. His eyesight wasn't
that great at high noon either and the miss with his quarrel had been a
very near thing. Mouse felt a strong inclination not to loiter.
Instead, grumbling *very* quietly to herself about how she couldn't
take one step in Dargon before getting herself kidnapped by some crazy,
desperate burglar, Mouse started downriver again toward ...
Where did she think she was going, anyway?
"Buttercups!" she exclaimed to herself. "This is a mess." Hoping
that the right building would magically identify itself for her anyway,
Mouse continued to walk along the wharf. She soon heard the man with the
crossbow walking after her. He wasn't hurrying particularly, but he was
still likely to overtake her. She didn't feel like talking to him and
his crossbow, trying to explain everything to him and that very sharp
quarrel. So she ran into the mouth of a street that went up away from
the wharf. There, she hoped to wait for him to pass.
She was surprised to find the kidnapper walking toward her along
the street.
Or someone who looked like the kidnapper, anyway.
This girl was similar. She was dressed the same, wearing a cloak
with the hood pulled up and a paler dress underneath. But this girl was
dry and was carrying a full pack of possessions on her back. Mouse knew
firsthand that her kidnapper's sack was so close to empty as made no
difference.
Mouse made up her mind in an instant, helped greatly by that
crossbow she knew was around the corner: There could be a terribly
tragic mistake if she didn't do something. She ran forward to the
approaching figure.
The figure was plodding along the street, hooded head bent forward
at a dejected or perhaps merely exhausted angle. Mouse had to get right
in front of her to be noticed at all.
"What -- ?" She noticed, stopping abruptly.
"Sh!" Mouse cautioned. "There's a problem up ahead -- "
"Are you a messenger from Iliara?" the hooded figure asked.
The question meant nothing to Mouse, but it did stop her speech for
a moment. "I've never been called *that* before," she admitted, hands on
her hips. "Who's Iliara?"
"She's the goddess of the air." The girl threw back her hood. "I'm
one of her followers, you see. At least, I'm trying to be one of her
followers." She was young, Mouse saw, and she was pretty. And, to the
extent that Mouse had made out anything under the other's hood, this
girl resembled the kidnapper. "Stefan was teaching me The Way, before,
of course -- "
"Of course," Mouse interrupted, suspecting that this might turn
into a long story. "But right now there's a man with a crossbow coming
toward that corner -- " she gestured over her shoulder " -- and he's
likely to shoot you with it. By mistake, perhaps, but a bolt's still a
bolt."
"Crossbow?" the girl repeated, struggling to set aside Stefan and
follow Mouse's warning. "That's not right. That wouldn't be earth
magic."
"Maybe not," Mouse shrugged, "but Brother Freyo could gouge his way
through an inch of wood with one of those things -- and launch the thing
in an instant -- "
"Who's Brother Freyo?"
"The one who didn't teach Tomastin enough about when not to -- Oh,
never mind. Let's just avoid the man at the end of the street, all
right?"
"I -- " The girl simply was not catching on!
"Look!" Mouse grabbed the hem of the girl's dress. It was
definitely dry. "Here's an alley. We can wait in here for him to go
past." She tugged mightily but irrelevently.
"He's looking for me?" the girl asked, moving slowly toward the
alley. "If he's looking for me, why would he go past? Won't he be able
to find me?"
"He will if you stay out in the middle of the street like this,"
Mouse replied. "Now come on."
"Who's Brother Freyo?"
"Sh!"
"Should I know him? Or Tomastin?"
Mouse climbed all the way up the girl and put her hand against the
latter's mouth. "Get it?" she asked.
The girl said nothing, which was just what Mouse wanted.
The two waited while a pair of boots trod through the stillness
along the waterfront.
"Good," Mouse said, as the girl stepped again out into the street.
"You'll be wanting an explanation, I suppose."
"Ye -- Aggh!" Both the girl and Mouse yelped as a reeking liquid
splashed down on them.
"'Ware slops," a voice above remarked casually. "Damned queenie,"
it added.
"Yuck!" Mouse exclaimed.
"Iliara!" the girl exclaimed, staring up the street. "It's a trap!"
"What?"
"Poison! And him -- I've seen him before, I'm sure of it."
Mouse turned on the girl's shoulder and tried to make out what she
was staring at. There was a figure of some sort in the shadows up the
street, but Mouse could make out no more than that. "What are you -- ?"
The girl dropped her gear, turned and raced down the street toward
the water.
"Wait!" Mouse shouted, grabbing hold of the cloak she was perched
on. "No! Don't!"
"The poison!" the girl exclaimed. "Priests of Haargon must've
poured it on me. It's foul -- "
"Damned right!" Mouse exclaimed. "It's piss!"
Abruptly, the girl shucked her cloak -- and also Mouse. Tangled up
in the cloak, which fortunately absorbed the fall on the wharf, Mouse
heard another splash of girl diving into the river.
"I thought I'd already done this tonight," Mouse muttered to
herself, crawling out from under the cloak. She looked at the water, and
glanced back up the street. She could see no one there. "And I'm not
sure that a bath right now was a good idea." She sniffed and wrinkled
her nose. "Smells pretty bad, though," she admitted. Shrugging and
hoping the water was warm, she jumped after the girl.
IX. Sorting Out the Jurisdiction
Reyakeen Sylk seethed. "Listen, you idiot," he stormed again at the
watchman, "it's me, Sylk. I work for Duke Jastrik -- "
"Tell it to Lord Clifton," the watchman said, gesturing at the
small, open door of Camron's Trading House. "Hey Onions," he shouted
inside. "I found someone suspicious."
"You got the girl?" a voice inside shouted back.
"Well, no," the watchman watching Sylk admitted. "She jumped in the
harbor and disappeared. But I ran into Dru and asked him to keep an eye
out. And I found someone else nosing around this place."
"I was not 'nosing around' this place. I was looking for someone."
"Who's conveniently disappeared," the watchman sneered.
"That's why I was looking for him," Sylk said with forced calm.
"Well, we didn't see any other man hanging around this place and
we've been watching this place all night."
"I know," Sylk sighed.
"You know?" the guard cried. "That's suspicious too!"
"Onions blabbed about it at the Rogue and Quiver -- "
"I only told my best friends," another Watchman declared, emerging
from the warehouse. "And I don't think you're one of them," he added,
peering at Sylk.
"But Kittara Ponterisso is, right?" The man nodded. "I'm one of
*her* best friends," Sylk declared. "Reyakeen Sylk. She might've
mentioned me."
"Oh. Sure," Onions lied. "A couple times maybe. Not like you and
she are all that close. Now, me and her, we talk a lot so I happened to
mention to her our special assignment here -- So why're you hanging
around here?"
"As I told your colleague here, I was looking for someone -- "
"A girl?" Onions interrupted.
"Man. Tall and wiry, I'd say, and his clothes were dark."
"That's it?"
"I never saw him up close."
"He wasn't wearing a dress, was he?"
"I think I'd've mentioned that if he were."
"The girl wasn't that tall, either," Onions' colleague put in.
"So what are you two working on?" Sylk asked.
"Robbery and murder," Onions replied, not without relish. "Want a
look?"
X. If the Noose Fits
"Let me see if I understand this yet," Ariel whispered. She and
Mouse, still more than a little damp, had moved to another alley, one
that was a little closer to Camron's office. It wasn't too close,
though, owing to the number of members of the Watch who'd gathered
there. "Someone who looked like me killed Jarvis and kidnapped you from
Camron's office tonight."
"Right," Mouse whispered back. "And even though you did work in
Camron's business and aren't sure whether Jarvis liked you and also work
for someone named Iliara and have someone named Haargon enthusiastically
out to get you, and chose tonight to run away from home and happened to
go jump in the harbor this evening just like the person who resembles
you, there should be no problem persuading the Watch that it wasn't you,
but someone who only looks like you."
"Right," Ariel said. After a pause, she added "Wrong, huh?"
"I'd lock you up," Mouse admitted. "Except that I happen to know
that I saw two separate people go for a swim tonight."
"Right!" Ariel replied with triumph. "So all I have to do is bring
you along with me to Camron's. You can explain what you saw and
everything'll be fine."
"Sure. They'll lock me up along with you," Mouse said. "For
exhibition: Smallest Criminal Genius In The Kingdom. All they have to do
is ask themselves what I was doing at Camron's in the first place and
they'll have me tagged as your partner in crime."
"But that's not what happened!"
"Makes for a pretty believable story, though. Doesn't it?"
"Maybe. Why would I want to kill Jarvis?"
"Why would someone who looks like you want to kill Jarvis?" Mouse
asked.
"I don't know why anyone would want to kill Jarvis," Ariel sighed.
"Maybe it was a plot by Haargon to blame me," she suggested.
"Who is this Haargon, anyway?" Mouse asked.
"I told you -- "
"I know, but it doesn't sink in."
"Haargon is evil. He's the god of earth, and weight and depth and
darkness. He's so evil that only followers of darkness, secrecy and
dread would want to worship him and draw their strength from his might."
"So there's a gang of evil priests of Haargon who're out to get
you," Mouse shrugged. "And that's because of that Iliara person -- "
"She's the Goddess of the Air," Ariel corrected quickly. "She rules
over lightness and height. And she's good and noble and inspires all her
worshippers with -- "
"What worshippers?"
"Huh?"
"Where are all the worshippers of Iliara? If you've got some
priests of Haargon after you and you say that the followers of Iliara
and the followers of Haargon are locked in a ceaseless struggle over the
fate of the world, where are some worshippers of Iliara to help you
out?"
"Well, it's a pretty tough battle for everybody," Ariel admitted.
"I did get a couple of messages from other followers of Iliara. They
urged me to be strong and hold firm in the faith -- "
"But regretted that they couldn't help you out just now?"
"The battle lines are drawn tautly for everybody."
"So you think Haargon's behind this?"
"I'm sure of it."
"Then let's go."
"To Camron's?" Ariel stood up.
"Hardly," Mouse replied. "If this was Haargon's work, it's certain
that he's expecting you to be arrested and held in gaol. Whatever the
Watch might think of my ability to tell a true story, I'd have to agree
with that forecast. If we go see the Watch, I'd expect us to remain
locked up until the matter is fully resolved. And there are too many
ways of resolving the matter that don't appeal to me. No. I'd rather
stay at liberty a while longer so that we can try ourselves to find your
look-alike. And that means going to see Brother Terkan."
"Do I know him?"
"You didn't know Freyo," Mouse said. "Why should you know Terkan?
Go away from the harbor," she added, changing the subject completely.
"We're looking for Fiddlers' Alley."
"Where?"
"It's off Castle Rise -- "
"The other side of the river?"
"How should I know? I just got here in a barrel. But Muskrat says
Fiddlers' Alley is more of a street in Dargon than a lot of the supposed
streets are."
"Oh. Who's Muskrat?"
XI. A Rat for Sylk
Kittara knocked on the door of the room where Sylk was said to be
seething. There were a few rooms at Duke Jastrik's house in Dargon where
one was supposed to be able to seethe undisturbed, but Kittara
recognized none of them. Upon hearing a barked response, she pushed the
door open and strolled in.
"I never did find my quarry," she yawned, sliding casually into the
only chair in front of the desk where Sylk was working. She gazed across
the lamplight at her frazzled superior. "You look like you've been up
all night."
Sylk glared admiringly at her. "You don't," he said.
"Oh, but I have been. Seeking here and searching there." Kittara
shrugged. "I gather you had better luck?"
"You can gather I had *worse* luck," Sylk growled. "No, I never
found the other one either. But I did make the mistake of stumbling into
somebody else's business."
"That does sound like a mistake."
"And now Jastrik's Consul has decided to make it *my* business."
"And that sounds like misfortune."
"So now I'm going to make it *your* business also -- which is only
fair recompense, since you're the one who got me into this mess."
"Uh uh. To me it sounds like petty tyranny," Kittara insisted. "But
why should the Duke's Consul have a monopoly on that? What's the mess?"
"Jarvis was killed last night."
"Jastrik's bookkeeper?"
"Jastrik's *favorite* bookkeeper. Jastrik's bookkeeper whom Jastrik
relied on to keep all the other bookkeepers in Baranur honest -- at
least when it came to dealings with Duke Jastrik. Herst expects Jastrik
will be very upset when the news gets to him."
"Uh huh."
"So Herst has asked me to please see what I can do to ensure that
when the news gets to Jastrik it also includes the happy fact that we've
identified the killer and have her awaiting the King's Justice."
"'Her'?"
"'Her'. The good news is that we have a witness -- or as good as --
and the witness knows the killer. Jarvis was auditing a local broker
named Camron and it'd appear that one of Camron's bookkeepers -- name's
Ariel -- killed him."
"A bookkeeping girl killing an auditor?" Kittara exclaimed. "Don't
you find that a little farfetched?"
"Not with a crowbar I don't."
"She used a crowbar?"
"It seems that she was breaking into one of Camron's shipments -- a
barrel of stuff called Rhubarb Relish. Jarvis happened to be working
late and surprised her. So she coshed him on the head with the crowbar
and ran."
"Then who was the witness?" Kittara asked.
"The night watchman. Londron."
"Why didn't he surprise her?"
"Apparently, she'd knocked him out already. Slipped something in
his tea when he wasn't looking. There was a noise which roused him and
brought him running -- he says -- just in time to see the girl drop the
crowbar, grab something out of the barrel and run."
"Why would anyone kill for relish?" Kittara mused. "There's a sick
joke in that somewhere," she added.
"I'd have to wonder if there wasn't something else in that barrel
with the relish," Sylk replied. "Also, there's another possible reason
for murder: Jarvis's notes -- they're pretty nearly impenetrable to
anyone who isn't Jarvis, I'd say. But they seem to indicate that Jarvis
was finding things he didn't like in Camron's books."
"Aha!" Kittara said.
"Yeah. And then there's the note she left -- "
"The girl left a note at the crime scene?"
"Hardly. Have a look at it -- "
Kittara glared at Sylk.
"-- or don't," Sylk quickly added, remembering how little Kittara
liked letters. "Perhaps I should just read it to you. The girl had
packed up all her stuff and left the house she was staying in this
evening. She left a note for the folks she'd been staying with. They're
Marcus and Karina. Karina is Camron's cousin. Anyway, Marcus passed
along the note when the Watch went there looking for Ariel." He read:
I'm sorry, but I can't stay here. My presence puts you in
danger, and I care too much for you to do that. I am going to
find myself somewhere to live while I might be hurting anyone.
You can reach me at Camron's, as I still have to work
something for the next couple of days. Thank you for
everything.
"I'm surprised Marcus didn't destroy that," Kittara said. "Perhaps
the girl was an unpleasant tenant."
"No. The report is that Karina was very upset to hear that Ariel
was in trouble. They both were, in fact."
"Did they have any idea where Ariel might've gone?"
"They didn't offer any. Millhouse -- he's the Watch officer who
visited them. Millhouse thinks Karina knows more than she's told so
far."
"So that's one possibility. Any others?"
Sylk grimaced. "Dargon's not a very big town," he said, "until
you're trying to find someone in it. All I can think of is to ask
everyone at Camron's business more thoroughly."
"Ugh," Kittara agreed.
XII. The Close Bonds Forged By A Shared Pursuit
"Here?" Ariel asked.
"I think this is Terkan's house," Mouse agreed.
They were standing in a street that they'd agreed was most likely
Fiddlers' Alley, though Ariel felt more comfortable in the designation
than Mouse. Before them stood the house that Mouse (with Ariel's
reluctant agreement) felt was most likely to match the description that
Brother Muskrat had given her. In the dim, diffuse light, all the houses
looked dolefully similar and, with the dawn bell not yet struck, there
wasn't anyone around to be asked for confirmation. There'd been a few
members of the Watch, from time to time, but for obvious reasons, Mouse
and Ariel chose to steer clear of them.
Ariel had risked asking one man to direct her after she and Mouse
had gotten several blocks away from Camron's. He'd seemed a reasonable
risk to accost because he'd been alone and he'd been hurrying along the
street. He'd not cared to linger in her company, but he did suggest that
Fiddlers' Alley was somewhere across the river in the Height. And Ariel
had learned enough about Dargon in her few days of residence to know
that Coldwell Height or just the Height was what they called the
respectable area upriver from the keep.
"So what do we do now?" Ariel asked.
"We knock."
"We?"
"You knock and I sit on your shoulder giving you encouragement."
Ariel knocked. With Mouse's promised encouragement, she continued
knocking for menes. Finally, they heard someone approach the other side
of the door.
"Who's there?" a voice called through the still closed door.
"You'll have to do the talking while the door's closed," Mouse told
Ariel.
"Mouse," Ariel called back. With further prompting from Mouse, she
added "From Rockway House, to see Brother Terkan. Brother Caleb wrote
him that I was coming."
"Before dawn?"
"I don't think Brother Caleb knew when I was going to arrive."
There was the sound of someone fussing with a bar and then the door
opened slightly. A tousled young man wearing a jerkin thrown hastily
over his nightshirt peered out at Ariel and Mouse.
The light was behind his callers, so there wasn't that much to see:
A bedraggled young woman, still smelling harbour-wet, stood waiting
through his inspection. Except for the lack of baggage, it was certainly
the outline of a traveler. There was something on her shoulder, though.
A cat?
"What do you want?" the young man asked. His tone was surly.
"Are you Brother Terkan?" the cat asked.
"His student," the young man replied, staring more closely at such
a clever cat. "Bret. What are you?"
"Mouse."
He continued to peer. She was awfully small, but "You're a girl?"
Bret guessed.
"I'm a girl named Mouse," the tiny person said quickly. "And this
is my friend Ariel. Brother Terkan does live here, doesn't he?"
"Yes. How'd you get so small?"
"By focusing on the little things in life -- may we come in?"
"Master Terkan didn't say anything about being visited by a mouse."
"I'm not *a* mouse -- "
"This isn't working," the woman named Ariel said. "Maybe we should
come back at midday."
"You've got somewhere else we can go in the meantime?" Mouse
retorted. "Look, Bret, can we at least come in off the street and wait
somewhere for a more reasonable time to greet our host?"
The young man considered, but only briefly. His prospective guests,
after all, looked far more pathetic than dangerous. And interesting.
Not that they looked like much of anything at all, in the darkness,
but women called at Brother Terkan's house so seldom that anyone female
was interesting. And Bret's imagination could go quite far on a fair
voice and a lack of girth. The salty dampness notwithstanding, the woman
might be worth lighting a candle for and the mouse -- She seemed likely
to be a sorceress. "Focusing on the little things in life" sounded as
though it could be an obscure key to arcane power. Or mere obscurantism.
But sorceresses were fond of that sort of thing, Bret knew. He swung the
door open wider.
"Come in," he invited. The girl came in as soon as he said the
words. "There's a room you can rest in until Terkan is ready to receive
you."
"What's going on here?"
"Or perhaps we'll skip the waiting," Bret said under his breath.
Ariel and Mouse looked up the narrow staircase at a short,
middle-aged man holding a taper. The latter had wrapped himself in a
ragged-looking robe and a scowl.
"Are you Brother Terkan?" Mouse called up.
"Who're you?" the man responded. He started down the stairs.
"Mouse. Are you Brother Terkan?"
"Very seldom. Normally, I'm Terkan -- or Master Terkan to my
inferiors -- like Bret, here. No one calls me Brother Terkan except -- "
The man stopped. "You've come from Rockway House," he resumed. "Though I
thought Caleb said I'd get one visitor. A small one named Mouse. Well,
he didn't exaggerate about that. So you're the scribe whose work I've
had several occasions to admire."
"And you're the client whose generosity I've had a couple of
occasions to appreciate," Mouse reciprocated.
The two took a moment to approve of each other.
Then Terkan turned to Ariel. "But who are you?" he asked.
"She's Ariel," Mouse said. "She's a very good friend of mine and
has been helping me find my way around the city. And I needed the help.
I hadn't realized how big it was."
"It'd be interesting to imagine a town you'd call small," Terkan
said.
Mouse forced a smile. "We're sorry about disturbing you so early in
the day. Before it's even begun, in fact."
"I'd awakened already, anyway."
"Oh. Well." Mouse glanced at the bedraggled Ariel. "We haven't
slept yet this night and are pretty tired. Do you think --"
"You've been up all night?" Terkan interrupted. "What could you
have been doing? Dargon Town gets very quiet once the sun goes down."
"Avoiding the agents of Haargon," Ariel declared.
"Haargon?" Terkan repeated.
"I really don't think this was the right time to bring that up,"
Mouse said. To Terkan, she said "You've heard of Haargon?"
"Uh -- no!" Terkan exclaimed. "But the name, I don't know of any
lords bearing it."
"He's an evil god," Ariel explained.
"Oh," Terkan said.
"He rules the earth and depth and heaviness."
"I see."
"Doesn't help jog your memory any, does it?" Mouse asked.
Terkan glanced at her. "Haargon," he said. "No, I don't think so.
But this god has agents?"
"Priests, too," Mouse said.
XIII. The Unreasonable Demands of Employers
Alec seethed. "Yes!" He repeated. "I lost her!" He didn't stomp his
foot because that would have been childish. Also, with the thick carpet
on the floor of Cleo's chamber, the gesture would've been ineffectual.
Instead, he simply said "It was sheer good luck that I managed to catch
up with her at all -- "
"The Grace of Haargon, you mean," Cleo responded. "You are doing
His work, you remember."
"Of course I remember. *You* remind me every time I report to you.
He, on the other hand keeps any assistance He gives really subtle. I
mean, if He's trying to be helpful, why'd He let that Marcus muck things
up on me?"
"The ways of Haargon are not for mortals to judge -- and especially
not for unbelieving mortals like you to comment on. Where did you see
the girl last?"
"Oyster Street. She ran to the end of it and dove into the harbor."
"Did she? Ah, off a pier?"
"Off the wharf."
"Oh?"
"Uh huh." Alec decided to explain the nautical distinction to the
earthbound priest. "A pier," he said, "as you'd know if you ever visited
the waterfront, is the structure that sticks out into the harbor,
whereas a wharf is any place, including parts of Dock Street itself,
where a ship can tie up to load or unload -- "
"Enough!" Cleo shouted. "Thank you," he added sourly, "but I didn't
hire you to advise me about the architectural niceties of Dargon. You're
supposed to be reporting to me about the whereabouts of that girl Ariel.
At that, you seem to be doing a less than satisfactory job." The priest
examined one of his black, dirt-encrusted fingernails. "Do you know, for
example, why she dove into the water?"
"Well, no," Alec admitted. "Not really. She left her backpack with
her few worldly possessions lying in the street, shucked her cloak on
the wharf itself, dove in and just swam away from everything. Here's the
pack and cloak." Alec kicked them.
"You couldn't learn anything from them?"
"Only that she doesn't know enough to get out of the way of a slop
bucket. And that her hair's finally going to start looking different --
she had *three* combs and now she has none. And that she may be a good
bookkeeper but she's a lousy seamstress. Oh, and that she kept a
journal."
"And she's likely to discontinue that practice also?"
Alec produced the book.
"Such an extravagance," Cleo said. "And so revealing." He reached
for it. "You've read through it already, I expect?"
Alec held onto it. "There's nothing useful there. There's a lot
about someone named Stefan and some stuff about trying to make her new
start here in Dargon Town. She liked Marcus and Karina. But there's not
a clue where she was swimming to."
"You're certain?"
"Yes."
"Then I guess you'll have to look elsewhere. In the meantime,
though, I should like to have a look through that book."
"No."
"No?"
"I told you. There's nothing useful in it."
"You don't know everything that's useful."
Alec shrugged. "I know the scope of my job. Keeping an eye on the
girl and reporting her movements to you. I found the journal; I'll use
it to further my work -- 'cept that it isn't useful for that purpose, so
I guess I'll see that it doesn't get used against her at all." He stood
up.
"That's not your job!" Cleo roared "Judging my actions with regard
to that girl!"
"So you say. Consider it my hobby."
"I'll withold your fee."
"Try making a threat I didn't think would happen anyway." Rapidly,
Alec walked out of Cleo's chamber. He hurried through the cellar,
ignoring the handful of minions of Haargon who were pursuing their
earthy chores there. Pulling the door closed behind him and pausing only
to take a gulp of relatively fresh air, he ran up the outdoor steps two
at a time.
"I am really beginning to hate that priest," he told himself before
trying to think calming thoughts and stroll casually around the
apparently innocuous house to Thockmarr Street. "But I'm still left with
the problem of finding the girl." For want of anything better, he ambled
toward the marketplace.
"Perhaps she likes haggling."
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