“Because you are very often neigh impossible to listen to, Grandmother.”
“How many of your subjects really get to see you in the skinweleriou, dear?” she said, ignoring her altogether.
“Hunh...?”
“I said: how many of your passionately loyal subjects actually get to see you in the skinweleriou? Did you ever think about that? You have, what, five and twenty balls out and about?”
“Yes...”
“You need to distribute another two hundred and fifty immediately. You need to start getting your word out to some usable number...”
“Absolutely. I think...”
Demonica held up a shushing hand. “You need to think about setting aside an honor guard,” she said, “always dressed in the showiest parade finery, whose job it would be to distribute the skinweleriou to more public places than you have at the moment, and then to guard and display them each time you make addresses to your subjects...”
“Oh, yes...”
“You'd need at least that to really stir their interest. Then...”
“Oh, I could, and...” said Spitemorta, shaking the seat with a keen bounce.”
“Commoners always covet what their betters have, so you need to harness that,” said Demonica, giving her a comfy little pat on the leg. “Stir their envy almost to the point of riots, if you can. The next skinweleriou should go to the nobility.” She picked up a skinweler from behind Spitemorta and handed it to her. “Then finally, when you have the man in the street fairly jumping up and down, you offer them for sale to anyone at prices that would pay for, let's say, an army,” she said, raising her brow as she handed her another ball. “And they'll be standing in line to pay those prices too, dear. You'll see. The citizens of Goll and even people from the lands 'round about, will spend nigh everything they have to get their very own skinweler.”
“Absolutely, absolutely, Grandmother,” said Spitemorta with a dreamy grin of effusive and haughty malace. “The nobility must get theirs first. It'll be almost as much delicious fun to watch the lowborn clamor and grasp as it will be to lead their stupid willing heads like sheep.”
“Yea?” said Demonica, a flicker of revulsion crossing her face as she studied Spitemorta. “Enjoy the vulgar struggles of the lower class all you want dear, but you don't want to get carried away. You don't want them knowing it, and you certainly don't want to lose sight of where you're going.”
“Of course I'm aware of where I'm going!” she hissed. “What's the point of being queen if I can't enjoy the antics of my stupid subjects? You certainly do take the fun out of things.”
Demonica threw back her head and laughed until tears glistened in the corners of her dark eyes.
“If I ask,” thought Spitemorta, as she let one skinweler roll into the other one in her lap with a glassy clack, “the old witch will make me sorry I did.”
“Oh my!” said Demonica as the heaves of her laughter slowed to a conclusive sigh. “The room needs a fire.” She suddenly jabbed the fingers of both hands at the fireplace and at once the half dozen charred ends lying in the ashes burst into flame. She dismounted the wagon and squatted on the hearth to put sticks on the fire. She stared at the flame for a moment before brushing her hands and standing up.
“Now it begins, Spitemorta,” she said as she turned around and paused to reposition the comb in her hair.
“Soon we'll have complete control over the citizens of Goll and over anyone beyond who chooses to live with a skinweler. You'll have trust, loyalty and fealty far beyond that enjoyed by any king who has ever lived.” She tapped her lips with the tip of her finger. “This kind of thing takes time, but it would indeed be nice to help things along a bit, if we could...”
“How would we do that?”
“Don't know, dear. What did our burning of the country's sukere crop do to 'em?”
“That and loosing all the men at Ash Fork has a good number of them in dire condition, as I can't believe you don't already know.”
“Well, your abiding grasp of things created the need for me to see, but I'm delighted that perhaps I've not given you the credit you deserve,” she said as she ignored Spitemorta's sudden furious expression. “I didn't know that you even knew about the condition of your people, yet you seem to, which is very good indeed. Whether or not you care is altogether another matter and of no consequence whatsoever. What does matter is that you keep everyone convinced that you most certainly do care. It will never be possible for you to become powerful enough for that not to matter. Of course that would be one of the more important uses for the skinweleriou. With them there's no excuse for not keeping them convinced.”
“It certainly won't take long to get the first two hundred and fifty distributed,” said Spitemorta, who was much too keenly interested to remain offended, “so what would you reckon is a nice dear price to charge the nobility, Grandmother?”
“Charge the nobility?” said Demonica with a grunt as she hoisted herself back up to the wagon seat. “I'm shocked, dear. Here I thought you had a grasp of this...”
“I do have. My lack of grasp was to demean myself by asking you a respectful question.”
“Ordinary rulers have come and gone throughout the length of history,” she said as she patted Spitemorta on the leg again, “and since none of them has managed world dominion, you need to be respectful of the details. Nobles may owe you fealty, but you must be careful to curry their favor whenever possible. You don't want any of them overthrowing you, and they have wealth and influence in all sorts of places, so you want the loyalty of as many of them as possible...”
“How could I be queen and not already know that?”
“Oh. Then you must already understand that the best strategy would be to present skinweleriou to your nobility as awards and favors, one at a time.”
“I did have that in mind.”
“Then you were merely flattering me by asking about what to charge them. Well, make sure that it comes across to each of them as flattery and privileged access to you, as you present your skinweleriou. Take your time. Do it right...” said Demonica, as she felt of the Heart in its pouch inside her kirtle, “and with the Heart and the Staff within my reach, I'll take my time too,” she thought. “I'll have you on your knees.”
“But you said that you wanted to speed things up, Grandmother.”
“That's what I'm doing. Handing out the balls all at once would be too quick and would seem less exclusive. You might begin with a little fanfare, let's say a banquet to give out the first one or two to whomever's done you the biggest favors lately. But however you go about it, you definitely want it well known that the nobles all have them before you sell any to the commoners.
“Then what?”
“Oh, you could do all kinds of things, really. A grand fair of some sort might be about right. You could have skinweleriou on display all over the fairgrounds while you appear in them, giving addresses to the people on and off throughout the day. Meanwhile have contests, jousts maybe, and award skinweleriou as the prizes. While all of it is going on, quietly let it be known that from the time of the fair onward, skinweleriou will be available for your fat price. Make it high enough that three fourths of them will have to go into debt to buy one. They'll be lined up, you'll see,” she said with a buoyant chuckle as she deftly laid a third skinweler into Spitemorta's lap.
“Grandmother,” said Spitemorta with a giddy jostle of the three balls of prophet crystal in her lap, “you are positively evil.”
Demonica broke out with another laugh. “I've been told that on occasion, dear.” she said, her eyes still twinkling with mirth. “So you approve, aye?”
“Most definitely.”
“Well then,” she said as she slid off the seat and offered a hand to Spitemorta, “time to help you down so that you can get started.”
“I shall, I shall indeed,” said Spitemorta as she clambered heavily off the wagon and waddled to Demonica's bed to give the bell pull a yank.
“Elroy,
” she said to the boy who appeared in the doorway after a moment or two, “go find Captain Boar. Have him meet me in the throne room.”
Chapter 114
“Sweetpea's just over that rise, yonder,” said Hubba Hubba as he landed on Herio's shoulder with a thorough shake of his feathers and a snap of each wing, while Chirp, Tweet and Squeak fluttered down to join him. “We'll be there in no time. It's the last town in Loxmere, so you'll probably want to give Gwynt a rest and maybe a trough to stare into while you see if they'll let you get a bite to eat. After Loxmere it's all wild country. There won't be a living soul until you get to Ash Fork, if that's how ye got to go.”
“And none there, either,” said Herio with a wistful sigh, as he peered ahead beneath his hand. “Captain Bernard said there's nothing there but the ring of stones put up to mark where King Hebraun fell...”
“Aw Herio,” said Hubba Hubba, going sleek and puffing up again. “I'm really sorry. I wasn't thinkin'. I've just never been there, so it was right easy to slip my mind, if ye know what I mean.”
Herio squeezed shut his eyes for a moment. “Hey featherhead, you're a mighty good fellow,” he said as he reached behind his ear to give Hubba Hubba a scratch. “You'd never believe how glad I am that you're along. I know you've never seen the place. Besides, I'm not picturing it so well, myself. It's hard to make myself, really. It's almost as if Ash Fork mightn't be gone if I don't picture it that way.”
“You might have something there,” he said as he ran his beak down a flight feather under Herio's ear with a silky zip. “Minuet did that after Hebraun was killed. Ye know: couldn't picture it; couldn't face it. She couldn't really go on with much of anything until she finally did...Well, she's only just started...”
“Oh I know,” he said faintly, as enough of a shudder ran through him to make Hubba Hubba go wide-eyed and put down his foot for balance. “That's why I need to go to Ash Fork for to see it myself. I just have to.”
Gwynt sauntered up the rise with his horn bobbing as if he were directing an orchestra in the afternoon sun, as everyone fell to silently watching a farmer and his family across the fence, pruning the naked branches of their apple trees and pitching the trimmings into a fire. There hadn't been snow on the ground in a week, but water from the spongy sod gurgled in the ditches. A bee passed overhead with a whine. A nearby mourning dove called to another one, far away.
Hubba Hubba studied the pain in Herio's face and felt badly. “Ah,” he said brightly, suddenly looking up. “Sweetpea, Herio.”
Herio took off his glove and hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Hey Hubba,” he said, urging Gwynt into a trot downhill to the houses, sending Chirp, Tweet and Squeak winging into the air to flutter along overhead. “It's 'way too early for supper, but isn't this the town with the inn where everyone under the sun goes to eat the stew and pot roast?”
“Rose and Lukus used to think so, especially Lukus, but...”
“Hey! I can smell something good from here and we haven't even reached the houses yet. Let's go, Gwynt.”
Gwynt broke into a languid gallop that died away to a trot again, well before the first house.
“I really smell it now,” said Herio. “I'll bet it's the very inn. Let's just follow my nose and see.”
Soon they were sauntering down the main street to the rhythmic creak of the saddle, staring at the fancy looking chickens on the sod roofs of the whitewashed brick cottages. “It's got to be this place, Hubba,” said Herio as he slid off and tied Gwynt in front of a large three storey brick and timber building and paused for a look as Chirp, Tweet and Squeak landed on his hat. “Smell it! They must be fixing supper already, and this must be the very inn because it sure smells like roast beef, but with their sign all scorched, there's no way to tell what the name of the place is. They've had a fire. They've put in a new door and timbers up the front...”
“I know, I remember seein' it burn,” said Hubba Hubba, throwing his head this way and that to gawk. “Actually I don't think I'd...” but they were already inside the door.
“Herio, I think you'd best take us back outside before that dried up ol' buzzard sees us. He...”
“Fiddlesticks!” said Herio, straining to see this way and that in the dim light under the low ceiling of the broad room of empty tables and chairs. “You fellows are every bit as hungry as I am.”
“Yea, but that old...”
“Look 'ee here, Hubba,” said Herio, craning to look him in the eye, “we're all eating together and that's final.”
“Hey!” barked a gravelly voice from behind, making Herio wheel 'round with a start to see a wizened little innkeeper with white hair to match his dirty apron. “We don't allow no filth an' vermin an' things like them there on y'r shoulder.”
Herio stood transfixed in disbelief that such a thing could apply to them.
“Ain't you'ns got no manners?” bellowed the innkeeper, snapping his yellow teeth in his beet-red face as he took a swaggering step with a cock of his head to one side. “Get them feathered vermin out o' my inn 'fore I yank off their stinkin' 'eads!”
“Quick!” cawed Hubba Hubba. “Do what he says!”
“What?” said Herio in indignant astonishment, before seeing that the innkeeper had just stepped behind the registry desk for a truncheon. “We're going!” he cried, heading for the door. “We're on our way out!”
“No stinkin' birds!” roared the innkeeper, slamming the door behind them. “Spiteful whelp! You act like a drewllyd Elf!”
Gwynt looked up suddenly with a snort, stringing water from the trough, as Herio plopped down upon the wooden bench along the front wall of the inn, nearby.
“That man's ugly,” said Herio with a great tense sigh. “Pit take him! He can sell his stew to the rats in there.”
“I don't mean to be the stinking adult here,” said Hubba Hubba, ruffling up his feathers and going sleek, “but are you listening to me, Herio? I'm not just some feather headed pet, here.”
“What?”
“Didn't you hear me say I'd been here before?”
“I guess...”
“Ha! You weren't listening. I couldn't get a word in edgewise. I was here before! I saw the place on fire, and you weren't listening. Look 'ee here Herio, I could 'ave saved us from all of that in there, if you'd just stopped and listened.”
“When was it on fire? When were you here?”
“See? Should 'ave asked! You need to pay attention to the experience, here. You need some feathers...”
“When were you here?”
“When Pebbles and I were here with Soraya and Lukus. We almost didn't make it out alive. Our coachman had to set the place alight so we could get away.”
“My...”
“The innkeeper's a stinker,” said Hubba Hubba as he leaped to the edge of the trough with three deft flaps to turn at once and point himself at Herio. “He hates Elves and he hates feathers. Listen Herio, I'm not some stupid pet. There are times when I know what I'm talking about. If I let you get killed sometime 'cause you don't listen, what's Minuet going to do to me? She was already a-swingin' her sword when we left. Pull out my feathers? Maybe, but more likely turn me into a maggot...”
“Well I'm sorry, Hubba Hubba, but I am right glad you're here...”
“And you're going to get mighty hungry too, 'cause there's no other place to eat in Sweetpea and we've already discussed how far it is to the next place.”
“Maybe we should just lay in extra supplies,” said Herio sheepishly. “The shops are still open. Then maybe go down the road and cook up something better than usual...”
“Yea? Well I hate to tell ye, but your cooking stinks. You need to take advantage of something better while you still can.”
“He doesn't mean that!” squeaked Chirp as he fluttered by Herio's ear to land on the trough with Hubba Hubba.
“No more 'n' you mean you're a sparrow,” rattled Hubba Hubba.
“We eat your food!” chirped Tweet
“Yea I know,�
� said Herio parking his chin in his hands and staring at his feet. “Mom cooked and I ate. I watched her a thousand times, but I never did any of it beyond haul in the rabbits and squirrels and gather the eggs. Dad got me started with a bow before he died. I got pretty good, but I never cooked a thing until we started traveling together...” He picked up a stick and started scratching dejectedly in the dirt.
“And it's still getting better,” tweeted Squeak. “We don't mind eating it.”
“But it ain't good enough to waste a chance for some decent food,” said Hubba Hubba. “Look, you're neither Elf nor bird, so if ye go back in there by yourself he might serve you. We'll stay right here.”
“But that's not fair,” said Herio, looking up.
“Not if ye bring us back some, and you'd do that,” said Hubba Hubba. “So what are you sitting here for, aye? Get in there.”
“You're sure?”
“We're certain,” choroused Hubba Hubba, Chirp, Tweet and Squeak, as Herio tossed aside his stick and tramped to the door.
“All right Gwynt,” said Hubba Hubba as he hopped into the ankle deep water of the trough and fluffed up his feathers, “I'm sure you don't mind if I have a bath.”
***
The two surviving fishermen from Fen, Sean and Iasan, sat in the dining hall of Caislean Oilean Gairdin, quietly picking at their supper at the far end of the great board from Lukus and Soraya. “They look like they're in shock,” said Lukus quietly as he leant aside to Soraya.
“They're doing right well for having lost everything dear to them,” she said as she reached across Ariel to soak up some soup with her bread.
“What a horror, everyone you ever knew roasted and eaten,” he said, pushing away from the table to put his elbows upon his knees. There has to be some way to get the trolls. I'm not saying Elven fears are unfounded, but it seems that when Niarg's Army slew two hundred of them at Ash Fork, surely we could find some way to lure them out into the open...”
“Lukus and Soraya,” said Danneth suddenly appearing behind them, “it's always something, isn't it? I'm terribly sorry, but I'm about to spoil your supper.”
Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 125
