by Jaxon Reed
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“It’s taken longer t’ get home than I thought.”
Fret spoke to himself, leading the train in the first wagon. Or perhaps he spoke to the pigs who grunted their way forward, leading him ever closer to home. He had finally passed the ancient mulberry tree marking Clan Nugget’s land.
The delays had not been due to weather or troubles on the road. Rather, every town and village, every dwarf they met, wanted to talk with them about their adventures. He knew this must have been a direct result of Tun.
Upon delivering the letters from Dudge along with the Council’s share of the gold, Tun must have hightailed it home, spreading word along the way. The news, Fret suspected, eclipsed the speed of his carts’ arrival.
“I wager ’twas old news by th’ time ’e got here!” Fret said, continuing his soliloquy.
Of course, the news didn’t stop at the old mulberry tree. No, the entire Farmlands had heard tales of Prince Dudge and his faithful friend Fret, how they had vanquished the corrupt Rak, how the human wizard had brought back the prince from death, and how Fret fought valiantly alongside his prince, slaying those who would betray their oaths to the throne. It made for quite a tale.
The way some of these dwarves told it, in the inns along the way, one might think they had been there, Fret thought. He also considered the fact that his exploits seemed to sound better and better the closer he came to home. Last night, the innkeeper wouldn’t take any gold for their entire party.
“I ha’ Fret hisself as a guest! Th’ dwarf who be frien’s wi’ yuman princes an’ dwarven princes, an’ wizards as well! Tha’s paymen’ enough, I tell ye!”
It probably did not hurt that practically everyone in the village was in the place eating and drinking, and the inn likely saw more trade that night than it had in a long, long time.
Nonetheless, after breakfast that morning, when the innkeeper wasn’t looking, Fret placed a small bag of silver next to the inn’s money chest. It made Fret feel better. Even with the additional traffic the inn received the night before, Fret was sure the innkeeper lost money feeding all his drivers.
Upon reflecting on his actions, another thought crossed Fret’s mind. His reputation would probably continue to grow, outrageously out of proportion to reality, once the innkeeper figured out what had happened.
“I shoulda thought o’ that. Nay, dinna think tha’ one through. Bu’ I coul’na stay wi’ out payin’ like that.”
His self-reflection came to an end as he heard a shout up ahead. Somebody had seen the wagon train approaching from on top of the hill before the village, and yelled down toward somebody on the other side.
Fret said, “Now what?”
Slowly the pigs climbed the hill. Before they reached the top, a large group of children came over from the other side, laughing and skipping and squealing.
They sang, “It’s Fret! Fret th’ hero!”
Fret guffawed. He said, “I dinna ken who this dwarf be. I am not th’ Fret ye speak of.”
“Fret! Fret th’ hero! Friend o’ royalty an’ he’s from our town!”
They danced around his wagon as the pigs crested the top of the hill, then started down the other side toward the village and the brewery.
At the foot of the hill, every person in the village turned out to greet him. Standing near the front were the six members of the village council, and in their midst stood his mother.
A small band had assembled (likely holding every wind instrument for miles around, Fret thought), and they started up a merry tune. The crowd cheered as his pigs trundled in. His mother Helga grinned widely at him, her chubby cheeks lit up in joy.
Four or five village maidens beamed at him as well, with different kinds of smiles. They were almost lascivious grins, sending unmistakable non-verbal clues that proposals of matrimony would be heartily welcomed.
The band stopped as Fret pulled up and set the wagon’s brake. He stepped down and hugged his mother. Everyone cheered. The village council leader made a short speech, praising Fret. Then he asked Fret to stay a few words.
Color rose to Fret’s cheeks as everybody looked at him again. He cleared his throat and said, “I dinna ken wha’ t’ say. Mos’ wha’ ye’ve heard is doubtless exaggerated. Were there any heroics, ‘twere mos’ly done by Prince Dudge an’ me lads on th’ wagon train. As fer me, I’m jus’ Fret, son o’ Barley. I plan t’ get back t’ brewin’ now.”
The crowd cheered, and he made arrangements for the gold to be stored and the pigs berthed. After shaking hands and patting backs with practically everyone in the village, his mother finally led him away.
Helga said, “He’s had a long journey. Talk wi’ ’im tomorrow.”
Everyone smiled and parted, clearing a path for them as she guided him home. When they were out of earshot from the crowd, Helga said, “We’ve ha’ some good matrimonial prospec’s lately.”
Fret grunted and said, “One successful trip t’ Osmo, an’ they think I’m somethin’ special. Th’ hops dinna come in nex’ year, or one of a dozen other mishaps, an’ they won’ think so highly o’ me.”
Helga smiled and said, “Y’ soun’ like yer father. Bu’ yer right. And tha’s why we ha’ t’ strike while th’ iron is hot. Th’ Council Leader and ’is daughter be comin’ fer lunch tomorrow . . .”
She continued filling him in on her plans for choosing a wife as they walked, and Fret began to wonder if he’d ever go back to something approaching his old life again.
Chapter 20
Kirt stood with the twins at a respectful distance to the main Coral Castle gate, watching and listening as Tempolius argued their case to the captain on duty. Over time it became increasingly obvious, at least to the boy, that the Royal Guard had no interest in Stin. Or at least no interest in producing him. They had been waiting at the gate for several hours now.
They met Tempolius early that morning, shortly after breakfast. Bellasondra was in high spirits. Tempolius had sent word the day before that he had located Stin in the dungeon below Coral Castle.
One would think that might be disheartening, Kirt thought, and indeed the news proved upsetting to Bellasondra. But as the morning dawned, she began to see things in a more positive light. At least they knew where he was, she said while they ate breakfast. Whatever series of events had befallen him leading to the dungeon could surely be rectified, she hoped.
So they hitched Horse up to the cart and headed toward the castle in the center of the city, arriving at the gate early. They parked Horse under a tree shading a portion of the street nearby and waited.
Tempolius soon showed up, asked to do all the talking and bade them wait while he approached the gate to see about getting everyone in for an audience with the prisoner.
The guard at the gate disappeared shortly after Tempolius’s initial inquiry, and the agent flashed them a confident thumbs up. But a quarter hour later, the guard returned with the captain, who stood before Tempolius with his arms crossed. Over the next several minutes while Tempolious talked, the captain consistently shook his head.
The man could talk, Kirt gave him that. Tempolius kept up a steady stream of words, growing increasingly agitated. At long last the captain said a few words and marched away.
Tempolius returned with the news. He said, “The captain seems completely indifferent to my request to visit your prisoner. In fact, he flatly denies any such man by the name of Stin is in their custody. I had to pull out several trump cards to prove I knew for a fact such a man by that name had been delivered into their custody from the marines on King Keel a few days ago. I think that bit of knowledge impressed him. He blinked, anyway.
“Now he says he is going to double check the dungeon’s roster and he’ll get back with me. This is a delay tactic. We’ll likely be here a while, but I’ll go wait at the gate so they’ll know we’re still here.”
And wait they did. The lunch hour had come and gone before the captain reappeared at the gate, this time with another individual in tow
. This fellow wore an orange-red uniform, but not the leather chestpiece of the Royal Guard. His face also seemed rather sallow to Kirt’s eye, as if he rarely walked in the sun. Together, he and the guard spoke with Tempolius.
Tempolius raised his voice, waved his hands, gesticulated with his fingers. The two men stood impassively and watched. Despite the agent’s histrionics, they did not budge.
At last, raising his voice to the point that Kirt and the twins could hear, he waved at them and almost screamed in anger. “Would you deny his wife and child the opportunity to see the husband and father they thought lost at sea? What kind of cruel, heartless animals are you?”
Kirt thought the lies about a wife and child were a nice touch. It certainly invoked sympathy. The captain finally raised his voice, exasperation seeping through. He said, “I have told you, there is no such prisoner here! The jailer here is also telling you this personally, sirrah!”
He pointed to the sallow-faced man he had brought, who nodded somberly, and spoke a few more words Kirt couldn’t here.
Finally, Tempolius turned to leave, a look of anger and disgust on his face as he pushed his cowlick up and out of his eyes. He stopped after a few paces, turned and raised a finger at the men.
“Don’t think this is over! I know for a fact you have our man. There are too many witnesses who saw him! I don’t know what you’ve done with him, but I have plenty of friends in high places to help me find out!”
It seemed to Kirt that the jailer broke out in a sweat. He mopped his brow, and turned to go back inside after hearing this. The captain stood with his fists on his hips, watching Tempolius cross the street, all the time frowning at the departing man’s back. Then he turned and left, too.
Tempolius looked devastated as he approached the cart. It warmed Kirt’s heart that the man actually seemed to care. Then his more cynical nature kicked in and he thought that perhaps his inability to produce Stin after being paid 12 gold caused more distress for the man than any actual concern about Stin’s welfare. He shrugged off the thought as Tempolius addressed Bellasondra and Bartimo, struggling to stay positive in light of developments.
Tempolius said, “I’ve never seen anything like it. They refuse to even admit he was once in their custody. I don’t know why, since I let them know that I know without a doubt he’s in there. Or at least he was taken in there.”
Bartimo said, “What do you think happened?”
Tempolius took a deep breath and looked all three of them in the eye, one by one. Then he let it out in a rush and said, “I’m afraid we have to face the possibility he might be dead.”
Bellasondra raised her hand to her mouth.
Tempolius nodded, acknowledging the look of horror on her face. He said, “It would explain why they refuse to admit they even had him a few days ago. If he disappears, there would be no evidence of mistreatment, no evidence of murder. It would explain their reticence in defiance of all the facts. I’m not saying he is dead. I’m just saying we have to prepare for the possibility.”
He told them he would continue looking into it, and that he would visit his friends in the navy and in the court, and would try and find out what had happened to Stin. He promised to get in touch with them in a day or two, and that he hoped to have more information by then.
With that, he departed. Kirt decided some part of the agent must indeed have true empathy for their plight. He noted that Tempolius did not ask for more gold to continue the search. That impressed the boy, and Tempolius’s stature rose a couple notches in his personal opinion of the man.
Bartimo suggested they catch a late lunch at the Green Eel and see how their supply of Dwarven Stout fared. Unspoken, but felt by all, was the question of what to do next. The day before, Bartimo had sold the last of their casks to another wholesaler. With that deal, he had earned the full 3,000 gold, minus their expenses. The time had come to go home so they could repay their backers.
Bellasondra sunk into a despondent silence, and Kirt really didn’t care where they ate, so Bartimo guided Horse out into the street and headed back in the direction of the docks.
Horse trod forward several hundred paces. Bartimo kept his eye on traffic, trying to prevent collisions with people, horses, and wagons. Bellasondra stared down at the cobblestones with a sad look on her face. Kirt’s eyes wandered everywhere.
A man stepped out of an alley and waved at him. Kirt turned toward the man, the motion attracting his attention.
“Stin!”
Stin waved again, and headed for the street. Kirt tugged on Bartimo’s arm, pointed and said, “Pull over! Pull over, it’s Stin!”
Bellasondra looked where Kirt pointed and gasped. She said, “It is him! Stin! Stin!”
Bartimo eased Horse over to the curb and set the brake. Bellasondra jumped off the cart first and ran, throwing herself in Stin’s arms. He hugged her, pulling her off her feet. Kirt danced around them in a circle, laughing. Bartimo secured the reins and climbed down, walked over and grasped forearms with Stin.
Kirt said, “We thought you were dead!”
Stin smiled at that, but when he spoke he looked at Bellasondra. He said, “No. Not yet.”
She said, “Where have you been?”
“It’s a long story. I know you’ve been out in front of the gate all this time. I would have approached you earlier, but I didn’t want to be seen by the guards. Were you going somewhere to eat?”
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A short while later, in a dark corner of the Green Eel, Kirt noted some differences in Stin. He sat with his back against the wall, and his eyes seemed to take everything in. Kirt could not tell for certain but it seemed like Stin looked beyond the walls, if that were possible. Often he’d stare in a direction in which there were no people.
Several moments later Stin relaxed, and once their food came out he proceeded to tell them his story.
An hour and a half later, he came to the point where he flagged them down off the street. Kirt guessed that Stin had skipped several details and glossed over some others. Now was not the time to press him, though. Not in public. Maybe not even in front of Bartimo and Bellasondra. But he knew Stin held back several bits of information, and he resolved to suss them out sometime in the future.
When Stin stopped talking and took a sip of Dwarven Stout, Bellasondra said, “So, this duke met you down in the dungeon? He had you captured and brought there? What kind of man can wield that power? Besides a king, of course.”
“He’s got a line on royal power, I think that’s certain,” Stin said.
Bartimo said, “I thought you said he was from Ruby.”
“Yes, but evidently he has some sway in other places as well. Like here in Coral.” Stin waved his mug in a dismissive motion. “Where his power lies is not as important as his task for me. Chedwick is offering a considerable sum of gold to retrieve the dagger I took from his townhouse back before I met you all.”
Kirt clued in on the gold. He said, “I thought you said you won an enormous pile of gold in the card games.”
Stin looked at Kirt, his eyes narrowing. He said, “I did. But you can never have too much gold, boy.”
Kirt let it go. After all, that statement was certainly true, even if parts of the rest of his story weren’t adding up.
“Speaking of gold,” Bartimo said, “we’re bringing back our share of the brew sales. We will have close to 450 doublets to our name when we get home. Minus expenses, of course.”
Stin quirked an appreciative eyebrow. He said, “Not bad.”
Somehow Kirt sensed Stin was not overly impressed, despite the comment. How much gold had the thief amassed for himself?
Bartimo said, “You’re coming with us, I presume? A merchant ship is sailing to Refugio with the morning tide. Now that we know what’s become of you, I’ll book passage for everybody.”
Stin took a breath and looked each one of them in the eye. He said, “I’m afraid I can’t. I have given my word to Duke Chedwick that I will find the dagger and return
it to him. I will be traveling back to Greystone Village on the morrow and begin my search from there.”
This time Kirt felt genuine emotion. The boy knew if Stin could have sailed with them, he would have.
Stin spent the remainder of the afternoon with them, riding back to the recently emptied warehouse. Once there, he spent a while softly stroking Horse’s nose. For his part, Horse seemed happy to see his old master, and nuzzled Stin’s face a couple times.
Everybody talked late in the evening, eating a cold supper of salted beef, which comprised the last of the twin’s food. Bartimo had half a sample cask left, and between the three adults they quaffed it all.
Then Stin and Bellasondra left for a late night walk around the docks. Kirt made his way to bed, a hammock strung up in a corner of the warehouse. He lay on his back, hands clasped behind his head, happy to finally have Stin back in his life. In the morning, he resolved, he would bid goodbye to the twins and go with Stin.
Late that night when Bellasondra returned, she and her brother had a loud argument. Kirt slept through it.
On their way to the dock in the morning, the twins weren’t speaking with one another. Kirt didn’t notice because he woke up with a worry of his own. What if Stin didn’t show? He resolved to head back to Greystone Village on his own if that happened, and try and find Stin there.
Bartimo met with armed guards carrying three chests of their gold to the ship, where the purser directed them to a secured part of the hold reserved for valuables. Then he came back out to the dock and waited with his sister and Kirt.
At last Stin appeared, walking through the crowd of passengers gathering near the gangway. Bellasondra rushed over and hugged him, with Kirt following close behind. He tousled the boy’s hair.
“I’m going with you,” Kirt said.
Stin smiled at him.
Bellasondra said, “I am, too.”
They both looked at her with some surprise. Bartimo walked up, frowning. He said, “Yes, my sister made it clear last night that she wishes to accompany you on your quest rather than return home with our gold.”
