The King's Spy (The Augur's Eye Book 2)

by Guy Antibes

  “You can catch up to us in Garri,” Whit said. “That is our destination. I’ll let you figure out the rest. I’m not going to let an immature outburst like yours derail my expedition.” He turned around and left the jail followed by the rest.

  “Aren’t you being a little harsh?” Zarl asked.

  “Am I being harsh, Fistian? Argien?”

  “He deserves a lot more,” both of them said.

  Zarl shrugged as he got up on the driver’s box. “I’m wanting to see open spaces for a bit,” the ogre said. He shivered. “I don’t want to be cooped up in a jail again.”

  Fistian looked a little guilty. “I’ll drive the other carriage. The best thing about the recent events is that Deechie won’t be with us. The horses won’t mind one less body to pull, and I’m going to enjoy the next ten days.”

  “So will we all,” Gambol said. “I wish he would have been incarcerated for six months, then we wouldn’t have had to worry about him at all.”

  “Maybe Deechie won’t want to continue,” Yetti said. “He might not be motivated enough to travel by himself to find us.”

  “He will,” Gambol said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he could lose his job at the magic college if he doesn’t catch up to us.”

  “I’m more interested in the wand the constable used,” Razz said. “I’ve heard of them but never saw one in action. They aren’t allowed in the hands of the common people, mostly for the military. There are rules about using them in treaties.”

  “A magical device for you to learn about?” Gambol asked Whit.

  “Even if it is illegal, I might be able to duplicate it as a university project,” Whit said. “Maybe something to learn about next year. Let’s get on the road.”

  They continued out of the town and into the countryside. Festor was like one big, idyllic farm. Everything was well kept, looking fertile and productive.

  “It is a land out of a story,” Whit said to Razz, who sat across the carriage from Whit and Yetti.

  “There is a dark underbelly to Festor,” Razz said. “You saw the local constable with the magic eliminator. I’ve had them used on our drivers before in this country, but nowhere else. Our drivers are usually strong enough so no one will take advantage of them, but I have heard of bad experiences from other travelers.”

  “Like what?” Yetti asked.

  “Like getting beaten up or killed. When their bodies were inspected by relatives, they had been robbed of all their goods. The constabularies said the killers did it. In a pub brawl? Not likely,” Razz said, folding his arms and leaning back against the seat. “I made sure the constables knew that Zarl could break out of the jail on his own strength and Fistian and I were bigger than the two constables that took us in.”

  “What happened to the other guys in the fight?” Yetti asked.

  “Never arrested.”

  Whit nodded. “That was just a story about having to do public service?”

  “That’s all it was, a story,” Razz said.

  Yetti looked frightened. “What will we do? We have days of travel in Festor.”

  “Don’t get into trouble. The bad things happen after the victims have been arrested. No more drinking in town,” Razz said.

  “I can drink in my room, if I have an urge,” Yetti said.

  “I don’t recommend camping by the side of the road either. Some jurisdictions require a permit to sleep outside. We are moving fast enough not to have to do that,” Razz said. “It’s better to move quickly and behave ourselves as we travel.

  Whit wouldn’t have any trouble keeping to those rules. It couldn’t be all that bad if Whit hadn’t learned about a hostile traveling environment at Herringbone. Razz’s wagons probably moved through Festor many times to come up with the stories. The three brawlers in his group had been let off easy enough.

  ~

  Rain slowed the carriages up for two days. They would have to stay at a large village before reaching the town that Piesson Nistia lived, and then they would slip into Perisia. They had a single choice for an inn, the only one that could handle two carriages.

  The drivers, Whit and Gambol, were drenched. Whit could use his magic to dry his clothes, but Gambol couldn’t. They checked in, finding that gnomes dominated the village. Most of them worked in the large furniture factory they passed on the way in.

  It didn’t take long for Whit and Gambol to return to the common room, the only eating area at the inn, for an early evening meal. They would get up early and arrive in Barkle Town midday to search for Yetti’s “relation.”

  The room was full of gnomes. The smell of drying, sweaty clothes almost overpowered Whit, and he guessed his friends weren’t enjoying the odor of the common room either. Yetti waved her hand with an outstretched finger, using it like a wand and set the air moving. It wasn’t enough to be called a gentle breeze, but it helped, in Whit’s opinion.

  A gnome, almost Fistian’s size, walked up. “Pixies aren’t appreciated here,” the man said.

  He looked belligerent, and there were a few grunts of assent behind him.

  “Isn’t a little breeze nice?” Yetti said.

  Whit thought she had handled that nicely rather than call the gnomes out for stinking up the place.

  “I don’t like pixies,” the man said, almost repeating himself.

  “You won’t have to put up with her for long. Just let us have a meal, and we will return to our rooms and be out of your village after breakfast tomorrow,” Razz said.

  The gnome leaned over the table where they all still sat. “I said I don’t like pixies. Now what do you think that means?”

  Fistian rose, but Whit put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and forced him to sit. “Remember what happened a few towns ago,” Whit said softly.

  “Are you calling me names?” the gnome said to Whit.

  “No. I was telling my friend that we mean you no disrespect,” Whit said.

  “From what I can tell, you are giving me a bucketload of disrespect, and I still don’t like pixies.” The man punched Argien in the face, knocking the angel off his chair.

  “You can’t do that!” Zarl said, standing up. The gnome looked up at Zarl and kicked him between the legs, sending Zarl backing up and bumping another table of gnomes, knocking their drinks to the floor.

  Whit couldn’t believe what was going on. The constables were sure to come, now, as the gnomes at the table grumbled in anger and rose. Whit’s group couldn’t fight an entire room of irate gnomes.

  “It is time for a retreat,” he said, just as a gnome threw a punch at Whit, who deftly dodged the fist.

  Whit’s heart sank. He couldn’t let that pass and struck back, knocking the gnome to the floor. Another took his place and suddenly mayhem erupted.

  The common room was filled with fighters. It became a melee, and soon Whit couldn’t tell the fighters apart except for his group. He began pulling them out of the common room until Gambol and he were the only two remaining in the fight when four gnomish constables ran into the inn.

  “Stop this fight, now!” the uniformed constable said. The other three wore badges and black hats as their uniform.

  The gnomes backed up and the constables split the fighters up into two groups. Whit was surprised that the gnome who started it all was on Whit’s side. The gnome gave Whit half a smile and nodded. What had he gotten his group into?

  The uniformed gnome pulled out a wand. “Who used magic?”

  “No one,” the gnome who started it all said.

  “Even the elves?” the constable looked flabbergasted.

  “And an ogre, who left the fight without doing much,” another gnome said.

  The wand was put away, much to Whit’s relief.

  “Everyone pitches in and shares the cost of damages,” the leader said. The innkeeper sat down at one of the intact tables while one of his serving maids took inventory. He gave it to the constable who put prices on the furniture and broken crockery and split the damage into two lists.


  “Here is your bill. We will accept foreign coins,” the constable said looking over the master list. “Pay up now, or you’ll be heading to jail.”

  The gnome who started it all stepped forward and tossed a few coins on a table. “You know the rest of us are good for it.”

  “A night in jail for all the villagers,” the constable said.

  “I’ll be right back with the money,” Whit said, looking over the list. The cost was pretty high for only a share of the damages.

  One of the constables accompanied Whit to his room and offered to take the money, but Whit said, “I’ll want a receipt.”

  The constable shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  The other fighters had already left the room. The three other constables were joking with the innkeeper, but they shut up as soon as Whit entered.

  “Here is your money. It seems a little high, to me,” Whit said.

  “We make expensive furniture in the village,” the leader said. “Have a safe trip, wherever you are going.”

  The constable left the innkeeper directing his serving staff to clear out the common room. Even the undamaged furniture was being cleared out. Whit examined it. The chairs seemed sturdy enough, but they weren’t fancy by any stretch.

  Gambol came back downstairs. “We didn’t damage the kitchen. Make sure we get food sent to our rooms.”

  The innkeeper heard Gambol’s comment to Whit. “Don’t worry. Your group will be taken care of.” The man seemed too amiable for having his common room destroyed.

  An hour later, when Whit had finished his meal with Razz and Argien, who sported a bruised cheek, Whit had a thought. “I’m going to head over to the constabulary,” he said. “I want to see if the gnomes are really spending the night in jail.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Razz said.

  They left through the stable door and walked quietly in the pleasant evening air and could hear singing coming from down the street. As they approached the constabulary, they went down an alley that ran down the side of the building and peeked through a barred window.

  The gnomes, including the innkeeper were having a grand time, drinking, eating, and singing. It was clear no gnomes were being punished in the jail.

  The gnome who started it all toasted another. “Here is to foreigners and their largesse refurnishing our pub.” He looked at the innkeeper. “You owe me a week’s worth of drinks!”

  “You got it!” the innkeeper said.

  Everyone laughed, and Razz looked at Whit. “If we had a few of my drivers, we would take care of the lot.”

  “Anything we do in retribution will only make us lose more. I suppose we paid a lot for our education today,” Whit said. He did notice one of those magic-killing wands put in a drawer. “Is this window unlocked?”

  Razz moved the bars. The bottom wasn’t even secured to the frame. “I wonder if Yetti can put someone to sleep?”

  Early in the morning before they were to set off, Yetti and Whit flew over to the constabulary. The room was empty except for a single guard snoring in a cot in one of the jail cells. The theft wasn’t very difficult. Yetti threw a spell from the back window of the jail down at the constable. She held the grill open at the window while Whit flew to the desk and lifted the wand. They never touched the ground during their foray and were up and on the road before the constable likely woke up.

  Razz put the wand in the secret compartment while everyone grabbed bread and filled their water bottles to eat breakfast on the road. Off they went.

  An hour later three familiar constables caught up to them and stopped the carriages.

  “Where is it?” the leader said, much less happy than he was the last time Whit saw him celebrating with the villagers.

  “What?” Gambol asked. Whit hadn’t told him about his early-morning activity.

  “My wand. It is gone.”

  Yetti furrowed her brow. “You don’t look like a pixie,” she said.

  The constable growled. “I’m no pixie! Anyone can use a wand.”

  “Not gnomes,” Gambol said. “I know, because I am one.”

  The constable frowned. “Search their things!”

  Whit didn’t want anything that would keep them from crossing through Festor another time and let the constables tear everything apart looking for the wand. The compartment was never discovered.

  “Search them, even the pixie woman,” the leader said. He even pitched in and shook his head. “I don’t know how you did it or how you hid it, but I can’t find it.”

  “You can’t find something that isn’t here,” Gambol said with a condescending smile. “If you will permit, we need to be in Barkle Town by midday.”

  “You’ll make it,” the constable said grudgingly. The three men mounted and left a mess behind for Whit’s team to repack.

  “Why were they looking for a wand?” Zarl asked.

  Whit looked down the road. So far, only Razz and Yetti knew about the theft. “Guilty conscience, I suppose.”

  Gambol drove, and Whit decided to join him on the driver’s box. Yetti and Argien slept most of the morning away in the carriage with the others nursing their injuries in the other carriage.

  “Why did they search us for a wand?” Gambol said. “You didn’t appropriate it, did you?”

  “I did. It is hidden.” Whit told Gambol how he felt after being tricked into buying new furniture for the innkeeper. “Are there any honest people in Festor?” Whit asked.

  Gambol laughed. “I suppose there are in the bigger cities. But in the villages everyone is too close knit. You lived in Whistle Vale. It was closed, just like the closed countries we will visit. There are blood ties that supersede honesty toward strangers.”

  Whit nodded. “I suppose that’s right. I’ve experienced it enough. I should have put it into the right perspective.”

  “That doesn’t mean you have to like it. But we stayed out of trouble long enough until it found us.”

  “Zarl and Argien were found the most trouble,” Whit said. “We are lucky that Zarl knows how to measure his strength. If things were serious, he would be unstoppable.”

  “Indeed he would,” Gambol said. “He enjoyed the fight, except for the first blow, of course.”

  Whit laughed. “Of course. We can look at the wand when we reach Garri.” He wished he had it in his hand to examine right then, but he still felt very guilty for stealing it.

  Chapter Five

  ~

  B arkle Town was mostly a pixie place, being so close to the border with Perisia. With the pixies being a diminutive race, some of the districts seemed small to Whit’s eye, and Yetti reminded him that pixies built their dwellings for pixies, not for ogres.

  “Do you know where Nistia lives?” Whit asked.

  She looked at the buildings passing by. “No. I’ve never really met him, just heard about Uncle Pin, my mother called him. He is supposed to be a character.”

  “I thought all pixies were characters,” Whit said with a smile.

  That brought a frowny pout from Yetti. “We are impulsive and free.”

  “Good,” Whit said. “I hope the king of Perisia isn’t too impulsive and lets us be free.”

  “He should,” Yetti said.

  They passed a scout field. Two teams were playing, and the style of play indicated pixie players.

  “Have you ever played scout?” Whit asked Yetti.

  “No. It is on my watch list. It’s something that I will only watch,” she said with a smile.

  Whit turned his head as the field passed. “Perhaps we will take in a game this evening if one is being played.”

  “You are the scout enthusiast,” Yetti said.

  Razz stopped the carriages at an inn in the town center. Barkle was almost the size of a city, so there were inns to choose from. He poked his head in the window of the carriage.

  “We are in the best inn for all the folk in the town. Most of the others are pixie-sized.”

  Yetti narrowed her eyes. “Is that a
criticism?”

  Razz shook his head. “No. It is a fact. I’d rather not be hitting my head on the doorframe. Think of Zarl.”

  Yetti’s eyebrows raised. “I can think of Zarl, just fine. Let me off so I can begin to find my relative.”

  Razz withdrew his head and opened the door, helping Yetti out, but she jumped and floated slowly to the sidewalk built of the same cobbles as the pavement.

  “I won’t fly, but you won’t need to help me down,” Whit said. “Where is the stable?”

  “On the next block behind the inn,” Razz said. “My drivers like everything about that inn but the price. They need to contribute a bit of their own money if they want to stay here.”

  Whit watched Yetti saunter down the street with Argien in tow. Gambol, Zarl, and Fistian went inside while Razz and Whit took the carriages down an alley and into a stable yard right behind the inn. Bags for the night had already been packed by the travelers, and Whit tipped the stable hands for bringing them to their rooms.

  Razz retrieved the wand for Whit after the stable hands left with the bags and covered the hiding place with their other luggage. The two friends walked inside the inn. Whit thought the place was very presentable. They found Gambol still talking to the innkeeper, or rather, Zarl was talking to the innkeeper with Gambol and Fistian looking on. The woman at the desk was an ogre, and Zarl looked happy talking to her.

  “She knows Piesson Nistia,” Gambol said.

  “Then Yetti—”

  Gambol made a pushing motion with his hand. “Let her stretch her legs. A good walk will do both some good. I think I’d like to stay long enough to get a good exercise session in. Fistian agrees.”

  “Then we can do that. Deechie is still incarcerated, so we have plenty of time to get to Garri and situated without him,” Whit said.

  “If he shows up,” Razz said.

  Gambol smiled. “He will.”

  Zarl finished and introduced Razz and Whit. “I’d like to stay an extra day or two,” Zarl said. “We have lots of mutual friends in Delica.”

  “We were just talking about that.” Whit also didn’t know what kind of cooperation they would get from Piesson Nistia.