Gleeman's Tales

by Matthew Travagline

  “Well,” Oslow said, tapping his staff around until he found a stool to sit on. “Sapphire, the man is reserved, to say the least. But I know a thing or two about‘im. Why don’t you pick my brain?” He toyed with his beard, arranging the hanging gems as though weaving a pattern.

  “Well, what’s his family like?” she asked, wanting to probe into their well-being.

  “I know he comes from a long line of entertainers.”

  “Yes, I know that,” Cleo interrupted. “All the way back to the dawn of the second age. Or so he claims.”

  “Oh?” Oslow arched an eyebrow, his creamy eyes focusing in Cleo’s direction. “I thought you knew nothing of the man.”

  “Well, I uhh—”

  “Cleo, you have to be patient. As I said, he’s reserved. Took me nearly a decade of making and repairing armor for him before he told me of his parentage.”

  “Okay, but what of his living relatives?”

  “Well, as far as I know, he’s got a sister and a niece. That’s it.”

  “Was he ever—” Cleo paused.

  “Married?”

  She nodded, then let out an affirmative mumble.

  “No,” Oslow said. “I’ve heard smatterings of a lover, but those were mere crumbs, and hardly a viable rumor. He’s been traveling around Lyrinth and the continent since he was a lad. I doubt he ever had time to settle down and start a family.” Oslow’s voice held uncertainty. Cleo couldn’t tell if Oslow was lying, or whether he was simply unsure about his own words. “Last I heard, that was why he was retiring, so he could help raise his niece.”

  “So, where are they: his sister and niece? He said something about failing them.”

  “I can’t answer that as I haven’t the slightest clue.”

  Cleo sighed without saying anything.

  “I know that you might be angry with him. Gnochi’s always been like a son to me, but he’s troubled. I sensed it now more than ever. He is, however, the only man with whom I would ever consider traveling. You might run safer with a band of mercenaries, but as long as you hear one of those stories—well I feel like I could die without ever seeing another thing, and I’d be content.” The tanner smiled, nodding his head.

  Cleo thought for a moment. “Thanks, Oo,” she said. “Can I ask a favor?”

  “For you, Sapphire, I’d give the world as I see it.”

  Cleo blushed. “Do you have any spare pens and ink?”

  Oslow pulled at a few stray beard hairs and reined them into the mass. “Haven’t had much use for ‘em since the eyes gave out on me, but I think I’ve got some in the back. Give me a moment.” Oslow retreated to the back room, whistling to himself as Cleo paced the front of the store.

  “Do you need help finding them?” she called out to him.

  “Nah,” he yelled. “I’ve got everything organized so I know exactly where it’s supposed to be, even if I don’t use it.”

  Cleo resumed her pacing. Still tethered to the post outside, Perogie drew her attention by snorting. Cleo saw the mare paw the ground, sending Cleo a concerned look.

  “Found it,” Oslow yelled.

  She disregarded the mare and turned to collect her packages. Oslow handed Cleo two cork-stoppered jars, one of sloshing thin ink, and another of black powder. He wrapped the two in wax paper and tucked a fountain pen, complete with a metal nib, within a fold of the paper. She took the parcel and placed it within the pack on the counter.

  “Thank you, Oo, for everything.”

  “I guess you’ll be going then?”

  “Gnochi and I should make good use of the daylight while we have it,” she said, walking to the entrance of the store with the new pack in hand.

  “Cleo, wait,” Oslow said, stopping her before she exited. “Take care of Gnochi.” The tanner exhaled a burden. “He needs you more than he would ever care to admit.”

  “How can you know? Did he tell you?”

  “He didn’t have to. I felt it through his demeanor and the smile that he so rarely wears.”

  Cleo, pleased to hear this, exited the store and was saddling Perogie when, over the saddle, she spied two riders entering the inn. She paid them little heed upon first glance, but looked back up a moment later, thinking that she recognized them. Perogie shook her mane as if in warning. Without thinking, Cleo sprinted to the front of the inn and crouched beside the cracked-open door listening as the innkeep approached the two travelers.

  “We are looking for two people. A man, maybe in his thirties, probably younger. Scraggly brown beard, dark brown hair. Carries a guitar and fancies himself a jester. Goes by the name of Gnochi,” One man said, Cleo immediately recognizing the voice. Bollo. She sank to the ground.

  “The second person is his whor—a young woman with him,” the second man said, staggering as though he stubbed his toe. “She’s got pale skin, short and thin, pretty like. Kind of has a face like yours, but much prettier. Yours I wouldn’t want to see after a long night. Hers I’d like to see every night of the week.”

  “That’s my niece you’re talking about, Rook.”

  Cleo felt a shard of ice shoot up her spine. She could not believe that her uncle had paired up with Rook and the pair was hunting them.

  “Does it look like we’ve got a jester at the inn?” The innkeep asked. “This place is dead.”

  Cleo heard the sharp sound of glass shattering. She could not hear what was said next, except that the innkeep was sobbing. Cleo glimpsed the two men rushing up the stairs leading toward where she and Gnochi had been staying. She bolted back to Oslow’s store and slammed the door shut behind her.

  “Sapphire is that you? What’s the matter?”

  “Oo, it’s Gnochi!”

  Chapter 12

  An abrupt sound of heavy footsteps thrust Gnochi from his nightmare-riddled nap into the suffocating cocoon of an ensnaring blanket. Flinging it aside, he perched himself up on an elbow, and through the window spied Perogie standing down the street outside of Oslow’s shop. His longtime horse seemed to be peering into the shop and was pawing the ground like she does when under stress. He inched over to the door and listened; crouching at the wall, he realized that the heavy footsteps could not have come from the innkeep. For a moment, he heard nothing, then the faint whispers of a man’s deep voice.

  “Jester. I hope you’re sleeping so I can see the look on your face when I bust down your door.”

  Gnochi recognized the voice, but its identification still dredged through the sleepy haze from which he was waking. He eyed the room looking for potential weapons, then cursed himself for stowing his short sword outside of the small town. He looked to the nightstand for his knife but remembered Cleo taking it and almost shaving his already clean neck with it earlier. The crashing of heavy footfalls announced someone running.

  The room Gnochi had rented was at the end of a long corridor. “As far away from your general customers as possible,” Gnochi had told the innkeep as they paid for their room.

  “Honey,” she had replied, her voice echoing through the chilled hall. “You and the girl are all the company I have, I’m afraid.”

  The footfalls felt heavier and were more discernable. Gnochi braced his hand on the door’s tarnished brass handle, grasped it in his sweaty palm, and pulled it open. Nary had a moment’s wake passed before a brutish form barreled into the doorway. In the same split instant, Gnochi identified the man as Rook, the sailor he had tussled with in Imuny, and he pushed all his weight into closing the door. In that same moment, any number of first age curses ran through his mind, though he refrained from uttering them.

  Gnochi was quick enough in closing the door to shank the sailor’s right shoulder.

  With his balance off, and his center of gravity awry, Rook tumbled, smashed his face into the heavy oak footboard and settled in a heap on the floor. Blood seeped out of his mangled nose.

  Gnochi leaned over and nudged Rook with his boot. “You need to rethink your plan of attack. Twice you’ve charged at me like a Pampl
ona bull. Twice I’ve bloodied your snout.” Gnochi stood, feeling chuffed at his handiwork, but failed to realize that Rook may not have come alone. He was still beaming over his subdued opponent when he felt the cool sting of a blade pressed to his throat. The slightest bead of deep ruby ichor traced itself down Gnochi’s throat. Swallowing a lump, he felt the blade press deeper into his skin. The tension at his throat eased as the knife was withdrawn. He heard a man’s voice speak behind him. “You slept with my niece!” A pressure exploded behind Gnochi’s ears. He found himself falling, and soon saw himself eye-level with Rook, the beginnings of a welt already swelling on the back of his head.

  ◆◆◆

  The innkeeper sat, nursing a swollen eye that had bruised from light mauve to a deep maroon. She caught sight of Cleo sneaking towards the stairwell that leads to the hallway of rentable rooms. A low din of men’s voices emanated from up the stairs. She pounded on her desk, trapping Cleo’s gaze like that of a wild animal ensnared by the ankle. Her voice somehow sounded calm despite the fear pickling in her gut. “You have that delivery of bread?” she asked, shaking her head as she pointed to her black eye and upstairs. “I’ll help you unload it out back,” she said, gesturing for Cleo to follow. As soon as the two were around the corner of the inn, she turned to Cleo and whispered, “You’re Cleo, right? You came with the bard?” The girl nodded. “The men plan to use your friend as bait in luring you in. One of them seems to be an uncle of yours? At least, he said he was.”

  “Bollo,” Cleo said, affirming her suspicions.

  “Did the bard kidnap you, hon?” The innkeeper asked, resting a hand on Cleo’s.

  “What? No! I’m as free a woman as you are, and I chose to travel with Gnochi as his apprentice. My uncle and I had a falling out. The creep that’s with him attacked me when we were in Imuny, and Gnochi defended me.” She sat down on her haunches and furrowed her brows.

  “Yeah, he’s a real charmer,” the innkeeper spat. “What are you planning? Because whatever it is, I want to, and will, help you get your master out of town.” Despite the bruise covering her right eye, she looked down at Cleo with a fitting look of determination. Her fists were clenched tight, knuckles, white from tension.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jean,” the innkeep said.

  “Okay, Jean. And it’s only the two of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did they mention if they were leaving?”

  “No, in fact they told me to yell to them if you returned. I heard a loud crash up there, but still heard the one, your uncle, speak, so I don’t think Gnochi was able to fend them off.” Cleo winced. In the distance, thunder rumbled as the first clouds preceding a storm appeared over the western horizon.

  “Okay, come with me. Three minds should be able to outwit these two brutes.”

  “Three?”

  “Yes - you, me, and Oo.”

  “Oh, you know Oslow?”

  ◆◆◆

  Rain that began early in the afternoon, drummed on the tin roof. Cleo had helped Oslow move a few of his tanning racks inside and was tying Perogie’s rein under a large awning when Oslow asked, “You aren’t going to push me on the ground again are you?” His question caused Jean to raise an eyebrow. “Because old men like me should not fall too often. If I break a hip, the bonesetter might not be able to get me back on my feet.”

  “No, I promise I won’t throw you,” Cleo said, her cheeks warming. “It needs to fit tight. I can’t afford it encumbering me when I’m busting Gnochi out.”

  Oslow tightened the new leather armor to her small frame. She almost asked him how he could see the armor well enough it in the dark but managed to restrain the wild comment. His large calloused hands seemed to take the same precaution touching her as an artist’s would take refining a sculpture. As each piece was mounted to her body, she stretched and flexed her muscles under the leather skin.

  Half an hour later, Cleo was digging through the packs she retrieved from the woods, looking for something she could use in the coming fight. She passed over the bow, remembering the last time she practiced target shooting. She unsheathed Gnochi’s short sword. It looked uncharacteristically plain and unadorned. Despite its quaint appearance, the blade felt heavy in her hands, and as she had practiced little with a sword in the past, so she passed that over as well. All that remained was the hunting knife Gnochi usually wore at his belt. Sliding it from its oiled sheath, she was shocked at its imposing curve. In the poor light, she could only make out the slightest reflection of her face on its polished surface.

  “Oh, you aren’t planning on killing them, are you?” Jean asked, lines of worry running deep creases across her forehead.

  “Well, you want them out of your inn. I want them away from Gnochi. The only way I can stop them from following us again is to permanently end them.” Cleo feared that her words betrayed how awkward and unfamiliar she was with the thought of killing. She frowned, trying to exude a confidence that taking a life was second nature.

  “What if there were another way to rid yourselves of them?” Oslow asked, taking a miniscule pair of scissors and snipping at the end of his bejeweled beard.

  “Jail doesn’t work, Oo. They’ll wait, get out, and find us again,” Cleo said.

  “I’m thinking of something a little more permanent,” Oslow said, smiling. “Give me a minute in back.”

  Cleo tucked the blade back into its sheath and looked to Jean. “Are you sure you’re okay with the plan? It will put you in harm’s path should I fail.”

  “I fear what they would have done once they realized you were not coming back. No, this is the only way. I just wish I could do more.”

  “I can think of no other way to lure one of them out, and I can’t take them both on at the same time. As it is, I can’t take them on in one-on-one combat. I’m relying heavily on surprise and their arrogance.” Her somber comments killed further conversation. The two resigned to wait in silence for Oslow to return.

  “Make way, make way. Oo enters bearing gifts.” He re-admitted himself to the room carrying a second staff similar to his own with its capped end. The new staff was shorter. A velvet pouch dangled from one of his clenched hands. “Lady Sapphire and Mistress Jean, I have a solution to our predicament that not only absolves us of any witnesses and secures safe passage for the lady and Gnochi, but also prevents unnecessary loss of life. Cleo, where are you?”

  “Here, Oo.” Oslow tossed the second quarterstaff in her direction. She caught it, noting right away its lead-capped tip.

  “I actually stole this idea from Gnochi. You must know by now that his leather torso armor is unique.” Cleo snickered at the thought of the armor formed to give the appearance of inactivity. “I adapted it and secured the end of this staff inside a lead weight. I was planning to put a magnet in the bottom and use it whenever I drop nails or studs, but it’s too short for me.”

  Cleo inspected the staff, resting its heavy-tip on the ground. She noted that it stood just taller than her own height.

  “Now,” Oslow said, testing his own staff. “A swing to the head with a normal quarterstaff might cause a nasty headache. A swing to the head with this one will leave even a helmeted soldier unconscious. So, you won’t need to kill them. You can give them a few good whacks, then rescue Gnochi and be off.” Oslow pursed his lips and rubbed his beard. “Think of it as another gift in the hopes that I might one day repay you for the Sapphire of Ages.”

  “But what’s to stop them from getting back up and following us?” Cleo said, ignoring mention of the sapphire. “Or exacting their revenge on you? I’d rather not steal one of their horses. They’ve been pushed hard to get here so quick, and they’re near dead. I don’t suppose any of you have a horse we could buy or borrow?”

  Jean shook her head.

  “I have no horse,” Oslow said. “Some towns are one-horse-towns. Mirr is a no-horse-town. Though I suppose that’s a joke Gnochi would better appreciate. Either way, anyone who might’ve ha
d a horse took it with them to Pike’s Cathedral.” Oslow chuckled to himself. “I digress. We won’t need to worry about backlash from those two. By tomorrow morning, the townsfolk who have traveled to Pike’s Cathedral to volunteer their labor in the slow healing process should have returned. With that, our constable. And the folks who took refuge in the woods will ease out. Plus, those two won’t be able to exact their revenge, nor will they be able to follow you, because of this.” Oslow placed the velvet pouch on the counter.

  ◆◆◆

  Night descended on the mostly-vacated town of Mirr as though it was a cat stalking its drunken prey. Because of the day’s rain, however, the sky was plenty dark well before the sun finished slipping below the horizon. Night’s normally calming effect failed to lessen the rains which intensified in the darkness. The earlier rains had yet to let up and seemed to be intensifying.

  With aches settling into her thighs, Cleo crouched in the crawlspace under the inn’s stairs. A minute earlier, the grunts of a beating could be heard wafting down from a room above. A pewter plate filled with eggs and some minced vegetables steamed in front of Cleo, but she pushed it aside. Bile threatened to creep up and out of her mouth, but Cleo tensed and swallowed it back.

  The hollow sound of someone ascending the stairs roused her from her anticipation. Cleo heard the steps recede into the inn, and then a quieting of the beating din. She thought she heard the sharp clink of pewter as Rook and Bollo guzzled down the laced wine. The dull rhythm of the beating started anew, though with reduced vigor. Jean’s light steps descended the stairs and she walked into the empty hall sitting by the fire. Peeking through a crack in one of the kickboards, Cleo saw Jean’s one good eye unmoving in its focus on the top landing of the stairs.

  Jean nodded as if she felt Cleo’s eyes on her face.