Gleeman's Tales

by Matthew Travagline

  “I am all but certain that this Perm, as you call it, is an army if I’ve ever seen one. Heading straight to the capital, no doubt because of Providence’s growing fear of turmoil. The only reason that I can surmise the need for the guise of a menagerie is because something is happening and the civil war is upon us, but Providence does not want to tip his hand by recalling his armies.” His voice sounded forlorn, as if the thought of a civil war terrified him. “How am I doing, Dorothea? Stop me when I’m off.”

  “How? Did the peasants tell you?” Dorothea asked, his voice cracked and smoldering.

  “They said nothing.” Cleo said. She felt Gnochi’s hand on her shoulder, his eyes assuring her that he was in control.

  “Do you forget that I am an entertainer,” Gnochi said. “What you’re trying, or rather failing, to feign? My job requires that I do more than simply sing Kumbaya around the fire. I see through your veil so clearly that I probably know more about your men than you do.” Dorothea’s face reddened. “Additionally, I’m quite familiar with the Nimbus troupes of which you claim to be a part by controlling many of their wagons. I’m privy to those high up in Nimbus, yet I’ve never heard of a ringleader named Dorothea, let alone one of your personality and eccentricities. Walking through your people, I saw at least three quarters of them still wearing their arms on their hips, anticipation wrought on their weary mugs. How long has it been since they’ve been paid?” Gnochi paused, his stern face directed at the ringleader, who, for his part, had averted his eyes. “Really, Dorothea, is this an army or a band of mercenaries?”

  “You’ve got it all figured out,” Dorothea confessed, raising his hands in mock resignation. “So, why don’t you go tell everyone?”

  “Because, like I said, I need to travel west, and solo travel is getting more and more treacherous with the coming winteryear.”

  “That’s it? You join us. That’s all you want? Safe passage?”

  “Food, one of your wagons for myself and my apprentice to sleep in, an extra horse. I’ve been walking for far too—”

  “Done, what of salary?”

  “We don’t need one,” Gnochi said to Cleo’s dismay.

  “You can have all of that, so long as you keep your traps shut about knowing our true colors,” Dorothea said. “He’ll kill me if he finds out I let an outsider know.” Dorothea fell to his knees and loudly moaned as though in pain. “Ah, who am I kidding, I’m a dead man.”

  “Get up, you fool,” Gnochi hissed. “Get up! If someone is listening, they will know that you’re compromised by your loud wailing.” He rubbed his chin. “As much as it pains me to admit this, if you suddenly start pampering your new recruits, whoever Providence has buried among your ranks will see that you’ve been compromised and make a move to kill you and assume control of the menagerie. I mean, it’s not like you’re giving free rides to anyone else. We cannot be the anomaly.”

  “So, we need to make the deal fairer,” Dorothea said, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

  “Gnochi, you could tell stories to the players,” Cleo offered. “Their morale is low. They could benefit from a few good stories.”

  “That’s a start,” Gnochi said. “But let me take it a step further. I’ll bring your soldiers’ morale back to manageable levels, but anyone with half a brain will still see through the veil, so I’ll work to train some of your men in the lesser arts of juggling, music, and the like. Nothing too serious, but enough to throw off a prissy city snob.”

  “You’ll work for me even though you could end me?” Dorothea asked. “What’s to stop me from having you killed in your sleep?”

  “I suppose saying a soldier’s honor isn’t the best answer. Neither of us have much of a choice. If you’re truly working for the king, then he will have eyes and ears in your midst. You’ll need to maintain your predetermined roles and mannerisms for this farce to survive. Regardless of whom you work for, I still need safe passage west, and the back-alley brigand is not likely to attack a large company of travelers.”

  “Huh?”

  “Just pretend we never had this conversation. Treat me as you would any other player.”

  Dorothea smiled.

  “Remember though,” Gnochi said, gripping Dorothea’s jaw, “I hold the power. Make no move. Speak not to Boli herself. Only to me.”

  Dorothea stammered, his legs shaking.

  “Quit clicking your heels and wake the hell up,” Gnochi hissed.

  Dorothea blinked twice. A light seemed to flutter behind his eyes. Then he sucked in a great breath and, in a reanimated voice, yelled: “Get out! Both of you! I expect you to start working as early as tomorrow!” Dorothea rushed off into one of the sectioned areas of the tent without further regard for his newest players.

  Chapter 19

  “There’s an ounce of pure evil in this creature,” Harvey explained, as Gnochi watched him lead a reluctant horse to the wagon where he and Cleo now lived. Its unwillingness to approach the new people was evident through wild snorting and pulling back on the reins.

  The haggard-looking wagon that Cleo and Gnochi shared, like the other wagons in the menagerie, was shoddily repaired, but Gnochi inspected its under-mechanisms and was satisfied that they would expire well after this leg of the journey. Unlike others, this wagon still had functioning glass windows, but heavy black curtains trapped the light before it could enter through and illuminate the cramped space. One wall of the wagon was lined with locked cabinetry. The sole cot filled much of the remaining space. Though it was cramped, Gnochi appreciated the insulated walls and sturdy roof.

  “I told Dorothea that this horse would not be ridden, but he insisted that you two get this particular horse,” Harvey said, dragging Gnochi from his thoughts. “His name is Fester.” He patted the horse on its muscular neck. “He’s a decommissioned warhorse and has an attitude to match battle. I should know. I used to ride him before I got my new mount. He’s a little skittish, and not too fond of humans. Last lad who hopped on its back got thrown off. He’s got a slight limp.”

  “Who? The boy or the horse,” Cleo asked. Harvey snickered.

  “Charming,” Gnochi replied. “Alright, I’ll break him in, but you’re riding him, Boli,” he said, turning to Cleo who had been rubbing down Perogie.

  For her part, the midnight mare eyed her new companion with a look that said: if you so much as stick your snout somewhere it shouldn’t be, I’ll give you a limp to match on your other side.

  “I’ll need a coil of rope, some water and a carrot,” Gnochi said. “Maybe a burlap sack if you have one.”

  “You’re a fool.” Cleo made an effort sucking on her teeth in disapproval. “In what world would that possibly work?” She then lowered her voice so only Harvey and Gnochi could hear her. “Typical men. If something doesn’t bend to your will immediately, you need to break it. I’ll calm this horse and mount it. Then you can ride it, Gnochi,” she said. “I get to ride Perogie.”

  “Fine,” Gnochi said, restraining his commentary. “But if you get thrown off and injured, you can sit in the wagon all day while I ride Perogie.” Though he feared for her, the thought of her being humbled, amused him. “Personally, I’d take getting thrown off over taking a hoof any day,” he said, massaging his side and imagining that his trusty mare was whickering at his past pain. “Yes, I am talking about you, crazy mare.”

  “Let me guess, you tried the sack on her?” Cleo smiled.

  Harvey wore a frown and his lips quivered until he could restrain himself no more. He grabbed at Gnochi’s arm. “Don’t you think that you should stop—”

  “He needs to learn this lesson,” Gnochi interrupted. “I am not only his master, but I am also teaching him how to survive in this world on his own. You do well not to question my actions.” He hoped that he was not over-emphasizing the gender too much but wanted to be sure in case anyone was eavesdropping.

  Harvey crossed his thin arms on his chest and puffed out air.

  Cleo approached the starless-night colore
d horse. She uttered soothing sounds that seemed immediately to placate its jitters and then pulled, from under her poncho, the larger half of a knotty carrot, its vibrant orange color dulled by the overcast morning sky. Perogie whinnied, her face looking betrayed. Cleo glanced back at the mare and snorted, seemingly reading her expression as well as Gnochi had. She returned her attention to Fester and pushed the carrot to his lips, allowing him to nibble the root. The horse flickered its tail as she whispered to it.

  Gnochi watched Harvey’s unwavering gaze directed at his apprentice. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Harvey?” Gnochi whispered, his voice low enough so Cleo could not overhear.

  Harvey slinked off into the menagerie as other inhabitants finished readying themselves for travel.

  Turning around, Gnochi was surprised to feel the snout of the horse, adorned with the healed pink flesh of a scar down its length, blowing air into his face.

  From atop its back, Cleo looked to exert a mastery of control over the warhorse. She sauntered it in a show circle around him. “What’re you going to name your new horse?” she giggled.

  Grumbling, he answered, “Harvey said his name is Fester.”

  “That’s a harsh name for such a sweetie,” Cleo said, jumping from the horse’s back. “Well, Fester, please keep an eye on my old master. He’s not as nimble as I am,” she said. Before Gnochi could retort, Cleo had thrust the reins into his hands and ran for Perogie, throwing her arms around the black mare’s neck saying “Oh ‘Ogie! I’m all yours!”

  Gnochi turned from his apprentice’s celebration with his previous, traitorous mount. He patted Fester's neck. “It’s only for a few months at most, Fest. Then you can go back to hating everyone.”

  Chapter 20

  Cleo meandered around camp by herself as Gnochi was introduced to his future students. After spiraling around the camp from Dorothea’s tent-wagon, she found herself at an enclosure much taller than she was with a grey shape looming high overhead. Walking the outside of the wall, Cleo came upon a tiny gate and slipped in. There, standing tall and looking out over the menagerie was an elephant—an animal she had only heard about through her schooling but had never seen. The beast’s skin melded with the dreary morning clouds. It kicked up a small cloud of dust as its eyes spied her the moment she entered. Then she realized that Harvey, her guide around the camp, was also in the enclosure. He stood hunched over some paper, scrawling with charcoal and mumbling aloud to himself.

  She looked around at the other items in the enclosure. A large flat saddle-rug was rolled up under a table. Her eyes were drawn to the various items that adorned the table’s clean wooden surface. A split whip was coiled tight in a pile like a snake writhing in fury. Scraps of paper anchored by loose stones fluttered in the gentle morning breeze. She inched toward the table, Harvey’s back to her, keeping one eye trained on the elephant. On those pages, she realized as she approached, were hand-written notes of what looked like mathematical equations. One page looked to be ripped from a medicinal glossary, some of the words near the spine were shorn in two.

  What captivated her most was a glass jar filled halfway with dulled golden hay. Sitting atop the hay were four leaves, their stems cut so meticulously clean at their bases that Cleo might’ve thought they grew in that stunted manner. She picked the sealed jar up and brought the foggy glass to her eyes so she could examine the four leaves. Despite the lack of sun overhead, Cleo thought that she could see the faintest black skeleton of veins spanning each leaf as she held the jar to the sky.

  “Boli, what’re you doing?”

  Startled, Cleo let out a squeak inaudible to all but the elephant and dropped the jar to the ground. The glass shattered into a million micro-shards. She stared in disbelief as the gentle wind whisked away tufts of the hay into the breeze, then she became aware of a fire burning in her nose and drying out her throat. Her eyes watered as a heavy pungent odor rippled through the enclosure’s air.

  “Boli, get back! Those are bone-flower leaves,” Harvey yelled, rushing to the accident. Before she could inch back, he pushed her out of the way and, tearing his shirt from his torso, enclosed the broken jar and its contents in order to mask their odor.

  Cleo turned in the air and landed with her face in the grass, the long stems tickling her nostrils. Taking a small breath, she found the air to be palatable and a welcome relief from the burning haze that had paralyzed her. She continued gulping in the crisp air, relishing its earthy musk and the tickling pollen. After a few minutes, she felt someone standing in front of her head. She craned her neck up and saw Harvey with a grim look on his face.

  “Sorry for tossing you aside,” he said, offering his hand. “Those bone-flower leaves can be pungent, though I don’t need to tell you.”

  Cleo grabbed his hand, and with his help, picked herself up. Harvey’s grip felt soft like the downy of fallen leaves, yet they were supported by a seemingly unnatural strength. She dusted grass and hay from her pants. As she righted the hat on her head, she looked up and her eyes met his. He offered a calming gaze, warm like the embers of a roaring fire, she felt the tension ease out of her face.

  “It can be quite disorienting the first time you encounter it,” he said, staring over Cleo’s eyes. “You’ve got a—here I’ll get it,” he said, reaching in front of her ear with one calculated movement and plucking a strand of hay that had fallen from the hat.

  As his hand brushed her temple, Cleo shivered. Through her mind flashed scents from her childhood of secretly running through the forest in the autumn, the decaying leaves cushioning her feet and quieting her movements.

  He offered the stray piece in his open palm to show he meant no ill will. Harvey must have spied her glancing down at his still-exposed chest and blushing cheeks. His own cheeks darkened a shade as all the excess blood from his body recessed in his face. Hoping to redirect the conversation, he walked towards the table and grabbed one of the papers scrawled with charcoal, then pointed to the elephant and said, “It was for Typhus. He’s been lethargic of late and hasn’t been eating his whole meals. I thought that this would wake him up and help to cleanse whatever bug he’s carrying around in his gut. I’ve been trying to figure out the appropriate ratio of leaf to feed. If I give him too much, I risk killing him; too little, and nothing will happen.” His eyes fell to the bundle of his shirt covering the loose leaves. “Hey, I’ve got to clean this up. Want to run to my wagon and grab an extra glass jar? I should have some in the cupboard along the wall. You can’t miss it. The wagon is painted bright yellow with red wheels. My area of the wagon is the first area upon entering.”

  “Okay,” Cleo mouthed. She had remembered in her earlier trip through the camp where the odd colored wagon resided, so she made her way there and stepped into its low entry. It was small like her own. Upon entering, she became aware of a musk like dirt that hung heavy in her nose. Did the wagon actually smelt of dirt, or was her nose still recovering from the bone-flower? Cleo opened drawers in the wall’s cupboard for glass jars. She heard shuffling behind a curtain that sectioned off one part of the wagon.

  “Hey, that Gnochi guy really knows his stu—”

  Roy emerged from behind the curtain shirtless, wearing only short briefs that hugged on his legs. His eyes widened. A beet red flame of embarrassment heated his entire head. “So,” he squeaked, covering his groin with a pillow from the nearby cot. “You’re that girl with the bard, right?”

  “Shh,” Cleo said, rising, glass jar clutched in her hands. In the dim light of the wagon, she spotted half a dozen beads of sweat racing down his muscular chest and arms. “Didn’t know that Harvey was expected back,” Cleo said, her eyes gliding up and down Roy’s exposed body for effect.

  “Oh! No! No! You see, we room together. We aren’t. I’m not into—”

  “Yes, I can see that,” Cleo whispered.

  “It’s not proper,” Roy said, his face now flushed and dotted with sweat. “For a young lady.”

  “Let’s just not say anything t
o anyone,” Cleo said, backing up to the door, her fingers frantic to find the handle. She pulled the door from its stop. A spear of light pierced the grim wagon gloom. “Nice to see you again—umm.”

  “It’s Roy,” Cleo heard him say as she closed the door behind her, then leaned against its wooden frame, releasing the restrained breath from the confines of her throat. She rushed over to where Harvey was brushing the elephant.

  When he saw her, Harvey smiled and said, “Hey, you’re here in time to help me get Typhus saddled for—”

  “Actually, I heard that Gnochi is back from meeting his potential students. He’ll be wondering about me.” She deposited the jar on the table and made to leave for her own wagon.

  “Oh, okay,” Harvey said. “I hope, Boli, that my disrobing before wasn’t taken out of tact. I was merely trying to contain the—”

  “Yes, yes. You’re fine, but I really must go.” Cleo sprinted out of the gate.

  Chapter 21

  A few months before the present day.

  A small band of horsemen trampled through the underbrush in the woods south of Blue Haven proper. Two separated themselves from the pack, trotting ahead to share a private word. One rider, adorned in the finest white robes, sat tall on a gelding that also seemed to be made of white finery. He held a small wooden crossbow in his right hand. His left hand gripped the pearl handle of a revolver. A tight silver circlet laden with the deepest blue sapphires pressed grey curls into his wrinkled forehead.

  “So, Dorothea,” he spoke, his voice a low rumble. “I’ve called you out hunting today because I have a special task to ask of you. But before we talk politics, let us enjoy one of life’s fineries.” The king cleared his throat. “Guards,” he yelled, “release the quarry.” The revolver rose into the air and released a deafening explosion.