“Maybe. But don’t be pestering your mother about going down there. You know she doesn’t like it.”
“I won’t! But she did remind me to tell you to bring a woman home.” The girl giggled.
“You can tell her that she sounds more and more like Grandma every day,” Gnochi said. “No promises Pippa. Not many women want to marry a fool.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’d marry you, Uncle Gnochi.”
“That’s sweet. Now if only you were a dozen or so years older, and not my niece sucking-up to get extra time in the library.” Gnochi faux-launched to grab his niece from the top of the horse. The girl giggled and jumped out of his reach, the woven frills waving playfully in her stead.
Late in that same afternoon, Gnochi sat whittling away at a block of oak wood as he rattled off a story of first age knights and squires to a small crowd at the town’s sole tavern. He was in the middle of fudging the story to suit the crowd of smiths when a woman burst into the tavern, her eyes looking at everyone, yet no one.
“There is a fire at Nenni farm. We need as many folks as possible to help put out the blaze.” The woman’s voice chilled Gnochi’s heart. He dropped the half-whittled block to the floor.
◆◆◆
Cleo sat in her father’s office, perched in a leather-upholstered chair by the fireplace, looking out at endless fields of flowers. “Cleobelle, my sweet, why have you run off?”
She was startled by her father’s soft voice. It sounded as though it came from immediately behind her ears. She tried to turn her head but found her muscles sluggish; she yearned to push words from her lips but found them heavy and leaden in her throat.
“You ran away and eluded your uncle Bollo. Not an easy feat, truly. In fact, it even reflects well upon my blood coursing within your veins. But nonetheless, your uncle paid dearly for his errors.” Her father’s voice spoke with such a plain nature, it was easy for Cleo to imagine that he was not recounting a murder. “I am curious as to how you blinded him without damaging his eyes. No doubt you found some savage root or herb native to the land.” He walked into her field of vision and stood before the window, bracing his hands behind his back for support.
“I know I haven’t been the best father to you,” he admitted as though he expected her to contradict his martyrdom. “I’m merely trying to protect you. The world, especially with those barbarians in the land where you currently reside, can be merciless to people of your kind.”
Cleo fought her limbs to move, she urged her mouth to open so the screams could escape her throat. She sat immobile and mute.
“And still you say nothing?” He turned, a grimace painted on his face. The sun outside seemed to retreat behind a cloud as though in fear of his fury. “When I find out where you are, there will not be an army in the world that can restrain my reach.” He looked at her, his eyes chilling her blood and forcing a shiver down her spine. “And when I find the man who kidnapped you, I’ll have him dismembered one limb at a time for stealing you from me.” Moisture leaked from Cleo’s eyes, but the stricken sobs meant to accompany the tears were stuck behind the screams yet un-uttered from before. Then, his face softened, as though he was expiring and wanted his last words to be positive.
“Come home, my sweet.”
Cleo woke, though she lay still until she was sure she had her nerves in check and the tears had dried on her cheeks.
◆◆◆
Roy stood, sword at the ready, facing three crazed Luddites still dripping in the blood of the innocents they had slain.
The first, wielding a knife, charged at Roy; the first, clutching his hands to the split in his ribs, stumbled to the ground. An overweight Luddite, with a battle axe gleaming in thick paws, blundered towards Roy; an overweight Luddite, under a slash severing his leg mid-thigh, collapsed. The last Luddite, wearing a wolfish grin and prowling forward with a combat knife, attempted to sneak up on Roy while he was preoccupied; the last Luddite, due to a barrage of gratuitous attacks aimed at his head, succumbed to the rampage and expired.
Turning, Roy was surprised to see Cleo standing before him. She wore the poncho and nothing else. He smiled and smoothed back his dirty hair with a hand, unaware of the bloody gel now caked on his forehead. She looked down, surprised at her own attire and laughed as she stuck out her bare leg. She advanced upon him quicker than he was expecting.
“You’re too predictable, Roy,” she teased.
“I could show you something unpredictable,” he said, winking.
Cleo laughed. “Do you always make it a habit of talking colloquially with your princess?”
“I’m—with who?” Roy rubbed his eyes with his palms, spreading more of the gelled blood under his brows. When he looked again, however, Cleo was instead dressed in the most elegant fabrics. Not an ounce of skin shown out of court standards.
“Yes,” she echoed, snatching the still bloody sword from his grip with blinding speed. “Of course, I cannot swear you to me with this impure blood soaked through your blade. No, it needs to be cleansed,” she said.
Before Roy could even think about moving, she spun around and leaned back into his arms which, moving out of instinct, wrapped around her regaled frame. He felt her pushing into his chest. She smelled of a forest’s first spring rainfall and musky ink. Cleo buried the sword into her torso, all the way through her back and pushed it until it pierced Roy’s stomach.
A dull ache rippled through his midsection. He stood with his mouth agape. Then, as suddenly as she fell back into his arms, Cleo pushed away from him, the blade searing as it left his torso, leaking blood down his breeches. She twirled before him. He saw the point of the blade still coated in his steaming blood as it jutted inches from her back. Then she turned and stared at him, swiftly yanking it from her midsection.
The blade, freshly removed from Cleo’s abdomen, was free of any traces of blood, her exquisite clothing devoid of both the maroon stain and the tear one would have expected as the result of a sword thrust.
Roy fell to one knee and clutched his stomach. It burned with intense pain. He looked up and saw Cleo lowering the blade on his right shoulder. “Roy, born to the streets, Adopted brother of Harvey, also born to the streets, I hereby appoint upon you,” she said, beginning to move the sword to his left shoulder, “knight defender of Cleo, and brother of Gleeman.” Roy stared in disbelief. His stomach still pumped blood from its gash. “You serve me now.” She giggled, then tossed the sword aside and ran off.
Roy woke with a frown on his face. He pondered the dream for a moment, then inspected his stomach, which still throbbed with a distant pain, but bore no mark of ever being impaled. His skin sat unblemished with no wound and no scar. Not even the ghostly stains of such a wound lingered. Roy turned over in his cot and blew air out of his mouth in fatigue. “Last time I eat one of Nettles’s currant pies right before bed.”
Chapter 35
“Well, Harvey,” Dorothea said, tightening his belt, “what’re your thoughts on Gnochi’s condition? Will he remain in that state indefinitely?”
Cleo winced at the ringleader’s callous words. Feeling a comforting hand on her shoulder, she looked up at Roy and offered a limp smile of thanks.
“I believe his brain to be quite active,” Harvey said. “His eyes, fluttering like that, make me believe he is close to waking.”
“But?”
“But until he does, he is not suitable for travel. Not on horse, nor in the wagon. I suppose we could restrain him to a table, but that’s problematic. Someone would have to be with him.”
“Are you suggesting that we leave him here in Urtin?” Dorothea asked.
Before she could protest, Roy interjected, “Not at all!”
Cleo watched Harvey shoot a cool stare at his friend.
“Actually, Sire, if I may,” Harvey said. “I’d like to request time to escort Gnochi to a local healer who I’ve been told works miracles.”
“Myself and Boli included,” Roy added. “I also heard from s
everal of the patrons yesterday of the healer’s prowess. This could be our only shot.”
“How do I know that you’re all not skipping out on me? You could disappear and be out of your contracts.”
“You could hold onto our horses, as well as our possessions in our wagons,” Harvey suggested. “Obviously, we will need travel supplies. We would saddle up Typhus. He is easy to spot from afar and slower than a horse. You’d have your leverage to ensure that we all return, right?” He looked between Cleo and Roy who both nodded in assent.
“Okay, it is decided. I can see this working out fine enough. You all have my permission to take leave and seek out the healer. The menagerie will continue on its schedule.” Dorothea paused, pulling on his second chin. “Actually, at this point, we are within a few days march from Blue Haven, so I expect you will not meet us again until we are camped outside of the city.”
◆◆◆
Cleo ensured that before leaving, she organized all their supplies in their travel packs and left them inside their wagon next to Perogie’s saddlebag. Without Gnochi’s frequent comments and hints of advice, she had to wrack her brain of their past conversations to see if he had said anything that could help her now. She had thought back to the day they entered Mirr.
“You never know how quickly you are going to need to leave a town or city,” he had said. She recalled him mentioning something about the business-end of a sword if he had to spend a minute packing. It made her realize that the pair had been lax in their standards as they travelled. She spent almost an hour rooting through their wagon to find and procure all their travel essentials.
The sun had peaked the sky when the three, Gnochi, and their elephant arrived at Urtin’s walls. “So, who among us is going in to find out about the medicine man?” Roy asked, staring at Gnochi’s limp body.
“It can’t be me. I’m practically barred from ever entering Urtin again,” Cleo admitted, pawing a rock on the ground with her boot.
“It’ll be me,” Harvey said, slinging a bag of coins out from under his belt. “Give me an hour.” At a brisk pace, he tagged onto the line of people entering the city and melded into the mass.
After a few minutes, Roy turned to Cleo, then asked, “So, have any interesting dreams lately?”
“What?” Cleo’s reply held a touch of grit, though she hoped that it was not noticeable.
“Nothing,” Roy placated. “I was only offering small talk.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to bite. I just had a long night last night and did not get much rest. Kept watch of Gnochi as much as I could.”
Roy nodded. She looked to him, then asked, “Did you have interesting dreams?”
“What me? No, just—you know, normal boring dreams. Nothing life-altering,” he said, letting out a long breath.
Many of the passerby’s stopped for a moment to stare at Typhus, but seeing that he wasn’t performing any tricks, they lost interest and resumed their scheduled business.
“Do you really think that there is a healer up in the mountains?” Cleo asked.
“You think Harvey was lying?”
“No,” she amended, “but how reliable is his source? I mean, you just confirmed to me that your defense of his was fabricated on the spot.” She saw Roy wince. “What if Harvey’s was, too?”
“I have to believe that Harv isn’t leading us astray. I’ve been with him practically my entire life. When he gets on a hunch like this, he typically gets things right.”
“You and he have been together for a long time?”
“He took me in when I was a little kid. I was alone on the streets. He was surviving on his own while I was barely scratching by. He took me in regardless.”
“That was very noble of him,” she noted.
“It was hard at first,” Roy said. “Everything he brought had to be split in half. But we made do. Even started our own little pack in the city.” A faint smile touched upon his face.
“What happened? I mean, to go from being in a gang on the streets to working for the army?” She asked, then realized that she may have probed too deeply, for she saw hesitation cloud his eyes, his smile gone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to prod. You can ignore that.”
“Ignore what?” Harvey said, surprising both Cleo and Roy.
“Nothing,” Roy said, his voice sounding darker than she had ever heard from him.
Cleo watched Harvey and Roy exchange a look, though she could not tell what they said from their expressions.
Roy finally broke the silence, asking, “Did you find the healer?”
“Better yet, I’ve got a map of the trails we can take to the healer’s cave,” Harvey said, retrieving a folded parchment from one of his pockets. “If you leave now, you should be able to make it by sundown.”
“Wait,” Roy interrupted. “You said you?”
“I didn’t think of this when talking with Dorothea. Typhus is too bulky and clumsy to traverse some of those paths up the mountains. It’s too steep for some horses even. I’ll have to bring Typhus back to the menagerie. If I am lucky, I’ll be able to drop him off before they even camp for the night, then come back to you within a day or two. If not, it could be days before I can return.”
“Wait, I know the stable boy here,” Cleo said. “I could see if he would let us store Typhus here until we get back.”
“It’s worth a shot,” Harvey said. Not fearing that Typhus would wander, Cleo and Harvey walked over toward the stable. She glanced up at the roof that she had used to make her escape the day before. Poking around the stables, the pair did not see the stable-hand at work, so they walked up to the stable’s office door. Using the rusted horse-head knocker, Harvey announced their presence.
Chapter 36
“No? What do you mean no?” Cleo asked, shocked at the brash denial from the stable-boy.
“I mean no. No elephant. No horses. No you. The guards have been harassing us in the stable since your stunt last night. Merely having you in here now puts my family and my job in jeopardy,” he said, looking over their shoulders. “So, I will ask you to leave.”
Cleo and Harvey regrouped where Roy waited with Typhus and Gnochi.
“I’ll take Typhus back to the Perm and meet you guys up the mountain in a day or two,” Harvey said. “I’ve got the route committed, and I’ll probably grab a horse on my way out, so I can make up time.” He reached into his coin purse and handed Roy a stack of pence. “Here, buy a pack mule so you don’t have to carry him all the way up the mountain.”
◆◆◆
The two travelers and their new companion, who Roy dubbed ‘Fester-the-Second’ because of his grumpy personality, walked at a honeyed pace through a gully between two mountains. They referenced a crudely drawn map that directed the travelers to stick to the western trail as it inched up toward the summit. Though the valley below looked to get little direct sunlight, a forest of thick trees carpeted the space.
The sun had long hidden behind the mountains’ western peaks, but still their path remained lit. As afternoon melded to evening, however, light fled from the mountain range as though scared of being trapped under its imposing peaks.
Roy walked at the tail end of the convoy, watching to ensure that Gnochi did not fall from his stretcher. “How much further?” he asked. “Harvey said we’d be there by nightfall.”
“Well,” she said, calling from the front. “He was assuming that we were going to get a pack mule that didn’t move at a snail’s pace. It shouldn’t be more than an hour if this map is consistent in its scale.”
Roy saw the apprentice holding her thumb up to the map as a ruler. He chuckled, but when he spotted movement out of the periphery of his vision, his mirth ended. Whipping his head around allowed him to catch the flight of a crow as it landed on the ground in front of the path. The bird cocked its head at them as if surprised. Roy’s hand fell loose to his scabbard. He walked up the trail and hugged Cleo, placing his lips next to her ear. “No sudden movements, but I think
we are being watched.”
“And hugging me wasn’t sudden,” she said, snickering. “How many—”
“Eggs did I bring? One, but I might have put more in another pouch.”
“Wait. What?” Cleo blurted.
“What your friend means is that there is probably more than one observer,” came a voice from in front of their path.
Both turned to the front. Upon seeing a man standing before them, Roy positioned himself between the stranger and Cleo, sword drawn and at the ready, body in a defensive stance. A distant though crept into Roy’s mind. This man stood where the crow had landed. He could see no sign of the bird having flown off, nor could he hear it cackling as it spirited away.
“Get back,” Roy whispered. Out of his periphery, he saw her step back next to where Gnochi lay on the stretcher.
“Interesting.” A feminine voice sounded far enough behind them that Roy almost failed to hear it. He turned at the voice, keeping his body position so he could glance behind them and still see the man before them.
“Is that man the reason why you are venturing into the mountains?”
The woman who spoke had put her hands on Boli’s forehead and temple, seemingly paralyzing the bard’s apprentice, who dropped her staff.
Roy watched as she fell to the ground, then his mind seemed to shock itself awake. He made to run at the woman, his blade ready to strike, but found himself ensnared in a strong grip. How could he have so carelessly forgotten the man from the front of the path? Roy heard his sword clatter to the ground, though he was too busy struggling to free his arms to care. A dark fog clouded over his mind, his lungs felt heavy in his chest. Time stretched out before him in a way that looking in one direction allowed him to see the past and looking in the other allowed him to see the future. After a moment, darkness encroached, and his eyes closed as if trying to prevent his last visions from fleeing.
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Gleeman's Tales Page 28
