Gleeman's Tales

by Matthew Travagline

  “Royal courier carrying request for one Mr. Harvey and one Mr. Roy, soldiers from Providence’s Royal Menagerie.”

  Roy righted himself and shuffled over to the door. He opened it and shielded his eyes from the courier’s lantern. “Roy, soldier.” He said, saluting the courier. “Harvey, soldier, is away,” Roy reported.

  “Your presence is needed at the king’s side as a guard this evening.”

  Roy’s eyes widened in shock at the courier’s words. “I’m not exactly dressed for a royal assignment.” They were the first tired words that clawed their way to his parted lips.

  “Sufficient attire will be provided after you report to the keep,” the courier said, tapping his foot as if losing patience.

  “Not that I’m complaining,” Roy said. “Doesn’t the king have a strong guard as is?”

  “I’m not supposed to disclose this, but if it’ll get you moving quicker, I will. Many have been deserting their posts and either fleeing to the city or leaving it entirely. Some have even made to leave Lyrinth. We’ve caught three barges already smuggling people to the west bank of the Old Maiden. Turmoil is prevalent. We need every loyal soldier on guard tonight.”

  “What of Harvey?” Roy asked.

  “We will reach out to him on the morrow.”

  “Alright,” Roy resigned. “Lead on.”

  ◆◆◆

  Groggily waking up to the sounds of cicadas and crickets serenading the cool night, Cleo felt the all-too-familiar bumps of Perogie’s back. She heard two people talking, though their words arrived in her ears as faint whispers. With a slight tug, she learned that she was tied to Perogie’s back. The ropes were loose under her hands. She thought that they were intended only to keep her righted in sleep, not to restrain her from escape.

  Her mare felt the tug and snorted loudly. The two people became quiet. Perogie was halted. Cleo turned her head to the side to face whoever was speaking and opened her eyes. Initially, her sight was blurred from fatigue and the dark night around her, but eventually she made out the rough outline of a short, young man sitting on top of a grey horse. Perched on his lap sat a puppet. As her eyes came to focus, she saw him looking at her.

  “Are you all right to sit of your own accord on your horse?” he asked, his voice a pitch higher than it should have been. Cleo refrained from speaking for the time being until she better knew her bearings. “Now I’m going to untie your hands so you may sit up. Please refrain from galloping away or trying to attack me. Doing so would force me to incapacitate you.” He dismounted and approached Perogie. When he placed a hand atop Cleo’s and as their skin touched, she felt a chill seep through. Fatigue that had been retreating into the recesses of her mind suddenly flooded back to life. She felt too weary to resist or fight as his hands nimbly untied the knots binding her wrists. Once free, Cleo remained laid on Perogie’s back, feeling lethargic.

  “You probably have a few questions,” he said. Cleo nodded. “Firstly, no. I am not kidnapping you. I know of your echo, so the gag is merely precaution.” At this comment, Cleo realized that her mouth was braided open with a fabric. She felt an ache in her heart and pushed at the gag with her tongue but it was tied around the back of her head. He pulled the gag from her mouth. Cleo spat onto the ground.

  “Where is Gnochi?” Her voice was hollow and raw, but it forced its way from her throat.

  “I cannot answer that as I do not know. Not here, as you can tell well enough.”

  “And where is here?” she asked, not able to discern her location because of the dark surroundings. The moon offered scarce light for observation.

  “At the edge of the Blue Haven farmlands.”

  “Who are you?”

  “An entertainer,” he said, holding up the doll for Cleo to see.

  She remembered having seen him. He was the young man watching them from outside of Skuddy’s wagon. He had the doll with the fluid, life-like movements. She allowed her gaze to shift to the doll. Her eyes must have been playing tricks on her earlier, because up close, she saw that it was cut of rough wood and its features were stagnant.

  “I remembered seeing you. And the doll. It was so—”

  “Life-like?” He offered.

  “Yes!”

  “Good.”

  “So, you’re not—”

  “Kidnapping you? Like I said earlier: no. This was all a part of the plan that Gnochi organized with Skuddy.”

  Patches of her memory surfaced and Cleo found herself remembering her final waking moments. “They drugged me!” The boy said nothing at her outburst. “I don’t get it. Does he hate me so much he couldn’t tell me to my face that he didn’t want me around anymore?”

  “What he did was in your best interest.”

  “Right, I’ve heard that before. It’s what people say when they cannot justify their own foolish behaviors,” she said. “He could’ve at least told me.”

  “Maybe he was afraid you would try to talk him out of it,” the boy remarked, raising an eyebrow.

  “I don’t use my echo on him. I don’t even know how to use my echo, it just happens,” she pleaded.

  “I can see that easily enough,” he remarked.

  “So,” Cleo said, trying to change the conversation, “you’re a ventriloquist?”

  “Ah, how rude have I been? Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Aarez, and this young gentl—” he said, holding up the doll.

  “I’ll do my own introductions, thank you greatly,” squealed the doll. Cleo did not even see Aarez’s mouth move. “Pidgeon,” the doll spoke, “remount, then approach this fair maiden’s steed so I may take my maiden’s hand.” Cleo blushed at the doll’s words. As Aarez, with his face devoid of emotion and color—like she remembered from her first sighting of him—led his horse over, the doll grabbed her hands with a quick, strong grip. She felt each of the doll’s ten fingers squeeze into her hand. What surprised her the most was how his fingers felt. While the grip was strong, the fingers and hand attached were both soft as regular skin, not the wood of which they were seemingly made. Perogie eyed the strange pair with sideways suspicion, but she refrained from snorting at them.

  “Fair maiden,” the doll spoke, “my name is Lucas. I am a knight. So, you, my beautiful minx, may refer to me as Sir Lucas.”

  The thin veil of charm suddenly was laden with holes. She looked from the dulled eyes of Aarez to the doll, whose eyes seemed every bit as life-like as her own. She could not decide at whom to direct her contempt, so she focused on the doll, who matched her fiery gaze with awe and curiosity.

  “You certainly are life-like but talking through a doll doesn’t give you liberty to talk like a sailor, Aarez,” Cleo chided.

  “Please refrain from speaking with Pidgeon, my dummy, in my presence,” Sir Lucas said, snapping his tiny fingers at her. He squinted. Cleo saw the wood surrounding his eyes narrow, as a human’s would if they were angry.

  Sir Lucas’s handler seemed to waken at the mention of his name. “Yus, m’am. Name’s Pidgeon. Ahm the surrvent of Sur Lucas there,” the human said, his voice much deeper than it sounded when Aarez last spoke.

  “Do not speak unless I command it, Pidgeon,” the doll ordered. He slapped his tiny arm into Pidgeon’s cheek.

  “’Pologize sur,” Pidgeon mumbled.

  “So,” Cleo huffed, “is there anyone else I should meet besides you three? Does he have an alter ego as well?” Cleo demanded, poking her finger into Sir Lucas’s chest. She was not surprised to feel soft skin, considering the doll’s fingers, but when her prodding finger felt something hard, she could not tell if it was more reminiscent of wood or bone. She shook her head, dismissing the farfetched notion.

  “You heathen,” the doll shouted in what sounded akin to pain. “Never. Never touch me again. And what the devil are you speaking of you horned minx. There is only one soul within my body.”

  “Who are you really?” Cleo asked. “Aarez, Pidgeon, or Sir Lucas? Which is your real name?”

  “First
of all, I’m embarrassed that you’d think Pidgeon and I the same,” Sir Lucas said. “Clearly the class differential between myself, a knight of esteemed merit, and Pidgeon, my humble servant, is obvious enough. Just listen to the boy talk. He speaks as though one side of his tongue is tied to his cheek. And I have half a mind to imagine his brain is equally as impaired. Now, I know vaguely of this Aarez person, though only through passing. A dove or minx such as yourself will mention the name, but he’s nary around when Pidgeon takes me out, so I cannot comment on his status. I can assure you, though, that he and I have never met. And while I would much like to chastise you for being the impetuous little minx that you are, I am suddenly feeling dreadfully tired.” The doll’s mouth opened widely, letting loose a lion’s yawn. “We shall finish this another time. Good night, minx. Pidgeon, kindly remove yourself from my arse.”

  “Yus, Sur Lucas,” Pidgeon said. As he removed his hand from the doll, blood seemed to explode back into his cheeks, his eyes gaining the clarity they had been without. The spark of life had returned to the human, or so it had seemed to Cleo.

  “Holy Providence, that gets worse every time,” Aarez managed to say between heavy breaths. His voice had returned to its earlier pitch.

  “You’re crazy,” Cleo said.

  “I should’ve explained this,” he said, cautiously holding the doll by the shirt near its neck. “Before I showed you. When I put my hand in Lucas, I lose control.” Cleo squinted her eyes at Aarez. “I trust you met Pidgeon and Sir Lucas?”

  “You cannot honestly expect me to believe that you, Pidgeon, and Sir Lucas are not all the same person.”

  “Alas, we are not. Like you, I am an echoer.”

  “So, your echo is creeping people out?” Cleo snickered.

  Aarez’s expression remained neutral in the face of the dig. “I am a life vessel. I can actively transport my own finite life energies. Now, on the surface, that seems like a wasteful, ineffectual echo, especially when you consider how I lose control, but it’s not. When I give my life essence to an inanimate object, for all intents and purposes, that object comes to life. When I channel my life into Lucas, he comes to life. He is an anomaly though.

  “See, normally,” Aarez said. He adopted a glossy look that reminded Cleo of how Gnochi got when he was recounting a tale. “I can only put so much of my life into an object before I cannot give anymore. If I were to put my life into an article of clothing or another inhuman item, at a certain point, I would be unable to put any more life into that object and that’s that. But with Lucas, and any other object shaped after a sentient being, I lose the ability to regulate my life usage. He saps my life reserves because he, in coming to life, gains control over my brain. I don’t believe that he is doing it purposefully or out of malice. Sentient beings are instinctually wired for self-preservation. For Lucas, self-preservation means taking more life.”

  “And he takes so much that your human body is left a mere husk. A living corpse,” Cleo said, piecing the dynamic together.

  “So I’ve been told. I’ve not met nor interacted with either of the two. My conscience exists in a haze, a stasis, when they take over.”

  “That’s dangerous. Especially considering his tongue,” Cleo said, poking the doll. Instead of the soft skin from before, her finger met immediately with the rough grained wood under the doll’s elegant clothes.

  “And that is why I cannot perform in the sense that Gnochi can,” Aarez admitted. “This is why my career as an adolescent entertainer has all but stopped. I might wake from one of their sessions in prison, or with broken bones, which has happened before.”

  “And Gnochi thought that you’d be the best person to protect me? Aren’t there any strongmen or illuminators or sword-eaters in Nimbus who are better suited for protection?”

  “First of all,” Aarez said, unsheathing a sword from a cavalry scabbard Cleo had not noticed earlier. “Don’t assume that I am defenseless because my voice is higher pitched and I am not hefty. Secondly, there aren’t many in Nimbus who would risk their lives for a young girl, Gnochi or no Gnochi. And those who would, would ask for more than you’re willing to give, if you catch my drift,” he explained.

  Cleo nodded after a moment, then said, “And you don’t want that?”

  “The last time I was intimate with someone, they made it so that I could never be intimate with anyone else. I’ve since given up all urges,” he said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, humbling herself for the assumption, and for prying. She imagined Gnochi would be shaking his head if he heard her now.

  “Don’t be sorry. Be cautious with your tongue. Many would kill you for making such assumptions.” A steady silence befell the pair. Cleo looked back towards where the Blue Haven turrets could be seen by the tips of their watch fires.

  “Why did he send me away? Why didn’t he have me wait for him in Nimbus?” Cleo pondered aloud.

  “You are aware of his task?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, you must know, behind however many barriers that you’ve walled up, that he is not coming back. He himself is certainly aware. Do you know how many guards patrol the halls of the keep? Too many for even a Silentorian to handle. There’s no way Gnochi can battle his way out through the dozens and dozens of guards. He’ll be captured and executed. That’s assuming that he won’t be granted a mercy and killed on the spot.”

  Cleo sat still on Perogie, her legs taut as though she was readying herself to run. She sat back though, releasing a pent breath. “No, you don’t know Gnochi like I do,” she proclaimed. “He will complete his contract, then he will come find us. He will find us so that he can continue to train me as his apprentice, and I will act as his scribe, writing down each of his stories.” Her voice left little room for negotiation.

  “Your naivety gives me hope, but alas, Gnochi cannot possibly escape his fate now.” Aarez paused for a moment, then said, “There’s something you should know. Gnochi left you the sole recipient of his will, including his farm. Should we hear word, Skuddy will officiate the transfer of ownership.”

  “But that means,” Cleo said, air catching in her throat. “He doesn’t think he will be coming out?”

  “I’m sorry Cleo,” Aarez offered.

  She leaned her head down and tightly hugged Perogie’s neck, sobbing onto the soft mane. After a minute, she felt Aarez rest a hand on her shoulder.

  “So, where are we headed?” she asked, sitting up and wiping the tears off her cheeks.

  “We will continue heading for the safest place you can be while we wait for word from Nimbus: one of my family’s houses in the woods. Tomorrow morning,” he ruled. “We’ve traveled enough for the night. I should not have gone this long, but I wanted to put distance between us and the city.”

  Chapter 46

  If there was one thing that stood out the most as Gnochi was escorted through Blue Haven’s wealthiest district, it was the lack of guards. He remembered how monitored the streets were the last time that he had been in the city. There had been soldiers posted at each corner in the wealthy districts and every few corners in the poorer districts.

  As it was, guards from Blue Haven’s wealthy district forced Gnochi to wait an hour at the gate for someone to come from the keep because there were not enough guards on the wall to spare sending one with him. They said that they were not about to let him traipse around by himself during the city’s tumult. So, as the hours passed, the likelihood of Gnochi completing his contract in one night dwindled. And those who eventually did come to escort him didn’t take too nicely to being pulled from their warm posts to have to escort an entertainer through the desolately quiet wealthy district. But the royal seal that Gnochi flashed at each checkpoint kept their complaints muttered under their breaths.

  Several times during his trip through the city, Gnochi was stopped at makeshift barriers where he was forced to strip and answer a barrage of the same questions. The Royal Lyre was inspected, but the guards’ eyes brimmed with bored
om, and they glanced over its deadly imperfections. Finally, after breaching one final gate, standing before him was a spiral road leading high over the city to the king’s keep. Gnochi looked up towards the castle and saw a central spire towering higher than he could even see in the night. An ominous lake of blackened sky refused to allow the light from the stars to shine above the castle. Even the moon barely shone through the dark haze that stagnated above the building.

  “This place has bad energy,” Gnochi muttered.

  “What’s the matter, bard, afraid of the dark?”

  “Of course not,” Gnochi amended. “I’m merely noting the obvious dissatisfaction that the spirits seem to have with your castle.”

  “Well, you’re not here to offer spiritual guidance to the king,” the guard said, leading Gnochi up the spiral walk. “You’re here to be the royal plaything and make him laugh. And while we are on the subject of His Highness, I want to remind you that when you are in his presence, you are only to speak if spoken to. If you value your life, you’ll do nothing to breach decorum. I would require no order to spill your blood.”

  “Please,” Gnochi said, his voice stretching into an authority that it often hid. “Do you really think that Nimbus would send a fool as their vassal to the king?”

  The guard said nothing for a minute. Then he threatened, “Mind your tongue, fool.”

  “Of course, your guardliness.”

  “Funny. Are you a jester as well as a bard?”

  “I wear many hats,” Gnochi confessed. “Some known; some, not so much.”

  Taking Gnochi’s confession as literally spoken, the guard warned, “Make sure that you take all of those hats off in the king’s presence.”

  The escort had reached a gap between the walk and the keep. Below their feet lay a chasm so deep the light from the nearby torches faded to black before he could discern its bottom.