Servants and Followers

by Courtney Bowen

  “All the more reason why…”

  “We should let him travel with us!”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Think of the message he’s carrying! Sir Nickleby would’ve protected that royal messenger bird from those Black Wolves!”

  “How can you say that? Using Sir Nickleby to justify…that falcon is the reason why…” Oaka grumbled, “Sir Nickleby wouldn’t have stood for such a condescending, loud-mouthed…”

  “We can’t risk that message getting lost, if it’s so important, being delivered to King Sonnagh himself. Fato may be a pest, but give him some credit for…we’re all a little tense, angry, lost and upset today. His temper may be a temporary result of that.” He hoped it was true. That the Wolves weren’t after them because of him.

  “Basha.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll only let him travel with us for a little while. And if he pushes his luck, or causes any more trouble, I’ll let you shoo him away. Does that sound fair?”

  “Fine, deal.” Oaka held out his hand for Basha to shake.

  Basha turned around without even shaking. “Fato! Great news!”

  Oaka sighed, and took his hand back. Basha seemed ready to put their past problems behind, with this whole quest-thing he had to look forward to and achieve. But Oaka couldn’t let these issues go.

  Chapter 3

  Walking Duck Inn

  To the undiscerning traveler, the wonders

  And perils of Arria might readily be discerned in

  The market town of Coe Anji, where people sing:

  ‘Oh, we got it all, right here in Coe Anji!’

  ~ Travel book, Angora

  Habala walked back into the inn, a little weary and sore after having been interrogated and probed by both the constable, who wanted to know her involvement in the fire that had started and ended in her shed, and the local barber-surgeon, who was called upon to examine her for any damage caused by the fire and smoke.

  The barber-surgeon served as Coe Baba’s only doctor if one didn’t count the midwife, the veterinarian, and the healer Mirari who visited Coe Baba during the Reda, Plig, and Suma months, especially when the barber-surgeon had a permanent place of operation while the other three traveled around the territory.

  Habala had thought that it was all unnecessary, especially when the mood which had possessed her to cause the fire had passed for now. She felt slightly better, as if she’d released some tension within.

  She was physically well. The fire hadn’t burned her, and smoke hadn’t clouded her lungs, so she hadn’t damaged herself. The only thing that had been harmed were all of the clocks that she’d mended and created, and the shed where she’d built them, burned to the ground with the fire extinguished.

  Geda had told her the bad news, or so he thought, that nothing could be salvaged from the ruins. While she’d remained silent for a moment, contemplating what this meant, he’d told her that perhaps she could start over, with a new shed and new supplies.

  “I don’t want to start over, Geda.” Habala told him at last. “We can’t. Nothing can begin again. We’ve got to move on from this, and find something else.”

  She believed that, difficult though it was to say. She believed that she could move on and find something else to occupy any spare time she had outside of the inn, but she couldn’t forget so easily what had caused her pain.

  Geda hadn’t been satisfied, for though he knew she’d struggled mightily the past couple of days with the boys’ departure, as he felt the same, still she hadn’t been able to explain herself fully to him right now.

  The others had been listening, and she wasn’t ready yet to share everything. But she would be willing to share, she hoped, someday soon, and Geda would be there to listen to her, just the two of them alone. At least the constable had been satisfied that she’d no other ill intentions towards herself or others, and had let her go with a warning to avoid fires.

  Habala walked back in, with her husband by her side, and stopped. “Brigga, what are you doing here?”

  She stared down at the woman scrubbing the floor beneath the bar stools, while Smidge tended the bar above. A red flush appeared in Habala’s face at this odd circumstance.

  Brigga looked up. “Hello Habala, Geda,” She nodded her head at them. “I’m taking over my daughter’s shifts this week. My Nisa isn’t feeling well, a little nauseous and such, but she should be back soon. Smidge said it would be fine.”

  Smidge looked up from scrubbing a glass, and caught the glare in Habala’s eyes. “I thought it would be all right, what with her being a willing hand with an eager heart. Besides, we could do with a fresh face around here. Someone we haven’t seen for years, to break up the monotony and boredom of our lives.”

  “Boredom? Monotony? Where have you been? I think we’ve had more than enough excitement here today to last us a lifetime.” Geda muttered.

  “I can see that.” Smidge said. “But aside from that, we need something to stir up our days, new life in the status quo.”

  Smidge had taken over some of the work that Basha and Oaka had done since their departure, appearing more often in the inn and less sporadically in his schedule whenever the mood suited him.

  Habala worried that, with how much time Smidge now spent at the inn, and how close they were working together in tight quarters, he might take the chance to renew his advances on her, as he’d done when they were young. But so far Smidge’s behavior hadn’t been too unseemly and could be accredited to high spirits, his jovial nature, and attempts to lighten the mood.

  “The status quo has been shaken up enough. Smidge, next time you should tell us before you hire someone.” Habala said.

  “That’s fine,” Geda said, waving his hand and undermining Habala’s protest. “I hope your daughter feels better soon, Brigga. Carry on.” He led Habala towards the back hallway door before she could say anything.

  Habala glanced back at Brigga, who continued scrubbing determinedly, and hissed, “Something is wrong here, Geda. I can just taste it.”

  “There’s a lot that has gone wrong,” Geda muttered as he closed the common room door. “But nothing we can do about it. Don’t worry about Brigga. Besides, Smidge may be right. We need someone else here to keep ourselves occupied and lighten the load. A former friend can help.”

  “I thought I was a bad mother, that I’d ignored or overlooked my boys too much, especially with the work we had to do, and the clocks. I thought that if I’d paid more attention to them, none of this would’ve happened. If I’d been more concerned about Basha, what he was doing, I never would’ve allowed him to associate with Jawen.”

  “Habala, you can’t beat yourself up. You’re a good mother, the best mother these boys could’ve had. What Basha did, that was his fault. You couldn’t have done anything about it.”

  “I could’ve stopped it from ever starting. I could’ve stopped all of this. If only…I never should’ve trusted…” She sighed, stopping herself. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I shouldn’t blame myself.”

  “Are you okay?

  “I’m fine,” She lied, nodding.

  She couldn’t tell him the truth of what she’d suspected, of what she’d allowed to happen in the past with Brigga, Smidge, and even the Old Man. Perhaps it was her fault she hadn’t curtailed this situation sooner, she’d allowed it to go on too long. She’d trusted them too much, and now her sons would pay the price.

  * * * *

  Morton entered the inn, glancing around before he headed up to the bar. He stepped around Brigga without really noticing her.

  “How’s Habala?” He asked Smidge.

  “She just came back,” Smidge pointed towards the private quarters, “Don’t disturb her right now. They’re having a bit of a row.”

  “Oh, right,” Morton leaned back against the bar. “I should’ve been there for her when the boys left. But I was upset about…” He glanced down and realized the mother of the woman he’d just broken up with was scrubbing
the floor at his feet.

  “Uh, do you need help?” He asked Brigga.

  He didn’t feel comfortable talking about Nisa in front of her. He half wondered if he might reconcile with Nisa, so treating her mother with kindness might be the right step.

  “No, thank you, I’ve got it. Carry on.” Brigga attacked the floor.

  “Right,” Morton reluctantly turned away from her. “As I was saying, Smidge, I was so upset that I wasn’t even…were you there when the boys said good-bye?”

  “Of course I was. I said good-bye to them all.” Smidge heartily said. “Gave them a pat on the back and all that, wished them good luck and told them that I loved them. I’m their uncle, after all. I helped raise them, along with my brother and his wife. They’re my brother’s sons, and you didn’t even say good-bye to them?”

  “I was upset!”

  “That’s no excuse, Morton, even Hermer was there! Everyone was there, all of their friends and family members, friends of the family. You should’ve been there, Morton. It was a sight to see even if you weren’t emotionally involved.”

  Smidge wiped the bar down. “Just about the only people who didn’t make an appearance there were the mayor, the baron, and Lapo the merchant, but they were on the side of not letting Basha go on his quest, weren’t they? They didn’t want him to get his hands on Jawen, make a claim on her with Tau’s Cup. Ha! He proved them wrong with the Oracle’s consent. He got that easily enough, I suppose thanks to the Old Man’s help. Now all he needs is the Cup.” Smidge muttered. “Then he’ll show them who he really is.”

  “Huh? What are you talking about?” Morton asked, staring at Smidge in puzzlement.

  “Morton, do you mean to tell me that you don’t even pay attention to what is going on here?” Smidge asked, staring at Morton in astonishment. “I mean, that’s what the whole thing is about, the…what do you know about the boys leaving?”

  “I remember that Basha had to go see the Oracle, then go on a quest for Tau’s Cup. But I don’t remember much about…I know it had something to do with the Courtship ritual, and Jawen. But I wasn’t paying much attention and then I was drunk…”

  “Morton, Morton,” Smidge slammed his hand against his face. “You’re embarrassing me. You’re an embarrassment to this whole family. You and your love-sick ways, with your moping and crying, all because a girl left you, and you think about her still, don’t you?” He cruelly smiled. “You think about Nisa.”

  “I can’t help it,” Morton glanced down at Brigga, Nisa’s mother.

  This wasn’t something they should be talking about here, awkward and disgraceful as it was. But Morton wasn’t sure if he was brave enough to protest Smidge’s crude manner.

  Brigga stopped scrubbing and shuddered, hearing them talk about her daughter like this. It made her angry and disgusted, but she couldn’t talk back against them or else she would lose this job and the opportunity it afforded her.

  She still couldn’t believe that Nisa had ever dated Morton, even if it was for a little while, and for her own purposes. Morton was old enough to be…no, actually, Morton would never be old enough to match the venerable age of Old Man, Nisa’s true father. But if Nisa’s father had been just an ordinary man, of a mortal and short-lived lifespan, then Morton would nearly be old enough.

  “I know that feeling well, for I’ve lived it.” Smidge patted him on the shoulder. “I felt the same way when your cousin Habala left me to go with Geda. And there was a hole left in the side of my heart leaking blood, and it’s still there after all these years.”

  “Does the hole ever go away? Does it ever get better?” Morton asked, hanging onto Smidge’s words.

  “Yes, it does, because my heart has hardened since then. It’s grown stronger and tougher than it once was as well.” Smidge looked up with a steely gaze and clasped him by the shoulders. “Soon that hole in my heart will shrink away into nothingness. Then I’ll forget all about Habala and my feelings for her as well. Morton, your heart will soon grow stronger, too, and then you’ll forget all about Nisa, won’t you?”

  “Yes, I will,” Morton said, trying not to look down at Brigga.

  He knew her reaction would either be heartbreak, tearful at the thought of Nisa being forgotten by the man that she’d once loved, or anger that he could just so easily forget about her, and move on. He didn’t really believe that he could move on, though, as Nisa had been the only one for him.

  But her rejection of him had hurt so much that he couldn’t stand it anymore. He wanted to move on.

  “Excellent.” Smidge smiled, letting go of Morton. “Your life will be better, and you’ll feel better, too, Morton my dear boy, once you forget about her. You can sleep easily at night, and wake up feeling refreshed. Daylight won’t hurt your eyes anymore.”

  “I will,” Morton said, not fully understanding Smidge’s words. “One more thing, Smidge, do you consider me to be a man, the type of man who could be a husband and a father? Nisa was saying that I couldn’t be the type of man she would marry.”

  “Morton, you’re growing up to be that sort of man already. You’re taking the steps towards it. But you’re not there yet.” Smidge patted Morton on the shoulder.

  “But I’m over forty years old!”

  “And you’re not a man just yet. Did you think age made a difference about that?” Smidge laughed. “You’ve got to take the steps towards it!”

  Morton turned and ran out of the inn before tears threatened to fall out of his eyes, right in front of Smidge. That would be a worse embarrassment than what he faced now.

  He was a man, after all, no matter what Smidge had to say about it. Even Nisa would’ve agreed with him, someday.

  Smidge turned around, and looked down at Brigga. “How are you doing down there?” He smiled.

  “Just fine.” Brigga said in a clipped voice, not looking up at him as she continued scrubbing the floor with a brief pause.

  “You’re looking beautiful this morning.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” She asked, looking up at him.

  “Nothing, just commenting.” Smidge said, a little offended at her rudeness. “I just think that a nice compliment is something that you deserve, after all, for all of the hard work that you’ve agreed to do while your daughter is sick. I wish I’d a mother half as considerate as you. By the way, when will your daughter be back?”

  “A week or so, I don’t know. Nisa is very sick, it could take a while for her to recover.”

  “Well, give her my regard,” Smidge turned away to serve a customer.

  Brigga continued working, but felt a growing sense of unease, especially at the thought of Smidge watching her. Why did she have to accept Nisa’s commitment to go off and protect those boys Basha and Oaka, working in her stead as well at the inn?

  She should’ve spoken out against Nisa’s compulsion, and told her that her father should do his own work, and leave her alone for once. Brigga had tried to keep Nisa away from him for the first few years of her life, hoping that she might be able to live a normal life like the rest of the townspeople.

  But once her daughter had started sneaking off to be with him, Brigga knew that, in a sense, she’d lost this battle. Old Man might win over her in the end when it came to their daughter’s affection and attention.

  She should never have gotten involved with Old Man in the first place, even though Nisa had been born from such a union. She should never have gotten close to the old storyteller. He just made things more complicated, and he ruined everything that he touched in her life.

  To think that for all of these years she’d bent over backward, allowing Nisa to go off and…well, it wasn’t exactly evil, what they’d done, but it was immoral to watch Basha without his consent at the very least. It was wrong, yet Nisa and Old Man were protecting him, weren’t they?

  What could Brigga have done in the end to stop all of this from happening? She couldn’t keep Nisa away from her father, the Old Man had some right to see his daughter.
And Nisa was stubborn, just like her parents. She would’ve eventually broken loose from Brigga.

  As for what they were doing, apparently, there was a pretty good reason for it, when it came to protecting Basha from evil, but Brigga didn’t know what to think about this whole charade. What sort of evil creatures could be trying to harm a boy like Basha? And what sort of things was her daughter doing to protect him?

  Still, despite her doubts, she just tried to protect her daughter, and covered for her, even though she hated it with all of her heart. She wanted Nisa and all of them to be normal.

  * * * *

  “Did you know that there are flocks of other royal messenger birds besides me?” Fato asked from the pommel of Basha’s saddle, his perch when he wasn’t flying. “What do you think?”

  “I would tell you, but it might stun the feathers off you.” Oaka muttered.

  “I think I might’ve seen a couple of small birds, sparrows perhaps, fly in and out of the mail office next to city council hall a few times.” Basha said. “I didn’t see them well, or hear if they were able to talk like humans, but could those have been royal messenger birds?”

  “Possibly. We don’t deliver too many messages this far north to Coe Baba. But sparrows might be sent there, if the messages were insignificant enough.” Fato glanced around. “Not many sparrows last long, it’s a dangerous business. We don’t fly in flocks, because hunters shoot at flocks and it’s only as good as its weakest member with the youngest…”

  “And dumbest.” Oaka said.

  “…and oldest members amongst them slowing things down.” Fato glared at Oaka. “That’s why you won’t see me flying around in a flock. I move fast, and my messages are important enough that I’ve got to keep safe.”

  “I bet you wouldn’t even be accepted into a flock if you wanted to be in one.”

  “I’m a falcon, and a bird like me gets some of the most important messages because I can keep myself safe against almost anything. Except for Black Wolves, humans, and the like.”