Other Times and Places

by Joe Mahoney

  Joe Mahoney

  Donovan Street Publishing, Whitby ON Canada

  www.assortednonsense.com

  Other Times and Places, Copyright © 2019 by Joe Mahoney.

  Edited by Dr. Robert Runté.

  Cover Copyright © 2018 by Erin Mahoney and Jeff Minkevics.

  Interior design and layout by Éric Desmarais.

  Titles set in Downcome designed by Eduardo Recife in 2002 as a messy display font.

  Text set in Lora designed by Cyreal as a well-balanced contemporary serif text typeface with roots in calligraphy. It’s appearance is memorable because of its brushed curves counterposed with driving serifs.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of the book.

  Publisher’s note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published in Canada

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Title: Other times and places / Joe Mahoney.

  Other titles: Short stories.

  Names: Mahoney, Joe, 1965- author.

  Description: Short stories. | Includes index.

  Identifiers:

  Canadiana (print) 20190236469

  Canadiana (ebook) 20190236477

  ISBN 9780359868520 (softcover)

  ISBN 9780359841820 (ebook)

  Classification: LCC PS8626 .A417415 2020 | DDC C813/.6—dc23

  For Ryley

  who told me not to settle

  Publication History

  “Moonstone” originally appeared in The Sword Review and was reprinted in the anthology Distant Passages: The Best from Double-Edged Publishing, 2005, Bill Snodgrass, ed. Cordova, Tennessee: Double-Edged Publishing, 2006.

  “The Wizard’s Castle” originally appeared as “A Fresh Pair of Eyes” in Horizons SF 20, no. 2 (1999). [University of British Columbia’s Science Fiction Society, Ryan Hawe, ed]. Subsequently produced as audio play, “The Wizard’s Castle” for KidzAir, Air Canada, 2005.

  “Of Platypuses and Things”, originally appeared in Planet Relish, no. 22. [Mark Rapacioli, ed.]

  “The Pitch” appears here for the first time.

  “Fizz” originally appeared in Polar Borealis, no. 3 (Nov/Dec 2016). [R. Graeme Cameron, ed.]

  “The Scapegoat” originally appeared in Challenging Destiny 9, April 2000. David M. Switzer & Robert P. Switzer, eds.

  “John’s Worst Enemy” originally appeared in SDO Fantasy [Sintrigue Dot Org] and reprinted in The Best of SDO, Mark Anthony Brennan & David Bowlin, eds. Subsequently translated into Greek and published in Ennea no. 9 [Angelos Mastorakis, ed.]

  “The Screw-up” originally appeared in Our Times: Canada’s Independent Labour Magazine, 2000.

  Foreword

  Covering nearly twenty years, this collection of Joe Mahoney’s short fiction (cleverly entitled Other Times and Places in a nod to his debut novel A Time and a Place) provides a good overview of Joe Mahoney’s career leading up to that novel. Presumably you found this collection having read A Time and a Place, and googled to see what else Joe’s written. Well, this is the rest of his fiction, so far. Those unfamiliar with Joe’s writing can be assured of the collection’s quality by the implied endorsement of their previous selection and publication by several magazine and anthology editors. Indeed, the observant reader will note that three of the seven stories that appear here were doubly endorsed by being reprinted in a ‘best of’ collection, translated into another language, or adapted for audio. To complete the collection—and to force fans to buy the collection even if they’ve already read all the others—Joe has generously included one never-before-seen story.

  The collection is nicely balanced between science fiction and fantasy, humorous and serious, sweet and sinister. What I like most about Joe’s stories is that they all have something to say. Just as A Time and a Place has a lot more going on below the surface than the frantic action might at first suggest, the narratives in these stories carry one along through social satire or theological consideration or provide a quick glimpse at the behind the scenes machinations at CBC radio. (By the way if you haven’t read A Time and A Place yet, stop what you’re doing and go get a copy. It’s a ridiculously riveting read.)

  Of course, the chief purpose of acquiring this collection is so one can pretend to have discovered Joe’s fiction two decades ago and to have been following his career this whole time. “It was obvious he had a great novel in him,” you could say, and claim you had had the foresight to start collecting his stories before his other fans had even heard of him. Feel free to proclaim, “You can’t really appreciate A Time and a Place without understanding where it fits within the context of the whole of Joe’s canon,” safe in the knowledge that there is no way the listener is going to be able to track down a copy of, say, Challenging Destiny 9 to check if that’s true.

  It’s possible some of you are actually here for the stories themselves. Short fiction is enjoying a bit of a renaissance these days, as evidenced by the many more print and online magazines out there, and short SF&F makes the best reading for those commuting or otherwise needing a bit of a break in their day. And fans of A Time and a Place obviously need something to read while awaiting Joe’s next novel.

  Well then, carry on!

  Robert Runté

  September, 2019

  Contents

  Foreword

  Moonstone

  The Wizard’s Castle

  Fizz

  Of Platypuses and Things

  The Pitch

  The Scapegoat

  John’s Worst Enemy

  The Screw-up

  Author’s Notes

  Author’s Bio

  Moonstone

  The shopkeeper consulted his parchment, then counted on his fingertips. “That will be eight guild, if you please.”

  Tanner Kyle reached for his pouch and found nothing. His heart gave a lurch. He felt for the oilskin packet concealed in an inside pocket and fingered the telltale lump just long enough to confirm its presence there. He relaxed, just a bit. Smart to have separated the amulet from the coin. Still, the theft of the pouch did promise to make life difficult.

  “We’ve been robbed,” he announced.

  Keele Wren glanced up from the scroll he was perusing. “Ah,” he said. “The irony.”

  Tanner concluded that ‘irony’ must be another word for amulet. “Safe,” he said. “We only lost the coin.”

  Keele arched an eyebrow.

  “I don’t suppose you—never mind.” Tanner knew very well that Keele’s oath prevented him from carrying coin of any kind. “I don’t understand how the rascal even got close to me. You did have wards in place, didn’t you? Against theft, loss, that sort of thing?”

  Keele eyed the sword sheathed at Tanner’s side. “We needed wards?”

  Tanner ripped the severed drawstring from his belt and flung it on the floor. “My blade will serve us well enough when we find the scoundrel who robbed us. I’ll use it to skin and gut him if he has any meat on his bones. He’ll be all we have to eat in Fanarion now that we can’t afford food.”

 
The shopkeeper grimaced. “Surely it won’t come to that. I’d be quite happy to barter.”

  Tanner eyed the shopkeeper’s squat body, wiry black hair, and flat, misshapen nose. Any fool could see that the blood of a gnome coursed through this one. Tanner’s father had often regaled him with stories about gnomes. Stories full of greed, and cunning. “What do they call you?” he asked.

  “Darvin, son of Neek.”

  “What did you have in mind, Neekson?”

  Neekson’s eyes settled on Tanner’s sword, a slender affair that Tanner kept polished and well oiled.

  “I think not,” Tanner said.

  “Of course not.”

  Tanner turned to Keele. “Anything you could stand to part with?”

  “A compendium of indigenous waterfowl,” Keele suggested.

  “Birds,” Neekson translated, tapping his fingers on the lid of a barrel. “That won’t do, I’m afraid.”

  Keele returned his attention to the scroll.

  The staccato of Neekson’s fingernails on the barrel grated on Tanner’s nerves. He considered hastening matters, unsheathing his blade and stealing the goods they needed. But that would only bring the city guard down upon him, and the last thing he needed was more people chasing him.

  He smiled toothily. “I could let you have some furs.”

  “Plenty of furs left over from last winter.”

  Tanner’s grin faded as he considered his options. Perhaps, between his bow and Keele’s arts, they would be able to make do in Fanarion without supplies. But no, that would be foolhardy. The same qualities that made Fanarion such an ideal hiding place—a scarcity of game and water, a reputation for transforming stolid, capable men into barking lunatics—made it a destination not to be taken lightly. You had to be half a fool to venture into Fanarion at all, let alone without supplies.

  Tanner took the oilskin packet from inside his coat, unwrapped it, and set the contents on the barrel in front of Neekson. He felt Keele’s eyes upon him as he did so.

  Neekson sucked in his breath at what he saw.

  “You know what this is,” Tanner said. “What it’s worth.”

  “Of course,” Neekson said. “It’s my business to know. But it’s of no use to me.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t deal in such things.”

  “You don’t deal in gems?”

  “I don’t deal in objects of darkness forged in secret by warped craftsmen for the sole purpose of robbing men and women of just about everything they have. Including themselves. If I were you I would cast this thing aside, somewhere no one will find it.”

  “It doesn’t frighten me the way it seems to frighten some.”

  “It ought to.” Neekson studied Tanner. “Anyway, you’ll be wanting more than a few quarrels and blankets for the likes of this. I don’t keep that kind of coin on hand.”

  “You could get it.”

  “No,” Neekson said, “I could not.”

  Tanner put the amulet away. “You’re right, I want more than a few blankets, a lot more. Keep my goods together, gnome. I’ll be back with the coin.”

  Neekson closed his eyes. “There’s no such thing as gnomes,” he said, through clenched teeth.

  A gnome who didn’t believe in gnomes? Tanner could not help but chuckle on his way out.

  A worn sign depicting a single gauntlet swayed in the breeze outside the Heroes Welcome. At the door, a sinewy woman with two short swords slung low at her hips looked Tanner over but said nothing. The common room was well populated despite the early hour. Tanner walked slowly between thick oak tables stretching from one end of the room to the other, admiring a variety of stuffed animal heads affixed to the walls, several species of which he didn’t recognise.

  He chose a table beneath the mildewed tusk of one such enormous beast.

  “Innkeeper,” he called out. “Mead. Hot.”

  He yanked off a boot and shook out one of two copper pieces he kept hidden for just such a predicament as this. He struggled to get the boot back on, then straightened up to find a steaming hot mug of mead on the table before him.

  The innkeeper, a grizzled sort, lingered nearby clearing a table.

  “Place like this must see no small spot of trouble,” Tanner said.

  “Aye, that it does.”

  “Just the one keeping your peace?” Tanner jerked a thumb toward the woman lurking in the entrance. Though easily half again Tanner’s age, she appeared fit and well muscled.

  “Don’t let Leese fool you,” the innkeeper said. “Tougher than old leather, that one.”

  Tanner wasn’t fooled. He had plenty of respect for the likes of Leese, having fought beside several just like her. “Could you use another?”

  “Nope.”

  “Just for the day?”

  “Nope.”

  Tanner grunted his dissatisfaction and watched as Keele strode into the common room. Keele had to bend slightly to avoid hitting his head on top of the doorframe.

  Leese looked the other way as Keele entered. Keele’s vocation was unmistakable, with his drooping moustaches, black robes, and especially the owl ring adorning the third finger of his left hand. Only a fool messed with a man like Keele. If such a fool were lucky and didn’t die a grisly death right away, he might wake up several nights in a row screaming, covered from head to toe in large, black spiders. Hairy ones, with long legs. Tanner shuddered at the memory—never again would he criticise Keele’s cooking.

  Neekson trailed Keele into the inn, struggling to keep up. Leese had no qualms about stopping him before he got very far.

  “Your kind isn’t welcome here,” Leese said, her voice carrying easily to Tanner’s side of the room. “As you well know.”

  Keele pushed his billowing cloak aside and sat down opposite Tanner.

  “What’s the gnome doing in here?”Tanner asked him.

  Keele shrugged. “Perhaps he found your coin.”

  Tanner whirled on the innkeeper. “Let him in.”

  “And why would you be wanting the likes of that in here?”

  “Just let him in.”

  The innkeeper called to Leese, “Let him pass. See that he doesn’t hurt anyone.”

  Several patrons guffawed at the innkeeper’s wit. Tanner chuckled himself.

  Leese slapped Neekson on the backside with the flat of her blade. Neekson scurried away to avoid being hit again and reached Tanner’s table out of breath.

  “You can have the goods you asked for,” he told Tanner, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

  “That’s very generous.”

  “In exchange for—”

  “What?”

  Neekson faced Keele. “I want you to make me strong.”

  He was either very brave or an ignorant fool. Many in Keele’s Order would have turned him into a steaming pile of manure just for asking. Tanner edged back from the table just in case; he didn’t want shit on his good fur cloak.

  Keele inspected his one-inch long fingernails. “Why?”

  Neekson stole a glance at Leese, then returned his gaze to Keele. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

  Tanner had a jibe on the tip of his tongue but Keele silenced him with a look. Tanner felt a thrill of fear. Neekson had aroused Keele’s interest—whether for good or ill remained to be seen.

  The innkeeper approached. “I let you in, now do you spit on my hospitality?”

  “I beg your pardon,” Neekson said. “I’ll have, ah. . .”

  “An ale,” Tanner said. “Make that two.”

  Keele’s accent sometimes got the better of him, and he said something now that not even Tanner could understand. Clearly afraid to ask Keele to repeat himself, the innkeeper nodded and backed away.

  “My father used to say that strength without honour is like a wolf wi
th no teeth,” Tanner said. “Strong today, food for the buzzards tomorrow.”

  “I have honour. My word is important to me.”

  Tanner chuckled. “Then you’re stronger than me already.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “I understand perfectly,” Tanner interrupted. “You want to be strong. Keele makes you strong, you give us the goods we need. What do you say, Keele? The sooner we get out of here the better.”

  “You ask a lot of me,” Keele said.

  Neekson’s chin rose. Amber eyes locked onto brown. Neekson held Keele’s eyes for a good four seconds before jerking his head away.

  Keele’s moustache twitched. He produced a blank parchment from within his cloak and a bottle of black ink and a quill from another pocket. He began inscribing elegantly formed symbols on the parchment.

  The innkeeper arrived and plunked three drinks down in front of them. Neekson paid for all three of them. Tanner took a belt of ale and tried to guess what all the symbols on Keele’s parchment meant. Across from him, Neekson fidgeted restlessly.

  Keele finished and handed the parchment to Neekson. “I require one of everything on the list. Except for the horn of rhinoceros.”

  Neekson looked up.

  “I need two of them.”

  Neekson opened his mouth, then closed it.

  “Can you do it?” Tanner asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ll try. I have certain… contacts. I’ll do what I can.”

  “You will get it all,” Keele said. “By twilight. Or you will never be strong.”

  Neekson nodded and stuffed the list inside his cloak. On his way out, Leese mussed his hair and pinched his bottom.

  Tanner placed his mug on the table. “Think making him strong will do him any good?”

  Keele wasn’t listening. He spat on the table, then glared in the direction of the innkeeper. “I did not ask for cow’s milk,” he said.

  Tanner grimaced and wondered how the innkeeper felt about spiders.

  Twilight found Tanner sitting beneath the same gargantuan tusk staring sourly into the mug of ale he had just purchased with his last copper. It irked him that after only two swigs precious little ale remained in the mug. That wasn’t all that was bothering him. The stable master had just informed him that he owed two guild for the lodging of his horses—two guild more than he possessed. Two guards had lurked menacingly behind the stable master as he spoke.