by SL Figuhr
Colin sighed; he was beginning to feel tired of assuaging his brother’s ego. “What the hell am I not supporting? Did you just hear what I said about Eron and me and the sheriff? Either the man we talked to at the palace or the scribe must have let leak for whom we’re searching. Even murder by a cult doesn’t supersede our problems. I’m not going to lie. After what happened last night, I’m tired too. We need to leave, take the soul gem back, let the little boy come to us. I don’t want to abandon you, but after last night I can’t take more.”
He waited for the explosion he knew was coming. His brother didn’t disappoint. Colin made a wiping motion with his hands; in one of the few times in his life, he stood up, leaving his brother at the table, and went upstairs to retrieve their stuff. Mica, for his part, stomped out of the bar. Once out in the chilly, windy day, he stopped to look up at the gray sky. He knew, as the one who had taken the soul gem, he faced death, and that sooner than he wanted. He prayed to whatever God might still exist that a miracle be delivered the companions to help defeat Nicky before The Guardian came.
As Mica fumed, he thought he saw Mary Elana crossing the yard out of the corner of his eye. A thought floated at the edges of his consciousness—something was necessary, something was part of a conversation—but he couldn’t remember what either was. Mica wondered what she was up to. He had gotten the impression her father didn’t let her out of his sight if he could help it. He found out a few moments later when the stable master finally stopped glaring at him and went back into the stables. Movement at the corner of his eye made him turn his head. The girl was standing there with a ragged, tattered shawl covering her head, holding a bucket full of water.
Mary Elana blushed heavily, lowering her eyes, blurting out in a soft voice, “I . . . I wanted to apologize for the way I behaved toward you and your friends. I’m . . . I’m not used to men treating me kindly or-or wanting to help without expecting anything in return.’”
She bit her lip, shifting uneasily, giving Mica the impression she wanted to ask something more of him but was too embarrassed to speak. He went on jovially, “You won’t have to worry about my brother or me. We’re leaving the tavern today so we won’t be around much.”
Mica could see she was shocked, although she tried to hide it. “Is-is it because of what . . . what the sheriff did to you-your friends yesterday?”
“Hm? Oh, no. Listen, Mary Elana.” His fingers groped in his money belt, which was depressingly light, drawing out a few silver coins. “I know it isn’t much, but I want you to have it as thanks for everything.’’ Before she could protest, he rushed on, “I know you said your father would take any money from you but surely you can find a place to hide it? You shouldn’t have to live a life being constantly abused and overworked.”
Mica pressed the coins into Mary Elana’s hand, closing her fingers over them tightly. “If you’ll permit me to share some wisdom I’ve learned over the years?” At her hesitant nod, he continued, “Don’t give up hope of getting out of here. There’s more to this world, to this town even, than your father’s tavern. The opportunity to change things for ourselves comes in many forms. It’s not always obvious, or may frighten at first. If you ever get a chance to leave, take it. Don’t ever hesitate to make things better for yourself. You have to look after yourself; no one else will. Believe me, it’s something I’ve learned from experience.”
“How,” she paused to wet her lips, “how do you know it’s a chance for the better? That . . . that the people who offer it are good? That . . . that they don’t mean you harm?”
He blew a breath out. “There’s a saying: if it seems too good to be true, it probably is. What I mean is: if someone gives you something for free, or with little to no work, somewhere along the line there’s a catch. It may not show right away; it may take years, or come at a bad time. If it’s worth having, usually you have to work to get it. Tell me, in all your time at the tavern, have you not met men or women who made you think: there’s something about them which seems off, or wrong?”
He hoped he wasn’t confusing her. “Don’t worry, we’ll still be in the area and will probably be stopping at the tavern from time to time until we finish our business here. So if you ever need anything, just let one of us know, okay?”
Mica shook his head, smiling. “No thanks needed.” He paused to make sure they were not being observed. “Go hide those coins well and scoot. We don’t want your father catching you and taking it from you.’”
Mary Elana blushed again and shyly agreed. She made her way across the stable yard again to disappear behind the tavern. Mica sighed to himself; he wished he could have done more for her but he didn’t know what. There was no way for him or his brother to see she got somewhere else safe, not if they wanted to make sure their quest ended here.
“The ill-mannered lout was trying to make us pay again for our food and at least another two days’ rent for the room! What, did he think we wouldn’t remember what he charged us the first night?” Colin was highly indignant and Mica knew it took a lot to upset him.
Mica squinting up at the sun. “No, we’ve been going about everything all wrong. We must speak with the sheriff. We’ll have to do whatever we can to get information from him, and check that he’s not lying to us.”
Colin raised his brows. “Are you forgetting he hates us? He tried to have Eron and me hanged. We were only saved because a contingent of palace guards came by and saw what was going on. Luckily, they hate the sheriff and put a stop to his fun.”
Mica was shaking his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. How stupid of me!" He clenched a hand, continuing, “I don’t know what the hell is wrong. Ever since we got here, I’ve been unable to think straight. I’m in some sort of fog where all I can do is react to my emotions, and they’re all horribly exaggerated!”
His brother tried to console him. “We’ve all been feeling it. It’s because we’re tired and worn out with looking. I know you don’t have much time left. We should take the day off. Recuperate and get back at it bright and early.”
“No. No,” Mica replied hoarsely. “I see what we need to do now. Let’s get it done and go from there.” He started out of the stable yard after getting directions to the sheriff’s headquarters.
The men spent a bit of time in the narrow, winding streets before stumbling across the building, a ramshackle wooden affair constructed of loosely joined boards intended for a scrap pile. Cautiously, the two men pushed the door open, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the gloom. They saw a shallow front room with a desk and chair, plain wooden benches, a second door, and torches. The floor was packed dirt. A cord, hanging by the desk, disappeared into the ceiling. With the door to the street closed, the room had a claustrophobic feel to it. Mica tugged the rope, hearing a bell ring behind the wall. The wait was long before the inner door cracked open, and a face peered out.
“What do you want?” the man demanded.
“We’ve come to make inquiries about a thief.”
“Yeah, so?”
“This is the sheriff’s office, is it not? We were informed by Aranthus that your office handles all complaints not related to the nobility. May we ask you some questions on the subject?” Mica used his politest tone. “We are merchants.”
Colin and Mica looked at each other as the door opened and a different man stepped out with a slave. The slave sat at the desk, arranging a wet clay tablet and stylus. "Now, state your full name and what you do.”
Mica breathed a small sigh. He complied, as did Colin. “Now, who do you think stole your money, and where and when did the theft take place?”
Mica hurried to placate him. “I assure you sir, it is not a waste of time. The boy is a menace, and we believe if you would let us explain, you too would understand why it is important he is found. Please.” Mica rested one hand on his coin wallet, tapping it.
The man before him took the offering with a sour grimace. “Very well. Why should I be concerned with a boy thief?�
�� He adopted a bored expression.
“The boy follows a pattern: a wealthy merchant takes him on, in a work capacity or sometimes as an apprentice. When he has gained the merchant’s complete trust, he, along with his accomplice, robs him of everything he can. We came across two nobles in other towns, duped by this boy. My associate and I believe the boy may have already fleeced some merchants here. He may have wormed his way into the nobles’ circle. Unfortunately, we cannot be sure, and we do not want to go to the king without proof.”
“And you want me to do what for you?” the man asked.
“We are trying to discover if any merchants have made formal complaints about a boy stealing from them. It would be significant amounts. The boy uses disguises, so he would appear different to each person except for his height and age. He is twelve, about yea high, gray eyes. He may pretend he’s an orphan who’s lost his parents to brigands while traveling. Sometimes, he gets kindhearted people to take him in and introduce him to those he plans on robbing.”
“You don’t say?” While the tone was faintly sarcastic, they could tell the man was interested despite himself. He studied the toe of his boots before saying, “Frank here’d have to look at the records for any mention.”
“Any time you can spare would be most appreciated. We are willing to make another donation if any information is found to help us,” Mica replied.
“Just what’re you planning on doing if we do know about the boy?" the man demanded. “If he has broken the law, you do not get to decide his fate.”
“I was informed by His Majesty’s chamberlain we may bring the boy and our case before the king to have a judgment made. Of course, it would be with the cooperation of your office,” Mica replied. “We hope that by finding him, we can recover any of our property remaining in his possession, or at least find out where and to whom it was sold.”
“Can’t go arresting someone on your own,” the lawman replied, “and unless you have a list and description of what was stolen, I can’t turn anything which might be found on such persons over to you.”
“The sheriff needs to clear your request first. I’ll present your case to him. If he agrees there is time to look, it’ll take a week before I have any information for you. Do the person and his accomplice have names they like to use?”
“Well, when he was with us, he told us his name was Michael Nicholas. I think he may like to use either a variation of it, or sometimes part of his name. We never did learn the name of his accomplice,” Mica replied, noting the man’s small, and quickly hidden, start.
“You’re most generous, sir. If I may request one other piece of information? Who in this town might take in orphans? We could inquire of them while we wait,” Mica asked.
As soon as they were out the door, Colin spoke, “I bet there are other slaves who’d probably help us find the boy for a price. We should try . . .”
“No, trying to gain a slave’s trust would take too long. If we have a chance, fine, but I’m not pursuing it.” Mica hurried as much as the streets would allow. “Did you notice Saizar start a little at the name?”
“No," Colin said. “You think he knows more than he’s letting on?” “I’d bet on it. Let’s only hope the boy hasn’t run off again.”
“Well,” Mica’s brother said, “it is a common name. In the interest of fairness, it’s possible there is another person with a similar name, and he thinks we mixed them up. We don’t know if the kid is still here.”
The brothers continued to walk as the afternoon slowly slipped away. While the mud had dried enough that they didn’t have to fight for each step, it had also encased the garbage. The closer they got to the quarter, the more crowded the center became. The two men stopped at an outdoor food stall, buying heavily spiced sausages wrapped in bread, and also asked for directions. The cottage to which the food sellers directed them was halfway down a swiftly narrowing street. It was in need of whitewashing, and the priest had tacked a crude cross on the door. There was a shuttered window to one side of the door, and above it, two more.
Colin shrugged, knocking on the door, which met with no response. He pounded again, waited again, then tried pushing on the door. It swung open. The only illumination in the murky interior came from chinks in the ill-fitting wood and an as yet unseen source of weak sunlight, nearly hidden by a rickety wall.
“Better leave the door open a crack." Mica cautiously nudged it open, propping it thus with a nearby rock. The watery light barely penetrated the gloom, but it was enough for them to see that the floor, hard-packed dirt, bore a broom’s brush marks, and the table likewise had been rudely swabbed. The two men let their eyes adjust before cautiously moving farther into the space. Mica stumbled over a crude table, and he held an arm out to stop his brother.
“Hold on; this is ridiculous,” Mica growled, fumbling in another pouch. He brought out flint, steel and the stub of a candle he had taken from the Bloody Knuckles. Colin held the stub. After a few tries, Mica got it lit. Mica held the candle aloft to better examine the wall against which the table was pushed. It didn’t appear to be original to the cottage, but rather placed to divide what space there was. The brothers placed a hand against it for guidance, as only a small portion at a time was illuminated by the candle flame, following it to the far side, which was only a few paces away.
“Hello?” Colin called out to no response. Mica held a piece of long unbleached muslin away from the opening it concealed. “Hello? Father John? We wish to speak with you.” There was no answer. Leading with the candle, Mica passed through.
They stood in a space clearly intended to be a cooking area. A fireplace dominated the outside wall, crudely made with whatever bricks and stone could be scavenged. An open door filled in the rest of the wall. Mica went over, looking out. “Manages to have a chicken coop, a well, and a small garden. He’s not as poor as everyone makes him out to be.”
He pulled his head back in, prowling about the room. The firebox filled with cold ashes. A covered bucket holding water, a tight corkscrew of stairs leading up near the interior opening. Against the separation, a straw pallet neatly made up with a threadbare blanket. On a peg above hung a crude brown cassock made of wool. The last wall had shelves nailed to it, holding two each of crudely carved wooden bowls, trenchers, and cups. On a second shelf were a wheel of moldy cheese, stale bread, and sausage reeking of garlic. Below sat three covered buckets. A bit of prying revealed grain, possibly for the hens, some potatoes and dried apples.
Mica looked around. “I think we’ve invaded their privacy enough. They should have heard us by now and made their presence known. Unless they think we’re up to no good?" He approached the stairs, calling into the darkness above, “Hello? Father John? We mean you no harm. We are merchant men wishing to ask you some questions. The sheriff’s men directed us to you.”
The brothers walked back out to the front. Mica noticed a locked wooden crate under the table. It piqued his curiosity, being finer made than anything they had seen. The lock was simple, but he wasn’t about to pick something belonging to a man of God. Behind and to one side of the table was a reed basket. Mica peeked in, saw something woven. He took it out and unrolled it. It was a thin square reed mat, just big enough for a person to sit or kneel on. He put it back, noting the basket held several of them. Colin was already at the front door. He followed his brother after extinguishing the candle and storing it back in his pouch. His brother was talking to an old woman leaning out the window of the cottage across the street. Mica joined them.
She was suspicious. “You better not ’ave messed with the good father’s house. I be telling him about the likes of you two fancy men snooping around.” Her voice was cracked, wavering with age.
“We are not here to cause the father problems, ma’am.” At the title, the old lady cackled. Colin courteously replied. “We were hoping to find Father John inside. Do you know where he has gone?”
“Forgive me ma’am," Colin soothed, “we heard Father John helps orphans. We
were once thus ourselves. We thought to see the good work he does and make a donation in remembrance of one who helped us in our time of need.”
“Hah!” she challenged. “Liars! Now get before I send for the law.” Her still-piercing eyes swept them both, no doubt to remember what they looked like.
Colin reached into his pouch, drawing out one of their precious coins. He held it out to her. “For you, if you will please tell the priest, when next you see him, that two parchment merchants wish to speak with him. We shall stop back in a few days to visit again.”
The crone reached out a hand with twisted fingers and large knuckles to snatch the offering. She bit into the coin with her few remaining teeth, decided it was real. “Come back in three days, in the morning.” She withdrew into the cottage, slamming the shutters closed.
Colin motioned to Mica. They returned the way they arrived, almost positive they were being spied on by other hidden residents. As soon as they turned the street corner, Colin said, "Three days!”
Mica turned to check they were not being followed; so far he saw nothing. “We should make inquiries of the prosperous merchants.” He cast a glance up at the sky, the sun sinking down slowly.
“And what if they complain to the sheriff? It’s sheer luck the man we spoke with either didn’t recognize us, or hadn’t heard of our problems with his boss.” They turned another corner, leaving the poorer part of the quarter.
“We need to increase our store of funds if we’re going to keep bribing people. Soon we’ll be looking for a job, like Eron.” It was the wrong thing to say.
Colin sighed to himself, suggesting, “Okay. Fine, we’ll start questioning. Besides, we still need to find a spot to camp, and it’s getting dark. You’ve been having nightmares ever since you stumbled upon the clearing, which I take is in the woods. I know you’ll consider it a waste of time, but we should try and find it. Some event happened at the grove to disturb you. Looking at it in daylight would put those fears to rest.”
