by Brian Lumley
Questers for Kuranes:
Two Tales of Hero and Eldin
by Brian Lumley
Dimension House/Delerium Books
(April 2006)
(Published as a 52-copy leather-bound hardcover.)
The Weird Wines of Naxas Niss
Weirdbook 26, Autumn 1991
The Stealer of Dreams
Weirdbook 27, Spring 1992
The Dreamland Series:An A to Z Concordance
The Primal Land Series:An A to Z Concordance
by BY W. PAUL GANLEY
from:
The Brian Lumley Companion
Tor Books NY, November 2002
Table of Contents
HERO AND ELDIN
The Weird Wines of Naxas Niss
The Stealer of Dreams
CONCORDANCES
The Dreamland Series: An A to Z Concordance
The Primal Land Series: An A to Z Concordance
HERO AND ELDIN
THE WEIRD WINES OF NAXAS NISS
“You pays your money and you takes your chance!” the barker cried. “For the price of admission only, drink as many measures of my priceless magical wines as you can. The measures may be small, but the results can be totally un-be-lievable! Just step inside and a variety of choices are yours. Admission is just one tond—which may seem expensive, until you realize that you’re drinking priceless wines! And for a mere tond you enter, imbibe my measures one at a time but as many as you can, then exit, and you’re back where you started—maybe! But one thing’s certain: you’ll never be the same man again! You pays your money and you takes your chance! One at a time, gents, if you please …”
David Hero and Eldin the Wanderer looked at each other with raised eyebrows, then turned their gaze back to the barker. He was a dapper if somewhat eccentric little specimen of Homo ephemerens, (which is to say, a dreamlander) dressed in a red velvet jacket, green pants which came only halfway down his chubby calves, bright blue socks with their tops thonged to the bottoms of his trousers, like reversed suspenders, and tiny black high-heeled clogs. Tubby enough to be termed rotund, he had a voice to match his girth, but in height came up only so tall as somewhere short of the questers’ shoulders. This meant that while he was a little shorter than most full-grown denizens of dream, it was likely that he’d also be a good deal heavier; one of those rare exceptions where Eldin’s cognomen (it was the Wanderer who’d first coined Homo ephemerens) scarce fitted the subject. No one could be less ephemeral than this one!
But a dreamlander he was, a showman, too, and a barker of no mean prowess to boot—as Eldin’s suddenly dry tongue in his clammy cave of a mouth might readily attest. “What with all his pattering on about his damned wines,” the Wanderer said, as he and Hero elbowed closer to the tent, “and the sun being so hot today and all, I do believe I’m developing a thirst.”
“So what else is new?” Hero grunted, continuing to observe the little showman and his doings.
Beneath his velvet jacket—whose lapels merely flanked the barker’s chest, like the wings of a great plump rooster—he wore a gray silk shirt blazoned with the gold-glowing legend: “Naxas Niss, Exotic Wines!” Niss’ hair was black as coal, grown from a single tuft in the middle of his head, plastered down in a fringe which was cropped uniformly and equidistant from its center at a point just above his bushy black eyebrows and right round to the back of his skull. If he were slimmer, he’d be like the clothespeg men that the children of Celephais painted to look like soldiers, but being fat he looked more like a toy lead-bottomed clown who won’t fall over, because when you knock him down he wobbles upright again. As for his origin: there was that in his accent which said he was probably a Dylath-Leener, but being so radically different he could in fact be from just about anywhere. Indeed, outlandish anonymity might well be his principal disguise!
All in all, a more harmless-seeming, amusing, and amiable little man the questers had never seen, which was just about the last thing they’d expected; for the fact of the matter was that they were here to “bring him in.” Naxas Niss was a criminal; so said King Kuranes, and being king, Kuranes was the boss around here. What’s more, Hero and Eldin were his agents, and very well-paid for it, too.
It was Fair Day in Celephais; which meant nothing very much, for you could find a fair somewhere in the Timeless City almost every other day of the week all year round. A surfeit of fairs, in fact. Not hard to explain, really: Fairs require that people are giving, and at the same time nothing kills them off faster than inclement weather. The people of Celephais were good and giving, the climate invariably kind, and rain extremely rare. So Celephais and fairs went hand in hand. As long as Mount Aran had had its snowy crest, and palms and ginkgos at its foot, and rocky spurs reaching out and sinking into the incredible blue of the Southern Sea, just precisely so long had there been fairs in Celephais; which is to say a very long time indeed.
However, (and as any addict will readily attest) not all fairs are fair fairs, and some are downright unfair. For every fair with shies where coconuts may be won, there’s at least one where they can’t, with more glue in the cups than coconuts! And if the shies are fixed, then it may generally be reckoned that the rest of the fair will follow suit. Word soon gets about, though, and unfairs quickly lose their customers, move on, or go broke. Fairs may therefore be recognized by their great crowds of laughing, jostling, bright-eyed people, while unfairs have surly men out cropping the grass between the various stalls and sideshows. This is nothing new, merely a reminder.
“And yet,” said Hero, out of the corner of his mouth, for he and Eldin were close now to the barker, “this bloke seems to be getting all the customers he can handle.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Eldin answered. “And a good many of ‘em go back for more. There’s one old lad I’ve seen go in the front of that tent and out the back three times already. At a tond a time he’ll soon be broke! So it can’t be a confidence trick’cos no one gets caught on the same hook twice, and certainly not three times! On the other hand, if Niss’s a thief, then what’s he stealing? We’ve been here an hour at least and I haven’t heard a single cry for help, nor yet seen a sign of distress or even discomfort on a single face.”
They thought back on this morning’s message from Kuranes, delivered to them by runner at the tiny garret where they lodged overlooking the wharves. Normally the king would have called them to his ivy-clad Cornish manor house on the city’s outskirts, where a bit of Cornwall went down from the walls to the shore and became a jumble of granite and seaweed called Fang Rocks; but the note explained why on this occasion he had not done so:
Hero, Eldin—
I’ve matters to attend to in Serannian, else I’d speak to you personally. Here’s the problem: nakedness, imprudence bordering on madness, possible fraud and probable theft, and a lot of aimless running about! It’s like a plague, which by the various embarrassments of its nature remains hidden. It has been brought to my attention not by its victims but their wives. The one common factor (malefactor, I suspect) is a man called Naxas Niss in his tent at the fair. Niss works whichever fair suits him, only an hour or two at a time, and pays a fat percentage to the organizers for the privilege. But he never works the same fair on consecutive days, which means he’ll need tracking down. So that’s your job: find him, get the goods on him, and bring him to book in front of Leewas Nith. And let me know how it worked out when I get back. And stay out of trouble!
Yours, Kuranes
Which in a nutshell explains the presence and purpose of the adventurers here, outside Naxas Niss’ tiny, tassled yellow tent.
Hero was the ran
gy one, quite young, all blond, fond, and smiling, and dressed in russet brown; while Eldin was some years older, thicker-set, long-armed, dark to match his attire and scarred a bit around the face, which made him threatening even when he wasn’t. Late of the waking world, they made a living now as questers in Earth’s dreamlands. They loved each other like brothers (though like most brothers they’d never admit it); loved booze and a good fight, too, and girls even more; if they weren’t such rogues then by now they’d be legends. Rogues they were, however, or roguish, anyway … but in any case they wouldn’t want anyone apologizing for them. Kuranes thought they were good’uns, which just about says it all.
“Something’s wrong, though.” Hero smiled, nodded, and chuckled, as if he engaged the other in light and trivial conversation. “For I’ve been taking note of the people going in—one at a time, you’ve doubtless observed, and each accompanied personally by Niss—not all of whom come out again.”
“Eh?” The Wanderer smiled in his turn. “No, I hadn’t noticed that. But if it’s so, why, then the rest are still inside!” It seemed obvious.
“What, twenty-five in the front and only nineteen out the back?” said Hero, chortling and slapping his thigh. “But there’s hardly room in there for two or three, let alone six. Not and Naxas Niss to boot!”
“What I have just noticed, however,” said Eldin, “is this: that of those who do come out, a third dash off in unseemly haste, in all directions, and all wearing queer expressions. Gone to puke, d’you think?”
Most of the crowd had melted away by now, leaving the pair right up front and quite conspicuous. “How about you, young sir?” said Niss to Hero, pointing his black, gold-tipped cane at him. “Can’t I interest you in my wines? I’ll not be here all day—an hour more at most—so if you’ve a mind to try a tipple, now’s the time, young sir, now’s the time!”
“And my father?” said Hero, who liked to make a lot of the difference in his and Eldin’s ages. “Can he come in, too? See, he’s just this morning in receipt of his pension, and—”
With a low growl, Eldin elbowed him none too gently aside. And to Naxas Niss: “I’m sorry, sir, but the village, er, pumpkin here is in my care.” Stepping back a pace, he made twirling motions alongside Hero’s ear. “Can’t let him out of my sight, if you see what I mean. He, er—he does things, you know.”
“Does things?” Niss looked up at Hero a little warily, considered his peculiar grin, and backed off a pace.
“Too true!” Eldin replied, completely carried away. “Put bats up spinsters’ knickers, piddles in the reservoir, generally annoys his elders and betters.” And tone hardening, and tweaking Hero’s ear: “Indeed, he especially annoys his—”
“We’d gladly come in, by all means.” Hero cut him short, wriggling free of his ear-tweaking, bowing low and with a flourish to Naxas Niss. “And please excuse our horseplay; it was harmless, I assure you, much like my oafish companion here. But you see, we do everything—almost everything, anyway—together. Aye, and we’d dearly love to try out your wines, but not if you can only accommodate us one at a time.” He then went on to explain about fair fairs and unfair fairs, finishing with: “And who’s to say we’d not get nobbled as we stepped inside, eh? Not that I’d hint for one moment that you’re such a blackguard yourself, Naxas Niss, but one can’t be too careful these days. Best to be cautious, that’s what I always say. And so, if my friend and I mayn’t tipple together, why, then we’ll simply take our thirsts to the marquee yonder, where they sell those excellent dark brown ales!”
He and Eldin made as if to move along, but Niss grabbed their elbows. Looking guardedly this way and that, finally he said: “What? I should let you ruin your throats and burn your innards on slop like that? And never know the delights of my exotiques? Unthinkable!”
“Exotiques?” Eldin lifted an eyebrow.
“Antique and exotic both,” Niss explained. “Exotique! Very well, since the crowd’s thinned out a bit, I’ll take the two of you together. But let’s have an understanding, gentlemen. You’ve explained your fear of thuggery, so I’ll explain mine. The reason I normally insist upon only one customer at a time is for fear of just such felons. Not that I would ever believe it of you two, you understand; but in any case. I must insist that once inside you follow my instructions to the letter. Are we agreed?”
Hero and Eldin shrugged, nodded.
“Very well, then it’s this way, gentlemen, please.” And leading them inside, he reversed his Open sign to read Closed—for Now!
What the pair had expected would be hard to say, but it was not what they found. Inside the tent was … the inside of a tent; with a grass floor, a small folding table, and a large locked trunk in one corner. In front of the table stood a folding chair, and another behind it, while upon the table itself:
“Naxas Niss’ weird wines!” said Niss, beaming.
Hero and Eldin stared fixedly at the five bottles on the table, and at the five tiny (oh so tiny) glasses which stood beside them. The bottles were chunky, of clear crystal, and each contained a wine of a different color. There were red, green, white, and golden wines all in a row, and a black one, which stood a little apart. “Mine, that one,” Niss explained. “A potion, a remedy for stomach cramps, purely medicinal, you understand.”
“Right,” said Eldin, approaching the table and rubbing his huge hands. “So what’ll we try first, eh?”
Naxas Niss stepped nimbly between. “Caution, my large and eager friend,” he said. “First your tond, if you please, and then an explanation.”
“I have nothing to explain,” Eldin frowned, forking out.
“But I have,” said Naxas Niss.
“I see no point.” The Wanderer was bemused. “Here’s the wine, openly displayed, and here a bone-dry receptacle.” And he pointed to his bobbing Adam’s apple. “Will you explain how I must tilt the glass into my mouth? I’ve taken wine before, sir, I assure you.”
“But there are wines and there are wines,” purred Naxas Niss. “Except be sure that these wines require something of an explanation.”
Now Hero spoke up, handing over his tond in turn, saying: “Very well, so explain.”
While the pair looked on astonished, Naxas Niss commenced a very nimble jig for a creature his shape while singing:
“It’s a ritual,’ said the little man, ‘now listen and you’ll see,
One wine sends you where you were before you were here,
And one transports you blushing where you most desire to be!
I can guarantee that one wine will guarantee your return,
And the last wine tells which color fits which—
Ah, and turns you color blind in turn!”
He quit dancing, beamed at the would-be bibbers, took a seat behind his table and poured wine from each bottle into its own tiny glass, a thimbleful to each. “Take your pick, my lads,” he said expansively. “For you’ve paid your money, and now you takes your chances.”
“Now hold!” snapped Eldin at once, scowling a little. “That riddle you’ve just riddled seems a strange and sinister thing to me. Are you hinting there’s danger in these wines?”
“Danger?” Naxas Niss drew back his head, tucked in his chin, looked pained. “How so? They change perspectives, that’s all—but all very quickly reverts, I promise you. Sinister? But if my intentions were dishonest, would I warn you in the words of my song? No, of course not! Or perhaps there is an element of danger—to the faint of heart. But to the adventurer born … ? However”—and he shrugged, perhaps disappointedly—“no one can force you to drink. And so, since you no longer desire to avail yourselves of—”
“Hold!” Now it was Hero’s turn to bark, as Niss made as if to pour the wines back into their bottles. He reached out and stayed the little man’s hands. “We’ve paid our money, Naxas, after all.”
“So choose your poison!” said Niss, and at once burst out laughing—and just as quickly sobered. “Why, what is all this? Do you really suppose I’d h
arm you?”
“Not if you know what’s good for you!” growled Eldin.
“Ah!” said Niss, eyes narrowing, hand straying just a little toward the black bottle. “So you’re a pair of bullyboys after all, eh?”
“No such thing,” said Hero. “We’re cautious, that’s all, as I’ve avowed.”
“Now, look,” said Niss, sighing, as he picked up one of the glasses—with red wine in it—which he at once tossed back! An expression of extreme delight crossed his face, and before it could fade he tilted the red wine bottle and topped up the tiny glass again. “Now, tell me,” he was all innocence, “would I poison myself?”
The questers studied his face for several long moments but he seemed entirely unharmed. “Red it is,” said Eldin then, reaching for the same glass.
“And I’ll go for gold,” said Hero. “For if aught peculiar happens to me, why you’ll still be around to settle the score.”
“Good!” cried Naxas Niss. “We’re getting somewhere at last.”
They drank.
The wine was good, indeed exotique! Niss watched the tipplers with an expression like an Ulthar cat, some of which retire there from the waking world when they’ve spent their nine lives, notably from a place called Cheshire.
Hero said: “Excellent!” And a strange dazed look came into his eyes. “Truly excellent!” he said again, and before Eldin could stop him promptly walked out through the flap in the back wall of the tent. The Wanderer gaped, then dashed after him.
