Saga of Menyoral: Hard Luck

by Ray, M. A.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You don’t think he’s mean?”

  “No, sir.” Vandis wasn’t mean. There wasn’t any cruelty in him, only cranky Vandis-ness.

  Santo actually stopped stuffing in mutton stew to appraise him for a moment. "Lookin' at'cha, I'd say you got a different standard of mean than most guys."

  Dingus's face burned. He lifted his shoulders in a shrug, but didn’t say nothing. What was the point? He guessed he probably did.

  “Okay, pal, you can go if you want. Just wanted to introduce myself, ’cause I’m here to help you out if ya need it.” Santo waved his spoon toward the door to outside. Dingus practically leapt up, relieved, and grabbed his tray.

  Sir Santo added, “We’ll talk.”

  Dingus blanched. There were no two words more horrifying. Without saying good-bye, he rushed off to drop his dishes in the big bin next to the food line, and then outside. He’d have to plan out a few choice hiding spots. He’d rather die than get caught alone and have to Have A Talk with anyone.

  Somebody Up There Likes Him

  Dreamport

  the castle Last Resort

  “Well, Vandis, how much do you need today? Take a seat and let’s get it over with.”

  “I won’t ask for money today,” Vandis said. “That’s not why I’m here, but I won’t say no if you want to give us some.” His Grace, Marcus Xavier, raised one eyebrow. Like his hair, it had a few threads left of that brassy blond that red turned on its way toward white. Marcus was old, but those sharp blue eyes of his hadn’t dulled or dimmed, and he could probably kick Vandis’s ass around the castle. He still had at least eighty pounds of muscle on Vandis, and two feet of height. Good thing they were friends.

  “Actually, I brought something for you.” He handed Marcus the few papers he’d gotten from Eagle Eye, straightaway after he’d left Dingus at the way station. Marcus took them with a put-upon sigh, and while he balanced his reading glasses on his nose Vandis looked around the study. If his study up at HQ was half so nice—well, he’d still hate sitting in it. Marcus had a gigantic, polished cherry wood desk and a monstrous, thick carpet from farthest Hayed on the stone floor. A tapestry showing a unicorn in a herd of fairies hung from ceiling to floor, twenty feet if it was an inch. And in the tall, narrow windows—glass, clear and bubble-free.

  “Well,” said Marcus at last. “Everything seems to be in order. What do you think?”

  Vandis looked out to where the pale blue sky met the dark water of the ocean. “I’d say he has the look, but you can’t really tell right now.” He grimaced, thinking of how badly the boy’d been beaten. “He’s got the hair, that’s for sure.”

  “When can I expect him?”

  “You can’t,” Vandis said bluntly, getting it over with, and the old duke stood to use his impressive height against the shorter man.

  “Don’t press my temper.”

  “Don’t try to intimidate me. I’ll bring him to you in good time. He’s going to earn his leaf first, at the very least.”

  “What makes you say so?” Marcus planted his hands on his desk and leaned over, bringing his narrowed eyes right to the level of Vandis’s. Vandis didn’t blink as Marcus went on. “What makes you say that, instead of joining his family and learning to take up his birthright—instead of coming to me, where he’ll be comfortable, protected, and more than welcomed—instead, he ought to gallivant about the countryside learning to read sign and tell outrageous stories in taverns?”

  “He wants it,” Vandis said. “You wanted it once. Dingus wants it, and more. He needs it. Besides, do you really think I would’ve stopped in Wealaia on my own? She wants him for Herself, and She put Her hand on me to get him.” He wondered how much to say, and went for broke. “She said She’d chosen me for him.”

  The bushy white eyebrows shot high.

  “I can’t take that lightly, Marcus. Even if I could…when I found him, the assholes had the rope around his neck. Like I said, you can’t really tell if he’s got the look—because he’s had the living shit beaten out of him.”

  Marcus’s mouth tightened. “I see. And the family blessing?”

  “I don’t know.” He wasn’t sure if he could see it or not. Maybe he didn’t know Dingus well enough. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” he decided. “I don’t know if he’s got the berserkergang, but I’d be shocked if he wasn’t something special. You saw what his family’s like on the hitul side of things.”

  “The grandparents, you mean.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Eagle Eye,” Marcus said. “I’ve met him. It was almost certainly before you were born—when Brother Fox came up to see His Majesty, once. I was very new to the dukedom. A solid fellow, for all his exploits, and a crack shot worthy of his name.”

  “Maybe a little too solid. They didn’t tell him anything about House Xavier.” Vandis pressed on in spite of the thundercloud on Marcus’s face. “He’s not ready for what you have to give him. It’ll be a nightmare.”

  “Don’t forget, I’ve dealt with a difficult child,” Marcus said.

  “He wouldn’t give you a lick of trouble. That’s the problem. It’ll be a nightmare for him.”

  The Duke of Friedhelm leaned back, rubbing his clean-shaven chin and staring at the tapestry unicorn. “He’s that raw?”

  “Like an open wound. He put up with it, but he didn’t even like the medic touching him.”

  “I’m getting old, Vandis.”

  “You’re already old. Give me five years.”

  Marcus consulted the papers Vandis had brought him, drumming his fingers on the desk. “Two. He comes of age in two years. After he takes the leaf, I want him.”

  “Five years. I don’t know much about what he can do, but even if he’s ready to take the leaf in two years, he won’t be ready for you.” As if anyone ever could be.

  “I wasn’t ready to be me,” Marcus said. “Three years.”

  “She wants him. I told you that already. I don’t know what She wants him for, but She wants him, and She wants him a Knight.” Marcus’s hand stilled, and he raised his brows. Vandis continued. “If She tells me to bring him to you before the five years are up, you know that I will.”

  Marcus looked like he had a mouthful of vinegar. “And if She tells you to keep him longer?”

  Vandis mirrored his expression. Too much to hope the old Duke wouldn’t ask that question. “Then I’ll have to keep him longer. You know that, too. I do what I’m told.”

  “Like hell!” Marcus burst into laughter.

  “I do what She tells me.”

  Marcus sighed again, a sigh like lead. “I suppose I can’t argue, can I? At least tell him about me.”

  “That’ll ruin what I need to do with him,” Vandis said, shaking his head. “When the time comes, I’ll tell him everything. You have my word.”

  “Five years.”

  “It’s the right thing,” Vandis said, and all the way back to Elwin’s Ford he remained positive it was. When he touched down in the yard in the middle of the next morning he rubbed his chilled fingers together and went inside to see how Dingus was getting along.

  He poked his head into the dormitories. He took a look in the infirmary, walked around the chapel, and searched in the kitchen and its attached garden. He went out and hammered on every last privy door, and didn’t find a trace of a bone-skinny redheaded boy.

  He swore and stomped into the dining hall. It was dinnertime, and he couldn’t see Dingus missing any meals, not after watching how he ate on the road. Then he sat there for an hour, eyeing the traffic and waiting like a moron, drumming his fingers on the table like Marcus had on the desk. By the time he spotted some kids about Dingus’s age and went to ask them if they’d seen his Squire, he was in a seriously bad mood.

  “Where’s Dingus?” he bit off, without even greeting them. He only got bewildered, frightened stammering in response, but he didn’t let that go on very long. “Come on, you can’t miss him. He’s tall and s
kinny, with a head that looks like it’s on fire and a face that looks like it’s been stomped on.”

  “Oh,” said a kid with a shaved head. Vandis recognized Antonio Scalietti, Santo’s Squire. “That guy.” Antonio squirmed on the bench like he had piles. “I haven’t seen him in a couple days.”

  Vandis felt his face pull into a thunderous scowl. He opened his mouth to blast the kids when Serafino—he remembered Serafino pretty well—hurried up. Unlike Tony, Serafino had a head of black curls and an angel’s face, and he greeted Vandis with a sunny smile.

  “How’s everything, Vandis?”

  “Where’s Dingus?” Vandis demanded.

  “It’s the damnedest thing,” Serafino said. “He’s like a really tall ghost. I mean, I know he’s here, ’cause I’ll see him, but then I go to talk to him and he’s not there anymore. He’s been doing the same thing to Santo all week long.”

  “He’s been ducking Santo?”

  Serafino shrugged. “Still can’t give Santo the slip when he wants me for something, but this guy you found—I wish I knew half his tricks. He goes—poof!”

  Vandis blinked. “Well, if you see him, let him know I’m looking for him.”

  He went outside and looked around at the circle of buildings, thinking, until his eyes fell on the library. Grinning, he walked across the chapel.

  He found Dingus sprawled out on the table in a study alcove and snoring softly through his healing nose. His bruises were clearing; only the faintest green and yellow remained around his eyes and mouth. Vandis had never seen him without them. The swelling had melted down to show a round, homely child’s face without even a hint of the peach fuzz a full-blood human lad would have sported. The sun from the open window touched his bright hair, and one of his thin arms curved around the small book on the table, open to the center: a double-page, painted spread of a map with the legend: “Rothganar.” The vellum and paint were slightly discolored with age, and it had been made before spelling was standardized a century ago, but the map was still mostly accurate. Vandis smiled and sneaked the book away to get a look for himself. Dingus stirred, his face creasing, but then settled back into sleep.

  I’d better remember not to underestimate him, Vandis thought.

  I’ll remind you, She said, laughing.

  He flipped open the blue leather cover to read the title page. The Traveller’s Compleat and Compreehensiv Guyd to Rothganar. The front flyleaf was inscribed “The Library at Elwin’s Ford.” Vandis pulled the writing kit on the table in front of him and, under the inscription, wrote: “A gift from Vandis for Dingus P. Xavier.” After he’d blown away the sand, he lifted the edge of Dingus’s outflung right hand, intending to slip the cover underneath.

  “Uh!” Dingus jerked upright, and then sighed, relaxing slightly when his eyes fell on Vandis.

  “Hello,” Vandis said. He settled himself in the chair across the table.

  The boy smiled a little. “Hey, you’re back.”

  “What made you think of the library?”

  “I like it in here. It’s quiet and I like how it smells.” He took a deep breath. “It’s almost as good as outside.”

  “Ah. I guess the fact that nobody would think to look for you here didn’t enter into consideration at all, then.”

  “Well…at first.” He shrugged. “Then I started reading the books. They’re a lot better than the almanac.”

  “Like this one?” Vandis held up the little blue book.

  “That’s the best one I found. It’s got all kind of maps, and stuff you gotta know before you go places and all. The only thing is I think it’s a bit old.”

  “It’s outdated, but most of the cultural information is probably still correct.” He opened the cover and slid it across the table for Dingus to see. “We’ll talk about it.”

  “Vandis, you can’t give me this.”

  “I’ve already given it to you, so shut up and take it.”

  Dingus closed the book and ran callused fingertips over the cover. He looked up at Vandis. “Thanks!” he said, beaming, and it was like a punch to the chest. That was Marcus’s smile, the same delighted smile the Duke had worn when Vandis showed him the birth rolls from Elwin’s Ford. Dingus—now that Vandis could see what he looked like—bore a powerful resemblance to the Duke of Friedhelm.

  “You’re welcome,” Vandis said. “I’m not going to yell at you for reading, but hiding in the library wasn’t what I told you to do. I told you to meet people! How are you going to do that sitting in here by yourself? Now get your skinny rear out of that chair and let’s go to dinner.” Vandis stood, but Dingus stayed seated. He muttered something Vandis didn’t quite catch. “What was that?”

  “They’re all assholes, I said.”

  “I’m the only asshole you need to be concerned with. Let’s go.”

  “No you’re not,” Dingus mumbled, looking at his hands. “You don’t keep talking about it.” He touched the mark on his neck to show what he meant.

  “We don’t need to discuss it, do we?” Vandis asked, hoping they didn’t. He thought they’d made things pretty clear to one another that first morning.

  “Let’s don’t.”

  He blew out a relieved gust. Dodged that bolt, he thought, sitting back down. “Well, you know, people are going to be curious. You still look banged up, Dingus, and besides that, you’re my Squire. I’ve never had one before, and most people thought I never would.”

  “Santo told me.”

  “Santo would,” Vandis said darkly.

  After that, they sat quietly for a long time, watching out the window at the sunshine and cloud shadow chasing across the tops of the trees in the forest that backed the way station. “When can we leave?” Dingus asked.

  Vandis’s lips twitched. “You want to go ranging, is that it?”

  Again, Marcus’s smile flashed across the boy’s face. “Yeah.”

  “Not for a little while. I want you healed before we go. The wild’s no place for cracked ribs and a square mile of bruising, not if you can help it—and we can.” And if I get you killed, your grandfathers are going to split me up for sausages.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Nobody’s trying to be an asshole, either,” Vandis went on. He leaned over the table and tapped on the badge Dingus had pinned to his oversized jerkin. “You’re one of us. You’re a Squire, and the Order’s future. This badge, and the way you looked when you first came here, constitute cause for immediate and urgent concern from anyone who’s taken the leaf.”

  He rose, and this time, Dingus did, too, holding the book at his side. They were on the path to the mess hall before either one of them spoke again.

  “Vandis?”

  “What is it?”

  “You think I could get something to do while we wait?”

  “Did anyone show you the old stuff in the attic?”

  “There’s old stuff in the attic?” Maybe it was his imagination, but Dingus sounded eager.

  “All kinds of things,” Vandis said. “I’d say it’s mostly old magic stuff that doesn’t work anymore—you know, from before the fairies died. There’s usually a lot of it in the older way stations. I’ll bet the message dome’s still up there. All the way stations had one, back then. They used to be able to send messages from station to station faster than you can snap your fingers. I’ll take you up there after dinner if you want me to.”

  “I’d like that.” Dingus paused. “But after we get done, won’t be nothing to do again. I’ll do whatever. Please, though—no chickens.”

  “You’re still hurting,” Vandis said, pushing open the door to the mess hall. “Don’t worry, though—I’ll keep you busy. You’re pretty sharp. We’re going to find out exactly how sharp.”

  Dingus’s eyes darted around the mess hall, but it was late for dinner, and only the servers and cooks were eating now. They filled plates for themselves. After Vandis cleaned his, he drank sludgy coffee and watched Dingus demolish two more platefuls in addition to an entire peac
h pie, from which Vandis had allowed himself one delicious slice—though he’d wanted more. He loved sweets, but he couldn’t eat like he used to.

  “I hope you can hunt as well as you say,” Vandis said once they’d cleared up, “because otherwise, we’re going to have to take odd jobs to feed you.” He shuddered to think of what Dingus’s food requirements would be once they were outside and on the move.

  “I can do for myself.”

  They went up to the main station building and through the scrubbed, whitewashed halls, picking up greetings and a lamp on the way to the top floor. Vandis couldn’t reach the string that pulled down the attic stairs; Dingus had to stretch up and open the trapdoor. The stairs ended about a yard from the floor. It looked as if there’d been another section of steps to fold down, but it was gone now.

  “Want a boost?” Dingus asked innocently, or at least, in a tone that sounded innocent.

  “I do not,” Vandis said, catching a glimpse of the boy’s twitching mouth as he heaved himself up. “Wipe that smile off your face.”

  “I’m not smiling.” He wasn’t, not anymore, but he hadn’t quite cleaned the smile away from his eyes yet. He held out the lamp, and Vandis took it and went up the creaky steps. Dingus followed a moment later, seeming to grow into the lamplight from the hole in the floor. They were inside the triple spires that topped every way station, shrouded in darkness except for the pool of soft yellow light.

  “There’s at least one window in here.”

  “Is that it?” Dingus pointed off into the gloom, toward the front of the building.

  Vandis squinted. “I don’t see anything.”

  “I’ll go look.”

  Before he could tell Dingus to wait, the boy slid away. Once his Squire was out of range of the lamp, Vandis had the sensation he’d disappeared altogether; he couldn’t hear Dingus any more than see him. After what he judged was a minute or so, Vandis called out.

  “Hang on!” Dingus answered, from what sounded like the other end of the attic. “I gotta get to the shutters. There’s some broken glass down here.”