by Bruce Leslie
Wendy drew down her eyebrows. “So, you thought it would be a good idea to take Marty out and fight all night before you set off?”
“Well, Wendy, they were ambushing people between here and Effingham.” The Lump displayed a nervous smile. “I had to deal with them before you travel to Silverport.”
Wendy’s face turned an angry shade of red. “I traveled plenty when all you were interested in was sitting by yourself in your stall!” She shook her fist in the air. “I haven’t met an outlaw yet that was a match for me.”
The Lump held his hands out by his sides. “But these were right nasty fellows—”
“Stop it, now!” Wendy pointed at Marty. “Look at what you’ve gotten him into, you should be ashamed!”
“Most of my face hurts,” said Marty, “and I lost a few turnips, but it was quite fun in the end.”
The Lump said, “Marty’s got to learn how to protect Windthorne while I’m away.”
Wendy’s eyes grew wide. “This Marty, with the purple face and the missing tooth, you expect him to risk life and limb chasing bandits?”
Marty nodded. “I don’t mind chucking ground apples at bandits every now and then.”
Wendy tilted her head. “Ground apples?”
The Lump shook his head. “Don’t ask.”
Flynn added, “You really shouldn’t.”
The Lump shrugged. “He don’t have to do it all by himself… he can take Stuart and Peter with him.”
Wendy crossed her arms again and leaned her head back. “Stuart and Peter… with Marty… hunting brigands?”
“And ground apples!” said Marty.
Wendy wrinkled up her face. “What are ground apples?”
Marty smiled. “Turnips are ground apples.”
Wendy shook her head. “Nobody calls them that!”
“I told you not to ask,” said the Lump.
“The man seems quite dedicated to the idea,” added Flynn.
Wendy asked, “How do you fight outlaws with turnips?”
“He chucks them at ‘em,” answered the Lump.
Marty nodded. “That’s right, I chuck them at ‘em.”
“It’s really quite effective,” added Flynn.
Wendy raised her eyebrows and nodded her head. “That’s actually smart. Maybe, you can keep some order around here.”
“And Lump taught me how to duck arrows,” said Marty, his gap-toothed grin still on his face.
Wendy turned to the Lump. “You did what?”
Marty pointed at Flynn. “He even launched one at my head for practice!”
Flynn shook his head with conviction. “That’s not what I did, I loosed a warning shot.”
Wendy snapped her head toward Flynn. “Why did you loose a warning shot at Marty?”
“I wasn’t launching it at Marty, ma’am,” answered Flynn. “It was at the man with the dagger.”
Marty nodded his head. “That’s right, he had a blade against my throat.” He raised a finger to his neck. “Right under my chin.”
“I wasn’t trying to hit him,” said Flynn. “It’s actually quite difficult to duck an arrow.”
“It’s a good thing Lump told me how,” said Marty.
“I wouldn’t count on that,” said Flynn.
“Enough!” Wendy closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “Ollie, you and your friend need to set off before you get poor Marty killed.”
Marty’s good eye shot wide open. “I have to admit, I don’t want to be killed.”
Wendy opened her eyes and spoke in a calm, firm tone. “Marty will run the tavern, Peter will continue to farm, and Stuart will look after his wife’s mum. There will be no bandit hunters while you’re gone.” She pointed at the Lump. “You’ll just have to survive, so you can come back and resume protecting Windthorne.”
“That’s right, Dragonblinder!” shouted Marty.
Wendy’s eyes grew narrow. “What’s a Dragonblinder?”
The Lump let out a nervous laugh. “It’s nothing, Marty just likes to jape.”
Wendy looked at the ground for a moment, then raised her face. “I need to leave before I strangle you.”
The Lump nodded. “We need to set off, as well. I’d like to make it to Steeplecross in time to catch a ferry.”
“I’m glad we’re traveling in different directions,” said Wendy.
“It’s probably for the best,” added Flynn.
Wendy went into the tavern and the three men climbed back onto the oxcart. Marty goaded the ox onto the road to Steeplecross. They road in silence as the sun crawled across the sky.
The lack of sleep was taking its toll on the Lump. His eyelids felt as heavy as the new stone sign outside The Turnip Bowl. He was tempted to close them and drift asleep while he rode, but he felt he should stay awake as a demonstration of solidarity with Marty. Apparently, Flynn had no such conviction, as he was snoring loudly.
The din of midday activity could be heard when the oxcart arrived at Steeplecross. The Lump shook Flynn awake.
“Have we reached our destination?” Flynn asked in a groggy voice.
“Yep.” The Lump nodded. “Well, our first one, I suppose.” He thrust a length of rope toward Flynn. “I had two of these left over from the bandits. I figured we should each carry one.” He climbed down from the oxcart.
Flynn nodded. “Rope can always prove useful.” He climbed down as well.
The Lump looked at Marty. “Thank you for the ride, last night and this morning. It really was quite handy.”
“My thanks to you as well,” said Flynn.
“It wasn’t any problem. You fellows would do the same for me.” Marty stood from his seat. “I’ve got a little something for your trip.” He jostled the plank on his cart’s bench and revealed a small compartment.
“You don’t have to do that,” said the Lump.
“I know.” Marty pulled a small pouch from the compartment. “It’s a little coin to pay for your ferry… and a little bit extra for your trip.” He threw the pouch.
“Thank you!” The Lump caught the pouch and it jingled. “Now, get back home so you can finally sleep.”
“I might sleep on the way.” Marty laughed and replaced the plank over the compartment. “The ox knows how to get there.” He sat, waved, and goaded the ox back toward home.
The Lump and Flynn walked to the busy waterfront. People buzzed about performing various errands, and the two men wound their way through the activity.
“Why did you tell Marty his tooth would grow back?” Flynn asked.
The Lump grimaced. “It wouldn’t do no good to get Marty upset about it.” He waved a hand through the air. “He’ll drink plenty of milk and forget about it by the time two months go by.”
“I suppose that’s fair enough,” said Flynn. “I just don’t feel comfortable with dishonesty.”
The Lump shook his head. “I was just trying to make him feel better.”
Flynn shrugged. “I suppose there’s no harm in that.” He wrinkled his forehead and looked at the Lump. “What about this Dragonblinder business?”
The Lump held his hands wide. “It’s just something to sound scary.” He nodded. “You know, make the bandits think about staying away.”
“I don’t understand,” said Flynn. “By the time they saw the note, they were bound.”
“Yes.” The Lump held up a finger. “But other people will see the note, and word will spread.” He lowered his finger and exhaled through his nose. “These outlaws see banditry as a trade.” He raised his eyebrows and asked, “Would they be less inclined to ply their trade in a place protected by the Lump, or the Dragonblinder?”
Flynn nodded. “It’s for the purpose of intimidation.”
“Exactly,” said the Lump, “It’s for… whatever you said.”
They were at last standing on the south bank of the mighty Oxhorn River. It looked a mile wide and the water rolled by with determination. Ferries traveled along heavy ropes strung across the river carrying folks fr
om one side to the other, and sometimes back again.
A familiar person stepped off a ferry. It was a short, plump man in blue robes. He had a round face and carried a brown sack.
The Lump called out, “Ho, There! Solson!”
The blue-robed man turned to look at the Lump. It was Solson Birch, a traveler the Lump met the previous Fall along a path to the Oxhorn Bridge.
Birch smiled and waited as the Lump and Flynn approached. When they stood before him he said, “Why, if is isn’t the adventurers from the Herder’s Path!” He looked jolly and in good spirits.
The Lump asked, “How was you nephew’s wedding?”
Birch bobbed his head and answered, “Oh, as good as any wedding in Brownwater, I suppose.” He looked at Flynn, then to the Lump. “I surmise you delivered the young lady to the Needles?”
“Yep,” said the Lump. “And we scrapped with that mud-kissing dragon while we were there.”
“It’s a wyrm, Lump,” said Flynn.
“Excellent, good man, you remember.” Birch gripped the front of his robe in one hand and held his cloth sack with the other. “It’s funny, though…” His eyebrows raised. “Not long after our discussion about dragons and wyrms, and how to tell the difference, a particular tome disappeared from the Western Abbey.”
The Lump flashed a nervous smile and looked at Flynn. “Oh, that’s, uh, too bad.” He directed his nervous smile at the Solson.
“Yes, it’s quite, um, unfortunate,” added Flynn, displaying his own uncomfortable smile.
“Another funny thing,” said Birch, “the Abbot there, he took two men into custody for the theft.”
The Lump opened his eyes wide in mock surprise. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” Birch nodded with a grin. “The Abbot said their escape was aided by a red-haired girl and a pack of wolves.” He looked the Lump in the eyes. “Would you know anything about that?”
“No, sir!” The Lump shook his head with enthusiasm.
“Of course not,” said Birch. “It was a rather big fellow and a dashing young man in armor.”
“We’ll be certain to…” Flynn looked at the ground, then back to Birch. “We’ll watch for anyone matching that description.”
“Yes, please do,” said Birch.
“A girl with a pack of wolves…” Flynn forced out an insincere laugh. “That sounds a bit like one of my nan’s fairy stories.”
Birch leaned in close and spoke quietly. “If anyone did know anything about that, it would behoove them to also know that His Radiance seems very determined to reclaim the tome.” He leaned back. “There are men-at-arms searching for it. The book contains knowledge within it that may…” Birch paused to consider his words. “…damage the people’s understanding of life.”
“If we see it, we’ll be sure to take it straight to an abbey,” said the Lump.
Flynn nodded. “Yes, Solson, we will return it post haste!” He was quick to add, “That is, if we find it.”
“Wonderful.” Birch asked, “What brings you to Steeplecross?”
“Just here to catch a ferry,” answered the Lump.
“You’re heading north again, so soon?” asked Birch.
“Yes,” answered Flynn.
Birch frowned. “I hope it’s not another wyrm.”
Flynn shook his head. “No, Solson, but that last one left a bit of a mess.”
“Oh, my,” said Birch. “Please, remember what I told you about the tome. I must be off, now.” He gave his head a slight bow. “May Sol be with you.” He turned and walked away.
The Lump and Flynn walked toward the row of ferry-men attending to their meager vessels. The river folk focused on their work while the strong, Spring breeze blew across the river.
The Lump approached the nearest man. “Any chance you could carry us over?”
The man snarled and shook his head. “Already made my last crossing for the day.”
They moved on to the next ferry-man.
He said, “All full.”
The third one crossed his arms and squinted. “No more crossings today, you’ll need to try again tomorrow.”
Flynn looked at the Lump and shrugged. “We can always camp near here, and book passage in the morning.”
The Lump removed his leather cap and rubbed his head. “I really wanted to cross this Sol-forsaken river today.”
A raspy voice called out, “Ho, men!”
The Lump put his cap back on and looked for the voice’s source.
An old man said, “Yes, you men.”
The old man pointed at them with a twisted, arthritic hand. He had thin, white hair hanging to his shoulders in stringy clumps. His garb was an old, black robe, mended in several spots with gray patches. The man had a narrow, crooked nose and a black patch covered his right eye.
He said, “I can get you ‘cross the river.”
5: A Ferry Ride
The black-robed ferry-man beckoned at the Lump and Flynn. “Come, now! I can get you ‘cross. Don’t you want to cross?”
The Lump nodded. “Yes, sir, that’s why we’re here.”
“There’s two of you.” The old man wheezed when he spoke. “That’ll be four coppers.” He held up four twisted and knotted fingers.
“Sounds fine.” The Lump turned his back to the ferry-man and faced Flynn. “I don’t want him seeing my purse.” He opened the pouch of coins.
“I think you’re being paranoid,” said Flynn.
The Lump’s eyes grew wide. He leaned close to Flynn and whispered, “It’s not just coppers, there’s silver in here!”
“Where did Marty get silver?” Flynn asked, in a hushed tone.
“He has a real gift for tavern business,” answered the Lump. “He’s also right good at leaves and stones.” He raised his gaze from the purse and looked at his companion. “I’d gamble he wins coin from every traveler that’s foolish enough to play cards with him.” His eyes narrowed. “I think he cheats!”
“I don’t understand,” said Flynn. “We take him out, nearly get him killed, and he gives us coin.”
The Lump tilted his head. “You may not know this, but Marty is generally considered a numb-noggin.”
“I don’t find that revelation to be terribly surprising,” said Flynn.
“Last night was probably the best night of his life.” The Lump chuckled. “I’m sure it’s the only adventure he’s ever had.”
The old man’s raspy voice called out, “Do you have the coppers, or no?”
“Yes, keep your eye-patch on! I’m getting them.” The Lump fished the coppers from his purse, then tied the cloth pouch around his belt.
“My good eye sees just fine!”, wheezed the ferry-man. “Needn’t try to short me!”
The Lump turned around and handed over the small, brown coins. He winced at the sight of the old man’s calloused palm.
The ferry-man tucked the coppers in his robe, then picked up a wooden rod that lay at his feet. It had a wide, curved hook at one end and looked like a shepherd’s tool. “Down here, now.” He pointed a knobby finger at two planks stretching over the water.
The Lump looked at the narrow wooden walkway, it led to what appeared little more than a long, rectangular box bobbing up and down in the river. It looked more like a crate than a water-faring vessel, and its gray wood sported patches of green slime. The ferry’s deck was enclosed by a low, wooden wall that was less than waist high. Its size was not ideal and, by the look of it, the three men would have a cramped trip.
A wooden pole rose up from the side of the ferry and was topped with a hoop. The hoop circled around a guide rope that stretched across the breadth of the river. The guide rope did not instill much confidence in the Lump. The cord was weathered and frayed along its length. It swayed a bit in the breeze, and three ravens perched on it near the opposite bank. He felt the planks bend under his weight as he walked toward the ferry with small, careful steps.
The Lump had to step down half his shin’s length to get into the ferry. He pl
opped his big foot down on the deck and the vessel rocked side to side under his weight. His second foot fell to the deck harder than the first, and the rocking grew more intense.
The Lump bellowed, “Son of a one-horned ram!” He stumbled about and waved his arms at his sides. His hands plunged down and grabbed the short, wooden wall that enclosed the deck. The ferry continued to rise and fall beneath him.
“Be calm, Lump!” shouted Flynn. “Stop moving and it will settle!”
The Lump squeezed his eyes closed and stiffened his body.
The ferry’s rocking slowed, and it sat lower in the water on the side where the Lump stood.
The ferry-man swatted a hand at Flynn. “Go on, easy now.”
Flynn strode down the planks and entered the ferry with ease. He perched on the wall opposite the Lump and gave a measure of balance to the vessel.
The ferry-man’s pole clanked against the wooden walkway as he shuffled along the planks. He stepped down, onto the deck, and took a position at the rear. He untied a loop of rope from the ferry’s hitch, placed the flat end of his pole against the wooden walkway, and shoved off. He walked to the fore of the deck as the vessel floated away from the bank.
The ferry jostled forward and bobbed side to side. It drifted down river until the hoop pulled against the guide rope. The old man reached up with his hook and pulled on the rope. The ferry lurched forward with more rocking.
The Lump swayed where he stood, his eyes still closed tight. He said, “Let me know when it’s almost over.” He forced his words out through clenched teeth.
Flynn let out a quiet laugh. “I will do so, Lump.”
The weathered guide rope strained against the weight of the ferry as the party reached the center of the river. The current seemed to get stronger as they crossed. The ferry-man gave the rope another tug with his hook, and the ferry rocked harder than before.
“I don’t like this none too good!” The Lump opened his eyes and his head bobbled around atop his shoulders. “I think I’m gonna—” He leaned over the side of the vessel and emptied the contents of his stomach into the water. His body jerked forward while he heaved, and the ferry’s rocking grew violent.
The now taut guide rope struggled to hold the rocking ferry. The hoop rubbed against the frayed fibers and made an unpleasant groaning sound. The ravens perched at the far end of the rope squawked and flew away.
