The Questory of Root Karbunkulus - Quill

by Kamilla Reid

  “Kor.” Root tried her best nonchalance. “What’re you doing here?”

  “What do you think I’m doing? I’m winning this race.”

  Root nodded and turned to walk away, grateful that he hadn’t suspected her of following him.

  “Don’t you walk away from me! I’ll kick your arse!”

  Kor gripped her wrist and dug his nails in. She could see his need for this, the drive to get back at something, anything. With his parent’s cruelty still so freshly bruised in his skin, Kor wanted to hurt someone else now.

  “Leave ‘er alone, Kor y’big stupid jerk!”

  Dwyn! And Lian! As relief poured over her, Root ripped her arm away.

  Another voice called “Root!” and there, coming out of Pooly’s Drinkhouse, round faced and smiling was Milden Ibbbs.

  Kor allowed the interruption and broke his glare. “You’re lucky,” he whispered.

  Milden, as was his wonderfully innocuous way, found something to ease the tension. “Hey, whatchya got there? A baby cow?”

  Root, grateful for the diversion walked over to CPR, still atop Stogie. “We’re not sure. We found her in the Swamps of Koik.”

  “The Swamps of Koik? Y’mean like, in the amber?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Woah. How’d you…?”

  “Long story…” Root helped CPR down “but she kinda just followed us and now she’s…”

  “Ugly as you, Gew Gaw!”

  Everyone ignored Kor, which made him even angrier.

  CPR, thrilled to be back on her own feet and with all her friends no less, bounced about, lick to lick in greetings. She leapt up onto Lian. On two feet she was quite a bit higher and definitely heavier. Lian lost his balance and toppled back.

  The travel pack fell with him. Before anyone could say anything its contents were spewed out and rolling along the street.

  “No! Not again!” Lian yelled.

  CPR was already on the ground exploring, her nose ransacking a broken jar of something, then stepping on and smashing something else. Lian looked like he would die any second now. And take that animal with him. “My Alagarts! My Rubbing Weed! Stop it, CPR! Get out of there!”

  Now Kor was the one who was laughing as Root, Dwyn and Milden tried to stop CPR. CPR who thought they’d begun a game of tag and who tore away the second they got too close, trampling over more of their precious supplies.

  “My Pansy Path!” Lian shrieked.

  CPR deked Lian one way then ran at top speed the other.

  Right into Kor, who flew groundward.

  Now, the tables were turned.

  Incoming laughter. Bombs of it, all aimed at Kor. It was too much. He had had enough cruel laughter for one night. He ran at CPR, fists swinging. Milden and Lian caught him and held him back. Dwyn was able to sack CPR by her long, clumsy legs and pull her away. Root ran to her side and glared at Kor. “She’s just a baby.”

  “It’s a stupid, ugly waste of space that should be strung up and left to die!” Kor’s eyes were livid, wild. He broke free and ran down the street. Dwyn gently slapped his Hovermutt to go after him.

  But it wasn’t over. This Lian made sure of as he scowled over the remains of the travel pack.

  They tried as best as they could to, once again salvage their supplies. Milden helped and soon the street was clear again. In the time this took, Lian’s resent had not mellowed. But it was soon discarded when Root told them that she’d’ve been dead if not for CPR.

  “Why?” What happened to you, Root? First we see Stogie and CPR are gone, then some big commotion at Vulcherk’s. Then you’re nowhere to be found. We’ve been looking for you all day. Man, you had us totally freaked out.” Dwyn said.

  It was such a long, crazy and confusing story. “Food first.” Root gestured to the Drinkhouse.

  Agreed.

  “You comin’, Milden?”

  “Me ‘n the team were just in there.” In perfect timing, Milden’s two teammates, Tompy and Jake came out. “You guys here for awhile?” Milden asked the Valadors. “Maybe we can meet up tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, that’d be cool.”

  They decided on a time and place and were

  about to leave when Dwyn just had to ask Milden. “You haven’t…y’know…have you?”

  “Not yet.” Milden smiled. “But I heard

  Punyun did.”

  “Yeah, I’ll tell you all about that one.” Root

  added as she reached the door of the Drinkhouse. She took a last nervous look around, half expecting a Squawnch to jump out from a bush and grab her.

  Or the Curator.

  Or Vulcherk.

  Or a couple of underwater Kakos Termites.

  Or Kakos himself.

  It had not been a good day.

  32

  THE DRINKHOUSE

  The Drinkhouse was owned and operated by one Poolipity Shrugs, whom everyone called Pooly for short and who had settled in Divit after the war.

  As a young woman, Pooly had lived in the town of Bansper, a picturesque, fresh-aired haven for the outdoor enthusiast, which she was in every way. Wheelers, trekking boots, swooshing boards and the like could always be found on the Shrugs property, if not on the persons themselves, of which there were six. Two older sisters, one younger brother, and their well-known parents, Ilda and Bintwal.

  On a fine day in mid-summer Pooly had risen before the sun and set out in the footsteps of her sisters, to accomplish the Triplets, a range of mountains with three distinct peaks. It would be a grueling, satisfying climb and she would conquer it with bragging rights. She couldn’t wait for the open-mouthed approval of her sisters, the nodding smiles of her parents, her brother’s newly inspired vows.

  But when she had returned, her family was gone. The entire town of Bansper was black and smoking. Everything. Every building, wall, garden, shed, fence…all burnt, charred, choking with ashes thick as snow.

  Pooly’s whole family had been sound asleep within the meager walls of the original Drinkhouse. The iron ‘Shrugs Drinkhouse’ sign was all that Pooly found. She remembered the pride her mother and father had put into hanging it on that first day they were open for business. It had been a long time dream of her mother’s.

  Of living things, the only thing that had survived the massacre, at least in Pooly’s world was a Wrinkle Rat, and this barely. It had lost one eye and all its hair, most of which only achieved recovery in a few, less burnt places along the Wrinkle Rat’s back.

  What irony.

  Pooly had hated the Wrinkle Rat. She’d despised its great size and the way it had foraged through their garbage at night. She had tried many times to trap it to no avail and was close to suspecting her mother was in on its survival. More than once she’d caught her mother slipping food in the garbage that was of better quality than should have been. And she could have sworn the thing had been given a name.

  “Raisin!” she’d heard her mother one night on the Drinkhouse porch.

  “What’re you doing?” Pooly had asked.

  “What? Nothing! I’m looking for…”

  “Raisin?”

  “Why…yes, yes I am. I need raisins for tomorrow’s special.”

  “Wrinkle Rats are not pets, mum! They’re dirty scavengers that…”

  “…lived here long before we came and took over! And are eternally grateful to be able to stay. Which is more than I can say for the likes of you, Poolipity Shrugs who pretends to live somewhere else most of the time. Embarrassed of the Drinkhouse, of your family’s trade.”

  The Shrug trade had been a sore subject for Pooly. Being rooted in divination it brought too many sad souls to the doors of the Drinkhouse. At least that’s how Pooly saw it. And being the most gifted of the children she saw it indeed. Life’s bruises and miseries and vices etched in gory detail across the faces of customers. Which is why, at a very young age she denied her gifts and vowed to seek a more notable profession. Like her best friend Hyvis Punyun, who wanted to be a famous…well, a famous anyth
ing, really.

  What Pooly didn’t see at that young age was how her family’s business offered comfort and hope to these many weary customers.

  Though her mother never failed to remind her…often.

  “Well, let me tell you something, missy. We don’t just serve up drink here. We serve up comfort and family, the same of which feeds you and clothes you and, believe it or not loves you. No matter what you look like. Can you say the same for Hyvis Punyun, your so-called best friend?”

  That was the last time Pooly saw her mother alive. And her father and sisters and brothers.

  On that black day, that day of madness she had found the Wrinkle Rat at the entrance to the Drinkhouse. She touched its whimpering body and the images swarmed. But this time she didn’t deny them. She re-opened the valve and took back her gift, her heritage.

  This is what the Shrugs did best. They could see the entire compilation of a being, not just the masks. They could see snapshots of lives and know when someone could use the renewing spring of Wing Ale or a sweet, soothing mug of Sun Cider. Pooly had, until that very moment buried this talent, deep under the skin of who she pretended to be. And now, for a despised rodent, she allowed it for the first time.

  She closed her eyes and let the visions come:

  The Wrinkle Rat, born. The Wrinkle Rat attacked by a couple of boys who threw its baby brothers and sisters like baseballs into the path of a wooden paddle. The Wrinkle Rat fleeing. The Wrinkle Rat hiding under a porch. The Wrinkle Rat smoked out by an angry woman in a brown dress.

  The Wrinkle Rat running to an abandoned home. The Wrinkle Rat finding a slice of peace at last. Having babies. And watching them grow up and move on. The Wrinkle Rat losing her mate to builders with a sign that reads “Shrugs Drinkhouse”

  The Wrinkle Rat’s terror. And loneliness.

  And then the very first kindness. From a woman who feeds her and calls her Raisin.

  Pooly’s eyes welled with tears as she saw her mother petting the creature, feeding it, laughing at it warmly. Then more images swarmed. Horror filled images.

  The Wrinkle Rat…attacking the dark men of the Murklord who break in to the Drinkhouse. The Wrinkle Rat piercing the neck of one of their beasts. The Wrinkle Rat standing boldly at Pooly’s mother’s feet, keeping the attackers at bay. The Wrinkle Rat desperately trying to gnaw at the wooden plank that locks the family in. The raging red flames. The Wrinkle Rat succumbing at last.

  Pooly picked up the creature. The marvelous, brave, most beautiful animal she’d ever seen. And brought it with her to Divit, to build a new Drinkhouse. A new life.

  “Raisin!” Pooly called melodically when she saw the arrival of more guests, three teens in red cloaks. “The door, love!”

  Root gasped to see a very, very large rodent, fat with heavy folds of wrinkles and a purple glittering patch over its eye, bounding toward them.

  Raisin nodded her pointy nose in greeting and led the Valadors toward a table. Along the way a man stopped her and put a few coins into the pouch that strapped along her side. “Thanks, Raisin!” the man said with a wink.

  The Wrinkle Rat squeaked and continued toward the empty table. It stopped briefly at a long counter to tip the contents of its pouch into a jar that was teeming with coins. A label was pasted over the jar in loose handwriting: Lamb’s Haven Fund. They are not Tints, they are our children.

  Root was instantly triggered into thoughts of her friend. She found some solace in this sign. Lamb’s Haven. Perhaps this was where Krism was spending his days.

  The team arrived at its table. Raisin helped push in chairs and then disappeared back into the thirsty crowd.

  “Hmmm...” Pooly carefully observed the three kids in red cloaks. Her eyes softened and all sound around her faded. Raisin was now behind the long counter, refilling a bowl of chocolate popcorn

  and waiting patiently for Pooly’s prescription.

  “Give the taller dark haired boy a mug of Sleegum’s.” Pooly said at last. “He could use a bit of a garden around those walls he’s building up. And add just a dash of Inxhair. Uh…the smaller boy can have…do we have any fresh Flamento?” Raisin nodded. “Good, make his a double…loosen up some of that tightness…and the girl…” Pooly squinted her eyes. She’d become so good at Scanning, she no longer needed to hold an object. Just looking at the customer gave her the information. In a flash she saw the Sage Mother’s painting and Root’s heart trying to rebuild itself. She knew instantly what was needed. “Raisin, grab mum’s bottle of Eisenworger.” The wrinkle rat looked up. “Add two sprigs of Smummus…to soften any revenge that might be lurking.”

  Raisin was a Master Mixologist and had become so adept at preparing Pooly’s prescriptions that Pooly no longer tended the counter, but picked up the orders and brought them out. She loved being able to spend more time with her customers. And indeed, with a daily packed house, they loved her as much.

  Of course Pooly never pried. Nor was this brief glimpsing of their lives done with gossiping intent or the desire to change anybody. That wasn’t her business. She just gave them what they were asking for, whether they were consciously aware of it or not. It wasn’t that her concoctions were temporary bandages to the aches of flesh but more like sweet serums that slid down through the layers of the heart, seeking to soften it. The rest, of course was up to the individual whether they wanted to keep it soft and flexible or not. Certainly Pooly had seen her share of hardened hearts. Hearts that even her silkiest drop of Gladandra could not reach. Black hearts. But never would she turn even these down. For there was always hope. If not through her, then by another means perhaps. But always, hope.

  “Here you are, loves” Pooly propped each unique cup down in front of its corresponding guest.

  “I’m sorry, you must be at the wrong table.” Root said, “We didn’t order these.”

  “Oh yes you did, puddin’. Here you are. And mind, don’t be samplin’ anyone else’s. They’ll be plenty disgusting t’your taste buds. Now then, toast yourselves and don’t let me see you less than smiling. Them’s the Pooly rules.”

  “How much do we owe you?” Lian reached into his pocket.

  “Whatever you think its worth. Just drop it in the fund, love.” She pointed at the jar on the counter then slipped away with a wink.

  Root’s drink came in a three-leaf clover shaped glass atop three stems. Each leaf was filled with a different colored liquid, one pink, one pale yellow and one powdery blue. And though there was no glass between each liquid, they remained separated. Lian’s drink came in a tall, thin, blue glass with a small oval opening that suggested the best approach would be small sips. Dwyn’s silvery drink came in a red goblet with two handles. It was bubbling.

  No one could hide the excitement that such personal exclusivity had brought to them. Nor the curiosity.

  “To us!” Dwyn lifted his goblet with both hands.

  The entire room took him to heart. Mugs, shots, flutes, tall skinny glasses, short thick tins, all converged with a happy clanking in the middle of their tables. And to top it off Raisin set the Valadors up with three big bowls of chocolate popcorn.

  Root took a sip. Wow. Seriously wow. It splashed down her throat with a tangy quenching thrill. There was no doubt it was exactly what she needed. The perfect bolster to help her recount the insane events of her insane day.

  As Lian and Dwyn dug into their popcorn, Root filled them in with all the details, adding her own theories as she did. When she was finished, the popcorn was long gone. Her teammates were stunned.

  “I just can’t believe it.” Lian said at last. “Gut Oil is nothing to play around with. It’s supposed to have come from the belly of a Dusk Demon. Nothing can survive it.”

  “That’s just too freaky that Kor is somehow connected to that mansion.” Dwyn added. “But how?”

  “All I know,” Root said, “is that those workers down there all wore the sign of Kakos and they had direct access to that mansion.”

  “So, you think Kakos o
wns it…?” Dwyn asked.

  “And that Kor and Kakos…?” Lian added, already a hint of skepticism in his voice.

  “How else could he be getting so much money?” Root said.

  “Well, okay, but Kakos is big time, Root. I’m not sure I can believe he’d be even remotely interested in a kids’ scavenger race. I know Kor’s a jerk and all but I think maybe you’re going too far with this. ”

  Dwyn nodded and went quiet. They just couldn’t go with Root on this one.

  After awhile she sighed. Maybe they were right. It was a bit of a leap. Maybe, she’d just got herself caught up in the drama. For all she knew Kor was just pretending to live in the mansion because he was too embarrassed of his real home. Root had done the same thing when she lived with the aunts. Most likely the mansion belonged to one of those creepy buyers on the Zero-th Floor, one who bought the Gut Oil. And it’s not like she hadn’t seen Kakos’ symbol before, insidiously rooting its way around DréAmm. Maybe the whole thing was just a crazy series of coincidences.

  She knew she had to somehow untangle herself from the web she’d woven before she attracted more trouble, like…that guy in the corner who was glaring right at her.

  Root dipped into the third leaf of her drink and pretended not to notice him. Surely, whoever it was wouldn’t think to attack in a packed house like this anyhow. She tried to re-enter the conversation, which had swung back and forth between their next steps in the race and the cute girl behind the counter of one of the shops Lian and Dwyn had visited. But first, in that silly pecking way that things bug you, Root had to know if the guy was still staring at her.

  Very casually, perhaps too casually she lifted her head.

  There he was, still glued to her. Just gawking. His eyes were so…what was it about them? They were so penetrating. For some reason she felt like she could fall into them. She turned away. Not good. Probably some sort of Trance making bounty hunter guy.