by Pam Uphoff
She stumped over, smiling to show worn but good teeth. "Why thank you young man. The local climate seems to agree with them. I sell spices, and also medicines. I'm willing to trade, and I can always use some extra hands to pull weeds."
"Do you need bottles and such?" Mikey asked. "I make them, whenever I have the time, which isn't very often these days."
"Oh yes, bottles of all kinds. Does your wife need spices?"
Mikey grinned. "I see I'll need to find time for glass making again. What size bottles do you like?"
Then he was off to bale Leander's timothy.
There was half a riot in town as he passed back through. He cut through alleys and got around it, but parked and walked back to find out the cause.
A group of men had a rope over a large oak limb, and were apparently prepared to hang a young man lying in a bloody heap at their feet. Their putative mayor, George Scooner himself was arguing with them.
"This is a law abiding town. We have courts of law, and as Judge Wittaker told you, what this young man did isn't a crime. Your daughter is sixteen and if she wants to screw the stable boy, she can. You have committed assault and battery of the most appalling sort, and now you think you can commit murder without anyone lifting a finger?"
"Anyone who lifts a finger, is going to lose it." Growled the so-called Count Valasi. He was immaculate. No doubt he'd had flunkies beat the young man . . . a brief parting of the crowd made it unfortunately clear that 'man' was perhaps no longer the correct term.
Mikey cringed. The kid looked maybe eighteen. He looked over the crowd at the rope and made some tiny slices in it, not quite enough to break it . . . hopefully enough that it couldn't hold any weight to speak of.
He sent a flick of fear into the horse a flunky was holding. It reared and lunged away, breaking the tension between the Mayor and the Count as everyone shifted away from the unruly animal, including the Count.
His teeth barred, he sneered. "You want him? He's all yours."
"You'll receive your summons to court, Valasi."
The Count glared, but spun away and stalked to his horse, which was still unsettled, and made mounting a bit of a trial.
The crowd disbursed, leaving just a few people standing around the stripped and castrated boy on the ground. The boy at least didn't appear to have been dragged here.
The other's edged away, making spectators-only of themselves. The Mayor eyed Mikey. "Well, Duke?"
Mikey shrugged. "Yeah, I'll take him. Can you walk, kid?"
The kid didn't want to get up, didn't want to show his mutilation. Mikey looked over at the spectators. "Fenny? Go get a pair a pants from Madam Handal. Medium size, soft fabric. And a shirt." He pulled out his wallet and sorted through the paper money the colony used for local business, and handed over more than he should need.
"What's your name, kid?"
"Jeremy Fentris. He had no right, he, how could he . . . why blame me? Why didn't she . . . "
Mikey sighed. "She dumped the blame on you, and he is an arrogant ass that thinks the law doesn't apply to him. And you're the idiot that got caught in between and you’re the only one that'll pay for it."
The Mayor cleared his throat. "Actually this all fired up because the girl's pregnant."
"Ah, yes." Mikey sighed. "So bloody stupid, all around."
Fenny returned with the clothing and Mikey helped the boy put it on with minimal titilation for the audience. The boy stood shakily and hunched over, and Mikey walked him off to the tractor.
Sitting in the seat was less uncomfortable than any other possible method of transporting the boy, so Mikey showed him how to drive and directed him from the rear perch.
At home he got more practical, with some ointment he used on the heifers, and some padding, and some of Mikey's older, softer clothes while the new pants had the blood stains washed out.
He put Jeremy to work, small things at first that wouldn't physically tax him, but would keep him busy. But in a few days he started the kid on moving rocks and dirt to build up a new foundation and floor. It was time to expand his house.
He'd seen plenty of examples now, of fireplaces and ovens and kitchens, and knew just what he wanted. The front was open and grand with a big room, and the back was designed with feeding a family in mind. A big spacious kitchen, with lots of pantry space, because here on the rocks of High Top there was no chance of a basement.
The dining room, and a loft over it and the kitchen for a boy he seemed to have acquired. The furniture that had been crammed into the library spread out over the empty space and he even moved his two best book cases to the front room. All farming and fiction, where anyone might see them.
"All right. You need a bed. I finally have room for a big dining room table. Let's go shopping."
Jeremy paled. "I'd rather not."
The house raising had been a bit harrowing for the boy. He'd attracted a lot of pitying looks. Last thing he needed. Mikey shrugged. "All right, but don't complain about the colors."
Jeremy smiled at the thin joke. The local plants hadn't turned out many dyes, so the color choices were pretty limited.
For this Mikey walked down to the Bennys' and borrowed Foggy and the wagon. There were three carpenter's shops in town, and Mikey put in his order for the dining table and chairs, and bought a simple bed frame, and from the shop across the street, a wool stuffed mattress, linen sheets and blankets. He chatted with friends, shrugged away the lascivious concerns expressed about 'that boy'.
"There's plenty of us single men that won't ever get married. It isn't the end of the world, no matter how much it gives us the cold grues to even think about."
"Valasi says he won't show for court."
"Valasi ought to go back home, where he'll have to obey the law."
"I heard he was going to send his daughter home, but there wasn't a ship he could trust."
"You mean there weren't any people he trusted to travel with her. He doesn't want to do without his wife for a year, after all." Mikey corrected.
Jeremy was fretting and uncertain as he helped unload. "It's Sicily." He finally said. "I shouldn't care."
"But you do. I haven't heard a thing. Just gossip about how he hadn't been able to send her back." Mikey nodded. "I'll try and pry some information out of someone."
***
A ship full of colonists docked in the late summer.
"Moving way west, across the Blue Mountains." Mark Hastings reported. "I dunno why they want to go so far inland."
"The survey's show good soil." Mikey had ignored the transcontinental road up to now.
But he inspected it after the colonists had passed through. It rather put his glass making into perspective, as he listened to the mayor talking about how the god had formed and melted it as he walked along.
"The surveyors just staked out the route, and he walked along . . . never seen anything like it. There was a whole bunch of people along, but they were just there to keep him happy." The mayor's lips thinned. "There was no call for him to . . . he had his wife and kid along. He just took Miss Faloni because he could, and he enjoyed hurting her."
Mikey sighed. "Gods are just powerful men, George. No different than Lord Valasi. How's his daughter doing?"
"No one's seen her, everyone says she's pregnant, but maybe he thinks if no one actually sees her, it didn't happen?" He snorted. "Nobles."
But Jeremy continued to worry.
Chapter Four
28 January 2452
Scoone, North America
And so in the middle of winter Mikey was borrowing Foggy and riding carefully around Scooner to the far side of Scooner Bay and wondering how to approach someone on Count Valasi's staff for information.
The air was crisp and cold, and just above freezing. He tied the placid young horse in some trees and wrapped an unnoticeable around himself and walked over to see if he could find anything out. One wing of the Count's house was well lit, and Mikey discovered that his timing was impeccable. Lady Sicily was in labor. He was
puzzled by the absence of staff in the kitchen, and walked around to the front of the house. He caught the sound of voices from a ground level basement window.
" . . . why the Countess is so sure the baby will be stillborn, the girl's full term."
"Oh, I'm sure the Countess has ways of knowing." the other woman's voice was dry.
Mikey shuddered and walked on. Yes, one could be quite certain of a stillborn child, if one was prepared to ensure it never breathed.
The Count's house was easily the largest in Scoone, and had plenty of ways for an enterprising former thief to get in and out. He took his time and explored a bit, finally picking up some clothing that probably belonged to the Countess and bundling it up into something roughly the shape of a baby . . . not heavy enough . . . a couple of jars of some beauty product took care of that. Then the spell . . . he stood at a window and felt the breeze, harvested its energy and built up Power. An illusion. A baby, still and unbreathing. Dead. Wrapped like they expected, but unimportant, they didn't need to look. Embarrassing, deal with it quickly. But hard and secure, the idea that this was a baby. He looked down at the bundled jars and hoped it worked. He never could see his own illusions.
He moved to the room all the noise was issuing from.
"Now bear down, dear, we need to remove this poor dead baby, and then everything can get back to normal."
"Stop lying . . . At least have the guts . . . to admit that you . . . are going to murder . . . your own grand child. Aergh!"
Mikey wrapped unnoticeable around himself as hard as he could and stepped in. He stood quietly in the corner through another half hour of the girl resisting labor, the Count stomping in to order them finish up this disgraceful episode quickly, and inevitably, the birth. The Countess sighed and curled up on the floor, sound asleep, and Mikey stepped forward to support the baby's head, as the rest of her was born.
"What, what . . . ?" the girl squinted trying to see him.
"Your baby will be fine." He tried to whisper in a high tone. "Hold her, just this once, and know that she will be loved."
The girl held the baby, tears running down her face, while Mikey unraveled some thread and tied and cut the cord.
"We were going to marry, we had plans. We were going to be so happy." Babe and mother stared at each other in wonder, and she nursed the baby one time then handed her to the blurry thing she couldn't see.
"What I leave is not a real baby, but everyone will think it is."
He wrapped the dummy in the small blanket that was all the preparation for the baby that he could see, and placed it in her arms. She gulped. And he shed his jacket, wrapped the sleeping baby in it, and left. Behind him, the Countess stirred and rose.
"You were right, Mother. She's dead."
He hugged the small bundle to him and walked out the front door.
Jeremy touched the baby as if he was afraid she'd break. "What are we going to do? How can I feed her?"
"This is why God made cows. And sheep, goats and horses, for that matter. I'll take the horse home and bring back some milk." As he turned, he very nearly ran into Motivated.
"Or you could ask a passing witch for help." she said. "I wondered what you were up to, I could see you being unnoticeable so strongly even I couldn't see all the way through it."
Little Whirlpool was a healthy big six month old, and sound asleep in a pack on her mother's back.
"Do you want to raise her yourself, Jeremy?"
The boy nodded. "This is the only child I'll ever have . . . isn't she beautiful?"
"She is. Mikey, you'll be bringing back cows milk? You'll need to get a milk goat, soon, its better for babies, and I'll come and nurse her now and again. She'll do well, being truly loved. Now, go get the milk, I'll help with a few practical matters here."
By the time he returned, Imp had not only gained a name, she had a bed and a diaper on, with a stack of clean ones waiting and a pail for the dirty ones.
Motivated was sewing something out of thin leather. "Boil it after every use, and you'll probably want to make a lot of them and toss the old nasty ones away frequently." She stayed long enough to demonstrate bottle feeding a baby, then hugged them both and left.
Mikey bought an expectant nanny goat the next day, and between Motivated's frequent visits, and Vera's additives for the cows' milk, Imp thrived.
The goat surprised him with triplets, but still had plenty of milk for a little girl.
Wild Thing calved and after a week of revision to wild, remembered the dispensation of grain and returned to the barn. She wasn't much in favor of being milked, but then Mikey didn't really want much, and wasn't about to wean her little heifer, or butcher it for meat and the cheese making enzymes in her stomach, like the Hastings did to one calf every year.
They all got through the winter, and with the spring the work built up and they were so busy Mikey nearly missed Whirlpool's first birthday.
He didn't miss Last's increasingly frequent presence in Igor's vicinity, nor her swelling belly as the year progressed.
"Muddy should advance too," Motivated fussed. "The winter after this will be the Winter of the Comets and I'd like them to have advanced enough to be able to feel them."
"They'll be back four years later." Mikey told her, setting down a basket of pea pods. "So, what's the difference?"
"Barbarian mage! Pirate!" Motivated kissed the top of his head as she passed. "Some years they are closer than others. Next year they will be at their closest for four hundred years." She put Whirlpool down beside Imp and picked up a basket.
"Oh, great, so we can look forward to the Great Fireball that destroyed New Miami?"
"Bah! That's a myth and you know it. You nasty Mages were fighting with the Gods for supremacy and killed thousands of people."
"Bah! That's a myth." Mikey echoed. "There are a few records of local mage authorities giving the bums rush to some people who set themselves up as gods, complete with shrines and contributions, please. But they didn't make fireballs that burned entire cities."
Jeremy snorted as he carted another full basket of pea pods to the porch, and grabbed an empty one. "You two are hideously funny to listen to. You don't carry on where normal people can hear, do you?"
"Certainly not, having no desire to be burned at the stake." Mikey stood up and joined him in the garden. One thing or another was going to be ripe from now till fall, most likely. The witches had planted fruit trees and they'd be swapping fresh and canned this or thats all year.
"Oh, Mikey, we need more jars, and Lady Gisele says she needs more bottles."
"Lady Gisele?"
"She said she knows you. Little old lady, herb garden?"
"Oh, her. Yes, sorry, I guess I never actually got her name, and Vera took the bottles I made around to her."
"I want to watch, this time." Jeremy said. "It sounds like real, actual magic, not this 'make the bugs go away' stuff you claim to be doing all the time."
"Claim! Oh I'm wounded. Old gods! Why did I plant so many peas? And look at the beans. They're nearly ready too."
Jeremy looked cautiously at him. "Do you believe in the old gods?"
"Well, yes and no. They're handy to swear by, and certainly no one I'd want to cross. Again. Very powerful magic users, and if you think Count Valasi is arrogant, well, let me tell you, the reason I'm here is because I got caught between the God of Peace and the God of Art, and running away very, very fast was the only thing that looked remotely survivable."
Motivated looked at him thoughtfully. "Do you mean that seriously?"
"Oh yes." Mikey nodded. "I could see which way it was tipping and just bolted."
Jeremy nodded. "Wish I'd been as smart. We marched right up to the Count and informed him that we were going to marry."
Mikey raised his head and stared. "You didn't!"
"I have been accused of naivety before. I figured a horsewhipping would be the worst possible outcome." He huffed out a breath and waded back through the lush garden.
&nb
sp; Mikey made a pass through the picked over tomatoes and found more, and some early squash. "I swear, next year, I'm planting half as many veggies."
Motivated giggled. "Your wheat looks quite good."
"Yes, two more weeks, maximum. At least that's tractor work."
"And the silo's full of oats. We need to build a new one."
Mikey moaned. "All this honest work is ruining me. I want to go back to a life of crime."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"Hell no, I was miserable, but my father had taught me all about magery, and diddly about how to make a living. Don't mind my griping, I love it out here. But sometimes I think I need to specialize a bit."
"If you can get bags, we could bag the wheat, makes it easy to sell."
"Umm, yeah. Sacks for grain. What an excellent idea. I can escape for the rest of the day. And really Mo, if you guys want more vegetables, come pick all you need. The Bennys' have planted easily three times what I have, so if for some reason I run out and actually want some more, I can get some." Mikey looked at Jeremy with raised eyebrows.
The boy shook his head. "I'll stay with Imp, and maybe think about where to put another silo."
Chatting with people around town, Mikey found a fellow up the northwest road who had put in a water wheel, and a mill. He'd be delighted to mill the wheat and then bag it, and hunting around a bit Mikey found buyers for about half his calculated crop if it was milled and bagged first. He also found Dan in a tavern and hauled him home.
After some discussion, he went to work on the glass, digging out the white sand along the sides of the stream, and heating it and forming bottles and wide mouthed jars and plugs for both. And then very large glass jars. Enough to hold a whole lot of wheat.
"How do you learn to do magic?" Jeremy looked wistful.
"Well, it's an inborn talent, and most people can't do anything but the simplest sorts of things. Back before the steam engine and electric motors, magic users used to be, well, useful. They'd test kids to see if they had any potential." Mikey grinned at his hopeful expression. "Here, hold out your hands, like this. Feel the breeze, the moving air? Picture capturing the motion, but not the air, just strip the movement right out and hold it in your hands."
