Magician In Training (Power of Poses Book 1)

by Guy Antibes

  Trak nodded his head. “I’ve seen bad enough things in the inn and some not so pleasant stuff in our village. I’ll remember. Neel Cardswallow is a cad and a wastrel. But as long as I have known him, he has taught me about weapons and has been like a true uncle, but I suspect he’s done some bad things.”

  “Only to himself, Trak Bluntwithe, Neel’s not a cad or a wastrel, don’t you forget that. He puts up a big front, but the man has been honest every time I’ve dealt with him. No, the kind of people I’m talking to you about are those with an easy smile and a heart of cold stone. Neel is just about the opposite of them.”

  The merchant’s words set Trak to thinking about how naive he was despite his claims to the merchant. When he finished his education, that naïveté would be gone, he was certain. He vowed to return to Greenbrook as a man.

  They talked about less serious things until late in the afternoon.

  “Stop the wagon,” A voice yelled from within a copse of trees. Trak had never heard of highwaymen along the road to Herring’s Bone before, but he couldn’t think of any reason another might want to hold them up.

  The merchant pulled up on the reins. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he told Trak out of the side of his mouth.

  Three mounted masked men emerged from the trees with swords in their hands. One of them pointed to Trak. “You, remove that tube from your neck and throw it on the ground.”

  Trak squinted at the horse and recognized it as the messenger’s saddle and tack. Of course, he attended the reading of Trak’s legacy. “I need to get a letter from it. You can have what remains.”

  The man nodded and then rode up and slipped the point of his sword under the merchant’s neck. “Not a word to anyone about this or you’ll be dead men.”

  Dead boy, Trak thought. He was just a boy, but he had just experienced his nastiest encounter with the kind of people the merchant had told him about in the morning. He stuffed the letter from Beanmouth, the lawyer, into his shirt and threw the tube on the ground. He could hear the dull clinking of the gold coins bouncing around. The rider slipped the point of his sword through the strap and lifted the tube up and nodded to the other men and he rode quickly away, leaving the two men behind.

  They looked at each other, and then at the merchant. “Our friend only wanted the tube, but we thinks we want much more,” one of them said. “You, boy! Get down and unload the merchandise. We want to see if there is any hidden treasure and they you’ll both strip so we can see if there if you’ve been hiding anything from us.” They both laughed.

  One of them rode along the wagon and poked Trak with his sword. “Off!”

  Trak jumped off and walked along the side of the wagon. He noticed a stout pole on the side of the wagon, secured by hooks. The two bandits were talking to the merchant, when Trak decided he wouldn’t take any more of this. He slipped the pole, barely taller than him, off of the hooks and swung it, using the staff forms that he had learned. One of the robbers fell to the ground with a thud. Trak hit him again on the head. He didn’t know if he could fight two men on horseback, even if his pole had the advantage of reach.

  The other man wheeled his horse and attacked Trak. He raised his sword to strike down, but Neel had taught him what the forms were used for and unmounted this one easier than the first. The robber hit the ground and rolled up with a sword in his hand.

  “You think you can handle me, boy?” the robber said with a sneer in his voice.

  “I do,” Trak said. “I’m warning you now, run away or I’ll put you away like I did your friend.” Trak moved his eyes towards the still figure of the bandit’s companion. The man turned his head away from Trak to look at the other robber and Trak quickly bounced the pole against the man’s head.

  “Good work, Trak!” the merchant said. “Tie up their horses to the wagon and take their swords. We’ll leave them in the dirt.”

  “I will, sir,” Trak said as he placed the pole on the hooks at the side of the wagon.

  “I never thought my awning pole would be so valuable,” the merchant said when they were half a mile from the ambush.

  “They didn’t hurt you?

  The merchant shook and then scratched his head. “Didn’t take a farthing from me. I had the equivalent of two sovereigns in my pouch.”

  Trak’s stomach felt hollow. “I had eight sovereigns in that tube.”

  “Eight! Oh my, what a loss. How did they know?”

  “The leader brought them to me. He’s the messenger from Herring’s Bone. I’ll bet that he’s done the same thing more than once.”

  The merchant shook his head. “You should report him.”

  Trak pursed his lips and looked away. He didn’t want the merchant to see watery eyes. “How could I prove it was him? I’d end up with my throat slit and maybe yours too. My first real lesson of hard life,” Trak said. “I’ve seen such characters at the inn, but never in action. If the messenger thinks not having the gold sovereigns will keep me from my rightful education, he’s wrong, very wrong.” Trak knew how to work and would find a way to earn his transportation to Pestledown, but he’d have to hurry to meet the lawyer to get some additional money to live on as soon as he arrived in the king’s city.

  The merchant tilted his head and gazed at Trak. “You shame me, boy. Here I meant to give you a lesson about people and you have given me one. And I thought you defenseless to be leaving Able, Neel and the rest of your friends at The Blunted Sword.”

  “I’m not defenseless,” Trak said.

  “No, you’re not.”

  Neither of them spoke anymore until they had reached the edge of Herring’s Bone. Trak smelled the sea and saw the masts sticking above the village roofs. Somehow the thought of a voyage on that vast sea in a little boat brought a bit of fear. Would he have to fight his way during the years he would live in Pestledown, like he did today? He didn’t know and, all of a sudden, Trak didn’t look forward to finding out.

  ~~~

  Chapter Two

  “I’LL BE HAPPY TO WORK MY WAY TO PESTLEDOWN,” Trak said to the harbormaster. His little shack looked down at the three piers that made up the harbor of Herring’s Bone. Five ships had tied up along them.

  “Fifteen, eh? You look fit enough. I’ve got a ship heading out tonight and one tomorrow. After that,” he shook his head. “It’s not like they come to Herring’s Bone on a schedule.”

  Trak had no place to stay and no money to pay for room or board. “Tonight, if I can.”

  “If it’s just to Pestledown, make sure that you are awake when they dock or you might be headed to their next port. It’s been known to happen.”

  “I’ll be awake, sir.” Trak took the scribbled note along with him to theCharity’s Surprise. He hadn’t expected much and that was a good thing since the ship looked just about ready for the scrap heap. Cargo was in process of being loaded. He walked up the gangplank to a seaman just a little better dressed than the others.

  “I’m here to work my way to Pestledown.” He handed the man the scrap of paper.

  “Trak Bluntwithe, eh? The galley is at the bottom of that hatch.” The man gave Trak his paper back. “Don’t lose that. The cook will show you where to stow your gear. It’s a good thing you travel light. I’m Captain Netherlight. Come back to me in a few minute’s time and I’ll put you to work in the forward hold moving the cargo around so it don’t shift any. Got me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Trak said. “I won’t disappoint.”

  “Don’t or you’ll be feeding the sharks midway to Pestledown.”

  Trak didn’t know if the man joked or not, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. He ran down and found the cook, who assigned him a bunk and a locker much bigger than his sack of clothes.

  “We’re light too many seamen,” the cook said. “We ran into a storm on our way here. Captain Netherlight’s most like relieved he got even you aboard. Go now.” The cook gave him a gentle shove of the shoulder towards the ladder leading to the deck.

  At leas
t the cook seemed honest enough, thought Trak. He stood ramrod straight in front of the captain, just like Neel had taught him.

  “No airs, Bluntwithe. We’re not that regimented aboard my scow. The ladder is over there and Dimmy’s at the bottom. He’ll be relieved to get some help. I want to leave Herring’s Bone as soon as possible.” The captain nodded and pointed to a hole in the deck where a rickety crane lowered bags of grain.

  Trak shot down the ladder just after the crane dropped off its load. “Dimmy?” he said to the fat little sailor sweating up a storm in the dark hold. “I’m Trak Bluntwithe and I am here to help you.”

  “Fine, help me with these sacks. We have to arrange them so they won’t shift on the seas.”

  Both of them worked down in the hold for the next three hours. Dimmy worked Trak harder than Trak thought was fair, but that lasted until another sailor told them the cargo was all loaded. They both took a break and then finished up stacking and restacking the cargo. Trak helped Dimmy use timbers as crosspieces to finish their job. Trak used a form he had employed in the stable for stacking hay bales.

  “You act like some kind of wind-up toy, the way you move. It’s worked well enough. Let’s get some food,” Dimmy said. “Captain’s got to inspect our work before we leave, anyway.” He led Trak through the bowels of the ship this time and they ended up at the table by the cook’s galley.

  “Backer isn’t much of a cook, but he manages to feed us lots of his swill.” Dimmy patted his round stomach.

  Trak agreed that the cook didn’t make the tastiest of food, but his appetite pushed away any finickiness. So far, he rather enjoyed the food, friendliness and the camaraderie with his fellow sailors.

  The captain made it down to the galley and all of the sailors stood when he got to the bottom of the ladder. He nodded at his men. “Bluntwithe, you’re only with us for six days. We’re getting underway in just a few minutes. Since you know Dimmy, you two have the first watch. Don’t get in the way of my sailors while they set the sails.”

  “I won’t, sir.”

  The captain grunted and returned to the deck.

  “So much for my meal,” Dimmy said. He had eaten about three times what Trak had managed to put down.

  Dimmy had Trak shadow him as they helped unfurl the sails and set the sheets, and then he helped work the winches that raised and lowered the sails. All they needed was a strong body and Trak could nearly provide them with one, although he was only fifteen.

  They sailed out of Herring’s Bone into a brilliant sunset. The sun’s waning light painted bright colors on the clouds that littered the horizon. Trak didn’t think he had ever seen a sunset so beautiful, but when the sun went down, the dampness of the air began to chill him. He began to shiver, and then the roll of the waves began to make his stomach do the same.

  Dimmy laughed. “There is a reason the captain wanted you to do the first watch. None of us want a seasick sailor fouling below decks. There are only ten of us aboard theCharity’s Surprise and we don’t need any more noxious smells than we create ourselves. If you have to heave ho, make sure you hug the leeward rail. That means downwind into the sea, lad. Get me?”

  Trak nodded. He took deep breaths and began to do the calming exercises that Neel had taught him. They seemed to work and, an hour later as darkness closed tightly within, Trak stood at the bow gazing out over the sea.

  What a day! Of course, he felt worse about losing his money. He might have been treated as a guest in one of the two empty cabins aboard the very same ship, not having to do a thing, but he had enjoyed the work. As he saw the moon rise over the water, he heard a whistle.

  “I’ve come to relieve you,” a sailor said.

  Bed seemed like a wonderful idea as he collapsed onto his bunk. He heard a crunch and wondered what the remains of the huge insect he had just crushed looked like. It would have to wait until morning.

  Dimmy showed him how to swab the none-too-clean decks that Trak noticed when he boarded. Trak had them scrubbed and swabbed by lunchtime. Dimmy just looked on while he did all the work, but Trak already knew mopping forms and he smiled as he pretended to be cleaning the floor of the common room. Part of him wanted to feel resentful, but he was earning his way to Pestledown. The afternoon was spent recoiling rope around the winches. The captain was very particular on how the coils were arranged.

  The next day ended up being much the same as one before, except Dimmy permitted Trak to climb up into the rigging to help him with the sails. The ship had only a single mast that carried square sails. The other triangular sails just went from the bottom of the masts to the top.

  Trak had gotten used to working with the crew for the next few days, but in the morning, the ship would put in to Pestledown. He felt he had earned his way, but his sailing experience would come to an end and his education could actually begin.

  Trak spent the evening in his bunk trying to imagine his new life, but never quite managed. A crewman woke him up for another watch. The cook called him over on his way to his bunk and handed him a hot drink to keep away the ‘shivers’, the cook had said. He had never been so tired when he laid his head down.

  He woke to the clanging of a ship’s bell and ran up the ladder to see the ship sailing away from a large city in the distance. “That’s Pestledown!” he said. Neel had described it enough to him.

  “Right,” Captain Netherlight said. “And now that you’ve seen it, consider yourself one of the crew. We won’t see land for another ten days.” The captain laughed, but Trak pushed him aside and dove into the water. The water wasn’t particularly warm and he couldn’t move other than tread water for a moment.

  “Stop, there are sharks in those waters!”

  Trak turned around at the ship. “There are sharks above the waters and I’ve got to avoid those, too.” He trod water for a minute, watching the ship dwindle as it continued on. Trak wondered what stupid thing he had just done. The letter remained in his shirt, but now it was thoroughly wet. It didn’t matter; he would make it to Pestledown one way or another, sharks or no sharks.

  At least Astun Dimple, one of his father’s friends had taught him how to swim when he was much younger. Trak remembered that the first thing was to never panic. He figured that the shore was at least a mile away and tried to keep his fears down. Sharks and fatigue. Astun taught him how to minimize fatigue, but never for a mile. Emerald Lake was about a half mile across and he had made the swim often enough, but there were no waves of any consequence on Emerald Lake.

  He started out, using the frog stroke that Astun had taught him. Trak converted the stroke to a form and that made it easier for him to concentrate on steadily heading for shore. He made headway and thought that Pestledown was getting closer but it was moving to this left. How could that be? Then it struck him as he rested, floating on the tops of the waves for a needed break; a current drove him off of his path, just as if he floated in a river,

  When he started out again, he swam, heading far to the left of the city. There was a headland that became his destination. On and on he swam until he felt something brush his side and saw the fin of a shark roll up on the surface of the water. He had to stop and defend himself.

  Trak kicked in the water as the fin approached him. He took a deep breath and assumed a boxing pose. Sliding beneath the waters, he saw the fish. It looked all mouth to him. He remembered some guest talking about punching sharks in the nose. Did he have any kind of alternative? He couldn’t think of anything else as the shark began his attack run. Trak felt panic grip him. He thrust his fist out in exactly the same angry pose that he practiced continually and yelled STOP even though he was underwater.

  A flash went through his mind and then a strange surge went out through his fist. The shark seemed to be frozen a few paces from him and began to sink a bit. Trak thought the encounter to be a dream. He must already be dead, but he couldn’t breathe wherever his soul had ended up. He realized he was below water and he kicked up towards the surface. Pestledown still l
ay off in the distance as he took in a huge gulp of air.

  Whatever had happened, he seemed to be in one piece and he continued his swim. He had to take breaks, but never dared stop moving. Astun had told him that one had to keep moving in the water. If he stopped, he might never be able to get going again. He concentrated on repeating each stroke as a form. An eternity later, he grabbed on to the shell-encrusted ladder that led up to a dock. He cut his hand on the rungs, but continued up and finally collapsed on the rough wood of the dock. Trak flipped over onto his back and just let his muscles relax.

  “You aren’t allowed to sunbathe on the docks, boy,” a grizzled old man carrying a staff said and then poked him hard in the ribs.

  “I just swam in from the sea. TheCharity’s Surprisewas supposed to bring me here, but I jumped off the ship and swam here.” Trak barely recognized his voice. His stomach turned over a few times. He wondered how much saltwater he might have swallowed,

  “Captain Netherlight’s ship?” The old man looked out to sea and back to Trak. “There are sharks in that harbor, it’s a wonder you made it in one piece.”

  Trak didn’t feel like sharing his experience with the fish and just nodded. “I’m lucky, I guess.” He struggled to get to his feet, but rolled to the edge of the dock and emptied the contents of his stomach into the sea. That actually made his stomach feel better, so he stood and stumbled around a bit with the old man’s help. He looked back out to sea and cursed Captain Netherlight. He let his anger warm him up for a moment. If he ever crossed paths with the captain, he would make the man pay.

  “I’m sorry lad, you can’t stay here,” the man said with a little bit of softness in his voice. “I’ve helped you enough, you’ll have to move along. We have to use this pier for work.”

  He needed a place to stay and that meant money. Trak pulled out his paper to ask the man if he knew where Horsent Beanmouth’s law office was. He unfolded the wet paper to see that all of the ink had bled together into an unintelligible mess. His stomach lurched again in response.