by Jem I Kelley
Aden was irritated to be reminded he didn't go to the academy. “Teach about what?”
“The stink weed.”
Bliss pulled a face. “What?”
“Happened a few years before you lads were born. There was this dye from the disc-world, Mohvar. Changed colour depending on how hot it was. If real hot the dye was scarlet red, if cooler then purple. Blue as it got cooler still. Course, you know what some people is like. They loved having cloths coloured with the stuff. But the dye was expensive, because the plant it came from was rare. One bright spark decided to bring a couple of the plants to Haverland to see if they’d grow well here.”
Aden wracked his brains: stinkweed, dyes, coloured cloths.
“None of it rings a bell with me.”
“A Disc-Man by the name of Cordover Smythe. That’s who it was brought it over,” said Granddad Todd. “Never went on an expedition again, had a desk job after that.”
“Why? Did all the plants die?”
“Ha, no. It grew in Smythe’s field better than corn, and all his neighbour’s fields too.”
Aden was flummoxed; if you could grow a rare plant easily that was a good thing wasn’t it?
“Why did Smythe end up working on a desk?”
Granddad Todd chuckled to himself.
“The fashion calmed down and traders bought less of the dye. But the farmers couldn’t get rid of the plant. They sowed wheat and stinkweed came up with the wheat. They planted turnips and stinkweed it came up with the turnips too. In fact it grew pretty well everywhere after a while, on people’s rooftop gardens, in the parks - everywhere.
“The real humdinger came when you pulled the plant out of the ground. It let out a stink like nobody’s business. This didn’t bother anyone when the stuff was expensive. Course, when it became a weed and everyone pulled it from the ground to try to get rid of it, and Haverland smelt to high heaven… well then it became a bit of a problem.”
“I haven’t ever seen any of this stinkweed,” said Bliss, with the sort of tone that suggested she thought her granddad was telling a tall one.
Granddad Todd winked.
“They brought in ‘blue streamers’ from Mohvar.”
“The butterfly?” Aden pictured the creature. It had blue wings which tapered to filaments; in flight it looked like it had silk ribbons trailing it.
“Yeah. They found that’s why the plant was rare on Mohvar. Blue streamer caterpillars can’t get enough of the stuff. They munch on it like we munch on a good steak. They eat other plant’s leaves, but love stinkweed most.”
“And they took care of the stinkweed?” said Aden, picturing hoards of caterpillars covering the leaves of exotic plants.
Granddad Todd nodded.
“Yep. In no time the problem was solved. You can still find stinkweed if you looks hard enough, but it ain’t a nuisance any more.”
He fixed both friends with his gaze.
“So now do you understand some O’ the dangers of bringing things from other worlds to this one?”
Bliss scratched her head and her forehead furrowed
“I think so, gramps. Best we steer clear of stuff to do with people’s fashion, eh?”
Granddad Todd frowned, and scrutinized his granddaughter.
“Something like that, girl, something like that.”
Bliss’s mum, Martha, called up at this point. She told them that Weever waited at the door and he wanted to speak to them. The friends rushed from the roof, down through the house to the front door.
“Hacknor’s asked for the porters to help him,” said the spotty-faced boy, “including you two.”
Bliss looked Weever up and down.
“But it’s Sunday. The market’s shut.”
‘I’m still knackered from the expedition too,’ thought Aden.
Weever shrugged.
“Something’s happened to the market. Shall I tell Hacknor you’re not coming?”
The friends exchanged helpless looks.
“Tell him we’ll be along in ten minutes. We have to change first.”
Aden and Bliss arrived at the market. The place looked a mess. Stalls were damaged and rubbish was strewn everywhere. Weever and Munter were stomping around, grabbing litter and pushing it into sacks. Munter saw the friends and glared at them as he passed.
“What’s got his goat?” whispered Bliss.
Aden shrugged. “Perhaps the Wall’s been saying something about us again?”
On the corner of the first row of stalls, at Joshua’s Bagel stand, stood Mack Porter. The older boy fixed planks across a hole in the wooden panels of the stall. Aden heard hammering across the market and guessed Mack wasn’t alone in his repair work.
Aden wondered where Hacknor was. He waited until Weever and Munter trudged near again. “What’s happened?”
The two friends stopped and lowered their sacks to the ground. Aden thought Munter’s lip might crack with the amount of sneer laden on it.
“Your foreign friend’s skeletons have done all this. That’s what’s happened.”
Aden blinked in surprise. Marti Bart’s skeletons! “Nothing went wrong last week when he tested them.”
Munter crossed his arms over his chest and pushed his face close to Aden’s. “So he says.”
Aden was confused; he looked to Weever for an explanation.
“Ten stalls have been smashed by the rat-scarer skeleton. As for the rubbish collector skeleton, it doesn’t look like it’s done anything.” Weaver indicated all the rubbish that clung to the nooks of the market.
Munter punched a finger at Aden’s chest. “ Weird, that’s what it is, using monsters like that to do work. My dad thinks the Novogoradian should be tried for witchcraft and burned at the stake.”
“You’re dad a an expert on witchcraft, is he?” said Aden feeling a flash of anger, and the need to defend Marti, “I reckon the most he knows about potions is the jars of ale he downs each night in the Fox and Hound, and the most he knows about curses is the swearing we hear when he’s staggering past Bliss’s house at midnight.”
Aden realised he’d gone too far. Munter’s eyes creased with fury and he began to roll his sleeves.
“I think it’s strange, the things what’ve happened in Haverland since you came back from prison. The murder, the drug dealing and the skeletons. You’re probably in on all of ‘em with that Northerner. Yet I haven’t lifted a finger against you. But when you have a pop at my old man, that’s the final straw.”
Munter stood a little taller than Aden; but, weighed much more. Aden had always pictured the boy as something of a bull, with his squat frame and wide neck. As this bull finished rolling up its sleeves, Aden felt a tinge of panic. “Hey, I was just kidding, Munter, let it go will you?”
“If you don’t put up your arms, I’m going to get a clear crack at your head, wimp.”
Aden rolled up his sleeves and tried to hide his nervousness. “I reckon we should all calm down a bit,” he said. He looked to where Mack Porter had been working, but the older boy was no longer there.
Munter brought his hands into a fighting position. “This is long overdue Green.”
Bliss stepped in front of Aden and faced Munter.
“That’s my friend your picking on.”
Bliss was stockier than Aden, but had nothing like the brawn of Munter, and of course she was a girl too. The bull-necked boy sneered.
“If you want a bit of me, Bliss then you can have it. Girl or not. But you get to go second, after Aden.”
Bliss edged forward so her face was close to Munter’s.
“No, I go first.”
Munter turned to Aden.
“What’s a matter are you a coward? Hoping a girl can wear me out so you don’t have to fight?”
Aden felt a flush of shame. He would rather not fight Munter. But why should Bliss have to take a beating on his account?
“Step back, Bliss.” He said.
Bliss glanced at Aden and her expression was one of
concern. “I don’t mind fighting this moron.”
Sometimes, thought Aden, you just had to get certain things over with, like swallowing nasty medicines, or facing people like Munter.
“Bliss, thanks, but get out of my way.”
Bliss shrugged and strolled a few paces from Munter and Aden. “Keep moving, Aden. Whatever you do, don’t let him land one on you.”
Munter gave a leering grin and threw out his right arm. Aden swung his head in time to see the thick fist shoot by. Aden lunged in reply with his left fist, hitting Munter on the shoulder. The boy hardly flinched, and his right arm flew out leaving Aden sitting on the floor with a numbing pain coming from his forehead.
Munter’s face was calm.
“Get up.”
“You can do it, Aden,” said Bliss, with lack of conviction in her tone.
Aden pushed himself to a sitting position and then stood. Both acts weren’t easy, he felt washed out. The expedition of the previous night had left him more drained than he’d realised.
A flurry of fists followed. One, then two blows hit him and he felt himself fall. His cheek ached. At least, he thought, he hadn’t been hit in the eye or mouth, yet. No black eye or bruised lip, he hoped.
Munter strutted around him and addressed Weever and Bliss with triumph raw in his voice. “See, I’m the hardest kid around. No-one stands a chance against me. Do you know, I beat-up an eighteen year-old last week.”
Aden gritted his teeth, and forced himself to his feet again. He wondered how many times he’d have to be knocked down until Munter was satisfied.
Bham! The next punch hit him before he’d raised his hands. He felt himself fall. Little stars floated around his vision. A pain reverberated though his head.
“That wasn’t fair, Munter,” said Bliss’s voice.
“Shut up, darkling .”
“Mack Porter!” whispered Weever.
Aden followed Weever’s gaze and saw a grim faced Mack marching down on them.
“What’s going on?” demanded the older boy, hands on hips.
Munter shrugged. “Aden fell down, Mackie boy, I’m helping him up.”
He put out his hand and stared hard at Aden. Aden grabbed the hand and felt himself lifted to his feet.
Mack looked from Munter to Aden and back, obviously aware an argument had been taking place.
“You and Weever,” he said, still looking at Munter, “get on with tidying the market. You two,” he looked at Aden and Bliss, “Theodore Stig’s stall has been damaged. He’s not at home. Bern the butcher’s told me earlier that Stig mentioned the museum yesterday. Take a look to see if Stig’s in the museum, and if he is tell him about his stall being damaged. Got that?”
Aden tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his cheek, and nodded. He was glad to be free from the fight.
Munter squared up to Mack Porter, his expression rebellious.
“It doesn’t need two of them to go and tell Stig. Not when there’s all this crap to be cleared up on the market. Hacknor didn’t get all the porters in on a Sunday so that two of ‘em could swan off to a museum.”
Mack Porter’s tone was controlled
“I’m boss when Hacknor isn’t around. You do what I say, Munter, and you do it now.”
Aden looked from the thickset Munter to the wiry Mack as they stood in silent trial. Munter was probably the stronger but not many people messed with the Mack.
Munter broke eye contact and stalked away, banging shoulders with Mack as he did so. “Frikkin useless boss you are,” he said.
Chapter 51: An Admirer of Argent
“You all right?” asked Bliss as the two headed from the market.
Aden felt his cheek and winced. “I’ll live. Any bruises?”
Bliss squinted, “It’s a bit red and swollen. We could say you banged into a lamppost because you were looking at the floor for rubbish to pick up.”
That would do for the grown-ups, thought Aden. The rest of the kids in the area would soon learn the truth from Munter.
The Museum resembled Haverland’s cathedral, but lacked the spire and glazed windows. Bliss and Aden went through the revolving doors and entered the main hall.
“Wow!”
Ahead stood a metal statue of a spider. With legs as long as a man and pincers like swords, it faced the entrance to the museum in a crouched position.
Aden read the plaque below it. “Arachniesis Royalis. This bronze is an accurate depiction of the Spider Queen of the Hourglass clan that Kurt Hardcastle negotiated the Arachnie accord with in the year 10 AD (after departure of Amari). Arachnie queens are larger than their subjects by a factor of three. A clan might have a hundred queens and a thousand workers. The queen’s intellect matches that of human scribe, the workers that of a well trained sheep-dog.”
Bliss walked around the statue. “Look at the stinger, wicked! That monster could take out a detachment of soldiers. Imagine Kurt and Plumbert having to hold it off.”
Aden shivered. “I am. It makes me glad I wasn’t there.”
The front of the hall held a sweeping Arachnie exhibit. Paintings of silken walkways and web-like cities dominated the walls. Diorama’s depicted fern tree forests through which eagle-sized flies flew. Silken ropes, armour and nets stood alongside other items of Arachnie trade.
Further down the hall Aden could see placards with the words Adventurine, Aristalsis and Deppeth. Above the stairs to the next level hung a sign indicating Disc-World exhibits on levels three and four, and home grown displays on level two.
“Last time I came was with my mum and dad … and that was nearly five years ago. Can’t remember it being as good as this,” said Bliss.
“Same here. This is brilliant. It shows so much about Arachnie. If the other exhibits are like this we could learn a lot. This place might be the next best thing to proper Disc-Men training.”
Their steps echoed on the tiled floor as they trotted around looking for Theodore Stig. They didn’t find him so climbed to the second level of the museum, trailing their hands on the banister. Bliss nudged Aden as they reached the top.
“Look, Marti.”
The merchant stood before a Novogoradian exhibit. The friends approached and saw he stared at a painting of a walled city set against a barren landscape.
“Makes me fell cold just looking at it,” said Bliss.
Marti swung round. He seemed ill at ease. His chiselled face was taut.
“Aden, Bliss. Hello, but what are you doing here?”
Aden inspected the city in the painting. Dark spires stood above pale buildings, curtain walls were an icy blue. He took his eyes from the painting.
“We’re looking for Theodore Stig.”.
“Your skeletons damaged his stall and a few others. Made a hell of a mess,” said Bliss frankly.
Marti pulled a hand across his wild blonde hair. “I know already. I have spoken to Hacknor. I try to explain to him that he must have given skeletons wrong orders. For sure, if he forgot to tell skeleton to avoid stall as I clearly explain, then they will not. They follow instruction precisely; therefore, they must have right instruction. This did not happen when I test them last week, only now when I hand over to Hacknor.”
Bliss snorted. “You handed over to Hacknor? No wonder things messed up. He won’t admit it was his fault though.”
“He tell me this morning, that he give correct instruction and my skeletons not listen properly,” Marti shrugged, “He has cancel the cleaning contract and doesn’t want me or skeletons on market.”
Bliss swore under her breath. “Typical Hacknor!”
“What are you going to do?” asked Aden.
The large Novogoradian shrugged.
“I will think of other job for skeletons. I am determined to how you say, ‘make it’ as a merchant.”
Aden nodded at the picture of the pale blue city. “Feeling a bit homesick are you?”
“For sure. To look at painting of homeland helps feeling pass.”
“I knew
the Novogorad capital city was called Ice Holm, but not because its walls were made of Ice.”
Marti smiled. “It is called Ice Holm because the walls look like they are made of Ice. The stone is rare, quarried from far north. Pale as blue ice but as strong as granite.”
Aden stared at the city walls in the picture and imagined thousands of bugbears camped outside. He thought of his mum and dad. They would be safe behind the ice-like buttresses. This thought helped him feel more secure.
“I’ll visit there one day.”
“Perhaps you will. One day. Myself, I will return in year or two. I miss fresh wind biting into face, dark evenings, fish smoked in charcoal.”
The friends left Marti and the second level of the museum, and headed for the third. Exhibitions from the newer worlds competed for space here. Aden spotted the gnome-like Theodore Stig at the end of the hall. Two brown-coated museum assistants accompanied the toy stall owner.
Theodore was shaking his head of white hair and puffing out his cheeks, as if frustrated. “The alcove’s too small. Didn’t anyone look at the measurements I gave?”
He turned to the friends. “Hello Aden, Bliss.”
One of the brown-coated assistants said to Theodore. “I don’t know Mr. Stig. We was just asked to help you. We don’t know nothing about this alcove. You hang on there and we’ll pop down and get the curator.”
The two men trudged off.
Theodore held a wooden sculpture of a machine-like humanoid. “This is supposed to go in there,” he said, indicating a felt-lined alcove about six inches wide by eighteen high. Aden immediately understood Theodore’s annoyance. The statue would need an alcove twice the size to fit.
“You’d think that after I went to the trouble to ask my Argent factor to obtain display items for the museum exhibition, the curator would make an effort to show those items properly.”
Bliss bent to inspect the sculpture. From where he stood Aden could tell that the machine creatures was all knives and sharp points.
“What is it?” Asked Bliss.
Theodore turned the sculpture over in his hands.
