The Nature of a Curse (Volume 2 of the Year of the Red Door)

by William Timothy Murray

  Robby thought about this as they headed back up the passage, with Millithorpe pushing the wheelbarrow ahead.

  "How does it work, then, when someone needs something that someone else has?"

  "Oh we can trade those things we take from the Hoard, or those things that we make or grow or raise or hunt. There are rules about setting values and bargaining and so forth. But because of our long struggle with the purpose of unmaking the curses upon us, a strong tradition of loaning and borrowing has come about. Gift-giving is an important way for us to celebrate special occasions. And we still retain some of the traditions of the Elders and of our original homeland, too."

  Robby felt a sudden pang as he thought of his own homeland and his memories of birthday parties, festivals, and bonfires. Images of joyful faces and the sounds of laughter and lively music swept through his mind on a wave of homesickness that brought a stinging mist to his eyes.

  They stacked the books on the table and then went to look at the weapons room, where Robby saw enough weaponry to equip a small army, neatly stacked and racked and packed. It reminded him somewhat of the armoury at Tallinvale, and his sense of urgency was restored. Next, they visited the cask room containing all manner of liquids: casks of wine, kegs of various strong liquors, barrels of oil, and jars of unctions.

  "Some of this we traded for, and some came to us in the way of toll road fees," Millithorpe commented as Robby put his nose to a barrel of oil. "But a great portion we produce, and oil is a favorite thing to trade and to pay the Hoard tax."

  "Tax?"

  "Yes, that is another way we grow the Hoard. Trades are done through an Elder, and a fee is charged and the fee must be paid with something that can go into the Hoard, or with something that can be exchanged for something hoardable."

  "Sounds complicated."

  "Not really. Easier done than said, perhaps. Say a farmer needs a new plough, but all he has to trade is corn. And the blacksmith can make a plough, but needs no corn. They go to the Exchange and almost always the Elders work out something that satisfies all."

  "I see you have things figured out pretty well, then."

  "Yes. There are few disputes, and, unless there is a bad harvest, we rarely go hungry as we once did so often."

  "So you trade this oil? It has an unusual odor. Earthy." Robby was rubbing his fingers before his nose, rubbing the bit of oil he had dipped.

  "That is bright-oil, and it is made here in Nowhere. It comes from the nuts of a particular tree that grows here. We cook with it and use it in our lamps."

  "You make it?"

  "It pretty much makes itself. The hardest part is gathering all of the nuts and keeping the squirrels away until we have enough to cook. It takes a lot of nuts to make a good batch of oil. But a little goes a long way, and some years we make more than other years. We have been here a long time, you know. Some years we make oil. Some years we spend making wine or beer. Some years we labor at iron."

  "I see."

  "What do you make of our Hoard so far?"

  "Well," said Robby as he peeked behind some liquor kegs to look at a few empty glass bottles. "I'll need to take a closer look at everything. Right now, I'm just getting the lay of things. There is certainly a large collection of goods. A variety, to be sure, and of various qualities, some good, some very good, and some perhaps not so good, or maybe even worthless."

  "Hm. Yes. I suppose you are right. We know so little about what is worthwhile, valuable, or commonplace outside our boundaries."

  "I notice that this cave is well-lit, yet it is not smoky and the air is always fresh."

  "Oh, we have cut shafts upward to allow the stale air to escape, and it carries out the damp and the little smoke from our lamps, though the oil burns very clean. As you see, we have done other work here. One of the Elders was a stonemason before we came here, and he directed much of the work, making the passageways and floors and storerooms."

  By now they had arrived back at the Foyer and Millithorpe directed Robby to the last passageway. It was wider than the others, better lit, and the ceiling had been carved smooth in an arching curve. The passage went straight, and at the far end Robby saw a massive doorway into which was set gates made of iron bars as thick as his wrists. Around the center, where the gates came together, was welded a band of steel in place of a lock. Above Robby, a shaft was cut and immediately below it was a cold forge, various tools and two heavy hammers laying crosswise on a large silent anvil. Robby observed all of these things, but his attention was riveted on the glittering display beyond the black bars of iron. On shelves of stone arranged about the room were jewel-encrusted chalices and crowns, silver chests, untarnished by age. There were ornate helmets and swords and shields, too, and a mirror of glass framed in carved rosewood. Robby saw combs and brushes, plates and cups of the most delicate workmanship, crystal brooches, fancy staffs and walking sticks, and even what he took to be a child's rattler. Incongruously, on one side of the room, were sixteen wagons and three carts, all lined up and ready to be hitched. He could see that the room stretched back into darkness where, here and there, a glint of red or green betrayed the presence of even more jewel-laden wonders.

  "We do not know why dust does not gather on these things as it does elsewhere," Millithorpe said reverently, seeming as much in awe as Robby was. "These are all the things we were made to haul from Tulith Attis. The carts and wagons, too."

  Robby shook his head at the wonder of it.

  "How do you get in?"

  "No one is allowed into the Treasure Hoard. It is sealed, as you can see, with welded bands of steel. We constructed these in the years when the Damar assaulted our lands, and we feared the treasure might be looted. It was many months in the making, and since then the gates have not been opened and the forge, here, has remained cold. The bars are even placed in such a way that even the smallest of my people cannot squeeze through, and so we cannot even pop in."

  "Of course, I will have to go in there so as to make a right accounting."

  "Oh? Oh, my, no! I mean, that is not for me to say, you see. I cannot undo the rules made by all the Elders."

  "But aren't you an Elder?"

  "Yes. Yes, I am. But I am only one amongst many. No Elder alone may make or break any rule. It requires the approval of all. Besides," Millithorpe shrugged, "you have the accounts already that we have made."

  "But those are not very useful, if you pardon my saying so. They give no reckoning of the worth of things. That vase, yonder, is it of solid gold? Or is it plated? And those crowns. Are they the crowns of Heneil and his Lady? Or of some lesser lord? Only by examining them may we learn and put some value upon them."

  "But the matter is beyond me," Millithorpe insisted. "And even if the Council met and all agreed, it would take many days to cut away the band that holds the gate in place."

  "Be that as it may," Robby replied, making toward the passageway. "We must have a decision, so they must meet!"

  "Yes. Yes. Certainly. I do understand. The Elders must meet to decide. That is so," Millithorpe hurried after Robby. "But they must first decide to meet, and must be called together, and that will take some doing."

  "Then there is not a moment to be lost. Ah, Eldwin! How did you find my friends?"

  Eldwin and a small group were entering the Foyer from outside just as Robby emerged from the passage.

  "They are all well, though concerned for ye, an' they send their greetings. Here is the bag ye requested. An' we have brought with us some food an' drink for ye, too."

  "Thank you," Robby took his writing things from the shoulder bag and stuck a pencil from it on his ear, to the puzzlement of the others, and put a penknife and an order book into his vest pocket.

  "These boys will help us," Eldwin said. "An' more may be had, if needed. This is Timbo, Jimbo, Limbo, an' Nimbo, all nephews of mine, an' this is Seltin, me grandson."

  "How do you do?" Robby bowed to shake their hands. They all looked roughly the same age. But it occurred to him as they
stood nervously with the plates and jugs, shifting from foot to foot, that he was less a judge of age these days than ever before.

  "Shall we set a table for ye?" Eldwin asked.

  "Certainly!"

  He pulled down some ledgers and spread a fresh blank sheet before him. Eldwin and his helpers slid a small table over and stacked some crates to sit on around it. After inking only a couple of notes, Robby heard Eldwin clear his throat.

  "All is ready, sir," Eldwin called.

  Robby looked up to see a plate of food, a pitcher of beer and one of water, a cup and utensils neatly arranged on a light blue tablecloth.

  "Thank you very much!" Robby sat down enthusiastically and his stomach let out an anticipatory growl. A cup of beer was poured as he picked up the fork and quickly enjoyed a morsel of sweet ham. It was not until he was reaching for the cup that he noticed the boys standing at a respectful distance, watching him intently. As he raised the cup to his lips, it occurred to him that it was the food, perhaps, that most interested them. He paused and then put the cup gently down and lifted the cover from the platter and saw it to be crammed with meat and cheese, bread, sliced apples, green beans, and berries.

  "Have you already eaten?" he asked. They hesitated, and Eldwin said, "Yes, sir."

  "Seltin—Seltin, is it?"

  "Yes, sir?"

  "When did you last eat?"

  The boy looked at his grandfather and said, "Oh, I breakfasted this morning, sir."

  "And what did you have for breakfast?"

  "Er, well, I had a bit of porridge. Oh, and some blackberries."

  "And you, Jimbo?"

  "I'm Timbo, your honor. That's Jimbo. I had breakfast, too. Porridge."

  Jimbo and Nimbo nodded.

  "And when will you eat again?"

  They looked at each other.

  "Tonight?" one proposed.

  "Sir," Eldwin broke in. "We need very little to sustain us."

  Robby nodded, aware of their growing embarrassment.

  "Then," Robby told them as he poured the beer back into the pitcher and reached for the jug of water, "I'll only take this pitcher of water to the desk. I'll eat when it is your custom to do so and, if it may be so, in your good company."

  "Oh, sir!" Limbo cried.

  "But you are, oh my! Our guest!" stammered Millithorpe.

  "Ye need not follow our ways," put in Eldwin.

  "You are all very kind," Robby said, rising. "But my mind is made up. We have work to do and may as well get started. Eldwin, the Elders need to be called to decide whether or not to permit me into the chamber where the treasure from Tulith Attis is stored. I cannot deliver a fair accounting of the things there unless they give me permission to do so."

  Eldwin looked at Millithorpe, who shrugged. "He says my accounts are not sufficient. And I have no doubt he is right."

  "I cannot call for a meetin' by meself, sir," Eldwin said to Robby. "It takes at least twenty Elders to do so, unless it's a regular meetin' time, which is not for another fortnight."

  "It must be done. You and Millithorpe are two. You only need eighteen more. My travels are urgent, and I haven't much time. My companions and I must be on our way, with or without our things, and we cannot tarry long. And tell the Elders that I will do my part to break the curses upon your people, if they do their part."

  "What do ye mean? Do ye have the power to do so?"

  "Just tell them that I will do my part. But only if they give permission. Please hurry!"

  "I will. Just as ye say. These boys will stay an' help however they may. All of them can read an' write the common letters, an' all can count a fair bit, too."

  Eldwin took his leave and was quickly out of sight as Robby sat at the table and started making his notes. The others waited pensively and without word, but it was not long before he was delving into the ledgers and trying to translate, with Millithorpe's help, the meaning of the counts. His intention, Robby explained, was to make new ledgers. In each would be a line for every type of thing, and, off to the side in neat columns, he would write notes about the condition and quantity of the things, and an appraised worth in Realm silver. Each page was to be tallied up at the bottom, and each tally carried forward to the next page, too, as a running account of the whole value so far. He was not sure they understood, but made worksheets for his helpers to use, showing them how to make their figures, then sent them off in pairs to do counting-work while he made more worksheets for their next counting jobs. When that was done, he set to the task of organizing the ledgers and making new ones. He showed Millithorpe how to make proper lists and set him to work copying portions of the entries from the old books into the new ones.

  It was easy for Robby, having plenty of practice from his earliest days. He knew the real task was not in making the books, or even in tallying up the amounts, but in working out the worth of things to be tallied. So much depended on the person that you traded with, the circumstances, and even the time of year. Nails might be commonplace things, but if they were in short supply to one who needed them, they would be quite valuable. Weapons might have no value at all, beyond the material of their making, unless there was an army to wield them. This was a task more suitable to his father, or the likes of Mr. Furaman. But even they, Robby realized, would be guessing at some things. So he made up his mind to use a variety of measures. How long did it take to make a thing? What materials were required? What was the quality of workmanship, and in what sort of condition was the thing now, after so long in storage? As he worked on the copying and mentally prepared himself for the assessments, there were moments when he felt overwhelmed by the task, but he made himself go to the next step and then the next.

  "What on earth did I get myself into!" he muttered.

  "Pardon me?" asked Millithorpe, raising his head from his copying.

  "Oh?" Robby shook his head. "Nothing." He put down his pen and stretched his arms. "This will take a while to do. Tell me, is there much hunger among your people?"

  "Hunger? There is some. But we do not face starvation. It has been a hard year, though it did not start that way. Our first crops were bountiful, but several days of bad storms washed away some of our fields and nearly flooded the lower part of the town near the stream. By the time we got our fields repaired, it was too late to get much of a second crop. We have stores put aside, though, and the woods are plentiful in nuts and berries and game, and fish are plentiful, too, so we have no doubt that we'll make it through the winter. If everyone keeps up their hard work. Which we shall."

  "I see."

  Robby sat back in thought. The great storm was vast, indeed, he realized, reaching over and into the mountains. His mind went back to the opening day of the festival, and the speech his father had given, expressing the community's thanks for coming through the summer in such good shape.

  "I think I'll stretch my legs a bit," he said to Millithorpe, picking up one of the ledgers. "And take the air while I look over this list again."

  He walked out of the cave and into the daylight, bright and clear, but instead of continuing down the path toward town, he impulsively took a right turn along a narrow, obviously seldom used trail that descended gently through the trees at the base of the cliff. After a short walk, he heard the sound of falling water and soon came to a small pool fed by the clatter of a little waterfall. It was a shady place, cool and peaceful, and though the narrow cascade of water splashed over time-smoothed rocks, there was hardly a ripple in the shallow pool below. The sound and the cool air were soothing, and he sat at the edge of the water on some rocks beside the path and put the ledger on his lap. With a sigh, he took out his smoking pouch. It was already late afternoon, and as he lit his pipe using one of his firesticks, he wondered how his friends were faring. Probably impatient, he thought, as he gave a couple of starting puffs. This sidetrack certainly hampered their progress, to say the least. Ashlord was probably beside himself with worry over Certina, who was not yet back from her errand. Ullin was restless, no doubt,
and on guard, too, and wanting to scout the way ahead, Robby guessed, but was likely discouraged from leaving their camp by the cautious Ashlord. Billy and Ibin were apt to be napping as much as they could, and he worried little about them. Sheila, he felt strongly, was probably deep into her own thoughts, likely dark and full of fret, self-doubt, and regret.

  He opened the ledger to look over some entries, but his thoughts wandered back to Janhaven, and his eyes nearly filled with tears thinking of his mother. He hoped by now his father had reached help across the lake, and the thought of his father's strength and determination fed his hope, somewhat. Then he remembered that his father was being pursued by Redvests, and he frowned.

  "Hullo. That is a glum face yer making!"

  Robby, somewhat startled, looked up from the page he had been blindly staring at and saw a young girl—at least he took her to be young—holding a baby in her arms wrapped in a light blanket.

  "Do you always greet strangers so bluntly?" he asked, smiling.

  "I dunno. Yer the first stranger I have ever greeted. But I saw ye in the square this morning, an' I know ye to be the one called Robby. Is it the accounting that worries ye so?"

  "No. Well, yes, I am concerned over it. But in fact, my mind was elsewhere just now."

  "Oh," she said as she shifted the baby. "I suppose there are troubles in the outside world that we know little about. An' besides, everyone has their own, regardless."

  "Yes. I'm afraid my own little problems are hopelessly mixed up with those great ones of the world."

  "I often wonder about the outside world. Besides the troubles, I mean. There are wonders, aren't there? I imagine vast cities of glass an' silver, great magic forests full of elves an' the Faerekind. An' the land ends, they say, where a great water stretches out farther than the eye can see, an' men go about in boats driven by the wind."

  "I have never seen magic forests, or vast cities. Nor have I ever seen the sea, though I have seen sailboats on Lake Halgaeth, and I've been to the beautiful town of Tallinvale, with its spires."

  "Still, yer free to go about to such places if ever ye choose, are ye not? But we can never leave these mountains."