"Business is business, son," he said bluntly. "No matter what the business may be."
Robby said nothing, waiting for more. But there was no more said. Mr. Ribbon mumbled something about getting off to the weaver's to check on some braided ropes and was through the door before Robby could bring himself to speak. Slowly turning, he saw his mother, standing at the stairs unnoticed by any until now, and he understood that she had been there the entire time.
"What was all that about?" Robby asked.
Mirabella stepped down from the stairs and moved over to the window, peering down the road after her husband.
"Your father feels somewhat responsible for Sheila," she said. "He recently learned that the Gladstens turned her away the night she was beaten."
Robby's mother turned back to him as he absorbed this.
"Sheila said nothing to your father about it," she continued. "Frizella found out somehow and sent a note with Billy awhile back."
Robby felt blood rush hot to his face as he realized that if they had taken her in, the baby might have been saved.
"Then good riddance to them!" he said. Mirabella nodded and went back upstairs. Halfway up, she stopped and turned back to Robby.
"Do not question your father about this," she said. "He is upset enough at how Sheila was failed by our community. And he has much on his mind besides."
"I won't," Robby assured her. She smiled sadly and went back upstairs.
After a while, Mr. Ribbon returned but said very little. He ate a light meal, then left to go to the Common House, for this was the day he was to announce the Fall Counting. From all indications, this year's fair was to be rather grand, and Mr. Ribbon had been busy making preparations for the event.
• • •
Once every year, during harvest time, when the days waned into autumn, all of the peoples of Passdale and Barley were called to gather and be counted on the census and to renew their pledges to King and community. It was called The Counting, but was actually a festival, a civic affair, with deep, nearly religious overtones. Although the specifics changed somewhat from generation to generation, and from place to place, the tradition of allegiance-pledging had remained relatively the same for hundreds of years. When Duinnor united the Seven Realms, the tradition was made into law, and the ceremonies surrounding them became more formal. In Passdale and Barley, all was done much in the same way as it ever was.
On the day of the autumn equinox, it was the duty of the Mayor of Passdale to issue a proclamation calling for the gathering. He would first call together the combined city and county councils, and they would decide on the days and the place of the gathering. In Passdale and Barley, it was customary to have the event take place on two separate days, one week apart, so that those unable to attend on one day would be able to go to the second appointed day. When the council reached a decision, and had ordered the Mayor to do so, he would leave the council chambers of the Common House and accompany them to the steps outside its entrance. There, where people gathered to await the announcement, he would read the proclamation in a loud voice, which always went something like this:
"Harken all! And hear ye the King's agent. I, (name of mayor), rightfully appointed as the King's own agent in this the region of Passdale and Barley and nearby lands, am charged by Duinnor to call forth all the inhabitants of these lands to gather at Wayford Common, beginning on the Twenty-Seventh of Tenthmonth. There it will be ordered that each make an oath by his name for the welfare of the lands and in the name of the throne of Duinnor, to give fair account of our faith with our vows, and to render the tithing due by law. Let it be known by all, and let none be absent!"
The written proclamation would be ceremonially posted on the great door of the Common House, and copies of it would be sent forth throughout the land. Messengers would also be dispatched to every house and farm, carrying the proclamation and reading it to all. It was then that preparations would begin in earnest, for it was customary to fill those days between the two days of reckoning with mirth and merrymaking, feasts and feats of showmanship, of contests and storytelling, and music and all manner of celebration. At Wayford Common, a flat clearing in the hills about a furlong behind Passdale, pavilions were erected and wood gathered for bonfires and kitchens. It was always a great festival for the folks of Barley and Passdale, full of comings and goings, and attracting performers from all over the Eastlands, and sometimes even from more distant realms. One year, a conjurer came from the south and stunned the people with magic that turned flowers into birds and water into dry sand. Another year there came a troupe of acrobats who soared through the air and stood one upon the other ten men high. And yet another year there came a man with all manner of foreign beasts that were both terrible and beautiful to look upon.
So later that day, Robby and his mother closed the shop for a while, walked to the Common House, and waited along with a small crowd for the official announcement they knew would soon be coming.
"This year is bound to exceed all those of the past," Robby heard the blacksmith say to another in the crowd. "I hear tell more 'an two dozen passes have already been given for acts an' innertainers of all sorts."
"I heard tell them Bosklanders'll be puttin' on some militia shows, too, an' Mrs. Bosk is arrangin' the kitchens," replied the other. "Mr. Broadweed's little pupils'll be singin', of course, an thar might even be some Faere Folk coming through with thar songs. Yep, I reckon it'll be a mighty fine time, if folks don't get too drunk, that is."
"A little celebratin' ain't never hurt nobody, I always sez," winked the blacksmith. "An' ye gotta admit it's been a lucky year for most folks around. What with most gettin' in two harvests before the storm an' then not havin' the damage one might expect from the floods. I reckon folks are mighty relieved at havin' their tithe so in hand this year."
"I think so, too!"
As they stood there waiting, Robby turned to his mother.
"Do you know when a new Mayor will be chosen?"
"I suppose it will be sometime in the spring, Robby."
"Oh, I suppose so," he nodded. "That is the usual time."
"I imagine you are wondering when your duties at the store will be lifted somewhat. And whether you'll be able to go off to school in Glareth."
"Well, yes. But to tell you the truth, I'm thinking of taking up another job," Robby said tentatively. "Part time. Sort of."
"Oh?" Mirabella was surprised. "Doing what?"
"That's the thing," Robby said. "I'm not sure, exactly. I'm thinking of joining the militia."
"What's that?" his mother gasped. "Whatever for?"
"I need the training, Mother," Robby said bluntly. "I can't just sit around waiting for the other boot to fall. I've got to be ready, and I'm not."
"This is not the place to talk of such things," Mirabella whispered, looking around.
Robby was silenced by his mother, but she caught a quick glare from him that was most unusual and served to shock her further. Just then, her husband appeared on the portico of the Common House, bearing a scroll and surrounded by the men of the council. He unrolled the scroll and read aloud his pronouncement, making only a few mistakes. When he got to the end and pronounced, "An' let none be absent!" there was a general cheer and clapping from the audience as he bowed and rolled up the scroll. Robby was too young the last time his father had served as Mayor to remember any of these kinds of things, and now he could not help being proud of him. Mr. Ribbon saw his wife and son in the crowd and hurried down the steps to them, receiving pats on the back as he approached.
"So thar!" he said, beaming at his wife.
"Well done, my love!"
"Not bad, Daddy!"
"Thank ye. Thank ye," Mr. Ribbon blushed. "Not bad for a country boy, eh?"
"You are not a country boy anymore," Mirabella teased. "You're too old!"
They all laughed.
"Well, I must be back in to see to the copies an' dispatch the messengers an' all," Mr. Ribbon said. "I'll be home directly
afterwards."
Mirabella kissed her husband goodbye, then she and Robby made their way back to the store. They remained silent the whole way, but once they entered the store, Mirabella spoke.
"Now tell me what is on your mind," she demanded.
"I must prepare for what is to come," Robby stated flatly.
"And what do you think that is?"
"Strife," he said. "At least for me. And perhaps to all of this land."
"Why do you say that?"
"You know why, Mother," Robby shot back. "Do not treat me like a boy. You know what has happened to me. The Bell. You know, sooner or later, I'll be found out. And you know about the Dragonkind man and the one who escaped. Now there is word from the west about dangers there."
"There are always dangers in the Westlands," Mirabella interrupted.
"Perhaps, but now they come our way. At any rate, I am ill-prepared to save myself in a fight, and I need training," Robby argued. "It would be less noticeable if I joined the militia and was trained in that way to handle arms than any other way."
"I agree with Robby," came a voice from the doorway. There loomed a tall figure, stooping slightly to step through the doorway, a walking stick in one hand and a saddlebag in the other. He was dressed in a long dark-blue cloak, and when he tossed back the hood, Robby instantly recognized Ashlord.
"Ashlord!" he cried going up to him and shaking his hand. "I have wondered what happened to you."
"I have been busy, my friend," Ashlord said, smiling and nodding. "And I have need of a few things from your store before I depart for Surthquay."
"Surthquay?"
"An old boat landing on the lake."
"Oh, is that where you will meet with Thurdun's party?"
"Yes," Ashlord nodded, "though how you know that worries me."
Ashlord threw a glance at Mirabella, who was eyeing him suspiciously.
"I spoke with Thurdun last night. We met on the road," Robby was saying, noticing some tension between Ashlord and his mother.
"Mrs. Ribbon," Ashlord bowed. "I am honored to make your acquaintance."
"Likewise, Collandoth," she replied. "My husband and I are indebted to you for taking care of Robby."
"Oh, it was nothing." He smiled, then he noticed a certain look in her face. "Ah. I see Robby has told you. And I gather from what I overheard that you do not believe that he is in danger."
"Yes, he has told me," she said. "But not because he wanted to. Only because I caught him in a mistake with his story. As for the danger he is in, well, I am not certain."
"He is in danger," Ashlord bluntly said. "And would now be dead if the raiding party that came for him had not run into the Bosklanders. One of them still escaped and headed straight for Tulith Attis. He almost overpowered me, and there was a stern fight between us. His mission was to discover who rang the Great Bell. I only regret that I could not wrest from him the name of the one that sent him. He died of the wounds I gave him in my defense. I fear there will be others, though."
"Was he a Dragonkind man?" Robby asked.
"No, just a Man. From the West. I do not know the connection between him and the Dragonkind, which is another mystery that disturbs me."
"But it has been nearly two months," Mirabella said. "Surely something would have happened by now."
"As you may know, it takes nearly a fortnight, hard riding, just to get to the borderlands, Mirabella Ribbon," Ashlord pointed out. "If his master was there and no farther, it would be another fortnight, at the least, coming back with another party. Enough time has now passed for the enemy to know that his first effort has failed. They will not give up so easily and will try again. My inclination is to believe that whoever sent the party that Robby ran into must actually be close at hand, or at least his agents must be about. How else could he keep watch? They were obviously ready to move when the Great Bell of Tulith Attis rang, already in waiting for the moment. They had to be nearby. But I doubt they will be as brazen as before. They will wait for a better moment, a better way to discover their prey. If the enemy is anything, he is patient."
"Should I leave Passdale?" Robby asked.
"Perhaps," Ashlord said. "But not right away, I think. There are other things happening in the world that may be a distraction to those who would seek you. However, you would be safer surrounded by armed men that you can trust. So your idea of joining the militia may serve in more ways than one. Only, I did not know there was a militia in Passdale."
"There isn't," Robby said. "Not yet, anyway. But there have been discussions amongst the people. And I think things are leaning that way. I think there will be one pretty soon."
"I see. Lady Mirabella, do you not think your son would be safer if he knew how to defend himself? And kept company with others likewise trained?"
"I don't know," she said, turning away. "Perhaps."
"Until other things come to pass and work themselves out," Ashlord concluded, "I agree with Robby, here. It seems a wise move. Why don't you think about it? Meanwhile, I need a bit of salt and some tea. But I must hurry to fetch my horse from the stable and hie off to the lake."
"Mother," Robby said, "let me go with Ashlord tonight. I can ride with him and be back tomorrow. I want to see Thurdun again, if I can."
Ashlord's eyes flashed with surprise as he looked from Robby to Mirabella and back.
"I'm not sure that's a good idea." She glanced at Ashlord.
"Oh, I will take good care of him," he assured her. "I promise he will not be alone even once. He could hardly be in any safer place than Lord Thurdun's camp. And I think his presence there will be appreciated."
"You will return tomorrow?"
"Yes, Mother."
"We must be off quickly, then," Ashlord put in. "I have much to discuss with Thurdun before he departs this country."
"I'm up to it."
"Very well, if your parents are willing and you have no other duties."
"I'll take care of the store for Robby," Mirabella said as Robby enthusiastically ran upstairs to fetch his shoulder bag. "I'll let his father know as soon as he gets home."
She pulled a bag of tea and offered it for Ashlord to smell, eyeing him as he did so.
"Ah," he said. "That will do nicely."
"How much salt? Will a pound do?"
"Half as much will be more than enough."
Ashlord watched her weigh the salt and then took the small sack she gave him.
"What else may I do for you?" she asked. "Is there anything else that you need?"
"Ah, yes. I was here sometime ago, perhaps more than a year past, and I saw among your things a box of silver-tipped writing pens. I commented to your husband how rare it was to see them in these parts, for they are of a make not usually seen outside of Vanara. Do you know the ones I mean?"
"Yes, I do. Robigor said they came in a consignment from the trader, Furaman. Let's see, I believe they are still here, somewhere."
Mirabella rummaged through a set of drawers near the stationery supplies until she found a small leather-bound case.
"Are these the ones you mean?"
She opened the case and handed it to Ashlord. Inside were four short ink pens, made of carved wood fitted with engraved silver nibs.
"Yes, indeed! Very nice. Quite the thing." Ashlord smiled as he pulled out his purse. "How much for all four?"
"I can't accept your coin," Mirabella stated. "They are yours, along with the other things, with kind thanks for helping Robby."
"Oh, I insist!" he replied. "They are not for me. I mean them to be a gift. Would five-weight in Glareth silver be fair?"
"More than fair, if you do insist," Mirabella nodded, accepting the five coins. "But, to make it fair, at least take something else. A pouch of Westleaf for your pipe?"
"Ah, that would be hard to refuse!"
As she went to the tobacco shelf and prepared a pouch of aromatic smoking leaf, Ashlord gazed about the shop with interest, taking in all the many colors and aromas of the place.
<
br /> "Ashlord, do you know much about old coins?" Mirabella asked as she tied the pouch.
"Coins?"
"Yes. We came by some unusual coins recently—it's a long story—and I think they may be quite old. I think they may be from Vanara."
"Oh?"
"Yes. I wonder if you might have a look at them sometime and tell me what you think?" she said, handing him the pouch. Ashlord smiled, with a quizzical expression, noting how nervous Mirabella seemed. But he knew that making smalltalk was how some people work through toward whatever was on their mind, and he speculated that she wanted an opportunity to chat more about Robby's situation.
"It's just that we don't know how to value them," she quickly added. "Besides their weight in metal, that is. They are quite exquisitely made, and may have some greater value due to that."
"Well, it is well known that Vanarans were once the finest metalworkers in all the world. I have seen some remarkable examples of their early coinage. Rather like fine jewelry."
"Yes. These are like that. Would you mind looking at them?"
"I would be happy to do so. But truly I must hurry along as soon as Robby is ready to go."
"Of course. It would take a few moments to fetch them, anyway, since they are locked away upstairs," Mirabella said. "Perhaps when you and Robby return."
Hearing a sound at the stairs, they turned to see Robby descending, pulling the strap of his bag over his shoulder.
"I'm ready!" he proclaimed.
"You will be careful, won't you?" Mirabella said, giving Robby a hug.
"Yes, Mother," Robby said, kissing her goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow!"
"Perhaps we can chat soon," Ashlord said with a slight bow. "Meanwhile, I thank you again, and bid you good day, my lady."
"Goodbye, Ashlord."
Mirabella watched the two depart, and after a long thoughtful pause, she sat behind her husband's desk and fingered the inkwell absently. She thought about the strongbox upstairs and its contents. The key to the strongbox, hanging from a chain under her bodice, suddenly felt very heavy, and she fought the temptation to go upstairs and look at the bejeweled coins once again. The strongbox had not been opened since Sheila put the coins within it, over two weeks earlier. She thought it odd that, with everything else going on around her, those coins kept intruding into her thoughts. At first, she passed it off as worry for their great value, thinking perhaps they were too precious and ancient to be safely held in a store such as theirs. The night she had first seen them, she happened to have a bout of scar pain, like Elifaen sometimes do, but she passed it off as having nothing to do with the coins. But as the busy days passed, they came to mind at the oddest times, such as in the middle of chatting with Robby, or while she walked along the path to the weaver's house, or in the dead of night. And, now, whenever she thought of that terrible night of storm when the Great Bell rang, the night Robby was in such danger, her mind always came back to the mystery of those coins. As she pushed the inkwell aside, she felt again a prickly sensation along her back. It was all very peculiar and inexplicable. Somehow, her worries over Robby seemed conflated by those old coins, and her fears for him strangely mingled with her fear of what those coins might actually be.
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