by Adam Carter
“You’re not funny, Sparky,” Kiel said tiredly. “No, this thing was recently lost by the Natural History Museum. I think if you contacted them, they’d be mighty eager for you to track it down.”
“That’s great,” Darkthorne enthused. “We can spend a couple of days pretending to research it all; then inform them that we’ve managed to track it down. It’ll be a great start for us. Well done, Sara.”
“How recently did they lose it?” Tarne asked in a stern voice.
“How what?” Kiel asked.
“How recently did they lose this thing?” Tarne repeated.
“Oh. Fairly,” Kiel shrugged dismissively.
“Fairly, as in just-this-morning recent?”
“Uh, not even that long ago, actually.”
“I guess the question I’m actually trying to ask,” Tarne said as calmly as she could, “is whether you have any idea as to who actually stole this thing to begin with?”
“If she didn’t know who stole it,” Darkthorne said, “she wouldn’t have been able to find it so quickly. Duh!”
“Are you always this dim?” Tarne asked him.
“Are you accusing me of stealing this sphere?” Kiel asked crossly.
“Did you steal it?”
“Yes, but I can’t believe you’d accuse me of it.”
“You ... you what?” Darkthorne asked.
“As you said,” Kiel said, “this is really going to make a name for us.”
“Sure it will,” Tarne agreed. “We’ll be over the front pages by tomorrow. Only no one’s going to want to hire us, even if we do manage to escape a prison term. It has to go back.”
“Does not,” Kiel protested.
“Does too.”
“Ladies, ladies,” Darkthorne interjected. “Let’s not be so hasty in this, shall we? I mean, we have opportunities now. Isn’t there some other museum who’d love this in their collection?”
Tarne stared at him aghast. “You can’t honestly be considering auctioning this thing off to the highest bidder.”
“Well I sure don’t want to keep it for myself.”
“You know,” Tarne said, beyond words such as angry and furious and into the realms of emotion for which no words existed to adequately sum up her rage (which itself was far too inferior a word to have used), “I wish ... I wish that box had contained Sparky’s pizza after all.” She noticed the picture on the side of the box then and her mind began to race. “What ... what was in the box before you smuggled that thing in here?”
“You should recognise that picture,” Kiel said. “It’s your TV, Heather.”
Whatever unnameable state Tarne was in earlier, she just progressed another notch deeper inside. “You mean you ... you wrapped up your stolen goods in my box? A box whose ownership can actually be traced back to me? A box which has my fingerprints all over it?”
“There a problem with that?”
“I ... I ... I ... Jagrad, for God’s sake say something to her.”
“Sara,” Darkthorne said, not knowing what it was that Tarne wanted him to say exactly, “I think when we tell the museum we found their stone football, we’re going to have to use a different box.”
“Come on, Warner,” Tarne said, turning upon her heel, “let’s leave these mad people to it.”
Kiel and Darkthorne exchanged a puzzled look, and finally said in unison, “Who’s Warner?”
PAST CHAPTER
Bastelle was everything the travellers expected. It was the mightiest city the entire world over and, home to the monarchs of all the lands, it was also the most expensive. Soldiers patrolled the streets, laughed with locals and talked amongst themselves on the street corners; peddlers hurried to market; the bedraggled homeless, old soldiers returning home to find nothing following the wars, lay still as death in the gutters; whores plied their trade in backalleys; and the cries of ‘stop, thief!’ were all but drowned out by the general hubbub, chatter and laughter of the massive gargantuan settlement.
As the small party entered through the main gates, passing under the outer and then the inner portcullis, the city began to take shape before they eyes. The buildings towards the far side of the city were old, although there were new structures closer to the main gates. The buildings were generally quite narrow, with the second floor jutting out quite far so that people and waggons could pass safely beneath them, while at the same time these floors occupied maximum space within the air, fighting for every bit of the sky like plants reaching for sunlight.
“Now this is what I call a city,” Darkthorne said as he breathed deeply of the incense-laden air.
“Only because you grew up in one like it,” Tarne said, glancing around herself rather more nervously. “I’m more used to smaller settlements, although I suppose I could get used to it.”
“I would have thought you’d have preferred larger cities,” Darkthorne said. “More places for an accused witch to hide.”
“You want to say that a tad louder perhaps?” Tarne shot at him crossly.
“I didn’t say you were a witch,” Darkthorne said defensively, “only that you’d been accused of being one on more than one occasion.”
“Would you shut, up?” Tarne hissed, glancing nervously from side to side. “You’re beginning to draw attention.”
“Can it, both of you,” Kiel snapped. “The whole point of coming to Bastelle is to lie low for a while, so don’t talk unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“Hey, guys,” Sparky said, joining them again even though no one had even noticed he was gone. He held out two hands filled with glistening coins and rings. “Look at all the pretties.”
“Someone explain the term low profile to these men,” Tarne muttered under her breath.
“I think I may have found us somewhere to stay,” Old Man Robes said, appearing suddenly before them, and startling Tarne. “Follow me.” He turned and moved off down the street, and the others followed him without question. Soon enough they arrived at the narrow doorway to what appeared to be an ordinary house. “This is it,” the old man announced.
“What’s so special about this place?” Tarne asked.
“Nothing, so far as I can see,” Darkthorne said. “Let’s move on.”
“This establishment is the best of its kind throughout the entire city,” Old Man Robes said.
“But what kind of establishment is it?” Tarne asked.
“Who cares?” Darkthorne said. “Let’s go.”
Defiant, Tarne strode up and rapped her knuckles upon the door. Darkthorne rolled his eyes, clearly wondering why she was insisting upon wasting time with this, although said nothing as they waited. Within the passing of a few moments, the door opened a crack, and a wizened haggard face appeared in the shadows. Tarne decided that if anybody was to be labelled a witch, it would have to be this old crone.
“Yes?” the old woman asked in a croaking voice. “What is it, my lovelies?” Thinking she might have been talking directly to his stolen gold, Sparky quickly shoved his full hands deep into his pockets.
Darkthorne strode forward now, taking charge of their small band once more. After all, were they not the Darkthorne Legion? If they were to enter someone’s abode, then it would be through his voice that they would speak with the mistress of the house. “My companions and I are travellers from the east,” Darkthorne explained in his usual, imperious tone, polite while at the same time still managing to look down his nose at her. “We have only just now arrived in Bastelle and require a place to stay. Might you be able to offer some suggestion as to where this might be?”
The old woman chuckled to herself. “Yer in luck, my precious. This ‘ere’s Madame Shalla’s True Boarding house. Cost is high, but then what isn’t in this city?”
“True?” Darkthorne asked. “What does that mean exactly?”
“That I don’t diddle ya,” she snapped. “Now you in or out? If out, I need to close my door. Got things to take care of, you know.”
“What did you mean by ex
pensive?” Tarne asked.
The old woman named a figure.
Darkthorne raised his eyebrows. “I think we could just about manage that.”
The old woman looked at him sympathetically. “That was for each of you.”
“Jagrad,” Tarne said when she could see Darkthorne was about to tell the crone just where she could shove her figure.
“What?” he hissed. “Why are you so insistent we stay here anyway? You’ve never even been to Bastelle before, so you don’t know this area any better than us.”
“Jagrad?” the old woman said, thinking a moment. “As in Sir Jagrad, Lord of Darkthorne?”
“The armour gave it away, right?” Darkthorne growled.
The old woman’s face became a beaming smile and she sighed with relief. “Praise be to the Gaze Dancer, I took yer party fer a bunch a them whotsits, them juvenile venturing types who don’t knows their eyes from their elbows.”
“That’s why you were trying to force us out with such a high price?” Kiel guessed.
“Oh indeed,” the woman cackled. “An’ it would a worked too, I could see it in yer eyes. Nah, if yer Lord Jagrad, that changes everythin’.”
“So we have a conveniently lowered price now, I take it,” Kiel said sardonically. She had seen such practices before, and knew the price would still be far too high, although suddenly seem a far better offer for them.
“Price?” the old woman huffed. “No price for the Lord of Darkthorne. Y’ave been expected, ya have.”
“Expected?” Darkthorne asked. “Ah good, dinner’s on the table by now, then?”
“Hold on a moment,” Tarne said, taking hold of his arm and preventing him from running inside.
“I thought you were the one insisting on going right in,” Darkthorne said.
“Not if we’ve been expected, I’m not. Tell us, old mother, how have we been expected? Who knows we’re even in this part of the world?”
“Well, expected sooner or later,” the crone said with a shrug. “Fact is, there was talk a ya being dead an’ all, but she knew you’d be comin’ by soon enough anyway. Come on in, Lord Darkthorne. Get those wet things off and let’s get some food inside you.”
“But it’s not even raining,” Tarne said as the woman led Darkthorne into the house.
“I’m not liking this,” Kiel said, narrowing her eyes, as was her habit when something happened she did not entirely trust. “Keep your eyes open, Heather. I’m not liking this at all.”
“You and me both, Sara.”
“You think my money’s going to be safe in there?” Sparky asked nervously.
“Sure,” Tarne said. “Just do me a favour and try not to rob our host.”
“Nah, she doesn’t have anything worth stealing in her pockets anyway.” He bit his lower lip and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he found Tarne staring at him savagely. “Joke?” he tried.
“Just keep your hands to yourself, all right?” Tarne said seriously.
“That would indeed be a first,” Old Man Robes chuckled.
Tarne glowered at him, but said nothing. It was all his fault that they had got into this trouble, although arguing with him in the street would not solve anything. Together, they trooped in after their leader.
The door led into a small roofless stone hallway, and from this a staircase rose, revealing a wide grassy courtyard beside it. The stairs ended upon a stone landing, and a door which led into a large building. The landing continued to the end, at which point it led into another door. Standing upon the landing would have provided the best view of the courtyard, and they could see two women at the edge of the grass, moving away from them and talking quietly amongst themselves. Tarne judged them quickly and decided they were barely out of their teens.
They did not have the time to speak to either woman, however, for the door closest to them was closing quickly, and they caught it so they could follow their leader into whatever peril he had landed himself. The door led into a further corridor, although this one was carpeted, and there were oil paintings hanging within expensive frames. There were many doors along the corridor, although they did not try any of them, for they could see Darkthorne and the old woman turning the corner at the end of the corridor.
Tarne led the small group around the corner and was faced with a huge set of double doors. She nodded for Kiel to be ready and pushed them aside. They darted into the chamber beyond, prepared for anything.
The chamber was vast, and very bright. The ceiling was formed of sloping glass, allowing light into the room in abundance, while rainwater would slide off the roof and into the gutters. There were plants and trees everywhere about them, crawling up the walls, carpeting the floor, and there did not seem to be any particular order to it all. It was not an untidy jungle, indeed it was neat and carefully trimmed, although there were no flower pots and no definitive boundaries upon the flower beds. It was as though the plants had been told exactly where they should grow, and had obeyed. Within the centre of the room there was a large fountain, formed of ivory by its appearance, and water rose from it in wild, frothy spews.
The old woman had vanished, and instead Darkthorne was speaking to someone else entirely. Their host now was younger, probably no more than thirty years, and by her rich garb did Tarne instantly fashion her a noblewoman. She was smiling at Darkthorne, and the two were speaking as though they were old friends. At the sudden arrival of Tarne and the others, however, attention shifted to them.
“Welcome,” the woman said, turning her beaming face upon them. “You must be the servants of Lord Darkthorne. How nice.”
“Servants?” Tarne said angrily, although Kiel shot her a silencing glare.
“They travel with me always,” Darkthorne said airily, “and are almost a part of the family. I do so hope you shan’t force them to use the servants’ entrance or anything, Madame?”
“If such is not your wish,” the woman said.
“Jagrad,” Tarne said. “Uh ... Lord Darkthorne, you haven’t introduced us to your friend.”
“How remiss of me,” Darkthorne said. “May I present Madame Shalla, Mistress of the house. Madame, these are Sara Kiel, Sparky and Heather Tarne.”
“You are a sorceress, yes?” Shalla asked of Tarne.
“You have ... finely tuned senses, Madame,” Tarne said, taken aback.
“Lord Darkthorne told me you were a practising witch.”
“But you only met him two minutes ago.”
“It was a good conversation-opener,” Darkthorne said.
Tarne blinked. “What? ‘Hey, pretty lady, my name’s Darkthorne and I have a friend who’s a witch’.”
“Servant,” Darkthorne reminded her.
“Servant nothing,” she said. “Jagrad, how comes the old women at the door recognised your name and said she was expecting you?”
Darkthorne’s smile faded somewhat and he hissed back at her. “I hadn’t got that far yet, Heather. I was getting to that next.”
“What?” Tarne asked. “So telling folk I’m a witch comes before asking them how they know who you are?”
“If it would make you feel any better,” Shalla offered, “I have no ill intentions toward any of you. Jagrad’s father once saved the life of my father on the field of battle, so I told Crone to keep an ear out for Jagrad, and that should he ever come to Bastelle she was to let him in immediately.”
“Nice place you picked, eh?” Darkthorne asked.
“You’re welcome,” Old Man Robes said.
“Good for something after all,” Tarne said. “Look, the old woman told us we could ... Is her name really Crone?”
Shalla laughed. “You know, I never knew her name so I always call her Crone. Apt name, so I might as well use it. And yes, what she said is true. You are all welcome to stay here for as long as you like, entirely free of charge.” She paused, then added, “Unless of course Lord Darkthorne dies, because I owe the rest of you nothing, and without him here I’d turf the lot of you out on yo
ur ears.”
“Not thinking of dying any time soon are you?” Sparky asked Darkthorne.
“Wouldn’t dream of inconveniencing you, Sparky.”
“Now that we’ve found a place to stay,” Sparky said, “you think maybe we could go hit the casinos?”
“All in good time, lad,” Darkthorne said. “At the moment I’m much more interested in learning all about the wonderful Madame Shalla.”
“You flatter me, sir,” Shalla blushed. “Perhaps you might allow your friends to venture to this casino they seek, that the two of us might get to know one another without interruption?”
“Much obliged,” Sparky said, turning to depart.
Tarne caught him by the shoulder. “Not so fast, Sparky. I agree with Jagrad on this one. I think we should stay.”
“I’ll stay with Sparky,” Kiel said, “make sure he doesn’t get into mischief. You stay here with Jagrad, then.”
“Sara,” Tarne began, “I really don’t think it’s a good idea to ...” Then she caught the other woman’s eyes, recognised the I-want-to-have-a-little-snoop-around-this-place expression, and nodded. “Sure, Sara. Have fun at the casino.”
“We’ll try not to lose all our money,” Kiel said.
“Wouldn’t matter how much we lost,” Sparky said. “I’d just pick the winner’s pocket anyway and get it all right back.”
“It’s a little more difficult to pick the house’s pocket,” Kiel was saying as they departed. Tarne did not get to hear Sparky’s response to that, although knew he had succeeded in such a thing several times in the past.
“Isn’t this cosy?” Tarne said, turning back to Darkthorne and Shalla. “Just the three of us.”
“Four,” Old Man Robes said, causing Tarne to jump again. Everyone had forgotten about him. “I suppose I’ll just wander off into the road and get hit by a carriage or something, trampled by whatever horses happen by. Don’t worry about me, no one ever does.”
Tarne ignored him. She tended to do a lot of that.
“What strange companions you have, Lord Darkthorne,” Shalla said. “Do you think you might somehow manage to get rid of the last one?”