The Nine

by Terry Cloutier

  ​ “The Quarrymaster told us last time that he wouldn’t pay for any that were sick,” Hielda said in a low voice.

  ​ “Bah,” Tuft said with a shrug. “He’s said that before. He’ll pay. He always pays.” He glanced sideways at me, studying me critically. “Besides, I don’t think he’s that sick. Just tired and hungry is all.”

  ​ “He’s not worth the trouble,” Hielda grumbled.

  ​ “I’ll say what’s worth the trouble or not!” Tuft said sharply, glaring up at Hielda. I was having trouble keeping up with their conversation, as by now I was completely lost to the smells and the warmth coming from the fire and I closed my eyes. I don’t know how long I sat like that, but eventually I felt a hand on my arm, gently shaking me and I opened my eyes to see that Tuft was looking at me pityingly. “Poor boy,” he said sadly. “You’re all done in.” Tuft shifted his gaze to his wife who still stood near the fire and was watching us closely. “Get the boy some ale,” he ordered. “The brown bottle in my sack will do nicely. You know the one.” Hielda opened her mouth as if to protest, then she snorted again and stalked off. While she was gone, Tuft poked at the rabbit with his finger, wincing as he yanked his finger back almost immediately and sucked on it. “It’s ready, but Mother Above that stings!” he said around his burnt finger as he winked at me not unkindly. He took the spit off of the fire and slid the cooked rabbit onto a large piece of bark and then cut the meat into sections using his knife. “Eat up, lad,” he said, smiling as he stabbed a steaming wedge and offered it to me. I nodded eagerly and took it, switching it from palm to palm and waiting impatiently for it to cool. My mouth was almost dripping with desire and finally I couldn’t wait any longer and I crammed it into my mouth. Nothing I have ever eaten since has tasted as good as that rabbit did that day and I chewed hungrily as Hielda reappeared with a bottle in her hand. “Ah, just in time my love,” Tuft said to her. She silently handed him the small brown bottle and then crossed around the fire to sit on the other side of it and glare at us. Tuft ignored her and he turned and offered the bottle to me. “Try it,” Tuft said. “It will restore your strength and I promise you’ll feel as good as new in no time. You’ll see.”

  ​ “What is it?” I asked as I took it from him and pulled out the stopper and sniffed it cautiously. It smelled a bit like the ale my father and Hestan drank sometimes, but it had a sweeter tint to it.

  ​ “My own recipe,” Tuft announced as he stabbed a piece of meat with his knife and put it in his mouth. He chewed noisily and added around the food, “Take just a little to start.”

  ​ I nodded and took a tentative sip. It tasted sweet at first, but then it began to burn my throat as it went down. I choked and coughed and Tuft laughed heartily while Hielda just sat there and never said a word. “Burns!” I managed to gasp out.

  ​ “Only at first,” Tuft nodded. He motioned with his hand. “Take another. It gets easier.”

  ​ I did as he suggested, then took a third, longer sip, starting to enjoy it. He was right. It did get easier. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and smiled contentedly at Tuft as I felt a pleasant numbness start to travel down my limbs. I took another hunk of the meat that Tuft offered me and I popped it into my mouth and chewed, then washed it down with a gulp of ale. I glanced at the bottle in my hand and frowned, blinking as I tried unsuccessfully to focus on it. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand and glanced at Tuft, only to gasp out in surprise. A moment ago there had been only one Tuft, but now there were three of them and they were all grinning and talking to me at once. I looked away in confusion and shook my head, then turned and looked again. Still three Tufts. I barely felt the bottle drop from my hand as I tried to say something, anything, but I couldn’t get my mouth to work properly. The three Tufts just kept staring at me, their faces now expressionless except for their identical, unfeeling rat eyes watching me before blackness took over and I knew nothing else.

  ​ When I awoke, it was to the sensation of motion, and I cautiously opened my eyes. Darkness surrounded me save for a faint glow above me and to my left. I realized I was sitting propped up with my back against something hard and unyielding and I couldn’t move my arms. A sharp smell of sweat, piss and shit filled my nostrils and I gagged and tried to breathe through my mouth as I felt a rising panic. Where in the name of The Mother was I? My shoes had fallen apart weeks ago and I’d been barefoot ever since and I wiggled my toes cautiously, trying to restore feeling in them. I instantly felt contact with someone and heard an annoyed grunt and I quickly pulled my knees up to my chest. I groaned as pain flared in my temple.

  ​ “Your head hurts something awful right about now, I expect,” a man’s voice whispered beside me.

  ​ “Where am-?” I began.

  ​ “Not so loud!” the voice hissed, cutting me off. I blinked, just able to discern a vague form sitting beside me. “We’ll be stopping for the night any time now,” the man continued softly, “and that bitch gets mad if she hears us talking, so keep your voice low.”

  ​ My eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness by now and I realized the faint light was moonlight coming in through a small barred window. I was in Tuft’s wagon! I leaned toward my companion. “The bitch? Do you mean, Hielda?”

  ​ “Who else?” the man said bitterly. I shifted my rear end on the hard floor and looked down at my hands. A band of iron with a ring at the base was clamped around each wrist and another iron ring encircled the one on my wrist and was then attached to a similar ring embedded in the floor. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the hard plank behind me. I was a prisoner! How could I have been so stupid? My head swam and I felt my stomach heave as a wave of nausea came over me and I moaned faintly. “The dizziness will pass,” my companion said kindly. “Just give it time.” I opened my eyes, wincing at the stabbing pain in my head and studied him. His features seemed strange in the dim light, with his eyes showing up only as deep bottomless black sockets and his nose looked huge and hooked. Probably a trick of the shadows, I thought. “The name’s Jebido,” he added.

  ​ “I’m Hadrack,” I mumbled in reply. “How long have I been asleep?”

  ​ “Since this morning,” Jebido replied. “That brown bottle of theirs hits hard.”

  ​ My head felt like it was starting to clear a bit and I nodded to him in agreement and took a better look around the wagon, surprised to see that Jebido and I weren’t the only prisoners. In front of me sat a fat man with a bushy blond beard, dirty blond hair and large ears that stuck out oddly from his head. He was wearing a long soiled tunic that reached almost to his knees, which I could see were bare and covered in filth as he wore no trousers. Beside this man sat a thin, ragged looking fellow with his chin lolling on his chest, clearly sleeping. The thin man was wearing what must have once been a fine tunic and jacket, but was now heavily stained and torn in many places. On the other side of Jebido near the door sat a boy of about my age, though he was much smaller than me, with a thin, intelligent looking face.

  ​ “That there is Klotter,” Jebido said, motioning with his chin to the fat man. Klotter nodded slightly, but said nothing. “The skinny fellow sleeping is Twent,” Jebido continued. “Claims to be a teacher or something,” he added doubtfully. He motioned with his head to the boy by the door. “Don’t know this one’s name. He doesn’t talk much.”

  ​ The wagon came to a shuddering halt just then and Tuft called out in a muffled, but cheerful voice, “That’s enough for tonight, my love. We’ll get an early start in the morning and be at the quarry before noon.”

  ​ “As you wish, Husband,” Hielda responded flatly. A small square suddenly creaked open in the planking at the front of the wagon and Hielda’s pale white face peered in at us suspiciously. “I’ll be listening, so there better not be a sound coming from in here!” she hissed, “or you’ll feel the burn!” The opening snapped shut with an angry clack and the wagon rocked back and forth as Tuft and Hielda dismounted. I could hear Tuft chattering a
way happily as he unhooked the mules and led them away until finally their voices receded.

  ​ I leaned as close to Jebido as I could. “What did she mean by we’ll feel the burn?” I asked in a whisper.

  ​ Jebido glanced at Klotter. “Show him so he understands.”

  ​ Klotter pursed his lips and with his manacled right hand he pulled at his tunic, raising it until he revealed the red, angry burnt flesh of his manhood. I swallowed loudly and shared a long look with Jebido and then turned away and closed my eyes. There was no more talking after that from any of us. I slept fitfully that night, unable to find any comfort from the hard, unforgiving wood of the wagon floor and the unrelenting smell inside the wagon. By the time morning came around I was sore, hungry and thirsty, but worst of all, I had to piss. I tried not to think about it, but the more I tried, the more I had to piss. I noticed Jebido was awake, his face looking less odd now in the light of day, though his nose was still incredibly large and hooked like a great bird of prey. Despite our surroundings he looked lean and fit, with thick brown hair and an unkempt dark beard shot through with grey on the sides of his chin. I guessed him to be about thirty years of age. I leaned as close to him as I could. “I have to piss,” I whispered.

  ​ Jebido just shrugged. “Then go ahead and piss. They used to have two guards who let us out twice a day, but that lying little bastard out there disagreed with them about something two nights ago and they left. We haven’t had anything to eat or drink or been let out since, so there’s not much point in trying to hold it.”

  ​ I grimaced and nodded to him, knowing that I couldn’t ignore the pressing need any longer. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the wall, ignoring the wetness pooling under me as I pictured the nine in my mind. Crooked Nose, Hape, Calen, Heavy Beard and Quant. I pursed my lips, concentrating, trying to remember the other four who I didn’t have names for. There had been two men with reddish beards, I recalled, and another one with blonde hair that had curled outside his coif like a girl’s. The ninth one I couldn’t picture at all no matter how hard I tried and finally I just shrugged and gave up. I would track them down one way or another, I knew. I had made a vow, and, as far as I was concerned, it was only a matter of time before I found them all. Beneath me the wagon abruptly lurched, snapping me back to reality and I heard Tuft calling out to the mules as he snapped his whip.

  ​ We were under way again and for the rest of the morning we rumbled along steadily, rarely if ever saying anything to each other. The heat and stench inside the wagon became oppressive, but we endured it simply because we had no choice. Every once in a while Hielda would snap open the tiny door and peer in at us eagerly, only to look disappointed when she saw us sitting in dejected silence.

  ​ We finally arrived at our destination just around noon, just as Tuft had predicted, and the wagon came to a lumbering halt. Jebido and I shared a glance as the wagon rocked beneath us as Tuft and Hielda jumped down and I clearly heard Tuft greet someone cheerfully. The reply back was gruff and abrupt, with little warmth to it, and then heavy-booted feet sounded outside the wagon before the back door swung open, flooding us with warm sunlight. I blinked at the sudden brightness and studied the big man who stood in the doorway staring in at us. He was dressed in mail and stood with one mailed hand braced on the hilt of his sword and his helmet tucked beneath his other arm. His beard was long and grey, the color matching his closely-cropped hair and bushy eyebrows that were arched in disgust as he looked in at us and wrinkled his nose. “Mother’s tit!” the man snapped. He turned to glare down at Tuft, who stood beside him holding a large iron key ring in his hand. “You didn’t even let the bastards out to shit?”

  ​ “We wanted to, Quarrymaster,” Tuft whined as he tucked the keys away in his trousers. “Truly we did, but I normally bring you boys, as you well know, and they are easily handled compared to full grown men.”

  ​ “Your point being?” the Quarrymaster growled.

  ​ Tuft spread his arms. “My point, my lord, is that because you contracted us to bring as many men as I could find this time, I hired what I thought were trustworthy guards to protect us. How could I possibly have known that those murderous rogues would rob us and then flee, barely leaving us with our lives intact? It was a harrowing experience, I must say.” I glanced at Jebido and he rolled his eyes at me as Tuft sniffed and actually dabbed at his eyes and then continued, “But, my wife and I were determined not to let you down and, despite the great personal risk to us both, we brought them to you anyway.”

  ​ “And you didn’t let them out to shit because?” the Quarrymaster prompted.

  ​ “Well,” Tuft said, looking up at the bigger man as he swept his arm toward us. “I’m old and frail now, a far cry from the strapping man of my youth, and these men are dangerous. I was afraid they would murder me if I set them free to do their business and then do only The Mother knows what to my beautiful wife. I couldn’t let something ghastly like that happen to my precious flower, now could I? Surely you, in your great wisdom, can understand that I had no choice?”

  ​ “Uh huh,” the Quarrymaster grunted, looking unimpressed by Tuft’s story. “Even hogs get slopped out once in a while you know.”

  ​ “Yes, of course you’re right,” Tuft said apologetically. “It won’t happen again. You have the word of Carspen Tuft on that!”

  ​ “See that it doesn’t,” the Quarrymaster grumbled. He glanced into the wagon and his eyes fell on me and he pointed. “What’s wrong with that one?” he demanded as he turned on Tuft. “Is he sick? I thought I told you not to bring me any sick ones!”

  ​ “He’s not sick, I assure you,” Tuft said, raising his hands in the air in protest. He grabbed the Pair Stone pendant around his neck in both of his hands. “I swear by both The Mother and The Father that he is well. He’s just a little under nourished is all and, to that end, I’ve been feeding him twice a day with my own hands to help him regain his strength.” Tuft looked in at me and winked and I glowered back at him in anger. “Look at those mighty shoulders, my lord. He just needs a little fattening up and I’ll wager he’ll be one of your best boys.”

  ​ “Well,” the Quarrymaster muttered doubtfully as he peered in at me again. “I guess he’ll do, but those grey eyes of his are strange.”

  ​ “The sign of the wolf,” Tuft assured him, patting his arm. “A well-known symbol of strength and endurance.” He motioned with his right hand. “Now, shall we retire to your tent and finalize payment?”

  ​ “Very well,” the Quarrymaster grunted. He slammed his helmet back on his head and barked, “Fanch, bring them down and get them settled in!”

  ​ A man appeared beside Tuft and the Quarrymaster dressed in polished leather armour and over this he wore a yellow surcoat with a black stag emblazoned across his chest. He was shorter, but wider than the Quarrymaster, and he had a stern looking, expressionless face. He held out his hand without saying a word and Tuft smiled at him and dropped the ring of keys into his palm.

  ​ “That one there,” Tuft said, pointing to the keys.

  ​ Fanch nodded to Tuft and then reached into the wagon, careful not to soil his surcoat in the filth as he unlocked the boy with no name’s bonds. “Free the others and be quick about it,” Fanch instructed him in an impatient voice. The boy nodded, pausing to rub his wrists before taking the keys and, though he was small and slight looking, he was very nimble and precise, so that in just a few moments we were all free. I stood up stiffly and my head almost brushed the roof of the wagon as I followed the others through the filth on the floor, trying not to slip. Jebido, Klotter and the teacher, Twent, all had to bend almost double to get out. One by one we jumped down to the ground, all of us unsteady on our feet after being locked up so long.

  ​ I breathed in deeply, enjoying the sun on my face and relief at being free from the stench in the wagon and I looked around curiously. We stood near a round pavilion tent of stark white canvas with a thick blue border running around its ba
se. Another similar border circled the tent halfway to the top, right before the peak began and a third, smaller one circled the peak. A yellow banner depicting a black stag flew from the top of the spire. The tent flap lay open and I could see Tuft and the Quarrymaster talking animatedly inside, while the great bulk of Hielda stood beside her husband, dwarfing him as she waited in silence. Around this tent were more just like it and I guessed there had to be at least twenty of them, maybe more. To the right of the tents stood a neat row of ten high-peaked buildings made of timber and covered in sun-burnt turf. A dusty, well-travelled road cut through the buildings and led to a timber bridge spanning a small river. The road then continued on the other side of the bridge and wound its way upward through a forest of tall oak trees. The noise and commotion of a bustling encampment rose all around us as both men and women worked at hauling firewood and water, tending gardens, smoking fish on tall wooden racks or cooking in huge iron pots that sat over open flames. I saw several spry boys of roughly my own age repairing the sod roof on one of the buildings and I watched curiously as at least twenty men worked with picks and shovels at building a wall of dirt higher than a man’s head around the perimeter of the encampment. More men came behind them and began placing sharpened stakes at least ten feet long on the outward slopes of the dirt wall.

  ​ “This way,” Fanch said gruffly as he brushed past me and headed for the road. Four men-at-arms joined him and they fell in behind us as we meekly followed Fanch. We approached the roughly-hewn timber bridge and I studied the water flowing beneath it, guessing that the river was perhaps forty feet across at its widest. Four women knelt on the near bank of the river washing clothing and they paused in their labor to wave as a team of four horses crossed slowly above them pulling an open wagon. Two men sat on the bench in front of the wagon and one of them said something down to the women and then laughed. The wagon was loaded with several stone blocks longer than I could spread my arms and half again as wide. The bridge creaked and groaned in protest as the wagon crossed over it and one of the blocks shifted with a screech as the wagon wheels rumbled over the joints in the timber. The wagon made it safely to the other side and the driver cracked his whip, urging the horses into a canter and we had to step aside quickly to let them pass before returning to the road.