by Shane Lee
Like the ink on his answer, his time was drying up. He needed that land.
14
The rest of the Bellamy harvest sold in similar quick fashion, though with only one cart, it still took them the full week to unload all of their wares. Monty’s mother had not warmed up to the courier position at all; in fact, the only time they had spoken about it since he first told her was the previous night, when he reminded her that he’d be going to the Commons early the next morning.
She’d acknowledged it, and she’d told him to be safe and polite. Monty supposed that was better than nothing. Terra had been mostly indifferent to the idea when Monty explained to her that he’d be in town a lot after the harvest. He was just glad to see that she was back to normal after that episode in the Dromm, and that she wasn’t taking Ma Kettle’s death too hard. He wouldn’t admit it fully to himself, but he was relieved to confirm that his family—and the farm—would, in fact, be okay while he was gone, even if it was only a day at a time.
And now, with dawn breaking over the east horizon, Monty was walking into the Commons building with a ball of nerves buzzing in his stomach, nervous energy propelling his steps down the straight hall to the Judge’s office.
This early, the Commons was even quieter than normal. He knocked on the Judge’s door and the sound seemed thunderously loud.
Judge Mullen answered promptly.
“Good morning, your Honor,” Monty greeted him.
“And to you, Monty,” Mullen responded. He didn’t invite Monty inside. “These first few days as a courier are going to be a trial by fire, of sorts. I am assuming you know the town fairly well, but you need to know the offices in the Commons and other official buildings even better.”
“Not a problem, Judge.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Mullen reached into his robes and pulled out a scroll that was tied by a string. “Your first job is to deliver this message to Rodney Talhauer.”
The builder chief. His house was on the opposite side of town. He took the scroll from Judge Mullen, asking, “What’s it about?”
He immediately realized his mistake as Mullen’s expression shifted.
“That is not the business of a courier,” Judge Mullen said. “You are to be knowledgeable, fast, and you are not to ask questions. If you come to my door and I hand you a bloody dagger and tell you to deliver it to the Dromm woods, then I want you back here empty-handed in under an hour. Is that clear?”
“Yes, your Honor,” Monty answered.
“Good. When you have handed that off, come back for the next missive. I would give it to you now, but I have not finished it. It is an incredibly busy morning. We are backed up since last week.” Judge Mullen readjusted his robes. “When you have no message to deliver, you may retreat to your quarters or go about town. But you will need to check your door every fifteen minutes.”
Judge Mullen explained that if he was needed, either himself or another official would leave a courier badge in the slot by his door, which he would then return to the proper office and get his assignment. He also pointed out where his quarters were, off to the far-right side of the entrance down the branching hall.
“Get moving,” Mullen said. “I need you back here as soon as possible.”
Scroll in hand, Monty hurried back down the hall and exited the Commons. The sun was waking the village, but the streets were mostly empty. He broke left onto the streets and left again, moving at a quick pace towards the east. The sun poked at his eyes.
Monty hadn’t visited Rodney Talhauer’s home before, but he’d seen it many times. The chief builder had an impressive domicile, almost as big as the Commons itself, taking up a high-rising corner of Irisa. It was one story, though in its center rose a tall peak, with a triangular glass window showing the thick beams that reached up to support the roof. The whole house was painted a clean white. Many people in Irisa would come by just to admire the structure.
With a small grin, he reminded himself that he was here to work. He hustled up to the front door and knocked with purpose. He imagined the thudding of his fist echoing throughout the inside of the expansive home.
There was no answer. Monty knocked again. Judge Mullen had explained the importance of handing messages directly to their recipients, not just sliding them under doors.
When Monty was about to knock a third time, Rodney Talhauer opened the door and looked down at him.
The man was massive; it was like he was made out of tree trunks. He was the only official in Irisa who wore a beard, and it grew as thick as the muscles with which he swung sledges and laid brick. He stood over Monty by a foot.
“Sir,” Monty said, holding out the scroll. “A message for you.”
Rodney was silent, looking Monty over. His weather-worn face was passive and unchanging. He stepped forward, out onto the street, closing the door behind him. Monty moved back to accommodate the approach, wondering what was going on.
“What’s yer name,” Rodney said, a question with no inquisitive tone; he spat it like he might spit a curse at a horse who was walking too slowly.
“I’m Monty, sir. I’m the—” He suppressed a smile. “The new recruit courier. It’s my first day.”
“Are ya.” Rodney let a long breath out of his nose. “Bellamy boy. And Mullen sent ya here. To gimme that.”
“Yes—”
Rodney plucked the scroll from Monty’s hand. “This a message from him?”
“I don’t know, sir. I’m just bringing it from the Commons.”
“It’s from him,” Rodney said. “Tied it with string, see? Not even bothered to use wax. Tryin’ to send a message.”
Monty thought, Well, yes, exactly, but he didn’t dare say it aloud. Rodney was clearly not in the best of moods. Or was he always like this?
“How ya know the Judge?”
“I don’t know him personally, sir,” Monty answered. “He just brought me on as courier last week.”
“Y’ever meet my son?” Rodney was gripping the scroll in a closed fist, crumpling it in the middle.
“I...haven’t had the pleasure.” Monty knew of Little Rodney, the skinny young child so vastly different from his father that one could hardly believe they were cut from the same cloth. He’d seem him around town before, but never spoken to him.
“Hmph.” Another blow of air from his nose. Rodney kept his mouth tight-lipped, barely opening it when he spoke. “He was courier. Till last week. Mullen did a number on him. He din’ come out the house fer a couple days.”
Monty’s stomach fell into a pit. He remembered Judge Mullen saying something at the sending about the old courier not working out. Of all people, Monty had replaced Rodney Talhauer’s son?
“Still won’t tell me what the man said,” Rodney continued. He looked Monty in the eye, a withering gaze. “What you think of the Judge, kid?”
Normally, the ‘kid’ comment would have made Monty bristle, but he resisted. “Judge Mullen is—”
“Ah, save it. Save it. I dun’wanna hear it.” Rodney waved his slab of a hand. “You ain’t know better, I ain’t gonna take it out on ya. That’s one thing separates me an’ that little dwarf. That an’ about two’n’a’half feet.” He crushed the scroll further. “Listen here, cuz I know your ma and she’s a good one. Mullen ain’t any good. Don’t trust a word out his mouth. He breaks promises, he uses people. Uses their kids.”
Monty decided that Rodney must be in a poor state because of his son being let go. It would be best to just go along with him. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”
“Aye.” Rodney shoved the scroll in his pocket like it was a loose coin. “You better. Yer first day on th’job and Mullen sends you here, to me, at the crack o’dawn, knowin’ full well what he did to my boy. You think about that. And if ya tell the Judge any what I said here, I’ll kill ya.” Rodney turned back and went into the house, slamming the door behind him with a brutal thud.
Monty stood in silence before remembering that was a luxury he could
not afford. He was probably already late after this hell of a first delivery.
Rodney’s words knocked around in his head on the way back, but they were quickly shoved out by the motion of the day. Monty returned for the next message as fast as he could, and he was whisked off to the outskirts of town to hand off three scrolls to a western farm. It seemed the morning messages took him all over town, and as the afternoon wore on, he spent more time dashing around the Commons and closer parts of Irisa.
It was exhausting work. He was a farmer, and had labored for most of his life, but there wasn’t a whole lot of running back and forth involved. He did get a few minutes to rest in his quarters and hurriedly munch down an apple.
The quarters were about as small as could be, but it didn’t make stepping into his very own room in the Commons any less special. There was a narrow bed that was surprisingly comfortable once he found the right position in it, and a single oil lamp rested, unlit, on a sturdy nightstand that looked to be professionally-made. Most of the furniture in their small farmhouse had been put together by his father, and while it served its purpose, it was far from elegant.
On his last visit to Judge Mullen for the day, the Judge informed him that his tasks were at an end and told him he did well, a warm compliment that breathed life back into Monty’s winded lungs. His encounter with Rodney that morning had left his mind entirely; the day had gone by so fast that he could hardly remember how long he had been in town. Only the setting sun told him it had been almost twelve hours of running around the village.
“I will need you to stay the night, Monty,” the Judge said as he was closing his office door and locking it behind him. “I will be in very early, and we must start the day as soon as we can. Is that a problem?”
Monty shook his head. “I can do it, sir.”
“Good, good. And I’d almost forgotten.” Judge Mullen pulled something from his belt and handed it to Monty.
It was a small coin sack. Small, but heavy. Monty hefted it in his palm. “Are you paying me in advance, Judge Mullen?”
“No, you will be paid at the end of the week, the same as everyone else under the town’s employ.” Judge Mullen nodded to the money. “That is your food stipend. It should cover the winter as long as you are not foolish with it.”
Judging by the weight of the coin, that was more than true. “Wow. Thank you, Judge. I didn’t expect this.”
Mullen smiled, meeting Monty’s eyes. “I treat my people well, Monty. Especially when they perform. I expect the same out of you tomorrow.” He began walking down the hall, and Monty moved with him. “Report to me before the sun rises, and we will be off to a good start.”
The Judge left the Commons to go back to his house, leaving Monty the last person in the building. He went back to his new quarters, rolling the coin pouch in his fingers, enjoying the feeling of the gold. He had held this much money before—more, and recently, from their sales to the merchants—but never had it just belonged to him. It was a good feeling, but it was a better one to think about bringing this home and presenting it to his mother. Maybe he could even buy her one of those nice nightstands, so she wouldn’t be getting splinters every time she set down a lamp. He resolved to buy just the food he needed and try to have as much coin left as possible by the time winter was over.
Monty tucked the coin into the nightstand’s drawer, along with the key to his quarters, and climbed into the skinny bed. It was the first night he’d spent away from his farm in years, not since the one end-harvest, on the last day of selling, when it had snowed so much that they couldn’t safely get the cart back to the farm. Their family, and the other farmers, flush with coin and the content of a season done, had booked up whatever was left of Irisa’s inn, spending the evening there along with many of the same merchants they had been bargaining with all week.
He remembered it being fun, warm, and loud. He remembered his mother succumbing to his father’s insistence that she join the other adults with the Cherrywood’s ale cask, and how she was pink in the face before the fire died down. He remembered Terra not understanding what everyone was laughing about, and their father picking her up and telling her a joke that got her giggling along with everyone else.
He couldn’t bring back their father, but he could help his family make new memories like that.
Right now, they were too few and far between.
15
The door to his quarters was thin, and he heard the larger door of the Commons knock shut when someone came in. He had slept on edge, nervous that he wouldn’t wake up on time, but he was fairly sure it wasn’t morning yet. Though without a window, it was hard to tell.
Monty rose from bed and gently pulled open his door, peering out into the hall. Quiet darkness greeted him; it was indeed too early for morning light. Was the Judge here even earlier than he had said he would be?
He shut his own door and changed out of the simple nightclothes he had brought with him, getting into a clean white shirt and lightly-wrinkled pants. No one seemed to mind if the courier wasn’t the peak of professional. Aside from Rodney and Judge Mullen, most people he visited hardly seemed to notice him at all.
He left his quarters and locked the door, slipping the key into his pocket. The Commons were just as quiet now as they had been the evening previous, and he hadn’t heard any footsteps after the front door had opened. If the Judge had gotten to his office, though, it was too far away from his quarters to hear the door. He could already be waiting.
The building was much chillier at night without the fires lit. Someone came in to do it after sunrise, which would be at least an hour from now. Monty rubbed at his arms, turning right once he reached the end of his hall, where the front doors opened up into the three branching directions.
When he reached the Judge’s office at the end, he gave a few small knocks at the door and waited. It really was cold here without the fires blazing throughout the building. It hadn’t been this cold last night.
There was no answer from the Judge. Monty went to knock again, and that was when he noticed that the Judge’s lock was still turned. Unless Mullen had come in, unlocked the door, went inside, then closed it and locked it again, it shouldn’t be turned still. And why would he do that if he was expecting Monty?
“Maybe...” Monty half-turned, looking back towards the front doors, where he could see out clear into the dark village. “Maybe I didn’t actually hear anything.”
He had been anxious, sleeping thin. It wasn’t crazy to think he might have heard a door open only because he was ready to hear such a thing.
Well, he didn’t want to try to go back to sleep. Morning would come soon.
Take a look around. Maybe it was the firelighter, or some other official getting an early start. It would be good to start learning the habits of the office-holders here. There was definitely no one else in the Judge’s wing, and he was certain no one had come walking down the wing where his quarters were.
“How certain are you?” Monty whispered. “You may have just imagined the sound of a door.”
He really had to stop talking to himself. What if someone else was here, and they heard him? If he was going to spread a reputation for himself around Irisa, it wasn’t going to be as some loon.
He turned right again at the end of the hall, to the third and final wing of the Commons. There were no fires lit here—
“—of course there aren’t, there weren’t any when you came down the hall ten seconds ago—”
—nor were there any open doors, self-indulgent humming, or shuffling of papers. Still, he strolled all the way down, reciting the names of the officials to himself as he passed each of their offices.
“Hanlon...Firn...Barley—no, Bartell...Decalt...”
The end of this hall opened into a larger common area housing the largest fireplace in the building, filled with last night’s ashes. All the chairs were empty; all the curtains were drawn.
“All right. All right. I made it up,” Monty chided himself, tu
rning back around. His room was warmer than the rest of this place. If he couldn’t sleep, then he would at least be able to heat up a little.
It was only when he got back to the front door that he realized it was open. Just a bit. The wooden frame, nestled snugly around the plate of glass, hung slightly ajar.
It hadn’t been open when he had just come by. He was sure of it. Well, he was almost sure of it.
He pressed his hand against the door, pushing it shut. It clicked into place. The front door of the Commons was always unlocked, per the name. The offices were locked, not that anyone would come in to steal the inkwells. Irisa was safe.
Monty was suddenly very aware that standing here, where all three halls met, made him visible from every direction. He eased his way back to his hall, leaning on one shoulder against the wall. Surely Judge Mullen had closed the door last night. Monty had watched him do it.
“Hello?” Monty called. He checked the door again, and it was still closed. It hadn’t come open on its own. And no one answered his call. Why would anyone come here and disappear inside before the sun even rose?
Thud. Thudthud.
Monty snapped upright, his ears perking painfully. He had definitely heard that; there was no mistaking it. It had come from the direction of the large common room.
Someone was here.
All right. All right. Easy. Could just be the firelighter.
But he would have seen someone head toward the common room, even in the dark. He hesitated only a moment longer before moving, feeling stiff as he forced his muscles into action. Whatever was going on, whoever it was, he wasn’t going to go and hide in his quarters, and he wasn’t about to let someone just come into the Commons and try to cram something into their pockets.
He’d deal with them. Unless is was Rodney Talhauer. In that case, he would have to run.
Monty didn’t hear anything else as he approached the common room; as he got closer, the room slowly clarified in the minimal light. He didn’t see anyone. But the common room was big, and it stretched wide enough to where someone could be hiding around the corner. If they wanted to.