Big Trouble

by Andrew Seiple

“What?” Greta’s eyes went wide. “Who?”

  “Are you going to be the one climbing the poles?” Chase grinned.

  “...yes, you slavedriver.”

  “Tsk. Slaves don’t get paid. This, though, is worth a pretty penny...”

  “Meanie.”

  “So you’re not taking the bargain?”

  “I never said that.”

  “Alright, fine. Back home for tea?”

  “Yeah. We’ll need it.”

  Halvens average about seven meals a day. And these aren’t small meals, either. These are meals that would make the average human go “whoa, slow down.” This practice gives them a reputation for gluttony and sloth among most of the other civilized species of Generica.

  While it is true that halvens enjoy and celebrate food, the reputation is rather unfair. And sloth is an entirely unreasonable accusation. Most people who repeat that slur fail to take into account the sort of work required to prepare or purchase seven solid meals a day.

  No, the truth of the halven appetite is that it is born from necessity. Alone among the civilized races halvens gain no endurance as they level up their species job. Endurance protects every creature’s stamina and reduces the amount used by strenuous activity. Without endurance, even the simplest task can cause exhaustion in short order.

  Resting restores endurance, but it is a very slow affair. Faster still are certain magical effects and job skills, but those are far too flashy and suspicious for the backwoods, conservative societies that halvens are born to. Food, however, is neither flashy nor suspicious. Food is yummy, and for the halven, food is life. Without it they can’t work, but the more they work the more they need food. It’s a rather vicious but delicious cycle.

  As a side note, halvens also have some of the most sturdy and comfortable bathrooms around. The advent of the flush toilet was hailed as a godsend by the industrious people who put aside their natural aversion to newfangled things and happily gave up the old, overfilled outhouses of yesteryear.

  But none of this mattered to Chase and Greta right now. They were hungry and had a big task ahead, so they needed food. They’d eat some of it there, filling up their stamina pools, and then they’d take some for the road to nibble on whenever they got.

  On the way, Chase filled Greta in about the mysterious dwarf, and Tollen’s absence from the Coney hunt. Greta’s eyes grew wider and wider, as Chase muttered the secret she’d won. “This is impossible,” Greta finally said.

  “I know how it sounds, that’s why I didn’t mention it in there. We need to check it out. Do you think you can help me with that after the ribbons are done?”

  Greta exhaled. “I had plans tonight.”

  “It shouldn’t take long. And it’s a stranger. And a dwarf.”

  “I could ask around—”

  “No,” Chase shook her head. “Millie told me not to tell anyone else. We need to keep it to ourselves.”

  Greta squinted down at her. “She told you not to tell anyone else, and here you are telling me about it?”

  “I don’t keep secrets from family. That’d just be wrong! Besides, it’s too big for her. She’ll leak it, or someone else will find out shortly. That means it’d be a bad for me to trade it; all I’d do is get her angry with me for breaking a promise.”

  “Which you just broke anyway.”

  “No, I bent it, I didn’t break it. That’s a difference. My promise to be square with you so long as it didn’t hurt anyone else takes priority over whatever promise I made her. That’s the rules.”

  “Which she didn’t know when she told you that.”

  “Pssh. Not my fault she didn’t ask. All right, here we are. Let’s eat fast, we’ve got a lot to do.”

  “Fine, fine,” Greta reached out to open the door, but it swung wide a second before the young woman could touch it.

  And Chase’s blood ran cold, as a voice came from the normally-comfortable gloom of their house. “Chase Berrymore, I demand to know the meaning of your lies!”

  CHAPTER 3: PREMONITIONS

  Chase knew lies.

  She’d grown up with lies, learned them well, learned to use them as weapons to fight back against a society that wanted to tell her what to do, what to be, and when to be it. They were her tools, building a bridge to a beautiful freedom that would someday be hers.

  Chase was good with lies. She had unlocked the Grifter job early on, and only the laws of the land had stopped her from investigating its tempting, glittery depths.

  Chase loved telling lies.

  But there were limits.

  She didn’t lie to family. Not anymore.

  And she didn’t use her lies to hurt people unless they really, really had it coming.

  Those were the lines, and when her mother stepped into the doorway, arms crossed, Chase stood her ground.

  Mother had about three inches of height on her, and blue eyes that glared relentlessly into Chase’s brown orbs. But Chase watched her parent’s glare turn to puzzlement, as doubt flickered in her eyes.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chase said. “And I’m hurt you’d accuse me so.”

  Her mother rallied. “You said your fox toy was missing.”

  “And it is!” Chase threw her hands up. “I left it on the shelf. Now it’s gone.”

  “Is it? Come with me, young lady.”

  The woman turned, stomping on the floor, hardened feet thwacking against the boards, showing her ire and making the plates on the mantle rattle. Greta and Chase shared a look of confusion.

  Chase’s older sister raised a finger, pointed at herself, face quivering.

  Should I come too? Do I have to? The gesture seemed to say.

  Yes, you should! Chase’s hand seemed to reply, as it chopped through the air, toward her mother’s back. I need the backup.

  The two sisters followed, Chase squaring her shoulders and pressing her lips together, pushing back anger and confusion into a little ball that would do her no good if she let it out. Greta came behind her, holding her braid to her mouth with one hand and chewing on it, her nerves evident and her bad habits showing.

  Their mother led them in angry silence, throwing open the doors to her bedroom with an angry shove.

  Chase stopped so suddenly that Greta ran into her. “What happened here?”

  “You tell me.” Mother Berrymore turned to Chase and glared.

  The bedroom looked as it had the last few times Chase had seen it, with one important exception.

  Her mother’s sewing kit had been put on the center of the bed, and thread and swatches of cloth were strewn everywhere. It was like an explosion, glittering needles sticking out of the bed’s comforter and loose ends dangling to the floor.

  And in the center of it all, the now-mended plush fox lay, patches standing out against its fur.

  All save for its throat, which was still open, with threads peeking out.

  “You sewed the fox back up?” Chase asked, thoroughly confused. “Thank you.”

  Her mother only glared harder. The silence roiled.

  Oh gods, I hate this. This is the Chase has done something wrong, but if you don’t know I’m not telling you look.

  Chase found the strength within her to glare back, and for once, she managed to hold her ground.

  It helped that she had absolutely no idea what she was being blamed for, and the injustice of it lent her fortitude she didn’t normally have.

  “Ma?” Greta asked, and that broke the stalemate.

  Her mother glanced away, and Chase sagged in relief. She’d won the staredown!

  WILL +1

  The words made her shiver. There would have been consequences, if she’d failed that. Their mere presence was evidence of that fact.

  “I didn’t sew up your toy. Someone came in here without asking and sewed it up.” Her mother’s eyes found Chase again... and the anger in them turned once more to puzzlement.

  “That’s weird,” said Chase. “Why are you blaming me for
it?”

  “Who else could have done this!”

  Chase frowned. “Well I didn’t. I couldn’t have. We left here after breakfast and went on our morning errands. I was at the church finishing mine up until a little while ago, and then I was with Greta. There wasn’t any time that I could have come back here and done this... and wait a minute I can’t sew anyway!” She threw her hands up. “I was going to ask you to help with that after the fair was over!”

  “Why would anyone else come in here and do... this?” Mother Berrymore shouted, waving a hand at the mess.

  That hand was shaking.

  And suddenly Chase realized that her mother was afraid.

  “Were you home all day?” Chase asked, softly.

  “Yes. I was preparing the salads. I was right in the kitchen. Right there!”

  Her mother was afraid because if Chase hadn’t done it, and Greta hadn’t done it, then that meant that someone else had come into the house. Someone had stolen past their mother, gone into their bedroom, and helped themselves to her things. Used them without permission, then departed again just as quietly.

  It was easier for her mother to be angry at her than it was to be afraid. Because the fact was that some stranger had been in here, and that was kind of horrifying.

  “Mom,” Chase said, feeling her stomach churn, feeling her own anxiety grow at her mother’s fear. “Mom, can we talk about this after the festival? Here. I’ll help you pick up.”

  “I... if you think that’s all it will take to get over this, this...”

  Pity stirred in Chase’s heart. “No. I know it isn’t. Come on, we’ll help you pick up. And then we can get lunch. Greta, why don’t you go fix lunch?”

  Greta was running before Chase finished the sentence. Chase watched her mother glance over and snort, before hiding a surprised smile.

  That’s when Chase knew it would be okay. “Okay, can you help me? Just tell me where things go, I’m not sure where it all needs to end up.”

  Between the two of them they got it sorted, as Greta rattled dishes in the kitchen.

  And at the end of it, only the fox remained on the bed, lying on its back, glass eyes staring up at nothing. Or at Chase, if the light caught them at the right angle, as she moved about. She made a game of it, twisting her head, trying to find the place where they followed her around the room. But for whatever reason she couldn’t.

  “I want that out of my house,” her mother finally said. “I don’t like the look of it one bit, Chase Berrymore.”

  “Yes Mom,” Chase said, recovering the fox. She had plenty of hiding spots in and around the village where the toy could lie low until the heat was off. Right now the important thing was letting Mom get her balance back, Chase knew. “Lunch first?”

  “Yes, lunch first.”

  After a small meal of cold cuts, leftover salad, three kinds of bread, and sharp cheese, Chase went back to her room and grabbed her pack. In went the fox... and something inside the backpack rattled.

  Chase blinked, then fished around in the pack, before pulling out a small wooden case. Gram’s story cards.

  She didn’t remember putting them in here. She had, hadn’t she? Yes. Yes, she had.

  Why?

  She shook her head, moved to put them on her dresser... and hesitated.

  Chase couldn’t say why, but it felt right when she put them back into the pack. Then she added a few leftover rolls from lunch, for good measure. “I’ll trust you not to take my dinner, Mister Fox. And don’t touch my cards, if you please. You’ve caused quite enough trouble for one day.” She threw the pack onto her back, and twitched her ears, listening for Greta.

  Chase found her sister outside, tapping her foot, arms crossed.

  “What?” Chase asked.

  “Did you mess with mom’s sewing kit?”

  “No!” Chase scowled as she stomped past Greta. “Don’t you start in.”

  Greta shook her head, tagging along behind. “This day is weird. Too weird.”

  Chase nodded. “Right. Which is why we need to get control of it. The ribbons can wait. Let’s go run down one rumor, at least.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking we’ve got a strange dwarf lady in our village, and we haven’t even tried to get a peek at her.”

  Greta liked that idea. So instead of heading into the village proper, they took the Western road down to Gammer Wheadle’s fields.

  But when they got there, and stole around back to the summer kitchen, their plans hit a brick wall in the form of Tollen Wheadle.

  Tollen was a beanpole, lanky and clad in leathers, with a wool jacket over it all. He wore a floppy hat with one side of it tied up, and he kept his hands in his pockets as he glanced from the new arrivals to the door of the summer kitchen. “Berrymore sisters?” He squinted at them, shifting the crossbow on his back, before returning his furry hand to his pocket. “Don’t see you’ve much reason to be out this way, so I’ll thank you to go back to your own business. Wherever it’s at.”

  Chase liked Tollen. He was blunt, direct, and his charisma was quite frankly, horrible. You always knew where you stood with him, he’d tell it to you regardless of whether or not it was polite, socially acceptable, or obvious. She had a sneaking hunch this was why he’d gone into business as the village hunter; the job kept him out of town and away from people.

  It also meant he was probably very vulnerable to Chase’s specialty.

  “Your sister wanted us to check on you,” Chase said, wearing her best look of concern. “She’s also wondering who’s going to bring in the coneys, since you’re stuck here watching the dwarf and all.”

  Tollen shifted from one foot to another, rolled his eyes up. “We’ve got all this going on, and she’s worried about that?”

  Holy troll, there IS a dwarf here! “You know how your sister is,” Chase shrugged.

  “Tell her fump the conies,” Tollen scowled. “This is more important.”

  “What’s more important?”

  But this time he didn’t rise to the bait. “Bad business. Stay out of the woods. The Camerlengo will be here soon, she’ll take care of it.”

  “Oh!” Chase had seen the noble before. She turned up every harvest fair, staying at the inn, and accepting oaths of fealty from halvens who had become adults. “It’s that important, then?”

  “I’ve said too much,” Tollen muttered, shifting from foot to foot. “Just... don’t worry ’bout them rabbits.”

  “All right. Does the lady need anything?” Chase took a few steps sideways, tried to look through the window of the summer kitchen. But it was shuttered and dark inside, and Tollen put his arm in front of her, suddenly alarmed.

  “No! No. She don’t need nothing. Ah...” He glanced at the door, then back to Chase. “Look, maybe you can help me?”

  “Maybe. It depends on what you need.”

  “The Camerlengo should be here sometime tonight. Can’t miss her carriage. So when she arrives, tell her to come as soon as possible, please. And bring guards.”

  Chase and Greta shared a long look. Greta’s eyes were wide with alarm, and Chase willed her to be silent. “Sure,” Chase agreed. “We’ll tell her that.”

  “And don’t say nothin’ to no one else, all right?”

  “All right,” Chase agreed. Then she took Greta’s arm, and tugged her big sister away from the worried hunter.

  Greta tried to speak once they were twenty feet away, and Chase shushed her. Five minutes later, well away from the scene, Chase finally spoke.

  “He’s a Scout, remember. They have stupid high perception. NOW we should be safe enough to talk.”

  “I’ve never seen Tollen that worried,” Greta said, hunching low to whisper in Chase’s ear.

  “He’s twenty-something, right?”

  “Right. He’s had his second job for years. So he has to be, I don’t know, at least level ten or so in it.”

  “I don’t know if I’d go that far. I’ve had Cook since m
y tenth year, and I’m only level four.”

  “Yeah, but you’re lazy. He’s not!”

  Chase slugged her sister’s shoulder. “I just work smarter, not harder. That’s all.” But privately she agreed with Greta’s assessment. Scout was an adventuring job. It came with violent tricks built in. But if Tollen had ten or even only five levels in it, and he was worried about the situation, then that seemed to suggest he had reason to worry. And so did the rest of the village, for that matter.

  Chase turned it over and over in her mind.

  Just before they came back to the village, Greta leaned over to whisper in Chase’s ear. “So how do we play this one?”

  Chase flicked her ear, popping her sister in the nose. “We’re not,” she said, as Greta flinched back.

  “But this is big! You always know how to get something from big stuff.”

  “This is too big. Greta...” she turned finally and took her sister’s hand. “Tollen was afraid. There’s danger here. Danger to the village. We can’t play games with that.”

  “You really think it’s that bad?” Greta stuffed her braid in her mouth again, chewing, nervous.

  “Tollen did. And he knows more than we do.” Chase pulled her hands back and rubbed her eyes. “This is frustrating. We don’t have enough pieces to see the whole puzzle. I feel like there’s one we’re missing, just right under our noses.”

  Greta, steady Greta, practical Greta, simply nodded. “What do we do about it?”

  Chase let out a breath. “We do as he asks. I do, anyway. Can you handle the ribbons by yourself?”

  “No.”

  Chase bit her lip and thought. “Go talk to Gerben Horsecomb. He owes me a favor. Tell him we’re even if he helps you with that.”

  “Why Gerben? He’ll have stuff to do for the festival too.”

  “He’s a slacker. He’ll be at home playing sick; he always does. If he gives you grief tell him I also know about the stolen pies.”

  “Wait, he’s the one?” Greta’s eyes narrowed. “That jerk!”

  “Not him alone. Look, it doesn’t matter. He’ll help you. And I’ll do as Tollen asks and fetch the Camerlengo as fast as possible.”

  It took a little more convincing, but finally Greta accepted the task, with ill-grace.