You also might want to avoid a nuisance because of personal reasons. For instance, you might actually know the nuisance, and although you think he’s an upstanding guy, someone else obviously thinks little enough of him to put him on the Board. That happens less now that most of us have started insisting that the individual on the Board actually be guilty of something, but some, like Raven for instance, still don’t adhere to that and will take anyone, no questions asked.
Then there are those that could simply be embarrassing. I’m sorry, but the neighbor’s dog barking at night may be a nuisance, but it’s not worthy of a real Nuisance Man’s attention. The same would go for inanimate objects, at least, most of the time. But as always, there are exceptions that prove the rule.
Which is what happened one day when I walked into the watchhouse.
“Hey, Sarge,” I said.
“Duke,” he replied, not looking up from his newssheet. “You here to actually work today?”
He always asked me this now since he never knew if I was there to work, or to see Lilly. I liked that. It kept him on his toes.
“Yeah. Guess I should act like I have a real job today. Anything good up there?”
Sometimes, Sarge would tell me if there was anything posted that he thought would be especially interesting or challenging to me. I sincerely believed that that was his motivation, and not that he was trying to get me killed.
“One that’s right up your alley, actually,” he said. “I pinned it right to the middle of the Board so that you’d see it for sure if you came in.”
“Thanks”, I said and even I wasn’t sure if I meant it or not. On the one hand, it might be something good, which meant challenging and profitable. On the other, I half expected it to be a one armed goblin, half in the grave already. Sarge has a strange sense of humor, but there was only one way to find out, so I walked over and took a look for myself.
Pinned to the middle of the Board was one of the strangest notices I ever saw. Instead of a leering orc, or a shambling ogre, it was a broomstick. I don’t mean that metaphorically, but literally a broomstick. Wooden handle, bundle of rushes tied together at the bottom, used for sweeping floors. That kind of broomstick.
The notice simply said to inquire at The Witch’s Kettle, and that the fee would be negotiated there.
I took it down and looked over at Sarge. He was watching me with an expression of wry amusement on his face.
“This is a joke, right?” I said.
“If it is, it’s not mine. Someone came in late yesterday, a young lady as a matter of fact, and asked me about posting it. I told her it was customary to put the fee on it, but she said she wanted a chance to explain in person and negotiate then. Seems fishy to me.”
“Hmmm. Yeah. Me too.”
“You’re going to take it, aren’t you?”
“Well, I’m at least going to check it out…”
“I knew it,” Sarge said, a big smile on his face. “The night desk guy owes me a ruble.”
The Witch’s Kettle. I was there once before, years ago. It’s not the type of place that I would normally frequent, even if it was a tavern. It was the gathering place of exactly what you’d expect with a name like that. Witches. Now a lot of people would think that any female who used magic was a witch. I happen to know differently, and can introduce you to a very successful young woman, who would be happy to teach you the error of your ways. There are differences in those who employ the arcane arts, and they can get a little defensive about it.
When I was last there, it was before I even started my career. I was following the first Nuisance Man I’d ever seen to ask him how to go about getting into the business. In the process I was hit on, threatened, relieved of some hard-earned money, laughed at and been drunk under the table. It wasn’t a place that held a lot of fond memories for me. But, it had been years since then, so maybe things had changed.
They hadn’t, at least not on the surface. There was no barbarian type playing hot and heavy with a beautiful young woman this time, but it was still packed with witches of all types. There were the old crones with the bent backs, the hook noses and the wart on the chin sprouting a few scraggly hairs. There were beautiful women, wearing shockingly little, which I ignored. Honest. There were the nature types, with branches or flowers in their hair, praising the earth mother as they sipped their honeyed wines. If you can think of a type of witch, they were in there, all merrily drinking, singing and having a good time.
Which made it all the more obvious when the ones nearest the door turned and stared at me when I entered. The wave of silence rolled back from the door as the heads kept turning to look at me. I have a powerful necromancer for a girlfriend, and I live with some of the most magical beings alive under my feet, yet I was never so uncomfortable looking magic users in the face as I was right then. I was determined not to show it though, and spoke up right away.
“I’m looking for the woman who posted the broom on the Nuisance Board in the watchhouse so that I can talk to her about the broom and see why it was posted on the Board. In the watchhouse.”
What is it with this place that turns me into a babbling idiot?
The silence was, of course, immediately replaced with peals of laughter. Shaking their heads, they turned away from me and went back to their own conversations, marking me as not threatening, but possibly in need of serious therapy.
One witch didn’t laugh however, but approached me through the crowd. She was dressed in a traditional witch’s outfit; long black dress, pointy black hat, but she was no crone. She was young, and very pretty. Long dark hair hung down her back in an ebony wave, and the dark shadows around her eyes lent her a smoky, sultry look.
“I’m the witch you’re looking for,” she said. “Come on back.”
She led me further into the Kettle and like last time, I suffered a few pinches and squeezes of my buttocks as I pushed through the assembled witches. But we finally made it to a table, where I took a seat with my back firmly planted against the wall and my behind firmly planted in a chair.
“Can I get you something to drink?” the young witch asked me.
I told her that she certainly could and a few minutes later I was healing my hurt feelings and bruised posterior with a mug of extremely good ale. My host, if that’s what she was, was nursing a cup of blood-red wine.
“I suppose you’re wondering why someone would put a broom on your Nuisance Board,” she began.
“It had crossed my mind. So I thought I’d come here and ask. Here I am.”
“I’m very glad that you are,” she said, and I wasn’t sure, but it almost looked like she tried to flutter her eyelashes at me. I looked into my mug to make sure it was just ale, and decided that I must be imagining things.
“Well, good,” I said, shifting in my chair. “Why don’t you fill me in?”
“It’s the normal story. Girl makes broom, girl gives life to broom, broom feels incomplete, broom runs away. I’m sure you’ve heard it a thousand times before.”
“Wait. Did you say, ‘girl gives life to broom’?”
She looked surprised at my question.
“Why, yes. All witches do that. Well, those who have brooms anyway. Some of those nature nuts don’t use them. They’d rather ride around on deer, or pigs, or whatever.”
She waved her hand in the direction of the “nature nuts”, as she called them. They looked back, glowering, and for a moment I was sure there was going to be a witch fight. My host looked at them, smiled a brilliant smile full of perfect, white teeth, and raised her glass to them. They grudgingly raised theirs back to her, and returned to their own business.
“Look, Miss…”
“Rosenblatt. Camelia Rosenblatt, practical witchery.”
“Okay, Miss Rosenblatt, before things go too much further, I need to know a little more. Like, what’s this about giving life to your broom? I’ve never heard of such a thing, and my girlfriend is a pretty powerful necromancer.”
“Oh, yo
u have a girlfriend? That is too bad. And call me Camelia.”
She smiled at me as she said this, and sat back in her chair and regarded me.
“Why are all the good ones taken? Oh well, never mind. What was it you wanted to know again?”
“What’s the deal with you saying that you gave life to a broom?” I got the feeling that dealing with Camelia Rosenblatt was going to be trying.
“It’s something that all witches do, as I said. When you become a witch, a real witch I mean, it’s one of the perks. You make a broom, give it life and then it serves you. It can do chores, although you have to be very specific in your directions or bad things can happen. At school, I heard about one witch who flooded her whole house like that.”
She paused and took a sip of her wine.
“Are you going to take the job?” she suddenly asked me. “Because I don’t even know your name.”
“I’m not sure yet. I need to know more than what you’ve told me so far. And the name is Duke. Duke Grandfather.”
“Oh, you’re the famous Duke Grandfather!” she squealed. “How did I get so lucky?”
I was flattered that she’d heard of me, but also a little put off by the enthusiasm.
“You haven’t gotten lucky yet,” I said, regretting the words as soon as they left my mouth.
“The night’s young yet,” she purred, moving her chair closer to mine.
“You know what I mean. I haven’t decided if I’m taking the job. Tell me more about this broom of yours.”
“Well, I wasn’t happy with it,” she said. “I made it, and took my time about it, too. I made sure all the rushes were cut to the same length and tied with a stout but attractive piece of twine. I polished the stick until it gleamed and made sure that it had just the right curve in it for riding. It was a piece of art if I do say so myself. Then, I used all the right spells, and brought it to life. It was fine, I guess, nothing special.”
Here, she stopped and frowned down at her wine. She did have a very pretty frown. When she continued, she dropped her voice down so that anyone further away than me couldn’t hear.
“But it wasn’t anything special. It was like every other witch’s broom. Ride in the sky, chase the mice out of the house, sweep the dirt under the rug, things like that. Blah. I wanted something more. I thought maybe if I kind of tweaked a couple of things, I’d make the best broom ever.”
“Let me guess,” I said, “it didn’t go as planned.”
“Well that’s the thing, though. It did! One of the spells I used gave it arms and hands, so that it could do other things. One of the other spells made it smarter, so that it could decide what needed to be done without me saying. It worked great. For a while.”
“And then?”
“Then one day, I think it got mad at me. I was here for a few hours, and then me and some of the girls went out to another place. I think there was one more after that, but at some point, I made the acquaintance of a handsome, young rogue. Oh, he was pretty! Anyway, we ended up going back to my place…”
“And the broom didn’t like it,” I interrupted.
“No, it didn’t. Not at all. It attacked my friend, sweeping at his legs, and punching him with those wooden fists. It drove him out of there, and then turned to me. It didn’t attack me; it just stood there, like it was condemning me. Then, it turned and stormed out the door, slamming it behind and that was the last I’ve seen of it.”
I studied Camelia, sure that she was putting me on. But there was no guile on her face, no sly looks from the corner of her eye, or any other signs.
“But why put it on the Board,” I asked. “Why not get one of these other witches to help?”
She lowered her voice even more.
“Because what I did isn’t exactly legal. As a matter of fact, I’d get in big trouble with the Witches Council if they knew.”
“And you want me to find it and kill it. What’s the pay?”
“Oh, you can’t kill it. I need it back. For that we can work out something, I’m sure.”
This time there was no mistake. She definitely looked up at me and fluttered her eyelashes.
“I only take cash,” I told her. “And I’m not usually in the business of returning lost items. But…I am intrigued.”
“Fine,” she pouted. “Ten rubles. But it has to be returned to me whole and undamaged.”
“Deal.”
Camelia showed me where she lived, and after convincing her that I did not need to see the inside, I got to work. I’ve tracked down many things in my career, and I have to say, I’ve never seen such a clean trail. The road dust and grit were cleared away in a straight line, leading right into the heart of town. I followed it, and came to Patriot’s Circle, and the large fountain which dominated it.
Patriot’s Circle is named for those who lost their lives in one of the many wars that Capital City has been involved in over the years. Not all of them have monuments, of course. It depends on who was ruler at the time, the outcome of the war, and the financial situation of the city. For Patriot’s Circle, the ruler must have won, and been flush with funds, although no one remembers who they were or what they were fighting about. Still, in the center of the circle was a massive fountain, shaped as a large bowl being held up on the backs of gallant soldiers, looks of steely resolve on their faces as they gazed out in all directions. I’m sure it was symbolic of something, but I have no idea what.
The broom was there, sweeping the area around the fountain clean. It looked as if this would be the easiest ten rubles I ever made. All I needed to do was grab the broom, take it back to Camelia and that was that.
As I approached the broom, it spun around to face me. Now I understood what Camelia meant when she said it was looking at her. There was no face, no eyes, no features of any kind, yet I still would have sworn it was staring at me, waiting for me to move. It was kind of creepy, to be honest with you.
“All right,” I said, feeling foolish for talking to a broom. “No one wants any trouble here. I have to take you back to Camelia.”
I moved closer as I said this, keeping my voice calm and soothing. The broom stayed put, but when I reached out and closed my right hand around it, it exploded into action. The wooden hands curled into fists and began to pummel me, smashing into my ribs, my stomach and my face. Every time I moved my left hand to block, the broom changed its attack and started hitting me somewhere else. Luckily for me, the blows were light, without any real power behind them, but still they stung, and came very fast, with no sign of tiring.
Finally, I let go and stepped back, rubbing my bruises.
“That didn’t work.”
I regarded the broom, which went back to sweeping up around the fountain. After a moment, an idea occurred to me based on Camelia’s story.
“Well, no sense in this,” I said, a little more loudly than needed. “I can see that it doesn’t want to go home. Poor Camelia. She’ll be heartbroken.”
I turned, and started walking slowly away. I heard a soft sound behind me, and looking back over my shoulder, saw that the broom was following me, raising little puffs of dust behind it. I was right in thinking that if the broom could be jealous when Camelia brought someone home with her, that it would care if she was heartbroken.
We went a block when I heard the swishing sound from behind me move off. The broom had changed direction and was now in a small alley, sweeping away at a furious pace. Rats were pouring out, chased from the garbage by the brooms manic sweeping. After a moment, the rats disappeared and the broom resumed its place behind me, and stayed there until I had it home.
Camelia opened the door to my knocking and the broom rushed past me and inside the house, where it commenced sweeping dust into little piles.
“You did it!” Camelia squealed and threw her arms around me, pulling herself tight against me.
“Yep,” I said, and gently removed her arms from around my neck and stood back. “Your broom is back where it belongs. Good luck with it!”
I turned and walked away, glad to be away from Camelia and her overly-friendly intentions.
If the world was just, the story would end there. The broom was returned, Camelia would find another to turn her attentions to, and I would be happy with ten shiny new rubles. But the world is never fair.
The next day, there was an insistent knocking at my door. I opened it, to find a young man dressed in a short white tunic and sandals, standing on my door step. In addition to the funny outfit, he held a rolled-up scroll in his hand, which he handed to me as soon as the door was open.
“You’ve been served,” he said, and walked off without another word, ignoring my shouted questions.
I unrolled the scroll and read, with growing annoyance, the message within. I had been summoned to appear before the Witches Council, that very evening. I didn’t even know that such a thing existed, and had no intention of going. But, when I saw Lilly later, she advised that I should under no circumstances ignore it.
“It’s a legitimate thing,” she told me. “The Council oversees all of the witches here in Capital City. They set the rules and regulations and make sure they’re followed. My guess is that they got word of that girl’s mistake with her broom, and they’re bringing the little tart up on charges of some sort.”
Obviously, I told Lilly about Camelia, and her less than subtle attempts to win me over.
I knew better than to discount Lilly’s advice, so that evening I went back to the Witch’s Kettle, as I was instructed. The door to the place was shut and there was a notice hanging on it, which read, “Closed Due To Council Business”.
As I entered, I noticed an immediate difference from my previous visits. The mood was somber and quiet, no carousing and reckless drinking. What drinks were evident, were set in front of the many witches who sat solemnly at the tables, rather than being raised to lips. They again watched me as I entered, but this time it was with expectation.
Duke Grandfather- The Whole Story Page 20