With a Jester of Kindness

by K. C. Herbel

  Billy looked ahead as the lamp’s glow brightened. He fell over from fright when the fluttering light illuminated the face of the boy just two feet away. The boy again laughed at Billy and motioned for him to come forward.

  Billy stood and dusted himself off. He picked up the lamp and started to step forward. A sudden chill ran up his spine as he looked down and saw that his foot hovered over a dark area in the floor. He retrieved his foot and lowered the lamp to have a better look. A cavernous black hole, as dark as the pit of hell, stared back at him. Billy sharply inhaled and stepped back from the abyss. Apprehensively he tore his eyes away from the deep hole as his mind fumbled with a startling notion. He focused on the strangely familiar boy ahead of him, who continued to grin and motion for Billy to come forward.

  The cheerful boy stepped forward, stretching out an open hand. Billy stared at the offered appendage and stumbled back. As Billy retreated, the boy advanced, until he was standing, in midair, over the yawning black pit. He held out both hands to Billy, his glad expression supplanted by haunted, pleading eyes. In that moment, Billy realized the boy had the same eyes as Lady Myrredith.

  Billy stepped up his retreat, backpedaling away from the apparition. As he backed into the next intersection, the phantom boy lowered his arms and sank into the abyss, disappearing beneath the floor.

  Billy, deciding that he would much rather be in his bed at that moment, turned and sprinted back up the hall he had just traversed. He retraced his steps, trying to find his way back to the large round room, but remembering which turns he had taken proved more difficult than he imagined. He paused in the middle of several intersections and frantically looked in all four directions, before deciding which way to go. This went on for about an hour. Despite feeling panicky, Billy stopped and rested, trying to calm down before continuing.

  “You’ll be fine,” he said to himself, rubbing his finger in the groove between two stones. As he did this, some of the rough cement crumbled and fell to the floor. “Just have to stay calm,” he reminded himself.

  After a minute, he got up and restarted his search. He found it impossible to remember which corridors he had traveled. He walked on and on, his hope of finding the circular chamber diminishing with each step. He was about to give up when he came to a passage that seemed very familiar. He rushed down the corridor hoping to see something he could definitely recognize. As he got to the next intersection, he saw something on the floor. Cautiously he approached the item to examine it. His excitement dissipated into thin air. The object was a candle, and just across from it was a small pile of cement dust.

  “No!” he whispered, his eyes clenched shut. I’m goin’ round in circles. Oh, why didn’t I listen to Lady Myrredith?

  Billy felt tired and frustrated and most definitely lost. He flopped down on the floor of the passage and sobbed. He grabbed the candle and stared at it through his tears. Then he placed it in his pocket. As he did this, his fingers ran across the smooth, warm metal of his mother’s ring. Billy had almost forgotten it was there. He let his fingers caress its curved surface. Just feeling the ring in his pocket gave him some comfort. Somehow it connected him to the world and made him feel safe. He slipped the tip of his finger into the ring and fetched it out. The warm gold loop shone in the dim lamplight, and Billy slipped it all the way onto his finger.

  “Mother,” he said, looking at the ring, “what should I do? What should I do?”

  He repeated the question several times, letting the sound of the words fill his ears until they seemed to form an answer in his head. Rest now, they said. Rest, and when you awake you’ll walk out of here.

  Billy curled up against a corner and gradually drifted to sleep.

  * * *

  Billy found himself on the road to the kingdom of the little people. He was alone, being pursued by something. He tried to run faster, but whatever was following only gained on him. Billy could feel it coming closer and closer.

  “William,” whispered a soft, sweet voice in his ear.

  Billy tried hard to ignore it.

  “William,” repeated the voice.

  Billy opened his eyes. The voice was his mother’s. The mother he had always imagined. She was a beautiful lady, wearing a long flowing dress of white and pink. She smiled at him and spoke in the same elegant manner as Lady Myrredith.

  “William, you will come to Tirn Aill, but first you must leave this place. Come . . . follow me.”

  Without a word, Billy got up and followed his mother. She took his hand, and they seemed to float through the twisting, turning corridors. Finally she stopped and turned to him.

  “Here,” she said. “Rest here, and when you awake, follow this passage. It will lead you out into the world you know.”

  Billy sat where she had indicated. He was very tired but wanted to talk with his mother—to ask her questions. She turned and started to walk away.

  “Mother?” he cried, “Mother, wait!” But it was too late. Her image melted into the darkness and vanished.

  “No! Wait, Mother!”

  Suddenly Billy was awake. His own shouting had woken him. His lamp had burned out, and it was dark, except for a thin shaft of light coming from the ceiling up ahead.

  Billy brushed himself off and went to the source of light. There was a small round chamber at the end of the passage with a partially collapsed roof. Sunlight streamed into the room, filtered only by some shrubbery that grew around the rim of the hole. Billy stacked some of the broken ceiling stones together in a large pile and climbed up the rubble to the light. He peered through the hole and could see that he was now at ground level. Quickly, he crawled out through the hole and started pushing his way through the bushes. The plants were terribly entangled, overgrown, and thorny, so it was slow going at first, but he kept his head down and kept crawling.

  Finally Billy broke through to a place where the weeds were pushed back, just enough to form a trail of sorts. The path was too small for Billy to do anything but continue crawling. From this tiny tunnel in the weeds, he could see that he was about to clear the brambly mess.

  All of a sudden a hare came scrambling into the hole. It shot down Billy’s collar and into his shirt. It’s hard to say which was the more frightened by the unexpected close proximity of the other, but before you could count to one, Billy sprung to his feet, expelling the hare from his clothing and into the waist-high brush.

  As the dust settled, Billy became aware of a shadow hanging over him. Slowly he lifted his eyes. A husky man in a brown wool robe stood directly in front of him. He held a heavy stick poised above his head in both hands. The man stared blankly at Billy, his jaw gone completely slack. Billy, unsure of the man’s intentions, stared back, watching the formidable club out of the corner of his eye. The man’s stunned expression told Billy that he was harmless, so he smiled and took a step forward to introduce himself. Before Billy could say “hello,” the man screamed, dropped his stick, and ran in the opposite direction.

  “God save us from diabolical brownie magic!” spouted the man as he ran away.

  Billy shouted, “But . . . Wait!” and gave chase.

  The robed man gained a good head start, as Billy had a spot of trouble getting out of the bramble. The man never looked back. He only ran away, holding up a cross behind himself and babbling in Latin. As they came through a small group of trees, Billy saw a high wall up ahead. The man made a sharp right turn and went through a wooden gate, slamming it behind him. As Billy approached, he heard the bolt slide home on the other side. Then the gate rattled as the man fell against it with his back.

  Billy listened to the man’s labored breathing then said, “Hello.”

  The man let out another scream. Then Billy heard his quickened footsteps receding into the distance.

  Billy waited then pounded on the gate, but no one came to let him in. He looked around and found that he was in a large walled orchard. Billy decided that he would try to climb the wall and follow the man.

  The wall was cove
red with ivy, so the climbing was fairly easy. It reminded Billy of all the times he spent at home in the woods, climbing trees. Billy got to the top of the wall and nearly fell off. He had expected to maybe see a small garden or courtyard, but instead, directly in front of him, filling his entire view, was the largest single building, apart from Cyndyn Hall, he had ever seen. The massive structure towered over him. He gazed up to the top and saw the striking arches and tall roof he had seen with Lady Myrredith from the wall of her castle. Somehow he had managed to get all the way to the cathedral, in Dyven! Billy had no idea that it would be so large, so tall, or so beautiful. Still, while it intrigued him, something about it also frightened him.

  Billy heard a ruckus building inside the grand edifice. It was coming closer and closer. He had an uneasy feeling, the kind he got when he was about to be caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do, being somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. Billy stood on top of the wall and looked out over the orchard. He saw the outer wall, just beyond the third row of trees to his left, and quickly scaled down the wall into the orchard.

  Billy ran across the orchard with as much speed as he could muster. Just before he reached the wall, he heard some men coming through the gate behind him. He stopped for a moment to survey his next obstacle.

  The outer wall of the orchard was nearly as formidable than the wall he had just come from, but did not have an abundance of vines growing on it. He started to panic, and then he saw the means to his escape. A thick old tree, heavily burdened by its fruit, had extended its branches to rest on the wall.

  Billy ran to the tree and glanced back towards the cathedral. He could still hear the men coming into the orchard, but the trees blocked his view. He squatted and jumped as high as he could. His hands just missed the lowest branch. His noisy pursuers were now coming in his direction. Fighting back panic, Billy took a step back and tried to reach the branch again. This time his fingers scraped the bark, but he couldn’t get a grip on it. Now his heart pounded, and his breathing became rushed.

  He looked around the tree and spied several darkly robed men, led by the first man he had seen. They seemed to be in jocular spirits, laughing at their guide, who was waving his arms about in wild gesticulations. Even so, they made Billy fearful.

  Billy knew they would find him if he didn’t get out of the orchard immediately. Once more, he stepped back from the tree and eyed the elusive branch. He took two additional steps back and charged. He stretched out his hands as he leapt and caught the bough. Quickly he swung his feet up and straddled the branch. Without another thought, he ascended the trunk and ran out on a limb that offered its fruit to people on the other side of the wall. As he broke through the branches atop the wall, he saw, for the first time, the city stretching out before him.

  Chapter XI

  The City

  Billy had long dreamt of visiting Dyven. Since he was a boy, he had heard guests at his father’s inn boast of the wonders they had seen there. They swore there were pastry shops, as big as houses; giant taverns, as long as a street; and streets lined with nothing but silversmiths or clothiers or potters. Soldier, sailor, beggar, merchant, wizard, and priest—all brushed elbows and butted heads in its busy thoroughfares. From the most common man to the richest prince, the city drew them in. And now Billy, son of an innkeeper, had been drawn there too.

  It was still early morning, and few people were up and about. Billy wasn’t sure if he really wanted to be seen just yet, so he tried avoiding the main streets, choosing instead to walk down the alleys.

  An aged peddler walked by pushing his cart and singing an ancient barter song. The sounds of his wares accompanied him, rattling, banging, and clanging against one another and the cart. Billy listened to the odd music he made and remembered the first time he had heard the song sung. In the Valley of the Yew, the only peddler had been trading cloth, and his song was of cloth. This city peddler’s song mostly repeated the line, “Your old iron for new.”

  The old man stopped for a moment to rest his hands. He stretched and rubbed his tired appendages, looking around the narrow cobblestone street. His eyes stopped when they came across Billy’s dirty face in the alley. The peddler smiled at Billy then picked up his cart and went on his way. Billy watched him until he disappeared around the corner.

  Billy listened to the music of the iron peddler fade into the distance as he ventured out into the vacant street. Suddenly, he heard jingling and looked up to see a woman coming out from a tall narrow stone house on the opposite side of the street. As she closed the door behind her, the bronze shoe hanging above the door swung, and a small brass bell announced the door’s closure. The woman was wearing an apron and carrying a large basket of laundry. She looked up at the swinging shoe for a moment before spotting Billy.

  “You! Boy!” she squawked.

  Billy jumped back into the shadow of the alley. He looked around, hoping that she might be talking to some other boy, but then she looked directly at him and beckoned with her head for him to come closer. Billy reluctantly stepped into the sunlight.

  “Boy!” repeated the woman. “Copper in it, if’n ya run down to the pub an’ fetch my mister!”

  “Where?” asked Billy.

  “The pub . . . On the square, boy! Well don’t ya know anythin’?”

  Billy simply shrugged.

  The woman put down her basket and spoke again. “Say, do ya want the bloomin’ coin or not?”

  Billy shrugged again.

  Seemingly out of thin air, a boy appeared next to Billy, dressed from head to ankle in old, faded clothes. His face and hands were dirty, but it was his odious odor that first caught Billy’s attention.

  “I’ll fetch ’im, mum!” piped the boy, as he rushed past Billy.

  Billy watched from the mouth of the alley as the barefoot boy talked to the woman. A few seconds later, he held out his hand. The woman raised her left eyebrow and crossed her arms. The boy smiled, turned, and ran back to the alley.

  “Come on then,” he said, tilting his head to indicate that he and Billy should head down the street.

  Billy stared blankly at him.

  “Well let’s go! Don’t wanna keep the missus waitin’, do we?”

  The smiling boy winked and then tugged Billy down the street by his arm. Billy was confused but decided to go along with his newfound partner, until something better came along.

  As they trotted down the street, the boy yelled back to the woman, “We’ll be back wif ’im in a jiffy, mum!”

  Rounding the corner, the boy turned and said to Billy, “You’re new at this, ain’t ya? I can’t imagine anyone turnin’ down an honest coin for anythin’! Name’s Stitch. What’s yours?”

  “Billy.”

  “Well Billy, what were you doin’ sneakin’ round the cathedral?”

  Billy stopped cold in his tracks. “What do you mean?”

  Stitch stopped to face Billy. “I saw ya,” he said, “I saw ya sneakin’ over the orchard wall. Were ya stealin’ apples?”

  “No!” answered Billy. “I wasn’t stea . . . !”

  “Oh it’s fine wif me, chum. You don’t have to lie. Why we’re practically brothers, you an’ me.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been on me own for a long time now. I know what it’s like to be hungry.”

  Billy’s stomach growled in answer, and he realized that he was indeed very hungry.

  “Yes . . . hungry. I am hungry.”

  “What? After stuffin’ yourself on sacred apples?”

  “Well,” said Billy, “I didn’t get to eat any apples.”

  “In the orchard and didn’t get any? What kind of thief are you?”

  “Well there were some men that came while I was . . .”

  “Ya got caught then?”

  “No.”

  “Oh . . . .” said Stitch, “but no apples.”

  “No apples,” mumbled Billy, feeling ravenous. Then he quickly added, “And I’m no thief!”

  “I agree,�
�� said Stitch sardonically. “Now come on. The pub is just a bit from here.”

  “What’s a pub?”

  “You really are new.”

  Stitch grabbed Billy by the wrist and hauled him down the street again. They passed through several narrow alleys that Stitch called shortcuts, but Billy’s nose and stomach called revolting. Billy could hear a noise rising somewhere in front of them. The sound frightened him as it grew louder and louder. Suddenly they turned a corner, and the noise filled his ears.

  They stood on the edge of a large square, which was packed full with people. Everywhere Billy looked, people, people, people, like bees around a hive. There were more people than Billy had ever seen together in one place. So this is the city. The air buzzed with sound. Voices rose and fell in constant competition with the overwhelming ruckus. As one voice faded from prominence, another would take its place. Above this angry chorus were the ancient songs of the merchants. Each proclaimed that their particular wares were unequivocally the best available under the sun.

  Billy gawked at the constantly dancing colors, as people pushed, slid, and bumped their way through the throng. Those who weren’t trying to get somewhere were busy poking, smelling, fondling, sampling, or looking at the cornucopia of items for sale. Often he saw the dull shine of tarnished copper coins in the morning sun. Then a flash of silver or the rare glimmer of gold would catch Billy’s eye. Money was changing hands at an alarming rate. A tug on his arm roused Billy from his daze.

  “Come on!” shouted Stitch.

  “Is it always like this?” asked Billy as he followed his guide.

  “Like what?”

  “Like this!”

  Stitch looked back at his wide-eyed companion and continued to push through the crowd. “Where ya from, Billy?”

  “The Valley of the Yew.”

  “Don’t you have a market there?”