Gleeman's Tales

by Matthew Travagline

  “How did I kill his family? I never even met them.”

  “They are not people who take lightly to their secrets being spread at will. I highly doubt Gnochi was free to tell people about his contract. How you managed to get it out of him astounds me. Maybe there is some power in your tiny frame.”

  Cleo thought back to the first day she met Gnochi when he became upset at her discovering the pendant. “Please,” she begged as the first teardrops trickled onto her cheeks. “Tell me how I can save him.” The emotions in her voice were raw and plain to hear.

  Iris seemed to soften her expression. “Well.” She eyed the outside street. “There is one herb strong enough to kill his infection quickly, but in its most natural state, its potency can bring about its own illnesses. You’re not likely to find it in town for that reason alone. Oh, and it has putrid smell that makes the rot of death smell flowery.” Cleo looked to Iris, and her lip quivered.

  “What is it?” Cleo asked, though she already knew which herb Iris described.

  Chapter 33

  Cleo feigned ignorance but was itching to run from her seat. Something held her back. A voice deep in her mind urged her to leave now and get back to Gnochi, but an unknown pressure kept her saddled in her seat.

  Iris sat with a decorative smile upon her lips. “You had better get moving, Miss Cleo. Gnochi doesn’t have time for you to dawdle if you’ve any hope to save him.” She rose from her seat and stretched her lazy limbs.

  “Why? Why even tell me?” Cleo gulped a lump down her throat. Tears welled in her eyes when she thought of what would happen should she fail.

  “I guess part of me truly wants him to stick around,” Iris said, resting her hands on her hips. “You need to move now.” She spoke with a vigor that ripped Cleo from her daze.

  Cleo glanced to the front door and frowned at the increase in traffic. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and stood up. Upon breaching the threshold of the door, a crowd of people assailed her. An acidic scent of sweat wafted into her nose causing her to gag. She elbowed through the crowd to the middle of the street where she stood on her toes to look towards the central square. The town’s congestion only seemed to worsen closer to the gate. A curse at her ill luck was answered by more than a few questioning glares.

  By chance, she looked up to the dwindling evening sky and saw a shadow flicker across one of the rooftops. She lunged towards the building on the opposite side of the Drunk Duckling, sneaking in between the throng of people milling about in the street. She found the access stairs off the side and took them two at a time to the roof.

  At the top of the stairs, Cleo paused, huffing from the exertion of the climb. Walking toward the edge of the roof to catch her breath, she became aware of a merchant huddled in a corner on the roof, plainly counting pence.

  Without a second of pause, the merchant sicked her guards on Cleo, believing her to be some common cutpurse.

  Cleo took off running across the length of the roof heading toward the main square where the stable backed up to the wall, hoping that she would be able to jump from it to the ground without breaking any bones. Behind her came the frenzied grunting of the overpaid, underutilized guards.

  As she progressed toward the gate, she was faced with several gaps between adjacent, but unconjoined buildings. With no time to consider, Cleo leapt as she reached these obstacles. Twice, she stumbled after landing, feeling the leather in her greaves scrape against the hard tiles.

  Each time Cleo landed, she risked a look behind her to check on her pursuers. The distance between her and the rooftop pursuers grew as they stopped to bridge across each gap. It was during one of these pauses that she spotted two town guards following her progression on the ground. After one final jump, she found herself atop the roof adjacent to the exterior stable. Peeking over the wall, she spotted Perogie’s still-saddled back, shifting as if in anticipation. She judged the distance to the ground too steep to risk jumping, and the guards were already beginning to ascend the stairs of the nearest building. Those who had pursued her from the rooftops were two short jumps away from being on top of her. A moment before considering jumping with no regard for her safety, she saw a shadow flicker from an opposite roof.

  It was one of the vagrant children she had seen dangling their feet over the walls earlier. He motioned for Cleo to watch him. She nodded and the boy jumped off the roof, angling his fall so that he impacted a wooden awning half way down. The boy crashed into a wagon as it passed underneath and took off running from the fuming wagoneer. Cleo looked back to the stables and spotted a patch of roof close enough for a jump. She sucked in the crisp mountain air and leapt for the close stable roof. The rush of air from her fall stole the hat from her head. In the moment before she crashed into the roof, Cleo imagined a life for the hat, filched by some vagrant below and hoped it would serve them well.

  She landed in a roll on the sloped roof of the stable, slipped down its slick surface and, with a muffled thud, crashed into a pile of hay outside the protection from the roof’s awning. A family of mice skittered and chirped as she swam out of the warm bale. She regained her footing and rushed into the stable where she bumped into the stableboy from before. Judging from the expression on his face, Cleo imagined he had seen her stunt. “Sorry, you’re going to have to bill me the next time I’m in town. I’ve got to be out of here before the guard comes.”

  “You’re a performer? One from the menagerie?” He asked.

  “A bard’s apprentice.”

  The boy nodded as Cleo tightened Perogie’s saddle straps. “How about this? Next time you’re in town, you perform at a family member’s tavern?”

  “As long as it isn’t the Drunk Duckling,” she responded, laughing as she vaulted onto Perogie’s back and urging the mare out of the stable at a gallop.

  ◆◆◆

  Dust kicked up by the horse’s quick departure clung to the boy’s skin and caused him to cough. He was was still sitting in a heap on the ground when two guards rushed into the stable.

  Their loud yelling thrust the boy from his day-dream. “A girl came in here for a horse,” one of the guards stated, rather than asked.

  “Yes, Sires. She took off,” the boy answered.

  “Headed towards the wagons no doubt,” the second guard said, scratching at his face. “We’re going to be taking two of your fastest mounts.”

  “None of them are mine. I couldn’t tell you the fastest racehorse from the slowest packhorse,” the boy lied. Shielding his eyes with a hand, he imagined that he saw the last traces of her retreating dust shrink as it neared the distant tents of the menagerie.

  Without offering further conversation, seemingly understanding that they had wasted their time, the two guards grabbed two of the more muscular mounts and tore off towards the parked caravan.

  ◆◆◆

  “Dorothea, Sire, you may wish to come out and see this,” a player said as she peeked into Dorothea’s tent.

  “I’m finally rid of the wretched General and already people are demanding more of me? This had better be good.” Dorothea exited the tent. A maroon robe flowed loose around his barreled belly.

  Following what he called their slow march through the desert, General took his men and left on his own for Blue Haven. Dorothea was all too happy to see him go, despising the man who out-ranked him despite his own blood relation to the king.

  Seeing two city guards maneuvering between his wagons, Dorothea collected the Providential-signet sword that marked his authority. He saw the two guards manhandling the bard’s apprentice, Boli, as though she were a common criminal. “Boli,” Dorothea yelled, “what have you done?”

  “Dorothea, Gnochi is terribly sick and I need to get him some medicine lest he perish.”

  “That would be a shame. Wouldn’t want—”

  “Are you the vassal for this vagrant hooligan?” one guard interrupted.

  Dorothea stretched his neck, cracking his bones to show his annoyance. “So it seems. And you are?”
he asked.

  “Chief vendor guard Wil—”

  “Well, Chief. Vendor. Guard. Do you know who I am?” Dorothea strode up to the guards and got in their faces. “Let me show you.” He unsheathed his signet-sword and thrust it under the guard’s nose. “This sword means that I outrank you by about a thousand men. Now, whatever misstep, whatever infraction you believe this vagrant hooligan of mine to have committed, I’m certain that it can be overlooked.” The guard gulped and looked to his companion, who had remained silent. “If you’d like to appeal my ruling, you are free to take your claim to Blue Haven before the courts, but I suspect that they will want nothing to do with two vendor guards and a nuisance child, especially during this time of great duress for the Lyrinthian people.” The guards remained silent. “Now if you have no other business to finish, I suggest you unhand my vagrant,” Dorothea boomed, his chest swelling with returned authority.

  “Actually, Sire, I’m a wall guard, not a vend—”

  “Get out of my camp before I feed you to my elephant!” Dorothea slammed his sword back into its sheathe by way of emphasizing his point.

  With haste, they unhanded Cleo and galloped through the crowd of patrons, retreating to the distant city walls.

  As Cleo ran past, she yelled, “Thanks for the save, Dorry!”

  ◆◆◆

  Cleo sprinted between wagons and padded around cook fires. She barged up the rickety steps of the yellow-red wagon, let loose a rapid fire knock, then pushed the door open, catching Roy in a similar state of undress. He rushed to close the dividing curtain.

  “You don’t learn too well, eh Boli?” Roy asked.

  “Don’t have time for pleasantries. Where’s Harvey and where does he keep the bone-flower?”

  “I haven’t seen him. And are you sure—”

  “Roy, if Gnochi dies because you dawdled, you’ll be joining him in the grave.”

  “Okay, relax. Harv’s moved it back here. Give me a moment.”

  Cleo tapped her foot while waiting for Roy as he shuffled around behind the curtain. After a moment, his bare hand appeared through a split in the curtain and he offered the small glass jar containing the delicate leaves.

  “And if Harvey isn’t around the wagons, there’s no point in looking for him. He has been known to retreat from people and sit alone with his thoughts.”

  “Thanks,” Cleo said as she ran from the wagon. She looked for Harvey as she made her way around the caravan but could not find him. Passing a cook fire, she stopped for a moment to grab a kettle of warming water and then resumed her flight to the wagon. She clutched the jar and kettle with care as though the two items were cracking.

  Inside, Gnochi lay motionless on the cot, his skin looking pasty. Beaded sweat pooled on his forehead. She set the kettle on the cupboard and grabbed a small cup, as well as Harvey’s mortar and pestle, which he had left on a nearby cupboard. With all the ingredients and tools before her, Cleo inspected the jar of bone-flower.

  Sitting atop a bed of hay were three leaves. One fewer since she had last seen the jar. Though she could not tell in the faint light, she imagined that she saw the shadow of black veins circumnavigating the leaves’ pale surfaces. Cleo sucked in her breath.

  She removed the stopper from the jar. Almost immediately, a wave of heat stung her eyes and nausea rippled up from her stomach. She swallowed down sharp bile, leaving her throat raw. It was only after unstoppering the potent leaves that she realized she had no idea how much she should give to him.

  She placed two of the leaves in the marble reservoir and ground them into as finite a pile as possible, then trickled it into the cup. With care, she poured the hot water and stirred the brew with a spoon. The water, once clear and clean, blackened and became opaque. She then trickled it into Gnochi’s mouth, holding his nose and forcing him to swallow the vile mixture.

  Re-stoppering the jar, Cleo sat, observing Gnochi for over an hour, often wiping his brow with a cool rag laden with water. She checked his pupils to see if they responded and felt his forehead to monitor his fever. After the fever subsided, she sank to the floor next to the cot to rest her weary legs for a moment, but her battle with exhaustion won over and she fell asleep at the foot of the bed.

  Chapter 34

  Bright stars illuminated the dank cobblestone streets of Blue Haven’s poorest sector. Harvey yawned and closed his eyes. Against the darkness of his eye lids, he saw the light silhouette of a woman. He was greeted by the sight of Kiren, with her slightest smile and fairest complexion. She beckoned him forward and he found himself running after her through alleyways and across streets. At the turn of one alley, he noticed what she wore: a peculiar poncho. It was nothing he had ever seen her wear before, yet it was familiar. She rounded a corner ahead of him. When he turned down the same corner, destined to gain on her, his voice croaked out, “Kiy? Where’d you—” but the harsh whisper caught itself in his throat at the sight of the discarded poncho and the dead end ahead.

  Stooping over the poncho, he felt his breaths coming in ragged bursts. Burnt frills decorated the its edges and felt rough against his fingers. After gripping the worn fabric and pulling, Gnochi’s decapitated head was revealed. The eyes fluttered open as though sensing the light. Its open mouth pushed muggy air at Harvey’s face.

  With a start, Harvey sprung out of his dream. Something warm and furry compressed his throat. He sat up and knocked his forehead on the moist snout of a wolf.

  “At ease, Kitten, it is only I,” Freki whispered. Despite the late hour, the last glimmer of twilight yet dominated the sky and precluded the coming night’s cowl.

  “You have some gall coming into camp where people will see you,” Harvey replied, pushing the wolf off his chest with an elbow. He was still disoriented and found himself sitting above the ground on the roof of a wagon, though he did not remember climbing onto a wagon roof, let alone falling asleep on one.

  “If I wanted to be seen, I’d be seen. If not, I won’t.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “What? Can I not watch my favorite kitten nap?”

  “That’s not comforting in the least.”

  “I am here for a reason,” Freki said, laughing as though he often came for trivialities. He sat back on his white haunches and cleaned off one of his front paws. “I may have gotten a splinter in my paw from your wagon. Would you care to remove it?”

  Harvey only growled in response.

  “All right, all right. I know that I’m an immortal being so it doesn’t matter in the slightest.” The wolf giggled, if such a noise could be equated to a laugh.

  “Why are you here, Freki?”

  “Have you been heeding my past advices? Has change been accepted?”

  “I’m the picture of change,” Harvey bit.

  “That was rhetorical, of course. I, more than anyone, know that you’ve been receptive. So, let me ask you of the two strangers, Gnochi, and Cleo, was it? I suppose the name they’d told you was Boli. Oh, well, no secret lasts forever.”

  “What of them?” Harvey kept his reaction to the scribe’s true name from showing on his face.

  “What do you think of them?”

  “They are definitely hiding something. I know that he is contractually obligated to working for Silentore, but I’m not sure how she fits into everything.”

  “Not as observant as I’d hoped. Maybe he is merely withholding speculation.” Freki spoke as though Harvey was not present. “Nevertheless, I will advise you to keep your eyes open and pay attention.”

  “Thanks for the always-detailed prophetic verses, Freki,” Harvey said.

  “I’m under the impression that Gnochi is sick,” the wolf spoke words that seemed to jog a distant memory of Harvey’s.

  “That’s a bit of an understatement.”

  “In curing him of his ailment, the girl has entombed him in an unbroken slumber.”

  Harvey wanted to ask how she both cured him and further doomed him, but his still-groggy mind was too delayed to
vocalize the inquiry.

  “He will stay this way indefinitely unless he is taken to a healer in the Urtin mountain ranges who goes by the name of Cig. Ask around in Urtin. Someone will know how to reach the miracle healer of the mountains.”

  After a moment, Harvey said, “So that’s it then?”

  Freki chased his tail in a circle and stopped with his mouth secured on a thick section. “Of course.” The wolf spoke as if the answer was obvious, his voice came muffled through tail feathers. Then he leapt from the roof of the wagon and dashed out of camp without raising the slightest alarm. Harvey watched until he could no longer pick out its snowy form, then he lowered himself onto the ground and entered his wagon.

  ◆◆◆

  Gnochi and Perogie lumbered down the path leading from the edge of the Nenni Farm limits into town. Despite urging the mare forward with his knees, Perogie would not break canter. “Come on, ‘Ogie, we’ve got a—”

  “Uncle Gnochi! Wait!” A young girl sprinted towards him from back where he had come, her black hair rippling behind her like flags on the mast of a ship. The girl wore what looked like a cape when she ran. It was of a strong fabric of several vibrant colors rich in reds and oranges. Once she slowed her run as she approached her uncle, the cape spread around her body becoming a clean and unblemished poncho. She huffed out heavy breaths as she rested her arms on her knees. “You said you’d take me to the library today. You promised.” The girl’s mouth quivered.

  “I know Pips, but I’ve got some important business to attend to in town. I should be home before dark. We can go and visit the library when I get back.”

  “So, we will be able to turn on the—”