Teleporter

by Laurence E. Dahners

  Sally gave him a sympathetic look. “Yeah, I can see where you were between the proverbial rock and the hard place.” She took a deep breath and gave a weak smile, “Well, what can I do for you today?”

  “I don’t know if you’ll remember selling my dad and me some throwing knives? Because we’re going to be out on the road in a caravan now, we’d like to have some more. We’re worried about being attacked by raiders and needing to be able to throw more than just two knives.” While he’d been talking, Tarc pulled one of his knives and one of his father’s out of his pocket and laid them on the counter.

  Sally’s eyes widened, “I remember these! You and your dad are damn good at throwing them.” She leaned down and picked at some material between the base of the blade and the guard on Tarc’s knife. “This bigger one is yours, right? You need to take better care of it. If you don’t clean any crud out of this crevice, it will rust and weaken…” Her eyebrows rose, “Is that blood?!”

  Horrified, Tarc scrambled to think what to say, “Um, I think it’s just dirt.”

  Staring at the dark red little flakes, Sally said, “That’s not mud. Or dirt, or whatever. That’s blood!”

  Tarc blinked, “Oh, yeah, I, uh, I threw it at a side of ribs for practice.”

  Sally looked at him dubiously. “Surely you weren’t practicing your knife throwing on food you were going to serve to people later, were you?”

  “Um…”

  Sally’s eyes had dropped back to the knife. “Besides,” she said slowly and suspiciously, “there isn’t much blood in a butchered side of pig ribs.” After a pause she continued, “And, unless you hung the ribs in the middle of a room, the knife wouldn’t bury itself to the hilt.” Her eyes tracked slowly back up to Tarc’s, “This… knife wasn’t buried to the hilt in the eye of one of those assholes that came with Krait, was it?” she asked quietly.

  Eyes wide, Tarc opened his mouth, but couldn’t seem to say anything. Instead he slowly shook his head back and forth.

  “Holy crap!” she breathed, “You’re the one?!”

  “No!” Tarc finally choked out.

  “You are! I can see it in your eyes!” She stepped out from behind her counter and came around to give Tarc a fierce hug. She drew her head back “Thank you!” She blinked a couple of times, then frowned, “Why aren’t you telling everyone? If they knew, you’d be heroes, not pariahs.”

  “No one would ever believe it,” Tarc said, trying not to admit that it was true, then realizing he should deny it more forcefully. “Besides, it wasn’t me!”

  “Tarc Hyllis, don’t you lie to me!” She snorted, “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s telling when people are fibbing. And,” she laughed, “you’re a lousy liar!” Under her breath she said, “Sure as hell, they’d believe it if you showed them how well you can throw a knife.”

  “Um, Mrs. Blacksmith, my parents really don’t want anyone to know.” Suddenly he realized now he had admitted to it. He wondered how he could undo that.

  She blinked at him for a moment, then said wonderingly, “Are they worried that everyone’s going to be afraid of you?” She frowned, “So worried they’d leave town to keep people from fearing you?”

  Tarc didn’t know what to say, so he settled for a shrug.

  Sally let out a long breath, “If you were my son I’d be proclaiming it from the rooftops! I wouldn’t give a damn how scared the people in this town were.” She stared at him for another long moment, “But they’re your parents, and I—well, this whole damn town—we owe you. Big-time. So if the Hyllises want it kept a secret, I’ll keep it a secret.” She shook her head like she couldn’t believe what she’d just learned. “Let me see if we’ve got any more throwing knives.”

  She turned and went back behind the counter, pulling out the shallow box where she kept the throwing knives. All she had were the bigger ones that Tarc knew were so heavy that neither he nor his father could really control them. She looked up at him, “You sure you wouldn’t like a brace of these bigger ones? They’ll do more damage. Though,” she narrowed an eye at him, “I suppose if you’re accurate enough to hit someone in the eye every damn time you throw a knife, it doesn’t really matter how big they are, does it?”

  Tarc didn’t want to answer that question. Somehow he still hoped he could claim that he hadn’t been the one. Instead he said, “Um, no, we’d really like the smaller ones. And… some more sheaths so we can carry them without people seeing them.”

  Sally pursed her lips, thinking. She looked back at Tarc, “When are you leaving?”

  Tarc shrugged, “Soon. Maybe tomorrow. Whenever the caravan leaves.” He grimaced, “I’m sure you wouldn’t be able to make any more that quickly. I’ll go see if any of the other blacksmiths have some in stock.”

  Her brows went up, “Oh no, you don’t want to do that. Their wives are the worst gossips in this whole damn town. They probably won’t even let you in the door.” She picked up the two knives he’d put on her counter and looked at them for a moment, “Besides,” she said resolutely, “John’s never had a more important job than this one. We’ll have you some more knives by this afternoon or tomorrow morning.”

  Tarc blinked, “Oh, thank you very much! I’ll come by…” He stopped to consider when would be best.

  Sally interjected, “No. I’ll bring them to you at the tavern. It’ll be my honor.”

  Startled, Tarc said, “Are you sure?! The townspeople are avoiding us like the plague. No one wants to be seen at the tavern.”

  She looked him steadily in the eye, “It will be my honor,” she said, in a voice suddenly gone raspy.

  “Shall I put down half of the money, and you collect the other half when you bring them?”

  Slowly she shook her head. “See you tomorrow.”

  ***

  On his way back to the tavern, the sun was up and shining brightly. Tarc found himself keeping to the shady side of the street, even though it was cool and he would’ve preferred to be in the sunlight. In the shade, he felt like people weren’t as likely to recognize him and he didn’t want to be recognized.

  He was going to pass the edge of the market on his way back. For a moment, he considered taking a walk through the market. Not that he could buy anything, he couldn’t fit everything he owned now into the wagon. He wanted to walk through the market because he would almost certainly glimpse Lizeth there in her role as a guard for the caravaners’ stalls.

  He wouldn’t have a reason to talk to her of course, but just seeing her lithe form and sparkly smile felt like something to look forward to. He wondered whether she might give him another lesson with the sword this afternoon. On the one hand being taught to use a sword by a girl was a little bit humiliating, but anything that had him spending time with her…

  He decided that going through the market would have too much of a downside in the inevitable encounters with the town folk who he didn’t want to see. As he approached the corner where the market started and where he would turn towards the tavern, his heart leapt slightly as he saw Lizeth there at the corner. She was facing away and didn’t see him, nonetheless he was able to admire her as she stood, hand on the hilt of her sword, eyes focused on the crowd around the caravaners’ stalls.

  Tarc turned the corner and started away from the market towards the tavern, glancing back one last time at Lizeth. When he turned back to the front, he found himself about to run into Will Jonas’ younger brother Arlo. A horrific image flashed into Tarc’s mind of Will in the square, run through from behind by one of Krait’s men. Tarc scrambled mentally to think of something appropriately sympathetic to say to Arlo. Belatedly, he recognized the sneer forming on Arlo’s face.

  Arlo, just as big as his brother Will had been, looked Tarc up and down. He said, “Well, if it isn’t Captain Krait’s pretty-boy buddy.” He stepped to block Tarc from passing by him.

  Tarc put his hands up, palms out in a placating gesture. “Sorry about what happened to Will. He was a real hero to stand up to Krai
t like that. I know what people have been saying about us but…”

  Arlo interrupted, “Yeah,” he stepped closer to Tarc, “After the way you guys toadied up to Krait, I’m amazed you have the balls to show your face around this town.”

  Tarc took a step back, trying to keep his voice calm, “The things they’re saying, they, they, just aren’t true. Krait was…”

  Taking another step towards Tarc, Arlo broke in again, “I hear you Hyllises are puttin’ your tails between your legs and runnin’ outta town.” He sucked some air in over a tooth, “Personally, I don’t think you’re going fast enough.”

  “Krait forced us…” Tarc began indignantly.

  Arlo took another step towards Tarc and reached out with a big meaty hand. Tarc danced back another step, but Arlo strode towards him, narrowing the distance again and beginning to stretch out his arm.

  Tarc stepped back again, but then his skin crawled at the sound of a sword sliding out of its sheath behind him. His ghost told him someone was just a pace or two behind him and he wondered how he had missed their approach. The skin between Tarc’s shoulder blades had been itching as he resisted the temptation to pull out the single throwing knife that remained back there. With an adversary behind him and Arlo in front of him, the one knife wouldn’t be enough. Tarc’s hand slipped down towards the work knife at his waist as the person behind him stepped forward and reached out.

  Tarc had a moment of dismay as he thought, so this is how my life ends…

  A sword point shot past Tarc’s right shoulder. A moment later, Arlo stopped suddenly, looking cross-eyed at the sword point touching his chest.

  Tarc glanced to the right. Lizeth! She winked at him, then her eyes went back to Arlo. “You weren’t threatening one of the members of our caravan, were you?”

  Arlo’s eyes rose back up to look into Lizeth’s. “Who the hell are you?!”

  Lizeth gazed steadily back, “I’m one of the caravan’s guards, charged with protecting our members. Perhaps you weren’t aware of the fact that Mr. Hyllis here has joined our caravan?”

  In Tarc’s mind, relief warred with embarrassment over being rescued by a girl. “Um, Arlo’s brother was killed by Krait a few days ago. I’m sure he’s pretty upset about it.”

  Heatedly, Arlo said, “Yeah, I’m pretty upset about it!” He looked at Lizeth, “And you, Girly, that sword doesn’t make you invincible!” His right hand snaked up from his waist carrying his big work knife, swinging to knock her sword aside.

  Tarc blinked. There’d been no clang as the two blades struck one another. It had happened too quickly for him to really be sure what had happened, but his impression was that before Arlo’s blade could strike the sword aside, the sword had already danced upward. In any case, Arlo was now slowly stepping backward with the tip of Lizeth’s sword pricking just below his jaw. A little trickle of blood ran down his neck.

  Tarc could hear the grin in Lizeth’s voice as she said, “Pretty quick, ain’t I?” She continued slowly walking forward and thereby forcing Arlo backwards. “Now, I know you weren’t trying to intimidate me by swinging that big ol’ pig sticker of yours around, were you?”

  Tarc followed the two of them, wondering how to defuse the situation. “Um…” he said uncertainly.

  “Arlo was it?” Lizeth asked.

  “Um, yeah…” Tarc said.

  “So, Arlo,” Lizeth said, her attention back on Arlo. “I’m thinking that you’ve just learned a valuable lesson? Are you, perhaps, comprehending that you don’t want to mess with young Hyllis here? Are you thinking that you really don’t want to hassle anyone in the Norton caravan? Because if that’s what you’re thinking, then we might be able to let all this go with no more than that little trickle of blood you’ve got on your neck and that little rip in your shirt.”

  Arlo’s eyes were focused on the blade that was backing him slowly down the street. He swallowed and said hoarsely, “There ain’t no rip in my shirt.”

  The sword flashed down, describing an “S” over Arlo’s chest and coming to rest against his upper abdomen. “Yes there is,” Lizeth said, “right there over your left boob.”

  Tarc goggled at the slash that had suddenly appeared in Arlo’s shirt. The bottom flap of it slowly folded aside to reveal Arlo’s left nipple.

  Arlo slowly lowered his head and eyes to gape at the opening.

  Lizeth said, “I might not have heard it. Did you tell me you’d learned your lesson?”

  Arlo, still backing up, nodded jerkily.

  Lizeth’s sword tip left Arlo’s stomach, darted quickly to his shoulder where it wiped itself twice on his shirt, then shot back into its sheath. “Great,” she said with a big smile, “I think we’re done here then, don’t you?”

  Arlo tensed and the hand with the big work knife started to rise.

  Lizeth’s sword was suddenly between them again. With an intensity that sounded almost vicious, Lizeth said, “If that big ass knife of yours goes anywhere, and I mean anywhere, besides into its sheath, you’re going to lose a hand.”

  Arlo swallowed and he slowly slid his knife back into its sheath with a trembling hand.

  “Well then,” Lizeth said, suddenly cheerful again, “I think we’re done here.” She stopped and speared Arlo with a look “However, I would like you to remember, that if any harm comes to one of the members of my caravan, I’ll be comin’ around to look for you, Arlo.” She lowered her voice, “And, I won’t be in a cheerful mood like I am today.”

  Lizeth turned to Tarc, “I feel like a walk! How about if I walk back to the tavern with you and grab myself a quick beer?”

  Tarc nodded jerkily, still embarrassed to have had a girl rescue him. Especially a girl he found so attractive. He wanted to protest to her that he could have handled the situation himself, even though he wasn’t sure that he could have. Well, he could’ve killed Arlo by throwing his knife, but that seemed an… overreaction. Especially to a misinformed bully. He blinked. I could have slowed the blood flow to his brain! Just enough to make him dizzy, then I could have walked on by! What the hell was I thinking?!

  Walking beside him, Lizeth interrupted his thought process, “You okay?”

  Tarc nodded, “Yeah, sorry you had to get involved in that. He’s a jerk, but I should have been able to calm him down somehow.”

  Lizeth reached over and punched him gently on the shoulder, “This is the kind of stuff the caravan’s merchants pay their guards for.” She winked, “We occasionally run into hostile people in our travels.”

  Tarc glanced over at her, uncomfortably aware that, whether or not he had wanted her help, he owed her some thanks. Quietly he said, “I appreciate what you did. He’s a big guy and it could’ve turned ugly. Thanks for your support.”

  She grinned at him, “See, that wasn’t so hard. You’re welcome.”

  ***

  With irritation Daussie saw Tarc come in from the street trailed by the girl guard Lizeth. Daussie had had to cover for him on his chores during breakfast. Daum had said that he had sent Tarc out to buy something and had justified Tarc’s going during the breakfast rush by saying Tarc wanted to avoid encountering a lot of people in transit.

  Daussie thought it was a little bit crazy to be buying more stuff when they didn’t have room in the wagon for everything. She thought to herself that she was going to be even more pissed if whatever Tarc was buying required that she leave more stuff behind.

  Having Tarc return with this girl he was infatuated with doubled Daussie’s irritation. The girl was older than he was and probably the girlfriend of one of the other guards. She shook her head, he can’t possibly think that she’s going to go for him, can he?

  Daussie interrupted whatever conversation Tarc was having with the girl to point out some of his chores that were still waiting for him. The girl smiled at Daussie, then flashed a grin at Tarc. She said, “I’d better get back to the market.”

  Tarc said, “I thought you came back here for a beer?”

  “Naw
,” she winked at Tarc, “I just wanted a walk in your pleasant company.”

  Daussie’s eyes widened as she watched the girl turn and head back out to the street. Could that girl actually be interested in Tarc? She looked at Tarc whose brilliant blue eyes were staring after the girl guard. She blinked. He’d gotten tall. His short, unkempt blonde hair framed a regular face. Tarc turned to head out into the kitchen, presumably to do his chores. He had a narrow waist and fine, wide shoulders. My brother’s… handsome! Has he always been this way? Daussie looked back toward the door through which the girl had left. Could she actually be smitten with Tarc like he is over her?

  ***

  That night, Norton announced that the caravan would be leaving the next morning after breakfast.

  The Watsons spent the day with Eva and Daum. They had recruited a young man called Buddy from the caravan to stay with them and help run the tavern. This still left them with only three people to do the jobs that the four Hyllises had been doing, but the Watsons expected business to be a little bit slow until the town realized the tavern had changed hands. They hoped business would gradually pick up as the ostracism died out.

  Daum taught Mr. Watson everything he could about making beer. Watson had done a little brewing in the past, so he caught on relatively quickly. Eva tried to teach Mrs. Watson how to cook on a larger scale than she was used to. Learning to cook large quantities looked like it was going to be quite a struggle for her. Just keeping the stove’s fire burning at the right temperature was a significant challenge for someone without experience. Having a slow increase in business would definitely help them there. They cooked the dinner for the caravaners together that evening which proved to be an education in its own right.

  Tarc took Buddy around and showed him the chores he did in the stable, hauling wood and water, running errands etcetera. Unfortunately, Tarc really couldn’t take the young man on an errand himself because of the way people in town were treating him. But they did need some supplies, so Tarc showed him how to hitch Shogun up to her wagon. They’d repainted the wagon and removed a rail to dissociate it from its gory history. Tarc gave Buddy directions to Benson’s store and Stevenson’s butchery. The young man successfully returned with the requested goods. He not only got supplies to restock the pantry at the tavern, but also bought a separate list to stock Eva for her planned new businesses cooking for the caravan and making sweets for sale at markets in other towns.