Servants and Followers

by Courtney Bowen

  “I’m full,” Basha patted his stomach.

  “Well, you shouldn’t have tried the quiche then.” Fato chomped down on swan meat.

  “For such a small bird, you sure have a large stomach.” Oaka remarked.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Fato glared at Oaka.

  Basha noticed a woman walking through the arcade and gulped. “Nisa?”

  “What?” Monika asked, looking up as well.

  “That woman was Nisa.” He stood up to follow her through the passageway. “She was a waitress at the inn, not really extraordinary, but I swear I saw her kill some very large rats.”

  “As in ‘the rats are burning’ dream?” Oaka asked.

  “Helllooo!” A voice Basha didn’t recognize called out, distracting him from Nisa.

  But as he turned to face the white-haired man, with red and black streaks, standing before him, a bard holding a guitar, he recognized him. “I’ve seen you somewhere before, have I not?” The bard asked.

  “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” Fato parroted back, causing the bard to laugh.

  “‘The wise fool, best among men, He walked along the road and sang, Til-dee-um-bum...’” Basha heard the song playing in his head. “Paracleus?” Basha asked.

  “Paracleus, what a strange name.” Fato shook his head.

  “That’s it!” Paracleus cried, turning around to strum his guitar and face the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, I stand before you all here today to introduce to you a sweet young man I first met several months ago in the sleepy village of Coe Baba. He sat before me, all forlorn and ‘woe is me’-ing over a pretty young girl, one assumes, who hadn’t come to see him on his birthday. Which should’ve been a most joyful occasion.”

  Every eyeball in the hall turned on Basha and started laughing. Basha sank in his seat as Fato cackled and Oaka tried to contain his alarm.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I ask him, is this young woman sitting next to him now,” The bard indicated Monika, “the young woman that he loved then?” He turned on Basha.

  “Uh...no,” Basha blushed as he spoke in a low voice.

  “What’s that?” Paracleus strummed his guitar. “I can’t hear you!” He and almost every other voice called out then.

  “I said no!” Basha cried as Monika thumped her head down, embarrassed.

  “That’s it!” Paracleus danced off, strumming his guitar. “‘Too-loo, Too-ra, Too-ray,” he sang, spinning about, “‘I dance in the hall of the lords today,’ mm-hmm,” he sang to the ladies watching him.

  “‘Too-loo, Too-ra, Too-ray, I sing of the rain on the sunny plains.’” He mimed rainfall as he skipped along.

  “‘Where will I be tomorrow? Oh, I care not a wig, not a fig,’ uh-huh,” He turned around.

  “‘Though I’ve great stress,’” He jumped up backwards so that his bottom landed on top of a table, and groaned as he crossed his legs.

  “‘Though I’m under duress,’” He griped as he pulled out a fork from underneath his bottom, which caused everyone else to laugh.

  “‘Still I’m glad to say that I’m a bard!’” He finished off his song as he flung himself backwards to lie spread-eagle on top of the table, scattering plates, bowls, and cups everywhere.

  Almost everybody clapped and laughed in astonishment, though Basha, Oaka, and Monika lowered their heads so as not to be pointed out. Fato didn’t help as he was one of the loudest guffawers attracting attention.

  The bard got up and bowed, apologizing for the meals he’d destroyed. But Basha thought he’d noticed something red and furry flicking out from the bard’s bottom just before the man pulled up his tights slightly, like a tail.

  Basha forgot all about Nisa as he wondered if he was seeing things. “Paracleus!” Basha called and went after the bard leaving the hall.

  “Oh, what is it, what do you want?” Paracleus turned around and faced Basha in the corridor outside. “Is it to complain about my tomfoolery? Well, I’m sorry, but if you want to avoid becoming the butt of any joke made by a desperate bard looking to generate some laughs, then don’t mope!”

  “I just wanted to ask who’s Jobe?” He was going to ask about that glimpse of a tail, but then he’d recalled that Paracleus was the one who’d called him a ‘dreary, nasally Jobe,’ same as Jona’s son.

  Paracleus sighed and patted Basha on the shoulder. “Jobe’s a poor bard’s son who doesn’t know what it means to be a bard, just like his father. Now go back in there and eat, be with your girl! I’m going to leave here tomorrow morning anyway. Don’t worry about ever seeing me again! People will soon forget what I’ve just said, and you can rest assured, the mockery will turn against them one of these days.”

  “Monika isn’t my girl, she’s just my friend! I still love the girl back in Coe Baba, the one you heard about. I intend to marry her as soon as I complete my quest.” Basha insisted, despite his growing doubt.

  “A quest? Oh, how noble and magnanimous of you!” Paracleus snorted. “That certainly does sound fabulous, what a remarkable thing! Maybe you’ll become famous, eh? The minstrels will sing about your exploits! The minstrels certainly do like to boast, they can’t get enough of heroes and heroics. Makes a great big wind for them to blow, and they certainly do blow hard. Maybe that girl in Coe Baba will finally look up to you, eh?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Basha glared at the ground.

  “Of course you don’t, poor pretty boy.” Paracleus simpered.

  “In any case, I wanted to clarify that, and I think I met Jobe’s mother Jona in Coe Anji. She said I reminded her of her son.”

  “Yes, I met both Jobe and his mother in Coe Anji. There’s certainly a resemblance, but I wouldn’t boast about that. Just get back to the feast, boy.”

  Basha glared at the bard, wishing he could think of a witty repartee to lash back. But he turned around and followed Paracleus’s suggestion, unable to think of anything better to do. He might’ve been slightly drunk.

  Paracleus shook his head and returned to his quarters, getting ready to leave. Wherever he went, he was always leaving, never able to settle down for very long. It’d always been that way, ever since he’d lost his home long ago.

  * * * *

  “I can’t believe the captain of the guards would borrow a scribe like me.” Hava grumbled, picking at his food while Marlo the steward sat across from him, drinking wine. “That man doesn’t need a secretary. His duties don’t require a lot of paperwork. I think he just needs someone to yell at. Take notes whenever he feels like complaining. And he does complain. That man has an enormous ego the size of—he’s not right behind me, is he?” He nervously checked.

  “No, Goga’s too far away to hear what you’re saying, relax.” Marlo shook his head. “I understand your frustration. When I was eighteen, I still had high hopes of leaving Coe Aela. It was worse in those days. I thought that if I refined and dedicated myself, I could be transferred, as a butler, to a higher household. However, I’m satisfied now. Fobata isn’t so bad, compared to his father.”

  “I came here to serve a Duke. I didn’t come here to serve Goga.” Hava laid back in his seat. “Hopefully, His Grace will tell Captain Goga that he has no right to borrow me.”

  “Don’t hold your breath. If Goga was a regular captain of the guards, Fobata wouldn’t allow it. However, Goga isn’t, and Fobata has to be wary of keeping good relations.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Nothing, besides, our lord doesn’t have the luxury of noticing little things like you. Right now, he’s distracted worrying about the group that arrived today. They’re all young, yet they’re supposed to be…troublesome.”

  “In what way?”

  “I’m not allowed to tell.”

  “I just want to know!”

  “You ask too many questions. It’s just two boys, a girl, and a falcon. I even questioned Gnat, and she told me they were harmless. Yet none of us, especially Fobata, can take that for granted. He wants to know
more, so I’m supposed to be spying on them. Yet I’ve too much to do. How am I supposed to spy on them managing the whole household? Someone else must do it, but there are so few I trust.”

  Hava reached for his glass of wine, and spotted a brown-haired man in his mid-twenties clearing off silverware and plates at the end of their table. “Janus!” He cried and turned to the steward. “Marlo, meet a friend of mine, Janus, a good fellow.”

  As Janus approached, Marlo frowned, wondering how long the man had been down there, possibly listening to them. Still, if Hava trusted him, perhaps it didn’t matter. Janus stopped and bobbed his head, smiling as he waited for his superior to speak.

  “So, your name is Janus…it’s a unique name, isn’t it?” Marlo appraised the other man.

  “Yes, but I can’t help it.” Janus shrugged, eyes gleaming. “It was given to me, so I shall use it as necessary. However, I thought you knew every servant in the castle.”

  “It’s difficult to keep names and faces straight. I do recall, however, that you’re fairly new.”

  “So am I, Marlo, but that didn’t stop you befriending me.” Hava pointed at Janus. “He’s treated me likewise. He works well enough without protest, and he deserves kindness. Perhaps if you give him that assignment, he won’t fail you.”

  Marlo studied Janus again. “Will you work for me without question, and do what I ask?”

  “I swear upon my name.” Janus smiled.

  Marlo decided to take a chance. Perhaps Hava was right, and he was being too harsh on Janus. However, if Hava was wrong, perhaps it might be worth the risk to find out the truth about Janus.

  Marlo gave Janus his assignment, as Nisa, dressed in servant’s clothes, stood beside the arcade’s columns, watching them. After Mirari had taken charge of the wounded Sir Nickleby, Nisa had decided to go on ahead of the boys to Coe Aela instead of trying to track them down in the populous town of Coe Anji.

  It was a risk to leave them unsupervised for so long, but she needed to take the time to establish herself as a servant at Coe Aela so that she could observe them in this more heavily guarded environment. She didn’t know what’d happened in her absence, but apparently enough had occurred so that now they had a young Zarien woman and a royal messenger bird traveling with them.

  That was a surprise, but at least they looked well enough from what little she’d seen. She hoped it was the best decision in the end, to give them some freedom and autonomy from near-constant monitoring. Now that she was here in Coe Aela, though, she was starting to get an inkling about the dubious circumstances surrounding this place, and knew she should keep a close eye on Basha, his group, and those watching them in turn.

  Meanwhile, with the feasting over, everyone was dismissed and Basha and his group got up. They wearily followed another servant back to their rooms. Basha fell asleep that night, dreaming of squid eyes and dancing pigs splattered with blood.

  * * * *

  This time, Iibala rode a horse into town, as she’d learned her lesson from this morning. It was late, not quite midnight but close, and it’d been a long day.

  She’d spent most of it taking care of her father, who was incoherent when awake, but still he’d recover. Now that he was asleep, she’d decided to seek out some information from the people who’d been aware of everything going on with Basha.

  She dismounted her horse and set off down the path to Old Man’s hut. She didn’t know what she might find inside, but she was considering going right up to knock or sneak around, check if he was awake or asleep.

  She’d no real plan in mind, just confronting him with what she knew and what had just happened with her father. She wanted to ask why he followed Basha around, what sort of secrets he’d kept from them, and what kind of danger Basha was in. She hoped she might get some answers, doubtful that he would oblige.

  She slowed down and edged towards the shadows beneath the trees as she got close, not wanting to alert Old Man to her presence. She wanted to startle Old Man before he startled her, let him be disconcerted and shocked for once in his long life.

  Iibala peered in through a crack in the window shutters at the dark interior. She spotted Old Man’s sleeping form on his cot across the room. She decided to go in through the window, another chance to frighten him a lot.

  Nervously, she pried open the shutters and squeezed in through the opening. She nearly fell over his table underneath the window, but managed to miss and land on the floor instead.

  Iibala grinned, proud of herself for being so bold and cunning as she started to creep towards Old Man. She wanted to wake him up with a frightful scream or a violent shake, when the shutters banged shut.

  Iibala spun round, wondering if the wind would do her job to wake and scare Old Man. Suddenly the pages of a book left on the desk started to curl at the corners, and then flip over on their own. What a wind, she thought, yet she didn’t feel the breeze, just her spine shivering.

  A glow seemed to fill the room like a star bursting open. Though the lighting was wrong, she spun round, hoping it was Old Man lighting a candle to confront the trespasser.

  Instead, a shimmering vortex appeared, and a figure strode through, entering the hut before the light faded. Iibala, who’d been blinded, now saw a woman with ash-blond hair frayed at the tips and clinging to her scalp swing about to face her. The woman, who was completely transparent, had thin lips pursed in a determined frown with straight, rounded nostrils flaring.

  Iibala could sense nothing but death now. “Who or what are you?”

  “I’m a ghost, a spirit.” The woman traipsed toward her. “My name was Kala, and you’re trespassing.”

  “Kala? Basha’s mother?” Iibala staggered back, shocked.

  “How do you know my son?”

  “I sort of dated him for a while a few years ago.”

  “You’re Iibala, aren’t you? I remember, Old Man mentioned you when he was concerned. But I told him you seemed safe enough. You wouldn’t keep Basha for long.”

  “I’m sorry I betrayed him. I thought he was just a boy.”

  “What are you doing here?” Both Iibala and Kala asked each other at the same time. They stopped, and stared at each other.

  “I visit Old Man on occasion. Sometimes he summons me, sometimes I come of my own accord.”

  “Is this why Old Man watches out for Basha? Because you came over and spoke to him?”

  “It is, I did. I watch over Old Man now that he’s watching out for Basha. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to ask Old Man some questions, specifically why he watches Basha. Tell me, is Basha the tiger of light?”

  “Why are you asking?”

  “Because my father nearly died! He was attacked by Black Wolves. He’s safe now, back home, but I want to know why, if it’s all worth it!”

  “It is, never doubt that. I’ll tell you the truth you want to hear, and what you don’t want to hear, what you cannot imagine. My story.”

  Kala floated down, and spoke to Iibala for well over an hour. As Iibala listened, eyes widening, Old Man pretended to sleep, having been disturbed by Iibala’s and Kala’s arrivals.

  He knew Kala’s story, but Iibala needed to hear it so that she might stop pestering them, and Kala needed to share some of her secrets to another so that she could rest undisturbed. Iibala would keep her secrets.

  After Kala finished, Iibala returned home, satisfied and bewildered enough not to ask any more questions for now. When Sisila came to visit and Mirari arrived to take care of Sir Nickleby the next day, Iibala decided it was time.

  Iibala sat down with Sisila in the parlor, tea service and cakes laid out as Iibala told Sisila what she knew or guessed of Basha’s fate. Mirari had shut the door to Sir Nickleby’s room, and so didn’t hear.

  Sisila listened anxiously, then was silent for a moment before she laid down her tea cup and plate, got up, and went outside. Iibala watched her go, worried, and then ran outside to comfort Sisila when she screamed in pain and agony.
<
br />   She should’ve been more careful, not so careless with Sisila’s feelings. She hoped things would turn out all right.

  “What’s going on here?” Mirari rushed outside.

  “I told her the truth.” Iibala grimaced, her arms wrapped around a crying Sisila. “Now please help me.”

  They brought Sisila back into the parlor where she wept on the couch as Iibala and Mirari stepped off to the side.

  I don’t understand this mess, but I’m half inclined to walk out of here.” Mirari muttered.

  “No, please don’t go. We need you.”

  “Why should I stay and help?”

  “I didn’t want to do this, but I might be inclined to talk about your healing power.” Iibala glanced up at Mirari.

  “No one would believe you.”

  “They might if I were to show magical abilities of my own that’d prove I knew what I was talking about.”

  “You’d condemn yourself along with me?”

  “I would, unless you help us. You’re a healer, isn’t this what you’re supposed to do?”

  “I’ll help your father, of course, but what do you two need help with?”

  “Magic. We need you to teach us how to use it.”

  “Whatever for? I’m not a teacher.”

  “I know, but any help you can give us will be most appreciated. We’re inexperienced and rudderless. Sisila barely has any knowledge of her talent, and I’m able to sense certain things, but I can’t control my power. You’ll help us, won’t you? Otherwise we’ll be forced to fend for ourselves, to control and constrain our powers. Others might suffer for it. Magic can be dangerous, to both the person who wields it and those around them.”

  “All right, I’ll try to keep you both safe and protect those around you. But I expect a higher fee. The one we’ve negotiated for your father’s treatment won’t cover this.”

  “That’s fine, I expect that.”

  “I also want you to talk with Sisila about these lessons beforehand, but not right now. Let her rest, recover from the shock. You’ve done enough damage with whatever you’ve said.” Mirari glared at Iibala. “I’m leaving town for a couple of days, to patrol the surrounding area and see if anyone else needs my help. Your father isn’t going to be my only patient while I’m here. I’m going to earn more money and save lives. I’ve got a son, Eldo, to support back home, too.”