***
Katrin pounced.
Varnia started at her companion’s sudden movement and Kaymar, who was escorting them on a shopping trip, laughed out loud.
“And she finds something pretty!” he announced, well accustomed to her enthusiasm in shops.
Katrin shook her head, turning around. She had pulled a man’s walking stick from a rack.
“Going to take up carrying one like Glad?” Kaymar teased. Gladdas Dalmanthea occasionally used a walking stick, courtesy of a knee she’d injured on a mission many years ago.
“No – for Borsen,” Katrin explained, holding it out. “It’s too short for me. Kaymar, give it a try.” She handed it to him.
He inspected it first.
“Very nice,” he said appraisingly. “Well spotted, Cuz!”
The stick was made from the very strong but light, striped wood of the bowerbriar tree peculiar to southern Barambos. The shaft was carved intricately in a pattern of twining vines, with mischievous, tiny faces peeping through the leaves. It was topped with a smooth, shining white marble orb, veined with dark green.
Kaymar studied the hardware below the knob, made a sudden twisting motion with his hands and drew a slender swordblade from the shaft.
“Very nice indeed,” he said, his voice tinged with covetousness.
“You may not have it,” Katrin decreed.
“You’re right. It’s too short for me as well, but it would be perfect for Little Man,” Kaymar appraised.
The shop owner, sensing a sale, came over.
“You missed,” he said, holding his hand out for the stick, smiling. Kaymar sheathed the sword and handed it over. The man demonstrated another secret – he turned the lower part of the shaft and revealed a hidden tube flask, ready for the beverage of choice of the carrier.
“And this!” he continued enthusiastically, unscrewing the knob and showing them how the marble globe had been hollowed out and filled with metal. “Lead! Very heavy! Bad men threaten, bop! Right on head! They leave you alone.”
“Just the thing!” Kaymar laughed. “A sword, a lead-loaded handle, a flask for his kirz and beautiful to boot. He can guard his chastity from bad men with its bopping power. Do you have any more?” he asked the shopkeeper, who hurried him over to the rack.
“Don’t get one like this,” Katrin warned him.
“Give me a little credit for consideration, Katrin,” he responded wryly, pulling a very different stick from the rack.
Katrin turned to Varnia, who was trying to disguise her disappointment that she hadn’t happened on the stick first.
“Why don’t we both give it to him?” Katrin asked, her face glowing with happiness. “From his sisters.”
Varnia swallowed several times before she trusted her voice.
“Yes,” she answered huskily, smiling as Katrin handed her the stick. “Isn’t it lovely?”
“One thing…” Katrin turned toward the shopkeeper. “The marble – from the quarry down the road?” she asked.
He bobbed his head enthusiastically.
“Yes, from the Portos quarry. Made right here. Portos famous for the carved walking sticks.”
“Perfect!” Katrin smiled at Varnia. They had seen Borsen nearly ecstatic at the quarry when they visited it, somehow asking questions of men who spoke no Mordanian or Surelian, while Borsen spoke no Baramban. But he managed and they showed him many things about the stone, even teaching him a little about how the stone was cut. He’d been covered with white marble dust by the end of the excursion and was now at their hotel, getting ready to go to dinner.
They got back to the hotel in time to change, then rushed down to the lobby where everyone was waiting for them. Borsen was standing at the wide double doorway, looking out over the tumbling mountains and valleys that stretched as far as the sea in the distance. He was startled when Katrin and Varnia walked up behind him, and turned, his top hat in his hands.
“We have a present for you!” Katrin announced as Varnia held out the paper wrapped stick to him. Borsen looked puzzled and then laughed softly as he reached out for the stick.
“Thank you, my dears.” His powerful, small hands unwound the paper – then he was silent as he looked over the exquisite carving and cupped his hand around the marble knob.
“It has a sword and a flask inside,” Katrin told him.
At that, Borsen smiled.
“It’s absolutely beautiful,” he said, the words coming slowly, as they always did when he was emotional. He kissed each of them on the cheek and then turned, stepping onto the verandah of the hotel, putting on his hat and giving the walking stick an experimental twirl before planting it on the floorboards and leaning on it as he looked out over the mountains.
Menders looked at Borsen’s silhouette against the bright late afternoon sunlight – the perfect evening suit and topper, the elegant lines of the young man’s small figure, one arm outstretched to rest atop the slender walking stick.
He had a feeling of time moving, shifting beneath him like sand on a beach. It was not an unfamiliar sensation. He’d encountered it before when Hemmett appeared before him in full dress uniform at his graduation ceremony, when Menders had seen him as a grown man for the first time. Now it had come for Borsen.
“My lost and found boy,” he whispered. “So soon.”
Portos, Barambos
20
Borsen’s Turn
F
rom Menders’ Journal
A very unexpected request from Borsen today. As I handed out the various travel documents for our journey to Samorsa the day after tomorrow, he asked if he could stay behind in Barambos for a while.
Borsen has proven before that he’s capable of managing on his own. His trip to Erdstrom to take the examination to become a Guild tailor was solo, at his request. He stayed in Erdstrom for a week, living in a hotel and taking care of all his affairs admirably.
But this is a foreign country – albeit a friendly one. Borsen doesn’t speak the language and he wants to spend time looking at the various marble quarries. This entails some risk, as all of them are not the carefully kept tourist attraction that the one here in Portos is. He could be injured – and even if he dresses carefully to avoid attention, there is always the possibility of him being robbed.
Eiren and I have talked this conundrum over. Like me, she wants Borsen to have his freedom and strike out on his own, but she also sees the potential danger. If I could have Kaymar stay with him, I would be completely confident, but that wouldn’t be letting him be an independent young man, which it is high time he should be able to be.
Fussy old Papa Hen! I’ll talk to Franz and Kaymar.
Menders unaccustomedly tossed down his pen and walked away without corking his ink bottle. He rapped a code on Kaymar’s door as he passed on down the hall to the suite Franz was nested in.
“Ah, Head of Household, looking dire!” Franz announced as Menders poked his head in after knocking. “Come in. I know exactly which of your chicks has ruffled your feathers.”
“Now see here,” Menders said abruptly, though he was inwardly amused at Franz’s teasing. It was simply part of his nature and was never taken to heart.
“Don’t slam the damn door in my face,” Kaymar added behind him. Menders looked around to see that he was scowling.
“Were you napping?” he asked with just the right touch of sarcasm.
“I was trying. Katrin and Varnia are giggling and jabbering so much I figured I might as well come in and listen to you squawking.”
“For Grahl’s sake!” Franz exclaimed, rising from his comfortable chair. “No, don’t you dare sit there, go on the sofa. Here, I’ll give you a drink. You’re like a petulant child sometimes.”
He poured a brandy and handed it to Kaymar, who stretched out on a short sofa and looked somewhat mollified. Menders shook his head and settled in the other easy chair.
“Now then, I imagine Borsen has announced his plans to you,” Franz said. “Yes, he
told me what he wants to do, asked if there was anything he needed to consider regarding his health if he stays behind on his own. I gave him a clean bill of health and told him not to tumble into any quarries.”
“I knew what he was thinking about, though he didn’t ask me directly,” Kaymar added. “He’s absolutely enchanted with that blasted marble.” He pulled out his cigar case and offered one to Franz, who accepted. Lighting his own, he puffed for a moment and then looked over at Menders.
“The answer to your question is that I don’t know.”
“And my question?” Menders shot back testily.
“You want to know if he should stay here by himself. That’s the question any concerned parent would ask,” Kaymar replied. “Thing is, I simply don’t know, from a security point of view.”
Menders nodded.
“Franz – I know we’ve discussed this a number of times – do you have any further clues about his age?”
When Borsen was hired as an apprentice for The Shadows’ tailor, it was assumed that he was around Katrin’s age or a bit younger – at the time, thirteen years. He’d been the size of an eight year old due to years of malnutrition, and his undisguised joy at being among people who cherished him, particularly after Menders realized he was his nephew, made him seem younger than thirteen.
As time passed and Borsen confided in both Menders and Kaymar about his childhood, particularly the death of his mother, they came to doubt their original estimate of his age. He had no idea of his birthdate, either year or day, but as he worked at The Shadows and began to formulate a plan for his future as a tailor, he showed a maturity and determination that outstripped the age he’d been assigned.
“Unfortunately, boys aren’t like horses – I can’t look for a particular tooth and know that he’s over a certain age,” Franz replied. “Judging by his physical maturity – he could be anywhere from eighteen to twenty. No baby fat in his face, strongly muscled, physically mature. Like all Thrun, little body hair, so that’s no gauge. I think worrying about his physical age is pointless – what is he capable of handling mentally?”
“He’s already handled burdens that would break most people,” Menders said softly.
His companions became very quiet.
Borsen had been with his mother as she starved and froze to death during a bitter winter in Eastern Mordania. His father had abandoned them months before. He returned when he heard the mother was dying and forcefully carried Borsen away. He’d tried to push Borsen into acting as a lookout while he broke into houses, but discovered that the boy could hardly see. After that, he’d had no use for Borsen and the Thrun woman he lived with barely fed the child. Until Borsen came to The Shadows, he’d been skeletal with a swollen belly, and picked through garbage bins behind stores and restaurants, looking for scraps.
“We know he’s mentally capable,” Kaymar said, breaking the silence. He sat up, all business.
“Cuz, I’ll give this to you as a professional. We need to put the fact that we all love Borsen aside and look at this objectively,” he began. “I’m confident in his ability to stay here for a few weeks and then board the proper train to travel to join us in Samorsa. Borsen’s capabilities do not concern me. He’s a prodigious young man, be he sixteen or twenty-two, either of which is possible.
“What does bother me is the fact that he will not have a soul to turn to should something go wrong. The people here are easygoing, but he doesn’t know the language and very few of them speak any Mordanian or Surelian. He’s become known in town since we came here and many of the people seem to like him. He’s a favorite at the quarries, here at the hotel and in the hotel bar.”
Menders nodded.
“I think there are resources here, if he needs help,” he added to Kaymar’s appraisal. “The hotel management speaks Surelian. That’s a plus. The local sheriff could be informed and asked to be aware that he’s here alone. Same for any clergy at the temples.”
Franz nodded, intrigued by the way the cousins worked together, building on each other’s ideas and opinions.
“Now I’ll point out the grundar in the room.” Kaymar took up the thread. “He’s tiny. We know that, of course, but we’re used to it. We don’t see him as vulnerable, but that is a sad truth. I was very glad when Katrin happened upon that walking stick. I’d have never thought of it, but it’s the ideal weapon, because he loves it and is never without it. We know he’s always fully armed, but the truth is, should a big man ever get a good grip on him, Borsen would lose the fight. I doubt he weighs much over a hundred pounds.”
“About a hundred and ten,” Doctor Franz nodded.
“After my run-in with DeLarco, I’m well aware of how Borsen would fare if anyone much larger ever got hold of him,” Kaymar continued, referring to his nearly fatal fight with the assassin who had been given contracts on the entire Shadows family. “He wouldn’t have a prayer.”
Menders stood and paced across the room, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“Yet he seems inspired – as if something is taking hold inside of him,” he said. “He told me that ideas for the establishment he wants to found in Erdahn are crystallizing in his mind. Those are his very words. I can’t quash that, but yes, I see all the dangers and they terrify me. But we’re agreed. He is definitely of age. It was out of courtesy and love that he asked me about this. I can’t forbid him from it.”
There was silence as Menders made another circuit of the room, staring at the floor, every line of his body taut with tension.
“All right then,” Franz refereed. “We’ve laid out all the problems and I believe we’re all aware of terrible possibilities as well as Borsen’s resourcefulness and maturity. Now we need a solution.”
Menders turned to Kaymar.
“As you are his other foster father, I defer to you,” he said quietly. “You have the ability to be more objective about the children than I can be.”
Kaymar looked startled for a moment, then gathered his thoughts.
“By chance, I think I know what to do,” he ventured. “I had sent for a new Kaymar’s Man, Willem Robbins, to join us here for a tour of duty with us in Samorsa, relieving Jorgen. Borsen has never met him because Willem’s been based in Artreya. He’s due in on the train from Surelia tomorrow.
“I can assign him here instead, to guard Borsen covertly. It would be real help if there should be any trouble – and I can trust him to be discreet and not give himself away. He’s good.”
Menders looked so relieved that Kaymar laughed a little.
“I know it’s duplicitous and that we should just tell Borsen that he’s being guarded – but I’ve seen that inspiration in him as well. He has big dreams and I’d like to see him achieve them. This strikes me as the best compromise we can make, Menders.”
“Then we make it,” Menders said decidedly. “Do you concur, Franz?”
“Absolutely. It’s a relief to know someone will be here with him. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
“All right, fellow hens, now I’m going back to my nap,” Kaymar drawled, rising from the sofa.
***
Borsen walked jauntily down the road toward the stables, ready to claim his saddle mount for the day. He wanted to visit two nearby quarries and was getting an early start, his lunch in a rucksack, his pistol and knives at his waist and his walking stick in hand.
He’d been on his own in Barambos for a week now and was thoroughly enjoying himself. He loved his family but sometimes the enclaved situation that went along with being close to royalty grated on him – as it sometimes did on Hemmett.
At first he and Hemmett considered staying behind together, but then realized it would cause difficulties with Katrin’s security if Hemmett wasn’t available to take his duty shifts. Hemmett had confided secret plans to beg extra time in Samorsa, as he was wildly interested in the schedule of sporting events advertised in the city of Sarnovilla.
A cacophony of enthusiastic braying could be heard and Bors
en laughed out loud.
The favorite beast of burden in Barambos was not the average saddle horse, but sturdy animals referred to as “little donkeys” by locals and tourists alike. They hauled loads and people and were legendary for their sure footedness on the steep tracks leading down the mountains into the quarries. Horses and even mules couldn’t be trusted to safely scale those near-vertical tracks.
On his first trip to the stables, Borsen had been approached by one of these little donkeys. It was a chipper and cheery gelding and it seemed to fall in love with Borsen at first sight. He laughingly took it out the first day. By the time they arrived back at the stable that evening, Borsen was more than ready to pay the owner to allow him to reserve the donkey indefinitely.
Borsen asked the donkey’s name but the stable owner registered confusion and shrugged. So Borsen nicknamed the little creature Boss, because he was one for taking over when circumstances required it.
If they approached a rough and steep portion of a trail, Boss would carefully take the bit between his teeth, effectively taking Borsen’s guidance out of the equation. He would find his way down confidently and carefully. As soon as they were clear of the dangerous area, Boss would release the bit and let Borsen guide him again. If other donkeys approached Borsen, Boss intervened with much head shaking and braying. If a person approached that Boss didn’t recognize, he went on guard alert and stood in their way, showing his teeth and laying his very long ears back.
Best of all, Boss had learned a trick where, when his rider took out the lunch parcel, he would hold it delicately between his teeth until the preparations for his own noon meal were done. When Borsen offered Boss a nosebag, he would release the parcel and enjoy his own meal, always finishing it in time to beg bread crusts from his rider.
The owner of the stables was delighted to rent Boss so consistently and also rejoiced that Borsen was so small.
“Good for donkey,” he said every time Borsen turned up to take Boss for the day. He made signs to indicate Borsen’s size and that the light weight was good for Boss’ back. Considering the way some of the donkeys were loaded up with marble or very large tourists, Borsen could understand.
Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series Page 19