A Gathering of Fools

by James Evans

  THE SUMMONS HAD arrived first thing in the morning and was delivered to his room when the maid brought up a tray of breakfast. Marrinek took the note and ordered two more trays of food from the maid then broke the seal on the paper and glanced at the message:

  The Snarling Goat, noon

  Succinct and potentially interesting. He stuffed the note into a pocket.

  For the moment, though, he had more pressing questions, like what to do with Floost and Darek. He sat on this bed watching them devouring a tray of food.

  “The problem,” he said, “is what to do with the two of you.”

  He paused at a knock on the door. The maid came in with another tray piled with bread, cheese, dried fish, pickled onions and a jug of coffee. As she turned to leave Marrinek said, “Can you pass me my staff please, miss? There, by the door.”

  “Yes sir, if you wish,” she said, curtseying. She reached out her hand to grasp it but stopped with her fingers at least six inches from the green wood.

  “I… I can’t, sir, it’s not right.” There was a look of horror and disgust on her face as she bobbed another curtsey at Marrinek and fled from the room.

  “Interesting, don’t you think, that she couldn’t pick it up?”

  Floost shrugged, clearly not at all interested. Darek ignored the question and started eating a small loaf from the second tray. Life on the streets had made them suspicious of promises and they had quickly learnt to eat whenever food was available.

  Marrinek opened his mouth to tell them why it was interesting then thought better of it. Not all questions had to be answered as soon as they had been asked. Instead he focussed on the food, conscious that he had lost a lot of weight over the last couple of years.

  “You should really be in school, both of you, preparing to go to an Imperial military college, or something similar, but that’s not an option at the moment, especially as the nearest suitable institution is hundreds of miles away. Maybe we could find you a local version but without the funds and a sponsor of good name the chances that they would accept you are slim. I think the only thing to do is for you to stick with me and I’ll train you myself, at least for a short while.” Marrinek stopped, as if only now realising that he had been speaking aloud.

  “School?” said Darek through a mouthful of bread, “What for?”

  “Yeah. What for? Anyway, we can read and write.” said Floost, defiantly. She smeared runny cheese across a chunk of bread and kept eating. Marrinek stared at them in open surprise.

  “You can read and write? Good, that will make things easier. Tell me, Darek, can you pick up my staff?”

  The twins looked at him as if he were an idiot, then Darek reached for the staff. He stopped, hand just short of the surface, frowning at something sensed but not understood, then stretched out and closed his hand around the staff and pulled it toward him. He held it out toward Floost, who grabbed the other end, quickly pulling the staff away from Darek before putting it down on the floor.

  “It’s strange,” said Floost, “it feels like there’s something wrong with it. As if it doesn’t want to be touched.”

  “Like it’s cursed,” said Darek looking at Marrinek, suddenly worried, “it’s not is it? Cursed, I mean? Is it safe to touch it? Why didn’t the maid want to touch it?”

  “Good questions. Safe? That rather depends on who you are and what you’re trying to do. Safe? Yes, but only in the way a blade is safe while sheathed. It won’t hurt you, if that’s what you mean, and it definitely isn’t cursed, but it has been made to feel, well, ‘unclean’ or ‘wrong’ to anyone other than me who tries to hold it. You felt it too, just as the maid did, but for her the feeling was so strong she couldn’t even touch it, let alone pick it up. How do you think it works?”

  “Is it like magic?” said Darek with a nervous laugh. Their father had told them tales of the great magicians of legend and their works, of how they had shaped the world and its cities, cast out demons and dragons, built towering castles and thrown down evil kings. Magic was the stuff of fairy tales and myth, used to entertain children and in the telling of tall tales around a low fire late at night. Few city dwellers really believed it existed. They believed in the application of scientific power, of course, because they could see it every day when they looked at the city walls or the lamps on the docks or the work of a craftsman-practitioner but that was just part of everyday life.

  Marrinek smiled.

  “Well, that rather depends. No, it’s not magic, at least not in the way that most people use the word. There are no spells or incantations or potions that can produce the effect you are feeling but if you don’t know how it has been done it can look very much like magic.” He picked up the staff and rested it on the floor, point down.

  “What I did was alter the fine structure of the wood, twisting it to change its properties. Exactly what I have changed and how I did it are things we might discuss in the future. For now, you need only know that this is an object whose form I have chosen and crafted, altering the raw wood to suit my purposes.” He fell silent, thinking.

  “It needs a name, really,” he said quietly, half to himself, “one that reflects its character, its potential. At the moment it’s just a tool, a shaped thing, like a shovel or a brush.”

  They ate silently for a few minutes, although the trays were now almost empty. Then Floost, pushing away her empty plate, spoke.

  “It’s dangerous but it moves with grace, like the tumblers you see in the market on holy days. Bone Dancer, because it breaks bones when it tumbles, a dangerous dancer.”

  “Bone Dancer,” echoed Marrinek, tasting the words as they rolled across his tongue, “yes, that will do very well indeed. Bone Dancer it will be. Pass me that roll of tools,” he pointed at the crafting tools in their leather roll, “and we’ll make it permanent.”

  He unrolled the leather and laid it on the bed. Then he placed the staff across his knees and picked up Needle, the smallest of the five tools.

  “Move closer and pay attention. Empty your minds and concentrate on what I’m doing.”

  He shuffled the staff around so that the lower end was resting on his right knee then, wielding the crafting tool like a fine brush, he focussed his power and touched it to the surface of the wood. He worked quickly, drawing the tool over the surface while delivering a fine stream of power, tracing the staff’s new name across the wood. Bone Dancer glowed brightly, pale yellow against the dark green of the shaft, then faded away until the letters were barely discernible. Marrinek returned the tool to the roll and fastened the tie.

  “Did you see what I did, or feel it?”

  “I, I think so,” said Floost, “it was like you’d pulled something from the air and it was flowing into the staff, but I couldn’t see how you did it.”

  She was leaning forward now, eager to understand, her earlier reticence and suspicion driven away by a sudden need to learn more.

  “Can you teach us?”

  “I can teach, yes, but can you learn? Do you have the strength, the will, the determination to succeed, or will you give up as soon as things get difficult or frightening or dangerous? Those may be the bigger questions and I don’t have the answers,” said Marrinek, looking from one to the other, “do you have the answers?”

  Floost opened her mouth to answer but Darek go there first.

  “How do we know we can trust you? We don’t even know your name. What’s to stop you leading us on and selling us to Madame Duval when you get bored?”

  Marrinek raised his eyebrows, surprised. He scratched at his beard with long fingers.

  “You’re right, of course. I could sell you to Madame Duval. Or to anyone else, for that matter - there’s nothing you would be able to do to stop me!” and he stood, suddenly, twirling Bone Dancer. He seemed to grow before their eyes, to become menacing and threatening and dangerous. Where before he had seemed like a kindly teacher, now he appeared as a malevolent spirit, a powerful evil bent on havoc and mayhem and death.

&nbs
p; Floost and Darek, still sitting on the floor, scooted backwards as fast as they could until their backs were against the wall. They clutched each other and looked on fearfully but, the transformation was reversed as quickly as it had happened and suddenly the man before them was again the teacher of a few minutes earlier. Marrinek sat back down on the edge of the bed and propped Bone Dancer against the wall.

  “But you have my word that I will not and that, instead, I will do whatever I can to keep you safe from harm while you are in my care. You will be my apprentices and I will expect you to study, work hard and follow my instructions, even when they seem strange or unpleasant. The work will be long and difficult but in return I will feed, clothe and house you and teach you the rudiments and details of my art.”

  “Why,” said Floost, “why would you want to do that?”

  Marrinek smiled sadly as he pulled the words together.

  “Do you know how long talented people can live?” asked Marrinek. Floost and Darek shook their heads. “How old do you think I am?”

  “About forty?” said Floost as Darek said “Fifty?” Marrinek snorted.

  “Bloody hell. I’d forgotten how bad children were at guessing the age of adults. No, I’m not forty or fifty. I look about twenty-five, which you’ll appreciate when you’ve seen a bit more of the world, but I’ve looked this way for over a century, now. I’m a hundred and twenty-seven years old.”

  Floost and Darek goggled at him, stunned, then they giggled.

  “No way,” said Darek, “nobody lives that long, not even the priests, and all they do is sing and lecture and wave incense around all day!”

  “One of the things you’re going to have to understand very quickly is that I don’t lie, as a general rule. I was born a hundred and twenty-seven years ago in Esterengel and I lived my first twelve years on the street, just like you.” Marrinek paused to let that sink in. He could see the twins struggling to accept it and decided now was the time to share the full secret.

  “As you learn to use your talents, which I believe are going to be strong in both of you, you too will find that the years stretch and that you age far, far more slowly than other people. It can be lonely but I’ll teach you to deal with that as well.”

  “We might live to be a hundred?” said Floost, eyes radiating disbelief, her expressions comically identical to Darek’s.

  “Easily. Nobody really knows how long we might live. The advantages are obvious, the disadvantages, less so,” he tutted and shook his head, “age is a distraction for now. Forget about it, just know that if you accept my teaching and learn to use your talents, you’re going to have more years to fill than most people. That in itself is reason enough for tutoring apprentices; it gives us someone to talk to in the long, long future we have before us, someone with whom we have shared life experiences.”

  He paused, noting that the twins were looking at him strangely. Too much information, too quickly. And too weird. He sighed.

  “So there it is. My offer is training and tutelage, apprenticeship, food and lodging, protection, loyalty and friendship. In return, you do what I say, when I say, for as long as your apprenticeship lasts. Do you accept my offer?”

  The twins looked at each other, then Floost gave a little nod and they turned back to face Marrinek.

  “Yes, we accept.”

  “Good, then you must commit, now, wholeheartedly, and we will begin immediately. Give me your right hands.” He held out his hands.

  Floost and Darek looked at each other again then back at Marrinek. Tentatively, they each held out their right hands, placing them in Marrinek’s. He folded his hands gently around theirs and focussed.

  “This may sting a little.”

  He pressed, just so, wielding a little power, and twisted a shape in his mind. Floost and Darek flinched but didn’t cry out. Marrinek held them a moment longer then opened his eyes and released them.

  “Now you are marked as apprentices. My apprentices. Anyone of talent will be able to sense the mark if they hold your hand and focus in the right way and they will know that you have been apprenticed.”

  The twins looked down at their wrists where they now each had a red dot the size of a penny, raised slightly above the surface of the skin.

  “That will fade over the next few days but the effect will last forever. I’ll show you later how to shield the mark, should you need to, or to disguise it so that your enemies can’t see it.” He paused a moment, then added, “Or my enemies, for that matter.”

  Marrinek sat back on the bed and looked at his new apprentices.

  “So, Apprentices. You can call me Bay in private or Master in public, since that’s what I will be. Appearances, especially in this city, are important, so you will learn to be good apprentices, to bow and to scrape when necessary, to lie and to cheat if appropriate, to work power and people and tools as circumstances dictate.

  “I’ll teach you about your power, how to wield it, how to control and how to hide it. I’ll teach you the mysteries and the techniques, the methods of charm-making and the ways of their use, I’ll show you Flow and teach you to use it for defence and attack. I’ll train you in weapons and healing, philosophy and politics, history and languages and every other thing I can think of until you’re sick of knowledge and thirst for a time of peace and quiet.

  “But the very first thing you need to learn is trust. Or, rather, trust in me. This works in both directions, so I’m going to set you tasks and you’ll return here this afternoon once you have completed them.”

  He pulled out his purse and removed six shillings, giving three to each of the twins.

  “First, find yourselves some new clothes. Two sets each, plain, with travelling capes and hats, a pair of boots and packs to carry your belongings. We will stay here for a while but if we need to move I will want to move quickly. Then find a smith and buy two plain iron rods about eight inches long.”

  He looked at them both.

  “Do you understand?” They nodded and he said, “Good, then get going. I’ll be out most of the day but I will return later this afternoon and we will begin your instruction.”

  Floost and Darek scrambled up and headed for the door.

  “And be careful,” said Marrinek, “I don’t want to have to rescue you again.”

  When they had gone Marrinek finished the food and coffee then pulled on his boots, checked that his knife and purse were secure, slipped his almost empty pack over his shoulder and picked up his staff. He left his tools and the sword on the bed and followed the twins downstairs, pausing at the bottom to talk to the innkeeper, who was polishing the bar in the taproom and keeping an eye on her staff as they prepared for the day’s trade.

  “I’ll need another room, something grander, with a sitting room, and second a room with two beds for my apprentices. Do you have something?”

  The innkeeper stroked her chin thoughtfully and said, “I have a small suite of rooms on the second floor that’s just come free today ‘cos Master Warnt has left to return to his home upriver. It’s small but it has two modest bed chambers and a shared sitting area, if that would do?”

  “That sounds fine. You can move my things from my room as soon as you are ready, and make sure everything is properly aired and cleaned. That should cover board for a while,” he said, placing three shillings on the counter, “and I’ll want breakfast for three each morning when the first bell sounds.”

  The innkeeper nodded and the coins disappeared into a pocket in her skirts.

  “Right you are, sir, I’ll sort it out for you. Is there anything else you need?”

  “I have business at The Snarling Goat. Where will I find it?”

  “Ooh, that’s a rough place, sir, and no mistake. But, if you’re set on visiting, you’ll find it in the Narrows, up towards the docks where the sailors drink. You watch your purse up there, sir.” Her face showed genuine concern, maybe because she feared his purse wouldn’t return to extend the rent on the suite.

  “Many thank
s, mistress, I will take care. Until this afternoon.” He nodded to her and walked across the taproom to the door, his staff rapping on the boards as he went.

  Outside the inn, the day was busy and the street full of people. Marrinek made his way toward the docks but stopped at a barber’s shop, stroking his beard with his left hand. Then he made a decision and pushed open the door to the tiny shop. Inside he found a single chair for clients and a second for those waiting, both currently vacant. A tall thin man with no hair of his own was sweeping the floor and he looked up as Marrinek closed the door behind him.

  “Good morning to you, sir. How may I be of service?” asked the barber, taking in Marrinek’s dishevelled beard and unruly mop of hair.

  “Tidy and trim the beard to match the current fashion, tidy the hair but leave it long.”

  “Sir is from out of town, I gather. In Vensille, sir, gentlemen wear their beards half an inch long and neatly cropped. Many of my clients have their beard trimmed every week. Hair is also worn short. If sir wishes to blend with the crowd then sir might like to consider shortening his hair as well as his beard.”

  Marrinek looked at himself in the small hand glass held by the barber, turning this way and that as he pretended to consider the advice.

  “As you see fit for the beard,” he said finally, “but I rather like the hair; just trim the ends and, oh, I don’t know, make it work in a tail of some sort.”

  “Very well, sir. If sir would sit back and relax,” said the barber, preparing his instruments, “this will take a few minutes.”

  Half an hour later Marrinek again checked his appearance in the hand glass. He had to admit that the trimmed beard was a definite improvement over the chaotic thatch he had sported until recently but sartorial elegance had been a long way down his list of priorities for a very long time. He ran his fingers along his jaw line, enjoying the feel. Such a look would have been impossible inside the Imperial court, where beards were still considered a sign of foreign barbarism, but here they seemed to convey a certain power to the wearer.