by L. EE
Andy examined his arm in the morning light. The pain was nearly gone and no blood had been shed. But where the bellicose had grabbed him, Andy could now see the rough, white image of its hand, as if it had branded him. The mark itched.
“Are you okay? I hope that bellicose stays away a good long time now it’s been hurt,” Alden remarked.
“We better get out of here before the farmer comes back. Somehow, I don’t think he’d appreciate seeing us.”
They gathered their backpacks, weapons, and supplies, tidied the straw their nesting had disrupted, and headed downstairs. The horse had not yet been fed and whinnied a request for breakfast.
Alden turned to it and quipped, “So your name’s Stone, huh?”
The stallion bobbed its head in acknowledgment.
“Well, I guess horses are as smart as they need to be and your name says it all.”
Stone snorted. Andy couldn’t help chuckling. “I think his name is for his color.”
Alden grinned and then added, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Midmorning found the boys approaching the center of the town of Ooggy. As usual, a thick layer of fog hovered over the community. Aqua banners emblazoned with beavers and snails lined the street that passed the governor’s residence. They could just make out large statues of a beaver and snail standing guard, one on either side of the home’s ornate front door. Outside the fenced yard, a sign told passersby, “The governor’s mansion stands as a tribute to our seafaring community with its emblems of the noble beaver and snail. The beaver symbolizes our commitment to industry and perseverance, and the snail embodies our values of deliberation and steadfastness.”
“Maybe a snail isn’t such a bad mascot after all,” smirked Andy.
Alden laughed and then reached up to adjust his hat. Knowing the prejudice many people had against Cartesians, he had taken the precaution of pushing his neon green hair under the wide-brimmed, brown leather hat before leaving the farm that morning.
They reached the town square with its prominent community well situated in the middle of a cobblestone plaza. Townspeople rested with their purchases on benches circling the well, chattering and chasing small children. One vulture-woman corralled several young birds, trying desperately to make them behave. Surrounding the foggy square they saw the outlines of shops with merchandise on display. An array of aromas beckoned to them from open doors.
Outside Stocks & Stores Mercantile a basket of yelping and growling herewolf pups attracted the boys’ attention. A colorful pixie taunted them, causing the pups to keep changing from cute, pug-nosed creatures with oversized paws into menacing, fanged attack animals. They’d transform back when the pixie praised and petted them. A sign over the basket indicated, Herewolf training supplies sold here! The shopkeeper chased the pixie off as the boys stood watching.
“Foreigners, humph. Can’t even chase off a pesky pixie,” the man fumed as he turned and walked back in the store.
Andy absently scratched the discoloration on his arm.
A group of men crowded around the window of Shamgar & Hildebrand, waving and pointing. Curious to know what created such a stir, Andy and Alden squeezed their way to the front where they beheld a beautiful double-edged sword with a burnished steel blade and finely carved wood hilt resting on a shiny piece of fabric. Andy heard one of the men exclaim, “Hugh told me he’d have the dragonwood hilt done this week. Wow! Is that a thing of beauty or what!”
“Yeah, it’s awesome!” another man agreed in a wonder-filled voice.
“I wish I could afford one,” a man standing next to Alden dreamed aloud.
From the back of the crowd Andy heard a woman call, “Earl, we need to go. The children are getting restless.”
One of the sword admirers answered back, “Coming, dear.”
Andy looked over at Alden and they both laughed.
Some shops sold notions and fabric, others carried musical instruments, and a farmer’s market peddled all manner of fresh produce: tomatoes, onions, squash, corn, watermelons, and even gnarkelbon. Andy had never heard of gnarkelbon, but Alden raved about its sweetness, comparing it to bread pudding.
“Get back here, thief!” yelled a squat man chasing the same pixie they had seen earlier. The man ducked as a tomato came hurtling at him. The pixie laughed as it launched a string of juicy moonberries at the man’s bald head, then pumped its arm in triumph as the direct hits splattered. But it hadn’t watched where it was going and dove into the back of a passerby, falling to the ground beside the boys.
Wiping the dripping juices from his head, the merchant yelled, “I’ve got you now!”
Alden watched the pixie tremble as her pursuer closed in, then made a split-second decision. “Sir! Someone’s trying to steal your vegetables. Look!” Alden pointed behind him, and in the moment the man looked away, he slipped the hat from his head, stuffed the pixie inside, and replaced it.
When the man turned back, he saw Alden’s bright green hair peeking from under the brim. “You’re a Cartesian!” he exclaimed for everyone to hear. “You’re not welcome here!”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, but I’ve as much right to be here as you. Good day.” With that he tipped the brim of his hat and walked away, Andy following close behind. When Andy glanced over his shoulder, he saw the merchant massaging his chin, unsure where the pesky pixie had gone.
Andy caught up with Alden after a few steps and asked, “What’d you do that for?”
“That guy scared the pixie. I couldn’t let him hurt her.”
Andy smiled and shook his head. “You’re such a softy.”
Alden took off his hat and released the pixie, receiving several scowls from passersby in the process. He quickly put it back on and tucked his hair under the brim again, the pixie buzzing about his head all the while.
“I think she likes you.”
“Yeah,” said Alden laughing.
Andy scratched the mark on his arm again.
“Still itches?”
Andy nodded. “It’s nothing.”
They spotted a smokehouse and ventured toward it. A decidedly fishy and smoky smell wafted out the door. As they entered, the pixie sneezed three times in rapid succession and flew off.
“Guess she’s allergic,” Alden speculated.
The shelves were stacked floor to ceiling with every type and flavor of smoked creatures: dill trout, vinegar trout, cidar trout, applewood sea turtle, lime sea turtle, pepper salmon, curry salmon, mint salmon, poppyseed salmon, sesame squid, rosemary crab, seaweed, fish eyes. After trying several free samples, the boys settled on lemon eel and bought a pound.
As they exited the smokehouse, the same vulture-woman they had seen in the town square ran them over. Still trying to corral seven child birds, each one running in a different direction, she yelled, “Come back here!” but without any result. She hadn’t noticed she’d stomped on Alden’s foot. He held it up and massaged his baby toe.
“Hey, look, Dory’s Boat Emporium,” Alden announced a few minutes later, pointing to a rather large store ahead. “Maybe someone there can tell us where we can find a skipper to get us to Sometimes Island.”
“And see if anyone knows where to find the library,” Andy added.
As they entered they read a plaque that hung on the wall: “Proud Members of the Oomaldee Shipbuilders Guild.” The sounds of sawing and hammering could be heard from the back of the store. A dozen or more folks oohed and ahhed at the pristine assortment of dinghys, canoes, rafts, and other boats. A big sign hung across the back of the store: Free delivery to Crystal River and Harbor Marina. They spotted a clerk near the pre-owned boat section and headed that way, passing shelves stocked with paddles, anchors, and nets and another sign indicating Parts Department.
The clerk didn’t look much older than they were. He was thin with piercing green eyes and wore a brown tunic and leggings. “Looks like you’re passing through town. How can I help you?” he asked.
“We’re looking t
o hire a skipper,” Andy replied, not wanting to let go of too much information just yet.
“Where ya goin’?”
“Sometimes Island,” Andy replied softly.
“Sometimes Island!” the clerk announced to the room. Customers browsing nearby overheard and glanced in their direction.
“We’d appreciate if you’d keep your voice down,” warned Alden, tapping his index finger over his mouth.
“But Sometimes Island!” the youth exclaimed again. “You are aware that it’s rumored Abaddon took it over a few months back,” he continued, lowering his voice but not enough. Andy and Alden felt more eyes staring at them. “What would you two want to go there for anyway?”
“That’s not important,” Alden interrupted. “Look, can you help us find someone to take us or not?”
The boys heard a low murmur erupt around the room.
“Crazy kids!”
“Bit slow, I’d say.”
“Good luck with that.”
A nearby salesperson started laughing, attracting more attention, and a man studying a sleek watercraft commented, “’Taint no one fool enough to go there these days.”
“Papa, did you hear?” the clerk hollered to a burly man approaching from the back.
“Hear what?
“These two are trying to hire a skipper to take them to Sometimes Island!”
“Ha! That’s a good one, boys. Now why don’t you run along home and stop making everyone more nervous than they already are. Enough joking. It’s not funny.” It was more a command than a question. Andy and Alden took the hint, turned, and headed out the door.
Back in the street, Alden remarked, “Well, that didn’t go so well, did it?”
Andy scratched his arm again.
“Come on, let’s get some medicine for your arm. I saw an apothecary over that way,” Alden suggested, taking off toward a store with Bergamot & Camphor’s Apothecary in large letters above its door.
“It’s fine, really,” Andy insisted, trying to catch up.
If Alden hadn’t insisted, Andy would have turned around as soon as they walked through the door. The smell of the establishment assaulted his senses: a mixture of rotten eggs and burned hair. Andy felt sick. Barrels of gooey stuff that looked like snot greeted them near the front door. Jars of colorful powders, fairy dust, dried karkadann horn, and ground kappa shell lined the walls. Strings of therewolf claws, dragon scales, and thunderbird feathers hung from the wood ceiling beams. Alden flagged down an elderly woman who walked hunched over.
“Can you help my friend? His arm won’t stop itching. Show her, Andy.”
Andy raised his arm for her to examine. “It’s fine, really.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge?”
Alden smiled, then seeing a jar of eyeballs further down the counter, he motioned to Andy that he would be checking those out while the woman helped him.
“How did you get this?” the healer asked.
“Uh, I’d rather not say.”
“Humph, men! No matter the size, they all think they’re the hero.”
After closer inspection, the woman concluded, “I’ve never seen anything like it. Doesn’t look like you ran into a berry bush or anything like that. Funny, it looks like a handprint. Has it spread?”
“No.”
“Well, I’ve no idea what it is. Let’s try a couple dragon tears. If that doesn’t work, I’m not sure what to tell you. Wait here.”
Dragon tears! That should cure it, thought Andy, remembering Daisy’s tears. The dragon they’d saved last year had cured Alden’s burns almost immediately.
While he waited, he looked around. Alden had his nose right up against the jar of swimming eyeballs. “Those are disgusting,” Andy said loud enough for Alden to hear.
Alden pulled away from the jar and laughed. Spotting another container on a shelf in front of him he exclaimed, “Hey look! Root of vitiate!”
“Yeah, so.”
“So? No, you don’t understand.” He chuckled and quietly said, “Oh, this would be so good.”
“What would be?”
Laughing, Alden explained, “Gnomes believe root of vitiate makes them clumsy and accident-prone. Apparently Hans had some in his office awhile ago and somehow Merk found out about it. He fussed and fumed to all the servants that Hans should be so careless to bring something like that into the castle. I vowed if I ever got hold of any I’d use it to pay him back for some of his practical jokes. This is too perfect.”
“What’s it do?”
“Drinking a glass of water with root of vitiate makes a person calm when they are stressed,” the woman replied, having returned with a bottle of dragon tears.
“But you have to drink it?”
“That’s right.”
“And if you don’t, what happens?”
“Nothing, same as any other medicine you don’t take. Now then, each drop of dragon tears is five quirts.”
Andy reached into his pouch and with Alden’s help counted out the right coins, handing them to the woman.
“Okay, let’s see if this fixes the itch.”
No sooner had the healer spread a drop over Andy’s blemish than the itch stopped, although the skin remained discolored.
“Give it a minute,” the woman encouraged. “Now, you wanted to buy some root of vitiate?”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Alden.
“That’ll be seven quirts.”
Alden paid the healer. “We can send it anonymously via pigeon post. I saw the office a couple doors down.” His eyes sparkled.
“Pigeon post? As in what we saw at Technology Frontiers during the festival last year?”
Alden nodded. “There’s a pigeon post at the castle now. Went in a couple months ago. It’s really sped up sending messages from what I hear.”
The woman examined Andy’s arm once more, but the skin retained the imprint of the bellicose’s hand.
The healer shook her head. “Strange. I’ve only ever seen dark magic not respond to dragon tears. But you’re just boys, so there’s no way that could be.” She let out an uncomfortable chuckle.
“Well, at least it doesn’t itch anymore,” Andy replied weakly.
The boys excused themselves and left the store. They both inhaled the fresh air; it smelled a whole lot better out here.
A sign on the gate of the Pigeon Post announced Service to Carta and Cromlech coming soon! They entered through an open front gate and wandered back to a courtyard full of pigeons roosting on perches. You could tell the floor had once been straw-covered, but now it had taken on a white hue. Hundreds of black eyes stared at them, accompanied by the sounds of cooing and rustling wings.
They found the operator and Alden dictated a short note: “To Merk: We’re watching you. Take some root of vitiate to calm your nerves.” Both boys laughed as they watched the youth tie the small package to a pigeon’s leg.
“How long will it take to get there?” Alden asked.
“I’d say a day. That’ll be one spanning.”
“Wow, one spanning. That’s kind of expensive, isn’t it?” questioned Andy.
“Oh, but it’ll be worth it, trust me.”
Enticing smells taunted as they passed Rayse Redolent, importers of fine teas, coffees, and spices, but they didn’t stop. Andy had zeroed in on the shop next door, Marzi Maltose’s Confections, and his nose and eyes confirmed he’d made the right choice the instant they entered the establishment. A veritable feast of sweets greeted them. Shelves behind the counter brimmed with overflowing baskets of pastries. Stacks of enormous cookies, jars of brightly colored candies, and suckers of all flavors filled the display case. Barrels held assortments of fudge and caramels on top of the counter.
“Whatcha gonna get?” Alden asked.
“Some of those.” Andy pointed wide-eyed at a bin filled with chocolate malt balls. “And that pastry.”
Alden chose sour squirts and spicy dragon fireballs.
After paying for their tr
eats, the boys walked through a forest of small round tables that filled a third of the shop. Working their way past active children amped up on candy, over legs and feet resting in the narrow aisles between tables, they finally found an empty space over by a display of sugar-coated puffball pastries. No sooner had they sat down than the pixie Alden rescued flew over to them.
Alden offered her a sour squirt, which she took. Her first bite had her turning sour apple green, a contrast from the shimmering blue she had been to this point. She shot up to the ceiling and fell back down onto the table, still clutching the squirt. The boys laughed and munched their treats. After several more bites, the pixie began zooming around the room, dive-bombing customers. Marzi Maltose himself approached their table and said with a frown, “You’ll need to take your pixie and leave, please. You’re disturbing the rest of my customers.”
Andy opened his mouth to object, but Alden smiled and replied, “We’re sorry. Please accept our apology.”
The sugared-up pixie flew drunkenly about Alden’s head, crashing into various objects and people on their way out. Several of the customers scowled as they passed.
“How long you gonna protect that pixie, Alden?”
“As long as she needs me to.”
“But she’s a troublemaker. I think it’s a bad idea.”
The pixie landed on Andy’s shoulder. Remembering the fiasco at the stables with this creature’s relatives, he felt uneasy allowing her to ride there. Although he didn’t move to unseat her, he kept glancing over.
Alden laughed. “Relax, she won’t bite.”
Andy didn’t reply.
They made their way down the street and into Chums Bait Shop near Fisherman’s Bridge. A sign out front advertised Boat Rentals. Inquire within.
“Sounds promising,” said Alden.
They both nearly tripped over a stack of tackle boxes standing just inside the door. Dusty stuffed fish trophies mounted on boards hung near the ceiling around the perimeter of the room, and bins of lures, bobbers, and old boots were piled in every available space. They passed a haphazard display of rods and reels on their way to a counter at the back where they saw a robust man.