by Markus Heitz
“I’ll stick the money in your powdered arse,” he yelled, attacking.
Rodario avoided the wild blow and poked his walking cane neatly between the young man’s legs, bringing him down against the wall of the fountain. His own momentum swept the man into the water. Children roared with laughter and applauded, and all the grown-ups were joining in the fun by now.
Spluttering, the victim stood up and shook himself. Rodario helpfully held out his cane.
“Out you come now and let us forget our little quarrel,” he offered. “I’ll stand you a drink; what do you say?”
The humiliated husband wiped the water out of his eyes. He did not look any happier. Uttering a loud cry he launched himself at the showman, who again proved the niftier on his feet.
The man landed in the dust, which immediately caked his wet clothing. He clenched his fists, his fingers scrabbling in the dirt. “Wait, I’ll kill you, you jumped-up…”
Rodario bent down and fiddled behind the man’s ear, producing another flower. “See, the water has made the seeds sprout.” The crowd rocked with laughter and Rodario tossed the third flower to the pretty young wife. “Now that’s enough, my good man.” He stood up straight. “I don’t want you getting hurt just because you lost your temper.”
Enraged, the man got to his feet, wiped his filthy face and stomped off; his wet shoes squelched and leaked as he walked away. As he went past he grabbed his wife by the wrist and pulled her away.
The unhappy glance she gave Rodario was the loudest silent cry for help he had ever witnessed. The gap in the crowd closed up again after them, and the showman lost sight of the couple.
“There, you see what happens if you cross a hero,” he triumphed, grinning. He bowed. “Come to the show this evening and let me enchant you all. Until then, fare you well.” Like the noblest of courtiers, he whirled his hat around and indicated with a motion of the shoulder that the performance, for now, was over.
The audience applauded again and returned to their market-day tasks.
Rodario grinned at his herald. “Well cried, cryer. Do a couple more rounds through the back streets and make lots of noise. Let’s make sure the whole world knows who’s in Storm Valley tonight.”
His man returned the grin: “After a session like that word will get around faster than a fart in the wind.”
“Not a happy choice of simile, but accurate enough in the circumstances,” said Rodario as he went over to a market stall selling wine. He got himself a beaker, tasted it and nodded. “Exquisite little drop. Worthy of an emperor. Send me a barrel of this to the road that leads south out of here. That’s where we’ve put up our tents,” he told the wine merchant, handing him a heap of Bruron’s coins. “Will that cover it?”
“Of course, sir,” The man bent over the money to count it. With these show folk you could never quite be sure. He even took the trouble to scratch at the surface of one of the coins with a knife to check whether perhaps it was merely lead coated with silver. Satisfied, he shoveled the money into his pocket.
Rodario grinned, leaning back against the makeshift bar—a plank balanced on two wine barrels. “Don’t you trust me?”
“No,” replied the vintner in a friendly enough manner. “You wanted to try the wine before you ordered the barrel, didn’t you?” He filled Rodario’s beaker again. “There, that cup and the next for free as a bonus.”
“Too kind, my good man,” laughed the showman and he looked around, secretly hoping he might catch sight of the pretty girl again. “If you saw my little contretemps just now, have you any idea who my opponent might be?” he enquired, and called a lad over who was peddling delicacies from a tray; he was offering freshly baked black bread with cream, ham and a layer of melted cheese. Rodario knew he must eat something or the wine would have a devastating effect. He didn’t want to turn up that evening the worse for wear, let alone to fall off the stage drunk and incapable when he faced his audience. He’d seen that happen to others. He bought himself one of the savory snacks in exchange for a quarter. He contemplated his purchase and thought of his good friend who had so loved these flatbreads.
“Sure I know who it is.” The vintner topped up the jug from the barrel and thus prevented Rodario’s thoughts becoming too melancholy. “Nolik, son of Leslang, the richest man in Storm Valley. The two of them own a quarry that supplies the finest marble in Gauragar. King Bruron is a personal friend of theirs.”
“And yet the man has no breeding.” Rodario took a bite. “He gets his wife to work as a washerwoman?”
The wine seller took a quick look around before answering. “Nolik is a bad man. No idea how he won Tassia’s heart. Can’t have been honestly.”
“Who will ever understand women? Perhaps his inner virtues are as gold compared to his behavior?” Rodario rolled his eyes. “This savory flatbread is de-li-cious,” he praised, his mouth full, as he juggled the snack from one hand to the other, “but it’s still too hot!” He gulped some wine to quench the burning and sighed happily.
The other man laughed so loud that the folk around them turned their heads. “Nolik and inner values? No, definitely not.” Quietly he added, “Tassia’s family owed his father money. Need I say more?”
“No.” Rodario chewed his last morsel, picked up the jug and the beaker and moved on. “Don’t forget my wine!” He raised his two prizes in the air. “You’ll have these back this evening if the barrel gets delivered,” he placated the man.
Rodario loved to wander through a busy throng of people; this was life. He had had enough of death, heroic deeds or not. He was a showman: a skilled mimic and an excellent lover—better than any other in Girdlegard. And for both areas of expertise he needed real people around him to appreciate his god-given gifts.
There was another reason he had been obliged to give up his theater in Porista: the face he had been seeking in the crowd. The face of Furgas.
The friend who had been his companion on those long theater tours was in despair over the death of his beloved Narmora and had completely disappeared since the victory over the eoîl and the conversation they had subsequently had with Tungdil.
That was five cycles ago now.
Since that time Rodario had been traveling through the Girdlegard kingdoms, doing the same thing in each town, village or hamlet he passed through: He asked about Furgas and showed people the likeness he had had made. Without success.
But he was not giving up. Not in Storm Valley, where his enquiries had been met with shaking heads when he showed the miniature portrait of his friend in the inns and in the marketplace and at the town gates.
Rodario was very worried about his lost companion. Then there was the problem of the various pieces of complicated apparatus Furgas had invented and which Rodario used in all his performances, strapped to his body: burlap seed slings to shoot balls of fire, little leather bags where the black paper flowers waited, and all sorts of other containers for powders. These were such ingenious contraptions that they let him appear in the eyes of his audience like a magus—they formed the core of his whole act. He was afraid of the day that must come when one of these trusty utensils might give up and need repair. He had always managed to cope with small defects in his props, but patching up was not always going to work.
So Rodario returned to where his troupe had set up camp, that familiar feeling of disappointment with him again. He would get over it. Back on stage he could act away his worries and forget them. The crowd loved him and thought of him as the merry showman, always bright and ready with a quip, because they had no way of seeing behind the mask.
The performance ended in triumph and in one of the colossal thunderstorms that gave Storm Valley its name and which tested the strength of the marquee’s guy-ropes to the utmost. The fabric billowed in and out, giving the audience the impression they were sitting inside some extremely unsettled intestines. Hardly had the applause died away than the audience rushed back to town for home and shelter. The sales of eoîl-breath in the little fla
cons could have gone better.
Rodario retired to his personal caravan with its mystical designs painted on the walls. This was where he prepared for his act before each performance and where he counted the takings after it. The coins were stacked on the traveling actor’s make-up table. Little by little, we’re getting there, he thought. It’s a living.
He was still wearing the robe he always used; it had been his in Porista when, as a “Magus,” he had used the name Rodario the Incredible. The tricks intended to confuse his enemies had now been downgraded to stage props. He took his make-up off and unstrapped the various trick devices from his body.
He poured himself some wine, drank it and took a look in the mirror; in the lamplight his face was much older now. “Every wrinkle is a cycle of worry.” He toasted Furgas’s picture. “May you be safe and well, old friend, until I can find you. Who could compete with your masterful ingenuity?” He gulped down the wine, not hearing the knock at the door at first.
“I’m asleep,” he called out crossly when the knocking did not stop.
“That’s good. Let me bring you a nightmare, flatterer.” A man’s voice. The door burst open, sending up clouds of dust. On the threshold was Nolik with two men behind him. They all bore cudgels.
“Awake already, my strong friend. What is the hurry? I would have opened the door for you.” Rodario jumped up, grabbing his sword. “This is a real weapon, Nolik,” he warned, tossing the hair back out of his eyes. “Don’t force me to give it your blood to taste.”
“Hark at that fancy talk even now the curtain’s down.” Nolik laughed and stepped into the caravan, his companions at his heels. He pulled open the first cupboard he came to, wrenching clothes out and hurling them onto the ground. “Where the hell…?”
“Looking for tonight’s takings?” Rodario raised his sword. “I thought you were so very rich? Is the marble not selling?”
A second cupboard was pulled open and pots, bottles and bags were thrown around. They shattered or burst open and the contents ran into each other. “You know who I mean,” yelled Nolik, taking a stride forward and crushing the valuable eoîl-breath ingredients underfoot.
Rodario set the point of his sword at Nolik’s breast. “You, my good man, shall pay me for the wanton damage you have caused here. And by all the monsters of Tion, tell me what the blazes you and these highly intellectually underprivileged mates of yours are looking for.”
“Tassia.”
“Your wife?” he laughed. “Oh, now I understand. She’s run away and you think I’m hiding her.”
“Of course. She’s always had these mad ideas, and you and your flattery have set her off again. The bed was empty yet again.”
Rodario grinned and looked past the man to his two companions. “Then take yourself back there and cuddle up to these two delights. If I were your wife I’d have done a bunk ages ago. Now get off out of here!”
No one did as he suggested. Nolik was about to open one of the chests when the showman slammed the flat of his sword down on his fingers, making him jump back.
“Touch one more thing in my wagon and you’ll be using the other hand forever and a day when you wipe your backside,” hissed Rodario, trying hard to look very, very dangerous.
“Beat him to a pulp,” Nolik ordered with a curse, holding up his bruised hand. “We’ll take the caravan apart afterwards.”
Hesitating somewhat, the henchmen pushed past their leader. They were strongly built, probably quarry workers, used to lifting great boulders as heavy as a cart. If one of them hit him with a cudgel, he would be a goner.
Then the first attack came.
Rodario deflected the club, which crashed into the side of the bed, shattering it. Underneath, Rodario caught sight of a woman’s dress—and inside the dress—who but Tassia?
She slipped against the back wall and hid her head in her hands. The brief glimpse he gained of her face showed him the black eye she sported.
“So Nolik is not only stupid, he is a cowardly swine as well,” he remarked scornfully. “If you were a pile of excrement you would stink so bad that people’s noses would drop off.” He thrust home suddenly with his sword, wounding the first of the heavies on his thigh. “But you, Nolik, are worse than excrement.” Rodario continued the flow of words, pushing his visitors back as he talked; this time he caught the second man’s arm with his blade. The two men took to their heels and made off into the storm.
Nolik glanced over his shoulder to see where they had got to, then threw his club away. “That’s enough,” he said, his voice normal now, the fury dissipated. “Tassia, get up. We owe the man an explanation.”
The girl got to her feet, picked up the linen bundle she had hastily packed on leaving, and went over to stand by her husband. “Forgive the play-acting, Rodario,” she said calmly. “I’m relieved you are not hurt, but we needed those two as independent witnesses.”
Rodario did not know what to think, but willingly lowered his sword. “So you were putting on a bit of acting for me?” he asked cautiously. “And the name of the play in question?”
“Lose the Girl and Keep your Reputation,” Nolik replied, pointing to Tassia. “It was her idea.”
Tassia stepped forward, her blond head held low. “Forgive us,” she entreated again. “Nolik and I do not care for each other and never have. His father insisted I marry him by way of repaying my family’s debts.”
“I don’t find her attractive. Don’t find any women attractive,” Nolik explained. “We’re both unhappy and have had to act out a pretense in the eyes of my father and of the whole town, until we saw a way to get out of this predicament.” He nodded to the showman. “You and your traveling Curiosum exhibition will save us, if you can help, Rodario.”
“A nice little plan,” said Rodario, gesturing to them to sit down, while he locked the door and then sank down onto the wrecked bed. He was not sure yet whether he could trust this couple. The story was a bold one, a bit like a play itself. “So what happens next?”
Tassia drew breath. “You’ll help us?”
Rodario took his time replying. Suspicion, desire and his own love of adventure were struggling inside him. If Tassia had been as ugly as a toad from a Weyurn pond he would probably have said no. As it was, desire was winning out. “How could I let such a talented actress go or, indeed, how could I leave her in distress, my esteemed Tassia?” He smiled. “You have the makings of a stage star.” He held out his hand to her. “Agreed?”
“With all my heart,” she said with joy, shaking his hand.
Nolik followed their example. “Here’s how it goes: I’ll tell my father you’ve beaten me and forced me to sell you Tassia,” he suggested. “I’ve got the money so it won’t cost you a penny. I’m free again and can get the marriage annulled, and she may go her own way. My father will have a fit, but he’ll calm down eventually.” He lifted the bag of coins. “The sight of this will cheer him. Even if it’s his own gold.”
Rodario slapped his thigh with delight; this was a fine joke. “I’ll have to write a play about this.” He turned to Nolik. “I’m surprised at you. You know the townsfolk give you a bad reputation? Yet your deeds speak for you.”
The young man grimaced. “No, it’s true: I am a bad person, Rodario. The black eye I gave Tassia is genuine—I have a very quick temper. It’s better if Tassia goes than if she were to stay.” He strode out into the rain without looking round again.
She called out after him, “Good luck.” Nolik lifted his hand in acknowledgment as he made his way back to Storm Valley.
“So, Tassia,” said Rodario. He looked at her. “Welcome to the Curiosum company. You always wanted to be an actress. How did that come about?” He patted the bed and she sat down next to him.
“I don’t really know. It’s just an urge I have.” She looked him straight in the eyes, raised her right hand and stroked his cheek. As she made the movement her shawl slipped from her shoulders, revealing bare skin. “Like the urge I have for you,” she wh
ispered. “I saw you at the fountain, with all that spurting water and the big black cloud behind you, and I was lost. You looked like a god in those robes and your jokes were like holy words.” Her pretty face drew closer. “You are the wittiest, best-looking and most desirable man I have ever met, Rodario.” She bent her head forward and parted her lips.
Rodario swallowed hard, regarded her immaculate tanned skin and wanted to kiss her. And wanted to do other things with her as well—things he excelled at. His desires were to be satisfied this very night. How most agreeable.
Then she pulled back her head and asked, “How was I?”
“What do you mean? We haven’t done anything yet,” he said in surprise, slipping nearer to her once more.
“I mean my improvised seduction scene, Master Rodario.” She edged away, laughing as innocently as a child that has stuffed its pockets with stolen sweets and is blaming another for the theft. “You were certainly taken in, I know. It was fairly obvious.”
Rodario felt Tassia had made a fool of him and it was a blow to his pride. He covered up his disappointment and transformed his surprise to laughter. “My compliments, dear Tassia!” He made her a bow and planted a soft kiss on the back of her hand. “You have mastered all the arts of declamation. It seems I should take lessons from you myself. It was magnificent how you pretended to bestow your favor on me.” He stood up and took her hand. “Come, let me show you where you can sleep tonight. There’s a bed free in Gesa’s wagon. She is an enchanting matron who looks after our horses. We’ll settle things about your wages and so on in the morning.”
“Thank you.” As she passed she caught sight of the picture of Furgas. “Who is that?” she wanted to know.
“He’s a good friend. I miss him. He used to belong to my troupe and he is an expert in his field,” said Rodario, standing as close to her as he could. She had certainly achieved one thing with her performance that evening. He had lost his heart a little bit more. “Have you ever seen him?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure,” she said, shaking her head. Her answer took him by surprise.