Spies Among Us

by L. L. Bower

  I sigh. “Maybe I’ll have a home again one day where we can share tea once more.” I walk over to the curtained doorway.

  “That would be wonderful.”

  I pull back the curtain and turn. “Can I come back later, after I visit Simean, for a Wolfian lesson?”

  “Certainly, I’ll be here.” Brambel smiles.

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  Finally, after a knock and a “Come on in,” Rampart and I enter Simean’s room to find Claymont and Simean sitting in chairs with a chess table between them. I observe that some of Simean’s color has returned.

  Claymont throws up his hands. “I’m no match for him. He’s checkmated me five times in a row.”

  I chuckle. “Never challenge a champion. It doesn’t end well.”

  Claymont groans. “Now you tell me.”

  Simean looks over at my wolf. “Is this your new bodyguard?”

  “Yes, this is Rampart, son of Parapet.” My wolf barks a greeting. “And Rampart, this is Claymont and Simean.” (Merpeople don’t follow the fairy tradition of “son of.”)

  Simean interjects, “son of Gladstone. He’s a lot bigger than Brutus was, isn’t he?”

  Claymont has to reach up to pat the wolf’s head. “I was sorry to hear about Brutus. Such a fine animal.”

  “Yes, he was, but Rampart is Brutus’s nephew.” I don’t add that he’s a werewolf because of the lycanthrope prejudice Brutus warned me about.

  “Really? That’s why he so handsome.” Claymont stretches back in his chair. “I’m sure you’re here to talk to Simean, and I’ll bet you two would like some privacy. My head hurts anyway.” He massages his forehead. Then he rises, and we bid him goodbye.

  I take Claymont’s chair after he leaves. I’ve wanted to talk to Simean alone ever since we rescued him. I have several things to ask him.

  Chapter 18 – Simean’s Past and Brambel’s Revelation

  Simean speaks first. He stares at my chin, and says, “I like the new, clean-shaven look.”

  “Thanks, Crisa spiffed me up.”

  “Maybe I’ll have her clean me up too.” He rubs his grizzled beard and leans forward. “How goes the war?”

  “Fine, for now. Did you hear we neutralized Galdo’s magic?”

  “That’s wonderful. Since I’ve been cooped up in here, I haven’t heard much. But Crisa did tell me about Brutus, and I’m so sorry.”

  “Yep, I’m going to miss him a lot.” I switch topics quickly. “Are you going to be at dinner this evening?”

  “Yes, I think I can walk that far now.”

  “I’ll catch you up further then.” I raise an eyebrow and take a deep breath. “What I’d really like to hear is how you became a champion. Did you step on a royal fairy too?”

  He shakes his head. “Not quite. I brushed up against some Omniweed while camping in the backcountry. I thought I’d lost my mind when I first saw the numinal world, more specifically fairies. To make matters worse, I stomped on every fairy I saw, to make them go away, because I thought they weren’t real. I believed, if I stomped on enough of them, I’d get my sanity back. But, of course, they didn’t go away. In fact, King Aubrey ordered his army to kill me before I murdered anymore of them.”

  I frowned. “So why didn’t you die?”

  “The king’s daughter, Starla, had mercy on me. She visited me one night, floating above my bed, all golden and glittery. I thought I was having another hallucination, so I shut my eyes.

  “But then she put her little hand on my forehead and said, ‘You’re not crazy, Simean. The creatures you’ve been seeing, the inhabitants of our land, are real. When I touched you just now, I made your special sight permanent because Fairyland needs a new champion. I’d like you to take the job. Otherwise, my father’s armies are on their way here to destroy you because of the deaths you’ve caused.’

  “I can’t tell you how much shock and guilt swept through me. After she explained what a champion was and how much was at stake for the creatures of Fairyland, I said yes. What choice did I have? If nothing else, I wanted to prove to myself I wasn’t crazy, and I wanted to make up for killing all those innocent fairies. I should’ve become a bogle, except that only fairies can become bogles. At the very least, I should’ve gone to prison.

  “When I consented to be the new champion, Starla flew to her father to tell him I’d accepted her offer. When he heard the news, he ordered his soldiers to turn around.

  “Since then, I’ve grown to love the fairies, as I’m sure you have too.” I nod. He looks down and sighs. “Killing some of them has been the biggest shame of my life.”

  I cock my head. “Have you ever regretted your decision to become their champion?”

  “Yes, there have been times, like when I was battling Delbo, when I thought, ‘What in the world am I doing here? Why did the Creator pick me for this job?’ ”

  I give him an understanding nod. “I’ve had similar thoughts.”

  Simean crosses his legs. “But then I realized I was the perfect choice—single, young, few ties. And, while I was doing something positive for Fairyland, I was also making our human world a better place, as the Creator showed me.” Simean thrusts back his shoulders. “And I’m ready to do battle again, if need be.”

  “Are you up to that?” I ask, worried that he might try to do too much too soon.

  He smiles. “I’m feeling better than I have in a long time, although I’m not ready to run a marathon, or even a mile, yet. But don’t tell Esmeralda. I like having her as my nurse, checking in on me. She’s a beautiful woman.”

  When Esme was introduced to the rest of us as a cat, Simean was sleeping. I debate whether or not to tell him the truth about her. I hate to embarrass him, but I think he should know. “Esmeralda isn’t what she seems.”

  Simean frowns. “What do you mean?”

  I pause. “Are you ready for a shock?”

  He tilts his head.

  I look down at my lap. “She’s a cat.”

  Simean hops up out of his chair. “No, that can’t be. I mean, we’ve had some nice conversations, and she’s so intelligent and human...like.”

  “I wish I was kidding. Trust me, she’s Crisa’s cat. Crisa transformed her into human form to wait on you.”

  He pulls on his beard. “No wonder she moves with such elegance and grace. Shoot, I was hoping there was a spark there. Of course, I’ve always loved cats.” He grins.

  I sigh. “I’m afraid her taking an interest in you is about as possible as Crisa taking an interest in me.”

  “Ah, so you like Crisa?” He cocks his head.

  I release a long breath. “For whatever good it does me, yes. But I’m not her type.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We’re from different worlds and backgrounds. And there’s the little problem of her being nearly immortal. She’d watch me age, while she remained as beautiful as she is today. Why would I wish that on anyone?” I shrug.

  “I guess no one told you...” His voice trails off and he sits back down, dropping his head into his hands. I get the feeling he’s not as strong as he’d like me to believe.

  “I’m wearing you out. I can come back later.” I get to my feet.

  “Sit down. I’m fine, and I’m enjoying our conversation.”

  “Are you sure? Because I do have one more question, from one champion to another.”

  “Ask away.”

  I take a deep breath. “How did you reconcile your old life with this new one? In other words, how were you able to turn your back on your old life and embrace the role of champion?”

  “Ah, a poignant question and one that only another champion can answer. I fought against this new life for a long time, even refusing to practice the centaurs’ training when they weren’t around. I nearly flunked out.”

  He smiles. “But that’s not the worst part. I ran away. Left Fairyland and went back to my old life. I couldn’t take the expectations and stress on my shoulders anymore. I didn’t consider myself brave
in any sense of the word and thought the Creator had made a mistake.” He laughs. “As if a divine being could make mistakes.”

  So Simean struggled with the champion’s role too. Intrigued, I ask, “So what was your turning point?”

  “It was something my father said when I was growing up. He told me I would never amount to anything because I had no backbone. That statement haunted me all my life, and I firmly believed it.

  “After I abandoned my champion’s role, I went back to being a warehouse clerk, a job I’d worked at for ten years. It wasn’t a bad job, just not where I’d imagined myself as a kid. I wanted to be an astronaut.” He grins.

  “One morning as I was stocking shelves, I remembered something the Creator told me. ‘You are a king in my kingdom, and I will give you the strength and abilities you need to succeed at whatever you do.’

  “It was like a door opening. I realized that my father had projected his own insecurities onto me, and he didn’t know who I was. And the Creator did.

  “I gave notice to my boss that day and returned to Fairyland with renewed vigor. And you know the rest.”

  He sighs. “We like to believe we’re independent, secure individuals who don’t need anybody. But that’s a lie. Not only do we need each other, we need a connection to the divine and a purpose greater than ourselves.”

  I sit back in the chair and rub my chin. “Thank you for that. I needed to hear it. As I embark on a new adventure into the unknown, you’ve given me new ideas to ponder.”

  “What’s this new adventure?”

  “Can I wait to tell you about it until dinner? I plan to tell everyone then.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m supposed to meet Brambel, the garden gnome we rescued from Galdo’s prison, for a language lesson in Wolfian. It’s been nice catching up with you.”

  He looks relieved, like our talk really has worn him out. “Good luck with that.” He tips a pretend hat to me.

  “See you later, champ,” I comment as he heads for his bed, maybe to take a nap. I pull open his bedroom curtain, exit the room and let the curtain drop behind me.

  I head to my bedroom to see if Crisa has left a travel list for me yet. I look around and don’t see anything until Esme in human form glides into my room, a piece of paper in her hand. Rampart growls and jumps to his feet. She must still smell like a cat to him. Esmeralda arches her back, and a hiss escapes her lips.

  I grab Rampart by the scruff of his neck. “Haven’t you met Esmeralda yet? This is Crisa’s friend.”

  Rampart sits down and sighs. I let go of his ruff.

  I thank Esme, take the note from her and watch her saunter, with feline grace, out of the room on two legs. I open the piece of paper and see that it’s my packing list.

  At the bottom of the list, it says, “Meet me in the kitchen after lunch, and we’ll get ready for our trip.”

  The list is long, some of which I don’t recognize. “Waterproof backpack, food and water for two days, medical supplies, hooded waterproof coat, warm but thin blanket, 150-foot ropes, climbing harness, climbing shoes, hiking boots, carabiners, quick draws, belay devices, crampons and climbing anchors.” Then there are “gloves, a change of clothes, cooking implements and eating utensils, and a tarp.” Of course, I’ll also be taking Noblesse and Nobliege. I’ll leave my armor behind, since it’ll be too bulky to carry or wear if we’re going to climb a lot.

  I wonder why Crisa doesn’t use at least some magic to reach the fairies, but she must have her reasons.

  All I can provide on the list is a change of clothes and sturdy boots, which I’ll wear in the morning. I’ve worn my boots all over Fairyland, so they’re well broken in, probably stinky too, although Crisa can fix that. I’ll also take Noblesse and Nobliege, even though Nobliege doesn’t fit his sheath well. I consider leaving him behind, but General Barambula suggested I’d need both swords in the future, and I relish the idea of having two swords again. I can’t even provide a coat because the nice jacket I once owned, along with everything else in my forest home, was destroyed by the dark ones.

  Crisa will find my contributions to her list very paltry. I gather together the few items I can offer and place them on my bed, ready to take to her after lunch.

  I ask Rampart to wait for me in my bedroom while I head over to Brambel’s room again for a lesson in Wolfian. I want to impress my wolf/man later with what I learn.

  As I enter Brambel’s bedroom, he has a huge smile on his face. When garden gnomes smile, their whole face lights up, so I can’t help but smile too. “What makes you so cheerful all of a sudden?”

  Instead of answering me, Brambel throws me a riddle. “When is a ground gnome not a ground gnome?”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. When is a ground gnome not a ground gnome?”

  “When he’s a garden gnome.” He chuckles. He raises his finger, points to the wall and shoots a line of sparks that leave black marks on the stone.

  I stare at the marks, dumbfounded.

  “Galdo didn’t steal my power after all,” Brambel states. “After you left this morning, I prayed and asked the Creator for direction for what I should do with the rest of my life and how I could defend my family and village without my numinal power. He responded with a question. ‘What makes you think you don’t have your power?’

  “I explained that Galdo said he’d removed my power, but the Creator said, ‘No, he didn’t. He only thought he did. The magic he constructed lasts only a short while before it dissipates. Then it travels back to its owner. Galdo doesn’t know this and thinks he has acquired the powers permanently. That’s why he keeps experimenting on numinals. He believes all he needs to do is perfect the process.’ ”

  Brambel raises one side of his mouth in a smirk. “The Creator said the process will never be perfected.

  “Next, the Creator told me to take a nap and when I woke up, I’d have my power back. He said, ‘Galdo can’t steal what was never his because I’m the one who gave you your power.’

  “I slept and dreamt of lightning striking me. When I awoke a little while ago, my power was partially restored. While my zapping power hasn’t fully regenerated yet, I think it will. Its use may be tied to how long it’s been since it was stolen and my physical strength.”

  “I’m so happy for you. Praise the Creator.” I clap him on the back.

  “If I wasn’t on the weak side,” Brambel says, “I’d be jumping up and down right now.”

  Brambel giggles and motions for me to sit down. “So now, I’m my ornery old self again.” He takes a deep breath. “And now that I’ve told you my good news, it’s time for a lesson in Wolfian. Let’s get started.”

  An hour and a half later, I’ve learned a few phrases and quite a few words in the “barking” language of the wolf. Wolfian is not as complex as English and reminds me of Morse code with its combinations of short and long barks, yips and whines that make up many different expressions.

  Even though my wolf understands English, even in wolf form, I’ve learned phrases that I might not want someone else to understand, particularly in a sticky situation, like “Attack!” “Go for help!” “Find Crisa” (or whoever), or even “Change to human form,” if he needs two legs instead of four. If he’s hungry, I can now find out what he wants for dinner.

  My language skill will also come in handy when Rampart senses a dark creature. I can decipher what kind of creature it is, as Brambel taught me the Wolfian words for bugbear, troll, ogre and bogle, among others.

  After thanking him for his help, I’m about to leave when Brambel’s lunch arrives, brought to him by Claymont, which is my signal to head to the dining room for my lunch. When I get there, I find sandwich makings, apples, bananas, and homemade brownies. I craved brownies a lot in prison, so I grab three of them.

  After lunch, I return to my bedroom, load up the few supplies I can provide from our packing list and head for the kitchen. This time I take Rampart with me. On the way, I ask him in Wolfian if he’s hungry.

/>   Even though he knew I was learning his language, Rampart still exclaims, “Calen speaks Wolf!” in quick yips. Then he licks my hand and answers with “yes, always” and “hamburger” in more yips.

  When I get to the kitchen, Crisa has most of the items on our packing list laid out on the long stone counter. I add my meager contributions to the pile.

  She even has a backpack for Rampart. “We have so much stuff to carry that Rampart will need to take some of the items. Is that okay with you, Rampart?”

  He nods his head yes.

  “Can we get him a plate of hamburger?” I ask. “I asked him if he was hungry, and he wants hamburger.”

  “Ah, so you’ve learned some of his language.”

  “Yes, thanks to Brambel.”

  Crisa conjures up a plate of hamburger and sets it on the floor. I look over the counter full of supplies and see among the items the small leather pouch that carried Crisa’s spell books back from Galdo’s prison.

  I point to the pouch. “You’re not about to leave those behind, are you?”

  She smiles. “You’re right. I won’t risk my books getting stolen again. They’re a magician’s lifeblood.”

  “But won’t they be heavy?”

  “They miniaturize upon entering the pouch, so they don’t weigh much.”

  So that’s how she does it.

  I indicate the climbing gear on the counter in three neat piles, ready to pack. “I gather from all that equipment that the fairies live on a mountaintop.”

  “Not quite, but we will have to climb to reach them.” She gives me a mysterious wink. “A fairy messenger arrived this morning to tell me the king is looking forward to your arrival.

  “I told the messenger we’d arrive tomorrow night, barring any unforeseen circumstances, and that we’d bring your bodyguard with us. I explained that he’s under bonded obligation to be your protector and can’t be left behind. I also gave my personal assurances that he can be trusted not to reveal the fairy village’s location. I didn’t say anything about his being a wolf because he’ll be in human form. He’ll need two legs to reach our destination.”