Tarbaby Trouble [Mudflat 1]

by Phoebe Matthews

  "That's terrible,” I said, thinking Alakar should marry whom she pleased.

  Nance replied, “It will be if Kovat sees her rolling her eyes at the son of his enemy."

  The games that followed equaled the chaos of the banquet. Watched by gaudy spectators and stuck with grand and lengthy toasts plus the background babble of the crowd, combatants managed to pass most of the day standing in knots arguing the rules, which made me kind of homesick for Saturday afternoons in front of the TV. Was this their version of a time-out?

  The contestants were young men from both armies, and also sons of captains and a few others whose relationships to Erlan and Kovat were complicated. Nance tried to explain marriages, alliances, chosen heirs, and so forth, until my head ached. Or maybe the headache was from trying to keep my lashes down while I searched the seating area. With head ducked and half-turned, this maneuver made me cross-eyed.

  Nance hissed, “What are you doing?"

  "He's behind Ober,” I whispered, took another quick glance, saw the hooded head swivel away.

  We were both doing this furtive watch thing and maybe I should just stand up and wave to the bastard. I might have, except Kovat was between us and I didn't think he would be amused.

  "Who's behind who?” Nance asked.

  "Ober's Deathwalker critter. He keeps watching us."

  Nance paled and whispered, “Stop that! Do not look at him again."

  When Kovat nodded at us, Nance and I removed our scarves and stood up in our temple robes. As usual, Nance had wound up my hair with ribbons and gold threads. As usual, my hair was already slipping out, a few messy strands hanging in my face. We chanted over the bowed heads of the contestants, promising that the Daughter of the Sun would insure victory to the most courageous.

  A chill wind whipped our robes and pulled loose another strand of my hair. As I turned to gather up my scarf and sit back down, I found myself meeting Ober's stare. She looked away.

  I turned to hide my face from her and whispered to Nance, “Whenever I look in that direction, Ober is watching us."

  "I think its you she watches,” Nance replied. “I wish I knew why."

  The men on the field formed themselves into teams and were identified by colored arm bands or ribbons tied to belts, same old same old, a playground method. Not that there was anything playground about the games.

  These guys played for blood. Occasionally the groups broke, the crowd roared and opponents from the two armies challenged each other to a variety of weird confrontations I could not figure out, despite Nance's explanations.

  What occurred was this. Either one on one or group against group, moving, sometimes on foot and sometimes on horse, all carrying similar weapons or all barehanded, they threw themselves at each other. The purpose eluded me. It was, I think, clear to the onlookers because they roared in unison, both cheers and insults. A bit like a soccer game or even football, with weapons added, except there were no goals and no one was actually trying to move in any direction on the field.

  Men fell from their horses, crashing to the field with their spears caught in each other's leather tunics, ripping off metal discs and probably bits of flesh. They rained blows on each other with the flats of their swords and clutched each other with bare hands.

  I did realize that the combatants who spent the least amount of time lying on the ground drew the greatest approval. I am not as stupid as all that, but why these men chose to throw themselves at each other's fists and swords was what defeated my understanding.

  When I murmured my confusion to Nance, she asked, “Do they not play games in your land?"

  "Games, yes, but the players don't try to kill each other."

  "What do they kill?” she asked.

  Surprised, I blurted, “They kick balls around, not each other."

  "Why would anyone kick a ball? What sort of game is that?"

  Okay, let's not even think about explaining baseball.

  The combatants on the field paused to take turns mounting the steps to our platform to stand below Kovat. He gave short announcements of their names and accomplishments and handed them small gold medals. Ugly wounds afflicted all the participants, winners as well as losers. The crowd played side games spasmodically with sometimes greater violence than did the players on the field. Certainly they were noisier.

  Tarvik stood facing an opponent, his feet wide apart, his hips a bit forward and his shoulders back, his arms hanging loose at his sides, his fingers only slightly curled, his chin up. He wore a leather tunic and a leather war helmet which covered his head but not his face, and high boots, but his arms and knees were exposed.

  The crowd quieted and drew closer to the field to watch. Some signal was given, the waving of a banner and a scream, as best I could tell. He bowed and drew his sword in one smooth motion. My breath stopped, and maybe my heart, when he threw himself forward, diving, it appeared to me, directly onto his opponent's sword.

  Templekeepers did not shout and did not show preference, Nance had warned me, but she whispered, “Well done."

  "Well done? He looks to me like he's trying to kill himself,” I muttered.

  "No, no! He gains a point. See there, now he is uppermost."

  "But they will murder each other!"

  Nance grinned and whispered, “Sometimes but not very often. Those game swords are made of wood, not metal, and they are blunt, the edges dull. And lighter than a real sword. They bruise but don't cut very well."

  As if that information was going to console me. Okay, in a way it did. It meant I probably would not see heads actually rolling across the field separated from their bodies.

  The dances were more pleasing to watch, and an escape for me as I looked away from the games and toward the fields beyond the games. I could hear the music in the distance, light tunes which were unfamiliar to me but played with the tinkling of many bells and the soft thumping of a drum to keep the rhythm.

  Watchers lined the clearing, but beyond them, many small groups gathered in the sunlight to dance. Dressed in their dull brown and gray clothing, they had tied bright ribbons in their hair and around their necks and on their wrists, really, it seemed, anywhere a bit of color could be attached. They twirled in circles around each other, moved in and out, forming patterns that reminded me of square dancing. From the distance I could not see the steps they did, but I could hear their laughter. They swung about each other, holding hands, linking elbows, all very pretty and much more to my liking than the fighting.

  When I looked back at the field, Tarvik stood with another man, their backs to me. Tarvik was easy to spot with his mop of yellow hair. His companion's hair was a duller shade. He was a bit taller than Tarvik, and a bit narrower. His leather tunic left bare his muscular arms.

  "Is that Artur with Tarvik?” I asked Nance.

  "Yes, he serves as Tarvik's companion guard. Handsome, isn't he?” she said. “They fight together as a team."

  I had no idea what she meant until they pulled on their war helmets, turned to stand back to back, and drew their swords. They were then circled by a team of four other fighters with drawn swords. Artur and Tarvik turned inside the circle.

  "If they can hold off the challenging team for a set amount of time, they tie. If either team drops a sword, the other gains a point."

  "Is that a fair match, four against two?"

  "Not for some. But Artur and Tarvik always win."

  "What an odd game. Who thought of that?” I asked stupidly.

  "It's how warriors fight in real battle, covering each other, only then they are trying to defeat their enemies, not just win points."

  Defeat. Another word for slaughter?

  By day's end, Tarvik had claimed a handful of medals from his father, winning, Nance said, more than any other contender.

  When he came toward us and mounted the steps to face Kovat, I turned away, unable to look at the dirt and clotted blood that covered much of him, nauseated by the thought of the pain he endured. The boy was as d
eranged as the rest of them, I suspected, because he was grinning as he pulled off his helmet and bowed to Kovat. He seemed extremely pleased with himself.

  Turning, he put his hand over his heart, looked to the other side of where his father sat, smiled, and bowed again. Nance and I tried not to be too obvious, but hey, we had to swivel about to see. Alakar nodded and then gave Tarvik a quick smile, and damn, the girl even batted her eyelashes at him.

  She really was a girl and I am not being petty. Way too young to be promised to anyone, I would have guessed her at ten except for the figure. Standing, she might have come up to Tarvik's shoulder, a little bit of a child-sized thing, except for the voluptuous bod. Nance confirmed that Alakar was sixteen or so and when I was about to put my foot in my mouth, I realized that Nance and Alakar were about the same height. Comparison stopped there. Nance was cute. Alakar was glamorous.

  "Good thing he chose her to bow to,” Nance whispered.

  "Either of us would have told him to go wash,” I agreed and she giggled.

  "She travels in the shadow of her mother's deathwalker,” Nance whispered. “So almost anyone looks good to the silly hen, even our Tarvik."

  "About the deathwalker, get a look at his boot toes if you can."

  "Far more fun to watch my cousin play lover."

  It was hard to believe such a muddy, bloody boy could arrive at the evening banquet with clean hands and face, wearing dark red velvet with fur collar and cuffs and a fair amount of gold bangles. He even wore a crown that night, a small gold circlet inlaid with a pattern of red stones that sparkled in the candlelight.

  "Garnets,” Nance said. “Tarvik's favorite jewel."

  "Garnets? He mentioned something about a garnet prince."

  "That's Tarvik's position as the heir of the house of Kovat. It's one reason he likes garnets, but the other, ah, look at him dressed in red velvet."

  "It's his favorite color?"

  "It's his favorite self,” she scoffed. “He knows he's handsome and he likes showing off."

  "Then you'd think he wouldn't take chances on getting cut and scarred,” I said.

  Nance giggled. “The only thing he likes better than dressing up is doing anything that gets him top to toe muddy."

  That evening's banquet exceeded the previous one in both sound and length. Too much rich food and too much drink and more noise and shouting and arguing. As though there had not been fighting enough at the games, occasional guests fell on each other and had to be pulled apart and sometimes carried out of the hall.

  "Wish they'd carry out Ober's guard with his feet in the air. Gotta have pointed toes on his boots."

  "He neither eats nor drinks,” Nance said.

  "Honestly?"

  "The dead don't,” Nance muttered.

  We hung in there for a while hoping he'd walk past us, but no luck, and feeling beat from the long day, we cut out. When we returned to the temple, we could still hear the noise from the castle.

  Odd though. When we left the castle with our guard, the deathwalker still stood behind Ober like a frozen shadow on the wall. As we went down the path, I saw tree shadows shiver in the wind. And then between them, clear on an open stretch of starlit path, I saw another shadow, long, a hood shape at the top, for the time it took to blink and then it was gone. Not even time to elbow Nance to look.

  "Be careful tonight,” I said to the guard. “I think someone followed us."

  I guess no one ever said anything like that to him before, because he blinked, stared at me, then mumbled, “Thank you, lady. I will be watchful."

  Nance wandered inside to her bed and fell onto it fully clothed and covered in paint and gold threads. I removed the heavy ceremonial robes and the jewels and paint required by the banquet, untied and unwound my hair and combed it out, then washed myself top to toes. Before tumbling onto my pile of blankets, I pulled on a clean linen tunic.

  Perhaps I should have been surprised to hear the pounding on our courtyard gate later that night, but by now I was rather used to it.

  So when Tarvik began his usual noise, I recognized it, rose quickly before he woke Nance, grabbed a blanket to toss around my shoulders and ran across the courtyard to the gate.

  I unbolted it and let him in, glanced at the guard standing there at stiff attention. It wasn't fun but better than another whack on the head. To Tarvik I whispered, “Hush, Nance is asleep,” as I closed the gate.

  "Did you see how often I won?” he said, his grin a bright slash in the shadows.

  "Hard to miss, sitting right there at Kovat's feet,” I said.

  "But you looked away when I came up the stairs. Why did you look away?"

  "You were covered with blood and dirt. Umm, I didn't mind the dirt so much."

  His eyebrows rose. “You minded the blood? But it is hard to fight without a little blood."

  "I suppose it is,” I agreed, then thought of his bow after the games, hand over heart. “Tarvik, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be calling on Alakar?"

  He moved over to stand by the embers in the firepit at the center of the courtyard. He was still dressed in the fur-trimmed velvet tunic and velvet pants and fur boots of his banquet clothing, and wearing a heavy gold necklace of chains and medallions. He'd left the crown at home.

  With a shrug, he said, “Yes, perhaps no. She is always with her mother and they retire early."

  "You could have banged on their door."

  His blue eyes slid between his narrowed lids and he chewed his lower lip. What was he thinking that he did not want to say? Was Nance wrong? Were Tarvik and Alakar in love, in which case, her mother's constant presence must have annoyed both of them?

  "She is very beautiful,” I said.

  He nodded but still said nothing.

  Reaching out, I brushed his hair back from the side of his face with my fingertips. His yellow mop of hair felt thick and soft, reminding me of the fur of my long-haired pet cat back home, but that isn't why I touched him. I was looking for the wound beneath his hair. On his temple was a jagged cut, a raised red line of dried blood centered in a purple bruise. I caught his hands in mine, held them in front of me, and looked first at the backs of them, then at the palms. Rings gleamed on all his fingers. But even in the shadows I could see the raw scrapes.

  Then I met his puzzled gaze. “Are you in such a rush to look like your father?"

  He stared at me for a long moment before saying, “I think you speak out of place."

  "Right. That's me. Out of place. It's only that I don't actually care to see you injured. Don't you feel the pain?"

  "Oh.” His face relaxed into a smile. “I think you have a very soft heart, Stargazer."

  "That or a very soft head,” I agreed.

  "I am sorry you did not enjoy the tournaments."

  He sounded so disappointed, I said quickly, “I liked the dancing."

  "There was no dancing tonight."

  "No, this afternoon,” I explained. “Beyond the game field I could see people dancing in circles, and they had bells and a drum and ribbons, and oh, it was very pretty to watch."

  "That would be the country dances, yes. I join them sometimes on feast days when I do not have to be at the castle."

  "Do you?” That surprised me because I remembered the day he brought me to the city, walking his horse on a path that wound between the huts of the poor, and everyone we passed had looked at the ground as though they were afraid to look at him. “They don't mind? They let you join them?"

  "I take along a couple of servants carrying a few jugs of mead, then ask them to teach me the dance they are doing."

  "That would do it,” I agreed.

  "You think they are afraid of me, as they are of Kovat. They really are not, Stargazer. Besides, I dance very well. Shall I show you?"

  When I nodded, he said, “These are not dances to do alone. You must join me."

  "But I don't know your dances."

  "Watch,” he said, and he hummed a tune and circled around me in a seri
es of steps, and I don't know why I was surprised to see that he could dance. He was well coordinated, light on his feet.

  He took a step sideways to stand by me, shoulder to shoulder, and caught my hand in his.

  "Now, you, too,” he said, “foot out, cross over, yes, good, cross back, two steps to the side."

  Very much like square dances. Unfortunately, I'd never done much of that since grade school and didn't know any steps.

  He slipped the blanket from my shoulders, dropped it on the ground, and put his arm around my waist. “I love your hair this way, hanging down,” he said.

  Humming softly, he swung me around in a series of steps that pulled us together in a position more like ballroom dancing and from habit I slid my hand across his shoulder and turned to face him.

  He stopped. “What are you doing?"

  "Sorry, didn't mean to lead."

  "Lead what?"

  "I'm out of position, right? Should be side by side or further apart and circling around each other or something."

  When I tried to back away, he held me where I was. “You know a different dance. Show it to me,” he said.

  "Umm, all right, I'm not much good at this. When you step forward, I step back. Yes, like that. Hmm, this is hard to do without music."

  "How can I tell which way to step? I need to feel you moving, oh, your dance, you must be close to each other, this close?” he said and pulled us together and I gave up.

  I could remain stiff with a few inches between us and our noses practically touching and my back aching or I could go ahead and dance with him.

  "Okay, Tarbaby, keep humming,” I said.

  "What's a tarbaby?"

  Oh shoot, that had slipped out somewhere between his name and calling him baby because it was late and I was tired and not thinking too clearly.

  Thinking even less clearly, I said, “It's from a story."

  "Tell me,” he said, and I figured I might as well because he would pester forever until I did.

  "Okay,” I said, and gave him the quickie version of Joel Chandler Harris's story. “There was a clever fox and a tricky rabbit and they had this on-going rivalry. So the fox took some soft warm tar and shaped it into a baby doll and sat it in the middle of the road, then hid himself in the bushes."