As he stood against the fence several horse drawn carts were moving along the road, some piled with hay, others laden with barrels. Paul was gladdened to see people of his own size busy about the place and he waved and smiled at each as they passed, and more often than not he received a wave in reply. As he watched the party of Groblettes that he had seen in the common room the night before gathered outside and hastily marched away, heading east and calling a cheery goodbye as they left.
“Get thee in before the rain starts!” called one carter to Paul as he drove his horse and cart swiftly past, “No rain for a week and it looks like it’s all been saved up to come at once!” Paul laughed and watched the cart slowly make its way down the road before disappearing around the bend at the end of the lane. Paul stood there for a while, staring at the rapidly encroaching black clouds and the occasional cart on the road, those were becoming fewer now as the rain approached. It was as if all the local farmers had decided that it was going to be far too wet to be out and about on the road. Already the thin rays of light breaking through the dark clouds to the north gave a brief indication of just how heavy the rain was going to get.
“There is no such thing as bad weather you know, Paul.” he heard a voice drift into his mind as he remembered a conversation in the work canteen, “Just the wrong kind of clothes.” He smiled, remembering the impossible woman, Aoife, smiling at him as she chewed on her cheese and onion sandwich. “Ah it’s true and there’s no denying it.” she had said in her strong Irish lilt, “An umbrella is a waste of a hand if a hood is all you need to keep you dry.”
Paul smiled, remembering her voice, the green eyes almost cat-like, watching everything that he did. He came back to the present, watching the rain approach, and as he did so he heard what sounded like the sound of a flute or whistle floating along on the breeze playing a jaunty tune that almost made his feet tap where he was leaning against the inn fence by the road.
At first he thought that he was imagining it, but there was the sound again! He looked to the west and around the corner of the road that bent out of sight behind a small copse of trees emerged a tall man, followed by what appeared to be a heavily laden donkey. Paul squinted as the man slowly wandered into view. He was brightly dressed, a tall green hat placed on his head from the top of which stuck a bright blue feather. He wore a cloak of green too, but his shirt was purple in colour, his trousers red. Long black boots completed his outfit, and as he slowly approached Paul saw he was playing a small whistle, skipping along the road as he walked. The donkey did not seem to be being led at all, simply following the man of its own volition as he danced his way towards the inn.
“Knives sharpened, whiskers cut, a needle and thread or a horse's shoe laid…” he sang brightly as he approached. Paul smiled as the man approached and as he did so Paul saw he had a sun browned face which contrasted starkly with the long white beard that fell almost down to his waist.
Paul could not make out all of the words but as he drew nearer he paused and then seemed to start singing his song again.
“A tinker, a tinker’s in town!
Get the knives out and put your money down!
A tinker, a tinker, a tinker's afoot, brooms are headed,
chimneys cleared of soot,
A tinker a tinker, sharpen your blade,
leather cut and new clothes made.
Knives sharpened, whiskers cut,
a needle and thread or a horse's shoe laid”
As he finished his song he stopped alongside Paul and with a flourish gave a deep bow before him, removing his hat as he did so, revealing a large shock of white hair upon his head too. Straightening himself he stood upright and replaced his hat.
“Good day to you sir.” he announced in an authoritarian voice, “My name is Albert Fizzle and I am pleased to say here to avail you of my services as a tinker and gentleman of the road.” Paul raised an eyebrow as he leaned on the fence, but the tinker was not quite done yet.
“Can I show you my wares?” he enquired, raising a white bushy eyebrow. Paul nodded before he realised that he had no money at all. Not that it seemed to matter to the tinker as he was already laying a small blanket on the ground and placing various curious objects upon it.
“Silk from Varesh, Sulodien steel. Spices from Lwen to improve your meal.” Paul found himself wondering if the tinker always spoke in rhyme, but the tinker just carried on as Paul heard the door of the inn open behind him and the sound of heavy of boots approaching.
“Ho, tinker! Came a loud voice from behind him and Paul turned to see a red faced Charles Horse heading towards the fence rapidly, his face crimson. “We will have none of your clap trap handed junk here I think! Be on your way!”
Paul turned to see the tinker was however not in the slightest bit perturbed, continuing to lay out various items of clothing onto the blanket as if nobody had spoken. Charles Horse however was having none of it.
“Be on your way I say!” he roared as Paul saw the inn door open once again and Sousain poked her head around the door, frowning at all the commotion. “Be on your way now or you will be departing with the aid of my boot up your backside! Master Paul, please return to the inn and I shall deal with this ruffian!”
“I think you shall find sir.” said the tinker, straightening himself up and staring at the landlord full in the eye, “That the lord of the Steel Keep holds sway over the roads and paths of Felastia, such as the very road upon which I am standing, in fact. I am not in any way at all placing myself upon your premises.” To Paul’s surprise, Charles spat at the tinker's feet and Fizzle raised one bushy eyebrow in either surprise or perhaps annoyance.
“I need no word from the lord of the keep as to whether this is Sulodien land or nay! Now be on your way!”
“I would be careful if I were you, sir.” sniffed the tinker, seeming almost to hesitate in the face of the landlord’s ire, “the road to Sulodien is but a short one for those who travel. A word in the wrong ear could make your custody of this fine inn a mere technicality I fear.”
Charles Horse raised himself up to his full height as Sousain reached him and pulled on his arm.
“Come now, Charles.” she said solemnly, “There’s no purpose in fighting with tinkers now, is there?” Albert Fizzle merely nodded at Sousain in acknowledgement and judging by the expression of Charles Horse’s face, Paul thought was not best pleased when she curtseyed back.
“Are you threatening me?” roared the landlord and Sousain pulled at his arm again.
“Stupid men rowing over a pile of junk on a blanket.” Paul heard her mumble as the landlord and the tinker squared up to each other.
“Of course not.” sighed the tinker, “Yet it was but a mere day’s walk that I last encountered a number of Sulodien road guards patrolling the road.” he tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially, a gesture that seemed to infuriate the landlord even more. “The lords of Sulodien are not as far away as you seem to think, landlord. Not as far away at all.” Paul watched as Sousain stepped forward.
“We have none here for your wares, good tinker.” she said, and the bright blue feather in the tinker’s hat seemed to bob almost as he nodded at her, listening. “I wish that it were so, but all we have here now are poor travellers and a larger with them.” she smiled brightly and the tinker seemed to waver almost, “Oh that it were so we could help. Yet it is not the case today.”
“This is the larger?” said the tinker, nodding at Paul without actually taking his eyes off the woman for a second. She nodded back at him.
“My name is Paul.” said Paul, once again without thinking holding out to shake hands. Much to his surprise the tinker did likewise, and they shook hands firmly. Paul felt that the tinker was almost reluctant to let go, turning to stare. His deep blue eyes seeming to almost bore into him.
“Well met, Paul.” smiled Fizzle, and Paul returned his smile, the tinker finally relinquishing his grip.
“Likewise.” smiled Paul as the tinker continued to smil
e at him before suddenly seeming to come to a decision.
“Well them.” he said as Charles Horse continued to glare at him, “It would appear I am not welcome here, and Albert Fizzle the tinker is not one for staying where he should not.” Quickly he began to gather up his wares, placing them back into various saddles and packs that hung from the patiently waiting donkey. “Still, there is a gift required I feel.” he smiled and the force of his grin hardly seemed to reach Charles Horse at all, “for the trouble.”
“There is no need, tinker.” Sneered the landlord, “we have no need here for a bell that does not ring, nor a spoon that breaks in a day.”
“Good thing that I have neither of those things about my person.” smiled Albert as Charles snorted at his reply, “But I do have flower for a beautiful lady.” he said and from nowhere seemed to pluck a small bunch of bright red flowers from the air itself and present them to Sousain who blushed furiously as she accepted them.
“Also for our larger friend here, Master Paul. To keep you dry when perhaps you need it most.” he pulled a long brown cloak from a saddle and gave it to Paul.
“Oh I couldn’t possibly accept this.” he said, examining the thick woven cloth that ended in a large cowl shaped hood at the shoulder of the cloak. Inside he felt several small pockets at about waist height. “It doesn’t seem right somehow.”
“Merely a gift.” said the tinker, winking broadly and finally closing his last saddle and pulling the whistle from his pocket again.
“I bid you a good night all.” he said merrily, “And may our paths cross again.” there was a slight twinkle in his eye as he looked at the landlord, “Well. Most of you anyway.” He bowed deeply and walked away into the impending gloom of the approaching storm.
A tinker, a tinker’s in town!” he sang as he left. “Get the knives out and put your money down! A tinker, a tinker, a tinker's afoot a word to get your chimney cleared of soot, A tinker a tinker, sharpen your blade, leather cut and new clothes made.” His voice faded as walked along the road until finally there was nothing but silence and the three of them made their way into the inn and to dinner.
***
Dinner was a raucous affair. The Groblettes having gathered in the main room of the inn where soon the ale was flowing and food being served. Charles and Sousain seemed to be constantly busy filling plates and flagons, the roasted beef being served with what appeared to be an endless amount of vegetables and trimmings. Paul filled himself up heartily, and after several flagons of ale began to feel quite groggy.
After the meal the tables and plates were cleared and the Groblettes seemed to be applying themselves to the real business to hand; that is to get roaring drunk. Paul decided to pace himself and so the Groblettes soon overtook him, ale being sloshed and backs thumped all about the table,
“Drink up, drink up Master Paul!” shouted Flip from the across the table, “you are being left behind! Paul merely smiled, and waved his flagon in salute to the cook who smiled back at him furiously. It could have been a trick of the light, but Paul thought that the drunker they got, the greener the Groblettes became.
Shortly after a fiddle and a lute appeared from somewhere and Sparr began to tune up the lute whilst Grun began to pluck at the fiddle with his hands.
“Will there be a song?” shouted Paul, struggling to be heard over the drunken commotion that the rest of the residents of the Last oak Inn seemed to be looking upon almost in envy.
“There are always songs!” shouted Beezle and a loud cheer was raised around the table. Eventually the tuning-up was done and the two began to play, Sparr singing along as they went. The first song spoke of a life on the road and homes departed, and it was a slow dreamy number that Paul noticed with amusement left several of the Groblettes with a tear in their eye at its conclusion.
“Sing us the lusty Groblette, Flip!” called Trevlig and a loud cheer went up around the table again as the Groblette nodded, and with his flagon still in hand raised himself up onto the table.
Quickly Flip began to sing.
“A lusty Groblette one night so late” he sang, and Paul knew instantly from the lyrics where this song was heading. Slowly he pushed his chair away from the table. It was very noisy and warm in the room and his head was starting to feel a little groggy. A breath of fresh air would do him no harm at all. “Found himself climbing the farmer’s gate” continued Flip, “The farmer’s dog barked and said excuse me sir.” Pushing the chair away from the table Paul slowly rose and made his way to the door. “Where is it you wander without a care…” continued Flip, and smiling Paul opened the door and stepped out into the night.
The rain had started an hour before dinner and now the courtyard of the inn was awash, bright puddles reflecting the candlelight in the inn windows, even now the rain was furiously pouring. Paul stood in the semi darkness watching the rain, drinking in the cold fresh air and clearing his head. As he stood there he thought he heard a sound from the road to the west. As he stood straining his ears to hear above the sound of the tumultuous rain he heard it again. It was a deep clashing sound as if a hammer was being struck against wood and it was slowly growing louder from the east. It was a rhythmic sound, almost like a march and was increasing in volume by the second. Disregarding the weather Paul stepped out into the rain and approached the lane to see what the sound was. It was definitely growing louder and nearer by the second.
Immediately he was drenched, such was the ferocity of the rain. Regretting that he had not returned to his room to try out the new cloak and hood the tinker had given him he staggered across the courtyard of the inn, avoiding as many puddles as he could, the rain running down his face, soaking his hair and ragged beard. Dragging himself forward he lurched up to the gate that led to the road and looked up to the west where the rhythmic thumping sound was rapidly growing in volume. He squinted through the rain, rubbing the water from his eyes with one hand and steadying himself against the fence with the other. As he looked to the east the sound increased, and slowly from that direction Paul could see small silver lights almost bobbing along the road, the noise increasing as they approached.
Then slowly figures began to appear out of the gloom and the rain. Short they were, just over four-foot-high, and as they approached Paul saw that the sound was being made by long black evil looking spears being banged against small round shields as the group of creatures approached. Paul counted fourteen of them as they approached with one figure leading the way. This was larger than the rest, the remaining being in double file. Long black hooded cloaks they wore, from which shone small silver lights that could only be their eyes shone into the darkness of the night.
Paul found himself stepping back from the fence, heedless now of the rain and the puddles that dotted the inn courtyard, trying to slip back in the darkness as the band of creatures approached. Swiftly they drew level with the inn gate and with one last particularly loud thump of spears on shields they suddenly stopped. The single figure at the front of the group turned and slowly lowered its hood, staring at Paul.
In most respects the Groblette looked exactly the same as the Groblettes he had met so far. It was bigger, yes, yet this one had an aura about it, a feeling of distaste. Its lip curled down in displeasure as it stared at him. There was one overbearing difference however. This Groblettes eyes were pure silver. They seemed to shine like small silver candle flames of malevolence in the darkness. As the Groblette stood staring at him the creature smiled again and in a deep guttural voice gave a command.
“Surround the inn.” it barked, “Suffer no resistance on pain of death.” Paul turned on his heels and ran back into the inn, opening and closing the door quickly behind him. It took a second to accustom himself to the light but he did so quickly and raced to the table where the Groblettes were still sitting flagons raised as Flip, still standing grinning on the table finished his song.
“My word my dear that’s quite a lump.” he sang heartily, “So that is how the camel got its hump.” There were
loud cheers and Flip was waving his flagon as Paul raced to the table.
“Beezle! Beezle!” shouted Paul, and the captain turned towards him, a questioning look on her face. “Do the Groblette-Ru carry spears and shields?”
The captain frowned even more deeply, a look of confusion crossing her face.
“As a weapon of choice, yes.” she said, “though not always. Why?”
“Because there are fifteen of them outside surrounding the inn.” spat Paul and the reaction was instant.
All hell broke loose.
Chapter Twelve
The Darkest Silver
“Secure the door!” shouted Beezle as the Groblettes rose from the table, drawing weapons as they did so. The drunkenness of mere moments before seemed to slip from them as they made ready to defend the inn. Trevlig was the first to approach the door but as he did so there was a sudden loud banging from outside and the door flew open, several large spears being instantly poked through the doorway, followed by the shape of four of the silver eyed Groblettes forcing themselves into the inn. Realising that he was too late Trevlig backed up, Throg and Grun joining him in a line as the other Groblettes rushed to join them. It was too late though. The four Groblette-Ru who had initially forced themselves into the room fanned out and four more of the invaders rushed forward to support them, all bearing their spears held out before them, their small shields huddled close to their chests.
Paul heard sounds from the kitchen too, and as he spun to look in that direction Sousain screamed from the room behind the bar and ran into the room, followed by two more of the silver eyed Groblettes spears thrusting out at the woman, forcing her into the room. Following this there were thumps and bangs from upstairs and several guests in night clothes ran down the stairs followed by two more of the Groblettes.
Into the Light- Lost in Translation Page 13