A Minstrel’s Quest (The Trouble with Magic Book 4)

by B. J. Beach

  He had just finished saddling Megan when Dickon wandered down the stable to stand beside him. “I could come with you if you want.”

  Corlin bent to tighten the girth, his voice muffled as he pushed his head against Megan’s stomach. “Thanks Dickon, but you might be needed here, and I’m not sure how kindly Master Stockman will take to unexpected visitors.”

  To Corlin’s surprise, Dickon gave a dismissive chuckle. “Don’t you worry ‘bout that. ‘E’ll be expectin’ you. News travels fast in these parts.”

  That particular snippet of information was not one that Corlin particularly wanted to hear. He responded with a non-committal grunt, secured his staff alongside his saddle, and led Megan out of the stable-yard.

  Although it was only just first light, there were plenty of people about, mostly setting up stalls and getting their goods and produce ready for the weekend market. Corlin swung into the saddle and turned Megan in the opposite direction, towards the rising sun, the river and a meeting with Otty’s father.

  58 - It’s Something That Has to be Done

  Tucked in a sheltered hollow beside an overhanging willow, Ned looked up at the sound of Corlin’s approach. He raised a hand in greeting, waiting until the minstrel had drawn level and reined in before reeling in his line, resting his rod and scrambling up the river’s steep and overgrown bank.

  A knowing look on his long face, he looked up at Corlin. “Should I need to ask what brings you out this way?”

  Corlin leaned on the saddle-bow and bobbed his head towards the dark, slow-moving water. “Just thought I’d come and keep you company for a while, and talk fishing. Molly said you were out here somewhere.”

  Ned rubbed his chin and peered through the trees at the winding and rutted road. “Not too many other places you can go along here. A couple of farms is all.”

  Corlin grinned down at the man’s transparency. “I hope you’re better at river fishing than you are at fishing for answers, Ned.” He gathered his reins, leaned down and gave the landlord a good-natured clout on the shoulder. “I’ll let you get back to it. I think we’ll both need a bit of luck today.”

  Ned shuffled his feet but stayed put. “You’ll be off to see Otty’s da then.” It was not so much a question as confirmation of what the man had already guessed.

  Corlin’s expression made it quite clear that he was not looking forward to the meeting. “It’s something that has to be done, Ned, and I’m the one that has to do it I’m afraid.”

  He kneed Megan into a slow walk. She had only taken a few steps when Corlin heard Ned calling after him. “I’ll come with you if you want!”

  Turning in the saddle, Corlin leaned on the cantle, letting Megan keep walking as he called back. “All right. You may as well. It’ll save me telling the story twice.”

  A few minutes later, his fishing creel slung across his back, Ned trotted up beside him.

  Matching his walking pace to Megan’s steady amble he looked up at Corlin. “I reckon you’re worrying too much about Otty’s da y’know. He ain’t so bad when all’s said and done. Anyway, he prob’ly knows you’re back in Redmire and that you’ll likely be callin’ on him sometime.”

  Corlin smiled and nodded. “Dickon said much the same thing just before I left. He said new travels fast in these parts.”

  Ned responded with a derisory grunt. “Hmmph. Dickon’s a good man but he’s a blabber-mouth. It’s him that gives most of the news its wings in the first place. If you want folks to know your business, just tell Dickon.”

  From there the conversation turned to lighter matters, from fishing to tomorrow’s prospects for the inn’s Barrel-ball team, to the songs Corlin thought he would sing that night “...if I get back in one piece!” he added with a laugh.

  Ned flapped a dismissive hand and pointed to a fork in the narrow road. “We take the left one here, and then it’s through the hazel coppice, down the hill, and the farm is at the bottom. There’s nowhere else to go after that, unless you go across country, and to do that you’d have to go through the farm-yard first.”

  Like the rest of the road, the approach to the farm was just wide enough for one horse-drawn cart and shaded by overhanging trees, their branches meeting in a low archway over the centre of the track. As they drew nearer their destination Corlin’s interest in conversation faded away like morning fog. Fifteen minutes later he sat leaning on the saddle-bow and looking down the hill at the sprawling farmstead where Otty had been born and brought up.

  Ned started forward. “Best get goin’ then. No point in puttin’ it off, now you’ve got this far.”

  Corlin had to agree, especially when, with great enthusiasm, a pair of sheepdogs loudly announced the arrival of the visitors before they were even half way down the hill. A loud piercing double whistle fetched the dogs dashing back from the sturdy seven-barred gate which had effectively prevented them from making close contact with Corlin and Ned. A heavily built man stepped from the shadow of the farm-house door and began to make his way at an unhurried pace across the wide paved yard, the dogs trotting at his heels. By the time Corlin and Ned had arrived at the gate, he was leaning on the sturdy rail fence and studying them with open interest.

  Corlin nodded and tipped his hat. “Good day to you sir.”

  The man returned the nod but not the greeting, and looked at Corlin with Otty’s eyes, before shifting his gaze to Ned.

  The inn-keeper also gave a brief but respectful nod. “Mornin’ Jacob.”

  The farmer flicked a thick, meaty finger at the creel. “You won’t be catching many fish over this way, Ned Brewer. Found yourself something more interesting to occupy your time, eh?”

  Ned opened his mouth to reply but Otty’s father had already returned his attention to Corlin. His full lips twisted in obvious contempt as he looked the minstrel up and down. “So, you’re the quester my son decided to go roaming the countryside with.”

  Corlin bit back on his rising indignation, feeling it settle like a ball of hot lead in the pit of his stomach. He felt tempted to turn Megan, ride away and let the man wallow in his misconceptions, but Jacob had moved to the gate and was lifting the heavy iron loop at the top of the gate-post. “You’d best come in. Don’t mind the dogs. They’ll be no trouble.”

  He swung the gate back, and as Corlin steered Megan through he glanced down. The expression on Jacob’s face would have curdled milk. Trying not to read too much into it, and making allowances for the likelihood that the man was expecting bad news, Corlin rode a little way along the fence, dismounted and hitched Megan to the fence-rail. Staff in hand, he turned to see Jacob studying him, making no attempt to hide the disdain now written on his broad weathered face.

  A yard or so away, Ned stood watching, his fists clenched, and clearly not happy about the direction this meeting was taking.

  Keeping his eyes fixed on Corlin, Jacob gestured towards the farmhouse. “Go into the house Ned. This young man and I will be having words. There’s no need for you to get involved.”

  Ned stood his ground. “If it’s all the same to you Jacob, I be already involved so whatever you’ve got to say will be in front of me.”

  For a split second Corlin caught a warning glint in Jacob’s eye, and a subtle hint of something at odds in his manner. Leaning on his staff, he shook his head at the inn-keeper. “It’s alright Ned. You go. I’ll deal with this.”

  Ned scowled at Otty’s father. “You mind yourself Jacob. I don’t want to have to come out and pull you two apart.”

  Leaving Jacob with a face like thunder and Corlin’s expression defiant to an equal degree, Ned stomped off to the house, turning at the half-open door to check the situation before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

  With a nod of satisfaction, Jacob reached out and gently but firmly grasped Corlin’s arm, steering him across the yard in the direction of the hay-barn.

  He murmured from the corner of his mouth “I believe you have some news for me regarding my wilful and adventurous s
on. Am I right?”

  Not completely surprised by the sudden softening of Jacob’s previously belligerent attitude, Corlin could still only manage a hoarse “Yes, that’s right.” as he was ushered into the warm interior of the barn.

  Releasing Corlin’s arm, Jacob eased himself down onto a bale of hay and indicated another nearby. “Sit yourself down.”

  Corlin sat, and once again found Otty’s eyes looking at him as Jacob leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I’m sorry about that, but I wanted to get Ned out of the way. The less he knows the better.”

  Corlin gave a derisive grunt. “Couldn’t you have just asked him, instead of all that play-acting?”

  Jacob’s grunt was equally derisive. “You don’t know Ned like I do. He’d take everything he heard, turn it all around and make a completely different picture of it. He’s not as open to things as I am.”

  Corlin eased his leg into a more comfortable position and gave Jacob a wry smile. “Well he was open enough to believe it was Old Tam that gave me a gimalin as a gift, one night in ‘The Red Dog’.”

  Jacob chuckled. “Of course. Ned’s whole life is steeped in tradition. He’s bound to believe in Old Tam. I doubt if he’d be so amenable to accepting the things you’re about to tell me though.”

  The minstrel frowned, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “How do you know what I’m going to tell you? I’ve said nothing to anyone, not even Ned, or Molly for that matter.”

  Jacob rested his chin on the back of his folded hands and closed his eyes as he thought for a few moments. Corlin used the pause to consider the big man who sat opposite him. Unlike the majority of farmers Corlin had come across, who were definitely of the rustic breed in many ways, Jacob Stockman was more of what Corlin would have called a gentleman farmer. Well spoken with barely a trace of regional accent, he exuded a subtle air of presence without seeming aware of it. His well-fitting clothes breathed quality and good taste, and Corlin was hard pressed to reconcile himself to the fact that this was the father of the scruffy, beer-loving, self-willed young man who had decided to accompany him on his quest to places unknown. As if he had been reading Corlin’s thoughts, Jacob opened his eyes, folded his arms and leaned back against a stack of hay-bales.

  His eyes held the minstrel’s for a moment before he spoke. “Otty talked a lot about you and your quest. I think he saw something in you that he wanted to be; perhaps he thought something would rub off. When he finally left, I wasn’t too concerned because I knew he intended to join you.”

  Corlin decided against filling in the yawning gap in Jacob’s knowledge. The fact that Otty had only met up with him at Tregwald, and not at the very beginning as Jacob seemed to think, would not make any significant difference to this conversation. Corlin had already drawn his own conclusions as to where Otty had been until then.

  Almost as if he was afraid of being overheard, Jacob leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Before you begin explaining what has happened to my son, I want to tell you something that must never be revealed to anyone else. Is that understood?”

  Eyebrows raised to their limits, Corlin agreed with an assertive nod. “Yes, of course.”

  Seeming satisfied with that, Jacob gave him a rueful smile. “I have seen Otty; about a week ago.” He grimaced as he noticed Corlin’s horrified expression. “Yes; I have seen what he has become.”

  He held up a restraining hand as Corlin took a breath to speak. This was something the minstrel had definitely not been expecting and he was not certain whether he wanted to laugh or cry. He held his hands over his eyes, struggling to come to terms with the news which had been so casually dropped in his lap, unable to even begin to imagine what Jacob must have felt when the gigantic form of Otty came lumbering round his woods and across his meadows.

  Unshed tears stung his eyes as he opened them to see Jacob with his finger raised.

  He wagged it at Corlin. “Obviously you thought Otty had been here in the flesh, but that is not the case. I did, however, have another visitor.”

  Corlin’s brow furrowed for a moment, then he grinned. “Your visitor didn’t just happen to be a very attractive lady perhaps?”

  Jacob nodded. “After I’d sent the men out to the fields I was just crossing the yard to come back to the house, and there she was. The dogs didn’t even bark! They just lay by her feet while she told me who she was and that Otty had been taken to a safe place.”

  It took him almost an hour to relate what D’ta told him had happened after Otty stole the clock, how she had described his massively altered appearance, and how it had occurred. She had even entered his mind, holding his hand as she let mental images flow gently through it. Corlin listened carefully, becoming increasingly impressed by the way Jacob was coping with such a momentous event, and with the loss of his son in a way that would have turned most fathers into gibbering wrecks.

  The reason for Jacob’s equanimity duly came by way of his answer to Corlin’s next question. “But why did he do it? I told him not to mess with the clock, even before he decided to knock me over the head and steal it.”

  Jacob gave him a thin smile. “Otty had a very enquiring mind, but I failed to appreciate how stifling he found life here, farming sheep and cattle. I suppose it was only to be expected that one day he would rebel and try to discover what else the world had to offer.”

  Corlin frowned. “That probably explains why he decided to tag along with me, but...” The minstrel changed tack. “Did D’ta tell you about the enchantment, and the Grollarts?”

  A self-deprecating chuckle rose from Jacob’s throat. “She did indeed, but she had a hard time convincing me that Grollarts really exist.”

  Corlin gave an assertive nod. “Indeed they do. In fact if it wasn’t for them it’s very unlikely I would have completed the quest. Anyway, what I’m trying to get at is why Otty stole the clock. The Grollarts were supposed to have removed the enchantment.”

  Jacob shook his head. “That’s another thing I had to accept rather quickly; the existence of magic.” He made a dismissive gesture. “But that’s by the way. D’ta explained that the spell was not completed correctly so the removal of the enchantment was only temporary. When he discovered that you had all the parts, the compulsion overtook him to steal them and make the clock complete.”

  Corlin made a wry face. “Well, he didn’t have to hit me over the head. If he’d asked I’d have probably given it to him. Treevers had grown impatient and his army was outside Tregwald by then, and my brother Clies in amongst them. Handing the clock to Treevers at that stage would have been a very big mistake.”

  Before Jacob could comment, there was a heavy and frantic pounding on the barn door. “Jacob! Corlin! Have you two killed each other?”

  The farmer strode across the barn, pushed the door open a foot or two and peered out at the irate landlord. “We came close to it a time or two, but for now we have a truce.” He looked back over his shoulder and gave Corlin a broad wink.

  The minstrel pushed himself to his feet and made his way to the door, a sullen look on his face. He glared at Jacob as he eased past him into the yard. “I think we’d best be off now, unless there’s anything else you want to say.”

  Jacob’s full lips made a tight straight line as he shook his head and started to make his way across the yard to the house, his two dogs trotting along behind him. Corlin turned towards the fence where Megan was tethered.

  As he prepared to mount he called across to Ned who was opening the gate. “Megan will take two if you’re in a hurry to get back. She won’t like it, but it’ll be better than walking.”

  He guided the mare through the open gate and as Ned turned to close it, Corlin looked back at the house. Jacob was standing by the door, a wide grin on his face. With Ned perched uncomfortably behind the cantle, Corlin urged Megan up the hill and onto the road to Redmire. He allowed himself a little smile, knowing he would be seeing Jacob Stockman again before too long.

  59 - The Story Will Improve With the Telling


  Ned was not happy. With no fish, no wondrous news and little to tell Molly, except a short account of a heated confrontation between Corlin and Otty’s father, the landlord of ‘The Red Dog’ found himself wrapped in a glaringly obvious cloak of spousal silence. He had not brought Molly the juicy eye-widening details she wanted to hear, and that was bordering on the unforgivable. Corlin fared little better, knowing that Ned thought him partly to blame, although he was graced with a thin, almost apologetic smile whenever Molly managed to catch his eye. He had seen it all before, not too often, but enough to know that it would hopefully last only a few hours, and at the worst a day or two. He knew what he had to do, and attempting to repair fractures in the domestic bliss of others was definitely not part of it.

  Dinner had been an awkward interlude, sprinkled with the minimum of sharp but necessary verbal communication. Afterwards, Corlin excused himself, made his way up to his room and tuned his gimalin. He was looking forward to playing again, especially the new songs he had learned while he and his brother Clies had spent a precious week together at Tregwald before Corlin had to return to Redmire.

  Ned was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, the lines on his long face drawn into a map of deep concern.

  His bony hand reached out and grasped Corlin’s arm. “Word has it that your playing won’t be welcome by some in the bar this night.”

  The minstrel gave the man a long cold look. “I wonder why that would be, Ned. Have you been letting ill-founded rumours and half-fledged stories take flight before their time?” He jerked his head towards the stable-yard. “Or perhaps I have the blabber-mouth Dickon to thank for that.”

  Ned seemed to shrink under Corlin’s gaze. “Molly and me said nothing, because we knew nothing. With some folks, what they don’t know they makes up, but that ain’t our way. I can’t speak for Dickon.”