Fearsome Journeys (The New Solaris Book of Fantasy)

by Jonathan Strahan

  She smiled. “My Da’s been known to breakfast on it himself. I’ve just washed up the tankards. Go and have a sit. I’ll bring you one.”

  Natto went out and stretched his legs in front of the fire, and in another minute he had a drink in front of him.

  “By the time you’re done with that, I’ll have the kitchen tidy, and we’ll take a walk outside,” Sponda said.

  The first ale of the day always seemed to have a special tang to it, Natto thought. And it was just what he needed. By the time Sponda came out of the kitchen, fastening her cloak, he felt ready to take on the world again.

  “There’s a nip in the air,” she said. “You’ll be wanting your coat.”

  And the amulets on it, Natto thought, if the rumors turned out to be true. He climbed the stairs, and once in his room started to unbutton himself, but the chamber pot was far too full. He put the lid on and shrugged into his coat.

  “Pardon me,” he said from mid-stairs, “But the—um—pot—upstairs is a wee bit full and I’m afraid I need to—” He felt his face turn red.

  “I’m a country girl. I understand,” she said. “I’ll empty it when I get back. In the meanwhile, you can use the stables. Aim for the straw, if you please.”

  Natto mumbled his thanks and went outside. The smell of the rendering plant hit him like a blow. He felt the oatcakes stir. He pulled his neckerchief up, and went to the stables. When he came out, Sponda stood bareheaded in the middle of the street, looking down the road, her hand up as if she’d been waving. But she merely tucked an errant strand of hair back into her braid.

  “Better?” she asked.

  “Much,” he said, his voice muffled by the cloth over his mouth. “How do you stand the smell?”

  “I’ve lived here my whole life. You’d get used to it, after a time.”

  Natto found that highly unlikely.

  They walked down the road until Sponda stopped and pointed to a building twenty yards on the other side. “See that smoking chimney? That’s his cottage. Name’s An—drew. Andrew Barnes.”

  “Thank you,” Natto said. He squared his shoulders. “I think I can take it from here.”

  “Of course. You have your duties.” She nodded, then walked back in the direction of the inn.

  He waited until she was gone, then crossed to the same side of the road as the cottage so that his approach could not be seen from its windows, feeling rather clever for thinking of that. He slunk along a rail fence until he reached the one-story hovel. Its yard was bare mud, strewn with rocks. A bundle of feathers was nailed to the front door.

  His knees trembled as he eased around the corner and peered in a grimy side window. He saw a small room, barely furnished with a single chair and a table in front of the hearth, where a low fire burned. The only other light came from a candle at the center of the table. Around the base of the candlestick lay an array of small objects—a key, a bone, a few coins, a black box, a bundle of herbs.

  Natto drew in his breath. Wizard’s goods, if ever he’d seen them. Beside the table, standing in shadow, was a bespectacled man, slender as a girl, with a thick mustache, his hair in a dark tail, as had been the fashion in the capital a few years back. He wore a long purple robe with a matching skullcap. As Natto watched, he picked up the bone, muttered some low words, then replaced it in a different position.

  Clutching the amulet on his coat, Natto felt the hair on his arms and the back of his neck prickle with fear. He held his ground and watched as the wizard practiced his arcane rites.

  After what seemed like an endless time, the wizard picked up the square black box, half the size of a man’s fist. He muttered some incomprehensible syllables, then slowly opened it and removed a velvet pouch. He undid the drawstrings, muttering incessantly, and tipped its contents into his hand.

  It was a pearl, a magnificent jewel, fully as large as a gooseberry.

  Natto gasped, and quickly put his hand over his mouth, lest his position be revealed. He drew his head back a few inches.

  But the wizard had not heard. He stood for several minutes, tipping his palm toward the candlelight, rolling the sphere so that its color shifted with each movement—white, then silver, lavender, pink, pale green, white again—as if he had captured a rainbow, transformed again and again in the flickering light. Finally, with a small sigh, the wizard replaced the pearl in the velvet bag, and the bag into its box.

  He looked around the room, his glance passing over the window without pause, then stepped over to the hearth. He set the box on the mantel and slowly tugged loose a brick waist-high on the right side. Behind it was a dark opening, into which he put the box, muttering all the while. He replaced the brick, returning the hearth to its original appearance.

  Stepping back to the table, he reached into a pocket, and in one fluid motion tossed a handful of sparkling powder toward the candle flame. The room filled with a blinding, blood-red flash.

  Natto jumped back, sightless for a moment. When the spots in his vision had cleared, he peered into the tiny room again.

  The table was bare. The wizard was gone.

  Was he? Natto waited for a minute, five, ten, then broke into a jig. He had done it! He had found the pearl! In two days’ time, he would be a wealthy man. He walked cautiously around the cottage, nerves quivering, but the yard was also empty. He circled one more time, to be absolutely sure, then put a hand on the latch.

  Nothing happened. His hand didn’t tingle, there was no fire, no demons. He went inside. The room was dim, lit only by the coals, but it smelled like sulfur. He made the sign of warding and touched the amulet, kissing his fingers and murmuring the only prayer he knew. Then he walked to the hearth and ran his hands down the bricks on the right side.

  It took him a few tries to find the loose one; he pulled it out with a grating sound, loud as a trumpet to his own ears. He stood motionless for a full minute before daring to reach into the hole, but encountered only the smooth leather of the box. He opened it, felt the round weight of the velvet bag, and tipped the pearl into his hand.

  Even more beautiful up close. He gazed at it for a moment, then roused himself. There would be plenty of time for admiring once he was away from this wretched village. He replaced the pearl and bag and slipped the box into the pocket of his coat.

  It took all his will to stop himself from whistling on the way back to the inn. Even the stench from the rendering plant seemed less odious.

  Sponda was behind the counter, a ledger and an inkwell in front of her. She looked up from her accounting. “Were you successful?” she asked, smiling. “Did you find treasure?”

  “What?” Natto nearly jumped out of his boots, then remembered his presumed errand. “Alas, no. The man is an eccentric, to be sure, but there was nothing to collect, tax-wise.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I seem to have sent you on a fool’s errand.”

  “It is a frequent part of my job. I’ll be heading back to the capital as soon as I gather up my things.” He turned toward the stairs.

  “Wait,” she said. She put down her pen. “The least I can do is wrap up some bread and cheese for your journey. Perhaps one last ale—for the road?”

  It was a long ride, and his wineskin was nearly empty. “Thank you. That’s very kind.” He sat at one of the tables.

  She fussed a bit with the tap, then set the tankard onto the wood in front of him. “I’ll make you up a lunch.” She went into the kitchen.

  WHEN SHE HEARD the door open, Anna looked up from the chest in the corner of her laboratory. She folded her academic robes—the purple of St. Zatar’s—and replaced the horsehair mustache in the box with her other disguises. Her family had been fond of theatricals, and although St. Zatar’s now admitted women, there were traditionalists who disapproved, and she had often found it easier to navigate the campus as a gentleman scholar. She closed the lid of the chest and turned around. “Did he fall for it?”

  “Hook, line, and sinker,” Sponda said, laughing. “What was the thing he
found?”

  “Just a sphere of camphor, dipped in a few coats of essence d’orient.” She saw the blank look on her lover’s face. “It’s a mixture of carp scales and varnish.” She pointed to a piece of linen spotted with lustrous patches that shone like a rainbow. “Wouldn’t fool a jeweler for a moment, but he was delighted.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I stayed to watch. Once the flash powder hit the candle I had plenty of time to scamper up to the loft and hide.”

  “You’re the most clever girl I’ve ever known.” Sponda gave her a hug. “He’s headed back to the capital. When he tries to fob off that ‘pearl,’ he’ll get his comeuppance.”

  “But we won’t get to see it. Where’s the fun in that?”

  Sponda stared. “You’re up to something.”

  “I am. You put the powder in his ale this morning?”

  “I did.”

  “Then it will be an interesting afternoon,” Anna said. “What are you making for supper?”

  “Biscuits and drippings.”

  “I do love your biscuits.”

  “It’s the buttermilk,” Sponda nodded. “It makes them sing in your mouth without you putting a name to any particular flavor.”

  Anna stared at her. “That’s it!” She jumped up and began jotting notes into her journal. “That’s exactly what my spread lacks. Buttermilk will add a creamery flavor, it will keep for ages, it can’t go rancid—” she threw down her pen and flung her arms around Sponda. “Now who’s the clever one? I’m going to make a new batch this afternoon. We’ll try it at supper, and if it passes the taste test, we’ll be on our way to the capital!”

  They capered around the room for a minute in a most unscientific way.

  Anna finally stepped back. “I must get back to work. But when your Da comes in, send him back here. He’ll play along, won’t he?”

  “Da loves a good prank as much as anyone.”

  “Good.” Anna turned to her well-stocked shelves and handed Sponda a metal canister.

  “What does this one do?”

  With a wicked grin, Anna told her.

  WHEN NATTO HAD finished his ale he went up to his room. As he lifted his rucksack, the two pints he’d consumed that morning began to vie for his attention, too urgently to make it to the stables. He looked down and saw the empty chamber pot, back under the washstand.

  With a sigh of relief, Natto opened his fly and aimed at the pot, closing his eyes for a moment as the pressure inside him was released in a long and satisfying stream. He shook himself off and opened his eyes to do up the buttons of his trousers, then shrieked in surprise.

  His piss was blue.

  He began to shake. It had been too easy, getting the pearl. He should have known there’d be a spell. He grimaced as he looked down at himself, but saw no difference on the outside.

  “Is something wrong?” Sponda called from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Yes!” Natto cried.

  “I’ll be right up.”

  “No!” He stared at his open fly. “I’ll come down.” He did up his buttons, then put the lid on the chamber pot and took it downstairs.

  “Is there a problem with the pot?” Sponda asked. “I just cleaned it.”

  “I know, but—” And here Natto stopped cold, because although he was not a man of courtly manners, there were some things that weren’t proper conversation with a woman, even if she was just the renderer’s daughter, and—“Hell,” he said. “Look.”

  She took off the lid. “Oh dear. Not again.”

  “Again?”

  “More than once.” She tilted her head and looked at him. “When you were at the wizard’s house, you didn’t eat or drink anything, did you?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “Hmm. Touch anything, other than the seat of a chair?”

  “Well, I might have—”

  “That’s it, then. He’s got protections everywhere. He whisks them off when he knows there’ll be company, but you took him by surprise.”

  “Will it go away?”

  “Usually does. Unless—” She stopped and lowered her eyes. “I don’t mean to be bold, Mr. Petin, but did you notice any other changes in your—your manhood?”

  Natto shook his head. “No. And I did look.”

  “Well, that’s good. One poor fellow had his turn black on him. Within a day it had shriveled like an old carrot. Nothing the doctor could do, by then.” She took the pot and set it on the floor, replacing the lid. “’Course he deserved it. He was a black-handed thief. And a stupid thief, if you ask me, stealing from a wizard.”

  “Only a fool,” Natto said in a small voice. He felt the blood drain from his face and barely made it to one of the tables before he sat down with a thump. “Might I have another ale? It was, as you can imagine, a bit of a shock, seeing...” He stared at the pot as his voice trailed off.

  “Of course. Best thing for it. The more you drink, the faster you’ll get rid of it.” She went behind the counter and busied herself with the tap. “Oops. I’m sloppy this morning.” She held the tankard up by its rim and wiped it off with a rag, removing the cloth with a flourish when she set the ale down. “That ought to help.”

  “Thank you.” Natto gripped the mug in both hands and downed half of it in one mighty gulp. “I’ll finish this and be on my way.”

  Sponda shook her head. “You can’t ride, not in your condition.”

  “Really, I must return to the capital.” Natto felt as if the box in his coat pocket were burning a hole through the wool. “Urgent business.”

  “What if complications set in, out there—?” she gestured toward the window and the desolate country beyond.

  “Hmm. Perhaps one more night might be prudent. The same tariff?”

  “Three coppers more,” Sponda said. “It’s the week-end.”

  “Oh.” He withdrew his purse and counted out all the coins from the day before.

  Sponda glanced at the cash box, then put the coins into the pocket of her apron and smiled. “I’ll even make another pudding. Dessert, this time. Let me see, how about spotted dick? Oh, dear. Perhaps not tonight.” She thought for a moment. “I know. I’ll make you a Pond. It’s my Da’s favorite.”

  “Sounds delicious.” Natto drained his ale. “I think I’ll have a little lie-down.” He bent to pick up the chamber pot, but she held up her hand.

  “I’ll rinse it and bring it to you. Only way to tell if the ale is doing its job is to start afresh.” She refilled his tankard, wiping it off with the same cloth before pushing it into his hands. “There. Take that up with you.”

  Natto did. He drank it sitting on the edge of the bed until she brought the pot. Once she was safely downstairs, he took off his pants and, handling himself gingerly, produced a steady blue stream. He looked down. That was still its original color, at least. He bit back a moan and crawled under the covers.

  He tossed and turned for a while, bare legs itching again, but had had so little sleep the night before that he eventually fell into a fitful slumber, full of disquieting dreams. When he woke, late afternoon light slanted through his window. Cooking smells wafted up from the kitchen, and his stomach growled. The growling set off another urge, and he stood, stretching. Standing over the chamber pot in his loose shirt, he reached down and gripped his—

  Natto screamed.

  It was black. So were his hands.

  He stood in panic for a moment, then felt a warm dribble run down his leg. Blue.

  He began to weep.

  Eventually he dressed and trudged downstairs.

  “Well, well. You’re still with us, then?” Ian called from his table by the fire. He had a mug and a basket of roasted chestnuts, the floor littered with papery skins.

  “I’m not on my way home, if that’s what you mean.” Natto pointed to the tap. “May I?”

  “Help yourself. Sponda’s up to her elbows in flour, and I’m not of a mind to move.”

  Natto drew a mug of ale and perched on the
very edge of his chair. “Is there a doctor nearby?”

  “Why, are you ill?”

  Without a word, Natto held out his hands, the palms and fingers stained black.

  “I see.” Ian stared, then cleared his throat. “Is it only the hands, lad?”

  Natto shook his head.

  “Your johnson too?”

  When Natto nodded, the older man huffed. “You do need a doctor, and soon.” He clasped Natto’s shoulder. “But you’re in luck. He’s already on his way. Coming after supper to take a look at my aching foot.” He tapped his boot on the floor. “It’s just a touch of the gout, but Sponda worries.”

  Natto drank his ale. “Does your doctor have any experience with my—problem?”

  “Aye. More than most.” He smiled and reached for a chestnut.

  It was only the two of them for supper. Sponda stayed in the kitchen, seeing to the pudding. Natto didn’t think he had an appetite, but the biscuits were light and flaky and the drippings rich, and he found himself mopping his plate.

  “Save some room. Sponda’s Pond is the queen of puddings.” Ian lit his pipe.

  “I look forward to it.” Natto excused himself and went upstairs. He had been drinking steadily, which made his predicament seem somewhat foggy and distant, but every twenty minutes he was jarred back to his desperate reality. Ian was sympathetic and tried to keep his spirits up by telling stories of a life in rendering, which had to do with unidentifiable lumps, and why you shouldn’t confuse soap and candle tallow. Natto listened numbly, released by a knock at the door.

  “There’s the doctor now,” Ian said and went to let him in.

  The doctor was a tall, thin man with spectacles and a van Dyke beard. His graying hair was pulled back into a tail. He wore a suit of brown worsted and carried a black leather bag. “Ian, good to see you!” he said in a reedy voice.

  “Doctor Reynard. Good of you to come. You’re just in time for dessert. Sponda’s made a Pond.”