by Robert Beers
“Now I know yer thinkin', what's all this have to do with old Neely's neck being stretched? Well I'll get to that part soon enough.” He sipped some of the tisane, its fruity aroma floated through the small campsite, and blended with the wood and spice scent of the trees around them.
“Curiosity'll kill a man sooner'n his balls will, I can tell you that. I never shoulda peeked under that tarp. That's what started it all. That an’ me big mouth.”
“It was one of the foggiest days I seen since comin’ to Grisham. I remember th’ tide was low, too. You could taste th’ stink of the shallows as well as smell it. Like fish an’ kelp rottin’ together. Th’ fat merchant, I can't remember his name, he was real twitchy about this one shipment. Wouldn't tell me so, kept claimin’ things was just fine, but you can see when a man not used to lyin’ is.
“That kept buggin’ me for days as th’ caravan headed south on th’ highway. Th’ fog seemed to be followin’ us. You couldn't see past yer arm stretched out in front of you, so it was slow goin', indeed.”
“I got this itchin’ to see what was under that canvas cover, an’ it got worse as th’ days went on.”
“We was only makin’ ‘bout half th’ speed as th’ other trips, an’ I knew th’ supplies weren't going to last out th’ trip. I also got an idea on how's I could get th’ time to take a peek under that cover.”
“What was the idea?” The cat had decided to curl up for a snooze, and Charity had moved over to sit next to Flynn.
“I'm comin’ right on to it, Charity.” Neely pulled a splinter off one of the sticks for the fire, and began picking his teeth with it while he talked.
“I was a tracker, remember? I chatted up th’ pusher for th’ caravan, and convinced him to stop long enough to do some huntin', for extra rations, y'know?”
“Well, th’ pusher was a man who liked his meat. Always complained about th’ salted stuff out of th’ barrels, didn't blame him. I think it's pure crap, meself.”
“He took to th’ idea of a hunt right away, and th’ rest of th’ caravan fell right in with him. I led them out into th’ fog until I found a set of tracks fresh enough that even th’ dredge boys could bag ‘em one, an’ then I did a quick double back while they all looked th’ other way.”
“Th’ canvas was tied down pretty tight. Of course, it had to be to keep any shiftin’ goin’ on with th’ load. I worked th’ knot for a while, gettin’ nowhere. Begun to fear they'd be back before I got a chance to see what th’ fat merchant was so twitchy about.”
“Th’ knot finally begun to come loose, an’ I got th’ corner untied. When I folded it back, all I saw under th’ canvas was a cart load of little boxes. They had tops on ‘em that fit inside th’ lid with four nails holdin’ ‘em shut. Th’ blade on me knife was thin enough to slip under th’ head of the nails an’ work ‘em loose.”
“I tell you I was sweatin’ even in the chill of the fog when I worked that last nail loose. I pulled up th’ lid, and saw the shine of yellow gold.”
“Gold?” Flynn and Charity said the word as one.
“Ortian Gold Marks. Th’ full size wheels.”
Flynn whistled. Charity had no idea what Neely was talking about, but they sounded pricey.
“I shook a couple more of th’ boxes. They was heavy, an’ they rattled. Th’ whole cart was filled with th’ coins. I grabbed a few of ‘em from th’ open box an’ put ‘em in my pouch.”
“No wonder the merchant was twitchy.” Flynn whispered, as if someone might be in the woods listening.
“That's what I figured, ‘cept I was wrong.”
“What was the reason then?” Charity leaned forward.
“They wasn't gold Marks.”
“What was they?” Flynn leaned forward like Charity.
“What they was is the first half of the reason I can't show my face in Grisham. Somethin’ in the way th’ marks sounded niggled at me while I put things back th’ way I found ‘em. When I was done, I took th’ ones I grabbed out of my pouch, and shook ‘em in my hand. They didn't sound right.”
“Fakes?” Charity suggested.
Neely placed a forefinger alongside his nose. “Give th’ little lady th’ prize. I scraped one of ‘em with my blade. Under th’ gold was pure lead. I figured th’ fat little merchant got hisself mixed up with someone interested in makin’ a killin’ passin’ th’ fakes, an’ leavin’ us in th’ caravan holdin’ th’ bag if we's got caught.”
“The bloody swine!” Flynn muttered.
“Yeah.” Neely agreed. “Only I was wrong. What was goin’ on was worse than passin’ fake marks, but I didn't find out till we got to Ort.”
“I found th’ rest of the caravan, an’ finished th’ hunt with ‘em. Th’ fog cleared up a couple of days later, an’ we made good time after that.”
“Th’ pusher got us to th’ warehouse outside of Ort we was supposed to be at, an’ I made up an excuse to take a walk, if you catch my meanin'.”
Charity and Flynn nodded understanding.
“Well, th’ pusher couldn't know my bladder wasn't full, an’ I didn't want my neck goin’ under a headsman's ax. They don't hang ya in Ort.”
“When I found th’ Guard Sergeant, I pulled out th’ fake Marks, an’ told him there was a whole cart load waitin’ a few warehouses over. I still had th’ one with the gold scraped off, it didn't take much convincing.”
“But why can't you go back to Grisham? All that took place in Ort.” Charity looked confused.
Neely tossed the sliver he'd been using as a toothpick into the fire. “I think it was th’ pusher. He acted as surprised as the rest of ‘em, and he talked a good story. It got him off without losing his head, but only iffn he stayed out of Ort from then on. He was givin’ me some pretty black looks on th’ way back, but he never went further than that. Th’ man couldn't use a blade to butter his bread. Friends of mine got word to me th’ Duke put out a standing order for me hanging’ if I ever showed my face in Grisham again. It had to be him behind th’ merchant. I heard tell th’ poor little fellow kicked quite a bit before he died.”
“That's why he was so twitchy.” Flynn declared, smiling as if he'd solved the puzzle.
“So, if they weren't just passing fake money, then what was going on?” Charity asked.
“Oh, yeah. I didn't tell you that part, did I?.” Neely poured the rest of his tisane onto the ground.
“Turns out th’ Duke has some kinda grudge against Ort. Somethin’ to do concernin’ his old man. Th’ fake Marks were supposed to go toward ruinin’ Ort's economy. Seems I upset his plans a bit. Ort put up a checkpoint on th’ highway before we left. We had to pass through it, and go through th’ same searchin’ of the wagons th’ ones comin’ in had to.”
“I wound up leaving Grisham a couple of days after we got back. Ran across Flynn on my way to Mossett. Never got there, did we?” He winked at his old friend.
Flynn nodded again, sending a quiver through his chins. “Wound up in Berggren's army, we did. That was back in the days of th’ old Earl, miss Charity.”
She gave Flynn a sad smile. “No need to explain. I really am ok with it now.”
“Well, then,” she changed the subject, and looked to both Flynn and Neely. “We're back to the question, where do we go from here?”
Flynn scratched an armpit. “Seems Grisham's no good, and I don't think Berggren's any choice, either.”
Neely looked up from staring into the coals of the fire. “How ‘bout Ort?”
Flynn looked at his old friend. “Yeah ... you been there. ‘Course, it was a time ago...”
“Don't matter none,” Neely replied. “From what I'd been hearin’ while we was restin’ between spuds, it's still quite th’ place. Lots o’ work, and no one goes hungry, less'n they wants to. Iffn a man's got a good eye an’ a strong arm, there's more'n enough work for ‘em.”
“Sounds good to me,” Charity said, as she stood to find her bedroll. “Ort it is.”
Chapter Fourteen
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Ethan scraped another shaving off the piece of dried oak with his finishing knife. Four days now, and the pieces of the wheel were almost done. All he had to do was insert the spokes, and glue the three arcs together. Ellona had bravely rendered the hides he collected into what would become the glue, with a bit of boiling water.
She had taken to spinning like a fish to water. Her deft hands seemed to instinctively know when to attenuate the yarn when plying, and the additional income had enabled him to purchase a few used tools. This spinning wheel would be the first piece to come out from their use.
If asked, he would not have been able to say exactly when they'd become a couple. It just seemed to happen naturally, like night merging into day.
Ellona sat on the willow branch chair he had put together a couple of weeks ago, spinning one of the bags of dyed wool batts. The color was a pleasant forest green made from a particular toadstool they'd found growing in the wood behind the cottage. Other bags lay next to her filled with batts of yellow, blue and red wool.
She looked at Ethan as he worked a spoke into its hole by gently twisting it back and forth. “It looks beautiful, Ethan. Are you sure all this work is necessary? The children and I seem to be doing quite well using the spindles.” She now had a collection of eight.
Ethan grunted as he set the spoke. “It'll be necessary, all right. You're going to need a production wheel soon, especially if Bantering's new priest follows through on his promise to order the yarn for his robe.”
Ellona nodded as she reached for another batt of the green. “I'm not sure I like the look of him.” She and the children had run across the town's new priest on their last trip into Bantering.
Ethan grunted again. “His gold spends as well as the next man's. If you want it, I'll deal with him, and leave you out of it.”
“It's not that. I just didn't like the way he looked at Circumstance. He kept staring at him, and frowning.”
A chill hit Ethan's gut. Ellona might not have noticed, mothers can have their blind spots, but the boy had Elf blood in him. He'd swear by Bardoc's word on it.
He picked up another spoke. “Did he say anything about him?”
Ellona creased her brow with a small frown. “No, that's the part I liked least. He invited us to join the church, and then frowned at Circumstance again just before he left.”
“Why spin for him, then?” Ethan set the spoke, and picked up the last one.
Ellona smiled at him. “As you said. His gold shines just as brightly as the next man's.” She added some more wool to her spinning.
“But,” She added. “I'd rather not go to his church, if you don't mind.”
Ethan nodded. “You know, now that you've brought it up, there is something about Vedder ... Damn my memory I know it has to do with the past, but with my drinking and all...” He looked Ellona in the eye. “We'll just have to watch what happens in the village closely. If it comes to it, we may have to move, quickly. Ok?”
Her eyes met his. “Ok.”
* * * *
Vedder held one of the skeins of brightly colored yarn in his hand. Without meaning to do so, he was weighing it in his hand to assure full weight of what he paid for, as he considered what he'd just seen.
“Mussoli?” He murmured to his alterman, as he watched the woman and her children walk away.
“Yes?” Mussoli put the last of the skeins he had into the basket. It would take his wife a good month to weave the heavy cloth they would make, even working around the clock, but it was for the church.
“Did you notice the older boy?” Vedder bounced the yarn in his hand. He hated paying for things, it made him feel as if he was being cheated somehow.
“Circumstance? No, not really. He seems to be a good boy. Always polite, always does what his mother asks of him.” Mussoli wished he had a couple of Circumstances instead of the brood of little Garlocs Bardoc had gifted him with.
“Something about him...” Vedder turn to Mussoli, and handed him the last skein. “What do you know of his parentage, his father?” Far too much intelligence and self-assurance in that man, a sinner for sure.
Mussoli scratched his thinning scalp. “Don't know about the father, Brother Vedder. I never met him.”
Vedder stared, aghast at the blatant falsehood. “How can you say that sire, Mussoli? You talked to the man yesterday at the Blacksmith's while he was picking up the tools he designed.”
Mussoli stayed calm under the outburst. “You mean Ethan, Brother Vedder? He's not the father of any of them. Ellona lost her man near to seven years ago now, to a fever. Tragic that. Ethan coming along like he did saved them all. Ellona wouldn't admit it, but she was wearing out. I'm sure of it.”
Vedder considered this. The man, Ethan, wasn't the father. Most likely, they hadn't sanctified their union, either. He could deal with that later. His immediate concern was this boy, Circumstance.
He began walking back toward the church. “What have you heard about this boy Circumstance's father? Keep nothing back, Mussoli, it is for the good of the Church.”
Mussoli thought back. It had been a long time, nearly eleven years now. Strange how Ellona's man died almost to the day he ... brought the baby home.
“I remember.” He told the priest. “Her husband brought a baby back out of the wild. He'd gone hunting. Found a nice big buck up by the Circle Sea, southeast of Leward. Had a rack this big.” He measured with his arms outstretched.
Vedder could not have cared any less for how big the rack was, or if there had even been a buck, but the location, that was another matter. “Where did he find the child?”
“The northern edge of the forest just off the Circle Sea, if I remember rightly.”
“That's Elf territory, isn't it?
Mussoli shook his head. “Oh, no, Brother Vedder. They picked up and left, over five years ago. Some say they headed back over the mountains. I can't say for sure where they went myself.”
Vedder didn't care. He had his evidence and the boy was already tried and convicted. Elf. If not Elf, then Half-Elf at least. The people had to be warned of the potential danger this child represented. The mixing of the races ... he shuddered inwardly at the filthiness of the thought.
As he walked back to the church he began piecing together his sermon. He should have it ready for the congregation by the next meeting day.
* * * *
“The mixing of the races is against the very will of Bardoc himself!” Vedder pounded the pulpit as he emphasized the point of his message to the congregation.
“The Elven race, though much, much older than mankind, has never reached the heights of reason and sophistication we have.”
Actually, Elves had not been in the world as long as humans, but Vedder never let the facts get in the way of a good sermon.
He changed his voice from a trumpet to a wheedle. “Which of you, in your dealings with Elves, has ever heard them invoke the name of Bardoc? Which of you hasn't heard of the drunken orgies they frequent, even to the point of using their own children in their abominable rituals?”
The congregation nodded. They'd never seen an Elf, but they'd all heard stories.
He had them now. It was time to set the hook. “What would you say if I told you this community was facing the potential danger of becoming infected with those Elven practices and rituals?”
Vedder had no idea what Elves really did, but it sounded good.
His voice became oily. “What would you say if I told you there were those in our community harboring the seed of that infection?”
A beefy man with a reddish complexion stood at the back of the church, and shouted. “Burn ‘em out!”
Inwardly Vedder smiled as he raised his hand. “Now, now, Brother Dhomil. Let's not jump to action. We are a peaceful community of gracious souls.” He spread his hands wide to either side of the pulpit. “We don't burn our neighbors out. What a thing to say. We must first judge the situation.”
He gazed at them lovingly. “I know you wi
sh to ask, ‘And how do we judge the situation?'”
Now to tease the fish a little. “Vigilant is what we should be. This is how we judge: Bardoc's will demands such. Did he not say, keep watch?” The verse was horribly out of context,but these people never read the holy books so he was safe.
He leaned over the pulpit, and pointed to the congregation at large. “Watch. Be vigilant. Look for the signs of infection, and when it is proven,” he paused for emphasis, “Then you must decide what to do. Bardoc has given you free will for a purpose. Do you think that purpose was to allow human blood to be mixed with the lesser races?”
“No!” The congregation shouted back.
Vedder smiled. “There are times when the best love is the hard love. There are times when to best love a neighbor is to send them home. Home to be with our loving Deity. If they will not repent ... that is the only thing to do.”
He looked across the congregation filling the hall. He saw their rapt expressions. They were his, to do as he willed.
His expression saddened. “I understand our dear sister has not repented of her actions in taking in this terrible danger to our peaceful, pure community. She still harbors this half-Elf ... thing. Who knows what it may do if it is allowed to wander our streets free to carry out any unnatural desire that may cross its fancy? Who knows which of your daughters this thing may rape and impregnate? It is said that most Elf women die in childbirth, killed by the very life they carry in their sick little wombs.”
This was a blatant lie. No one actually knew anything about Elven birthing practices. The rituals were guarded behind a thick veil of racial secrecy.
Some of the women were weeping and clinging to their husbands. The hook was set, and the fish was on the line. Vedder straightened and gave a small move as a pre-arranged signal.
The ruddy faced man on the back stood again. “I say, burn ‘em out. Burn ‘em out now!”
Vedder raised his hands, and stepped away from the pulpit. “As you say, brother Dhomil. I accede to the people's will.”
* * * *
Ethan slammed open the door to the cottage. “Ellona!” He yelled. “Ellona!”