by Chris Turner
The Vulde paused to assess Baus’s and Valere’s vestments and congratulated them on their choice of colours, as he did too the haberdasher’s vision in fitting them.
“Thanks to our tailor, Aeke, one of Krintz’s finest,” Tulesio announced.
The Vulde nodded in acknowledgement. “Let us enjoy this evening with fine celebration. The Dakkaw is no more and Krintz is now free from his random tyranny. I am pleased to announce that the acquisition of immoderate booty from Bisiguth has yielded favourable fruits. Godol, can you imagine!—Three chests of silver, two gold trunks, and countless antiques and bibelots for the taking! By great king Henriok—it shall take men days to transfer the bulk of wealth to Silsoor.”
Godol raised his goblet in toast.
Baus extended his congratulations: “Perhaps a token of the wealth might find its way to Valere and I. I don’t imply this solely for reasons of altruism.”
“Altruism? Where does altruism enter the picture?”
“Nowhere. For purposes of advances to our continued education, I say. I ask for your pledge for small services rendered. Recall, if not for our part in the play, the Dakkaw would be at large, plaguing your village with violent mischief.”
The Vulde became instantly stony. “The observations are overgeneralized. Furthermore, inexact. How can you suggest such a proposal? Bisiguth’s wealth is part of my grandfather’s estate. To think of disbursing the legacy is risible.”
Griselda tendered a snort. “Aye! Father is a fastidious sort. He would rather see his lands and estate ruled by an outsider than share a portion of his wealth—for that matter even secure a husband for me!” She cast a scornful look at Hysgode and Delizra, one of envy. “It is deplorable that my sister, three years my junior, is to marry before I. It is too abominable to fathom!”
“There, child,” consoled Tulesio. “I’m sure your father is looking out for your best interests.”
“Don’t patronize me, you ingratiating whelp. You call me a child—I’ll have you know I am a woman! What my father knows best is how to deal local politics and placate weasels like old Godol here—a ferret who knows the fondling of young girls better than his own office.”
Godol coughed. “Well, at least I do not include you amongst such lucky persons.”
Griselda hissed between her teeth.
The Vulde cracked his fist down on the table. “Enough of this diatribe. I’ll have no more of it. Mind your manners, Griselda! We are nobles here, not boors. We reside at Silsoor.”
“Ha, so proper as usual!” Griselda whined impudently.
Delizra stifled an outcry; perhaps she thought better to impart peace than allow matters to escalate: “Griselda—not so novel is it to be engaged. It has its insipid moments, to be sure—in fact, many.” She gave a curt glance at Hysgode as if to emphasize it.
Griselda glowered. She turned Hysgode a cold scrutiny. Baus absorbed the interplay between family members with detached amusement: Griselda’s churning . . . Hysgode’s supercilious curl of lip and priggish gaze upon the swinish Griselda . . . Delizra’s irritation at Hysgode’s fawning airs . . .
“Perhaps you are right in what you say, sister,” Griselda croaked knowingly. “But, I shall not be domineered!”
There was a bitter silence; the hard words seemed to settle and the diners set upon their viands once again, albeit with a subdued zeal. Godol discharged a rather laconic inquiry to the Vulde, “Have we reached a final verdict on this dreadful murderer, the Dakkaw?”
The Vulde peered thinly up from his mutton. “Yes—the ogre is to be hanged while set afire; is it not fitting?”
“Very much, yet I condone a perhaps slower dealing of death for the brute.”
Baus’s brows lofted. “The penalty seems harsh. Wouldn’t simple lifelong incarceration be punishment enough for this ogre’s knavery?”
The Vulde stared at him as if he were daft. “The creature has mauled and murdered Krintzers. What should we do? Have him as a guest for dinner? Make a bed for him?”
“Enough sarcasm, father,” scolded Delizra.
“Alas, Vulde!” assured Baus politely. “I meant no disrespect. Only to plead the case of compassion for the lowlifes of the world like the Dakkaw.” With deft weaves of rhetoric, Baus quickly redirected the conversation to other matters. “Do many of these menaces haunt these locales?”
“None, thanks to local justice. Why ask such a question?”
Sitting on Baus’s right, Cedrek forwarded a sneer: “It seems that Baus’s idea of humour lends itself to the odd obtuse inquiry.”
Baus’s eyes shafted on Cedrek, but he calmly held his tongue.
The Vulde spoke in more oblique tones. “It is for the protection of Krintz that we eradicate this monster once and for all, thus repairing a universal problem.”
Delizra countered her father’s argument, “Is it our duty to kill? Do we really have the authority to snuff out a life?”
An uncomfortable silence descended on the table and Baus blinked from face to face. Confrontations seemed ubiquitous at Silsoor’s table and Delizra seemed to be no small player in their instigation.
Trenchant words flew across the table; Baus and Valere hurriedly avoided becoming part of them, listening politely, nodding, grunting from time to time with grave emphasis. On the Dakkaw’s coming punishment it seemed that opinion was varied. Cedrek took the Vulde and Godol’s side; Delizra, Griselda and Valere favoured Baus’s. It gave Baus a noticeable pleasure to witness the support that his argument won and he smiled, giving himself time to casually draw a sizeable pinch of hot pepper to apply the mixture to Cedrek’s mutton. Perhaps only Delizra noticed.
“I think what Baus and others fail to understand,” interrupted Godol importantly, “is the degree of depravity to which the Dakkaw has descended, which by law, is punishable by death.” He cast Baus a loathsome look; he continued to blurt out in a clarion voice: “Several of our villagers have gone missing and are presumed dead because of the Dakkaw’s mischief, including Feistes, a poet, Mearl the Spice-man, Salsha the Seamstress. The maid Salsha disappeared quite recently last spring. We all know of the Dakkaw’s proclivities; his mistreatment of ‘guests’ is legendary—he has kept some for many months—” He paused, frowning. “Cedrek? Whatever is the problem?”
The butcher’s son, however, could utter no words. His face had swollen to the size of a pumpkin and grown blotched and ruddy with fire; his tongue flicked in and out like a snake’s.
Baus jumped up to tap him several times on the back.
To no avail. Cedrek gasped, flailed out arms, and Baus deigned to offer assistance.
Hysgode, sitting to Cedrek’s right, offered him a decanter of wine, but the oaf swept it away, clattering glasses and tableware. The Vulde ran fetching Velnar for smelling salts; others leapt from their seats, not knowing what to do. They were so busy that Baus took occasion to switch bowls with Cedrek’s to allay any possible backlash, which again, Delizra only seemed to notice. With an odd shake of her head, she masked a strangled chuckle. Baus attributed this to a person appreciating a good prank now and then—and one with little love for Cedrek, who had been ogling her ever since he had stepped foot in Silsoor.
Cedrek was finally back to his seat shaken and subdued. After several glasses of water, he turned to glower at Baus. “You villain!” he cursed. “How dare you tamper with my goulash?”
Baus rejected such charge. To disprove the fantasy, Baus snatched up Cedrek’s bowl and spooned a hefty portion into his mouth. “There, you see!”
Hysgode, for fun, tasted a spoonful too and shrugged as if nothing were the matter. The Vulde frowned, seemed more critically convinced of Cedrek’s paranoia.
Cedrek, rising speechless from his seat, beseeched the Vulde for justice, but was ordered to take his chair and curb his insatiable tongue. “You are a boor, Cedrek; hereupon, I bid you to control your accusations!”
Cedrek’s father shook his head. “I don’t know what has gotten into him.”
Godol looked on complacently at the shenanigans. “Such an unnecessary ruckus given the favourable turn of our capturing the Dakkaw. As I mentioned, the sight of Cedrek is enough to give us all insights. Even Cedrek’s latter behaviour, I attribute to delusion, more than traumatic stress. But I drift . . . Baus and Valere, obviously your own encounter at Bisiguth has given you spiritual insights?”
“An execrable experience,” Valere grunted sourly.
“It is all so discomposing!” moaned Baus.
Delizra shivered. “This murdering, monstrous Dakkaw is chained hardly three stones’ throws from our own dinner table. I can’t stomach it. The ogre causes us grief in our own home!—makes my skin crawl!”
“There, there.” Hysgode added his own view: “All true, but we must consider patterns down philosophical lines, distancing ourselves from profligate emotion. We must stay true to the pure and respectable logic of facts. Withal, ladies are present, becoming overwrought with gloomy recollections.” He cast Delizra a patronizing glance. “Never fear, pumpkin! We shall be together shortly. I know you are as eager as I to consummate our marriage, living together up the hill at Nausvere amongst the purple felfoons and the windle-larch. The wind blows freely as horns and will tousle our shiny locks with favour!”
Delizra clapped down her fork with scorn. “’Tis cold up there in Nausvere, Hysgode, and I am likely to fall sick. I quite like it here at Silsoor, and in fact, I think I shall stay. Your manse is distant. Who shall take care of my mother? Her health is ailing, and if not for Tulesio’s herbs which she imbibes twice a day, she may have already died!”
“Hush, my moffet!” soothed Hysgode, “we shall hire servants to take care of the good Lady Boquk.”
Griselda’s voice rang with heavy sarcasm. “And who will take care of you, dear Hysgode? Olefe, the magic elf? An entire battery of servants could hardly keep up with your incessant demands, let alone the insistent wheedlings of my mother.”
Hysgode bared his teeth. “Indeed! But not half as many beauticians could keep up with your own repulsiveness, which as your father hints, is ‘insuperable’!”
Griselda opened her mouth, but only could utter rasping croaks. The Vulde seemed to have the last say in the matter and gave a brisk reprimand to Hysgode: “Temper your opinions! I’ll not have my daughter slandered while guests are present, even in light of her deficiencies.”
Griselda muttered outrage at both her father and Hysgode. Hysgode held out a placating palm, “You misinterpret my remarks, Vulde. I was merely speaking—”
“Whatever you were speaking—I shan’t tolerate it!”
Stiff silence pervaded the table, but it seemed easily managed by the Vulde and Godol’s business-like chatter. The conversation resumed to topics of lighter nature, including Baus and Valere.
The Vulde inquired mannerly, “Are you not going to taste more of our goulash, Baus? Seela’s touch is unique and I notice half a bowl which will go to waste.”
“Your eye is keen, Vulde—but—” he grimaced down at Cedrek’s erstwhile bowl “—I have imbibed too much wine and it hardly begets me a proper appetite—no offence to your cooks.”
“None taken. But perhaps you shall indulge in some dessert? She has prepared some decadent little puffy-cream tortes and morfosia balls in blue-goose syrup.”
“Titillating! You are so very kind, Vulde. And this profusion of delectations makes my head swim!”
“Then,” cried the Vulde, clapping his hands, “offer me a gift! Tell us more of your exploits, of which we know little.”
Baus nodded graciously. “I will.” He forced himself to assume an air of valedictorian proficiency. He began to recite a perplexing mythology of his background, involving a tale of intrigue, adventure and altruism. He paused to cast Delizra a courteous glance, and sensed the spark of attraction, and challenge there, which impelled him to a flash of quixotry. Poetry and snippets were injected into the narrative, reminiscent of Weavil’s finest, which added to the overall effect. The names and details dropped from anecdotes he had heard from Trimestrius and Ulisa didn’t hurt and cast him in better stead.
Valere listened with half-masked amusement while Cedrek and Hysgode listened on with cold apathy. The Vulde laughed, and hearing enough, banged a mallet on a tine, signalling the time for after-dinner games.
Delizra jumped to her feet. She smoothed her hands and prompted Baus to believe something was coming more enjoyable than mealtime pleasantries. Griselda, too, evinced some grunting interest.
All repaired to the common room. Embracing the fire’s warmth, the guests waited for the Vulde’s signal, upon which a space was cleared and Tulesio explained the game of ‘Sloops’ to the Heagramers. It turned out that it was a match of skill involving teams alternately pushing coloured discs along the floor with ceremonial poles. “Discs are to land in ‘zones’ only,” instructed Tulesio. “Points are allotted for discs landing in deeper zones—fifteen for a length thrust, ten for a mid, five for a shallow. Negative points are allotted for throws that land outside the winning octagon.”
Delizra insisted that she partner with Baus, to which the Vulde agreed. Hysgode was out of sorts. Valere teamed with Tulesio; the Vulde was paired with the butcher Halfhan. Griselda took Halfhan’s wife as partner and Hysgode was left with Cedrek. Many rounds were played, of which victories were rendered in respectable count by the manor’s lord—Delizra and Baus taking the most. Hysgode was hampered by Cedrek’s lack of coordination and showed a keen frustration at being paired with the lout. He continued to suffer more embarrassing losses, much to Delizra’s merriment.
As the night flew on, a flask of larch whiskey dropped several inches. Laughter grew in force; tongues began to loosen in proportion to the quantities of liquor imbibed. Even Cedrek, as vapid and cynical as he was, seemed lighter of spirit. All enjoyed the playful atmosphere—with the exception of Hysgode, who cast ever more hateful glances at Baus, in whom his fiancée seemed to be taking an ever-popular interest.
On one particular pass, Delizra went so far as to sweep her breasts warmly across Baus’s back, causing the hairs on the back of Baus’s neck to flutter. The touch of the soft contours against his body was revivifying, if not welcoming after a long stint of celibacy. To flirt with him was a way of making Hysgode jealous, but caution and reservation was a better foreplay than colourful advances. Heedful of her every move, Hysgode became ever more inept at his own game. He was reprimanded twice by the Vulde for improper conduct. “Hysgode! Your sportsmanship has achieved an abysmal low! Not only are your exceptions uncalled for but your drunken sulkiness leaves much to be desired. I shall not stand for these repeated vulgarities or proprietorial rages in my domicile!”
Whether it was for pure fun or to make Hysgode dizzyingly spiteful, Baus fuelled the occasion, causing the hours to pass by in provocative procession.
Seela served another round of dessert—an unctuous mash of shallot, goat cream and woffle-berries drowned in baywolf syrup. A new game was proposed: ‘Spooks’, a diversion entirely unique and more risqué than ‘Sloops’. Straws were drawn and the loser blindfolded. The others were gathered round a circle and bidden to remain quiet. If the blindfolded could reach out, grab any one individual and name him or her on the first guess, then he or she would exchange places with the chosen and become the ‘guesser’. The rules of the game were simple—the people around the ring were permitted to move at will; when each person had been named, the game was over.
Lord Vulde and Godol sat out this round, relaxed by the spirits they had drunk; they busied themselves around the fire playing Sermaene, a board game of strategic and ancient character, involving a hundred pieces, inspiring each player to move his warriors alternately, hoping to defeat the other’s army. Cedrek’s parents, not taken particularly with ‘Spooks’, watched the game with focussed attention.
Valere was up first, immediately scouting out Baus. Baus confused Hysgode for Cedrek and deliberately was forced to guess another quarry, at which instant he spotted
Delizra by means of her lavender perfume and husky giggling. She keyed into Baus’s flirting and purposely confused her fiancée with Griselda, an error which Hysgode found in poor taste.
“Oh, you are such a prig, Hysgode—lighten up!”
Hysgode did not dignify the response and ground his teeth with fury.
At this juncture Griselda was up and very lustily groped for Cedrek, whom she mistook for Baus. Cedrek, nonplussed, issued a venomous snort, bordering on affront. The slight nearly landed him into a fistfight with Griselda and in short time he was up again, rather obtusely essaying a similar trick upon Delizra. When the Vulde’s daughter dashed lightly out of his scab-pocked reach and Cedrek found himself pawing Valere, the trouble began. Cedrek, clouded by spirits and the intensity of his lust, was soon convinced that Valere was Delizra, and his prurient reaches reached unacceptable standards, to which effect Cedrek remained sprawled on the planks with an aching back, forced to sit out the next rounds suffering pangs and bruises.
Hysgode was up at ‘Spook’s’ next. Earlier reprimands had not discouraged his attempts to trip Baus while he was blindfolded and his lunge, delivered for maximum vengeance on his rival, was miscalculated and he plunged headlong into the fire, sending the Vulde’s and Sir Godol’s game clattering to the floor. The elders were dismayed. Hysgode singed his own eyebrows and pale forelocks. The result was a shambles, at which point the evening was called short for reasons of fire hazard.
The liquor was spent; the coals had burned down to dull embers. Lord Vulde, gentled by drink, enjoined Tulesio to return Baus his gladius, doubtlessly convinced of his genuineness.
The sisters took their leave of the parlour; Cedrek and his parents were ushered to the guest quarters; Hysgode had already retired to nurse his scorched brow while the Vulde was quick to follow his lead to bed. Baus and Valere repaired to their own chambers alongside Cedrek’s parents, in moods most cheerful.