Adrift

by Travis Smith

  The young man was busy checking nets and lines on the docks with Robert Vaga, his father, the most crafty and skillful fisherman in all of Reprise. At last he tugged a line that held the fifth fish, a remarkably large catch that would likely be sufficient on its own to trade for enough venison to feed their whole family and neighbors this night. He planted one foot on the creature’s writhing body and dug the hook out of its gills, replacing the bait on the end and tossing it back into the calm sea.

  “Father! Come look at this one I’ve got!”

  Robert lumbered over nodding his approval and handed the line—already equipped with four moderately smaller fish—to his son. “That should get us a nice thick cut tonight. Perchance even an assortment of veggies to go along.”

  The man winked and replied, “I’ll work some of my charm and get us a few pastries for dessert.”

  Robert clapped his son on the neck and smiled. “Off with ya, then. I’ll check the rest of these lines and see you at home before dinner.” The young man hooked the now dead fish to the line and hoisted the bunch over his shoulder, setting off toward the market.

  When he reached the cobblestone streets of the market he saw an only slightly older man carrying a basket of rich, brightly colored fruits. “Bernard!” he called, beaming and waving his free hand. “G’morn’ to ya!”

  Bernard smiled back and walked over. “G’morn’ yerself. Y’ get enou—great skies of glory! Would ya look at that’n on the bottom! That’s enough for twenty bouquets!”

  His companion laughed and brought his finger to Bernard’s lips. “Stay your shouting, Bernard! These are for our dinner this eve. Mayhap I’ll have some left over after I work my magic. And mayhap I’ll use it for a fancy bouquet for Laura, but I’m thinking of something a little more extravagant now.”

  “What’ve you got in mind?” Bernard asked with a quirky smug grin.

  “Time will tell,” the young romantic replied, “but I’d really like to sweep her off her feet this time. So I’m open to suggestions.”

  The pair entered the butcher’s shaded hut and hushed as the older Phyllis Wright approached them with a pouch of sliced ham. She flashed her flawless white teeth at the pair of younger boys, nodded, and said, “Greetings. How’s the dynamic duo this fine day?”

  “How-do, Phyllis? We two are well received by the day. How fares the handsome Arthur Carraway?”

  She rolled her eyes, subtly displaying a hint of unconscious impatience at the man who was taking his precious time in courting her. “Same as he ever was. As bullheaded as dashing.”

  Bernard tipped Phyllis a polite smile and walked past her to resume his conversation. “Well, I’m sure a nice bouquet would suffice.”

  “Yes, Laura is a simple girl. I’m sure you’re right. But I’m feeling good today.”

  He paused to greet the heavyset butcher, who smiled animatedly with slick, puffy cheeks and called, “Ho, boys! If it isn’t the humble fisherman extraordinaire and king-to-be!”

  “Soft, good sir! We’re only here to make a trade, not to disrupt the masses.” He smiled and slapped the line of fish on the counter. “I know you’ll do me right. Just let me leave with enough fresh venison to feed my family and a fish or two to trade for vegetables.”

  “Ye’ll get more’n enough vegetables wi’ ’alf a fish,” the large man replied dismissively.

  The boy winked at him slyly and replied, “I know.” He turned back to Bernard and continued. “I’ve come across this stroke of good luck at the docks today,” he motioned toward the ample supply of fish, “and I intend to put it to good use. Better safe than sorry when it comes to a maid as fair as Laura.”

  “Well the butcher’s correct.” Bernard seemed to have grown sullen and tired of the conversation. “The son of fisherman extraordinaire and king-to-be should have no trouble securing a dame.”

  He put his hand on Bernard’s shoulder. “Soft now. I’ll not be rightful king for two more generations, after my father and his father before him have both grown too frail to ascend the throne. By then I’ll have the proper experience and modesty in my character to rule these lands as prosperously as those before me whose blood I share.” He turned Bernard to face him directly. “But in the meantime, I am only the meek son of a lowly fisherman, albeit a masterful one!”

  He laughed, and Bernard returned his smile, but for a moment it did not seem genuine. Not until the butcher chimed in, “Toss in a bushel o’ bananas from that basket, ’n’ ye’ve got yerself a meal!”

  2

  In the more recent days just before The Vita fell and the ruler lay slain, a subtle change had permeated the lands in Reprise. Some sensed this ominous quality, but many did not. Although The Stranger and his royal family sensed that something was off, the precise nature of what it was could not be determined. Bernard had grown increasingly sullen and brooding. He was refusing to accompany his lifelong friends and family as they went about their daily activities or sat down together in the evenings to share a meal. He’d begun finding new friends in the sort of folks who skimp on their communal obligations. The kind of men and women who wander into various shops day in and day out and falsely proclaim, “I’ve been on the hunt all day, but I just can’t make a proper kill lately,” or, “The soil I’ve spent all day hoeing is dry and infertile!” The kind of men and women who exploit the kindness and generosity of the hardworking people who kept the nation thriving.

  The Stranger sensed this change as they aged together, and even his mother and father, Diana and Robert Vaga, queen-and king-to-be, sensed the change, but the great nation of Reprise had flourished under the watchful eye of The White for hundreds of generations, and the city of Krake had blossomed and rewarded her inhabitants since the day she was founded, regardless of the few who took advantage of the collective efforts of many.

  Besides, Bernard was a sovereign adult now, and he was free to make his own decisions, a luxury of which he took full and ambitious advantage.

  3

  The Stranger sat at his table with his mother, father, and lovely wife, Laura. The sun was setting on the expansive nautical horizon, and he gazed contentedly out of the large window in his manor high up in the hillsides of Krake, the White Kingdom. The golden-orange sky gradually adopted a breathtaking purple haze as the red sun appeared to sink slowly into the sea. High above his luxurious manor, the ancient castle towered over the city, its facade an intricate combination of stone and lavish white marble. This structure was the most sacred in all of Reprise, and neither The Stranger nor his father Robert, the immediate heir to the throne, had ever ventured inside. The empire was protected by an ancient, hallowed magic, and until the current king chose to bequeath his throne to his firstborn son, the secrets of the realm remained just that—secrets.

  “My father sends his sincerest thanks for the invitation to tonight’s fine feast you’ve prepared, sir,” Laura remarked after all the food had been laid out. “Mother is lending him her assistance while he works through the night with the Laslows. The entire family has grown gravely ill.”

  “Think not of it,” Robert replied, settling in at last beside Diana. “The fine residents of this land overindulge our family with their goods and services for little else than the royal blood we share. Men like your father are the reason we can partake in feasts as exquisite as this. It’s the least we can do to give a little back to our sterling in-laws.”

  “Well, we all know your family gives back much more than you let on,” Laura finished with a smile. Robert flapped his hand good-naturedly at this and reached forward to seize an entire leg from the roast turkey in the middle of the large table. The Stranger put his hand on hers and smiled.

  “Help yourself,” he said.

  The family ate until each member could scarcely move, and still over half the food remained. Meats of three different varieties, vegetables that may have been picked that very morning, and bright fruits likely imported from across the Great Sea lined the table.

  “Don’t even
bother with the desserts, dear, I’ll rupture my innards if I even look at one of Mayberry’s prime pastries!”

  “You won’t catch me trying to stand and retrieve them in this state,” Diana Vaga told her husband.

  “What do you say you pack some of these leftovers up and take them to your mother and father? Perhaps the Laslow’s are fit enough to enjoy a proper meal.”

  “I’m sure they’d be ever so grateful of the gesture,” Laura beamed.

  “Son, fetch your old friends Arthur and Phyllis. If they can’t finish what’s left, we’ll steal away to visit some of those whose crops have been paltry of late.”

  “Much obliged,” The Stranger replied. “I’ll just remain a moment lest my britches burst.” He’d leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes when someone knocked upon his heavy wood door. “Come, come,” he called, struggling to stand comfortably to his feet.

  The door opened and one of Bernard’s new friends stood in the twilight. He entered without a word and closed the door behind him.

  “Antonio!” The Stranger feigned his enthusiasm at the arrival of the shady man. “Come, please, sit and help us work on this meal.” He gestured toward the brimming table.

  Antonio Staig was a heavyset, surly, dark-skinned man with long, black, greasy hair. He grinned bitterly with crooked, often pointed, yellow teeth and spoke in a strong, petulant accent most commonly associated with uneducated eastern outlaws. “Eve’n’, yer majesties. I’d not trouble ya t’ share yer grub wi’ the lowly likes o’ commoners like I.”

  The Stranger glanced at his father, ever unimpressed with Bernard’s choice of mates, and chuckled, “He jests! You jest. You know we’ll give a meal to any man, woman, or child who’d have it! Come and sit. We’ve had our fill and were just discussing where to go from here.”

  “Mighty ’umble of ye t’ share yer table scraps wiv a dog like I, chancellors,” Antonio replied sardonically, “but I must decline. Got bidness t’ tend to.”

  “Have care how you’d speak to the king-to-be,” Robert Vaga growled unpleasantly. “It’s our family that keeps these nations intact, our family that keeps leeches like yourself from dying off or committing a crime from which you can’t recover!”

  Laura and Diana locked eyes uncomfortably, but The Stranger chimed in before Antonio could retort. “Nonsense! You know well not to address us as anything but equals until His present Majesty steps down or reaches the end of his life. We are but friends here.” He approached and reached out to clap Antonio good-naturedly on the shoulder, but the short, stout man grimaced and pulled away.

  “Never you mind, friend, I’ve not come t’ eat. I’ve come t’ say Bernard does wish t’ see you.”

  “Ah, Bernard! We invited him to dine with us, but he wouldn’t commit one way or another. He couldn’t make it out with you this night?”

  “He wish t’ see you in ’is own lowly abode, if ’t suits ye.”

  “Bernard has known since we were infants that he could share equally in our wealth and good fortune. He’s made his own decisions. Nonetheless, I’ll accompany you! I should like to catch up with Bernard.” He turned back to the table. “So long as my lovely wife does not object.”

  “Not at all,” Laura replied, as valiantly charming as she could be under the uncomfortable circumstances.

  Antonio stepped forward from the door at last and tipped his head in a sarcastic bow. “An’ where be my manners?” He dropped his own accent and adopted a phony, aristocratic one: “How do ya do, future queen of Reprise?” He seized her hand in his own without waiting for her to offer it and placed it roughly against his lips.

  The Stranger looked on wearily. He’d struggled honestly to keep the peace here, but Bernard’s friends had a way of pushing their luck.

  “Come, Antonio. Let us away before I am unable to keep up with your bitter tongue.”

  4

  The Stranger and Antonio stepped out into the dark and began to descend the expansive stone steps leading to his father’s manor, his own manor, and, beyond the two, the castle on the hilltop. Torches and lamps blazed throughout the city below. Some were still out wandering the streets, partaking in song and dance and drink and other festivities, but most of the citizens of Krake were in their homes at this time in the evening.

  “You’d have care how you speak in the presence of my family, Antonio,” he said as they neared the bottom of the stairs and approached the street below. “Not for the sake of our heritage, but for the sake of my wife. I’d not have you coming off as mocking or threatening to her. Especially not in my own home.”

  Antonio walked ahead of him in silence, stout and sullen, surely yearning for a reason to put his strong arms to use and pound the future king into a pulp.

  “I admonish you not for your sake—I’ve no love for the likes of you—but for the sake of Bernard. As his friend I wish to keep our interactions as peaceful as you can manage, at least in the presence of my family.”

  Antonio stopped abruptly and turned to face The Stranger. His dark, stubbly mouth widened in a malicious grin. A grin that seemed to suggest this foul man knew more than The Stranger himself.

  The pair continued in silence until they reached Bernard’s dwelling. A modest home near the market that resembled most houses in Krake. While by no means an inexpensive cottage or slum, it certainly wasn’t the type of luxurious manor in which The Stranger could have ensured that his lifelong friend would spend out his days.

  Antonio tapped twice on the door and entered without being bid. Bernard stopped pacing around his den and looked at the pair in the dim candlelight. “Welcome back,” he said in a neutral voice that was not necessarily welcoming. “And hello to you, old friend!”

  Old friend. Was that the best he could force himself to feign amiability after all the two had been through together?

  “Good eve’, Bernard. I tried to bring you a spot of food for supper, but your mate here would have nothing of it.” Antonio crossed his thick arms ill-temperedly and stood beside the door like a bodyguard.

  “Always the charitable one were you, friend,” Bernard replied. “It’s why I’ve asked you here, in fact. I’ve found myself in a bit of a spot.”

  “Of course,” The Stranger said neutrally.

  “I was wondering if I could trouble you for a bit of meat,” Bernard carried on. “Perhaps a real prime cut. Something fanciful. I know old Pingrio the butcher will give you the entire shop for next to nothing if you ask.”

  “And you could share the same fortune had you not alienated yourself from me, Bernard.”

  “Ah, but alas,” Bernard spread his arms, “here I am in this commoner’s cabin with my own set of commoner friends and my own set of commoner’s woes.”

  The Stranger had grown used to this inflexible stubbornness from Bernard, and he had a feeling this request wasn’t the meat—so to speak—of what Bernard wanted from him. “Of course, Bernard. I will give to you any cuts you desire.”

  Bernard clearly had expected more interrogation or resistance from his friend, or he would have come to the house himself. He would have at the very least sent Antonio over with just the request.

  “What’s the real reason you’ve called me here?”

  “Well,” Bernard continued in a bit of obvious discomfort, “I may need quite a supply of fine goods. A prime cut of meat may not be just enough.”

  “In what sort of trouble have you found yourself?” asked The Stranger.

  “I owe something of a debt,” Bernard admitted at last, “and I’ll need to be sure I can placate my pursuers once and for all.”

  This was just the sort of trouble Bernard could have avoided all along if he would simply have put in his fair share of effort and earned an honest man’s portion of possessions.

  “What have you gotten yourself into? Be straight with me, Bernard. You know I can help you out of it.”

  “Well, it’s a bit more complicated than what you yourself may want to be directly involved in,” Bernard stalle
d, the conversation clearly headed more and more in the direction he had hoped.

  “Tell me straight!”

  “It’s the ogras,” he said at last.

  The Stranger seized Bernard by the shoulders and mustered every bit of will he possessed to refrain from shaking the foolish man and screaming in his face. “The ogras! Bernard, you fool! You know those plants are the first place the dark spirits go when they leave this realm!” Antonio scoffed behind him, and The Stranger turned to the burly man, pointing a finger in his face. “Don’t you blaspheme to me!” he shouted. “You’ve more than pushed your luck with me this night! You’re the reason Bernard is in this mess.” He turned back to face Bernard. “The leaves of the ogras will house the evil spirits for an eternity! You don’t smoke the stuff, do you? Tell me you don’t use it, Bernard!”

  Bernard stared into The Stranger’s worrisome face and spoke levelly. “You’re overreacting.”

  “Oh, great lands! No wonder you’ve changed so dramatically in recent days! There’s no telling what effects the ogras has had on your mind. There are likely black spirits inhabiting your very skull!” He thumped the side of his own head for emphasis.

  “There are no black spirits inhabiting my mind!” Bernard snapped back. “If you would think such of me after all we’ve been through, then I retract my request for your assistance.”

  “You will have my assistance, Bernard! I just cannot believe that you would be so foolish! Would you enter a house inhabited by the dead, my friend? Would you live there and eat there and allow the evil spirits who reside there to taint your foods and enter your body? The evil dead roam these lands searching for ways to once again impact our realm. By smoking the ogras and distributing it to our people, you are providing those dead a channel. You are bringing their evil back into our plane of existence.”

  “Spare us the lectures please,” Bernard replied, unmoved. “Will you help me, or won’t you, old friend?”

  There was that title again. Did Bernard know how much it stung?

  “I will help you, but you must stop what you are doing. I cannot allow you to taint our White Kingdom with the darkness of the dead.”