A Touch of Magic (22 page)

Tobsen looked up from his playing. “I’m glad you’re amused,” he said with arched eyebrows. “If I can’t give the elves an epic drama, at least I can give them comedy. Perhaps that will tickle their fancy. Doubtful, though.”

Every time Randall felt like he could learn to tolerate Tobsen’s company, the man’s insufferable snobbishness would drive away any feeling of goodwill. He vowed to talk to the man as little as possible for the rest of the trip. He was finishing the last of his soup in silence when Declan and Brody returned. Brody had a large grouse slung over one shoulder.

“Well, we got us a bird, but missed the rabbit.” Brody declared. “I don’t think this fella will quite feed us all, though.”

“I’ve got some soup, too,” Randall offered.

“Smells good,” Declan grunted as he sat down next to the fire and started the task of plucking the bird and preparing it for dinner.

 “It is
surprisingly
refreshing,” Tobsen added, aggravating Randall with the backhanded compliment.

While Declan prepared the bird, Randall wiped out the wooden bowls and served up the rest of the soup to the two hunters. Both dug in with gusto, though Randall wished that Declan would have washed the bird’s entrails off of his hands before eating.

“This
is
good,” Declan declared as he drank the eel and potato soup from the bowl. “What’s in it?”

“Eel, potatoes, salt, and some wild thyme I saw near the river,” Randall started.

At the first word, Declan’s face became very still and he stopped chewing. His face grew pale and slightly green, and he leaned forward and carefully spit the mouthful he was working on back into the bowl.

“Eel?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm.

“Well, yeah,” Randall said. “The marsh is full of them this time of year. Mom makes this soup every spring. We used to catch them as they came upriver to spawn. They were even easier to catch in the marsh.”

Declan looked panicked as he tried furiously to wipe his tongue off with the top of his tunic. “You mean you let me eat some two day old slimy eel that you’ve been carrying around with you?” he accused between scrubs.

“Of course not,” Randall laughed, digging in his travel sack. “I actually caught them last week.” He pulled out a rock-hard plank of dried eel, and banged it on his knee a couple times. It sounded exactly like an old plank of wood might.

The sight of the dried, flaky sea snake body was too much for Declan, and he bolted to his feet and raced toward the stream. He only made it a few feet before the sound of retching carried back toward the others.

Brody couldn’t contain himself. He grabbed his sides and roared with great peals of laughter. Finally, getting control of himself, he wiped the tears from his eyes and slapped Randall on the back, while the sounds of Declan’s abdominal distress still carried across the campground.

“Wow,” he said, still wiping tears. “I’ve traveled a lot of years with Declan, and I ain’t never seen anything turn his stomach like that. You got him good, boy, that’s for sure.”

Randall was amused, but mostly, he was unsure of what had just happened.
Why would Declan have a problem with eel soup? He said it was delicious!
He just nodded and gave Brody an uncertain smile.

“The soup
is
good, though,” Brody continued. “What’s really in it?”

“
Eel
!” Randall said, exasperated. “I caught and smoked them last week! There’s nothing wrong with them.”

Randall tossed the fragment of dried eel to Brody so the man could see for himself. Brody caught the eel, and made a curious burping sound at the back of his throat as he examined it. He pushed his unfinished bowl of soup to the side, and stood up unsteadily.

“I…I think I’m just going to get me a bit of water to wash this down with,” he said.

He made it all the way to the side of the wagon before he too started disgorging his dinner. Tobsen shook his head at the backs of the two hunched over men, and without a word, picked up Declan’s soup bowl and slurped down the last of the soup, smacking his lips.

“Surprisingly refreshing,” he said to himself.

When it looked like neither man was going to come back to eat, Randall finished off Brody’s soup feeling a little guilty. He didn’t think he’d ever figure out his traveling companions. Declan didn’t seem to have a problem eating meals with the grouse’s blood and guts covering his hands, but a little thing like eating eel turned his stomach in knots. On the other hand, Tobsen had no problem tucking it away.

Shaking his head in confusion, Randall bent himself to the task of finishing up where Declan had left off with the bird. After he finished plucking the feathers, he stuffed the carcass with the same wild thyme he had used in the soup and put it over the fire to cook. After it was finished, he carefully rent the flesh from the bone and wrapped it up so they could have it later.

At dinnertime, it was decided that Randall and Tobsen would have Randall’s soup, while Brody and Declan would eat the grouse. Randall was fine with the choice…the grouse would be dry and bland anyway without something to spice it up, but both men declined his offer to hunt for wild herbs and mushrooms. Left to his own devices, Randall found some delicious shaggy mane mushrooms to add to the soup. He didn’t have any trouble squirreling away a bit for Berry, still hidden in the wagon.

The next day, it was Declan’s turn to drive the wagon again. Randall still hadn’t caught sight of Berry hiding within its depths, but he was happy the little imp was staying out of sight. The bits of food he left out all got eaten, so he knew that his friend was still around. The thought brought him comfort. These men helped make Randall feel safe, but he really didn’t think of any of them as a friend, at least not yet.

“Didn’t you drive the wagon night before last?” Randall asked. He had been trying to strike up a conversation with the burly man all morning.

“Yeh,” Declan replied with a grunt, causing Randall to roll his eyes and sigh. Getting Declan to put more than a few words together was as frustrating as trying to wrestle a greased pig.

“Doesn’t Tobsen ever take a turn driving the wagon?” Randall asked. He had already gotten fed up with the minstrel’s stuck-up manner, and resented the fact that Tobsen was not pulling his weight on the caravan team.

“Tobsen sings to the elves,” Declan said. “Won’t do anything else.”

It was the most conversation Randall had gotten out of Declan all day. And it left the possibility open for more questions! Randall leapt at the chance.

“Don’t you ever get mad that he doesn’t do his share of work?” Randall asked, giving voice to his frustration.

Declan merely shrugged. “Without him, we don’t have a business, so…” Declan said, trailing off and resuming the task of guiding the wagon.

Well, that’s the end of that conversation
, Randall thought to himself. But at least he’d gotten
something
from the taciturn man.

Left to his solitude, Randall tried seeing things from Declan’s point of view. Soon, he began to understand the man’s unconcerned attitude: Without Tobsen, they would have no goods to sell at all. Tobsen’s relationship with the elves essentially created a large amount of wealth out of thin air.

 Each man obviously contributed something to the enterprise to keep it going; otherwise it would have failed long ago. While it might not seem fair that Tobsen didn’t work as hard as the others, from another point of view, it might not seem fair that Declan and Brody were profiting off of Tobsen. As long as everyone was happy with his part, who was Randall to judge what was right?

“Declan, I want to make myself useful. It’s only fair that I do more to help out, since you are helping me reach Paranol,” Randall said.

“Good,” Declan said, nodding. “Tomorrow, you drive the wagon.”

Declan was true to his word. Randall got to drive the wagon the following day. It was easy work, really. They had passed out of the wooded area and onto the plains the previous day, so there wasn’t much for Randall to pay attention to. He just had to watch where he steered the horse to keep the cart from running through ruts or over stumps.

While it wasn’t difficult work, it let Randall feel like he was contributing in some small way. He couldn’t really do much other than drive the cart or make soup, but he was determined to do whatever he could to earn his passage. And while driving the cart, he discovered another bonus: Brody and Declan would often leave the cart for extended periods, scouting ahead for trouble and searching for small game. Neither man had yet screwed up the courage to give Randall’s soup another try.

Tobsen also stayed away from the wagon for the most part, but that was no large surprise. He rode on ahead, leaving Randall to trail a score of yards behind him. He never once looked back to see if Randall were following, as if the man couldn’t care less if he ran into any difficulty. If it wasn’t for the obvious economic benefit to having him along, Randall wasn’t sure he could work with the lazy fop. Something about how the man turned up his nose at menial labor as if it were beneath him just stuck in Randall’s craw.

With the other men occupied and leaving Randall alone with the wagon for most of the day, he managed to squeeze in a little bit of time playing with Berry. It was obvious that the little sprite was going stir crazy. When Randall would reach back into the wagon, the sprite would chitter excitedly, climbing all over his arm and batting at his fingers like a kitten might. At one point, when all of the men were sufficiently far from the wagon that they wouldn’t notice, Randall even let Berry ride on his shoulder in his customary spot. He figured it was safe enough; with Berry still mostly transparent, there was no way the men would spot him.

Berry was so excited that Randall was afraid he might have to let the imp back down. He chattered and purred, constantly running from one shoulder to the next and tugging on Randall’s hair and earlobes. Randall fought down his urge to laugh and play, but he couldn’t keep the grin off of his face.

But playtime ended all too quickly as the afternoon became early evening. Randall shaved several large pieces of eel off of his last plank, which Berry seemed to enjoy eating like beef jerky. Leaving him in the back of the wagon, Randall climbed down to help the other men set up camp. In the distance, there was a low-hanging fuzzy smoke on the horizon.

“Is that a fire?” Randall asked. “Should we be worried about that?”

Brody laughed at the question. “No boy, that there is Paranol. Most folks are probably settling down to dinner, same as us. That there’s the smog of near a couple thousand cook-fires. We’re still a few hours out, but we should make it there some time tomorrow.”

Paranol!
The thought ripped through Randall like an arrow! These last few days on the road had been easy and relaxing, and had allowed Randall forget that there was a price on his head. His heart suddenly in his throat, Randall hoped that Master Erliand had made it to the big city after all. Otherwise, Randall could only speculate about the kind of danger he might be riding into.

Chapter 11

Brody was true to his word. The four travelers crossed into Paranol late in the afternoon the following day. When they were on the outskirts of the town, Randall remarked that Paranol didn’t seem much different than Geldorn. Maybe there were more farms along the road, but so far, Paranol didn’t seem to be the big metropolis he had envisioned. He couldn’t help declaring his disappointment to Brody, who was taking his turn driving the wagon.

“This ain’t the town,” Brody said, laughing at Randall’s naiveté. “These are the outlying farmsteads. We got maybe a couple more hours before we reach the town.”

 “Oh,” Randall said, embarrassed. Every time he voiced his opinion, either Brody or Tobsen took great pleasure in shooting him down and making him feel like a yokel. At least Declan didn’t jump at every opportunity to poke fun at Randall’s ignorance. But then again, Declan hardly spoke to him at all. Randall vowed to try to keep his mouth shut and stop making a fool of himself. He feared that he wouldn’t have much luck among these seasoned travelers, however.

Sure enough, a couple of hours later, the group was in the city of Paranol. Randall’s mouth gaped as he stared at the hubbub and confusion around him. He didn’t care if he looked like a yokel or not, he had never seen so many people cramped so closely together. There was no
land,
just buildings butted up against their neighbors, with narrow roads winding between them. People pushed past each other on the roads, seemingly having no courtesy or concept of personal space.

And the smell! The stench was awful. While Randall thought that he would never smell anything as disgusting as the bog-wights, the fetor that now assailed his nostrils was a close second. Didn’t these people clean up after themselves? The streets smelled of excrement and the sour smell of body odor, multiplied a thousand-fold.

Randall’s throat tightened and he started gasping in shallow breaths. He had never felt claustrophobia before, and in fact, the word would have had no clear meaning to him before this day. But once the city closed in on him, Randall felt like he was on the verge of an acute panic attack.

“First time in the city getting to you?” Brody asked, laughing at Randall’s misfortune. “Why don’t you just climb in back and lie down. We’ll be there soon enough.”

But Randall couldn’t tear his eyes away from the bedlam of the big city. Distracted by the sights and sounds, he soon forgot his discomfort. Remarkably, he soon got used to the smell, too. Everywhere Randall looked, someone was selling something. The streets echoed with the din of the peddlers hawking wine and cheese, milk, even eggs.

“Garlic! That man is selling garlic!” Randall cried out.

Brody just harrumphed and continued driving the wagon deeper into town.

“But why would anyone buy garlic? Why wouldn’t they just grow their own” Randall asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Who has the time?” Brody replied. “Life here ain’t like life on the farm, boy. Small towns like yours don’t have much money because they don’t
need
it. Most people are self-sufficient; money only changes hands when people need something they can’t make or grow for themselves. Even then, it’s as likely for you to work something out in trade as it is for cash money to actually change hands, am I right?”

At Randall’s nod, Brody continued, “Here, everyone has a job to do and nobody has time to be self-sufficient. Take that guy for instance,” Brody said as he gestured to a man who appeared to be building a wooden table.

“He’s a joiner,” Brody explained. “All he really knows how to do is build things from wood. If you need a door or a cabinet, he’s the man you see. But I wouldn’t trust him to bake me a pie or to cut me a fat slice of mutton! So, if you need a chair, you give that man some money and he makes you one. If that man wants a pie, he takes the money you gave him and he goes to see the baker. If he needs new shoes, he goes to the cobbler.

“Most everyone in a big town has a specialized job, and they do that same job, over and over again, for the rest of their lives.”

“But that’s so boring!” Randall said, remembering that he nearly got trapped into just such a life when he tried to escape Master Erliand by accepting a position as an apprentice baker at job fair.

“So it is!” Brody laughed. “Why do you think I became a caravaner? I get to see the sights, and live a life of freedom and adventure! Lots of money changes hands in the big cities, plenty for us to get ourselves a piece of the action. After we’ve had our fill of excitement, we push off and move on to the next town.”

Declan looked over from where he was riding next to the wagon and snorted, while rolling his eyes. “Plenty boring on the road, too.”

“Oh, shut it,” Brody shot back good-naturedly. “Nobody’s keeping you from settling down and selling meat pies for a living.”

Declan’s eyebrows pinched together and his expression clouded over. “My pa sold meat pies.”

“I know!” Brody cried, laughing. “And you had the good sense not to follow in his footsteps!”

Declan’s expression softened to something more contemplative for a moment before he knitted his eyebrows in frustration, a scowl on his face. He spurred his horse forward along the thoroughfare as Brody’s laughter chased after him.

Randall wasn’t sure what had just passed between the two men, but he thought it would be best if he didn’t pry. It wasn’t long before they arrived at the inn that Brody had declared would be their base of operations. After smelling the various meats and pastries that peddlers had been selling in the street, Randall was ready for some real cooking. He had grown up enjoying his mother’s traditional eel soup at springtime, but after living on the dish for nearly a week, he’d be happy if he never ate another bite!

The inn that Brody had chosen was called the Monkey’s Tail, and though it had an exotic name, it really wasn’t much different from Frank’s Inn back in Geldorn. It did do a fair bit more business, Randall had to admit. Except during job fair, most of Frank’s customers were militiamen stationed in the town. On any given night, Frank’s probably had a half-dozen customers, most of them soldiers. He’d have maybe triple that during job fair.

On the other hand, the Monkey’s Tail had thirty or forty people in it, easily. The spirits in the place were high, with men carousing, laughing boisterously, and playing cards. Off to one side of the main bar there was a group of musicians playing fiercely impassioned tunes while a pair of ladies stomped out a dance in front of them. A full troupe of musicians almost never came through Geldorn, even during job fair! Randall was mesmerized by their skill as they slipped from one tune to the next without missing a beat. He found himself joining in with the crowd, whistling and shouting while stomping along in time with the music.

Caught up in the music, Randall was startled by a rough hand on his shoulder. Quickly glancing around, he saw Declan standing behind him. Declan jerked his thumb toward a table where Brody and Tobsen were seated and eating.

“Might want to get yerself some grub,” Declan said, raising his voice to be heard over the din.

Randall nodded and made his way to the table, where a plate of food was waiting for him. The plate of mutton and turnips wasn’t high-class fare, for sure, but Randall was more than grateful for the simple down-home meal. After shouting his thanks, Randall dug in, finding the food to taste even better than it looked.

Randall had never had turnips like these! He had expected the roots to be boiled and bland, but his first taste proved otherwise. The turnips had been flavored with some herb that Randall had never tasted before. The spice painfully burned his tongue and throat going down, and he gulped ale trying to quench the fire in his mouth. After a few seconds, the spiciness subsided, leaving a rich, sweet, honey-like flavor behind. The combination was addicting! By the time the sweetness cleared his palate, Randall found himself craving the peppery spiciness once again.

The mutton, on the other hand, was pretty much exactly what Randall was expecting. It had been boiled with some carrot and pearl onions for flavor, and there was a small portion of mint-vinegar sauce on his plate for smearing over each bite. Then again, Randall couldn’t think of any better way to prepare the dish, and he dug into the meal with gusto.

By the time Randall had finished his meal the musicians had gathered up their instruments to take a break. Though the noise level in the tavern was at a low roar, it had dropped enough that Randall was able to talk with the two men without having to shout to be heard.

“Why don’t you go up and play?” Randall asked Tobsen during the lull in the music.

Tobsen made a face like he had just smelled something rotten as he gestured around him. “These boors do not have the attention span required to fully enjoy a night of poetry and song. All these peasants want are
folk tunes,”
he sneered.

“What’s the difference?” Randall asked. “Music’s music!”

Tobsen looked aghast. “My boy, I will
not
repeat a simple three chord melody over and over again while these buffoons stomp and whoop. It is an insult to my training. Do you think these churlish louts have the sophistication necessary to fully appreciate an epic bardic tale, told in nine parts, spun out over the course of an entire evening? I think not!”

Tobsen’s idea of entertainment sounded dull to him, too, Randall admitted to himself. There was nothing wrong with lively music and dancing, and if Tobsen wanted to put on airs and act like a popinjay, well, Randall wasn’t going to let that spoil his fun. And if that made him ‘unsophisticated’ or a ‘peasant’, he decided that he didn’t care one bit!

“Well, I like it,” he declared, causing Tobsen to start a new round of complaints about the ignorant tastes of rustic philistines, Randall included.

“Can I stay and listen for a while?” Randall asked Brody, ignoring Tobsen’s gibes.

“Suits me just fine,” Brody said. “I need to go out and talk some business anyway. Just keep your nose out of trouble.”

Randall remembered how much trouble he got into the last time he was at an inn. Swallowing nervously, he nodded his head in assent. He’d learned his lesson. He planned on keeping his mouth shut and his hands to himself!

Soon, the musicians reassembled and began playing again. Randall stayed seated at his table and listened, but now that Brody’s warning had reminded him of the trouble he had gotten into with Bobby at home, he had a hard time letting go and enjoying the music. The main bar was a rowdy place, and Randall ran a nervous eye around the room.

Every time a drunken patron would laugh loudly, or slap another man on the back, or punch another man playfully on the arm, Randall’s stomach would lurch, and he feared that there would be some kind of altercation. The men playing cards often argued, loudly, about who was cheating, or who owed the next round of drinks. Randall was sure that a fight was going to break out at any minute. It didn’t take long before he gave up trying to have fun and headed up to the large room that Brody had secured for the four travelers. He was asleep long before any of the others joined him.

The next morning, Randall woke up to the sounds of activity in the common room. The clank of dishes and silverware carried throughout the inn, and he could smell coffee being brewed. Coffee! He hadn’t smelled coffee since he began his apprenticeship; Master Erliand didn’t drink it himself.

Randall had no idea when his companions had come to bed, but Tobsen was stretched out on the room’s remaining cot while Declan was fast asleep in his bedroll. There was no sign of Brody. He felt a momentary pang of guilt when he realized that he had selfishly taken a cot for himself, even though the only reason he had a room at all was due to the generosity of the three men. He vowed that the next time, he’d take a bedroll for himself and leave a cot for one of the others.

Randall got up as quietly as he could, and made his way to the common room. He didn’t have any money to pay for breakfast, but there was no use lying in bed waiting for the other men to wake up. At this time of day, Randall saw that the common room was mostly empty. There was only one patron in the inn, quietly eating breakfast and keeping to himself. The streets were equally devoid of traffic, with only a few vendors out selling their wares.

City folk must not get up that early,
Randall thought to himself as he navigated the alley which led behind the inn.

Once in back of the inn, he had no trouble spotting the wagon he had arrived in. It sat underneath a canvas canopy, unhitched. Most of the group’s belongings had been stowed away and locked up, but Randall wasn’t really concerned about theft; he had other things on his mind.

“Berry!” Randall whispered loudly as he approached the wagon. “Are you in there? Berry!”

As Randall pushed back the curtain that separated the driver’s section from the rear of the wagon, he felt something hard thump him in the middle of the chest, causing him to stagger backward. As he gained his bearings, he looked down to spy an agitated Berry clinging to the front of his tunic, chittering and scolding.

“Yes, yes! I missed you too!” he laughed, feeling guilty for leaving his friend alone for so long. As Randall spoke, Berry clambered all over his shirt, thoroughly inspecting each crease and crevice.

“Oh, are you hungry?” Randall asked. He had just assumed that Berry could take care of himself, feeding on night insects or something.