DragonKnight (14 page)

         
15
         

T
HE
M
APMAKER

They passed through a warehouse district, maneuvering around lorries and wagons but few people. Then they entered the market, where many citizens walked in the streets as well as on the sidewalks directly in front of the shops. Grupnotbaggentogg turned the ramshackle carriage into a narrow street with much less traffic. Halfway down the lane a dark and light brown ball hung from a wooden beam jutting out from a storefront. The globe turned at a lazy pace, stirred by the gentle breeze. Bold red letters read
Bromptotterpindosset’s Maps, Charts, Atlases, and Globes
on the first line of a dark sign above the rafter. Yellow letters stretched across the second line, saying
Emporium, Bazaar, Galleria, and Thrift Shop.

Grupnotbaggentogg drew up Sadie’s reins.

“Here we be.” He looked over his shoulder at his passengers. “The shop is open, but that don’t mean he’s here. His daughter and son-in-law mind the place when he goes off for the cure.”

Holt and Bardon hopped off the running boards as the old tumanhofer scrambled down the side of the cart. Holt had been on the sidewalk side and beat Bardon to the task of handing down the ladies. The squire frowned when the marione put his hands around N’Rae’s waist and lifted her out of the cart and onto the wooden planks beside him. Holt smiled into her eyes for a moment before letting her go.

A polished wooden door with a large pane of glass had an Open sign dangling from a hook above the window.

Bardon stepped in front of Holt and put a hand on the young marione’s broad chest, stopping him from following N’Rae to the door. He spoke softly so as not to disturb N’Rae and her grandmother. “Holt, the business we conduct here is of a private nature. I ask that you give the ladies a chance to make their inquiries without an audience. Could you perchance be persuaded to watch their belongings, protecting them from thieves?”

Holt bristled, then suddenly relaxed. The easy smile spread across his face. “Certainly. I serve in whatever capacity most benefits N’Rae and her grandmother.”

Bardon glanced at the ladies. They were perusing the maps, charts, and assorted merchandise in the shop windows. The trinkets from faraway ports caught Granny Kye’s attention. N’Rae examined a spangled hat from some distant city.

Under his breath, he addressed Holt. “I don’t trust you. After we get the ladies settled, I wish to have a talk with you. I would like to know why you followed us here. What are your intentions? Are you here on your own accord or at the bidding of your father?”

He patted the fine fabric of Holt’s coat. “I will expect you to tell me the truth.”

Grupnotbaggentogg turned the brass knob and entered the shop to the jangling of bells.

“Bromptotterpindosset,” he called. “Bromp! Are you here?”

A young woman came from behind a curtain covering a door to the back. Her thick blond braids wrapped her head like a crown. Bright blue eyes dominated her square face. Her nose and mouth were small for a tumanhofer. She wiped her hands on a white apron that covered the intricately woven blue, green, and gold cloth of her dress. She smiled at all the customers who’d entered the shop but spoke to the driver.

“Master Grupnotbaggentogg, what brings you here?”

“Brought some people looking for a map. Has your da gone off again?”

“Well, he’s gone off to get his noonmeal, but I reckon you meant had he gone off for the cure.” She shook her head and lowered her voice. “I’m expecting him to leave any day. His feet are driving him to distraction. Miserable, he is.” She softened her voice to just above a whisper. “And grouchy, he is. As much as I’ll miss him, I can’t wait to see the back of him disappear over the horizon.”

The old driver patted her shoulder in an awkward gesture of comfort. “It’ll be better, Saramaralindan, once he’s gone and comes back. Better for a decade or two, until the itch comes upon him again.”

She smiled and nodded. “Will you introduce me to your passengers?”

“This be Granny Kye and her granddaughter, N’Rae.”

Saramaralindan bobbed a curtsy.

“And Squire Bardon.”

Bardon stepped forward. “We require a map of the Northern Reach.”

N’Rae came to his side and added, “The western part.”

Saramaralindan frowned and tapped a finger on her chin while she surveyed one section of the wall of bookcases.

“We don’t have much in the way of inland maps for the Northern Reach. The seacoast is well charted.” She crossed to a stepstool and pushed it to where she wanted to examine the shelves. Climbing up two steps, she reached for a couple of rolled parchments. She tucked them under her arm and descended. On a large table in the middle of the shop, she unrolled the first one, putting small, elaborate, wrought-iron weights at the corners to keep the scroll open. The table was the height most comfortable for tumanhofers. Bardon had to bend to examine the parchment.

“This one has great detail of the coast, including rock barriers under the water that would sink a ship.” She unrolled the other and shifted the book weights. “This has some sketchy references to inland topography, but we are not certain as to its accuracy. Are you planning to travel in this region?” She waved her hand over the scantily marked territory.

“Yes,” Bardon replied. “But I had hoped for a better map.”

“If you return this way, would you stop and give us information about the area? Could you keep notes and maybe draw sketches of what you see?”

Granny Kye tugged on Bardon’s sleeve. “I could do that.”

The door opened, the jangling bells announcing a newcomer.

“It’s you, Bromptotterpindosset,” said Grupnotbaggentogg in warm welcome.

“Humph! Aye, it is,” said the neatly dressed tumanhofer without enthusiasm. He looked younger and wealthier and much more sour than the driver. He scowled at the older tumanhofer through wire-framed spectacles, and a glimmer of mischief sparkled in his eye for only a moment. “And it is you, Grupnotbaggentogg. Do you need a map of Canal Street, or perhaps a chart of Blecoe Warren?”

Instead of being offended by the shopkeeper’s gruff tone, Grupnotbaggentogg laughed and slapped him on the back. “Nay, I brought travelers on their way to the Northern Reach. They need a map, of course.”

Bromptotterpindosset studied each of his customers in turn. His scowl did not break, even when he gazed upon the fair N’Rae.

“Daughter!” The word rattled the silence. “Get me the chest in the back room.”

“Which chest, Father? The room is filled with chests.”

The tumanhofer growled in his throat and his whiskers shook. “The one in green leather. The one with rusted clasps. The one under the Dabotnore volumes. That one!”

“The one that hasn’t been moved in ten years or more?”

“Yes, of course,” he bellowed. “What other one would I want when we speak of the Northern Reach?”

Saramaralindan rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t imagine. I’ll get it for you, Father.”

She was gone with a whoosh of the heavy curtains.

Bromptotterpindosset moved to the table and studied the parchments unrolled there. The muffled sounds of heavy objects being shifted came through the doorway.

Bardon responded to a grunt from Saramaralindan. “Perhaps I should assist your daughter.”

The shopkeeper waved his hand as if it were no matter to him. Bardon went through the curtained door. He soon returned with a chest covered in decaying, green-dyed leather in his arms. He set it on the table.

Bromptotterpindosset blew over the top and dust flew. He opened the clasp and tilted the lid upright. A small book, several scrolls, and a sextant rested among cobwebs and bits of torn paper.

The tumanhofer pulled out the navigational instrument and set it aside. He picked up the scrolls, one at a time, and brushed them off on his sleeve. Almost with reverence, he lifted the small book in his hand. He held it up, and his gaze went from one face to the next around the table.

“This,” he said, “is the diary of Cadden Glas, an adventuring doneel. He chronicles his exploits, complete with notations about flora and fauna, geographical discoveries, observations of the populace, and information about landmarks, rivers, and other descriptive details on how to get here and there in the Northern Reach. He explored the region for decades. The book, however, is written in the language of the meech. Do any of you speak meech?”

They shook their heads.

“Understandable. It is a difficult language to speak…easier to read. Do any of you read meech?”

Again negative shakes of heads met his question.

Bromptotterpindosset grinned. The smile—a set of teeth that were big, white, and numerous—separated his mustache-laden upper lip from the beard dripping off his chin. Bardon couldn’t remember ever seeing a grin so magnificently absurd.

“Then I must inform you that most certainly, without a doubt, it will be necessary for you to take upon your journey to the Northern Reach someone who does speak and read meech. Fortunately, I know of someone who is capable of both these endeavors. And it just so happens that he is in the position to do some extensive traveling at this time.”

“Ha!” Grupnotbaggentogg threw back his head and echoed his own exclamation. “Ha! So you’re off for the cure, eh, Bromp? Well, just remember your age and try to get back in three or four years. You’re not as young as you used to be, even if you are a generation or two behind me.”

         
16
         

T
OO
M
ANY
P
EOPLE

Jue Seeno did not like the addition of the tumanhofer mapmaker to the questing party. And she said so as soon as they sequestered themselves in the room taken at the inn for N’Rae and Granny Kye.

Bardon felt uncomfortable in the tiny guest chamber. The agitated women all talked at once. The emerlindians’ voices bounced off the low ceiling, and the squeak of Jue Seeno’s tirade punctuated every pause.

The last inn had provided a spacious room with a sizable sitting area adjacent to the sleeping quarters. This room had only the bed and one chair, with no room for N’Rae’s pacing up and down. She gestured wildly as she talked, her arms whirling about as she alternately expressed enthusiasm and dismay. Bardon found a place to plant himself, hopefully out of the way. He stood at the foot of the bed, one hand wrapped around a pillar of the gigantic four-poster. N’Rae insisted that the whole quest would be so much safer with another male along. As she brought both arms above her head and swung them out and down to indicate just how greatly this concept encompassed their venture, she came within an inch of poking Bardon’s eye out.

He fumed.
It’s the bed! This room should have a bed half this size. And that girl should have a hall, a long empty hall, in Castle Pelacce in which to express her views.

N’Rae sashayed by him once more, knocking him with an elbow. He leaned closer to the post.

Impractical bed to put in such a tiny room!

The younger emerlindian had placed Jue Seeno’s basket in the middle of the mattress as soon as they entered the room and the door to the hall was closed. She’d opened the top, helped her tiny protector out, and closed the lid. The outraged minneken stood on her traveling abode, waving her fist in the air.

Granny Kye, of course, sat in the chair.

The afternoon sun streamed through a window, and a chill breeze blew the white curtains about, but the heated oratory in the confined space made the room extremely unpleasant. Bardon sought a reason to escape, even as he appeared to listen attentively to all three women.

Mistress Seeno’s agitated voice rose to his ears.

“First, we have that marione farm boy snooping around—”

“Holt has been very useful,” Granny Kye cut in.

“But why? Why has he been useful?” shrieked the minneken.

“Because he’s been brought up well?” The old emerlindian looked to N’Rae, who nodded her head. The young woman went to the window and parted the curtain to stare out at the street.

Jue Seeno waved her arm in the air, and, for a moment, Bardon pictured her brandishing a shining sword. “We don’t need an adventure-seeking tumanhofer nor a ne’er-do-well marione muddling up our perfectly respectable quest. The boy is an inconvenience. The mapmaker is a disaster.”

“Jue…” Granny Kye’s low voice contrasted to the frantic squeak of the minneken. She spoke rapidly, and enthusiasm shone in her eyes. “The mapmaker is a necessity, and the farmer’s son turns out to be handy. He procured the cart for our transportation. And this inn is very reasonably priced. We shan’t waste our money here. Everything is falling nicely into place. How like Wulder to take care of every little detail. You know, I’ve never been on a quest. I think I am going to enjoy it.”

The minneken hunched her narrow shoulders, pulled a long shawl more tightly around her, and frowned fiercely at the granny emerlindian. “As for those two interlopers being Wulder’s doing, I’ll wait on pronouncing that to be fact. As for us not wasting money here, that might be true, unless the mistress gives you a sad tale about needing new linens.”

“I’m carrying our coins,” put in Bardon.

“Well, that at least is sensible.” Her whiskers quivered. “These two men are not a good idea. What should happen if I am discovered? What protection can I be to N’Rae if everyone and their nefarious uncles know about me?”

N’Rae turned away from the window. “Whose uncle is coming?”

“There, there,” said Granny Kye. “You can still scout. You can still gather information. You can still stand guard.”

The minneken did not look encouraged.

Granny Kye continued, “Master Bromptotterpindosset will be so busy translating the diary and drawing his maps, he won’t notice you.”

“Not notice a minneken!” Jue Seeno dropped to a sitting position, kicking her feet as they dangled off the side of the basket. She shook her head. A tiny felt hat between her ears slid back and forth. Bardon wondered what anchored it. And he noticed the pink and orange headgear matched the belt she wore. She looked forlorn in spite of her colorful attire.

“I can’t do much about the mapmaker,” said Bardon, “but I shall try to dissuade Holt from any further prying. Perhaps I can send him home to his loving family.”

“Prying?” N’Rae marched to his side and poked him on the arm with a sharp fingernail. “That’s unfair. He has been nothing but helpful.”

“I don’t trust him, either,” yelled Jue Seeno. “I’m your protector, and I say he’s a wild card. We don’t know what he’s up to.”

Bardon nodded his agreement. “I don’t trust his motives. His father may have sent him to discover what our quest is, just in case it should be a profitable endeavor. Or, Hoddack wants his son to bring back a bride who tames kindia.”

“That’s unfair as well!” N’Rae planted her fists on her hips. “Holt already told his father he didn’t want anything to do with such a plan.”

Jue Seeno and Granny Kye continued to argue over whether or not to trust the tumanhofer and the marione.

Bardon kept his attention on N’Rae and his voice calm, responding to Sir Dar’s training to be a diplomat as well as a knight. “Then why is he here?”

N’Rae’s pale complexion colored a bright red. Her lips thinned as she pressed them together. She frowned and looked down at Bardon’s chest. “He said he came to see me.”

“And you don’t quite believe him,” Bardon said softly.

She shook her head. “Not quite.”

“I’ll go ask him. Then we will both know.”

“He’s out in front of the inn, talking to a man. I saw him out the window.”

Bardon left the room, determined to get some answers from Holt. He took in a deep breath first thing after the door closed behind him. Even the stuffy air in the hallway felt refreshing after the heated atmosphere of the tiny bedchamber. He breathed in again, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders. He’d much rather talk to a man.

Women are a tangle of emotions. Pull the wrong string and look out!

A threadbare rug muffled his footsteps in the hall, but as he went down the wooden steps, his boots hammered a swift cadence. He crossed the empty entry hall and stepped out into the sunshine. He stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the bright light.

None of the neighboring businesses looked any more prosperous than the hostelry. Only a few people walked the narrow sidewalk on either side of a rutted street.

Where’s Holt?

Bardon stood on the stoop of the inn and searched both directions. The farmer’s son was nowhere in sight. Bardon spotted a tavern and headed in that direction. Even if the marione hadn’t stepped in for a cooling drink, the squire thought a tall, bracing glass of Korskan tea would be welcome.

As he passed an alley, he heard a grunt. Stopping, he heard heavy breathing, and the thud of fist against flesh.

Another grunt. “I told you I don’t have it.” Holt’s voice.

Bardon stepped into the alley. In the shadows, he saw a tall o’rant holding a shorter, broader man against the wall.

The squire used the same calm voice he’d used with N’Rae. “Let him go.”

Three thugs emerged from the shadows and fell upon him. Bardon sidestepped one assailant lunging from the right and grabbed the man by a shoulder and wrist. Twisting the attacker’s hand behind his back, Bardon then used the man as a weapon, ramming his body into the brute charging from the left. The third man jumped on Bardon’s back. The squire tucked his head and rolled forward over the man he held, slamming the one on his back against the ground. He let go of the first man, continued his somersault over the body of the other, and sprang to his feet.

One of the men charged him again, but Bardon pivoted, swung a booted foot up, and side-kicked him in the stomach. The second man had regained his feet and came at Bardon, only to be kicked twice, once in the kneecap and once in the face. The squire used an elbow to break one man’s nose and a backward kick to disable another as the ruffian hurled himself at Bardon’s back. The assailants took off, one man helping a badly limping comrade. The o’rant clutching Holt didn’t enter the fray. He dropped the marione and ran.

Bardon watched them go, breathing deeply, but without a mark on him from the fight. He went over and helped Holt to his feet.

“Thanks.” Holt groaned. He held his arms around his middle. Sweat poured down his face even in the chill shade of the alley.

“What did they want?” asked Bardon.

“What do ruffians usually want? Money, I guess.”

“I heard you tell him you didn’t have it. That sounds like an answer to a specific question. I don’t think it’s a good idea to lie to me, Holt.”

“I didn’t lie. I asked a question and then answered it.”

“Prevaricating. That’s lying with finesse. Tell me the truth.”

“The truth is they wanted money.” His face twisted as he swayed and leaned against the building.

“There is still the ‘it,’ implying something specific. You didn’t say, ‘I don’t have any.’ You said, “I don’t have it.’ I’ll ask you one more time to tell me the truth, and if you don’t”—Bardon maintained the cool tone of casual conversation—“I may lose my temper. You hurt now, don’t you, Holt? You’ll hurt more when I’m finished.” He paused and looked over the pale, gasping marione. “Do you feel like hitting the dirt with considerable force again? It might jar those aches you already have.” Bardon shook his head as if he were weighing the possibilities. “I don’t think a shove or two would normally bother you, but I’m not in the mood for a genteel wrestling match. I’m in the mood to hear the truth…Well, it’s your decision.”

Holt’s eyes sizzled with hatred. “All right. I owe a man money. These men work for him.”

“Gambling?”

“Some. But the worst of it was I offered to trade five kindias for what I owed him plus six hundred grood. Then Father decided the kindia were not mine after all. They were to be my payment for traveling to Bintuppi and handling a business transaction. The deal went sour. I had no kindia to deliver, so I left town.”

“You didn’t happen to already have the man’s six hundred grood, did you?”

“Yes. I said I needed the money up front to handle the transportation of the beasts from upriver—the men, the special crates, the boat.”

“And your father wouldn’t help you out with the debt?”

Holt laughed and groaned. “Not again.”

“So you decided to follow N’Rae?”

“It was convenient.”

“And you think it would be convenient to go on a long quest.”

Holt breathed easier now. He stood a little straighter, moving away from the wall that had been supporting him.

“Actually, no. I’m not interested in getting into any dangerous situations, but I wouldn’t mind sailing north. Perhaps I can find a way to make some money, and when I have enough to pay my debts—”

“Debts? As in more than one?”

A half grin twisted the marione’s mouth. “Yes, quite a bit more than one.”

“What makes you think we will sail north?”

“You’re going to have to teach N’Rae discretion.” Holt snickered. “She chatters like a dorker, but she’s quite a bit prettier than those noisy birds.”

“So your plan is to sail north with us. Why not just sail north on your own?”

“They will be inquiring after a lone male passenger, not one of a party of five.”

“And you plan to separate from us once we reach a port at some distance from here.”

“Correct.” He paused. “You can’t keep me from boarding the same ship, you know.”

“Oh, I probably could. But N’Rae would be displeased with my methods.” He rubbed his hand over his chin. “If you happen to board the same vessel that takes us north, I would appreciate your leaving N’Rae alone. She’s too naive to recognize a cad when she sees one.”