Fable: The Balverine Order (Fable) (11 page)

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Authors: Peter David

Tags: #Fantasy, #Young Adult, #Science Fiction

BOOK: Fable: The Balverine Order (Fable)
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“The bill for the hole in the upstairs floor that's there thanks to you.”
“But we didn't punch a hole in the floor!” James protested. “The northerner did!”
“Then
you
tell him to pay,” she said.
James was about to continue to complain, but Thomas, with a heavy sigh, reached into his money purse and pulled out the requisite amount. The wench pocketed it with a disdainful look and walked away.
“Stupid pack rat,” muttered James.
I FROWN, PUZZLED, SOME BIT OF INFOR
MATION niggling at me. That's how it often seems to me these days. That there is always something I am trying to recall and it is just beyond me, just out of reach.
“Locke,” I finally say, as the narrator of this little fable stops and looks at me in guarded surprise. “Quentin Locke.”
“Yes,” says the speaker, and then adds almost as afterthought, “What of him?”
“The names of Thomas Kirkman and James Skelton are unknown to me, although I mean no insult to what I am sure are two sterling young men
...
”
“You are the king. You can insult whomever you wish if that is your desire.”
“That is as may be, but the point is that the name Quentin Locke is known to me. Or . . . perhaps someone else with that name, or a similar name . . . ?”
“He has relatives. They tend to get around.”
“Thomas and James.”
“Pardon, Your Majesty?”
“The boys. You left them in the tavern, so to speak.”
“Ah. You were prompting me to continue. A thousand pardons, Majesty, I should have understood immediately.” He settles back into his narrative. “The two hardy lads—or more precisely, one who was a man and the other who had aspirations to be so—departed upon the next morning and made their way east.
“Hunting was not always plentiful, however, and the travelers were not always sanguine about spending their nights sleeping out under the stars, particularly as—the farther east they went—the more inclement and even unpredictable the weather would become. But taking up residence indoors naturally cost money, and although Thomas was not without financial resources, it was easy for them to become depleted. And so—”
“They took up jobs? Resorted to thievery?”
“Neither extreme, as it turns out,” he tells me with a smile. “James, as it so happens, was quite proficient in games of skill and chance for monetary benefits—”
“You mean gambling.”
“I do. He was quite the cardplayer, was James Skelton. Thomas, as honest as the day is long, did not have the requisite control over his demeanor. He was an abysmal liar and therefore not particularly adept at bluffing or discerning when it was better to withdraw from a game or push hard for further gain. James, by contrast, was a skilled reader of others' moods and temperaments. Plus he was wise enough to win just so much and no more. Not enough to garner ill will or engender anger or confrontation, but more than enough for their purposes, particularly as they moved from town to town.
“And all along the way, Thomas would inquire of balverines. For every fifty people he would ask, from forty-nine of them he would receive laughs or disdainful looks or pitying stares followed by the invariable shaking of heads and mutters of, ‘Some people' or ‘A grown man, believing in such things. Imagine!'
“But there was always the one in fifty . . . the one in fifty whose voice would drop to a hush and who would look around fearfully as if concerned that creatures might leap from the shadows cast upon the walls by firelight from a nearby hearth . . . who would nod and speak of the creatures that Thomas sought. They might tell a tale of having come upon one themselves and reveal a vicious scar that was a souvenir of the encounter. Or they might claim to know someone, or know someone who knew someone else, although the more distant the source, the more elaborate the description.
“ ‘Where to find them, then?' Thomas would ask.
“And they would look at him as if upon a lunatic, and they would ask why in the world someone would seek out such creatures instead of determining where they were and then taking pains to head in the exact opposite direction. And Thomas's face would be set and determined, and he would simply say, ‘I have my reasons.' ‘So do madmen have their reasons for what they do, but that does not make them any the less mad,' would be the reply, or some variation thereof. Finally, though, the advice would always come down to the same thing. ‘East,' he would be told. ‘East is the way of the balverine. Last I've heard, last I knew, last anyone knew, they all withdrew east.' ”
“Why?” I interject. I am aware that this man, this spinner of stories, dislikes interruptions, but then again, I am king, and royalty does have its privileges. I know that and so does he, and so although there is a brief flash of impatience upon his face, he does not give voice to that impatience. “Why east?”
“Why do you think, Majesty?” he says.
I give it some brief thought. “They would have been either running away from something . . . or toward something. If the former, then—were I to hazard a guess—it would be away from the things of man. Balverines are creatures of myth and magic, and mankind has developed into a race that deplores such things. Mankind
...
” And I despise saying the words aloud, but it is all too true. “Mankind is becoming tame in its view of the natural world, and balverines are by definition unnatural and untamed. Thus would they flee such deplorable concepts as science or industrialization and seek more . . . primal climes. If it is the latter, on the other hand—if they are running toward something ...”
“Then what would that be?”
“A good question. Is it one to which you have the answer?”
“Mayhap.”
“Well then”—and I gesture languidly—“proceed.”
“As you wish, Majesty.” And he bows slightly and, I have to think, a bit mockingly, but I indulge him as a king would a jester.
“Farther east, then, did our young would-be Heroes travel. The more time that passed upon their expedition, the most resolute they became that they would eventually reach their goal, although what would happen then, neither of them could begin to guess. All they knew is that nothing, absolutely nothing, would stop them.”
Chapter 6
“CAN WE GO HOME NOW?”
Thomas gave James the sort of annoyed stare with which James had become extremely familiar in the many weeks that they had been heading steadily in the direction of the rising sun. “A little setback, and you want to go home?”
“A little setback?”
By the look of him, James seemed as if he wanted to burst out laughing but was too incredulous to do so.
The two of them were standing on the edge of a ridge, having just hiked their way through a challenging but not insurmountable series of hillocks. James was even coming to appreciate the new sights, sounds, and even smells that they were encountering. The trees, plants, wildlife, and even the air itself underwent subtle changes, and it gave James a true insight into the wealth and variety of environments that Albion had to offer.
But when they came around the side of what turned out to be the final hillock in that particular day's journey and stood upon the ridge, staring forward at the new obstacle in their path, James wasn't sure how to feel. After all, they were on a quest with no discernible destination or termination in mind, or at least in James's mind. If there was something clear in Thomas's mind, he had been doing a superb job of keeping it to himself. The uncertainty of their situation had brought James to a place where, if they were unable to proceed any farther and be forced to turn around—and thus never find themselves face-to-face with balverines—then he, James, wasn't going to be particularly upset about it.
On the other hand, he was a devoted friend to Thomas and knew how much it meant to him that he accomplish his aim, however ill defined that aim might be.
But when he found himself standing next to Thomas, staring at an endless vista of rolling blue waters, he blurted out, “Can we go home now?” without even really thinking about it. It just seemed self-evident that that was going to be the next order of business. So when Thomas described it as “a little setback,” James was properly astounded.
“A little setback?”
He made a sweeping gesture toward the horizon. “You call that
little
?”
Indeed, it was hard to argue with James's point. What was stretching out before them down below was nothing less than an endless vista of blue water, rolling steadily toward the shore.
“It's a sea, Thomas! It's a bloody
sea
!” James continued.
“I know it's a sea, James. I can . . . uh . . . see.”
James shook his head and stared with an air of hopelessness at the newly discovered obstacle. “Maybe they all meant some other ‘east.' ”
“That's the only definition of east of which I'm aware,” said Thomas.
The sun was leaving no uncertainty in the matter. It was still midmorning, and the glowing orb was positioned serenely in the sky. Unless the entirety of the cosmos had reoriented itself at some point during their travels, east definitely lay ahead of them, and there was a massive body of water making sure that they weren't going to be heading that way anytime soon.
“There's probably land on the other side,” said Thomas.
“Probably?”
“Definitely.” His hand covered his brow as he endeavored to see farther. “I'm definitely sure I see a hint of land on the horizon.”
“And how do you suggest we get there? Flap our arms and fly?”

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