Tales of the Dragon's Bard, Volume 1: Eventide (11 page)

The Dragon’s Bard was lying on the bed, and it galled Father Patrion that the first person to lie there had been this cad. “What do you want?”

The Bard leaped to his feet at once. “I come on most earnest behalf of a most earnest suitor—who begs your assistance in a matter of the heart.”

“Oh, no,” Father Patrion said, shaking his tired head.

“Oh, yes!” Edvard exclaimed. “I come on behalf of Jarod Klum. He begs your most august self to convey a message to a woman of honor for whom he has all the most honorable intentions. If you were to undertake this task for him, he would be grateful beyond his ability to convey.”

Father Patrion realized that he was about to repeat the same conversation he had just had with the earnest young Percival—but apparently taking a great deal longer in the words. He wondered if he might shorten the process and finally get to bed. “You mean like the story.”

“‘Beauty and the Silent’?” Edvard’s face broke into an appreciative grin. “You have
heard
my story, then? Well, I am flattered indeed!”

“I suppose your Jarod wishes to remain anonymous?”

“It is essential!”

“And he wants this woman to meet him after the Ladies’ Dance?”

Edvard was astonished. “You
are
a man of the gods indeed if you possess such a gift of prophecy! That would be the perfect time!”

“And you want this delivered to Vestia Walters to be met in my Pantheon Church?”

Edvard was about to answer, but his mouth just hung open for a moment before he spoke. “Ah . . . no.”

“No, you don’t want the message delivered?” Father Patrion rubbed his eyes.

“I
do
want a message delivered—but it is intended for Caprice Morgan,” Edvard said. “And it isn’t in your silly church—she’s to meet him in Chestnut Court under the great tree there!”

“Why in Chestnut Court?”

“Because there was no suitable oak available!”

Father Patrion growled from deep in his throat. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“It’s very simple,” Edvard said. “Let’s go over it again . . .”

By the time Edvard left his company, Father Patrion felt sure he had the whole thing straight and promised himself to write it all down first thing after he awoke in the rapidly approaching morning. Suddenly aware that there was a flaw in that plan, Father Patrion took a quill and ink in hand, his eyes barely open slits as he wrote down both messages, fell into bed, and let his troubles melt into comforting darkness of sleep.

When he awoke, the notes were there still by his bedside, and he was relieved that he had written them down. He remembered his mother having once told him that the dullest quill is better than the sharpest memory, and he took comfort in the barely legible words scratched onto the two parchment pages.

He rolled up both messages and sighed in relief. His memory might be bad and, he had to admit, he vaguely remembered the instructions differently . . .

. . . But certainly he would not have
written
the details down wrong.

• Chapter 7 •

Pixie Hats

Pixies are a fearsome menace.

That knowledge comes both from experience and with the sure authority of Xander Lamplighter, the Constable Pro Tempore of Eventide, who will explain the dire threat to any who mentions a pixie in his presence. They look innocent enough, he will readily concede, with their tiny stature and their opalescent, translucent wings. Their lithe forms have a ready grace that larger folk envy, and they seem to have perpetual smiles on their eternally young faces.

But if you were to look closer behind that smile—and Xander cautions you fervently to never get that close—you would see mischievous, wanton, and malicious thoughts brewing constantly in their miniature brains.

Xander’s arrival in Eventide was—as Ariela Soliandrus, the town’s Gossip Fairy, often put it—the most fortuitous of events. Eventide, having never before in its history had a problem with a pixie infestation, had been suddenly overrun by the malicious creatures, who were causing havoc all about the town at the close of each day. Pigs’ bladders filled with the most horrific-smelling solutions, stolen from Lucius’s tannery south of town, rained down on unsuspecting ladies on Cobblestone Street, bursting against their heads and drenching them in smells that no amount of applied powders or perfumes would eradicate for several days. Jep Walters was stuck in one of his own barrels while a nasty group of pixies made a game of chasing Livinia—one of the town’s most distinguished ladies—about her husband’s cooper shop and tallying scores over which of them could get her to screech the loudest. Joaquim Taylor’s entire stock of linens was ruined when the pixies painted patterns on each bolt with paint stolen from Mordechai Charon’s stockroom. Deniva Kolyan’s bakery was completely covered in a sticky paste of wheat flour. Town councils were held, speeches were made, and plans were agreed upon, but nothing, it seemed, would abate the escalating spree of the pixies. There was even talk of trying a broken wish from the wishing well, but no one was certain how a broken wish would react with a pixie. Sunset became a time of fear, for it heralded the coming of the pixies once more.

No one questioned their good fortune when Xander happened to arrive five days into the plague, walking down the road from Meade with the intention of plying his lamplighting skills in Eventide. He inquired as to why the townsfolk were so upset and, upon being informed of the infestation, humbly offered his services as an expert pixie catcher, should the town be willing to provide him with a bounty of fifty gold pieces, discounted from sixty-five. Xander was a large, somewhat overweight man, and there were many at the time who questioned how such an individual might catch the spry and elusive pixies. However, as Ward Klum offered to keep the fee in trust until Xander proved himself, the bargain was struck. The exhausted and discouraged citizens of Eventide managed to collect the bounty and lock it safely in the charge of the countinghouse. That night the townspeople gathered in trepidation at their doors, the flame of hope flickering feebly in their hearts.

Xander did not disappoint. As the pixies swept into town from the road to Meade, Xander stood his ground in Trader’s Square, his knapsack at his feet. He reached down and pulled out what appeared to be the long horn of a steer that had been polished, its large end stopped with a bright brass plug. A fipple notch was cut at the back, wide end, with holes made down the length of the horn. Ariela flitted about, informing everyone that it was called a gemshorn even as Xander raised the instrument to his lips.

Xander blew softly into the flibble of the gemshorn, his thick fingers dancing along the length of the instrument. A soft, haunting tone came out, forming a simple, repeating melody with its rising and falling notes.

To the astonishment of the townspeople, the pixies flew directly at him and then settled into an undulating circle drifting above his head. As more pixies joined the circle, it grew larger and split into two, then three smaller circles of pixies all dancing about Xander’s head.

Xander slowly moved toward one of the streetlamps that stood at the edge of Trader’s Square. Iron frames forged by Beulandreus Dudgeon each held a thick storm lantern glass with an oil reservoir base and a wick. One side of the glass was hinged and held closed with a catch. Xander, still playing the gemshorn with one hand, reached up to the first lamp, opened the catch, and pointed inside.

To everyone’s amazement, several of the pixies flew directly into the lamp housing, whereupon Xander flipped closed the glass and secured the latch. The trapped pixies suddenly blazed with a light far brighter than the oil flame the lantern normally contained. Xander continued from lamp to lamp around Trader’s Square and then crossed the bridge to Charter Square, the remaining pixies circling his head until he had put the last four of them together in a lamp housing and latched it shut.

In the bright, pixie-illuminated square, the townsfolk cheered for Xander and his marvelous ability to deal with the pixie menace. As their previous constable had gone in search of the highwayman Dirk Gallowglass and had never returned, Xander was offered the job of Constable Pro Tempore—a temporary appointment until the missing constable was found. He could take the pay for both the constable and the lamplighter position at the same time, since the town was grateful to him for ending the menace and everyone very much liked the brighter lights the now-secure pixies provided each night.

Xander accepted at once and, as a result, had been the temporary constable in the town for the last eight years.

As to the shining light of the trapped pixies, Ariela explained to all the ladies of Cobblestone Street that it was no doubt a result of their anger at having been tricked themselves. Everyone who lived in Eventide knew that pixies were thieves, scoundrels, and liars who could not be believed even if you were to deign speak with them.

But a visitor to the town who might not be immediately familiar with this history might, late at night and alone, find himself in conversation with a lamppost in a remote corner of the square. If such a person were to engage the pixies in the lamp, he might be told that pixies actually
prefer
being in the lamps. The pixies might tell a person that from their protected glass perches in the lamps, they find watching and listening to the townspeople below them better than any other entertainment. They might inform such an unsuspecting individual that no one ever thinks that a lamppost might be watching or listening to everything near it or that one can learn a lot by being a lamppost.

But, as most everyone in Eventide knows, pixies are liars.

“Merinda?” Livinia Walters called out. “Helloo! Merinda?”

Merinda Oakman managed somehow to lift her heavy head. It was well after dark. She longed for the day to be over but somehow just could not imagine it ever coming to a conclusion. She eyed the door to her shop with longing. She had been so close with her burden of cloth and ribbons she had just bartered from Charon’s Goods next door. A few more steps and she would have safely been inside and not have to face Livinia or the prospect of conversation. Yet it could not be avoided now.

“Good evening, Livinia,” Merinda said, taking another step toward the door.

“Have you heard the news?” Livinia said, stepping deliberately in front of Merinda and blocking her escape.

Merinda sighed, looking up through bleary eyes. She asked the question less out of curiosity than out of a desire to move things along. “What news?”

“Duke Hareld, third cousin once removed to the king himself, will be celebrating his Spring Revels right here in Eventide!” Livinia was a tall woman, which allowed her the luxury of looking down on every other woman in the town. As the wife of Jep Walters—town cooper and guildmaster—she considered herself the patroness and first lady of the town. She had fine high cheekbones and arched eyebrows over brown eyes. Her mouth was small, with perpetually pursed lips. Her nose was upturned, although Merinda often wondered if this should be attributed to nature or demeanor. She wore an elegant, fox-trimmed coat and a tall fur hat against the chill night air. The snows had largely vanished in the warming days, but the evenings remained cold.

“The third cousin to the king?” Merinda was having trouble understanding as she shifted the cumbersome fabric in her arms.

“Once removed,” Livinia corrected. “He is the descendant of the king’s great-great-grandfather on his father’s mother’s mother’s father’s side through Dora of Ethandria . . . she married that brother of the despot . . . oh, why can I never remember his name! You know the one. Anyway, he’ll be here for Revels tomorrow and that can only mean he’ll bring ever so many more people into our town!”

Merinda only nodded. She had heard the same rumor from the Gossip Fairy earlier in the day and had immediately discounted it. Ariela was always exaggerating, and even if this duke-once-removed somehow miraculously showed up, it would not change her problem. “That is good news! Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“It is more than good news!” Livinia insisted, still blocking Merinda’s escape. “We’ve been preparing for months for these Revels! Much of our town’s future depends upon this occasion, and with the blessing of someone in the royal house—”

“Livinia, Duke Hareld is not even allowed at court,” Merinda said tiredly. “The only reason we even know who he is is because he’s had to move from town to town ahead of any number of debts or women to whom he owes more than a debt. If he shows up, it can hardly be to the town’s credit.”

Livinia affected a shocked look. “Why, Merinda! That’s not like you one bit! I thought you were excited for the Revels to begin!”

Merinda wished she could get away. “I am. It’s just . . .”

“Just what, dear?”

“Harv’s not back,” Merinda answered in a rush. Maybe if she got it all out it would give Livinia enough to think about that she could end the conversation. “He was supposed to return from Welston with all my finishing supplies—ribbons, lace, and those fashionable small feathers from the East. The basic hats are made, but he hasn’t come with the new trims. I’ve got piles of old stuff in the storeroom, but I’d just die if I had to show outdated notions to the fashionable women from town. Harv should have been here a week ago. He’s never missed Revels before. I’ve been so upset. I haven’t been able to trim my hats, and now the Revels are starting tomorrow and I just don’t have enough fashionable findings to finish. I’m in real trouble, Liv.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Meri,” Livinia said with the smile of someone who can appreciate trouble when it is not her own. “But I’m sure it will all work out for the best.”

“I only wish Harv were back,” Merinda said, tears welling up unbidden in her eyes. “I could really use some help—”

“Oh, look how late it has gotten,” Livinia said at once, suddenly rushing past the milliner and launching across Charter Square toward her home above the cooperage. “My Jep will be wondering where I have been. Best of luck to you, Merinda, and I hope we’ll be seeing you at the Revels Dance tomorrow night!”