Tales of the Dragon's Bard, Volume 1: Eventide (12 page)

Merinda stared at the back of the rapidly retreating Livinia. “Thanks, Liv, for all your help,” she said meekly. She turned and took her final steps to the door of her shop, wiped a tear from her eye, and turned the key in the lock.

As Merinda entered her shop, three pixies stared down from the lamppost above her.

“Have you been hearing that, Glix?” said one of the pixies.

“I have indeed, Snix,” the pixie replied. “Merinda’s asking for help, and who is there about to give it to her?”

“Who indeed?” Plix smiled. “But she’s a bit twitchy, friend Merinda. You figure she’ll let us in?”

“Actually, I was thinking this would be better as a surprise than an actual association. Dix! You got any of that magic snooze booze about?”

Dix closed one eye as he thought. “That I have, Glix! You ciphering a plan?”

“Gather the clan, boys,” Glix grinned. “We’re paying a debt tonight!”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Merinda tossed the hat in her hands down at her worktable.

“Who is it?” she called out.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Exhausted, Merinda got up slowly from her chair and walked into the kitchen. Who could possibly be at her door at this time of night? It could only be bad news. She grabbed a poker iron from the hearth as a precaution. She did not really know what she would do with it if there were some highwayman at the door, but holding it made her feel better. “I’m coming!”

She drew back the poker and opened the door.

Standing on her stoop was a single small pixie, its hands folded behind its back.

It was the last thing she remembered that night.

Merinda was staring at the ceiling of her kitchen.

She could not remember how she had gotten there or why she should be sleeping on the hard floor. She was still wearing yesterday’s dress. Merinda lay still for a few moments, wondering why there was a knocking at her kitchen door and why would it be so insistent.

Knocking? At this time of the—

Bright sunlight was streaming through her kitchen windows.

Merinda sat up at once and immediately regretted it. Her head was throbbing with a sudden and terrible headache that seemed to center behind both her eyes, a pain that pulsed to the banging on her door.

“Missus Oakman?” came the muffled voice beyond the door.

Merinda held one hand against her forehead while she staggered carefully to her feet. “Who is it?”

“Jarod, ma’am,” came the youthful voice. “Jarod Klum.”

Merinda opened the door. The morning sun shone through a bright blue sky as it crested just above the storage sheds and buildings east across her husband’s work yard. A gaggle of grey geese were honking in the yard but there was another, rushing sound that filled the air from west down the alley. Most of her vision, however, was filled with the lanky frame of Ward Klum’s apprentice son.

“Jarod, of course,” the milliner said as she blinked at the brilliance behind the young man. “What brings you here so early?”

“Early?” Jarod puzzled. “Missus Oakman, it’s past midmorning now.”

“What?” Merinda squawked.

“I came to get my hat—the one I ordered?” Jarod suggested, eyeing the milliner with concern. “Oh, please tell me you remembered! If you didn’t, I just don’t know what I’ll do!”

“It’s all right, Jarod.” The morning air was helping to clear her head. She was beginning to feel as though she might recover her faculties. “Of course, I remembered your hat—your quest hat, as I recall. Come on in and I’ll get it for you.”

Jarod followed Merinda into the kitchen. “I’m sorry to bother you, Missus Oakman, but I tried the front door and it was still locked. There’s quite a crowd out there right now waiting for you to open your shop, so I thought I might try your kitchen door. I hope that’s all right.”

Merinda gripped the edge of the table for a moment to steady herself. When the room stopped moving she continued through the door into her workroom space, waving for Jarod to follow. “Come. Your hat is out front.”

Merinda stepped through the second door and into her shop.

What happened next remains a matter of lengthy and unsettled debate among the people of Eventide. Some say that Merinda’s scream was heard only as far south as the tannery, while others maintain, by careful time calculations and accounts of witnesses, that it was heard as far as the docks of Blackshore. A few assert that it was Jarod who screamed, but these statements were largely accredited to those who were jealous of his having been on hand for the event. Some added that Merinda fainted at the sight that greeted her as she stepped into the shop. Still others—Jarod Klum among them—maintain that Merinda did not faint but after uttering her unnatural shriek stood shaking violently for several moments before Jarod could get her to respond.

“Missus Oakman!” Jarod was shouting. “What is it?”

Her mind, knotted at the sight that greeted her, suddenly unraveled into a torrent of words that were indistinguishable until they collapsed into a stuttering series of “My hats! My hats! I didn’t . . . I mean, who could have possibly . . .”

Her eyes widened.

“Those pixies . . . they’ve ruined me! Ruined my life! My hopes! Everything!”

Her shop was filled with hats, floor to ceiling, of the most hideous, gaudy, and downright frightening design. It was as though the contents of her entire inventory of out-of-date and out-of-fashion materials, along with quite a few of her husband’s woodcraft hardware pieces and many of her kitchen tools, had been emptied into the room and then arranged on her hats in the most unimaginable forms. Hats shaped like boats, complete with sails and full rigging, plying green tulle seas that rocked back and forth at the crown. Hats shaped into tall willows with fronds hanging past the brim, each one filled with bells. Hats with cartwheels attached to rotate at the crown with flowers dangling from their rims. Bonnets with blue-linen waterfalls shaped down the back. Hats with a great hole in the crown and a brim of enormous yellow petals forming a sunflower out of the wearers’ head. Hats with shaped glass casting rainbows in the sunlight. Hats formed with wired buckram into the shape of her own shop, complete with a miniature sign hanging off the front. Hats—every one—mixing colors and forms that had no reason for being together.

Jarod, whose fashion sense about hats had already been demonstrably lacking, said, “Shall I open the door?”

“NO!” Merinda screeched.

“But they’re all waiting,” Jarod said.

Merinda looked through the glass in the front of her shop. A sea of faces stared expectantly back at her.

“I can’t! I just . . . I’ll explain that there’s been an accident in the shop and that we . . . we regret that we cannot open today.” Merinda stepped to the door, unlocking it. “I’m sure they’ll understand if I—”

She never got to open the door. The crowd took the sound of the latch to be permission and pushed open the door, pressing Merinda and Jarod both to seek refuge behind the counter.

“Please, everyone, may I have your attention . . .”

The throng was unwilling to give her any attention, being distracted by the ridiculous hats.

Merinda tried again. “Please! I have something to say!”

Unexpectedly, the crowd filling her showroom parted. A woman wearing a deep blue velvet dress fitted with diamonds walked into the shop.

Merinda gasped. She recognized the woman immediately, though she had only ever seen her once from a distance during one of her fall trips to Mordale. She knew her as the Lady of Lorem Street—that avenue in Mordale where all the finest milliners plied their trade. She was a legendary beauty, with bards falling over themselves to compose tunes to her praise. Her attendance at court was never questioned. She was the confidante of Princess Aerthia and Queen Nance. Hats were all the rage in Mordale among the women, and every woman in the King’s City—including the Queen—looked to the Lady of Lorem Street to know what they should wear.

Merinda stood frozen in her own nightmare as the Lady of Lorem Street walked directly through the crowd toward her.

“Are you the proprietress of this shop?” said the Lady in a deep, soft voice.

“I am, dear Lady,” Merinda heard herself saying.

The Lady of Lorem Street smiled. “May I see that hat?”

Merinda reached back behind her, taking one of the bizarre creations off the shelf and handing to the Lady.

“Is this a teapot used for the crown?” the Lady asked.

“Yes, dear Lady,” Merinda answered, her hands gripped together in front of her so tightly that the color was forced out of them. It had been her best teapot, a blue and white china piece that Harv had bought for her three years ago on a trip to Blackshore.

“And these long feathers sticking out from the spout,” the Lady continued. “They look like a stream of colorful pouring tea. Tell me, do you wear it with the feathers facing front or down the back?”

Merinda considered answering truthfully for a moment by saying it would look ridiculous either way, but instead answered, “As you wish, dear Lady.”

The Lady of Lorem Street pursed her lips in thought, then gestured with her hand to another hat. “And what of that one there?”

Merinda braced herself and turned. It was a conical hat on first impression, but then she noticed the cone was made up entirely of ribbons hanging from a central wooden dowel and spaced around a circular block. The ribbons hung down even farther beyond the block, ending with tassels and small pipes like chimes. The skullcap itself underneath had long ribbons to tie the entire assembly to the head. It made no sense to her when she picked it up, but as she turned to hand it to the Lady, the circular block rotated, winding the ribbons around the dowel as it spun.

The Lady gasped in delight. “It’s a ribbon dance! How delightful! It winds the ribbons around the pole and then unwinds them the other way.”

Merinda smiled. It defied all the rules of hats, but it was somehow charming.

“I’ll take them both,” said the Lady of Lorem Street.

Merinda blinked.

The Lady dropped a velvet purse on the counter, which landed with a heavy ringing sound. It was more gold coin than Merinda had ever seen in an entire season of hats.

The Lady turned with a smile. She removed her fine blue-silk-brimmed hat and placed the ribbon dance hat on her head at a rakish angle. The ribbons spun and danced about her head.

“What a charming shop,” said the Lady of Lorem Street as she walked out holding her teapot hat in her hands. “I shall have to visit it again.”

The rush to Merinda’s counter was immediate.

The shadow on the Cursed Sundial had not yet reached noon when Merinda was forced to close her doors for good. Every hat in her shop had been sold, and each for more gold coins than she would have dared dream possible.

As she locked the door, she turned and saw Jarod standing behind the counter looking rather glum. “I guess there’s nothing left, is there?”

Merinda gave Jarod a tired smile. “No, there’s one left.”

Jarod looked up.

“I didn’t forget you, Master Klum,” Merinda said, walking behind the counter. She reached down and pulled out the last remaining hat. It was a flat-brimmed hat with a felt-covered dragon wrapped around the crown. It appeared to be sleeping, with smoke puffing out of its snout. Its wings were folded up like the brim of the hat, and its tail hung down long over the side.

Jarod took the hat in his hands. “I don’t think I can afford it now. Your hats have gotten pretty expensive.”

Merinda laughed. “It’s yours, Jarod. You’ve earned it. You said it was supposed to be a quest hat. What better quest than a dragon?”

Jarod smiled.

“I’ll let you out the back,” Merinda said. “If I open the front door again, there’s no telling what will happen.”

As Jarod passed through the kitchen door, Merinda saw her beloved husband, Harvest, jumping down from his wagon.

“I’m sorry, love,” he said. “I lost a wheel outside of Welston going out and coming back. I’d have come sooner but—”

Merinda rushed across the work yard and threw her arms around her husband.

“Say, what’s happened?” he smiled.

“I’ll tell you later,” she said, the twinkle back in her eyes. “Take me to the dance?”

That summer, teapots and colorful feathers became all the rage in Mordale. For many years afterward, Merinda Oakman would make her way to that castle city in the late fall, though not so late as before. She would visit the shops of Lorem Street, but now in the company of the Lady, with whom she grew a great friendship. She was presented to court at the great castle, introduced to Queen Nance and Princess Aerthia, invited to the cathedrals—and she always turned heads whenever she deigned to attend the tournament lists.

But she always returned to Eventide, to her little shop and to her beloved Harv Oakman. On wintry nights, it was said by her neighbors, the strange sounds of loud songs and raucous laughter were heard coming from her kitchen when Harv was away on his deliveries.

And she always kept a pickle barrel by her kitchen door.

Jarod stepped down the alley toward the crowded square. He reached into his pouch and pulled out the Treasure Box. It unfolded to just the right size in his hand. He slipped the hat into the box and folded it back up, slipping it back into the pouch.

“It’s all going according to plan,” he said to himself as he stepped into the crowded Charter Square. Revelers—many of them in Merinda’s hats—were moving from cart to cart among the vendors or singing with the musicians performing in the square.

He was so distracted by his own success that he did not hear his name being called at first.

“Master Klum! Master Klum! Hold a moment, please!”

Jarod turned and was astonished to see Father Pantheon pushing his way toward him through the throng.

“Father?”

The priest grasped him by both shoulders. “Thank the Lady I’ve found you. I’ve made a terrible mistake!”

• Chapter 8 •

Mumbles and Bumbles

You’ve had a terrible brisket?” Jarod responded dubiously. Charter Square was packed with people, turning the usually quiet town into a teeming sea of noisy strangers largely capped with very strange hats.