The Brat's Final Gambit

For the first time in a week Niam had some alone time. Now that the trade conference was concluded, vendors were spread out all across Pirim Village’s market square. The last shipments were in from the continent before the first snows of winter placed a white chokehold on regular travel until spring. Often, what the snows did not do to the tightly pinched roads winding throughout the region, mudslides from constant thawing and refreezing did. Soon, Pirim Village would disgorge itself of the surplus population of visitors whose numbers steadily increased as soon as the paths into the Lake Valleys opened up. Hot springs dotted the region. From Pirim Village to Havel’s Dock, resorts and vacation villas flourished amid the province’s lakes and vineyards. They seemed to be natural but strange variations to the land, composed of neither lake nor orchard, but symbiotically attached to both.

But with the frost lying more heavily across the land by the day, the Lake Valleys were glutted with part-time residents. This was the last day when vendors and shops sold goods brought in for the conference at sale prices, and the yearly event heralded an end to business. Now it was time for all who had not settled in with roots deep enough to tolerate the deep snows during the year’s darkest days to leave.

Niam wound his way among shoppers free to be by himself for a while. Well . . . not completely free. He had to deliver a package to the Mayor’s office for Mr. Sartor. When he reached the mayor’s office, his thoughts grew grim. A long bench faced him as he entered, and through an arched entry on the other side stretched a long hallway, at the end of which a set of double doors emblazoned with the Pirim Village crest led into the mayor’s offices.

From the other side of the bench, a kindly old clerk greeted Niam with a sad smile. Whenever he saw her, he always had the feeling that she wanted to fix him, yet there was nothing to fix. For as far back as he could remember he had always felt broken—and if he was made broken, if that break was a part of his nature, was he really broken at all when he was simply being himself? Avoiding her eyes, Niam handed over Mr. Sartor’s package and turned to go. As he did he closed his eyes to avoid the door on the left side of the lobby. That was one place he could not allow himself to look into, yet every part of him wanted to look and peer into the offices on the other side.

Seth had worked there for three years.

Had the offices changed much? The current tenant had doubtlessly replaced all of Seth’s things. But he wasn’t ready to face that just yet. Niam scurried away, but before he made it completely across the room, he looked through the window and froze. Outside, Garrolus Kreeth made his way up the sidewalk as shoppers instinctively scurried out of his way. But if that weren’t bad enough, what he saw coming from the other direction seemed to make the temperature shoot up in the room. Salb, Jalt, and Card moved toward the office, glaring wordless threats at everyone they passed.

Niam shook his head. Just a handful of days earlier the three of them ran and screamed like little church children as fire erupted around them at the Vandin camp. He wondered what that knowledge would do to their puffed up bravado if everyone knew.

Niam’s stomach twisted itself into a knot, and he hurried to the back door to slip out before Kreeth entered. Outside he sat on the steps feeling foolish waiting for them to pass, but Niam didn’t feel like risking a confrontation today. While he knew that Salb wouldn’t try anything in plain sight, the memory of his little stunt with their horses would still be fresh in their minds.

After waiting for a suitable length of time, Niam took the walkway leading around the building and to the street, keeping his with his eyes on the lookout for any sign of Salb or Kreeth. The first rule of survival if you were the town runt had always been, see the predators before they see you. Before he made it to the corner of the mayor’s office, the sound of heated voices alerted him to danger just on the other side.

Kreeth and Salb seemed to be locked in some kind of heated conversation. Niam’s heart dropped. If Kreeth and Salb ever had any business together, it certainly wasn’t anything good. He stopped and considered going back behind the building and hiding for a bit longer. After all, listening in on Bode’s conversation hadn’t done anything except nearly get him and his friends killed.

But as he stood there, he sighed. This was how the bullies of the world operated: make the cost of doing the right thing—or even just living your life in peace—too high to pay. That’s how they got their way. If life were a downhill slope, they just steepened the incline a bit to make getting their way easier through intimidation and fear. The impulse to hide shamed Niam.

He exhaled heavily; thoughts of enjoying a carefree day to fled like shadows before a flame. He reasoned that forewarned HAD to be forearmed. Knowing what a toxic mix like Salb and Kreeth were talking about so intently might be in his best interest.

Salb and Kreeth were too far around the corner’s edge to hear clearly. Niam flattened himself against the cold wall, held his breath as he slowly made his way to the corner so that he could hear over the sound his own breathing made in his ears. Wheels grumbled across the stone streets, and from the Market Square and merchant district, business hawkers shouted out their wares. Somewhere nearby a little girl screeched in frustration and her mother scolded the child’s brother and told him to give the doll back. Niam bit the side of his cheek and wished the world would all shut up for a moment.

At the edge, he nearly had to lean out in order to make out their words. Kreeth’s words were like angry hisses. “I don’t care what your excuses are, boy, you’ll do as you are told from now on.”

“But Bode said that his father told him—” Salb began defensively.

The merchant’s words were slow and deliberate. “And you were warned to stay away. Nobody really cares what happens to the Vandin, but if any of you had gotten yourselves killed while you were up there, the deaths of local boys would have caused lots of potential problems for me and my interests.”

“Well Bode—” Salb tried again, but the sound of a smack loud enough to make Niam wince stopped him.

“I’ve told you to keep your voice down, you idiot,” Kreeth snarled. “You will do what I tell you to do, and if you’re as worthless as Ravel’s boy, I will pay someone else.”

“Fine,” Salb said after a long pause. But Niam could tell there was a note of defiance in it.

“Just do what I asked. I want you to cause those three brats as much trouble as you can. They’ve become a problem,” Kreeth said in a dark voice.

Salb mouthed something Niam could not make out, but Kreeth’s response was unmistakably sharp. “That’s my business. All you—”

There was a moment of silence and a few more words Niam couldn’t distinguish, and at last, Kreeth spoke again. “Never approach me in public again.” His voice was dark and threatening.

“Fine,” Salb told him, managing to remain defiant, though Niam heard beneath it an undercurrent of fear.

Quietly, Niam waited until he heard Kreeth enter the mayor’s office. Salb and the other thugs walked off the way they had come. Niam heard their raucous laughter as they insulted younger boys and girls, and he warily peeked around the corner to watch as they walked away. He remained ready dart away if one of them turned around and saw him. Kreeth’s words rattled him. The man was a nasty enemy to have, and apparently he and his friends had fallen under his hateful gaze.

Niam moved to a window and peeked into the mayor’s office. The wispy shape of Kreeth still spoke to the clerk. Clear glass was a luxury only for the few in the island kingdoms. It was more common on the continent. But Gaius Sartor was building a glass works foundry adjacent to Joachim’s hunting preserve. This alone was sure to bring him a small fortune.

The farther the bullies got, the more Niam felt himself unwind. By the time they reached the first row of shops, he prepared to make his way back to the center of Pirim Village’s merchant district to find Maerillus and Davin. Even from the distance separating them, Niam saw the three bullies greedily eyeing the shops as they walked. Niam had no doubt they were casing shops to rob. A string of strange break-ins had occurred lately—strange because no one had been seen committing the crimes, despite the fact that some had occurred in heavily trafficked locations. Niam was willing to bet he knew who was behind it all. With Ravel in the Pit at Kalavere, the opportunity to fill his shoes was probably too strong for Bode and Salb to resist. And wherever they went, the likes of Card and Jalt were sure to follow. Perhaps the divide he had witnessed growing between the four of them at the Vandin camp had developed into a permanent chasm. But even if Bode had been ostracized from his followers, the son of Ravel Grimmel was still bad news for anyone unfortunate enough to stumble into his path.

With that thought Niam gave a wicked laugh. There were sure to be no exploding boxes in Pirim Village’s stores to scare them away like a gaggle of terrified hens. Before Niam had time to think about what he was doing, he began to cautiously follow them. Things were quite often like this for Niam. Almost as if his body possessed a will of its own, overriding any good sense he had to stay out of trouble. He knew he should have turned left and crossed the town’s park. If he had done so—and it certainly was the sensible thing to do—he would have disappeared into the crowd where a glut of shoppers in the center of town thronged around storefronts and merchant booths that had been temporarily erected for the new imports brought in from the continent.

Soon the shoppers would be gone as the event wore down, but for now thickets of people provided the best concealment against Kreeth or the three hounds walking well in front of him. The vile merchant had set Salb and his followers to sniffing out Niam, Davin, and Maerillus’s activities. If any of these stores got robbed later, he might be able to connect them to the crimes.

Bug was in heaven as she looked at the new dresses finely displayed on wooden mannequins shaped with voluptuous curves to accentuate the female form beneath. Madam Borset always gave Bug a kind smile whenever she came in to peruse her dresses and fabrics. “Oh, you’ll like what they’ve brought me this time, Maddie,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “I’ve even gotten some fabrics in from the far east!” she said, knowing Bug’s fascination with the lands beyond the waste. Just like the Feythean, who ruled the continent across the southern sea, it was said that the peoples beyond the waste were not quite human.

Bug’s eyes lit up. She even forgot for a moment the guilt she felt for coaxing Corey to come along. She had left him with the old workhorse had ridden into town in a stable on the other side of Pirim Village because her cousin didn’t take too well to crowds.

“Where is it?” she asked eagerly.

“Here, my dear.”

By the time her eyes came to rest on the spools of fabric, she completely forgot about Corey. The most exotic fabrics she had ever seen filled her eyes. Silks shimmered like liquid where they hung, waiting to be tailored into the kinds of dresses that only people like Mistress Sartor might wear. Hangers held robes where red dragons flickered with essences of fire that somehow seemed to be entwined within the garment’s weave, and they flew across cobalt skies diademed by balefire stars that reflected an opalescent light depending on the angle she viewed them from. Beside these robes were iridescent damasks with gold-spun seals of local noble houses. One particular fabric held the moonlight glow of a cold winter’s night. As she touched it, the moonlight flickered with striations of sunset vermillion one moment, and the next ran with veins of quicksilver blood.

“What is this?” she asked breathlessly. “It looks like something spun from gemstones!”

“Oooo… don’t touch that!” Madam Borset cried out. That’s made of a special weave only the Feythean know how to work.”

“The Feythean!” she gasped.

“It’s a rare thing indeed,” she said. “That’s only for display. Already been commissioned to make it into a gown for a countess who stays here the summer season.”

The fact that it would be gone as soon made her sad.

“They say there’s magic that’s put into the spinning of the fabric,” she said.

Bug continued to look for a long while, but her conscience finally intruded on her. She thought of poor Corey, who must be lonely and growing frightened by now. She had told him that she would only be gone a short time. There was no way she could have taken him with her into town on a day like this.

Corey had always been different from the other children of Pirim Village, the cruelest of which called him a “feeb,” or worse. This wouldn’t be half so bad if the name-calling came from the lips of gutter-born bullies like Bode and Card, but nearly everyone had their own amusement at Corey’s expense. To Bug, he was a gentle and tender soul, and although he was older, she had become like a guardian spirit for her cousin. Too much activity and too many loud sounds caused him to become extremely agitated, and it was Bug who soothed away his frazzled nerves.

When a performing troupe from the capitol city of Pallodine came to Pirim Village for last year’s Harvest Moon festival, Corey hid beneath tall benches where the spectators sat with his hands clasped tightly over his ears. The act consisted of a drum line and flourishing dancers in long, billowing dresses that fanned out like starbursts as the dancers twirled and spiraled. The quicker the rhythm became, the faster the dancers moved until their motion and the frenetic pounding of the drums merged into one single and violent crescendo. The performance left Bug breathless; it also left Corey banging his head against a support post. She didn’t find him until most of the spectators had left the arena. Corey had hidden himself so far under the staggered rise of benches that she might never have found him had Bode and his gang not found him first. They were in a semi-circle beneath the highest row of seats, daring Corey to hit the post harder with his head.

Corey hadn’t wanted to make the trip today. But the lure of Madam Borset’s shop on a day like this had been too strong for Bug to take no for an answer. Now tears began to well in her eyes as she realized she had left him alone at the stables far longer than she had promised.

With one, last rueful glance, she turned and left dreams of a life where she was a countess or a princess behind. Only her new blooming guilt accompanied her through the door.

Salb and his followers stopped suddenly as something caught their interest in Madam Borset’s shop. If they were breaking into shops in Pirim Village, perhaps they planned on selling the fabrics in Kalavere’s black market. A huddled conversation took place among the three of them, and then Salb and Jalt walked back toward the market square, laughing and shouting encouragements to Card, who remained behind and continued to stare into Borset’s shop.

Niam drew closer to the bullies, though not close enough to draw their attention. At least Bode wasn’t with them. If he was going to follow them to see what they were up to, he was going to have to make a decision. Which should he follow? As Salb and Jalt drew farther away, he mused for a few moments. In the absence of Bode, it looked like Salb was calling the shots. And not only was Salb working for Kreeth, he was dangerous. Card was a flunky, a nobody without the Salbs or Bodes of the world to give him directions. If Kreeth wanted Salb to cause Niam and his friend as much trouble as possible, that made Salb the most important one to follow. Card was a danger, Niam reckoned, but not the kind of danger Salb was. As soon as Niam made up his mind to follow Salb and Jalt, he cast one last suspicious look toward Card. Right at that moment, Bug walked out of Borset’s shop. Card began following her with the twin fires of lust and delight burning in his eyes.