Bardon picked up most of their personal belongings. With the ladies following, he carried the baggage and bigger parcels down to the pier and onto the broad wooden platform that ran the length of the docks. He set the pieces down. Granny Kye and N’Rae stopped on either side of him. Bardon glanced at the younger emerlindian and saw her eyes trained on the handsome marione. Squire Bardon deliberately turned to study the horse instead of the irksome young couple.
The harness hung on the roan’s bony frame, and someone had put an oversized straw hat on her head. Her ears stuck through holes in the wide brim, and colorful flowers almost hid them.
Holt hurried forward. “Let me help with the luggage. N’Rae, may I carry your basket for you?” He reached for the minneken’s traveling quarters.
“Oh no, Jue Seeno’s quite light.”
Holt pulled back his hand, and a slight frown pinched his features. “Seeno?”
N’Rae’s face flushed red. “I-I s-see no reason for you to carry it. The basket is quite light.” She tittered. “I guess I’m excited. I’ve never been to a harbor city. I tend to talk too fast when I’m excited.”
Bardon heard Granny Kye’s chortle as he handed the bewildered marione two heavy bags. “Here, Holt. I appreciate the help.”
The marione quickly regained his smile and took the luggage. He headed for the cart, with the others following. Bardon carried the smaller bundles in his arms. As they approached the horse, he heard N’Rae’s soft exclamation. She plopped Jue Seeno’s basket into his arms, where it rocked precariously on the cloth-wrapped parcel next to his chin, and then she drew near to the old roan.
Jue Seeno’s high-pitched inquiry reached his ears. “What is that girl up to?”
“It looks like she’s intent on having a conversation with the horse.” He spoke, barely moving his lips for fear someone would overhear him talking to a basket.
“I can see that, Squire. That’s why I prefer to travel in a basket rather than a box. I can see through the woven reeds. And, of course, the air is always fresher. And I can hear better. But what I meant is, what purpose is there in communicating with a horse, this horse, at this time?”
“I think,” said Granny Kye, “that N’Rae likes meeting animals as much as some folks like meeting people.” She nodded at Holt, who nattered away with the driver.
The tumanhofer driver paid particular attention to Granny Kye, treating her with respect and assisting her into the passenger seat before he started with their belongings. Strapping the luggage to the back of the light cart took a few minutes. He took his time to do it properly, all the while regaling his customers with news of the town, the weather, the approaching festival, and suggesting places to visit while they stayed in his fair city.
Since Granny Kye already sat in the coach, the driver had to leave the bags every time he thought of something else he wanted to relay to her in particular. He spouted all sorts of tidbits of information, one of those things being that his wife had found a shop with very good bargains on Canal Street at the northern end of the city. He also mentioned that a small tavern nearby had excellent soups, which might come in handy, as the weather predictors said cold air would soon be turning their days chilly.
“Now, what kind of prediction is that, I ask you?” He laughed and waved a hand at the sky, where light clouds whisked over the city. “It’s still spring. More often than not, we have quick cold spells before winter fully lets loose of us and allows summer to take over. You have the wind up high there.” He paused to point at the clouds scuttling overhead. “But only a slight breeze down here. That means a change is coming.”
He went back to work.
Bardon gazed up at the azure sky and suddenly missed Greer. Flying in this type of weather challenged their skill. The smell of rain on the wind and the sudden shift of air currents invigorated them both. And whatever it was that would later make lightning skittered across their skin as if to say, “Wake up and live.”
Fenworth could explain what happens in the sky. Bardon chuckled to himself, remembering “wizardry” lessons under the old man’s tutelage. Fenworth would try to explain and get it all garbled. Later, Librettowit would untangle the supposedly simple explanation given by the wizard. I miss the old wizard and his librarian.
He watched N’Rae as she communicated with the horse. Both she and the animal looked content. I miss Kale, too. I wonder if she can talk to animals. She never writes about the skills she’s acquired, only that life is exciting and the details of what everyone else is doing.
Bardon smiled as he remembered the contents of Kale’s letters, the tales of friends he hadn’t seen in too long. They’ve all changed so much. Toopka is reluctantly learning to read and is a wonderful cook. Regidor has become as clothes-conscious as Dar, but since he doesn’t have tailoring in his background, he makes frequent trips out of The Bogs to shop and “see the world.” Gilda comes out of her bottle to visit with them all in the evening. How I would like to sit in the castle’s cozy common room and listen to those conversations.
“That does it, then,” said the driver as he cinched and buckled the last strap. “Young lady, will you be riding with your granny?”
N’Rae flashed him one of her charming smiles and came to the little box he’d put down for her to step on. “Your Sadie-Up is a very happy horse, Grupnotbaggentogg.”
“Here now,” said the driver. “You know my name because it’s on the side of my carriage. But how do you know my horse’s name?”
Bardon stifled a laugh that this glorified cart would be called a carriage.
“Sadie-Up told me,” answered N’Rae as she hopped up and settled herself on the wooden bench beside Granny Kye.
“Well, she told you wrong. Her name’s Sadie, just Sadie. And why she’d be happy, I can’t tell you. She’s old enough to be retired and living peaceably in a field somewheres, but I can’t afford to get a new horse, and I don’t trust nobody to treat her kindly. She can be stubborn.”
“She likes the rubdown you give her in the shade of a trang-a-nog tree at noonmeal…and the feed bag. She likes your grandchildren who climb all over her and give her a most thorough and unorganized rubdown every evening in the sanctuary of her cozy stall. You give her an apple, a parnot, or a carrot every morning. And she loves your wife’s fried mullins.”
“What? Who’s been feeding her those? They aren’t good for her digestion at her age!”
Bardon handed N’Rae the minneken’s basket. “What was the name of the mapmaker, Granny Kye?”
“Oh dear, I don’t remember that.”
“It was Bromptotterpindosset, Grandmother,” N’Rae said.
“Old Bromp?” The tumanhofer clapped his hands together. “He’s right on our way. Last time I talked to him he was complaining of itchy feet. We’ll stop by on our way to the inn, and if he’s not gone off to take the cure, we’ll find his shop open and ready for business.”
“And if he’s gone off to take the cure?” asked N’Rae.
“Well, then, he’ll be gone for months!”
Grupnotbaggentogg jumped onto his seat. The two young men scrambled to find a place on the small cart. They stood on the narrow running boards and clung to straps suspended from the awning over the ladies’ seat.
The tumanhofer clucked his tongue and jingled the reins.
“Sadie-up,” he called.
The cart jerked and rolled forward, heading for the busy street.
15
THE MAPMAKER
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
TOO MANY PEOPLE
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.