With Reynardo In Exilio

I was at the end, deep down under, the dark azure surface of the water far above me. No breath would ever escape my lips again.

I awoke with the sun on my face and my ale spilled across the table top. The slap, slap of the sea against the wooden ships tethered along the docks had lulled me to sleep. I looked around to see if any of my men had seen me nod off. A hungry looking dog eyed me warily as I sat up in my chair. Idly I tossed him a bit of bread. I was surprised to see a simple fellow in a plain brown tunic sitting behind me. I turned to send him on his way.

"What? No work? Nothing to do but laze around the public square? You’re not with my troop, are you?"

"No sir, just a cobbler, looking to do some good work." He lifted up his box of tools.

"I see your sole is torn right down the middle, sir. You are most fortunate we’ve run into each other like this. For a half-gold I’d be happy to mend that for you, lest water leak in if it rained or you were to take to the sea."

I looked up at the sky. "Still dry. And I hate going out away from the shore." I looked out past the boats across the great gray Sea of Shadows to the far line of the horizon. "Too far, and too strange this sea."

"Aye. But the treasures these boats often bring to Serenissima, and strange tales too!"

I tossed a coin in his lap. "Well? Are you going to fix this old boot?"

He bent down and helped my ancient boot off my leg. A few of my men snickered seeing my bare foot.

"Go on, all of you, hobble about in your rotten soles. I’ll drill you hard tonight, you’ll see. Laugh at your old sergeant will you."

The cobbler’s hands worked swift and sure. "Oh, yes. You’ll be ready for the sea, all right. Ready to set sail."

"Shut up about the sea already, man. Mind the boots, not the boats."

One of my halberdiers pointed up toward the balcony of a distant terrace overlooking the water. "Look! Is it Prince Belfagor?"

I looked up, caught a glimpse of dark purple robe, then a lady in green.

"And Lady Onesta too, come to see the ships come in."

"Then they’ve returned, returned from the funeral of the dead Prince of Terregnor."

"It means peace, then. Peace for a season or two."

"But peace means no war, and no war means no extra pay."

"Just as well. Can’t spend your money dead."

"Middle of the ninth month is coming, it’s the best time for sailing," a strange voice cut in.

"Huh?"

"It's the old hag! Go away, old hag!"

Sure enough, the old hag had returned to the square. She shuffled along, mumbling to herself. Queer how she came and went. And now she was mumbling about sailing.

The cobbler sat up straight. "There you are, sergeant. Not good as new, but better."

I looked at his handiwork. "But there’s a black mark down the middle of the sole!"

"Aye, the line where it was torn. Can’t fix that, but tarred and pitched it, I did. It’ll hold better than before, but there’s no erasing that black mark. But what of it? It's just the bottom of your foot."

"I suppose you’re right. It’s a job well done."

I looked up toward the far balcony, but it was empty. Belfagor had hired our Captain, Hildereth of Baoth, but now Hildereth was dead, murdered these four years. I had the troop now.