Part 18 of Rob Donovan’s free serialised story set in the same world of Frindoth as his newly released book “Ritual of the Stones”. In this story we follow the journey of Pewtory the Lesser bard as he travels to Lilyon to witness the Ritual.
Pewtory the Lesser Bard part 18 – Confession
The hooded man was completely unaware that the bard had renewed the chase. He had obviously seen Pewtory collide with the large man and assumed he was in the clear. He was therefore not as running as fast as he could have been.
Pewtory seized upon the opportunity and closed the gap fast. If anything his little embarrassing incident worked to his advantage, as the crowd of people had bunched up to see what all the commotion was about. Once the bard cleared the onlookers his path through to the fleeing man was free from obstacles.
The runner turned just as Pewtory launched himself through the air. They collided and this time the bard’s actions had the desired effect. The two of them tumbled to the ground in a tangled mess.
Pewtory heard something snap and then the man howl in pain. There was also a tremendous clattering sound and the bard felt several rigid objects dig into him. He had been expecting a softer landing.
In the melee the man’s hood fell from his face. To his horror Pewtory saw that it was not the stranger that had threatened him in his room that night, but an elderly man. The man’s face bore severe wrinkles and his grey hair cut close to his scalp. Liver spots littered his forehead and his mouth was distorted in agony to reveal gums rather than teeth.
The source of the clattering revealed itself to be a collection of silver and bronze plates that the man had concealed underneath his cloak. It was evident that the man had nothing to do with the drink sent to Pewtory or with the events of the past few days. Pewtory had just collared a thief.
“Are you alright?” Pewtory said, although he could clearly see that it wasn’t. The arm that the man cradled to his chest was bent at an odd angle.
“Alright? Alright?” the man said through gritted teeth. “You break my arm, get me arrested and ruin my life and then ask if I’m alright!”
“I’m sorry,” Pewtory said getting to his feet and dusting himself off.
By this time the crowd had caught up to them. They wandered over as if the pair of them were merely the next attraction at a minstrel show. The large black man Pewtory had bounced off lead the group and seemed surprised to see Pewtory as if he could not quite work out how he had made himself the feature of both incidents.
“Hey, they’re my plates,” a voice in the crowd said.
“Albert!” gasped a middle aged woman. She was tall with a stern face and a flat nose. She planted both her hands on her hips and shook her head in disappointment. “You said you were done with thieving.”
Albert shrugged his shoulders and then winced as the effort hurt his damaged arm.
“I demand satisfaction,” the same voice said again. “Those plates were my mothers.”
Pewtory was not interested in hearing any more. He spied Archie puffing his way towards the crowd and barely acknowledging the pats on his back and the expressed gratitude from strangers, he made his way to his friend.
“What has got into you? Since when did you become a hero?”
“A hero is the last thing I am. We need to talk,” Pewtory said accepting Willow and Wisp as Archie handed them over.
***
Pewtory did not say another word until Archie has purchased a room for them both. His head pounded as a myriad of thoughts circulated his mind. Every stranger he saw made him paranoid and he wanted nothing more than to hide away in a room.
He wrestled with the dilemma of whether to confess all to Archie and although Pewtory had made up his mind to tell Archie everything after the debacle with the thief, he had since changed his mind a dozen times. He noticed the surreptitious glances the Peddler had given him whilst he arranged the room.
Bringing the peddler into his confidence would almost certainly endanger the man’s life, but at the same token he needed someone other than fish to talk to. Willow and Wisp had made it clear what they thought, but they didn’t understand the dilemma he faced, they were also surprisingly rigid in their views. Archie was a realist he would be more pragmatic about it all. If anyone was to empathize with Pewtory’s decision to go ahead and interfere with the Ritual it would be the peddler.
“I don’t believe you,” Archie said later as the two of them sat in a plain but comfortable room. Pewtory had confessed all: the initial visit from the stranger, the dilemma he posed, the death of Lionel the Lark, why Pewtory tried to leave Archie behind at Jitsuam farm and why he suspected the drink might be poison in the tavern earlier and so knocked it from Archie’s hands. He even explained the message he tried to leave for the peddler with the stones. He lay back on the bed as recalled the past few days, relaxed as if he was merely recalling a fond childhood memory. Archie sat at a desk table gripping a glass of whiskey.
“What don’t you believe? The story or the fact that I am thinking of going through with it?” Pewtory said.
“The latter. As outlandish as it sounds, I believe the story. It would certainly explain why you have been behaving so oddly. You have lost your swagger these past few days. You are on edge and jumping at shadows. So if the story explains some of that it makes sense.”
Pewtory nodded gratefully. He did not realise how relieved he was that Archie believed him. Up until that point he did not think that part would have been an issue.
Archie downed his glass and got up from the chair. He poured another short from the decanter and offered it to Pewtory. The bard waved him away. He had not touched the initial glass by his bedside. Archie was on his fifth drink.
“Let me get this straight,” the peddler said and carelessly waved the hand holding the glass around the room, slurping some of the contents to the floor. Archie did not seem to notice. “This man wants you to prevent a stoneholder in this town from attending the Ritual which will cause the death of not a few but thousands of people in Frindoth? And you are talking about going through with it? Have you just escaped from the asylum? I know you converse with fish and everything, but I never had you for a moron.”
“Keep your voice down,” Pewtory sat up. “Do you want everyone to hear us? And don’t call me insane. Never call me insane. I have been called that before and penalised for it. I have worked hard to rebuild myself, it hurts but I never thought I’d hear it from you.”
Archie swigged his drink, held the glass to his forehead and shut his eyes. Pewtory studied him. He was an older man, quite a bit older. The beard hid the fact well, but now he really looked at Archie he could see the lines on the man’s face, the crow’s feet by his eyes and the weathered skin. Archie’s jocular demeanour made it easy to imagine that he was a lot younger than he actually was.
He had not meant to reveal that portion of his past. It was an element of his history he was not proud of but one he had been unfairly victimised for.
“I don’t think you are crazy Pewtory,” Archie said finally with his eyes still closed. “What do Willow and Wisp think?”
Pewtory was wary of the question. Was the peddler setting a trap for him? Was he testing Pewtory? If he was then so be it. This is who he was, if he was locked up for it again, maybe it was for the best. At least it was a way out. He decided to be honest with his friend.
“They don’t think I should do it. They are quite disgusted in fact. They are not speaking to me.”
Archie shook his head and poured himself another drink.
