Part 32 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 32 – The Purple String
“You knew he would jump, the question was unfair,” Damone said.
“Wisp is a Mantisichid Fish. When they are caught in rapidly moving water they tend to jump from the surface in search for calmer surroundings. I asked you to observe and answer a question. You observed the Mantischid and what I did to the jugs. The fish behaved according to its nature. Are you ready for question two.”
Damone nodded but gave an angry nod. “Wait,” he said as Pewtory reached for the jugs. “Come round here and do it from my side of the table. I want you to turn around when I do.”
Pewtory shrugged and did as instructed. When he reached the other side of the table he began to alternate the jugs as before. He started slowly and built up the speed. This time Wisp finished on the right hand side before the Bard and Pewtory turned away from the table to face the fire place.
“I want your friend to stand back so I know he is not tampering with the jugs either. This works both ways.”
The small man stood back where Pewtory could see him without waiting for Damone’s assent.
Pewtory flicked his index finger and seconds later heard the plop of water. Damone heard it too and grinned at the bard as he winced.
“Which jug will Wisp be in?” Pewtory whispered.
“Judging by the splash and by what you foolishly told me about the habits of the Mantisichids, I would say your dear red friend is now in the left hand jug,” Damone said.
They turned and Damone cursed as Wisp swam lazily around in the right hand jug seemingly oblivious to the drama unfolding around him.
“You said they searched for calmer waters,” Damone shouted. Obviously he did not like losing. He sounded like a petulant child and Pewtory thought he was going to break out in tears.
“I also said this is an observational game. I never asked you to trust what I told you,” Pewtory said.
“But I heard him jump?” Damone said and leaned in to study the empty jug as if to check the fish was definitely not in there.
“Up and down,” the small man said. It was nice to see that he had not lost his laconic manner.
There was a small knock on the door. “Go away,” Damone shouted.
““Is everything o.k. in there? I heard raised voices,” a timid voice asked.
“I said go away,” Damone said again and threw his empty glass against the wood. It shattered upon impact sending shards of glass across the floor. Pewtory heard the footsteps on the other side of the door hastily retreat.
Damone picked up Pewtory’s empty glass and refilled it with the orange drink. He gulped it down and then breathed deeply. After a moment he seemed to have regained his composure. He poured himself another drink and smiled.
“It appears there is more to you than meets the eye Pewtory the Lesser Bard.”
“I have to admit, I did deliberately place the jugs further apart this time. I suspected Wisp might have trouble with the distance.”
“How clever of you. Shall we precede with the final question?” Damone asked. Pewtory did not like the way the man smiled at him. Damone’s face still showed signs of his temper, parts of his cheeks were still blotchy where the colour had not quite drained from them.
For the third and final time, Pewtory picked up the jugs and swapped them over. He followed the exact same routine as before and smiled as he saw Damone follow his movements eagerly. This time he placed the jugs close together and kept Wisp in the left hand jug.
He stepped back and began to turn around but was shocked when Damone did not join him.
“May I?” Damone said moving to the table.
“Eh, I would rather you didn’t,” Pewtory said. A sense of dread washed over him. He had been perfectly in control up until this point. He did not like the way Damone sneered as he spied the jugs.
“Oh I insist.” Damone picked up the empty right hand jug and moved it to the very edge of the table. There is no way that Wisp would be able to jump that sort of distance whilst launching himself from such a constricted space. “Now I am ready.”
Damone stood by Pewtory’s side and then turned away from the table. The look of triumph on his face, made Pewtory’s insides roil. Pewtory turned around also and stared at the unlit fire, beside him Damone chuckled to himself.
Pewtory waggled his index finger and shortly afterwards, the silence of the room was heard by first one splash and then a second.
“If I was a betting man, I would say that your fish is struggling to find the second jug wouldn’t you?” Damone chuckled at his own little joke. Pewtory could not manage to provide an answer which caused Damone to slap his thigh as he guffawed.
“Well Pewtory are you going to ask me the question?
The bard tried to speak but found his mouth had dried up.
“What jug?” he managed to croak.
Damone removed the dagger from his belt and casually flipped it over before he caught it. “Well let me see, decisions, decisions. Do you know what, I think I will go for the left jug this time.”
Before they turned to the table, Pewtory glanced at Damone’s friend. The colour had drained from his face and he stared at the table in wonderment. The look told Pewtory all he needed to know. He smiled as he heard Damone’s cry of disbelief.
The right hand jug remained devoid of fish, but the left hand jug now contained Willow. All signs of Wisp were gone. Willow preened around the jug, flaunting her long fins so that they swished in the water. The water contained traces of brown, where Willow had spent the past five minutes inside Pewtory’s tankard of ale.
“The purple string from your arm if you please?” Pewtory said.
Damone pulled the string from his arm and handed it to the Bard without taking his eyes from the table. His mouth bobbed open and shut like the fish before him.
“What the…How in the moons?”
“A bard never reveals his secrets,” Pewtory said. All pretence of being worried had dissipated now as he uncovered the fish bowl and poured Willow inside. He then drained some of his ale and waited for Wisp to jump into the bowl.
When he looked up he saw Damone smiling at him. The gambler clapped his hands slowly at the performance and shook his head in disbelief.
“That was quite something young Pewtory. Quite something.”
“I thank you. I am sorry to have fooled you, but I was desperate for that purple.”
“Well now you have it. You can deliver the equipment to Bard Kallum for his finale. If the performance is as good as that then I am surely missing out.”
Pewtory grinned, he scooped up Willow and Wisp in their bowl and turned to leave. He was eager to leave whilst things were going his way.
“Young Pewtory? Where are you going?”
Pewtory stopped in his tracks. He knew it was all too good to be true.
“To see Bard Kallum. The Masker’s ball is tomorrow night after all. I do not have much time.”
This time it was Damone who put on a performance. He frowned in confusion and looked to his friend.
“Is this another one of your tricks Pewtory? Bard Kallum has been with us the whole time.”
Pewtory stared at the small man next to Damone. Bard Kallum beamed at him and then bowed deeply.
