Part 33 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 33 – Bard Kallum
Pewtory the Lesser Bard stared at the knife in Damone’s hand. The gambler held the dagger with practiced ease as if it were an extension of his arm. Gone was the warm smile from moments before, hard blue eyes now stared back at him.
Beside Damone, Bard Kallum had retained his wide grin, and somehow Pewtory found this more unnerving. He noticed now how well groomed Kallums hair was, there were braids beneath the curls, the kind that only a bard wore.
Pewtory searched for an excuse that might buy him some time. Anything to explain the outright lie he had been caught telling. His whole reasoning for attending the Masker’s ball had been exposed as a sham. Such a lie could only mean that he had a suspicious reasoning for wishing to attend the ball. He now had to make Damone and Kallum believe that the reason was not sinister.
“Before you utter the lie that is about to come out of your lips. Allow me to speak.”
It was Kallum that had spoken. Pewtory was surprised to see the Bard take the lead. Damone did not react to this turn of events, which led Pewtory to believe he had misinterpreted the two men’s relationship from the start. He had been so immersed in spinning his own lies that he had failed to notice how they had been manipulating him all along.
Pewtory returned to the chair and sat down. He nodded for Kallum to continue.
“I was once a young, desperate Bard like you. I remember touring the countryside, performing in the taverns and markets, sometimes to only a handful of people. It is a tough trade to get noticed in. I never had an act like yours though. I can see why you want to perform on the big stage; an act like yours deserves to be seen by the nobility.
I’ve observed you today, your determination is admirable and your talent vast. You have even been prepared to take a beating for your efforts. Such devotion is a good asset to have.
Because of what I have witnessed, I am inclined to reward your behaviour. I am prepared to allocate you a portion of my performance tomorrow night. You can appear before me and warm the crowd up.”
Kallum paused as he led his words sink in. Beside him Damone tucked the dagger back into his belt. Pewtory had not expected this turn of events at all. He had expected the opposite in fact. He thought his life would be in jeopardy for his spurious behaviour, instead Kallum had seen something of himself in Pewtory and sympathised with him. Could the situation have resolved itself that easily?
“But?” Pewtory asked.
Kallum continued to smile. There was twinkle in his eye that Pewtory did not like.
“Why do you think there is a “but”? Kallum said.
“There always is,” Pewtory said. He tried to push his chair away from the table to give himself some room. If things escalated, he needed o be able to move. Damone drew the dagger again and adopted his stern face.
“You’re a shrewd man Pewtory the Lesser Bard, but relax your life is not in any danger.”
Damone sat down in the chair opposite and threw the dagger petulantly on the table and rubbed his eyes. Kallum ignored him as Pewtory struggled not to laugh. For an experienced gambler, Damone was not very good at shielding his emotions.
“I have to wonder,” Kallum continued in a pondering tone, “why you have left it this late to try and gain entry to the Masker’s ball. If it was me I would have attempted to con my way into attending a long time ago and not leave it to the day before.”
Pewtory opened his mouth to speak but Kallum raised his hand to stop him.
“No doubt you are about to tell me that the last of the purple strings have only just been allocated or that the performers had been agreed ages ago and this was the only way. I told you, I will not tolerate any mistruths.
Speak to me truly and you will perform at the Masker’s ball, tell me a lie and I will upset Damone by instructing him to retrieve his dagger again.”
Pewtory mulled over Kallum’s words. It unnerved him how much the man seemed to understand Pewtory. The excuses he had been about to come up with were exactly the ones Kallum had cited.
Damone poured himself another shot of the orange liqueur. This time he only filled the glass halfway before the bottle was empty. Frustrated he shook the last few drops out before placing the bottle back on the table with a thud.
How much should Pewtory tell them? He definitely could not say anything about the stranger and his demand to stop the Ritual, but should he mention Elsie? It would be the truth for a limited perspective and easier to stick to. If he said that Elsie and Arthur were good friends, then maybe Kallum could arrange for them to be at the front during the performance.
The idea appealed to Pewtory the more he thought about it. He imagined the look of bliss on Elsie’s face during the performance. He could inform the Bookman’s that he had arranged it all and then they would be so grateful that they would be willing to travel with him to Lilyon. So willing that they would follow him to their…death.
The idea hit him hard. Tears filled his eyes and he was unable to stop them as they cascaded down his cheeks. He wiped them away angry at himself. For the first time, Kallum and Damone exchanged a confused look. They had not expected this reaction.
Pewtory had managed to avoid thinking about the stranger’s demands for so long. Gaining access to the Masker’s Ball had changed from remaining close to Elsie and morphed into the goal of performing one more time to a large crowd before he became hated and notorious. He had managed to suppress all emotions regarding his quest and instead concentrate on his final performance.
How could he be so focussed on bringing elation to the lady one minute and then thinking about killing her the next? What kind of twisted man had he become? Why would he do that? Because it is all you have left. The answer came to him unbidden. His world had unravelled so quickly, that this performance was all he had left to offer. It was the last shred of humanity he had left in him. Any other man would have refused to carry out the stranger’s outrageous demand, but Pewtory had not rejected it. He had been strangely drawn to the idea. The thought of it awakened a darkness in him he did not know existed. A darkness that excited him.
“Pewtory?” Kallum prompted.
Pewtory poured himself some water as he composed himself. His hand shook as he poured and the jug clinked against his glass repeatedly as he filled it. He took a sip and then looked Kallum straight in the eye and told him a story about a woman called Elsie. How she was one of the bravest women he had ever met and that she did not have long to live. It had been her dream to attend the Masker’s Ball and see Pewtory perform there. He had foolishly lied and said he was due to sing there and now he was doing everything he could to make Elsie’s dream come true.
When he had finished Kallum studied Pewtory for a long time. Pewtory made sure he did not look away. His palms were sweaty and he yearned to scratch an itch on his leg yet he did not move. He did not want to give off any impression that he was not telling the truth.
Kallum finally looked away and turned toDamone. “Do you believe him?”
“I’m not sure.” Damone said.
“Me neither,” Kallum said. “Alright you can perform on one condition.”
Pewtory breathed a sigh of relief although he dreaded what was coming. He knew exactly what Kallum was about to say.
“You want one of the fish,” Pewtory said.
“As I said, you are a shrewd man,” Kallum said.
