Part 26 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 26 – Boscalt
Pewtory left the sleeping couple before the sun rose. He had found sleep hard to come by and only managed a broken hour sometime before dawn. It was one thing to make up your mind to thwart the Ritual, but another thing when confronted with the very people you would be hurting in the process.
Elsie and Arthur were a nice couple. From what Pewtory could gather they had lived good, honest lives. They seemed to be handling the terrible news of becoming a possible sacrifice to the Gloom with honour. Arthur showed the occasional glimpse of putting on a front for his wife: the odd wobble of the bottom lip and the unmistakable sadness in his eyes but Elsie proceeded with a quiet dignity the Bard could not fail to admire.
Pewtory had decided he had to get away from the couple. It was one thing to become the most vilified man in Frindoth, but another to pretend to be a friend to the couple. The next time he saw them, he would be a different man. He would be the man who would change history for ever. The thought sent a frisson of joy down his spine that both excited and repulsed him.
By noon he had reached Boscalt. It was a town he had never been to before but had heard a lot about. It was large for a town, bordering on the size of a small city. It was also renowned for being rich as well.
It was a place Pewtory always meant to visit and perform but had never quite made it to. As he approached the town walls, he noticed the difference immediately. The ploughed fields were lush with the brightest greens and dark, brown soil that looked soft and welcoming.
Boscalt was labelled the, “Town that bleeds,” because it was set on a steep hill and numerous rivers drained off the steep terrain and spilt from the town walls like blood from a cut. The day was overcast, but the Bard could imagine in the sun, the streams would sparkle and project a shimmering silver pattern on the town walls.
Towering about the town walls were hundreds of structures that appeared to occupy every spare part of land. On the lower sector of the hill, the buildings were similar in design to those in Compton: Wooden walls and thatched with straw or heather rooftops. The higher the hill went however, the more the buildings made the transition from wood to stone, and heather to tiles.
The hill teemed with movement. Countless figures and carts scooted to and fro so that it looked like some giant ant hill. The noise was deafening. Merchants struggled to be heard over each other, cattle brayed as they were herded into the town to be sold and above all the sounds of tools of construction sang out: hammers against anvils, the sizzle of metal in the forges and saws on building sites.
Smoke billowed from chimneys clouding the town in a layer of smog, yet still Boscalt remained a place of beauty. Large trees lay scattered throughout, a broad range of colourful leaves (red, green, orange and purple) adding splashes of colour throughout the buildings.
“Oh yes,” Pewtory said to himself as he took in the sight. He sang to himself as he approached the main gate with a skip in his step.
The main gate was protected by more than the usual pair of guards. Two stern, seasoned looking soldiers occupied a small guard post in front of the gate. Both wore grim expressions as they monitored the traffic that entered the town. Another pair of soldiers stood like statues either side of the entrance, their right hands gripping the pommel of their swords in identical poses. Four soldiers patrolled the battlements overhead whilst another guard entered the crowd and screened the visitors that filtered into single file along the main road. All wore immaculate armour with blue sleeves and were overseen by a tall woman in the same attire but with a magenta cloak that marked her out to be in charge.
It was the guard that was screening people that approached Pewtory now. He was a fit lad, clean-shaven with bright green eyes.
“Name?” he said as he glanced up at Pewtroy from a fat scroll. Another scroll was stuffed into his breastplate.
“Good day to you sir, I am called Pewtory the Lesser Bard,” Pewtory said and bowed in an exaggerated fashion.
The guard did not react to the name and scrolled down the list.
“Purpose in Boscalt?”
“The Maskers ball.”
“Same as everyone else then. You expected?”
“Yes, of course.”
The guard frowned and pulled out the smaller scroll from his breastplate. He scanned down the list of names using his finger. His lips moved as he read. “Not according to the guest list you are not,” He rolled away the parchment and studied Pewtory. “We are not allowing any more people into the town who are hoping to crash the ball. We’ve let in too many people already.”
“I can assure you sir, I am not intending to crash the ball. The Bard Kallum is expecting me and he assured me the good Baron Decker would have added me to the list.
“Really. Kallum is expecting you?” the guard said a smirk appearing on his face.
“He is indeed,” Pewtory did not like the look. It was clear the guard did not believe him and was waiting for Pewtory to trip himself up. The Bard usually found the best thing to do was to keep his mouth shut. The less he said, the less he could talk his way into trouble.
“Really?” the guard repeated.
“Yes, I have on me a vital piece of Kallum’s finale. If he doesn’t receive it by this evening, then his performance tonight will be marred, the Baron will be livid and when questioned the trail will lead right back to you for barring me entry into the town. Do you want that?
Pewtory had never been good at keeping his mouth shut. He was relieved to see the briefest flicker of doubt in the guard’s eyes. It was all the leverage Pewtory needed. He knew the guard was not as sure of himself as he pretended to be. The trick was to convince the guard that Pewtory knew more than he did.
Pewtory sighed and rubbed his face in an exaggerated “I don’t need this tedium” manner. “Kallum said this might happen, can I speak to your superior officer please?
A look of panic engulfed his face. “She is unavailable at the moment.”
At that moment, the tall women in the magenta cloak began chastising two of the guards on the battlements who seemed to be sharing a joke. Her voice boomed out across the crowd, causing many to turn a look in her direction.
“She seems quite available to me,” Pewtory said.
“Look, I am only doing my job. You could be anyone. Your name is not on the attendance list and no one has told me any different,” the guard said, but now there was pleading in his tone. “I would let you through on trust alone but it would do you no good.
The vendors have to demonstrate they have items to sell and are given a red piece of string. The buyers have to already have applied for permission the day before and are on this scroll.” The guard shook the second, fatter scroll at Pewtory. “Only people with a purple bit of string can enter the town and pass the second gate to the upper sector.”
““You are quite right. You are just doing your job. That is why I wish to speak to your captain.”
“But what can you say to her that you can’t say to me? Please, I am trying to make an impression, I need promotion.”
Pewtory smiled grimly. The truth was that he had no idea what he would say to the captain anyway. From the way she had scolded the two guards, he was not sure he could sweet talk her either.
“What is the hold up here?”
Pewtory and the guard turned to see an angry looking merchant sitting on top of a wagon. He was red faced and had a large bushy moustache. His trailer contained several cages which contained agitated hens. From the stench the cages had not been cleaned out in a long time.
“Look, just let me into the town as a vendor and I will sort myself out from there,” Pewtory whispered as if he was helping the guard out. Pewtory the Bard – everyone’s favourite friend.
“But you have nothing to sell.”
Pewtory unravelled the cloth at the end of his pole to show the guard Willow and Wisp. Minutes later, he was in Boscalt with a red string tied round his wrist.
