Part 30 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 30 – Damone Thurrock
As anticipated the cobblestone floor was hard and unforgiving. Pewtory had the snap decision either to protect his face or shield the fish bowl from shattering. He bounced once on the surface before he came to a stop in a crumbled heap. His cheek stung from where his skin had scraped against stone.
Behind him the bell tinkled, mocking him as the door to the Leaping Fox slammed shut.
As Pewtory checked he could still move his jaw from side to side, he reflected that his idea to meet Damone Thurrock had not gone entirely to plan. He was back to where he was an hour ago only with more bruises and a wounded pride. At least he now knew what “Beat the Red Moon” was, and in fairness, it had turned out to be quite an exciting game.
The bell chimed again and Pewtory was aware of two sets of heavy footsteps behind him. He remained where he was, if the heavy oaf that had just cast him out of the Leaping Fox had returned for some afters then Pewtory was not going to give him the satisfaction of begging for mercy. He tensed expecting to receive a kick to the ribs at any moment.
When no such blow was delivered he tentatively opened one eye. A pair of muddy boots filled his vision. They were of good quality and the dark brown mud was wet and recent.
“Rumour has it you are looking for me?” A gruff voice said. Pewtory cradled the fish bowl to his chest and wheezed. It hurt to breath.
“I couldn’t possibly confirm or deny that question without knowing who is speaking.”
“Damone Thurrock.”
Pewtory sat up immediately and then regretted it as pain lanced through his stomach.
“Then the rumours are true,” Pewtory said.
He looked up at the imposing figure standing over him. Damone Thurrock was muscular but thin. His arms bulged underneath a tight fitting white shirt. The purple string tied to the sleeve strained under the large biceps. His hair was brown and combed backwards and to the side. He had an angular nose and large lips covered in closely shaved stubble.
He struck Pewtory as a man that spent far too long on his appearance every morning because he had nothing better to do. Considering the lofty position Damone’s wife seemed to occupy the bard guessed his assessment was close to the truth.
Next to Damone stood a squat man with greasy black hair. He had olive skin and wore a bored expression as if the very effort of engaging with Pewtory inconvenienced him.
“What do you want with me?” Damone Thurrock asked.
“It is not you I want per se. It is that purple string tied around your arm. I planned to challenge you to a game of some sort to win if off you. But recent events have made me reconsider the wisdom behind such rash schemes.”
“You want access to the Masker’s Ball? Why?”
Pewtory struggled to his feet. He left the bowl with Willow and Wisp in it on the floor. Why did he want to attend the ball? Originally he wanted to get close to Elsie Brookman to kill her, but he had already had that opportunity and spurned it.
Did he really plan on killing her in front of a room of elite people? It would ensure his notoriety but would it achieve the goal the stranger had tasked him? He had been told to stop the stone from reaching the Ritual. Did killing Elsie in a room full of people achieve that? There was nothing to stop one righteous nobleman picking up the stone and volunteering to take the stone to Lilyon in an act of selflessness.
If Pewtory was honest with himself, his attendance at the Masker’s ball served to satisfy his vanity and nothing more. If he was going to go down as Frindoth’s biggest villain then he wanted the chance to entertain a huge crowd. Not just a huge crowd but the upper class. The echelon of nobility.
“Bard Kallum is performing at the ball, he has sent word that he requires equipment for a new finale he is looking to impress the baron with.”
Pewtory decided it was best to stick with the lie he had told the Boscalt guards at the gates rather than the one he had told Elsie and Archie. It seemed Damone was well informed.
“Is that so?” Damone said and smirked at his friend. His friend did not catch the look though and continued to look bored, apparently finding more interest in the dirt under his nails.
“It is indeed,” Pewtory said growing in confidence. Perhaps all was not lost.
“I hear you are a gambling man Damone?”
“You hear correctly. Although we had already established that when you revealed your original intention was to beat me at a game table. We have also established you are a lousy gambler, so I struggle to see how my weakness helps your position any.
Tell me then, if this equipment Kallum requires is so important, why are you having such difficulty gaining access to the ball as surely if he is expecting you then you would have no trouble being granted permission to enter the palace?”
Pewtory had expected this question and the lie came easily to his lips.
“I see there is no fooling you Damone Thurrock. The truth is that I was given a purple ribbon which allowed me access, only I’m ashamed to say I lost it.”
“Lost it? That was careless of you. Lost it how?”
Pewtory lowered his eyes to the floor and made himself look at pathetic as possible.
“I’m embarrassed to say.”
Pewtory risked a look up at Damone to gage what he was thinking. The gambler screwed up his face as he tried to figure Pewtory out.
“I am curious at your shame but I suppose it does not matter. I have something you want, what do you have in mind?”
There were times in Pewtory’s life where he talked himself into situations where he had no idea what he was going to say next. This was one of them. Sometimes words tumbled out of his mouth and landed him in more trouble than he was already in. As he spoke part of him was curious as to what he was going to come up with next.
“How about a simple bet? I see you are an observant man Damone, you knew instantly I had asked after you and I only mentioned your name to one other person. Therefore, I bet I can ask you three simple observational questions and you will not be able to answer them correctly.”
That was not bad going, Pewtory thought. He had no idea what the questions were going to be, but at least he had bought himself some time. Damone seemed intrigued by the idea as well. He scratched his stubble as he contemplated the idea.
“It seems simple enough. If I fail to answer all three questions correctly. You get the ribbon that entitles you to attend the Masker’s ball right?” Pewtory nodded warming to the idea himself. “What’s in it for me?”
“If I fail you get to kill me.” Pewtory said and reflected how that was a classic example of speaking without engaging his brain.
“Deal,” Damone Thurrock said.
Pewtory tried to smile as the two shook hands. At least Damone’s friend looked interested at last.
