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Chapter 20 - A Journey Begins

When they pulled their wagon out of town the next morning, they found the area outside the city gate a teeming mob of wagons, horses, and people. Dust was everywhere, and there were officers galloping around on horses, yelling at people, trying to organize the mob into a marching column. Jorac presented his orders to four different people before finding someone to tell him that his place was at the back of the column, and (sneeringly) to keep out of the way of real army men.

Eventually, they found the area that should become the back of the column. They parked the wagon, and Jorac asked Hox to spend some time rearranging the supplies. They’d packed in a hurry, and would want room to sleep inside the wagon in a few days. Outside of the weather-controlled area, it was spring, and they were heading toward the even cooler Northlands.

Meanwhile, Jorac walked around and checked out the nearby wagons. A few sported a large tag with an “O” that he learned meant “observer”; he was told he’d be issued one soon. The other wagons weren’t actually part of the army but were planning on following it. Jorac wandered among them, watching to people renew acquaintances from the year before and do last-minute loading. He saw some suspicious types who looked at him appraisingly, while others seemed to be friendly, salt-of-the-earth merchant types.

At one wagon, he met a fat, cheerful older woman who sold cooking oil and spices and had a greeting for everyone who walked by. She wasn’t doing much business, but it didn’t seem to worry her. Jorac’s rubbernecking attracted her attention.

“First time out, dearie?”

Jorac nodded. “I’m a new observer. Still trying to figure out how this whole thing works.”

“Well, come sit down and talk to me. You’re a nice-looking young man, and I don’t mind telling you what I know.” She smiled and patted the folding chair next to hers, so Jorac sat down gingerly.

“Relax,” she said, “we won’t start moving until this afternoon sometime, anyway. I’ll have no business today, but I’ll sell out in a week, and head on back.” She pointed around at the wagons in the area. “Lots of these folks will follow the army right north, all the way to the northern border, but not me. I don’t mind a week or two out of town, but not three weeks there, a bit less coming back empty.”

“The northern border? I thought that was way up at the cold, treeless country that no one much wants.”

The woman laughed a little. “Oh, you are new at this. Well, if you don’t mind listening to an old lady natter on, I’ll explain it. The army lets us follow until we get to the old northern border, not the current one. No one in Old Etrombia is fighting us, so it’s nice and safe. But once they get close to the town of Norfort they send the followers packing, and just the army folk go on from there.”

“And you say that takes three weeks? I could ride there in a week, or less if I pushed it.”

“The army never moves very fast, at least down south. You’ll see. Sometimes it’s the weather, or a bad section of road or something, but it’s always something. I turn back when they bunch up to cross the Japrees river; that’s about a week from now. Most of the other folks go further along; they just follow the Broxna river road, all the way to Norfort. The army supplies go by river barges, of course; it takes a lot to feed an army this size, but they get it done.”

“What sort of folks are here? I mean, what do they do, and why are they following the army?”

She started counting them off on her fingers. “Well, there’s the wives, of course. Some soldiers are married, but not so many. There’s rules against prostitutes, so there’s lots of ‘extra workers’ – cooks who can’t cook, laundry ladies who don’t wash, and so on. Real laundries for those without real wives. Armor sellers, sword makers, all sorts of soldierly crafts – the army has its own of course, but some soldiers will pay for something a bit fancier. Some folks sell talismans, good luck charms, and the like – they won’t sell much until the last day or two. A couple of wagons sell liquor, but they keep it quiet and package it like lotions and potions and such, because selling liquor to the regular soldiers is against the rules too.

“And a few like me, selling the things folks should have bought in town. Each day out I increase my prices a little, but it still sells. Oil is heavy and I can’t carry much, but I do alright with it. Up north they use mostly sheep-lard, and most city folks don’t like the flavor it gives, so they’re glad to pay me. And it makes for a nice little break from the shop each year.”

Jorac thought a moment. “You know, I’m not sure I brought enough oil either. I guess I should buy some while it’s still cheap.” He knew the sheep-lard flavor well, and didn’t miss it.

In good humor, she smiled. “Ha! The old sales trick worked. Tell you what, there’s a couple of cases I haven’t packed away yet. That one there – see if the lid is loose on it.”

It proved to be, and soon Jorac had exchanged two silvers for a large jug of cooking oil. She grinned and said, “I’ll be getting triple that in a week, and folks will be glad to pay me too.”

He thanked her and carried his purchase back to Hox, who said he was almost done arranging the wagon.

“Here you go, some extra cooking oil. How’s the wagon space looking?”

“I think it’ll work out fine. I can sleep across here, kind of diagonally, and I think you’ll fit across the back. I may want to get some more blankets or something to level it out.”

“Well, grab a handful of coppers and ask around the wagons back that way. They aren’t the army, they’re the army followers. Some of them remind me of the folks in Swampside, so watch yourself.”

Jorac busied himself making a place for the jug of oil, and watched the column gradually getting assembled. When Hox came back, he had some blankets under his arm and word of a recent acquaintance. “Madame Revar was asking for you.”

Jorac raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Did she say what for?” He didn’t think he had any business with the biggest lady pimp of Swampside. He hoped not, anyway.

“No, she just asked if you were around. She was trying to teach some of her girls how to do laundry. They were bending way over into the wash basin, and bouncing up and down. I thought any woman that age would already be taught to do laundry by their ma, but I guess not.” Hox’s eyes twinkled with knowing good humor. He played the country bumpkin well enough, but his understanding of city ways had grown tremendously in the few months he’d been a constable.

The search

Lenny knew they would have to find the kids on their own. Someone else had to have seen a large group of children crossing the valley. He told the officers to take The Piper away. As the Police began to lead him away, he started to sing in a strange sad voice.

He was taken to the prison section below that they jokingly dubbed "The Dungeon". It was in the basement carved from earth and rock, a tomb-like room with a small barred window at ground level.

No one saw the Piper pick up his flute that had been lying on the table. The simple enchantment of distraction, he could do with his voice.

Lenny, in his many years on the force had seen some terrible things and even the Piper's sad personal situation did not justify him just handing over innocent children to some stranger. He said grimly to the Mayor he would have respected the guy more if he had taken them hostage to get the bill paid. At least The Piper could have given the children back unharmed for food or something. He could have gotten counseling. Now, who knows what happened to the kids? The mood in the room was grim.

The alarm was sounded too late. The Piper in the basement cell had summoned up with his flute all kinds of creatures to dig- and a massive hole in the wall, was all that was left. The dazed officer assigned to watch him said he saw the whole thing happen but couldn't do anything about it. By the time he could call out the Piper had been gone for a long time. Everyone who saw this believed that he would certainly warn the person who paid him. If things had been grim before, they were terrible now.

As Ana drove to their usual rendezvous spot, an outdoor parking garage right outside a circular restaurant with a slowly spinning tower, she spotted Michael running towards her car. His step was buoyant and his face radiant. He smiled with glee from ear to ear like a child each and every time he saw her. Ana simultaneously honked the horn and stepped on the breaks, worried that, in her own eagerness and haste, she might run him over.

As soon as she got out of the car, she felt the warmth of her lover’s embrace, his lips pressed upon hers. Then Michael’s muscular arms lifted her off the ground, gathering momentum as he began twirling her high up in the air. Ana’s peals of laughter and half-hearted protestations rang in his ears, exciting him further.

“You look so damn hot in that miniskirt! How much time do we have?” Michael asked with impatience, putting Ana down gently, only to grab her and nestle her into his arms again.

“Only two hours, unfortunately. I told Rob that I’m going to a brief meeting with Tracy,” Ana emphasized the word “brief.” “Because, you realize, I can’t keep on telling him that I’m seeing clients interested in buying my paintings when there’s no additional money to back it up.”

“That’s alright. We have enough time for lunch and a little afternoon delight,” Michael focused on the positive.
Given his priorities, the afternoon delight came first, followed by lunch.

As they were walking towards the restaurant, Michael deliberately lagged behind, to watch his girlfriend walk in front of him. He was surprised by the sharp contrast between Ana’s youthful appearance and her shuffling, uneven gait. “Do I have to teach you how to walk?”

She turned around with a puzzled smile. “What to you mean?”

“You shuffle along like an old lady. Or a geek,” he said, emulating her walk, dragging one foot on the ground more so than the other, with his arms dangling by his side.

“That’s because I am a geek!” she cheerfully retorted.

“You may be a geek on the inside, but on the outside you’re one hot mama. You need to walk more like this,” Michael swung his hips to demonstrate the confident gait of models on the runway.

“Very sexy. Now let me demonstrate how you walk,” Ana turned the tables on him. She proceeded to mimic Michael’s confident swagger, her chin up high, her back arched, moving her upper body with exaggerated turns.

“Fair enough,” he smiled mechanically, not amused. “But I still think that your walk doesn’t match your looks,” he insisted, determined to train his girlfriend to be a proper mate for him.

During the last stretch of their walk to the restaurant, Ana practiced the catwalk with him, until the muscles around his mouth began to hurt from so much smiling.

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Chapter 19 - A Journey Planned

The next day, Jorac met with Cerom and Hox early, then went to Dorrie’s and briefly outlined the situation he was facing. Dorrie postponed an appointment so she and Kimma could talk it over with him.

“I don’t see how you can refuse to go,” Dorrie said. “The strongest wizard in the city isn’t a good enemy to have.”

“I don’t know that he’d become my enemy.”

“And you don’t know that he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d just speak his displeasure and someone else would do something, just to curry favor. Your choices are to take the assignment or leave the city. I don’t like it, but it comes down to that.”

“I don’t like it either.” Kimma looked distressed. Jorac was distressed too, but one part of him was unreasonably happy, to see that she’d miss him.

Jorac said, “And I don’t like it either, but I have to agree with Dorrie. Cerom said some of the same things. And he said Hox was getting bored here, so he didn’t yell too much when I asked him if Hox could go with me. When I talked to Hox, he said he’d jump at the chance to go back home – well, near there anyhow – and show off his new uniform.”

Kimma said, “Hox is a good egg. I never once heard him complain when that frog poisoned him.”

“And he saved our ass a few times during our little game with the big silver ball. I’ll just need to make sure he has enough clothes – nothing standard will fit him – and enough food.”

Kimma said, “I thought they were supposed to give you food?”

“I’ve heard it’s pretty bad – enough to live on but not much more. That’s probably where they can most easily skim money from the army. And Hox can eat.”

Dorrie added, “And eat, and eat some more.”

“Right. So I’ll have to check out this observer business. Cerom knows someone I can talk to.”

Kimma said, “Sounds like you’ve thought it through.”

“Well, sure, but there’s my new little house, maybe I can give you some money to outfit it, and. . . I just don’t. . . I’m not sure what you’ll. . . Oh hell.” It was hard enough to talk to Kimma when they were alone, but with Dorrie here it was nearly impossible. He just stared at her, trying to get his face to convey what his words couldn’t.

Kimma’s look back was at once pensive and smoldering, and Jorac knew he’d remember that look for a long time. . . But then Dorrie spoke up.

“I’d love to watch you two get tongue-tied for the next hour, but we don’t have the time. Kimma, you’ll wait for him, right? Not fall for a rake like Skowers, or one of the pretty noble boys, right?

Kimma looked a bit shocked, but nodded and said, “Of course. I. . .”

Dorrie interrupted her. “And Jorac, you’ll be good while you’re on the road, far away, right? Not dally with some pretty milkmaid or something, right?”

Jorac nodded silently, still looking at Kimma.

“Well then, it’s settled. Come back tonight after supper. But now, I’ve missed one appointment and I’m going to be late for the second. Kimma, go upstairs and get your costume on. Jorac, I’ll let you out the back door.” Dorrie stood up, which stirred the others into motion.

As Jorac was leaving, he told Dorrie, “I’ll bring some groceries, right? What would you like?”

Dorrie looked at him in puzzlement for a second, then cackled in understanding. “Anything that’ll take a good long while to put away will be fine, scallywag. Go!”

* * *

Some people can comfort and fill the emptiness in a person's soul, but if they don't really want to help, but actually harm, they will use the foulest talents to warp someone to their will. Pretty words poured into sweet sounds saying horrible things can create images that could lead even the Pied Piper astray.

First post!

Ana turned up the volume of the radio with one hand, while with the other she caressed Michael’s hair. She sat sideways next to him, her feet tucked underneath her folded legs. She leaned over the stick shift to warm up his ear with little kisses that felt as light, warm and alive as the regular rhythm of her breathing.

“I must say, I’ve never felt so well-disposed during rush hour traffic in Detroit!” Michael commented cheerfully, turning towards Ana to give her another kiss on the mouth. The car veered slightly into the next lane.

“Keep your eyes on the road!” she exclaimed. “And leave the kissing and caressing to me,” she added more quietly. She massaged gently but firmly his shoulder blades until he released those familiar moans of pleasure that were music to her ears whenever they made love. “When I caress you, you go mmm, mmmm like a little kid enjoying a delicious piece of candy,” she observed.

“That’s because you are my sweet piece of candy,” he replied, placing his hand on Ana’s leg. “And I’m willing to risk diabetes for you.” He reached over for another kiss.

“Let’s not have an accident,” she cautioned, nervous that Michael never seemed to care about taking risks. But the traffic was moving very slowly. They barely inched along I-96 East.

“And even if we did, so what?” Michael countered. “The best way to go is right after we made love. Carpe Diem, Baby!”

Ana marveled at how Michael was able to be so carefree, with no fears, no inhibitions and no regrets. He savored each moment and each drop of pleasure with a total abandon. Maybe it’s better to live this way, she thought. She almost envied her lover’s good disposition. “How will I explain myself to Rob if I die in a car accident next to you?” she asked him, only partly in jest.

“It would put an end to this whole charade,” Michael replied with a dismissive wave of the hand, returning to his favorite theme. Lately, Ana noticed, he took every available opportunity to imply they were stuck in lukewarm relationships when they could be enjoying the bloom of their youth together. She didn’t reply, not wishing to spoil the lightness of their mood. But it was too late. Whenever the subject of divorce came up, she became uneasy and closed up emotionally, curling back into her shell like a snail.

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Chapter 18 - An Assignment

The next afternoon, Jorac was loitering in the big open room at the base of the Wizard’s Tower when the council meeting ended. He could always tell because of the rush of air that meant several wizards were coming, flying down the 156 stairs that he’d probably have to climb soon. Though he’d had nothing important to do for weeks, a council meeting often produced an assignment, or at least some questions for him to answer.

He sauntered toward his office at a slow pace, and was rewarded by arriving at his door just as a rolled-up piece of paper winked into existence just above the circle on the floor near his desk. He sneezed, just once, and resolved next time to walk even more slowly.

To his surprise, the scroll said, “Wait there – will be down soon – Perg.” As far as Jorac knew, the head wizard had never been to his office, or anyone’s office. People visited Pergimtor, not the other way around.

The head wizard entered a couple of minutes later. “Honorable Kellor, so good to see you. I wanted to commend you on your job in the swamp.” He put his hands together. “Upon reflection, I’m convinced that what you did was best.”

Jorac was surprised. He’d thought Pergimtor had been severely annoyed at what he’d done with the Wolburn Sphere.

Pergimtor continued, “You didn’t tell any other wizards about it, did you?”

“Veseen knows, but he’s an apprentice, and he isn’t at all the power-hungry type. And Dorrie Velosp knows, but she’s probably the weakest wizard in your guild, and happy with what she’s got. Both of them have no reason to talk about it, and plenty of reason to keep it quiet.”

“Good, good. I was just wondering. Some people have enough power, and more might be bad for them, if you know what I mean. Keeping secrets is. . . tricky.”

Jorac didn’t know how Pergimtor thought, so maybe his comment was innocent, but maybe not.

Jorac chose his words carefully. “There are five people in Swampside who know about the liquid and the sphere, and two other constables. They all know there could be a big fight between the wizards if the news got out. But if something starts happening to them, if they start having accidents or something, then the news is sure to leak. No sense in keeping a secret that might kill you.”

Pergimtor said, “Hmm. Well, we aren’t all like Wolburn, don’t worry.” Jorac couldn’t tell if Pergimtor had discarded an idea, or if his warning had just given the wizard a new idea. He still didn’t trust wizards – in fact, when a wizard was nice to him, he worried. And Pergimtor was being nice.

“Anyway, your efforts were noted and appreciated, and the council has agreed to double your salary.”

Jorac was startled at the salary announcement, but didn’t get to react, because Pergimtor continued, “But I really came to see you about a different matter. What do you know about the rebellion in the north?”

“Respectfully, sir, there’s always a rebellion in the north. Has been ever since Benneso the Great took over the little kingdoms there one by one, eighty or a hundred years ago. Every summer, it’s fighting season, and there’ll be some province, sometimes just one town, trying to regain its independence. Usually it gets stomped down, and made poorer for its trouble.”

“So you don’t know that the province of West Luverna has declared independence, rallying behind Ozifaj the Sixth, the great-grandson of their last independent monarch? And that East Luverna claims to oppose them, but seems to be doing nothing to stop it?”

“Sir Wizard, I don’t pay much attention to it anymore. The army marches north each spring and puts down whoever is rebelling this year.” Jorac used to worry about such things when he was a wagon guard, because you had to know where the trouble might be coming from, but during his years in Vaggert he’d lost interest. But he was wondering why Pergimtor was concerned about this minor rebellion.

“The advance scouts tell their commanders they think there’s a wizard working with the West Luverna army. They say the enemy guesses right too often about their movements, and fights much too well in the dark. They don’t think the rebels have enough training to fight like that on their own, but there are some wizard spells that would account for it. They may be right, but spells like that require considerable power. Out in the provinces there are occasionally wizards like your Velosp woman whose abilities aren’t detected in adolescence, but they’re all quite weak. An unknown local wizard who’s that powerful is unlikely, but we’ve been asked to investigate.”

“Why would it have to be an unknown wizard? Why not a known wizard who chose to go there?”

The huge proposal the Piper held was for a holiday called "Wig Day". A man just across the valley in the Town By The Sea had created it. There was even background information and photographs. Everything was bound in big fancy notebooks. The whole story was written out in one of them.

Some guy named Eugene went to a party and had his hair styled as a joke in a combination of extensions and hairpieces. It ended up becoming a huge black creation that looked like a beehive hair-do, tall and puffy, with curly strands hanging down behind and Eugene adored it. After the party he kept his hair that way. He bought outfits that worked with it like little black dresses and pantsuits and loved walking in the park to show it off.

Eventually the hair-do became ragged and frizzy- hairpieces were beginning to fall out and get tangled. His untidy appearance depressed him and one night at home he tried to fix his hair with glue, staples, tape and black markers and the entire thing was ruined. Eugene stayed inside after that, upset, and his friends worried. He looked in catalogs for wigs that were the same as his wig but they were horribly expensive. He didn't go out because he didn't want to be seen in just his own hair or with a hat on.

Then one day someone left him a package with a big purple Mod styled wig and as nice as that was... it was purple and he really wanted black. Eugene's friends worried because they never heard from him- were always wondering how he was doing. They slipped notes under his door, yelled up at his windows. Somewhere during that period Eugene got the idea to film himself in black and white so his wig looked black. He installed a TV in his front door where he would leave a tape for its VCR everyday so his friends could come by and watch his updates saying he was fine and what he was doing that day. Mostly the updates were about cleaning up and making lunch.

On several tapes he tried to be creative- and animated them with simple cartoons. They were crudely done black and white animations of himself in a perky dress in some kind of happy badly drawn landscape. Eventually a few tapes were stolen, especially the animated ones, and used to make fun of him in the neighborhood. When some got onto the town's local TV channel, word spread and a sudden and unexpected support emerged.

Upon a whim, Michael decided to skip class that afternoon and surprise his girlfriend at her gallery. He peeked in through the glass door, to observe her without making his presence known. Ana stood in front of one of her latest paintings, next to a man in a gray suit. From what Michael could tell, the painting featured two bright figures, a man and a woman, whose profiles blended into each other to form one spherical, sunny whole. Michael couldn’t help but smile. He took full credit for Ana’s shift towards more cheerful artwork, which seemed to match the lightness of her mood since they had fallen in love. She wore a professional pinstriped pencil skirt and white blouse. He saw her gesture with one hand towards the painting. The dark curves of her lower body eclipsed, with its suggestive silhouette, the fiery burst of color in the painting. The man in the gray suit inched closer to Ana. He grabbed Ana by the elbow with one hand and pointed towards the canvass with the other. Ana approached to see what he was indicating, then turned to the man and laughed out loud. Michael could hear the ring of her girlish voice even through the thick windowpane. A flash of jealousy moved through him like lightning, as if his girlfriend had revealed an intimate part of herself to another man.

Within seconds, Michael stood by Ana’s side. “It’s me, Baby, it’s me,” he whispered into her ear. As she turned around startled, he ostentatiously planted a kiss upon her lips.

Ana tried to pull away, uncomfortable with this gesture of intimacy in the gallery. “Everyone knows me here,” she whispered to him.

But her lover only pressed her tighter against him, his fingers interlocked behind the small of her back. “How I’ve missed you,” he said. “I couldn’t help myself. I skipped my afternoon classes just to be with you.”

Despite the compromising situation, Ana felt touched. “You’re such a naughty schoolboy.”

Michael looked above her head, appearing pleased with something. She turned around and noticed that her potential customer, the man in the dark suit, was heading out the door.

“I guess he wasn’t interested in your painting after all,” Michael observed with a sense of satisfaction. “He was interested in you.”

“You’re so cynical,” she countered.

“I just think like a man, that’s all,” Michael made his way forward, backing his girlfriend into a quiet corner of the gallery.

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Chapter 17 - Jorac is Confused

Six weeks later, Jorac got up early and walked to Dorrie Velsop’s shop.

“Hi Dorrie. Your new sign looks good.” She had a freshly gilded sign out front, with the “Licensed Wizard” part even more ornamented and prominent than before.

“Thanks, Jorac. Kimma isn’t here. She’s down at the market; she’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“I know. It’s you I wanted to talk to. Do you have any appointments?”

“Not this morning. We try to keep Moonday free for shopping and such. What’s up?”

“It’s Kimma.” Jorac hesitated a little, then went on resolutely. “I really like the girl, you know.” He paused, awkwardly.

“I know that. I like her too.” Dorrie was amused, and Jorac could see her trying to keep from smiling. “I’m glad to see you’re coming out of your shell a bit, at least.”

“I’m trying . . but Dorrie, you’re, well, cramping my style. I can’t talk to her the way I want to, when you’re there all the time. And she’s. . . well, she’s. . .”

“She’s what?” Dorrie’s eyes narrowed a little, and the smile started to leave her face.

“She’s. . . confusing.”

Dorrie’s smile came back, and lit up her whole face. “I was afraid you were going to say she was a strumpet’s daughter, and I was trying to figure out how I was going to slap you.”

Jorac shook his head. “I never think like that. She’s a hero, to you and me and lots of folks from the swamp, even if some of them have never seen her face. But I don’t know what she’s thinking half the time. Or even less than that. I think she likes her new life with you. But how would I know?”

“Good question. Okay, I see your problem. Tell you what. If she agrees, I’ll upgrade you to a ‘prospect,’ all right?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, it’s sort of the nobles’ way of letting two people see if they can get along, without too much risk. It technically means the family has checked you out, and you’re an acceptable candidate, marriage-wise. Don’t worry, it’s not a promise or anything. It just means the aunties – meaning me in this case – have decided that perhaps you’ll do – just perhaps. Which means that you and she can occasionally take luncheon alone, if she’s willing. Nothing after dark, mind you.”

“Do you think she’ll agree to me being a prospect?”

Dorrie smiled a secret smile. “Oh, we’ll have to see. I’d have to say I like your chances.”

Jorac felt unexpected glee at this. “I know you’re trying to do everything properly for her. Did I tell you my father is a member of the nobility? A baronet. That makes me in line to be Emperor. Somewhere near the end of the line, of course, but I’m in the line.”

Dorrie laughed. “I know how many nobles there are in this city. If everyone in front of you dies, I think we’ll have bigger problems than an Emperor Jorac. But, as her stand-in auntie, I’d say it’s a point in your favor.”

Jorac said “Hmm,” and waited for as long as he could – maybe ten seconds – then asked, “So, are you going to need Kimma at lunchtime today?”

Dorrie laughed, and waved him out the door. “Be gone, you. Come back around noon, and ask her yourself.”

* * *

“. . . So,” Kimma was saying, “with the reward money from your wizards and such, I’ve got some money saved, but no income to speak of. And Dorrie wants me to play the snooty young noble lady, just in off some farm. That’s kind of fun sometimes, but I keep thinking they’ll catch me at it, and they’ll know I’m not Kimathea Ravensclough.” Kimma took a quick look around the outdoor dining area in the market square to make sure she wasn’t heard. The square was empty this early afternoon, with the morning market over and shut down.

“I thought I knew most of the noble names. I know Ravensclaw and Riverclough – is it supposed to be something like that?”

Kimma put on her finest noble accent. “An old family, not without tradition, but one that produces mainly girls. I believe my late father was the last of the line.” In her more normal “city” voice, she added, “Dorrie looked it up and everything. The name is in some old records, but she thinks it’s just a writing mistake.”

“Dorrie is a humdinger sometimes. Always has an angle. Do you want some more bread?”

“Thanks, but I’ve had enough. I’m watching my figure. I haven’t been walking nearly as much as I used to, and my clothes don’t fit like they should.”

Jorac wiggled his eyebrows, and in a comically exaggerated leer he said, “I’m watching your figure too, dearie.”

Kimma flushed, and sat in embarrassed silence. After a little while, she said, “That’s one of the things Dorrie doesn’t understand. When you say something like that, I know you’re just joking, but I don’t know what to say back. I missed that time growing up, with people my own age, and it’s like. . . like everyone knows the steps to the dance but me.”

Jorac considered a little and said, “Well, if you like it, you say something like, ‘Aw, hush up, now,’ but in a way like you don’t mean it. If you don’t like it, you just sort of stare in a cold way, or turn your back. Then I won’t do it anymore.”

“Well then, hush up now.” She giggled a little.

“Yes ma’am.” Jorac smiled back at her. He still liked her laugh.

* * *

Jorac went back to his office and looked for something to do. He was expected to spend several hours there each day, “just in case,” but he’d even caught up on his petty paperwork, and no new jobs had come from the Wizard’s Tower. When he first started the job, he’d refused on principle to discipline the older apprentices, which had seemed take up most of his predecessor’s time. It was too late now to start dealing with them out of sheer boredom.

He sighed. I’ll go on patrol, I guess. Maybe I can go find someone doing something bad to a wizard, or more likely the reverse. Probably not, but at least I’ll get a walk. I wonder what Cerom is up to

Visit the Wizard Constable site for an index to all posts for this book, maps and related info.

---

Chapter 16 - Pergimtor’s Reaction

Jorac stood in the council room, while Pergimtor glowered, and considered what he said. He’d demanded to speak only to the Head Wizard, and had eventually gotten his way. Oh well, he thought, this job paid better than most, but I can get another job. If Pergimtor doesn’t blackball me, maybe Cerom will take me back with the constables.

“So, let me get this straight. You took that mana-filled liquid – spirits of wine – back to Swampside?”

“Yes, High Wizard. It took us three days to get that ball back there. It was quite heavy.”

“And then you gave it away?”

“Well, we threw a party with it. Schrog talked the bosses there into hosting an area-wide celebration, and we volunteered to make the punch. It lasted until dawn, and the residents drank up all the punch. That’s where most of the silver we found went, too, to buy things for the party, pay guards and such. Most of the mana came from Darlora’s area, so back there it went.”

“I see. And the silver ball – what you call the Wolburn Sphere?”

“Well, that was what he called it. We broke it up with an ax, and it will get melted down for jewelry and such. We owed the swampies some of the silver, for helping us get it out of the swamp. A lot of it we spent on the party.” Jorac had carefully arranged not to have an accounting from Raah yet. He didn’t want to lie to a wizard.

The wizard sat down slowly and sighed. “Well, what’s done is done. You should have come to me, dammit! What I could have done with that liquid. . . I’ll expect a report tomorrow.”

“No, High wizard. A thousand pardons, but no.”

“No?” The wizard wasn’t used to hearing that word, and got a little upset. “No?!”

“High wizard, I believe you are the most powerful wizard on the council, correct? If I wrote that report, and someone with lesser power read it, how long before he had made a similar sphere?”

“Erm. . .”

“And all over the land, in caves and secret hideaways, those who would always be second or third rate wizards would hole themselves up, slowly gathering immense power. . . You see my point. No report.”

The wizard closed his eyes and sighed a deep sigh. “All right. No report. You may go.”

“You’ll want to speak to the scholar Gleben, to make sure he doesn’t talk about this too much. I did what I could, but you know the scholar’s mind.”

“Yes, very well. Anything else?” The wizard was impatient, but for him, this was polite.

“No, High Wizard, thank you.”

He walked to the door and said, “Oh, one more tiny thing. If you could ask the accountants to merely glance at the figures on my expenses, please. I promised my helpers some rewards, and left out some details. An audit might raise questions we don’t want asked.”

“Yes, yes. Have them send it directly to me.” He turned to a scroll, where he started drawing something round, then scribbled it out.

Jorac left, and closed the door behind him. He almost skipped down the stairs, all 156 of them.

* * *

Dorrie and Kimma were waiting in his office, a little anxiously. “How did it go?”

“I seem to still have a job. I even got him to agree not to look at the expense report too closely.”

Dorrie said, “Jorac, that’s great! Now we can get Kimma set up properly. She’s going to stay in my guest room for now.”

Jorac looked at Kimma. “What about Miz Madouve’s business – and your customers?”

Kimma said, “Hario and Hatlo are going to buy me out. Their ma knows the plants and potions too, and they think they can keep her out of trouble out there. Harder to find booze in the swamp.”

Jorac smiled and lowered his voice a little. “Barring the occasional giant silver sphere full, of course. Anyway, the best part is I got Pergimtor to agree that there won’t be any report on this. You should have seen his face – I don’t think anyone has said no to him in years. Which means, ur, well, I won’t be stuck here in the office tonight. Um, Kimma, would you care to have dinner with me? At a nice place, I mean.”

Kimma smiled at him, then Dorrie. “Dorrie thought you might be asking me. She says I’ll need a chaperone. She wants me to play the Noble Lady for her, help her get a better class of customers. Sounds like fun to me.”

Jorac turned to Dorrie and bowed. “Dorrie, are you free tonight?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” She grinned, and there was something like satisfaction in her tone.

“Go ahead, Kimma, tell him the other part.”

“Jorac, you know I grew up – well, you know, in a bawdy house. Anyway, I never – that is, I wasn’t. . .”

“You don’t have to worry. We’ll just start with when we met, okay?”

He could still see the doubt in her eyes.

“Kimma, I grew up on a sheep farm. And despite some of the jokes you hear, I never had my way with them, either, okay?”

Her laughter, and Dorrie’s, were music to his ears.

Kimma said, “Okay then,” and her bright smile made him feel happy, for both of them. “Okay.”

---

Jorac’s an ordinary city constable in the city of Vaggert; he’s allergic to magic but still takes the job of Wizard Constable, working for the city’s overbearing, officious wizards. He encounters cutthroats, slavers, poison frogs, crazed wizards, hidden beauty, and much more - this is not stereotypical “epic fantasy”, it’s a fast-paced, fun adventure story. Support indie authors! You can buy the book on Amazon. E-book copies are also available on Kindle, B&N Nook , and iTunes Visit http://www.wizardconstable.com/neatorama.html for an index to all posts for this book, maps and related info, and special prices for Neatorama readers.

Lavender Mary was in the dress shop when The Fairy Godmother heard about this FGT payment issue from the Tooth Fairy. The Tooth Fairy was stopping by to drop off a gown ripped on a warped stairway one night.

Lavender Mary was never included in the FGT because she was an ethereal Ghost. No one hired her for anything.. she just showed up. Lavender Mary could become like the girl she was before she died and go out dancing in the real world. Dancing was the thing she had loved most of all in life and that didn't change after death. She'd arrive at proms, parties and weddings, uninvited, to dance all night. She’d have unsuspecting fellows drive her home and drop her off at her gate in the black of night. These poor lovestruck young men would come back the next morning to discover her gate led to an old graveyard over grown in ivy and lavender. If they had lent her a jacket in the cold, they would find it neatly folded on her grave.

“Mama, can you please help me with my VIP project? I’m supposed to turn it in tomorrow,” Allen asked in his best whinny voice late one Sunday evening. He walked towards the kitchen counter almost entirely hidden behind a large poster board.

“How come you didn’t tell me about it earlier, when I asked you if you had any homework?” Ana asked the poster board with legs that was rapidly approaching.

“Because that’s not really homework. It’s only for Show and Tell,” the boy found a loophole.

“But isn’t it mandatory and due tomorrow?” his mother didn’t let him off the hook on a technicality.

“I hate doing this stupid junk. School reeks!” he declared, plopping down the poster board on the kitchen table.

“Hold on. Let’s clean this up first,” Ana rushed to save the pristine poster board, first wiping the table with a moist paper towel, then drying it with a dishrag. “Okay, so what do we need to do?”

“I need to paste pictures of myself on here. So I can show my class what I like to do for fun,” Allen replied, his lips turning slightly downward, his staple expression before throwing a temper tantrum.

“This project sounds like fun,” his mother tried to preempt the upcoming storm. “We can look over the vacation photos Daddy printed last weekend from his digital camera. Do you also need to write a report?”

“No. All I have to do is talk about the pictures.”

“Well then, why don’t you pick out some of your favorite pictures from this pile,” Ana proposed. She brought out a shoebox filled with recent family photographs and placed it in front of Allen. “Let’s glue them on the poster board and see what you remember about each one.”

The boy began digging through the box with both hands. He was so absorbed in his task that his tongue stuck out from the side of his mouth. After about ten minutes, Allen showed his mother eleven pictures he had selected.

“Can you try to narrow it down to six or seven?” she proposed, going to get the glue stick and a black marker from the kitchen counter.

When Ana returned to the table, Allen was holding six pictures in his hand. “These are my favorites.”

“Do you remember where these pictures were taken?” his mother peered over his shoulder at the photographs.

“Sort of,” Allen replied, which Ana translated as “not really.”

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