KEETHRO

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Titon’s show of restraint with the two vagabonds had shocked Keethro, and now that he saw his friend in the clutches of an equally large and ornery man, Keethro was sure Titon and the beast would come to fatal blows. But Titon merely nodded, almost imperceptibly, and the butcher released him and returned to his work.

Keethro did not wish to ask Titon what it was about for fear of sending him into frenzy, but Titon had responded nonetheless. “A warning from an old friend,” he said, and Keethro did not press him further.

“Ten skewers for me and six for my friend.” It was the next thing Titon had said after several minutes of silence, and it was equally confusing. For all they knew, this meat could taste like goat leather—though it certainly did not smell it. The people behind them in line groaned at the size of the order, knowing it would only delay them from getting theirs that much longer.

“You sure about that?” Keethro asked.

Titon nodded without turning to face him. He had managed to get the eight marks out of his swollen purse without causing too much of a scene, and for that Keethro was thankful.

“This way,” said Titon when they’d finally received their meal.

Titon had not yet sampled the meat, which in itself was odd, and now he was leading them back to the line. Has this city already caused him to part with his sanity? With the exception of the butcher having used some dark magic on him, it was the only thing that made sense.

Titon pushed his way through the line amid angry, albeit half-hearted objections. Had he been built like a normal man, the crowd would have likely jumped him, but Titon eventually found what he was looking for without any altercation. He handed four of the skewers to the boy and his sister who had been ejected. They took the offering without a word, and hastily retreated from the area before Titon could demand from them some sort of recompense.

Keethro and Titon made their way from the food area, continuing their walk through the sprawling city.

“You are worrying me, my friend. I have never seen you carry food so long without eating.” Keethro had also refrained from eating any in case the butcher had somehow communicated a reason to avoid doing so to Titon. His face certainly spoke of danger.

Titon’s expression finally changed to that of weak amusement, and he removed three pieces of the meat with a single bite. A smile almost reached his face as he visibly relaxed. Keethro followed suit, and after the two men had chewed and swallowed several more bites they found the breath to speak.

“I had gone far too long without a meal. Do not let me do so again,” Keethro said, speaking more for Titon than himself.

“No, I will not. Nor will I allow you to forget our reason for being here. We must find a mender. Perhaps you can work your charms and find us some direction.”

My charms will find us the direction, should one actually exist. Keethro began to scan his surroundings for a suitable person to approach, feeling oddly optimistic. He considered his ideal candidate. An honest young woman would be best, preferably a local with a good knowledge of the city and all its wares…but I would settle for an outsider as well, so long as she had a suitably exotic look about her. Long dark hair, skin kissed by the dawnlight, lips that looked hungry for flesh, and large eyes that still had within them the spark of life and innocence, a must. A small waist, ample breasts and buttocks, and her jaw should be well defined. I do not like when a woman’s jaw—

“Hello, my friends!” A small, fidgety man had approached, annoyingly introducing himself as if he’d known them for quite some time. Keethro was none too pleased to have had been interrupted while he was so close to determining the exact characteristics of the person who would have no doubt led them to the very elixirs they had come for, as well as provided a very intimate tour of all the city’s attractions and pleasures. This man was quite possibly the opposite in every respect. He looked older than they, though he was attempting to hide his age with a bandana tied about his head, poorly concealing encroaching baldness. He was thick in the gut, but thin in the chest and legs. His skin was light and splotchy, face shaven but not for days, his teeth were a mess of jagged, misshapen spikes, and his eyes were darting and dishonest.

“You are no friend of mine,” Keethro growled.

“Oh, but I am. You just do not know it yet! You two strong lads do not appear to be from this region, now are you?” He gave them no opportunity to respond before continuing his speech. “No, I would think not. Probably your first time to the city too, is it? I would guess so. Well then, I am not just your friend—I am perhaps your best of friends. I can assist you greatly, oh yes. The patrons of this city pay me and those like me handsomely to see that our new arrivals are well cared for and learn their way around. Why, one could get lost in a city so large as this.”

The man’s story had the faintest ring of truth to it. His clothing was certainly absurd enough to befit some sort of city greeter or jester. Over a patchwork shirt he wore a short, ragged cape tied tight at the neck; his trousers were a typical hearty weave, but they were almost tight around his womanly legs. Nonetheless, Keethro had no interest in him. He had not yet begun the search for his lady guide, and he could feel her presence. With so many people bustling around she had to be there, her voluptuous curves hidden under some drab garb as to not draw undue attention from the wrong people, and Keethro was anything but the wrong people. When their eyes connected, she would reveal herself to him by pushing back the hood of her robe and letting loose her hair. I will need only nod to her, and she will come to me. She will embrace me as if we had known each other, yet we will share the thrill of unfamiliarity as we—

“Then take us to your best mender.” Titon’s voice was a war hammer that could reverse the path of a charging courser—instead it merely crushed Keethro’s hopes. “We seek elixirs, specifically one to cure stupor or slumberskull. My wife was stricken quite suddenly and has remained so for many years. If you can help us, we will reward you.”

“Yes, oblivion, eternal sleep, slumberskull. I have heard of this. I do not know the cure for such an ailment, but I can take you to a man who does. And before we go further, please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Tielo, son of no one. And you? If you do not wish to say I will not be offended.”

Keethro knew that was a sure way to get Titon to tell him his real name. In fairness, though, they had not discussed using aliases, and improvisation was not one of Titon’s strong suits.

“I am Titon son of Small Gryn, and this is my brother in trust, Keethro son of Leif. We come from—”

“We hail from the North,” Keethro interrupted. “Though we are wishing to better dress and groom to the customs of this land. Perhaps you could first take us to a barber so that we do not offend your friend with our appearance.”

Titon now had a dirty look on his face, making him out to be evermore the northern warrior. They could not pass as Dogmen in their current state, except to the most gullible.

“Oh, he will not be offended in the least,” said Tielo. “He sees all kinds of people in his trade and is glad of it. He is a master tincturer—not be confused with a tinker, mind you—and he is not far at all. This way, if you’ll follow.”

The small man led them through the crowds with speed, although he was able to snake his way through far easier than they. The wake he left was not nearly large enough for Keethro, let alone Titon, and he had to stop often to allow them to catch up. But he’d not lied about the distance; they were there before long. Keethro was disappointed to see this master was merely another vendor with his own wheeled cart. It was a large cart, however, with two yokes. And two mighty beasts indeed must have been required to pull such a thing. Whereas the other carts may have had signage that reached two men in height, this cart had shelving filled with wares that reached just as high. The man at the cart, or rather atop it, was himself tall, further aided by the fact that he stood a man above the small crowd gathered below him. Beneath him, various bottles of different colored liquids with both herbs and whole animals suspended within them were displayed and protected behind thick glass. The creatures ranged from ordinary to grotesque, things that Keethro had never seen before. Much of it looked as though it must have come from the sea, as many had fins and flippers or long, flat bodies, yet were not snakes, but nearly all had menacing jaws and large teeth.

The master tincturer, as Tielo had called him, was busy assisting a client. He had disappeared below his deck, but his hand appeared behind a curtain to retrieve a bottle on display. When back atop his cart, he doled out an allotment of the liquid, from what looked to be a suspension containing a hairless rabbit, into a far smaller glass container, corked it, marked it with some ink, and leaned over the railing to hand it to his customer.

“Zhivko,” shouted their new companion over the noise of the throng. “It is Tielo. I have brought you customers from afar.”

The tall man gave Tielo a bit of a scowl, but his demeanor changed to that of cordiality upon seeing Titon and Keethro. He was an eccentric sort with facial hair that must have required more time in front of silvered glass than did Kilandra’s mane. It was a beard of three prongs—two sprouting downward from beneath his nose and a third from his chin, leaving his cheeks bare and giving him a devilish appearance.

“Welcome,” he said. “Name your ailment, and I will name the remedy. I have the greatest collection of tinctures in the realm, and though I am not happy to ever part with them, a vial can be had, should you afford the price.”

Titon wasted no time. “The ailment is slumberskull, or oblivion I have heard it called here. Would you have a cure for such a thing?”

I should have coached him prior to this meeting, Keethro realized, too late.

“Why of course I would. But the more important question would be, are you certain that is the tincture you require?” The man appeared to look at Titon in an analytical way, squinting at him from multiple directions from atop his cart. “It would appear you do not suffer from such an ailment. Which is well, because the cost is quite prohibitive for such a thing, and you do not look as though you have coin to spare.”

“I can afford it,” said Titon. Keethro cringed. This negotiation was not headed in the proper direction. “And it is not for me. It is for my wife.”

“You must care for her very much to have come all this way from wherever it is you hail. And it is a shame that you may return with nothing, for lack of coin. It saddens me to see cases such as these, but my ingredients cost a small fortune, and I cannot operate a charity, you see.” Zhivko appeared to be moving on to the next customer with the intent of showing he had resolved himself to the fact that Titon simply could not afford the remedy.

“Name your price. As sure as the River flows, the Mountain sits, and the Dawnstar rises, I will pay it or find a means to.”

“Titon,” said Keethro, half growling, half pleading, and fully knowing he’d be powerless to stop Titon set in motion. “Let me assist you.”

“It is one hundred marks for such a cure,” said Zhivko. The crowd all seemed to gasp quietly at the sum. Keethro saw a smile on one of their faces, though. This was a calculated ploy to fleece a desperate man for all he was worth.

“That is outrageous,” Keethro cried, trying to steal back some of the momentum. “I have seen similar remedies sold for one-tenth the price!”

“Perhaps, but have any of them worked? I would expect not, else you and your friend would not be here.”

It did not matter as Titon was already fumbling through his things trying to locate his coin purse, too eager to pay the full sum. Had this man actually been selling a legitimate remedy, Keethro may have thought it a reasonable price, but the chances of that seemed slim given the amount of pageantry involved in the presentation.

“There he goes,” cried Zhivko, pointing a finger with the first honest look on his face, one of desperation. It took Keethro just a moment to understand the meaning: someone had swiped Titon’s coin purse and was running away with a fortune that should have belonged to Zhivko himself. Keethro sprinted in the indicated direction and after about twenty paces grabbed the first person he saw that was running in kind.

Tielo curled himself into a ball and cowered after Keethro slammed him onto his back. You little shit, I should have known. Coins from Titon’s purse were spread out in the dirt around the stunted cutpurse. Keethro expected Titon must have caught up because none of the people around him, desperate though they looked, had made a move to grab for the gold and silver scattered on the ground.

He was only half right.

“Up you go,” a man said, “and slowly.”

He did not recognize the voice, but it carried the acrimonious authority of what could only be a city guard. Keethro obeyed and saw that he was correct.

Three guards, heavily armored in mail and carrying longswords and stout shields, had their blades drawn and pointed toward his chin.

“This man stole my friend’s purse,” Keethro said.

The guards snickered and their leader spoke again. “I have no doubt he did. A couple of fools like the two of you would be a fine mark. But that is the least of your worries. Throw down your weapons. You are to come with us on account of avoiding conscription.”

“On whose authority?” Titon’s voice reverberated through the crowd and the carts and the small structures surrounding them. He sounded a god addressing mortals and a flicker of fear could be seen on the guards’ previously cocksure faces. But the sound of a dozen or more other bodies clad in chainmail followed his voice, coming from behind them, and the guards’ original demeanors returned.

“On the authority of the fecking king!” With his shout the guard slammed his sword through the ribs of Tielo where he lay on his side, still curled in a ball. Blood spurted from the wound, climbing up the blade, causing the rest of the armored men to erupt in laughter as the helpless thief squirmed and gasped for breath.