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WOLFLOCK FELT AS IF he could breathe and, as the light of the frosty sun pierced the clouds, his mood lifted. With their business concluded, he nodded curtly to the dumbfounded attendant before stepping outside with Mothy at his heels.
“Lockie, you have to meet Dr Qwan. He’s travelled all over and is a resident in town. He’s said he’ll be our guide to Creast.”
Wolflock nodded politely to Dr Qwan, not yet reaching out his hand to shake in case he’d offended the man after knocking him over moments before. He wanted to gauge the manners of this stranger, as well as still feeling a little irritated that the doctor had gotten in the way in his first place.
“Merry meet, doctor. That’s very kind of you to offer to show us around. You may address me as Mr Wolflock Felen.”
“Pfft. An absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Wolflock Felen. Just call me Dr Qwan. Everyone does. Or Qwan if it suits you.” He spoke quickly with a lopsided smile. Wolflock didn’t like the way he enunciated his full name. It felt like the doctor was making fun of him. “Showing people around is not a problem at all,” the doctor continued. “This sleepy little town gets so boring. The arrival of your ship’s company coinciding with the Pisces Moon festival is the most fun I’ve had all year. Except for the goat pox plague last Spring. That was riveting.”
“Goat pox?” Mothy asked with well-timed curiosity.
“Oh yes. Not common this far West, but, boy, oh boy, did it hit us hard. Residents climbing vertical walls and chewing cardboard everywhere.”
Wolflock saw a hint of a smirk on Dr Qwan’s sharp face, and he realised his ‘goat pox’ story was a joke for tourists. He didn’t bother retaining any information past that point in the conversation, but, instead, took a moment to analyse Dr Qwan’s attire and features. From the shape of his dark brown almond eyes, he had Xiayahn heritage, but his skin was tanned with a rich golden hue, unlike Nu’s family’s porcelain skin, only kissed with colour from their travels.
Dr Qwan’s long black hair whipped in a sleek ponytail when he turned his head. His movements were so exaggerated and his speech patterns so varied that it was hard to sift the truth from falsehoods. Not because his mannerisms were masterful, but, rather, everything he said to Mothy was a fantastical lie. Or at the minimum, a very exaggerated truth.
“Shall we make our way to breakfast? I’m famished after our morning’s exercise,” Wolflock cut in, sensing that Dr Qwan could speak for hours without pause if he had as captive an audience as Mothy.
“You mean lunch, Mr Wolflock Felen.” Dr Qwan waggled his finger as they set off.
“No,” Wolflock sniffed. “I mean breakfast. We are yet to have our first meal of the day.”
“I mean... I’d be happy with breakfast and lunch about now.” Mothy’s shoulders rose around his ears as his stomach agreed loudly.
Wolflock rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Mothy, if you ever went twelve hours without food you’d evaporate.”
“Don’t know what that means. Where is good for a breakfast lunch combination, Dr Qwan?”
“Ah,” Qwan said with a wise tone, “this is why I said it was lunchtime. There is only one place in Creast that knows how to use breakfast leftovers to create lunch masterpieces. Follow me, boys.”
Wolflock eyed the doctor as they marched down a main road. He could tell the doctor was an eccentric and intelligent man who was quite well off by his coat. A long-sleeved soft leather white coat that reached his wrists and the backs of his knees. The leather was exceptionally well kept, but, after the initial purchase, someone had sewn all manner of pockets to the inside and out of the coat. He also had various traces of strange colours splashed over his cuff. It appeared to be a swirling rainbow of water colour accidents, but Wolflock could smell the odd metallic traces of experiments.
He could see pinches of herbs clinging to the corners of his pockets, seashells bulging in others, and he could have sworn he saw something wriggle in his deep side pocket. The only jewellery he wore was a knotted band around his left ring finger. His laugh was contagious and many people throughout the town waved to him as they put up various decorations for the festival.
Wolflock had taken little notice as they had made their run to the North Gate Cart Services, but the town was being adorned in blue paper lanterns and wreaths of evergreens. The townspeople made most of them of pine, but some wreaths looked like a blend of oak, cedar and ivy all woven together. The earthy smell mixed with the pungent aroma of tree sap made the entire town smell of Spring, even though they were only a half moon from Winter.
“... And that’s how I knew it was just wind and not a baby.”
Mothy belly laughed at the doctor’s joke.
“Is this all for the Pisces Moon festival?” Wolflock asked as he noted thin metal and ceramic fish decorations being strung all along the streets, zigzagging all the way to the wharves. The stone and wooden buildings glittered with the decorative fish in the mid-morning sun.
“That it is, Mr Wolflock Felen,” Dr Qwan stopped his story for a moment to answer with a kind smile.
“So, what do you normally treat here in town?” Mothy asked, as he wiped tears of laughter from his eyes.
“Oh, you know... Colds, flus, sometimes I teach people how to resuscitate the drowned. Mostly I treat poisons from the sea creatures and Small-Town-Itis for people who have moved to Creast from Mystentine,” Qwan shrugged.
“Small-town-itis?”
“Oh, aye. Mystentine is the largest city in the North. I’d say it rivals Corl for population size, but everything is much closer together. So people come here thinking they want to escape from the hustle and bustle of the big city, only to find that they can’t relax in this little town. The hilarity of it is what I live for.”
“You’ll have to show me how to resuscitate a drowned person!” Mothy’s eyes sparkled blue with delight.
“I’d like to hear more about your antidotes,” Wolflock hummed, watching as a girl received a reprimand for a fallen streamer. She’d been ogling them as they strode past and dropped the streamer, allowing several paper lanterns to bend to the will of gravity. “Why is the Pisces Moon such a big festival in these parts?”
“Well, Mr Wolflock Felen, the people here live a fairly barren lifestyle. It’s hard to farm much in the cold and so they rely on fish throughout the year, but fresh fish doesn’t last long. When the water freezes, the fish migrate down the river and then return in mid-Spring. So, to survive, we dry it. Dried fish isn’t all that appetising. Once a year on the night of the Pisces Moon, all the mermaids in the sea come to the shore. They drive thousands of fishes out right into our hands and we’re able to last through the Winter safely. They also bring out all kinds of seaweeds and sea fruits that we can use as well. If anyone doesn’t know what the mermaids have brought out, they give it to me, and I see if it has medicinal properties.”
His wicked smirk told Wolflock that he may play pranks on the townsfolk with his knowledge.
“Why here though? Creast isn’t the only town along the sea. Is it because it is the biggest?” Mothy asked.
“In the bay there is a giant jewel. When the moonlight is just right, it shines down onto the jewel and the mermaids perform their courtship ritual around it. It must be very special to them. Here we are! Shackled Sheckle’s Shocked Speckled Hen.”
The boys both blinked at the name and then snickered.
“Please tell me there is a story behind that.” Mothy stifled his laughter as best he could.
“I’ll let Sheckle tell you himself. They do the best roast chicken I’ve ever tasted in my life, though.”
The wide townhouse building nestled against a larger multi-storeyed municipal office and was far more welcoming with the enticing scent of baking herbs and chicken wafting onto the street. Roasted potatoes, pumpkin and other root vegetables cooked away in their minds as Dr Qwan led them inside.
The clink of cutlery on clay plates and the chatter of a busy establishment met their ears. Wolflock heard the scrap of a poker against burning logs and saw a tall man in an apron close the grate over the open fireplace. As he looked around at the other patrons chatting, he noted many of them had cardboard folders and leather cases on their tables or beside their chairs. He noted they all wore high leather boots, tight trousers and different length waistcoats with contrasting hems and large shiny buttons. It seemed to be a sort of unofficial uniform amongst them. Although the restaurant had a homely, welcoming presence, it was also clearly a favourite place for town officials to conduct business in comfort.
“Now, not just any table will do for my esteemed guests. Sheckle! Your best table please.” Dr Qwan waved to the man with the apron.
“Now, now, Qwan,” Sheckle raised his hands as if to settle Dr Qwan’s high spirits pre-emptively, “The mayor has the booth at the-”
“Excellent! He’s expecting me. I’ll see us through, my good man. Later, you have to tell these lads about the shackled speckled hen as well.”
Qwan stepped over a thick red rope cordoning off the stairs. Mothy followed him with a coy smile, but Wolflock continued analysing everything down his indifferent nose. A few of the officials looked up, but no one stopped the doctor, so Wolflock deemed it safe to proceed after him.
At the top of the stairs, Dr Qwan unclipped another thick rope and bowed to the boys as they passed through. They came to a large wooden landing that overlooked most of the seating area below. A thick green carpet covered wooden floors and an intricately carved partition gave privacy to the people seated around the table. Wolflock and Mothy both jumped as someone slammed their hands violently onto the wood.
“You can’t be serious!” roared a gravely man’s voice. “If my Guard spends all day carting water back and forth, how am I meant to find the source of this mess?”
“Jaimeron, please,” came a simpering plea. “We’re under enough strain as it is. Let’s get through this evening and we’ll go from there. It’s not a hard task, is it? You’re the only one I can trust with it.”
“Just get her to shut her blasted mine! That’s where it’s coming from!” another man yelled.
“You say that one more time and I’ll shut you in it.” The coldness of the woman’s voice who spoke gave Wolflock a chill. He’d heard something like that low tone before when he’d seen a wild dog attacking a foal. Starving and desperate to feed her pups in the middle of Winter, even cornered by three grooms folk, she had summoned more will than most humans he knew. “Since you’ve shut off the river through town, it should be you who has to answer for this disease.”
“It wasn’t me! It was the gods who froze the river early because of your damn digging!”
Wolflock heard a chair scrape on the floor as someone stood up rapidly.
“Liar! You’re a filthy liar! Ack!”
The woman coughed and other people in the room moved, likely to aid her.
“Now, now, now,” eased a man with a voice like crushed velvet. “We all want to know where the murk in the water came from, but, right now, it’s more important to make sure the townspeople are all happy and healthy. You’ve sent for aid from Mystentine, I presume, Mayor Herfed? As we spoke about last Lucimpus in my office?”
“Y-yes, yes. Of course! They will definitely be here in due time,” came the stammer of the simpering man with a voice filled with cheeks.
“Then, as long as we have a few people assisting over the course of the festival, it will be business as usual! I will personally inspect the mine for any issues. That frees up Jaimeron’s guard and puts a pin in this infection business. And, before you raise any objections, Vanmoinen, the relationship between my son and Jaxarna’s daughter will not impede my judgement in the slightest. Does that sound fair?” the velvety voice asked.
“Oh, Mr Mayor Herfed Merlai,” sang Dr Qwan, ignoring the conversation Wolflock was becoming quite fascinated with.
The room fell silent as Dr Qwan thrust the partition open with a grand sweeping gesture. “May I humbly present: Mothy, and the esteemed Mr Wolflock Felen!”
Wolflock glared at the doctor as Mothy took a deep bow.
“Loong? What are you doing here?” The mayor hiccupped, wiping his ginger beard with a napkin. “I had this booth booked, you know?”
“Oh? You know Sheckle. He’s not about to stop me from having the best seat in the house. Nice to see you all.” He gestured to the five people around the table. “Mothy, Mr Wolflock Felen, please meet: Mayor Herfed Merlai, Jaimeron the leader of our local guard, Jaxarna our brickmaker and mineral finder, Vanmoinen our lumberjack and carpenter, and, of course, the noble Lord Therym.”
Wolflock’s eyes looked over all of them on the dim landing. The way they were all skulking here reminded him of the drama his nemesis back in Plugh would get into. Talking behind a screen in a dark room was something Wolflock expected Plughian politicians to do. The darkness didn’t lend itself to his inquisitive eyes, either.
“My, my, my,” Dr Qwan tutted, squeezing himself between the brickmaker and the nobleman to turn the dial on the oil lamp in the middle of the table. “If it were any darker in here, we’d be playing blind man’s bluff. That’s better. Oh! Jaxarna. I see you’ve been working hard today.”
The doctor snickered as he brushed flakes of dried orange clay from his white coat. As the light grew, Wolflock could see that the hard-faced woman was covered from head to toe in crusty flakes. He could see everywhere her hands had been on her chair and table from it and when she moved, it cracked along her tight scalp braids, revealing threads of silver in her ash brown hair.
Jaxarna grunted at the doctor, her eyes fixed in a deadly stare at the short, spiky-bearded man across the table. Three wooden rings clasped the trio of braids in his short golden-brown beard and Wolflock noted his calloused fingers poking out of his bandaged hands and the flecks of sawdust caught in his wiry arm hairs.
Ah, the carpenter, he surmised.
"Let me get you all a seat." The mayor swallowed, his blue eyes darting to the faces of the current committee around the table. When none of them made eye contact with him, he froze as if he needed permission they weren't giving.
The tallest of the lot stood up with both hands clenched into fists on the table. "Don't bother. I'll speak to you when you aren't 'entertaining'."
"J-Jaimeron-" the mayor stammered and tried to squeeze out around the chairs of the nobleman and the bricklayer.
The bricklayer, Jaxarna, blocked him off, rising and walking away without another word.
"Now, now." The man called Therym patted the mayor's arm until he sat back down, looking out after the leaving parties. "I'm sure after an hour they'll be fine. Don't fret. It's more important for you to be the face of the festival. No one else is getting sick?"
The way the man lowered his tone and stroked the mayor's arm, which made Wolflock's hairs on the back of his neck prickle. It looked uncannily like what the Thorn family would do back in Plugh to manipulate the local politicians.
"No. No. I mean; a few people have coughs and colds but nothing serious."
Wolflock watched the mayor sweat, and his voice held no confidence. He couldn't help but think that every single person around that table had been lying to each other.
"Is there anything I can do to help the sick?" Dr Qwan asked as he pulled a few platters of uneaten dried fruits, nuts, and salted meats to himself. Mothy began doing the same, piling an unused plate in front of himself. Wolflock observed the interaction as he took a seat on the far side of the table next to Mothy.
"I suppose I'll head off too. I wanted to say before I left, though," the carpenter stood and tucked his chair in, "you would do well to investigate that mine thoroughly. It's dangerous and I'm sure you'll find the source of everything going wrong there. I trust you to do it without preference." The carpenter Vanmoinen spoke to Therym as if he were in charge, only glancing at the mayor.
The mayor nodded and gave a weak smile. "I will look into it for you, Vanmoinen. Now, make sure we have enough wood for the cooper. I'm sure we'll have a tremendous batch of fish this evening."
Vanmoinen the carpenter left and Wolflock watched the mayor's demeanour completely collapse for a few moments when he was out of sight.
"Sorry, terribly sorry. What were your names again?"
"This is Mothy, the travelling medical enthusiast, and Mr Wolflock Felen, Mr Mayor Herfed Merlai." Dr Qwan waved his hands theatrically, sending a few almonds pinging across the room.
"Ah. I take it you introduced yourself much the same as I did. A tragic curse to show any pomp to Dr Qwan, I must say. He'll make fun of you for that until he dies. Perhaps even longer." The barrel-chested mayor chuckled, but not from his belly.
"I have always said that laughter is the best medicine. Besides actual medicine, of course. What seemed to be the problem with our esteemed tradesfolk?"
"It's-"
"Oh, it's nothing to be troubled about," Therym the noble cut the mayor off. "There's been a large blame game about the murk in the bay and the little flu that's popped up. Nothing for anyone to worry about."
Wolflock's irritation as the man dismissed all the surrounding concerns grew beyond what his propriety could hold back.
"But surely a doctor would be able to analyse the water contents and see if it is in fact infected with something that may impact the town. How long has this been going on for? And I heard the carpenter has shut off a river to the bay. Would that impact the town in any significant capacity?"
The nobleman blinked, taken aback, but his saccharine smile quickly resumed, and he stared directly into Wolflock's eyes. "Your accent? From Plugh, I suspect. I have business in Plugh. Did you say your surname was Felen? Excellent family. Best horses in all of Puinteyle, dare I say.”
Wolflock felt the compliment as a slug trying to find a crack in the window of a kitchen. The slimy politics of ‘nobility’ never failed to bring out his most petulant side.
“Surely a doctor could test the water to see what kind of sickness is affecting the townsfolk. The children on the docks said that even boiling the water from the bay won’t make it usable for brine. That doesn’t sound like everything is fine.”
The mayor paled, his beady blue eyes darting around for an escape. Therym’s dark brown eyes narrowed as he looked down his nose at Wolflock. He leaned forward, clinking his thick golden chains over his fox fur overcoat. He was significantly older than anyone else in the room and this seemed to carry gravity on everyone except Wolflock. Even Dr Qwan stopped fidgeting.
“What are you, Mr Wolflock Felen?” he whispered loud enough for everyone to hear.
Wolflock's mouth twitched uncomfortably. He understood the question, but he didn’t have an answer. He wasn’t yet a student, nor was he employed. It felt repugnant to use his title, as it held little weight outside of Plugh, but he also didn’t want to use the distasteful term in front of Mothy. He couldn’t say he was a sailor or a traveller without losing power in the situation.
He opened his mouth to stall.
“He’s the best appraising investigator in all the North Zilber River,” Mothy chirped after swallowing a large mouthful.
“Yes. Yes, that’s right. Thank you, Mothy,” Wolflock said as he looked at his friend with immense relief.
“Appraising what?” Mayor Merlai asked.
“Sounds like some sort of artefact finder or an auctioneer,” Therym leaned over to the mayor to loudly whisper again.
“Definitely not,” Wolflock cut in. “I solve problems. I appraise if they’re worth my time and I get to the truth of the matter. Several people required my assistance during my stay on the Silver Ice Hair. Finding lost pets, children, and helping unveil incidents aboard the ship for insurance purposes.” It felt so odd coming from his own lips.
“He also found the source of a terrible sickness. I, myself, would have died if he hadn’t stopped the illness. We definitely wouldn’t have made it to Creast on time.”
“You’re very right, Mothy. Thank you again. We would not have made it here with the extra rations of fish from Irid before the festival.”
“Extra rations? You’re mistaken, Mr Felen. We send our fish to Irid. Not the other way around.” Therym’s large grey eyebrows pinched.
Before Wolflock could argue, the mayor rang the bell rope behind him, and Sheckle trotted up to the landing. “More food, sir?”
“Not for me, Sheckle. Please bring Dr Qwan’s favourite. I owe him for his assistance with the goat plague. Has he told you the story?”
“Not one I would have believed,” Wolflock snorted and leaned back in his chair, arms folded.
“Well! Allow me to regale you with one of Dr Qwan’s most incredible feats. Around six weeks ago we had a strange cargo ship pass through. It transported lots of goat meat, but I believe it had all gone bad. Before I could inquire about it, they had shot through town, but not before selling it all to the townspeople. Remember, Therym? They had those ornate eye logos on their butcher paper.”
“Yes. Very unique. If you don’t mind, Herfed, I’ll head off now. I must get things ready for the festival this evening.” Therym nodded and picked up his elegant black cane with a handle shaped like a silver eagle. Wolflock saw how he ran his forefinger over the worn head in a habitual manner. He smiled at everyone as he left, but he made the least eye contact with Wolflock.
“Very well. I’ll see you this evening. As I was saying, the meat was rotten and most of the town grew terribly ill.”
“What was wrong with them?” Mothy asked, looking between the mayor and the doctor.
“A kind of dysentery. I thought at first it was food poisoning, but the specific illness was highly contagious. There must have been illness in the food. All I did was make sure everyone had at least four pints of river water a day and plenty of fish soup,” Dr Qwan yawned.
“It was like magic that he wiped out the goat plague in just a few days. Any longer and we would have had to chip into our winter stores.”
“Oh, Mr Mayor Herfed Merlai! Stop! You’re making me blush.”
“But you used an algae too! Remember? To clean the water!” Mayor Merlai prompted.
“Ah yes.” Dr Qwan’s bored face grew into a more genuine smile as he looked at Wolflock and Mothy to explain. “There is an algae that grows in the streams just outside the town. It glows in the dark so you can’t miss it at night. It consumes filth and purifies it. Only works in freshwater, though. I tried using it in the bay. I think it loves pine oils, to be honest. It always glows stronger near the lumbermill. Lucky the merfolk will be here tonight though, eh?”
“Huh? Oh! Oh yes. Very lucky indeed...” Mayor Merlai’s tone shrank.
“Why is it lucky?” Wolflock rolled a half-shelled walnut in his fingers.
“Well,” Dr Qwan bent his index finger under his chin thoughtfully, “they’ll drive the fish from the bay for us to collect for Winter before the water can infect them. The colder it gets, the fewer fish we find in the rivers and meat from the forests.”
“I’m sure it will be perfectly fine. We’ll ask Mystentine to give us anything extra if a few fish aren’t right.”
“But what about the mermaids?” Wolflock frowned, thinking of Himi and how her family might be affected by the toxic water.
“My good lad, they will be fine. They’re much bigger than fish. Much stronger, too. Enjoy your meal, Dr Qwan. I have to speak with the temple before everything happens tonight, so I’ll see you all later. Merry part.”
Wolflock jumped to his feet and slammed his hands on the table, shaking the plates. “But what about clearing the bay? You’re just going to let it rot and kill mermaids as well as your people?”
“Excuse me?” Mayor Merlai huffed, astounded at the accusation. “You don’t know anything-”
“I know what a politician looks like when he’s been bought. Just tell me why you want to kill off your entire town for money?”
“Y-you’ve got it all wrong-”
Wolflock narrowed his eyes. “You’re right. It’s not money. It’s prestige. Your prestige. You landed a career as a politician in an affluent town with a huge festival that brings people for miles. You have the best craftsfolk and doctors outside of Mystentine, and they function at minimal costs. The only thing you have to do is to be honey between cakes and, with the first issue you’re being called on to solve for the sake of your people’s lives, you baulk. How is everyone going to feel when they find out you haven’t asked for assistance from the capital city because you didn’t want to affect tourism? And, judging by the amount of fish you ordered in reserve from Irid, you only have three weeks before your people starve. And, for what? The economy? Politicians like you make me sick.”
Mayor Merlai puffed up with indignation, pointing his thick finger at Wolflock’s hooked nose. “Now see here-”
“That’s nothing new, Mr Appraising Investigator,” Dr Qwan chuckled from his seat. “We’ve all known that for weeks now.”