Notes: Triggers for references to abuse in this one, but it's leading up to a really fun chapter next time ;)
Title: Quaint Escapes for Traitorous Bastards: Ch. 17 Pt. 1
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Chapter Seventeen, Part One
Fill the Cup
Hiram walked back to the town square in a daze, barely conscious of what was happening around him. It was good that he had a baby in his arms to excuse his lack of attention, because someone could have called his name out or even stepped right up to him and he wouldn’t have noticed it, not with his mind spinning so quickly. It wasn’t until Baby Davey was plucked right out of his arms that Hiram realized he was not only back, but the square itself had filled with people while he was gone. There was the smell of fresh food from street stalls, cries of joy and laughter from children watching the Druid’s stag or pulling the Wizard’s sparkles out of the sky, and even the Healer had set up a tent and was doing some proper work on little hurts.
“You two were gone for so long!” Letty commented as she hoisted her littlest brother up into the air, making him laugh. “Did you have a nice walk?”
“We did,” Hiram said, pulling himself together enough to hopefully seem natural. “We walked all the way to the edge of town to pay a short visit to the Vilnias.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t let them give him anything to eat or drink, did you? They gave Clyde a skewer of some kind once and he ended up having the shits for three days.”
“No food or drink of any kind,” Hiram promised. “In fact, he’s probably thirsty.”
“Oh, he’s an empty pit, this one,” Letty said, smiling at Davey. “An empty pit!” She leaned in a bit closer and sniffed. “I take it back, he’s a stinky sinkhole! Stinkhole baby!” She blew air on his tummy, and Davey laughed and laughed. “Yes, let’s change your messiness, yes! There’s got to be a free table around here somewhere.”
“By the troughs, perhaps,” Hiram suggested, pointing to where the boys who tied up people’s mounts usually kept time.
“Good thinking.” Letty headed over there with her brother, and Hiram moved into the shadow of the Yew Brew and leaned against the wall. As good a company as Letty and her siblings were, he was grateful for some time to himself, so to speak.
Not totally by himself. “Phlox,” he murmured. “Tell me what you make of what we just heard.”
“I make that you should stay the hells out of it.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You have no choice, Hiram. You can’t have anything to do with magic, and especially not with Gemmel’s Tower. Not after what happened in Garrison.”
Hiram huffed a breath. “Gemmel’s Tower is supposed to be impregnable. How did Avery and that bastard manage to get into it not once, but twice?”
Phlox was silent for a moment. “Perhaps you’re thinking about ‘impregnable’ the wrong way. The dwarves who attacked my land of fire determined it to be impregnable for many years, but that protection came at a steep cost to my people. I lost many children to their cold, quenching blades, and was only able to hold out as long as we did by virtue of superior numbers.”
“Gemmel’s Tower is empty, though.”
“That doesn’t mean that nothing remains of those who once lived there.”
Hiram opened his mouth to keep arguing, but just then a tone cut across the square, pure and ringing, that drew every eye to the man striding into the middle of the crowd with a lute in his hands and a smile across his handsome face. He had long, coppery hair that caught the light like a flame, a narrow nose and a wide, beaming mouth framed by a darker red goatee. He drew every eye as he stepped up next to the Wizard, who banished the rest of her glimmering sprites so that he could have the audience’s full attention.
“Good people of Lollop,” the Bard called out. His voice was as smooth as a river rock, and his fingers danced as he played a series of lilting chords on his lute. “We of the Thread are here in service to your town and people, looking for the overlooked and aiding the unaided. All we ask is a little of your time, attention, and perhaps—” he grinned “—a pint or two.” That got some laughs, and he forged on. “As for my part in this, I am here to be the eyes and ears of the God of Music, of merriment, of good cheer and fine times. Come and listen, and see if my God speaks in your heart.”
He launched into the standard searching song for the Thread, one that was meant to be infused with power that would tug at the hearts of children with a lyrical spark. There was a bit of power in this one—a tiny bit, though, just enough to qualify without being strong enough to actually do much. Given that Hiram knew for a fact this Bard was not only capable, he was downright masterful, the lack of effort felt almost offensive. Given the grimace on the Wizard’s face, he imagined he wasn’t the only one who thought so.
Well. If the Bard was here, at least that meant he wasn’t tormenting Avery anymore. Hiram cast his gaze around for the teacher, but he didn’t hold out hope for seeing him here. Who would want to come to watch their tormentor play the role of a good man for others, all the while knowing the darkness that lurked in his heart?
There must be something I can do. Hiram knew magic inside and out, backwards and forwards. He was the greatest wizard to grace the empire for three generations; in his heyday, he’d ended entire battles by doing nothing more than showing up on the field and letting the other side get a look at him.
He wasn’t going to be bested by not being able to do magic, not when it could mean the difference between Avery living and dying.
I’ll save you.
First things first, though—he had to make sure Letty got her due.
The afternoon wore into evening, and Hiram took his turn helping various children navigate getting to the outhouse, buying them all lunch (and several fresh carrots and a cupful of strawberries for Knight as well), helping Rickie climb a tree without falling and breaking his head, and finally taking Davey back once he was full, clean, and tired and holding him as he fell asleep.
There was something terribly calming about holding a sleeping baby. Hiram stared down at the child’s sweet little face, watched how his pudgy fingers naturally curled together like the petals of a night-blooming flower at dawn’s first light, and even though his heart ached for Avery, in that moment it ached more with the sweetness of remembering how it felt to hold Misha.
She’d been a colicky thing as an infant, almost impossible to settle for long, and with Andy consumed with the work of running the empire and her mother disinterested, it had fallen on Hiram to handle most of her care. Oh, he could have turned her over to a dozen different nursemaids, but from the moment he’d first cradled her against his chest, the love that welled up had blotted out every second thought. She became his world, and for the first time ever, the ferocity of his love was reciprocated with equal intensity.
Hiram closed his eyes and rocked Baby Davey. “Let her be well,” he whispered into the noise, not a hint of power in his voice apart from the love any parent bore for their child. “Please, please, let her be well. Let every ill that might hurt her fall on me instead; let her know joy and love and dear companionship. Let her be well.”
As the sun began to set, the festivities of the Thread came to a close. The Wizard conjured up a platform and stepped up onto it with a slightly impatient air as she waited for her companions to come and stand with her. “We appreciate the welcome given to us by your fine town,” she said with a nod. “The Thread is dedicated to doing its utmost to help the children of the Empire reach their fullest potential. This, however, is not Lollop’s year for a wizard.”
“Nor for a healer.”
“Nor, regrettably, for a bard.”
The Druid paused. “Not quite time yet for a druid,” he said, his eyes piercing the crowd. “But I’ll come back next year, and if the one I’m thinking of has worked hard on her spark, she might very well belong with the Thread.”
He was talking about Millie. Hiram craned his neck until he could see the girl, standing next to her big sister. There was excitement on Millie’s face, and a slightly strained smile on Letty’s even as she hugged her sister tight.
The Wizard straightened her monocle and smiled.
No, no, you’re not all done. That can’t be it!
“Well, then! I think we can still call this a success, and—”
“Not so fast.” The Guide stumped over from where she’d been standing by the wagons and up onto the platform. She glared at her fellows before squinting out into the crowd. “Few remember that I’m a full member of the Thread,” she said. “A priestess of Mertha, I am; the Wayfinder, the Bargainer, the One who Makes the Path. There’s few in this world who’re attuned to my goddess, and fewer still who make good use of her powers. In ten years, I’ve never found an initiate.” She turned her gaze onto Letty. “Until now.”
Letty’s gasp was audible even in the crowd.
“A girl of rare talent,” the Guide went on gently, “who saw a dismal scene and turned it into a joyful one, who brought people together for good and let no one, not even me, talk her out of it. Letty Devane.” She held out a weathered but strong hand. “I am Priestess Wynne Michelson, born of Galenish but raised on the road. I want to welcome you to the Thread, and bring you onto the Path of Blessed Mertha. What do you say?”
“I…”
Say yes! Threads were uniquely imbued with the power to accept a child of their own free will, rather than relying on their family to hand them over like local temples were. It was one of the ways that they endeavored to keep countries from hoarding talent they could use against the emperor. If Letty said yes, then it didn’t matter that she was only fifteen. Her father couldn’t legally stop her.
“I…” Letty began to tremble. “I want to, more than anything, but…
No!
“But I can’t leave my family. I…”
“We’ll be all right!” Millie insisted. “I’ll help Mama, and Clyde is old enough to help work the market with Pa. You have to go!”
“I want to, but…”
“You have to go.”
That was a new voice, one Hiram had never heard before. He turned with the rest of the crowd to look at the woman who’d just stepped into the square.
It was Letty’s mother, Celiane, and Hiram’s breath caught in his throat as he saw how swollen and bruised her face was. Murmurs erupted in the crowd, mutterings about her “brute of a husband” and “haven’t seen her in an age.”
“Ma!” Letty’s voice was agonized. “Ma, when did he—why—” She cut herself off with effort, undoubtedly raised not to speak about the wrongs that went on in her home. Her mother, far from chiding her daughter, made an effort to smile instead.
“It’s all right.” This close, Hiram could see the thick streaks of gray in her thin hair, and make out the too-sharp lines of her shoulders. Her voice, however, was as clear as a fresh drop of dew. “It’s going to be all right. I won’t let you walk my path.” She moved closer, and the people of Lollop parted for her. “You deserve better, sweetheart. More.”
“Ma?”
Celiane reached her oldest daughter and smoothed the hair back from Letty’s face. “My spark is gone,” she said, no pity in her voice, just fact. “But once, it was everything to me. Then I had you, and I knew why things had turned out the way they had. And once you’re gone things will change yet again, but we’ll be all right.
“That is.” She raised her chin and stared out defiantly. “If anyone is willing to help house my children and I for the night.” Or more went unsaid, but everyone heard it. It was plain that she was running from her husband’s abuse. Her bruises were too fresh, the marks too distinctive to have come from anything but a fist.
Granth’s poor treatment of his family was far from secret in town, but as long as no one outwardly complained, nothing was done. That was simply the way it was, and even Hiram had fallen into the trap of thinking he could only help from a distance instead of confronting Granth directly. For a woman who, as far as he knew, hadn’t been seen in town in years, that had left her isolated in a way only her children could relieve.
No one had gone to her, but something this time had moved Celiane to take the first step—to seize back control of her own destiny. It must have been so hard to gather her tattered courage together after years under an awful man’s thumb and step out into the world again. Her bravery was both inspiring and humbling, but would it be rewarded?
“I have a place for you.” Hiram was relieved to see Mistress Tate step up and take Celiane’s hand. “A safe place, I promise.”
Hiram half expected someone to try and shout her down, but there was nothing. Celiane nodded, and it was like a spell broke. Sound came back, laughter slowly infusing back into the crowd as people thronged up to congratulate Letty and chat at the family. Watching it all, Hiram felt both a sharp surge of relief and an impending wave of exhaustion.
One problem down, many more to go.
He wove through the crowd until he was close enough to Celiane for her to see her youngest in his arms. She reached for Davey and Hiram handed him over, a gentle passage that the baby didn’t even stir for. “Thank you,” Celiane said as she cradled her child close.
Hiram shook his head. “Don’t thank me. We should have acted sooner.”
“I think no one would have acted at all without your presence in Letty’s life, Master Emblic.” She smiled crookedly. “Not even me.”
It was kind of her to absolve him, but Hiram couldn’t be so sanguine himself. Now wasn’t the time for investigating that thought, though—especially not when the Bard was so close, playing a merry tune that adroitly covered up the blackness in his soul.
You’re next. Somehow, you’re next. But first things first: Hiram needed to get home.
Well, absolutely first thing first—he needed to retrieve Knight from Millie, then get home.
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