Dark Tidings: Ancient Magic Meets the Internet Book 1 (7 page)

“I’ve had a very hard and very sad life,” began Tung.

He was gazing into the fire. Reminiscences flashed though in his head like the little sparks which popped off the burning logs. There’d been so much tragedy in his short existence he didn’t know where to begin. He supposed he should start by answering the question about how he’d ended up in the dungeon. How would his life story sound? He didn’t know, because he’d never told it before, no one had ever been interested in hearing it. Was Madrick really interested? Was Madrick becoming a friend… an old friend, if you took his age into consideration? Was he becoming some sort of father figure; a father figure minus the ale, the gambling and the cruel beatings? Who knows?

His own father had been a strange sort. He liked to call himself a campaigner and he often droned on about his crusade to make life better for the working man. He campaigned for a maximum price for beer and relaxation of the taverns’ licencing hours; beer should be cheap and available twenty-four hours a day according to him.

He wanted free admission to the bear baiting and cock fighting. He thought wives should be beaten at least once a week; lazy husbands should not be allowed to ignore their duty to keep their spouses in their proper place. He pushed for more sugar to be put into fruit drinks, more fat to be added to stews sold by merchants and less detail about what was in the stews; people didn’t need to know what they were eating so long as it tasted good.

He advocated the withdrawal of all rights which had been given to women and the city’s immigrants. He demanded that handicapped people should stay at home. These disabled and crippled people only caused trouble when they mixed with ordinary folk. For example, why would you let blind people into inns when there are already enough normal people bumping into each other? The man was full of… ideas.

However, his most vociferous campaign demanded that children should not be sent to school; they were small and clearly designed to do jobs which bigger people found difficult. For example, they should be sent up chimneys to clean them and their little hands could fit into horses’ mouths to clean their teeth… an adult could lose a finger messing with a horse’s teeth. And so it went on. As far as Tung could see, the ‘campaigning’ was just an excuse to booze with his cronies, but Madrick didn’t need to know what an idiot his father was.

“I started stealing stuff soon after my mother died,” began Tung. “I was twelve years old and there was no other way to get food.”

He didn’t mention he’d no idea what had happened to his mother. His father said she’d died, whereas he believed she had, in fact, run away.

“My father was never around, so I was left to fend for myself and my younger sister. Her name was Spring. She was a couple of years younger than me and the sweetest little person you could ever hope to meet. She was too young to do anything for herself so she relied on me for everything. And I didn’t mind that. In fact, I rather liked it because it gave me some purpose and a sense of worth.”

“It’s important to have purpose,” said Madrick.

“Without my sister I had nothing to live for. My friends all called me a lying loser. Actually that’s not even true, because I didn’t have any friends. I’ve never really had any friends.”

“Until now,” Madrick said with a smile.

“Anyway, the first thing I ever stole was a fat man’s coin pouch. He’d far too much money for his own good so I reckoned he was asking for a good thieving. They say you always remember your first time and I definitely remember mine. I’d planned the whole thing carefully and when the day came it went off without a hitch… more or less. I got some money, and a rich man’s pouch as a memento of my first great success. It was probably the first thing I’d ever got right in my life. I’d discovered a hidden talent and it sort of set the direction of my life.”

“It’s important to have direction,” said Madrick.

“I spent all the money on some very ripe fruit which I ended up giving to my sister because she was sick at the time. She needed it more than me.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose hard to help hold back the tears. “She died soon after and I still wonder whether there was something wrong with the fruit. Did it poison her? Did I poison her? The thought that I might have killed her haunts me to this day.”

“You shouldn’t blame yourself. You were doing your best for her. The fruit was clearly an act of kindness.”

“Killed with kindness is still killed. And it leaves you just as dead as any cruel act would. I loved my sister. She was the only good thing I’ve ever had in my life.”

Madrick saw that Tung was drifting into a depression so he tried to snap him out of it by encouraging him to continue with his tale. It worked.

“Yeah, like I was saying I kept the pouch as a memento. I never used it, but I thought it was worth keeping. Many years later I came across it in a drawer when I was looking for something else. I’d totally forgotten about it and now that I was much older I could see it was a rather classy little item; top quality leather with a beautiful gold design on the front. It probably cost a lot more than I ever had to put in it. I dropped in all my money, a handful of coins, and stuck it in my pocket.”

“Things were looking up for you.”

“I was pleased with myself. I reckoned I’d been pretty smart to keep it. I was looking forward to showing it off and impressing people with my new found style. No one was ever impressed with me so this was a chance to get some admiring looks. What an idiot, I was. I’m such an unlucky idiot. That’s the story of my life.”

Madrick saw the depression creeping up again and gently prompted him to keep the story going.

“About three or four weeks later I was arrested for causing a small disturbance in a church. They preach forgiveness, but the priest wasn’t very forgiving when he caught me taking a couple of leptons out of the collection box. And he hit me first. I hit him back. Then one of the congregation got involved. I hit him with the collection box. Then the soldiers arrived. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I was hauled up in front of the magistrate who said I could pay a fine or go to jail.”

“So you ended up in the dungeon because you couldn’t pay a fine?”

“No. It was a bit worse than that. And it shows you just how unlucky I am.

“I had enough money to pay so I pulled out the pouch, but before I had a chance to count out my fine the magistrate started screaming at me. He grabbed the pouch and looked hard at it, then he looked hard at me and I looked hard at him. Even though it’d been a long time since the robbery, I recognised his fat face. He was my first ever victim. I think he recognised me, but he definitely recognised his pouch. What I thought was a pretty design turned out to be his initials and the magistrate’s crest. It went downhill from there. He called me a dirty thief. I called him a dirty harlot grabber. He slapped me. I punched him. He kicked me. I hit him with a chair. Then the soldiers grabbed me. And that was it. The magistrate sentenced me to death by torture, because he could, and I was dragged off to the dungeons.”

“Wow. So basically you were in prison because you stole a magistrate’s purse when you were a child? That is harsh.”

“Yeah, and I guess hitting him with the chair didn’t help me much… nor the hatchet. Did I mention the hatchet?”

Suddenly there was a noise at the front door. Someone was coming into the house.

They both froze when they heard the sound of the front door opening. Three giant men burst in and they were all staring evil daggers at them.

“Who the hell are you people? What are you doing in my house?” shouted the biggest man. He was enormous and made out of pure muscle; there wasn’t an ounce of fat on the beast. His thick black beard added to the frightening image.

“They’re thieves,” screamed one of the other men. “Let’s get them. Let’s hurt them bad.”

Tung’s instincts kicked in and he took control. He didn’t take his eyes off the three bearded figures as he whispered instructions to Madrick.

“Go. You need a head start. I’ll cause a diversion. Grab our things and sneak out the back door. Go to the market quarter. We’ll meet up again there.”

Madrick scooped up their possessions and backed away from the approaching men. He edged towards the back door, hoping he’d be unnoticed if he didn’t look them in the eyes. Tung lifted two logs from the fireside and threw them at the, now extremely angry, men. They looked even angrier as the logs smashed into the furniture behind them. Another two logs followed; this time he hit one of them square in the face and the men backed off a little. Angry didn’t describe their mood now. They were deranged. Their faces were the colour nature had only intended for plums and they made noises which only bears had a chance of understanding.

Madrick had slipped away and made his escape, but the men had penned Tung in. His route to the back door was cut off. He swung the last two logs around wildly to fend off his attackers, all of whom were now armed with various objects they’d chosen with the express purpose of hurting Tung… a lot.

He spotted his last chance to escape a merciless beating. He darted for the window behind him and, without really thinking, he threw himself headfirst at it. The shutters were closed, but the flimsy wood smashed as his head crashed into them. He flew, rather gracefully, through the gap and landed on the grass outside. It was as if he had practised this means of exit many times because he performed a surprisingly stylish roll before he sprung to his feet and ran free. The three men were left stunned, all they could do was watch him run for his life and disappear into the maze of alleys which led away from the house.

Tung chuckled and literally patted his own back as he sprinted away. Weaving through the back streets, he made for the busy market quarter. The smell and sounds of inns and eating houses filled the air. Old women haggled with stallholders for scraps of meat and vegetables. Young women haggled with old men for free drinks. Drunken revellers screamed abuse at the open air entertainment. He began to relax. These streets were his home.

He shoved and bumped his way through the crowds. Where was the old man? Had he kept on running, with all their worldly possessions? He was about to give up when he found Madrick cowering in a small doorway near the main square. He slipped in beside him and, without so much as a ‘hello’, started to describe his daring escape.

“And it ended with a beautifully timed spring through the window followed by a graceful roll when I landed.”

In reality, the escape had been quite impressive. However, Tung’s wildly exaggerated version would have left the average person in awe, had they believed even half of it. Madrick wasn’t the average person, but an extra-large pinch of salt allowed him to listen in silence and nod politely when appropriate. He was just glad to be reunited.

“How about we get something to eat?” said Tung.

“I’ve still got plenty of the dungeon banquet in my belly,” said Madrick. “How about we get a drink instead?”

They left the comparative safety of the doorway and slunk through the shops and stalls. They kept their eyes peeled for the bearded men. Would the three beasts try to find them or would they cut their losses and stay at home to clear up the mess?

They heard the drunken shouts and smelt the overpowering stench of alcohol long before they saw the tavern. They slipped inside The Black Bear; it seemed vaguely familiar to Tung. Not surprising really because he’d imbibed in most of the town’s less salubrious hostelries. Tung was immediately filled with nostalgic, mainly imagined, recollections of happier times as he led Madrick through the crowded tables and up to the bar.

He ordered two flagons of the best ale and paid for them out of his recently acquired ill-gotten gains. When the drinks arrived he took a deep swig from one and then handed it to Madrick. The old wizard was too busy trying to spy out a seat to notice. Tung surveyed the room. It was filled with a motley assortment of dangerous and dirty human lowlifes. My kind of people, he thought as he took a long swallow from his own tankard.

“There’s an empty table,” said Madrick. “Over there, near the back.”

They elbowed their way through the throng and grabbed the seats just before a young couple who thought they’d found a quiet spot for a bit of courting.

“Too slow,” said Madrick. “Off you blow.”

It was marvellous to be sitting in a reasonably comfortable chair, in a comfortably warm room with an adequately cool tankard of ale.

“Life doesn’t get much better than this,” said Tung, as he downed half the brown liquid in his jug.

It had been a long time since he’d had good food in his belly, a drink in his hand and money in his pocket. Life was perfect and it was only going to get better from here on in.

By the time they were half way through their third pitcher, they’d decided on the next few steps in their plan. They reserved one of the inn’s four rooms and after one or two more drinks they would retire to the room and create the next spell. Follow that with some well-earned sleep and hopefully, when the morning came, they’d have an idea of the best way to use the new spell.

It seemed like a good, solid plan, however it didn’t take account of the fact that Tung’s ‘one or two’ more drinks actually turned out to be more like eight or nine. This was bad, because the Scroll in the hands of a very drunk man was not a clever combination; not clever at all.