Melforger (The Melforger Chronicles) (12 page)

“What…
hic -
where am I?” He squinted at the bush and then back at Raf. “How did I get outside?”

“You’re not outside, we’re still in your home.”

“But there’s a bush...”

“Look,” said Raf. His voice suddenly sounded very high, so he coughed and tried to add, more calmly, “There’s your study area over there.”

“What? How… did this bush get here?”

“I don’t really know,” replied Raf quickly. “I was… asleep.”

“Did somebody –
hic -
bring it inside? Wait…” He stopped and carefully bent a branch towards him and stared at the leaves. “That’s incredible!”

“What?”

“This is
my
plant… Look!” Bhothy pointed a pudgy finger at the broken remnants of the brown pot buried in the middle. “I’ve never grown it this much before, though. I didn’t think I had the ab-” He tilted his head at Raf. “Council boy, is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Me? Nothing! I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was over here!“ Raf saw that his hand was shaking and quickly hid it behind his back.

Bhothy brushed off dirt from his tunic and heaved himself up onto the old leather bag. “I think you and I both know that’s not…
hic…
true.” He reached over and grabbed the pipe, putting it to his mouth and lighting it. Raf backed towards the doorway behind him, wiping an arm across his forehead.

“You’re going?” said Bhothy. “But we need to talk about what
hic…
happened and how you d-”

“I told you! It was nothing to do with me!”

Raf tore down the passageway and as he reached the doorway, he could just hear Bhothy shouting out, “Thanks for the supply of leaves!”

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

The wagon bounced along over the knotted path and Nathyn grimaced as he slammed back down onto the hard bench again. He’d been on the go since dawn, and had travelled a good eight hours yesterday after the Council meeting had ended. He’d stopped for the first time in Hunton Daire to let the Foreman, Samuel Rosner, know that the Festival plans were on track and Eirdale had managed to source the funding. It had been a brief meeting but Samuel had been enthusiastically ringing the Hunton Daire chimes himself for a village meeting even as Nathyn left.

After a short night’s sleep in a small fern-covered grove, he had made one last brief stop at Borilcester to rest and feed the goats before entering the huge crossroads that led into the outskirts of Three Ways.

He smiled as he mulled over the events of the last week. Only a few days ago, they were seriously considering cancelling the whole Festival as they couldn’t afford it. It would have been unprecedented. No one had ever been
unable
to host it before. But the license fee always seemed to be increasing and when you were situated so far south of the Pass, money was hard to come by. He flicked the reins and urged the goats to speed up.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

Councilman Brinchley left his guest in the joining room and returned to his office, the silver chains around his neck clinking with a pleasant metallic sound. He touched his chin thoughtfully, playing with the delicate waxed goatee as his eyes flickered over his office. It was tastefully adorned with some Miernan paintings and ornaments, and a stuffed boar head on each wall. The bookshelf was almost buckling under the weight of the collection of iMahli ostrich egg carvings he’d collected during his many years as a Three Ways Councilman.

There were approaching footsteps and a young boy came racing in through the door to stand breathlessly in front of him. “There’s a man come to see you, Councilman. From Eirdale.”

Brinchley adjusted the sleeves of his coat. “Send in Councilman Tovier.” He moved quickly around to the chair on the far side of the table and took a seat, careful to let the billowing sleeves of his embroidered coat settle neatly as he rested his hands on the carved arm rests.

Councilman Tovier of Eirdale marched in and nodded formally to his Three Ways counterpart before launching into the
gretanayre
which Brinchley accompanied
.
When they had finished, he sat down and started to speak, but Brinchley lifted his hand to stop him.

“Before you go any further, I’m afraid I have some bad news, Councilman.”

“Bad news?”

“Yes,” said Brinchley. He paused and cast a thoughtful look at the shelves on the wall. “The world is moving quickly, Nathyn. We must make sure we don’t fall behind.”

Nathyn smiled. “And
that
, Councilman, is one of the greatest benefits of the Festival: to connect with the world.”

“Agreed. But it moves quicker and quicker, and there will be times when we must sacrifice and adapt just as quickly to survive.”

“Is this about the fee, Councilman? Because, I -”

“It is well you came as quickly as you did,’ interrupted Brinchley, standing up. “I was in the
process of sending a message to you.” He put his hands on the table and exhaled through his nose. “The Festival won’t happen in Eirdale. It has been cancelled.”

Nathyn’s face fell. “What?”

“I take it you have come to pay the two hundred silvers for the fee?” He waited for Nathyn to nod. “The Miernan agent arrived here this morning to deliver the news in person to myself and Foreman Allium. He tells me that prices are increasing in Miern, as have the costs of travel – particularly the great distance from Miern to here. Keeping the trade routes safe and open is apparently becoming more and more difficult. He informed me that our fee has been duly increased.“

“Well, we will just find a way to come up with more, obviously,” replied Nathyn earnestly. “Even if we have to borrow money or sell our stockrooms of supplies, we will do it! We can all contribute from our personal savings, we c- ”

Brinchley lifted his hand. “I think not, Nathyn. It’s rather more than you can afford.”

“You underestimate the value of Eirdale, Councilman,” said Nathyn. “I’m sure that with some help from our neighbors we could raise as much as fifty, maybe even nearer a hundred more.”

Brinchley smiled sadly. “I’m afraid the fee has been increased to -” he crinkled his mouth up in disgust, “- five hundred silvers.”

Nathyn took a step back. “That… That’s ridiculous!
Five hundred?”

“I was as shocked as you.”

“But what will we do? We rely on the Festival for so much – the whole Forest does! It has been an unbroken tradition for hundreds of years!”

“I understand what you are saying, Nathyn, and I obviously voiced my concerns to the agent. But he was uninterested in negotiating.”

“This is terrible…” Nathyn ran a shaking hand through his hair.

Brinchley straightened up. “I was not going to be beaten that easily, though, Councilman. I also believe, as you do, that our Forest needs the Festival -
must
have it. I spoke with Foreman Allium and we intercepted the agent before he made it to the Pass.”

“And?”

“We offered for Three Ways to take over the hosting and emptied our own coffers to pay the fee. We only just come up with the required amount ourselves - at the expense of much of next year’s trading, I’ll have you know.” Brinchley smiled. “So you see, Nathyn, all is not lost. The Festival is rescued!” He walked up to Nathyn and grasped one of his shoulders in a bejeweled hand. “Of course, Eirdale will be offered stalls and performance slots – don’t worry about that, my friend. We know all too well the valuable contribution that our southern neighbor can make.”

“But, but, we’re preparing for it - even at this moment. It’s our turn, after all.”

“Councilman Tovier,” Brinchley’s face tightened, “I was hoping to avoid this, but… this irrational attitude forces me to bring it up. You have jeopardized trade for the whole Forest after the incident with the Miernan. Do you have any idea how hard it is to persuade people to leave Miern to travel through the brutal Pass to come here? We’re only the tiniest sliver away from losing touch and fading into nothing, Tovier.
Nothing!
We spend every day trying to strengthen ties with Miern, only to find out that all our efforts have been in vain because our southern neighbor doesn’t know how to treat its guests!”

Nathyn suddenly registered what he was talking about. “The trader…”

“That’s right, Councilman. The whole appalling incident had already reached the ears of the agent when he came to me. It was almost a catastrophe! You gave me no choice; as I said, we
must
have a Festival. And it will now be here in Three Ways.” Brinchley shook his head and sat back down at his desk. “Now, I’m very busy, Councilman. I will send word of what Eirdale’s contribution will be.”

Nathyn numbly turned and walked out the door, holding the bag of silver pieces in his hand.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .

The lavishly dressed Miernan snorted as he entered Brinchley’s office from the adjoining room. He slid his rotund body onto a divan and took a sip of a cup of steaming spiced coffee as Brinchley sat down opposite him. “I overheard the end of your conversation, I’m afraid. Tell me more about this trader. It sounds a promising tale.”

Brinchley waved a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing, Nabolek. A Miernan visited a southern village and after some misunderstanding, there was incident in which he was assaulted, apparently. He’s since returned to Miern.”

Nabolek raised an eyebrow over his coffee. “Assaulted, you say?”

“Just a minor altercation, really.
Nothing to worry about,” said Brinchley. “And all the more reason to have the Aeril Festival here in Three Ways so that we can ensure the safety and enjoyment of our guests.”

“You led me to believe this was always the case.”

“Yes,” replied Brinchley quickly. “Some villages resent it though – even though they struggle to deal with just one trader in a civilized way.”

Nabolek nodded slowly. “Obviously these criminals who attacked the Miernan citizen will be punished?”

“Punished? I suppose we… that is, yes, I suspect they will be,” said Brinchley falteringly.

“And their presence at this Festival would be counterproductive, wouldn’t you say?”

“Well, they may feel they have a certain claim to… er…. being here what with…” Nabolek’s eyes narrowed the tiniest amount as he lowered his cup from his mouth slowly. “I mean, you’re right, of course, Nabolek. They won’t be invited. Obviously. Foolish of me to even consider it.”

“Excellent,” said Nabolek, bring his cup up to his mouth again to take a sip. “Now, about my fee.”

“Ah, yes.” Brinchley stood up and walked to the shelf behind him, retrieving a velvet red box sitting among several others. He turned and placed it on the table for Nabolek to open and inspect. “Two hundred silvers, as agreed.”

“Councilman, I can’t help but wonder why a man like yourself is living out here in this remote forest when you could do very well in Miern.”

Brinchley carefully picked up the other steaming cup of coffee and lifted it to his nose. “Miern, you say?” 

“Yes, my cousin is developing the City into quite an extraordinary place.”

“You are cousin to the Gerent?”

“You did not know this? Why else would I have been chosen to oversee your Festival?” He sighed and looked out the window. “You would be overwhelmed by Miern. There is nothing to compare.”

“I had not thought it would be possible to move there, and still afford the comforts I have here.”

“Comforts?” Nabolek laughed. “In Miern, you would have a mansion with servants catering for your every need.”

“And how exactly…“

“I tell you what, my friend, if this Festival is a success…” Nabolek paused. “And if I can count on your assistance while I am here, I will personally smooth the way for you.”

“It’s that important to you?”

“The Senators from Miern are friends of mine. Powerful friends who can make things happen. Not only are they here to provide feedback to the Gerent on whether to make the Aeril forest a barony under Allium, but they’re also here on my request, assessing if we should strengthen the relationship between Miern and the forest in other ways. If they are impressed, I will do well.  And if I do well…” He tilted his head at Brinchley.

“Then we must make sure they are impressed.”

“I knew I could count on you.” Nabolek smiled and, picking a few grapes from the bowl on the table top, patted Brinchley on his shoulder as he left the room.

J
an inserted the last of the watervines and then stepped back to inspect his work. He nodded approvingly and stroked one of the dense brown sideburns that grew down to the jaw line of his chiseled, beardless face. The two young assistants were grinning as they packed up the tools into a bag and cleared away the left over bits of wood. After two days of working solidly on it, the project was finally complete and with the last intricate piece in place, Three Ways now had its very own pool.