A Bandit Accountant
Chapter Fourth Prime
Scene Five: Precise Aims
They set off at a time that the accountant thought of as 'high dark.' Vir deployed Piotr and Klaus to the front just as he'd done before. Denario wasn't sure why he'd expected anything different. The night sky was so overcast that he could barely see the ground in front of him much less make out enemies in the trees. Maybe that's why he'd figured to be pushed to the fore so he could be a target. He wasn't good for much else.
They were headed for an ambush and Vir seemed to know it. Yet, for some reason, the bandit captain choose to keep Denario close to him.
That gave Denario a chance to ask questions.
“No,” Vir replied to one of them. “No, there wasn't a soul killed in the fight in Hogsburg.”
“That's what Yannick told me. But it's hard to believe.” Denario lifted the butt of the spear for the hundredth time and place it in front of his feet as he continued to match pace with the captain. His lungs wheezed from the strain. His arms hung like lead weights. He could barely keep the spear upright. “Your side had more than twenty men counting those local volunteers you picked up. The Raduar had eight. The Hogz-Polieze had a dozen. How, with all of those men fighting, could no one get killed?”
“One of their side took a crossbow bolt to the leg. Others among them got cut up a bit. But no one got outright dead. It's just one of those things. Lots of battles are like that. Everyone scrambles like crazy not to get killed. Sometimes, behind a shield wall, it can take an hour for the first man to drop.”
“Shield wall? What's that?” He liked the sound of it.
“Ain't seen one? If we get out of this, I'll show ye how they work. Can't been done without quite a few men and enough space to line up, though. Half the time, we can't use them. We ambush too much. Then there's no lines. Ye just aim at someone and rush.”
“Oh, I've heard.” When he was a slave, the nobility who visited Baron Blockhelm had expressed strong opinions about such dishonorable tactics. They hadn't confided in the slaves, of course, but they'd conferred with their peers without concern for any slaves listening in. “The knights hate those ambushes.”
“Heh.” Vir chuckled to himself. “Aye, they do. If ye get them knights down from their horses, ye see, they don't know how to behave. They fight alone, each one. They don't know enough to form lines or even stand back to back.”
It sounded like the Mundredi had some experience fighting against the West Ogglia nobility. Since all of the knights around the Seven Valleys were sworn to Baron Ankster, Baron Musselli, or Baron Blockhelm and those three men, in turn, were sworn to Count Kraffli, who was sworn to the Marquis de Oggli, then Vir was essentially talking about treason against the marquis. Or about a war against him. Or about something else that it would be dangerous for Denario to know.
The thought made Denario stumble. Or maybe he was just tired. In either case, he kicked up a pebble. One of the scouts, Klaus, turned to scowl at the noise. Although it was hard to be seen in such dark, Denario tried his best to gesture his apology. Next to him, Vir hardly noticed.
“And now the best knights have all gone off,” he said dreamily. He strolled alongside Denario as quiet as a deer and probably heavier than one, too. “It would be a good opportunity for us if we united. Shame that we Muntabi tribes have to fight amongst ourselves so much.”
“Speaking of which,” said Denario after a moment. “What about this battle against the Raduar? How long before we see them, do you think?”
“If the Raduar have gone to Fort Fourteen, we'll know in a few hours.”
He nodded. He'd expected the answer because of the relaxed manner in which the captain held himself, sword undrawn and helm in his pack. Nevertheless, Vir's scouts had already strung their bows.
Denario had his darts, of course, but they wouldn't hurt anyone in armor. He felt he should have a bow. Even Vir sported the silhouette of a crossbow. It bobbed from a hook on his backpack.
If all eight Raduar had fled to the same place and set another ambush, Denario would be useless. He couldn't even run away fast enough with everything he was carrying. That's the thought that got him noticing the critical pieces he was missing. He had no plate armor. He had no gauntlets, not even gloves. He didn't have magic. The bandits didn't have those basic protections either. They were all soon to be dead, most likely.
Denario realized he should have gotten a blessing from the powerful priest in Three Gods. Anything might help. You could never know.
“Doesn't your army use wizards, Vir?” he asked. The scarred visage of Tremelo the Magnificent came to mind. That fellow had traveled in the company of mercenaries. The Mundredi Army, by Vir's admission, had worked as mercenaries outside of the valleys. He might know about Tremelo.
“For some jobs, yeah. We hire them from the caravans they protect. The problem with those wizards, though, is that they want paying. They don't like to take goats or sheep or other barter.”
“That's because they're not Mundredi. But why not use your own?”
“There aren't any wizards in our lands, not even among the Kilmun tribes or other folks who are comfortable with magic. We've got some shamans who can hold their own. And we've got any number of witches. One of them cooks for us at Fort Three.”
Denario shuddered. What if a witch decided to poison them? Or turn them into frogs? He wondered if witches could do that. He hadn't met many in Oggli. The few he'd noticed looked ancient, shoulders bent, but with fierce expressions. They made the clerical males seem positively relaxed.
“What's a shaman?” he asked. “Is that like being a priest?”
“It's a cross between a priest and a wizard, I suppose. I don't really know. A strong shaman can stand up to a wizard for a while. A little while. They can't protect the rest of us, though. That's the real problem. For that, you need battle wizards like the barons have got in their courts. That takes money. Silver money, apparently.”
“So you can't send messages with magic? You don't have floating orbs of light? You can't fly on brooms or carpets? Those carpets came in very useful to us accountants on surveying trips.”
The Mundredi grunted. He didn't seem pleased with this line of thinking.
“I'd think you'd at least get blessings before you head into battle,” Denario continued. “The priest at Three Gods would have done it, I'm sure, for a price.”
That got a grin from Vir. His teeth showed as a faint glow in the darkness. It didn't look like a happy expression.
“You think that priest can do magic?” He snorted.
“Well, we saw him.”
“You were right up next to the altar. You didn't notice anything funny about it?”
“It looked heavy.” Denario was sure of that much. He had been, anyway, until now.
“Looked, yeh.” The big man shook his head. “I thought ye were bright. I thought Yannick was, too, but he didn't notice, either. Maybe ye have to be a suspicious bastard like me.”
“Notice what?”
“The cord. The altar has a painted cord running up the middle of it. It's black, mostly, like the black wall behind it. That's why you didn't notice it. The bottom of the cord is painted the same color as brass.”
“Oh no!” Denario slapped himself in the forehead. “It was all a trick?”
“The altar is hollow. I went and checked it when we passed through about a year ago. The priest and his deacon got upset but I had to know.”
“So ...” Denario's mind raced. “The deacon must be up in the rafters, yes?”
In the dark, a shadow nodded.
“There's a rope ladder in one of the walls. He climbs up on that into the false ceiling.”
“Okay,” said Denario, thinking quickly. “Then he must lift the altar when the priest commands it. Since the altar is hollow, they must have room in there to store some oil, too, and maybe a wick.”
“That's right.”
“But they must worry about burning the cord when they use that.”
“Good thought.” For the first time in a long while, Vir turned a genuine smile on Denario. “That hadn't occurred to me. Why doesn't the cord burn? It must be made of something pretty tough.”
“And it must be painted with a pigment that doesn't catch fire or change color in the heat.”
“Yeh. They probably have to clean it every night. I think they hide the cord in the altar, somehow, when they need to let parishioners get close.”
Denario walked in silence for a long while.
“I'm sorry I didn't notice. Now I feel like a fool.”
“Eh, yer seventeen. And ye had a trustworthy man for a master, it seems. So ye haven't learned to be suspicious. If ye live, ye'll learn.”
“If I live.” Denario didn't like the implication.
They walked on for an hour with less and less talk between them. Denario learned from Vir how to use his spear he was carrying. He even practiced with it, albeit on the march. The first thrust seemed critical. After that, it was all about keeping his opponent at a distance. A man with a spear, even a small man, could beat a man with a sword every time if he knew what he was doing.
Of course, Denario didn't really know what he was doing. Vir reminded him of that several times.
“We should run into Alaric and the others before we get to the fort anyway,” Vir reminded him. “That's the plan, although I haven't told our scouts. I guess it's okay say it now. Ye can see that I haven't marched us fast while Alaric is supposed to quick-step his men on the north road.”
“There are two roads to the fort?” Denario felt the pace was too fast for him already but he didn't want to admit that. Anyway, he was relieved that they weren't headed into an ambush. There was a plan. It would work.
“There are no roads to it, really, nothing wide enough for a cart, but there's a foot trail. We took a longer route to the trail so we could stop in Three Gods. Alaric should have left by the north gate and come by the straight uphill path.”
“When does our path meet that one?”
“Just before the fort. We'll arrive in time to see by dawn's glow whether or not Alaric's men have trod the ground in front of us.”
Denario didn't ask if Vir could tell the difference between Alaric's boots and those of the Raduar. He was starting to feel too tired to talk. There had been quite a few nights in a row like this one. Within minutes, he found himself a yard behind Vir. In half an hour, he was three yards out and struggling. When a fog rolled in, he had to nearly double his efforts in order to close the gap. He didn't want the big fellow walking away from him completely. He had to wonder if the scouts could see anything in this dark murk, though.
Finally, the fog started to clear about the time that a blue light arose on the tree-thick horizon directly in front of them. Their path had nestled up against Mount Ephart and the march took them around the south slope of the mountain toward the east.
Denario caught sight of Piotr and Klaus. The taller soldier stood at a rise, facing northeast, as he stood guard. He had an arrow notched into the string of his bow. The younger scout knelt in the dirt and scrub grass. His nimble right hand caressed it.
Klaus scowled at what his fingertips found.
When he noticed his captain, Klaus rose to attention. He saluted. His expression remained grim.
Vir glanced to what the young man had seen in the soil. Denario tried to understand it, too, but all he could see was a mess of footprints everywhere on the ground. That was good, wasn't it? It should mean Alaric and his men had come through here. But the Mundredi didn't seem happy.
Whatever his reasons, with a gesture, the chief sent both scouts out in front again. Denario couldn't help noticing that the bandits hadn't said a word. They didn't seem likely to speak either. Klaus reached into the leather tube strapped to his shoulder and took out an arrow. Vir moved his short spear into his left hand. His right hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
The group progressed about one hundred yards before the wide, grassy trail narrowed. Scrub bushes rose on either side of them. They were large enough to hide men. In another few yards, the Mundredi had to walk nearly single file, Klaus in the lead. The bushes became trees. Each scout faced different directions into the gloom.
Suddenly, an arrow grew up out of the ground. It hummed in the breeze right between Vir's right foot and Denario's left.
The captain pulled out his sword.
“Attack!” he cried.
At that moment, Piotr swiveled with his bow at the ready. He took aim and shot Klaus between the shoulder blades.
Chapter Eight, Scene One
Stories on life, death, enlightenment, zen buddhism, religion, philosophy, stoicism, meditation, daoism, kindness but not meekness, and samsara.
Sunday, July 17, 2016
Sunday, July 10, 2016
Not Even Not Zen 43: A Bandit Accountant, 7.4
A Bandit Accountant
Chapter Fourth Prime
Scene Four: A Token of Affection
“All right, everyone,” Vir grumbled. “We can see the temple. If ye haven't got a weapon, go to the hay cart and get one. Ye too, Elsa.”
Denario's eyes went wide with a sudden fear. He'd had no idea that this little band of Mundredi was going to attack the Three Gods Temple. This doesn't make sense, he thought. He went from standing beside the cart to behind it, just in case Vir expected him to do something – not for protection at all, he told himself.
The temple was a tall, impressive structure, although made from wood rather than stone. He could make out details in it from a quarter mile away. It had three spires, a central hall between them, an out-building, and a double-wide door at the front. The shutters of the door looked crude. The structure had been built along the road at the entrance to a large hamlet of maybe fifteen houses with a few more hidden in the trees. There was a gate across the road but, unlike Hogsburg, the town of Three Gods did not have a full city wall around it.
“You any good with a bow, accountant?” asked Vir.
“Might be.” Denario studied the bow on Piotr's back. The tall scout had a spear in his hands, so he didn't seem intent on using his long-range weapon. The recurved shanks had been carved from bone. The grip was rawhide. Overall, the primitive bow looked fearsome. “I've always been good at aiming things.”
“When's the last time you shot?”
“You mean an arrow?”
“Ach, nevermind. Ye've never.” The larger man took off his hat. He shook his bald head rather angrily. “How the hells did ye kill those men, anyway?”
Denario tried to think of how to explain.
“No, tell me later.” Vir reached under the stack of hay. He pulled out a steel helm, obviously his, and donned it. Then he reached back under the straws, fumbled for a moment, and emerged with the sleeve of a hard, leather hauberk. It had been loaded with metal studs. “Put this on.”
Without enthusiasm, Denario took the armored leather jacket. Volfie had already donned similar gear, although his looked better. Now he helped his bride-to-be as she tied a rather female-looking breastplate over her dress.
“Do I need a helmet?” Elsa asked her man. Volfie tilted his head and considered. Then he looked to Vir for guidance.
“He does,” the Mundredi captain answered with a nod to the Volfie. “But not you, girl. Let everyone see your face. Just wear the vambraces.”
Elsa beamed. She didn't seem worried at all. That gave Denario a hint that they might not be gearing up for an attack. What was all this battle preparation for, then? Elsa had her forearm protection on in under a minute. Then she grabbed a spear. She playfully jabbed in the direction of her future husband. He dodged and laughed. A moment later, he took his own spear from the stack of straw. He didn't tease her with it but she gave him a flirtatious look anyway. Volfie grabbed a leather helm that had apparently been set aside for him. It was stained a dark red color to match his chest armor. After he plopped it on his head, he took Elsa by the hand and led her to the driver's seat of the cart.
“None of that, yet,” Vir warned. Elsa had been about to give Volfie a kiss. She pouted at Vir but only for a moment. Then she clambered up. This time, Volfie got behind the ox to drive.
Denario had been so busy watching them that he found himself struggling into armor while the cart moved away. Luckily, the jacket had been made with enough room for a fighting man. That meant it fit loosely over Denario's layers of heavy shirts. The armored sleeves had been cut short, probably in order to accommodate vambraces and a buckler, so they weren't too long for a short-armed accountant.
Before they got to the town gate, Yannick pushed a spear into Denario's hands.
“Carry it point up. Grab your sack with the idols in it, too. You've got a job to do before the wedding.”
“We're going to the wedding like this?” Denario wondered.
“How else?” answered Yannick.
When the cart stopped at the gate, Denario could see the streets and temple grounds beyond. There were townsfolk in everywhere, mostly women, and they were headed into the church between the spires. Some of them had managed to find their best clothes. Two women wore gowns. A bald gentleman walked by in an embroidered yellow vest. Children sprinted by, laughing. A few men dashed through the temple doors with hoes in their hands. They had apparently just come from the fields.
The guards didn't even have armor, just staves. They good-naturedly asked Vir and Volfie about their business in town despite the fact that Piotr and Klaus had already gone through ahead of them. The guards must have known what was going on. They were just delaying things a little while in order for more town folk to arrive and find seats.
After nearly half an hour, with the sun beginning to glow orange on the edge of the horizon beyond the Three Gods temple, a row of farmers at the back of the church pews stood up. They carefully and rather rudely closed the doors on the wedding party.
At that point, the gate guards let the hay cart pass.
Vir marched in front of the cart to the main doors of the temple. He knocked on the barred entrance. There was no answer. He announced who he was and that he intended to see Volfie and Elsa wed. He knocked again. Still, there was no answer. Finally, he kicked the doors in.
Denario almost dropped his spear. The force of the kick was so hard, it had shaken the ground.
This time, Vir bellowed through the doorway. To the seated congregation, who looked as startled by the opened doors as Denario had been, he announced the wedding of Volfgang of Dred and Elsa of Hogsburg. The farmers near the doors had frozen in shock. One of them looked like he'd just missed getting bowled over. Vir had cracked the wooden lock bar in half. Behind them, a row of elderly, seated women clapped at the performance.
“You go first,” Yannick hissed in Denario's ear.
“Me?” Denario was still trembling.
“Don't show anyone the idols until you get to the front.”
Yannick didn't wait for Denario to ask questions. Instead, he strode up beside Vir and announced that the ceremony would begin with a devotional. Denario knew that was his cue to move.
It was a long walk down the center aisle with a bunch of strangers watching. He struggled to keep the spear upright and he clutched the bag like a shield in front of him. He was grateful that no one laughed. He was afraid he must look a mess without his accounting vest and hat. His shoes no longer looked the part, for sure.
“Welcome, traveler,” said an authoritative voice that didn't actually sound welcoming.
Denario glanced to his left. A tall, pot-bellied priest stood there next to the altar. He wore a black robe with silver trim, a salt-and-pepper beard down to the middle of his chest, a skull cap, and a strained expression. In his wide eyed, careful way, the priest avoided staring at the Mundredi warriors by his temple doors. He focused on the offerings that Denario carried. As members of his congregation exchanged whispers, the priest sighed. He seemed reasonably serene about the prospect of giving the idols to the gods.
Since Denario didn't know what else to do, he followed the lead of the priest. He moved automatically to wherever the priest directed him. He repeated the correct phrases in a stage voice for the audience. He offered up the statuette of Naakia. That was the one that had caught the priest's eye, apparently. She wasn't a local goddess so her figure was a novelty item to the crowd. Folks oohed over it for a moment.
The priest brushed a hay straw out of his beard. Then he threw his arms wide and appealed to Naakia to hear the prayers of Three Gods and Haph Bad. Denario thought it was his turn so he called out the phrases that the mayor of Haph Bad had made him memorize. The priest glared a bit sternly at Denario but he nodded. Then, impressively, the black-robed man performed his magic upon the offering to Naakia.
This fellow was better at levitation than any wizard Denario had known. The altar looked like heavy brass and it had to weigh hundreds of pounds. But the priest made it rise up into the air at his command.
“Holy fire!” he shouted at the idol. A moment later, after a sputtering start, the wood-and-bird-feather figure began to burn.
He repeated the same offering ritual with the idol to Leir. That was less impressive but only because the priest performed exactly as he'd done before. His magical repertoire seemed limited. Denario applauded with the rest of them anyway. It didn't feel very holy but it was a fine show, as good as any temple in Oggli.
When it came time for the next idol, Denario felt his hand twitch. The priest asked for the crude Melcurio figure that Denario had shown him. But Denario's fingers found the neck of the precious vase from Glaistig at the bottom of the bag. In fact, Melcurio seemed to have gone missing. He fumbled around but pulled out the vase.
“A precious offering from the temple of Glaistig!” the priest shouted as he yanked it from Denario.
He held the pottery up high. As he recited a prayer and prepared to place the vase onto his altar, his fingers slipped. The vase spun in the air and crashed on the floor. It cracked open with a sigh.
Without missing a beat, the priest stomped on the vase. It popped and sprayed pieces. Then he stomped again. Everyone cheered. He swept the fragments into his hands and onto the altar. Then he said another prayer and wagged his eyebrows meaningfully at Denario.
That was the cue for Melcurio. This time, Denario found the idol in his bag with no problem.
“Thanks to all of the gods!” shouted the priest when he was done with the last offering. A plume of smoke arose. Denario was irrationally happy to see a figure eight pattern in the vapors from the burning effigy of the winged messenger.
“Thanks to all!” shouted the congregation.
“And now, the father can stand forth!”
Vir marched up the aisle as if he would kill anyone in his way. In fact, he muttered as much to the congregation. Denario was shocked, initially, but after a minute or two of the shouting from priest to gods, Vir to gods, and then Vir to the priest, Denario got the idea that this was how it was supposed to happen. The Mundredi wedding seemed short on flowers and lace, long on shield-pounding and spear-waving. In fact, Elsa practically hopped down the aisle with her spear in both hands. She slammed the bronze point hard against Vir's shield. Then she turned and jabbed at Volfie, who had come down the aisle behind her. He blocked her with his own heavy shield.
Then the couple bashed their spears together for nearly a minute. It was fun to watch if you weren't too close, which Denario was. He had to dodge to keep Elsa from skewering him. On top of everything, the priest kept jabbering out prayers for the couple and said, by the way, would anyone care to save the bride from the bridegroom?
He asked that question three times. No one was fool enough to step forward. Vir and Volfie clearly would have crushed them into the dirt floor. Probably Elsa would have helped.
Volfie and his bride locked spears one last time. Then he caught her arms, pulled them behind his back, and captured her behind his shield in a very military looking embrace.
“She is his! They are married before the gods! Let no man tear them asunder without a heart of iron and a stomach for death!” The priest waved his arms over his head. Now he seemed to be having as much fun as his audience.
The couple kissed – although actually, their faces modestly disappeared behind the shield. Denario stood far enough to one side that he had to assume that they kissed. So did almost everyone else. Only Vir and the priest could have testified to it. Nevertheless, when Vir lifted his spear and shouted, all the men and women in the temple rose to their feet. They applauded and whooped. Children threw handfuls of grass and flowers into the air.
“Whew!” murmured Yannick as he led the way back down the aisle. Children pelted them with grass as they walked. He and the scouts made a show of pushing the townsfolk back, too, although the men of Three Gods only reached into the aisle out of their sense of ritual. “Now comes the hard part.”
“That wasn't the hard part?” Denario wondered. How much worse could it get?
“Volfie picked me to be the best man. That means I have to stay and guard him and Elsa tonight. Then I have to escort them to Forte Dred. I won't be going with Vir. He's marching on to Fort Fourteen.”
“But ...” Denario hesitated at the main doors. Suddenly, he was aware of how much his feet hurt.
“It's an honor,” Yannick mumbled. He seemed to be reminding himself of the fact. “He could have chosen anyone but Vir since Vir was standing in for the father. And he chose me.”
“But ...” Denario realized he'd been lulled into a sense of belonging with the Mundredi when, in fact, none of them wanted him here.
Only Yannick had told Denario how the battle at the jail cell had ended. Only Yannick had explained that the town of Three Gods hosted eight local deities. No bandit knew which three of the divinities had given the town its name but Yannick knew that the town had been called Tridei, long ago, and Three Gods was just the most direct translation. Without Yannick, Denario wouldn't know much of anything. He certainly wouldn't know what to do with himself.
He judged that if he stayed with these bandits to the end of their road, he'd be killed. Without Yannick, there would be no easier target in a battle than Denario. He wouldn't last a minute.
Outside in the deep, red glow of the evening sun, the Mundredi gathered to hear their orders and confer. The townsfolk soon surrounded them. Elsa interrupted the army business in order to receive kisses on her cheeks from the local ladies, who seemed to feel it was their duty, and from local men, who seemed to think that they could get away with it. The same men pounded Volfie on the back and congratulated him. So the bandits formed a line of sorts. There were handshakes and backslaps to go around. Piotr, Klaus, and Yannick were buffeted by the farmers. Even Denario, standing off to one side, suffered through a dozen thumps on the shoulders from the enthusiastic townsmen. No one dared to pound on Vir, though. Maybe they remembered the broken door and didn't want him to pound them back.
In the midst of the laughter, hugging, and handshaking, one man approached the captain. It was the priest. He spared a glance for Denario but not a kind one.
“A minute of your time, captain,” he said.
At the instant that Vir and the priest focused on each other, Denario surveyed the town square. There wasn't a single person looking his direction. This was his chance.
He knew how to do it from his childhood days. The trick to getting away from a group was to look like you didn't want to leave. You had to give the impression of going somewhere with a purpose, preferably to do onerous work – and that you'd be right back for more drudgery, too.
Denario hiked up his trousers. He strode toward a barn he saw toward the east end of town. Country folk did their business behind barns, didn't they? With any luck, anyone who noticed him would assume he'd gone off to empty his bladder. And when he reached the other side of the barn, he'd be out of sight. He could run.
“There's an outhouse at the back of the inn, mister,” said a short boy in a large, hand-me-down brown coat. He pointed to a cross street. There, hidden by bushes between a pair of tall buildings sat a well-kept two-door privy.
“Th-thanks,” Denario stuttered. He tried to look calm. He gave the boy a nod but the little fellow had already walked past him.
This is good, Denario reassured himself. The purposeful walk is working. Any direction is a good one for escape. Outhouse. Fine.
Denario kept up his stride. Part of him, though, was waiting for the Mundredi to yell for him to stop. He had both of his bags strapped over his shoulders. He had one of their spears. They had nothing of his on their cart. Would he be able to simply walk away from them in broad daylight? It wouldn't remain light for much longer, with the sun so low over the western hills. He could press that to his advantage for a clean escape.
“Good show,” said a farmhand as he stepped out of the privy and saw Denario.
“Thanks for your hospitality,” said Denario. But he must have said it wrong. The farmer gave him a suspicious look.
Denario had planned to pass by the two-door outhouse. Now he hesitated. Since he must have aroused at least one man's suspicions, he decided to turn towards it. He couldn't afford to behave oddly while anyone was watching. He might as well do some outhouse business and plan his next step. He hadn't thought he'd get this far.
He marched through the door to his right. Immediately, he was hit by a latrine stink. He glanced around. Despite the odor, the place looked well kept. A single, lonely fly buzzed in uneven circles above the two open holes in the privy bench. The wooden beams around Denario had been cut from cedar. The reek of the fresh wood covered the human smell or at least gave it a try. Lower down, the bench was only soft pine, stained by folks using the room in too much of a hurry. It looked dry at the moment.
Denario sat. He buried his face in his hands as he rested. His feet throbbed. His right shoe had begun to crack on a seam. He was pretty sure it wouldn't last another week of this kind of travel. And where can I go? he wondered. He knew he couldn't head back to Hogsburg. That left a long, hilly trip to the joining of the rivers, Riggli Kill and Rune Kill, where he could catch a boat. So he was in for a hike through hostile towns or through the wilderness or both. The Mundredi hadn't stopped for water today. His canteen held no more than a swallow. He didn't think he would survive on his own for long, especially not at this elevation. But he had to try.
He closed his eyes and envisioned his apprentices, Kroner, Shekel, Guilder, Mark, and Buck. Kroner was the oldest, painfully thin. Buck wasn't as tall but he was strong and smart. He could handle himself. The younger three were just boys. Even Kroner and Buck, though, were depending on him. They all were. Everyone knew that Curo needed help to keep the business alive. Denario had to get home. He had to make sure they kept the dockyard account.
He stood up, buttoned his pants, and cracked open the door to look at his escape route.
“You done?” said Vir.
Denario swung the cedar panel wide. The Mundredi captain stood a few feet from the outhouse with an odd, expressionless look on his face.
“Everything's set,” Vir continued. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the barn that Denario had turned away from. “Piotr and Klaus have gone to the well with a couple of buckets. The mayor will let us rest in his barn for half the night. Then we'll march out when the moon goes down.”
“In the middle of the night?” Denario suppressed a groan.
“That should give us time to reach Fort Fourteen at dawn.”
“Right. The fort.” Denario should have known that his escape wouldn't be as easy as it looked. He wondered if he was having especially rotten luck. The bandit leader must have glanced away from the priest just in time to notice where his captive accountant was headed. There wasn't much that Denario could do now except go along.
He nodded and stepped through the outhouse door. The spear that he'd forgotten he was carrying got stuck. There was a twanging sound. The shaft hit him in the face.
“Ow!” His hand covered his stinging nose. He stumbled and fell back onto the privy seat. As much as it hurt, Denario thought, at least he discovered that Vir had a sense of humor. The big man laughed, fists on hips, as if seeing the accountant hurt himself had been the funniest thing ever.
Even later, in the barn, Vir chuckled some more. He didn't tell anybody why.
Chapter Seven, Scene Five
Chapter Fourth Prime
Scene Four: A Token of Affection
“All right, everyone,” Vir grumbled. “We can see the temple. If ye haven't got a weapon, go to the hay cart and get one. Ye too, Elsa.”
Denario's eyes went wide with a sudden fear. He'd had no idea that this little band of Mundredi was going to attack the Three Gods Temple. This doesn't make sense, he thought. He went from standing beside the cart to behind it, just in case Vir expected him to do something – not for protection at all, he told himself.
The temple was a tall, impressive structure, although made from wood rather than stone. He could make out details in it from a quarter mile away. It had three spires, a central hall between them, an out-building, and a double-wide door at the front. The shutters of the door looked crude. The structure had been built along the road at the entrance to a large hamlet of maybe fifteen houses with a few more hidden in the trees. There was a gate across the road but, unlike Hogsburg, the town of Three Gods did not have a full city wall around it.
“You any good with a bow, accountant?” asked Vir.
“Might be.” Denario studied the bow on Piotr's back. The tall scout had a spear in his hands, so he didn't seem intent on using his long-range weapon. The recurved shanks had been carved from bone. The grip was rawhide. Overall, the primitive bow looked fearsome. “I've always been good at aiming things.”
“When's the last time you shot?”
“You mean an arrow?”
“Ach, nevermind. Ye've never.” The larger man took off his hat. He shook his bald head rather angrily. “How the hells did ye kill those men, anyway?”
Denario tried to think of how to explain.
“No, tell me later.” Vir reached under the stack of hay. He pulled out a steel helm, obviously his, and donned it. Then he reached back under the straws, fumbled for a moment, and emerged with the sleeve of a hard, leather hauberk. It had been loaded with metal studs. “Put this on.”
Without enthusiasm, Denario took the armored leather jacket. Volfie had already donned similar gear, although his looked better. Now he helped his bride-to-be as she tied a rather female-looking breastplate over her dress.
“Do I need a helmet?” Elsa asked her man. Volfie tilted his head and considered. Then he looked to Vir for guidance.
“He does,” the Mundredi captain answered with a nod to the Volfie. “But not you, girl. Let everyone see your face. Just wear the vambraces.”
Elsa beamed. She didn't seem worried at all. That gave Denario a hint that they might not be gearing up for an attack. What was all this battle preparation for, then? Elsa had her forearm protection on in under a minute. Then she grabbed a spear. She playfully jabbed in the direction of her future husband. He dodged and laughed. A moment later, he took his own spear from the stack of straw. He didn't tease her with it but she gave him a flirtatious look anyway. Volfie grabbed a leather helm that had apparently been set aside for him. It was stained a dark red color to match his chest armor. After he plopped it on his head, he took Elsa by the hand and led her to the driver's seat of the cart.
“None of that, yet,” Vir warned. Elsa had been about to give Volfie a kiss. She pouted at Vir but only for a moment. Then she clambered up. This time, Volfie got behind the ox to drive.
Denario had been so busy watching them that he found himself struggling into armor while the cart moved away. Luckily, the jacket had been made with enough room for a fighting man. That meant it fit loosely over Denario's layers of heavy shirts. The armored sleeves had been cut short, probably in order to accommodate vambraces and a buckler, so they weren't too long for a short-armed accountant.
Before they got to the town gate, Yannick pushed a spear into Denario's hands.
“Carry it point up. Grab your sack with the idols in it, too. You've got a job to do before the wedding.”
“We're going to the wedding like this?” Denario wondered.
“How else?” answered Yannick.
When the cart stopped at the gate, Denario could see the streets and temple grounds beyond. There were townsfolk in everywhere, mostly women, and they were headed into the church between the spires. Some of them had managed to find their best clothes. Two women wore gowns. A bald gentleman walked by in an embroidered yellow vest. Children sprinted by, laughing. A few men dashed through the temple doors with hoes in their hands. They had apparently just come from the fields.
The guards didn't even have armor, just staves. They good-naturedly asked Vir and Volfie about their business in town despite the fact that Piotr and Klaus had already gone through ahead of them. The guards must have known what was going on. They were just delaying things a little while in order for more town folk to arrive and find seats.
After nearly half an hour, with the sun beginning to glow orange on the edge of the horizon beyond the Three Gods temple, a row of farmers at the back of the church pews stood up. They carefully and rather rudely closed the doors on the wedding party.
At that point, the gate guards let the hay cart pass.
Vir marched in front of the cart to the main doors of the temple. He knocked on the barred entrance. There was no answer. He announced who he was and that he intended to see Volfie and Elsa wed. He knocked again. Still, there was no answer. Finally, he kicked the doors in.
Denario almost dropped his spear. The force of the kick was so hard, it had shaken the ground.
This time, Vir bellowed through the doorway. To the seated congregation, who looked as startled by the opened doors as Denario had been, he announced the wedding of Volfgang of Dred and Elsa of Hogsburg. The farmers near the doors had frozen in shock. One of them looked like he'd just missed getting bowled over. Vir had cracked the wooden lock bar in half. Behind them, a row of elderly, seated women clapped at the performance.
“You go first,” Yannick hissed in Denario's ear.
“Me?” Denario was still trembling.
“Don't show anyone the idols until you get to the front.”
Yannick didn't wait for Denario to ask questions. Instead, he strode up beside Vir and announced that the ceremony would begin with a devotional. Denario knew that was his cue to move.
It was a long walk down the center aisle with a bunch of strangers watching. He struggled to keep the spear upright and he clutched the bag like a shield in front of him. He was grateful that no one laughed. He was afraid he must look a mess without his accounting vest and hat. His shoes no longer looked the part, for sure.
“Welcome, traveler,” said an authoritative voice that didn't actually sound welcoming.
Denario glanced to his left. A tall, pot-bellied priest stood there next to the altar. He wore a black robe with silver trim, a salt-and-pepper beard down to the middle of his chest, a skull cap, and a strained expression. In his wide eyed, careful way, the priest avoided staring at the Mundredi warriors by his temple doors. He focused on the offerings that Denario carried. As members of his congregation exchanged whispers, the priest sighed. He seemed reasonably serene about the prospect of giving the idols to the gods.
Since Denario didn't know what else to do, he followed the lead of the priest. He moved automatically to wherever the priest directed him. He repeated the correct phrases in a stage voice for the audience. He offered up the statuette of Naakia. That was the one that had caught the priest's eye, apparently. She wasn't a local goddess so her figure was a novelty item to the crowd. Folks oohed over it for a moment.
The priest brushed a hay straw out of his beard. Then he threw his arms wide and appealed to Naakia to hear the prayers of Three Gods and Haph Bad. Denario thought it was his turn so he called out the phrases that the mayor of Haph Bad had made him memorize. The priest glared a bit sternly at Denario but he nodded. Then, impressively, the black-robed man performed his magic upon the offering to Naakia.
This fellow was better at levitation than any wizard Denario had known. The altar looked like heavy brass and it had to weigh hundreds of pounds. But the priest made it rise up into the air at his command.
“Holy fire!” he shouted at the idol. A moment later, after a sputtering start, the wood-and-bird-feather figure began to burn.
He repeated the same offering ritual with the idol to Leir. That was less impressive but only because the priest performed exactly as he'd done before. His magical repertoire seemed limited. Denario applauded with the rest of them anyway. It didn't feel very holy but it was a fine show, as good as any temple in Oggli.
When it came time for the next idol, Denario felt his hand twitch. The priest asked for the crude Melcurio figure that Denario had shown him. But Denario's fingers found the neck of the precious vase from Glaistig at the bottom of the bag. In fact, Melcurio seemed to have gone missing. He fumbled around but pulled out the vase.
“A precious offering from the temple of Glaistig!” the priest shouted as he yanked it from Denario.
He held the pottery up high. As he recited a prayer and prepared to place the vase onto his altar, his fingers slipped. The vase spun in the air and crashed on the floor. It cracked open with a sigh.
Without missing a beat, the priest stomped on the vase. It popped and sprayed pieces. Then he stomped again. Everyone cheered. He swept the fragments into his hands and onto the altar. Then he said another prayer and wagged his eyebrows meaningfully at Denario.
That was the cue for Melcurio. This time, Denario found the idol in his bag with no problem.
“Thanks to all of the gods!” shouted the priest when he was done with the last offering. A plume of smoke arose. Denario was irrationally happy to see a figure eight pattern in the vapors from the burning effigy of the winged messenger.
“Thanks to all!” shouted the congregation.
“And now, the father can stand forth!”
Vir marched up the aisle as if he would kill anyone in his way. In fact, he muttered as much to the congregation. Denario was shocked, initially, but after a minute or two of the shouting from priest to gods, Vir to gods, and then Vir to the priest, Denario got the idea that this was how it was supposed to happen. The Mundredi wedding seemed short on flowers and lace, long on shield-pounding and spear-waving. In fact, Elsa practically hopped down the aisle with her spear in both hands. She slammed the bronze point hard against Vir's shield. Then she turned and jabbed at Volfie, who had come down the aisle behind her. He blocked her with his own heavy shield.
Then the couple bashed their spears together for nearly a minute. It was fun to watch if you weren't too close, which Denario was. He had to dodge to keep Elsa from skewering him. On top of everything, the priest kept jabbering out prayers for the couple and said, by the way, would anyone care to save the bride from the bridegroom?
He asked that question three times. No one was fool enough to step forward. Vir and Volfie clearly would have crushed them into the dirt floor. Probably Elsa would have helped.
Volfie and his bride locked spears one last time. Then he caught her arms, pulled them behind his back, and captured her behind his shield in a very military looking embrace.
“She is his! They are married before the gods! Let no man tear them asunder without a heart of iron and a stomach for death!” The priest waved his arms over his head. Now he seemed to be having as much fun as his audience.
The couple kissed – although actually, their faces modestly disappeared behind the shield. Denario stood far enough to one side that he had to assume that they kissed. So did almost everyone else. Only Vir and the priest could have testified to it. Nevertheless, when Vir lifted his spear and shouted, all the men and women in the temple rose to their feet. They applauded and whooped. Children threw handfuls of grass and flowers into the air.
“Whew!” murmured Yannick as he led the way back down the aisle. Children pelted them with grass as they walked. He and the scouts made a show of pushing the townsfolk back, too, although the men of Three Gods only reached into the aisle out of their sense of ritual. “Now comes the hard part.”
“That wasn't the hard part?” Denario wondered. How much worse could it get?
“Volfie picked me to be the best man. That means I have to stay and guard him and Elsa tonight. Then I have to escort them to Forte Dred. I won't be going with Vir. He's marching on to Fort Fourteen.”
“But ...” Denario hesitated at the main doors. Suddenly, he was aware of how much his feet hurt.
“It's an honor,” Yannick mumbled. He seemed to be reminding himself of the fact. “He could have chosen anyone but Vir since Vir was standing in for the father. And he chose me.”
“But ...” Denario realized he'd been lulled into a sense of belonging with the Mundredi when, in fact, none of them wanted him here.
Only Yannick had told Denario how the battle at the jail cell had ended. Only Yannick had explained that the town of Three Gods hosted eight local deities. No bandit knew which three of the divinities had given the town its name but Yannick knew that the town had been called Tridei, long ago, and Three Gods was just the most direct translation. Without Yannick, Denario wouldn't know much of anything. He certainly wouldn't know what to do with himself.
He judged that if he stayed with these bandits to the end of their road, he'd be killed. Without Yannick, there would be no easier target in a battle than Denario. He wouldn't last a minute.
Outside in the deep, red glow of the evening sun, the Mundredi gathered to hear their orders and confer. The townsfolk soon surrounded them. Elsa interrupted the army business in order to receive kisses on her cheeks from the local ladies, who seemed to feel it was their duty, and from local men, who seemed to think that they could get away with it. The same men pounded Volfie on the back and congratulated him. So the bandits formed a line of sorts. There were handshakes and backslaps to go around. Piotr, Klaus, and Yannick were buffeted by the farmers. Even Denario, standing off to one side, suffered through a dozen thumps on the shoulders from the enthusiastic townsmen. No one dared to pound on Vir, though. Maybe they remembered the broken door and didn't want him to pound them back.
In the midst of the laughter, hugging, and handshaking, one man approached the captain. It was the priest. He spared a glance for Denario but not a kind one.
“A minute of your time, captain,” he said.
At the instant that Vir and the priest focused on each other, Denario surveyed the town square. There wasn't a single person looking his direction. This was his chance.
He knew how to do it from his childhood days. The trick to getting away from a group was to look like you didn't want to leave. You had to give the impression of going somewhere with a purpose, preferably to do onerous work – and that you'd be right back for more drudgery, too.
Denario hiked up his trousers. He strode toward a barn he saw toward the east end of town. Country folk did their business behind barns, didn't they? With any luck, anyone who noticed him would assume he'd gone off to empty his bladder. And when he reached the other side of the barn, he'd be out of sight. He could run.
“There's an outhouse at the back of the inn, mister,” said a short boy in a large, hand-me-down brown coat. He pointed to a cross street. There, hidden by bushes between a pair of tall buildings sat a well-kept two-door privy.
“Th-thanks,” Denario stuttered. He tried to look calm. He gave the boy a nod but the little fellow had already walked past him.
This is good, Denario reassured himself. The purposeful walk is working. Any direction is a good one for escape. Outhouse. Fine.
Denario kept up his stride. Part of him, though, was waiting for the Mundredi to yell for him to stop. He had both of his bags strapped over his shoulders. He had one of their spears. They had nothing of his on their cart. Would he be able to simply walk away from them in broad daylight? It wouldn't remain light for much longer, with the sun so low over the western hills. He could press that to his advantage for a clean escape.
“Good show,” said a farmhand as he stepped out of the privy and saw Denario.
“Thanks for your hospitality,” said Denario. But he must have said it wrong. The farmer gave him a suspicious look.
Denario had planned to pass by the two-door outhouse. Now he hesitated. Since he must have aroused at least one man's suspicions, he decided to turn towards it. He couldn't afford to behave oddly while anyone was watching. He might as well do some outhouse business and plan his next step. He hadn't thought he'd get this far.
He marched through the door to his right. Immediately, he was hit by a latrine stink. He glanced around. Despite the odor, the place looked well kept. A single, lonely fly buzzed in uneven circles above the two open holes in the privy bench. The wooden beams around Denario had been cut from cedar. The reek of the fresh wood covered the human smell or at least gave it a try. Lower down, the bench was only soft pine, stained by folks using the room in too much of a hurry. It looked dry at the moment.
Denario sat. He buried his face in his hands as he rested. His feet throbbed. His right shoe had begun to crack on a seam. He was pretty sure it wouldn't last another week of this kind of travel. And where can I go? he wondered. He knew he couldn't head back to Hogsburg. That left a long, hilly trip to the joining of the rivers, Riggli Kill and Rune Kill, where he could catch a boat. So he was in for a hike through hostile towns or through the wilderness or both. The Mundredi hadn't stopped for water today. His canteen held no more than a swallow. He didn't think he would survive on his own for long, especially not at this elevation. But he had to try.
He closed his eyes and envisioned his apprentices, Kroner, Shekel, Guilder, Mark, and Buck. Kroner was the oldest, painfully thin. Buck wasn't as tall but he was strong and smart. He could handle himself. The younger three were just boys. Even Kroner and Buck, though, were depending on him. They all were. Everyone knew that Curo needed help to keep the business alive. Denario had to get home. He had to make sure they kept the dockyard account.
He stood up, buttoned his pants, and cracked open the door to look at his escape route.
“You done?” said Vir.
Denario swung the cedar panel wide. The Mundredi captain stood a few feet from the outhouse with an odd, expressionless look on his face.
“Everything's set,” Vir continued. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the barn that Denario had turned away from. “Piotr and Klaus have gone to the well with a couple of buckets. The mayor will let us rest in his barn for half the night. Then we'll march out when the moon goes down.”
“In the middle of the night?” Denario suppressed a groan.
“That should give us time to reach Fort Fourteen at dawn.”
“Right. The fort.” Denario should have known that his escape wouldn't be as easy as it looked. He wondered if he was having especially rotten luck. The bandit leader must have glanced away from the priest just in time to notice where his captive accountant was headed. There wasn't much that Denario could do now except go along.
He nodded and stepped through the outhouse door. The spear that he'd forgotten he was carrying got stuck. There was a twanging sound. The shaft hit him in the face.
“Ow!” His hand covered his stinging nose. He stumbled and fell back onto the privy seat. As much as it hurt, Denario thought, at least he discovered that Vir had a sense of humor. The big man laughed, fists on hips, as if seeing the accountant hurt himself had been the funniest thing ever.
Even later, in the barn, Vir chuckled some more. He didn't tell anybody why.
Chapter Seven, Scene Five
Sunday, July 3, 2016
Not Zen 187: No Reason
"No," said the eldest, Langsam. His face grew stern. He folded his arms over his chest.
"There is no reason to be unhappy about this," Dennis, the shortest monk, replied. "So why not choose to be happy?"
"If you have no reason to be happy, it can not be taken away from you," added the youngest monk, Kwen.
"That is the smartest thing you've said all morning, Kwen," Langsam grumbled. "But is it because you understand the idea or is it because you've heard someone else say those words? Anyway, we will have an unfair advantage. That is all that matters. That is why we should not play."
"It's only for sport," countered Kwen. "Aren't you interested to see if our meditation studies have produced changes that can be measured?"
"I'm curious," Langsam conceded. "But we could come back when they are not holding a tournament."
"We came today." Kwen gestured in the direction of the museum sign. "This is how we can use the brainwave measuring apparatus. It's the only way. And we have already paid for our visit."
The sign announced that the science museum had organized a day of games. Children 'of all ages' were invited and, indeed, many teenagers, adults, parents, and grandparents seemed to be joining in. There were signup lists of visitor names in front of many interactive exhibits. That included the one advertised as 'mindball,' which measured brainwave activity.
In the game, contestants wore headbands that monitored their mental activity. The lower the amplitude of their brainwaves, the more electrical force the apparatus generated on the magnets under the table between them. Those magnets moved the ball. So the calmer a contestant's mind was, the more they moved the ball toward the opponent's goal. When they calmed their mind more than their opponents for long enough, they scored the goal and won.
A casual glance at the children playing mindball revealed no ethnic or social patterns about calm minds except that there were no toddlers who could compete. A few pre-teens, however, seemed to display better mental control than their parents.
"Many exhibits have been turned into games," Kwen observed. He lifted his arms to indicate the other displays in the brain science section. "It's not just this one."
His older companions nodded. All three had expressed interest in various aspects of neuroscience. They could not avoid the crowds here. They could decline to participate in the games but, if they intended to read and learn from each exhibit, they would have to watch the contests. They could see, straight in front of them, a pair of grandparents, their daughter, and three grandchildren dressed in vibrant, primary-colored shirts as they stood in line for mindball. The family divided into two teams. Each team consisted of three players to a side.
There were three monks who had come to the musuem, so Kwen laughed and argued that they had been fated to form a team and join in.
"Fine," Langsam conceded. He wanted to understand brain activity and measure his own. "But let's try to not play against teams of children."
"I agree," said the Dennis. He was the only one of them who had been married and a father. "If we're being sporting, let's seek out other meditators or at least adults."
"I'll ask the museum staff," sighed Kwen.
To the monk's surprise, the science exhibit coordinators agreed. One of them, as she revealed in their conversation, was an adjunct professor at the city university. She knew about their school's meditation classes. She'd met their sensei. She'd hosted one of his talks at a university cognitive science seminar. She was eager to observe how well the monks performed in a game like mindball.
"I can arrange the brackets for you in the first three rounds," she said.
"That's enough." Satisfied, the two older monks agreed with Kwen. However, Langsam silently decided he would drop out after three rounds.
A few more questions to the museum staff revealed the story of how brainwaves came to be measured, which was not part of the exhibit. They gave Dennis a pamphlet on it from a class they'd taught earlier in the year. The waves were measures of electric amplitude, he learned. When the headbands were worn tight to the skin, they detected the natural electrical signals of the brain. The measurements were crude. The sensors could only tell if there was a lot of brain activity or very little.
"When can we use the apparatus?" Dennis asked.
"The first tournament is ending now. You've been watching it. We're in the next to last match. It'll be about half an hour until the next. Don't go far."
The monks watched the rest of the competition brackets fill up for a few minutes. They decided to walk around the brain science exhibition while they waited. They saw the three mindball competition tables side by side so that each player might be distracted by the sight of the others. It could get difficult. In a corner not too far away, the staff had set aside a special, smaller table where only the youngest children were allowed to practice. Unfortunately, the headbands at the table were too small for an adult. The monks checked.
Beyond the mindball tables, they saw an optical illusion game with holograms. The monks shook their heads at that. It was poorly lit. The illusions gave Langsam a headache. Farther on there were memory games, followed by a maze race made from lines on the floor that changed. At the far end of the exhibits, they came to a rock wall that had been transformed into a game organized around exploring and finding clues.
In half an hour, they returned to find a crowd milling around the mindball exhibit. The staff were assigning matches to the teams.
The monks meditated for a few minutes until they were told it was their turn. They rose to go to the tables. At the same time, they found their opponents striding up to meet them. These adults, conventionally dressed, found the monks' robes amusing. They all wanted to shake hands and introduce themselves.
"You are schoolteachers?" Langsam smiled as they finished shaking. "That is good, very noble."
In the first match, the least experienced and most experienced of the monks moved their balls with ease. Only Dennis struggled. He couldn't tell if it was because his opponent was calm-minded or because he was not as good at calming himself as other monks.
"How do you know each other?" Kwen asked their opponents before their second match. The computer scientist, his homemaker wife, and the young woman with them were all members of the same family. The young woman was a college student. She was also good at this sort of meditation. She started out beating the Kwen. She moved the ball in his direction so fast, in fact, that Dennis noticed and grew alarmed. He started to lose, too.
Fortunately, the monks were able to calm their minds. Dennis and Kwen stopped the balls from going the wrong direction and turned them around. It happened so fast that their opponents gave up. The college student was a good sport about it. She shook hands afterward.
"I know you," said the eldest, Langsam, as they bowed to their next opponents t the beginning of the third round. "You came to our meditation class."
"You are the yoga teacher, yes?" said Kwen to the thin woman in front of him.
"You're the psychology professor who told us about this," said Dennis to his opponent. "Are you a meditator as well?"
"I practice now and then." The professor nodded.
This team of three meditators appeared to be the most difficult. However, the two who should have been the strongest seemed to be the most intimidated. The man who knew the eldest monk switched to play against the youngest, Kwen. The professor had trouble sitting in his seat. He sweated profusely and couldn't calm himself, not even when Dennis took pity and ended his meditation. The professor simply couldn't calm his mind from his excited state.
All of the monks succeeded in moving the balls into their opponents goals. The yoga teacher put up the most resistance. It took a long time for her to lose to Langsam. She was not gracious in her defeat.
"I see that our next opponents are children," Langsam said as the yoga teacher turned her back on him. "So I think we will stop here."
"Oh, you can't!" The staff member who had arranged the brackets hurried over. She pounded her fist into her hand. "The children and parents will be disappointed. They've all stayed to watch."
"What, to see us?" Langsam looked aghast at the crowd.
"Yes. Well, partly. The next match is for the championship. The children are waiting for prizes."
They pondered the throng of waiting children. The smallest ones were hopping in place or pulling on their parents' arms. The mothers gave them brave smiles. They tried to be patient. The fathers paced or talked to one another. They sweated, generally unsmiling, in their collared shirts. The teenagers stood in clusters, except for a few on their own, and they seemed to be in good spirits despite losing to younger children. Off to one side of the crowd, the monks noticed, for the first time, a stack of museum gift shop prizes. The littlest children ogled the colored boxes.
"There were only four rounds?" Langsam sighed as he contemplated the inevitable. It served him right for taking meditation lightly in the first place.
"That's forty-eight people in a tournament." The contest organizer raised her voice. "Even with six to a match, that's fourteen matches all together. It's as much as we can organize."
"You will have another contest later."
"After a break, in another hour." Her tone softened. "Please don't sign up again unless we need you. Try some other games first. Come back late in the day after more people have had a chance."
"Can't our previous opponents play these children?"
The team of lay meditators had already left. After another minute of discussion, the monks agreed to play the last round. The children on the opposing team didn't want the monks to forfeit, nor did the parents. The monks tried to gently dissuade the mother of one of the pre-teen opponents but she didn't seem to understand the monks' reluctance.
"We should simply finish this," said Kwen. The others nodded.
"We should not really meditate," Langsam muttered.
"That would be a disaster." Dennis, who'd lived many years as a father, knew that everyone else in the contest would sense the difference and get angry. It was not in the spirit of the game. Besides, the children vying for the championship had to have good self-discipline to have beaten so many others. They would likely consider anything less than a strong effort against them to be an insult. "We should take this as seriously as any other match."
"It's too easy," Kwen protested. He flapped his arms for emphasis. "Not a challenge at all."
"I don't want to discourage anyone." Langsam shook his head.
"Let's meet them."
Dennis found himself alone as he walked to the other side of the mindball tables. The others hadn't stepped forward. The children hadn't come over to introduce themselves. Nevertheless, he shook the hand of the closest boy.
"You look pleased," he said. "What makes you so calm within yourself?"
"I like games. I like winning."
"Excellent!" This was a boy who, when he saw his teammates losing, might find his calmness would disappear.
"And why are you so happy?" Dennis strode to the next spot. The girl who occupied it was as tall as he although she seemed fresh-faced and energetic. The brightness of her clothes and her smile dazzled him.
"My friends." She laughed. "They're cheering for me. I can see them waving. See?"
He bowed his head toward her friends. He knew the crowd around the game would press close. This was a throng larger than the rest. Her friends would not be visible. Perhaps, they would not even be audible.
"And you?" He stuck out his hand to the last contestant, the girl nearest to the prize table. "Why are you cheerful?"
As he said it, he realized that her expression wasn't as pleasant as he'd assumed. She didn't seem irritated with him or insulted. But as she processed his words, her brow creased just slightly.
"Is this a trick question?" she asked. Although she was short, she seemed older than the others. It was the way she carried herself. She dressed in dark hues. Her expression seemed more stern than happy. Her hands moved to her lap with a calm, precise sense of motion.
She reminded the monk of a woman he'd met at a meditation retreat. That one, too, had always seemed completely in control.
"No trick," said the monk. He frowned. "Maybe I am being unclear. What do you think makes you happy and peaceful?"
"I don't have a reason. I just learned how."
"If you have no reason to be happy," he said as he bowed his head. "Then I think we have a good match for you."
He meandered back to his own side of the tables. Along the way, he shook hands with one of the school teachers he'd played earlier.. The computer scientist in his white, collared shirt stepped forward, too, and shook. His family followed. The daughter gave Dennis a hug and wished him good luck.
When Dennis returned, he found his teammates waiting, hands on hips. They did not seem entirely patient. Kwen rolled his eyes.
"The contest would be over," the young man said. "If not for these interruptions."
"Perhaps," Dennis allowed.
"Did you learn anything? Are they ready to get on with it?"
"I did learn something." He rubbed his chin. "You see the child sitting nearest the prizes?"
"The short girl? The one who looks grumpy?"
"She's all yours," Dennis replied.
"There is no reason to be unhappy about this," Dennis, the shortest monk, replied. "So why not choose to be happy?"
"If you have no reason to be happy, it can not be taken away from you," added the youngest monk, Kwen.
"That is the smartest thing you've said all morning, Kwen," Langsam grumbled. "But is it because you understand the idea or is it because you've heard someone else say those words? Anyway, we will have an unfair advantage. That is all that matters. That is why we should not play."
"It's only for sport," countered Kwen. "Aren't you interested to see if our meditation studies have produced changes that can be measured?"
"I'm curious," Langsam conceded. "But we could come back when they are not holding a tournament."
"We came today." Kwen gestured in the direction of the museum sign. "This is how we can use the brainwave measuring apparatus. It's the only way. And we have already paid for our visit."
The sign announced that the science museum had organized a day of games. Children 'of all ages' were invited and, indeed, many teenagers, adults, parents, and grandparents seemed to be joining in. There were signup lists of visitor names in front of many interactive exhibits. That included the one advertised as 'mindball,' which measured brainwave activity.
In the game, contestants wore headbands that monitored their mental activity. The lower the amplitude of their brainwaves, the more electrical force the apparatus generated on the magnets under the table between them. Those magnets moved the ball. So the calmer a contestant's mind was, the more they moved the ball toward the opponent's goal. When they calmed their mind more than their opponents for long enough, they scored the goal and won.
A casual glance at the children playing mindball revealed no ethnic or social patterns about calm minds except that there were no toddlers who could compete. A few pre-teens, however, seemed to display better mental control than their parents.
"Many exhibits have been turned into games," Kwen observed. He lifted his arms to indicate the other displays in the brain science section. "It's not just this one."
His older companions nodded. All three had expressed interest in various aspects of neuroscience. They could not avoid the crowds here. They could decline to participate in the games but, if they intended to read and learn from each exhibit, they would have to watch the contests. They could see, straight in front of them, a pair of grandparents, their daughter, and three grandchildren dressed in vibrant, primary-colored shirts as they stood in line for mindball. The family divided into two teams. Each team consisted of three players to a side.
There were three monks who had come to the musuem, so Kwen laughed and argued that they had been fated to form a team and join in.
"Fine," Langsam conceded. He wanted to understand brain activity and measure his own. "But let's try to not play against teams of children."
"I agree," said the Dennis. He was the only one of them who had been married and a father. "If we're being sporting, let's seek out other meditators or at least adults."
"I'll ask the museum staff," sighed Kwen.
To the monk's surprise, the science exhibit coordinators agreed. One of them, as she revealed in their conversation, was an adjunct professor at the city university. She knew about their school's meditation classes. She'd met their sensei. She'd hosted one of his talks at a university cognitive science seminar. She was eager to observe how well the monks performed in a game like mindball.
"I can arrange the brackets for you in the first three rounds," she said.
"That's enough." Satisfied, the two older monks agreed with Kwen. However, Langsam silently decided he would drop out after three rounds.
A few more questions to the museum staff revealed the story of how brainwaves came to be measured, which was not part of the exhibit. They gave Dennis a pamphlet on it from a class they'd taught earlier in the year. The waves were measures of electric amplitude, he learned. When the headbands were worn tight to the skin, they detected the natural electrical signals of the brain. The measurements were crude. The sensors could only tell if there was a lot of brain activity or very little.
"When can we use the apparatus?" Dennis asked.
"The first tournament is ending now. You've been watching it. We're in the next to last match. It'll be about half an hour until the next. Don't go far."
The monks watched the rest of the competition brackets fill up for a few minutes. They decided to walk around the brain science exhibition while they waited. They saw the three mindball competition tables side by side so that each player might be distracted by the sight of the others. It could get difficult. In a corner not too far away, the staff had set aside a special, smaller table where only the youngest children were allowed to practice. Unfortunately, the headbands at the table were too small for an adult. The monks checked.
Beyond the mindball tables, they saw an optical illusion game with holograms. The monks shook their heads at that. It was poorly lit. The illusions gave Langsam a headache. Farther on there were memory games, followed by a maze race made from lines on the floor that changed. At the far end of the exhibits, they came to a rock wall that had been transformed into a game organized around exploring and finding clues.
In half an hour, they returned to find a crowd milling around the mindball exhibit. The staff were assigning matches to the teams.
The monks meditated for a few minutes until they were told it was their turn. They rose to go to the tables. At the same time, they found their opponents striding up to meet them. These adults, conventionally dressed, found the monks' robes amusing. They all wanted to shake hands and introduce themselves.
"You are schoolteachers?" Langsam smiled as they finished shaking. "That is good, very noble."
In the first match, the least experienced and most experienced of the monks moved their balls with ease. Only Dennis struggled. He couldn't tell if it was because his opponent was calm-minded or because he was not as good at calming himself as other monks.
"How do you know each other?" Kwen asked their opponents before their second match. The computer scientist, his homemaker wife, and the young woman with them were all members of the same family. The young woman was a college student. She was also good at this sort of meditation. She started out beating the Kwen. She moved the ball in his direction so fast, in fact, that Dennis noticed and grew alarmed. He started to lose, too.
Fortunately, the monks were able to calm their minds. Dennis and Kwen stopped the balls from going the wrong direction and turned them around. It happened so fast that their opponents gave up. The college student was a good sport about it. She shook hands afterward.
"I know you," said the eldest, Langsam, as they bowed to their next opponents t the beginning of the third round. "You came to our meditation class."
"You are the yoga teacher, yes?" said Kwen to the thin woman in front of him.
"You're the psychology professor who told us about this," said Dennis to his opponent. "Are you a meditator as well?"
"I practice now and then." The professor nodded.
This team of three meditators appeared to be the most difficult. However, the two who should have been the strongest seemed to be the most intimidated. The man who knew the eldest monk switched to play against the youngest, Kwen. The professor had trouble sitting in his seat. He sweated profusely and couldn't calm himself, not even when Dennis took pity and ended his meditation. The professor simply couldn't calm his mind from his excited state.
All of the monks succeeded in moving the balls into their opponents goals. The yoga teacher put up the most resistance. It took a long time for her to lose to Langsam. She was not gracious in her defeat.
"I see that our next opponents are children," Langsam said as the yoga teacher turned her back on him. "So I think we will stop here."
"Oh, you can't!" The staff member who had arranged the brackets hurried over. She pounded her fist into her hand. "The children and parents will be disappointed. They've all stayed to watch."
"What, to see us?" Langsam looked aghast at the crowd.
"Yes. Well, partly. The next match is for the championship. The children are waiting for prizes."
They pondered the throng of waiting children. The smallest ones were hopping in place or pulling on their parents' arms. The mothers gave them brave smiles. They tried to be patient. The fathers paced or talked to one another. They sweated, generally unsmiling, in their collared shirts. The teenagers stood in clusters, except for a few on their own, and they seemed to be in good spirits despite losing to younger children. Off to one side of the crowd, the monks noticed, for the first time, a stack of museum gift shop prizes. The littlest children ogled the colored boxes.
"There were only four rounds?" Langsam sighed as he contemplated the inevitable. It served him right for taking meditation lightly in the first place.
"That's forty-eight people in a tournament." The contest organizer raised her voice. "Even with six to a match, that's fourteen matches all together. It's as much as we can organize."
"You will have another contest later."
"After a break, in another hour." Her tone softened. "Please don't sign up again unless we need you. Try some other games first. Come back late in the day after more people have had a chance."
"Can't our previous opponents play these children?"
The team of lay meditators had already left. After another minute of discussion, the monks agreed to play the last round. The children on the opposing team didn't want the monks to forfeit, nor did the parents. The monks tried to gently dissuade the mother of one of the pre-teen opponents but she didn't seem to understand the monks' reluctance.
"We should simply finish this," said Kwen. The others nodded.
"We should not really meditate," Langsam muttered.
"That would be a disaster." Dennis, who'd lived many years as a father, knew that everyone else in the contest would sense the difference and get angry. It was not in the spirit of the game. Besides, the children vying for the championship had to have good self-discipline to have beaten so many others. They would likely consider anything less than a strong effort against them to be an insult. "We should take this as seriously as any other match."
"It's too easy," Kwen protested. He flapped his arms for emphasis. "Not a challenge at all."
"I don't want to discourage anyone." Langsam shook his head.
"Let's meet them."
Dennis found himself alone as he walked to the other side of the mindball tables. The others hadn't stepped forward. The children hadn't come over to introduce themselves. Nevertheless, he shook the hand of the closest boy.
"You look pleased," he said. "What makes you so calm within yourself?"
"I like games. I like winning."
"Excellent!" This was a boy who, when he saw his teammates losing, might find his calmness would disappear.
"And why are you so happy?" Dennis strode to the next spot. The girl who occupied it was as tall as he although she seemed fresh-faced and energetic. The brightness of her clothes and her smile dazzled him.
"My friends." She laughed. "They're cheering for me. I can see them waving. See?"
He bowed his head toward her friends. He knew the crowd around the game would press close. This was a throng larger than the rest. Her friends would not be visible. Perhaps, they would not even be audible.
"And you?" He stuck out his hand to the last contestant, the girl nearest to the prize table. "Why are you cheerful?"
As he said it, he realized that her expression wasn't as pleasant as he'd assumed. She didn't seem irritated with him or insulted. But as she processed his words, her brow creased just slightly.
"Is this a trick question?" she asked. Although she was short, she seemed older than the others. It was the way she carried herself. She dressed in dark hues. Her expression seemed more stern than happy. Her hands moved to her lap with a calm, precise sense of motion.
She reminded the monk of a woman he'd met at a meditation retreat. That one, too, had always seemed completely in control.
"No trick," said the monk. He frowned. "Maybe I am being unclear. What do you think makes you happy and peaceful?"
"I don't have a reason. I just learned how."
"If you have no reason to be happy," he said as he bowed his head. "Then I think we have a good match for you."
He meandered back to his own side of the tables. Along the way, he shook hands with one of the school teachers he'd played earlier.. The computer scientist in his white, collared shirt stepped forward, too, and shook. His family followed. The daughter gave Dennis a hug and wished him good luck.
When Dennis returned, he found his teammates waiting, hands on hips. They did not seem entirely patient. Kwen rolled his eyes.
"The contest would be over," the young man said. "If not for these interruptions."
"Perhaps," Dennis allowed.
"Did you learn anything? Are they ready to get on with it?"
"I did learn something." He rubbed his chin. "You see the child sitting nearest the prizes?"
"The short girl? The one who looks grumpy?"
"She's all yours," Dennis replied.
Sunday, June 26, 2016
Not Even Not Zen 42: A Bandit Accountant, 7.3
A Bandit Accountant
Chapter Fourth Prime
Scene Three: Lessons from the Master
The group passed through a town called Haph Bad that seemed no larger than four houses at the intersection of the road and a stream. Haph Bad had a mayor, though, and a welcoming party of more than twenty, most of them children. Denario filled his canteen and lay down on a flat, warm rock to rest while everyone else conferred with the mayor, a tall man with a short, rather severe-looking wife who followed him around everywhere, arms folded as if she disapproved of everything anyone said.
At some point, Denario must have dozed. He awoke when shadows passed across his face. He squinted at them.
“Are you sleeping?” shouted a silhouette. He guessed from the voice that it was a young girl.
“Not now he isn't, dummy,” said a boy's voice.
“Why are you sleeping?”
“Are you still a boy?” the male voice continued. “Because if you are, how come you have a bit of beard, then?”
“Are you a girl?” asked the girl. “Girls grow beards.”
“No, they don't.”
“Yes, they do!”
“No.”
“Uh huh! They do!”
The two children went at it for half a minute while Denario stretched and sat up. He got a view of the girl, who was maybe seven and wore a simple, brown dress and quite a lot of mud. Her brother, probably, looked about ten years old. He was dressed in pants and a linen shirt like a young man. They both had dark blue eyes, a pointed nose, and straight, black hair cut above their shoulders.
The girl huffed, “Aunt Mimi! So there!” and the boy was quiet for a while.
“Maybe some do,” he allowed. “But this one's a boy or a waldi. Aren't you?”
He gave Denario a respectful yet demanding look.
“I'm not a waldi,” groaned Denario. He rose to his feet. He was only a head taller than the boy.
“Then why don't you have any markings? Aren't you old enough in your clan?”
“Oh.” Suddenly Denario felt he almost understood. “Is a waldi someone without a clan?”
Both children bobbed their heads.
“That's me, sorry.” His gaze searched for their parents. The mayor and his wife were still conferring with the Mundredi. However, the other town adults had gone off somewhere. The kids were on their own. Vir's scouts, Klaus and Piotr, had re-packed their equipment. They looked ready to march away.
“How do you live without a clan? How do you know which gods are watching you?”
“I know,” answered Denario with a certainty that surprised him. He hadn't thought of himself as particularly religious. When the wizards claimed that gods were nothing special, just bits of magic with a personality, Denario believed them. But he also believed that those bits of magic cared in their own way.
“But how?”
Denario couldn't think of a rational answer. Gods were like the numbers pi and the square root of two. They seemed unsettling at first blush. Ultimately, though, they proved satisfying in the spirits. A full explanation as to how they came to occupy their place in the world would have to wait for a wiser age.
He glanced right and left to make sure none of the remaining adults were watching. The children noticed. They craned their heads around to help him check. There were smiles on their faces. They knew they were about to be let in on a secret.
“I do have a tattoo,” he whispered. “But just one.”
He wasn't sure why he wasn't comfortable telling most people. He'd shown it to Pecunia. And he hadn't been able to hide it from the other apprentices in Winkel's office. Plus Winkel had known, of course. But he had never shown the accountants outside his home. They had learned about his former slavery but he didn't think they were entitled to the details. He'd never let anyone in Ziegeburg besides Pecunia see the symbol either.
He crouched. The children knelt at his feet. Slowly, because his legs were stiff and swollen, he pulled up his left trouser to the shin. At the same time, he pulled down the left front of his shoe.
“It looks like a bee, almost. They marked you on the foot?” The lad whispered. His eyes were wide with amazement. The Mundredi apparently didn't consider the tops of feet as appropriate places for tribal marks.
“The original sign looked like this.” Denario let go of his pants and shoes. He grabbed a stick. After a moment to pick the softest ground, he drew a rectangle and a semi-circle in the dirt. “See? A helm over a block. It showed that I was the property of Baron Blockhelm.”
“Who's that?”
“He lives a long way off. That's why you haven't heard of him. Anyway, after I was free, my teacher had a man tattoo this number eight through it. Watch.” He drew the number eight sideways through the helmet figure.
“Oh! You made an angel,” said the girl.
“The number eight is sacred to our guild,” Denario explained. “It was a funny accident. The man doing the job turned me around and wrote sideways. No one asked him to do that. He was supposed to cover the old mark. But instead he made my slave tattoo look like a winged messenger. When my master saw that the mark hadn't been turned into an eight, he was upset at first. Then he got worried. He said we mustn't change the tattoo any more or we might offend the god.”
“I know that one!” shouted the boy. “Is he watching you?"
“He's the most important one to me.” Denario smiled. He'd been pretty sure that the children would understand. “You see how I know? It came from an accident but it's the symbol for the god of accountants. He's known as the winged messenger in some lands. He runs around the world and measures it. That's my profession, in a way. I'm an accountant.”
“You're a kind of ant?'” muttered the girl.
“Do you just do measuring and numbers?” said the boy, disappointed. He ignored his sister. “I already knows my pluses and minuses. What I need is to learn is how to make a house for our dog.”
“Ol' Enri has fleas again," the girl explained. “So me mam kicks him out.”
Denario scanned the village dwellings. He could see three structures from where he was standing. All three were made of logs laid on their sides with mud between. They weren't quite square and that was a problem for the roofs. The A-frame beams didn't quite meet the corners of the walls. Also, the bales of thatch on the beams were forced to rest at odd angles. They probably leaked pretty often. On one of the houses, a wall looked about to fall over.
“Would it help if I taught you how to make the strongest kind of house? I don't know the wood work. But I do I know the math for that.”
“There's math to make a strongest house?” the boy seemed leery.
“Absolutely,” Denario asserted, confident about this point of geometry. “The strongest houses use right triangles and rectangles. I can draw those. And I can teach you how to measure for them as you lay the wood. That's the real trick that folks are missing around here. You'll have the best dog house ever.”
“Wow! Yeah, I want to learn that.”
“Can I build the dog house, too?” asked his sister.
The three of them walked around by the stream for a moment as Denario stretched his legs. He learned that the boy's name was Kurt, which was a funny coincidence. It reminded Denario of the young man who had helped him get to Hogsburg. But this Kurt's little sister was named Oleggia, which of course her brother and probably everyone else shortened to 'Leggi.'
They walked to the road to check on the adults but there were even less of them than ever. Only Vir and the mayor stood together in a clearing. Everyone else had been given work.
Denario's experience as a slave and an apprentice told him that if he didn't want to get assigned a job he didn't like, he needed to get busy with something else.
“Where do you want to build?” he asked the boy. The children led him to a spot by the corner of their house, which was the largest structure in the village.
Young Kurt had gathered sticks for the dog house. Denario promptly threw half of them away. They were too small, dead, or rotted. Kurt accepted the implied criticism with a hung head and no protests. In fact, Denario seemed to have the children's respect up until he pulled out his axe. He tried to use it to notch a piece of wood. That made Leggi laugh.
“Like I told you,” he explained as he set the ruined piece down. “It's the math that's important.”
Her brother ran to get his axe and join in. Denario sat crossed-legged in the dirt. He practiced notching as he waited. He got better fast, at least to the point of no longer splintering sticks.
He'd done this kind of crude work on surveying trips before. He just needed to get used to his new, stolen tool. While he learned, he employed Leggi to dig a rough trench for rain run-off so that he wouldn't get into trouble for letting her use a blade. In about half an hour, the three of them had made enough progress for Denario to begin his lesson.
“I hope you were listening when I explained what a right angle is,” he started. He laid down two beams inside the area that Leggi had cleared. “Because that's the key. The triangles we'll make have right angles inside them. And rectangles have only right angles.”
As he expected, he had to re-explain. This time, young Kurt and Oleggia seemed to understand, although it had never occurred to them that they could make the angle perfect by measuring the logs.
“Have you got our measuring stick, Leggi?” He reached out for the straight piece in her hand. He had cut it for her. And she had seemed proud to hold it.
“I'll make this easy enough to memorize,” he told them. The boy nodded. “But it's up to you to remember, okay?”
“Is this a guild secret, Master Denario?” The boy, for no good reason, had started referring to him as a master.
“Yes.” The idea made Denario a little uncomfortable. He had sworn not to reveal this method except when unavoidable in the course of his professional duties. “I suppose you should have to pay to learn it but I don't think you can meet the price. Let's worry about that part later, okay?”
If anything, the boy seemed more interested than ever.
“I'll pay,” he swore. He drew a symbol on his chest to show he was in earnest.
“Fine. Let's make this spot a corner of the room.” Denario pointed to where the children needed to lay the first piece. “This strength building method will work on any room you make, okay? So from the corner, measure three units in one direction. That's where the first wall will go.”
“It's important to measure?” Young Kurt had taken over. His sister stood an inch away from him as she watched him use the stick.
“Yes. The numbers three, four, five are important. If we're going to make this the best it can be, you need to mark three on one wall and four on the other wall.”
“Where does the number five come in?”
“It's the special measurement that makes the corners perfect. I'll have to show you. Come on, let's measure four units on the other wall.”
Together with the two children, Denario measured out to four units on the other wall and made a mark. Then he checked the work at three units on the first wall. Then he checked the other wall. Finally, he was satisfied.
“Now comes the trick,” Denario announced. He measured between the marks. The distance came to less than five units. So he knew that the walls were angling too close together. “See? We need to move the base of the walls. Now you try.”
He guided both Leggi and Karl through the measuring and adjusting process. The boy understood. He hopped up and down through his sister's turn. He clearly thought it was one of the neatest things ever.
“It works on walls and roofs?” he asked. “Just the magic numbers three, four, and five?”
“It works on anything.”
“Doors?”
“Yep. You can make a doorframe that's a perfect rectangle. You can use the same technique to cut a wooden door to go into it, too.”
The boy looked over at the door to his home, which was a rough shape just tall enough for his father and wide enough for his mother. It was nothing like a rectangle and the door was fox hide. Getting in and out in the winter must have entailed tying and untying knots in the cords that held the skin taut.
“Ahem.” A deep voice rumbled behind them. It was one that Denario recognized. He spun around.
While he'd focused intently on the ground, Vir had approached with the mayor, the mayor's wife, Yannick, and a rail-thin village girl. Behind them, Denario could see other adults approaching. The scouts, Piotr and Klaus, had returned with short, recurved bows that they hadn't been carrying before.
A few feet from Denario, the mayor knelt to the rough beams laid out for the doghouse. He ran his fingers over the marks on the wood. He took the measuring stick from the unresisting hands of Leggi who, Denario now recognized, must be his daughter. Young Karl visibly held his breath while his father measured the south wall, three units to the mark. Then the mayor measured the west wall, four units to the mark. He measured the hypotenuse of the triangle, the imaginary line that showed the distance between the marks.
“Three, four, five?” He looked up to Denario. “This smells like a guild secret.”
“Um.” Denario hesitated so that he answered with the children when he finally admitted, “Yes, it is.”
“Are you going to get in trouble with your guild? This looks useful. It's how the houses in town are made isn't it?”
“Definitely. The carpenters and masons know the secret, too.”
“They charge money. Money that we don't have.”
The mayor stood. It reminded Denario of how very tall the man was.
“I know!” shouted Leggi. She ran off before anyone could stop her. Really, no one cared or paid her much attention.
“Can we barter for it?” the mayor asked. “Your secret, I mean. You've already given it away but ...”
“No, sir. I offered to pay him.” The ten year old boy stepped forward.
His father scowled.
“With what?” he finally demanded. His son seemed unprepared for the obvious question. Denario tried to think of something to say so that Karl could save face. After all, they hadn't really negotiated a bargain.
The boy shrugged. He moved his mouth for a while without making a sound. His father remained admirably patient.
“Here!” shouted Leggi. She came running from her house towards Denario. “I've got it. Here!”
Out of breath, she slammed into Denario's leg. That slapped a new layer of mud and dirt onto his pants, not that it mattered. She pressed a small figure into his hand. Denario turned it over. The statuette was a pretty little thing, a carving of Melcurio or The Winged Messenger or whatever he was called around here. The material looked like deer bone. It was worth practically nothing. Besides, the Oggli and Angrili Guild of Accountants didn't accept barter. The very idea was odious to the members.
“It's wonderful,” he said.
“It's not legal, though, is it?” Vir stepped forward. Again, he seemed too shrewd a judge of Denario's face and posture.
“Not exactly.”
“Hey, now,” said the mayor. He folded his arms, much like his wife behind him. “That's an important job, carrying idols to the temple. Folks pay us in copper, sometimes. There have been a occasions when the gods granted favors for it.”
“Really?” Denario smiled as an idea occurred to him. But he wiped that from his face. The other adults were taking the situation seriously. He knew he'd better not mess around. “I think ... I really think we can solve the guild problem, then. Have you got any birch paper?”
“Well, somewhere.” The mayor eyed the trees. He strode over to a young birch. “It's all in use or gone to rot, though. I'd better just make you a scrap.”
“Right.” The accountant found a sharp rock.
When the bark was ready, Denario wrote a promissory note. It took him a few minutes. One or two of the Mundredi behind him grunted with impatience while they waited. Denario had to push hard with his make-shift stylus to gouge out the marks. But when he was done, his words on the birch bark were visible in good light. That would be enough.
“Maybe you don't know what this is ...” he began.
“It's an I.O.U. isn't it?” The mayor cut him off. “I can't read it, though. It's that waldi writing. I know some of the old letters but that's all.”
“Oh, well, you're right or close enough. This is a legal promissory note. I've written here that you promise to pay me forty silvers for the secret of making right angles in walls, doors, and ceilings. That's the guild rate.”
The tall man made a rude noise. “I haven't got it.”
“You won't need to. Do you trust me?”
“Should I?” The adults behind him had started whispering. If Denario let himself listen, he knew he'd start to panic. He was already close. He talked over his own sense of doubt.
“If you sign with an X and Vir signs as a witness, it's legal. You'll really owe the money. You'll buy the secret for the town of Haph Bad.”
“What are you up to, accountant?” Vir growled. But he grabbed the rock and signed against the side of the tree.
The mayor shrugged and signed, too. He handed the piece of birch paper to Denario.
“Am I foresworn?” he asked. “I told you, we don't have the money. We just don't use much. For sure we never see silver around here.”
“How much is a gift from the gods worth?”
The mayor shook his head. “Who knows? A lot? A little? Sometimes the gifts can be burdens.”
“Right. I'll take a gamble then. Everyone here is a witness. I want to pay 40 silvers for the right to take all of your carved idols to the temple.” He handed the birch paper back to the mayor. “I'll say whatever prayers you want for the village or whatever else you usually do.”
There was a long, drawn out moment of silence.
“Hah!” Vir laughed. He clapped down on Denario's shoulder so hard that he spun Denario around. “I like it. Good trick.”
The other adults began to laugh.
“But are we fooling the gods in some way?” worried the mayor. “Or are we cheating your guild?”
“My guild is a bit tricky anyway,” answered Denario. “Some of the men in it are overly sly. My old master wouldn't trust them. I'm not worried about their opinions. It was legal and I can swear to it. That's what matters. As far as the gods, well, that's a bit tougher, maybe, but it's on me.”
“You said you're an accountant?”
“Yes.”
The mayor rubbed his chin. “Do you have enough apprentices?”
“Five.” Denario shrunk back a bit. He knew where this was leading. He couldn't afford to take on more. Just supporting this many boys had driven him into the wilderness after Ziegeburg's crazy offer. “I barely support them.”
The mayor grinned rather sheepishly. He didn't seem offended.
“Go get the other idols, then,” he told his children. “Magda, will you get the one of Glaistig? That one came from the river temple. I picked it up from the Hogsburg priest, remember, and I've got a feeling that it's special.”
She snorted. But with an oddly triumphant smile, she flounced off, her children in tow.
“Are you always going to be like this, accountant?” Vir said. Suddenly, he was leaning over Denario's right shoulder.
“I didn't mean to cause trouble.”
“Five apprentices?” he hissed.
“They're great boys.”
“And your master died. So now you provide for them.”
Denario nodded. Vir had a way of summing up situations a little too keenly.
“The fee that Ziegeburg paid must have been so high you couldn't refuse.”
Since Denario didn't know what to say, he held still. In fact, the whole group stood in awkward silence for a while. Another adult and two children wandered in to join the crowd but they kept quiet. Magda appeared at the door to her cottage. She held aloft a vase of some sort. People clapped.
Then Magda proceeded towards them, her children coming up behind. All of them carried an idol of some sort. Leggi held a shabby bird woman, probably a tribute to Naakia. The boy showed off a crude but heroic figure of the local lightning god, Leir, who bore the enraged expression that law givers so often have.
The sealed vase that Magda carried in front was something different entirely. It was not a totem. In fact, it looked like it must hold something. As she presented it to Denario, he felt immediately that it was too light. How could such a precious vessel be empty? It couldn't. Yet it felt even lighter than its clay. As he bowed his head and thanked her, he guessed that she and her husband were right. The vase was special.
The scene painted on the outside of the vase, even over the clay seal at the top, was full of Makari. There were swimming fish-goats everywhere. But there was more than that: a priestess, a storm, a mysterious set of horns and eyes. One of the Makari figures seemed more alive than the rest. It looked ready to jump out from between the great horns that framed everything else.
“It's beautiful,” he whispered to Magda, who curtsied as if he'd complimented her. Perhaps he had.
Vir raised one hand and announced that they were leaving. The rest of the travelers started saying their goodbyes. Denario found himself presented with the remaining two icons. Leggi gave him a hug after she gave him the Naakia doll. Young Karl bowed after his gift. Soon Denario followed the crowd to the hay cart, where he was told to stow his belongings. He put the icons into his travel bag. Then he made a nest for his two bags in the hay. It would be a relief to not be forced to carry them for a while.
The ox lurched forward. Next to Denario, Yannick turned to wave. Denario did the same. There was a tall woman in front of Denario. She was, perhaps, the mayor's sister from her height and features. She had a pretty nose and beautiful green eyes. She also had a light-colored, downy beard that ran from her chin right up into fuzzy sideburns at her ears. You wouldn't notice unless the sun caught it just right.
“Aunt Mimi!” he blurted in a moment of revelation. She put her fingers to her lips and blushed. Along with everyone else, she waved goodbye.
Chapter Seven, Scene Four
Chapter Fourth Prime
Scene Three: Lessons from the Master
The group passed through a town called Haph Bad that seemed no larger than four houses at the intersection of the road and a stream. Haph Bad had a mayor, though, and a welcoming party of more than twenty, most of them children. Denario filled his canteen and lay down on a flat, warm rock to rest while everyone else conferred with the mayor, a tall man with a short, rather severe-looking wife who followed him around everywhere, arms folded as if she disapproved of everything anyone said.
At some point, Denario must have dozed. He awoke when shadows passed across his face. He squinted at them.
“Are you sleeping?” shouted a silhouette. He guessed from the voice that it was a young girl.
“Not now he isn't, dummy,” said a boy's voice.
“Why are you sleeping?”
“Are you still a boy?” the male voice continued. “Because if you are, how come you have a bit of beard, then?”
“Are you a girl?” asked the girl. “Girls grow beards.”
“No, they don't.”
“Yes, they do!”
“No.”
“Uh huh! They do!”
The two children went at it for half a minute while Denario stretched and sat up. He got a view of the girl, who was maybe seven and wore a simple, brown dress and quite a lot of mud. Her brother, probably, looked about ten years old. He was dressed in pants and a linen shirt like a young man. They both had dark blue eyes, a pointed nose, and straight, black hair cut above their shoulders.
The girl huffed, “Aunt Mimi! So there!” and the boy was quiet for a while.
“Maybe some do,” he allowed. “But this one's a boy or a waldi. Aren't you?”
He gave Denario a respectful yet demanding look.
“I'm not a waldi,” groaned Denario. He rose to his feet. He was only a head taller than the boy.
“Then why don't you have any markings? Aren't you old enough in your clan?”
“Oh.” Suddenly Denario felt he almost understood. “Is a waldi someone without a clan?”
Both children bobbed their heads.
“That's me, sorry.” His gaze searched for their parents. The mayor and his wife were still conferring with the Mundredi. However, the other town adults had gone off somewhere. The kids were on their own. Vir's scouts, Klaus and Piotr, had re-packed their equipment. They looked ready to march away.
“How do you live without a clan? How do you know which gods are watching you?”
“I know,” answered Denario with a certainty that surprised him. He hadn't thought of himself as particularly religious. When the wizards claimed that gods were nothing special, just bits of magic with a personality, Denario believed them. But he also believed that those bits of magic cared in their own way.
“But how?”
Denario couldn't think of a rational answer. Gods were like the numbers pi and the square root of two. They seemed unsettling at first blush. Ultimately, though, they proved satisfying in the spirits. A full explanation as to how they came to occupy their place in the world would have to wait for a wiser age.
He glanced right and left to make sure none of the remaining adults were watching. The children noticed. They craned their heads around to help him check. There were smiles on their faces. They knew they were about to be let in on a secret.
“I do have a tattoo,” he whispered. “But just one.”
He wasn't sure why he wasn't comfortable telling most people. He'd shown it to Pecunia. And he hadn't been able to hide it from the other apprentices in Winkel's office. Plus Winkel had known, of course. But he had never shown the accountants outside his home. They had learned about his former slavery but he didn't think they were entitled to the details. He'd never let anyone in Ziegeburg besides Pecunia see the symbol either.
He crouched. The children knelt at his feet. Slowly, because his legs were stiff and swollen, he pulled up his left trouser to the shin. At the same time, he pulled down the left front of his shoe.
“It looks like a bee, almost. They marked you on the foot?” The lad whispered. His eyes were wide with amazement. The Mundredi apparently didn't consider the tops of feet as appropriate places for tribal marks.
“The original sign looked like this.” Denario let go of his pants and shoes. He grabbed a stick. After a moment to pick the softest ground, he drew a rectangle and a semi-circle in the dirt. “See? A helm over a block. It showed that I was the property of Baron Blockhelm.”
“Who's that?”
“He lives a long way off. That's why you haven't heard of him. Anyway, after I was free, my teacher had a man tattoo this number eight through it. Watch.” He drew the number eight sideways through the helmet figure.
“Oh! You made an angel,” said the girl.
“The number eight is sacred to our guild,” Denario explained. “It was a funny accident. The man doing the job turned me around and wrote sideways. No one asked him to do that. He was supposed to cover the old mark. But instead he made my slave tattoo look like a winged messenger. When my master saw that the mark hadn't been turned into an eight, he was upset at first. Then he got worried. He said we mustn't change the tattoo any more or we might offend the god.”
“I know that one!” shouted the boy. “Is he watching you?"
“He's the most important one to me.” Denario smiled. He'd been pretty sure that the children would understand. “You see how I know? It came from an accident but it's the symbol for the god of accountants. He's known as the winged messenger in some lands. He runs around the world and measures it. That's my profession, in a way. I'm an accountant.”
“You're a kind of ant?'” muttered the girl.
“Do you just do measuring and numbers?” said the boy, disappointed. He ignored his sister. “I already knows my pluses and minuses. What I need is to learn is how to make a house for our dog.”
“Ol' Enri has fleas again," the girl explained. “So me mam kicks him out.”
Denario scanned the village dwellings. He could see three structures from where he was standing. All three were made of logs laid on their sides with mud between. They weren't quite square and that was a problem for the roofs. The A-frame beams didn't quite meet the corners of the walls. Also, the bales of thatch on the beams were forced to rest at odd angles. They probably leaked pretty often. On one of the houses, a wall looked about to fall over.
“Would it help if I taught you how to make the strongest kind of house? I don't know the wood work. But I do I know the math for that.”
“There's math to make a strongest house?” the boy seemed leery.
“Absolutely,” Denario asserted, confident about this point of geometry. “The strongest houses use right triangles and rectangles. I can draw those. And I can teach you how to measure for them as you lay the wood. That's the real trick that folks are missing around here. You'll have the best dog house ever.”
“Wow! Yeah, I want to learn that.”
“Can I build the dog house, too?” asked his sister.
The three of them walked around by the stream for a moment as Denario stretched his legs. He learned that the boy's name was Kurt, which was a funny coincidence. It reminded Denario of the young man who had helped him get to Hogsburg. But this Kurt's little sister was named Oleggia, which of course her brother and probably everyone else shortened to 'Leggi.'
They walked to the road to check on the adults but there were even less of them than ever. Only Vir and the mayor stood together in a clearing. Everyone else had been given work.
Denario's experience as a slave and an apprentice told him that if he didn't want to get assigned a job he didn't like, he needed to get busy with something else.
“Where do you want to build?” he asked the boy. The children led him to a spot by the corner of their house, which was the largest structure in the village.
Young Kurt had gathered sticks for the dog house. Denario promptly threw half of them away. They were too small, dead, or rotted. Kurt accepted the implied criticism with a hung head and no protests. In fact, Denario seemed to have the children's respect up until he pulled out his axe. He tried to use it to notch a piece of wood. That made Leggi laugh.
“Like I told you,” he explained as he set the ruined piece down. “It's the math that's important.”
Her brother ran to get his axe and join in. Denario sat crossed-legged in the dirt. He practiced notching as he waited. He got better fast, at least to the point of no longer splintering sticks.
He'd done this kind of crude work on surveying trips before. He just needed to get used to his new, stolen tool. While he learned, he employed Leggi to dig a rough trench for rain run-off so that he wouldn't get into trouble for letting her use a blade. In about half an hour, the three of them had made enough progress for Denario to begin his lesson.
“I hope you were listening when I explained what a right angle is,” he started. He laid down two beams inside the area that Leggi had cleared. “Because that's the key. The triangles we'll make have right angles inside them. And rectangles have only right angles.”
As he expected, he had to re-explain. This time, young Kurt and Oleggia seemed to understand, although it had never occurred to them that they could make the angle perfect by measuring the logs.
“Have you got our measuring stick, Leggi?” He reached out for the straight piece in her hand. He had cut it for her. And she had seemed proud to hold it.
“I'll make this easy enough to memorize,” he told them. The boy nodded. “But it's up to you to remember, okay?”
“Is this a guild secret, Master Denario?” The boy, for no good reason, had started referring to him as a master.
“Yes.” The idea made Denario a little uncomfortable. He had sworn not to reveal this method except when unavoidable in the course of his professional duties. “I suppose you should have to pay to learn it but I don't think you can meet the price. Let's worry about that part later, okay?”
If anything, the boy seemed more interested than ever.
“I'll pay,” he swore. He drew a symbol on his chest to show he was in earnest.
“Fine. Let's make this spot a corner of the room.” Denario pointed to where the children needed to lay the first piece. “This strength building method will work on any room you make, okay? So from the corner, measure three units in one direction. That's where the first wall will go.”
“It's important to measure?” Young Kurt had taken over. His sister stood an inch away from him as she watched him use the stick.
“Yes. The numbers three, four, five are important. If we're going to make this the best it can be, you need to mark three on one wall and four on the other wall.”
“Where does the number five come in?”
“It's the special measurement that makes the corners perfect. I'll have to show you. Come on, let's measure four units on the other wall.”
Together with the two children, Denario measured out to four units on the other wall and made a mark. Then he checked the work at three units on the first wall. Then he checked the other wall. Finally, he was satisfied.
“Now comes the trick,” Denario announced. He measured between the marks. The distance came to less than five units. So he knew that the walls were angling too close together. “See? We need to move the base of the walls. Now you try.”
He guided both Leggi and Karl through the measuring and adjusting process. The boy understood. He hopped up and down through his sister's turn. He clearly thought it was one of the neatest things ever.
“It works on walls and roofs?” he asked. “Just the magic numbers three, four, and five?”
“It works on anything.”
“Doors?”
“Yep. You can make a doorframe that's a perfect rectangle. You can use the same technique to cut a wooden door to go into it, too.”
The boy looked over at the door to his home, which was a rough shape just tall enough for his father and wide enough for his mother. It was nothing like a rectangle and the door was fox hide. Getting in and out in the winter must have entailed tying and untying knots in the cords that held the skin taut.
“Ahem.” A deep voice rumbled behind them. It was one that Denario recognized. He spun around.
While he'd focused intently on the ground, Vir had approached with the mayor, the mayor's wife, Yannick, and a rail-thin village girl. Behind them, Denario could see other adults approaching. The scouts, Piotr and Klaus, had returned with short, recurved bows that they hadn't been carrying before.
A few feet from Denario, the mayor knelt to the rough beams laid out for the doghouse. He ran his fingers over the marks on the wood. He took the measuring stick from the unresisting hands of Leggi who, Denario now recognized, must be his daughter. Young Karl visibly held his breath while his father measured the south wall, three units to the mark. Then the mayor measured the west wall, four units to the mark. He measured the hypotenuse of the triangle, the imaginary line that showed the distance between the marks.
“Three, four, five?” He looked up to Denario. “This smells like a guild secret.”
“Um.” Denario hesitated so that he answered with the children when he finally admitted, “Yes, it is.”
“Are you going to get in trouble with your guild? This looks useful. It's how the houses in town are made isn't it?”
“Definitely. The carpenters and masons know the secret, too.”
“They charge money. Money that we don't have.”
The mayor stood. It reminded Denario of how very tall the man was.
“I know!” shouted Leggi. She ran off before anyone could stop her. Really, no one cared or paid her much attention.
“Can we barter for it?” the mayor asked. “Your secret, I mean. You've already given it away but ...”
“No, sir. I offered to pay him.” The ten year old boy stepped forward.
His father scowled.
“With what?” he finally demanded. His son seemed unprepared for the obvious question. Denario tried to think of something to say so that Karl could save face. After all, they hadn't really negotiated a bargain.
The boy shrugged. He moved his mouth for a while without making a sound. His father remained admirably patient.
“Here!” shouted Leggi. She came running from her house towards Denario. “I've got it. Here!”
Out of breath, she slammed into Denario's leg. That slapped a new layer of mud and dirt onto his pants, not that it mattered. She pressed a small figure into his hand. Denario turned it over. The statuette was a pretty little thing, a carving of Melcurio or The Winged Messenger or whatever he was called around here. The material looked like deer bone. It was worth practically nothing. Besides, the Oggli and Angrili Guild of Accountants didn't accept barter. The very idea was odious to the members.
“It's wonderful,” he said.
“It's not legal, though, is it?” Vir stepped forward. Again, he seemed too shrewd a judge of Denario's face and posture.
“Not exactly.”
“Hey, now,” said the mayor. He folded his arms, much like his wife behind him. “That's an important job, carrying idols to the temple. Folks pay us in copper, sometimes. There have been a occasions when the gods granted favors for it.”
“Really?” Denario smiled as an idea occurred to him. But he wiped that from his face. The other adults were taking the situation seriously. He knew he'd better not mess around. “I think ... I really think we can solve the guild problem, then. Have you got any birch paper?”
“Well, somewhere.” The mayor eyed the trees. He strode over to a young birch. “It's all in use or gone to rot, though. I'd better just make you a scrap.”
“Right.” The accountant found a sharp rock.
When the bark was ready, Denario wrote a promissory note. It took him a few minutes. One or two of the Mundredi behind him grunted with impatience while they waited. Denario had to push hard with his make-shift stylus to gouge out the marks. But when he was done, his words on the birch bark were visible in good light. That would be enough.
“Maybe you don't know what this is ...” he began.
“It's an I.O.U. isn't it?” The mayor cut him off. “I can't read it, though. It's that waldi writing. I know some of the old letters but that's all.”
“Oh, well, you're right or close enough. This is a legal promissory note. I've written here that you promise to pay me forty silvers for the secret of making right angles in walls, doors, and ceilings. That's the guild rate.”
The tall man made a rude noise. “I haven't got it.”
“You won't need to. Do you trust me?”
“Should I?” The adults behind him had started whispering. If Denario let himself listen, he knew he'd start to panic. He was already close. He talked over his own sense of doubt.
“If you sign with an X and Vir signs as a witness, it's legal. You'll really owe the money. You'll buy the secret for the town of Haph Bad.”
“What are you up to, accountant?” Vir growled. But he grabbed the rock and signed against the side of the tree.
The mayor shrugged and signed, too. He handed the piece of birch paper to Denario.
“Am I foresworn?” he asked. “I told you, we don't have the money. We just don't use much. For sure we never see silver around here.”
“How much is a gift from the gods worth?”
The mayor shook his head. “Who knows? A lot? A little? Sometimes the gifts can be burdens.”
“Right. I'll take a gamble then. Everyone here is a witness. I want to pay 40 silvers for the right to take all of your carved idols to the temple.” He handed the birch paper back to the mayor. “I'll say whatever prayers you want for the village or whatever else you usually do.”
There was a long, drawn out moment of silence.
“Hah!” Vir laughed. He clapped down on Denario's shoulder so hard that he spun Denario around. “I like it. Good trick.”
The other adults began to laugh.
“But are we fooling the gods in some way?” worried the mayor. “Or are we cheating your guild?”
“My guild is a bit tricky anyway,” answered Denario. “Some of the men in it are overly sly. My old master wouldn't trust them. I'm not worried about their opinions. It was legal and I can swear to it. That's what matters. As far as the gods, well, that's a bit tougher, maybe, but it's on me.”
“You said you're an accountant?”
“Yes.”
The mayor rubbed his chin. “Do you have enough apprentices?”
“Five.” Denario shrunk back a bit. He knew where this was leading. He couldn't afford to take on more. Just supporting this many boys had driven him into the wilderness after Ziegeburg's crazy offer. “I barely support them.”
The mayor grinned rather sheepishly. He didn't seem offended.
“Go get the other idols, then,” he told his children. “Magda, will you get the one of Glaistig? That one came from the river temple. I picked it up from the Hogsburg priest, remember, and I've got a feeling that it's special.”
She snorted. But with an oddly triumphant smile, she flounced off, her children in tow.
“Are you always going to be like this, accountant?” Vir said. Suddenly, he was leaning over Denario's right shoulder.
“I didn't mean to cause trouble.”
“Five apprentices?” he hissed.
“They're great boys.”
“And your master died. So now you provide for them.”
Denario nodded. Vir had a way of summing up situations a little too keenly.
“The fee that Ziegeburg paid must have been so high you couldn't refuse.”
Since Denario didn't know what to say, he held still. In fact, the whole group stood in awkward silence for a while. Another adult and two children wandered in to join the crowd but they kept quiet. Magda appeared at the door to her cottage. She held aloft a vase of some sort. People clapped.
Then Magda proceeded towards them, her children coming up behind. All of them carried an idol of some sort. Leggi held a shabby bird woman, probably a tribute to Naakia. The boy showed off a crude but heroic figure of the local lightning god, Leir, who bore the enraged expression that law givers so often have.
The sealed vase that Magda carried in front was something different entirely. It was not a totem. In fact, it looked like it must hold something. As she presented it to Denario, he felt immediately that it was too light. How could such a precious vessel be empty? It couldn't. Yet it felt even lighter than its clay. As he bowed his head and thanked her, he guessed that she and her husband were right. The vase was special.
The scene painted on the outside of the vase, even over the clay seal at the top, was full of Makari. There were swimming fish-goats everywhere. But there was more than that: a priestess, a storm, a mysterious set of horns and eyes. One of the Makari figures seemed more alive than the rest. It looked ready to jump out from between the great horns that framed everything else.
“It's beautiful,” he whispered to Magda, who curtsied as if he'd complimented her. Perhaps he had.
Vir raised one hand and announced that they were leaving. The rest of the travelers started saying their goodbyes. Denario found himself presented with the remaining two icons. Leggi gave him a hug after she gave him the Naakia doll. Young Karl bowed after his gift. Soon Denario followed the crowd to the hay cart, where he was told to stow his belongings. He put the icons into his travel bag. Then he made a nest for his two bags in the hay. It would be a relief to not be forced to carry them for a while.
The ox lurched forward. Next to Denario, Yannick turned to wave. Denario did the same. There was a tall woman in front of Denario. She was, perhaps, the mayor's sister from her height and features. She had a pretty nose and beautiful green eyes. She also had a light-colored, downy beard that ran from her chin right up into fuzzy sideburns at her ears. You wouldn't notice unless the sun caught it just right.
“Aunt Mimi!” he blurted in a moment of revelation. She put her fingers to her lips and blushed. Along with everyone else, she waved goodbye.
Chapter Seven, Scene Four
Sunday, June 19, 2016
Not Even Not Zen 41: Sonnet Umpteen (for Father's Day)
Sonnet Umpteen
Shall I compare this to a Mother's Day?
I am more more grumpy and intemperate.
Rough farts do shake the aging wife today
And the car lease hath all too soon a date.
Sometimes too loud the debt collector rings
And often is the call collect from thrift
And half the time it's you, you momma's thing.
By chance, no fucking chance, again no gift!
As bitterness gives way to bizarre glee
I vow to not let Death call me collect.
Nor will I lose hold on my damn car key.
You're calling for favors! Show some respect.
So long as men can curse we're not quite dead.
So give me a hug, brother knucklehead.
- Secret Hippie
-----[ the actual Shakespeare ]-----
SONNET 18
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Sunday, June 12, 2016
Not Even Not Zen 40: A Bandit Accountant, 7.2
A Bandit Accountant
Chapter Fourth Prime
Scene Two: Lessons from the Butcher
“It was the damn Raduar who started it,” drawled Yannick. He strolled behind the cart instead of riding in it.
Volfie's bride to be had insisted that Yannick clean his face before they started out. Vir had been off conferencing with the scouts and there was no way to appeal Elsa's demands. Yannick had wasted a handful of precious water in cleaning up. Despite the effort, he'd missed spots, including a large fleck of crusty, brown-red gunk on his left ear.
Denario had been out of Oggli for so long that talking to a man with a bloody ear seemed normal. It seemed like ages since he'd met with the Marquis de Oggli, who insisted that all of the men who worked for him be free of visible deformity. To meet with the count, in fact, his employees and visitors alike had to bathe, comb, and dress in clean clothes. If you couldn't afford clean clothes, they said, you couldn't step foot in his court. By that standard, none of these bandits could enter the marquis' castle in Oggli except as prisoners to be executed.
The day had turned windy but it wasn't cold. The trail had leveled off and widened. The ox seemed to know where it was going. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood except for Vir, who lagged behind Yannick to glance at the road behind them now and then.
“Why did they attack?” asked Denario, mostly to keep the conversation going. He guessed that there must have been a first bandit attack on other bandits at some point.
“Who knows?” Yannick rolled his shoulders. “They just started driving out the Mundredi men, farmers and craftsmen, from all of the hill villages.”
“Raduar and Mundredi lived together in those villages?”
“A lot of places had been like that for more than a hundred years.”
“Until now.”
“They got the idea from Ankster,” growled Vir. He was close enough to overhear. “The baron and his knights decided they could kill us or drive us out when it suited their purposes. The Raduar don't have any towns bordering on West Ogglia but somehow they heard about what was happening. It gave them the idea that they could do the same thing.”
“There are a lot of Raduar living in our lands but we haven't driven them out,” Yannick spat. He seemed bitter about it. “Of course, some say that would be murder. But I say that some of the Raduar are spies.”
Behind them, Vir grunted.
“Anyway, up in the ridges, the Raduar bands kill the men,” Yannick continued in a more muted tone. “Then they tattoo the children and women as slaves.”
“Can they do that?” Denario felt a hitch in his step. Up until now, he'd never considered the possibility of becoming a slave again. He'd been born to it and he thought that was how it always happened.
“Vir says it's always been like that when the clans fight. War parties from one side raid a hill town, kill a few men, take their women, and rip down the tribe totems. The next year, the gods get worked up. The survivors take revenge. Then everyone in all of the nearby tribes is angry but folks generally spend a few years praying to the gods and putting up new totem poles before the next bunch of young fellers goes out to murder again.”
“So there's peace in between? No killing the tradesmen or traveling merchants from the wrong tribe?”
“Oh, that stuff don't count.”
Wonderful, Denario thought. I'm heading to a land where killing travelers doesn't count as murder. Of course, behind me is a land where I'm wanted for murder and it does count there. There's no turning back.
“What about Easy Valley?” he asked. “If I were traveling alone, would I be safe there?”
“Well, that's a funny question.” Yannick looked at him with a sideways smile. He glanced back to his boss before he answered. “I reckon you'd be safe enough in the middle of the valleys. But in the border hills between the valleys, well, I don't know. People get suspicious of strangers there.”
“Aren't we going to a village between the valleys? What makes you think it's safe?”
“I don't. But that's the closest fort.”
“Do you have a lot of forts? From what Vir said, it sounds like you've got about a hundred men in your army. How can you have more than one fort?”
“It's not what you think. Vir's men are in the Army of the Mundredi. It's free to sign up. Of course only the poor and the desperate join. Even someone like me can belong. Most of the folks in the clan don't care. They only notice Vir because he's the first captain in a hundred years who's made them pay the army tax. They don't like us.”
“If they don't like you, aren't you worried they might turn against you?”
“Nah. They need us to stop the Raduar. Vir has beaten them back across four hills, you know. He's the first chief we've had who could do anything like it.”
Denario nodded to himself. The news didn't surprise him.
“Our last three chiefs have ended up dead,” Yannick whispered. He carefully did not look behind him. “So no one but Vir wanted the job. It was a spy who did in the last one, Captain Daric. Some traitor soldier put a spear through his back. Got clean away, too.”
“No wonder Vir worries about spies.”
It was the taller man's turn to nod.
“None of this explains the numbers,” Denario observed. “How can you have a bunch of forts with only a hundred men?”
“It's less than that, really. Vir can probably get a hundred together just because of who he is. But if you mean the men who are fighting for us full time, we've got about thirty-five.”
“And how many forts?”
Yannick counted on his fingers for a while. “About eighty?”
“What? Less than half a man per fort?”
“Well, we've only got one big fort, you know, and that's ol' Forte Dred. There's over a hundred women and children in that town. There's always a dozen soldiers on the walls, too. But the smaller forts is just fighting men. And the really small ones go unmanned most of the time.”
“They're abandoned?”
“Not exactly. Shared, more like. In fact, most of those places get used by the Tortuar and Raduar, too, if we Mundredi ain't in them. That's why Vir makes us patrol so much nowadays. He's caught the other clans there in twos and threes. We've been able to handle them easy.”
“Wait, wait ... your clans share the mountain forts? That you use to stage raids on one another?”
Yannick grinned. “Yep, I suppose that about says it.”
In Ziegeburg, everything Denario had heard about the bandit chiefdoms seemed insane. And it was all true. He shook his head for about a minute as he walked next to his gangly companion. Then he caught Yannick grinning at him like he knew how crazy it all seemed.
“Don't worry,” Yannick reassured him. “You're with us.”
That's exactly what I'm worried about, Denario refrained from saying. The thoughts in his head must have been pretty loud, though, because behind them the bandit chief chuckled.
Chapter Seven, Scene Three
Chapter Fourth Prime
Scene Two: Lessons from the Butcher
“It was the damn Raduar who started it,” drawled Yannick. He strolled behind the cart instead of riding in it.
Volfie's bride to be had insisted that Yannick clean his face before they started out. Vir had been off conferencing with the scouts and there was no way to appeal Elsa's demands. Yannick had wasted a handful of precious water in cleaning up. Despite the effort, he'd missed spots, including a large fleck of crusty, brown-red gunk on his left ear.
Denario had been out of Oggli for so long that talking to a man with a bloody ear seemed normal. It seemed like ages since he'd met with the Marquis de Oggli, who insisted that all of the men who worked for him be free of visible deformity. To meet with the count, in fact, his employees and visitors alike had to bathe, comb, and dress in clean clothes. If you couldn't afford clean clothes, they said, you couldn't step foot in his court. By that standard, none of these bandits could enter the marquis' castle in Oggli except as prisoners to be executed.
The day had turned windy but it wasn't cold. The trail had leveled off and widened. The ox seemed to know where it was going. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood except for Vir, who lagged behind Yannick to glance at the road behind them now and then.
“Why did they attack?” asked Denario, mostly to keep the conversation going. He guessed that there must have been a first bandit attack on other bandits at some point.
“Who knows?” Yannick rolled his shoulders. “They just started driving out the Mundredi men, farmers and craftsmen, from all of the hill villages.”
“Raduar and Mundredi lived together in those villages?”
“A lot of places had been like that for more than a hundred years.”
“Until now.”
“They got the idea from Ankster,” growled Vir. He was close enough to overhear. “The baron and his knights decided they could kill us or drive us out when it suited their purposes. The Raduar don't have any towns bordering on West Ogglia but somehow they heard about what was happening. It gave them the idea that they could do the same thing.”
“There are a lot of Raduar living in our lands but we haven't driven them out,” Yannick spat. He seemed bitter about it. “Of course, some say that would be murder. But I say that some of the Raduar are spies.”
Behind them, Vir grunted.
“Anyway, up in the ridges, the Raduar bands kill the men,” Yannick continued in a more muted tone. “Then they tattoo the children and women as slaves.”
“Can they do that?” Denario felt a hitch in his step. Up until now, he'd never considered the possibility of becoming a slave again. He'd been born to it and he thought that was how it always happened.
“Vir says it's always been like that when the clans fight. War parties from one side raid a hill town, kill a few men, take their women, and rip down the tribe totems. The next year, the gods get worked up. The survivors take revenge. Then everyone in all of the nearby tribes is angry but folks generally spend a few years praying to the gods and putting up new totem poles before the next bunch of young fellers goes out to murder again.”
“So there's peace in between? No killing the tradesmen or traveling merchants from the wrong tribe?”
“Oh, that stuff don't count.”
Wonderful, Denario thought. I'm heading to a land where killing travelers doesn't count as murder. Of course, behind me is a land where I'm wanted for murder and it does count there. There's no turning back.
“What about Easy Valley?” he asked. “If I were traveling alone, would I be safe there?”
“Well, that's a funny question.” Yannick looked at him with a sideways smile. He glanced back to his boss before he answered. “I reckon you'd be safe enough in the middle of the valleys. But in the border hills between the valleys, well, I don't know. People get suspicious of strangers there.”
“Aren't we going to a village between the valleys? What makes you think it's safe?”
“I don't. But that's the closest fort.”
“Do you have a lot of forts? From what Vir said, it sounds like you've got about a hundred men in your army. How can you have more than one fort?”
“It's not what you think. Vir's men are in the Army of the Mundredi. It's free to sign up. Of course only the poor and the desperate join. Even someone like me can belong. Most of the folks in the clan don't care. They only notice Vir because he's the first captain in a hundred years who's made them pay the army tax. They don't like us.”
“If they don't like you, aren't you worried they might turn against you?”
“Nah. They need us to stop the Raduar. Vir has beaten them back across four hills, you know. He's the first chief we've had who could do anything like it.”
Denario nodded to himself. The news didn't surprise him.
“Our last three chiefs have ended up dead,” Yannick whispered. He carefully did not look behind him. “So no one but Vir wanted the job. It was a spy who did in the last one, Captain Daric. Some traitor soldier put a spear through his back. Got clean away, too.”
“No wonder Vir worries about spies.”
It was the taller man's turn to nod.
“None of this explains the numbers,” Denario observed. “How can you have a bunch of forts with only a hundred men?”
“It's less than that, really. Vir can probably get a hundred together just because of who he is. But if you mean the men who are fighting for us full time, we've got about thirty-five.”
“And how many forts?”
Yannick counted on his fingers for a while. “About eighty?”
“What? Less than half a man per fort?”
“Well, we've only got one big fort, you know, and that's ol' Forte Dred. There's over a hundred women and children in that town. There's always a dozen soldiers on the walls, too. But the smaller forts is just fighting men. And the really small ones go unmanned most of the time.”
“They're abandoned?”
“Not exactly. Shared, more like. In fact, most of those places get used by the Tortuar and Raduar, too, if we Mundredi ain't in them. That's why Vir makes us patrol so much nowadays. He's caught the other clans there in twos and threes. We've been able to handle them easy.”
“Wait, wait ... your clans share the mountain forts? That you use to stage raids on one another?”
Yannick grinned. “Yep, I suppose that about says it.”
In Ziegeburg, everything Denario had heard about the bandit chiefdoms seemed insane. And it was all true. He shook his head for about a minute as he walked next to his gangly companion. Then he caught Yannick grinning at him like he knew how crazy it all seemed.
“Don't worry,” Yannick reassured him. “You're with us.”
That's exactly what I'm worried about, Denario refrained from saying. The thoughts in his head must have been pretty loud, though, because behind them the bandit chief chuckled.
Chapter Seven, Scene Three
Sunday, June 5, 2016
Not Even Not Zen 39: A Bandit Accountant, 7.1
A Bandit Accountant
Chapter Fourth Prime
Scene One: A Pleasant Stroll
“I dunno why anyone needs an accountant, really,” said Vir around dawn. “I do plenty of dividing and I don't use any math. I takes what I wants from the booty 'cause I'm the chief. Then the rest gets picked first come, first served by my officers, then the enlisted men. Sometimes we'll award somebody more or give them less because of what they done.”
They had been marching behind the cart for miles. At the darkest hour of the night, when Denario could barely see, it had started to rain. That had made the bandits happy. It had only made Denario shiver. He started to worry that all of this cold and wet weather would kill him. He unslung his traveling pack and dug out everything he thought that would help, even a leather shirt and hat from the dead gamblers. He didn't think it mattered if these bandits recognized the clothing.
“You don't need me, then,” he replied, a trifle bitter to have been dragged along. His feet hurt like they had been cut open inside his shoes. He hitched both of his packs over his shoulders again. His back bowed under the weight. Somehow, his legs kept going.
“Nope. Got no use for nobody what can't fight.”
“How do you divide up coins, then?” Denario felt exhausted and probably doomed to die on this road. But he was curious about the bandits. “Or jewels?"
“Coins is easy. We don't get 'em and we don't use 'em.”
“Never?”
“Well, sometimes outside the valleys, yeh. But if we get a stash of brassers or coppers, we divide by weight. The men don't much want it, though. Hard to spend back home. As far as the jewelry, we've never had the pleasure. There isn't much jewelry in the Seven Valleys. Fer that matter, there isn't so much in the parts of West Ogglia we can reach.”
“I've seen bits and pieces of jewelry.” Denario felt the weight of the gold chain around his neck as he alluded to it. As a gift from his fiance, it felt precious. He would have to be careful not to show it. One of these bandits would kill him for the gold.
“Sure, there's a little bit,” Vir admitted. “But what there is stays hidden or it gets worn by powerful people we don't touch.”
“Aha! So there are people you don't bother?”
“Of course. Most of our job is to protect the Mundredi valleys. We don't touch our own folk. Except every now and then.”
“Does that mean you sometimes loot from your own?” Yes, there was plenty that Denario didn't understand about these folks. His old Master Winkel had heard they were crazy barbarians who didn't have money. That's why he'd steered clear of them.
“Got to, sometimes, so we can eat. Most of our mayors don't like to pay the army tax, see. That's a sheep per month, per town. Although some of them only pay a goat per month anyway.”
“So ... you get paid in livestock?” It was a land without money, sure enough.
“We get spear points from the smithies, although those are brass, not iron. We'll take vegetables when there's nothing else. There are two months of the year when we take in a lot of moldy potatoes and turnips. That's when our cooks become important. Fighters need to eat well. It takes talent to make soup for forty out of a dozen turnips, lamb stock, and some beans."
"The soups must all start to taste the same."
"True enough. And sometimes the lads loot a few pigs from a town that ain't paid. Or we'll grab a mayor and hold him for ransom.”
"What's a mayor worth?" Denario wondered.
"If his folks like him, usually a couple sheep. If they don't like him, well, usually he's wealthy and his family pays."
Denario took a few minutes to wonder at how much popular support the Mundredi force could have if it raided its own towns. Were they even a legitimate army?
Possibly because of his talk about food, Vir decided everyone should stop to eat breakfast while the blue glow of pre-dawn light edged over the horizon. He waited until one of the scouts checked in, as they did every now and then, and told him they would need to camp far away from the road.
“Piotr and I have been thinking about that, sir,” said Klaus. “He's marked some of the usual spots in case you want to settle in for the morning.”
“No.” Vir answered before his scout had stopped talking.
Klaus nodded. He pointed to what looked like a tree covered knoll about two hundred yards distant. It was barely visible as a silhouette through the nearest grove of oaks.
“It's hard to see in this light, sir.” His fingers traced the ridge. “But that's high ground. There's no water that we've ever discovered and I doubt we can get the cart to it along the animal trails. But that's sort of the point, isn't it?”
“Not bad.” Vir nodded.
It was, as Klaus described, hard going to the tree-covered hill. Within half an hour, they gave up and covered the hay cart with bracken to keep it hidden. The scouts woke up Yannick and dragged him out of the back. Yannick hitched up a pack and marched with the Mundredi the rest of the way to the camp. His face was covered with dried blood but he didn't grumble.
Denario got the impression that no one would complain in front of Vir. Anyone who tried it would likely be shamed by Elsa anyway. She was a sturdy girl and Denario had been right about the glint in her eye. She attacked the slope with glee and, when Vir decided where to camp, she set up the tent with a few, loving glances to her future husband. For his part, Volfie was so distracted by looking lovingly at her in return that he nearly chopped Piotr's leg off as he cleared the underbrush.
Everyone but Piotr laughed at that. The tall scout decided to clear an area a bit farther away from the husband-to-be so as to stay out of range of Volfie's backswing.
Breakfast was cold goat cheese and beer. Elsa laid out blankets under the canvas shelter. Then, almost immediately, the men lay on the ground and slept. Young Klaus started to snore in less than a minute. Denario was surprised at how all of the Mundredi huddled together to take their nap. Somehow, he got included near the middle. It was warm, too. Only Volfie and Elsa stayed off to one side and, no doubt, they would find ways to keep each other comfortable as they dozed off together.
When the sun hit mid-morning, Denario awoke. He looked around and realized that Vir was missing. Everyone else lay in their places. The tent hid most of the hillside from view, so Denario got up and went out. The morning air felt good. He wandered the site in a widening circle to locate the Mundredi captain. It wasn't an easy thing to do but it kept him from getting lost.
“Were we followed?” he asked Vir when he found him. The broad-shouldered man had found a place to peer through the trees down onto the road they had taken.
“Neh.”
They sat in silence for a long while. Vir kept watching the road. Denario's muscles ached but he'd stopped shivering and feeling as if he were about to die.
He decided to try one of the push-up things that Vir had demonstrated. He found a level spot in some rotted leaves. But his arms collapsed after just one try, which got a laugh.
“It's harder after a day's march,” he explained, partly to himself. He was surprised at the difference.
“Aye. That it is.”
“Am I allowed to know where we're going?” Denario asked after he dusted himself off.
“To the closest fort, like I said.”
“But where is that?” Denario cleared out space in the dirt and leaves as he prepared to draw a map. “For that matter, where is anything? How about the Seven Valleys you mentioned? I've never heard of those.”
“What? That's ... that's huge!” Vir seemed scandalized. “That's everything, really. How can you not hear about a whole land?”
Denario didn't know how to tell Vir that what the Mundredi considered the entire world was a tiny enclave of unfortunate geography. On the maps of the Complacent Sea and adjoining nations, this place was a bunch of mountains. It was such an uncivilized, savage area, too, that there were no scrolls or books that described it except as a place to avoid. Denario remembered that there were supposed to be magical animals, ghosts, hippogriffs, sireni, werewolves, vampires, trolls, and even worse things in the region.
The Mundredi didn't seem worried about meeting any of them, though.
“Let's see ...” Denario began with a circle surrounded by a goat's head of hills. He drew a long line to represent the Rune Kill. “Ziegeburg is here next to the river. Hogsburg is up here. We're headed this way.”
He drew another dot and some hills. Then he added Mount Ephart, which was quite close on their horizon.
“On the other side of this mountain,” he reasoned, “We must enter one of the Seven Valleys, right?”
“Easy Valley,” Vir grunted. He folded his arms across his chest and gazed down at the map with amusement.
“Does the valley go east to west?”
“Aye.” Vir appeared to lose interest. He checked the road again for signs of travelers.
It took a lot of patience. Denario had to wait through several of Vir's long, thoughtful pauses to get the man to describe the area. Over the course of half an hour, though, Denario got rough descriptions of Easy Valley and Long Valley, the two rich lands that the Mundredi tribe occupied. Vir added bits of information that Denario found reassuring, such as an observation that the beasts which used to hunt humans had been conquered. The Mundredi had driven out the hostile species except for a few trolls, vampires, and bears.
Denario had no problem believing that a warlike, well-armed people could accomplish such a feat. In a way, their success was due to the mathematics of the situation. Humans could lose many battles to the griffins, dire wolves, ogres, bears, vampires, and even dragons without it mattering much because there were so many human children coming along in the next generation and so few young monsters.
He kept drawing as Vir kept speaking.
“Over here,” he asked, “to the north is Hard Valley, the one that the Tortuar Clan occupies? While over here are the two largest valleys, Long Valley and Fat Valley, and they're mostly inhabited by Raduar?”
“I don't know.” Vir cocked his head as he studied the lines in the dirt. Then he crouched and touched the drawing without disturbing a grain of it. “I've seen something like this before. This is a map, isn't it?”
“Well, yes, of course.”
“My granddad could do this.” He ran his hand over the crude images rather lovingly.
“You can't? You protect the Mundredi valleys without using maps?”
“Yep. Probably my granddad was the last to draw these things. He was so old fashioned. No one in the Mundredi tribe makes maps anymore. What's the point? We don't make parchment. We never made paper. And we know our lands by heart, all of them that could ever be mapped. Why draw in the dirt? No one needs this. Although maps seem like an interesting way to look at the world. They're sort of like what a bird must see.”
“That's right.” Denario tried to imagine what it must be like to be ignorant of such a simple tool as an area map. “It's the view from above, in a way. But sometimes a map can show more, like what's buried in the ground. Sometimes just making one can point out a few things that everyone normally forgets.”
He kept drawing from Vir's description. He filled in the streams, hills, and clan territories that formed what outsiders called the Bandit Chiefdoms and the insiders called the Seven Valleys.
“Where's the Kilmun Clan in all of this?” he asked. “Out to the east?”
“Yes.” Vir's eyes widened a little. The power of maps had already surprised him. Denario had been able to infer the direction of one clan by the position of the other clans. “Which way is east on this?”
“To your sword-hand.” Denario used Vir's terms for a moment. The old tongue was so barbaric that the terms for 'right' and 'left' were literally translated as 'sword-hand' and 'shield-hand.'
Vir not only looked to his right but he crouched and added, with his thick index finger, more mountains to the drawing. He filled in parts of the Kilmun valleys. Then he scratched his head and turned to the west. There, he added what seemed to be more Mundredi territories. There were a lot of towns just west and south of the mountains that he knew well, so those had to be Mundredi strongholds or at least places where Vir could travel freely.
Denario began to count them. He was surprised to find that there were more Mundredi towns outside the Bandit Chiefdoms than inside. When Denario had guessed that the bandits were expanding, he was right. There seemed to be several generations of population growth and exodus involved. After Vir added forty-seven nameless dots along the slopes of the hills and banks of creeks, he hesitated.
“That's all I know.” The bald man sat back and wiped his fingers off on his knee.
“It's an awful lot.” Denario knew how the southern mountains lay. He filled those in to finish the picture of the southern-most Kilmun valley.
“Can you make this map show any place?” Vir asked as he watched.
“Any land that I know, yes.”
The big man's voice got lower. It was almost emotionless, which Denario guessed only happened when Vir was thinking hard about something.
“Show me Baron Ankster's lands,” Vir said.
“Not Baron Blockhelm?” The other baron touched upon Mundredi lands, too.
“Ankster,” Vir repeated.
Denario scooted around to Vir's side of the map to do the drawing. He picked up a thin twig to fit in more of what he knew. He added the details with care. He had the impression that it mattered.
When Denario finished, Vir stared at the lines in the dirt, just fourteen inches across, as if he were memorizing the pattern. Denario almost believed that he could. Vir put his finger down on one spot. It was a town he'd indicated between Ankster's lands and the Mundredi lands.
He sat in silence for a long time. He stared at the spot in the dirt. Denario felt afraid to speak while Vir's face looked so grim.
“How do you know all this?” Vir finally asked Denario. “This isn't numbers.”
“Geometry came before math, Vir. In a way, maps are the reason that people learned numbers at all. The term 'geometry' means 'earth measurement.' We needed numbers in order to measure our lands and the things in them, to count the apples on the tree and things like that. And from those first numbers, we learned to do other things.”
“So this is sort of math before accountants got to it.”
“Yes. But I want to point out that a fifth of the accountants in Oggli are trained geometers. My master mapped some of the lands along the river to the east. That's not very near, I admit, but it's the bottom right edge here, the borders of Blockhelm's lands.”
“Really?” Vir lightened up a little. “Who's the best in Oggli at making these maps?”
“That was my old master, Winkel. He was always the leader. But he's dead now, so I guess it's Oleg Schlimpt, who works directly for the Count.”
“Not you?” Vir sounded disappointed.
“I hadn't thought to include me. Oleg said that I was his best competition. He laughed when he said it. But he was serious. So I guess I'm number three. No, number two, now.” Denario felt a sudden wave of sadness. The black-and-grey-bearded old master would no longer laugh when Denario asked questions about the nature of numbers. There would be no more talks about the possible shapes of the world, nor long discussions about the orbits of moons and planets. There was no one to wonder at whether the stars were holes in a sphere or they were their own worlds like the wizards said, and no one to suspect that the wizards didn't really know but were just guessing.
“What makes ye think that Oleg is the best? Or that you're not?” Vir stood from his crouch.
“Math and geometry are very definite, Vir. I'm trying to think of how to explain. I mean, would you know if you were the best swordsman around? Fighting seems rather definite, too. More so than math, even.”
“Heh. Killed a man who said he was the best,” Vir grunted. “But that don't mean I'm best. Still, I reckon I see what ye mean. I can tell I'm better than most fighters in some things, especially my shield work. The ones who've fought alongside me, they know, too. We have a definite idea about who's good at what.”
“It's the same for people who work with numbers. We know who's good. We can tell by the answers, right or wrong, and how fast an accountant arrives at them.” Denario suspected it wasn't quite as definite as sword fighting but it was nice to feel they had some frame of reference in common. Otherwise, what was an accountant going to talk about with people who didn't have money?
Chapter Seven, Scene Two
Chapter Fourth Prime
Scene One: A Pleasant Stroll
“I dunno why anyone needs an accountant, really,” said Vir around dawn. “I do plenty of dividing and I don't use any math. I takes what I wants from the booty 'cause I'm the chief. Then the rest gets picked first come, first served by my officers, then the enlisted men. Sometimes we'll award somebody more or give them less because of what they done.”
They had been marching behind the cart for miles. At the darkest hour of the night, when Denario could barely see, it had started to rain. That had made the bandits happy. It had only made Denario shiver. He started to worry that all of this cold and wet weather would kill him. He unslung his traveling pack and dug out everything he thought that would help, even a leather shirt and hat from the dead gamblers. He didn't think it mattered if these bandits recognized the clothing.
“You don't need me, then,” he replied, a trifle bitter to have been dragged along. His feet hurt like they had been cut open inside his shoes. He hitched both of his packs over his shoulders again. His back bowed under the weight. Somehow, his legs kept going.
“Nope. Got no use for nobody what can't fight.”
“How do you divide up coins, then?” Denario felt exhausted and probably doomed to die on this road. But he was curious about the bandits. “Or jewels?"
“Coins is easy. We don't get 'em and we don't use 'em.”
“Never?”
“Well, sometimes outside the valleys, yeh. But if we get a stash of brassers or coppers, we divide by weight. The men don't much want it, though. Hard to spend back home. As far as the jewelry, we've never had the pleasure. There isn't much jewelry in the Seven Valleys. Fer that matter, there isn't so much in the parts of West Ogglia we can reach.”
“I've seen bits and pieces of jewelry.” Denario felt the weight of the gold chain around his neck as he alluded to it. As a gift from his fiance, it felt precious. He would have to be careful not to show it. One of these bandits would kill him for the gold.
“Sure, there's a little bit,” Vir admitted. “But what there is stays hidden or it gets worn by powerful people we don't touch.”
“Aha! So there are people you don't bother?”
“Of course. Most of our job is to protect the Mundredi valleys. We don't touch our own folk. Except every now and then.”
“Does that mean you sometimes loot from your own?” Yes, there was plenty that Denario didn't understand about these folks. His old Master Winkel had heard they were crazy barbarians who didn't have money. That's why he'd steered clear of them.
“Got to, sometimes, so we can eat. Most of our mayors don't like to pay the army tax, see. That's a sheep per month, per town. Although some of them only pay a goat per month anyway.”
“So ... you get paid in livestock?” It was a land without money, sure enough.
“We get spear points from the smithies, although those are brass, not iron. We'll take vegetables when there's nothing else. There are two months of the year when we take in a lot of moldy potatoes and turnips. That's when our cooks become important. Fighters need to eat well. It takes talent to make soup for forty out of a dozen turnips, lamb stock, and some beans."
"The soups must all start to taste the same."
"True enough. And sometimes the lads loot a few pigs from a town that ain't paid. Or we'll grab a mayor and hold him for ransom.”
"What's a mayor worth?" Denario wondered.
"If his folks like him, usually a couple sheep. If they don't like him, well, usually he's wealthy and his family pays."
Denario took a few minutes to wonder at how much popular support the Mundredi force could have if it raided its own towns. Were they even a legitimate army?
Possibly because of his talk about food, Vir decided everyone should stop to eat breakfast while the blue glow of pre-dawn light edged over the horizon. He waited until one of the scouts checked in, as they did every now and then, and told him they would need to camp far away from the road.
“Piotr and I have been thinking about that, sir,” said Klaus. “He's marked some of the usual spots in case you want to settle in for the morning.”
“No.” Vir answered before his scout had stopped talking.
Klaus nodded. He pointed to what looked like a tree covered knoll about two hundred yards distant. It was barely visible as a silhouette through the nearest grove of oaks.
“It's hard to see in this light, sir.” His fingers traced the ridge. “But that's high ground. There's no water that we've ever discovered and I doubt we can get the cart to it along the animal trails. But that's sort of the point, isn't it?”
“Not bad.” Vir nodded.
It was, as Klaus described, hard going to the tree-covered hill. Within half an hour, they gave up and covered the hay cart with bracken to keep it hidden. The scouts woke up Yannick and dragged him out of the back. Yannick hitched up a pack and marched with the Mundredi the rest of the way to the camp. His face was covered with dried blood but he didn't grumble.
Denario got the impression that no one would complain in front of Vir. Anyone who tried it would likely be shamed by Elsa anyway. She was a sturdy girl and Denario had been right about the glint in her eye. She attacked the slope with glee and, when Vir decided where to camp, she set up the tent with a few, loving glances to her future husband. For his part, Volfie was so distracted by looking lovingly at her in return that he nearly chopped Piotr's leg off as he cleared the underbrush.
Everyone but Piotr laughed at that. The tall scout decided to clear an area a bit farther away from the husband-to-be so as to stay out of range of Volfie's backswing.
Breakfast was cold goat cheese and beer. Elsa laid out blankets under the canvas shelter. Then, almost immediately, the men lay on the ground and slept. Young Klaus started to snore in less than a minute. Denario was surprised at how all of the Mundredi huddled together to take their nap. Somehow, he got included near the middle. It was warm, too. Only Volfie and Elsa stayed off to one side and, no doubt, they would find ways to keep each other comfortable as they dozed off together.
When the sun hit mid-morning, Denario awoke. He looked around and realized that Vir was missing. Everyone else lay in their places. The tent hid most of the hillside from view, so Denario got up and went out. The morning air felt good. He wandered the site in a widening circle to locate the Mundredi captain. It wasn't an easy thing to do but it kept him from getting lost.
“Were we followed?” he asked Vir when he found him. The broad-shouldered man had found a place to peer through the trees down onto the road they had taken.
“Neh.”
They sat in silence for a long while. Vir kept watching the road. Denario's muscles ached but he'd stopped shivering and feeling as if he were about to die.
He decided to try one of the push-up things that Vir had demonstrated. He found a level spot in some rotted leaves. But his arms collapsed after just one try, which got a laugh.
“It's harder after a day's march,” he explained, partly to himself. He was surprised at the difference.
“Aye. That it is.”
“Am I allowed to know where we're going?” Denario asked after he dusted himself off.
“To the closest fort, like I said.”
“But where is that?” Denario cleared out space in the dirt and leaves as he prepared to draw a map. “For that matter, where is anything? How about the Seven Valleys you mentioned? I've never heard of those.”
“What? That's ... that's huge!” Vir seemed scandalized. “That's everything, really. How can you not hear about a whole land?”
Denario didn't know how to tell Vir that what the Mundredi considered the entire world was a tiny enclave of unfortunate geography. On the maps of the Complacent Sea and adjoining nations, this place was a bunch of mountains. It was such an uncivilized, savage area, too, that there were no scrolls or books that described it except as a place to avoid. Denario remembered that there were supposed to be magical animals, ghosts, hippogriffs, sireni, werewolves, vampires, trolls, and even worse things in the region.
The Mundredi didn't seem worried about meeting any of them, though.
“Let's see ...” Denario began with a circle surrounded by a goat's head of hills. He drew a long line to represent the Rune Kill. “Ziegeburg is here next to the river. Hogsburg is up here. We're headed this way.”
He drew another dot and some hills. Then he added Mount Ephart, which was quite close on their horizon.
“On the other side of this mountain,” he reasoned, “We must enter one of the Seven Valleys, right?”
“Easy Valley,” Vir grunted. He folded his arms across his chest and gazed down at the map with amusement.
“Does the valley go east to west?”
“Aye.” Vir appeared to lose interest. He checked the road again for signs of travelers.
It took a lot of patience. Denario had to wait through several of Vir's long, thoughtful pauses to get the man to describe the area. Over the course of half an hour, though, Denario got rough descriptions of Easy Valley and Long Valley, the two rich lands that the Mundredi tribe occupied. Vir added bits of information that Denario found reassuring, such as an observation that the beasts which used to hunt humans had been conquered. The Mundredi had driven out the hostile species except for a few trolls, vampires, and bears.
Denario had no problem believing that a warlike, well-armed people could accomplish such a feat. In a way, their success was due to the mathematics of the situation. Humans could lose many battles to the griffins, dire wolves, ogres, bears, vampires, and even dragons without it mattering much because there were so many human children coming along in the next generation and so few young monsters.
He kept drawing as Vir kept speaking.
“Over here,” he asked, “to the north is Hard Valley, the one that the Tortuar Clan occupies? While over here are the two largest valleys, Long Valley and Fat Valley, and they're mostly inhabited by Raduar?”
“I don't know.” Vir cocked his head as he studied the lines in the dirt. Then he crouched and touched the drawing without disturbing a grain of it. “I've seen something like this before. This is a map, isn't it?”
“Well, yes, of course.”
“My granddad could do this.” He ran his hand over the crude images rather lovingly.
“You can't? You protect the Mundredi valleys without using maps?”
“Yep. Probably my granddad was the last to draw these things. He was so old fashioned. No one in the Mundredi tribe makes maps anymore. What's the point? We don't make parchment. We never made paper. And we know our lands by heart, all of them that could ever be mapped. Why draw in the dirt? No one needs this. Although maps seem like an interesting way to look at the world. They're sort of like what a bird must see.”
“That's right.” Denario tried to imagine what it must be like to be ignorant of such a simple tool as an area map. “It's the view from above, in a way. But sometimes a map can show more, like what's buried in the ground. Sometimes just making one can point out a few things that everyone normally forgets.”
He kept drawing from Vir's description. He filled in the streams, hills, and clan territories that formed what outsiders called the Bandit Chiefdoms and the insiders called the Seven Valleys.
“Where's the Kilmun Clan in all of this?” he asked. “Out to the east?”
“Yes.” Vir's eyes widened a little. The power of maps had already surprised him. Denario had been able to infer the direction of one clan by the position of the other clans. “Which way is east on this?”
“To your sword-hand.” Denario used Vir's terms for a moment. The old tongue was so barbaric that the terms for 'right' and 'left' were literally translated as 'sword-hand' and 'shield-hand.'
Vir not only looked to his right but he crouched and added, with his thick index finger, more mountains to the drawing. He filled in parts of the Kilmun valleys. Then he scratched his head and turned to the west. There, he added what seemed to be more Mundredi territories. There were a lot of towns just west and south of the mountains that he knew well, so those had to be Mundredi strongholds or at least places where Vir could travel freely.
Denario began to count them. He was surprised to find that there were more Mundredi towns outside the Bandit Chiefdoms than inside. When Denario had guessed that the bandits were expanding, he was right. There seemed to be several generations of population growth and exodus involved. After Vir added forty-seven nameless dots along the slopes of the hills and banks of creeks, he hesitated.
“That's all I know.” The bald man sat back and wiped his fingers off on his knee.
“It's an awful lot.” Denario knew how the southern mountains lay. He filled those in to finish the picture of the southern-most Kilmun valley.
“Can you make this map show any place?” Vir asked as he watched.
“Any land that I know, yes.”
The big man's voice got lower. It was almost emotionless, which Denario guessed only happened when Vir was thinking hard about something.
“Show me Baron Ankster's lands,” Vir said.
“Not Baron Blockhelm?” The other baron touched upon Mundredi lands, too.
“Ankster,” Vir repeated.
Denario scooted around to Vir's side of the map to do the drawing. He picked up a thin twig to fit in more of what he knew. He added the details with care. He had the impression that it mattered.
When Denario finished, Vir stared at the lines in the dirt, just fourteen inches across, as if he were memorizing the pattern. Denario almost believed that he could. Vir put his finger down on one spot. It was a town he'd indicated between Ankster's lands and the Mundredi lands.
He sat in silence for a long time. He stared at the spot in the dirt. Denario felt afraid to speak while Vir's face looked so grim.
“How do you know all this?” Vir finally asked Denario. “This isn't numbers.”
“Geometry came before math, Vir. In a way, maps are the reason that people learned numbers at all. The term 'geometry' means 'earth measurement.' We needed numbers in order to measure our lands and the things in them, to count the apples on the tree and things like that. And from those first numbers, we learned to do other things.”
“So this is sort of math before accountants got to it.”
“Yes. But I want to point out that a fifth of the accountants in Oggli are trained geometers. My master mapped some of the lands along the river to the east. That's not very near, I admit, but it's the bottom right edge here, the borders of Blockhelm's lands.”
“Really?” Vir lightened up a little. “Who's the best in Oggli at making these maps?”
“That was my old master, Winkel. He was always the leader. But he's dead now, so I guess it's Oleg Schlimpt, who works directly for the Count.”
“Not you?” Vir sounded disappointed.
“I hadn't thought to include me. Oleg said that I was his best competition. He laughed when he said it. But he was serious. So I guess I'm number three. No, number two, now.” Denario felt a sudden wave of sadness. The black-and-grey-bearded old master would no longer laugh when Denario asked questions about the nature of numbers. There would be no more talks about the possible shapes of the world, nor long discussions about the orbits of moons and planets. There was no one to wonder at whether the stars were holes in a sphere or they were their own worlds like the wizards said, and no one to suspect that the wizards didn't really know but were just guessing.
“What makes ye think that Oleg is the best? Or that you're not?” Vir stood from his crouch.
“Math and geometry are very definite, Vir. I'm trying to think of how to explain. I mean, would you know if you were the best swordsman around? Fighting seems rather definite, too. More so than math, even.”
“Heh. Killed a man who said he was the best,” Vir grunted. “But that don't mean I'm best. Still, I reckon I see what ye mean. I can tell I'm better than most fighters in some things, especially my shield work. The ones who've fought alongside me, they know, too. We have a definite idea about who's good at what.”
“It's the same for people who work with numbers. We know who's good. We can tell by the answers, right or wrong, and how fast an accountant arrives at them.” Denario suspected it wasn't quite as definite as sword fighting but it was nice to feel they had some frame of reference in common. Otherwise, what was an accountant going to talk about with people who didn't have money?
Chapter Seven, Scene Two
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