Discover Top Posts Tagged with #fantasy novel

LOUISE'S AMULET | Chapter 26: Pier

Benjamin Steele, standing six feet tall, had to duck when entering a room. Perhaps only the doorframe in Thorne’s house would have dared stand up to the man. Everyone walked on eggshells around him — almost like Ed and his mother did around the elder Harding. After cheerfully greeting their father, Ben’s children retreated. Watching them go, Charlie felt something akin to mild disappointment: deep down, he would have liked to become a good uncle to someone, but... given Nigel’s stance, he would never see Tony and the others again.

“An extract from the parish register, some valuable gift from you to that woman,” Ben said, sprawled in an armchair as he counted off points on his fingers while Rosalia kneaded his shoulders. “A birthmark, at the very least. My eldest idiot has one, little Sarah has one! And what’s his? Well, yes, he looks like you. But plenty of people look alike!”

“He looks like me, too,” Helga interjected, unable to hold herself back. “Charlie’s mother... that Albina Blanc, and her father, the captain, served in the navy... and he’s Charlie’s grandfather.”

“That’s what he told you, and you, fool, believed him,” Ben snorted. The idea of Helga making the “street musician” a member of the family amused him. “Your father can’t keep his mouth shut, told him the whole story of his life, and this one simply took advantage of it. He’s a fantasist!”

Charlie could have objected, could have defended himself. Unfortunately, it would have been about as useful as trying to eat soup with a knife. Thorne had not developed any fatherly feelings toward Charlie: to the tailor, it was as though he had had absolutely nothing to do with bringing his son into the world.

Bastard! Charlie wanted to shout. So my mother is the only one to blame, and you have nothing to do with it?

Yet he listened to Thorne in silence, just as he was now listening to Benjamin Steele. The tailor and his son-in-law, who had worked as a guard at the city prison before his marriage, could not stand the sight of each other. Still, when faced with a common threat in the shape of Charlie, they had joined forces, which was only natural. A relative appearing out of nowhere was enough to make anyone reconsider much of their life. Helga understood that. It was a pity she did not understand it completely! Naturally selfless, she was certain Thorne would have no choice but to acknowledge Charlie, while Ben would simply have to accept the new man in the family — the third legitimate heir. The inheritance was what had become the stumbling block.

“I’m telling you, he wants to take the shop and the money, too. I swear to you, Father, he’s a fraud,” Ben turned to his father-in-law, folding his arms across his massive chest. “I’ve seen enough of their kind in my time. I can spot them anywhere.”

You’re right, in a way, you rude giant, Charlie smirked. I really am a liar, and I lie a lot — just not to you. If I had to lie to you as well, it would probably finish me off. I’ve had quite enough of you already.

He had spent no more than fifteen minutes at Thorne’s, yet it seemed to him that time was flowing ten times more slowly in this room.

“That’s what I think, too, Ben...” The tailor nervously fiddled with the belt of his dressing gown. “Coming all the way here from Merenberg to work for Ridley! Who would ever think of such a thing? Don’t they have enough embezzlers of their own over there who need every sort of jester? Maybe he wasn’t even after the duke at all, but after my daughter?”

Nigel Thorne was no longer pretending to be ill. He paced from corner to corner, his stride far too brisk for an elderly man. At first, he had still wanted to have dealings with Charlie — he had been planning to go to the Swallow, just as he had three days ago — but his enthusiasm had evaporated, giving way to stinginess and fear the moment Ben began talking about money.

“Yes!” the tailor continued, eyes widening as he stared at Charlie as though the minstrel were some evil mastermind. “Yes. Maybe he found out about me! And came up with this whole scheme to send a feeble old man like me to the poorhouse!”

Royal levels of self-importance. Who on earth needs you and your little shop? Charlie’s inner voice snorted, and the minstrel wholeheartedly agreed.

Thorn and his son-in-law would not believe him even if he produced an entire stack of papers proving his blood ties to Albina and William — it simply was not in their interest. Charlie had no intention of proving anything, for he himself had already received the most important evidence.

“Well...” He cleared his throat. “I truly have neither extracts nor gifts, and the only thing I have that is stained is my conscience. Yet you accuse me unjustly — I have done nothing wrong to either of you. I want nothing from you. Believe me, I nearly lost my mind myself when I realized whom fate had brought me face-to-face with in Ardor. But this meeting changes nothing — I am the odd one out here. Farewell, gentlemen.”

He bowed to Rosalia, who was fussing around her husband, then left the room, pushing the door open with his shoulder. Helga caught up with him before he had even managed to leave the shop.

“I cannot stay here,” the poor woman was trembling with hurt. “I cannot. They behaved so... so... Gods, what a disappointment!”

“I think everything will work itself out,” Charlie gave her an encouraging smile. “Look at it from another angle, Mrs. Hughes. Nothing unites two people quite like the desire to shi...” — he coughed —“to dump all over a third. Listen...”

Ever since the incident with Ed — of all people to be jealous of over his sweetheart, the fool! — Charlie had avoided any physical contact with Helga. But leaving his sister without support was beneath his dignity.

“Listen,” the minstrel repeated, looking into the woman’s tear-bright eyes. “I will write to you from Merenberg after all. To this address. I’ll tell you about my life, even if it... becomes boring again. Every letter I send will strengthen the alliance between Messrs. Thorne and Steele, and there will be fewer quarrels. Then you can collect them and read them at the estate. Agreed?”

“You... are very kind. And you’re right... about Father. He doesn’t love anyone. I’ve thought about it a lot...” Helga sniffed like a child. “Thank you for trying... But you don’t have to write. Or... no. I don’t know.”

She latched onto Charlie’s arm again and regained her commanding tone, though it clearly took some effort:

“Let’s go back. We’re only wasting time, and we still haven’t finished preparing for the Empress’s birthday...”

“Wait, madam.” Charlie gently pulled away from her. “Not so fast, I beg you. I promised Agnes I would buy some sweets at the market.”

“I’m coming with you!” the housekeeper insisted. Charlie felt distinctly uneasy at the thought that, in his younger days, he had clung to Edgar in exactly the same way. “I’ll help you choose.”

It took Charlie reminding Helga that, incidentally, he was hardly thrilled about the situation with Thorne either — and needed some time alone with himself — to make her let him go. The housekeeper finally gave in, but made him promise that in an hour or an hour and a half he would be waiting for her by the entrance to the shop. Since that was the case, Mrs. Hughes would pay a visit to an old friend she had not seen in two years.

Charlie was grateful to Helga for the favor — there was no way he was going to the jeweler with her! Charles Blanc began his “raid” on Ardor’s capital at the market. The sweets — ten walnuts in a thick, sticky jelly — were wrapped by the vendor first in oiled paper, then in a little linen bundle. All for the customer’s convenience, at an extra charge! The price of nuts had not gone up, but meat, fish, and flour had — all around him, the minstrel heard complaints. Taxes were another source of discontent, as was some sort of “little trouble.” Apparently, it was approaching, and that meant “the people are being fleeced again.” Was all of this coming together into some terrible, bizarre pattern of an approaching war?

Not necessarily. But secret experiments and attempts to create an army of the dead that ordinary magic could not defeat — that smelled decidedly foul. Would the Imperials ever leave Merenberg alone?

Ardor’s numerous attempts to conquer the southerners had always ended the same way — with the signing of an “eternal peace.” The peace was broken, then made, then broken again... At first glance, Ardor wanted to become the sole power on the Continent, and Merenberg was its chief obstacle, since the others would be easier to defeat. People said different things about the wars between the South and the Empire. For instance, that the real cause was deposits of certain rare metals — that was the view held by Ed’s father. “They’re licking their lips at our mineral wealth,” George Harding had once said upon hearing that a new Ardorian embassy was arriving in Merenberg’s capital. “They won’t get a foot of our land!”

Charles Blanc had always been more fascinated by stories than history. Stories about people, their choices, actions, habits... He forgot the dates of battles, but he had not forgotten, for instance, that all of Aloysius the Third’s pets were named Flaubert — whether it was a horse, a parrot, or a hunting dog. Charlie rummaged through his memory for a long while, trying to dig up anything at all about the wars. He managed to unearth only a chronology that was probably inaccurate...

In any case, peace between the two countries could prove very, very fragile. Did His Majesty Aloysius the Ninth know what the Emperor and the duke — whom he had received in his own palace only recently — were plotting?.. And how would the king react to news of preparations for war, of an army of the dead? If Ed and Charlie were too late, returned without the amulet but with information...

“Good sir, don’t pass me by! An amulet that brings good luck — very reasonably priced!”

Passing by was not to be. First of all, the word “amulet” made the minstrel stumble anyway. Secondly, someone had literally quoted one of his old verses! Thirdly, that someone had blocked his path.

“What’s your name?” Charlie asked, realizing at the same time that he had long since left the market and was now standing in the middle of some sort of alley.

“Evan.”

“You made these yourself?”

“Of course, sir!” The swarthy, snub-nosed boy of about ten lifted his tray higher, displaying the wooden ornaments scattered across it. “I’ve got something for every... what do you call it... taste!”

The amulets came in all sorts of shapes — from flowers such as daisies and oak leaves to birds and wild beasts.

“You’re very good at this,” Charlie praised the child. The little merchant puffed out his chest. “I especially like the bear. You say they bring luck? Are they magical?”

“You’re jesting, sir,” the boy’s expression changed instantly. “What magic could there be? I just... said it. Wizards are all evil. They steal children!”

“Hmm...” Charlie picked up an amulet shaped like a wolf’s head, examined it, then put it back on the tray. The boy’s attitude toward the magical fraternity should not have offended the minstrel, and yet it did. “If they’re ordinary, then I won’t take one. But if you tell me how to get to Becker’s salon from here, I’ll give you... five gold pieces.”

Evan nearly danced around Charlie — he could never have made that much money from the amulets. The boy’s help really did come in handy: lost in thoughts of wars and history, Charles Blanc had not noticed at all that he was heading in the wrong direction. Just in case, the minstrel also asked Evan for the address of Nigel Thorne’s shop and the shortest way to get there.

And it was a good thing he had. Preparing to face Aaron Becker again, Charlie had changed his clothes and shoes: a nobleman should not be seen constantly wearing the same outfit, he had decided that morning. Now the day was already leaning toward evening, and Charlie bitterly regretted not keeping his old shoes. The new ones had rewarded him with a blister on his right foot.

Well, that’s what I get for playing the dandy, Charlie snorted inwardly. Never mind. The important thing is, Becker believes me. His Majesty won’t believe Ed and me — and neither will Nigel. He’ll demand proof.

The king needed not the tall tales of two idlers, but orders for military preparations, bearing the signatures of the Emperor and his generals! Everything else was chatter and hearsay. Besides, how could Aloysius the Ninth know nothing if the Emperor was preparing to attack Merenberg?

We have spies crawling all over this place, just as the Imperials have them crawling all over ours. The minstrel was amused by his own ambitions. As if I could be a secret agent any more than Ed could be a priest. They’ll manage without me. They already have! The witch said the Emperor’s plan had changed. Why? Our intelligence threw a wrench into all their plans, and they backed down! Maybe the war won’t start until the Imperials cleanse the magic. And it can’t be cleansed, because it isn’t dirty or clean.

That was what Gilaneris claimed, and Charlie had no reason to doubt his friend’s word. Yet the minstrel felt no joy at having rid himself of thoughts of war. Now he was worried about Gilaneris — again. The day after... the leech ritual, the elf had looked drawn and pale. He hardly coughed at all, but there was a strange stiffness to his movements, and dark circles had appeared beneath his eyes. Anyone who did not know the young mage well would simply have thought he was exhausted or had spent the whole night awake. The difference between the usual Gilaneris and this new version of him frightened Charlie. The elf himself urged him to “stop thinking about all sorts of nonsense” — as though unaware that this only made Charlie torment himself even more.

His frayed nerves would not affect the course of events, and the anxiety was merely a consequence of exhaustion, the minstrel told himself. All he had to do was stop by Becker’s, collect the fake amulet, and return to the duke’s estate with Helga.

And no one is following me! he added, glancing around yet again. The passers-by paid him no attention — some were strolling leisurely, others hurrying about their business.

Charlie rather liked that, actually. A large city suited him better than a village with all its solitude and silence — the minstrel felt comfortable in a crowd and enjoyed losing himself among Merenberg’s tangled streets. Not literally, of course. Charlie knew the capital of his homeland well. Much better than the other cities of the South. The port of Zeenshal, however, was just as familiar and dear to him: he had gone there with William as a child — his grandfather had taught him to swim there, and it was there that Charlie had set foot on a ship’s deck for the first and only time.

And nowhere else had he ever imagined that someone was following him!

Enough. Charlie shook his head. Everything’s fine. You’re of no interest to anyone either. You have no enemies...

Still feeling someone’s gaze upon him, he continued on — and reached Becker’s salon just as the previous customer was leaving. The minstrel did not have to wait his turn.

“Mr. Harold, a pleasure to see you!” The jeweler rose from his chair when he saw Charlie and gave a barely perceptible bow. “I confess, I thought your fiancée had had enough of the wager and run off.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Becker.” Charlie nodded in return and realized that he would not be able to pull off a carefree act today, if only because of the pain in his foot. “Yes, I was delayed. You see, I fell off my horse while hunting yesterday...”

“What a pity!” The jeweler, without losing a second, pulled the long velvet-lined box toward him from the edge of the counter. “I hope you weren’t hurt. Perhaps you’d like a refreshing drink? I’ll tell my nephew.”

“No, thank you. And... I’ll heal before the wedding.” The minstrel pretended the contents of the box were of little interest to him, though in truth he nearly swallowed his tongue from nerves. “I’m fine. But Louise couldn’t come — she’s ill.”

Aaron Becker’s face assumed a mournful expression.

“What a misfortune! I hope this will cheer her up,” he said, then opened the box with a broad smile. “Your order is ready.”

Charles Blanc had to rub his eyes when he saw what lay inside. The ornament resting on a silk backing was an exact replica of the princess’s amulet! The patterns on the setting were identical to those Charlie had copied by hand in the duke’s secret chamber. The perfectly smooth stone shimmered with every shade of violet.

The minstrel took the copy out of the box, remembering how the genuine magical artifact had felt in his palm. The weight was the same. Straightening the chain, Charlie began counting the links.

“Exactly twenty-two,” the jeweler informed him, guessing what his customer was doing. “All of your fiancée’s instructions have been followed to the letter. I suppose congratulations are in order on your inevitable wedding.” He chuckled, pleased either with his joke or with the result of three days of uninterrupted work. “I believe I mentioned this before, but Miss Louise is an excellent artist.”

“Thank you, I’m flattered.” Staring at the copy of the artifact, Charlie very nearly gave them both away. “I mean... she’s flattered. She will be! I’ll tell her. Ahem... The amulet, Mr. Becker... one can hardly take one’s eyes off it! Everything is exactly as I wanted, so...”

The jeweler might have suspected something was amiss, so Charlie hurried to distract him, leaving the fake amulet alone. Distract him, naturally, with money. Fifty-five gold pieces were counted out, and Aaron Becker admitted:

“Your order was a challenge for me,” he said, sweeping the coins into a drawer and beginning to search for something in the inner pocket of his clothes as well. “For several reasons. The first is the magnificent sketch... By the way, here it is. I’m returning it to the lady.”

The minstrel had forgotten all about the sketch — to his misfortune! The duke might figure everything out before they even managed to escape, or immediately afterward. The duke’s men would question every craftsman in the capital, eventually reach Becker — and Becker would describe his customer, in whom it would be very easy to recognize Charlie. But the chief piece of evidence was the drawing. It had to be destroyed.

“You’ve saved me, sir.” Charlie accepted the sheet of parchment, folded into quarters, from the jeweler’s hands. “You have no idea...”

“I do,” Aaron Becker interpreted his customer’s words in his own way. “You’re afraid of being left without an inheritance. You may even be angry with your father. I have no right to give advice, Mr. Harold,” there was a note of sadness in the old man’s voice, “and yet... Would you permit me?”

At their previous meeting, the jeweler had been less forthcoming. The change made Charlie wary.

“Of course. I don’t mind advice, although I rarely follow it.”

“A sensible approach.” Becker sank into his armchair and smoothed back his hair. “Though this isn’t even advice... Sometimes old men get the urge to philosophize. Your story is all too familiar to me.”

“Did you have a strict father?” the minstrel asked sympathetically, stuffing his things into his pockets.

The jeweler smiled wryly, but his eyes were sad — the smile never reached them.

“A strict father? I am one. Sometimes excessively strict. Emil is my only relative. I’m raising him as a son, and that is all...” He swept his gaze across the spacious hall. “I’ll leave everything I have to him. But not before the boy stops squandering what I’ve earned through honest labor. Emil thinks I’m a heartless tyrant, that I torment him... I pay him a modest wage. I want to protect him. He must learn discipline, patience... qualities that are essential in our line of work.”

In an instant, Aaron Becker ceased to be an arrogant rich man and became a lonely, weary human being.

“Your father, arranging your future, is looking out for you. He knows something... perhaps,” the jeweler sighed. “Don’t think of yourself as a prisoner and a victim. Look deeper. Try to understand your father while he is still alive.”

I already understand my father, Charlie argued with Becker in his thoughts as he left the salon. There’s nothing deeper to look into... Father wants to protect his son, does he? Certainly not mine. That sounds much more like Gilaneris and Anedrion.

He would have been better off continuing to ponder the eternal conflict between fathers and sons. Or celebrating his success. Anything would have been wiser than turning into an alley.

A year later, the minstrel still remembered his stupidest mistake — the price had turned out to be far too high. It would have been much simpler to burn the drawing after returning to the estate! Besides, was it really so dangerous if it were found among the artist’s belongings? After all, the duke himself had given permission to make the sketches and take them away. Charlie, unfortunately, would only think of all this much later.

Standing over the round grate and tossing scraps of parchment into the churning water, he was ridding himself and his friends of a phantom threat. Meanwhile, a real threat had crept right up to him.

Charlie did not even have time to turn around. The next second, he was shoved roughly and then spun around to face the wall.

“Quiet, or I’ll gut you,” warned the enemy Charlie had apparently acquired after all.

“Sir...” The minstrel decided to resort to diplomacy, despite being held by force and quite possibly strangled. “You’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’m not the one you want... L-let’s just...”

Diplomacy failed. The stranger drove an elbow straight into Charlie’s stomach. The minstrel doubled over, only for his back to meet the brickwork again. Enduring a flash of pain, he saw the stranger’s hand rummaging through the pockets of his doublet. The little bag of sweets for Agnes went flying onto the cobblestones, and his money scattered across the ground as well — the thief was not interested in either.

“Give it back!” Charlie grabbed the box containing the copy of the amulet just as the stranger pulled it from his pocket.

He clung to the box with all his strength, while the thief tugged it toward himself. Charlie was ready to fight to the bitter end, and for a moment he believed the stranger would back down, admit defeat in the face of his opponent’s determination — the other man was no longer pinning the minstrel against the wall with his free hand.

Alas, everything changed in an instant.

The minstrel felt a hot impact beneath his ribs and his numbing fingers went slack. The fake amulet was now in the thief’s possession, but that was the least of Charlie’s concerns. He could not breathe! Every breath sent pain tearing through him, dark spots danced before his eyes. He began sliding down the wall — his legs would not support him, buckling beneath his weight. Cold spread through his body, while beneath his ribs everything burned like fire.

What’s happening to me? How... cold... Damn it... I’m going to be throw up...

A loud, impossibly loud crack sounded nearby. Immediately afterward came a ragged scream.

What did he do? Charlie could not make sense of it. Where did everything go? It’s dark. My shirt... wet... Blood. There’s blood in my mouth...

The minstrel saw nothing before sinking into darkness, and the last thing he heard was a string of filthy curses.

His consciousness returned quickly after fading.

Far too quickly.

I’m tired... I’ll lie on the sand for just another minute. Grandfather was right: the most melodious sound is the surf.

Salty sea air filled his lungs — after the “aroma” of sewage in the alley, it was a gift from the gods.

Wait... Where did the sea come from?

Cautiously, the minstrel opened his eyes at last — and found a starry sky spread above him. Vast and deep blue, it glittered brighter than precious stones.

“Beautiful...” Charlie whispered and turned his head. His gaze fell upon the place where the horizon met the calm, gentle sea. “Very beautiful. A nice dream.”

Yes, this was exactly the sort of thing he could have dreamed.

“I’m dreaming...”

Charlie had spoken to no one in the Empire except the duke and the astronomer Raymund. No one knew about their plan, about the amulet... So there could have been no fight. There could have been no thief.

“I’ll wake up and go to Meyrith,” Charlie exhaled in relief. “None of this happened. I wasn’t robbed.”

He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around, searching for anything at all — sweets, money...

“Hmm!” the minstrel concluded. “Definitely a dream.”

Not only were the things the thief had left behind nowhere to be found, but Charlie was wearing his old clothes and comfortable boots.

“All right, then. Let’s see what this marvelous shore is all about.”

The coastline stretched for several miles in both directions, and white ships rocked upon the sea. There were all kinds of them! Frigates, schooners, simple sailing vessels. The sand beneath his feet was unnaturally white as well — it reminded him of snow. Charlie scooped up a handful and froze.

“Well... screw me.”

He began staring around, gaping like an owl. Charlie’s night vision had always been poor. But not now. Now he could see everything clearly. Every grain of sand, every line on his own palm, the shape of the wheel and the ship’s rigging on the vessel farthest out at sea! It was frightening and filled him with childish wonder. Charlie listened to himself — his heart was beating almost inaudibly. His body, on the other hand, felt light and weightless. Even the blister no longer hurt. The exhaustion was gone — he felt ready to climb the highest mountain peak!

He had enough strength. He had to move.

But where?

“That way.” He rose and headed away from the water. “Time to explore the area!”

The area disagreed. After going fifty or sixty feet from the shore, Charlie got stuck.

Not in the sand — in a transparent barrier.

“Damn.” The minstrel bit his lip. “There’s magic here, too.”

Charlie could not find any familiar constellations in the sky, and he failed to determine which direction was north. So, following the logic of fairy-tale heroes, he turned right and walked along the shore. The road to the left promised trouble, and he had enough trouble while awake.

Let’s suppose those are simply the rules here, Charlie was not particularly upset. It’s probably an island. A pirate sorcerer cast a spell over it, which is why I can’t go any farther. The treasure must be something special if magic is guarding it. Ed would be bored wandering around here without a purpose, but Little Breeze would break the spell, and we’d get into the heart of the island... I’ll wake up and write a song. Yes! A plot like this. An island, an ancient spell, three friends! An unexpected ending — for example, instead of treasure, they find a princess whom the sorcerer imprisoned on the island... Damn it, Dietmar has wormed his way into this one, too. No. It won’t be a princess, then, but an ancient spirit imprisoned inside some object. What happens next? I’ll think of that tomorrow. Tomorrow everything will go smoothly. No alleys, backstreets, or thieves... Prophetic dreams are a useful thing.

Charlie would not have minded admiring the sea until morning, until he woke. But the dream had other plans, and soon the minstrel spotted a pier. An ordinary pier that would hardly have attracted much attention — if not for the two figures standing on it.

“Well, I’m interrupting,” Charlie muttered under his breath. “I’ll ruin their date, too.”

He turned to leave when it suddenly occurred to him. These two were part of the dream! And since he had encountered them, he had to meet them. They knew something important about the island, or they would become his companions in the adventure.

A man and a woman sat beside each other, their legs dangling from the pier, but they were not touching. From behind, they both looked young.

Maybe I won’t ruin anything. Maybe they’re just talking... The minstrel straightened his shoulders and quickened his pace. If they chase me away, so be it.

When only a few yards separated them, the woman’s hairstyle and posture struck the minstrel as familiar. Surely it was all because of Helga Hughes and Thorne. Seeing relatives everywhere was a sign of mental illness. Enough, enough! Charlie had no intention of joining the ranks of madmen.

He was already about to call out to the couple on the pier when suddenly—

“Oh, you little snot. Look who finally decided to show up.”

“Dad, why do you have to put it like that?”

No one pushed him, but Charlie stumbled backward, nearly falling to the ground. Something like this would have driven him mad in waking life — and only his considerable experience as a “dreamer” allowed him to keep his sanity.

“Mother..? Mother! Grandfather?!

“Top of the day to you.” William Blanc gave him a playful salute, for there was no doubt it was him. Forty years younger and in perfect health. “We’ve got nowhere to hurry off to anymore, but you could have come sooner.”

“Stop it, Father.” Albina Blanc shook her head. “Everything’s fine. Besides, it’s night.”

“Conventions!” The sailor waved her off. “Time doesn’t exist here, and everything’s been arranged to suit our little snot. He likes the stars. He had a friend, if I remember right, who was always dragging him up onto rooftops to watch them.”

“Mom...” Charlie called to the woman timidly. “Mom, can you really see me... and hear me?”

Albina Blanc did not answer. Instead, she swiftly rose to her feet, took a step toward her son, and opened her arms. Charlie found himself in them and froze — he could neither speak nor cry nor laugh with happiness. He simply clung to his mother, breathing in her scent as Albina gently stroked his hair. No matter how many minutes or hours he spent like this, it still would not be enough.

Another trap, Charlie thought sadly. Mother doesn’t want me to turn into a statue beside her. I have to... what did she say? Live a full life.

That was the mother of your double speaking, his inner voice seeped into his thoughts even in the realm of dreams. Not yours. And you will never be strong.

Go away, Charlie gritted his teeth. Go away forever, even if you are me.

“Mom...” He pulled away to look at Albina’s face. This was how he remembered her from childhood. Radiant, smiling, with dimples in her cheeks. “I love you so much, and I miss you... Come to me like this more often, please! I know this isn’t real, but at least sometimes...”

William would not let him finish. Miraculously young again and no longer limping, he hurried over to his daughter and grandson.

“You little snot, do you understand absolutely nothing?” His grandfather pulled Charlie toward him and shook him, frowning. “What do you mean, ‘not real’?! We’re here because you’re dying, and you think all of this is make-believe?”

The question stunned Charlie far more than the changes in his grandfather’s appearance. He stared blankly at William.

Dying... Who? Me?! What on earth is he talking about?

“Father!” Albina squeezed between them, shielding Charlie. “Don’t frighten my child. And stop calling him names — my ears can’t take it.”

“As you wish, daughter. If only I knew who you took after — blue blood, white bones!” Bill, no longer limping, took a step back and raised his hands placatingly.

Albina turned to her son, embraced him again, and spoke as though to a bird caught in a snare that she was about to set free.

“Don’t be afraid, my darling. Nothing has been decided yet — that is why we have been given the chance to see you. On this side, only those who never loved anyone in life have it bad. Their souls... how can I put it... For them, this world is a cold, gloomy wasteland. But you are not like that, my son. You are kind. Even as a little boy, you were already trying to help people... I hope everything will turn out well for you here.” She left a kiss on Charlie’s forehead. “Still... it would be better if you didn’t die so young.”

“Die..?” Charlie recoiled, his breathing becoming ragged as the lightness that had filled his body vanished. “I can’t die! I... I have... so much to do... I have to... Ed is there... and Breeze... And the mission... What about the mission? No... I have to... I can’t die, Mom...”

Horrified, he darted back and forth across the pier, desperate to leave this place and return to Meyrith, to the stinking alley — the beauty of the mysterious shore now filled him with disgust. Even when things had been difficult, when despair had washed over him, when he could see no way out of a dead end and life seemed to freeze around him and inside him, Charlie had never tried to take his own life. The very idea was alien and terrifying to him — he would have condemned those who took their own lives, if not for Ed Harding. The thirst for immortality, yet another obsession of his brother’s, was foreign to Charlie. The minstrel knew that one day life would end, because everyone died — young and old, rich and poor, kind and bitter toward the whole world. One could not break the laws of creation, demand special conditions for oneself.

But could his life really have such a stupid, senseless ending!?

What, then, had been the point? Why had he come all this way? What about his friends? Ed needed help with the play. Ed simply needed Charlie to be there, though he would never admit it with a clear head! Little Breeze needed protection from the sorcerer. As did Elinor! What about the princess, what about art? Damn it, he had promised Agnes he would buy her those stupid nuts.

He had not had time for anything.

Too soon, unfair, stupid!

“Stop panicking.” William caught his grandson and, ignoring his daughter’s protest, cuffed him on the back of the head. “What are you, some fainting maiden? Disgusting to look at! Stand still, rookie, and... listen. You’re on the brink of death right now, but you’re not dead. Your heart is beating, unlike ours! Calm down. And...” After a pause, he softened. “Tell your mom and me what this mission of yours is about. It’s been ages since we saw you, and we’re curious what you’ve been up to down there.”

The story turned out to be a long one — the minstrel left out neither a single detail nor concealed anything, honest for the first time in months. He talked without stopping, occasionally breaking off to wipe away his tears. His grandfather and mother were hardly surprised by anything. William disliked his grandson’s sentimentality, but he no longer snapped at him and listened attentively. He certainly did not suspect that Charlie was crying not out of pity for himself or his friends. Three different feelings were tearing his soul apart from within — he was happy to be sitting on the pier between his mother and grandfather, overwhelmed with love for his family, wanting to stay with them... and not wanting to die. On top of that, Charlie was angry with himself for his blunder in the alley! There was nothing left to do but sob his heart out...

Why did I even bother with that drawing?! How could I not hear the thief’s footsteps?! I spent the whole way looking around like an idiot, and then...

“He stabbed you with a knife, grandson,” William said. “That’s downright... horrible.” He corrected himself when he caught his daughter’s disapproving look. “If you survive, ask that officer’s son to teach you how to fight. He dragged you into some shady business, though...”

“Not him. The sorcerer.” Charlie wiped his tears with the sleeve of his jacket. “I told you, the sorcerer promised him immortality.”

“Yes, yes,” his grandfather rolled his eyes. “Nobody’s to blame, they were all forced into it. A crooked tree won’t grow straight fruit... There, daughter, you defended your rascal too, and what is he? A coward and a liar. The boy did the right thing sending him to...” He sighed heavily, swallowing the last word. “That Thorne of yours is a pathetic excuse for a man.”

“He’s miserable,” Albina retorted without a trace of gloating. “I can’t blame him. His soul is… almost dead already.”

“You’re too kind, daughter.”

“At least I’m not crazy.” The woman smiled, clearly hinting at something known only to the two of them. “Right?”

“Well...” William hesitated. “That’s true enough... Fine! There are more important things.” He turned his gaze to Charlie. “Don’t you dare go to Thorne again, hear me? And kindly stop bawling into your sleeve. No need to pity the elf — he’s cunning, and he knows more about you lot than you know about him. All of you have been lying through your teeth, but you keep quiet while he’s helping you — you’ll only get out of this with your Ed by riding on his back. Duke Ridley...”

He scratched his beard — it was not gray, but light brown and neatly trimmed — and continued:

“Familiar name. Feel like I’ve heard it before, but I can’t remember where. Be careful with him. And learn to fight, grandson. You absolutely must learn to fight!”

“Uh-huh.” Charlie obediently nodded, though he could barely imagine a future in which Ed or anyone else could turn him into a fighter. “Grandpa, I love you very much, too.”

In response to his grandson’s confession, William did not answer with a quip. He drew in a breath through his nose and began staring at the water as though hypnotized. There was no point trying to continue the conversation with him — that was simply the way he was.

“Mom, do you think... my double really did make me up after all?” Charlie asked Albina. “Or not?”

Mother laughed softly, the sound rippling like bells.

“No.” She tossed her braid back over her shoulder. A scarlet ribbon was woven into her golden hair. “No, my darling. But... Do you remember what the world was made from?”

“Love.” Charlie remembered the words he had heard as a child perfectly. “The Creator’s love for everything that did not yet exist.”

“Exactly.” Albina smiled gently. “If that boy created our world out of love for certain books, what would be wrong with that?”

For a long time, Charlie had replayed Kirill’s words in his mind, as well as Breeze’s arguments. He had even examined Camilla’s advice from every possible angle. And not once had he looked at the problem this way! Mother thinks there is no problem at all...

“You’re going to live, rookie.” William poked Charlie in the side, drawing his attention. “That’s coming for you.”

“What?” The minstrel looked around. “Where? Oh, damn...”

Something was rolling toward them from the horizon... a snow avalanche? No, not an avalanche — a fog! Thick, swirling fog.

“It’s time to say goodbye, my son,” Mother said softly. “God willing, we’ll see each other again — after a very long time.”

His heart began pounding rapidly and loudly, as though he had run ten miles while someone nearby hammered an anvil.

I’m going back... I wanted to ask something else... Yes, I remember!

The fog enveloped them, hiding Albina Blanc’s face. Charlie pulled the wooden sword from inside his shirt, showing his mother the gift she had given him.

“Mom, what is this? What does it mean? Tell me!”

“This, my son..?” Albina’s voice was drowned out by the pounding of his heart and the sound of the waves. “A sacrifice. To save... offering... a sacrifice.”

Charles Blanc made no attempt to decipher his mother’s words — he had no time for riddles. The “hammer” smashed into his chest, sending him flying backward. The next instant, the minstrel’s limp body shot upward and spun through a vortex. He could see nothing around him — he squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw.

I just have to endure... endure...

“Brother!”

The pain vanished in a second. So did the dizziness. But something heavy was lying on Charlie. A smell tickled his nostrils — a mixture of sweat and tobacco. A man. That same thief?!

“Fuck you, you bastard!” Acting on instinct, the minstrel shoved the stranger off him. And froze in shock.

Ed was sprawled across the floor of some cramped little room. He looked ridiculous with that ear-to-ear grin... Or perfectly normal. But he was the last person Charlie expected to find here...

Where is ‘here’?

“Where... are we?” the minstrel rasped, looking around the unfamiliar dwelling.

“What happened?” A young man with shaved temples stuck his head out from the adjoining room.

“At Ingvar’s!” Ed burst into happy laughter. “Ing, it worked! Charlie’s alive!”

Ingvar — now Charlie recognized the archivist’s apprentice — joined Ed. He laughed in a thin, slightly shrill voice, like... a young but rather old man. Charlie looked away from the Northerner. Ingvar had once seemed sincere to him, but after everything that had come to light about the duke and the torture of mages, Charlie was no longer certain he could be trusted. At the “Horseshoe and Nail”, Ingvar had talked at length about what an honest man his master was, and had spoken well of the duke. Yet he had shown fear in front of the hunters... Did he and Bertrand know the duke’s true plan?

All right, there’s no making sense of Imperial intrigue without a pint of ale. Charlie took a deep breath. I’ll just be more careful around him. Right now, I need to find Helga...

Sitting on the edge of the bed with his legs dangling, Charlie was bewildered yet again. He was wearing someone else’s shirt and drawers.

“Whose are these?” He blinked groggily.

“Mine.” Ingvar entered the room and helped Ed to his feet. “Your clothes were covered in blood. If you want, I’ll wash them and bring them to the “Ray”. The master and I have been invited to Her Majesty’s birthday celebration anyway.”

“Blood?”

Charlie lifted the hem of his shirt. His grandfather’s voice echoed in his head.

“He stabbed you with a knife.”

“Good as new,” Ed seemed to object.

Indeed, the minstrel found neither wounds nor blood on himself. What sort of sorcery was this?!

“And what brings you here?” Charlie narrowed his eyes, looking up at his named brother. “Were you the one following me through the city?”

Ed did not deny the accusation.

“Yeah. I rode behind you the whole way. Easy enough to hide if you know how. I wanted to talk to you, you know, about Mrs. Hughes, but I couldn’t figure out what to say. I was scared, holy smoke, so I kept putting it off, and just kept following you...”

He ran a hand through his hair and laughed again. Joyfully, without a trace of malice.

“But now I know what to say. Her happiness is the only thing that matters. And yours too, brother.”

At that moment, Charlie would not have refused an entire barrel of ale. What an utterly hopeless idiot Ed was...

“All right.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “Where’s the amulet?”

“Here!” Edgar helpfully handed him the fake artifact. “It was right beside you the whole time, on the bedside table.”

Charlie’s belt pouch and the bag of sweets were lying on the same table.

“At least I won’t have to be ashamed in front of Agnes...” the minstrel smirked. “Where’s the money? It belongs to all of us.”

“Well...” Ed scratched the back of his head. “Thing is, brother... The money’s gone. I thought you’d gone over there to... take a piss, basically. So I didn’t follow you. But that bloke did. Then... I hear you shouting. I run over, and he’d already... nicked you with a knife. I broke his arm, and you passed out. And...”

It became difficult for Harding to find the words. He began helping himself along with sweeping gestures and pacing circles around the room.

“Holy smoke, I was scared shitless! And then the guards showed up... We made quite a racket. They grabbed that bastard — they’d been looking for him for ages. He’s a thief and a brawler! And some nephew of a Becker hired him, basically, to steal this from you...” Ed made a gesture at his own neck that was supposed to represent either an amulet or a noose. “Says his uncle won’t give him any money. Got it, yeah? So... The guards wanted to haul me in too, but I paid them off. Gave them the money and the enchanted stones that Dietm... that are yours. They wouldn’t take the sweets. So that’s that, more or less.”

Almost everything seemed explainable. Ed had gone to Ardor in secret because “dealing with” Charlie at the estate was too risky — any scuffle would be reported to the duke. To the jeweler’s nephew, Charlie-Harold was just a provincial and would cause no trouble, even if he complained to the authorities about being robbed. The guards were obliged to detain Ed — the two of them, along with Charlie, who carried magical objects, were still at liberty only because of a substantial bribe.

There was only one thing that could not be explained.

He had received a mortal wound, yet now he was perfectly healthy, not even weakened, and there was not so much as a scar beneath his ribs.

Well, that’s downright magic.

Something inside the minstrel gave way. Magical objects! He had more than just precious stones disguised as daisies. There was also something else in his crystal vial...

He lunged for the table, snatched up his belt pouch, opened it — and dropped it.

“Brother...” A lump rose in Charlie’s throat. “Brother, where is Anedrion’s living water..?”

#emptinice writing #my wriitng #fantasy novel #do not repost