Closed.
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Within the mayor’s, atop a gable tower high, she says, "Oh loyal Hucklepuck, how shall I ever know what our fate holds? To wed a prince, and mayhap be a queen."
Upon a chair of cherry wood a lifelike doll does sit. A cape of precious velvet rimmed by mink. Within its grasp a rabbit like a prince, with rapier. Upon its brow a circlet spun of golden blooms. They’re hyacinth.
No mundane fancy carving this, it speaks a song. "No harm shall come to you, my friend. No trouble 'pon your head, I pledge. Just swear me true: The mem’ry of his kiss, our bonny prince. Of bliss within his grasp. I ask but this."
In various seedy spots around town, Gate Moreau makes the same inquiry.
”I’m looking for my cousin, perhaps you’ve seen him. I’ve tracked him this far. I bet he’s come for this wedding, like everyone else.”
Gate rubs a spot on his right shoulder and grimaces. ”I owe him somethin’ and I’d like to pay him back.”
Lumi tosses her black flag of hair and leans on the window sill. The light frames her like a painting, and when she sighs at the the doll's words it seems like a portrait come to life.
Staring out of her picture frame at the world below, she sees a maze of steeples and stone. Almost speaking to herself, Lumi says Hucklepuck, long ago the deal was struck.
The whimsical nature of these conversations come naturally to Lumi after a lifelong of companionship. Bliss to offer; worries, keep. Wed or not, Lumi cannot sleep.
The worries 'pon this head could be lighter yet, were Hucklepuck to attend his debt: a premonition gnaws at me. Find these strange wedding guests, and tell me if they mean us best.
Gate finds himself in Clever Gretel’s, a weapon shop owned by a proprietor whose known for tracking down certain types.
The muscular woman leans over the counter, chewing a toothpick that looks suspiciously like a dart. There are strange weapons weapons in stock here, each serving a dual purpose; many range from the simple soap-in-a-sock to battle ladders. Some of the pricier items defy casual comprehension — at least for those who haven't been gifted with sinister imaginations. None of the items are magical, but all are finely made and would do the job quite efficiently.
Gretel leans close and smiles at Gate. Her yellow teeth are filed to points; her breath smells like gingerbread. "Cousin" you say… this "cousin" of yours… they the magic-usin' type? Might be, Hansel an' I seen 'em around… or pieces of 'em… here or there.
A man sits alone, the mug of ale before him mostly empty, the inside ringed with foam. Beside it, a bowl of stewed meat and dumplings sits half-consumed, the remainder growing colder by the minute as he thumbs through a well-loved book of fairy-tales.
Samen watches Limppu, the proprietor, direct his workforce as they load a wagon with kegs of beer and packages of bread; these are to be taken to Castle Morsain for the festivities. Samen takes a bite of hoppy bread and feels quite nice.
A boy slips out of the mayor's house. He makes his way to a bakery, buying a gingerbread man and chatting with the shopkeep.
"... Newcomers ... wedding...?"
"...Gretel's..."
He makes his way to Gretel's shop. He sidles up next to the aching man at the counter. "Hey mister. What brings you to Morsain?"
In Gretel’s shop, Gate draws his fingers along the array of weapons, the way one’s thoughts might return to a fond memory. He picks up the soap-in-sock and is about to take sniff when the bell above the door chimes and a boy walks in.
”Are you allowed to be in a store like this, boy?” Gate asks with a grin. ”I’m here to help the city guard during the wedding and, possibly, find a cousin of mine. Are you writing about it for the school paper or something? Running around town interviewing everyone? Is that your job?”
He gives Gretel a nod, and in reference to the soap-in-a-sock, says, ”I’ll take this,” and tosses a few coins on the counter top.
He gestures for the boy to follow him as he leaves and asks, ”Who else you interviewed around here that’s worth talking to?”
That’s a masterwork soap-in-a-sock, buddy. But you can have it at a discount, if you promise to whack a witch’s teeth out with it.
She yells at the boy. No minors allowed!
The boy gives a flowery bow and a little doll slips out of his pocket. A rabbit dressed in finery. "Why, yes sir. I’m a page of sorts making sure you fancy guard folk have what you need. Only the best for milady Lumi’s protectors." He winks amiably.
”A page of sorts? You have a name then, boy? And don’t tell me it’s Jack or some nonsense. Half the people in this town are named Jack something-or-other. And who’s this Lumi?”
The boy laughs and ignores the first question, returning the second. "Do you not know who you’re to protect? I suppose it makes sense. One protects a body, another protects a name. I take it then you’re the former?"
He gives a wicked grin, sizing up the newcomer. "Jack will do until you’ve made amends. Or you could show me something to earn another."
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Gate chuckles deep in his chest.
”You are a funny talker, aren’t you, Jack the page.”
He gives the boy a wolfish grin. ”I could show you plenty of things that would give you a new name, but men like me, we don’t make amends, Jack, we make trouble; usually of the violent and bloody sort. Didn’t you notice that was a weapon shop back there that we met in? Which reminds me...
Gate pauses in front of Limppu’s Bakery and Brewery to give the soap-in-a-sock a deep sniff.
”Ah, that is masterwork quality,” He drops the makeshift weapon into a belt pouch and gestures toward Limppu’s.
”Now, I’m going to pop in here to have a bite and ask about my dear cousin. You coming with?”
Gate tries to enter but has to shove aside a a portly dockworker who has been overserved on bread.
That's some… good… sour… dough… He slides down the side of the building and burps a yeasty burp before falling asleep.
Now that the lunchtime happy hour is over the place is mostly empty; Limppu is behind the counter completing the paperwork for the castle's delivery, and there is a man sitting alone at a table with a book.
The boy follows the wolffish grin into the bakery. "Would you show me what you’ve seen? I’ve terrors in my mind’s eye’d make your midden moist. Like to see ‘em?
He titters, this worldly lad. "Any cookies, Limppu? Butterscotch for me if you please. Midday’s ale for my friend. He’s to be working if milady of the manse deems him fit."
Limppu's huge hand wipes the crumbs off the counter and leans down to look at the boy, looming above like a mountain. Ah-ha-ha! My little lordship! And how is Lumi, my little satan? Is she thrilled for the festivities? As you see, the breads have been boarded, the ales jounce on the cobblestoned road to the castle, even as I speak. He drops a tawny butterscotch into the boy's hand before turning to Gate.
And for you?
"But what sweets for me, lovely Limppu?"
The boy looks around and spies the reader of things fey. "Are they very terrible tales, sir? Like to shake a lad so meek as me?" He perches his adorable face on the edge of the man’s table. Big eyes blink. Lashes bat.
"Well, young sir," Samen says, closing his book, "that depends upon the power of your imagination." He drains what's left of his ale and answers the proprietor's glance with a wave of his hand to indicate 'no more'. Turning, he raises an inquisitive eyebrow to the more familiar figure. "And who is this curious young man you've met, Gate?"
To Limppu, Gate says, ”I’ll take that midday ale, since the boy is obviously paying.”
Then he turns to Samen and says, ”What’re you doing in here, reading a book of all things? Can’t remember the last time I sat around a pub just reading a book. Oh, wait a minute, yes I can. It was never. Are you going to finish that stew, by the way, because I’m nearly beyond famished.”
Gate pulls a chair up to Samen’s table and sits down.
”This young sir is curious indeed. Aren’t you, Jack, although we know that’s not your real name, and have since learned, with quite a bit of surprise, that Lumi is a little satan. And now, what’s this lordship business Limppu was on about?”
He takes the bowl of stew and sniffs it.
”This smells quite good. Be a shame to waste it”
"Please, go ahead" Samen says, gesturing to the bowl in Gate's hand. A hint of smile crosses his face as he adds "You'd be surprised how relaxing a quiet lunch with a book can be."
The boy laughs and belatedly responds to Limppu. "Milady’s a bit bloodied from all the needle pricks as they fit her dress. I jest. Only the finest seamstress for our bride."
He returns his attention to the two cousins. "A name’s a precious thing, you see. I’ll give mine for a precious gift. Say, the mem’ry of your first true love. As to lordship... Well, are you not lords among those whom you treat as such. Limppu’s my liege. He rules my appetite."
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Shielding his eyes from the glare, Klaytal glances behind him at the path wrapping around the lake. "I cannot believe that Pig King turned out to be real. I also cannot believe he caught me trying to steal his crown!" Imprisoned for a week in that muck..."
He shakes some trail dust from his boots as he moves into town. "Now I wish I could remember the places which served proper food from my last trek out here, but sometimes it's tough to keep them all straight."
The streets wind through the town, and Klaytal nearly bumps into a dockworker who's rolled into the road on his belly, contentedly snoring. "Well that is one way to live fat-and-happy. Ah, Limppu’s! Just my luck."
The swashbuckler lithely moves into the building and scans the room— a bit busy for mid-afternoon. "Limppu! Good to see you again! Do you have anything left from lunch? I've thought I'd see if the Pig King was real, and I wish I could tell you he wasn't!"
Something about the boy...
Twilight, decades past. Father curses, his belt in hand. Your brother steps between you and the lash. The buckle strikes against his head, knocking the taller, willowy boy down.
He crawls to his knees, his feet, fury in his eyes. Drags you out of the house, toward the tree line. Face twisted, Father lumbers after. Grabs your hand and strikes at your brother. Half. "Begone, best. Bastard. F***ed the Pig King, she did. Ye’ll not make swine o’ my lad."
The older child’s cherubic face twists up in hatred. He gets up and begins limping away. Into the woods. Just before he disappears his rage melts away. He looks at you, all sorrow. Mouths something. And is gone.
The boy...? No.it could not be.
His name dances on your lips...
Limppu overhears Gate's musings. Lumi's father's a friend of the 'stablishment, sir. Been nicking poor old Limppu's breadcrumbs underfoot, ever since she were a little thing, tiny as a pecan on a pie, she has. Little troublemaker — little devil — term of endearment.
He puffs himself up. They bought my breads and beers for the banquet — they're everyone's favorite! Try a slice of this rye — it's a bit strong, so chew slow unless you can hold your liquor. I can tell you're a person of refinement and distinction, what from that noble and stylish soap-in-a-sock hanging at your belt.
----
Limppu's dark little eyes goggle at Klaytal's tale. You wallowed with the Pig King himself!? Is it true his throne is three fathoms high, made of gristle and sinew and bones, all mortared with mud? Do his herds of dire pigs grunt in the dark, like murder?
He shivers and slides a sweetbread across the counter. Second thought, you save that tale for another time — nothing to darken Limppu's mood! Have a bread, scrape the mud off your boots, and consider the happier — and cleaner — present! We're all (I'm sure) flush with cash, and the town soon celebrates! He looks at the group that seems to be congregating around the table. You noble guests, arrived for the party?
Gate gives Samen a grunt in appreciation and wolfs down the bowl of stew.
Picking his teeth with a fingernail he says to the boy, ”Would you look at me, being so rude, should have introduced you two. This is Samen Einbetten, we’re rooming together In the guard house barracks. Lovely place if you enjoy scratchy blankets and hard cots.”
Gate takes a slice of the rye bread and wipes out the last of the stew from the bowl. ”What’s all this about a pig king?”
Rag in hand, Limppu wipes a clean spot on the counter again and again and again, pretending not to eavesdrop on the strange group of newcomers as they finish their introductions.
If the boy recognizes any of the names flying about, he does not show it. Instead, he puts his weight upon his right hip.
"Sirs, I must be off to tell milady soon, can she upon these men rely who're set to be her guard? What tales of might and faith shall I convey? Wait, no. No need to speak it out. I've words arcane to draw your visions out, that she may see unvarnished truth." He wiggles his fingers as if to cast a spell, and laughs.
"They say there's no malediction more cruel than to wish someone to live in interesting times. Thankfully, mine has been mostly devoid of such. Surely the lady does not wish to be bored by tales of standing at watch without incident."
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"It's freezing out here, Mesta." Klaytal shivers under his cloak as he follows the alchemicalist through the forest.
It may be, but this herb is the only thing that can cure your father. Mesta stoops underneath a tree and she begins to dig through the earth. This is going to take a while. This forest isn't really "Haunted" but I think you'd do best to keep a lookout for things. Maybe swing by that stream we passed and fill up some water?"
"Fine, fine."
The rest of the memory becomes distorted. Klaytal returns to the tree and no one is there. Rushing through branches, calling out only to hear the icy wind blowing through dead leaves in response.
The boy nods at Samen, a suspicious look in his eye.
However, seeing that Klaytal agrees to his offer, his arched eyebrow turns to beaming. He utters a sing song chant with Sylvan words combined nonsensically. Goes and playfully pokes Klaytal in the ribs.
Some feedback occurs as the swashbuckler shares his memory. Flashes. A monstrous ogre face at the edge of a clearing. A different boy behind the beast, face full of fear. Running through a forest, falling. The face of a rabbit, talking. A room full of toys, chittering maniacally. A girl.
If the boy notices this exchange, he does not show it.
Instead, he says with sympathy, "I see you've cause to guard our bride-to-be. A grim occurrence, that." He turns to Gate. "I think I have your measure, sir. For now, I must bid you adieu. Milady calls."
With that, he gives a pleading look to Limppu, grabs another butterscotch, and moves to go.
Gate snorts as the boy snatches a butterscotch.
”Nice enough boy, that Jack, but clearly painting with a different pallet, if you know what I mean, begging for a tale and all that talk about milady. Oh, so fancy.”
”Tales.” Gate grins and leans across the table, the small glass vial around his neck swings from the open collar of his shirt.
”I’ve got a tail I could talk about, but it’s long and rather embarrassing, so I’d rather not if you don’t mind.” He bites off another piece of rye bread.
Gate turns to Klaytal. ”Am I to understand you’re here to guard the wedding too? Didn’t notice you around the guard house yet. You just arrived or something? Been off visiting this pig king?”
