Heroes And Fools

Scene 2: A Conference in Shadows

Palak nicked his cape around himself and his bundle as he descended the dark, stained stairs. Why, he thought petulantly, does he do these things underground?

It was a real concern for him. As leader of the Joyous Faithful Guard, he would have preferred that every penitent confess as publicly as possible, not in chains somewhere far from the people who would be encouraged by repentance.

He knew the answer to his question, though. This man was underground because he liked to do his business underground. No one had ordered him to come up because they were all more than a little afraid of him.

Even Palak, fanatical as he was, hesitated at the iron door before rapping on it and calling out, “Tulaen.”

A voice said calmly, “I’m with a penitent. Wait.”

Palak, sitting on the bottom step, wrapped part of his cape around his head, put his hands over his ears, and waited for the screaming to stop. It took longer than he thought strictly necessary, but he wasn’t about to interrupt.

The calm voice said, “All right.” The door opened, and Palak faced a large, bald man with a drooping mustache. “I’ll be right with you,” the man said.

Palak came in. Tulaen had washed his hands in a bowl and was drying them, looking thoughtfully at the dead woman. Palak glanced at all four corners of the room rather than looking at the woman.

Palak said, “What is it that is attractive about this work? Is it the joyous moment when, in tears, they confess?”

“Not really. I can postpone that indefinitely.”

“Ah.” Palak considered. “What did you do before you came here?”

Tulaen’s face clouded over. “I lived with a family. I think it was my family.” He shook his head. “Well, there’s no bringing them back.”

Palak swallowed and changed the subject tactfully. “Tulaen, I’ve come to offer you an opportunity to advance the Faith.” He waited for a nod or a meaningful look. When none came he went on nervously, “There was a young cleric named Daev. .”

“I heard,” Tulaen said neutrally. “Wrote books, didn’t he? Heresies. He should have been burned alive at the stake, but he’s disappeared.” He shook his head. “Very sad.”

“Well,” Palak went on hurriedly, looking into the empty, patient eyes of the torturer, “we have evidence that he’s alive.”

“Evidence?”

Palak raised the bundle he had been carrying and slapped it on the table, tugging the cord undone. He lifted the books one at a time, reading the titles angrily. “The Dangers of Fanaticism. Medicine: Is it More Effective than Prayer? Oh, here’s a nice one: 7s Truth Absolute?”

Tulaen picked up the bottom book and leafed through it. “Follies of the Faithful, Illustrated. Nice drawings.” He held it open for Palak. “Tell me, how can that look like you and like a swine at the same time?”

“I want you to find him and kill him, quickly,” Palak snapped.

Tulaen gestured to the dead woman. “I don’t kill quickly.”

Palak looked automatically, then looked away in spite of himself. “Granted. Just be certain you kill him. An entire faith falls if you fail.”

“More importantly, I fail.” Tulaen regarded Palak. “I promise you, I won’t.” He stuck out a huge palm. “Pay up front.”

“Shouldn’t you come back and prove to me you’ve done it?”

“My word is good. No one has doubted me before.” He smiled gently at the dead woman, then back at Palak. “Do you really want me coming back?”

Palak handed him all the money.

Samael passed the notebook to Kela, who stared at him open-mouthed.

“Nicely read,” Daev conceded. “Clear, loud enough- didn’t drop the ends of your lines-and very passionate.” Somehow he had hoped Samael would need more coaching at love lines.

“Perfect,” Kela breathed. She shook her head hastily. “Oops, I’m sorry. Now you want me to do my lines?”

Daev murmured, “That would be nice.”

She glanced down, closed the book and held it out to Samael as Sharmaen was to hold the prop book. “No, sir, I beg you, read more carefully,

But you have skimmed the matter here, and missed

The subject I have worshipfully kissed

Whenever I discerned him-”

The scene went on until they kissed passionately over the book, then let the book slide to the stage floor. Samael, being taller, practically wrapped himself around Kela.

Daev, as the jealous father Stormtower, rushed in and pulled the lovers apart. Samael staggered as Daev read his angry lines with surprising force.

Getting into the action, Frenni, as Old Staffling the grand-father, burst in and verbally abused Daev/Stormtower, thwacking him with a hoopak/staff. The first blow knocked the wind out of Daev; the second, on his shin, set him dancing.

Frenni leaned on his staff and said critically, “You could dance funnier, but that’s not bad.”

When he finally found his tongue, Daev said with a tremor in his voice, “How would you like to have your entire throat ripped out and pulped with a rock?”

“No idea,” Frenni said. “Does it hurt?”

“Excruciatingly.”

“Have you had it done?”

Daev looked disconcerted. “Well, no-”

“Then how do you know?”

“Never threaten a kender,” Samael said. “It only encourages them.”

“All right,” Daev said through clenched teeth. “No more improvising. No more making up lines and movements, and no more real hitting, or you can’t be in the play. Do you understand?”

It was an empty threat, since they needed Frenni badly, but the kender went along. “All right,” he said sullenly. “We’ll do it the same boring way every time.”

“That,” Samael said with great satisfaction, “is how my potions work.”

After the rehearsal he produced a small balance scale and a system of weights from his cart. “Precise amounts of ingredients-salts, herbs, dried animal parts-produce the same results every time,” he said.

Frenni said indignantly, “Who wants that?”

Samael put a small amount of salt on the scale and checked it, grain by grain, against the weight on the other tray. “People who want the same thing to happen every time.”

“Do you want the same meal every night?” Frenni argued. “Of course not. Variety is adventure. Why, when I cook, even though it’s the same dish, it’s different every time. A dash of this, a pinch of that, and it’s completely different.”

Daev shuddered. “It’s true. Some of his meals are excellent. Some taste like badly sauteed rocks.”

Frenni, still smarting from the “no improvising” rule, put his hands on his chin. “Plays should be like that: different every time. In fact, you should write a new play that makes sure it’s different for the audience every time.”

“What kind of play, O great kender director?”

Frenni missed the sarcasm. “I think we should do a play with explosions, and dragons, and a village burning, and a battle, and magic.”

“I see,” Daev said caustically. “A play about a dragon that explodes over a village and sets it on fire, killing the wizard he was battling.”

Frenni looked at him in awe. “Is that what it’s like to be a real writer?”

“Of course. Do you want anything else?”

“Well, I think it should be funny.”

Daev threw up his hands. “Can’t we do the play we’ve got?”

“It’s awfully good,” Samael said.

Kela, looking at him, said, “It’s perfect.”

Daev watched her staring at the alchemist. Nettled, he said, “Perfect.”

“All the love lines.”

“They just came to me,” he said dryly.

She clapped her hands. “The romance is so tender.”

Daev was beginning to be unhappy with the play, though he had written it to feature Kela. “Can we just go over the set and effects design?”

Kela passed her notebook to Daev, pointing to some sketches of which she was particularly proud.

Daev reviewed Kela’s set designs, choked, and explained briefly about minimalism, imagination, and money. All in all she took criticism much better than Frenni had. She sat back down and sketched quickly. “Don’t worry. I’ll be done tomorrow morning.”

“Wonderful. That leaves us one whole day to build and sew everything.” Daev ran his hands through his hair, wondering how soon it would turn gray. He added irritably, “Are you going to keep that beast?” Kela had adopted a stray dog, rangy and brown, which clearly adored her.

“I’ll name him Tasslehoff.”

“Everybody names dogs Tasslehoff.” But Daev scratched the dog under the chin. “Maybe we can work him into the play.”

The dog grinned. So did Samael. “Why not?” said the youth. “She worked me in.”

“Very true,” Daev conceded, but it didn’t help his mood.

That afternoon, as he had for the past four days, Samael carefully weighed out ingredients and folded them into paper packets for his customers. An attractive but pinched-looking young woman watched him carefully.

“Thank you for buying this-um, Elayna,” Samael said mechanically. “You’ll receive your copy of the book the night before the play performance.”

Elayna clutched the package as though it contained jewels, “This will make me attractive?”

“You will be attractive,” he assured her. “Mix the ingredients as described in the book and drink them with water. Avoid leading military skirmishes while on this prescription.” He looked up to see that she understood that was a joke, saw that she didn’t, and looked down indifferently.

Kela, completing a sketch with a flourish, offered it to Elayna. She stared at it, pleased. “I don’t really look like this.”

“You do,” Kela said earnestly. “You just need the potion.”

Elayna, vastly pleased, bought the sketch as well as the ingredients and the book.

Daev stopped by, drenched in sweat. Without looking up, Kela ladled him a dipper of water. He drank half of it and poured the rest over his head. “The stage is finished.” He added heavily, “Thanks so much for helping.”

“I helped,” Frenni pointed out and poured water all over himself from the bucket. Kela and Samael shielded the items on the table protectively.

“You were a great help,” Daev rumbled, “as my bruises testify. As for you other two. .”

Kela held up a purse. “Doesn’t this help?”

Daev weighed it on his palm, impressed but trying to hide it.

Samael, tired though he was, grinned. “We sold some ingredients to a fat man named Mikel who wants to get thinner. We sold two doses of powders to thin women who want to get fatter. We sold powders and a portrait to a short man named Vaencent who wants to feel tall and powerful. We sold five or six packets with partial ingredients for love potions. The customers’ll use home ingredients to finish them out.” He laughed his demented laugh. “That’s a surprise, right? Oh-we sold four potions to make the drinkers fall out of love. There are a few broken hearts in this town.”

“They all bought books,” said Kela, “and tickets to the play.”

Daev rubbed his palms together. “I hope they like the play.”

“They’re dying for the play,”‘ Kela said frankly. “The way people talk, you’d swear that nothing new has happened in this town since the Cataclysm. Anyway, it’s a wonderful play, your best so far.” She added, starry-eyed, “Amandor’s lines-”

“-should do the trick, and Samael delivers them fairly well,” Daev finished.

“Perfectly.”

“Not perfectly, but very well.” Daev had been hearing far too much about the perfect Samael lately. “It won’t matter if we don’t finish the set paintings, the costumes, and the effects, will it? Samael, how is the proofing coming?” It seemed to be taking forever, and Daev had agreed to let the alchemist alone until it was done.

Samael pointed to a stack of trays, each filled with blocks of carved letters. “I ran the test copy this morning, then changed it and ran another copy. I changed it again-”

“You all think I change things too much,” Frenni muttered.

“It’s a wonderful book,” Kela chimed.

“I assumed it was perfect,” Daev said shortly. “It’s a good combination. The potions advertise the play, we presell the book, and happy customers tell all their friends about the next performance. Now all we have to do is get the book proofed and bound for tonight.” He emphasized “tonight.”

Samael looked up, shocked. “I want to proof it one more time.”

“How many times have you proofed it already?”

The young man looked down again, scanning the pages. “This next one will be the fifth.”

“The fifth?” Daev looked at the others in disbelief. They were all staring at him. “Listen, all of you. We have to complete the sets, finish the costumes, set up Samael’s special effects, print the book, bind the book, distribute all fifty copies as promised, and we have to do it all in one night.” He rubbed his eyes. “Gods, I can’t believe we open tomorrow.”

Now even Tasslehoff looked worried.

Daev pointed at the bare stage. “Kela, paint the backdrop. Samael, help me with the sets and the costumes. We’ll do the effects last. Frenni, your job is to print the book, bind it, and run it from house to house.”

Samael shook his head, frowning. “But I want to help print-”

“Frenni’s a specialist,” Daev assured Samael. “No more proofing,” he added firmly.

“He can do the book,” said Frenni. “I could work on the special effects!”

“Finish the book, Frenni, and you can help with the special effects. Now go.” Daev tugged on Samael’s sleeve, dragging him off to work.

The alchemist resisted. “Can’t I just proof it one more time?”

“Name of the gods, let it go. It will be fine.” Daev said with only a hint of bitterness, “I’m sure that, like everything you do, it will be wonderful and perfect.” He called back to Frenni with more asperity than was necessary, “Set up the print trays on the table and start running copies. Double time.”

“All right,” Frenni said sulkily. He watched the humans leave to work on the scenery.

“They don’t appreciate my hidden talents,” he muttered as he moved the trays of print and stacked them on the table. “I may not write, but I can sure improvise. You want a dragon? I can do a dragon.” He spun around, ducking and weaving from an invisible dragon, and set another tray down.

“You want magic? I can do magic-which is in very short supply nowadays.” He set one of the trays on the end of his hoopak and spun the tray, walking with it to the table. As the tray spun and wobbled, he slid it dexterously on top of the others.

Carrying the last tray, he kept up the griping. “Double time he wants, double time he’ll get. All the more time for special effects later on.” He wasn’t watching where he was going, tripped on a tree root and fell sprawling against the table. All eight trays of set pages slid down, letters and words raining down like stones in an avalanche.

Frenni dusted himself off and looked in dismay at the mess. The set pages had gaps interspersed throughout, ingredients and instructions and sometimes titles missing.

He thought of what the others would say when he told them what happened and sighed. Some days working with humans just wasn’t as much fun as he’d thought.