Saving Solace

CHAPTER 15

Gerard woke late the next morning, stiff, sore, and itching all over. The bug bites didn't account for all of the itching, he discovered, for apparently he had brushed against some poison ivy on his trek back from Samuval's fortress; he had a red, irritated rash all down the side of one leg. With effort, he kept from clawing at it, although it appeared he had scratched it plenty during the night, making it worse. It itched and burned something fierce.

The sunlight poured through his window. Somewhere, a meadowlark sang. On the streets and the bridge-walks beneath Gerard's attic quarters, Solace already bustled with purpose and energy.

Gerard scowled, dressed in fresh clothes, then went to put on his boots, only to realize they were still in Samuval's possession. The first order of the day would be a trip to the cobbler, through the crowded streets, in his bare feet.

He tiptoed downstairs, hoping to avoid running into Laura or any of the others who worked at the inn.

In that regard he was successful. But if he hoped to make the entire trek to the cobbler's unnoticed, he was doomed to failure. A woman in the silk skirts and lace collar of Solace's new high society saw him emerge furtively from the stairs at the base of the vallenwood tree, and she pointed and giggled. Her companion, a man in similarly elegant attire, turned at the sound and also caught sight of the sheriff. His laughter caused a ripple along the street as more and more people turned to stare and join in the laughter at Gerard's expense.

To aggravate matters (just when Gerard thought matters couldn't possibly worsen), Tangletoe Snakeweed chose that moment to turn onto the street, in the midst of his rounds. The kender was dressed grandly, in a manner he reckoned suitable for a town crier; he wore a long, formal, brocade coat with split tails and wide lapels, which was adorned with an abundance of gold braid and two heavily fringed epaulets. Even the ever-present topknot that was such a distinguishing characteristic of his race was done up with multicolored strands of yarn.

"The sheriff was witnessed last night sneaking back into Solace in his underclothes," the kender was in the midst of shouting, "-oh, hello, Sheriff. I was just talking about you."

For this last part, the kender's voice, which had been pitched to carry, dropped in volume to a normal level, as he came nearly face-to-face with Gerard.

"So I noticed," Gerard said miserably.

"Would you care to comment on what happened last night?" Tangletoe said, his voice taking on an eager, confidential tone. "It would make a great counterpoint to what some of the townsfolk are saying about you.

Lots of nasty gossip, you understand. I have statements from citizens and could use one from your point of view. You know, trying to explain the situation."

Gerard attempted to limp away, but the kender kept pace with him. "I have nothing to say," Gerard growled.

Tangletoe, noticing Gerard's hobbled gate, stared at his feet. "Say, where are your boots? Why aren't you wearing them?"

"I sent them out for repair," Gerard said, still attempting to brush past the annoying creature. "I'm on my way to pick them up now, so if you'll just excuse me.

An increasing number of townspeople had been attracted by the commotion and were stopping to stare and chuckle at his expense. But the kender remained glued to his side.

"I know what," Tangletoe said with breathless enthusiasm. "I'll go ahead of you and announce your coming. That way people will make way for you and be able to express their, uh, sympathy at your plight." He glanced again at Gerard's bare feet. "You know, you really shouldn't be walking out here like that. You might step on a rock or sharp stick and injure yourself."

Over Gerard's vehement objections, Tangletoe proceeded down the street ahead of him, calling out in a loud voice, "Make way for the sheriff, who was glimpsed last night sneaking back into Solace in his underclothes, apparently returning from a secret tryst or assignation. Watch out for that pile of horse manure, Sheriff. You don't want to step in that with your bare feet. Make way for the sheriff, who must have had his boots stolen or something. The sheriff has refused to deny any of the rumors, which have raised considerable concern among the town's leading citizens…"

The four blocks to the cobbler's shop felt interiminable. All the most important and influential people in Solace seemed to be on the streets this day, attending to business or out for a stroll. In rapid succession, Gerard spotted Councilman Kedrick Tos, the goldsmith: Bartholomew Tucker, the wine merchant; Tyburn Price, the import-export dealer; even Lady Drebble and-worst of all-Gatrice Duhar. The last-named stared at Gerard's unshod state in openmouthed amazement. Even the relentless sun beating down on Gerard as he limped along seemed to mock him. He felt his dignity wilting like a head of day-old lettuce.

At last he and his unwanted herald reached the cobbler's shop. Gerard ducked gratefully inside, leaving the kender to shrug his shoulders and continue on his rounds undaunted.

"One explanation for the sheriff's odd behavior is the rumor that he enjoys dwarf spirits on occasion and has been known to burst into bawdy tavern songs in public. I would like to sing you a snatch of one of these songs, but, uh… but they are inappropriate for children's ears."

The inside of the shop was claustrophobic with the odor of freshly tanned leather, and dimly lit from closed shutters. Gerard was relieved to have finally escaped public scrutiny.

The cobbler, a wizened little man with a frizz of gray hair encircling a bald crown, paused where he had been tapping nails into the heel of a shoe and looked up. He squinted at a point on the wall which was slightly to one side of Gerard. "Yes, uh, sir, may I help you?"

Gerard shifted into the man's line of sight, although the man seemed to take no notice of the change. "I need a pair of boots."

The corners of the man's mouth crinkled into a smile. "Ah, boots. Yes, I make boots. I could make you some."

"No, you don't understand, I need them today. Right now."

The man's smile slipped. "Right now? But it takes time to make good boots. Besides, there are other orders ahead of yours. I'll need to measure your feet, and then maybe I can have them by next tenday. Yes, that's right, I can have a fine pair of boots ready for you by then."

"But I need something to wear in the meantime."

The man peered about the floor in a fruitless effort to locate Gerard's feet. "But what are you wearing now?"

Gerard rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I obviously have nothing on my feet right now."

"Huh? You don't? Be careful. You might pick up a splinter or stub a toe."

"I don't have any boots," Gerard said with slow, deliberate emphasis. "I'm not wearing anything on my feet. That's why I'm here. It's a kind of… emergency."

"Ah," the old man said. "An emergency. Don't get many of those."

"Look, do you have something I can wear temporarily? I'll take anything!"

"Well," the old man said slowly, "I might have something that would do the job, as long as you aren't too picky."

"Believe me, I'm not in a position to be picky," Gerard said under his breath as the old man turned to rummage in a worn, ancient sea chest behind him.

A few minutes later, Gerard hobbled awkwardly from the shop, trying to convince himself that any shoes were better than no shoes. The ones he had been loaned were brown and dusty and the worst of it was they were several sizes too big for his feet, so he had to; curl his toes and lift his feet awkwardly merely in order to shuffle along, making a clopping noise.

The cobbler, after much pleading, had agreed to move Gerard's order to the top of his list and have a new pair of boots ready for him the following day.

The barefoot uproar was nothing compared to the public reaction he stirred now, with much laughter and pointing fingers. Many people appeared to recognize the shoes and sympathized with him for wearing them. "So old Jason finally found someone desperate enough to buy those monstrosities, did he?" said one man, clapping Gerard jovially on the shoulder. "He always said they would sell. He just didn't realize twenty years would have to pass first."

"Interesting idea you've got there, Sheriff," said another. "Boots you can grow into, huh?"

Oddly, Gerard found his duties kept him behind his desk all that day, and he didn't hazard leaving the office until well after dark.

That night the inn was more crowded than ever. As the date for the temple dedication neared, more and more people were flocking into town, crowding the streets and leading to arguments and even occasional fights over the town's dwindling lack of accommodations.

At first Gerard and the town guard had been locking disgruntled visitors in the town jail overnight, until Gerard realized that some of those needing a place to stay had staged fights just to find a bed for the night. Down at The Trough, it was said, there was an ongoing wager over how many nights in a row someone could wangle a stay in jail-bed and board at the town's expense.

Gerard had been forced to issue new directives to the guardsmen: short of violent crime, no one was to be held overnight. It was amazing how dramatically instances of civil disturbance had fallen off once participants realized they weren't going to get arrested for it.

Gerard found himself feeling abject and defeated when he finally crawled downstairs from his attic quarters. He slid onto a seat next to Vercleese, who was meeting him for a late-night dinner.

"I told you that Samuval is a snake," Vercleese said, evidently misinterpreting Gerard's malaise. "You shouldn't have gone in there alone. Something like this was to be expected from him."

"You also told me my only chance of getting inside the fortress and talking to him was to go there alone," Gerard objected. "You said if two of us showed up, he'd have cut us down as spies, white flag or no white flag."

"Well, yes, I did say that," said Vercleese, hastily adding, "and it was perfectly sound advice." Gerard stared glumly at the tabletop. "So, at least you got in and out alive. What did you learn?" Vercleese asked with forced brightness. "Anything useful?" Gerard sighed and shook his head. "Nothing? Nothing at all?" Vercleese insisted. "I mean, all that effort and all the grief you went through afterward, coming back without your clothes and all, and he didn't tell you anything you didn't already know?"

Gerard considered a moment, then shook his head again.

"Well, maybe he really didn't have anything to do with Sheriff Joyner's murder."

"I don't think he did," said Gerard.

"I mean, if he had had something to do with it, he would have bragged about it long before now," Vercleese continued. "He's far too smug to keep quiet about something like that. Besides, as I keep telling you, he never seemed to have any particular animosity toward the sheriff."

Gerard peered gloomily around the room while Vercleese kept talking. In one corner of the room, a string trio was setting up. As Gerard watched the performers go about tuning their instruments (a viol, rebec, and lute), Kaleen swung past Gerard's table on her way to serving a large family spread over two tables nearby. She shot him a pitying glance. He felt himself flush and looked away. He didn't need pity. All he really wanted right now was a pair of boots that fit.

"So what about Jutlin Wykirk?" Gerard asked Vercleese. "I asked you to pay him a visit. You agreed there's something suspicious about that man."

"Well, it's nothing I can put my finger on," Vercleese answered. "I just never have liked the man, and it's not just because of the way he rants about elves and kender. You hear enough of that right here in town. For that matter, I'm no fan of the elves either. Slippery creatures, they are."

He paused, in case Gerard wanted to say something about elves or kender, but the sheriff remained silent.

"But there is something about Jutlin that gets under my skin," Vercleese agreed inconclusively.

The string trio had finished tuning up and now began playing a fast-paced reel. Gerard would have tapped his toes to the infectious rhythm if his boots didn't feel so heavy and cumbersome-and if he felt like toe tapping. "So you went out there like I asked," he continued, "to Jutlin's. Did you get a look around?"

Vercleese nodded. "He's always very neighborly in that regard. He gave me a tour of the whole place. Everything was neat and tidy. I walked around the barn, poked around inside the shed, even had a cup of tarbean tea with Jutlin and his missus." Vercleese grimaced. "Now there's a sour one. I don't think that woman had one good word to say the whole time I was in her kitchen.

"Anyway, I didn't find anything out of the ordinary, and he insists he never saw Sheriff Joyner that day. He remembers the Ostermans stopping by, though. He has a fondness for their potatoes-and a crush on Sophie, if you ask me."

Silence again descended on the table, in spite of the sprightly music of the trio.

"You must have your suspicions of old Jutlin, too," Vercleese said at last. "Why would you send me over there to visit him otherwise?"

Gerard grinned weakly. "Oh, I was tired of your fussing over my visit to Samuval. I just wanted to keep you busy while I was away."

"Well I'll be!" Vercleese fumed wordlessly a moment. Finally, he stood. "I think it's time for me to turn in." he said stiffly. "I'll see you in the morning."

Gerard let him go. He felt he'd done the right thing, and there was something about Jutlin Wykirk that bothered him. But if Vercleese was still upset in the morning, he'd apologize then.

Across the room, Laura stormed out of the kitchen, a huge, steaming platter in her hands.

To his surprise, she plunked it down in front of him. It held the largest single portion of Otik's spiced potatoes Gerard had ever seen. Then she stood back, tapping her toes and glaring at him.

"Um…" Gerard began, uncertain what to say.

Kaleen hurried up to the table. "Maybe Sir Gerard would like a little bread and stew instead tonight." She reached to take the platter, but Laura clamped a hand on her arm and shook her head. With a jerk of her head, Laura gestured for the girl to go about her business. Behind Laura's back, Kaleen shrugged sympathetically at Gerard then scurried away.

Gerard scarcely noticed. He kept staring at the huge platter of potatoes. And Laura kept glaring down at him. Gerard picked up a spoon. Summoning his courage, he shoveled up a spoonful. Laura waited. He put it in his mouth… and tried to smile… and chewed.

The string trio launched into a mournful air that seemed particularly appropriate for the moment.

Laura took a seat across from him, still watching. "None of your tricks now," she said sweetly.

Gerard felt himself flush, partly through embarrassment and partly from the spiciness of the dish. When he felt he had chewed as long as he could, he swallowed. The potatoes were a long time going down.

Kaleen appeared at his elbow again, a large mug of ale in her hand. She set it down in front of him and caught his eye. "Otik's fine ale makes the potatoes slide down real smooth," she said.

He took the first of several big swigs and found it was true.

Twenty minutes later, Laura stood, looking smug as Gerard scooped up the last of the potatoes. She set the three empty ale mugs on the now-empty platter and hurried back to the kitchen with a look that told Gerard she had temporarily forgotten her other customers and was just now remembering them. He grinned, feeling unaccountably all right and swaying happily to the infectious music of the trio. Someone belched loudly and Gerard looked around for the culprit before realizing it had been him. He grinned all the harder.

A few tables away, he noticed Blair sitting alone, his eyes hungrily watching Kaleen as she swept here and there through the room, serving customers. Gerard reached for the remaining mug of ale, almost knocked it over, and righted it before it could spill. But when he brought the mug to his lips, he discovered it was already empty.

Darn! Now who had gone and done that to him! He glared suspiciously around the room, his eyes alighting on Kaleen. For a moment, he watched her, giddy with gratitude. She was the one who had kept him from having to eat all those potatoes without the saving grace of Otik's ale. Gerard would never have managed had it not been for her.

He became aware of Blair scowling at him, watching him watch Kaleen. Gerard swung his attention to the sergeant, trying for a flinty glare, then brought his eyes back when they careened right past Blair and off to the side. He hiccupped, feeling a little dizzy from the unaccustomed shimmering of the room. He wished Blair would hold still.

The trio was playing another lively tune. Gerard tapped toes that now felt delightfully numb. Even the itch from the bug bites and the poison ivy had receded into the fog of his mind. He tried to concentrate on what he knew about Sheriff Joyner's murder, but everything was spinning in his brain. Sheriff Joyner, the Ostermans, Usha and her magic painting, the dead architect, the gambling society, the elf-hating Jutlin Wykirk, the elves. The elves. The…

He couldn't keep them all straight anymore. For some reason, he found his whirling thoughts vastly amusing. He laughed at his own foolishness and reflexively reached for his mug, hesitated when he remembered it was empty, then discovered Kaleen had apparently brought him a refill while he wasn't looking.

Good girl, that Kaleen. Steady, dependable. He could see why Blair liked her so.

People had shoved the tables back, crowding them together even more to create a clear space in the center of the room for dancing. Gerard watched the couples whirl and twirl. He swayed zestfully to the music, caught himself from toppling, and applauded the dancers.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up to find it was Kaleen-good old Kaleen! — taking off her apron. She curtseyed charmingly. "May I have this dance?"

"But you're working," he managed to say, despite a mouth that felt strangely full of cotton.

"I just finished for the night." She held out her hand. "Come on!"

"Oh, no, no, I rarely… that is, I never dance! Won't! Can't!"

She pulled him to his feet. "Come on, Lord Porridge, dance with me."

Gerard looked around anxiously, seeking some escape. From his table, Blair was glaring daggers at him. For some reason, that decided Gerard. "All right," he mumbled. "I'll try."

He stood up, kicking off his oversized shoes.

"It's easy. Just follow my lead." She drew him past Blair and into the center of the room.

Kaleen began twirling when she reached the cleared area. Gerard lifted one foot tentatively, then the other, almost forgetting to put the first foot down. He giggled. A few people in the crowd pointed to his bare feet and laughed. Gerard laughed with them. Feeling more confident, he began flinging himself around in time to the music. Some people laughed, some scowled (mostly the ones he bumped into), but everyone pushed back to give him more room. Soon the whole roomful of people had started clapping to the beat. Kaleen spun and swirled gracefully. Gerard showed her some particularly daring moves of his own. The musicians played as though they would never stop.

Laura heard the crowd shouting and clapping and stepped from the kitchen to see what was going on.

There were Gerard and Kaleen in the center of the room, dancing like mad (if what Gerard was doing could be called dancing) while the rest of the room looked on merrily. She frowned a moment in puzzlement, then broke into a huge smile. Who would have thought, she mused. Those two together. And yet now that she considered it, it seemed a likely match.

Humming to the music, she went back into the kitchen, twirling and doing a little sidestep of her own just before the door closed behind her.