She wondered if it looked anything like him—or rather, anything like the way he looked back then, when he was only an eight-year-old boy. She'd drawn this masterpiece in pencil, so there was always the emergency eraser available if she wasn't totally satisfied.
Ah, I dunno... I think the nose is too small.
Relm narrowed her hazel eyes, concentrating, trying to imagine the face with a bigger nose.
Dang it, I can't decide...
Instinctively her hand reached for the pencil lying on her bed, her gaze never leaving the drawing. Oh, but wait... The bandanna looked awfully good. Sure, she didn't know exactly what it looked like, but she thought she did such a wonderful job with the shading, wonderful enough to make her proud, actually.
Fine, I'll leave it as is—
"Relm!" came the shout from downstairs. "You've got a letter!"
"I do?" In an instant both pencil and artwork were abandoned, as Relm Arrowny slid off her bed and raced out of her room, downstairs to see who the sender was.
TerraEdgarLockeSabinSetzer—anybody! Here's hoping it's lover boy, hee.
But whatever for would Edgar write Relm?
Because he'll want a portrait done one day, something to commemorate him being a king and all. And what other artist could he possibly know?
Well, being king, Relm realized that Edgar might know hundreds of artists, maybe even thousands. Heck, he might even hold a contest at Figaro one day, to see who was worthy of painting his famous face...
Those flights of fancy aside, Relm arrived at the foot of the stairs to find her grandfather sifting through a small stack of envelopes, grumbling here and there about notices and taxes and other unwelcome grownup agenda.
"Where's my letter?"
"Right here," Strago said. He absently handed her an average-sized envelope with a fancy seal on the back and big swirling writing scrawled on the front. "It's from Jidoor," he told her.
"What?" Paying no mind to the nice envelope, Relm tore it open and removed the neat, square little note that had been folded inside. She put her free hand on her hip, cocked her head to one side, and began to read aloud:
"'Dearest Relm,' blah blah blah... 'Would like you to come back to Jidoor for a little visit,' blah blah blah... 'Finish painting,' blah blah blah... 'Fondly yours, Owzer.'" She studied the letter for a little bit before folding it up and falling silent for a time. "Well, it's about time he wrote me!" she exclaimed. "I thought he'd just wait for me to show up on his doorstep, kinda like last time..." She raised her arm and looked at the note again. No, she hadn't been expecting this at all...not now, anyway.
"You should finish what you started, Relm," her grandfather advised her. In his case, giving advice was a very rare pastime.
"I know that! I just...don't feel like it right now. I'm hot and tired. He can wait a few more weeks." Absently she cast the letter over her shoulder, where it fluttered awkwardly to the floor. Strago saw this and bent down to retrieve it.
"I just hope you're getting paid for that work," he muttered.
"Paid? Nah. I offered to do that piece out of the kindness of my heart."
"Eh? Kindness of your heart? I don't see how THAT'S going to help pay for this week's groceries! Or the mortgage! Or the village taxes—"
"Ah, you grownups! Always about money! Whatever happened to charity, and goodwill, and all that other crap they teach us in school?"
Said a skeptical Strago, "When goodwill becomes acceptable currency, I'll buy into it. Now, this Owzer fellow's all the way over in Jidoor? How're you gonna get there? I'm tellin' you, we'll have to cut corners left and right to get enough money for a ship ride..."
But Relm was full of ideas. "I'll just write 'im back and talk to him about paying my travel expenses. I'm sure he'll listen—after all, he did say he couldn't find anybody else to finish the painting." She grew thoughtful for a moment. "But I can't leave right away anyway. You didn't finish the story, Grandpa."
Strago threw her a blank look. "What story?"
"'What story?'" Relm's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. "Gods, Grandpa, you really ARE senile! Don't you remember? Daddy's story? You were telling it to me, like, an hour or so ago?" Because you promised to!
"Oh yeah—"
"Yes, that story," said Relm. Man, he must really be losin' it or something. A small pause. "Ya know, I think you're getting worse! ...What's my name?"
"Relm!" Strago snapped, hands flying to his hips.
"Good! And what's his name?" Relm continued, pointing to a lazy Interceptor curled up at the foot of Strago's armchair, basking in a patch of sunlight from an open window. When he heard his name, his ears twitched and he perked up a bit.
"RELM!"
"WRONG!" she said sharply, pointing a finger at him.
"I know what the dog's name is! I ain't that forgetful! Now, let's see... Your father's story... Tell you what. I'll get around to it after I get s'more shut-eye—"
"You already HAD some shut-eye! Earlier, remember?" Relm flustered at him.
"Yes, well, YOU woke me up—"
"AFTER you slept for over an hour!"
"Jeez, Relm..." Demands, demands, demands! It never ends! "Fine, but I'm gonna hit the hay early tonight, so don't bother asking me to stay up for this." He trudged over to his armchair, stepping over Interceptor, and flopped down wearily.
Fortunately for Strago, Relm was satisfied for now. Quietly, she walked towards a small chair by the window and made to sit down...until something suddenly occurred to her. Interceptor could use some exercise, but taking him for a walk would mean missing out on more story. She searched behind Strago's armchair for one of the oft-disappearing doggie toys, and was rewarded with an old rubber ball scarred with tooth marks. She went back to her chair, sat down, and said, "Interceptor—fetch."
The dog looked up just in time to see the toy go flying across the room. He got up and chased after it.
The ball nearly knocked a picture off the wall. Strago winced. "Shouldn't you be doing that outside...?"
"Nah. If I do that, then I won't hear the rest of the story. You'll try to take a nap on me." Relm beamed cunningly at her grandfather. "So I'm getting two things done at once. The dog gets some exercise and I get to hear the rest of daddy's story."
"If something breaks..."
"Nothing'll break." Interceptor returned to his mistress, toy in jaw. He dropped it at Relm's feet, waiting for the next throw.
I've heard that one before, Strago thought. "Where did I leave off, now?"
"Daddy was in this city outside of Narshe and he made friends with a guy called Gavin and he got the bandanna he always wanted. Then he got scared off by a mean ol' man who was kinda like you." Whoosh—the ball flew across the living room again.
"WHAT? He wasn't anything like me!"
"Get on with the story and prove it!"
"Smart mouth."
Clyde hadn't gone back to his parents' room until evening. So, it really wasn't much of a surprise that neither his mother nor his father had seen the great bandanna until then.
Before then, the boy had whiled away the remaining hours of the day just goofing off in the alleyways of town. He watched from across Main Street as a family with a lot of kids pulled their cart up to the sprawling porch of a massive hotel. It was a towering structure, with five floors at least. The hotel Clyde's family was staying at had only three.
He'd given it a thought to befriend one of those kids. Most of them seemed to be around his age. But the more he thought about it, the more he decided he was against it. Heck, when he first got here, he had to figure out his way around on his own. Let those kids do it by themselves, the same way he did. Was Clyde to be some strangers' welcoming committee? Certainly not! They had each other; they were lucky enough in that respect. Maybe after they got some experience with how things went around here, he'd introduce himself then, in his own way. Just not now.
When he got back home, his mother gave him one quick look and hauled him off to the washroom, as per the usual drill. She turned on the tub faucets and grabbed a washcloth. The entire time, her son was smiling awkwardly, like he was hiding something.
She stopped bustling about and squinted at him. "Whatcha hidin' from me, huh?" Before her boy could answer her, she saw it—the black bandanna drawn tightly over his head.
Clyde's smile widened.
"Where'd you get that?" his mother asked him, hands now resting on her broad hips. She didn't sound angry, just curious. Well, she wouldn't really care if he'd stolen it, would she? No, her husband dabbled in that sort of thing himself, and it was to thievery that the family owed their stay here. Of course his mother wouldn't be upset. She made to remove it, but it was tied on rather tightly, so she had to give it a few good tugs before it finally released her son's head. She studied it curiously.
"Nice looking thing... A little big on you, though..."
Her hands glided over the knot that Gavin had tied, and that was when Clyde stopped her.
"Don't untie that," he said. "I wanna keep it that way. So I can jus' take it on and off."
His mother shrugged. "If that's the way you want it. All right, off with those dirty clothes."
After his bath, right before he went to sleep, Clyde thought of wearing the bandanna to bed. Maybe doing so would give him good dreams, or a dream about the future, or something good or interesting. He dismissed the idea though not too long after he'd conceived it—that sounded awfully childish anyway. Aside from that, he was still convinced that his new present would give him good luck someday. In fact, he was absolutely sure it would.
Days came and went and soon Clyde was in the midst of the second week of his stay in Valdebrooke. During that time he and Gavin had grown ever closer and he'd lost his fear of Mr. Abbingway in a sense. In fact, he often used the Abbingways' home as a sanctuary from parental wrath, whenever he managed to invoke such a terrible thing.
Once he came home terribly late for one reason or another, an excuse trivial enough to escape his memory in later years. He found his parents waiting in the small hotel lobby for him, his father pacing the floor, his mother seated. She was particularly cross, being the heavy hand of the Arrowny family and rather unused to a disobedient only son. Clyde was not one to go about breaking rules unless he was personally opposed to them.
Well, as soon as he opened the door, and in doing so rung the little tin bell at the top of the entryway, his mother rose from her chair. His father stopped pacing. Oh dear. Clyde hoped to go through uncaught, run up to his family's room, and simply slip into bed, ready to deal with the twenty questions the following morning. He hadn't really done anything like this before, but he wasn't the type to go wasting precious time wishing that he'd done things differently. Wishing never brought about results. Now, he saw his mother coming towards him, a great wave of anger, and he heard his father's voice.
"Where the hell have you been?"
And that was all it took. Clyde was off like a spooked moogle, dashing out through the doors and across Stratt Street. The little bell rang, tolling his escape.
It was very dark outside, but there was help in the form of streetlamps. The lamplighters had passed through hours ago, around sunset. The glow from one of them managed to hit the rippled stretch of canvas that ran down and over the front part of the Abbingways' shop across the street. The canvas even covered the sides where the counter was, coming down from the awning above, but Clyde could sneak under it and hold off there...until... Well, until things got better somehow. He couldn't disobey his instincts, and it was every muscle in his body that told him to flee and hide someplace.
He snuck under the canvas and was stopped by a seemingly infinite stretch of shadow. He sat down and leaned up against the wall of the house to catch his breath and calm the thumping of his heart, which was driving him crazy.
Did his parents see him? He didn't know, but he had time to think about it now. Shouldn't he go back?
He didn't want to, to be honest. He felt safe here, in the dark where he was unseen. Unlike most kids his age, he had no fear of darkness. Darkness could be protective when one wished to use it, and its very essence warded off the weaker people who were either too superficial to look into it or were simply afraid of what they couldn't see. Darkness had many advantages; thus Clyde learned to use it well.
He thought of course, while he sat. Maybe if he could get Gavin to sympathize with him a little, he'd be able to hide out at his place for a time until his parents—especially his mother—cooled down safely. He wouldn't go back himself unless he was sure he wouldn't end up with a tanned hide. When things got awry, the best thing to do was to leave them alone and come back when they've settled, Clyde knew. Or simply leave and never come back.
But he had to go back to his folks, didn't he? He was too young to live on his own yet.
He decided to go wake up Gavin now. He got up and stumbled in the shadows, pounding against the wall with his palms, trying to find the doorway. There were soft sounds coming from inside the building, barely heard, and then the door itself creaked open slowly. A lamp was thrust out, followed by a knife of considerable size, pointed into the surrounding darkness.
Clyde was startled and fell to the ground with a cry, turning away from the bright, unwanted light.
"Who's there?" Gavin spoke slowly, swinging the lamp outward in an arc. "Thief! Hit the road or I'll—"
"It's ME!" said a very disgruntled Clyde Arrowny, picking himself up again. "Let me in! I've gotta hide!" The boy ran through the door and partway into the house, again stopped by sheer darkness. He spun around as Gavin retreated inside, chanting, "Lock the door! Lock the door!"
"Clyde...? My gods, I thought I was getting robbed or something..."
The boy said nothing then; Gavin shut the door after one last look around outside, but he did not lock it.
"What's going on with you?" he began, a twinge of irritation in his voice, something that Clyde quickly discovered he didn't like at all. "It's almost midnight, I think, or a little past—"
"My parents're gonna KILL me," said the boy. He paused there pensively, worrying his hands. "So I'm hiding from 'em." He averted Gavin's dark eyes.
Then came the deep voice, from the back of the house. "Who's there?"
Mr. Abbingway. He would surely be against giving a guilty boy shelter from his own parents. He didn't seem like the type who would find it amusing, nor did he seem like the kind of guy who pitied runaways.
"It's Clyde," Gavin answered sleepily.
"Clyde? Here? Now? What time is it? Get some lights on in here." Mr. Abbingway fumbled in the dark for one of the kerosene lamps, not satisfied with the lone one his son was carrying.
Gavin chuckled. "You're witnessing a once-in-a-lifetime event," he told Clyde. "My father turning on lights."
Mr. Abbingway's face glowed orange in the lamplight. He said nothing in response to his son's remark, but glowered at him irritably. There was no smile to be found in those fathomless eyes. Presently he turned them on the boy far below him. "All right now...youngster, you give me one good reason why you came barging in here at ten of twelve, getting me out of bed thinking I'm getting robbed..."
The light of the lamp's flames lent his eyes a very eerie glow, and he looked very frightening to the green-eyed boy below him. Clyde felt very ashamed deep within, but he didn't want to wear it on his face. He climbed to his feet, his expression dark.
"I stood out too late and forgot what time it was," he said mildly. "An' my parents're gonna give it to me good, so I'm trying to hide."
He realized another advantage to darkness then—its presence left no room for fear. It felt easier to him to be so forward in such feeble lighting.
"Troublemaker," Gavin accused, but this time there was humor in his voice.
"'Troublemaker' is damn right," said Mr. Abbingway. "If they figure out you're in here, we're just gonna have to hand you over. You should've been home at the right time anyway. Your parents must be damned worried out there, lookin' for you. Oughta behave," he added at the end—the final blow.
Oughta behave? Behave indeed! This was one of the few times when he actually managed to misbehave! Most of the time he found his parents' rules to be rather agreeable, so he had little cause to break them. Yet lately... Lately he was feeling rebellious for no reason in particular. He couldn't explain it himself. It just was that rule breaking seemed awfully tempting and he was giving in to it day by day. But Mr. Abbingway wouldn't understand that, would he? No, he was a kid such a very long time ago. He couldn't possibly remember what growing up was like.
Gavin asked Clyde, "Your parents didn't see you go in here, did they?"
"I dunno. I wasn't lookin'."
"Well, they could be out all night lookin' for you. Haven't you thought about that?" Mr. Abbingway pointed out. "You'll have them up until daybreak tryin' to find you. You oughta go back now, or things'll get worse." He turned and headed back to his room, adding over his shoulder, "Gavin, douse the light and lock things up before you go back to bed." Thereafter, his lean figure disappeared into the darkness at the back of the dwelling.
Clyde swallowed, feeling guilty now. Even if his mother was a beast when she was angry, she didn't deserve to be kept up all night, riddled with worry, prowling the streets for her son. Clyde was all she and her husband had left. And after his older sister's disappearance when she was only two, Clyde's parents had every right to be upset. Mr. Abbingway was right. And considering how his tone had softened somewhat when he last spoke, Clyde was all the more ready to follow his advice.
That and he was tired. Really tired. He yawned silently as Gavin left the house and stood outside under the canopy of stars. His eyelids were so heavy... Wouldn't it be nice if he could just sleep here until morning, and not have to worry about feeling bad for what he'd done...? He leaned against the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor. Then he started to nod off.
What made him suddenly snap to attention was the sense of abandonment that overtook him. Something inside his head told him that Gavin was no longer near his own home. Had he gone off to look for Clyde's parents? Was he once again doing his friend a favor? It wasn't his mess to fix! Darn it, now Clyde felt even guiltier. He had three people he cared about roaming the streets of Valdebrooke at a time of day when thieves and murderers made their rounds. This time he didn't want to accept Gavin's help or his favors. He felt the urge to settle this thing by himself. Yet until at least one of them found where he was hiding, Clyde was paralyzed.
So he waited. He waited in the silent house beneath the lamp on the wall, now favoring its bright glow over the concealing blackness. He wanted to be seen now; he wanted this whole thing to just end.
An eternity passed, or so Clyde thought, as he drifted in and out of sleep. His eyes closed on him when he least expected it and then he'd snap them open again, desperate to stay awake. He was convinced now that Gavin had gone out to find his parents, even if it was simply because he wanted to believe it, because he was too tired to think of any other reason.
I'll never stay up so late again, he told himself sharply.
Then the voices came for him. He could hear them skirting the edges of his consciousness, prowling like beasts of prey, waiting for him to drift off at long last. Faint they were at first, but soon they grew stronger, louder.
"I apologize about this..."
"...We're just worried..."
"...It's all right...he's right inside..."
Clyde recognized those voices, but he didn't bother to give them faces. His eyelids weighed a ton. Footsteps shuffled into the building through the door and he didn't even do so much as budge.
"Here he is, the little outlaw... Just doesn't want his hide tanned, that's all..."
A hand came out of nowhere and ruffled Clyde's hair. Then it spoke to him. "You go home with your folks now," it said, though it didn't sound the least bit commanding. "An' next time, when they wanna take a strap to ya, just bite your lip and bear it." There was a smile in the voice then. Clyde liked that. He didn't like being ordered about, but he didn't mind being teased a little.
Subconsciously, he recognized the voice to be Gavin's, but he never really snapped out of his sleepy trance until his mother walked right up to him, took him by the shoulders, and gave him a good shaking. "You frightened the daylights out of us! Do you hear me?" said she, dark eyes glazy with weariness and yet wild with sudden relief. "Don't you run away like that again, you got that?"
Oh sure, Clyde told himself he'd never stay out late again, but not run away? No, he couldn't promise that. Running away was his defense from the world when all else failed, his mind tried to explain.
But he felt strangely agreeable at the moment. "I won't do it again," he spoke simply. He sounded very calm against the backdrop of his mother's tumult. Yes, he'd never stay out late, but he might run away. In fact, that was probably one thing about her son that Clyde's mother could actually foresee.
His mother's eyes went blank and she said nothing for a time. Clyde figured that she expected him to whine about it, but he declined the opportunity. Not now, not when every muscle of his wiry frame was crying for a bed to lie in.
"See to it that you don't," she responded at last, looking him up and down the way she usually did at the end of the day. "I suppose I won't be able to give you a good scrubbin' tonight..."
"Nah, too late for that." Edmund Arrowny's voice drifted in from outside, where he was leaning against the doorframe, obviously exhausted. "Let's just get 'im home." He turned and headed out, in the process managing to knock into something that clattered against the wall. "The hell...?"
Clyde's mother took her boy into her arms and proceeded to carry him out of the house. She regarded the noise from her husband absently. "Ed, what are you doing?"
"There's a sword on the wall here... I just saw it... Nice lookin' thing..."
Ah yes, Clyde thought, leaning against his mother's shoulder. THE sword, the souvenir-from-Narshe sword. Seems like his father was taking a liking to it too.
When mother and son were out of the building and under the shop awning, Clyde's father turned around. "Hey, is the shopkeeper still up? How much is this sword?"
"Since when did price matter to you?" his wife teased him. "C'mon, it's late."
Since Clyde's mother was facing the way of the exit, she didn't catch her husband's furtive smile behind her. Her son did, however. He wasn't going to steal that sword, was he? He couldn't do that; this place wasn't just the home of any shopkeeper; it was the home of the shopkeeper whom Clyde had befriended. That made a world of difference.
The boy's head poked up, ready to say something, when suddenly his mother turned around, obviously wondering why her husband wasn't following her. "Edmund!" she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. "You take your hands off that thing!"
"What? What was I doing?" Clyde picked up his whispered reply.
"You were gonna nick it," Clyde's mother told him sharply. "Weren't you?"
"I was going to do no such thing! I was merely admiring its craftsmanship..."
"Ed, you don't know a blasted thing about swords. I'll not have you nickin' things from these people. Not after what they just got done doing for us."
"If I had the money, I'd—"
"Edmund." Clyde's mother's voice had become a warning growl. It was the same tone that she used with her boy whenever he persisted on misbehaving.
"All right, let's go."
The small family ducked under the canvas surrounding the Abbingways' shop and emerged onto Stratt Street once more. The streetlamps lit the way back home, which was no more than a hop, skip, and a jump across the roadway. From his position resting against his mother's shoulder, Clyde lazily watched a few passersby skittering about here and there, sticking to the shadows of buildings. The agenda on their minds was obvious. Thieves, just like his father, and his mother to a lesser extent. Just like he himself.
Yet the small outskirts town of Valdebrooke was much different from Zozo. In Zozo the thieves didn't wait for the cover of darkness; they had no need to do so. So much criminal activity went on at all hours of the day there and it was funny how quickly roles could be reversed. Predator could become prey the moment after he swiped something valuable.
Clyde had never felt especially unsafe or frightened in Zozo's streets. He was used to them. But this quiet, this relative peace in this small temporary town, well—that suited him so much better. He could let his guard down here and relax a little; he could—
Whack! The rubber doggie toy crashed into a picture frame against he opposite wall, smacking into its corner and tilting it toward the right. Strago had seen this, and waited for a moment for the picture to fall. Fortunately, it had proved him wrong and remained in its place, however crooked it now was.
"Relm!" he barked, but his adopted granddaughter took little notice. "Nothing'll break," my foot—
Relm's reply was a simple "Oops!"
Interceptor caught the wild throw and took the ball back to his mistress.
Not too long after his parents had gotten him back to the family's room, Clyde was asleep and the whole incident had been brought to a close. He never did stay out so late again, but he was already far into the habit of fleeing the scene when things got rough. Old habits might die hard, but those solidly ingrained would never see death at all.
Toward the end of the Arrownys' second week at Valdebrooke, the five-month anniversary of Narshe came up. Clyde was quick to see that celebrating the Silver City's latest month of business was made into a great spectacle by the townspeople, even those who, like he, lived in the outskirts towns, the towns that came and went like the wind.
He had left his hotel around mid-afternoon. He'd heard the commotion out on Stratt Street from his room above and decided that it was worthy of his attention. Besides, he had nothing better to do.
So he stepped out, off the porch of the hotel and into the street, into the midst of the bustling folk here and there, their arms loaded with boxes of things and paper decorations. Far down Stratt Street, off to Clyde's right, were a group of people stringing up a white banner, with great red letters on it that read:
And below that:
The "5 months" part was in smaller lettering, but Clyde could make it out. Five months... He wondered then if it would be another five months until his family was able to get into that so-called Queen of the Boomtowns. He wondered if it might be even longer than that, when Narshe would be one full year old, or a year and a half. Or two years...
When the Arrownys first came to Valdebrooke, Clyde was a bit disappointed that he couldn't see Narshe right away. But now, after he had grown so close to Gavin and his father, he decided that he was happy here, in this temporary little village. Sure, in another two years it might not even exist anymore, but it existed now, and Clyde was there now, and so were the people he cared about. He didn't want to leave them behind.
So let Narshe turn five months old, he thought decidedly. Let it turn fifty months old! It didn't matter; he didn't care to go there. There was nothing in Narshe for him.
He turned away from the banner down the street and toward the Abbingways' shop just ahead, just a few feet away. As he came closer, he saw it himself: No one was tending to it. There was no one behind the little store's counter. Where was Gavin then? And his father?
Clyde's eyes searched up and down Stratt Street. They had to be somewhere out here, one of them at least. Everybody seemed to be outside, as many people as there were who lived on this road. So many faces, just rushing by... All of a sudden, Clyde became acutely aware of how short he was compared to all those grownups. He saw very few kids his age running about.
And a pang of loneliness hit him. He was alone out here, in the midst of that busy street, with people going almost completely out of their way to avoid a collision with him. The midday sun beat down hotly upon his black bandanna. He hated the feeling he was getting—that of vulnerability. Strength did come in numbers after all, or so it seemed.
Something tugged on his bandanna then and took him by surprise. Clyde turned to his left, facing the direction of the pull, a bit irritated, just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of Gavin passing him by. His arms were full with a wooden crate filled with all kinds of flashy-looking things, most of them red in color and looking rather sharp and sleek in the sunlight. Clyde's indignant expression softened. Gavin quickly indicated that Clyde should follow him with a flick of his head; the boy was on his trail in the blink of an eye.
He caught up with his friend at the counter of the Abbingways' shop, where the crate was placed on the once-abandoned counter.
Gavin sighed heavily, then pulled out a handkerchief from one of his pockets and dabbed at his forehead. "Thought you might be interested in what I've got here." He was smiling mischievously.
Clyde moved closer to the counter, but when it became evident that he wasn't quite tall enough to peer into the crate, Gavin's hand dove inside and pulled out some of its contents.
It was one of the shiny red things, shaped just like a rocket. It could only be one thing.
"Fireworks!" The word fell right out of Clyde's mouth. He reached for it automatically, but Gavin raised his hand high enough to keep it out of his little friend's reach. He shook his head dismissively.
"Not yet. This evening. I went to Skietz; it's a town southeast of here. Someone down there bought a half a shipment of fireworks from Nikeah, so I figure I go take advantage of the discount. I coulda bought some from Narshe, but they're so expensive..."
Fireworks. Clyde was still several sentences back. Gavin said something about another town, didn't he? And then he mentioned Narshe again. Ah, who cared about Narshe? Fireworks! There were going to be fireworks!
"Will ya let me light one later then?" Clyde asked, going to great lengths to disguise his eagerness. If he came off sounding mature enough, he'd surely have a better chance of hearing yes. Oh, but he was practically bouncing up and down in his spot! He couldn't help it. Fireworks! He'd never really seen them before. Zozo wasn't the kind of village that cared about celebrations; heck, there wasn't anything to celebrate there, period.
"Hmm. That depends," was Gavin's answer. He'd turned his attention away from Clyde now, back to the rocket in his hand. "I can't really guarantee anything, since supposedly there's a committee here in this town that's gonna run everything... Oh, I almost forgot." He placed the single firework back in the crate and faced Clyde fully then. "There's someone I want you to meet later on. She should be here just in time for the fireworks."
Gavin's eyes were positively glowing. But as usual, he only gave Clyde half of his good news, leaving it up to the boy to ask questions to get the rest of it out of him. Why Gavin did that was something Clyde would never figure out.
But it was a she, the boy noted. A girl. A girlfriend? Clyde didn't want to ask outright. The idea made him uncomfortable. "Who is she?" he asked at last, trying not to sound entirely disinterested. All of a sudden the much-anticipated fireworks slipped his mind.
"My fiancée." Gavin threw a smile Clyde's way.
Fiancée? Clyde felt a bit relieved. At least he didn't say girlfriend. "What's a fiancée?"
Gavin was still smiling. "Someone you're gonna get married to. In a few years, I reckon you'll be getting one of those yourself." He winked.
Clyde felt despondent. If his whole expression had fallen flat there, he wouldn't have cared less. A fiancée was apparently even worse than Gavin having just an ordinary girlfriend. He was going to get married! Why didn't he ever say anything about that before?
It dawned on the boy then: Gavin was much older than he was. Clyde often forgot about that fact. Gavin and he got along so well that age had never really interfered with their friendship. Gavin was an older brother in Clyde's eyes. Somehow, knowing that this "big brother" had a close relationship with someone else out there alienated Clyde. He wasn't used to sharing anything, possessions or people. He was used to having everything to himself, being an only child. It was a harsh lesson to learn, that nobody in life was totally exclusive to one person. Consequently, it hurt. Badly.
But apparently Clyde had masked his bruised feelings very well, because Gavin asked no intrusive questions right away. "I know you'll like her," he assured the boy. "She lives in Matrese, right on the other side of the mountains where Kohlingen is. She left to come here about three weeks ago, before your family even came here. I got a telegram that said she'd make it here by tonight. I'm hoping she isn't too tired by then not to come. ...Something wrong?"
What? Oh, he asked if something was wrong. Wrong indeed. His words of earlier had merely gone in one of Clyde's ears and out the other. As far as Clyde went, he was back in the middle of Stratt Street, suddenly seized with that terrible notion of being completely by himself.
He turned to face Gavin, squinting up at him suspiciously. "You never said anything about havin' a fiancée before," he stated matter-of-factly, and there was a twinge of bitterness in his tone. It probably showed up in his eyes, too. He would have tried to conceal it better, as was his nature, but this time he just couldn't. He felt too...disappointed. And all alone, even if he was standing beside such a good friend.
That friend belonged to someone else. He was going to get married, and move away, and...
"Oh, well, she never really came up," came the response, as Gavin scratched the nape of his neck the way he always did when he was uncertain about something. "I suppose I should've told you sooner... I can't think of why I forgot... But don't worry. You'll see her tonight. You'll like her, I know you will." He gave the side of Clyde's jaw a gentle nudge with his fist.
Funny, Gavin saw nothing wrong with this whole thing. He saw absolutely nothing wrong with having a girlfriend—rather, a fiancée—and a best friend at the same time. Clyde turned away, unresponsive, his eyes now at his feet. Was it really wrong to expect someone to just be close to you and not to anyone else?
"Hey, I said don't worry about it! You look upset."
"S'nuthin'. Jus' wonderin'."
"About what?"
"About lighting those fireworks later." He sent Gavin a forced smile.
"Awww, poor dad," Relm cooed, though it wasn't entirely out of sympathy. Hello? A lot of my friends have boyfriends and ya don't see me griping about it! Sheesh!
Never thought daddy was so possessive...
By now she had tired of playing catch with Interceptor, much to Strago's relief. But the same didn't go for the dog, which lay curled up at Relm's feet, giving her puppy eyes, hoping she'd give the chew toy just one more good throw.
Strago dismissed Relm's remark. "Ahh, don't worry about that. You'll hear what happens next, once he meets her. He has a major change of heart, let me tell you..."
The day drew to a close. By then, Clyde's parents had found out about the upcoming fireworks and Clyde's mother wanted to go as family, just the three of them, to watch it all play out. Just like her son, she'd never seen fireworks before herself.
Ordinarily, Clyde would have been given to some sort of small rebellion. He would've insisted that he'd rather be with his friend than with his family, and that he was going to see the fireworks with Gavin and that would be that.
But such was not the case. Instead, he'd spent the entire time roaming around town, keeping within safe distance of the hotel where his parents were staying, just walking around and watching people prepare for the festivities. Suddenly moving to Narshe no longer affected him. He'd already lost a good friend to some lady who'd arrive in just a few hours. Oh, sure, Clyde would miss Gavin's father terribly once his family found space in Narshe, but he wouldn't miss Gavin, not anymore. Gavin had somebody else, someone who wasn't a friend of Clyde's. Some stranger, never mind the fact that Gavin knew this...what was that word...fiancée for a much longer time than he knew Clyde. Being as young as he was, Clyde could only see the world through his own eyes. And what he saw was abandonment. Some faceless person had crept up from some forgotten space in Gavin's mind and would no doubt interrupt the current friendship. Clyde wasn't looking forward to the fireworks.
But his mother wanted to go, and he was rather amazed at her excitement about the whole thing. Even Clyde's father expressed some halfhearted interest in the upcoming spectacle. The anticipation was hard to resist.
That evening found Clyde by his parents' side rather than Gavin's, sitting in the field that flanked Valdebrooke and stretched on for miles until it reached the outskirts of Narshe, at the base of the mountains. In that field the fireworks would begin.
His father was on his left and his mother on his right. Ahead of him were rows and rows of heads, those of citizens who'd left especially early to get spots that were closest to the fireworks all the way up front. A makeshift stage, or what appeared to be a stage, sans curtains, had been erected earlier that day. A good stiff breeze could've blown the rickety structure over, but the weather was fair and the night sky exceptionally clear. The stars had no veils of cloud to hide behind; each one was presented to the gazer in their full brilliant splendor, like a diamond straight from a mineshaft, rough and bright and fresh all at once.
Up on the stage, men were loading boxes of things and making all sorts of little preparations that only served to make the gathering edgier. Everyone in Valdebrooke must have come, but they would all have to wait. The fireworks would not be ready so quickly.
Twenty minutes came and passed, and everyone was still waiting. The gathering grew restless. What was the delay?
Somewhere far behind Clyde's family, at least two rows back, stood up and shouted, "What is the friggin' holdup?" It was a man, an older one judging by the tone of voice.
Back up on the stage, heads raised and men stopped their activities. One of them shouted back a reply, but apparently projecting his voice wasn't his forte; Clyde couldn't make out a thing he said.
Edmund, Clyde's father, burst out laughing. He nudged his son and spoke to his family in a voice almost too loud to pass for a whisper, "Did you hear that guy? No patience at all! Keep your pants on, buddy. Hell, I ain't never seen fireworks and you don't see me gettin' up and whining about holdups."
Clyde's mother shushed him.
Irritated though he was at his father's finding humor in the event, Clyde managed not to say anything. Everything was annoying him now. This should have been a perfect evening—heck, this was the first time he'd see fireworks! But he had too much on his mind. His friendship with Gavin was dying, or so he thought.
Five more minutes passed, and finally the fireworks seemed to be getting underway. There was a big ceremony before the first one was to go off, and it started with a speech about Narshe's five-month anniversary. And unexpectedly, Valdebrooke's appointed marshal had publicly handed out notices to those families who were lucky enough to earn living space in Narshe on that celebrated day. He called out their names, group by group (or one by one, in some cases). However, though the Arrownys listened intently, their name had not come up at all.
"Figures," Edmund quipped. "Never thought I was lucky."
Figures, thought Clyde. Two bad things in one day. And he never considered himself to be a lucky kid, not in the least. So much for the power of the almighty bandanna.
"Edmund, you're too negative," Clyde's mother answered him. "They'll find some space for us one of these days. You just wait an' see."
"Yeah, probably just in time for Narshe's five-year anniversary."
The list of names wasn't long, and after each was announced a few people in the crowd took it upon themselves to initiate some sort of congratulatory applause. Of course not everybody took this up; after all, most of those in the crowd were in the same position as Clyde's family. They were listening for their names, too. There wasn't much happiness for the lucky people listed.
After all the formalities were out of the way, the crowd hushed up and the fuse of the first firework was lit.
And darn it, Clyde couldn't see. Most of the people sitting in front of him were grownups and all of them were too tall, or at least they were from his viewpoint. He knew, though, that if he stood up fully then someone behind him would end up telling him to sit back down.
He fidgeted. Stupid evening, stupid fireworks, stupid name list, stupid tall people, stupid Gavin, stupid...fiancée of Gavin's...
There was a high-pitched shriek, something far off and distant. The crowd perked up.
All the way over in Narshe, miles away and barely viewable, a rocket had gone up into the sky and burst into a million different pieces of green and gold.
"Wooooow!" exclaimed a little voice in the crowd, a voice that was instantly quieted by its mother.
Clyde watched with wide eyes. His first firework.
But it came from Narshe, he thought afterward. What was wrong with the fireworks here, where he was?
"I'll be damned, so that's what they look like," Edmund said, half in jest. "Now why the hell didn't it come from here?"
"Will you be still?" his wife hissed.
There was a moment of confused quiet before the crowd got upset. Then came all the complaints.
"The hell're you people doin' up there?"
"Where're OUR fireworks?"
People started to get to their feet. The town marshal had fled the stage far ahead, most likely anticipating a riot. While all this was going on, Narshe continued to fire rocket after rocket into the air. Clyde, looking up above the press of people around him, couldn't help but find the distant fireworks to be very beautiful...even if he wasn't seeing them up close. All those colors, all that glitter, all that noise, the kind that made one want to leap to one's feet and scream with excitement.
"Ed, I think we should leave," Clyde's mother started, looking about herself. "This is nuthin' more than one big mess..."
"Yeah, you're probably right... Well, at least we got to see one firework..."
That quickly, Clyde was pulled back down into reality. Leave? Who said anything about him leaving? He wasn't going anywhere! Those fireworks had chased away all his bad thoughts. He felt so much happier now just watching them. He'd stay in the field until sunrise, if that were how long Narshe would be lighting rockets. He didn't care. They made him happy; they made him forget his troubles. Leaving was not an option.
He felt his mother roughly grab his hand in the darkness. "C'mon, let's head home." She turned and began to pull her son along...but Clyde had already dug in his heels. He wasn't going anywhere.
His mother looked over her shoulder. "What're you standing there like that for? There aren't going to be any fireworks, Clyde. There ain't no use in standin' out here like this, not in this crowd." Already the mob around the Arrowny family had grown wild with disappointment. Through the masses, Clyde could see several disgruntled strings of people weaving their way out, heading back to the town.
"But there're fireworks from Narshe," Clyde pointed out calmly. He wouldn't make a bit of headway with his mother if he screamed and cried about things, and besides, that wasn't his nature anyway. Clyde Arrowny didn't complain; he waited patiently until he got his way. The bandanna on his head was proof that patience always won out.
Edmund turned around and looked up. "Kid's gotta point there," he conceded. Another firework from Narshe had gone up, trailing a great stream of fire behind it, until it reached its bursting point, where it became yet another rough circle of dancing flecks of red, shimmering like a patch of faraway stars.
Clyde's mother chewed on her lip and her brow furrowed. "I really don't want to stay out here... Lookit these people... They're outta control..."
"Just like back in Zozo, huh?" Edmund smiled at her. He paused momentarily, then said, "Know what? I think I'll stay here too. Keep an eye on our boy." He ruffled Clyde's hair.
Clyde looked up at his father, his face beaming. Well, there was no way his mother could say no to that, right? At the thought, he turned and faced his other parent, awaiting her response.
She still lingered, looking hesitant. "An' I'm gonna go back to our room and be up all night waitin' for the two a' you to get on back..."
"Why all night? These fireworks'll probably be over in a couple of hours," Edmund argued. "C'mon. I'll keep an eye on him. Don't stay up for us. We'll be back before you know it anyway." He looked down at his son. "We should probably get outta this crowd and move up further, so we can get a better look."
Clyde, whose hand was still trapped within his mother's, nodded eagerly. He had a good mind to thank his father over and over again, but he kept quiet like he always did. Thank yous and apologies were not on Clyde's list of frequently said things.
At last his mother let him go. "Fine. All right. But I can't promise you that I won't be up waitin'." She stroked her son's hair affectionately, then told her husband, "You keep an eye on him, an' make sure he don't wander off." It was then that she leaned forward, over her son, to give her husband a peck on the lips.
Clyde's mother wasn't the demonstrative type, not when it came to affection anyway. She wasn't the kind of mother who couldn't refrain from hugging and kissing her son. It was probably from her that Clyde got his hands-off approach to people. He himself wasn't much for great displays of affection. He watched his mother curiously, wondering what could have motivated her to do what she did.
After that kiss, she was off through the angered masses. Edmund spoke to his son, "Let's go," then reached for his hand and the two were off.
The crowd seemed to be more densely packed now that everyone was in an uproar. Nevertheless, and despite having been knocked into so many different people as his father led the way through, Clyde did manage to feel a quick tug on his bandanna and pick up the faintest calling of his name.
He stopped in his tracks and turned around, searching for the source of the tug. He recognized the voice.
Up ahead, his father stopped as well. "Hey, you wanna get out of here or what? Let's go." He tried to resume leading his son off, but Clyde didn't move.
"Someone's callin' for me," he told his father.
"Who's callin' for ya?"
"A friend." Clyde paused there, deciding what he should do. Did he really want to see Gavin after all that time he spent moping that day? After he'd practically buried his friendship with that man? And heck, he probably had that fiancée of his with him. Did Clyde want to meet her after agonizing over her for so long? All his misery came rushing back to the fore of his thoughts. Still, dancing somewhere in the back, were those happy thoughts of watching the fireworks, never mind what troubles the world had offered him.
And behind those thoughts was curiosity. Gavin's fiancée... What was she like? What did she look like? And what if she was a nice lady after all that worrying, all that disappointment?
Clyde turned to his father and spoke very plainly, "I'm gonna go stay here, with my friend." His tone conveyed nothing less than a decision made, a decision that he would stand by if challenged. Fortunately for him, his father was a very indulgent parent, the opposite of a mother who was the Arrowny family's iron fist.
Edmund sighed. "Where's this friend of yours? I don't see 'im."
Clyde pointed to the area where he'd heard Gavin's voice. "He's back there. I'll show 'im to ya."
Now the roles were reversed, with Clyde leading the way back and his father in tow. The cries for Clyde's name grew louder and louder until at last their source was plainly visible.
There, still seated on the grass of the field, was Clyde's closest friend. Same shaggy brown hair, same lanky frame and lean shoulders...but the glow in his hazel eyes was merrier than usual.
The reason for that was seated to his left, close beside him. She was slender, something that even her elegant white dress couldn't hide. From under the brim of a wide straw-hat fell very fair locks, golden perhaps; it was hard to tell in the dark. She sat cross-legged, looking up at him, curiosity etched all over her face.
But it wasn't the prettiness of the lady that softened Clyde's outlook. This lady, this fiancée, had the prettiest pair of eyes in the whole world. Their color was indeterminate, but their effect could hardly be dulled by nighttime. They were dazzling, even glitterier than the fireworks, and many, many times as captivating. They told many stories about how she was inside.
So this was Gavin's fiancée? This was the lady who would ruin Clyde's friendship?
"Hey, we meet again!" Clyde's father broke the moment by leaning between his son and Gavin's fiancée, to shake hands with the storekeeper who'd sheltered his boy on that night when he ran away. "I don't think I caught your name..."
"It's Gavin," came the reply. "Oh, and this here is my fiancée, Clare Barrows. Clare, this is Mr. Arrowny."
Clyde peered around his father's shoulder. He saw Clare extend her hand to him, a sweet smile on her perfect lips. His eyes flicked back to Gavin, who was watching the two get acquainted. His eyes were doing absolutely nothing to hide his happiness.
Afterward, Gavin had turned to Clyde and said, "This is the 'fiancée' you've been hearing so much about." He paused there and smiled, all mirth and nothing less. "Clyde, this is Clare. Clare, Clyde."
Clare smiled again and gave Clyde her hand. Clyde took it, still a little awed over how lovely she looked, then snapped out of his trance and gave it a good shaking. Clare's eyes widened, but Gavin and Edmund chuckled good-naturedly.
"Not quite how you greet a lady, son," Clyde's father rebuked him, but it was only in jest.
It was then that Clare finally spoke. Her mouth formed a little "o," but the rest of what she said Clyde could not hear. She had an awfully low voice, just like that man on the stage a few moments ago. The look on her face, however, revealed the nature of her reply: She didn't mind shaking hands at all.
"So where were you two off to?" Gavin asked Clyde and his father.
"Well, we were gonna move away from this crowd to watch the fireworks from Narshe, since they're having trouble here," Clyde's father explained.
"Ah, they'll get 'em to work sooner or later," Gavin said confidently. "C'mon, why don't you both sit here with us? They'll get 'em started eventually."
"You sure sound confident," said Edmund somewhat doubtfully, but he took a seat anyway. He left some room to his left for his son to sit, where he would be sandwiched between his father and Gavin.
Clyde saw this and immediately objected. "Nah, I wanna sit next to Clare," he said, shaking his head.
Gavin's eyes grew large. "Oh? All right then..." He got up and moved to his right and Clyde took his place in between him and Clare.
Already the crowd had begun to thin out, impatient for fireworks and downright disappointed that there were none that night. Regardless, Gavin remained completely optimistic that they would go off.
As Clyde sat down beside Gavin's fiancée Clare, he saw her eyes fall on his oversized bandanna with interest. When the boy was seated at last, she took the opportunity to speak to him.
There was still noise, still ruckus from the leaving people and those who were, like Gavin and those with him, insisting on staying. Clare faced Clyde and said something in that barely audible voice of hers.
Clyde didn't hear her. "What?"
Clare leaned down further and repeated her words. This time Clyde managed to pick up a few of them, but still not enough to make sense of them.
"I can't hear you," he told her, trying his best not to sound rude.
Clare chuckled a little, apparently out of frustration, and leaned down very close to Clyde's ear. "That bandanna suits you," she said.
It was such a simple remark, something that Clyde would have absorbed thoughtlessly had it come from another's mouth. But Clare put genuine admiration into her words. Maybe she just wanted to please? Perhaps, but combined with the way her voice sounded—gentle and light, fragile, just as Clyde imagined it to be—it made him smile. She sounded as beautiful as she looked. No wonder Gavin looked so happy next to her. She seemed like the nicest lady on earth.
Clyde's meeting with Clare had dispelled all his earlier worries. All of a sudden, just like that, in that quick way that all children are prone to, he felt better about everything. He and Gavin were still friends and would continue to be friends and his fiancée, this pretty woman named Clare, could very well be another friend to add to the list, even if he had such a hard time hearing her speak. Everything was going to be okay to the little pessimist boy in the big bandanna. Fireworks? Oh yeah, well, he already saw a few and that was fine with him. They didn't matter anymore; this incident had made him far happier than they ever did.
But as if to remind him that they were still there, and that they were the main reason for Clyde's sitting there to begin with, another one had gone screeching into the sky. And it hadn't come from Narshe.
"Hey! Would you believe it? Finally!" Clyde's father commented, eyes fixed on the sky.
Gavin chuckled. "I told you they'd get 'em to work!" He leaned back and shot a look at his fiancée. "Whaddo ya think of 'em, Clare? They anything compared to what you got in Matrese?"
Clare shot him a sly look, then made as if to speak. But then, as if she remembered that her delicate voice wouldn't be heard over all the noise in the field, she closed her mouth quickly.
The sound of a nearby firework had managed to draw some of the leaving people back to their spots. Those who had remained in the field had scrambled up front to get a better view. Gavin coaxed everyone to get up and led them closer as well. They stopped several feet away from the makeshift stage, however, as Clare had told her fiancé that she thought the fireworks' noise was unbearable at too close a range.
So all four of them—Clyde and his father, and Gavin and Clare—took their new places closer to the fireworks. This time, Clyde was at the end of the row, next to Gavin, with nothing but empty space to his right.
Until a large family with a whole bunch of kids plopped down on the grass there, but Clyde hardly took notice of them.
Gavin turned to him not too long after everyone was seated. "I toldja you'd like her." He grinned, and Clyde felt compelled to mirror the gesture...using his trademark corner-of-the-mouth leer, of course.
"Yeah, well...she's a nice lady."
"Yeah." Gavin leaned back then on his elbows, stretching his legs out before himself, taking advantage of the empty space. "I consider myself a lucky guy."
Clyde considered himself lucky as well, even if it was just for that night.
One by one, more fireworks raced into the night sky. Clyde had lost track of what time it was, but he didn't care. Time seemed so unimportant at that moment compared to how utterly thrilled he was. He had nothing to worry about anymore.
Let everyone else celebrate Narshe's anniversary; to Clyde, those fireworks marked the death of all his ill feelings.
"All right, that's it for now," Strago said, ending that portion of his old friend's tale. "What time is it...? Whoa, four o'clock! That fast?"
The old mage expected his granddaughter to make some sort of smart comment, or any kind of remark really, but she didn't. Curious, he turned to look at her and found her sitting on the small chair next to him, her face still. She looked...touched.
Whatever got to her like that?
Heh, well, if that little scene did it, then wait 'til she hears the rest of the story...
"I'm gonna finish my nap now, if you don't mind," he said, rising from his chair and stretching his old limbs. "Relm? Relm! You there?"
Oh, she was there, to be sure, but she was a little lost in thought. That was so nice. I like stories with happy endings, even if it really isn't over yet. "Hmmm. Well, that was a nice ending," she said conclusively, sliding off her chair. She looked at the clock. "Four, eh? Guess I should go take Interceptor for a walk..."
Her hazel eyes dropped to the dog that had just narrowly missed being stepped on, as it darted out from under her feet. His tail was wagging furiously. After so many months under Strago's roof, he'd learned to recognize such words as "walk"...and those words that sounded like walk. Talk, for instance...
Strago shook his head. "Did you hear a word I said to you? I'm finishin' my nap now, so I don't want any interruptions."
"You're still gonna have to finish daddy's story," Relm said pointedly. "C'mon Interceptor." She led him to the door and pushed it open. "I'll be back in five minutes, tops! Later, Gramps!" And just like that, she left.
Strago's eyes lingered on the doorway, watching the young girl depart. Something about reliving Clyde's past got to him, almost in the same way as that one small part of his story got to his granddaughter, but the old mage couldn't quite put a finger on what aspect of it touched him the most.
Maybe it's the ending. Or the truth of it all. I'm still not sure if Relm's old enough to take it...
He shook his head again, as if to banish those thoughts. Then he turned and made his way upstairs.
At the top he made to head to his room, bypassing Relm's along the way. Her door was open wide, giving her grandfather a fleeting glimpse of something on her bed.
Another drawing, no doubt.
And as usual, he was curious about what it was.
Ah well, she ain't here now. She won't mind if I have a little look.
Strago crept into the girl's room, his eyes fixed on that sketchpad abandoned atop her bed. When he was at her bedside, he reached for the pad and turned it so that he could see it from the right angle. There, on its formerly white surface, nestled amidst a jumble of stray pencil strokes, was the face of a young boy wearing a large black bandanna.
Strago smiled.