The Meetup

The bald idiot I had extracted from the ruins kept up as we hustled through the Saudade streets, dodging out of the way as battalions of the King’s Guard flocked to The Heartkeep and its surrounding areas. All exits leading out of the city had been closed. Heralds rode the streets, galloping on horseback, announcing that the city was under lockdown.

The Heartkeep had been breached.

If it were not for the missive in my pocket I would be heading back to my quarters at the Bluejay Inn. I would have a brandy while soaking in a hot bath and moisturizing my beard that had become matted with dust and bits of glass from the rubble.

I would certainly not have a nameless mortal practically clinging to my satchel as we made slow progress toward The Apothecary.

“Since you do not want to share your name, I shall call you Stranger.” I mumbled to the hand that rested on my shoulder, lest he lose little ol’ me—all four feet—in a crowd.

What he must know, which I certainly did, is that an attack against the heart of Elyndora was an attack against the king. Memory thievery was punishable by banishment or death. Blowing a hole into the sacred vault that houses millions of memories? I don’t even know what kind of punishment was enough for all that destruction.

I should not even be in this mess.

“Are you mumbling to yourself?” Stranger asked. “I can hear you.”

“I am glad your ears work.” I snapped before I paused and turned. “What I told you earlier. About me and my father, that is confidential.” I added gruffly. I hadn’t intended to tell anyone why I was in the capital. With the king’s court an hour east by carriage, he rarely visited and I preferred my quiet cottage outside the palace walls. Crowds were the bane of my existence. Mortals—with all of their opinions and penchant for making mistakes—annoyed me to no end.

Ultimately, I had no choice. After King Roger was healed thanks to Cleare’s Thatchberry tree, I realized that my choice to rid myself of every memory of my father following his death was a mistake.

He had been a part of me and I had cut him out.

I also realized that there were truths I had never noticed buried in those memories. Like his relationship to the grove and whatever else he knew about the kingdom that I did not.

When the King learned I was to travel—his spies were everywhere—he called me in and passed me a note with the royal seal.

“Take this to Saudade with you.” When I looked taken aback he rubbed his temple. “Do you think I would not notice my favorite healer disappearing right after I was cured from a deadly illness?” He sounded more annoyed than I had ever heard. “Bristle, do this one thing for me and you may take the time to settle your affairs.”

I did not try to read between the lines of what King Roger thought my affairs were, so I took the letter when he added. “I’ve already sent word to the Warden of The Wilds. She will meet you at The Apothecary in the Guilded Reach in two days' time.”

That had left me no time to get organized, as I was forced to leave the next day.

Now I trudged through a city I despised with a man who kept jumping at every alley.

“Are you sure you are alright?” I asked again but I truly did not care. It was just what one said when someone was seemingly afraid. Which appeared to be his second nature.

At least Cuddlepip stayed home.

My sister had begged to accompany me, but I refused. It is not that I did not want her company—she was a jovial companion—but she could not learn what I had done to betray my father’s memory.

I stopped short in front of a wooden door with a mortar and pestle on the front.

“Here we are.” I muttered, shifting from foot to foot as Stranger stopped next to me.

“Are you ill? I thought you healed people.” He glanced at my bag and down at his bandaged feet. “Is your bag empty?”

He seemed very interested in me for someone who did not remember his own name. He had not said as much—he had said very little since we fled The Heartkeep—but I could feel him thinking in the silence.

“I am meeting someone here. Let us go.”

I knocked thrice but no one answered. I had not thought about who owned the place, just that I was due there at three past the high sun, which—according to the angle of the light in the sky—was soon.

“You can wait out here if you would prefer,” I added as I tried the handle. It turned. “I will be inside. If someone approaches who looks….”

I had no idea what the warden looked like. Only that they were female and King Roger had a note for her.

“Just do not scare anyone off.”

I got halfway across the threshold when Stranger bowled me over to get inside, nearly knocking me down.

“Guards.” He whispered feverishly before bolting into an empty back room.

It turned out the entire place was empty except for a table and two benches and what appeared to be dry food stores in an open cupboard.

This is a safehouse, not an apothecary.

I had thought about stocking up some herbs for my healer’s kit but realized I would need to go elsewhere.

“Stranger?” I called, but no answer. I figured he would not run off since he was terrified of the breeze that blew outside and there were guards everywhere.

I retrieved the note from my pocket and flipped it over in my hands. I did not want to sit yet since my feet would not touch the ground. I wanted to be standing tall when the warden arrived.

When I ran my thumb across the sigil on the seal—crossed swords against an oak—I fought my curiosity.

What did Roger want with a warden? She was not the lead warden protecting the northern border. Sure, she was high ranking, but there were others.

“What do you say?” I whispered to the folded message, but it remained quiet.

#

Somehow my butt found the bench and then my head found it too until the creaky front door opened to emit either the warden or someone coming to rob me.

“A gnome?” An exasperated voice uttered before I could sit upright and rub my eyes. My beard lay tangled in my clothes and had picked up some old leaves from the floor. “Who are you?”

The voice was suddenly closer.

As in right on top of me.

A sharp point pressed into the meat above my knee, followed by, “Answer the question.” Through my foggy stupor I made out that she wore a green cloak and had short cropped hair and a no-bullshit shape to her mouth.

I would prefer it if she did not press any further. Sure, this angle would not kill me, but it would likely sever the tendons connected to my kneecap and make walking nearly impossible in the immediate future.

Now, if she moved up and in, that would tell me that I was dealing with a life-or-death situation. A stab to the inner thigh could slice into my femoral artery and I could bleed out in minutes.

Neither option was great, but the best option was no stabbing, period.

“Bristlebeard.” I uttered in a rusty voice. I must have slept longer than I thought.  “You are late.”

The blade tip pressed a fraction deeper before she lifted and glared at me with amber eyes before she let out a bark of laughter.

“Fuck, Roger, you really know how to pick em.” She said and held out her hand. “Give.”

Who the hell is she to be on a first name basis with the King?

I was too shocked to hand over the message instantly.

She ran a thumb over the seal as if she was avoiding what was inside. “Percy,” she called, “get your ass in here.”

Beyond the door I heard a series of grumbles before another person crowded the doorway, sweeping in and closing it tight.

“Jesus,” they said, “whatever happened has the city up in arms.” They turned and looked down at me. “A gnome?” They asked. “Really?”

I bristled. From the look of the newcomer—the heavy coinpurse at their hip, worn openly without concern—they had money to spare. Yet they checked every corner and, judging by their stance, remained keenly aware of every exit.

They were likely the one with light fingers.

“Thief, you dare judge?” I shot back, which elicited another bark of laughter from the warden—I still had not caught her name—who tried her best to stifle any continued laughter as Percy glowered.

“Relax, you’re the least of my problems.” Percy came around to my side of the bench and sat next to me, their hands folded neatly on the table. “So why are we here again?” They asked the warden, who promptly ignored us as she ripped open Roger’s missive and read it quickly. She glanced over the top of the parchment several times as if taking stock of both me and the thief.

“Interesting.” She muttered and reread it again. I fought back the urge to ask if she was literate and if I should read it for her.

“I’ve got bad news,” she looked at me. I was already shaking my head when she continued, “We are headed north.”

Me and the thief said, “Who is we?” at the same time before pointing accusatorially at each other. “Stop copying me!” We continued before falling silent.

I knew it.

I thought as the thief began to inch toward the edge of the bench closest to the door. Roger had sent me with the note as more than just a messenger.

“I am in there, am I not?” I asked, defeated. Roger always insisted I “get out and see more of the world” which I vehemently disagreed with. I had my cottage, my sister, and my work at the palace. Sure, the Crookshanks had been working for the crown for generations, but he had other healers.

She passed the note to me as she crossed and fixed Percy with a stare. “Stay. Put.” She was not a big woman. Tall, yes, but slender without the heavy muscle of other wardens I had seen come to the palace. She did have at least half a foot on the slight thief. I turned to the familiar cursive on the parchment.

Clemence,

Rumblings from the Northern Kingdom have reached me, although my advisors have tried their best to shield me from the truth.

Our spies are tracking secret incursions across the border. A traitor must be helping them through The Wilds. My personal spymaster Theodora has gone dark after I sent her north a month ago. She was last seen at the mouth of the Northern Pass.

I need you to find her.

Be careful. There are whispers of imminent attacks. This will only increase calls for war that we cannot give in to.

Bring who you must but keep your party small. No one else must know of this mission.

R

P.S. Bring Bristle (He is the gnome giving you this message). You might need a healer.

“He wants me to go into The Wilds?” I groaned. “I hate hiking, riding, and anything that takes me beyond a length from home!” Clemence, per the letter, gave me a look of annoyance. “You seem perfectly healthy. No need for a healer.” It was true, besides a few residual scars, she was not more than a quarter into her life. No visible grey hairs and minimal lines at the corners of her eyes and lips. Although the creases on her forehead and around her mouth did hint at a certain amount of scowling.

“You would defy the king?” She asked in a low and deadly voice. “Seems odd for someone who came handpicked for a secret mission.”

I did not ask for the secret mission. I thought.

“So, this means I can go?” Percy had snuck under the table and now stood near the door, their slight fingers already wrapped around the knob. “What would you need a thief for in the woods?”

Clemence took a breath, the kind I take when a patient explains the “home remedy” they have been taking instead of coming to see me first.

“Not so fast.” Clemence had drawn her sword, moving lightning fast until it rested at the hollow of Percy’s throat. “What did I say before?”

“Fuck, Roger, you really know how to pick them?” Percy teased but with an edged tone. I could tell the thief didn’t appreciate being threatened, nevertheless trapped in a room with me and Clemence.

Did Stranger fall asleep too? How has he not woken up with all of this? I secretly hoped he was still in the building and not gone through a window.

“In the alley.” Clemence prompted. I struggled to follow.

“Beatrice. Gauntlet. Check.”

“What about The Gauntlet?” I asked. I had heard the pub’s name whispered in the street more than usual as we fled The Heartkeep.

Clem tapped on a nearby chair. “Sit.” She waited until the thief obeyed. “There was a memory incident there that likely coincided with the explosion at The Heartkeep. The timeline is fuzzy, but…” Clemence trailed off then repeated, “The timeline is fuzzy, but….”

I was beginning to worry that Clemence would need a healer. I rose as the woman paled and sat on a rickety stool next to Percy. She dropped her sword on the stone floor where it clattered.

“Clemence?” I asked, dragging her face closer to mine since she was still taller than face level when sitting. “Can you hear me?”

I pressed a hand to her brow. No fever. I pulled up her eyelids and her pupils contracted when I flashed my tiny magicked light in them. I turned her hands over, looking for signs of disease.

“Say something.” Percy stood behind me. “You can’t die on us now, warden. We would definitely get arrested.”

Clem shook her head in a jerking motion once and then twice. “I can’t remember.”

“What?” I said with Percy. We glared at each other.

“Yesterday. It’s gone.”

I backed up a shaky step and sat heavily on the floor.

What the hell did I do yesterday?

The last thing I remember was being in bed at my cottage the night before I traveled to Saudade. No carriage ride. No annoyingly beautiful greenery outside the window. No jostling next to strangers for an hour before being jostled some more on crowded streets. From the thief’s silence I figured they didn’t remember either, but they looked surprisingly calm.

In the back room something cerramic smashed on the floor. The sound, new and unfamiliar, snapped Clemence out of her stupor and had her and the thief drawing blades as they looked at me incredulously.

“Are we not alone?” Clemence eyed me with building distrust as my tagalong made himself known.

“I…” I struggled to describe Stranger, “Errr….”

He appeared in the doorway; eyes fixed on a neutral point near the door. He remained as dirty, bald, and unnerving as before.

He opened his mouth wide as if he planned to unlatch his jaw like a snake and eat one of us. I thought about inching behind the others with weapons but stopped as words emerged from his mouth. His jaw remained still.

“It appears I remain one step ahead of your king, warden.” The voice was male and haughty. “The Heartkeep has been breached from the inside, but by who? Was it fair Beatrice? Is that why she fled?”

Clemence lowered her sword and swore. “Alvar Voss, you ratfaced oath-breaker.”

Percy, who had been taking their cues from Clemence, startled at the insult before replacing their knives in their holsters.

I moved closer to the duo and tried to remember any rumors involving someone named Alvar.

“She would never betray the king like that.” Clemence continued. “Whatever you’ve done with her and to this kingdom, I will figure it out.”

The voice coming from Stranger chuckled. “Then come get me.” Stranger then turned to face me. “Bristlebeard Crookshank. You look exactly like your father.” Stranger winked. “He was a good friend.”

With that confession Stranger’s mouth snapped shut as he collapsed, unconscious. Dazed, I turned to find the three of us now faced each other.

“Who the fuck was that?” I asked Clemence whose face was now a guarded mask. “I have never met or heard of him and I have lived at court my entire life.”

Clemence moved to the bench in the middle of the room and sat, placing her sword across her lap where she began to polish it.

“You wouldn’t have heard of him.” Clemence’s voice was tightly controlled. “He was Roger’s private spy master before Theodora. He deserted to the Northern Kingdom six months ago. No one knows he existed or exists now except for me and a handful of other scouts who had to remove the bodies of those who accompanied him to the border for a routine intelligence drop in.” She turned her face toward the shadows.

“Now, I know thy enemy.” She murmured to herself. “But who is this conduit?”

I looked mournfully at the bald Stranger who seemed to only bring trouble in his wake.

Percy stepped forward. “I don’t know who he is, but that ring on his finger,” we all looked to where his hand lay palm down on the ground, “is from the House of Dunmere.”

It appeared that all roads led north.