Sunday, February 5, 2012

Dirty Work, Part 6 of 9

DIRTY WORK

6.


Crowded around a table in the loft above the smithy floor, the company, joined by Gustaf and Szera, pored over a drawing of the town. “The key to Jorke End has always been Elm Street,” Szera said with authority, tracing the road that ran past the farm fields with her finger. “That’s been the path of invasion ever since the Eastern Kingdom fell.”

“I can’t see anything!” Stillwell called out from his bathing chair.

“Invasion?” Gustaf asked. “Except for these folks, there hasn’t been an invasion around here since the red borer infestation, and that was forty years ago!” He had removed his makeshift armor, although the cooking pot remained upon his head.

“And it devastated the village,” Szera replied grimly. “The townsfolk were so bored that it took nearly ten years for the economy to recover!”

“Wait,” Portia interrupted. “You’re saying these red borers--”

“Were very boring, yes.” Szera pointed to a small range of low hills, just beyond the fields. “Rendtooth and his gang are probably in these hills, since they’re considered haunted, and we don’t go up there, much.”

“What hills?” Stillwell asked. “I can’t tell what’s going on!”

“Relax, lad,” Dozer said to him. “You still got that bum leg, and this table’s too small to get yer chair in. Just keep listenin.”

“But I’m a visual learner!” Stillwell complained. “If you come up with a plan, and I can’t see it, I might not be able to remember it properly. And if I can’t do that, then who knows what I’m liable to try!”

“I'll have to agree with him there,” Portia said, remembering her experience with Stillwell during Yerzle’s trial by the Order of St. Farceur. “Make room.”

The group shuffled themselves back and forth, jostling to clear enough space so that Stillwell’s battered bathing chair could be wheeled into place. “Better?” Portia asked.

“The map’s upside-down.”

“Not to me,” Szera said with a frown. “Who’s giving the directions?”

“Well, you, of course,” Stillwell said, “and you can leave it like that if you don’t mind me possibly going left when you really want me to go right.”

The big rabbit sighed. “Fine.” She spun the map around so that it faced Stillwell. “How’s that?” she asked through grated teeth.

Stillwell scratched his chin as he examined the map. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, this should work.”

“I’m so very glad you approve. Now, as I was saying, the hills are considered haunted.”

“How so?” Yerzle asked. “A curse? The restless shades of wronged men? Malicious forest spirits?”

“All of the above,” Gustaf said. “Malicious forest spirits placed a curse upon innocent travelers for no good reason, trapping them within the maze of the hill valleys. Now, their indignant ghosts roam the same paths, seeking to escape and venting their frustrations upon any fool unlucky enough to take his chances passing through.

“Plus, there’s a ruined castle, or tomb, or dungeon up there, as well.”

“You’re sure this is where they’re hiding?” Sashi asked as he examined the map.

Szera indicated the rest of the map with a sweep of her hand. “There’s nowhere else to go,” she said. “To the north and northwest, the land is flat and open. As you know, the sea lies to the south. To the west, the plains extend until you reach the Spine of the World.”

“So.” Yerzle screwed his face up in thought as he studied the map. “Are the hills really haunted?”

“Who knows?” Gustaf said with a shrug. “We never go up into them.  They’re supposed to be haunted, remember?  Nobody in town is brave enough to take the chance.”

Right,” Portia said with a huff. “So we’re going to chase half a dozen peasants through a maze of hills that are allegedly filled with malevolent specters? A fine plan.”

“Nay, lass,” Dozer said. “We don’t need to chase em, we need to pull em out of the hills where we can deal with em. Set up an ambush, or the like.”

“How do we do that?” asked Gustaf. “What can we lure them with?”

“Bandits are generally after treasure,” Yerzle said.

“This is a village of dirt farmers,” Szera said. “We don’t have any treasure.”

“Food, then,” he said. “Bandits are always hungry.”

“We’re dirt farmers. We don’t have any food, either!”

“Oh, please,” Portia interjected. “That’s absurd. What are all those fields for? What about the mill?”

“Where do you think the dirt comes from?” Gustaf asked. “And we mill it to ship it more efficiently in sacks up to Farien.”

Dirt?” Yerzle asked in a brittle voice. He stood up abruptly, knocking his chair over backwards. “You farm DIRT?” he shouted, leaning over the table and the map.

“Do you have something in your eye?” Szera asked him, indicating her own right eye. “It’s making a funny little twitch.”

“Never mind that,” Portia said as she righted Yerzle’s chair and pushed down on his shoulder until he sat down. “If you don’t have treasure, and you don’t have food, what do you have to use as a lure?”

“They don’t need anything!” Stillwell cried out. All heads turned to him. “You don’t need to set up actual bait,” he said. “You need to run a con!”

He closed his eyes and smiled as he hooked his thumbs into his armpits. “And if there’s anybody here who can set up a con, it’s me!

No comments:

Post a Comment