<html> <body> Inchoate Carillion, Inconstant Cuckold By Charles Matthias James was surprised to find that he, Anson, and Ralph had been assigned to guard duty in one of the watchtowers overlooking the northern road. Normally he was never asked to traverse the treeways, but the path to the little watchtower disguised as a protrusion of burrs and knots just beneath a trio of branches was easy enough for even a hooved Glenner. After climbing a rope ladder with wide wooden planks that he could gain easy purchase with his hooves, they crossed a rope bridge between two of the trees and then descended a wooden ladder hidden within the bark of the redwood overlooking the road. It emptied into the hollow so that there was no suggestion to anyone traversing the road that they were being watched. The view was not remarkable in any way, just more trees, pine needles, cones, and snow. And with the plague in Metamor, there were no travelers on the road, not even merchants from Hareford or Lake Barnhardt. The watchtower itself was cramped with just enough room for the three of them to crouch against the overhang and peer out. James pressed himself against the wall which curved up over him only a few inches above the tops of his ears, his pack resting between his legs and tail. Every so often, he could feel the bell thrum against the back of his thighs. The fox and vole looked only slightly more comfortable as they quietly passed hand signals back and forth. James, with only two fingers on each hand, was not as versatile as they, but he signed a little too, using what Charles and Angus had taught him as best he could. Yet one more thing he'd never be that good at. They weren't completely hidden in the watchtower. Anyone coming in from above would be able to see them. That included squirrels and other tree dwellers, but most especially birds. With a flutter of wings, a youthful sparrow descended through the branches to land on one of the burrs near the vole's head. Kevin waved one of his long, thin toed feet at them, and then resumed his perch. “Oh good. Alldis told me you'd be here.” “What ho, Kevin,” Ralph said with a modest grunt. “What brings you here to spoil our hiding place?” Kevin glanced below them to the road and chirped. “There's nobody coming anyway. But you three were scouting with him the last few days, so we thought you should know.” James's ears lifted and he shifted about on his side. The bell jabbed into his thigh but he felt no pain. “Is it something about Berchem? Is he all right?” “Well, it's not plague,” Kevin replied in exaggerated tones. “I was told to make sure everyone knew that, that it's not plague.” “Well if it's not plague,” Anson said with a wave of one paw and a flick of his white tail, “then what is it?” The sparrow shrugged his wings. “Healer Jo isn't sure. She is discussing it with Lady Avery and she sent Erica out to gather more herbs. Angus is staying with him for now. But nobody's really saying what's wrong. But it isn't plague.” “I hope he'll be all right,” James said as his ears lowered against his mane. “He seemed in such good shape last night.” “Aye, that he did,” Ralph agreed. “I guess that explains why we're up here.” Kevin nodded and then hopped back and forth on his legs. “Well, I better get back to my errands. Plenty for me to do today. I'll see you at Lars's later!” And with that he leaped into the air, spread his wings, and disappeared through the foliage. Anson kept shaking his head and with a long sigh he said, “I wonder what could have felled that skunk.” “Probably tried sleeping with his bow again,” Ralph muttered. “I hope he's okay.” James clasped his hands together and shifted his leg against his pack; the bore of the bell now rested comfortably against his thigh. “Whatever it is, I'm sure a few days of rest and quiet will restore him. That and nothing more.” His companions nodded glumly, resuming their silent watch over the woods. James gazed through the trees and along the hard-packed road, savoring the thrill coursing up his leg as the bell vibrated with a simple, satisfied, rhythm. ---------- The streets of Lake Barnhardt were quiet with shuttered windows and pairs of guards walking here and there. The two rats were permitted entrance because they were in the company of Captain Dallar and his soldiers, and despite being recognized, they were still greeted suspiciously. Charles was irritated by the narrow-eyed stares he and Saulius received, but his heart was too excited to be distracted by them. Neither Jessica nor Dallar made Charles wait; the ram dismissed the hawk who quickly led Charles into the barracks along the southern edge of town where she had taken up residence with Weyden until his tour of duty came to end. It had come to an end two days ago, but until the plague was defeated and the quarantine lifted, Dallar, Weyden and the others were forced to consider Lake Barnhardt there more or less permanent home. Larssen had even talked about finding a small apartment outside the barracks that he and Maud could share. While Saulius saw to the ponies, Charles followed the hawk into the old stone structure, past a cramped room with sleeping pallets that smelled of a panoply of animals, and to a storeroom past the armory. She summoned a trio of witchlights, bringing a cool illumination to the narrow chamber. “This might take a little while,” Jessica admitted as she crossed to the far end and unlocked a small chest with a magical sigil. “If Misha is in his office, he'll see that I'm trying to contact him. But if he isn't there, we'll have to wait until he returns.” Charles nodded and looked around the room for a place to sit while he waited. Not seeing any, he loosened his breeches and closed his eyes, concentrating on growing another pair of legs. A few moments later, while the hawk occupied herself with contacting Misha, he grew in size until his lower half looked like the body of an unusually large rat. Charles reclined comfortably, tail curled around his haunches, while his upper torso leaned against a grain barrel. He folded his breeches and set them beneath his forelegs before returning his attention to the hawk. From the small chest at the back of the room, Jessica had produced an evenly cut gem that to the rat's eye did not appear to be very valuable. It had a glassy look that suggested tinted quartz, though the indigo hue suggested a few inclusions of iolite. The cut produced a flat head with an octagonal face, while the remaining smaller faces were all triangles. Jessica carefully cradled the gem in her wingclaws, turned and set it down on the floor a few feet in front of the rat-taur. The gem stood on a single point perfectly balanced. “Oh!” she said in surprise as she noticed Charles's larger size. “I could have a chair brought in for you, Charles.” He shook his head. “I'm comfortable like this. My children love seeing me like this. I can carry all of them on my back. You should see it.” Jessica cracked her beak in a warm avian smile. Her golden eyes brightened. “I will. Now, this gem lets Misha and I see and speak to each other as if we were in the same room. But we cannot touch anything on the other side. You'll be able to see them and speak with them, but you won't be able to touch them. It's hard, I know.” Charles grabbed the end of his tail in one paw and began to pet down the scraggly hairs. “It's more than I can do now. Go ahead.” “Of course.” Jessica bent over the gem and stroked the top with her wing feathers. Charles watched as a pinprick of purple light blossomed inside the gem. After a few seconds, the entire gem glimmered brightly, casting its violet glow on the stone floor; Jessica's black feathers glistened with a spectral sheen in its light. She hopped back toward the far wall, keeping the gem between them. The gem continued to glow, but nothing else happened. “Now what?” “We wait for Misha to notice. How are things at the Glen?” Charles and Jessica talked of the Glen and of the Lake for nearly an hour. They spoke little of themselves or of Metamor, preferring instead to speak of friends native to their adopted homes. Jessica at one point did tease the rat that that he ended up in the Glen where most of the citizens were Lothanasi, and she ended up at the Lake, where the Ecclesia held sway. It was the only time they spoke of themselves. After an hour of their quiet conversation, the light from the gem blossomed further, stretching outward until it obscured the walls of the storeroom, replacing the old gray stone with the familiar Long Scout office of Misha Brightleaf. The fox looked haggard and in need of brushing, but with a determined glint in his gray eyes. “Jessica! Sorry I was meeting with his grace and didn't know you wanted to speak with me.” He then turned and blinked. “Charles! Your family is safe. Would you like me to fetch them?” Charles stretched where he reclined and nodded, “Aye, thank you.” A long green carpet was stretched out on the floor of Misha's office, and the illusion made it appear as if the rat were sinking within its depths. Before him he could see the fox's old oak desk stacked with papers, with the Long Scout banner of bow and axe behind him. Misha stood just in front of the desk dressed in tunic and breeches in need of ironing and starch. The fox's gray eyes stayed on the rat, noting his extra limbs with a flicker of amusement. “I'm glad to see you're doing well. I should have told you that you could use the gem to see them. I forgot and I'm sorry.” “Seems were all forgetting something lately,” Charles admitted with a grunt. “You better check the gardens for another hyacinth.” “Not a bad idea,” Misha admitted without mirth. “How are you holding up at the Glen? Laura tells me that you and Sir Saulius are patrolling the roads around the Glen and that you met Sir Dupré the other day.” “Aye, that I have and that I did. I've been expecting to run into Laura, Ralls, and the others but I haven't seen them yet.” “They've been patrolling north of Hareford mostly.” Misha scratched behind his head with one paw. “Everyone else is okay. Nobody from the Long House has come down with the plague. A couple patrons of the Jollie Collie... well... no one has died yet.” “Usually the plague kills faster than this.” “Coe and his assistants are keeping very busy and doing everything he can. Even the nuns are helping throughout Keeptowne. Father Hough is anointing Lothanasi as well as Followers and Rebuilders. It's... a nightmare, Charles. It's really a nightmare. Seeing the children here at Long House is my only joy anymore, and even that is drenched in fear. So many around Keeptowne have been struck, and everyone is hiding. The streets feel deader than after Nasoj's attack last winter. And all this after what happened with Drift... Caroline thinks we should go away for a while once all this is over, and I am starting to think she's right.” “Misha, if you can't be strong, none of the other Longs will either. You know that.” “Aye, I do.” He licked his nose once as he stared at the carpet beneath his toes. “Aye, I do.” He blinked a couple of times before lifting his snout and asking, “Would you like me to fetch Kimberly and the children now?” “Aye,” Charles replied softly. Before the fox could move, he added, “Everyone is afraid at the Glen too. Just keep praying.” “All of us,” Misha said with a quick nod. “I'll be back in a few minutes.” So saying, he walked stiff-legged from the room, each stride carrying him several feet. Charles had never seen the fox move so deliberately or in such haste. Nothing could have emphasized his friend's horror more. Charles rubbed his paws together as the seconds drained past. Jessica leaned back and forth uncomfortably on her talons, wings folded tight against her back, her beak shut tight and her golden eyes focused intently on the gem. Neither spoke, each listening to the faint sounds of voices and footfalls around them, neither sure whether they were from Lake Barnhardt or Metamor. And then Charles's ears lifted and his heart thumped loudly within his chest. Four little voices echoed in excitement as they grew louder and nearer. His eyes fixed on the door of Misha's office which opened with an uncertain touch. And then a chorus of excited squeaks welcomed him to joy. “Daddy!” was their one theme. Charles spread his arms wide as his four children rushed toward him, each remembering to stay standing on their hind legs. They squeaked in delight as they barreled into his arms, chest, and then right through his body. They stopped in alarm, looking around as they stood in the middle of his back. “Oh, my children, it's just an illusion. I'm not really here. But I can see you and I love you all!” As the four of them exited on either side, he tried to trace his paw across the tops of their heads, but of course he felt nothing. “My little Charels, Bernadette, Erick, and Baerle. How I've missed you so much.” “We've missed you, Daddy!” Bernadette squeaked as she knelt down next to his forelegs. “When can we go home?” “I don't know,” he replied as he felt tears coming to his eyes. “I don't know.” “Charles?” a very familiar and longed-for voice asked tremulously. He looked up and smiled to the tan-furred rat standing in the doorway in a thick silvery-gray dress. Only a veridian stone hanging around her neck brought any color to her countenance. He sighed in longing and lifted his arms to her. She rushed forward, careful of the children clustering in wonder around their father's forelegs, and held her paws out, brushing the air where it seemed his ears and snout smiled. “Oh Charles! It is you. Where... where are you?” “Lake Barnhardt, my Lady. I am well as you see. I miss you.” He lowered his gaze to the four little rats squeaking earnestly to get his attention. “And I miss you!” His heart ached at seeing them but not being able to touch them. “I will leave you to each other,” Jessica said in a quiet voice as she scooted past the rat and out the door. He watched her go, then looked back at his wife who stood with her paws held tightly against her chest, while his children were staring at him and poking their paws through his legs and middle. “How are you doing?” It felt like such a lame question, yet Charles could think of nothing else to ask. “We've stayed in the Long House,” Kimberly said as she sat down behind the children and began to gently stroke the fur between their ears one by one. They looked back at her briefly, but kept their eyes on Charles, their bodies brimming with excitement held in check by the manners that their mother had instilled in them. “There's enough food in the stores to keep for months so we are not in want. But they have kept all the doors and windows shut, so it's been days since we've seen the sun or stars. Misha keeps the clocks running and has bells rung so we can know the days, but... it is like being in the cellars again.” Charles nodded and swallowed; Kimberly had wanted to hide her rat-ness in the depths of the cellars when she first changed after coming to Metamor but he had brought her out of that place as quickly as he could. “It won't last forever,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster. For her sake and for his children he would be strong. “Misha says Coe is working very hard to bring the plague to an end, and to heal those struck. He says even the sisters are working in the city to help all who are sick. And I know Misha and George are not about to let this contagion spread outside the city. Metamor has many great magicians. Just, a little bit longer my love. My little ones.” “Daddy, you a ghost?” little Baerle asked as her paws moved through his forelegs. “Nay, my sweet, I'm not a ghost. This is an illusion. I'm not really here.” He pointed his finger toward her chest. She was wearing a little dress with flowers on it, one that he'd bought for her two weeks ago from Walter Levins. How he loved helping her put it on for the first time, the way her ears, whiskers and tail wriggled as she squirmed her slender, wiry frame into the bright wool. His finger circled right over her left breast. “I'm in there for now, my sweet. I'm in your heart.” And then he pointed to just between her eyes. “And I'm in your thoughts.” He placed his palms together in front of him, claws pointing heavenward. “And I'm in your prayers.” Their dark eyes stared at him, wide an hopeful, full of love and confusion. He placed his hand over his chest and kept a firm smile. “And each of you is right here in my heart.” His other paw touched his brow, “My thoughts.” He folded his paws again. “And my prayers. We are not apart.” He lifted his gaze to Kimberly who was making the same motions as though in a mirror. “We are never apart.” “But when can we go home?” little Charles wailed. The other three echoed him, each of them scooting closer, but they stopped short of actually putting more than a tentative paw into his flesh. Their anguished squeaks made his heart ache. “I don't know. I want you all to come home very much. But you need to listen to your uncle Misha, and to the other Long Scouts. They will make sure you stay safe. Aren't there lots of places to play? I bet you can play hide-n-seek really well there in Long House.” The thought of playing brightened their faces considerably, but they still missed their daddy more. He took a deep breath and ached that he couldn't actually touch them. “This will be over someday soon. Pray that it ends soon, my little ones. And then we will be together again and I promise I will be there with you and we can be a real family again. Until then, well, I will come here and be with you like this as often as I can.” His children looked at him hopefully, their faces softened some by his assurances. He smiled and stretched out his hands to brush across their faces even though he could feel nothing. He glanced at Kimberly who smiled back at him, one paw pressed firmly over her heart. “Now, my little ones, tell me all about what you've been doing at the Long House. I want to hear all your stories!” Charles and Kimberly spent the next couple of minutes trying to get their excited children to speak one at a time. And for a few hours more he listened and shared their lives in the only way he could. But at least he was a father. And that gladdened the rat's weary heart. ---------- The bright red-crested woodpecker bobbed his narrow head and long beak as he walked into the brewery, a look of exhaustion coating his large brown eyes. The black feathers along his wings and chest were in need of preening and the white stripe from his cheeks down his sides was gray with grime. Burris had not given any thought to bathing so intent had he been on finishing his work. Lord Avery bounded from his seat as his two sons welcomed the wood mage with their chipper enthusiasm, noting ungraciously Burris's aromatic elan by pinching their noses shut. The lord of the Glen could not help but comment, though he did try to be more diplomatic. “Burris! It is good to see you again. You carry what I hope to be good news and not just bad airs.” Burris tilted his head to one side and spread his wings a bit, both Avery boys backed up, paws clenched firmly over their noses. Several of the other patrons at the brewery stared wide-eyed in horror at the bird. “Fear not, my lord, I have completed the artifices needed to recharge the sentinel talismans. I need a bit of sulfur in the last part of the enchantments and have not yet been able to cleanse myself. Forgive me; it was so late in the day I feared not finding you in time.” Lord Avery waved one paw and nodded. “That is good news. Darien! Christopher! Where is your comportment?” The two young squirrels lowered their paws and managed to look suitably abashed. “Forgive us, Burris,” Darien said with a slight bow. Christopher intoned a similar brief apology a moment later. The woodpecker's long beak creaked in mirth. “Thank you both. I won't stay long. I want to clean up too.” “After you do,” Lord Avery said, “Angus asked for you to come by Berchem's burrow. He's spent most of the day there with Jo. My wife was there a short while ago to help, but Angus wants your opinion.” Burris's eyes, if possible, grew larger. “What's wrong with our master archer?” “Jo used some word, tinnaborous or something. He has a powerful ringing in his ears that doesn't seem to want to go away.” “Tinnitus I believe the healers call it,” Burris corrected with a faint nod of his beak. “I will go there as soon as I've bathed.” He turned to leave, but paused, one talon lifted in the air. “The artifices are at my place and I will bring them here in the morning. They smell bad too and need some time in the air first.” “Thank you, Burris,” Lord Avery said with a genuine laugh. “If not before, then I will see you in the morning.” “Until then, milord.” This time, Darien and Christopher managed to hold their breaths while the sulfurous woodpecker made his exit. ---------- The sky was dark when the tapping claws of Burris's talons were heard outside the skunk's burrow. Berchem was sleeping fitfully, but he was sleeping. Angus sat at his side on a small stool, watching his friend with a moue so deep that it appeared chiseled onto his snout. He rose only to help the bird come down the steps into the small room within the tree roots. “Jo had to help Erica gather more supplies,” Angus explained when the woodpecker asked after the vixen healer. “She's left enough for another two batches of tea in case the pain comes back too strong.” The badger looked the freshly cleaned and preened woodpecker up and down and then blew out a long sigh. “Thank you for coming, Burris. I'm worried.” Burris stretched his wings a foot – he could do no more than that in the confining space beneath the tree – and then bobbed his head. “Of course. How is he?” Angus stepped aside and let the woodpecker approach. Burris strode over to the stool, but eschewed it in favor of leaning over the skunk and brushing the black fur on his face with one wing claw. The tip of his beak gently tapped the skunk's shoulder as he examined him. “When we found him this morning, he was in so much agony he couldn't even open his eyes, and the ringing was so loud he couldn't hear anything we said to him. Jo's made some tea that helps relax his muscles and dull the pain, but it's come back each time after only a few hours. Jo and Lady Avery made him a stronger batch this last time and he's been able to get some sleep.” “Tinnitus should not incapacitate. This is strange.” Burris gingerly pulled back the quilt and noted the way the skunk's arms and legs were all curled together like a newborn babe. Only his limbs were tensed and trembling, his long tail wrapped up over his front so that the tip nearly touched the end of his nose. “When did it start?” Angus grunted and thrummed his toe claws against the floor. “That's also strange. He doesn't remember anything after he left the brewery last night until this morning when he woke to the pain. And I found this,” he gestured to the floor and spread one hand wide. “It looks to me like he dragged his claws across the floor. The cuts feel fresh.” And having made a hobby of carving wood, Angus knew exactly how to tell the difference. Burris covered the skunk with his quilt again, then turned and crouched near the floor. He spread his wings before him so that the black feathers were pressed against the veins of wood. His beak tried to peck at the ground, but he held his neck still. His wide, brown eyes focused on the four gouge marks that the badger found, the dark pupils glimmering with an inner light. “These do seem to be his,” Burris cawed after a long period of silent contemplation. “But not even the tree seems to remember what happened.” “Trees can remember?” Angus asked in surprise, casting a wary glance at the wood around him. “Not as such,” Burris replied as he continued his inspection, shifting along the floor and following where the gouge marks led. “They are alive, but they do not think as we do, or even as the animals we now resemble do. But they can feel when they are harmed and they react to protect themselves and to heal themselves. The tree has forgotten to do this. I do not know what could make that happen.” “It sounds like magic to me,” Angus grunted. “It may be.” “Can you tell?” The woodpecker stopped just beneath the stairs and traced his beak across the wood for a moment. “There's something here, but it is even fainter than the gouges.” Angus bent down to look, but though he gently ran his paws over the spot the woodpecker indicated, he could feel nothing but the smooth grains of magically molded tree. After several seconds of fruitless searching he grunted and leaned back on the steps. “I can't feel anything, Burris. I'll have to have Alldis look at this tomorrow. He's a much better tracker than I am.” “And I will go to Lake Barnhardt and seek the help of Jessica. She is much better at reading magical signs than I. I do wish the lad Muri were here but that plague...” Burris straightened and glanced around the room. “Something magical happened here. I can feel traces of it, but I cannot see it.” “Is it dangerous?” “To Berchem, aye. But I don't think it's dangerous to anyone else. We need to keep a constant watch on him until we can figure out what's wrong.” “And you better figure it out, Burris, and fast.” Angus ground his teeth in frustration. “Now I wish I wasn't to leave for the mountains tomorrow. I'm going to be anxious about him the whole time.” “Then he's very lucky to have you as his friend.” Angus looked at the skunk curled up on the pallet and tried his best to smile, but could only grunt. “Yeah, well, Berchem's going to owe me quite a few drinks when he's better.” Burris cawed in amusement, then turned and glanced around the room. “I will cast some wards and strengthen this room. What of you?” “I'm waiting for Marcus and Anson. They're supposed to come soon and watch Berchem until midnight. Jo told me that Lord Avery has already devised a rotation.” “Good.” He turned and stared at the skunk. Stress lines creased the mephit's eyes and cheeks. “He's going to need watching.” ---------- It was well past dusk when James's watchtower duty came to an end. He first went to the Matthias house to see if Baerle was there, but the place was dark and empty, so he returned to the Inn to prepare his fear for the trek into the mountains. It did not take long. The only things he needed in addition to his scouting gear were the ice shoes and extra bundles of clothes. But after he finished packing, the donkey emptied his pack in order to retrieve the cracked bell. It was warm in his hands and glistened in the pale lamplight. Everything in the room seemed brighter now that the bell was there. “One more thing then,” he said softly as he brushed the bore against his lips. He secured the bell at his right hip, arranged his things on the bed so that it would not take long to pack them again, and then headed down to the Common room to enjoy a meal. He ate with Anson and Ralph, congratulated Jurmas and Kinslee once again on the birth of their daughters a few days before, and generally enjoyed his time in the company of friends. These had never said ill of Baerle nor touched her body. They were friends. After finishing his meal, he excused himself and walked through the cold night air, crossing the Glen commons from Mountain Hearth to Matthias home. He could see a lamp lit within and hoped that Baerle had returned. His hand stroked down the bell's side and his heart pounded anxiously. He lifted the latch and stepped within the main room, but saw no fire kindling, nor any sign of Baerle or Charles. The forest tapestry before the bedroom fully draped the door. No light came from the kitchen. A faint flickering could be seen from the staircase and so to that James went. The second floor had the children's playroom and Baerle's room. He went straight for the latter but was disappointed to see that it was empty. Her joyous, euphoric scent filled the small room with its single bed, chest, and washbasin, and rack for scouting gear, but it was stale. She hadn't been here since the morning. His heart began to pound more firmly in his chest as he wondered who was here and where they were. The bell throbbed in time to his quickening pace. He checked the children's bedroom but it too was empty and even more bereft of scent. The only light he'd seen was a single lamp at the top of the stairs. Nothing more. James glanced at that light, noting the way that it fell in both the stairs down, and the stairs that wound up through the tree to the balcony up above the lower branches. It was either he climb those stairs or he risk opening Charles's bedroom to discover the rat and the opossum with their bodies locked together in passion. Nevermore. No, never would he have to fear that again. He curled one hand around the haft of the bell, and with the other he lifted the lantern from its sconce and carried it before him up the long flight of stairs. The passage was narrow and short so that the tips of his ears brushed against the wood in several sections. He tried to count the steps but lost track after twenty. And that's when he also realized that only the rat's scent lingered in the passage. If he were to find anyone at the balcony, it would be Charles. Charles who had betrayed him by taking Baerle for his own. James ground his flat teeth together and tightened his grip on the bell. It took longer than he remembered, but he did reach the balcony at the top of the stairs. As expected, he saw the rat resting his arms on the railing, staring out across the trees of the Glen. James could see lamps lit in the homes they could see through the branches, and the rope bridges stretched from one home to the next in the complex and hidden weave of life that was Glen Avery. In the distance the mountains could be seen through the trees glimmering under the starlight. He could also see clouds covering many of those stars. Soon the sky would be nothing but darkness and the mountains would be lost. The rat turned and smiled to him. “James, good to see you. I didn't mean for you to climb all the way up here. What are you doing here?” “Oh,” James replied as he uncertainly made his way to the rat's side. The light from the nearby homes bathed them in a subtle radiance. “I saw the light on and wondered who was here, you or Baerle.” “I'm not sure where Baerle is,” Charles admitted with a faint shrug. “I haven't seen her much in the last few days.” “But you have seen her?” James pressed. “Aye, usually in the mornings or evenings.” Charles grimaced and stared out across the Glen. “I saw Kimberly and my children today.” James blinked in surprise. “You did?” “Aye. Jessica had a way to contact Misha. It was... it was good. They are well. Nobody in the Long House has the plague.” A smile crept across the donkey's lips and he nodded. “That's wonderful news. So, why did you come back here?” He looked askance at the donkey with a rather incredulous expression, the sort that suggested he thought James was an idiot for asking. “I couldn't stay forever. Misha is right. We need to do what we can to keep Metamor safe. And that means you, me, Baerle, and Angus will be going into the mountains tomorrow. Aye, I heard the good news from Lord Avery a short time ago.” “Have you packed your things?” “Not yet. I wanted to make sure Baerle had everything she would need, so I was going to show her what I have when she returns.” James bristled. “I could do that.” “No need for you to stay up too late, James. I don't know when Baerle will return, and we'll both want plenty of sleep tonight. It's back to sleeping on the ground for us for a few days.” “Just like most of last year. And I don't mind staying up to help. But she's very smart and skilled at being a scout. She'll know what to pack.” Charles nodded and returned his eyes to the forest. The clouds were thickening overhead and the mountains were already fading from view. “You're probably right. It will be good to travel again. And I'm glad to have you at my side.” “And Baerle?” The rat blinked, and then turned to face the donkey. His lips parted, revealing both pairs of incisors as his eyes narrowed. “You're asking about her a great deal, James. Is something on your mind?” The donkey's ears went back, and he felt the bell throb against his leg. His tail lashed back and forth, slapping against the railing. His voice caught in his throat for a moment before he was able to find words. “I... I heard an interesting story from Ralph the other day. He said that you and Baerle were very close during the assault last year.” Not entirely untrue. Ralph the vole had intimated as such, but it had been Berchem's words that had made the hints clear. Charles frowned and shook his head. “Aye, that is true. She is quite fetching, I admit, and she didn't know that I was engaged to be married to Lady Kimberly at the time. She flirted with me, and I, I suppose, I enjoyed it and let her. Of course, once she found out I was engaged she slapped me, and it was a well deserved slap. That was the end of it.” “Nothing more?” The rat shrugged a bit and then half turned toward the empty air. “Oh, I know she still has feelings for me. I can see it in the way she looks at me when she thinks I'm not paying attention. And I do care for her, but not in that way. Kimberly is my life and my love, and my children... they are everything to me. But, she is a good friend, almost family, and so aye, I am glad to have her along.” James slowly nodded, hand tightening about the bell. It sounded so reasonable, so innocent, but the skunk's words rebounded endlessly through his mind. He knew better. Charles was a man with a reputation; he could hardly admit to infidelity, even to a friend as close as the donkey. But listening to the sounds between the words, to what wasn't said, he knew that it had to be true. “I am too,” James said with a broad smile. “She's a very good scout. And a good friend.” The rat smiled and then turned to stare out over the Glen again. “I'm sorry you had to hear that from Ralph. The vole likes to embellish stories.” Tolling. It would be so easy, James knew. He could end the adulterer and betrayer now with a quick flick of his bell. But everyone would hear that. To make sure that Baerle loved him after Charles was gone, the rat's death would have to look like an accident. And the donkey would have to be the one all thought had tried to save him. He set one hand on the bell and stilled its enthusiasm. The bore trembled against his flesh. “He does. I'm sorry I should have trusted you, Charles.” He shifted on his hooves and smiled. Best to quell any suspicions the rat might have. “Well, I will go back to the Inn and get some rest then. I will see you in the morning at Lars's. Good night, Charles.” “Good night, James. And don't worry about it. We all get twisted up sometimes. I will see you tomorrow.” James walked back down the steps, trying not to laugh to himself the whole way. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias !DSPAM:4e9201677851795620989! </body> </html>