<html> <body> Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats by Charles Matthias and Ryx Pars I: Disipicio (m) Saturday evenings always brought welcome respite, and more than a few aches, from Vidika's best efforts to have the two friends beat each other senseless. Strange as it may have seemed, but their daily bouts of violence on the training floor had all but eliminated the friendly bouts of rough-housing that friends were often wont to do. They had never actually had any knock-down-drag-out battles over disagreements in all of their years. Whether that was testament to the tightness of their brotherly bond or the fact that they could work their differences out with training weapons one could never say. Charlie could not recall the last time that he had traded angry words with the Duke's son, much less a desire to carry their many small disagreements to blows. And they did disagree, often, upon matters of faith and politic. Thomas himself had once opined, while the two of them sat across a table from each other and argued the points of a rhetorical topic put before them by their tutor, that it was good that the two of them did not see eye to eye on all things. Each was the other's foil, their disagreements a fulcrum that could bring them to a balanced understanding. It actually strengthened their friendship, and led to all manner of off color jokes at each other's expense. Not so with Sigismund hin'Thalberg. The Steward's only son was two years Bryn's junior and four years Charlie's. When he wasn't occupied with his duty learning all that his father knew he was, at the Duke's request, in Bryn's company that they might also become friends just as Thalberg and Thomas. While one was lifelong servant to the other they were also close companions whose trust in one another kept House Hassan and Metamor itself running more smoothly than other Houses and Kingdoms where trust was less secure between Majordomo and Lord. The young alligator's short legs, thick, heavy tail, and intolerance for cold temperatures made it impossible for him to ride most horses or to accompany them on a hunt such as they had recently returned from. Thalberg's exhaustive training and countless duties being given over to him, also kept the young alligator frightfully busy. But despite all of this and his reptilian exterior he was both affable and agreeable, never daring to utter a word of protest to either Bryn or Charlie with whom he so wished to be friends. And that meant that no matter how fond and how dear Sigismund was to them both, and both Bryn and Charlie thought of him as a younger cousin, he would never be privy to the deepest secrets they shared only with each other. In that regard Charlie was Bryn's vessel for the friendship Thomas had with Thalberg. So when Charlie saw that his tall equine friend was accompanied by the stocky and somewhat shorter alligator he wasn't sure whether to be grateful or disappointed. A part of him wanted to talk about what he'd discovered in his father's journals, but his trained reserve kept all of his suspicions inside until he could be sure. The evening sun was beginning to pass behind the mountains to the southwest casting long shadows across the valley and through Keeptowne. Bryn and Sigismund waited for him by the large fountain in the gardens. The Duke's son was dressed in a bold red doublet and trousers with gold thread spun through the seams with matching leather caps over his hooves laced half way to the hock. The Steward's son was garbed in an off-white heavy woolen shirt and trousers with a thick red cloak fastened around his broad neck that came down nearly to the tip of his tail. Charlie found them with Sigismund's snout dipped in the fountain, yellow eyes following the little fish that lived there as they swam about their usually safe home. None of them had ever paused to contemplate if any of those aquatic residents were cursed or anything beyond simple decoration no different than those in any other pond. “If you can't wait for dinner we can always leave you here,” Charlie remarked, one claw nudging the alligator's tail as he neared. Bryn brayed a laugh and then winced with one hand pressed to his side where the rat's poker had struck him a few hours before. The moment passed quickly, and before the alligator could lift his head to protest, the long-eared stallion's pleased demeanor had returned. The alligator pulled his snout from the water and gave his head a quick shake, causing the other boys to shy away lest they get dampened. “I'm just practicing!” Sigismund protested in a voice that was finally deepening with maturity. It had always had a guttural quality as it echoed from the back of his throat and through his unmoving jaws, but in the last few months his tone had dropped from a throaty tenor to a grumbling baritone. If his father Thalberg were any indication, he still had another octave to drop. “We could go fishing some time you know.” “Another time,” Bryn laughed again, more lightly this time, and patted the alligator on the shoulder. Charlie smiled and shook his head. “So, Bryn, where to tonight?” The horse shifted about on his legs with a faint wince at the edge of his snout. “Somewhere close by.” ---------- Two hours later and the trio found themselves in a corner of the Deaf Mule, tummies full of stew or salad, while mazers shaped for snouts were brimming with their third mead – except for Sigismund who only had watered wine to his consternation. Bryn was heady with the retelling of the tale of their hunt for the white hart, which now seemed to have led them on a merry chase before finally succumbing to a well-placed arrow, and the patrons, who were a mix of courtiers, warriors, artisans, and local merchants some of whom had been present at the feast the previous evening where the tale had been much closer to what Charlie actually remembered, loved every moment of it. But with his tale once again complete and applauded with roars and bleats, with the obligatory toasts and raised mazers dripping froth, and then stomping of boots, paws, and hooves, Bryn happily ceded the attention of the patrons to a pair of minstrels singing songs of the legends of Vysehrad. Charlie enjoyed the lilt of their voices and the slight discords that cropped into their melodies, especially at points where the ballad grew fraught with portent or woe. But he could not help but wince at the way a few cold nights in the valley had distorted the tuning of their strings, backing his ears and narrowing his eyes every time they cavorted in the upper registers. “Did you bring an instrument, Charlie? Perhaps you can show them a thing or two!” Bryn suggested as he settled in his seat and wrapped his supple lips around the rounded tongue at the top of the mazer. “That would be wonderful to hear!” Sigismund agreed. “I brought my flute,” Charlie admitted with a sidelong glance at the human performers. “But I think I'll wait a little bit first. I'm not ready yet.” “You are always ready to weave a tune or serenade us with a song!” Bryn objected with upraised ears and a flick of his tail. Beside him Sigismund nodded his long head and blinked yellow eyes. “I see Misha with the artificers over there,” the alligator pointed with a toothy grin. “What about singing that song you're writing about him?” Charlie lowered his snout over his mazer after casting a quick glance at the fox and his friends. Misha's gray snout was frothed with ale even as his paws adroitly worked over some complicated contraption of gears and joints spread on the table before him on which the other artificers gazed with intent scrutiny. “I cannot sing and play flute at the same time,” the rat noted with a slight chuckle. “Besides, I don't want him to hear it until it is finished.” Sigismund laughed and then his head swung around toward the bar, his thick tail slapping the ground in delight. “Oh look! It's Nicolas and his father.” Striding past the patrons at the long bar toward the felt-top pool table was a pair of large burnt green-scaled lizards. Large triangular heads domed a rounded chest with thin arms and legs and a large tail even bigger than Sigismund's. The pair of humans who'd been attempting to play a game were quick to gather their drinks and find somewhere in the Mule to hide. Unperturbed, the larger and older of the two lizards took the pool cues and offered one to his son. “So how long has that lizard been winning?” Bryn asked with an amused snort. “More than twenty years now I think,” Charlie said with a shrug. “Nicolas is good too, but I did beat him last month.” What he didn't say was how close he had come to being beaten by the lizard five years his junior. Whatever tricks Copernicus knew to control the balls with a facility that left even master magicians confounded his oldest son was quickly learning. Sigismund shifted about in his seat for a moment before finally standing. “If it is all right, I would like to watch them play. Maybe Master Copernicus will teach me something too!” “He already has!” Bryn declared, patting the Steward's son on the shoulder. “You swamped me two months ago.” Charlie waved a hand and leaned back. “Go ahead, Sig. We'll watch from here.” The alligator bobbed his head in a reptilian grin and then weaved from their corner between patrons toward the two lizards and their game of pool. Bryn chuckled and shook his head back and forth. “He's almost a man. We should invite him on a hunt once Summer comes.” “We should.” The rat dipped his snout to his mazer and sipped quietly. Bryn regarded him with narrowed eyes and upright ears. The horse leaned in closer. “So, what were you doing that Master Vidika had to search you out and drag you back almost by your ear? You're never late for practice lessons.” With a long sigh, Charlie drooped forward over his mazer of mead and licked a few drops from his whiskers. “I was reading. Reading my father's journals, Bryn. I did not know that the sun had moved so much while I lay there digging into the past. My past.” He grunted, irritated with himself, and shoved his snout back into his mazer. The horse arched his brow and drummed one hand on the table. “What are you looking for? Not anything about your adoption again? You know it was because you and your father share the same rare gift.” Charlie's ears lowered and his tail curled around one of his legs. “I know that. That's what everyone has said all my life. It's just...” Bryn waited several seconds before asking, “What is it?” “After visiting the Narrows and seeing my sire again... I have this feeling that there is something more to it. I'm not sure what exactly, but... I have to know. I have to find out.” “Let your father and your sire be. Whatever reasons they have are done and in the past. They both love you and you should respect and love them in return, not snoop through their things or... you know what I mean.” “You don't understand.” “What don't I understand?” “You have only one father, Bryn.” The horse glowered at him. “I know better than you think! I...” he paused and took a deep breath, still drumming his two thick fingers on the table. “Your father comes home tomorrow, right? Promise me that you will just ask him about it instead of snooping around anymore.” Charlie narrowed his eyes and stared down the end of his snout into the mazer, watching the surface of the mead vibrate with his friend's tapping. How much more was there to his father's journals? He hadn't found anything so far. Perhaps there wasn't anything more to find. Perhaps it had just been a nightmare. He sighed, tongue clicking against the back of his incisors. “All right, I promise. When my father comes home tomorrow I will ask him and will stop reading his journals.” Bryn's hard expression softened and he stilled the tapping of his fingers. A smile emerged at the corners of his supple lips. “Good. Good! I'm glad to hear it! Now drink up and cheer up. Shall we go watch poor Sigismund valiantly lose to the lizards?” Charlie cast a quick glance at the pool table and the trio of reptiles hunkered over it and chortled under his breath. “Why not?” ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias </body> </html>