Chapter Seventeen

  Fish Pies and Eel Skin.

  They were awoken rudely. Each of them was shaken to life by a portly old man with a square nose and a sour expression. It was the baker, bound in a white smock, he held Nephis’ shoulders in his fat, soft hands, though through them she could feel his mighty arms. “Get up!” he barked, “You’re in the way of my oven.”

  Once they were awake enough to see the world around them, they scrambled out of the way. Still bleary-eyed, Nephis watched dully as the baker prepared his tools. With a single, sharp flick, he lit the oven’s thin-cut wood, and soon the dark room glowed a coppery orange. In a huge, wooden mixing bowl, he prepared the dough, kneading and let rise what would be the morning's bread. Bakeries in the capital would have bread left over hanging in the windows, their maker’s mark for all to see. But here was not a single window, and very little bread set aside, just a shelf of twice-cooked biscuits for early customers.

  Watching the baker do his work was like watching the back of a rowman. Each press upon the flour shewed his great arms; he would be a strong man in any village. But as he did, his kneading grew quicker and more violent. Not after long, he slammed down a wooden tray with such force that flour plumed into the air. He clicked his tongue and prepared another batch. After a while, the first went into the oven. The baker’s kneading grew more and more violent until it came; Moss and Kugo pushed Nephis behind them. Then, something happened.

  The blue light of early morning spilled under the doorway. The baker threw a ball of dough he had been working on into the table with a dull slap and stomped out of the bakery. He waited on the road, tapping his foot impatiently. After a few minutes, they watched as he caught a young passerby.

  The baker had a young man in a long red hood by the arm, he was perhaps twelve years old. “Where are Mircea and Nicu?” the baker bellowed at the boy. “You’re friends with them, aren’t you?”

  “They’re ah . . .” the boy faltered, “They were hurt in that monster attack yesterday! Trampled underfoot!”

  “Don’t lie to me, boy, I can smell those!” the baker shook him, “I would know if they were hurt, because they would have come groveling for a sac to get them through their troubles!”

  “I really don’t know!” the boy cried.

  “Vali! Where are my apprentices?” the baker tightened his grip on the boy’s shoulder into an iron vice.

  The boy, Vali, cowered, “They went fishing!” he eeped. “They thought they could get away with it!”

  “Argh! I’ll make pies from their heads for this!” he roared. “Go on and fetch them! Tell them they’ll be scrubbing my floors until their knees bleed!”

  And the young Vali ran away.

  The baker stomped back into the bakery, slamming the wooden door behind him, shaking the timbers of the house with it. He continued his craft, and Nephis watched in quiet curiosity as he went about his work. Then, as he grumbled, an idea sparked in his beetle black eyes. “You there! Wooden man!” he said.

  Moss looked up and pointed at himself.

  “Yes, you,” the baker said, “You slept on my floor last night, I’m not a hospital, get to kneading.”

  “Oh, I can help!” Nephis piped in.

  The baker glared at her with a lazy eye. “Absolutely not,” he dismissed her.

  “What? Why not?” Nephis exclaimed, a spark of anger flaring within her.

  “Do you see that livery?” He whipped her around and jut a fat finger at the far wall, where hung a wooden seal. A coat of arms, painted in red, blue, and yellow, of a nun holding a set of scales in one hand and a copper gill of flour in the other. Around her was written:

  “FAIR MEASURES MAKE FAIR LANDS”

  “Yes!” Nephis eeped.

  “Do you know what that is?” he asked.

  “A coat of arms, sir!”

  “Indeed it is, and do you know who is on that coat?” he asked sharply.

  “I-”

  “That is Saint Georgeta of Noster,” Kugo said with a clip.

  “That she is,” the baker answered in a quiet voice, “A learned fellow, I see.”

  His quiet demeanor faded away like snow beside fire, as he waved an iron seal in front of her. “Now do you know what this is?” he drilled. It was of a dove holding an olive branch.

  “A seal?” she timidly guessed.

  “Yes. But not just any seal! This is my maker’s mark!” he bellowed, “I am a member of the Honorable Fellowship of Reverent Bakers, in good standing and in keeping with the guild’s standards. So why should I disrespect the good name of Saint Georgeta by letting a girl with weedy arms and spindly fingers make my bread!”

  “I don’t know,” she peeped.

  “There are laws and by-laws! I pay the king five golden solis a year for the rights to bake this bread and run this oven! That’s more money than you’ve ever held, I’ll wager! Three on the new year and two on Pangald’s Day! And I put my mark on every loaf I make, that’s my name and life on the line! So why should I waste it all so a girl can play baxter?”

  “I’m sorry, sir!” she cried.

  “Good, now if you want to help, I’ll find something for you. Now, wooden man, come here,” he settled down.

  “Wait!” Nephis cried, “After all that, why are you asking Moss to help you? What about the laws? The bylaws?”

  The baker chuckled. “There are hefty laws about beasts and untrained hands working this bread. But there isn’t a single one about a puppet kneading dough,” he had a silver glint to his eyes. “Come now, puppet, have you ever kneaded dough before?”

  “No, sir,” Moss said in a warbling voice, his back was stiff, and his hands held to his chest in fright.

  The baker groaned quietly. “I’ll tell you when to stop. Get to it!”

  Moss’ great fists were soon dusted with flour and gummed with dough until he seemed little more than a grand machine, pressing the dough over and over as the baker went about his work, calling on occasion “Stop!” without ever looking.

  By the time the sun crested over the hill, the door to the bakery at last opened to a middle-aged woman with bright red hair and a child on each leg. “Florin!” she cried, “Have you my regular order?”

  “Aye! It’s on the counter in the linen,” he called back as Moss beat the dough and he tended to a pie. “Girl!” he shouted at Nephis, “Give Floare the bundle and take her money.”

  “Me?” she asked nervously.

  “Yes, you! Do you see another girl milling around?” he ordered.

  Nephis hurried the bundle of bread over and awkwardly handed it to the mother, who gave Nephis a queer look of cold eyes and pursed lips. “I don’t know you,” she said, “Which must mean you’re the witch. Makes sense, with your fancy clothes and boyish hair. It isn’t right for a girl to do that, you know, bet you think you’re above all-”

  “Floare!” the baker roared. “Are you trying to stiff me? Hand the girl my coin!”

  Floare jumped, all the hissing and poison shocked out of her. “Right,” she said and fumbled a handful of coins over to Nephis, a few bronze sacs. And she left with her bread and children.

  “Put the coin in the box, it’s behind the counter,” Florin, the baker, said.

  “Alright,” Nephis answered and groped around the back of the dark counter until she found it.

  Not after long, the morning customers began to trickle in. Most were wary of Nephis and Kugo, though none were quite so aggressive as the first, at worst making sneering faces or sharp comments. Nephis grew antsy, tapping her foot and crossing her arms until they should have switched places. This was all a waste of her time. The gorge lay open, though they didn’t have the means to dig it up; the means would certainly not be found in this bakery. But before the steam began to boil off her head, Florin sent her and Kugo off with a small wagon full of pies.

  “Go on and sell a few for me,” he said.

  “Do we get a cut?” asked Kugo.

  “Sure,” answered Florin, “It’ll go towards paying off sleeping on my floor.”

  The pies were small enough to fit in the hand, golden brown and smelling rich and savory they were stuffed with trout and onion. But pasted onto the crust were one of two faces done in flaky dough, each was a simple boy one with curly hair and one with straight. Nephis snorted. Should the pies sell, Mircea and Nicu would no doubt be the town fools for a week or two.

  They stood under the hanging roof in the cool shade of early morning, a wagon full of steaming pies. The people had just begun to trickle out to their morning duties, shopping or selling, or practicing their trades. Nephis stood, staring at the pies for a while. It was beneath her to hawk breakfast, but the longer she had these pies, the longer she would have to stay. She was tempted to leave, but shirking duty or repaying hospitality was even further beneath her.

  The first to crest the small hill was a group of workmen, hearty with the morning air, with their tools under arm. A perfect target, she thought to herself, no doubt in her wiles she cut dump all the pies, or at least half.

  “Hark, woodsmen! I have fresh pies, made by dainty hands and a tender heart!” she cried in a sweet and trilling voice.

  The woodsmen stopped; they and Kugo all looked at her queerly before moving on.

  Nephis sat in stunned silence as she watched them leave again.

  Perhaps she had done something wrong, perhaps the morning was too early for coquettishness. And so she lay in wait for another small crowd to pass by, this time a mix of men and women, some fluttering their eyes at their own. Indeed, Nephis knew, here a flirt would not be welcome.

  “Come on now, gentlemen, and buy a pie for your fair lady? They’re hot and fresh and good for two!”

  One of the men took a half step forward, in his mind, without thinking. But before he finished his movement, his companion squinted at Nephis. “That’s the witch!” she shouted, “Just like I heard her told to me! All in red with boyish hair.” She turned to her group, “She’s probably cursed these pies; if you eat them, well, something . . . something awful will happen!”

  All of her girlfriends murmured in agreement, each hurling a short insult before they all left together. As they disappeared, the girl turned over her shoulder and stuck out her tongue at Nephis.

  Nephis was aghast.

  She looked at Kugo, hoping to see his reaction, but he leaned against the beam of the house, staring off into the distance. His mind was elsewhere, on those dire wolves; they had surely not come all that way on their own.

  “Kugo!” she snapped.

  “Hm?” he looked up at her. “Have you sold any?”

  “No! And you haven’t sold a thing either!” she said.

  “Alright,” Kugo said and stretched his back. “It’s only breakfast.”

  He waited for a group to come along. This one was large, as the sun had finally begun to properly rise, warm light coming over the hill alongside the rest of the morning stragglers. And once they were close enough, he leapt upon them like prey.

  “Ah!” some shouted.

  “Pie, buy one,” he said stiffly. “They are buttery, with a cream sauce. The crust was kneaded with butter, it’s a -”

  “Oi! You’re the witch!” one of them shouted.

  “What?” Kugo grumbled, “I am not.”

  “Yeah, you sent Stefan to Elfenland!”

  And the large ground began to crowd around the bakery, penning Nephis and Kugo under the awning. They hurled insults at the two of them. “Get out of here! Haven’t you done enough harm?” Kugo could tell they wouldn’t do anything, at least as to hurt them, so he sat down to wait them out. But Nephis walked forward in a huff.

  “If it weren’t for us, you would all be dead!” Nephis shouted back.

  “Snakebite!” one cried, “You brought in those beasties, now you expect a reward? Selling both bite and cure.”

  “Well, I bet they’ve charmed poor Mister Florin,” one whispered, “It’s no wonder they’re skulking about in the bakery, poisoning the bread no doubt.”

  “Dirty liar!” Nephis cried, “Well, if I had my way-”

  And she felt a great pinch on her ear.

  The baker snagged Nephis by her thick ear and pulled her back. “That is no way to talk to a customer!” Florin shouted. “What? And you haven’t sold a single pie!” He dragged her about the front of the house by her ear, berating her the whole while, much to the amusement of the crowd.

  “See!” Florin addressed them, “The girl is harmless! Couldn’t charm her way into selling you a pie, much less twisting my mind about. Now, do the girl a favor and buy a pie. And if you won’t do it for her, do it for me, don’t want them to get cold. I put a lot of work into these.”

  The crowd chuckled, and their anger slipped away. “But why do you have these witches selling your pies? Where are the boys?” one asked.

  “Off fishing, can you believe it!” he told them, “Now take a closer look at those pies!”

  And seeing the boys’ likeness raised on the top of the crust, they burst into uproar and laughter. In a few moments, great bounds of pie and bread were sold. Nearly half the wagon in a few words. He waved them off with a hearty smile and wave. “Now that you’ve seen how it's done, get to selling. I don’t want to see a single one of these on the cart by sunset.”

  “Sunset!” Nephis exclaimed. “Sir, I thank you for your hospitality, but I have things I need to be doing!”

  “Oh? And what is that?” asked the baker.

  “I need to excavate the gorge,” she said.

  “Why’s that?” he asked, “What is down there? Aside from worms and badgers.”

  “Treasure,” mumbled Nephis.

  “Treasure?” echoed the baker, “Well, why shouldn’t I go and take it for myself?”

  “Ah, well, well, it’s finders-keepers, no? And we found it!” Nephis said.

  “It’s our gorge.”

  “Erm,” Nephis stumbled around for an answer, “Well, you wouldn’t know where to look, and it’s dangerous . . .”

  “Dangerous?” the baker asked. “How so, just a bunch of dirt and rocks?”

  “It’s the glass!” Nephis admitted, “It sucks you in, and on the inside there’s a castle and a devil!”

  “What are you on about?” Florin said.

  “She’s telling the truth,” said Kugo, “A man by the name of Stefan was sucked in when the wolves attacked, you can ask him about it.”

  "Hmph! You'd need an army. Now I'm off, while I'm gone I'll ask Stephan about what you said," he said gruffly, "And remember! Not a pie left!"

  Despite their best efforts, by evening the cart was still half full of pies. Nephis hawked and hawked and made a food of herself to passersby, but it simply wasn’t enough. There they sat, cold and alone. Nephis leaned against a beam, utterly drained of any will, only happy that it was over. And with the setting sun came Florin, ambling down the road with an armful of wood.

  “Let’s see it. What? Still some pies?” he chastised them, “I thought I told you to sell them all?”

  Neither responded. Kugo from indifference, but Nephis from anger and a bit of embarrassment.

  “Bring them in, Kugo,” Florin said.

  And they carted in the rest of the pies. Moss still sat behind the counter, kneading dough and forming loaves. Two dozen bowls were set around the room, each proofing perfect dough. Each was precisely the right size and weight, with a perfect and smooth form. And stacked throughout the room, swelling with warmth and a heart swelling smell, were loafs of finished bread, golden brown and with a good crust. They were simple, buy hearty and of first quality. “Aha!” Florin cried, “We’ll have enough bread for tomorrow yet! Now make some room, puppet.”

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  “His name is Moss!” Nephis corrected.

  “That it is,” Florin said, “Now have you made that room?”

  “Wait,” said Moss. And he wordlessly retrieved a batch of loaves with one paddle from the great oven.

  “Excellent work, puppet,” Florin said as he set the remaining pies into the oven. And after a minute or two, he pulled them out and set them upon the shelf to cool.

  “It’s a crime to sell old pies,” Kugo commented in a half-interested voice, “Especially with meat or fish.”

  “I know that!” Florin said, “Does that guild coat behind you mean nothing? I said I didn’t want to see a single one of these pies left, and I meant it. These will be your dinner.”

  Nephis and Kugo were surprised and felt too guilty to say another word. The pies were wonderful, especially after how long the selling had been. As Kugo described them, they were flaky and savory and creamy, and both she and Kugo cleared the lot of them without any trouble.

  “Ah! You are an excellent baker, Mister Florin,” Nephis said. “But now I’d be best off to bed, I have somewhere to be in the morning.”

  “After dinner is the evening chores,” the baker said, “That’s how a bakery runs.” And he stepped up to pull over a broom. He held it before her.

  She gave him a fish-eyed glare.

  “Get to it, the place needs a sweep!” He pressed the broom into her hands. Then, turning to Kugo, “And you, take this wood out and start chopping! Oven won’t heat itself!”

  And Nephis spent a few minutes sweeping up all the flour from the floor and batting it out the door. Once she was through, she set the broom to lean by the wall and sat waiting for Kugo to return. But it was Florin who came first and shouted at how terrible her sweeping had gone. Streaks of flour patterned the floor like the stripes of a tiger, dirt and meal piled up in the corner in little mounds, and the whole thing was stained a faint white. “Girl, stand up!” he said.

  “Would your mother let you off like this?” he demanded.

  Nephis didn’t know how to answer; she had put a good deal of work into sweeping the floor, and indeed the brush had touched nearly every part of its surface.

  “Stand up and finish the job!” he said.

  And, grumbling, Nephis continued to sweep, whipping the ground with every swing.

  “Stop! Have you never handled a broom before? You’re going at it like a dog to dinner.”

  Nephis shrunk a little. She had never handled a broom before.

  “Here, it’s like this,” and he held her hands in his and motioned through the sweeping with her, gently pressing the head along the stone floor.

  Another long while, and Nephis had swept the floor as clean as the palace at home. She admired it with a puffed chest and a slight smile. Though it was hard fought, she was certain that the baker had never seen a place so spick and span. Doubtless, she would be done for the evening.

  Upon seeing it, Florin nodded. “Very good, this is a properly swept floor.”

  “Mhm,” Nephis awaited her reward.

  “Onto the next,” Florin said and handed her a thin cut log.

  Nephis’ eye twitched and a great frown spread up past her nose.

  “Don’t be so testy, girl, this is the last of it, I swear it,” he said.

  Nephis peeled log after log into coiling fire starter until her hands blistered. By the time she finished, her hand had formed such a close bond with the knife that she feared it would never lie flat again. She dropped the box of wood floss in front of the baker, who glanced it over.

  “Right on, then, here you are,” and he dropped four bronze coins into her curling palm.

  Nephis stared at it for a while, not saying a word.

  “A worker is due her wages, and I’m no thief,” Florin said. “Now get on to bed, I recall you have a gorge to dig up.”

  “Thank you,” she said politely and ambled back to the oven floor. The whole while she looked at that stack of pennies. They were lighter than gold, far lighter, but they seemed weightier than any gold coin she had ever been given. These felt more real than jewel or gift. For these were made with her own sweat and hours. The only thing she could compare them to was her silver, signet ring, for that was made and made heavy by duty.

  She watched these coins for a long while as she lay on the cold and warm bakery floor, watching how the shadows fell upon its ridges and falls, like the sun falling over a valley. She turned to Moss, who sat quietly across from her. “Look at these, Moss! My wages, I feel like a proper working lady now!”

  Moss upended his hat and revealed he, too, had earned his living, the same amount as Nephis. “Look, me too,” he said proudly, “A proper working Moss now.”

  “Haha!” Nephis laughed. “If we weren’t on a quest of our own, I’d say we should open our own bakery, now that we know the ropes.”

  Kugo walked in, leaving a woodcutter’s axe by the door. He quickly prepared for bed.

  “Look here, Kugo,” and Nephis showed him her glittering wages, “A day’s wage! I should be a merchant’s daughter by the end of it, and a duchess again by next fall.”

  “Oh? Good work,” he said.

  “You don’t seem impressed,” Nephis answered, “Are you not proud to have such a companion?”

  “Oh no,” Kugo said, “I had just figured you would find it beneath you,” he ribbed.

  “Hmph!” And they went to sleep for the evening.

  They awoke the next morning as early as the last, this time to two young boys tending to the shop. Florin hurried them up and out of the shop, but came with them and brought a large basket, which he bore on his back. “To the gorge? Come along then.” And the four of them walked back to the gorge with the broken bridge and crept along down to the bottom. This time, there waiting for them was six grown men with shovels and carts.

  “What’s all this?” Nephis asked Florin in surprise.

  “I tried to find more men for you all, but you’re not too popular. They’ll work here for a while,” he explained.

  “Mister Florin,” Nephis said, “You didn’t have to do that for us.”

  “Oh, I’ve done nothing; they won’t do it for free. If you can’t pay them, tell me now and I’ll let them know they can leave.”

  Nephis grew cross. She looked to Kugo, who shrugged.

  “Kugo,” she hissed to him, “What is an appropriate wage for a day’s work?”

  “Two sac,” he said back.

  “Only two?” Nephis answered in surprise. But even still they could hardly afford that.

  “One if we are stingy,” he amended.

  Nephis had little desire to be stingy. They both knew they hadn’t any money to spare. All that was left was a few bronze sac from the previous day of work and a silver gros, but six men would eat up all of one or the other. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Nephis agonized for a while. There was a treasure beneath the palace. Gems and a few coins, each worth a great deal on their own. Nephis had desired to take them all for herself, though she wasn’t sure if they would even be there. She sighed in defeat.

  “Very well, I hope to have the means to pay them,” Nephis said and cleared her throat.

  “Thank you, good fellows, for coming to aid us this morning,” she announced to them all. “I am afraid this expedition of mine is not well funded, but there is great potential for gain!” The men remained silent. “If I am correct, there is buried here some treasure. Some gemstones and rather old coins are worth their weight in gold. These are not what I am after. You may take a share of what is found; all I ask is that you allow me and my retainers first pick of the lot. It is something particular that we are after. It is possible that nothing at all is here, so if you are unwilling to take that risk, you may go.”

  And one of the men left, waving off the risk of grand wealth. He stopped by Florin the baker to take a loaf of bread along and took the long way home. However, the rest remained.

  “Oh, and one last thing, mind the glass!” she said, “Do not be cut by it, do not even touch it, it is dangerous!”

  The five men laughed at her. After all, it was only glass. But Florin spoke up, silencing them. “She’s not lying or jesting. Have you all heard what happened to Stefan? I spoke to him, it’s all true. The girl here may be harmless, but she is a witch; she knows a thing or two about the strange.”

  The mood grew more serious as the men overlooked a small field of grass that, were they not careful, might suck them away to elf land. And staring at the danger, another one left. But the allure of treasure was too great for the rest. And they began to dig. And they dug for hours. Eventually, they came across great lines of glass, the outlines of the palace. Nephis stared in wonder at it, for it was as she remembered. She took the glass shard from Kugo and peered through it to see the palace still there and ordered the men to focus their digging on its center. But by then, the day had worn on and the bread nearly run out. They had found no treasure, only great heaps of glass, which Nephis ordered be put into carts. At last, they surrendered for the evening and trudged up the gorge and back to the village.

  That evening, a stranger arrived in town. He was a tall and pale man, his skin was like cold fat, matching its color and feel, though he was as thin as any wastrel. And his eyes were heavy-lidded but sharp. He wore a long and black cloak, a rich thing for someone traveling alone. He, in a sense, was like a wicked reflection of the moon, bound in black and shining white. He stepped into the empty tavern of the little town. Michael, the bartender, disliked him as soon as he saw him. This town had had enough of strangers in the past days.

  “We’re closed,” said Michael in a stern and chesty voice. He had learned how to shoo off drunkards in his years of pouring drinks.

  “I’ll have something to drink,” said the stranger in an uninterested voice. “Wine, if you have it, or ale, or milk.”

  “I said we’re closed,” Michael shot back in a sharper voice.

  The stranger looked at Michael, straight into his eyes and heart. Blue. Blue eyes so pale they seemed nearly white. They were sharp eyes without the grace of reflection in them, but they were not glassy or dull, but brimming full with hate. His expression did not change, but Michael knew deep in his heart that this stranger hated him with all he was. He was hairless, and in all appeared like a snake’s egg.

  “I’ll have something to drink.”

  “Of course,” Michael stuttered, “Sir.” And he brought him the finest drink he had, which was a bit of cheap wine.

  The stranger looked at the red wine for a while, and Michael could not tell what he was thinking. “Where are my dogs?” the stranger asked.

  “W-what? Your dogs?”

  “Yes, two of them. Great and beautiful creatures, fur like onyx, and fangs like daggers. They were meant to return from here,” he said as if he were remembering a fine poem.

  “Oh. The wolves,” and Michael’s mouth went cold. He should have said they never came here, or that he never saw them. But it was too late now. “The wolves,” he said again.

  “Where are they?” the stranger asked, leaning in. Michael now only noticed that he had a small, thin metal plate stamped into the bridge of his nose. Those bloodless, marble eyes stared into him, grabbing his heart, squeezing it so tight that he was certain it would pop.

  “Some strangers came into town. Witches, I believe,” Michael could not keep himself from speaking. “Witches, I am sure, three of them. They are still here. They killed your wolves- dogs.”

  And the stranger lunged forward and grabbed Michael by his jaw. “Three of them?”

  Michael nodded.

  And a foul expression overcame the stranger, his face contorting and folding over itself, great rolls of over-thin skin falling on top of each other until ridges like scars fell upon him. And he turned Michael’s face from side to side, and opened his jaw to look within his mouth and count his teeth. “Tsch!” the stranger clicked in disappointment. “Thank you for the wine. For your trouble.” And he set before the man a golden coin of a make he did not know. Michael dared not take it.

  “Go on, take it,” the stranger said, “It’s yours.”

  “It’s far too much for me, sir; it’s a very handsome gift.” His heart was beating in his chest like thunder pounding in the sky.

  And the man took the coin between his fingers, and Michael’s hand in his, and set it into his palm and closed it for him. His hands were cold and far too smooth to the touch. And the stranger left, that hateful, pale face burned into Michael’s mind until the day he died.

  That morning, Nephis and Kugo awoke to a commotion outside. They hurried over to see what had happened. There in the square was a man all in black. He had a pale face, seeming like the Sons of Barthus. And she supposed he was, though she had never seen one alone. His eyes flicked towards her. Not through her as the mad men did, but at her, right into her. As if he were a physician, undressing her and dissecting her where she stood. It was cold and metallic, like copper in her mouth. She at once stepped back and covered her arms to her shoulders, though he had done nothing.

  He approached them slowly. “Where are my dogs?” he asked in a nipping voice.

  “Dogs?” Kugo asked, “You mean the dire wolves that were set upon this village? Those dogs?” he spat

  “Yes,” said the stranger. “What have you done with them?”

  “The hide of one of them is being tanned as we speak,” Nephis said, slippingly. “And the other will not be found. It is destroyed,” she lied.

  And he frowned, “Bring me the pelt.”

  Then, he looked back at Nephis, at her hands. And he watched them for a long while. Then, he jumped at her like a viper and took her by the wrist. Kugo clenched the thin arm in his gloved hand and threw it off, drawing his sword in the same movement, but before he knew it, the stranger held a palm to Kugo’s heart.

  “You have a good guardian,” the stranger said to Nephis, “He’s quick.” And he rubbed Kugo’s shirt between his fingers. “Tch.” “Bring me the pelt.”

  “Bring him the pelt,” Kugo said loudly, and stepped between him and Nephis.

  Moss stepped closer, his shadow covering the stranger. He did not say a word, but only looked down at the stranger.

  The stranger looked up at Moss, his eyes broiling with lust. “I will forgive you for killing my pups if you give that.”

  “You’re not having Moss,” Kugo said firmly.

  “Then you must pay me for my pups,” the stranger said, “That is the law of the land, it is my most ancient right, that you cannot come and destroy my things.”

  “They were going to kill someone,” Kugo hissed, “You’re lucky that we don’t hang you for letting them loose.”

  “And yet no one is dead,” said the stranger, and held out his hand for a coin.”

  “I’m not paying you,” said Kugo. But the man still held out his hand. “Or what?” asked Kugo, “And I don’t pay you, and what?”

  The pale man only smiled. Nephis knew that face, confidant, she had seen that face in court a hundred times. That was the face of a man who knew he had won before you realized it.

  “We are digging up the gorge,” Nephis said, “If you help, you can take a share. You can have two shares, in payment for your . . . dogs. There was once an elven palace there, there some jewels and coins buried within.

  And the man’s eyebrows raised. “Oh?” he said, “An elven palace? Very well, lead the way.”

  With him and what remained of their digging crew, they returned to the grassy gorge. Florin, with a great basket of bread, once again joined them. He had always planned to come today, but, so long as those three would be with him, he was sure to go wherever this stranger went. As the workmen began to dig, Kugo brought him a wooden shovel.

  “No need,” the stranger said. “Where am I to dig?” he asked.

  Kugo looked to Nephis, who pointed at the spot she had instructed the workmen to dig.

  “Bring me some iron,” he said. Nephis handed him her dagger. “May I have first pick?” he asked.

  “No. I will be having first pick,” Nephis answered shakily.

  “I would like first pick,” the stranger said with a sly, confidant smile.

  “Alright,” Nephis muttered, “You can have first pick. Florin, would you hold onto anything we find as an arbiter?”

  “I will,” said Florin gruffly.

  “Wonderful,” the stranger held out the iron dagger as if he were presenting it before the gorge. “Now, everyone, stand away from me.”

  And everyone did. Then, the stranger chanted unknowable words. The roots ripped from the earth, and the stone split, like thunder snapping the sky. The ground before him tore itself up and hung in the air. Dirt and glass and coins slipped from it. Around him was a ring of dry grass and dead, withered flowers. Everyone watched in amazement. And in the dirt wall, just peeking out, was the end of a silver rope.

  “Argh!” One of the workmen shouted. His toe had peeked into the dry ring. It had been slashed to ribbons, nothing but a cut-up, bloody mess.

  “Ah, I had said to stand very far away,” said the stranger. He waved his hands, and the dirt mound crashed across the way.

  Nephis and Moss ran to the workman. Moss held out his hands and healed the man’s toe, or rather, he stemmed the bleeding. The toe tried to seal itself up, but still looked little better than a stump of flesh. The man stared in silent wonder at it.

  “Moss,” Nephis whispered, “I need you to distract the man for a moment, don’t let him see what I’m taking.”

  “Okay,” said Moss, and he stood up with great and slow movements. He walked to the man and looked down upon him.

  “Hello,” said Moss to him in a slow and lumbering voice.

  “You speak, they said you could, but I hardly believed it,” he said.

  Who were they? Nephis wondered. It was probably just the townsfolk. She hurried on to the dig site, keeping an eye on the man. She came to the dirt wall and saw clearly that silver rope, still beautiful, though perhaps now a little faded. And as the man was not looking, she tried to tug at it, but it was stuck in. So she shoveled the dirt wall with her hands.

  “Do you know how to make bread?” Moss asked the man.

  “I do,” he said with awe and joy, “Do you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Moss.

  “How do you know how to make bread?” the man asked.

  “The baker taught me,” Moss told.

  The man gasped, it was slight and shaky. “Oh, you learned how, wonderful. You are truly wonderful. Won’t you come with me?”

  “Maybe,” answered Moss cautiously.

  Nephis tore at the dirt wall with vigor until the rope finally revealed itself. She took it in her hands. It was lighter than she thought it’d be, and was flexible and soft as cotton. She slipped it down her robe so that it cradled above her skirt. The man was losing interest in Moss. She looked around in a panic and spotted a gold coin glittering in the soil. Sweet fortune!

  “Gold!” she shouted in a stuttering voice, and she held up the coin. “I found gold!” And she marched over to Florin and handed it to him with great, exaggerated movements.

  The workmen ran to Nephis’ pit and began to dig furiously, quickly, shouts of joy erupted from them as they found a coin here, a gemstone there. By the end of it, there was a small collection of coins and jewels, enough to fill up a man’s palm.

  The sun was setting.

  “Go on, mister, you have first pick,” Florin said.

  The stranger was disappointed, his nose curling up. He looked at the baker with disdain, and he took a large handful, leaving behind only four coins.

  “Hey!” Florin said, “You can’t be doing that, you’ve taken more than your share.”

  “I have two shares, recall?” the man said, “Who will defy me? Who will call ‘unfair’?” he asked and stepped into the withered, dry grass before the pit.

  And no one said a word.

  “Well, Miss Nephis, the next pick is yours,” Florin said. There were four coins and four men. And though she was the only one who knew it, she had already taken her pick. “The men may take the coins,” she said, “They have done more than I have. So long as they throw away the glass.”

  The men cheered for joy, even if a coin had been stolen from each of them.

  They returned to the town and her streets. Nephis and Kugo and Moss hurried down the main street, hoping to hide away in the bakery for the evening, when a chilling voice caught them. “You’ve stolen something,” the stranger said.

  “I’m sorry?” Nephis said.

  “I was told I would have first pick, but you’ve swiped something. I can tell. You wouldn’t have given up your share if you hadn’t,” he hissed. His blue eyes now seemed more striking in the dim light of the afternoon, like needles in shadows.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Nephis said and began to back away.

  “I will strip it from your corpse.” The stranger charged them with frightening speed, not at Nephis, but at Kugo. He reached up his long, spindly fingers and slipped them beneath Kugo’s mask. Kugo pulled his hand away, but the man tried again, now to reach down Kugo’s shirt and touch his skin. Kugo felt the cold hand against his chest. He saw the stranger open his mouth to say something, he did not wait to hear it, but pulled the glass shard from his pocket, slipping the leather a little, and jammed it into the stranger’s face. He saw the glass, but did not flinch, and smiled as if he had already won.

  A wolf spilled out of the glass. It was not fat and sloughed onto the floor. Kugo shouted, the fright escaping his body, and he drove a dagger into the beast’s belly.

  He stepped away. His skin tingled where had had been touched; it felt dry, as if he were leather about to be stretched, but the tanner vanished. The three of them could feel the townsfolk's anger rising once more, and so they quickly said their goodbyes and hurried out of town. They stopped at the pond where they had disposed of all the glass. “Good riddance,” Kugo said, and he threw the glass into the lake with a plop. And though night was nearly upon them, the three of them left for the next town.

  Days later, three strange men were spotted on the outskirts of a village. They were pale and clad in all black, stumbling as they walked.

  The Sons of Barthus came to a small pond and dove in. Eventually, they came to a small bed of glass and looked them over. One of them chose a shard, and after studying it intently, jammed it into his palm. A man with more wit in his eyes emerged from the glass and swam to the surface, where the other two pulled him out of the water and to shore.

  “What a fascinating trick,” he mused, and he pocketed the glass shard he escaped from.