Book of Heroes: George of Sedona I - 23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23: Algoropolis

“The magic around here is warped,” Arthur said. “Can you see it?”

Each of the boys looked in his own way, and then nodded. “It sounds like chalk screeching on a blackboard,” George said.

“What’s a blackboard?” Larry asked.

“It’s like a slate,” Gary guessed, “…isn’t it?”

George nodded.

“What do you see, Gary?” Arthur asked.

“Like charcoal that’s about to burn out…it glows in the center, but it’s covered with crumbs of ash,” the boy explained after a moment. “I can reach the magic…but it’s harder.”

“Don’t reach, just yet,” Arthur cautioned. “Larry, what do you see?”

“Everyone we’ve seen the past few days…their rainbows are dull…not gray, like dead people, but just not bright. I can’t even see the plants’ rainbows…” the boy squinted. “Oh, yeah. There they are. They’re just real faint.”

“The Evil across the mountains has damaged the magic—changed it, anyway, from what we are accustomed to,” Arthur explained. “We can still see it, and we can still use it, but it will be harder. It will require more concentration. It will make more noise. Noise may attract attention that we do not want, so we must be very careful.”

After letting that sink in, he added, “I will set the wards close in tonight. We will have to stand watch.”

Gary’s sharp cry woke the other boys, who tumbled from the warm comfort of the bedroll. By the light of Gary’s torch, they saw what had startled him: a figure slightly smaller than Gary stood at the edge of the light.

It’s a boy…or a child, Arthur thought.

“I can see through him,” Gary whispered. The others shook sleep from their eyes and saw what Gary saw. The figure was that of a boy with dark hair, barefoot, and dressed in tatters. However, he was not all there. They could see the trunks of the trees, illuminated by the torch, through the boy. The boy’s mouth opened; it appeared that he was speaking, but there was no sound.

“Look hard,” Arthur said quietly. “George, can you hear what he’s saying? Larry, does he have an aura?”

Larry was the first to answer. His voice shivered as he whispered. “It’s gray, like dead people. Is he a ghost, like Aunt Beth?”

George spoke next. “He’s saying help me, help me over and over again. His sound isn’t evil, though.”

Arthur felt Gary’s hand creep into his. The boy squeezed hard as he said, “He’s not like Aunt Beth…her body was there. His isn’t here. I can see a thread. Aunt Beth’s ghost didn’t have a thread. The boy’s thread goes…it goes from him back into the woods.”

“George,” Arthur demanded, “Ask him who he is…where he is. Think hard at him when you speak.”

George looked at Arthur as if seeking assurance. Arthur put his free hand on George’s shoulder. The boy turned to the figure. Who are you? Where are you? George thought.

The figure’s manner did not change. “He’s still just saying help me,” George said.

Abruptly, the figure turned its head, and then disappeared.

*****

Arthur concluded his explanation to the boys. “Since Gary saw the thread that tied the image back to the boy’s body, he probably isn’t a ghost. He’s probably a living boy, in the city. The thread led in that direction and only a powerful mage would be able to project farther than that. His aura—rainbow to Larry—was gray because it was weakened by distance, not because he’s dead. At least, I hope that’s the reason.”

“Can we help him?” George asked. The other two boys looked at Arthur.

“What do you want to do?” Arthur asked in return.

The three boys looked at one another, but said nothing. Arthur had become accustomed to the near-telepathy that the three seemed to be developing. Gary spoke, “He came to us. He found us in the woods. That wasn’t an accident. He asked us to help. We have to.”

George added, “Unless destiny says we can’t.” The boy’s voice rose, turning the statement into a question.

“Destiny seems to be asleep,” Arthur said. After thinking for a minute, he continued, “We’ll try to help him. Tomorrow. For now, I’ll take watch. You three get some sleep. George, I’ll wake you for the last watch.”

*****

“We’re looking for a caravan going east,” Arthur continued his explanation to the guard at the city gates. It was early morning, and traffic at the western gate was heavy. Arthur was counting on that to help them evade detailed questioning. He hadn’t counted on a talkative guard.

“With three boys? And one of them no bigger than a dwarf?” The guard looked at Gary and scoffed. Gary bristled, but heedful of Arthur’s early warning, remained silent.

“Oh, they can take care of themselves,” Arthur said.

The guard sneered, but waved toward the gate. “Okay, go ahead. You’ll find caravan postings in the market square. There’s usually a reader there…he’ll want a farthing to read them for you.”

Arthur thanked the guard, and gently kicked Aurous’ flanks. Followed by the three boys, he entered Algoropolis.

The city’s name is ominous in the true meaning of the word, Arthur thought, shivering as he passed through the gate. It is, indeed, a cold place. And not just in temperature. The dark stone seemed to suck warmth from his body. The city’s stones were unlike the gleaming whites of Elvenhold or Arcadia’s usual gray granites laced with sparkling mica.

As soon as they passed the guard, the boys moved up until George and Larry were in the lead. Gary rode beside Arthur. The inn Arthur selected was remarkable both for the sturdy gates between the street and the stable yard, and for its general cleanliness. The boys tended their horses, bathed, ate their supper, and then retired to their room.

“How do we find him?” George asked the question that was on everyone’s mind.

“Any ideas?” Arthur asked.

Larry’s voice was low. “Don’t you know?” he asked.

“No, guys, I don’t,” Arthur said. “There’s nothing in my memories—or the ones I got from Prince Aladil—about tracking ghosts that aren’t ghosts. Tell me, how do you think he found us in the first place?”

The boys thought. George was the first to speak. “He was looking for something. Not us, but what we are. He was looking for help, and he knew that help would only come from Good people. Which we are.”

“He found Gary…not just because he was the only one awake. Gary’s the youngest and smallest. Well, he looks the youngest, anyway. The boy might have felt…well, safer…with Gary than with Arthur or George or me because we’re bigger,” Larry added.

“We can’t count on the boy finding us, again. We have to try to attract him to us,” Arthur explained. “Gary, are you sure you want to help this boy? What I want to do may be dangerous for you.”

Gary nodded as he slipped his hand into Arthur’s. “You’ll protect me, I know it,” the boy said.

Arthur locked and spelled the door to their room. Gary lay on his back on the table. George held one hand and Larry the other. Arthur stood at the end of the table, one hand on each side of Gary’s head. The only light came from a single candle.

“Close your eyes, Gary,” Arthur said softly. “Close your eyes…relax now…you will fall asleep but you will still hear my voice… relax… softly… relax… relax… soft… soft… relax …fall asleep …fast asleep…”

As Arthur’s voice droned, he monitored Gary’s brain waves. Carefully drawing a little of the magic from the warped field, he watched until he saw delta waves form. The boy was asleep.

“Gary, see the boy in your mind. Call to him,” Arthur instructed softly. Nothing. Arthur waited, then, “Call the boy, Gary, call him.” Still nothing.

After a fruitless half hour, Arthur woke Gary. “It was late…about three hours before sunrise…when we saw him,” George said. “Maybe he can’t come until then.”

“Of course,” Arthur said. “Perhaps he’s not conscious of what he’s doing…perhaps he can come only when he’s asleep. We’ll wait.”

Hours had passed; sunrise was not far away. “Gary, call the boy now,” Arthur said. “Softly…call him to you.”

The boys were still. Then Larry’s eyes widened. George and Arthur turned their heads in the direction Larry was looking. There, against the wall, was the figure they’d seen the night before in the woods. Faintly illuminated by the candle, they could see the wall behind and through the boy. The boy’s mouth moved as before.

George needed no instructions, but listened closely. “Help me, he’s saying” George whispered.

Addressing the figure, and still whispering, George said, “Where are you? Tell me where you are.”

The ghostly boy stopped speaking, and looked puzzled, then sad. The figure flickered, and then was gone.

“I don’t think he knows,” George whispered. “I’m sure he heard me…”

George thought for a minute. “I saw something…but it couldn’t be…”

George sketched a figure. “But that’s…” the boy hesitated.

“A trefoil. The sign for biohazards,” Arthur said. “A symbol from your world. It could be something that crossed to this world, but it’s not likely. What is more likely?”

George looked puzzled. Then his eyes lit up. “It’s like magic. I see something I don’t understand, and my mind interprets it as a symbol that I do understand!”

Arthur smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair. “I think you’re right,” he said.

*****

“Look!” George exclaimed. “That’s it!”

The four boys had ventured farther and farther into the slums of Algoropolis. They did not know for what they were looking, only that it might be represented by the Earthly biohazard symbol that George had seen. They found themselves on a broad street lined with shops. Each shop had a shingle with a pictograph representing its wares or services. Arthur watched the boys’ faces as they puzzled some of them out, and blushed. Arthur, himself, had frowned at those that offered illicit drugs, whores, and things less savory.

On the building before them was a pictograph of an eight-legged creature with a plump body, and whose fangs dripped red fluid.

“The legs, the poison, it all fits,” George said.

“Keep walking,” Arthur said. “I want to know what that place is before we try to enter it. Here, this tavern.”

The autumn afternoon was unusually warm, and tables had been set up in the street outside the tavern. A boy, who looked marginally cleaner than others they had seen, was serving ale to a couple of customers. Arthur and his companions took seats at one of the tables. Arthur sat with his back to the stone wall of the building.

When the boy asked if they wanted a second round, Arthur tossed him a florin. “Not today, thank you. But tell me,” he said, pointing to the building emblazoned with the poisonous beast, “What does that sign mean?”

The boy’s eyes narrowed. Whether it was from fear or cupidity, Arthur could not tell. Heightening his senses, he listened for the boy’s answer.

“Weavers Guild,” the boy said.

Arthur sensed the incompleteness of the boy’s answer, and held out a ha’penny. “There’s more to it than that, though.” His voice was matter-of-fact.

Avarice and the coin loosened the boy’s tongue. “Dyers, actually. Pretty secretive, they are. Some of the men come here for lunch or for ale after work. Hands…sometimes faces…stained with the colors they work with. Asked ‘em about it once and nearly got my head bit off. Guild secret, they said.”

“Do the boys and tweens who work there also come here?” Arthur asked.

“Nah,” the boy replied. “Likely they don’t have the money. You’ll see ‘em on a warm day like today sitting in the street, though. You looking for one?”

Arthur avoided the question, and asked, “So the boys who work there come and go freely? They’re not required to…well, sleep in the building?”

“Far as I know,” the boy answered. Whatever else he might have planned to say was broken short as the publican appeared in the doorway.

“Come on, boy, you’re wasting time,” the man said. The boy rushed away.

*****

Arthur led his companions back to their inn. Over supper, they discussed what they’d learned.

“The Weavers’ Guild sign…it is close enough to the biohazard symbol,” George began, “and chemicals in the dyes could be hazardous. Do you think he’s there?”

“While Arthur was talking to the boy at the pub, I saw a couple of men leave the building. They had dye on their hands, like he said. I looked hard but didn’t see anything especially Dark about them, or poisonous…leastways, anything I know…in their auras,” Larry added.

“Of course,” Larry said, looking at Arthur, “Absence of proof isn’t proof of absence.”

Arthur smiled. He’d added logic to the boy’s training curriculum.

“You’re right,” he said. “On the other hand, all we know so far suggests this isn’t the place. We’ll keep it on your list, but we’ll also look around some more, tomorrow.”

*****

“Look!” George exclaimed. “That’s it…that’s the sign! That’s exactly what I saw…I didn’t know it was a spider, though.”

On a placard hanging over the door the boys saw a differently stylized spider: different, but still a symbol of the Weavers Guild.

“This one’s even nastier than the first,” Gary said.

“What are the other symbols?” George said. “They look like hats!”

“Yeah,” Larry said. “It’s a hatter’s shop.”

“Weavers Guild?” George wondered aloud, and looked at Arthur.

Arthur nodded toward Larry.

“Hats are made of wool, just like clothes,” Larry said. “Some hats are made of felt—sort of like matted wool,” he added when he saw George’s face screw up in puzzlement.

“And felting employs some pretty nasty chemicals,” Arthur said. “Come on, we need to do a little planning.”

*****

Seven pennies had rented a room above a public house across the street from the hatter’s shop. The proprietor didn’t seem to care why they wanted the room or why they had no packs or saddlebags, and why they didn’t want to bathe. Any suspicions he might have had, he kept to himself.

“Larry, you will be our guard tonight. The door is spelled, and those spikes will make it hard to open even if someone gets past the spell. Nevertheless, I want you to watch it, with your sword out. Pay attention to the door and not what we’re doing, no matter what. Okay?” The boy nodded.

*****

Gary lay on the bed. His mind was somewhere between awake and asleep. He felt as if he were floating, and only Arthur’s hand on his held him to the bed.

“Gary, call the boy now,” Arthur said. “Softly…call him to you.”

The boy appeared at Gary’s feet. He was looking at Gary, and didn’t seem to see any of the others. As before, his mouth moved. Help me… Knowing what he was saying made it easy to read his lips.

Arthur and George’s attention was on the apparition, and they did not see Gary’s lips move. The boy’s eyes widened, and he spoke. He cocked his head as if listening, and then spoke, again. Arthur’s eyes flashed to George, who shrugged his shoulders. Arthur looked at Gary, and understood. Gary’s talking to him!

Arthur alternated his attention between Gary and the boy. The conversation continued for several minutes until the boy started, as he had done the first time they saw him, and disappeared.

Arthur and George waited until Gary was fully awake before questioning him.

“He’s in the hatter’s shop,” Gary said. “He’s a prisoner. He was stolen from his parents during a market—and he’s been forced to work ever since. He’s not sure how long it’s been.”

“Are you certain it’s the hatter’s shop?” Arthur asked.

“He said it was a felter’s shop, and I asked about hats. He said yes, that they made hats, that the man’s name was Dothett, and that there were three other men who worked there.

It was easy to confirm that the hatter’s shop across the street from the pub was the shop of Dothett. It was easy to confirm that he did, indeed, make felt. It seemed, however, impossible to find allies in their quest to rescue the boy. “I don’t know how to convince the civil guard that a boy is being held there without revealing too much about ourselves,” Arthur said. “In another place, I would be less reluctant to risk that. Certainly, I cannot jeopardize you three.”

“Trojan horse?” George said. “I watched out the window this afternoon when a large bale of rags was delivered. I could hide inside one…”

“No, me!” Gary said. “I’m smaller, and he knows me.”

“Yeah, but I—” Larry began, to be cut off by Arthur.

“Good plan, but none of you is riding into that place in a bale of rags,” Arthur said. “For all we know, they throw the bales directly into a vat of poison. But, what else might make a Trojan horse?”

“What’s a Trojan horse?” Larry asked.

Arthur nodded to George, who told the story from his world.

“Were the people of Troy that foolish?” Gary asked.

“Relieved, perhaps,” Arthur said, “and over-confident. Their judgment was warped by their emotions—and by their religion.”

*****

Finding a handcart to rent and four bales of shoddy and rags took less time than Arthur had expected. They positioned the cart in the courtyard of the public house across the street from the felter. The publican was happy for the few extra pennies he earned, and not disposed to ask questions. Another sign of Evil’s incursion, Arthur thought. Elsewhere, he’d wonder—and report to the Guard—a person that he didn’t know and who had a cartload of anything.

It was not difficult to convince the felter and his partners that a cartload of rags had “fallen off a wagon” and been recovered by Arthur and Larry. Arthur had elected to take Larry with him into the shop, keeping George, who was the strongest and most capable fighter, in reserve, and protecting Gary, the smallest and weakest. Further, Arthur and Larry had left their weapons with George, and wore only daggers. The price the felter agreed to pay was well below the market price, but respectable. Arthur had carefully monitored the men’s vital signs, and was able to determine the highest price he would pay.

“Then we’ll deliver tonight?” he asked. “There’s a rear entrance?”

“Tonight,” the felter replied.

“Just after vespers,” one of the partners—a burly man wearing leather trousers and vest—replied. “The door’s in the alley. There’ll be a lantern over it.”

*****

Arthur had tied his sword with string to the underside of one shaft of the handcart. Larry, alternately excited and frightened, but carefully coached, stood in the traces, trying to look sullen. George and Gary, swords drawn, stood against the wall of the building, hidden in the shadow cast by the cart. Arthur pounded on the wooden door.

“Enough!” came a muffled voice from within. A latch clanked, and the door swung open. Arthur had been watching, and saw all four of the men waiting. They’re excited…no, but something has increased their biological activity. They’re planning to ambush us!

Arthur had analyzed the men’s intentions correctly. The door opened quickly, and the burly man stepped out, a sword in his hand. The other three men followed behind him.

A gesture, and Arthur’s sword was in his hand. George took three quick steps, and was at Arthur’s side. Larry ducked from the traces of the cart, and pulled a dagger and poniard from the folds of his tunic. Gary ran to stand beside George. The four companions stood thus arrayed for only an instant before the fight began.

Arthur willed his sword to cut whatever it encountered, and the magic acted, slicing through the shoulder and chest of the burly man before he had taken more than two steps from the door. His body fell, spilling blood onto the alley. The felter, no coward, stepped over the body of his late partner, and swung his sword at Arthur, just as the two remaining men rushed out. Their swords, already raised, swung down on George and Gary.

George parried. His mithral sword and his strong right arm overpowered his opponent. While the man sought to recover from the parry, George thrust his poniard into the man’s chest. The man grunted as his last breath escaped his lips. He fell, his blood mingling with that of the burley man and the felter, dispatched by Arthur. The fourth man was unaware of the fate of his partners until he joined them in death. Larry blocked the blow aimed at Gary while Gary thrust his virgin sword into the man’s chest.

Arthur took a deep breath. “The boy. Gary, lead. George, you have the rear. These four are no longer a threat, but someone may have heard.”

Gary looked at Arthur. The boy’s eyes were wide. “Uh…uh…”

Arthur saw the blood on Gary’s sword, and grasped the situation instantly. “A child needs us, Gary,” he said. “We’ll take care of ourselves later. Okay?”

Gary nodded, and resolutely stepped into the door. Arthur grabbed the lantern and followed. He was aware of Larry and George following behind.

“He’s in there,” Gary said, pointing to a door to which a padlock was attached. Gary had sheathed his sword, and pulled his lock-picks from his belt pouch.

“No time for that,” Arthur said. He gestured, and the lock disintegrated. Arthur nodded to Gary, who pulled open the door.

*****

The boy held fast to Gary. His tears had stopped, but he still gasped for breath.

“Who are you?” Gary whispered.

“Harry…son of…Margain…the candlemaker,” the boy gasped.

“There are people outside,” George warned.

Arthur kept rigid control of his body and mind. “We came to sell rags. They attacked us with drawn weapons. We defended ourselves. One of us heard the boy”—Arthur did not mention that the hearing was the previous night, and that it was a magical hearing—“so we came to investigate. It’s obvious that he has been held against his will. His mother is Margain, the candlemaker.”

“Is this true?” the legionnaire said to George.

“The boy is in fief to me; I answer for him,” Arthur said.

“Do not trouble the others,” Arthur added as the guardsman turned to Larry. “I lead, here. You will deal with me.”

The legionnaire looked at Arthur. Whatever he saw in that boy’s eyes seemed to reassure him at the same time it frightened him. He nodded. “A sembler—”

“Of course,” Arthur said, his voice marginally less hostile.

*****

The boy had been reunited with his parents, summoned by the reeve. Their story of the boy’s disappearance corroborated what Arthur told the sembler, who attested to the truth of it. The owner of the handcart, briefly impounded by the reeve, was summoned to retrieve it.

Harry’s mother, escorted by two legionnaires, took the boy home. Arthur and the boy’s father spoke briefly.

“There is no Royal Justice here,” the boy’s father said, grimly. “Vendetta, murder—an eye for an eye, feuds that last for generations—that is the way things are done, here.

“It seems, however, that you have taken even that away from me.” He sighed. “For that, too, I am grateful. I still do not understand how all this came about.” He shook his head. It was apparent that he did not expect an answer, believing that Arthur and his companions were accidental rescuers. Arthur was content for him to believe that. Besides, he thought, we have to deal with Gary. It’s the first time he has killed.

The companions reached their inn just as the matins bell tolled, and curfew fell onto the city. The kitchen fire was long cold, but the publican agreed to provide bread and cheese for their supper. He seemed not to notice, or preferred to ignore, the blood on their clothes. After supper, Arthur carefully heated the water of the bath, and the boys cleaned themselves and their clothes. A few whispered words to George were sufficient. He and Larry skipped the soak, and hurried to the room. Arthur and Gary were alone in the hot water.

“Gary,” Arthur began, only to be interrupted.

“A few years ago,” Gary said, “I was making a gift for my mother. It was to be flowers made from both red and yellow gold, electrum, silver, and copper. I made each petal, each stem, and the pot they would sit in, one piece at a time. It took months. When I got ready to put them together, something happened. The petals wouldn’t stick to the stems, and the stems wouldn’t stick to the pot. I didn’t know what was wrong. Father said I’d allowed an impurity into the metal. I used more natron, and tried adding more solder to the joins, but it looked ugly. Father talked to me one night, and said that sometimes, if something has an impurity, the only thing to do is to throw it back into the cupel, take out the impurity, and start over again.”

Gary looked at Arthur. “That’s what I thought when that man died—when I killed him. Is—is that a Good thing to think?”

Arthur hugged the boy, warm and slippery in the hot soak. “Yes, Gary, that’s a very Good thing to think.”

Arthur thought for a moment. “It’s also a very Valarian thing. Your father once said a very Valarian thing. No. I remember. James’ father said it, but your father recognized it instantly. Good attracts evil, he said…”

“…and exceptional good attracts exceptional evil,” Gary continued. “I know. Mother had The Book of Valeus, and she used to read to us.”

And I remember the flower arrangement, Arthur thought. You did finish it, after all. Your mother once showed it to me.

*****

The next morning, after breakfast, Arthur assembled his companions in their room. “You three reacted very quickly last night,” Arthur said. “Even George and Gary, who couldn’t have seen the first man.” He looked at the boys. It was clear that he wanted an answer to his unspoken question.

“I heard you say it was an ambush,” Gary said.

“I know you three sense what each other is thinking, sometimes. Do you hear words or ideas or pictures or what?” Arthur asked.

“Actually,” George said. “Yes, actually. To all of that, and more. I can tell when Gary and Larry are happy or worried or puzzled.”

“Pictures, mostly,” Larry said. “I see pictures. Last night, I saw you seeing a man with a sword behind the door. I mean, before the door opened.”

“I heard you say it,” Gary said. “I heard the words.”

“Me, too,” George said.

Arthur’s mind buzzed with memories—his own, and those implanted by the magic that poured through Prince Aladil. The boys waited patiently. At last, Arthur spoke. “Empathy. Telepathy. These are ancient words in the Old Elvish language. They are names for a form of innate magic that once existed. I do not know if it still does. Rather, I had never heard of it. That it would come into being, and that it would come into being in four boys who met by chance? That is rather hard to believe.

“Do you remember when we talked about destiny and quest, before we reached Amber? Larry, I’m sorry we’ve never talked about this. We will do so, tomorrow.”

George and Gary nodded. Arthur added, “There’s a story from George’s world, about a man whose father told him, Son, someday someone is going to show you a deck of cards, and bet you that he can make the Knight of Swords pop up from the deck and spit apple cider in your eye. If you bet against that man, you’re going to have an eye full of apple cider.

“I think,” Arthur concluded, “that if I had bet against finding three companions as stout and as loving as you, I would have found my eyes full of apple cider.”